Idiot. Some wingman. He was making things a little obvious, leaving them alone so soon.

“So how was the rest of your day?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Cut a million people’s hair, got a few tips. Then I went home and took a bath, and now I’m here.”

“No dinner?”

She snorted. “You look so horrified.”

He thought of the herb-butter-rubbed prime rib he’d had earlier. “You don’t understand how much I love food.”

“Do I look like I miss a lot of meals?” Everly laughed. “Don’t respond to that. It’s a trap.”

Honestly, she looked edible. It would probably be creepy to tell her that though.

“So you’re a foodie?” she asked.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Yeah, I’m not in a position to eat out a lot, but once in a while it’s nice.” She grimaced. “You know, if the people who can afford to eat fancy soufflés and lobster tails every night gave even a little bit of that money to antipoverty organizations, we could probably give every homeless person somewhere to live. I mean, don’t they care that there are people starving while they gorge themselves on caviar and fancy wine?”

Whoa. He agreed in a noncommittal way. If they ever hooked up, her hating rich people could be a problem.

Her words had given him a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t his fault he had money—well, actually, it was his fault. But he wasn’t ashamed of having done well. Making it big in the shipping industry was a mix of luck and hard work. He treated his people fairly and paid them a lot better than any of his competitors. They had benefits and he gave a shit about them—he even knew most of them by name, and he sucked at names.

“Do you know that some big corporation is trying to shut down the free medical clinic on Bloor Street? They don’t want them as neighbors because apparently it’s bad for business.” She shook her head in disgust. “They can take their canapés and shove them up their asses.”

That sounded . . . unpleasant, and definitely not his kink. “You’re involved with the clinic?”

“Not that one in particular, but a few of the others. I just try to get involved when I hear stories like that.” Her eyes gleamed, and for a moment he saw Everly’s serious side. “I help circulate petitions and that sort of thing. It’s hard to get to protests because I usually work evenings.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I work whenever I’m needed, so my schedule is all over the place. I’ve never been to a protest before though.”

“You should go to one sometime. Life is too short to sit on the sidelines and wait for other people to fix things.”

Okay, maybe this girl was too good for him. He didn’t usually think much past his employees and his family and close friends.

She smiled. “Sorry, I get intense sometimes. If I’m boring you, feel free to say so, or think about football or something. So what do you do?”

“I work in shipping.” For once he was glad his line of business was a conversation ender.

“So you . . . ship things?”

“Yup.”

“You drive long distances?”

“Sometimes. I mostly do the paperwork end of things now.” He tried not to laugh as her eyes glazed over. “I drive once in a while, if there’s no one else available.”

Her mouth opened then closed again, and it looked like she was struggling to think of something polite to say about his boring job.

“So how long have you been into the lifestyle?” Ambrose asked, feeling awkward. He didn’t generally agree to meet up with women he hadn’t met several times in passing first. This felt like a job interview.

“Um, always? It’s hard to nail down. I convinced my first boyfriend in high school to try D/s without even knowing what it was. I bratted to get a rise out of him, but he was too nice. No one ever really satisfied me that way when I was younger. As an adult, I finally started to do some research and learned what BDSM was. That’s when I found my way into The Catacombs. It’s been an adventure trying to find someone I click with since then. You?” She swept her hair back from her shoulder, and the bare skin it revealed made him wish she weren’t sitting so far from him.

“I’ve always had my fetishes, but I never did anything about them until I was in college.” How much to tell her on a first date? It had been complicated. “Freshman year, one of my profs seduced me. She was into some things that . . . weren’t my kink. But when we split, I talked the next girl I dated into being dominated.”

She inched closer, until their knees were almost touching. When she sat, her skirt had ridden up slightly, and he tried his best not to gawk at her shapely legs. As for the cleavage that showed when she leaned forward . . . well, he was only human.

“Do tell! What kinks did she have that you weren’t into?”

Ambrose sighed. Most girls waited to ask until at least the third date, but this one was bold as brass. Even on a third date he usually got away with being vague. Something told him it wouldn’t work with Everly.

“Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He winked, hoping to throw her off.

“Oh, you own a strap-on?”

Surprised, he barked a laugh and swatted her leg.

“You missed my ass.” Her smile was a dare. “I told you, most Doms find me hard to handle.”

Leaning back in his chair, he looked her over but this time didn’t try to hide it. “I doubt I’d have much trouble handling you, but that’s pure speculation at this point.”

They stared at each other. Maybe it was creepy to make eye contact for so long, but he was incapable of looking away. Adrenaline started to buzz through him. God, he wanted to punish her, hear her beg, feel her underneath him. Was Everly feeling the same connection? Her slanted amber eyes reminded him of a cat, and they seemed to hold the same independence. This wasn’t a submissive who needed a Dom to define her. She wasn’t afraid to show her strength.

She broke the silence first. “I guess we’d have to play together to figure that out.”

“Now?” Crap. This girl had him off balance. He needed to get that under control.

“Well”—she shrugged—“unless you need to find your balls first.”

Fuck. His hand itched to grab her by the hair and teach her to be more respectful, but with brats there was a fine line. Sometimes when they wanted to get a rise out of a Dom, the Dom had to ignore their sass to keep the upper hand. Although nothing was more fun than teaching a bratty girl a lesson in manners.

Calm the fuck down, idiot.

“What’s your safeword?” Why did that sound like a creepy pickup line?

“We’ll use ‘red’ for now.” She raised a brow. Was she surprised he’d kept his cool?

“Fair enough.”

The way her eyes narrowed suggested she was waiting for him to make a move. “Are we doing this now?”

“Yes.”

“Are we going . . .” She gestured vaguely at some vacant equipment along the walls.

“No. I prefer not to use the equipment here. For now we’ll sit and talk, and if you sass me, I’ll deal with it accordingly.”

“Is this the part where you try to lure me back to your private dungeon?”

“No. Dungeons are so limiting. I believe in free-range beatings.”

She snorted. “Are you sure you’re not a brat?”

“Doms are never brats,” he said with mock disdain.

Everly settled beside him on the overstuffed couch and looked at him impatiently. “Now what?”

Now straddle me and settle yourself on my dick. “Now we have a polite conversation, like well-behaved adults.”

She leaned in, looking up at him. Mischief lurked in her gaze. “I’ve never been a well-behaved adult, and I doubt I could role-play one well enough to be convincing.”

“Not into role-play?”

“Well . . . I didn’t say that.”

Such a naughty kitten. He fought the urge to coax her into his lap so he could pet her. Behind her, he caught a glimpse of Konstantin and his girls coming back, but his buddy spotted the tension and steered them away to another part of the club before they reached the table. Maybe he was going to be a decent wingman tonight after all.