The hum of a car’s engine and the gleam of headlights signaled the approach of a vehicle. Both Lyssa and David turned to watch it pull up. The valet parked and swung the door open. David returned his gaze to Lyssa, a warning clear in his eyes. “He’s staked his claim, Lyssa Lawrence. There’s no walking away from that.”
Lyssa smiled and slipped a tip into the hand of the valet before meeting David’s look. “Watch me.” She moved past him.
David waved off the valet to hold the car door for her and wait until she settled behind the wheel. His arm braced against the roof, he smiled down at her. “Until you convince him otherwise, love, for the next thirty days by Rite of First Claim, you belong to him.”
Lyssa met his gaze with faltering confidence and shrugged. “I belong to no man.” She pulled the door closed, shifted the idling car into gear, and pulled away.
* * *
“What the hell is the Rite of First Claim?” Lyssa demanded less than an hour later, her hands planted on her hips. Mike’s shirt and tuxedo jacket drowned her form as she waited on her neighbor’s front porch.
“Good morning to you too, sweetheart.” Ben yawned as he stood in the open door, bare chested and barefoot, wearing faded jeans that were zipped but not buttoned.
Lyssa glared at her neighbor and friend. “Whatever. Just answer the question. What the hell is the Rite of First Claim?”
“It’s a rule those outside official Club membership are unfamiliar with,” Ben confessed.
“What does that have to do with me?” Lyssa demanded.
Ben covered another broad yawn as he leaned against the door and began to explain. “Seems when the first Bryce Halsey—”
“He went by Cole rather than Bryce,” Vance interrupted, reaching past Ben to tug Lyssa inside. His dark hair hung loose around his face and shoulders, the silver and black tones a stark contrast against the white T-shirt he wore with his faded jeans. Neither of her friends seemed surprised to find her on their front porch before dawn, dressed in Mike’s clothes. Considering the two men’s military backgrounds, Lyssa had to wonder just what would create a stir from Ben and Vance. She forced herself to listen to Ben’s explanation.
“When
Cole
introduced his wife to the Club, there was a bit of a…misunderstanding.” Ben shut the door and followed them to the kitchen.
The provocative scent of fresh coffee filled the cozy confines of the kitchen.
Vance snorted at Ben’s comment. “Misunderstanding, my ass.” He leaned toward Lyssa and told her, “Seems the little missus was pissed at Cole over something and walked out on him.”
“I’m tellin’ this story,” Ben groused, slugging Vance in the shoulder as he moved around them and approached the coffeemaker.
“Well, you’re draggin’ it out like some soap opera.” Vance mocked the soft Southern drawl Ben let slip when exhaustion or irritation overcame his control.
The older man glared at Vance before continuing. “According to the stories, Margaretta stormed into the Club and set about looking for a man to assist her. Cole had followed her and watched as she approached different men about helping her with what she wanted to do.”
“How does that relate to what Mike was yammering on about last night?” Lyssa recalled hearing from Mattie about the volatile relationship between the pirate and his captive wife, but she’d never been aware of how wild it had been. Nor did it seem to answer her question about the Rite of First Claim.
Vance shrugged. “No one really knows what had her so upset, but the second she approached one of the local ranchers and he started showing an interest in not only helping her but taking her as well—”
“Cole stood up and announced no one could touch her since she belonged to him by Rite of First Claim,” Ben finished.
A frisson of dread snaked its way up her spine, making the hair on the back of Lyssa’s neck stand up.
What in hell have I gotten myself into
? “That still doesn’t tell me what the whole ‘rule’ is.”
“If a master or mistress is interested in a submissive and has had sexual relations with her or him on the Club’s premises, then the master has the right to claim the sub for thirty days.”
Ben’s matter-of-fact tone warned Lyssa that there would definitely be repercussions from last night’s scene—the scene that once and for all ended any possibility of her approaching one of the dominants in the future. With Halloween passed and Mike announcing his ownership by Rite of First Claim, there was no doubt in Lyssa’s mind she’d be hearing from her sister and Bryce very soon.
Lyssa asked, hoping to find a loophole out of her situation, “Thirty days? And the submissive has no voice in this decision?”
