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  So why, despite all that, was I feeling possessive over Marie? From what I knew of her—particularly regarding our recent exchange—she was a feisty so-and-so and really didn’t strike me as the type of woman who would be into power plays, spanking, tying up and the various other things that I enjoyed in my role as a Dominant.

  I could have been wrong, of course, but it didn’t really matter anyway. Peter was the one taking her out on a date, not me.

  I headed back to my flat—sorry, apartment—and had a shower so hot it gave me a pounding headache. Which was incredibly stupid, especially because with Marie on my mind, a cold shower would have been much more suitable.

  Later I found myself stomping through the fairground at Santa Monica. I’d been too irritable, too restless to stay in by myself so I figured a walk and some distraction would do me good. It was only when I got close enough to be bathed in the glow of the flashing lights that I realized I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Shit. I half contemplated grabbing something from one of the stalls in the fair—a corn dog or a pretzel perhaps—but Peter would not be impressed if he found out I’d been derailing his training by eating junk food.

  Fortunately I had my wallet with me and therefore my credit cards, so I could go and grab something healthier from a restaurant. I made my way off the pier and onto more solid ground. Looking around for a decent eatery, I caught sight of Lobster Lagoon. Perfect. I went inside. Even in my casual wear, the maître d’ bowed and scraped before me, Mr. Connolly this and Mr. Connolly that. I found it more than a little irritating that he was sucking up to me because he’d recognized me, knew who I was. If I’d been any old Joe Bloggs he wouldn’t have given a shit. But I was Travis Connolly, world-famous tennis player, and therefore I was shown to the best table in the restaurant, which overlooked the beach—not that I could see much on account of the darkening sky—and also gave me a view back toward the pier, where the big wheel was turning lazily. Unfortunately, it also happened to be right behind Peter and Marie’s table. Fuck and double fuck.

  I snatched up the menu, holding it in front of my face as I worked out what the hell to do next. The maître d’ said something as he left but I didn’t take it in and waved him away absentmindedly. I’d known they were coming here tonight, but it was still early and they were supposed to be going to the pier first. Bugger.

  I could have left. Just gotten up and walked out and nobody would have been any the wiser. Or would they? Surely I would have been pretty conspicuous, walking out almost immediately after arriving. No, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. But there was only so long I could reasonably hide behind a bloody menu.

  Peter had his back to me, so if I was seen it would be Marie doing the spotting. Somehow that was so much worse—she’d think I was stalking her or something. Deliberately trying to ruin her date, especially following our heated conversation earlier that day when I’d slammed the door of her brand-new car. I had a feeling I was going to pay for that at some point in the future.

  I couldn’t worry about that now though. I had to focus on being as invisible as possible, having something to eat and getting the hell out. All without being noticed by the two people sitting mere feet away from me.

  I was so screwed.

  The longer I sat there though, the more I thought perhaps I would get away without them seeing me. They were engrossed in conversation, which I noticed with a flare of…something, was mildly flirtatious. The occasional touch of a hand, a laugh… I couldn’t see Peter’s face of course, but I suspected that if I leaned slightly to one side, around my coach’s broad back, I could see hers.

  I found myself doing it and boy, was it a mistake. My movement had drawn Marie’s gaze and her attentive, happy expression quickly turned to one of confusion and disbelief. She had just opened her mouth to say something when my designated waiter appeared. He was a youngish lad, who I suspected was working there to earn some cash for university. Or, as the Yanks confusingly dubbed it, college. He didn’t have the look of someone who wanted to work in a restaurant for the rest of his life. This was just a stopgap.

  “Mr. Connolly. It is an honor to meet you. I’m a big fan. Sorry, I just had to say that.”

  My heart sank. I might have remained anonymous if he had stuck with “Mr. Connolly”. But the rest of his words implied to anyone who could overhear that I was a somebody, someone a person would be a fan of, be pleased to meet. I cringed, waiting for the inevitable gazes turning toward me, the sudden flickers of recognition in their eyes.

