“Make it quick.”

She poured him a cup and pushed the cream and sugar toward him before hurrying back to the dogs. Grabbing Freckles, she tried to smile. “When is your first class?”

“In two days,” he said coldly.

At his tone her insides curled into a frozen ball. She’d hoped their last time together would be…easier, but now he was angry. Her hands went cold. As echoes of her father’s uncontrolled yelling filled her head, she forced her voice to stay easy. “Will that give you time to get prepared and figure out where everything is?”

“I suppose.” He glanced at his watch again. “Be nice to escape the bitching about slashed funding. Everett said they plan to increase class size and dump instructors at the bottom of the ladder.”

“Like me. I know.” Her stomach tightened. She’d already suffered the ordeal of being jobless. “This fall, they’ll decide who gets laid off for the spring semester.”

“Awards or not, with no recent publications, you’ll be one of the first to go.”

A professor could spend time on research, grants, and articles—or on teaching. Nathan insisted that making a class interesting wasn’t as important as research. She’d thought differently, and last spring she’d won two awards. For teaching. “I’ll have something published by then.”

I hope. Unease stair-stepped cold fingers up her spine. Last fall, her small college had closed. She’d landed a position at the university, but with only a semester-to-semester contract. “A friend publishes an online ethnography journal which focuses on edgy sociological essays. Controversial topics. He promised to call in favors for an immediate peer review. My article will be in the fall issue if I get it to him before August.”

“That doesn’t leave time to do research.” Nathan frowned.

“Not much, no. But it’s adequate for the limited observations and analysis I plan.”

“Controversial, eh? I hope you didn’t think to do your study in my club. The owner would never let a sociologist in the door.” He scowled, then relaxed. “It’s private now anyway. You couldn’t get in.”

“So I heard.”

His expression turned to stone. “You actually considered BDSM as a research topic, but not as something to do with your lover?” He didn’t raise his voice. He never yelled.

Not like her father. “Bitch. Slut. You’re a whore.” She closed her eyes. Why was Dad’s voice so pervasive today? Because she was still unsettled from last night?

“Maybe if you’d been willing to be more adventurous, we wouldn’t have broken up.” Nathan took a sip from his cup and rose. This time when he looked at her, his control chilled her.

“I know.” Their last date had been the final straw for him. Those ghastly handcuffs. She’d tried—she had. He’d cuffed one wrist, and she’d panicked. Again. The thought of being so helpless with him was just…just…no.

He was smart, charming, gorgeous, and polite. A renowned professor of anthropology respected enough to get invited to lecture at another university for the summer semester. They communicated well. Aside from his predilection for kink, the sex was pretty good—except for last time, when her refusal to be restrained had had a…deflating effect on him.

He’d gone so cold that she’d known she’d lost him, even before he said the words.

She turned her head away. So how in the world had she let Xavier restrain her and not Nathan? “I’m sorry. Some of that stuff makes me really uncomfortable.”

“It wasn’t all about you, Abby. Sometimes it needed to be about me and my needs. You pampered those mangy mutts more than you did your so-called lover.”

That’s not true. She bit back the retort. Her fingers were cold as she laced her other shoe, then crossed the room to get her purse and car keys.

Could she change enough to enjoy bondage and pain and stuff? If she was different when he returned in August, would he be interested again?

He held the door open, and as she walked through, he pulled her close. “I’m going to miss what we had, my pretty girl. My sweet slut. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

His sensual lips touched hers, but she’d stepped outside her body and was watching from a distance. Evaluating how he held her, how his voice sounded.

“I’m sorry too.” Ice formed on her skin, encasing her, buffering her from the pain.

Chapter Four

The second night at Dark Haven went much smoother. Abby enjoyed her time behind the desk, checking membership card photos, answering questions, handing out applications. Who knew a kinky place would be so popular?

Whenever she had a few quiet minutes, she filled out the limit list Xavier had given her. Anal sex…hard beatings, soft beatings. Asphyxiation—was that for real? Face slapping…injections…piercings…mummification. Each item had one check box beside it for no, indicating she absolutely wouldn’t permit it.

Why didn’t he have a list like the ones she’d seen online that offered a box for maybe? Or in her case, an option saying, I might be willing after a lot of discussion and time and several margaritas. She frowned at the paper. If she marked no to everything that made her uneasy, Xavier might kick her out of the club for being a fake.

Eventually she checked only the items that would make her run screaming for the police. Asphyxiation. No way in the world. And surely a smart woman would mark no to something called orgasm denial. What a horrible concept.

After the traumatic questionnaire, she found it a relief to file membership applications and straighten the desk. She labeled a paper tray with MY LIEGE for a place to put Xavier’s messages. How did he get such a strange title? Although it did fit him well. His self-confidence seemed so integral to his nature he could well have been born a ruler.

As people came and went, she jotted down research observations in her own version of a code—shorthand Latin. She’d planned to compare the social network to a tribe or a family, but more complicated relationships kept appearing. Like the bisexual guy who told her he was submissive to a male Dom, but topped women when he visited the club. And smiled at her.

What was the proper response to that kind of flirtation?

A flurry of activity at the door grabbed her attention, and she checked in a lesbian couple, then a man with a human puppy on a leash. A minute later a blonde woman around forty walked in, followed by Simon.