“They do if they can prove the master is abusive and likely to cause physical or mental harm to the submissive.” Ben shrugged, filling his coffee cup and a second for Lyssa before carrying them to the table.
“It’s a rarely used rule, Lys,” Vance assured her as he collected several items from the refrigerator to make breakfast. Setting them on the counter beside the stove, he twisted the knob for one burner before placing a frying pan on it. He laid out strips of bacon in the skillet.
Ben added, “If I recall, according to the Club’s history, only three masters ever used the Rite of First Claim. After Cole, Don Reynardo used it in eighteen seventy-two to claim his wife, Hayden. The last one was in nineteen twenty-two when Dillon Halsey’s fiancée tried to break off their engagement after her brother tried to kill Dillon over a business both men were interested in acquiring.”
“Until last night,” Lyssa muttered.
“Until last night,” Ben agreed. He moved to the other counter to slide bread into the toaster.
Lyssa could say nothing more. The expressions on her friends’ faces were indication enough that last night’s events would have far-reaching ramifications, not just for her life but for her design business as well. The baby plan she’d originally started with was ruined. Artificial insemination looked like her only option now. Lyssa refused to speculate on the possibility that the doctored condoms she’d provided might have actually done the job she had originally hoped they’d do. What a nightmare that would be.
It was one thing if she conceived the child of some anonymous dom. But if lightning struck twice and her preparations resulted in her carrying Mike’s child, the situation would be untenable. Mike would never walk away from his child, and Lyssa could never give her baby away. Which would mean the very thing she’d fought so hard to avoid—
“It can’t happen,” she assured herself. She kept her voice soft so neither Ben nor Vance were likely to hear her. “Not twice.”
As she watched the two men working on breakfast, Lyssa couldn’t ignore the thoughts spinning through her mind. Fate wouldn’t curse her so cruelly. Not after the last time. Then there was Mattie to think about. How much grief would Bryce give her sister if Lyssa ended up pregnant with Mike’s child? As much as Lyssa had fantasized about having Mike’s baby, the reality could create havoc in her sister’s marriage. Bryce would never believe Lyssa hadn’t intended to trap his little brother, and Mattie would feel obligated to defend her. With the tempers and obstinate natures of her sister and brother-in-law—simply contemplating it had her stomach rolling.
No. Despite her desire to experience motherhood, it would be best for everyone if Baby Plan A proved a failure and she moved on to Baby Plan B.
Chapter Five
The soft comfort of the pillow did little to muffle the persistent jangling noise. A grumbled curse slipped from Mike’s lips, followed by a sigh as the ringing stopped. But relief was short-lived as the caller tried to gain Mike’s attention again. Stuffing his head beneath the pillow didn’t work. Neither did ignoring it. Eyes closed, head buried under the down-filled rectangle, Mike blindly slapped at the top of the nightstand for the offending device.
The ring stopped midshriek as Mike flipped open his cell phone and dragged it under the cushion to his ear. “This better be fuckin’ good.”
“Depends on your perspective,” a man sniped back at him.
Brain still mired in sleep, Mike yawned. “David?”
“If you ever ask me to keep an eye on your lady again, Mike, I’m gonna have to start charging you.”
“Lyssa?” The fog dissipated instantly. The events of the previous evening swam in a burst of Technicolor images across his mind as Mike pushed himself upright on the bed and blinked at the spill of golden sunlight through the curtains.
“Yeah. Next time I’m gonna wake your ass up instead of just dropping off clothes,” David complained.
Mike ignored him and scanned the empty room. “Where is she?”
“Running. Again.”
Mike cursed and tossed aside the sheets covering him. A duffel bag sat on the table beside a tall thermos. “Where?” he asked, rolling out of bed and digging through the bag to pull out clothes.
“After she left you, she made a beeline for her neighbors’ place,” David told him. “I left to get your clothes. Nice addition to the alarm system, by the way.”
Mike headed for the bathroom. A quick shower and shave and then he could collect his woman. “Is she at home now?”
Around a jaw-cracking yawn, David said, “Yes.”
“I should be there in thirty minutes,” Mike assured him.
