Navy SEALs Complete Series: 3 Books + 3 Novellas (Tempting Navy SEALs) (11 page)

Not that one of the clubs had been raided in years. The influx of differing lifestyles and cultures into Atlanta, and the metropolis atmosphere, had eased the controversy over them. There were more extreme bondage clubs in the area, but Drage’s ability to provide a club for the more extreme as well as those wanting to play along the periphery had drawn in all types.

Now the three clubs, Diva’s, the Roundtable, and Merlin’s, could be some of the most popular clubs in the state.

She moved through the Saturday night crowd slowly, feeling the hard pulse of the music thrumming around her as her gaze probed the crowd.

The slow, sensual beat of Gavin Froome’s “Plane Jane” met her, but Morganna knew the house mix could swing just
as quickly into the Cure, Depeche Mode, or any of the hard Goth, techno, or tribal beats.

It raged from current to classic at the drop of a hat and filled her blood with the need to dance. She loved dancing, moving, feeling her body come alive to the music. As did most of the other women and a few of the men who moved between the three clubs like a wave, the faces changing through the night as the club-hopping thrill took them over, though there were regular all-nighters specific to each club.

And there were new faces nightly. Plenty of them. Women dipping their toes into the open sexuality afforded them. Men playing at being Doms, finding a vicarious thrill in the openness of the women they found there.

Alcohol flowed like water, and drugs were the dirty little under-the-table side benefit. There was no evidence that the owner supplied the drugs or condoned them. Bouncers made a habit of throwing out the less secretive dealers and users, but for the most part, drugs were easy to come by.

Dressed now in snug leather pants and a half corset with black thin leather cups that covered her breasts, and high-heeled black leather boots, Morganna swayed sensually to the music.

Cinched low on her hips, nearly to her thighs, was her favorite wide black leather belt. She hooked her thumbs into it as she made her way to the bar and her first drink of the night before she let her body go, her gaze staying centered on the crowd.

She had perfected the ability to dance, letting the pulse of the music pound through her, as she watched the crowd and picked up probable victims of the drug she and her team were searching for.

“Morganna, darling. Gorgeous outfit.” One of the younger regulars stopped her as she made her way to the bar. Cletus Tomas was a quarterback for the university. A gentle giant with a taste for female Dommes.

“Thanks, Clete.” She reached up and patted his cheek, smacking a kiss toward him for the boost in confidence.

“You gonna dance with me, baby?” His wide face creased into a smile, his black eyes dancing with good humor as he stared down at her from his near-seven-foot height with a reverence that never failed to make her laugh.

“Maybe later, sweetie,” she yelled over the music. “I need a drink and a chance to settle in first.”

He winked as his gaze went over the black leather pants and half corset. At the side of her belt she wore a pair of silver handcuffs and the small leather pouch that carried her essentials.

“Save me a dance then, beautiful.” He winked at her slowly. “I could let you learn to use those handcuffs if you like. Just say when.”

“They wouldn’t fit you,” she laughed back. “Go play, Clete. I’ll catch up with you later.”

He threw his hand up in a farewell as he moved through the crowd, his wide body parting the ocean of humanity like an unerodible boulder.

She shook her head before moving to the bar, sliding in quickly as a bar stool was vacated before smiling in triumph at the line waiting to do the same thing.

“Lawry, I need a drink,” she called to the bartender. “The good stuff.”

Kentucky whiskey. Something to calm the pulse of fury moving through her blood as she felt the absence of the receiver that Joe hadn’t replaced.

The fact that Craig hadn’t stopped by the house or been waiting in the parking lot to check her in was telling. The team’s black van was in place, though, which meant they were watching something.

She took a hard sip of the glass Lawry set in front of her, then breathed deep against the fire burning to her stomach. That easy, she had been dumped. Because of Clint.

She turned on the stool, holding the glass in one hand as she leaned back against the hardwood bar behind her and stared out over the heads of the crowd packed into the cavernous room. The raised bar floor allowed those at the bar to survey most of the room.

She found Craig first, staring back at her from a slouch against one of the large pillars placed strategically to bear the weight of the roof in such a large area. She followed his gaze then to a table set back from the dance floor but not quite in the shadows.

