Chapter One #3
Was that a hint of color accentuating Donovan’s wide cheekbones?
Reaux sensed romance in the air, suppressing a grin. People always gave away their secrets without realizing it—a look, a gesture, a word. The littlest thing became the biggest weapon.
“Derek Close.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Close. We’re expecting him, Donovan; Ozzie dropped his luggage off a few minutes ago and let us know Mr. Close had chosen to walk.”
The big guy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Maybe next time you could pass the message on, Jennifer, and inform us. You know, the security team? It might save the next client from rolling around on the ground with taser prongs in his ass.”
The horrified silence which followed was rather amusing, Reaux thought as he rubbed his thumb over his mouth, watching Donovan carefully. Was the man a practical joker, or simply teaching the receptionist a lesson in communication?
When he winked at Reaux, he decided it was a combination of the two.
“W-What did you do, Donovan?” Jennifer whispered.
“My job. I’ll drag his sorry ass down to you when he regains feeling in his legs. Maybe have some fresh pants ready for him; I think the high voltage shorted out his bladder.”
“Oh my God, oh my God—”
Donovan switched the radio off and tucked it back into the belt. “Sorry about that. I’ll walk with you if you don’t mind.”
“Do you often torment the receptionists?”
Massive shoulders shrugged. “Only when necessary. The girls who hold down the fort are good at their jobs, they just forget to loop security in on pertinent details occasionally. Maybe she’ll remember next time. Could you maybe limp when you check in?”
“Perhaps. I refuse to soil myself, however.”
That earned a grin from Donovan. “I like you, Mr. Close. Is that French in your accent?”
“You have a good ear. I spent some time there in my formative years,” Reaux lied, needing to steer the conversation away from his origins.
The last thing he needed was his new friend commenting on how a new guest sounded similar to a certain Mistress—that is, if Violet hadn’t taught herself to mask her accent.
“Occasionally, it slips through, particularly on certain words.”
They started walking, following the path carved out through the forest, heading down a gentle incline toward the focal point of civilization in an otherwise natural world.
“Hope you don’t mind small talk. Some guests prefer their escort to be silent, so just tell me to shut up if you’d rather have quiet time.”
“And miss this delightful interaction?” Reaux asked dryly. “Tell me, have you been working here long?”
“Four months, give or take a few days.”
“That seems a reasonable amount of time to gauge the community spirit. A club like this requires strong leadership, no?”
Donovan shot him a glance. “Don’t think you’ll have any problems with the leadership. Elias runs a tight ship—break the rules and you’re out. Family is the operative word here; harm the family and the Daddies don’t have any qualms about coming down like a nuclear warhead on the offender.”
Well, that sounded ominous. “The Daddies?”
“Evander and Elias Ledston-Mitchell. They own the club and co-Dom, co-husband their Little wife, Callie. Between them, the layers of security, and the club Masters, not much gets by us in the way of rulebreakers.”
Reaux supposed that worked well in Violet’s favor. At least she’d chosen to land in a place where she was safe and protected, even if the journey here might have broken his creed on keeping herself out of harm’s way. “I see. Are there many Masters?”
“At the last count, twelve Masters and six or seven Mistresses now. There was a big recruitment drive a few months ago when the residential side of the club was being expanded—we had several new additions; some stayed, some didn’t.
” A big shoulder shrugged. “Eli tracks down and drafts new blood, but only when they fit his meticulous criteria.”
“Hmmm. Which Mistress would you be inclined to recommend?”
The briefest glint of astonishment flashed in hazel eyes before Donovan schooled his face into professional lines.
“If sessions with a Mistress are what you’re looking for, it depends on your kinks, I guess.
Ericka and Felicity spend most of their time in the Nursery, although Ericka dabbles in the Dungeon.
Mistress Katriona is a skilled sadist; Mistress Pixie specializes in pet play.
For general play, Mistress Violet is likely your best choice as she has her fingers in every aspect. ”
His heart reacted to the sound of her name, forcing him to catch his breath to mask the sudden jolt beneath his breastbone. The confirmation released a year’s worth of stress, worry, and anger he hadn’t know he was hoarding.
