Finding Master Right (3 page)

“I like it,” he rumbled.

She tugged on the top, feeling self-conscious. “I’m not really the dressing-up type.”

“No? Well, cross that off your fetish list.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

She almost rolled her eyes. Not another pushy one. She wasn’t ready to talk turn-ons with this guy yet either.

“Relax,” he said, chuckling. “I’m teasing you. I’m not interested in bringing you home to fulfill your deepest desires or whatever bullshit line Vince fed you.”

For one crazy moment, she was offended. Why didn’t he want to take her home and recite cheesy pickup lines to get into her pants? Wasn’t she pretty enough?

“You’re a beautiful woman, obviously,” he said, “but I doubt you want what I do.”

That struck a nerve. It was the same sentiment Janine had expressed. Proudly, she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eyes. How did he know what she wanted, anyway? He didn’t know her; she barely knew herself. She hated when people made assumptions—a product of working with the people she had as clients.

“And what’s that?” she asked.

“A slave.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh.” Janine had a friend who was a slave. She wasn’t allowed to talk, or sit, or even look at people without permission. No fucking way. That wasn’t for her.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s kind of hard-core for me. I mean, I don’t even know if I’m a sub or just a bottom or what.” She shrugged, a bit disappointed in the turn of events. “I could even be a Domme. I haven’t tried any of it yet.”

Knowing what he was into had moved him from harmless to slightly dangerous in her mind. His polite air was probably a smokescreen for what he was really like. Visions of him towering over a helpless girl, whip in hand, popped into her mind. She didn’t want to be the girl, but she’d buy tickets to watch.

“A kink virgin.” A sly smile appeared. “Well, if you’re serious about finding a play partner, you should take some precautions.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to meet up with any cock-shot guys.”

He smiled. “I figured you were smarter than that. But what I mean is, you could probably use someone to look out for you. Someone who knows people in the lifestyle and can give you personal recommendations.”

“Well, that’s what Janine was doing. Or trying to anyway. I don’t know how that Vince guy slipped through.”

“It’s up to you. I have more contacts than she does. She and Chris have been out of the club scene since they got married two years ago.”

She snorted. “So you’re offering to what? Dom-shop with me?” She was half-joking and expected him to laugh and brush her off.

Instead he looked her in the eye and said, “Yes. I am.”

Was he serious? She eyed him again. Oh yes. He was the kind of person who never said anything he didn’t mean. Definitely the type to star in her fantasies. But Vince had put her on the defense. “Why? What’s in it for you?”

He shrugged. “Brownie points with Chris? The knowledge that I’m doing some good in the world? Boredom?” With a dark chuckle, he added, “I’m a sadist, so maybe protecting you will balance out my karma.”

There had to be an angle there somewhere. She continued to stare, trying to read the answer on his face. The way the light hit his cheekbones but shadowed his eyes, making them look sinister, was pretty distracting. She sighed, lost in his dangerous aura.

“You don’t have to answer now,” he assured her. “I’ll give you my number, and you can let me know after you think about it. Ask Chris about me too. You should always check people out before agreeing to anything.” He smiled. “Like secondhand car shopping.”

Chuckling, she pulled her phone out of her purse. “Are you saying you’re a sleazy car salesman?”

“Only sleazy enough to make me interesting.” His smile was enigmatic.

For some insane reason, seeds of trust started to root. A man who made fun of himself had some humility at least. She started to enter him in her phone as a contact, then stopped and laughed. “I just realized I don’t even know your name.” Sticking out her hand, she said, “I’m Kate.”

Smiling, he shook it, his big hand swallowing hers, making her feel small and dainty. Would he mind if she crawled into his lap and enjoyed the feeling for a while?

“Nice to meet you, Kate. I’m Banner.”

Her brows shot up. “Banner? That’s your first name?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Jennings.”

Banner Jennings. Why did that ring a bell? She gave him a quizzical look. “What do you do for work?”

A sardonic smile graced his face as he hesitated. After a moment, he answered, “I run a family business. You?”

