Life Goal Number Two: Don’t mistake the mace for perfume.

While planning to meet a handsome, potentially demented stranger for coffee, I decided to play it safe and pack my purse appropriately. The pepper spray helped, though my true security came through Rose. She knew where I was going—and, by extension, an entire motorcycle club was appraised of my date night.

My dress was appropriate. The location well-lit and public. And my nerves only moderately rustled.

Still, Rose warned I’d either get killed or skinned or sold on the black market. And I did agree with her. Saturday nights were made for normal activities. Dance clubs, for instance. Movie nights, a much safer alternative. Even staying in to knit sweaters for cats was saner than a woman wearing a dog’s collar.

I fully expected this coffee date to end on the eleven o’clock news, then the gory details appearing two weeks later on Law and Order – SVU.

And yet…I didn’t expect Anthony to be dangerous.

Still, I felt a little guilty for shaving.

And a lot guiltier for shaving well above where my skirt would rest.

Sure, I used my razor to shiv away my shame, but I defied fate for a shared latte to end in a night of lusty, animalistic passion. Coffee wasn’t that much of a sensual delight anymore, not after working with it for six bitter, milk foamy months.

But Anthony?

A man like that could make anything sexual. His voice, his body, even his gaze—both the amused glance and the chastising glare—had kept me awake all night. His warning never left my mind.

The women here know better than to argue with me.

That memory needed to stop giving me such a thrill. Every one of my shivers probably set women back sixty years. I’d manage the shame for maintaining a trim bikini area, but I couldn’t handle the guilt of accidentally repealing women’s suffrage with a flick of a razor and a mocha Frappuccino.

I checked the time. A little after six. I’d laid out my clothes, finished my hair and makeup, and even had time to sort through the mounting pile of mail on the table.

I didn’t get very far, but I never did. The mail was self-induced stress—and my stomach practically percolated itself trying to count the few coffee beans left in my bank account. I opened the electric bill only halfway before the stress wore me down.

Why did the mail worry me more than a date with Dommy McSpankass?

At least to him I appeared like a normal, responsible, twenty-something woman.

He didn’t know the fridge was empty, and it wasn’t because I was too lazy to browse the aisles after picking up a double-shift. My lease was up in three months—and so was the rent. If that wasn’t dire enough, my mother’s latest email ordered me, under penalty of her wrists and a sharp knife, to re-enroll in college next semester. One more exclamation point, and I’d mark it as spam. The only thing worse than facing my bank account was the thought of walking onto that campus again.

Not after what had happened.

Not after that failure.

At least Anthony’s interest distracted me from the real world. This morning I’d woken up with my hand in my panties instead of drenched in a cold sweat. Progress was progress.

And this date was madness. I left well in advance of our meeting.

After all, I was supposed to be a good girl.

Whatever that meant.

The coffee house drew a crowd from the local college. I recognized two guys from my Chinese history class. It wasn’t as bad as finding someone from the music department, but that was bound to happen one day. I kept my head down as the guys exited. They didn’t notice me.

That was what I wanted…wasn’t it?

The cafe piped in canned contemporary music and dimmed the lights low, as romantic as burnt coffee and the glow of a dozen MacBooks could get.

A lump formed in my throat. This wasn’t me. Well, the coffee was me. Maybe. I had been a barista for a few months. It was about all I had defining the new me. So, what was this new me doing?

Meeting a strange man.

Avoiding people from college.

Panicking over the bitter, enveloping, never-gets-out-of-your-clothes coffee smell.

I checked my hands. Trembling. And my chest fluttered like my skin absorbed caffeine through the air. I was go for a full-scale freakout. Damn. It had been a couple weeks since my last panic attack. I thought I was getting better.

Maybe Anthony wasn’t serious about meeting me. The whole offer was likely a joke between him and Simone. Most likely they were off laughing somewhere. Laughing or having sex.

Probably the sex.

And I was the fool turning rabid just at the thought of sex with him. Last night’s dream was no less vivid now than it was during the night.

Me against the wall. Him between my legs. My head back, his lips to my throat.

And then I saw him, and he looked even better than he had in my dreams.

My breath hitched. I hadn’t thought to look for him in the dead-center of the room. Then again, what was he hiding? No one knew he was some mega-sexual fiend. He dressed professionally. Silver vest over a long sleeved black shirt. Black slacks. He stood as I approached. I had to look up to see him.

