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  A touch on her arm pulled her out of her thoughts. Damien rumbled, “If you’re looking for someone to play with tonight, I’m available.”

  Mia’s glance flashed to Venetia, very thoroughly drying a glass behind the bar. Her face was a mask, stiff and devoid of expression.

  “In fact,” Damien went on, “it would be my pleasure. And, I hope, yours.”

  A wash of apprehension, not entirely unpleasant, rippled through her. What was happening here? Both Doms eyed Mia like a couple of hungry pit bulls licking their chops over a sirloin steak. She couldn’t deny there was something thrilling—and frightening—about being the center of their focus. But did either of them really want her, or had she simply landed in the middle of a pissing contest?

  Dizzy with excitement and fear, Mia floundered, not knowing what to do. But she had to make a decision, didn’t she?

  A cell phone hummed, and they all went still.

  “It’s not mine,” Damien said.

  Venetia shook her head. “Mine neither.”

  Mia opened her purse, her fingers clumsy. “Oh, it’s…it’s mine.” When she checked her phone, what she saw made her even more disoriented. Someone had sent her a text. Her heart stopped.

  Bella Mia…the Victorian Room…10 minutes…by yr Mstrs comnd.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Victorian Room upstairs was like The Office, a private spot where people could play. But where The Office had only the few sticks of furniture necessary for interrogation scenes or punish-the-naughty-secretary games, The Victorian Room was opulently furnished. The walls were dusty pink, and the room held a large four-poster bed with soft coverings embellished with cabbage roses. A tufted pink satin settee sat flanked by a pair of gilded chairs while knickknacks and heavy draperies completed the scene.

  But the knickknacks were sexually suggestive, the books on the shelves vintage erotica, and the four-poster bed just perfect for restraining a sub. Not to mention the large mirror on the ceiling to remind one that the bed was not intended for sleeping.

  Chess had no interest in his surroundings as he paced the room like a caged animal. He’d texted Mia to meet him here twenty minutes ago. Her allotted ten minutes had expired, along with another ten. And while he paced like a tiger, he sweated like a horse. Where the hell was she? Had she really gone with Marcel? Or Damien?

  The door opened, and Mia stepped in. Chess’s sweat cooled on his skin as relief washed over him. Then he was on fire again. She’d kept him waiting on purpose. She’d wanted to scare him.

  “Is that how a slave shows her Master respect? By keeping him waiting?” He spoke in an anger-charged voice that cracked the air like a whip. By God, he should take a whip to her for scaring the shit out of him.

  But she refused to cower. “I’m not your slave anymore. Or don’t you remember what you said to me at Philip’s?”

  “But you chose to obey my command tonight. You could have stayed downstairs enjoying Marcel’s attentions, but you came up here. After making me wait, for which I plan to tan your ass.”

  “How did you know about—” In a flash, she understood. “Venetia. Venetia called you?”

  He lowered his chin in a nod. “She knows what kind of Dom Marcel is.”

  Her temper flared. “So you came to rescue me?”

  “Venetia only helped speed things along. I planned to come to you anyway. And no, not to rescue you, but to claim my sub.”

  Mia wouldn’t give an inch. “I told you how I felt, and you laughed in my face. Said some pretty demeaning things to me, as a matter of fact.”

  “Sit down.”

  She hesitated, as if wondering if she should even give him that much, but soon obeyed. He sat beside her, feeling as clumsy as a giant in a doll’s house on the froufrou, little settee. She, on the other hand, looked as charming as a doll. He wanted to touch her soft skin, caress and spank the firm moons of her ass, fuck her senseless.

  In spite of those intense feelings, or maybe because of them, he felt foolish and unsure. He touched her hand. “You’re a special woman, Mia.”

  She turned her face away. “If I’m so fucking special, why’d you get rid of me?”

  “IT WASN’T YOU,” he said.

  Mia rolled her eyes. Terrific. Just what she needed, the old it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech. Wasn’t this where she came in?

  “It’s nothing you’ve done wrong, Bella Mia.”

  “I pushed you away because I didn’t want you to know that I’m a fake. A phony.”

  She turned toward him, mystified.

  “It was all a put-on,” Chess told her. “The apartment. The designer clothes. The SUV—hell, I don’t even have it anymore. I drove here in a pre-owned Focus. The apartment’s on the market, and as soon as it goes, I’ll be living in a furnished room somewhere. My other properties went a long time ago.” He tapped the face of his wristwatch. “See that? A Timex. I pawned the Rolex last week.”

  “But your business—”

  “Went down the tubes when the real-estate market tanked. But I can’t just blame the economy. I got in way over my head financially, started thinking I was invincible. When things went south for everyone else, I told myself it couldn’t happen to me. I was too smart, too damn special. Of course, I wasn’t. And when I finally figured that out, it was too late to recover.”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t hold on to any of it. The money, the lifestyle, my wife. The business my father and grandfather spent their lives building. I’m a failure. I was ashamed.”

  Shocked by what he told her, Mia couldn’t quite process it all. “You thought that’s what mattered to me? The car, the apartment, the fancy clothes?”

  “It wasn’t that. I had nothing to offer you.”

  “What did I ask you to offer me?” She bit off the words. “All I wanted was the chance to serve you and have your trust.” Her throat ached when she thought of it. His trust.

