In His Cuffs(2)

Recently, she'd cancelled all her dating site memberships. She'd given  up searching for Mr Right and decided to settle for Mr Right Now.                       
       
           



       

Because of that, she lived for her forays to the Den, where her desires were encouraged.

She'd learnt to embrace her single status. She didn't have to answer to  anyone if she worked late. If she didn't feel like getting out of her  pyjamas on a Saturday morning she didn't have to. She could eat ice  cream for dinner or skip vacuuming for so long that dust bunnies  threatened to strangle her.

And she could play with different Doms all the time. The exhilaration of not knowing what to expect added to her delirium.

"Targets acquired," Vanessa said over her shoulder as she headed towards a group of men in the great room.

Maggie snagged a virgin pina colada from the granite island in the kitchen then joined the crowd on the patio.

She stood to one side and watched a few couples dance in front of the  stage. Off to the left, a tall, broad male knelt in front of a woman who  wore a red wristband. The image was erotic, but it didn't do much for  her. When she was here, she preferred giving up control. At work, she  engaged in constant battles with her self-appointed boss and had to be  on guard all the time. Letting go and surrendering to her submissive  tendencies was critical to her mental health.

"Would you like to dance?"

She turned and smiled at the man who'd approached her. He was tall and  lanky, wearing a plaid shirt. At least he'd skipped the pocket  protector.

Part of her knew she was being unfair. He had an earnest smile, and she  was sure he was a nice man. He had on a red band, but somehow, she  didn't see him as a Dom. There was something lacking in his tone, a  certain confidence. And his expression was more hopeful than assertive.

She smiled back and waited a few seconds. He continued to look at her,  but she had no compulsion to cast her gaze at the ground. She felt no  spark of attraction for him. If she was going to bare her body-or at  least parts of it-to a stranger, she would choose a man who had a  razor-edge of danger about him. For some reason, this guy reminded her  of her of Samuel. She couldn't imagine a greater turn-off. "Thanks," she  said. "Perhaps another time."

"It was worth a try," he said easily before moving onto the next possibility, a woman who was swaying as she listened to Evan C.

In some ways, Maggie realised, this wasn't much different than a  singles' bar. But there were far fewer pretensions. At least sexually.

Maggie took a sip from the cool drink, loving the blend of pineapple,  coconut and whipped cream on her tongue. Since it had juice in it, she  told herself the beverage was at least somewhat healthy.

She was ready to take a second sip when she saw him.

David Tomlinson.

Her nemesis.

What the hell was he doing here?

Slowly, she lowered her trembling hand.

Fuck.

The main reason she'd come to the Den was to escape him.

He stood near a speaker, arms folded across his bare chest, a black band  on his upper arm, short hair spiked, and he was wearing a pair of  jeans.

David Tomlinson was a House Monitor? Crap. It wasn't enough that he was here, but he had to have a role of authority.

Then she noticed the handcuffs.

She gawked at the sight.

Was David Tomlinson the man Vanessa had noticed?

If Maggie didn't know him so well, she might agree that he was sexy. But  she knew him too well. He manipulated people to his own ends. Sure, he  was one of the smartest people she'd ever met, but she'd seen him use  that intelligence for nefarious purposes.

She stood there, uncertain what to do. Confront him? Ignore him and hope  he didn't see her? Catch the shuttle back to Winter Park?

Immediately, she dismissed the last idea.

She was here to have a good time, and by God, she would enjoy herself.

Ignoring him wasn't her normal style. No way would she spend the entire night skulking around and looking over her shoulder.

That left a confrontation, and really, the only thing that suited her personality.

As if sensing her gaze, he looked at her.

He scowled-a ferocious expression that was all-too familiar. Obviously  he was as surprised and as unhappy to see her as she was to see him.  Then a sub walked up to him, and he turned his attention to the blonde.

Maggie exhaled a breath she hadn't realised she'd sucked in.

