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CHAPTER NINETEEN: CLOSER LOOK
He watched eagerly as Rand leaned in to whisper into Max’s ear. The ever-scheming lawyer held his breath slightly as he studied the exchange. Rand would ask her to come home with him.
Of course he would. Who wouldn’t?
But would Max go?
He sat, scrutinizing every movement, every shift of their bodies. Invisible in the crowd, he waited—and, if he were honest, which he so rarely was, he worried.
What he was worried about, he wasn’t quite sure. They weren’t exclusive. And he would never require something from someone that he himself couldn’t hold to.
But that niggling feeling, like a breath held or a heartbeat skipped, stayed, nipping at his nerves.
He wanted to interrupt. Wanted to pounce. To steal her away. He wanted her. He wanted to take her.
But it had to be Max’s choice. He had to give her the choice. He owed her that much. So he stayed where he was, hidden by the crowd, just observing her.
After discussing things quietly, negotiating with even offers and counters, Max allowed herself to be seated off to the side while Rand left to collect his things, clean up the space, and grab drinks for the both of them. They sat side by side on the padded floor and watched the other scenes going on.
Max pointed at a suspension scene where a woman had tied her partner upside-down, flipping her agilely so she hung from the ropes. Max gasped when another woman dripped wax over a man’s naked body. She leaned in to whisper in Rand’s ear and gestured to a man who lit flash cotton over a woman’s bare chest like a magic trick, intrigue clear on her face.
She was curious, now that she’d stepped into this world.
He’d known that she would be.
She had a broad and inquisitive mind, creative and so quick. He loved to watch her like this, new and discovering.
But he wanted so much more.
———
Max yawned and headed to her car. Though she was thoroughly surprised, tonight had been a really good time.
She almost felt silly for having been so spooked by all this before. It’d seemed so much more sinister, more dangerous and threatening when she’d imagined Kat in the middle of it. When she’d thought of what a dungeon would be like before tonight, she’d never imagined that it would be so much fun.
But now, Max liked the word play so much better. It seemed more apt. It had felt like play, like a game. Where the roles and the rules weren’t so set in stone.
Rand may have topped her, but she’d been in control. He may have directed where their play went, but she had decided how far they would go. Despite its outward appearance, she’d held a lot of the power.
Huh.
And she couldn’t wait to do it again. She’d made plans with Rand. And Cora, the rope top who’d agreed to suspend her soon. And Jared who’d agreed to let her—slowly—try wax play.
It amazed her the range and variety of kink available. All the skills one could learn and perfect. How much innovation and imagination was involved. And the level of education and intelligence it took.
She hadn’t expected that.
Who would have thought that the kink world was inhabited by...well, by geeks? The kids who’d been beaten up for lunch money were now wielding the whip. The kids who’d hidden in the library now came out to play. The kids who’d stayed home studying now used all those smarts to have some wicked fun.
Business moguls. Tech whizzes. Public servants. Medical wonders and brilliant educators.
Who would have thought the thinkers of the world would have a freaky side?
Actually, it kind of made sense. These were the people who made a living out of overthinking everything; why wouldn’t they do the same with sex? Of course, they would take this very basic, age-old act and re-work, re-tool, and re-vamp it into something new. It seemed kind of obvious, in a way.
Max smiled. No wonder a part of her was—had always been—a little drawn to this place. A part of her had somehow known it was home.
She reached for her keys and went to open her car door.
A hand reached out of the shadows, pushing her back onto the hood of her car. Not hard, but firm. A wordless command. Stay.
Max fought a smirk. When would he learn?
She stomped on her blond shadow’s sleek-shoed foot, making him grunt and loosen his grip. Seeing her chance, she moved to kick him in the shin but he smoothly moved out of her way, and she used the opportunity to put distance between them. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked the sneaky sadist. “Stalking me?”
He stepped closer, still concealed by the shadows, but she could see his outline. Tall. Imposing. In pain.
Good.
He stood alone in the street, almost swallowed by the shadows. No, not swallowed, she thought while she watched the way the play of light caressed him...embraced him. Fair-haired and light-eyed, he was a man who welcomed and who was welcomed by the night, the only light the dark could love.
“You were the one who came to see me,” he reminded her as he shook out his foot. She liked to imagine that there were scuff marks on his perfectly shined shoe. “Was there a specific reason?”
Max frowned. Why had she come here? She’d wanted to talk to him. See him. But about what? Specifically?
She couldn’t remember. Certainly not at the moment. She was tired and let out a long yawn. “It can wait,” she said. “I think I’m done for the night.”
“So we’ll make it quick,” he said. “I thought you’d like to see the plans for Hallie’s grand opening.”
“You could send them to me,” she suggested.
“Or my office is just up there.” He pointed to the building just behind them. “Then you can ask me any questions or make any adjustments right there instead of us emailing back and forth.”
“It’s late,” she said.
“I have coffee,” he offered.
She scoffed. “Office coffee.” She thought of all the bitter swill she’d had to drink at business meetings and on late mornings.
“Whole bean Sumatra.”
Max ran her hands through her now loose and unruly hair, considering. She closed her eyes and inhaled as if imagining the smell and taste of the brew. “Fine,” she told him, “but it’d better be good.”
“The coffee or the plans.”
“Both.” She sauntered past him toward his office building. “Or you’ll pay dearly for it.”
———
He leaned over her shoulder while she looked at the drafts and sketches laid out on his computer screen. Already, she’d taken charge, making several changes to the plans, from insisting on inviting the press—because, though he didn’t like to attract attention, Max had pointed out that this wasn’t about him; it was about Hallie, and she and her store needed and deserved the publicity—to what food the caterers ought to serve. She’d liked the booths for all the local businesses and local celebrities, thought a huge show of community support would not only boost Hallie’s business but all of theirs.