Work. Now, there was a safe topic. She sat forward in her seat. Before answering, she glanced around them for eavesdroppers. Talking work in the kink community felt strange. But it seemed most attendees had left, and the few stragglers were busy with other things. “I work at the rehab center downtown. I’m a drug abuse counselor.”

“Really?” His gaze flickered over her face. “You look young for that.”

“I graduated early.” She raised her chin. “You look young to run a business.”

“I grew up early.”

They had a brief staring contest, and then she looked away, fighting back a smile. Hot
and
he had his shit together? Too bad he wanted a slave. What a waste. Still, he could feature in her fantasies instead of the faceless men who were usually there, so tonight wasn’t a total write-off. The guys in her fantasies almost always wore suits though. Maybe there was a fetish for that. Doms in suits.

She chuckled at herself.

“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

God, he didn’t miss a thing. “Nothing. I was just thinking about something funny.”

“Are you gonna share with the rest of the class? It’s only fair.”

She shrugged. “Doms in suits. Sounds like a funny movie title. Like
Doms in Space
.”

He laughed for a moment, and then his gaze turned heated. “Doms in suits, huh? Does that turn you on?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “I mean . . . That’s not what I meant.”

His brows shot up, and his lips tightened in what looked like suppressed amusement. Then he leaned in. “I can help you figure out what your thing is, if you’re honest with me. I’ve been doing this a long time. I’m pretty good at reading people. And you don’t have to worry about me being creepy. You’re not my type.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But I can help you find your type. We can figure out what you want, without having to kiss a few frogs first or getting yourself into a dangerous situation.”

She stared at him, reading the earnest look in his eyes. If Chris said Banner had a good reputation, then maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. It wasn’t as though he was hard to look at, or hang out with. And if it kept her from experiencing guys like Vince, and cock-shot creeps, it would be worth it. It might even be an adventure. A dark, exciting adventure. Her sex life had gone stale years ago, and her fantasies only took her so far. It was about time for something new.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally said. And she’d probably think about him too, later that night while she wore the batteries out in her vibe.

***

“Are you excited for your discharge?” Kate shut the door to her office behind her as she followed Sean into the room. As always, he took the couch, and she sat in the chair across from him. Though her large desk dominated the room, she felt less approachable sitting behind it, so she used it mostly for doing paperwork. The last thing she wanted was to feel removed from her clients.

“No,” he admitted with a sigh.

“No? Usually patients in your position are practically climbing the walls right now.”

Sean’s forehead crinkled, aging him. He couldn’t have been older than thirty, but the drugs had taken a toll on his body. Yellow teeth, thin hair, haunted eyes—he looked like a stereotypical addict.

Discharge was bittersweet. Hope was there, in the distance, trying to shine bright. But reality was a mean son of a bitch. Only a small fraction of her clients made it in the real world. Most of them came through those doors a second, third, fourth time, having just finished detox—though repeat clients were better than funerals. Kate cared about every client, guided them, and the one thing she wished for at every discharge was never to see them again. That, to her, equaled success.

“I’m scared.” Sean’s voice quavered.

She glanced at him and felt only compassion. He’d have been easy to give up on. The first month of treatment, he’d given her a hell of a time. Volatile, uncooperative, verbally abusive. Everyone’s recovery process was different, but she’d recognized the signs of his withdrawal, even though he displayed them in a very . . . aggressive way. She’d waited to see who he was, underneath the addiction.

Kate Lambert didn’t give up. Not ever. Sure, other staff whispered about hopeless cases, but she didn’t believe in such a thing. Becoming jaded by the work was all too common, but she refused to let herself go down that path. Slowly, she had won Sean’s trust. She’d showed him she wasn’t giving up on him and, in turn, he hadn’t given up on himself.

“Everybody has something worth fighting for,” she’d told him, during their previous sessions together. “A reason to fight for your life. You just have to find your something.”

Over those next few months, they’d talked several times a week about what that something could be. Many times it was a client’s children. Or a spouse. Sometimes a brother or even a pet. But Sean had nothing. He’d burnt all the bridges with his family a long time ago.

