“You want to tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Marc looked across the desk where Adam sat with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a laptop open to his right, doing his best to avoid eye contact. The screensaver showed photos of him and his wife, Joni. Marc stared at them a while—scenes of Joni and Adam on their wedding day, ones of her walking along an icy lakeshore, more couple shots in front of a lighthouse, on a sunny beach, and dressed in ski gear in the mountains.
A photo of a tombstone with the Montague name on it flashed on the screen for a second before Adam reached over and closed the lid on the computer, forcing Marc’s attention in his direction. The man’s wife had died of cancer nine years ago this November. Marc knew the month, because, every year for the past five years, Adam had made an annual pilgrimage to her gravesite in Minnesota a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. Damián and Marc knew that date was non-negotiable on his calendar.
He usually came home and had some pretty dark days until he got past all the holidays. Marc and Damián had learned to steer clear of him during those dark times—and to not let the subs decorate the club for the holidays. They could never do it to Adam’s satisfaction, which upset them because they wanted to please him. He’d thanked them, but asked that they not bother after the first year the club was open.
“I’ve been letting you stew in your own juices for nearly a year now.” Adam’s words brought him back to the dressing down he was about to receive. “What the fuck is going on? What are you thinking, lying to that woman? You said you cared about her when you rescued her last month. Prove it.”
The man wasn’t one to mince words. Marc met Adam’s gaze. “I do. I swear to God, I don’t know why. In the beginning, she didn’t recognize me and there was no point reminding her of that time.”
“When did you start negotiating scenes with her?”
“The next night. At her house.”
“You should have told her then.”
Marc ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the floor. “She insisted she wasn’t a submissive. I wanted to prove her wrong, but I didn’t want to tell her I had insider information.”
“Is she?”
Marc looked up. “Is she what?”
“Submissive, damn it. Keep up with this conversation.”
Marc smiled. “Hell, yes, sir.”
“Well, you can do what you want off-premises, but you’re not going OFP in here.”
The man was channeling his inner master sergeant today, for sure, referring to a Marine expression Marc knew well—OFP, or going off on your Own Fucking Program, rather than following the rules of the mission or group.
Of course, Adam had gone OFP on a couple of occasions, but those involved saving the men in his units, including Marc on one occasion. But Marc knew the BDSM community had established strict protocols, as well as general rules, that Doms and subs, Tops and bottoms, Masters and slaves were to follow. Made it easier to navigate the social waters when new people became part of the subculture.
“Doms do not lie to submissives in this club. Now, tell me how and when you’re going to tell her who you are.”
“Give me a couple days.”
“Why?”
Marc hated to admit this to his friend and mentor, but met his steady gaze. “I already failed her once.” His voice was husky with unfamiliar emotion. He shifted in his seat. “I need to prove she can trust me to be there for her if she needs me.”
“Come again?”
Marc looked away, remembering the night he just hadn’t wanted to be here. “I arrived at the club late that night. By the time you brought me up to speed and I began to make the rounds, she’d already been on that damned cross nearly an hour. If I’d been on time, I would have ended that scene long before she went into deep subspace.”
“You sound like Damián.”
Marc looked at Adam, puzzled.
“Instead of blaming the insurgents for killing Sarge, he blamed himself. Well, I’ve got news for you both, Doc. Shit happens. Sometimes diarrhea happens.” Adam hadn’t called him by his corpsman’s nickname for years. He continued, “There were other DMs on duty that night, too, and I’d been by to check on them. The scene went downhill fast. All that matters is that you were there in time. The only person to blame for what happened to Angelina that night is the dickwad Dom she was with who went beyond her limits.”
Marc wasn’t convinced he could be absolved from guilt. He diverted his gaze to the wall to his left where a huge painting hung that Karla had given Adam, trying to brighten up his dark office—an oil on canvas with a stand of quaking aspens against a deep blue Colorado sky.
Adam captured his wandering mind. “Damián didn’t believe me either. But deep down, you both know I’m right. I may not outrank you now—”
Marc smiled at him. “You’ll always outrank us, sir.”
“Good to hear. Now tell me about this burr you’ve had up your ass for the last year.”