He had to smile when she’d told him that Elysia Publishing’s booth would have to “A) be bigger and B) be more prominently placed, maybe in front of the shop, right in the press’s line of sight.”
“So I take it that you approve of the plans?” he said with an arched brow.
“Make my changes, send me the re-do, and we’ll see.” She sipped her second cup of coffee. At least that seemed to meet her complete approval.
“Fair enough,” he said with a laugh, and moved to lounge in the chair across from his desk, finding the reversed view odd but somehow intriguing. “So how was your night tonight?”
Max leaned forward to rest her elbows on the desk, her chin in her hands. “Good,” she replied daringly. “And yours? You seemed to be having a good time with...Reena, was it?”
So she had seen him. He’d been wondering.
“We should,” he paused, searching for the right words, “revisit the terms of our arrangement.” He leaned back, studying her intently. “I have your file, if you want it.” He pulled it out from his jacket’s pocket. “And we can delete your digital file from here, if you like.” He watched her reach for the few remaining folded pages.
“Without this, I could never come back to the club,” she said, a note of sadness touching her voice.
“No,” he said definitively.
She sighed. “How secure is your system?”
“We’ve never had a problem before,” he answered smoothly. “Peter Richards keeps a very close eye on the privacy of our members. And, as you know, he has as much to lose in this as any of them, should those files come out.”
She nodded. Her brow furrowing, she gripped the file tight in her fists. Her shoulders straightened before she put the papers back on the desk. “I’d like to stay,” she said. “With the option of leaving—with my file—at any time for any reason.”
He paused, frowning as he stared her down. “Is that really all you want from me, Max?” he asked, his voice low and quiet with disappointment. “Is that really all that connects us?”
Her gaze faltered. Uncertainty, so rarely seen in those steadfast, sure eyes, flickered there now. “We had something,” she acknowledged hesitantly, then shook her head. “But it’s done now.”
“Why?” he asked. “Surely not because you’re afraid of a connection to the club. You spent all night forming new connections.”
“You say that like an accusation,” she shot back. “Jealous?”
No.
Of course not.
He never got jealous.
He was always the one warning others about jealousy.
He was not jealous.
“It’s not an accusation,” he clarified, as much to her as to himself and the uncomfortable feeling snaking around inside. “It’s an observation. You’re willing to make connections to Rand and Cora and Jared and to Donovan’s itself. But not with me. Why?”
Max crossed her arms over her breasts. “You lied to me.” She shook her head. “You’ve been playing me from the start. I’m not a toy, sir,” she said. “I won’t be treated like one.”
He huffed heavily and shook his head, feeling the unavoidable fight brewing. “I don’t believe you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You like games,” he told her. She was right; she wasn’t some toy. She was so much better than that.
She was an opponent. A fellow player. Another lover of the game. “You like it just as much as I do. The challenge. The give and take. Admit it.” It was what he saw when she played with Rand. It was what he saw when she worked. It was what he knew when she was with him. He moved forward to lean on the desk, invading her space. “At least, admit that.”
His office. Hallie’s dressing room. His car. He couldn’t be the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about it. It had to mean as much to her. She had to want it just as much.
Didn’t she?
She turned away, swiveling the chair to the side to look out his window into the night. They sat there quietly for a long moment, her thoughts filling the space. “Are you sleeping with them?” she finally asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Reena. Pip. Sara. Lynn. Lisa,” she ticked off. “And God only knows who else. Are you sleeping with them?”
He paused, hesitant to answer. But he wouldn’t lie to her. “Yes.” He shrugged. “Not all of them,” he amended, “but, yes, I have other partners.” He sat back before adding, “But not since you and I met. Since you, I’ve only played with other women, no sex.” It was strange for him, but he just hadn’t been as interested in it as he’d once been, hadn’t found as much satisfaction in it.
“I won’t be just another girl in your harem.” Max scowled in his chair. “I won’t just be one of five or fifteen or whatever.”
“How many partners do you think Rand has?” he asked. “How many people do Cora or Jared play with?”
“It’s different,” she insisted.
“Why?”
She pursed her lips, her pink mouth pouting. “It just is.”
“C’mon, Maxie,” he taunted, repeating Rand’s words. “You can do better than that.”
“You made me think I was special!” she shouted at him.
“You are specia—”
“Don’t give me that,” she interrupted. “Yeah, yeah, I’m special; they’re special. We’re all special. That’s not what I mean and you know it, so stop trying to lawyer your way out. You made me think I was special to you.”
She was—if not special, whatever that meant—different. She was different than the others.
But she didn’t look in the mood to hear it. And he didn’t know if he knew exactly how to say it.
“And being special,” he said calmly—almost blandly, “it’s important to you?”
She scoffed. “It’s important to everyone.” Then she shrugged, gathering the red curls that fell over her shoulder. She pulled the strands up, putting the pins back, wrangling the wild mass into her prim twist. “I’m not some hopeless romantic. I understand the spectrum of adult human relationships. I don’t have to be someone’s girlfriend—don’t have to be someone’s lover or soulmate—to have a good time.”
With her hair—her fire—tied back and tight once again, she turned to face him. “But you lied to me. You set us up as something we weren’t. How did you think I was going to feel when I found out?”
“You make it sound as if it was maliciously done. As if the intent was to do this to you, to hurt you.” He moved toward her with each word. “You interest me. Your beauty. Your intelligence. Your passion. Your fire. I wanted to feel it. To taste it. That’s what drew me. That’s why I pursued you.”
He tilted his head, stood in front of her, and placed his hands on the chair’s armrests on either side of her, trapping her. Forcing her to face him. Forcing her to listen. To see. “That is why I want you.”
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