“How long are you going to keep waiting on her to change her mind? Because, I’ll tell you, I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
What could he say? David was more aware than anyone in San Diablo of the cat-and-mouse game playing out between Lyssa and him. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Mike closed the cell and left it on the table. His friend’s advice was the last thing he wanted right now.
In the bathroom, he dropped the clothes on the vanity before he wrenched the shower on. Stepping beneath the spray, he hissed at the chill as the water gradually warmed. His thoughts disconnected from the automatic motions of soaping and rinsing the dried sweat from his skin.
Eyes squeezed shut, he let the water pound against his shoulders. He curled his fingers into fists against the ivory tiles. David’s question repeated in his head. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t asked himself in the last twelve years. Every advance met with resistance or escape. For every inch of ground he thought he gained in his endeavor, Lyssa ripped a mile away.
Not an inch, not a foot—a fucking mile. Every time.
It shouldn’t surprise him that once again, as soon as he got too close, Lyssa was gone. He’d fucked up four years ago—the one and only time he’d made any progress with her. He’d regretted it every day since. Mattie had been just as skittish around Bryce until she learned to trust him. The difference between the two sisters, Mike reasoned, was that Mattie’s constant exposure to his brother had allowed her to accept and rely on the instinctive trust she felt for Bryce, while Lyssa’s pure mule-headedness refused to identify her body’s submission to Mike’s control as an indicator to how safe she felt with him. No, she viewed it as a weakness—aberrant behavior in need of quashing.
“Damn it, not this time,” Mike growled. A forceful twist shut off the water, and the air fairly vibrated with the energy building inside him. Rough motions with the towel sluiced away the majority of the moisture beaded on his skin before Mike tugged on his jeans.
“This is the last time she runs,” he announced to the empty room. He pulled a T-shirt over his head and tucked it into the waistband of his faded jeans. While he tugged on the socks and sneakers David had supplied, then cleared away the ruined stockings and underwear Lyssa had left behind, Mike reviewed everything he’d done the night before. He’d taken his time, pushed Lyssa until she’d admitted to wanting him, but he had failed to maintain control over her. Being in charge, giving all the orders was second nature to Lyssa. He’d failed to firmly establish his role as the dominant in their partnership.
That would be his last mistake. “No more,” Mike decided. He shoved his cell phone into his pocket and grabbed the bag and thermos from the table before he strode out of the room and downstairs. By the time his sneakered feet hit the first landing, the beginnings of a plan had formed. A stop by his apartment would be required, but before he faced his woman again, Mike intended to be ready.
The valet stood beside the idling truck in front of the Club by the time Mike exited the front door. Something in his expression caused the attendant to back away from him as Mike handed the man a tip. Determination fueled his actions. Even as he drove out of the parking lot and down the long, tree-lined road back to the highway, he began to compile a list of the items he’d need to retrieve from his apartment before heading over to Lyssa’s.
She owed him thirty days, and he would take them. Take those thirty days and every day after because this was the last damned time his woman would run from him and from the connection between them. Whether Lyssa Lawrence liked it or not, he’d finally staked his claim, and nothing would keep him from her. Not even her.
* * *
Almost an hour later, he was on his way out of his apartment, several days’ worth of clothes and the toys he’d selected for Lyssa in a second duffel bag, when his cell phone rang. “Halsey,” he snapped. Phone cradled between his cheek and shoulder, he punched in the alarm codes and secured the door behind him.
David didn’t bother with a greeting either. “She’s on the move again.”
“Where?” Mike grimaced. He wouldn’t put it past Lyssa to leave town for a week or two until she figured he’d lose interest. But that wouldn’t happen; he’d never lose interest. He tossed the duffel bag into the truck before climbing in.
“Looks like she’s headed to your brother’s place.”
Definitely a mixed blessing, Mike reasoned. It made sense for Lyssa to go to her sister, as close as the pair was. He could call his brother and ask Bryce to keep Lyssa occupied until he got there. That thought made him pause. If he made the call, it would require he explain why, which was not something he wanted to go into on the phone. He’d have to hope Lyssa chose to spend an extended amount of time with her sister. “I appreciate the heads-up, David. I can take over from here.”