Owned by Fate (Serve #1)(5)

Chapter Three


Caroline’s pulse raced. Not in a post-Saturday-morning-spin-class way. In a holy-motherf*cker-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.

On top of that, wasn’t she just a tiny bit curious what went on upstairs?

Feeling his gaze on her, she looked up and was immediately drawn back into his riveting intensity. There was knowledge in those eyes. Knowledge she didn’t have. A man who provided pleasure for a living. Arranged it. If given the opportunity, what would he do to her? Stop. Irrelevant. She pushed the errant thought aside, but her voice came out sounding husky, betraying her. “What’s going to happen upstairs?”

“That’s entirely up to you.” His gaze traced the curve of her neck, leaving heat in its wake. “My plan is to give you a tour, but you should be fully aware of something before we go up.”

When his hand coasted over her hip and squeezed, a tremor wracked her belly. Snuck lower. Pulsed. Oh, God. She shouldn’t be allowing this. “What’s that?”

He brought his mouth within a scant inch of hers. “If you give me the slightest bit of encouragement, I will get you somewhere dark and rough up that mouth with mine. I’ll push those lips open and give it a better reason to pout.”

Their bodies brushed together, and she almost moaned at the simple contact. His words were weaving some kind of spell and she needed to get clear of it.

“But you won’t encourage me. Will you, Caroline?”

She jerked back. It was a challenge and she answered it immediately. “No.” No, she affirmed to herself. No man, especially not some cocky BDSM club owner, would be breaching her defenses this evening. Her brain was in control, as always. This response she was having to him…it had to be the atmosphere, the liquor. This place had been designed to test people’s judgment, but she wouldn’t give in to it. Not on her life. She was here for her story, nothing more.

With an alarming effort, Caroline distanced herself from Serve’s confusing, but undeniably interesting owner and glanced around the lounge. No sign of Eliza and Gavin Rossdale. The crowd had begun to close in around them, pressing together tightly at the bar. Bass pumped even louder. Several couples were making out, bodies grinding to the beat, drinks forgotten on the bar. One such couple bumped her elbow hard but didn’t cease trying to swallow each other long enough to apologize.

What was more appealing? Staying here and waiting for Eliza or gaining a valuable perspective for her story from this walking, talking paradox? After all, she’d come here to hate this place, hadn’t she? What better way to succeed than getting a front-row seat?

She tilted her head and met his challenging gaze. He expected her to decline, and that sealed her decision. “Against my better judgment, I’ll brave the wilds upstairs.” She drew her phone out of her purse and shot a quick text to Eliza. “Do you mind saying something for me first, though?”

“Depends.”

She dug deep for her best Humphrey Bogart impression. “Say, ‘Of all the BDSM clubs in the world, she walks into m—’”

“Jesus.” He curled a strong hand around her arm and tugged her off the chair, but not before she saw a smile curve his lips. “Let’s go.”

Noticing the interested looks being thrown their way, Caroline ducked her head and followed him through the crowd. Knowing he wasn’t watching and she could get away with it, she let her gaze travel upward, over legs encased in black dress pants. His backside was firm and tight. You could bounce a quarter off of it. She’d never understood that figure of speech before, but it made complete sense now. When he threw a questioning glance over his shoulder, she realized she’d laughed out loud. This is good, she thought. Laughter means I’m continuing to make light of this and seeing this place for what it is.