Playing Hard to Master (4 page)

He raised a hand to acknowledge their buddy Chris, who was baby-wrangling while his wife, Janine, stood as Kate’s matron of honor. Banner’s business partner, Belle, was there, too, with her wife, Shannon. Banner and Rook’s mother looked like a million bucks, and was sitting in the front row beaming at everyone.

Eventually, the violinist started to play, and the bridesmaids—Janine, Meadow, and Kate’s friend Bethany from work—processed down the sandy aisle, between the rows of chairs. How they walked so gracefully in the sand was a mystery. He knew for a fact he’d be finding somewhere to sit and empty his shoes at the end of the ceremony.

Kate appeared in a simple white shift dress. She wore her public collar, and her feet were bare. She was luminous.

Ambrose glanced at Banner, whose wide grin proved he wasn’t regretting a thing. After all the crap these two had put him through when they were being idiots, they’d damn well better make it work. And the reception dinner had better be fucking fantastic.

As the couple exchanged vows, rings, and kisses, Ambrose looked on, feeling guilty about his cynical thoughts. If anyone could stay married and happy, it was these two.

The day was a blur of standing, posing, and polite smiles. They behaved for the sake of the other guests, but at one point during the outdoor reception, Ambrose and Banner were forced to throw Konstantin in the ocean, after which he pelted Ambrose with wet sand. A melee ensued, which involved Banner jumping in and dragging Rook with him.

Later, the photographer said it was the most interesting photoshoot she’d ever done.

Dinner was delayed while they showered and changed. Luckily, Kate knew them well enough that she’d ordered them to come prepared with a second suit.

Ambrose and Konstantin were well on their way to being drunk when the first dance started. Kon ditched his girlfriends to meander over and sling an arm around Ambrose’s shoulders.

For a moment they watched in silence as Banner and Kate danced.

“He’s a lucky bastard.” Konstantin smiled and shook his head. “Remember how he used to think he’d never find anyone that suited him? And now look at him. Fucking married.” He put his beer bottle to his lips and tipped it back.

“I’m glad he pulled his head out of his ass and claimed her. They belong together.”

Konstantin gave him a long look, which involved substantial beer breath considering how close they were. “You, my friend, are an honorable man. How did you manage to keep your hands off her after he gave her to you? I might have lasted a day—but only if I was sick or something.”

Ambrose didn’t believe that for a minute. They all had a weakness for women—especially submissive ones—but there was no way Kon would have done things any differently if he’d been in Ambrose’s place. If he’d seen the way Banner and Kate had pined for each other, Kon wouldn’t have slept with Kate either. The three of them had been best friends since they were kids. They’d never betray one another.

Having Kate so close for so long, and the fact that they were compatible and she was on the rebound, had meant that Ambrose had spent a lot of quality time in cold showers. If Emmy Awards could be given for lying in a relationship, there would be one on his mantel. Ambrose
had
wanted her, but not like Banner did. Not like she was air and he was suffocating. You didn’t fuck with something like that—especially if one of the people involved was your best friend.

“This was meant to happen.” He sighed. “She wasn’t mine, and I knew that even if she didn’t.”

Konstantin hugged him, and Ambrose was glad he wasn’t in a wrestling mood tonight. Drunk and affectionate Konstantin was less exhausting than drunk and affectionately aggressive Konstantin.

“
Ya tebya lyublyu
, Ambrose.” Konstantin kissed his cheek. “I love you. Someday they’ll build a monument to you, and men will go there to ask for the strength not to fuck their best friends’ girlfriends.”

“Hopefully they’ll leave me interesting sacrifices.” Ambrose sipped at his own beer. Time to slow down a bit. He didn’t want to be the obnoxious drunk at this wedding and faceplant in the cake or do something else they’d never let him live down.

“You want to borrow one of my girls tonight? Or join us?”

“No thanks.” Ambrose chuckled, but knowing Kon, he wasn’t joking. They’d shared girls before.

“If I ever get married, I would share her with you and Banner. No one else though. Fuck those other guys.” He belched and Ambrose turned his head away before he got a blast of beery air.

“You’re a good friend.” He patted Konstantin’s shoulder. “Your babushka wants you to marry a nice Russian girl though. What if she’s vanilla?”

“Can you see me marrying a vanilla girl? My balls would turn blue and blow up.” He made an exploding noise, complete with hand gesture. “Speaking of which, what happened with your hot little hairdresser? I saw you put her in the corner, and I gave it about five minutes before you started humping her leg.”

“Everly is . . .” What was she? He’d been trying to block some of that night out, but scenes from it kept replaying in his head like a sexy flashback slideshow. So much had happened since, with the flight to Saint Thomas and the wedding prep, that it was hard to believe it was only two nights ago.

