Page 119 of At Her Pleasure
Mick didn’t have the usual triggers, which was why it was hard to recognize his strong submission needs until the right stimuli brought them forth. This man didn’t suffer from the same issue. His orientation operated on a level impossible to miss, particularly by those who had it themselves.
He was a sexual Dominant. Which meant he likely understood things about Mick that she did, though she knew their connection had never been sexual. Mick’s cock was responsive to women only. This man projected the same solid hetero vibes.
He had another kind of vibe, too, and if she was right about it, she was moderately less wary about being this close to him. This was his handler, which meant he was on the same side as Mick. Hopefully on Mick’s side, period.
Maybe she was about to find that out, because there was no way this was a chance meeting. However, in case she was wrong, she purposefully continued toward the next group of plants, a display-only selection of orchids, protected behind plexiglass. After several seconds, the man moved with her, ambling to the other side of the table.
His attention wasn’t as singularly occupied as hers was, because when he examined what was before him, his gaze brightened as if he’d found treasure. “Come see this.” Genuine excitement was in his voice, as rich and masculine as spiced brandy.
They were within a stone’s throw of passing festival goers, and the grower and his assistant were keeping an eye on their area. Probably to facilitate a sale if someone had a question or interest. Or to ensure no one tried to reach over the clear barriers to touch the display flowers.
In short, if she was wrong, she was reasonably safe.
Said every murder victim before they ended up dead.
Still, since she was rarely if never in a cautious mood, she came around the table and stood next to him. When she followed his gaze through the plexiglass, she drew in a breath, sharing the same amazement he’d expressed. “Shit. How did he manage to grow that here?”
“With a lot of care. Maybe an ironic deal with the devil.”
It was an Angel orchid. Usually grown terrestrially only, it was very difficult to pot, but somehow this grower had managed it. The Angel orchid’s native world was India. She wondered how it felt, being so far from home.
The petals looked like the wings of angel. Inside those petals was the cowled face, as well as what looked like a woman’s breasts. Oversized, but that might increase its appeal for a male enthusiast. Like this one.
This is the real deal for him, she recalled Mick’s words. The man had a cleft in his chin, and the fingers resting on the edge of the table were strong and capable. His ass was as rock solid as Dale Rousseau’s, a retired Navy SEAL Master Chief who was close friends with Ros, and had once led Neil and Lawrence’s team.
Also the likely source of intel on Mick.
“Have you ever seen one of these in real life?” the man asked.
As two hobbyists, the two of them could certainly interact without incurring suspicion. She shook her head. “You?”
“Once or twice, in India on business. I wonder what he’ll take to part with it.”
“I’m betting he won’t. I wouldn’t. Unless I was sure you’d take very good care of it, value it like he has.”
Those amber eyes met hers. “Perhaps. Do you know what they say about water and orchids?”
“You never overwater them.”
“Yes. That keeps it simple. But it’s more than that.” The man backed up a step and propped his hips against a stack of wood pallets. The shirt pulled across his shoulders as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t put it on a rote watering schedule. You pay attention to what affects the flower, what kind of light, humidity or potting mix works best for it. Even the air movement is important. Every detail, every nuance matters, and it can change from day to day. Those details fit with another passion in our lives.”
He’d crossed his ankles, and because she was her, she noted what the movement outlined in the groin area was more than capable of stretching a sub’s eager lips. But his words drew her attention back to the amber eyes.
“When you’re inflicting pain on him, you’re watching every reaction, aren’t you? Everything that’s going on inside him. I’m not a sadist, not to that level, but that kind of attention?” He nodded. “That’s what nourishes us. Isn’t it?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She held his gaze for a couple beats. Rather than replying, she moved toward a bench placed at the rear of the tent. A conversation there wouldn’t be overheard, and behind it was a gravel service road the festival vehicles had used for setup. The grower’s truck was pulled to the side, parked behind the bench.
The Angel orchid lover might just wander on, and that would be the end of it. But he came to sit down next to her. The man moved as good as he looked. He had that in common with Matt as well. And Mick.
“I don’t know your name,” she said.
He extended a hand. “Tyler Winterman.”
It gave her pause, not just because he offered it so easily, but it was familiar. The reason eluded her, but she shook his hand, like business associates. He had a warm palm and strong grip.
“Cynbad Marigold. Though you know that, I bet. Why did you tell me your name?”