Page 9 of Renegade
“The father of the bridezilla we met with last week? The good-looking older guy?”
“He wasn’t that old,” I retort. “But yes. That’s who I have a date with.” I can’t help my jubilant, singsong tone. “I met with him briefly this morning to talk about the wedding, which, by the way, we got. Platinum package.”
“Yes!” Charlotte high fives me. “And?”
“And…he was very clear that he was interested in me, but then he had to leave abruptly, so he asked me to have dinner with him. Actually, hetoldme to have dinner with him,” I amend. “And then he grabbed my throat and kissed me and I almost came on the spot.”
“You?” Charlotte looks at me incredulously. “The girl who’s never had an orgasm with a man?” She is well aware of my problems in that area.
“Well, no. But I did get a shiver up my spine, and he is hands down the most promising guy I’ve met in…well, forever.” I sigh dramatically. “There is nothing wimpy about Declan Campbell!”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go home and get ready. And call me afterward. I want to know everything.”
…
“Are you familiar with BDSM?”
Declan’s casual question, which is accompanied by that penetrating gaze that seems to see straight through to my most secret thoughts, catches me off guard.
He picked me up at five to seven, waiting patiently while I hastily scribbled a note for Walker. But other than allowing his hand to graze the small of my back as he guided me down the stairs and to the car, and again into the restaurant, he hasn’t made any move to touch me. In fact, if it wasn’t for the way he looks at me with a smoldering heat in his eyes, I’d wonder if I misread his interest in me.
I laugh. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“I don’t see the point in it. I believe in being direct about the things I want.”
“I see.” Am I something he wants?
“Do you?” He raises an eyebrow as he smiles slowly. “Tell me, Gemma, what do you know?”
“I know lots of things,” I say, deliberately misunderstanding him. “I know how to make a mean omelet, how to change a tire, how to shoot photos in full light, low light, no light…” I trail off as he takes my hand in his and turns it over, rubbing my palm with the pad of his thumb. It inexplicably raises goose bumps on my arm.
“Try again.”
“Um, not much really.” Damn. I’m not used to feeling awkward and off balance. “Just that it involves blindfolds and handcuffs and, uh, other stuff.” The way he’s looking at me is making me wish I knew more. A lot more.
“Well, there is that. But those are just the accoutrements. BDSM is about power play, about giving yourself over for another’s pleasure. It’s about domination and submission, and ultimately, trust.”
“And you’re into it? Are you—what’s it called?—a dominant?” As if I have to ask.
“I am. I always have been, although I didn’t know what to call it, or how integral it was to my happiness, until I got divorced ten years ago. I will never date vanilla again.”
“Vanilla?” I raise an eyebrow.
“A conventional relationship with conventional sex. No kink.”
“So what are you doing here with me, then?”
He shrugs and rubs my palm again absentmindedly. “There’s something about you…” he muses. He leans forward, steepling his slender fingers. “I’m looking for a submissive. I wondered if, perhaps, you might be interested.”
“You think I’m submissive?” I’ve been called many things before—bossy, aggressive, take-charge, even bitchy—but submissive isn’t one of them.
He shrugs. “Maybe I’m wrong. But the way you responded to my kiss this morning said otherwise.”
I sigh at the memory. The way he held my throat only added to the heat of the kiss itself. “That was nice. But…I don’t know much about it. Or what exactly you’re looking for.”
He looks at me thoughtfully, but there seems to be a hint of calculation in those sharp gray eyes. “I tell you what. I’m going to be out of town on business for the next few weeks. I’ll send you a few links, and you can take some time and see what you think. If it looks like something that intrigues you, we’ll talk when I get back.”
“I…um…okay.”