  The waiter’s words had certainly gotten Peter’s attention anyway. He turned in his chair, and after a glimmer of surprise had crossed his face, he grinned at me.

  “Hey, buddy. What are you doing here? Crashing my date?”

  His words were jovial and his expression matched. Therefore I surmised that Marie hadn’t mentioned our earlier “discussion” and that he didn’t know how dangerously close he was to the truth.

  I forced out a laugh that I hoped sounded sincere.

  “No, of course not. I was out for a walk and I was suddenly starving, so I ducked into the nearest place. I didn’t even know you were coming here.”

  I was lying, of course, but neither of them could know that for sure. I’d overheard—okay, I’d been deliberately listening to—their conversation in the gym earlier, when Peter had asked her out. I hadn’t looked in their direction in case they realized I could hear them. I’d just continued to pound away at the cross-trainer, which usefully gave me something to take my growing irritation out on as my coach chatted up my psychologist. My hot psychologist.

  Just then I was saved. Another waiter turned up with Peter and Marie’s meals. Peter turned back to his table and accepted his food with thanks. At the same time, my own waiter politely prompted me for my order. It was then that I had a stroke of genius.

  “Actually, mate,” I said, leaning in conspiratorially, hoping to get him on my side, “is there any chance I can get something to take away?”

  He looked wary for a second, clearly wondering how much trouble he’d get into for bending the rules. His face twisted into a thoughtful expression, then a grin.

  “Hang on, Mr. Connolly. I’ll just go and check, but it should be okay.”

  “Please,” I said, beaming back, “call me Travis.”

  The waiter practically skipped in the direction of the kitchens at my words and I let out a low chuckle. There were perks to my so-called celebrity and I probably didn’t take advantage of them nearly enough. I resolved to rectify that in the future.

  When he was gone, Peter turned back to me. “I hope you don’t mind us not inviting you to join us, buddy. If I weren’t on a date, I totally would. But, you know…”

  I gave him a tight smile and waved at him to indicate he should get back to his meal. He gave me a strange look, then turned around.

  Oh, I knew all right. If I’d been on a date with Marie I wouldn’t have wanted to share her either. And I’d have been really pissed about someone we knew turning up the same restaurant as us too. In all fairness, it wasn’t all down to me. It was still early and I was expecting them to still be wandering the pier, checking out the rides and shops or whatever. I definitely didn’t think they’d be here yet, which is why I’d thought it would be okay to duck in for a healthy meal—healthier than a burger bar, anyway—and then be on my way. I absolutely, categorically did not think I’d be unlucky enough for them to be in the damn place already and me ending up seated right behind them!

  Ugh, who was I kidding? Why had I ended up at the pier in the first place, out of all the destinations I could have gone to? It hadn’t been a conscious decision, I’d simply put one foot in front of the other after leaving my apartment and eventually found myself heading in the direction of the pier. Once I’d gotten that far, it seemed stupid to turn back. It was a free country, after all. I could go where I wanted, when I wanted.

  Except to a BDSM club. Whoa, where had that thought come from? Obviously the dark side I was
trying desperately to hide, to forget, was not rolling over so easily. Weird. I hadn’t missed it that much since I’d arrived in California, except for the occasional pang when I thought about playing with Elle. Unfortunately, those pangs were becoming more frequent of late and I didn’t know why.

  A burst of laughter from the next table gave me pause and suddenly I knew. Knew why my head was a mess, why I was acting odd. It was Marie. Her appearance had made me painfully aware of my self-imposed chastity and had turned my mind into a whirl of kinky thoughts, both about her and about Elle. The two women had become mixed up in my brain, probably because although, yes, I missed Elle, deep down I wanted Marie to become the new Elle. Except instead of belonging to my friend, she’d belong to me.