Clearing his throat, Reaux lifted a brow in interest. “Pets and Littles are foreign to me, I must admit, and sadism…” That was more his kink, if he was at the giving end of the cane. “It takes a brave man to hand the safety of his genitals to a woman who takes pleasure in giving pain, does it not?”
“It damn well does,” Donovan agreed.
“Perhaps I will enquire about this… Mistress Violet?”
“Sure. Just ask Jennifer when you check in. She can arrange an introduction if you’d like one, or simply add you to the schedule.”
When Donovan started rambling on about the simplicity and merits of the club system, Reaux tuned him out.
They were getting closer to the club now, approaching the first cabins which—at first glance—appeared to be residential judging by the knick-knacks and trinkets, curtains and potted plants adorning several of them.
This was the most dangerous part of his plan, the most likely to expose him before he was ready. All it would take was for Violet to step out of one of these cabins, simply glance out the window at the wrong time, and she…
Hell, he didn’t know what she would do now.
Stand and confront him? Hide herself away in her accommodations? Run again?
During the twelve years of knowing her, his little beignet had done all three of those at one time or another.
She was a wildcard, her actions rarely following the same path twice in succession.
Maybe that boded well for him—her last action was running from Louisiana to Colorado, so that left fighting him or hiding.
He rather hoped she chose hiding—he’d love to end a yearlong chase across the country with a game of hide and seek. Dragging her from her hole, sinking his cock inside her… it was the kind of primal play he indulged in every now and then.
With Violet, he wasn’t sure her reclaiming would be labelled play.
The rules of engagement were different now, presenting a unique challenge. She was no longer a young, twenty-six year old ingenue paddling in the pool of BDSM; she was a queen circling its waters, stronger than ever and ready to rule his kingdom back home.
Gravel crunched beneath his shoes in time with Donovan’s boots as they headed deeper into the compound. Security appeared to be proficient—Reaux’s sharp eyesight had spotted several cameras on the trail, and there were considerably more here.
“Cameras?” he asked.
“A necessary evil. While we have rigid screening methods during application reviews, we are not infallible; the occasional bad egg slips through the net. The security team have all signed NDAs, and only the Master of Security and a couple of others handle the recorded footage. Master Maverick designed and built a secure data storage unit to hold all the recordings, which will be deleted after twelve months.” Chest puffed out with pride, Donovan’s expression was solemn.
“We take both the safety and privacy of our guests seriously.”
Would he be considered a bad egg? Reaux wondered in amusement. After all, he’d crafted and submitted a fictional name on his application. Not for nefarious reasons—just to keep Violet from learning of his arrival before he had time to get himself in position.
Hmmm, was that a nefarious reason?
Perhaps, but it was too late to retract now.
He posed no threat to anyone but her, and that was only if she deemed him one.
“That is good to know.” His eyebrow lifted as a delicate, porcelain-skinned redhead rocketed through the door of the building they were approaching, her black pumps skidding to a halt on the porch before she took a tumble down the steps.
“Uh-oh,” his companion muttered.
Pale green eyes narrowed on Donovan, then on Reaux, and the stunning panic on her face shut down into bristling fury. Chest heaving, the redhead spun in place, storming back inside, and slammed the door behind her.
“That would be, ah—”
“Jennifer,” Donovan replied with a sigh.
“I think the jig is up.”
“Time to face the music, I guess.” Donovan rolled his shoulders and made a beeline for the steps. “This is the clubhouse. The main office, bar, and restaurant take up the ground floor. Medical clinic, boss’s office, and some of the guest accommodations are upstairs. Did you book a cabin or a room?”
The reservation was for an open-ended stay, but he hadn’t specified a preference for his accommodation. “I’m not sure. I didn’t ask for one or the other.”
“How long are you planning on being here?”
As long as it took to convince Violet she belonged with him, not hiding her light under a fucking bush in the wilds of Denver. “At least a month. I’m taking a long vacation.”
Donovan pursed his lips as he opened the door. “Jennifer probably allocated you a cabin. Anything over a week usually warrants a residential cabin unless otherwise requested.”
Reaux walked in ahead of him, well aware he was being used as a shield.
Ignoring the death glare aimed at him, he glanced around at the décor.
Understated elegance, a lot of glossy wood and glass.
The scent of something delicious drifted from the doors to his left; the low murmur of energetic chatter from the ones on his right.