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controlled, themselves.
    Only, they weren’t anything like him.
Because they weren’t him .
    Of all the BDSM clubs in all the cities in
this huge country, he had to walk into mine…
    She wondered for months after that night
what would have happened had she confronted him, or at least let
him see her. Instead, she’d chickened out, made her staff trade
shifts whenever he was in, so she could spend the evening in the
security booth monitoring the cameras in the club.
    Hiding.
    Monitoring him in her club.
    Not that there’d been much to see,
initially. At first, he’d just watched. That’s all new members were
allowed for a month-long window period, during which time they
underwent extensive background screening and blood tests. After the
probationary period, accepted members as well as staff were
monitored with bi-monthly health screenings for the duration of
their association with the club.
    Four goddamned months. It nearly did her in.
At least for the first few weeks, she knew he wasn’t touching or
being touched. But after that… Well, she didn’t want to know. As a
result, her own attendance had dropped off considerably.
    A sigh hissed through her teeth as she
leaned over the railing.
    Idiot.
    Who was she fooling? She might be the
most-respected Domme at Ten , but here? Fuck - throw Grayson
into the mix, and she wasn’t fit to dominate a baby kitten, much
less the man who held her heart.
    All this time, and she’d spent it hiding,
peeking through his client records (hey, as part owner, she was
allowed, right?), agonizing over her own stupid jealousy while
memorizing the details of his sessions for her own purposes. She
was a coward and a creep. And yet, his records haunted her
imagination.
    Marion gasped silently as a brief fantasy
flashed in her mind: lips swollen from biting back moans, eyes
covered in black silk, the muscle of his jaw twitching erratically
as he waited on his knees for her next move. Heat danced through
her belly, skittering down to a shot between her legs. The rush of
anticipation and want was so sudden and thick, she almost didn’t
hear the door behind her open.
     
    Marion didn’t move so much as a muscle at
the soft snick of the door behind him. He grinned, taking it as
confirmation – clearly she was waiting for him to make the first
move. He took a deep, silent breath to calm his nerves. He’d passed
on the alcohol after that second Scotch. Not knowing what exactly
was in store later, he didn’t want to take any chances of being too
inebriated to function. Now he was grateful, because the sight
before him was enough to make his senses go sideways.
    Taking his time to properly appreciate the
feminine form leaning over the stone banister, Grayson licked his
lips like the perv he was. From her lethally high stilettos, up the
black seam of stockings leading all the way to the flash of
creamy-gold bare thigh peeking out from under her skirt, it was
truly uncanny all the details she’d gotten right.
    Her hips shifted and he realized she was
watching him, a curtain of ebony hair shadowing her dark gaze as
she looked over her shoulder. When their eyes met, she said
nothing, but turned back to her lookout, her back arching and hips
pushing out ever so slightly. If that wasn’t an invitation, he
didn’t know what it was.
    The air on the balcony suddenly felt heavy
and thick despite the cool of late October. Everything was about to
change between them. The friendship that had been spiked with
unfulfilled want for so long now lay on the marble patio before him
like a gauntlet.
    For the first time ever, he was actually
nervous about a girl. No, a woman. Fuck, not just a woman,
either.
    This was Marion - a woman who, deep down
inside, he considered his best friend, a little more than his buddy
Corbin, even. Of course, Corbin had never played so much as a
peripheral role in Grayson’s wettest dreams and filthiest
fantasies. Marion, on the other hand, had dominated his imagination
for years, in