LEATHER AND LACE (BAD BOYS & GOOD GIRLS, #1) (6 page)

“Mia. So that’s your real name?” He knitted his brow. “
Mia.
Isn’t that Spanish for ‘mine’?”

The way he said her name and ‘mine’ had a fluid finality. A sensuous type of resonance like an erotic string was plucked deep inside her. One only he could reach and play.

“Real name and after my grandmother. And you’re right, Mr. McLemore, it means mine.” Great, could her face grow any hotter?

“Call me, Brandon.” The corners of his lips relaxed and actually curved into an irresistible smile similar to the one she’d seen earlier. “Have any idea what my name means?”

She shook her head unprepared for that question. “Sorry. But I don’t.”

“Guess. Or better yet, make something up. What comes to mind, Mia?”

He was toying with her—maybe he wanted to see how proficient her level of
hit the ground running
was considering she was doing just that by coming here tonight, and had earlier today. Mr. Penrose more than likely had shared that this was a big deal to have a university interested in his club. They could definitely help each other out. So what if it involved a little innocent flirting. This was a sex club and wallflowers weren’t in season.

She grinned, ready to demonstrate she had the goods to do off-the-cuff. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. Let’s see, Brandon sounds kinda Scottish and means, mmm...” She gazed up into his dark blue eyes and it felt like a searing stab speared straight into her frontal lobe. Without thinking, she softly blurted out, “Holy hell.”

Did I just say holy hell out loud?

“Holy hell?” he repeated, his blue eyes darkening.

That would be yes! Oh crap.

Since the cat was out of the bag, she might as well own it. “Yep. Brandon translates to Holy. Hell.”

“Ouch! But I asked for it.” He laughed low, flicking his fingertips along the stubble at the edge of his jaw. “Holy hell works for me. Enough to make them my safe words, if I ever need a pair.”

Her head snapped up. “Do dominants have safe words?”

His gaze flicked to hers, intense assessing sapphire eyes. “Some. Those who are into masochism. It’s complicated. I never have. But I get the feeling around you anything’s possible.” He extended his large capable hand. “Mia, gotta say you’re different. And I’m glad you came back.”

If anyone was different it was him. Two minutes in his company and he gave her the heart-thumping impression, something like a head rush during a ride on a ropes course zip-line.

“Thanks. Me too.” A little full of herself, she took hold of his huge hand and squeezed.

Then froze.

Holy hell
was right. Heat from his hand soaked into her palm, spreading outward in a fiery force across her body. Nothing compared with the cyclone sensation of his hand sliding over her skin, tangling their fingers before he made her hand disappear within his. He squeezed her fingers and a jolt of electricity shot up her arm before crash landing deep in her belly.

Unaware of the seismic shift going on inside her body, he gazed at her and commented in his deep voice, “I don’t recall seeing you
inside
the club before. Unless I was off. I’m sure I wouldn’t forget seeing you. Mia... Mine.”

“My first time. Don’t hold that against me.” She tried to think of something to add, but her mouth was drier than the Sahara.

He smiled and shook his head. “On the contrary. My offer to show you around is still open. There are the other stained-glass windows we spoke about earlier.” He shifted his gaze across the bar and pointed. “The glass came from Austria. This church commissioned them in the 30’s. Supposedly it was a way for the artist and his family to escape being sent to a Nazi concentration camp.”

She peered at the stained-glass but her eyes drifted back to his face. He spoke passionately about the artist’s plight and the amazing glasswork, and she sat there mesmerized by him. For a heartbeat, she drank in his profile. Patrician nose, high cheekbones, full pouty lips (when he wasn’t frowning), strong chin, square jaw. Her sanity was questionable in being attracted to him. But damn. It had been a long time since she’d felt a stardust-happy-to-be-alive shimmy run wild under her skin.

“The others are upstairs in the attic, like I said.” He swung his gaze back to her, catching her in the act of staring as if she were hypnotized.

“Incredible story,” she mumbled.

Her heart beat way too fast. His handsome face coupled with his deep voice—well the combination did funny things to her mind and body like make her wonder if he was the type of dominant who’d tear the clothes from her body or make her kneel for hours, holding one position.

Or bind her wrists. Her ankles. Fuck her on all fours.

