Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

But, no, he honestly couldn’t say this had been better.

It had been different.

Annette had been like curling up in front of a roaring fire on a cold winter night. The comfort and warmth of her love had embraced his spirit and soothed his soul.

With Cleo, it felt more like leaping off a cliff. But, instead of plummeting to earth, he’d soared upwards, as if he’d suddenly sprouted wings.

You have to seize love where you find it, a small voice whispered in his heart—Annette’s voice? You don’t diminish me by loving her.

A sudden calm settled over him, like a benediction. Yes. He had loved once, and well. But the heart that had been broken by his loss had slowly mended.

At first, it had felt as if he could never love again. When he’d finally limped back to the Masters Club, he’d been startled by his strong feelings for Cleo, which were no longer held at bay by his love for Annette. Unfortunately, however, he hadn’t been ready to accept his feelings, and as a result, he’d lost his chance.

But those days were over. He was ready now to live again and to love again. The auction might have been for play, but the stakes were real. He had five days to claim this woman, and come hell or high water, he was going to do it.

“She’s a keeper, that one. How long have you owned her?”

Jack, who had been watching for Cleo’s return, glanced in the direction of the voice. A dark-skinned, elegant-looking man in a black smoking jacket at a nearby table flashed him a smile. His partner, a pale younger man with curling blond hair, had been seated across from him during dinner. But now the sub was on his knees on a floor cushion beside the Dom’s chair, his head resting lightly on his Master’s knee.

“Thanks,” Jack replied with an answering smile. “Not long, but I plan to keep her.”

One of the waiters appeared to ask if he was ready for dessert and coffee.

“Yes, that would be good,” Jack agreed. “But I think just one dessert and one coffee. We’ll share.” The food had been delicious, but quite filling. He would have foregone dessert altogether but wanted another chance to feed Cleo before taking her back to the hotel suite. “Also, a glass of your best brandy, please. Just the one. Oh, and can you bring me a floor cushion like that?” He gestured toward the kneeling man.

“Of course, sir,” the waiter agreed with a knowing smile.

Cleo emerged from the back of the restaurant just as the waiter deposited the cushion beside Jack. She had let her hair out of its loose confines, and it hung like a burnished curtain of shiny caramel kissed with streaks of bronze down her back. There was a faint pink blush in her cheeks as she glided gracefully toward him, her beautiful, bare breasts framed by the half-buttoned dress. All eyes were on her as she moved, but she kept her gaze on him.

When she reached him, she noticed the cushion and looked at him with a questioning gaze.

He nodded. “Yes. I’d like you to kneel beside me, slave girl.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing, only sinking gracefully to her knees. She looked so small and fragile, yet there was a determination in her expression he couldn’t quite decipher. All he knew was that she was so beautiful it took his breath away.

Jack felt a sudden proprietary urge to shield her from the prying eyes around them. Leaning toward her, he carefully re-buttoned her dress, his fingers brushing her soft skin as he did so.

Dessert arrived and coffee was poured. The sommelier appeared with a large snifter of amber brandy. Jack had things he wanted to say, but no words to say them. He was still discomfited by his own powerful reaction to their coupling, and not yet sure of Cleo’s feelings.

He fed her the rich dessert in small bites, alternating it with sips of brandy and coffee. He loved watching her face suffuse with pleasure as she ate the creamy custard and tangy peaches. When he’d scraped the dish clean, he smiled down at her. “Would you like another?”

She laughed, looking slightly abashed. “I have no restraint when it comes to pudding,” she admitted, using that charming British expression for dessert. “But, no, thank you. I think I’ll burst if I eat another bite.”

He nodded. A single glance toward the ever-hovering waiter was enough for him to rush forward. “May I bring anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you. Our compliments to the chef on a wonderful meal, and thank you for your excellent service.”

“A true pleasure, sir,” the young man replied, his eyes moving hungrily over Cleo.

“Just the check,” Jack snapped, suddenly impatient to be gone. Forcing a smile, he added, “Thanks.”