Page 3 of Healing the Heart

Expertisestartled her a bit. How much participation did they expect on an introductory visit? Fiona exchanged worried glances with the other two subs waiting by the door, who looked petrified and ready to bolt.

When none of them moved, the blonde behind the counter called, “Come on, now, ladies. Through that door you’ll find the lounge, complete with a fully stocked bar, a spacious dance floor, and a stage where some of the best bands in the city perform six nights a week. It’s like any vanilla club in LA. Tonight, at least. If you can’t walk through that door, how will you ever get the nerve to enter the dungeon?”

Fiona said to the other two, who appeared to be in their early twenties, “We’ve made it this far. We might as well have a look around, right?”

“Right,” the slender redhead agreed. “You first.”

Her gaze slid sideways to the other girl, a tall, lithe, blonde who reminded her of a young Gwyneth Paltrow. She nodded and offered a timid smile. “I’m right behind you, sister.”

Elected leader that quickly, Fiona faced the plain-Jane door and pushed it open, entering with the younger two close on her heels.

A woman wearing only slightly more clothes than the girl at the counter greeted them and passed them each a coupon. “There’s a one-drink limit tonight. Hurry, if you intend to use it. Our mingle hour is winding down. Master Eric is due to speak in a few minutes, and he’s a stickler for being on time.”

Without a word of thanks or even a goodbye, her two faint-hearted companions headed straight for the seating area, which was practically full. Fiona, in need of some liquid courage, veered toward the bar. A few minutes later, with a glass of white wine in hand, she found a chair at the back of the room where she could go unnoticed.

As she settled into her seat, a hush fell over the room, all eyes fixated on the striking blond man in a flawlessly fitted dark suit who stepped into the spotlight to address the group. His commanding presence dominated the room, and his Viking-like appearance—light-blond hair, piercing blue eyes, intimidating height, and broad shoulders, which she instinctively knew didn’t need help from his suit—reinforced the impression. All he needed was a breastplate and a broadsword.

“Welcome to Club Decadence,” he said in greeting. “Since you have all read and signed the club rules, I won’t belabor the point by going over them further. Tonight is dedicated solely to inquiry and observation.”

He extended his hand to the area behind them. As one, the group turned and gaped at a twin set of gothic doors, just like in the lobby but on a much larger scale.

“Before you enter our playroom, you will need a member escort. If you didn’t come with one, we have volunteers ready to serve. I encourage you to try out the equipment and visit the theme rooms upstairs, but keep in mind, tonight is a G-rated event. Clothing remains in place at all times, and sex is prohibited. With consent, touching is allowed but no penetration. All of that can come later, should you decide to join our community and after contracts are signed and introductory classes completed. Questions?”

When no hands went up, he nodded.

“Excellent. Pair off, then, and enjoy your night with us.”

Most of the group moved by twos to the medieval doors. As the group thinned out, she realized she was one of the few without a partner.

“Seated in the back. Are you hesitant or a Baptist?”

At the rumbling bass voice so close to her ear, she jumped at the same time she twisted and nearly fell out of her chair.

“Careful,” the man urged as he caught her arm and steadied her.

Nice looking, a few years younger than her, and massive, even bigger than the Viking master dom, rather than a suit, or the pervasive black leather, he wore a snug T-shirt and molded-on jeans, both in black. And when he smiled down at her, his dark-blue eyes glinted with a hint of mischief.

“You’re jumpy. Maybe you should finish that wine,” he suggested. “It might calm your nerves.”

She looked down at the glass she held, having forgotten it, actually, then tipped it up and drained it in one gulp.

“Thatta girl. A bit of liquid courage sometimes helps.”

“That was my hope when I ordered it.”

“You’re Fiona, aren’t you?”

She blinked up at him, wondering how he knew her name. They hadn’t issued name tags. Then it clicked. “You’re Master Axyl. Jonas and Lexie Mitchell’s friend.”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied, a slight rasp in his low voice she had heard described as gravelly but never truly understood until now. “Do you still need a guide?”

“I would appreciate it very much, sir. I didn’t realize there was a social hour before the event, so I’m afraid I’ve gotten a late start.”

Gallantly, he offered his arm and walked her toward the massive double doors now open to a stream of excited newcomers.

“Your name is lovely, but uncommon. Are you of Irish or Scottish descent?”

“Canadian and Columbian, actually, but my father was in a production ofBrigadoonin college and became enamored with the name.”

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