Brandon cocked his eyebrow as though he could read every dirty thought of hers, involving him dominating her.

Categorically, I’ve lost it.
A flush covered her skin.

He slowly inhaled as he stared into her eyes. “If you’d like, I could give you a rundown on lots of trivia if it’s about this building. Since the beginning of the year, we gutted the inside and renovated it from the basement up. Especially the private rooms. It’s what sets us apart from other clubs. The services we provide are high-class even if it’s for a night. Mia...
mine
.”

He did lots of talking without saying the actual words and her body listened. Boy was it listening. His eyes heated with unabashed hunger and his flagrant desire drilled inside her, taking hold whether she invited him in or not. Was he suggesting what it sounded like?

This can’t be happening. I’m supposed to be studying the people here, not thinking about what it would be like to let him do me in one of those private rooms.

Shaken, she nodded. “Glad to hear. I have so many questions. You can’t imagine all the misinformation that’s out there.”

“More than you know. I’m aware of the myths, lies, fairy tales in the media. A reason we’re exclusive in who we let in. What about other clubs? Have you visited any of them?”

“None. This is my first time. Did Mr. Pen—I mean Phil inform you about my
membership
and why I chose your club over the others out there?”

“A few things come to mind. Why don’t you fill me in?” His eyes dropped down her body as though openly evaluating her. The set of his square jaw spoke of resolve and the ability to command without question.

“Uh.” She stalled, trying to frame what to say about her project.

After all they were seated at the bar with people all around. When their gazes snapped together, she felt naked in a way that wasn’t altogether bad, except she wasn’t here to sign up as his submissive for the night. Brandon was definitely doing more than innocent flirting with her... like he had no idea she was here to do research.

Nervously, she lifted her glass and swallowed the contents, nearly choking. Then she remembered why. She’d ordered bourbon for a reason. She didn’t like hard liquor, and wanted to nurse a drink all night. Her eyes watered and she blinked frantically, biting her lip from the fire burning the back of her throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked and gently smacked her on the back.

“I just swallowed liquid fire.” She took a deep breath which only made the burn worse. She started to cough. It felt like she was going to hack up a lung. Not that she could do much coughing with her ribcage bound within a tight corset. Her cleavage was about to break free from the neckline with his thumping her on the shoulder. When Brandon’s eyes raked over her chest she swore she could feel his heated gaze blister her skin. She chanced a glance down her front.
OMFG!

The top of her nipples peeked over the edge of the dress. He was only inches from her and unless he’d gone blind in the last two seconds, he must’ve gotten an eyeful. She flashed a glance up to his face and affirmative.

Awful just got worse.

“Mia. Christ.” His gaze was glued to her boobs. His nostrils flared as he stepped in front of her, and planted his hands on either side of her on the bar.

She didn’t know if he was doing this to help shield her, but she felt caged within his sculpted arms, especially when he refused to look away. She was so close to him, a few paltry inches and they’d kiss.

Mortified by her dress and her desire to lock her lips with him, she stuttered in a hoarse voice, “If you were a gentleman, you’d stop staring.”

“Sweetheart, I am where you’re concerned. You’re still seated and not tossed over my shoulder. Aren’t you? And let me tell you, I’m tempted. Sorely, Mia.” Lifting his eyes, he wasn’t grinning but wore a look of intense ravenous lust—so hot, so fixed on her—she felt her pussy grow slick and swollen. “I thrive on honesty. You’re beautiful, Mia. Maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s not helping.” Could the floor crack open and swallow her? Right now!

He dropped his glance to the front of her dress. “Just tell me what to do. I’ve got two skilled hands at your disposal. I don’t normally let a woman direct me, but with you...I’m willing to bend my own rules.”

“Please, stop talking like that
,
” she choked, tightening her folded arms against her cleavage.

“Relax, Mia. Take a breath. Here’s a piece of advice I sometimes share, but with you I’m not sure I want to. Don’t be ashamed of having a body that any man would worship,” he whispered, looking into her eyes. “Isn’t that the reason you’re here?”

“I’m not here to feed my ego. This isn’t about me,” she protested, feeling as though she were losing ground. One wardrobe disaster and she was coming apart at the seams in more ways than one.

