She's All Tied Up: Club 3, Book 2 (30 page)

She arrived on time, which annoyed her because she’d planned to be at least five minutes late and make him wait. But traffic was light, and she wasn’t childish enough to pull over and sit by the roadside for five minutes, so she pulled into the parking lot promptly at seven.

Jake was waiting anyway, leaning on a huge planter full of bright zinnias in front of the modern building, which was faced with a mixture of aged corrugated tin and old brick, with a painted sign over the door.

He looked good in a black polo and khaki shorts, black woven shoes on his feet. Although, she saw as she walked up to him that his cheekbones were more defined, as if he had indeed lost weight. His face was grim, but then it generally was, so that was no different.

But he straightened as soon as he saw her, and walked forward to meet her.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the sounds of traffic on the street, and the chatter of voices on the patio behind them. “Thanks for coming.” The words were impersonal; his tone was not. It matched his warm gaze.

Carlie nodded, trying not to shiver with pleasure when his hand settled lightly in the small of her back as they walked through the open front doors. Inside, a wall of noise hit them, music and voices from the patrons filling the tables in the open-ceilinged space.

“I got us a table outside,” he said, his mouth close to her ear to be heard over the music. The hostess, a perky college-aged girl, emerged smiling from her podium with large menus in her hands. She led them outside, to a table near the back of the patio, where Jake seated Carlie in the shade of the young tree growing in a pot by the patio and sat across from her.

They ordered some beer, amber ale for Carlie, a stout for Jake. Then they ordered dinner, Carlie an Asian salad with chicken, Jake the same with a chicken sandwich on focaccia.

The beer was good, and Carlie relaxed a little, enjoyed her dinner, enjoyed watching Jake eat with precision and economy of fuss, packing away the calories needed for his huge frame. It was oddly peaceful, unlike most of the time they’d spent together so far, not super-charged with sexual intent.

Although that was still there, under the surface. She watched his beautiful, big hands pick up his beer, and remembered them cupping her breasts, glanced at his mouth and remembered how it felt against hers. Listened to his voice and remembered him ordering her to do things, and the quiver of delight in being made to do them.

He set down his beer and leaned forward. “Baby, you keep lookin’ at me that way—”

Carlie looked up, mesmerized as he spoke, his eyes heavy, his voice a sexy rumble. Then her gaze caught movement beyond his shoulder.

The blonde who’d stood with him that night at the club stood at the entrance to the patio, with another woman. She was watching Carlie and Jake.

Chapter Twenty-One

The blonde smiled, gave a little wave, looking delighted to see Carlie and Jake together.

Carlie was not delighted to see her. She froze, the hurt and humiliation of that night, of coming face-to-face with someone who had been there with Jake as he slashed at her solidifying her dinner in a sickening lump.

Jake had broken off, his eyes narrowing at her look. Then he twisted, looking over his shoulder. “Fuck,” he muttered. He jerked his chin, and the blonde gave him a wave, but she no longer looked delighted; she looked embarrassed. She was backing up, saying something to her friend. They disappeared into the building.

Carlie sat, not sure if she could speak without throwing up. She swallowed, rubbed a hand over her tummy.

“I’m not involved with Sash,” Jake said quietly.

“Really?” Carlie’s voice was as sharp as the knife by her plate, and she did not care. “So you weren’t with her that night? Because it sure looked like you were.”

He looked as she’d punched him, but he clearly knew he deserved it so he didn’t dodge the blow. “No. Or anyone else.”

So Daisy was right. “Then who is she?”

“She’s just a friend,” he began.

“Just one of your subs?” she broke in. Like me, she wanted to add, but didn’t, because that would make her throw up.

He stared at her. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. That told her a lot. She knew doms didn’t talk about their “clients” with other people. She looked away from him, her stomach twisting harder.

“Sorry, none of my business, is it? I knew that walking into Club 3.” She took a breath and reached for her purse. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for dinner.”

