TamingTara

Chapter Two

Her eyes were frosty despite that warm whiskey color. Once again her hostility was palpable. This was one pissed off lady.

“I don’t agree with Grandpa’s decision to hire you,” she said through clenched teeth. “We do not need another manager here.”

Joe nodded. Yeah, he got the message. This was getting more and more complicated. He bit back a sigh. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

She actually could be right about one thing. If he had to go to Tyrone Lockhart about every little decision, he was outta there. No way was he interested in a job where he had no real authority.

Aw, who was he kidding? He was desperate for this job. Any job. If he had no authority, he’d just have to find a way to make things work. He had no fucking choice. At least for a while. He had no intention of staying in Santa Barbara forever, but right now he needed to make some money, needed to restore his credibility. As soon as things died down back in San Francisco, he’d go back and find another job there, where he belonged.

“Well, I’m here,” he said as he stood. He gave her a grim smile, held her gaze without yielding. “Get used to it.” And when once again he saw that glimmer of hesitation, that barest hint of surrender, satisfaction expanded inside him. She wasn’t going to surrender easily or without a fight and he was suddenly looking forward to the battle.

Tara checked her watch. The play party at Le Château started at ten o’clock. Earlier, she hadn’t decided whether she was going to go, but now…she needed to be distracted from the frustration of dealing with both Joe and her grandfather. She needed this outlet, this release.

Mostly she needed to forget the feelings that had built inside her when Joe had left her that afternoon, the hint of warning in his voice and the look of power in his hot eyes that made her shiver and go soft inside.

Because the feelings he evoked in her were just like when she had those shadowy dreams—strong hands, demanding kisses, a hard body pressing into her, wicked, forbidden images of power, pleasure and pain. She closed her eyes against the dark hunger rising inside her, the craving to be pushed, taken to the edge. The dreams had prompted her to seek out the club, to see if she could find the things she dreamed about. A way she could be strong and dominant with men without being labeled a cold-hearted, ball-breaking bitch.

She changed into a shiny black latex halter dress that stopped at mid thigh and over-the knee black stiletto boots. The outfit felt a little…ridiculous. So not her. Hey, she was trying to explore a different side of herself. Maybe dressing the part would help. But she covered her clothes with a bland beige trench coat in case she ran into Grandpa or Sasha on her way out.

Le Château wasn’t the kind of party place her sister frequented. In fact, if either Sasha or Grandpa knew Tara went there, they would die. Grandpa would literally have a heart attack. He was driving her crazy, but she didn’t want that to actually happen. Although, even though she wasn’t sure if Le Château was the kind of place for her, she had to admit that the idea of her grandfather finding out she was doing just one more thing to defy him added a slight edge of excitement to the whole deal.

She brought her new toy along with her and her tummy jumped at the thought of using it. Hopefully there would be some nice submissive men at the club tonight who’d want to feel a little pain.

Le Château sat on the outskirts of town, a former residence that had now been converted into a club. The mansion did resemble a castle with a round turret on one corner and still looked just like a private residence with no signs or anything to indicate it was otherwise. She parked in the lot behind the house and entered through the rear door, showing her membership card.

Inside, the heart-quickening beat of Orbital vibrated through her body. She wasn’t yet a regular there—this was only her third time, in fact.

She knew her desires were different. She knew she needed more than she was getting from the few relationships she’d had. Like Hugh. Dating hadn’t worked out so well, but she wasn’t prepared to be celibate either. Sex was important. Necessary. But sometimes not all that satisfying. So she’d hoped by joining Le Château and trying some different things, she might find what she was looking for, might find what she needed—even though she wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

She wandered across the red-and gold-lit room to the bar and requested a drink—green tea and apple juice. No alcohol here at Le Château. She surveyed the play stations, almost all of them in use already, other club members sitting on couches grouped in corners. The dim red and gold lights created shadows and deep corners of intimacy. She caught the eye of an attractive man across the room—a familiar face. Adam. She pushed herself away from the bar and strolled over to where he reclined in a chair.

“Hi, Adam.”

