“The words.” The man motioned to the doorway’s decoration with his chin. “That’s what they mean.” His eyes twinkled with humor in his handsome face as he leaned back against the stone pillar to watch her.
Lyssa nodded at him. “I know. A friend of mine told me years ago.”
“Wouldn’t happen to be anyone I know, would it?”
“No.” Lyssa shook her head and grinned. “It was long ago. When I first moved to San Diablo.”
“With your sister, Mattie?”
Lyssa looked at him and finally recognized the man. “You’re David Henderson, aren’t you?” Heat filled her cheeks as an image of this man and his friend, Dayton Kringle—her target for the night—sharing a woman in the lounge of the Club four years earlier entered her mind. She’d joked with her sister about what it would feel like to be caught between a private dick and a hard Saint Nick. How ironic would it be if she were to actually experience it? She held her hand out to him.
He nodded and grinned. “And even with a wig on, I recognized you. You’re Lyssa Lawrence.”
His big hand wrapped around hers, but instead of a friendly handshake, he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a gentlemanly kiss against her knuckles. The warmth of his breath took away the chill in her fingers for a moment.
After releasing her, he continued, “If a friend told you the motto when you first arrived, it must have been one of your foster brothers.”
The accuracy of his guess made Lyssa start. Then a wisp of memory surfaced. “I remember hearing you’re a detective.”
“Investigator. So was it one of Gino’s boys?”
The nerves relaxed in her belly at the mention of her foster father. It was possible David only recalled the information about her and her sister because he’d been tasked to do a background check on her sister when Mattie first started working as Bryce’s personal assistant twelve years ago. Lyssa admitted, “Yes, it was one of Gino’s boys. I’d forgotten about the inscription being there.”
David stepped aside as another couple ascended the stairs to the front of the Club. He guided Lyssa away from the steps with a hand at her elbow. “I’ll bet Gino tanned his son’s hide for bringing you out here to begin with.”
“Marco was scrubbing hulls for a month.” Lyssa laughed as she recalled the punishment her foster father, the owner of a small boatbuilding and repair shop, had meted out. Her gaze returned to the stone engraving, then drifted back to David.
He extended his hand. “Would you allow me to escort you, or are you having second thoughts?”
Lyssa looked at the hand he held out to her. She might have dressed for her intended target, but nothing said she needed to center her attention exclusively on that man. Considering David posed a likely candidate, it made sense she take the opportunity to acquaint herself with him. Her intended quarry might already be inside or en route. Either way, Lyssa knew what she was looking for, and she wouldn’t settle for less. “No, no second thoughts. As for your escort, I would like that. Thank you.” Lyssa allowed him to settle her hand in the crook of his elbow and draw her through the entrance and into the Club.
Unlike other fetish clubs she’d seen online or had described to her, there were no dimmed lights or curtained hallways leading to private rooms. Instead the paneled walls and crown molding exuded a sophistication and respectability equal to any of the exclusive country or yacht clubs up and down the California coast. These little details made it easier for her to keep her emotions under control. And staying in control, especially tonight, was paramount to the success of her plan. She didn’t dare give in to the temptation to submit to a dominant, no matter how much a part of her craved to do so.
The majority of the guests were dressed in evening gowns or tuxedos. The only ones in costume, like her, were submissives—both those owned and those looking for owners. Scanning the faces, she identified several of her potential donors, but she was careful not to stare at them in a way that might arouse unease or make them leery of her approach. She ignored the tiny pain that twisted her heart when Mike wasn’t among the guests.
Forget the fantasy and face reality, Lyssa.
“Smile. We aren’t that scary,” David whispered, his warm breath stirring the hair of her auburn wig over her ear.
A tingle slid up Lyssa’s spine.
“You’ve been here often enough to know we don’t bite.” A wicked grin lifted his lips. “Well, not unless you ask us to.”
Lyssa smiled and shook her head at his jest. “And just how do you know how many times I’ve been here before?”
David reached up and rubbed a curl from her wig between his fingers. “You might be in costume, but I’ve seen you visit a few times with Vance and Ben.”
She met his gaze, trying to read his intent. His capricious eyes gave nothing away. Another tremor worked through her at the thought that this man would never allow another person to guess what he was thinking. Good information to have if she hoped for events to proceed as planned. Especially if she chose him this evening.
