Page 24 of Dare to Love Again

“How do you figure? If anything, we’re even.” His glare became as heated as his ice-blue eyes were cold. “Recall, if you will, that I delayed my honeymoon for two days because you needed me on Diva Duty.”

He grinned. The diva in question was a fiercely passionate, highly temperamental, multi-Grammy award-winning pop star who could give Mariah Carey a run for her money on the prima donna scale. No one had wanted the assignment of guarding her when she had a psychotic stalker after her. Eric had drawn the short straw and brought it up every time they talked about who owed who more.

“Worst assignment I’ve ever had,” he grumbled on cue. “She wanted me to carry shoes while a psychopath was gunning for her. Shoes!”

“I’d forgotten about that,” Keiran chuckled.

“That was two years ago and still, if I hear her on the radio, I have flashbacks,” he growled, unamused. “You do this. I might forget her.”

“That’s high incentive, but as I said, I’ll think about it.” He glanced at the clock and grimaced. “I need to go relieve Jerry. He’ll whine if I’m late. I don’t mind tears from a submissive when I’m the cause—intentionally, of course—but I can’t bear to see a two-hundred-fifty-pound grown-ass man, and supposed dominant, cry.”

Eric’s laughter followed him down the hall.

Chapter 7

KEIRAN STOOD BY THEstairs at the front of the cavernous playroom. It was busy for a Wednesday night, not shoulder to shoulder like on the weekends, but all the stations were full, with members waiting their turn by the spanking benches and crosses, the most popular of all the equipment.

Closed on Sundays, and covered up with work all week, this was the first chance he’d had to put any thought into the assignment Eric had proposed to him. He’d asked up front when he arrived if she was here, but no one in the dungeon could point her out. Red hair, green eyes, and curves could describe several of the women present tonight. Most were collared or engaged with a dom in a scene. Another, dressed in crimson leather from the top of her head to her thigh-high spiked boots, fit the bill. But her bold choice of dress, her manner, and the crop dangling from her waist proclaimed her a mistress. He’d easily crossed her off his list of potential Esmes.

He breathed deeply and exhaled heavily, the pull of exhaustion weighing on him.

Though the troubled widow piqued his interest, Keiran would have just as soon headed home to bed. It was a damn shame when a thirty-five-year-old man, purportedly in his prime, would rather get some shut-eye than play at a bondage club. But he doubted he’d have enough energy after he concluded his DM duties to restrain a sub to a cross. A bed might be more his speed tonight, or a bondage table where he could lie back and make her do all the work.

A lackluster scene hardly sounded fair to his partner, however, and was a far cry from his preference for making a sub dance at the end of his whip as he turned her bottom hot and pink. That was definitely out since it took strength, and considerable attention, both of which were waning in him as it approached midnight.

What had possessed him to agree to relieve Jerry at ten p.m. for DM duty after pulling a fourteen-hour day? It had to be the guilt trip Dupree had laid on him for not doing his part. His men were taking their turns, so he should, too. Although, had any of them called him on it, other than Dupree, he’d have told them to fuck off. But Eric, like him, was spread paper thin and juggling multiple projects. Something had to give soon.

“I’m surprised to see you tonight. You were up to your ass in paperwork when I left after six,” the man, as if conjured, said from beside him.

Keiran only grunted. Then they both lapsed into silence, each scanning the floor, watching for signs of trouble.

“Have you met with Esme and made your decision?” Eric asked after a moment.

“Haven’t had the chance yet,” he replied, as his gaze locked on the auburn-haired submissive he’d had to rescue last week. She was winding her way through the crowd, as though on a mission. She barely glanced at the wax table where Jerry was creating an impressive piece of art on his bound submissive. Instead, she appeared intent on reaching the doors.

She’d already been on his radar since walking onto the floor tonight. He’d have to be blind to miss the creamy skin and all that fiery hair falling in soft waves nearly to her waist, or the curves tucked once again into a tightly laced leather corset—an outfit all wrong for her softness. He was happy to see she’d learned her lesson about wearing her ribbon, the pink bow centered over her lovely throat. She was exactly his type and her description matched the one Eric had given for Esme, but she’d been sitting in a booth negotiating a scene with a dom, something his target allegedly wasn’t able to do, so he continued on with his search.

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