“Good evening, Morgan.” His voice rubbed over my skin, caressing every visible area and all the secret places I’d planned to keep hidden. “You’re early.”

I swallowed my greeting and courage. He didn’t lose any of his appeal while hiding in normal society. His eyes still appraised me, observing everything from the loose waves of my hair to my pink toenails.

I didn’t know a man’s eyes could be so sensual. Every part of him radiated sexuality. His lips. His jaw. The muscles straining against his clothing. Even his hair was perfect. Though it was long, sitting in that same half ponytail near his chin, it wasn’t a half-assed attempt to grow it out. It looked soft. I imagined twisting it in my fingers as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Brushing it away from his face as we kissed. I even pictured his hair tickling my thighs as he licked me far lower.

“Would you like to sit?” Anthony asked.

He should have asked me if I wanted a cigarette. He was supposed to be the deviant.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.

My laugh was too nervous. “I can’t imagine you saying that to any date.”

“There’s never any doubt as to that. Now, if I allow it.” He studied me, admiring my bravery. “Well, that’s another matter entirely.”

A waitress appeared from nowhere. I would have tipped her everything in my bank account in gratitude for the interruption. My tongue had tied up in knots worthy of the bondage enthusiast sitting across from me.

Anthony nodded to me. “Ladies first.”

It wasn’t chivalry. It was permission.

The shivers rolled through me again. “Can I have a mocha latte with a shot of caramel, please?”

I should have gone for a shot of whiskey instead. The waitress nodded.

“A cup of coffee. Black.” Anthony’s gaze hadn’t left me. “I’m old-fashioned.”

A warning? An introduction?

I didn’t know.

The waitress scurried away. Anthony folded his hands, and I pretended to not fixate on his fingers. I gently drummed a beat over my thighs and forced myself to think of anything to say.

Anthony was no help. He didn’t seem to mind sitting in the middle of the cafe, visible to everyone. A few patrons glanced our way. He sat tall and proud, lapping up the attention.

I hoped it was just the circumstances that made me so nervous. I knew entirely too much about the hidden parts of Anthony. If they were even hidden. Usually strangers had the benefit of the doubt about their sexual preferences during the first date.

But it didn’t take a sex club to figure out Anthony was kinky. Hell, I was young. Progressive. I didn’t care what anyone did in the privacy of their bedroom. His fetishes didn’t bother me. It was his confidence that felt overwhelming. Terrifying.

He was confident enough to sit in perfect silence with a stranger. Confident enough to ask her out, and confident enough to realize she’d show up even though every rational bone in her body said to stay away.

He knew exactly who he was and what he liked. Without shame. Without explanations.

How the hell did someone become that way?

And could he teach me?

I broke first. “So…how are you?”

I lost whatever game we played, but he wasn’t disappointed. He’d expected it.

Anthony’s smirk returned. I liked it more than his silence. “Fine, thank you.”

He leaned against his chair, and I breathed easier. I hadn’t realized how close he had been. But, even sitting normally, he had me trapped. Within arm’s reach.

I almost wished for a touch. A brush on my cheek. A stroke of my hair.

“And you?” He watched me. “Are you comfortable?”

My voice was artificially chipper. “Absolutely.”

Not.

“It’s only coffee. Your reward.”

Reward hummed in my ear. He practically tacked on a for being a good girl. God, he made coffee sound dirty. Was smiling gracious or presumptuous? I nodded instead.

“How old are you, Morgan?”

I crashed back to reality and bounced on a couple of rocks life left scattered around.

“Twenty-three.” I wasn’t proud of it. He didn’t need to know that. “My birthday was last week.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

The waitress returned with our coffees. Anthony kept her at the table with a raised finger. Like metal to a magnet, the woman stayed in place.

How’d he do that?

“How about a birthday brownie?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t part of the reward.”

“Consider it a gift.” He didn’t wait for my answer and ordered it. The waitress nodded and hurried off again.

Two could play at this game. “And how old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

A much older man. My head buzzed. Even that was intoxicating. I took a sip of my mocha, braving the heat to avoid thinking of anything particularly naughty. Not like it mattered. Anthony would turn the table’s packets of Splenda into an aphrodisiac.

“Are you still in college?”

The coffee almost slipped from my hand. I set it on the table with a thump. The liquid scalded my tongue. At least it gave me a second to shield what remained of my pride.

