Unlike most people, she had strong, clean emotions. Curiosity. Courage to explore something new. Shock. Worry and sympathy for someone she thought might be hurt. The ability to think before reacting.

And now…arousal. Other emotions might be more satisfying, but few were as enticing as awakening desire.

“She’s a cutie,” Cullen commented. “Apparently not used to seeing public displays. She was watching the dancing, especially Daniel with a sub, and she kept turning red.”

Zachary sipped his drink. “Then it should be interesting when she reaches the back of the room.”

Cullen laughed. “You have a twisted mind, boss. Do you have plans for her tonight?”

“Perhaps. She’s fascinated by the Dom/sub couples.” Would the kitten scamper back to safety?

“Wish I could just mosey through a woman’s mind like you do.”

“According to the subs you’ve had, you do quite nicely without the talent.” Smiling, Zachary turned to check the room, but the little innocent had disappeared.

This was like being Alice in a very twisted Wonderland, Jessica decided, one where all the characters had only sex on their minds. She’d been propositioned by a woman, by a fat man, by a couple trolling for a threesome. Then she’d struck up a conversation with a really cute guy, and suddenly he knelt at her feet and wanted --

“You want me to whip you?” she repeated in disbelief. Surely there were laws about whipping people?

He had big brown eyes, full lips. The chain and leather harness displayed seriously ripped muscles. He nodded vigorously. “Please, Mistress.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Sorry, but I’m not into pushing guys around.” Well, not unless they’d messed up their accounts, or forgotten to save their travel expense receipts. But order a guy around in bed? Major chill factor there, even without adding a whip into the business. Ugh.

He looked so disappointed, she patted him on the head before turning away. He tipped his head back to rub his cheek against her hand like an oversized cat.

This place was so strange.

Turning away, she continued her tour with only a touch of trepidation. After all, it couldn’t get much worse than women hanging on walls, right?

Farther down, another small area was roped off, and Jessica stopped with a quick breath of astonishment. Damn, the guy had been serious about the whipping stuff. Face against the wall, a naked woman hung from shackled wrists. A short, muscular man wearing only studded black leather pants stood behind her slapping a thin cane into his open palm. Testing it. With a whooshing sound, the wooden stick smacked against the redhead’s bare buttocks. The sound made Jessica cringe even before the woman’s high shriek.

Jessica took a step forward, her stomach queasy. This wasn’t right, shouldn’t be allowed. Another step, pushing past the observers, and she’d reached the ropes defining the area. She bit her lip. Stop and think, she told herself.

The man had paused, and…the woman was laughing, her voice sultry, obviously more excited than hurt despite the red mark streaking her skin. Glancing back over her shoulder, the redhead wiggled her butt at the cane wielder in an invitingly lewd fashion.

All right. The woman obviously wanted to be hit. Hurt. This was way too strange; definitely not fantasy material. Jessica eyed the cane.

“Ouch,” she said under her breath.

A man standing next to her smiled. His beefy build in glossy black PVC clothing made him look like a tank.

“Sounds to me like you’d like to participate,” he said, his hand closing around her arm. “There’s an empty St. Andrew’s cross farther down.”

She gasped. “No. No, I’m not --”

He dragged her away from the crowd as she tried to pry his fingers off her arm. Dammit, was she going to have to scream or something? Would anyone in this bizarre place even notice? Screams were happening everywhere. Dear God, all sorts of bad things could happen without anyone realizing. Her hands went sweaty as fear shocked through her. Then anger hit. This was not going to happen.

Planting her feet, she hauled off and kicked him in the knee.

“Shit!” He jerked her off balance, and she landed on her knees in front of him. “Bitch, you’ll regret defying me,” he growled. He grabbed her hair, fingers tightening until tears filled her eyes.

Chapter Three

“Let me --”

“Let her go.” A figure loomed behind her assailant. The owner. Sir himself. Jessica’s fists opened as relief filled her.

“Consensual is the operative word here, and she’s not consenting,” Sir said in that deep, smooth voice.

