“What else is there?” Jonah tossed back the last of his drink, relishing the burn in his chest. “Trust, communication, honesty. Risk, sensation, surrender. Power.” His gaze dropped unbidden to her lips again. “It’s about permission to explore desires you might not even be aware of yet.” When she licked that plump flesh again, his hand resting on the bar curled into a tight fist. “And sometimes it’s just rough, dirty, no-holds-barred fucking.”
Her chest had begun to rise and fall with effort, eyes glazed over, looking slightly lost. She swayed toward him just a little, and without hesitation, his body moved closer as if magnetized. One of his knees slid along the outside of her thigh, nudging up the hem of her skirt ever so slightly. That snapped her out of wherever she’d gone. His proximity seemed to alarm her, but he didn’t move away completely. She pulled the edges of her collar tighter, and that uneasy movement sent a jolt of irritation through him. Not with her—with himself. He’d clearly gone one step too far.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t come here for any of those things.”
“Right. And I’m not in the business of strong-arming or coercing customers, so please stop fidgeting like I make you nervous.”
“Nerv—” Something akin to recognition dawned on her face. “Wait, what kind of business are you in?”
“You’re sitting in it.”
“You own Serve?”
He gave a single nod and stood. “What is your name?”
The barest hesitation. “Caroline.”
Jesus, he fucking loved that name. It demanded discipline. His discipline. “Caroline, you seem like the type of person who appreciates honesty. Is that accurate?”
She nodded warily. Smart girl.
“Good. I’d like you and your precious skepticism to come upstairs with me. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. You have my word on that.” He signaled the bartender. “But I can’t sit here anymore, and I don’t like the idea of leaving you here. In fact, since we’re being honest, I hate it.”
That gave her pause. “Why can’t you sit here any longer?”
Jonah leaned in close, watched her lips part to suck in a quick breath. Fucking beautiful. Take the risk. The payoff could be glorious. “If I sit across from you much longer, I’m going to pull you astride my lap and kiss your superbly formed mouth until you soak straight through my pants.” He pulled back just enough to watch redness suffuse her cheeks. “It wouldn’t take long, sweetheart. I can do amazing things with my tongue.”
Chapter Three
Caroline’s pulse raced. Not in a post-Saturday-morning-spin-class way. In a holy-motherfucker-someone-pass-the-Gatorade way. Who the hell was this guy? She read people for a living, and yet, for the life of her, nothing he did put him into one of her neatly organized categories. Not an overindulged player or a lonely divorcee…not an unhappily married corporate executive with a wife and three kids stashed out on Long Island.
Her mind presented and discarded several adjectives to describe him. Intensely concentrated one minute, restless and taciturn the next. Finally, she settled on enigmatic. Which, to an insanely meticulous person like herself, simply wasn’t good enough. She needed something more logical and satisfying.
Furthermore, he’d been attempting to pick her up, right? So why keep his owner status a secret until the last minute? Yet another contradiction. He had no idea she was there to write a story, and it probably worked like a charm on the ladies every time. Well, almost every time. Her palms might be tingle-sweating, she might be feeling a tad itchy and restless after his concisely delivered monologue, but no way was she giving in. There would be a lightbulb moment at some point where mystery fled and he turned typical. She needed to be there for it. Otherwise, this encounter would forever feel unfinished and undefined.
He moved in, his big body pressing closer, waiting for an answer to his non-question. She looked down at her skirt quickly, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle. Really, his question had been more of a mission statement, of which she was the mission. His words bounced around her head like ping-pong balls, refusing to settle. She should have already refused, thrown the remains of her drink in his impossible-to-read face for good measure.
Why hadn’t she?
Good question. Instead of blowing him off as originally planned, she’d actually managed to forget her discomfort while they spoke. A feat she could barely manage on a regular date with a regular guy. No, she’d been far too busy trying to figure this one out. Throughout the multitude of articles she’d read on Serve that afternoon, the owner had never once been pictured. She’d found that odd, considering he’d been brazen enough to open a BDSM club without attempting to disguise it. Which piqued her journalistic sensibilities even more. The club owner could very well be the focus of her feature.