Breathe [Running to Love 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) (3 page)

“I’ve been assured that you are the best person to provide me with an outline of some of the drivel our students are reading these days. I have been led to believe, via that ridiculous suggestion box, that I am quite out of step, and that despite your evident maturity, you are more aware of the times.”

Rowan looked down at her business suit in not a little consternation. She was only in her midtwenties, for goodness’s sake! Dean Atkins had just included her in his group of dry academics. She felt as though she was wearing a disguise and then fought a smile. She was. It was perhaps a good thing that the dean couldn’t see the underwear she had on under the dull, ordinary, if well-tailored, suit. She let the smile morph into a professional twitch of her lips. “I believe I can help you, sir. I’ll email you a list.”

He grunted and wandered away, leaving a stale scent of pipe tobacco in his wake. Rowan suppressed a shudder. She really didn’t want to dry up and blow away, working in a library for the rest of her life. The thought unsettled her. She loved this place! It just wasn’t fulfilling her. It was a good thing that a person really didn’t go blind from self-abuse. She covertly checked her palms anyhow, but that was just men, wasn’t it?

She spent the next hour compiling some suggestions, throwing in a few eyebrow-raising titles while she was at it. She had a great deal of work ahead of her before the weekend, researching and cataloguing an entire donated collection in original Greek. The drawings themselves were intriguing, but she needed to find a translator. The hours flew by, and she wearily stretched up and out of her chair. The dean had his list, and she had made a good start on the collection. If she were truly dedicated, she would work over the weekend, and might have done so, except Jackie was coming for dinner. She hadn’t seen her friend for weeks, because of Jackie’s shifts not gelling with her own hours, and texts and emails just didn’t cut it. Rowan, the last to leave as usual, shut off all the lights and set the alarm. She couldn’t recall who worked this Saturday and Sunday, but thought it was one of the graduate students. Regardless, she was finished for this week.

Jackie was already in the apartment when Rowan got home, the wine opened and poured. The oven had come on in blind obedience to the timer she’d set that morning and the smell of chicken in savory herbs and rice greeted her as she opened the door. Jackie enveloped her in a hug, smelling sweetly of the floral fragrance she preferred.

“I missed you, Shakespeare! I’ve pulled a lot of shifts, and found a couple of other things to occupy my time.” Jackie’s affect was almost manic, and she looked different, somehow. Rowan hugged her friend back, stooping to do so, and then really scrutinized her. The drift of bright blonde hair was the same, the petite and curvy body as animated as ever, but Jackie’s violet-blue eyes were shining.

“What?”

Rowan shrugged. “You look different.”

“I feel different, hun. Here, have a drink and let’s have a chat.”

They settled themselves on either end of the heavy old couch that Rowan couldn’t bring herself to replace, despite the fact that it was ancient and upholstered in a depressing shit-brindle brown. She compensated by throwing brightly covered crocheted afghans over it, and enjoyed its firm comfort.

“Remember I told you about Ashley?” At Rowan’s nod, Jackie continued, “Well, she and I have spent a few evenings together, platonic like, but she’s definitely interested and I’m feeling the pull, too. And she totally gets that I like men as well. She’s not so into them, but doesn’t object to the idea of a threesome. Maybe not permanent, even if she and I go anywhere with this, but still…”

Jackie tapered off and then seemed to find her wine incredibly fascinating. Rowan tapped her leg with her toes. “Jackie? It’s me, remember? I couldn’t be happier for you, my friend. I won’t pretend to totally understand, but I’ve got your back.”

Jackie gave her a tremulous smile. “I’m going to give this thing a shot, Rowan, and we’ll see how it goes. But, there’s more. Ashley is going to take me to the club tomorrow night. She wants to introduce me to her friends. I’ll know lots of them, apparently, because some are from the station, but it feels like, well, that I’m important to her.”

Rowan smiled at her friend and got up to replenish their glasses. She nearly spilled all over the counter when Jackie added, “I told her about you and she said you could come, too.”