“Sit still.” Jake’s voice, though soft, thumped her back into her chair as if he’d put a heavy hand on her. She stared at him, shocked.

His face was tight, his eyes turbulent. “I used her, all right?” he said, his voice quiet but harsh. “That night. She’s back in town, had some trouble in Seattle. She was tellin’ me about it. Her man turned out to be a royal fuck-head, I was mad about that, had walked into the club mad about somethin’ else. I’d just come from havin’ a drink with my dad. He had a fight with his current woman, got drunk, cryin’ in his beer. Then he got goin’ on about my mom, about how he’d loved her and she’d hurt him. I’ve heard that once, I’ve heard it a thousand fuckin’ times. So fed up with his drama, can’t even tell you.”

Carlie stared at him. “You have a dad?” she asked, which sounded stupid even to her, because everyone had a dad. “I mean he’s still around?” Somehow she’d assumed the man was gone, dead or just wandered off the way many fathers of dysfunctional families had a way of doing.

“Yeah, I’ve got a dad. Although Ray’s never quite grown up. And he gets to drinkin’, he doesn’t mind layin’ it out for whoever will listen.”

He took a breath, and she watched him pull his control back in place. “My point is, I had no excuse for the way I acted to you, but I had a reason. I’d had it with him, fuckin’ done with remembering her and all their shit, then you walked in, laughin’ with Mase, dressed that way, and somethin’ just snapped in my brain. I was pissed. Jealous. Didn’t want you showin’ those other horndogs what you showed only me.”

“Oh. So this—” Carlie couldn’t bring herself to say the woman’s name. “She’s not—”

He shook his head. “Sash? She wasn’t any happier with me than you were. Told me I used her to hurt you. She was right. I was a fuckin’ coward, didn’t want to deal with what I was feelin’, so I used a friend, hid behind her. That’s low.” He called her Sash, a nickname, short for Sasha or something. He knew her pretty well, then.

He reached out and put his hand over Carlie’s. His hand was warm and strong. “Apologized to her. Gonna keep doin’ it to you until you believe me. I’m sorry, baby.”

Carlie nodded. “Okay. Thank you for explaining. Now—I have to go.” And she did. She was tired of feeling raw, as if her skin were on inside out and the scrapes of hurt just kept coming. The stuff with his family, she would think about later. It was awful, and she was going to hurt for him, but she just couldn’t do that right now.

“Want you to come out to my house.”

For a minute, the words didn’t penetrate. Then she stared down at him, not understanding.

He put his hands on the table, pushed himself upright, encased in calm once again. “Think about it,” he said. “You can let me know.”

Then he walked her out to her car, where Carlie turned on him. She backed away a few steps, because he was too close. He didn’t like that, she could tell by the tightness of his mouth at the corners.

“I’ll let you know this right now,” she said. “My dating life sucks. I keep picking loser after loser. That’s part of why I ended up at the club. Not the entire reason, because I wanted to try kink. But right now, Jake? It feels like I just picked another loser—romantically, anyway. So yeah, I’ll be thinking about it, but…don’t expect me to just lie down for you and be your little sub who lets you stomp all over my feelings, treat me however you want. Because I-I’m worth more than that.”

Then she turned away, managing to beep her car door open. He said nothing, just reached around her to open her door before she could, closed it after her and watched while she started it up and backed out. He was still standing there, watching as she drove away. Thankfully, she didn’t hit anyone on the way out of the parking lot, as her mind was whirling along with her emotions.

He owned his own home? And he wanted her to see it? What the heck was up with that?

Her mind headed gratefully off on this tangent. Jake was a homeowner. Somehow she had pictured him living in an apartment, or maybe a condo like Dack’s. One that was minimally decorated with a chair, big-screen television with all possible attachments, etc. Guy stuff. But not a house.

Then at the first stoplight, her phone chimed that she’d received a text. From Jake. She pulled it out and read.

You’re right. You deserve the best.