“No.”

“Graduated?”

“…No.”

“Oh.”

God, I hated that sound. Everyone had the same reaction, and no one knew how to hide it. That half-pity, half-condescending acknowledgement.

Then they all had the same question, but only some had the decency not to pry.

What happened?

I’d beat him to it. “I’ve taken some time off. I’m trying to figure out what I want to do.”

He let it pass. “Of course.”

The waitress returned before either of us could say the C-word again. A thick chunk of brownie drizzled with chocolate and caramel landed in front of me. The waitress waited for Anthony, but he dismissed her with a simple thank you. She stood still for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure what just happened to lose his attention so thoroughly.

Been there, done that. She left with the good sense not to pout.

I sunk my fork into the brownie and took a bigger bite than necessary. The middle filled with chunks of chocolate that turned molten and gooey when warmed. A strip of caramel dripped from my fork and smeared against my bottom lip. I diligently licked it off.

Anthony admired my efforts. “Looks good.”

My tongue slipped into my mouth and I replayed the last few moments in my mind. I liked the brownie, but had I given a groan of genuine enjoyment…or did I fellate my dessert?

I offered him the fork. “Want a bite?”

He sipped his coffee and crinkled his nose. Then he accepted. He stole a corner from the brownie and pushed his cup away.

“Coffee isn’t your thing, is it?” I asked.

“I’m no expert, but I don’t think that’s black.”

He handed the fork back to me. I took his mug instead. “May I?”

His expression shifted. An untamed hunger heated the table. “Yes, you may.”

Oh God. I didn’t know politeness was a trait that got men off, but, then again, Anthony was all about rules and regulations.

Something shifted between us in that moment, and it was hotter than any damn latte. Getting permission seemed naughty, but this wasn’t etiquette. This was me playing a game I knew absolutely nothing about.

I sipped the coffee, my eyes darting downwards as he stared.

“Oh.” I passed the mug back to him. Our fingers grazed. The touch nearly blistered my skin. “That’s hazelnut flavoring.”

He tried it for himself. “You have good taste.”

“Not really. I work at the cafe a few blocks down. I recognize it.”

He apologized. Sincere. “You should have said something. I would have chosen another place.”

“Yeah…last night wasn’t the best time to discuss my employment history.”

Just the thought of the club made me tremble. I shifted, crossing my legs and busying myself with the brownie. Anthony’s eyes drifted down.

“You have an interesting tattoo.”

I swallowed. The chocolate didn’t make it to my stomach.

Damn it. I’d hoped the skirt hid the lines on my ankle. I resisted the urge to re-cross my legs far away from him.

“Is it music?” he asked.

I peeked down and pretended the markings didn’t symbolize the worst mistake of my life. “Yeah. It’s a musical staff. A melody.”

“You tattooed a song onto your ankle?”

A once inspiring tattoo. “I…was a music major.”

“Is it a real song?”

I hesitated, but it didn’t take someone practiced in bondage to realize he expected an answer. “It’s just a little Bach.”

His eyebrows rose. “A little Bach?”

“A couple notes of a concerto.”

“Piano?”

“No. Violin. I always thought my hands would be too small to focus on piano.”

I held my palms over the table.

He smiled, and I realized how wrong the image looked. I sure as hell wasn’t the first girl to offer my hands like that to him, but I was probably the only one who didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

I expected him to laugh. He didn’t, but the amusement was back—the look he gave me when he first found me at Duchess.

Why was I even talking? I couldn’t fit my foot and the brownie in my mouth. My leg shifted back under me. The tattoo became even more visible. My fingers clenched the fork. Half of the dessert mushed in the corner of the plate.

But Anthony was perfectly still. Just watching me slither right out of the chair.

I held my breath. “Are you always like this?”

His eyebrows creased. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Goosebumps rose over my arms. I cursed them way. “Is this some sort of...big bad dom act?”

He leaned away, offering me space. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Not exactly. I’m just not sure what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking you’re very beautiful.”

I stilled, but my brain didn’t tell my heart.

Anthony exhaled, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I apologize. Simone has told me that I can be…intimidating.”

“So, it’s not an act?”

“No. This is me.”

“And that is...” I practically tasted the word. “Dominant.”

“Yes.”

I mashed even more of the brownie. “You’re very cavalier about it.”

“I don’t need to hide. You had a thorough introduction last night.”