  She ground her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. What did he want from her now? Sympathy? Anger boiled, sour and hot, in her gut. The same anger she felt when she learned that Philip was dying.

  “You tell me I’m strong, then turn around and treat me like a child. God, I am so tired of you men, you Masters, deciding what the little sub should and shouldn’t know!” The rage moved up into her chest. “You weren’t protecting me; you were thinking about yourself. And your pride.”

  “Mia.”

  He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. She stiffened at the sound of his voice, at the authority in it. Yes. The submissive in her responded to his dominance. Only his.

  Goddamn it! She was still furious at him and more furious at herself for her body’s reaction. “What?” she spat.

  “You’re right.”

  His calm and humility disarmed her. “It was my pride. I rejected your sweet offer because I was afraid to look weak. I may be a Dom, but I’m just a man. A stupid man, who’s made a lot of mistakes. But the biggest mistake I made was letting you go.”

  In his confession of weakness, Mia recognized his strength. A lesser man would never admit that he’d been wrong or made mistakes. The hard edge of her fury softened.

  “I’m sorry about your business,” she said at last, when her anger subsided enough to allow room for compassion. “It must be devastating. But it doesn’t make you any less a man. Or less a Master.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss. “How could I ask you to call me Master when I’d such a mess of my own life?”

  Mia pulled a deep breath into her lungs. “You can ask me because you are my Master. And because you can count on my trust, my faith in you, no matter what else is happening in your world.”

  His mouth quirked, and his gray eyes flashed silver. “Now who’s rescuing whom?”

  Mia smiled. “Remember, you’re the one who told me I’m strong.” Pride flooded her. He could rely on her, just as she could depend on him.

  She could have gone off with Master Marcel. Or stayed in the lounge with Master Damien. Bu
t when she climbed the stairs to meet Chess, she’d made her choice. Oh, she dawdled in the ladies’ room for ten minutes or so. Just to make him suffer a bit. Childish, maybe, but her self-respect demanded it. She had pride too.

  But there was never really any question. Chess was the only Master she wanted.

  He took a square box from his jacket pocket. “If you mean it, if I really am your Master, there’s something I want you to wear.”

  Her heart stuttered when he opened the box. Inside was a collar, but not the leather one he had her wear before. Nor was it a delicate chain like Philip had given her. It was silver, heavy, and close-fitting, with a clasp at the back that locked. Mia swallowed hard. A sub wearing such a collar would always remember to whom she belonged.

  But Chess paused before he placed it around her neck. “There’s something else. I told you I lost everything. I had lost it all, before Philip died. He…well, he included me in his will. I never dreamed he’d be so generous.”

  Chess’s words became a buzz in her ears. Mia remembered Venetia telling her about Philip’s unexpected gift. Generous, yes. Compassionate. There weren’t enough adjectives to describe all the wonderful qualities of a man who made sure the people he loved were taken care of. Pain sliced through her as she experienced his loss all over again.

  But she wasn’t alone. Philip had seen to that. He’d led her to Chess.

  “It means I won’t need to declare bankruptcy. The business will be saved. I’ll have to do everything on a much smaller scale, but I’ll be able to pay my debts. Basically, he gave me the chance to start over.”

  A new flash of anger zipped through her. Would Chess be here if Philip hadn’t left him enough money to save the business? Let it go. He’s here now. Don’t waste time on what-ifs.

  “Mia. I’d have come for you regardless of the money.”

  She saw the truth of it in his face, and the anger melted away.

  She gazed at the collar. “It’s beautiful. But too expensive. You shouldn’t have—”

  “That’s not your concern, but if it makes you feel better, the money came from pawning the Rolex. I’d rather adorn my slave than my wrist. I want to show the world how much I value you.”

  How could she say no to that? “Put it on me, please, Master. Let me wear your collar. I want the whole world to know that I’m yours.”

  His face glowed with pride when she called him Master. Chess fastened the collar around her throat. “Once it’s on, I’m the only one who’ll be able to unlock it.”

  “I’m glad.” She looked at him through a blur of tears. “I hope you never have reason to.”

  “Mia.” He drew her to him. “I’m so lucky. To have such incredible people in my life. First Philip…now you…”

  “We’re both lucky.” Though she tried to hold them back, a few tears of happiness spilled from her eyes. “I love you, Francesco Ryan. The Master and the man.”

  “I love you.” Chess kissed her, his lips soft and possessive. When she drew back for air, a thought came to her.

  “You haven’t called me Ruffles.”

  “Ruffles is a silly name,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll use it anymore—except maybe sometimes when we play.”

  “What will you call me, then?”

  He held her close. “I won’t call you anything but Mia, because you’re mine.”

  Loose Id Titles by Nona Raines

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  Nona Raines

  Nona Raines became hooked on romances when she first picked up "The Flame and the Flower" by Kathleen Woodiwiss (and she's not telling how long ago that was). Romances may have changed since then, but her love for a good love story has not. She's been writing off and on for years, but it was only when she joined the Central New York Romance Writers Association that she finally gained the support and confidence she needed to complete a manuscript.

  Nona lives in upstate New York with her many pets and is currently working on her next novel. A former librarian, she enjoys reading books of all genres and discussing them with others. She is thrilled to finally be able to call herself an author.

  Find more about Nona at http://www.nonaraines.com.