Oh…her breath whooshed out, her eyes closed for a second as the sweetness of the simple words curled deep inside her and found a place, near her heart. Eased the hurt just a little.

Then her phone signaled a call.

Her mother’s ringtone. Carlie tipped her head back and stared at the upholstery over her head. Then she tipped it back down and put her foot on the gas, rolling forward with the traffic.

No. Just no. She’d decide when to speak with her mom. On top of everything else going on in her life, she was done letting Paula swoop in and upset her.

Carlie’s problems just kept on coming.

Monday, she was reminded that EbiTeck had another dinner dance coming up that weekend. Since Gerry had not, unfortunately, decided to take a new job in Beijing, even after being reprimanded and placed on probation by Martin, he would be there along with everyone else. And although he now avoided her scrupulously, and though her colleagues meant no harm—with the exception of Monica, and possibly Gerry’s cronies—she didn’t want eyes ping-ponging between them all evening, waiting for trouble to erupt.

This meant she needed a date, someone else for everyone to speculate about and who could provide a bulwark for her, because the women weren’t likely to rehash the debacle with a stranger beside her. After giving the matter much thought, she called Trace and asked him tentatively if he would mind escorting her, if he wasn’t already busy at the club or otherwise. She was pretty sure he didn’t sit home evenings.

After a moment’s pause, in which she was humiliatingly aware he was realizing there’d been no reconciliation between her and Jake, he accepted. He even managed to sound pleased.

“Thanks,” Carlie said. “I really appreciate it, Trace.”

“Babe,” he said, reproach in his voice now. “No hardship on my part. I get to go out with a gorgeous woman. Think you could wear something skimpy?”

She surprised herself by laughing. “No, it’s a business function for me. But you could.” They were both silent, Carlie with alarm as she remembered him in nothing but slacks and a pink bow tie. “Um, on second thought…”

Now he laughed. “I’ll wear a suit.”

“You don’t have to,” she assured him. “Just a blazer and slacks.”

She knew whatever he wore, he’d look fabulous and she’d be the envy of most of the women there. This prospect was not as much fun as it could have been. They said good-bye, she clicked off her phone and put her hand to her eyes, pressing hard against the hot ache behind them.

She’d hoped that maybe she’d be seeing Jake in a blazer and slacks on one of these occasions. She suspected he didn't dress up much, so he’d have to go out and have some dress clothes tailored to his unusual size, but he’d look really hot.

Saturday evening, Dack suggested to Jake that they go for a beer before the club opened. Jake sure as hell had nothing better to do. They went to Monroe’s, sat at the bar and had a good beer, which might as well have been water as far as Jake was concerned. Then they hopped back in Dack’s truck and headed out.

Jake noticed they weren’t driving toward the club. “You got an errand?”

Dack nodded. “You could say that.”

Then Jake noticed they were on a familiar street. “What the fuck?”

“Hang on,” was all Dack said.

They stopped on the street outside the parking lot of Carlie’s apartment building. Jake tagged her apartment with his gaze, foreboding tightening his gut. He was so used to living on his roller coaster of hope and loss for the last several days that if Dack had brought him here to watch her with some stranger, it might very well take him down.

Then he stared as she walked out in a green dress with a wide vee neckline and short, fluttery sleeves, her hair up, a smile on her face. A familiar man followed her out, then turned to lock her door. Fuck. It was Trace, wearing a blue shirt, black slacks and gray blazer, a big smile on his face too. He put her key in his pocket, then took her arm and walked her down the stairs in the evening sunlight. Jake watched her graceful walk, the swing of her hips, her long legs under the edge of her skirt, the way she reached up to push back a lock of hair as the evening breeze caught it, blew it across her face.

The couple reached Trace’s car; he said something that made her laugh. Then he helped her in, closed her door and walked around the back. As he did so, he turned his head, tagged Dack’s truck and gave them a casual salute before continuing on around to get in.