Page 17 of Delicious Surrender
Gage had poured himself a drink and was reading the reference letter with an amused smile.
The tip of her shoe caught the carpet, and she tumbled to her knees. “Fuck,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
He leaped up and was beside her before she could gather herself and the contents of her purse off the floor. “I’m sorry. I caught the edge of the rug.” She looked up, and he was looming over her, eyes glittering. She dragged her gaze away and retrieved a lipstick and a pen that had rolled toward his desk. This close, she felt the heat of his body, and his distinctive scent surrounded her. It was a divine blend of cedar, orange, and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Shaking herselfout of a trance, she tucked her belongings into her handbag, and he helped her to her feet.
“I hope you are not this clumsy when carrying a tray of drinks?”
Her hackles rose at his derisive tone, and so did her chin. “No, I assure you I am not.”
He dropped her arm abruptly and sat down behind his desk. “So, tell me, how did you come to know one of the most prominent Dommes in Europe?”
She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “My friend Jared, who works here part time, he introduced me. He did all the black-and-white erotic photos for her studio.” She wondered if Gage remembered who he was. “He’s an amazing photographer.”
“Is that so?” He took a mouthful of the scotch, and her mouth watered watching him swallow it. “Patricia speaks highly of you. Although it states quite plainly”—he tapped the paper with a long, tanned finger—“that you need a firm hand.”
Brynne squared her shoulders. “That’s only because she was testing my limits.”
“Well…” He carefully put the letter back in the envelope as he spoke. “I can say with certainty, we willtestyour limits, too.”
“Does that mean I’ve got the job?” she asked, ignoring the other remark.
“Against my better judgment, I will give you a chance.” Gage used the phone on his desk and punched three numbers. “Garrick, I’m going to give your little Tinkerbell a job.” Hepaused. “Aye, we’ll see.” In response to whatever Garrick said, he replied, “Mistress Patricia.” He looked up at Brynne, his eyes searing hers with their intensity. “Please email her Sonya’s info and get her to rush the uniforms. Aye. Tiaraidh an dràsda.”
Brynne recognized the Gaelic sign off, “Bye for now,” and then registered what he’d said. “Tinkerbell?”
“Everyone here gets a nickname that Garrick chooses, based on appearance and personality. The members will not know your real name.”
She wanted to argue against the childish name but thought better of it. “Okay. I understand. You mentioned something about uniforms?” Until this moment, she hadn’t considered what sort of outfit she might have to wear. Her hands fidgeted in her lap.
Gage’s smile looked positively wicked. “Oh, didn’t Garrick tell you what you will wear?”
Brynne felt a shiver of unease. “No, he didn’t cover that.”
“Dinna fash. It’s nothing to worry about.” She could tell he was enjoying her discomfort. “Servers in the lounge wear a sexy French maid’s outfit for regular nights, and our next fetish night will have an Arabian nights theme, so Sonya will also measure you for a harem girl costume.”
Brynne swallowed hard. “I see.”
“Make sure you get to the seamstress this week to be measured.”
She nodded. Well, that was that. Her fate was sealed. When he stood, she followed and took his outstretched hand. His heatengulfed her palm, and she felt a frisson run up her arm.
“Your hand is freezing!” He clasped her hand in both of his and warmed it. Little did he know he was heating another part of her body.
She shrugged and tried to sound casual. “Cold hands, warm heart.”
He dropped her hand quickly, then ushered her out into the hall. “Take a seat in the waiting room. Garrick will bring you the paperwork to get you on the payroll.”
“Thank you for giving me this opportunity. You won’t be sorry… Mister, uh, Gage. Sir.”
With a nod, he said, “Aye, let’s hope not,” and shut the door.
Gage sat down and took another sip of the 1824 Limited Release. It calmed him like nothing else could. He had enjoyed provoking the lass. She wasn’t very tall, but her body was curvy and lush. Garrick knew he had a thing for natural redheads, and he chose a fitting nickname. His friend was probably hoping to arouse his interest, since it had been over three months since he’d been out with anyone. He coaxed him to give her a chance if she had the balls to come back with a reference letter. Well, she had done better than that. Securing one from Patricia Valentine was quite a coup.
She was a distraction that he didn’t need, but it had been so long since anyone had amused him. He imagined all the ways hecould make her blush or, better yet, lose her cool. Her hourglass shape would be stunning in the uniform. There were more than a few clues she had a fiery temper to go with that hair. If he was lucky, she might find herself tossed over his knee.
She’d looked so bloody tempting kneeling on the floor, staring up at him with those doe eyes. He caught himself thinking about training that impertinence out of her. Her eyes went from light amber to the color of dark chocolate when she became flustered.
Shaking those ridiculous thoughts away, he pondered the letter from Mistress Patricia. It had been a long time since they’d crossed paths. She had come for the grand opening and to their first fetish night, but she preferred the younger clientele of Club Verboten. While he knew she wouldn’t write a letter for just anyone, his instincts told him there was something more to Brynne. She didn’t behave like a submissive—there was too much rebellion in her. There had to be another agenda at play. His bet was that she was looking for a rich husband, and what better place than a club that catered to London’s elite? Membership was a half a million pounds. Within these walls, discretion was assured, and powerful men could be unencumbered by the usual social mores.