“If that’s the truth, you are different. Far different than anyone I’ve met in a long time.” His body stiffened even though he no longer stared at her like he was about to haul her away to some dark corner and eat her up.

Yet, strangely she still felt wholly connected to him as he shifted his gaze around the bar. If she leaned into him and sucked on his jaw or his neck, she bet it would be the most natural thing to do for both her, and him. What they had wasn’t typical; maybe some kind of pheromone response. A goldmine for her niche of study.

“What exactly do you mean?” she asked, interested in drawing him out.

“There isn’t anyone judging you here. So what if your neckline slipped. No one is going to paw you—I promise. This is the place where you don’t have to be so
high-strung
.” He swung his attention back to her and tipped up her chin without warning. “I like you Mia and I’m equipped to give you a night to remember—all you have to do is let go. And trust me.”

Heat scorched her skin at the points where he touched her face. Her muscles tightened and her nipples pebbled into points aching for relief. Confused why she couldn’t pinpoint the cause of her attraction and longing to say yes, she snapped her chin out of his grasp.

Her mind demanded she shutdown her physical response to Brandon, and get back on track—not look for a reason to disappear and get naked with the club dom. Her heart pounded in her chest and she had to set him straight.

“This is serious business to me, considering why I chose your club. I’m not high-strung,” she hissed in a low voice. “I just didn’t plan on having a wardrobe malfunction. Let me assure you, Mr. McLemore just because I’m wearing a tight leather dress doesn’t mean I’m easy. I’m just trying to fit in. Maybe you’re the one who’s high-strung. Ever think of that?”

Okay that was wrong on about fifty-three levels! She could site several defenses she’d just blown through in trying to cover her arousal and attraction to Brandon. Christ, she basically accused him of projecting, when in fact she was the one who needed to come clean with him. Clean—not a code word for naked she reminded her traitor body.

“Mia, I’m usually the person who has to make split-second decisions when meeting people, and hands down, I gotta give you credit. No argument, I’m a hard-ass. Ask anyone here. But it comes with the territory of running this club. There’s no shame in admitting we’re both high-strung given the right circumstances. I’ll concede, if you do too.”

“If you’re saying that since it doesn’t look like we can escape how this is going to play out, then sure. We definitely need to come to an agreement on how to treat each other. I’ll own that I might be a bit high-strung. You’re right about being upfront. It’s part of why I’m here.” As surreptitiously as possible, she pulled up on the straps of the corset top of her dress before it crept down any further and lowered her voice. “If you’re interested, I have a resume.”

“You carry one with you?” His eyes widened then lowered to her slim evening clutch. “Mia, I doubt that will be necessary.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked. “And why’s that?”

He laughed. “I don’t need to see what you’ve done before. I have experience in this arena. Maybe Pen didn’t explain that to you.”

His partner had mentioned they’d had a poor experience with a reporter, but she failed to ask if someone else had done research here at his club.
Crap
. Is that why he was acting so over-the-top?
Seeing if I’m really a professional
. Maybe the other researcher wore professional clothing like a turtleneck or two, carried a briefcase, and completed a study, collecting information by other means. No wonder! Her first sex club test and she was failing miserably.

“Errr, I wasn’t aware. When was the last time you worked with someone like me? I plan on structured observation to start...just so you know.” He watched her mouth as she spoke which made her feel truly sucked under the proverbial microscope. Off-balanced, she took a deep breath to steady her wayward thoughts. “And I’m not opposed to surveys. I have a questionnaire prepared.”

His eyes flared to hers like she might’ve struck a nerve. “A survey? Mia, you’re truly unique.”

Worried, she huffed, “That doesn’t sound positive, Mr. High-strung. Care to explain?”

But as soon as one side of his mouth lifted into a smug grin, she felt the crackle of electricity hike up between them. “Since you’re asking what I think,
Ms. High-strung
. If it were me and I was here to find answers, watching from the sidelines what will that get me? At a new restaurant, is that how you’d sample something you’ve never tasted? Or let’s bring it to the forefront. Here. Is that how you’d like to experience the taste of champagne on your lover’s skin? Discover just by watching or using a survey? You picked this place. Not the dance club down the street. This is the one place where you’ve got to be willing to use all of your senses and jump right in. Don’t overthink, Mia.”