RecipeforSubmission (9 page)

She frowned, snuggling closer, not really looking at him.
“Sounds like a situation tailor-made for drama.”

He nodded. Personally, he liked to have his attention on one
person and have the same returned. “Sometimes. Some relationships go someplace,
some end in a mess, just like in the vanilla world. But some people make it
work. Either jealousy isn’t very strong with them, or they’ve worked it out
well enough to enjoy the benefits despite the heartache.” He shrugged.

“Oh. How about you, are you the jealous type?” She turned
her face up to meet his gaze.

“No commitment, no reason to get jealous. I’m not really the
relationship type at all.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” She was too quick with the words. Drew
didn’t believe her for a moment. And he believed her even less as she giggled
nervously and added, “Just footloose and fancy-free, that’s me.”

“As long as we both have a good time, that’s the important
thing.” He wasn’t sure he sounded any more convinced than she did. It had
always been enough before. He didn’t intend ever to settle down. He didn’t
object to it on principle, but settling down wasn’t for him. He wasn’t worried
about whether his genes survived—he had three brothers and two sisters who were
out populating the universe. There wasn’t any biological clock ticking away at
him, as far as he was concerned. One thing about everyone being different, it
also meant that no one was perfect. And no one person could satisfy all his
desires.

“I had a fun time. I guess I should be getting home, huh?”

He knew if she walked out the door now he might not see her
ever again. “You’d have to get your clothes on first,” he said dubiously.

“That’s true.” She looked at him sideways. “I think I know
how to do that, though.”

Uh, yeah.
It had been pretty lame. Having her right
next to him, feeling her soft skin touching his arm, knowing how responsive her
breasts were to sensations both gentle and intense made his heart race. His
cock hadn’t softened the whole way yet, and in fact it was getting stiffer by
the moment. “You’re welcome to stay the night, if you like.”

She met his gaze and for a moment he thought he had her,
that she was going to say yes. If she didn’t want to, he wasn’t a good judge of
women at all. But she slowly shook her head no. “We barely know one another,
after all.”

He supposed he deserved that, but he didn’t have to like it.
All because he’d turned down her request to taste him, for no good reason. He
could have let her. Nothing bad would have come of it. The habit of being
careful, of wanting people in the community to know that he took safe sex
seriously, had made him pull back from a situation that he knew held no danger.
Kyra didn’t care about the rules, anyway. “Very well. I’ll give you a ride back
to your car, of course.” He sighed inwardly. “Would you give me your phone
number, please?”

She smiled. “I’d forgotten about that. I think I was
imagining my car parked out front here. I don’t think I’d want to leave my car
in that neighborhood overnight. Thank you, Sir.” The Sir reminded him of how
much he’d slipped out of role. He didn’t usually let that happen. A sub wanted
to know where she stood, after all. For whatever reason, he was off his game
tonight.

He got his own clothes as she stood and went downstairs to retrieve
her bra and her blouse. He watched her back arch as she fastened the bra in
back and as she buttoned her blouse to cover her skin. He pulled on his pants
and his shirt. Her worries about her car stopped him from making another run at
convincing her to stay. When she was done he stood and retrieved his cell
phone.

“Making a phone call?” she asked. She didn’t say
Sir
,
and he was tempted to correct her, but now wasn’t the time. He’d been too lax
about it for her to think it was required.

“Entering your number.”

“Did I say I was going to give it to you, Sir?” The corners
of her mouth twitched up quickly before she got her face under control again,
and he knew he had her.

“No, but you are.”

She rattled it off quickly, but he still got it on the first
run-through.

He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her, his lips hard
against hers. Her mouth opened slightly and he took it as an invitation,
slipping his tongue in along hers. It was welcomed by hers, and for a couple of
seconds their tongues danced.

“Thank you, Sir.”

He grinned. “My pleasure, Kyra.” He offered his arm and she
took it.

Chapter Six

Kyra drove back to her suburban Maryland apartment feeling
confused.

