Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Holy kraken, there’s a lot of vehicles here. Finding an empty space, Ray parked her SUV and walked up the curving private drive. Trying to ignore her stomach quivers, she followed the big party signs pointing to the side gate of the three-story brick house.
The backyard held a large paved area and a wide green lawn…and too many people.
On the patio, guests were standing around with drinks, getting food from a long buffet, or sitting at tables to eat. A couple of people were cooking on a massive built-in grill. The tantalizing aroma of meat reminded her she hadn’t eaten lunch.
Okay, here goes. She headed down a charming stone path toward her doom.
“Ray, you made it!” Hope hurried over and caught her up in a hug. “I’m so glad. I want you to meet everyone.”
“How fun.” It’ll be fine. I wanted to meet people. “I don’t see any children. Is this an adult-only party?”
“It is.” Hope linked their arms and tugged Ray toward the patio. “Parents host the alcohol-free, children-inclusive parties since their houses are already kid-proofed. Us childless ones hold the parties with drinks…and occasionally kink.”
“Kink?” Ray stopped short. I should have asked more questions.
“Relax, woman. I’d have warned you if it was that kind of party.” Hope bumped her shoulder. “This is a nice, normal, vanilla barbecue. Probably a third of our guests have never heard of Chains.”
“Whew. Okay.” Ray nudged her friend. “Stop smirking. For one really bad moment, I had visions of a rubber mat covered in baby oil and a lot of naked people.”
Her scowl sent Hope into gales of laughter, drawing grins from everyone within hearing.
Ray rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, here’s Ms. Cork-poppin’ Champagne—bubbly to the max.” She’d used the term back in high school—and not always as a compliment.
“Maaaybe.” Hope’s blue eyes danced. “Are you still a fireworks display, brilliantly explosive?”
The question brought back so many memories—of the friendly teasing from her small group of high school friends. “Not quite as hyperactive, though, I’m no couch potato. Not like you, always napping up in the sun like a cat.”
“Now that’s just mean.” After delivering a quick elbow jab, Hope stopped in front of the grill. “Peter, see? I told you I could talk her into coming. Ray, this is my husband, Peter. Peter, Ray Lanigan, George’s girl.”
Tall and lean, the man turned. When he smiled affectionately at Hope, Ray felt an ache of envy, but it was followed by happiness. Because Hope deserved all the love in the world.
“Welcome, Ray. I’m glad you made it. And I’m sorry I missed meeting you last weekend.”
He meant at Chains. Really, she was seriously happy he and Alex hadn’t arrived before she left.
“Hope said you’re single.” Peter glanced at the other guests. “If you see someone interesting you’d like to meet, let me know.”
Ray’s mouth dropped open. Was the fancy lawyer trying to matchmake?
“Oh, good idea.” Hope beamed. “I was thinking she should meet the other submi—um, friends like Lynn and Tess. I didn’t even think of romantic stuff.”
Ray froze. “No. No, no. Don’t you dare introduce me to men.”
“That sounds quite vehement.” Peter eyed her. “Are you ace—or do you prefer women?”
“Het, but you can consider me asexual for now.”
“Ah. Got it.” He nodded. “As you wish.”
Hope’s brows drew together. “That sounds like a relationship went sour or something.” When Ray winced, she added, “I’m sorry, whatever it was that happened.”
“Thanks.” Being Hope, she’d eventually get the story. Ray waved at the buffet table. “So how about a drink? And is MacKensie here?”
As Drake parked his black SUV in Peter and Hope’s circular drive, his cell rang. Pulling it out, he swiped to answer. “Simon, how are you?”
“Very good, actually. And you?”
“Good, good. Except for a problem with our local BDSM convention. Chains is one of the hosts, and two of our speakers have canceled. The weekend is August 23rd through the 25th. Might you be interested in teaching a couple of the workshops? We would, of course, pay for travel and lodging for you and Rona. And before or after, stay with me at the Seattle condo or on Bainbridge.”
“Interesting idea. Rona has vacation time coming up and does enjoy conventions. What workshops did you have in mind?”
A few minutes later, Drake headed to the party with a smile. One speaker position was filled—and he was looking forward to seeing his martial arts and BDSM mentor again.
The convention attendees would have a treat. Simon was a superb instructor.
Back when Drake had been in college in San Francisco and learning about mixed martial arts, Simon had taken him as a student, then introduced him to BDSM and the ethics of domination.
Simon had strong opinions about how a good man should behave.