“Yeah, but between the puns and nudity, I’m not sure I know what happened.”

“You didn’t like it?”

I wasn’t about to go there. “Is that something you do all the time? With other people?”

“A lot of my friends enjoy it.”

“What do you enjoy? Beating women?”

If the question offended him, he didn’t act it. “I’m not a sadist. That would be Simone.”

I directed all my nervous energy to my toes, curling them under the table and scolding myself for causing a severe muscle cramp in my leg.

We were in public. The coffee house was downright crowded, and he was talking sex in a very loud, very authoritative voice. Still, I didn’t need to give him reason to think I was uncomfortable with those sorts of topics and depravities. I was, of course, but he didn’t need to know.

“I expected Simone to be a sadist.” I chuckled. “She owns the club. You’d have to be depraved to operate that kind of business.”

I sold Duchess to her three years ago.”

I groaned. That was it. I cradled my head in my hands and muffled an apology. He accepted it with every grace my awkward ass denied me.

“Relax, Morgan. We’re just having coffee. Would you rather talk about the weather?” His smile turned warm. Genuine, but unpracticed, like he had to deliberately remind himself to act casual. “You didn’t catch the Rivets game last night, did you?”

“I—no? Sorry.”

“Won in overtime. It was a good game.”

“But…you were at the club last night.”

“I built a theater in the club before adding our other accoutrements.” He winked. “We throw a hell of a Super Bowl party. Rivets fans only, I’m afraid.”

I ran a hand through my hair. Football and spankings? Nothing made sense.

“This is just bizarre,” I said.

He agreed. “Why did you come to Duchess?”

“It was my friends’ idea. They thought it’d be funny.”

“Did you find it funny?”

“Being alone was a laugh-riot.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You weren’t alone the entire time.”

“True.”

“You surprised me. I left the phone, but I didn’t think you’d bring it upstairs.”

I straightened. His eyes locked with mine. If it was a joke, I wasn’t laughing.

“Did you leave it on purpose?”

“It was Simone’s idea. We had a bet.”

I pushed the brownie away with a frown. “So, all that talk about me not belonging there? That was just...for kicks? Are you sure you aren’t a sadist?”

“No, that part was true. Duchess is no place for you to attend alone.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

My tone sharpened, but his stare silenced me. A still second passed. I fell back against the chair in surrender.

He won. Again.

“This is a very demanding lifestyle,” he said.

“What is? Getting paddled?”

“It’s not all about physical punishment. It’s a mindset. I don’t think you could handle it.”

His words crawled under my skin. For a sexy as he was, I wasn’t sure I liked him much at that moment.

I took the challenge. “A lot of people have said a lot of things about me lately, and most of it isn’t good. Just ask my mother.” I pointed at him. “But no one has ever dared to tell me I couldn’t handle something, unless we’re talking skiing or rollerblading, because you got me there. I’m not coordinated below my waist.”

Anthony had the decency to not look me over. “I’d say that’s a prerequisite for what we do.”

And now he was joking? My toes curled until I was sure I dented my shoes.

“I am not some prude,” I said. “I understand how it…works.”

Anthony enjoyed my poorly contained anger. “Please, Morgan. You’re as innocent as they come…”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve had sex?”

The lie of the century. “Yeah. Sure. Everyone has.”

He didn’t believe me, like he could read the lie by how hard I squirmed. “And how was it?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just a question.”

How did someone answer a question like that, especially when they had no idea what they were talking about? “It was…fine.”

Now I had his attention. “Fine?”

“I mean. Fine. It’s just sex.”

“It’s never just sex.”

I huffed. “No?”

“What did he do wrong?”

“Who?” I caught myself before Anthony laughed. “I mean, what do any of them do? I’m…they didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Did you orgasm?”

I ducked like he threw his coffee at me. Wasn’t shouting orgasm in a crowded café as bad as yelling fire?

“It’s an honest question,” Anthony said. “I’ve answered yours.”

“We’re in public.”

“And?”

He didn’t care. Of course, he didn’t care. He owned and frequented a fetish club. Nothing was off limits to him, and nothing was probably sacred either. Lecturing him on proper decorum wouldn’t end well.

“I’ve…orgasmed.” I guessed. Sometimes. Occasionally. “I’ve had good times before.”

Even if they were alone.

“I’m sure you did.” Anthony read my displeasure. “But it wasn’t great.”

