“Casual friends. We have a couple of interests in common.” Antonio set his empty cup down. “Did he get over being pissed off?”

“Oh, yes.” The way his gaze had softened, how he'd held her, his kisses…everything in her just melted thinking about him

Antonio's eyes narrowed. “Andrea, you're not getting hung up on him, are you?”

“'Course not.”

“Oh, hell,” Antonio muttered under his breath. He leaned forward, taking her hand across the table. The worried look in his red-rimmed eyes was disheartening. “Listen, chica. Cullen's really well known in the BDSM community. He started the trainer program out there, has been doing it for years, and loves it. He never, ever gets involved with any of the subs. Yeah, he'll screw around in the club, but he never dates them. Hell, he doesn't even get involved for more than a few months with anyone. The guy's a hard-core player, and he's totally upfront about it.”

The sweet pastry in her stomach turned into a hard lump, and she pushed the remains of the donut away. With an effort, she smothered the protests welling up inside her. He really likes me, though. This is different. He'd change for me. Dios, but she'd been a fool. Dumb as a rock.

She glanced up at the sky, but the sun hadn't disappeared…just the hope she hadn't realized she'd harbored. “I'm not hung up on him,” she said firmly. Not anymore. “He's been very patient with me. And it's fun being around someone really bigger than me, you know?”

“Oh, yes, he's bigger.” Antonio waggled his eyebrows and gave her an, “I'm gay and gorgeous, and you're lucky I don't go after your men” expression.

“Cabrón.” She frowned at her feet, thinking of how she'd painted her toenails, wondering if Señor would notice. If he'd like the color. Estúpida. “But all the Masters I've met so far are big guys. Is that some Dom thing?”

“Nah. The percentage of big dudes there is probably skewed because the owner has a lot of ex-military and cop friends.”

Cops? Oh please, no. She shivered at the horrible thought of a cop's hands on her, of one having control over her. That couldn't happen; just couldn't. She must have met the ex-military guys though; some of them—including Master Cullen when he wasn't smiling—definitely had that fuck-with-me-at-your-own-risk aura. “Well, makes it nice for me.”

“Good.” Antonio frowned, and she could see him worrying over her like a dog with a bone. “But, Rambolita, I'm serious about Cullen. You two wouldn't suit. Comprendes?”

Her cousin had people-reading down to a fine art, so he must know something about the trainer that she didn't. She tried a sip of coffee, and it tasted like mud. “Comprendo.”

Time to get out of here. Find someplace where she could kick something really hard. “I need to get going.” She pushed to her feet and paused. “How'd last night go for you? Did you meet anyone nice?”

“A hunk named Steven. Reminded me of you, in a way. Thick, yellow hair and he has your coloring too, only lighter.” His lips curved.

She snorted. “His Swedish father probably didn't marry a Hispanic woman.” She walked around the table and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Just be careful. It's not a safe world out there, and I can't afford to lose my best friend.”

He didn't even try to stand up. “Don't worry. Besides, you don't need me anymore. You've got all those Masters to beat on you now, right?”

“Oh, that's right.” Annoyed, she smacked him on the head and grinned when he yelped.

But tonight there would be one less Master beating on her. No more Master Cullen daydreams for me.

Chapter Nine

“Is there a problem?”

Cullen jerked his attention back to the bar and frowned at Z. When had he arrived? “No. No problem.”

Z turned and looked over his shoulder and, canny bastard, spotted what or rather who Cullen had been watching.

The little Amazon. Over the past couple of weeks, she'd definitely gotten into the spirit of submissive clothing. “You give her some of the play clothes?” Cullen asked.

“Indeed. I doubt her budget extends to many new outfits, so I told her to borrow from the armoires upstairs and discover what style suits her.” Z smiled. “She has good taste.”

The creamy flowing skirt went to her ankles and was transparent enough to glimpse her darker legs, to tantalize a man with hints of her pussy. Her halter top of the same material showed brownish pink nipples pressing against the thin fabric. Seductive as hell. Scowling, Cullen poured Z a Glenlivet and set it in front of him.

Z took a sip. “How is she doing?”

“Fine.”