She took another sip of her drink, trying to regroup. She told herself  they were both adults. They were both here for their own reasons. They  could deal with this.

Determinedly, she went inside and wandered around the living room. A  small group was gathered near the fireplace, and the topic of  conversation was the Denver Broncos' upcoming preseason schedule.

Near the window, a Dom rested his shoulders on the wall.

Though he wasn't overly tall, he was broad. He had on a T-shirt,  revealing his beefy biceps. He could probably wield a flogger for a good  long time.                       
       
           



       

He glanced pointedly at her wrist then back at her.

Her heart rate increased and she tightened her grip on her virgin pina  colada. She cast her gaze at the ground, silently signalling both her  submissiveness and willingness.

When she raised her head, she was shocked to see him striding away from her, out of the room.

"If you want someone to scene with, I'll take care of you."

The voice froze her from the inside out. Since she heard it all day,  every day, she recognised it instantly. Rich and deep, as controlled as  it was reviled.

When her heart started to beat again, she swung to face her adversary.  She looked a long way up into his deep, dark blue, unfathomable eyes.

His jaw was set, and his arms were folded across his chest.

"Damn you." She scowled. "Did you make him go away?"

"Yes."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Isn't it enough that you ruin every one of my days?"

"I've always wanted to have you over my lap for the good spanking you deserve."

She blinked, for once shocked into silence by his words. Since they'd  met, he'd been standoffish. Business was the only thing they'd ever  discussed. And he'd harboured thoughts of having his hand on her ass?

"Maybe we should satisfy our mutual desires."

"Not in this lifetime, David."

"Tonight even," he countered.

She laughed, hoping it didn't sound as brittle as it felt. "Even for you, that's an arrogant statement."

"I spent the last few minutes watching your reflection in the glass, Margaret-"

"Maggie," she corrected through gritted teeth.

"Not only do you have on a white wristband," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "but you lowered your gaze for that Dom."

Her stomach executed a somersault. "Do you know how to mind your own business? Ever?"

"I pay attention to detail."

"There's an understatement." During the first three weeks that he'd  taken control of her family's firm, he'd looked at every piece of paper,  analysed spreadsheets, sat down with each employee in private, insisted  on meeting all of their vendors and reviewed all current customer  files. At this point, it seemed he knew as much about World Wide Now as  she did.

"For example, I know you're flustered," he continued.

"So you're a psychic in addition to having superior business acumen?" If sarcasm were arsenic, he'd be dead.

"You're thinking about lifting your skirt for me and lowering yourself  over my lap. You're wondering if I'll hit you as hard as you need."

"That's insane," she insisted, but now that he'd mentioned it, she couldn't help picturing that very thing.

"You're hoping I'll let you keep your underwear on. And yes, you are wearing panties."

She blinked, stunned. How the hell could he know that?

"If you were as calm as you'd like me to believe, you wouldn't be stabbing the bottom of your glass with your straw."

She froze, not realising she had been betraying her inner turmoil.

This David confounded her.

In typical fashion, his dark hair was spiked and brushed severely back  from his broad forehead. His eyebrows were drawn together in an  arrogant, masculine slash.

As she'd noticed earlier, he wore a pair of dark denim jeans, but she hadn't seen the scuffed, black motorcycle boots.

Except for his trademark arrogance, he didn't resemble the man she knew from work.

Normally he wore expensive power suits with crisp button-down shirts.  The only concession to an occasional casual look was a loosened knot in  his requisite red or blue tie.

She'd spent so much time being irritated by him that she'd never really noticed him as a man.

But now …

His shoulders were broad and his waist trim. The black HM band  emphasised the size of his arms. Clearly he had a gym membership, and he  used it.

David's jeans showed off the size of his thighs in a way dress slacks  never could. Heaven help her, she couldn't help but stare at the thick  black belt encircling his waist. Add in the cuffs that refracted the  overhead light …  He made breathing difficult.