  She let out another giggle at something Peter had said and I realized that that was unlikely. I found it difficult to believe Marie would ever belong to anyone—in the true sense, that was—and if she did, it seemed my coach had first dibs. Despite him being a knob when it came to women, he was, I supposed, a good catch. There was no reason why Marie shouldn’t start dating him, have a hot boy toy on her arm if that was what she wanted.

  The idea made me clench my fists and grit my teeth. I’d thought that was a pretty subtle gesture, considering what I really wanted to do was jump over the table, grab Peter and beat my chest as if I were some kind of Neanderthal, laying claim to my woman.

  “M-Mr. Connolly? Are you all right?”

  My waiter was back and was looking at me nervously. It seemed I wasn’t being as restrained as I believed and my expression was hinting at my dark thoughts.

  “I-I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir, I had to speak to my manager and then the head chef. I’m really very sorry.”

  The poor kid thought I was pissed off at him. I took pity. After all, it wasn’t his fault I was having completely irrational feelings toward a woman I barely knew.

  “Stop apologizing, kid. I’m not mad at you.” I grinned to reassure him. It worked, the lad physically relaxed and smiled back.

  “Oh good. Thank you, Mr. Connolly.”

  “Travis, remember?”

  “Oh, oh yes. Sorry. T-Travis.” He kept smiling.

  “Was there something you wanted?”

  “Oh, of course! I spoke to my manager and the head chef and it’s fine to have takeout. Anything you like, we can prepare and you can take it away with you.”

  “Perfect, thank you. I appreciate that, kid. Please pass on my thanks to your manager and the chef. Now…”

  I placed my order, then turned my attention to the window as I waited. I couldn’t see much of the beach but if I shifted my gaze farther out to sea and along a bit, I could see the reflection of the fair’s lights twinkling off the waves. It was mesmerizing and I found myself staring at the scene before me, disappearing into my own world, unaware of everything around me. Which was just as well, considering the situation.

  I had no idea how much time passed as I sat there, looking out the window and waiting for my dinner. I was truly in my own bubble and that suited me just fine. I enjoyed the view and the peace, right up until a polite cough was issued from beside me.

  The waiter stood there, grinning sheepishly and holding up a bag. My dinner. Excellent. I took it with a smile.

  “What’s the damage, mate?”

  The boy looked confused, clearly thinking hard of what on earth he should say to me when he had no idea what I was talking about.

  “Sorry, that’s me talking in English slang. It means, ‘How much do I owe you?’”

  The waiter huffed out a sigh of relief, followed by a short laugh.

  “I’m sorry, Mr.… Travis. I’ll get it now, and I’ll remember that in case anyone else ever says it to me! Um, the bill comes to forty-five dollars.”

  I frowned for a second, thinking how expensive it was, totally forgetting the dollars-to-pounds exchange rate. I shook myself. What the hell did it matter, anyway? I had the money to pay for it a thousand times over.

  I handed over eighty dollars and the kid took it with thanks, then turned to get my change.

  “Hey,” I said, “wait. What’s your name?”

  “Randy, sir. Uh, Travis.”

  I held back my mirth. I was sure that in America, Randy was a fine name. But to a Brit, it held another meaning altogether.

  “Okay, Randy. Don’t bother with my change, okay? You keep it. Put it towards college, okay?”

  I stood up and grabbed my bag of food.

  “H-how did you know?”

  “Call it intuition, Randy.” I tipped him a wink. “Thanks so much for this, kid, I appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll be back. With service like this, I might become a regular.”

  Randy looked delighted at this possibility and I gave him a clap on the back as I moved past him to leave. Remembering the couple at the table next to me, I glanced at them. They were both looking back at me so I gave them the widest grin I could muster. “Have a nice night, you two.”

  I strode across the restaurant and out the door as fast as I could go without looking as though I was rushing.

  Back out on the street and away from prying eyes, I let out a string of profanities under my breath.