Drake shook his head. In all reality, his mentor’s beliefs were a reversal of Drake’s father’s. In Marseille, Papa had worked his way up through the organized crime ranks and expected Drake to follow in his footsteps as an enforcer. Expected obedience and blind loyalty.
Drake had been trying to find a way out when his parents and father’s side of the family were murdered in gang warfare. All of them. He’d have died too if he hadn’t been elsewhere, recovering from a beating his father had given him.
Would have died if the mob learned he was alive. But his mother’s family had taken action, and his US-based uncle brought him to America and adopted him.
In college, Drake had still been trying to figure out where he fit into the world when he met Simon…who became the big brother he never had.
“Merci, Simon,” he said under his breath.
There would be time to catch up with his mentor during the convention. And he had a feeling Simon would adore Ray.
In the backyard, the party was still going full swing although he was running rather late. Not that it mattered today.
Peter, being a lawyer, loathed formal dinner parties. He and Hope usually had much more casual gatherings where people could simply graze the buffet table when hungry.
Drake strolled through the crowd, stopping to chat occasionally, and eventually ran into a group of friends. Alex, Peter, Blaize, and a stranger.
“I wondered if you were going to make it.” With a smile, Alex made room in the circle for Drake. “We’ve been talking about Chains.”
Peter noticed him and grinned, then continued speaking to the man Drake didn’t recognize. “Why don’t you come as my guest next week? It sounds as if you’re ready to learn more about the lifestyle, and since you’re single again, this is a good time.”
The man’s face tightened. “I’m not pleased about being single, thanks.”
“But it happens—and you were only together a few months.” Peter thumped his arm. “Visiting the club will get you out and about.”
Drake almost grinned, having been treated to the same annoying cheerfulness after his two relationships went sour. Peter had no tolerance for moping.
“Drake, good you could join us.” Peter motioned to the stranger. “Let me introduce Theodore Prescott who’s been in my firm for a few years now. We wanted a specialist in international law and sent him off to get his LL.M. in Indiana. He just got back in May.”
Drake nodded politely, acknowledging the introduction used when guests were work associates. Occupations and business affiliations were given rather than actual interests.
Prescott was a couple inches short of six feet and appeared fit, so possibly indulged in a sport more active than the usual golf. But his brown hair was side-parted and cut conservatively, his button-down shirt a muted blue. He looked like a lawyer.
Peter continued. “Theodore, this is Jean-Pierre Dragomir, who owns Dragomir Real Estate & Development. His company put together some of Seattle’s most innovative big projects, including the high-rise you admired that overlooks the wharf.”
Drake smiled and shook hands politely. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Why Indiana?”
“I grew up there and still have siblings near Indianapolis.” Prescott grinned. “I’d forgotten how annoying the snowy winters are. It’s great to be back in Seattle.”
“We’re pleased to have him back,” Peter said. “There’s a need for lawyers familiar with international law.”
Blaize as a professor of tax law nodded agreement. “Global markets are growing.”
Prescott looked at Drake. “I can hear a French accent. Does your company have developments overseas?”
“Non, non. I have some family there, but my business interests are in the US”—he smiled slightly—“to avoid the convoluted area of foreign investment and—”
Noticing a woman with eye-catching, curly red-brown hair, he paused mid-sentence.
Ray Lanigan. He hadn’t expected to see her here. How delightful—and wasn’t she a pretty sight?
Her white jeans were casual but more upscale than shorts.
The blue-green color of her tank matched her eyes and the turquoise strands in her hair.
Even better, it fit nicely enough to showcase fine breasts and toned arms as well as the tree tattoos on her deltoids.
He hadn’t been able to see the ink well in the dungeon.
Intriguing designs. One tattoo was of a blooming tree, showing the form of a woman in the curving trunk. The other was a gnarled old trunk, not only enduring everything but in full autumn foliage. The fall-colored leaves matched the freckles on her face and arms.
He did love freckles.
“See someone you like?” Blaize followed Drake’s gaze. “Ah, the new one from the club. Not as stunning as some of your women, but she looks interesting. Like fun.”
Ray had been fun. And interesting. And had tugged at his heart as well. Quite a mix for one woman. As for stunning? “I find her more than stunning, actually.”
Drake ignored Blaize’s blink of surprise.
Ray was with Hope, Tess, and Mac near the drink table. The women were talking animatedly, hands waving, laughing, not noticing the glances from unattached men. They obviously didn’t need a man’s company to have a fun time.