I heaved a sigh. Okay. I’d give him a little piece of the Morgan Bradly experience.

“I had a boyfriend during my sophomore year. But he had…expectations. He thought because I’m black…” I cleared my throat. “That I would be more assertive in the bedroom. I guess he’d watched a lot of videos and thought I should act more like the women in them. You know, screaming and cursing and acting like a…”

“And that wasn’t for you?”

“No.” I hated remembering that night. Embarrassment was so much more profound while naked and vulnerable. “He called me passive.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I...interacted. But I couldn’t act the way he wanted. It wasn’t me.”

Anthony seemed to understand. He watched me, his lips curling into a smile. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’re a natural submissive.”

“I am?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know!”

He raised a hand, silencing me before my voice went supersonic. “Trust me. I’m an excellent judge of character in these matters.”

I guzzled down the remainder of my coffee. Granted, I had been thinking about this sort of thing all last night, all morning, and now all evening, but I hadn’t considered what it meant to me.

“You aren’t passive,” he said. “You need a man who prefers a submissive woman.”

My voice turned hoarse. “Do you prefer that?”

“Almost exclusively.”

Almost? I took a shot in the dark. “Simone? Are you and her...?”

“Friends. Simone and I are both doms. A relationship became too complicated.”

I straightened. “Are you so sure I’m not a secret dom too?”

Anthony didn’t answer. His silence rang louder than any talk of sex and fetishes.

Question answered.

“Right.” I tangled my fingers around the coffee cup. “Do you have a Submission for Dummies book I could borrow?”

“This isn’t something you read in a book.”

“Then how…” I shrugged. “How will I know if I like it?”

“If you’re serious about it, you need to experience it.”

I distracted myself with my coffee. “Easier said than done. If I remember correctly, someone told me Duchess wasn’t a place where I belonged.”

“It isn’t. Not until you understand what submission is.”

“So, I can’t read about it in a book, and I can’t go to a place dedicated to that type of pastime...”

“There are some shady doms out there who prey on the inexperienced. It can be dangerous. There’s nothing wrong with being curious, and nothing shameful about those desires, but you can’t just jump into the lifestyle. You need to find the right person to teach you.”

Our eyes met.

I knew exactly who I wanted to teach me.

But Anthony shook his head. “But you aren’t right for this yet. You’re too sexually inexperienced to know what you’d want from this sort of relationship.”

“It’s sex.” I braved saying the word. “Not nuclear physics.”

“It’s more than sex. This is a lifestyle. It’s not something that happens on weekends and flicks off when you’re tired. You don’t know what to expect yet.”

“Do you…take on new submissives?”

“No.”

“Have you ever?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

He offered me only a taste of his charm, but already I was addicted.

“What I do is too advanced, too intense for an innocent girl like you,” he said. “But I suppose that’s why I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met at Duchess.”

I swallowed. His words warmed me better than the coffee. “You’ve been thinking about me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking about you too.”

“I know.”

“I’ve never…done this before.” I looked down. “Like…met a man this way.”

“That’s not a surprise.”

“And I’ve never admitted…”

“That you’d give yourself to a total stranger?”

Perfect stranger was more like it. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“And that makes you…” He sucked in a breath. “The wrong kind for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the type of man who ruins girls like you. Corrupts them. Twists pure minds and binds unblemished wrists.”

“And if that’s what I’m looking for?”

“How would you know?”

“Don’t you just…” I bit my lip. “Feel it?”

“Is that what you feel?”

“You tell me.” I met his gaze. “What makes you the way you are? Dominant.”

“I don’t think there is a what. No root cause. This is who I am, what I prefer in my bedroom and relationship. I learned my desires long ago.”

“Which are?”

“Obedient women. Complete surrender. A willing, capable submissive who breathes respect, hungers for my cock, and lives to serve deviant desires.”

Well, that was certainly…enlightening.

I’d never heard such talk before. I squirmed. Searched his gaze.

Fantasized.

“What happens if you find someone who…mirrors those passions?” I whispered.

“Many have offered, but I’ve never found the right one.”

“Would you know her if you saw her?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No hedging.

Anthony stared at me, his jaw tight and muscles tensed. The feral heat built between us, a suffocating layer of confusion and longing so powerful I’d crumble if I didn’t have a touch, a kiss, a moment with him to feel even the briefest of releases.

I lost myself in his eyes.