  I was losing my fucking mind. Marie was getting under my skin and I didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

  Chapter Five

  I shoved the last of the books I was unloading onto the shelf in my office—The Sporting Mind, Psychology for the New Century and Tennis History—then rammed a bookend against them. I’d woken at 4:00 a.m. and was starting to feel sleepy again. My date with Peter had ended not long after our delicious meal because I’d been beyond tired. But my early night had meant early to rise.

  Luckily Peter was a nice bloke, easygoing and didn’t seem offended by my yawning. He’d driven me home, kissed the back of my hand and said he’d love to take me out again sometime. I’d agreed. Why not? There was nothing not to like about Peter. He was great-looking, fun company and certainly I’d put bets on him having one hell of a hot body beneath his jeans and casual shirt.

  The lift doors pinged at the end of the corridor and I guessed my first client of the day had arrived. Travis Connolly again. He’d been contracted for extra sessions because of the accident and I had a feeling he was going to make them as little about himself as possible. I wondered if he’d mention being at the same restaurant as Peter and me last night. I doubted it, he’d looked pretty twitchy about seeing us there, hadn’t even stayed to eat his meal. He was more of a loner than I’d initially suspected.

  I patted the twist of hair on my crown. I’d clipped it on top of my head today to keep my neck cool but it was behaving waywardly again and strands kept sliding forward.

  After reaching my notebook and slipping on my spectacles, I turned to the door. I always kept it ajar when expecting a client, to give the impression that I was open to whatever they needed to talk about. It was a subliminal thing.

  Travis stood in the frame, his wide shoulders filling the space, the top of his head almost brushing the wood and his jawline holding a heavy sprinkle of black stubble.

  Fuck, he should come with a warning. Hazard to the health of every female heart. He looked good enough to eat, or lick all over at the very least. Tasty.

  “Knock, knock,” he said, slipping his gaze down my body.

  “Come in. Take a seat.” I gestured to the couch and made a point of not letting my attention slide over his body. I didn’t need to look at soft blue jeans worn in all the right places or at his black polo top with a Nike logo just over his right nipple to imagine what was beneath them. I took a deep breath to stop myself doing just that. His physical attributes weren’t my concern, it was his mind I was after.

  He shut the door and sat sideways on the low S-curve of the black leather recliner, his long legs folding over and his knees coming up high.

  “Please,” I said. “Lie back, make yourself comfortable.” I took a seat on a soft chair just to his left and crossed my legs.


  Damn, I hadn’t realized how short this tight little red skirt was. Quickly I uncrossed, then started to worry there was a gap between my knees that would flash the top of my stockings or worse, what was between them. Hurriedly I pressed my notebook over my lap, resisted a squirm and forced a gentle smile at Travis.

  “You wear glasses,” he said.

  “Contacts usually.” I touched the black frames and pressed them up the bridge of my nose a fraction.

  “You were in a hurry this morning then?” He frowned, as though irritated by me being in a hurry.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You were in a rush to get to work?”

  “Not especially, it’s just the heat and being tired, it’s made my eyes a little sensitive. I thought it best to opt for my glasses when I left home this morning.”

  “So you slept at home last night?”

  “Pardon?” I creased my brow in confusion.

  His fists were clenched and a muscle twitched in his jawline. “You slept at home then and not at…?”

  I struggled to keep the surprise out of my expression. Bloody hell, was he getting at what I thought he was? Did he want to know if I’d slept at Peter’s?

  His dark eyes were boring into me; they were deep chocolate-brown, almost black. Annoyance swirled in their depths, so did a curious certainty that I’d answer his question. He was definitely a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

  Well, I supposed he would again now, because if he didn’t chill out we’d get nowhere and I had things to start work on. Plus I hadn’t slept with Peter. I wasn’t a to-bed-on-the-first-date kind of woman, so what was the harm in being truthful? “Yes, I slept at home last night.” I opened my notepad, clicked the spring on my ball-point pen and tilted my chin. “Alone.” I caught his steady gaze. Yes, I’d told him something he had no right to wonder about. But by telling Travis what he appeared to want to know, he owed me something in the confessing stakes.