You Are Mine
CHAPTER ONE
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Zac Rutherford turned his attention from the heaving dance floor packed with scantily clad bodies.
There was a woman leaning on the bar next to him. A brunette with a full, red mouth and pale skin. She looked like Snow White. Except Snow White wouldn’t be wearing a red leather dress with cut outs on the sides to emphasize the curve of her hips, the hem so short if she bent over he’d be able to see her panties. If she was wearing panties that was, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t.
No, she definitely wasn’t Snow White. And he was no Prince Charming. He wasn’t even the Huntsman.
He was the dragon in the cave that ate virgins for breakfast.
The woman smiled at him then looked down. A submissive looking for a Dom for the evening. Limbo, New York’s finest and most exclusive BDSM club, was full of them.
Perhaps a couple of months ago he would have been tempted. Hell, perhaps even a year ago he would have taken her up on the offer and not even thought twice.
But not now.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, regretfully. “Not tonight.”
Her face fell. He had a reputation in BDSM circles—the Gentleman Dom they called him—for being exceptional when it came to psychological mind-fuckery, and some subs loved that more than a good beating. It was also an added turn-on for them that he hadn’t been seen in the club for months, and they all wanted to be the one to lure him back.
Sadly for them it wasn’t going to work. He’d been here only an hour and already he wanted to leave.
“Oh,” she said. “You sure I can’t change your mind?”
Perhaps if she had long white blonde hair and silver gray eyes. Wore black and liked to call him an asshole. Perhaps then …
No. Not even then.
Zac shook his head. “I’m afraid not. But thank you for the charming offer. I’m sure there are many Masters here tonight who’d jump at the chance for a drink with you.”
She blushed, pouting prettily. “Thanks. But I was kind of hoping…”
He reached out, took her chin in his hand and gave it a gentle pinch. “No, love. And we’ll leave it at that. Understand?”
She responded instantly to the undercurrent of iron in his voice, her gaze lowering. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” Zac released her then gestured to the barman to fill up her glass. The least he could do was buy her another drink. Manners were important, and he wanted to show her that he was flattered by the offer. No more than that though.
Turning away from the bar, he began to make his way to the exit of the club. Scantily clad people all moved out of his way, responding instinctively to his authority.
On a stage near the dance floor a scene was in progress, a sub tied to a post in the process of being whipped. The Dom supervising the scene, a guy he knew vaguely, paused and raised an eyebrow at him, gesturing with the whip. Obviously an invitation. Zac shook his head and continued on toward the club’s exit.
Christ, this visit had been futile. He hadn’t been even remotely interested in either the pretty sub or the whipping scene. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d hoped to be tempted back into renewing his Limbo membership, but far from being tempted, he couldn’t wait to leave.
Nodding to the club’s doorman, he stepped out into New York’s early March chill, with snow heaped on the sidewalks and a cold bite in the air. Pulling his overcoat tightly around him, he headed across the street to where his car and driver waited.
So much for that. Perhaps he should give up on the idea of finding out just where the bloody hell his libido had gone.
You know where it’s gone.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He knew exactly where it had gone. It was worshipping at the temple of Eva King. His angel. Which meant that sooner or later, if it didn’t get any sustenance, it was bound to die of hunger.
Something stirred in his gut. Probably anger. Zac ruthlessly crushed the emotion as he pulled open the car door and got in. Anger was never advisable and certainly not when it came to Eva.
“Where to, Mr. Rutherford?” Angus, his driver, asked.
“Home I think, Angus.”
As the car pulled away from the curb, his phone vibrated in his overcoat. He took it out and checked the screen.
Second Circle. Now. You’re late.
It was from Gabriel Woolf, his friend and fellow member of the small group of misfits and loners who’d banded together years ago and who now called themselves the Nine Circles club. After Dante’s Inferno, naturally.
He frowned. A meeting? Now? No one had informed him about it. A strange time for it too, at eleven at night. Then again, maybe they’d had a breakthrough with unraveling the mystery of who was behind one of the most notorious underground casinos in New York. Who’d had a man shot and a boy brutalized. Who’d torn the St. James family apart. And who, perhaps, had tried to get a particular piece of videotape destroyed.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Zac Rutherford turned his attention from the heaving dance floor packed with scantily clad bodies.