He’d never had so much trouble maintaining control with a woman. As much as Konstantin had mocked him for looking like he wanted to throw her on the bar and fuck her, they’d been all over each other for the rest of the night. He’d seriously considered fucking her in a back room, or in his car, but it felt too sleazy, and she deserved better. Taking her home wasn’t an option, unless he could think of an excuse for having a big, fancy house. “It’s complicated.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“No. Sadly, no.” Ambrose drained his beer and set the bottle down on the table next to them. “She hates rich men, so I can’t bring her home.”

“Rent an apartment, or use one of your warehouses. You need to get laid.” Konstantin’s focus shifted to his women, who were making their way over to them. “Have you even dated anyone since Kate? It’s been almost a year.”

“You know the answer to that.” He rubbed his eyes, already tired. It had been a long day, and knowing he had to stay until the end of the festivities was making him wish he could go to bed early. He’d danced with Kate’s friend Bethany a few times, and she’d shown obvious signs of interest, but it wasn’t her who he wanted.

What he really wanted was to take a curvy little brat with purple hair streaks and show her that he could handle her. If they’d met sooner, he would have asked her to come to the wedding, but a trip to the Caribbean was a bit much for a second date.

The more he thought about Everly and their intense attraction, though, the more leery he got. If life had taught him anything, it was that when things seemed too good to be true, they generally were.

Maybe his body needed relief, but his emotions needed to stay the hell out of the equation.

“The city council plans to shut down the central no-freeze homeless shelter, leaving dozens of homeless people on the streets this winter,” Everly shouted to the crowd of Saturday shoppers downtown. “Please sign our petition to keep it open and consider coming to the protest November tenth.” She held out flyers as people walked by. Mostly, they ignored her, but a few had taken them. Some had even stopped to sign the petition and ask how they could help.

Chloe spoke to a middle-aged woman wearing glasses and a trench coat. She nodded along as Chloe explained the steps to get the city to keep it open—the big protest next month, finding sponsors to donate, and gathering a few more volunteers. In today’s social and economic climate, it was harder than it sounded.

“Please help us protest the closing of the no-freeze shelter!” Everly refocused on her task, trying not to get discouraged by how many people walked by without even making eye contact.

Ugh. So frustrating. If more people cared—even ordinary people—they’d make a bigger impact. But the rich would keep on getting richer if the middle and lower classes never spoke up about it. Why did it feel like everyone was so oblivious except for her and a few others? Consumerism and capitalism were all around them, sucking the compassion from the world, and they just walked by, sipping their lattes and texting on their phones. No wonder everyone was so depressed. This was what happened when humanity got greedy.

God, she would never, ever be rich. Even if she somehow won the lottery without entering, she’d give it all away before she could touch a single penny of it. Money corrupted just as much as power did. She’d seen it more than once. She’d felt the stab in the back too. And by her own family. Even at a young age, their sneers burned.

One memory stood out from the rest. Her mom’s cousin, who she’d been close to as a child—had died suddenly in a car accident. They hadn’t been welcome at the funeral.

Even though the rest of the family shunned them, her mom had grasped Everly’s small hand and held her head high. Through the heat of their glares, Everly drew on her mother’s strength.

Later, she overheard her grandmother whisper to people she didn’t recognize, “They can’t possibly be as poor as Lysette makes them sound,” she said. “Disgraceful. And just look at how chunky Everly has gotten.”

Her cheeks had burned and she ran to their crappy old car, vowing never to return to her grandma’s estate again, no matter who died.

So far, she’d kept that vow.

Although their family had multiple opportunities to be civil over the years, they didn’t even acknowledge her or her mom if they crossed their paths in town. She found a perverse enjoyment in being ignored, but she could tell how much it hurt her mom.

She knew not every rich person was cruel, but why did they deserve more than everyone else? Why did someone like her grandmother, who’d never lifted a finger in her life, feel she was better than people who couldn’t work or couldn’t catch a break?

No one deserved to go hungry or freeze to death.

The petition had twenty-five signatures so far. Not bad for only two hours and three of them working. Their Community Cares group had grown to about fifteen members, but they took turns volunteering on Saturday mornings to raise awareness. Today, she shared the timeslot with Chloe and Max.

Max had a nice, loud voice that carried well. And Chloe was model gorgeous, so she always managed to get the college guys to stop and talk to her. Everly figured they signed the petition just to get Chloe’s attention.

But they weren’t there to pick up. They were there to make a difference.