She whirled on her friend. “Jackie! I don’t even know what goes on there! What if it’s not for me? It’s not like I’d even be going there with a date! I hoped you might find out and tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Shakespeare, it just kind of came out. We were talking about stuff, getting to know one another, and we talked about our friends. Ashley wondered if you and I had a thing, and I laughed which made her curious. I kind of mentioned that you were totally hetero if only you could find a real man.”

Rowan couldn’t get a full breath. The air literally stuttered in and out of her lungs, and her stomach clenched. God. A woman, who could conceivably become Jackie’s significant other, or one of them, now knew that Rowan wanted a “real” man in her life. She wanted to choke Jackie, and then wondered at her cowardice. She
did
want a real man. She knew she did and maybe it was time she quit kidding herself. She wanted one of those men who would take charge of her sexuality and help her experience it fully. Maybe she didn’t want the Dom thing in its entirety, but everything she read on it both intrigued and aroused her, even if it scared her a little. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to go with her friend and this Ashley and see for herself. She might learn more. She might even meet someone. It was getting tiresome, going to clubs every weekend and not sensing what she wanted in any of the men she met.
Breathe, Rowan.

“Rowan? I’m sorry. Maybe you’ll come another time.” Jackie sounded so penitent that Rowan couldn’t help but smile, but she wiped it off her face and fixed her friend with the stink eye, just to tease her.

“If you abandon me to sneak off with Ashley, I’ll bitch slap you, Jackie.” Rowan ruefully reflected that all her reading had given her quite the varied vocabulary. The Urban Dictionary was really quite interesting.

“I won’t, I swear! Oh, Rowan, maybe we’ll both get what we need.”

Rowan sipped her wine and made a silent wish that her friend’s hope would come true.

The club was nothing like Rowan had envisioned. It was quiet, for one thing, and not really dimly lit. There were small groupings of loveseats and chairs arranged to give people the opportunity to chat and enjoy a drink, much like the foyer in a nice hotel, although with considerably more intimacy. A large man met them at the door once they had parked Ashley’s car, and he checked their names against a list, despite the fact that he obviously knew Ashley. She winked at him and ribbed him gently about pulling door duty, but didn’t introduce him. Rowan immediately assumed that this was an indication of how seriously everyone’s privacy was respected. She had been surprised, as well, at its downtown location, assuming that such a club would have tucked away somewhere on a seedier side of town, but could see how it might hide in plain sight. It was a big, square, brick-fronted building with a short flight of wide stairs leading up to a paneled wooden door set on heavy iron hinges. Nothing distinguished it from its neighbors.

They had left their coats in the small cloakroom, and Ashley led the way to a discreet bar. It was tucked in a corner of the room and was more of a long counter faced and topped with pale marble, the veining reminding Rowan of the bark on birch trees. The bottles were tucked into mirrored shelves, and there was a variety, but it clearly wasn’t the focus of the lounge area. Any influence on the senses here didn’t come from alcohol. The acting bartender, another large man who was also teased about working on the weekend, raised his eyebrows at Ashley. She said, “Nothing happening tonight, sweetie. Just introducing my girls.”

He nodded and filled their drink order, and they chose a place to sit.

“What was that about, Ash? The ‘nothing happening tonight’?” Jackie asked, easing Rowan’s pressing need to do so.

“If you were participating in any of the activities tonight, then you can’t have booze,” Ashley explained. “Alistair has firm rules about everything being totally clear, consensual, and communicated. We had a screw up here last year, and he’s determined that it never happen again.” Ashley glowered. “The only good thing that came out of it is that a certain redheaded bitch can’t talk to any of the members, either here or anywhere else. Alistair would revoke her Dom’s membership and she sure as shit wouldn’t want to bring that down on herself.” Rowan’s curiosity was piqued, to say the least, but she was distracted by Jackie’s next question.

“Alistair?” Jackie’s voice sounded a little shrill. “That’s an unusual name.”

“He runs the club. He’s actually the owner and the only paid employee. The members pay dues and also take turns providing security, tending bar. The stuff we don’t want to hire out to outsiders. We even clean the place. There’s a roster, and none of us really complain. It gives us a safe, secure place to, well, shall I say, pursue our varied interests? You’re here tonight on a visitor’s pass. You might get invited back again, or you might not. Either way, you’ve passed a security check. We take our privacy seriously.”

