They were scattered throughout the club, seated on the plush red velvet settees and chairs in the front lounge area, or watching the activity on the main floor. They were easy enough to spot whether or not they wore the club’s white collar of protection and availability. It was in the furtive glances they cast at him, lashes down, hands clasped in front of them, posture perfect in their rigid corsets. And then there were those who dared to stare boldly at him, lashes batting, a smile on their pretty lips. These were the ones who interested him most, although they always proved to be the most trouble in the end. But he liked a feisty submissive. He liked the challenge.

He liked having a reason to punish them.

Ah, and there she was—the tall brunette who’d made a point of introducing herself the last time or two he’d visited the club. What was her name? She was smiling at him, and there was little coyness in her glance. He smiled back, started to move across the room toward her when his attention was caught by a scene to his left. Maîtresse Renee, an attractive Domme. Like him, she was a regular at The Bastille. She was paddling a petite woman bent over a spanking bench. The girl had a truly spectacular ass that was pinking nicely. It was perfect, really—a perfect heart shape. And she had long, silky blonde hair that hung down almost to the floor, obscuring her face. But there was something familiar about her small frame . . .

Maîtresse Renee grabbed the girl’s hair and pulled her upright and his groin tightened as her flawless, small breasts came into view, tipped with pale pink nipples. He’d love to get his hands on her, loved a woman with that build—slight and athletic, yet still utterly feminine. And she had a gorgeous tattoo of a phoenix on her side in brilliant color. He loved tattoos on a woman, especially one of this size and exquisite detail. Beautiful. Who was she? Someone new, that was for sure. He stepped closer, something about the tiny blonde drawing him.

The Domme pulled her head farther back, elongating her throat, and he caught sight of the girl’s profile.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Summer Grace Rae.

His hands fisted at his sides, all thought of the brunette gone in the wake of discovering his best friend’s little sister in the club. The girl he’d sworn to protect as her brother Brandon lay on his deathbed twelve years ago. The same little sister he’d lusted after since she was fourteen years old, although he’d never admit that to anyone. The same girl he was lusting after now, even as anger suffused him.

He took a few hard strides toward them before managing to stop himself just short of invading their scene space—stopping so fast it rocked him back on his heavy, booted heels. His head felt like it was about to explode.

What the hell was Summer Grace doing at the club? His club! The fucking kink club! And even worse, under someone else’s hands, Goddamn it.

He couldn’t stand to watch, yet he couldn’t look away as Maîtresse Renee pulled her hair harder, Summer Grace’s back arching. When her entire slender frame was elongated, the Domme started to use a small leather paddle on the front of her delicate body.

He shook his head, his blood boiling. He had two choices. He could barge in on their scene and risk getting himself banned from the club in the process and ruining his reputation as a Dominant, or he could get the fuck out of there and deal with this later, after he’d had some time to get his head back on straight.

As if.

He knew damn well he should leave, but he couldn’t resist circling the scene until he stood in front of Summer Grace—and knew how utterly stupid he’d been when she glanced up and caught his gaze.

Jesus fuck!

It was like a punch in the gut, even from a good eight or ten feet away: those sky-blue eyes, the shock there, and on her lips as they made a small O. The raw zing of desire and the knot of emotion. And he was damn irresponsible. He stepped back, his own sense of shock threatening to paralyze him. Blowing out a breath, he took another step back, then forced himself to turn away and head for the front door. He’d almost made it when a hand on his arm stopped his momentum.

“Jamie? You okay?”

It was another beautiful brunette—Allie, Mick’s girlfriend. They were two of his closest friends, and they’d all known each other since they were kids—Allie and Mick. Brandon and Summer Grace.

So damn hot, naked on that spanking bench, the tattoo down her ribs, just beneath those perfect breasts . . .

Jesus, he did not want to talk to Allie right now. He was too fucked up. Over seeing Summer Grace. Over his behavior—looking right at her during a scene when he should have walked the hell away.

“Fine. I’m just . . . I’m taking off.”

“Like a cat with its tail on fire. What’s going on?”

He didn’t want to talk about this. “Where’s Mick?”

“He’s out of town, working, which I’m pretty sure you already knew. And you’re deflecting why?” Allie smiled, undaunted by his gruff demeanor.

He ran a hand over his buzz cut as if that would clear his brain. “Allie, look . . . I just saw someone in there and . . . Wait. Did you know she was here? You and Summer Grace have been hanging out since you got back to town. Shit, Allie, did you know about this?”

“Don’t be so accusatory, Jamie. Yes, I know she’s here. I’m the one who brought her. I was just getting something out of my locker—”

“You fucking brought her here?” he exploded, then sucked in a breath and tried to calm himself. He’d gotten too close, and she’d seen him. And God knew what it had done to her head space. Unforgivable. He knew better. “Hell. Fuck. I’m sorry. But you should have told me. Warned me. Jesus, who thought this was a good idea?”

He needed to calm the hell down. Allie wasn’t looking too pleased with him right now. But damn it, this was Brandon’s little sister. In his club. Fuck.

“Actually, she asked me not to discuss it with you, Jamie. She wanted to do this on her own.”

Of course Summer Grace had asked Allie not to tell him. He would never have allowed it.

“And you let her? She sure as hell hasn’t been in here before or I would have known about it. Do you know if she’s been to other clubs? Played with someone else before tonight? Before showing up here and bending over a spanking bench, for fuck’s sake. How new to the kink life is she? Jesus, Allie, is anyone watching out for her?”

Allie drew herself up, fire sparking in her brown eyes. “Jamie Stewart-Greer, you need to change your tone right now. What do you take me for? I’m watching out for her. So is Rosie. I wouldn’t let anyone come into this without guidance, especially someone I’ve known most of my life. As for the rest, that’s her business to tell you, not mine. You should know that.” She reached for him again, her tone softening as she rubbed a soothing hand over his arm. “Come on, Jamie. Take a breath and think for a minute. You know I’d never be irresponsible with Summer.”

He blew out a breath. “Yeah. Okay. I know that. I’m just . . . I’m gonna go. I’m sorry I blew up at you. I wasn’t expecting to see her.”

Naked. Being spanked by someone else. Getting her hair pulled by someone else. Commanded . . .

Allie shrugged. “I can understand it. She’s always been everyone’s baby sister. But, Jamie? Baby sisters grow up.”

He nodded, not wanting to tell her that he’d never thought of Summer Grace as his baby sister. He didn’t want to tell her he’d spent years fantasizing about her—about doing those things to her himself. And just as many years knowing he never could because of the promise he’d made to her brother.

To see her with another Dominant, even a woman . . . It was more than he could stand.

He pulled Allie in and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “You’re right, as usual. I’m just gonna do everyone a favor and go.”