Together they’d worked on finding his place in the world, what he had of value. Helping Sean address his issues was the biggest challenge in her career so far, but in the end she hoped he’d be successful.

She watched his gaze drift to the floor. His hands shook in his lap.

After a deep breath, she said, “Change can be scary. But you’ve got this. We worked out a plan for getting help when you think you need it. You have your friend Jim on speed dial. You have my number. You’re ready. You can do this.”

He smiled slightly. “Do you like John Wayne?”

“Um. I’ve never really given him much thought.”

“I grew up watching his movies.” Sean lifted his gaze and looked at her. “He said once, ‘Courage is being scared to death . . . and saddling up anyway.’”

She nodded. “That’s good. I like that.”

“What do you suppose it means?” He cocked his head to the side. “John Wayne was known for being fearless. Why was he talking about being scared to death?”

“Well,”—she shifted on the couch as she gathered her thoughts—“I think he’s saying everyone experiences fear at one time or another. But it’s what you do with it that matters. He starred in Westerns, right?”

Sean nodded.

“So, even if you’re scared, you get in the saddle anyway and do what you have to do.” She sounded pretty good to her ears; hopefully Sean was getting something from this.

Slowly, his head moved up and down, but he chewed his fingernail, looking lost in thought. A moment later, he peered at her. “Are you afraid of anything?”

“Of course.”

“Like what?”

She felt her eyes widen. Leave it to him to challenge her until his very last day. “You’re not holding back today, are you?” She chuckled. How should she answer that while staying professional and avoiding anything too personal?

“You seem like you have your shit together. I can’t picture you afraid of anything either.” He laughed.

Why didn’t that feel like a compliment? Past boyfriends had called her a hard-ass, cynical workaholic. Being driven to get far in life and not turn out like her parents had caused her to push people away. Or maybe what she really feared was intimacy.

Banner came to mind. His thick, tattooed forearms, heavy brow, the stern line of his mouth. Now, there was something to be afraid of. The party had been three days ago, and she still hadn’t texted him. She didn’t understand why—he’d only offered to help. But texting him felt like plunging into the real thing. Fantasies were safe, removed. Like Sean, she understood reality came with risk.

Running her hands over her pencil skirt, she collected herself. “I have the same fears most people do. Fear of failure. Fear of being alone.”

“I bet you’ve never failed anything in your life.”

It was a fair bet for those who knew her now. But she hadn’t always been this way. If Sean had known her as a child, he’d have different things to say. At the very least, he wouldn’t compare her to John Wayne.

“Never failing only makes the stakes higher,” she said, smoothing out a wrinkle in her yellow blouse. “Anyway, fear is normal. You’ve hit rock bottom, and you don’t want to go back. You have every right to be scared. Just acknowledge it, and like John Wayne says, saddle up.”

His fake smile wasn’t encouraging. This discharge really had him rattled.

“The most important thing for you is not to give up on yourself. Remember we talked about the reasons to fight? Just keep replaying that in your head.”

He sat in silence, gazing out the window. The rock garden under the willow tree was supposed to be a therapeutic place of refuge. She always thought it looked more like a graveyard.

Normally, Sean was pretty chatty. They’d talked about the meaning of life, religion, books, everything. He was a deep thinker, and for that, she enjoyed him as a client. So this staring silently out the window was a little worrisome.

“You have all your contacts, right?”

He nodded.

“And your phone is back on?”

“Yes.”

She tried to catch his gaze. “You still have a week left. How about you come back to see me twice more?” She smiled warmly. “Maybe I’ll watch a John Wayne movie and we can discuss it.”

He rumbled a laugh, making her feel a bit better about his mental state.

“What?”

“I can’t picture you watching John Wayne.”

Scowling, she shifted and crossed her legs. “Why not?”

“You seem so . . . proper.”

This time, she laughed. If he only knew. “Maybe so, but we have lives outside of here. I’m not my job, just like you’re not your addiction.”