Rowan watched the other woman, who didn’t look like anything her mind’s eye had conjured in regards to what a female cop looked like, even if there was a distinct air of authority about Ashley. She was about average height, but with none of the body mass Rowan would have expected. Instead, the cop had a whipcord, feline grace about her. The short, feathered red hair complemented her pale skin and light-blue eyes, and Ashley wore tailored pants and a short blazer over a tight, shiny dress tee. When she looked at a person it was as if she saw all their secrets. Rowan could understand why Jackie had been drawn to her. Jackie was dressed in swirls of yellow silky fabric that suited her bright personality and set off her blonde hair. It was hard not to look at her, although she had grown quieter for some reason. Rowan wondered if she rethinking this whole thing. She hoped her friend would last through the evening, because she herself was very curious and hoped to see it all.

Rowan felt less certain of her choice of apparel. She had asked Jackie what she should wear but hadn’t really believed her friend when she suggested a simple cocktail dress. Rowan had sorted through her closet and ended up with an outfit that could be perceived as a trifle provocative. The dress was really more suited for standing and dancing, and rose alarmingly high on her thighs when she sank down on the chair across from Jackie and Ashley. And it was red. Not a flashy, candy-apple red, but a dark, deep crimson that fairly screamed class with an undertone of slut. Rowan took comfort in the fact that it wasn’t skintight and that she hadn’t worn the matching shoes, choosing a black pair with modest heels instead, and that her jewelry was understated.

“What kind of security check?” she asked.

“I ran your names to see if there was anything in your history that would compromise the club. Alistair would have done the same thing.” Ashley smiled at Rowan’s involuntary start of surprise. “Don’t worry, Rowan. It’s procedure. And conversely, no matter whom you meet here tonight, they won’t know any more about you than you choose to share. Not from me. Not from Alistair. Rules work. We all honor them, or we’re not welcome here.”

The area began to fill up with assorted individuals. A large blond man walked past with a lovely little brunette on his arm, and Rowan could actually see and feel the electricity and connection between the two. They sat together on a larger couch on the other side of the room and the man took the woman’s face between his big hands and pressed a kiss on her lips that made Rowan’s thighs clench. A tall, attractive, redheaded woman came in behind a massive, handsome individual, and Rowan noted his presence, something that verged upon arrogance, and how the redhead kept her eyes lowered and walked just behind him and to his left. The woman wore a scrap of black fabric that barely covered her bottom and the tops of her breasts, and it didn’t look like she had anything under it. Rowan looked away, not wanting to stare like the veritable newbie. Ashley tensed and bent a nasty look on the redhead, but Rowan chose not to speculate. Instead, she became aware of music, a jazz piece, playing softly from hidden speakers and for a moment could believe that she was at a friend’s home, meeting new friends, enjoying a drink and quiet conversation. Except there was an undercurrent of heat, of sexuality and hormones, much like that of the nightclubs she attended. It just wasn’t as overt. So why did it feel so powerful?

“Oh my,” Jackie said.

Rowan looked up to observe newcomers, two men joshing with the guy on the door. They were both tall and broad, but the one nearest the door took her total attention. He wasn’t movie star handsome, although he did resemble some cowboy pinup whose name she couldn’t remember, a villain of the piece, from her childhood memory. His face was rugged, all juts and hard planes and anchored with a strong chin. As if feeling her gaze on him, he turned to scan the room, and their eyes locked. Rowan’s lungs seized.
Breathe.
He sauntered toward them, long muscular legs in dress pants moving fluidly beneath trim hips and a flat belly, a button-down shirt doing nothing to hide his muscled torso. His hazel eyes, framed by thick black lashes, never left hers, and Rowan wondered if it was possible to hyperventilate while being unable to make her lungs work. Her fingers suddenly itched to touch his head, to see if his very short brown hair would feel like seal fur beneath her touch or if it would rasp like shaving brush bristles. She actually felt her nostrils flare to try and pick up the scent of him, like a bitch in heat.