Z raised an eyebrow at the terse answer, obviously expecting more of a discussion. Fuck that. Cullen glanced down the bar. Olivia needed a refill. So maybe she hadn't quite finished her drink. Be prepared, right?

As he walked away, he felt Z's gaze on his back and knew he'd made a wise choice staying at least a bar-length from the damned psychologist mind reader.

By the time Cullen had served everyone at the end of the bar, Z had left, and Raoul had arrived for his shift at the bar. “All yours,” Cullen said.

“Got it, 'mano. Go.”

As Raoul stepped behind the bar, Cullen headed out.

He released Austin from the theme room, ran into Jonathon and helped him with a flogging technique, then told Vanessa her shift was over, and finally checked on Andrea.

Cullen stood for a minute, watching her laugh at Gerald's jokes. No wariness there, not with the old man and his wife. Andrea's golden brown skin gleamed in the flickering sconce lights, and Cullen's hands curled as he remembered the feel of that silky skin under his palms. How sweat had dampened the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. The smell of her arousal on his fingers.

He jerked his head. Trainee, buddy. She's a trainee.

And she had made it very clear she harbored no interest in more. Not that he'd let himself get sucked into that trap. Dammit, he was not getting sucked in.

She glanced around, and her eyes widened when she noticed him. He saw the gulp of breath, and the control she imposed on herself before she turned away without smiling.

He frowned. When she'd said good night after her spanking, she'd been soft and flushed and obviously wanting more. More holding, more stroking—he could have taken her then and there, and she'd have welcomed him.

But ever since that evening, she'd looked like she might snap his cock off at the root if he touched her. And yet…

“Hey, Cullen.” Wade walked over, his black leather pants not yet softened from use.

“How's it going?” Cullen leaned a hip against a table, keeping Andrea in his sight. “You connected with any subs yet?”

“Well, I did a scene yesterday, but it didn't go quite right. Z suggested I use a trainee and have you watch and give me pointers.” He nodded to Andrea. “He said Andrea was new enough that she wouldn't be as…critical…as the others.”

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. What the hell was Z thinking? The Ice Age starting in Florida had as much chance of happening as Andrea submitting to this insecure Dom. But a suggestion from the owner translated to an order, and Cullen would need a damn good reason to ignore it.

He didn't really have a reason—aside from the fact that he wanted to break this guy's neck for even thinking about touching her.

But that was his problem, not Andrea's. She had made it clear she didn't want any intimacy between them, and he had to respect her choices. Instead he'd direct his efforts into finding her a Dom of her own. “All right. Go collect your sub. Tell her I gave my permission. I'll follow.”

Wade lit up. God, was I ever that young? The baby Dom started to hurry over to Andrea, then caught himself, and slowed to a dignified walk.

Cullen watched Andrea's face. The frown, the confusion. She looked at him, and he nodded. Her lips tightened before she bowed to Wade.

As the two headed for the nearby bondage table, Cullen wandered over to Gerald and Martha. The old man raised his eyebrows. “Hate to say it, Cullen, but you let that boy get in over his head. That's not a sub who will give it up for just any Dom.”

“Agreed. But it was Z's suggestion.”

“Odd. I wonder why.” As Gerald stroked Martha's hair, the old woman rested her head against his shoulder. Quite the couple. When her knees had become arthritic, Gerald refused to let her kneel any longer. He said if she didn't know her place after more than twenty years, then kneeling wouldn't help.

Growing old with someone…strange how Cullen could actually see the appeal now. Maybe he was getting old. “With Z, who knows why?” Cullen smiled at Martha, nodded at Gerald. “I'd better get over there; I'm supposed to watch and give suggestions.”

As he walked away, he heard Martha whisper, “It's long past time that man found himself a sub.” She'd said it often.

Cullen expected to hear Gerald's usual response, that Cullen would in his own good time, and he almost stopped, when instead, the old man said, “Yep.”

Wade seemed like a nice enough person, Andrea thought, as he buckled her arms over her head, then her legs open at the end of the table. But if he figured his actions and commands had made her submissive or aroused, he had another think coming. She could see him trying to be all dominant, but all she felt was annoyed.