Definitely a straight shooter. When Damián had been on the brink of suicide, Adam had given him a similar shock therapy session to wake him up and turn things around. Damián didn’t laugh a lot back then, but he usually did when he recounted how he found himself recruited to become a Dom in a BDSM club.
So, it looked like it was Marc’s turn. He sure as hell hadn’t been able to sort out the problem in all this time. Maybe Adam could help. The man might not have gone to college, but he sure as hell had a wealth of wisdom about life.
“I was dating a woman last year for a few months.”
“Pamela?”
Marc looked up. “Yeah. How’d you remember her?”
Adam smiled. “That was a track record for you, Doc. What—four months?”
Marc grinned. “Three. Well, therein lies the problem. She wanted to take it further than I could go.” He grew serious and looked down at the floor. “I freaked, Adam. Not a full-blown panic attack, but close to it.”
“Who was she?”
Puzzled, Marc looked up again at Adam. “Pamela?”
Adam sighed. Marc thought he’d been paying attention, but had better pay even closer attention.
“No, the one who still has you running.”
Marc didn’t want to talk about that part of his life. His heart pounded until he heard the blood rushing through his ears. “That was a long time ago.”
“Judging by that jackrabbit pulse in your neck, I’d say not long enough for you to talk about her without another near panic attack.” Adam paused, then closed in for the kill. “What did she do to you?”
Marc could feel his throat closing. He really didn’t want to talk about this. Getting up, he said, “Look, Luke and I haven’t had much sleep and I’m sure he’d like to head home now.”
“Sit down.” The command was spoken in his normal voice, but was a command nonetheless. When Marc remained standing, he added, “Take that as a direct order from your former top sergeant. You’re not leaving this office until you spill it.” Adam leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the edge of the desk. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you.”
Marc tried to swallow, but his throat had gone dry. Adam had been there for him during one of the darkest times of his life. The man had never done anything but love and support him ever since. He didn’t want Adam to think him less of a man for what he’d done.
Adam won’t abandon you. He also wouldn’t share anything outside this room. When Marc sat back down, Adam smiled almost imperceptibly. Bastard. Marc gritted his teeth, trying to decide what to say. How much did he want to divulge about a time in his life he’d really like to forget?
He blinked. “She screwed Gino. The day I was going to propose to her, I found her and Gino together in my bed.”
“That sucks, but it doesn’t sound like a woman who’s worth at least nine years of anxiety.”
Adam would know exactly how long ago Gino had been killed. He’d been there with him in Afghanistan.
“What else?”
“Gino and I fought that day as only brothers can. We’d always had a rivalry, but so many ugly things were said—mostly by me. I was angry, hurt. Once again, he’d taken the thing I wanted most.” Marc tried to swallow, but his throat was tight and dry. He studied his hands clenching and unclenching in front of him, then forced himself to relax them.
“I told him I wished he’d never been born.” The words were spoken barely above a whisper, but sounded to his ears as if shouted through a megaphone. He’d actually said he wished he were dead, but those words somehow seemed too despicable to admit to his friend.
“Gino proposed to her that day and she accepted. I know he did it out of spite. He’d have come to his senses eventually—if there’d been time.” Even though Adam knew Gino the Marine, he probably didn’t know what Gino was like as a civilian. “Gino had been the studious one, driven to have a career. He didn’t have a lot of experience with women, especially women like Melissa. I found out later she’d manipulated him into bed. She could see he’d have a higher payout than I would in life.”
Marc was silent, lost in thought.
After a moment, Adam verbally nudged him. “Then what happened?”
“Nine-Eleven—a week later. Gino enlisted. I’d left Aspen after the altercation and didn’t even return home to say goodbye before he left for boot camp. Never saw him alive again.”
Adam let the words hang in the air a moment. “And the woman?”
“Yeah, well, she kept showing up like gum on the soles of my best pair of Gucci shoes. I was angry at Gino for dying. The funeral…I let her manipulate me into the bedroom just hours after we buried him.” Marc hung his head, not proud of the man he’d been before he’d joined the Navy and later trained to serve with the Marines in one of Adam’s units.
“Any woman who’d take advantage of a man at a time like that should be horsewhipped. What else did she do?”
