Chapter One
Mark Thompson paused halfway through wiping down the long, mahogany bar. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Someone was watching him. He was used to attracting a certain amount of attention when he worked behind the bar on these occasions, but for some reason, this particular gaze felt different as it trailed across his body.
Looking discreetly through his lashes, Mark ran his eyes over the female dominants who occupied each of the tables dotted around the room. As the private lounge of one of the best hotels in town, the room was reasonably small. And the club that had booked it for the evening had made it clear that their membership was all about quality rather than quantity.
It didn’t take Mark long to scan the entire assembly, but somehow, he failed to find the source of the stare. He mentally cursed before repeating his inspection of the room.
A male submissive stepped forward and knelt next to his mistress’ chair. Past him, another table came into Mark’s field of vision.
There!
His gaze fell on a slim, blonde woman sitting on the far side of the room. As soon as their eyes met, he knew she was the one who’d been studying him.
Olivia Marshall.
His mouth went dry. His pulse kicked into a special gear that only she seemed to inspire. He quickly looked down, not wanting it to appear as if he were trying to outstare her. When he risked another glance, she was still watching him, deep blue eyes never wavering. A tiny tilt of her head called him to her side.
Leaving the cloth he’d been using on a shelf behind the bar, Mark obediently made his way out from behind the mahogany shield that had protected him from less welcome advances during the evening.
Suddenly, the room seemed to grow. It took years for him to reach Olivia’s table.
“May I be of service, miss?” he asked.
She waved a hand toward the chair opposite her. “Sit down.”
Mark dutifully obeyed. The hair on the back of his neck prickled again. This time, he didn’t try to track down the source. He had no doubt that more than a few women had raised an eyebrow at the fact he’d been invited to join Olivia at her table.
He felt the eyes of other male submissives on him, too. Most of them stood behind their mistress’ chairs or knelt at their sides. Few had been invited to sit at an equal level with a domme.
“You don’t like being the center of attention, do you?” Olivia asked.
Sitting straight in his chair and somehow managing not to fidget, Mark looked up and met her eyes once more. “No, miss. I don’t.”
Olivia lowered her gaze first, but not in submission. She blatantly assessed Mark’s body as if he were nothing more than a new pair of shoes in a shop window. Pulse racing faster than ever, Mark remained very still, politely waiting for her to finish.
“How many women have already invited you to submit to them this evening?”
Every instinct Mark possessed screamed that he was finally speaking to the one woman of his acquaintance whom he’d consider it pleasure to submit to—and whatever confidences he needed to break in order to keep the conversation going would be worth it.
Mark stared down at the table as he dragged the right response to his lips. “I’m sorry, miss, but it’s not my place to speak about the other ladies here or what they may have said to me.” No words had ever tasted more like ash.
A moment passed, Mark pulled his gaze back to Olivia’s face. His stomach clenched at the possibility that his failure to answer properly would kill any spark of interest she felt in him, but it was too late to change his mind now.
Olivia lifted her wine and took a sip. Pale pink, painted lips caressed the edge of the glass.
Mark swallowed rapidly, unable to stop himself from imagining those same lips brushing against his mouth as she held him still to be kissed.
“Good answer,” she finally said. “I’ve heard that you’re fussy about who you play with.” She
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