The jerk spun around, still holding her by the hair. “She did. You should have seen her watching the whipping. She wants it.”

“Actually, she doesn’t. She has no interest in being whipped and no interest in you.” Sir’s hand closed around the fingers wrapped in her hair, and a second later, she was free.

Her legs were shaking too badly for her to rise. Hugging herself, she huddled in place. Another man appeared, this one with a yellow badge on his leather vest. “Problems here?”

The jerk pointed at Sir. “He interrupted my scene.”

“Did you just accuse Master Z of interrupting a scene?” The bouncer sounded shocked. “Master Z?”

“She’s unwilling.” Sir held out a hand to Jessica, and she grasped it. His hand was hard, muscular, and he pulled her to her feet so easily it was frightening. “Are you all right, little one?”

She drew in a breath and nodded. If she tried to talk, her voice would come out wussy, so she’d just keep her mouth shut.

“Come here.” Master Z wrapped an arm around her, tucked her into his side. He was so big, she felt tiny next to him. Tiny, delicate. Female.

The jerk’s grab at Jessica was intercepted by Master Z, and then the bouncer had him by the collar.

“Mark him down for a month’s suspension and to repeat the entire training class if he wishes to return after that,” Master Z told the bouncer. “He apparently wasn’t paying attention.”

“He didn’t even talk to her -- he doesn’t --” the jerk protested.

Dragging him away, the bouncer said in an annoyed voice, “Master Z not only owns this place, asshole, but he always knows what subs want. Always.”

Jessica shivered. The man had called her a sub; that would be the term then for the one being bossed around. Why was she thinking about terminology now? She managed to inhale, start breathing again. He called her a sub. There was no way that she was a sub. God, she needed to go home.

Master Z chuckled. “Rough day, huh?” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her firmly. His hand pressed her head into the hollow of his shoulder. Comforting. Safe.

She gave a half laugh and a shudder. “He was going to wh-whip me. And no one would have realized…” She evened her voice. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He just stood there, holding her, letting people flow around them like water around a boulder. Unconcerned. Nothing seemed to bother this man.

“How did you know I didn’t want that? Wasn’t just…playing or something? You don’t really…know --”

“I know, kitten.” His voice rumbled through his chest as he stroked her hair. His appealing scent -- light citrus mingling with a man’s unique musk -- made her want to burrow closer.

But she couldn’t get much closer; she was plastered against him like wallpaper. Her breasts were mashed against his hard chest, her hips cradled against his. He felt good against her. Too good, and hadn’t she wanted to keep her distance from him?

His other hand was low on her back in the hollow above her buttocks. And she wasn’t going all stiff at being touched. But he’d had his hands on her already, she realized, flushing as she remembered how he’d dried between her legs. She hadn’t even known his name.

She still didn’t know his name. She pushed herself back and looked up.

With the light behind him, his eyes were almost black as he studied her. His lips curved and a crease appeared in his cheek. “You need a drink and a chance to catch your breath.” He released her from his arms and held out a hand. “Come.”

Should she? She considered her options. Go with him or try to walk back through the bar on unsteady legs, getting hit on every few seconds. Well, that was easy. She put her hand in his.

Still smiling, he led her to the bar. “This time you may choose your drink.”

She hesitated. Water or alcohol? Water would be smart, but a drink would definitely help the shakes. And somehow the fear had burned off any alcohol from before. “A margarita. Thank you.”

“Cullen,” Master Z said, his voice somehow carrying past all the conversations, maybe because it was so deep. The bartender glanced over.

“A margarita, please.”

Ignoring the other people waiting, the bartender made her drink and set it in front of her. He smiled at her escort. “Definitely a pretty pet, Master Z.”

“I’m no pet.” Jessica scowled. “What kind of derogatory term is that, anyway?” She tried to slide onto the bar stool but couldn’t quite manage. Wobbly legs, short -- why couldn’t her parents have been tall? Then she wouldn’t look so much like a dumpling with feet.