Wasn’t that bad enough? Still embarrassed, he couldn’t look at Adam. “I had a reputation as a Dom with women in the grapevine at the resort. I could give them what their vanilla-sex men couldn’t or wouldn’t. I became a Dom at seventeen.”
“A little young.”
Marc grinned. “Well, there was a persuasive cougar staying at the resort who saw to my training.” He sobered again. “They were older, had more power, and pretty much told me what they wanted. It was more a role to play than something innate that I felt.” Marc glanced away for a moment, but wanted to see the reaction on his friend’s face and turned back. “When Melissa showed up on my doorstep eighteen months after the funeral, I…forced her.”
Adam scowled. “You raped her?”
Marc sat up straighter. “Shit, no, sir! She wanted to have sex. She even wanted it rough. But I’d never used a woman like that before to meet my needs. Had never taken out my anger on a woman’s body like that. Spankings always had been foreplay until then. Never used as a punishment. I have no doubt she had bruises for a week after the paddling I gave her. And her clit was probably sore even longer from the forced orgasms.”
“Doesn’t sound as harsh as the punishment I’d have given her for that stunt at Gino’s funeral. But I find most subs aren’t traumatized by a good paddling or a little orgasm torture—once it’s over anyway.”
Marc remembered a demonstration in the club’s medical room where Adam and Grant had shown the technique to a younger Dom who wanted to try orgasm torture on his sub. Grant, who had served with Marc’s Marine recon unit, wouldn’t bottom for anyone but her former top sergeant, Adam. But if she hadn’t been restrained so securely on that table, Adam could have kissed goodbye the ability to ever obtain an erection again, because she’d have delivered a well-placed kick to his cock and balls—somewhere after about the fifth orgasm in ten or fifteen minutes.
He realized Adam was waiting for him to continue. “I went OFP that night. We didn’t negotiate any of that scene. Hadn’t been active in the lifestyle for a very long time. I did whatever I wanted, based on what she’d agreed to two years before.” Marc paused. “I was out of control. I don’t ever want to let that happen again.”
Adam stared at him a few moments, then said, “That’s been a long time. What else happened with Pamela?”
Adam sure would have made a great interrogator of prisoners. Marc had glossed over his last regular sub, not even hinting that she’d been part of the real issue. “Nothing like that. She just started to get under my skin. I liked her a lot.” In comparison to Angelina, he realized he still hadn’t lowered his defenses much, because he already was in a lot deeper with the woman in the other room.
“Pamela didn’t manipulate me into doing what she wanted. She seemed like the perfect sub.” Marc drew air into his constricted lungs. “I even proposed to her last year.”
Adam didn’t allow too much dust to accumulate on that grenade. “What happened?”
“Once she had me hooked, she asked me to be her Master in a twenty-four/seven after we were married.”
Adam glanced at a framed photo of Joni across his desk. Shit. Marc knew they had enjoyed that kind of relationship, well, when Adam wasn’t deployed, anyway. Would Adam be able to understand why that idea freaked Marc out so much?
Adam turned his gaze back to Marc. “That kind of relationship isn’t for most people in the lifestyle. Very intense and takes a lot of work, especially on a Dom’s part.”
Marc relaxed. “Exactly. I didn’t want to live the lifestyle twenty-four/seven. Or to have to become a disciplinarian on a regular basis. If that was what she needed, then I knew she needed to find another Dom.” Marc stood and paced in front of Adam’s desk. “She wasn’t too happy about that response. Tried to assure me she would be happy being my bedroom sub, but I knew she’d always wonder if she could change me. Or if she’d eventually go looking for someone who would give her what she wanted.”
Adam nodded. “Now, tell me what all this has to do with you lying to Angelina That’s no way to instill trust.”
“She’s haunted me since that night I rescued her.” Marc cast an accusatory glance at Adam. “Not that you’d reveal her contact info so I could do anything about it. If she hadn’t happened to show up in that bar—”
“I don’t go OFP on the trust subs and bottoms place in me.”
Ouch.
Marc sat down again. He had asked Angelina to trust him, but he hadn’t opened himself up in return. In truth, he didn’t know if he could trust anyone. Except maybe Adam and Damián. Possibly Luke, although he’d never tested him. But he could trust no woman he’d ever met. “She scares the hell out of me.”