Clint was impossible to miss. As was the redhead sitting on his knee as he socialized with several of the hard-core Dommes who were a part of the clubs. Men and women Morganna had only watched, never spoken to. Clint obviously knew them well.

She ignored the wave of jealousy that ripped through her at the sight of the woman. Damn him to hell. Morganna couldn’t bear the thought of another man touching her now and there he was with a redheaded bimbo perched on his knee like a well-trained bird.

Morganna took another fortifying sip of the whiskey as she pulled her eyes from him. She wasn’t here to watch Clint.

“Girlfriend, there you are.” Jenna Lancaster hopped onto the stool beside her, her heavy breasts bouncing beneath the silk camisole she wore as her heavily lined eyes stared back at Morganna with rabid curiosity. “Man, did you lose out last night or what? That big bad Dom we’ve all lusted after that jerked you to the back rooms pulled in a newbie tonight.”

Morganna breathed in carefully. “That bad-assed Dom you’re talking about is an asshole,” she snorted. “She’s welcome to him.”

Jenna laughed at the description. “Those are the best kind, honey. You sure you don’t just have those Domme tendencies Cletus keeps swearing you have?”

Morganna rolled her eyes. “I just like the clothes,” she retorted.

“They say he likes full subs, girlfriend.” Jenna shook her head. “I think if I were you, I could pretend for a night with a man like that. I hear he can fuck for hours. Have you ever been fucked for hours?”

Only with her vibrator. And what he could do with his lips and tongue alone in five minutes had it beat to hell and back.

“She’s welcome to him.” Morganna lifted her glass to her lips; her gaze caught when Clint gripped the redhead’s hair and held her in place as she started to move.

The woman settled back on his lap, her eyes closing in obvious pleasure. Jealousy struck Morganna in a wave of white-hot hunger, ripping through her chest and tearing into her heart swifter than the sharpest blade.

She pulled her gaze away again, looking for the suspects Joe had on his list, as well as the women they were with. She had a job to finish; if the only part she played was in helping to find the supplier drugging those women, then so be it. At least he was off the streets.

“At least Craig still looks interested,” Jenna pointed out, glancing over at him.

Yep, Craig was still watching Morganna, but the bastard hadn’t returned her receiver. With it, she could have heard whatever Clint was saying to the passive little sub he had with him.

God, she hated both of them.

She turned from Craig’s gaze, deliberately snubbing the questioning look he was giving her.

“Oh, girlfriend, that was cold.” Jenna laughed, her expression calculating as she watched the exchange. “I’m telling you, Clete is right. You’d make a much better Domme than you do a sub.”

“Jenna, is there a point to this discussion?” Morganna finally asked, turning to the other girl as she lifted her brow coolly.

Jenna giggled, her brown eyes twinkling in fun. “Oh, girlfriend, come spank me. That’s such a cool look.”

Morganna sighed roughly before finishing the whiskey and turning back to gesture to Lawry for another. It was obviously going to be a trying night.

Jenna sighed gustily as Morganna turned back.

“I was so hoping you would know if Mr. Badass could really last for hours. His subs don’t talk.”

“I have no idea,” Morganna revealed drolly. “Craig wasn’t too pleased to find out where I was. He dragged me out.”

“Straight into a drive-by shooting, too!” Jenna suddenly exclaimed. “I almost forgot about that.”

There was something wrong with the world when the subject of a man’s stamina was more important than a supposed friend’s near murder.

When this operation was over, it might be time to find a new haunt. These clubs were just getting on Morganna’s nerves. Hell, they had been getting on her nerves before Cindy was killed. Morganna loved the dance, but she hated the feeling of being hunted, a slab of meat on the table of sensuality. She sighed at the thought.

“It’s nice to know my near demise blipped your radar, Jenna,” she laughed. “Why don’t you go play? I need to chill out for a while. It’s been a killer week.”

As Morganna watched the crowd, she was aware of Jenna’s probing look.

“You’re looking for a new Dom,” Jenna piped up. “You’ve dropped Craig then?”

“Craig never had me; he was just in the running. That’s all.”

“Who else was in the running?”