There was a woman leaning on the bar next to him. A brunette with a full, red mouth and pale skin. She looked like Snow White. Except Snow White wouldn’t be wearing a red leather dress with cut outs on the sides to emphasize the curve of her hips, the hem so short if she bent over he’d be able to see her panties. If she was wearing panties that was, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t.
No, she definitely wasn’t Snow White. And he was no Prince Charming. He wasn’t even the Huntsman.
He was the dragon in the cave that ate virgins for breakfast.
The woman smiled at him then looked down. A submissive looking for a Dom for the evening. Limbo, New York’s finest and most exclusive BDSM club, was full of them.
Perhaps a couple of months ago he would have been tempted. Hell, perhaps even a year ago he would have taken her up on the offer and not even thought twice.
But not now.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, regretfully. “Not tonight.”
Her face fell. He had a reputation in BDSM circles—the Gentleman Dom they called him—for being exceptional when it came to psychological mind-fuckery, and some subs loved that more than a good beating. It was also an added turn-on for them that he hadn’t been seen in the club for months, and they all wanted to be the one to lure him back.
Sadly for them it wasn’t going to work. He’d been here only an hour and already he wanted to leave.
“Oh,” she said. “You sure I can’t change your mind?”
Perhaps if she had long white blonde hair and silver gray eyes. Wore black and liked to call him an asshole. Perhaps then …
No. Not even then.
Zac shook his head. “I’m afraid not. But thank you for the charming offer. I’m sure there are many Masters here tonight who’d jump at the chance for a drink with you.”
She blushed, pouting prettily. “Thanks. But I was kind of hoping…”
He reached out, took her chin in his hand and gave it a gentle pinch. “No, love. And we’ll leave it at that. Understand?”
She responded instantly to the undercurrent of iron in his voice, her gaze lowering. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” Zac released her then gestured to the barman to fill up her glass. The least he could do was buy her another drink. Manners were important, and he wanted to show her that he was flattered by the offer. No more than that though.
Turning away from the bar, he began to make his way to the exit of the club. Scantily clad people all moved out of his way, responding instinctively to his authority.
On a stage near the dance floor a scene was in progress, a sub tied to a post in the process of being whipped. The Dom supervising the scene, a guy he knew vaguely, paused and raised an eyebrow at him, gesturing with the whip. Obviously an invitation. Zac shook his head and continued on toward the club’s exit.
Christ, this visit had been futile. He hadn’t been even remotely interested in either the pretty sub or the whipping scene. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d hoped to be tempted back into renewing his Limbo membership, but far from being tempted, he couldn’t wait to leave.
Nodding to the club’s doorman, he stepped out into New York’s early March chill, with snow heaped on the sidewalks and a cold bite in the air. Pulling his overcoat tightly around him, he headed across the street to where his car and driver waited.
So much for that. Perhaps he should give up on the idea of finding out just where the bloody hell his libido had gone.
You know where it’s gone.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He knew exactly where it had gone. It was worshipping at the temple of Eva King. His angel. Which meant that sooner or later, if it didn’t get any sustenance, it was bound to die of hunger.
Something stirred in his gut. Probably anger. Zac ruthlessly crushed the emotion as he pulled open the car door and got in. Anger was never advisable and certainly not when it came to Eva.
“Where to, Mr. Rutherford?” Angus, his driver, asked.
“Home I think, Angus.”
As the car pulled away from the curb, his phone vibrated in his overcoat. He took it out and checked the screen.
Second Circle. Now. You’re late.
It was from Gabriel Woolf, his friend and fellow member of the small group of misfits and loners who’d banded together years ago and who now called themselves the Nine Circles club. After Dante’s Inferno, naturally.
He frowned. A meeting? Now? No one had informed him about it. A strange time for it too, at eleven at night. Then again, maybe they’d had a breakthrough with unraveling the mystery of who was behind one of the most notorious underground casinos in New York. Who’d had a man shot and a boy brutalized. Who’d torn the St. James family apart. And who, perhaps, had tried to get a particular piece of videotape destroyed.