Drew had waited watchfully until she had gotten in the car,
gotten her engine started and was on her way home before turning away. In fact,
he’d been every inch the gentleman from the moment he’d broken off that kiss,
the sort of man her mother always wanted for her. The sort of man she’d thought
she’d always wanted for herself. He was well-off too, owning a restaurant and a
house in a nice neighborhood in the city. He wasn’t that far off from the
detective in her books, the charming and single Garrett Chandler.

But what made her heart beat faster wasn’t any of that. It
was the wild expression on his face when he came all over her, which she was
sure any good girl would have filed under the category of totally gross, and
she’d
always
been a good girl. But in the afterglow of her own orgasm,
tied up and helpless, that look, the one that said he’d take his pleasure
however he liked, was heaven. He’d already shown, twice—three times if she
counted the dinner—that he’d do what it took to see to her satisfaction. With
most men she’d dated that was high on her worry list. Drew was the first man
she’d ever been uncertain would accept pleasure from her.

“Okay,” she said aloud, trying to break the lonely silence
inside the car. “So the sex is good and he can cook. He also isn’t interested
in a relationship, and the moment it goes beyond a few good times, he’s outta
there, and then some other man is going to have to measure up or I’ll die as a
batty old maid.”
Damn him.

It started to rain. There was no way she was going to find a
space close to her apartment, not at this time of night, and she hadn’t brought
her umbrella. “The perfect end to a perfect evening.” She said it sarcastically
but upon reflection she decided that it hadn’t actually been too far from the
perfect evening. The dinner was perfect. The sex was perfect. The way he told
her that she was going to give him her phone number was totally arrogant, of
course, but also damn close to perfect. There were only a few off notes. “
You
barely know me.”
And I said much the same to him. I should have stayed
the night, rather than taking my moment of spite. Even if something happened to
the car, it would have been worth an insurance hassle.

She turned into the parking lot and found she was spot-on
about the parking spaces. An old newspaper lay in the backseat so she grabbed
that and held it over her head while she raced across the asphalt as fast as
she could go on her heels. The paper started dripping through halfway to the
door. She punched in the security code and ran inside, eager to get her wet
clothes off.

The next morning was just as frustrating. She woke up
wondering what Drew would have made for breakfast. It didn’t inspire her to do
any cooking, however, and she settled for pouring milk on muesli and drinking a
glass of orange juice. Would Drew have wanted to have sex with her before
breakfast? After? During? There was no way of knowing. He was unpredictable.

Well, he had her number. She had writing to do.

Three days passed and he didn’t call. She’d decided her BDSM
villain wouldn’t do for the murderer after all. She had better things to do
with him. He made a hell of a good red herring, the way she had things set up,
but really, the husband of the first victim made a better murderer. Killing off
his wife for submitting to a dark and powerful Master, then killing off other
women to frame his wife’s lover for the crime—it was perfect.

The Master, naturally, was modeled after Drew, although he
didn’t seem the type to make love to another man’s wife. Then again, “
You
barely know me”
, he’d said. Was she projecting her preferences onto him?
She shook it aside, focusing on her character and the novel rather than on the
dubious nature of her reality. One way or the other, she was getting a certain
amount of pleasure out of killing off all the Master’s other women, one by one.
Footloose and fancy-free—not the jealous type, not me. And pigs can fly.

The phone rang and she grabbed for it. But there was no one
there.
Dammit, he insisted on getting my phone number, why hasn’t he called?
Then again
, she reminded herself
, some people have lives that aren’t
quite as flexible. Maybe the restaurant business is making demands. Or maybe
he’s tying some other woman to a bed and making her scream in ecstasy.

Grrrrr.