“Invitation.” A security guard dressed in a black tuxedo and white shirt stared down at her.
David nodded at the man, who then consulted the clipboard in his broad hands. Both men waited for Lyssa to fish the card from the pocket of her costume. She handed the heavy velum over and watched the doorman check her name off a list.
“Hand.”
When Lyssa held up her left hand, he slipped a white plastic bangle over her wrist. There were other colored bracelets, similar to the one she’d been given, in little boxes on the table beside the bouncer.
Once she walked through the double doors leading from the foyer to the lounge area of the Club, she searched the assembled guests for the other men on her list and ignored the urge to scan the crowd for the one man she already knew was not going to be there. She spotted a few of the members she’d designed and created gear and costumes for, and nodded when they waved at her. At the bar, her neighbors Ben Murphy and Vance Justiss were chatting with each other and a few Club members. Vance stood behind the long expanse of teak nestled between the curving staircases leading to the second floor.
His snug black cotton T-shirt emphasized his muscular build and highlighted his copper skin and silver-threaded black hair. In the four years since he’d been back in San Diablo and retired from the Marine Corps, he’d allowed his hair to grow. Tonight the long, thick waves were pulled back into a ponytail that brushed the area between his shoulder blades.
Ben looked sophisticated and sexy in a tailored tux that fit his athletic frame. His dark blond hair, which he kept neat and short, brushed the collar of his white linen shirt.
She sneaked a look at her companion. Four years ago David, with his goatee and long, tied-back black hair, had seemed yummy when dressed in jeans and a shirt. Now that he was dressed in a well-fitted tux, Lyssa wasn’t surprised to see several women moving toward them. The colors of the women’s wristbands varied, but not a single white one was among the group.
Retreat definitely seemed the wiser choice at this point in the evening. There would be plenty of time to determine if David would fit her needs. Lyssa smiled up at him and conceded softly, “I’ll leave you to your admirers.” She eased her hand free of his arm and headed for the bar.
If he protested, she didn’t hear or see it. She smiled at the surprised looks on Vance’s and Ben’s faces as she moved toward them.
“Lys!” Ben rose from the stool he’d occupied at the bar to envelop her in a warm hug. “Darlin’, what are you doing here?”
Vance leaned over the teak counter and kissed her cheek as she took the seat Ben had vacated. “Decided to finally check out a Select-a-Sub Night?” Vance teased with a grin.
“I thought I’d see what all the fuss is about,” Lyssa hedged. There was no way she was going to give away her true purpose behind accepting Mike’s annual invitation.
Ben picked up her wrist and ran his finger over the white band. “More than just see?”
Lyssa ignored the glint of concern in his gaze and asked a question of her own. “What’s the significance of the colors?”
Ben looked at her, his gray eyes measuring as if she were one of his patients before he answered. “Red means a sub has recently left a master and is actively searching for another. Black indicates a sub who is mourning the death of a master, usually within the last three years, and is just returning to the search. And yellow is a sub currently being tested but who is still unsure of the master she is interested in.”
“And white?” Lyssa fiddled with the bangle.
“White means you’re a virgin, baby.” Vance grinned as he set a highball glass filled with ginger ale in front of her and a rocks glass of Scotch in front of Ben. He leaned over the bar and settled a soft, slow kiss on his lover’s lips.
Lyssa groaned both at the appellation assigned by her wrist jewelry and the sexy look the two men exchanged. Watching them always stirred feelings of envy. The trust, affection, and commitment the pair shared made her wish she could find the same things for herself, despite the terrible luck with men she’d encountered in the past. Childhood lessons resurfaced to taunt her.
The devotion between these men had made it easier for her to approach them when she was unable to suppress her interest in spankings and bondage play. Neither man was attracted to her sexually. They only had eyes for each other, which made being with them safe. No need to worry about losing what was left of her heart to either or both of them. Not like with Mike.
Over the last three years, she’d negotiated a few scenes with them. Too bad the heat their lessons stirred never brought her to culmination. If she’d been able to respond to another man—any man—in the last four years, her baby project would probably have never been necessary. Another reason to damn Mike and the way he made her feel. Of all the men she’d fallen for, why did he have to be the only one she couldn’t get out of her system?