“Hi, Cara.”

She didn’t want to use her real name. Santa Barbara wasn’t that big, and in the business world the last thing she needed was word of her new kinky pastimes getting out and damaging the company. She knew she was taking a risk by doing this, which added somewhat to the thrill of it, but everyone else at the club was in the same position—using a fake name, keeping their real identity a secret. A lot of the men there had wives at home who had no idea what they were doing, and probably some of the women too. In fact, there were some extremely high-profile members of the business community who liked to frequent the club. Discretion was important and the club made privacy a priority. That’s what she liked about it.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” she said.

“I am. Jason. And…” Adam studied her. “We both need to be punished.”

She lifted a brow. “Really? And now what do you both need to be punished for?”

He paused, then said, “Last week I let him fuck me. Up the ass.”

She shook her head. “Shame on you. Did you like it?”

“I did.” He bowed his head

She held up her flogger, dragged the tails across her palm. “You’re right. You do need to be punished.” The two men seemed to be in denial over their mutual attraction to each other.

“In the red room. Eleven o’clock,” she said. She fondled the handle of her flogger, the ball on the end smooth in her palm.

“We’ll be there.”

She returned to the bar and picked up her drink.

Two submissive men who needed to be punished. What more could she ask for?

Her stomach clenched a little at the thought. The idea of laying a flogging on the bare asses of two pretty boys was…well, she wasn’t sure if she could exactly describe the emotion it aroused in her. Excitement certainly, but along with that came a little trepidation, a little uncertainty. Even a little envy that they were getting all the attention.

She lifted her drink to her mouth, her gaze drifting across the room, various groups and couples in an assortment of clothing—leather, PVC and some that were barely there, studded harnesses, chains and collars.

Her eyes stopped on a tall, broad figure, dark-haired, his back to her. He wore black leather pants that showed off an exceptional ass and a black vest, no shirt. There were times when the fetish wear of some men in the club just made her want to roll her eyes or laugh. It was hard for some guys to pull off wearing shiny PVC pants, shorts or harnesses. And the ones who showed up in police uniform costumes just made her want to giggle. But this guy looked at ease in his black leather and the shoulders and arms revealed by the vest were ripped—bulging biceps, satiny olive skin.

Then he turned and Tara choked on her green tea. Oh. Dear. God.

It was Joe Scaletta.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joe stared across the main room at Le Château. That could not be Tara Lockhart leaning against the bar over there, so fucking hot in a shiny black dress that looked like it had been laminated to her curves and heels that could seriously injure a man. Her honey-blonde hair had been scraped up into a tight, high ponytail. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted as she met his gaze.

Oh yeah, that was her.

Busted, sweetheart. Joe’s pulse leaped and he couldn’t restrain the smile curving his lips. Tara Lockhart, secret Dominatrix.

Huh? That wasn’t the impression he’d gotten of her earlier. Sure, she was strong. Intelligent. Confident. Bossy. But that flicker he’d seen in her eyes, the way she’d hesitated when he’d greeted her, made him question her domination. Somehow it didn’t ring true.

He crossed the room toward her as if drawn by a magnet. No way was he going to do her any favors by pretending not to recognize her or disappearing. He was going to have his fun with this and the anticipation of it sizzled through his veins.

Like arousal.

He stopped in front of her and stared down at her, not saying a word.

“Hi,” she finally said weakly, her eyes dropping briefly.

“Well. Tara. Imagine my surprise seeing you here.”

She swallowed but lifted her chin. “Likewise.”

He looked her over, up, down, then raised his gaze back to her face. “Very nice.”

She pressed her lips together. No thanks for the compliment. He wanted to laugh.

“I had no idea you were into the lifestyle.”

“I’m not.”

“Ah.” He lifted a brow. “Just…exploring?”

“No. Well.” She sucked her top lip in briefly. “I’m uh…checking this place out.”

“Ah. Finding yourself.”

“I’m not finding myself! I know exactly who I am.” Irritation tightened her voice.