But I found my courage in his desires.

A carnal need I shared, even if I didn’t understand it.

But his voice threaded an apology in a brisk authority. “Morgan. You’re too inexperienced. You don’t know what you want.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.” He teased me. “Given the chance, I’d always know what you want.”

“But?”

“But I won’t do that to you. The world is so lacking in innocence anymore. Why would I destroy that in you?”

I crinkled my nose. “I’ve gotta say…this is the worst rejection I’ve ever had.”

Anthony was silent. His gaze flicked away, across the cafe. Thinking. “It is, isn’t it?”

I fiddled with my fork once more. “Do you…not want to reject me?”

“I don’t.”

I nodded, polite as always, despite the uncontrollable trembling clenching my insides.

If he’d asked me to go home with him, I would have taken the keys from his hand. Hell, I would have sprinted down the street and jumped into the moving car.

He leaned in against the table. Closer than he had been before.

I couldn’t encourage him, but I couldn’t hide it.

He knew I was attracted to him.

Hell, everyone in the damn cafe was probably attracted to him—men and women.

Telling him to take a chance on me was no better than jumping on the table, lifting my skirt, and demanding he take me then and there.

But he was right. I had no idea what I was asking. Or what he wanted. My limited sexual experience had ended before I understood what Ryan meant by asking me to get on top.

But submission made sense. I wasn’t sure what I needed, but the image of the wall, Anthony, and the rocking came back to me. That was a good place to start.

Sure, I was a virgin, but who better to learn from? Anthony seemed honest. Handsome.

Sexy.

I sighed. Staying at the table would be a huge mistake. Awaiting his decision was another. This man was deciding my sexual fate from information he gleaned over a coffee he didn’t even drink.

He cracked a knuckle by pinching his fingers against his thumb. The motion was slight and halfway hidden, but I saw it nevertheless. The only hesitation he’d offered.

“Okay…” His voice deepened. “What do you want?”

Damn. I thought he was the dominant one. Wasn’t I supposed to follow his lead?

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Here’s the problem. You don’t know your own desires and limits. Here’s my solution. I demonstrate what is out there. Step-by-step.”

“Bondage training wheels?” I laughed.

“You want bondage?” He teased a dark playfulness. “I’ll show you bondage. We can run the whole gambit. Domination, submission, punishment, everything.”

Jackpot. “Okay!”

“Not okay.” He pointed at me. “This is serious. You need to consider it carefully.”

“Oka—I mean, I will.”

A smile touched his lips that looked every bit as sadistic as Simone’s smirk. His voice hardened, shifting from gentle conversation to rough expectation.

“This is important, Morgan. I know nothing about your preferences, what you’ve done, what you enjoy, what you’d fear. We have to start at the very beginning.”

“You don’t seem like a beginner to me.”

“It’ll be a learning experience for us both.”

A thrill stiffened me. “You’re really going to show me?”

Touch me? Take me?

Make me yours?

“Not yet,” he said. “First, you need an introduction. I’ll need to ensure that you can behave. The only way I’ll train you is if I know that you can be a good girl for me.”

His threat came at the worst time. A couple passed by just as Anthony spoke. The girl looked back over her shoulder as they exited the café. The coffee boiled into a whirlpool in my stomach.

Anthony ignored everyone but me.

“I’ve been invited to a dinner party on Wednesday,” he said. “A few of my friends will be attending. It will be a good place to start.”

“A dinner?” How would that help? “With friends?”

“Do you like sushi?”

“I’ve never really tried it...”

Anthony waved over the waitress and motioned for the check.

Apparently, we were done.

“I want you to think this over.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and slid it across the table. “If you want to go, call me on Tuesday night at eight. Not a minute before.”

I eyed the card.

Anthony Delvanis, Attorney-At-Law

Well, that answered the job question, but not much else. It was another dismissal.

I’d never had a date come to such a crashing halt before. But it didn’t bother Anthony. Maybe it was normal for him to have such control over everyone and everything.

At least, that’s what I was banking on.

I gathered my purse and bit my lip. “Thanks. For the coffee and the...” I held up the card. “Offer.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll give you a call.”

Anthony didn’t seem convinced. “You won’t regret this, Morgan. But I’ll require one thing from you.”

“Submission?”

He shook his head, slow, deliberate, holding my gaze until I was certain I’d fallen into his arms.

“Trust.”