Morganna turned back to her, aware that the “mouth of the South” title hadn’t been given to Jenna without reason. Her lips quirked. “At the moment, no one. Go play, girlfriend, and let me finish my drink.”

Jenna giggled, a sound that really didn’t suit the thirty-something legal secretary. She hopped off her bar stool,
though, and with a little wiggle of her hips headed back into the throng.

Morganna’s gaze slid back to Clint and his little redheaded sub. He was currently caressing her arm absently, running his fingers up and down the slender limb as she clearly telegraphed her arousal, her readiness to fuck.

The perfect little sub. There wasn’t a chance she was going to convince a dealer she had to be drugged to accept Clint.

Morganna sighed. There was no way she could sit there so passively beneath his touch. She watched the girl’s body language, the obvious sense of waiting, of anticipation. It was completely opposite Clint’s. He looked almost bored as he glanced around.

His gaze roved over the dance floor, the crowd, then lifted to the bar. Morganna knew the moment he saw her. His hand paused on the other woman’s arm, his eyes narrowing as his jaw clenched.

Morganna lifted her drink mockingly in recognition of his awareness of her and tilted her head in acknowledgment before she turned away from him again. As luck would have it, her gaze locked on a shadowy corner and the couple there.

The guy was big, tall, and broad; his companion, what you could see of her, was short, full-bodied. Her head was thrown back in pleasure as the man bent to her breasts. Morganna could see very little, but she saw enough to know what was going on.

She swirled the liquor in her glass as she watched with open curiosity. Could she do that? It was damned arousing to watch, to see the sexual act playing out, the way the male lifted the woman, aligning his hips with hers, and moved.

The long skirt of the woman’s dress hid anything from view, but it was more than obvious what he was doing. For a moment, just a moment, Morganna felt Clint’s touch again, his lips at her nipple, his tongue lashing it. His hips between
hers, the thick length of his erection grinding against her. The image was broken as someone moved in front of her, then stopped.

She lifted her eyes slowly, amused curiosity filling her as she met the frowning, disapproving gaze of the club’s owner.

He was nearly as tall as Reno, classically lean, but there was muscle beneath that white silk shirt and black European trousers. His black hair was pulled back from an aristocratic face, tied at his nape, and fell below his shoulder blades. Green eyes, as dark as moss, were cool, cynical, as they watched her.

He rarely came out. She had expected to hear from him tonight, but not in person, not like this. He was making a statement; she just wished she knew what that statement was.

“Ms. Chavez. Could we talk? Privately.” The thick Cajun flavor of his voice was dark rather than sensual, almost deadly.

She almost shivered in trepidation, aware of the gazes locked on them. Swallowing tight, she slid from the bar stool, her gaze searching out Craig’s as she followed Masters through a crowd that parted automatically for him.

Craig’s eyes tracked them, obviously concerned. She didn’t dare look for Clint.

“This way, please.” Masters stopped at the entrance to the private hall before stepping aside and extending his hand before him. “My office is just down the hall.”

What the hell had she done? Morganna thought frantically to try to come up with a reason for his sudden notice. Hell, she was one of the lower-key members of his clubs. She came to dance, drink a little, and meet with friends, supposedly. Drage only barred the real troublemakers from his clubs, not little nobodies like her. Unless he wanted something else?

“Here we are,
cher
.” He unlocked the door with the electronic card before ushering her in. “I was surprised to see
you here tonight. I was making plans to head to your residence when my doorman informed me you had arrived.”

“You were?” That one was shocking.

It was all she could do to contain her nervousness as she stepped into the dimly lit, surprisingly old-fashioned office.

“Of course. I had the report you were nearly murdered in my parking lot. I wanted to be certain you were well.”

She stood aside as he moved around her and headed for the desk. A bank of monitors were lit beside the desk, more than a dozen showing varied views of the club. Another set below them were blank.

“Please, sit down.” He gestured to the comfortable leather chairs in front of the wide, dark cherry office desk as he sat down himself and stared back at her through those deep green eyes.

Morganna took a seat, leaning back with false confidence as she crossed one leg over a knee and allowed her foot to swish back and forth as she stared back at him.