“We also need volunteers and donations to help run the shelter!” she yelled, handing over a flyer to a little girl smiling and reaching up. Her mother stood a few feet away, looking down at her phone.

“Give this to your mom, okay?” she whispered to the girl.

She nodded then skipped off and handed the flyer to her mother, who took one glance then shoved it back at the girl.

An older gentleman strode past as he said, “Tell them to get a job like everyone else.”

“Fuck you too,” she muttered to herself. Last time she’d been rude to a heckler, she’d gotten chastised by the others, so she tried to be more careful now. Chloe did have a point that they weren’t exactly being upstanding citizens by calling people “selfish dickwads who have more money than brain cells.”

“Don’t get discouraged,” Chloe said. “I think people will show up next week. Our Facebook post got a lot of likes.”

Everly wanted to be optimistic, but was starting to lose hope. The no-freeze shelter was an important part of their community. Open twenty-four/seven, they didn’t turn anyone away who needed somewhere warm to sleep during the winter months. Why was it so hard to get people to care?

Sometimes it just took a little perspective. She had perspective, which was why she spent her weekends off at protests and rallies, trying to fight for services and to bring awareness to the socioeconomic gap. There was a time where she wouldn’t have survived without the no-freeze shelter. Or worse—been taken away from her mother to live with strangers.

She fought back a shiver. Was it the memory or the unseasonably cold September air? She pulled her peacoat tighter around her body then spotted the coffee shop across the street.

“Hey, I’m gonna get something hot to drink,” she said to Chloe and Max. “You want anything?”

They gave her their orders, and she jogged across the busy street. The rush of warmth upon stepping into the coffee shop made her sigh with relief. Her nose started to thaw, along with her tingling fingers, as she waited in line.

After she ordered their drinks, she waited by the pickup counter and peered around the shop. She wished a place like this would let them hand out flyers inside, where it was warm and busy, but most places had a no-soliciting policy.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a familiar form. Large and imposing, he was hard to miss, even from across the shop.

A thrill swept through her. The last time she’d seen Ambrose, he’d been holding her in the corner, whispering naughty things in her ear. Heat warmed her insides at the memory, making her clench her thighs together.

She hadn’t heard from him since then, even though they’d left on good terms. Then again, she hadn’t exactly texted him either. But wasn’t it the guy’s job to call first? She’d been tempted, stared at his contact info on her phone, thinking through what to say, but at the last second she always chickened out. Weird for her, because she was known for having brass balls. But something about him scared her. Maybe it was the potential—hot, funny, kind, and a damned good Dom, so far. She didn’t want to fuck things up.

It crossed her mind not to say anything, but she couldn’t resist. She checked that he was alone before calling to him. “Ambrose!”

He turned, and when he spotted her, he smiled. He pushed through the crowd toward her.

The grin and the way he walked—more like stalked—toward her made him look predatory. Her legs twitched with the urge to run, to make him chase her.

Whoa. Down, girl.

She didn’t even know if he was still interested.

“Hey, there,” he said when he reached her. His gaze swept down her body then back up to her face.

She didn’t miss the heated look in his eye. It stirred her in ways so not appropriate for public.

“Getting coffee?”

She nodded, unable to find her voice for a moment. What the hell? She was a brat—since when was she intimidated by a guy she barely knew?

“Where you headed?” he asked. “Can you sit for a while?”

Her brows darted up in surprise. Maybe he
was
interested. The offer was tempting. Their time at The Catacombs had kept her vibrator busy the last few nights. Gazing at his face as she sat across from him would be enough to get her imagination going. But duty called. “Um. No. I’m in the middle of a social justice event, and I have to bring drinks to my friends.”

“Everly,” a barista called.

“That’s me.” She turned to the counter. “Do you have one of those tray things?”

The barista shook her head. “We’re all out. Sorry.”

“Crap.” Heaving a sigh, she looked at the three drinks. She’d just have to juggle the third between the other two.

“Here,” Ambrose said, stepping forward. “Let me help you.”

He took two cups off the counter, and she took the third then looked up at him. “Thank you.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just across the street.”

“Okay.” They walked through the shop then out the door before he spoke again. “So what’s this event you’re doing?”

“We’re handing out flyers to raise awareness for the no-freeze shelter. The city council wants to close it. Such bullshit.” She shook her head, letting frustration seep into her voice. “So we’re trying to get people to sign a petition and come to the protest next week.” They crossed the street. “You should sign it. We could use all the help we can get.”

“Sure. Sounds like a good cause to me.”

When she reached her friends, she introduced Ambrose and they figured out whose drink was whose. Then he signed the petition and she couldn’t stop beaming up at him, feeling like a devoted little puppy dog following its owner.