He saw understanding in Adam’s eyes and his gaze shifted momentarily to the aspen painting on the wall, but returned to Marc. “What scares you most?”
Marc didn’t need long to come up with an answer, but didn’t want to put it into words. Adam’s stare indicated the man could outwait him. Well, there were some things maybe he didn’t even want to share with Adam. Maybe he’d make a lesser confession to appease him. “I’ve never been a real Dom before. Not even in the bedroom.”
“What the fuck does ‘real’ mean? That’s like saying someone is a ‘true’ submissive. There isn’t a one size fits all to this lifestyle. Hell, I knew you were dominant when I saw you in that fetish club in LA with Damián.”
“Well, then, I haven’t been a very good one. I’ve been topped from the bottom all my life, except for Pamela, but she needed more than I could give her.” Maybe he’d just been playing the role of Dom all these years, but didn’t really believe he’d been a Dom. “I’m filling Angelina’s head with notions of a Dom/sub relationship as if I actually have a clue.”
“Have you all talked about what each of you want or don’t want—kinks, likes, dislikes, limits?”
“We’ve begun to, yes.”
“In wartime, a plan is just a plan, Marc. Sometimes you have to determine conditions on the ground and proceed with your best intel.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “But when you need to go Own Fucking Plan, then do it. BDSM is a spectrum. Some people get no further than tying someone to the bed. Others aren’t satisfied unless there’s blood drawn.”
Adam swung his feet off the desk and onto the floor out of sight, then clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward. “No one has to be in that bedroom but you two, well, unless you two want to bring someone else in there.” Adam grinned. “Trust your gut. Keep talking with her, negotiating scenes, and getting to know each other. You’ve really only known her a couple days. Give it time. What’s the hurry?”
“She’s only here for the week.”
“Oh, give me a fucking break.” Adam struck the desk with his fist. “She only lives three hours away. Try having a relationship with your subbie when you’re on the other side of the fucking world half the time.”
He looked at Joni’s picture again and the look of regret and something that looked a lot like guilt crossed his face. Even halfway around the world, he could tell Adam and Joni had been closer emotionally than Marc had ever been with any woman.
What if I can never let my guard down?
“Angelina needs someone who can meet all her needs. What if I’m not that Dom?” On a whisper, he added, “Not the man she needs?”
Still looking at Joni’s photo, he said, “I’ve learned over the years the right woman can be awfully forgiving of her man’s shortcomings.” He looked at Marc. “Just treat her with love and respect. Don’t take her for granted, unless circumstances prevent you from being there for her when she needs you. And never lie to her—that’s the biggest one.”
Adam cleared his throat. “You have exactly three days to come clean with Angelina about who you are, which is about three days longer than I hope you’ll take.”
“Now I have one more favor to ask.” Marc had no doubt Adam would gladly be on board with this request.
* * *
Luke munched on his third peanut butter-flavored brownie and watched Angel and Karla talk nonstop about all the things Karla had planned for the week. Well, good. The fewer interactions he had with Angel, the better. What Karla didn’t orchestrate, he was sure Marc would.
“On Thursday, I’m going up to Cassie’s cabin to pick her up for our annual overnight campout. This year, we’re actually coming back up here to camp on Mt. Evans. There are some mountain goats there she’s wanting to photograph.
Cassie sounded like Maggie, pursuing elusive bits of nature. He wondered who she was.
“Would you like to go with us, Angie?”
Angel flinched. No small wonder she had the same aversion he had to that mountain. He didn’t have to guess at the reason.
“I’m not sure. I’m not much of an outdoorsy person. But don’t change your plans. I’m sure Luke and Marc will keep me busy.”
Marc maybe.
“Oh, believe me, you can’t be less outdoorsy than I am. But Cassie’s amazing. She knows the mountains like the back of her hand. I’ll bet she knows them even better than Marc, well, except maybe for Mt. Evans. But he makes his living in that mountain wilderness.”
“He does?” Angel asked. Hadn’t Marc told her what he did? Well, there probably hadn’t been time for chit chat last night.
Karla suddenly looked stricken and glanced at Luke for help. She’d forgotten she wasn’t supposed to know Marc before today.