She was sure Ben and Vance would have something to say about her plans for the evening if she let them know there was more to tonight than finding a temporary dominant to end four years of celibacy.
“Why am I getting stuck with the virgin label when I’ve been coming here off and on for the last three years?” Lyssa asked as she raised her soda to her lips.
“Because you’ve never had a dom officially claim you,” Ben stated, sipping his drink and watching Vance move off to help another customer.
“You’re so wet and ready, Lys. Tell me no if you don’t want this.” Mike’s hand smoothed over her breasts, his lips soft against her cheek.
“Please,” she begged, her voice hoarse with need.
“Please what?” In the dark of the closet, she couldn’t see the deep brown of his eyes, but she knew he watched her. She could almost feel the burn of his gaze on her face.
“I need you. Please,” she sobbed, arching as close as her bound hands would allow.
A frisson of heat coursed through her. She tried to ignore the desire, heavy and hot, filling her lower body, making her shift on her seat and scan the room again. A secret part of her had hoped Mike would be present. That he’d approach her, reclaim her, and take control as he had that night. Another part, though, reminded her of the days of quiet following their encounter before he left the country for several weeks after their siblings’ wedding. Not to mention the humiliation of being left waiting at a restaurant with only a last-minute “I’m sorry. I’ve got a job” phone call as he was getting on a plane.
That should have been her first hint that she’d been right all along and that, like all the other men she’d cared about, he’d decided to move on to greener pastures. Which she’d verified herself a few days later, after her conscience had browbeaten her into calling him. When a woman had answered the phone—Lyssa refused to recall any of that conversation.
Shaking off the uncomfortable thoughts, Lyssa focused on Ben’s comment. She asked, “Claim me?”
His gray gaze held hers, making her aware of how close her secret was to being revealed. “There are a few ways a master can stake his claim on a sub.”
A tingle of foreboding traveled through her. She’d long considered the masquerade invitations Mike sent her annually nothing more than a fancy booty call. She’d returned the first one to him in shreds, as well as the two subsequent ones she’d received. She
had
been “claimed.” The man had simply changed his mind about keeping her.
Even as she thought it, Lyssa could practically taste the bitterness of disappointment on her tongue. If Mike
had
wanted to keep her… Again she forced away the reminder and focused on the conversation.
“I’m familiar with the concepts of consideration and training collars,” Lyssa admitted, her gaze roving over the crowd, searching for the man she’d singled out as the ideal candidate to assist her with her goal.
Ben’s breath whispered past her ear as he leaned forward, “Dayton hasn’t arrived yet.”
Startled out of her search, Lyssa swung back around to face him. “What?”
His grin and knowing look assured her that her game hadn’t been as subtle as she’d hoped. The stroke of his fingertips over her red velvet skirt heated her cheeks.
“I assume the Christmas elf costume is for his benefit. Even the wig is a nice touch.” Ben tugged a long, auburn curl. “Kringle has been tied up in knots for the last three months, ever since Miss Jeffries took over for Nadine when she retired.”
“Are you saying he’s involved with someone?” Lyssa fought the worry snaking through her. If Dayton was involved with another woman, there was no way…
Vance arrived, answering her question before Ben could. “Nah, our favorite Santa has been hovering over Elfina but hasn’t made a move yet. Give him time though. I don’t see the big guy denying himself a piece of that Elf for very long,” he predicted.
Lyssa ignored the tingle tickling the back of her neck at the thought of Mike viewing her as a prize to be claimed, similar to Vance’s observation about Dayton and his assistant.
“By the way, Lonnie looks good in the cheerleader outfit you made.”
She focused on the distraction Vance provided and turned in the direction he motioned. Ben looked as well. Across the room, a blonde woman was dressed in a dark blue, sleeveless, military-style top with gold-fringed epaulettes on the shoulders. A double row of gold buttons with gold chains dangling between them marched down the front of the jacket. The flirty white skirt of the costume barely reached the top of her thighs as she knelt beside her mistress. White, knee-high boots decorated with gold pom-poms on the front zipper pulls finished off the outfit.