She gave her head a shake. Since when was she so easily impressed? All he did was sign a piece of paper.

“Is that it?” he asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Do you . . . need anything else?”

How about answers about why he hadn’t texted her since the club? She wasn’t about to ask that in front of her friends though.

“If you have any old blankets or coats or anything, we could use some donations.”

He nodded. “Sure. I have a bunch of stuff like that.”

When she creased her brow, puzzled, he added, “I’m a bit of a pack rat.” His chuckle sounded nervous. “I could . . . bring them by your place, if you want.” It came out like a question, and she appreciated the fact that he wasn’t being a pushy asshole.

She smiled. “Okay.” This sounded like the makings of a second date. “When are you free?”

“I’m off today.” He hiked a thumb at the coffee shop. “I just had breakfast with my mom. That was my big plan for the day. Are you gonna be done here soon?”

“Umm.” She turned to her friends. “We usually stop in about an hour, when people finish their morning errands and go home for lunch.”

Chloe made a shooing gesture with her hand. “Go ahead. We’ll finish up. We’re fine here.” Mischief twinkled in her eyes.

It wasn’t hard to tell what she was thinking. Everly wasn’t sure whether to encourage her or not. She’d love to go hang out with Ambrose, but she wasn’t the type to duck out of a commitment like this.

“It’s okay,” Ambrose said. “I’m not in a rush. I’ll run home and get the stuff, then you can text me when you’re done. Send me your address too.”

“Okay.” She tried to bite back a grin. Second date with a Dom who, so far, was cool, funny, and could handle her. Not bad for Saturday plans. It beat cleaning anyway.

Shit.
Panic hit. Her apartment was a mess!

After Ambrose left, she turned to Chloe. “I gotta go clean!”

Her friend laughed. “He’s hot. If you’re not calling dibs . . .”

“Dibs!”

Max put a hand on his hip. “I was about to call dibs!”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t swing that way, sweetheart.”

“One night, baby.” He winked. “I just need one night.”

Laughing, Chloe waved her away. “Go. Clean your house. Don’t forget the bedroom. Do you need condoms? They have them at the health clinic.”

“Shut up!”

Chloe fell into a fit of laughter.

“I’m a grown-up,” Everly said. “I know where to get condoms.”

She handed off the flyers so they could return them to the community center then turned to leave, ignoring their snickers.

“We want details later,” Max yelled after her.

She gave them the finger over her shoulder.

*   *   *

Her apartment was presentable by the time the doorbell rang. Wanting to impress him with neatness seemed like the wrong way to start a relationship, especially since it was a lie. Normally, random clothes and shoes were strewn around each room as if someone had run out halfway dressed in an emergency. But that was just the way she lived. Her last vanilla boyfriend had been a mama’s boy—his expectations of Everly made June Cleaver look like a slob. Needless to say, they hadn’t lasted long.

Now that she had more experience with BDSM, she’d been safewording vanillas anyway.

She swept her gaze over the room one more time before answering the door, making sure she hadn’t left a pair of underwear out—or something even more embarrassing.

When she was satisfied with the condition of the place, she opened the door. Ambrose smiled, and her heart fluttered. In his arms, he held a bundle of blankets.

“Hi.” She stepped aside so he could enter. “You can just throw those on the couch.”

“Okay.”

After unloading the pile from his arms, he pulled off his coat. Her mouth went dry. The gray T-shirt gave her a good look at his arms again. Was there such a thing as arm porn? He’d be a star.

Fuck. Was it hot in here? Tattoos were her weakness.

Forcing herself to move before she drooled on her shirt, she went to the couch to see what he’d brought. Staying busy would keep her mind off wanting to jump him. “This was really nice of you, by the way.” She sifted through the items—each one in perfect condition. They even smelled new. “These are great. You wouldn’t believe the amount of . . .”

One of the cashmere blankets still had the tag on. “Um . . . Did you want to keep this one?”

“Oh.” He actually blushed. “That was a gift. I guess I didn’t take the tags off yet. Keep it. You need it more than I do.”

She didn’t see that coming. He’d been a gentleman at the club—a bossy one but still respectful and kind. But donating all this stuff took it a step further. The fact that he cared about the shelter gave him major brownie points. She pictured him at protests with her, holding signs together, cozying up to stay warm.

She’d tried dating a fellow protester once, but that ended up being the only thing they had in common. When they’d eventually made it into bed, and she’d told him about her kinks, he’d equated it to abuse against women and walked out. But if Ambrose cared about social justice even half as much as she did
and
he was good in bed, she’d hit the fucking boyfriend jackpot.