“Yeah, you heard him right at dinner. He takes people on wilderness treks. Bonding treks mostly, corporate executives trying to figure out what makes each other tick. I think Marc would live in the wilderness, if he didn’t enjoy the finer things in civilized life so much.”
Luke saw relief in Karla’s eyes, and disappointment in Angel’s. “Don’t worry, Angel. He wouldn’t drag anyone out there who didn’t want the adventure.”
As if his words had thrown down some invisible gauntlet, she raised her chin. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be willing to try hiking or camping. I just haven’t had an interest in it…before.”
The unspoken “Marc” hung in the air between them.
Still, she impressed the hell out of him. Even though the thought of going up on that mountain scared her to death, she didn’t want to be seen as scared or weak. Strong woman, not that he hadn’t figured that out in how she’d taken care of Allen Martin the other night. He wondered how far her bravado would take her, though. Would she actually go camping overnight on the mountain that took her father’s life?
As much as he’d like her to overcome her fears, and it would keep him from having to interact with her as much this week, he wouldn’t goad her into going. But at least there wasn’t any chance of an avalanche this time of year. Not that there weren’t thousands of other dangers, based on the rescues he was involved in year-round.
* * *
Allen Martin watched as his cleaning crew prepared daVinci’s bar for another week of debauchery. The clock over the bar read four-fifteen; Rico liked to have it cleaned Sunday afternoons. Allen didn’t usually check up on his cleaning crews and knew he was making them damned nervous right now judging by the surreptitious glares they kept shooting his way. Then the two workers headed to the restrooms. Good. He’d prefer they were at some other part of the bar right now anyway. He didn’t want an audience.
Angelina wouldn’t be returning here tonight to whore in public for the two men she’d picked up the other night. No, she’d packed her things and left with them shortly after noon today. He’d been parked down the street waiting for their Landrover to drive off so he could finish what he’d started Saturday night, Emergency Protection Order or not.
A restraining order sure hadn’t helped his ex-wife any, either.
When he’d seen her come out with them and stow a suitcase in the back, he was stunned. The bitch had run off with them! If he didn’t have a client appointment, he’d have followed them.
Well, right now, he needed to find Rico’s big-brother notebook before his workers came back. He remembered the drill when he’d met Angelina here back in January. No doubt Rico would have required the same info from those guys before he’d have let her leave with them on Saturday night. Allen hoped the book wasn’t locked in the cash register or the office in back. He wouldn’t be able to open that, well, not without leaving clues to a break-in. But he was reasonably certain Rico kept it on hand for when he needed to get all protective of his female friends.
Damn it. Allen didn’t have time for this bullshit. He was supposed to be running through the books to make sure his accountant wasn’t cheating him. He saw nothing on the top of the bar or in the area where the liquor was lined up three bottles deep. Maybe below the bar. Rico kept the notebook here, he was certain of it. But where?
He began rooting around under the bar, but didn’t see anything familiar. Aha! Allen pulled the familiar hunter-green, leather-bound portfolio from where it had been tucked next to a bin of clean bar towels. His hand shook as he reached down and pulled it out. Not wanting his workers to see him, he turned around and walked to the other end of the bar where he opened the portfolio and flipped the pages up until he came to the last page with writing. Nothing. Just a liquor shopping list. He flipped back another page.
Bingo.
Two names stared up at him. Marco D’Alessio. Stephen Lucas Denton. He jotted down their license numbers and addresses. Then he closed the portfolio and returned it to its hiding place.
So, he’d be taking a drive to Denver tomorrow. Then it hit him. That voice had sounded so familiar. He looked down at his notes. Marco. The man had reminded him of some…that’s it! The Dungeon Monitor Supervisor at the Masters at Arms who had ended his scene with Angie last month before it had barely gotten started.
Apparently, Angie’s meeting him here last night was no accident. Had the two been seeing each other since last month? Is that why she hadn’t been hanging out at the bar all this time?
No big surprise that they’d known each other intimately, given how they’d danced last night.
Slut.
D’Alessio had shut down Allen’s scene with her that night just so he could get his kink on with her. The bastard had stolen her from him.
Well, we’ll see who she’ll be with…in the end.