before stepping back and letting her free. “Our bargain stands. You
may go back in.” He motioned politely to the door.
Her legs
unsteady, she reentered the room. Damn. Her face heated as she realized how she
must look: tousled and turned on. God knew, she felt turned on, and wasn't that
a strange sensation?
A rap on
the front door interrupted her thoughts. Were they expecting more people? “I'll
get this one, pet,” Alex said, patting her bottom on the way past.
When he
opened the door, Mac backed up a step, her breath catching in her throat.
Steel, the Dom who'd attacked her, stood there with a big black bag slung over
his shoulder and wearing battered leathers that left his chest completely bare.
He saw her
standing frozen in the center of the room. “Relax, girl. I'm not here for you.”
He glanced at Alex. “Definitely a pretty sub.”
“I think
so.” Alex raised his voice to the other guests. “This is Steel, who will handle
the evening's punishment.”
As he and
Steel moved into the living room, Mac retreated, trying to find an unobtrusive
spot to hide.
“Sit here
with me.” Curled in one corner of the couch by the windows, Hope patted the
cushion beside her.
Mac
glanced around. Over by the fireplace, Peter and Zachary shook hands with
Steel, while Tess sat nearby listening.
“Thanks.”
Mac dropped down on the couch beside Hope. “I-I don't know why that man is
here. Alex didn't even know him until…” How could she ever explain what had
happened in the club?
“Until
he attacked you. Peter told me. He said all the Doms are furious about it, and that's why that guy is
here.”
“I don't
understand.”
Another
knock on the door. Alex strode across the room to answer it.
Mac shook
her head, a little dismayed. “Alex called this a really little party, just you
guys and—” Her mouth dropped open when Cynthia walked in, hands cuffed in front
of her. A man in a black silk suit followed. Probably a few years older than
Alex, his black hair was shorter, and gray flecked his neatly trimmed mustache.
“My God,
that's Drake,” Hope whispered.
The man
named Drake removed the long coat draped over Cynthia's shoulders. He tossed it
over the table by the front door and pointed to an empty corner. Eyes down, the
tall brunette walked over and knelt, facing the wall.
He and
Alex talked for a moment, and then they both crossed the room toward Mac.
When Hope
slid off the couch onto her knees, Mac gave her a puzzled look but did the
same. Don't look at strange Doms . Mac remembered that rule, so she kept her gaze
firmly on the floor. A pair of dress shoes and black trousers stepped into her
narrow focus. Alex wore boots. This must be Drake, standing over her.
He'd
brought Cynthia. Why? And why did everyone—including Alex—look so grim?
“Hope,
return to your master.” Drake's voice was as deep as Alex's, but with a faint
European accent and as smooth as cream. Yet the smoothness was like a film of
snow over a mountain range, barely covering the power.
Hope
scrambled to her feet and escaped, for escape was totally what it looked like.
“Permission?” Drake
said.
“Granted.” Alex's voice. Mac's hands fisted at her sides. Cynthia, Steel, and Drake, who frightened sweet Hope. What
was going on?
“ MacKensie .” That ever-so-suave voice gave
the end of her name a slight fillip. “Eyes on me.”
She looked
up. Drake held his hand out to her. After a second, she let him pull her to her
feet. He stood a couple of inches taller than Alex, and with a man on each side
of her, she felt far too much like a bug about to be squashed.
“My name
is Drake.” His eyes were as black as his hair. She wanted to step back, but he
still had her hand. She glanced at Alex helplessly.
He stepped
to her side as if hearing her plea for rescue. “ Shhh , little cat. Drake isn't here to upset you.” He
scooped her up in his arms, pulling her away from Drake, and sat down on the
couch. “So stop upsetting
may go back in.” He motioned politely to the door.
Her legs
unsteady, she reentered the room. Damn. Her face heated as she realized how she
must look: tousled and turned on. God knew, she felt turned on, and wasn't that
a strange sensation?
A rap on
the front door interrupted her thoughts. Were they expecting more people? “I'll
get this one, pet,” Alex said, patting her bottom on the way past.
When he
opened the door, Mac backed up a step, her breath catching in her throat.
Steel, the Dom who'd attacked her, stood there with a big black bag slung over
his shoulder and wearing battered leathers that left his chest completely bare.
He saw her
standing frozen in the center of the room. “Relax, girl. I'm not here for you.”
He glanced at Alex. “Definitely a pretty sub.”
“I think
so.” Alex raised his voice to the other guests. “This is Steel, who will handle
the evening's punishment.”
As he and
Steel moved into the living room, Mac retreated, trying to find an unobtrusive
spot to hide.
“Sit here
with me.” Curled in one corner of the couch by the windows, Hope patted the
cushion beside her.
Mac
glanced around. Over by the fireplace, Peter and Zachary shook hands with
Steel, while Tess sat nearby listening.
“Thanks.”
Mac dropped down on the couch beside Hope. “I-I don't know why that man is
here. Alex didn't even know him until…” How could she ever explain what had
happened in the club?
“Until
he attacked you. Peter told me. He said all the Doms are furious about it, and that's why that guy is
here.”
“I don't
understand.”
Another
knock on the door. Alex strode across the room to answer it.
Mac shook
her head, a little dismayed. “Alex called this a really little party, just you
guys and—” Her mouth dropped open when Cynthia walked in, hands cuffed in front
of her. A man in a black silk suit followed. Probably a few years older than
Alex, his black hair was shorter, and gray flecked his neatly trimmed mustache.
“My God,
that's Drake,” Hope whispered.
The man
named Drake removed the long coat draped over Cynthia's shoulders. He tossed it
over the table by the front door and pointed to an empty corner. Eyes down, the
tall brunette walked over and knelt, facing the wall.
He and
Alex talked for a moment, and then they both crossed the room toward Mac.
When Hope
slid off the couch onto her knees, Mac gave her a puzzled look but did the
same. Don't look at strange Doms . Mac remembered that rule, so she kept her gaze
firmly on the floor. A pair of dress shoes and black trousers stepped into her
narrow focus. Alex wore boots. This must be Drake, standing over her.
He'd
brought Cynthia. Why? And why did everyone—including Alex—look so grim?
“Hope,
return to your master.” Drake's voice was as deep as Alex's, but with a faint
European accent and as smooth as cream. Yet the smoothness was like a film of
snow over a mountain range, barely covering the power.
Hope
scrambled to her feet and escaped, for escape was totally what it looked like.
“Permission?” Drake
said.
“Granted.” Alex's voice. Mac's hands fisted at her sides. Cynthia, Steel, and Drake, who frightened sweet Hope. What
was going on?
“ MacKensie .” That ever-so-suave voice gave
the end of her name a slight fillip. “Eyes on me.”
She looked
up. Drake held his hand out to her. After a second, she let him pull her to her
feet. He stood a couple of inches taller than Alex, and with a man on each side
of her, she felt far too much like a bug about to be squashed.
“My name
is Drake.” His eyes were as black as his hair. She wanted to step back, but he
still had her hand. She glanced at Alex helplessly.
He stepped
to her side as if hearing her plea for rescue. “ Shhh , little cat. Drake isn't here to upset you.” He
scooped her up in his arms, pulling her away from Drake, and sat down on the
couch. “So stop upsetting
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