Simon smiled. “Abby. You came back for another night. Excellent.”

Did the man have to be so gorgeous? Maybe he had some silver in his hair, but like Xavier, he was even hotter than a younger guy.

He put his arm around the blonde. “This is my wife. Rona, this is Abby, Xavier’s new receptionist, who will hopefully survive longer than the last one.”

Rona held her hand out to shake. “Hi, Abby. Has Xavier terrified you yet?”

“Not…completely.” Kind of. Unable to help herself, Abby gave a quick glance toward the club room door. Just to make sure he hadn’t entered.

“But some, eh?” Simon’s grin transformed his face to devastating. “Your receptionist time is over in a few minutes. Will Nathan show you around?”

“No. He’s teaching in Maine for the summer.” Thank heavens.

“Ah. Then join us when you’re off, and I’ll help you find someone nice to play with.”

Play with? Her breath caught as if snagged on one of her ribs. By the time she finished coughing, the couple had already entered the main room.

Abby managed to smile at the next three men waiting at the desk. Hunky, but from the spiked collars around two necks with leashes to the third guy, she knew none of them played on her side of the street. Sometimes sexual orientation wasn’t obvious—although it certainly had been with Xavier. Simply from the way he’d touched her, she knew he really, really liked playing with breasts. The thought sent a flash of heat to her lower half.

The guys ran their membership cards through the reader and held them up for her to check the photos. “Thank you. Have a wonderful night.” As they disappeared into the club, she jotted down some notes.

“Hi.” The leather-clad Dom wasn’t far past twenty-one—at least five years younger than she was. After swiping his ID card, he leaned an arm on her desk.

“Can I help you?” Abby asked.

The young man grinned. “Give me an hour and I’ll show you.” Then he noted her collar, and his smile turned rueful. “If the Master of the house permits.”

She laughed as he sauntered into the club. Not that she wanted him, but he was cute, and the well holding her ego had needed filling. After all, she sure wasn’t a beauty like some of the women here. Not even close.

The angel who assigned bodies had obviously been in a bad mood when Abby was born. Her stepsister had received long, thick brown hair to match her dark eyes and golden skin. Abby got blonde hair that she wore short because the strands were so fine that her ponytail was no thicker than a cotton swab. Dark eyes? Nope. She had weird gray ones, not even bright enough to be called blue.

Tall and slender like Janae? Nope. Abby was a pear—a nice, healthy shape as long as you liked a fat butt. She had nightmares of someone tagging her ass with a WIDE LOAD sign. Shudder.

The angel hadn’t been completely evil, though. I got breasts. And tonight they were showcased in a black corset. Her black leather skirt showed off her shapely legs but was long enough to cover her bumpy upper thighs.

Last month she’d read that a man’s connective tissue aligned horizontally with the skin, whereas a female’s went perpendicular—which was why women got lumpy cellulite and men didn’t. And doesn’t that totally prove that God is male?

She frowned upward to where God dwelled with his parsimonious angel. “You should be ashamed. Both of you.”

“Excuse me?”

At the sound of the deep, deep voice, she started, and her pen made a suicide dive to the floor. She bent, wrapped her fingers around it, and gulped as two oversize black boots moved into her view. After straightening up, she plastered on a smile. “Good evening, my liege.”

“Abby.” He studied her for a minute. “You’re wearing glasses.”

She’d forgotten how he affected her. Her heart was pounding like a five-year-old with a new drum set. “I’m not used to being up late, and my eyes had a tantrum when I tried to put in my contacts.”

“I see. The glasses are quite beguiling.”

“Oh please. I look like a nerd.” Or so Nathan had always said.

“I like the combination of fetish and studious.” His gaze lingered on her cleavage. “You look like a librarian who wants to go back in the stacks and fuck.”

As her mouth dropped open, he picked up her limits list from the desk and glanced over it.

Warmth flowed into her face as she remembered the disconcerting list of erotic choices. Maybe she should have checked no to them all.

He set it down without speaking. When he grasped her wrist, the zing was so loud that her ears rang, like hearing door chimes on amphetamines.

Apparently he didn’t hear them. He turned her forearm over to check the line of black dots. “Good. No reaction to anything.”

“Nope.” As his thumb made circles on her wrist, shivers climbed her arm. Heavens, how could being touched do this to her?

His dark eyes crinkled before he released her and gestured with his fingers. Stand up.

“Uh. Yes, sir.” She stood.

As he looked at her, his black brows pulled together into a frown that chilled her. Compared to him, the most intimidating professor at the university seemed like a lamb.

“Sir?”

“Did I mention less clothes?”

Her chin rose. “This skirt is shorter.”

His hand closed on her shoulder. “I obviously confused you. So. Let me clarify. If you wear something that covers your breasts and stomach, then I expect nothing more concealing than a thong on your lower half. If you wear a skirt or pants, your breast may be covered with only chains or a set of nipple clamps.”

Only a thong? With her butt? Did he have no clue about women’s insecurities at all? She gave him the stare she reserved for students playing games on their cell phones.

When his eyes filled with obvious amusement, she wanted to hit him, right on that oversize, muscled chest. Even as her lips pressed together, a shiver of excitement ran down her spine and set her lower half to tingling. What would he do to her if she defied him?