Page 42 of Winter’s Fire

“Is he—”

“He’s straight, and looking to play with a female Dominant. They’re a rarity at the best of times, even here, and the chances of finding a good one for more than occasional play… minimal at best.”

As Logan tensed beneath her, she assumed to rise and greet the other man, Lucy prepared to remove herself from his lap.

“It’s all right, don’t get up on my account.”

Sean Malone’s voice was deep and rich, and totally lacking the Irish brogue Lucy had anticipated. Neither could she imagine a less submissive-looking male—and a Royal Marine to boot. Proof if ever there was that a book should never be judged by its cover.

And what a cover. If her taste didn’t run to Mr. Tall, Dark And Deadly, Lucy might have experienced something more substantial than objective appreciation for a good-looking, six-foot-holy-crap tall hunk, with hair that was somewhere in the range between dark blond and light brown, eyes so blue they’d make the right woman believe she was drowning in a tropical sea, and a clean-shaven jawline chiselled enough to split atoms.

There were a lot of muscles going on, too, between that chin and the low-riding jeans, and light glinted off a metal ring encircling his left biceps. His bare feet were bony and unapologetically male, and large enough to lift any woman’s eyebrow in curiosity about the alleged correlation between the size of a man’s feet and his penis.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malone,” Lucy said after Logan performed the introductions.

“Please, call me Sean.” He offered his hand, stopping short to glance at Logan.

“Forget protocol, Moll. Just park it—we’re here to talk about your future, not whether you prefer a crop or a cane.”

Lucy tried not to let her eyes fall out of her head. She was used to hearing blunt talk during her infrequent visits to the squad room at work, but the concept of this man being on the receiving end of impact play dished out by a woman boggled her mind more than a little.

As for the thought of being the woman doing the dishing…

She dragged her attention back to the moment by the scruff of its neck, and accepted the handshake. “In that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sean.”

“Lucy’s Sir Guy’s assistant, and responsible for keeping us all in line.”

The hint of pride in Logan’s tone surprised her. A wry smile curved her mouth. “Someone has to.”

A passing house sub stopped long enough to deposit three soft drinks at their table, then the two men settled into a quiet conversation around Malone’s options when he left the Royal Marines in less than a year’s time. Figuring she couldn’t contribute much to that discussion, Lucy burrowed into her Dom’s loose embrace, and slipped into people-watching mode.

Against a background of the two men’s voices, Lucy let her gaze roam freely over the activity going on around her. The stage was empty at the moment—Logan had said something about a demonstration due to take place a little later in the evening—but all around, club members were socialising and relaxing in a variety of other ways.

What struck her most, though, was how contented everyone seemed to be. So many different relationships on view, each with their own special dynamic. A few were deep in earnest conversation but not physically touching—how many of them were negotiating a scene?

So much respect and acceptance. Warm and contented on Logan’s lap, she gave a deep sigh of contentment, releasing a tension so deep, she hadn’t even been aware of its existence. In its place there was a sense of rightness and belonging—the rightness came from the space around her, and the belonging was to Logan.

What if evenings like this became a part of her life? If Logan’s friends became her friends, too?

“Hey, earth to Lucy. Time to come back out of your head. Sean’s about to head off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry, Sean.”

The other man gave her an understanding smile. “It’s okay, Lucy. I’m the one who should apologise for gate-crashing your evening like this.”

“Did you manage to discuss everything you wanted?”

“Simmo’s given me plenty to think about.”

“If there’s anything else, Moll, you know how to get in touch with me.”

The two men clasped hands in farewell.

“I’ll leave you to your evening.” Sean’s amusement showed in his quirk of a smile. “Thanks for your time, Simmo.”

“No problem. Call me when you get back, and we’ll get rat-arsed.”

Lucy watched Sean walk away. He wore his solitude like an unwelcome cloak, trimmed with melancholy. “You said he’s about to be deployed?”