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Don’t patronize me! What the hell are you doing here? If my grandpa knew…”

He lifted a brow. “Does he know you’re here?”

She blinked. “No.”

“Then we’re on even ground,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes briefly. He could almost hear the curse words he was sure she wanted to spit out. “I guess we are,” she finally said.

“So.” He trailed a finger over her bare shoulder and down the satiny skin of her arm. “Top or bottom?”

She gritted her teeth. “Top.”

“Of course.”

“You?”

“Top. Always.”

“Of course.” She echoed his words in a chilly tone.

He smiled. “You, Tara, are no top.”

Her eyes widened. “Yes, I am.”

He shook his head slowly. “I can see it in your eyes. You may think you are— you may fool others into thinking you are—but you’re not.”

“That’s ridiculous. In fact, I’m meeting two men at eleven o’clock in the red room who need to be punished. And I’m going to do it.”

“But are you going to enjoy it?”

She stared at him. “Of course I am.”

He looked at her. Said nothing. “What are you drinking?”

“Uh. Green tea and apple juice.”

“Sounds good.” He reached for her drink, took it from her and tasted it. “Yeah, it is good.” He handed it back to her.

She glared at him. He gestured to the bartender and requested another one for her and one for himself.

“So how are you going to punish these two men?”

“With this.” She held up her flogger, lifted a brow.

“Nice.” He took it from her, let the ball of the handle snuggle into his palm. Gave it a flick across his own palm. “Very nice.”

He watched her breasts rise beneath the shiny PVC and the way her eyes darkened as she watched him snap the flogger. Oh yeah.

“Nice, if a bit…amateurish,” he added.

“What!” Her lips parted.

He smiled. “This is good for a beginner. You can’t do too much damage with this.”

“I know what I’m doing!”

The bartender passed their drinks over and Joe handed one to Tara. She clenched her hands into fists and refused to take it. Oh man. She was just asking for it.

“No thanks,” she said shortly. “Give me back my flogger.”

He lifted a brow. Waited.

“Please.”

Ah. Satisfaction. It was a small thing, but still…the anticipation of bending her to his will, of bending her body over and giving her what she really wanted sizzled through him. Jesus.

He handed her the small black rubber flogger and itched to hold his favorite one, a wicked beast with a dozen braided deerskin tails and double slapper tips. He imagined dragging the tails over Tara’s soft skin, watching the look of fear in her eyes as she waited for what he could do to her with it. He was confident in his technique, knew he could change the sensations from massage-like to sharp stings to deep thuds.

He had to suck in a hard breath at the images in his mind, because what were the chances he was ever going to get to flog his boss’s granddaughter? And never mind the fact that she didn’t even seem to know she wanted it.

Leading her to that discovery could be so much fun…but mixing business and pleasure—or pain, as the case may be—was never a good idea.

He glanced at his watch. Five minutes until her “play date”. His mouth twisted. Just as well she had plans and he had to look elsewhere for his fun. But he watched her when she left, followed her to the hall and observed her enter the red room. For some reason he felt almost…protective of her. She was in there with two guys, and although the club carefully screened members, as he well knew, shit could happen, especially if she was inexperienced for one thing, and for another, she wasn’t really dominant. Things could get out of control and she might not be able to get them back on track.

He wandered around, passing by a group of submissives sitting together on a couch, dressed in frilly lingerie and white collars. For once, they didn’t interest him at all. Too easy. He couldn’t stop thinking of Tara and her strength and will and resistance. The urge to overpower that resistance and have her was eating away at him, destroying any appeal others might have held.

He kept an eye on the door to the Red Room, tension tightening inside him as time went on. It was a rule of the club that he could not enter a private room. Otherwise he would have stormed in there and taken over. Not that he wanted to spank two boys. He just wanted to attend to Tara.

When the door finally opened and first one young man, then the other emerged, both of them flushed and glazed-eyed, Joe strode down the hall, passing them. They barely glanced at him, with eyes only for each other. Huh. What was Tara getting out of a threesome with two men who were so into each other?

He paused at the door, then lifted his chin and entered the Red Room.