She decided she was in the right mood to write a
particularly gruesome murder scene, so she skipped ahead and went to it. Then
Garrett, after taking a look at the body—he had an iron stomach, Garrett
did—ended up getting into a long dialogue with his Police Inspector friend, and
by the time she looked up it was nearly five in the afternoon and she hadn’t
eaten lunch yet. Her tummy was rumbling. She looked at the crystal bowl, a
present from her sister that sat next to her computer, but it was empty of
chocolates and she knew the bag she refilled it from was empty too. She’d been
munching rather a lot the last few days. It was time for a real meal, something
healthy, something scrumptious. She deserved a reward for all the work she’d
done. But rather than a restaurant popping into mind, she found herself
thinking of Drew’s seared tuna steaks. She frowned and then she smiled.

I may not know his phone number, and there’s no way I’m
going to show up at his house. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know where to eat
dinner.
She Googled Ryan’s restaurant, got an address on Wisconsin Avenue
in Northwest DC and called to make a reservation.

“Just one, madam? We can seat you at six, but I’m afraid our
later times are spoken for until nine-thirty.”

She could make six. No wonder Drew was busy, if finding a
table for one on a Wednesday night was that much of a challenge. “I’ll take
it.”

“Your name, madam?”

She smiled. Drew would recognize her name if he saw the
list. But what were the chances? She was probably safe and she didn’t know
which way to play it, anyway. Let him know she was on her way, or just pop up?
“Mallory. Just Miss Mallory, if you would.”

“Very well, Miss Mallory, you have a table reserved for six.
We look forward to seeing you.”

She looked in vain for the tuna dish on the menu and then
ordered the Salmon Florentine. Salmon in a sauce made from artichokes sounded as
if it would be good.

“And how would you like that cooked, ma’am?” The waitress
was a decade younger than her and wore a skirt short enough that it probably
got her extra tips from the male patrons. She wasn’t the only pretty waitress
on staff, she’d noticed, nor the only one provocatively dressed. Kyra tried to
avoid glaring at them as they walked by.

“Um, medium I guess.”

“Very good. I’ll put your order in promptly.” The waitress
scooped up the menu from the table and turned to go.

Kyra remembered the tuna.

“Actually, I changed my mind.”

The waitress turned back, a carefully bland expression on
her face.

“You don’t have any tuna on the menu, do you?” She knew
better, because she’d searched through it three times.

“No ma’am.” Her face didn’t betray annoyance but it wasn’t
as full of warmth as it had been, either.

“Ah, well, I’ll have the salmon seared, then.”

“That’s very rare, Miss Mallory. Rarer than the rare would
be. If you like it medium, then seared will not be to your liking.”

“Seared.” Kyra’s voice was firm.

“As you wish, Miss Mallory. Will that be all?”

“Tell Mr.— No, that’s all.” She wanted to attract Drew’s
attention without making him feel fenced in. Someone who detested relationships
wouldn’t want to feel cornered. And maybe the rules of the game said that he
was supposed to make the next move anyway. Maybe submissives were supposed to
wait.

Screw that.
Kyra opened her mouth, but the waitress
was already ten feet away and receding.

She glowered at her diet cola and sipped. Nothing left to do
but wait for the food. At least one advantage of ordering it super rare was
that it wouldn’t take long to make. Coming to Ryan’s had seemed a good idea but
now she felt trapped. Nothing was going to happen. If she could believe that
with her whole heart, she could settle back and enjoy her food when it came.
But the thought that something might, that Drew might be there, was enough to
make her edgy.

Time ticked away. She saw other people who had ordered after
her get their food, but hers still hadn’t arrived. The waitress went past her,
ignoring her raised hand. Kyra was sure the girl saw it, but she steadfastly
refused to make eye contact. She sighed. She’d been on such a roll. If she’d
grabbed some fast food she’d be typing madly away instead of getting all
frustrated.

The waitress came back, holding a tray.
Finally.
Then
she saw a handsome dark-haired waiter in a bow tie following, holding a bucket
of ice with a bottle of white wine in it, and a glass. She hadn’t ordered any
wine. Obviously it wasn’t her food.
Dammit.

The waitress placed the tray in front of her. “Salmon
Florentine.” The salmon was so covered in creamy light green sauce that it was
hard to see, but it was there. The broccoli on the side looked so fresh she
thought she might try it and she hated broccoli.