“Then you shouldn’t have become a Dominant. Not in this circle, anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Out with it. There’s no other way, mate.”

“Fuck.” He ran a hand back through his hair. “There’s this woman,” he began.

Finn’s grin was blissful. “Isn’t there always?”

“Yeah. But not like Allie. She’s the one who’s been haunting me since high school. The one I can’t forget. She’s back in town after being gone . . . well, a long time. Years. And she’s into it, the kink. Hard core. We’re playing. And it’s totally fucking with my head.”

“Because you want her or because you don’t? And you don’t have to answer me. You’re the one who has to know.”

Mick shook his head. “I don’t have that answer. I mean, of course I want her. Christ, I’ve never wanted a woman as much. But ask me if I can give her what she wants? What she needs? That I can’t figure out. To be honest—hell, with myself, even—I just don’t know that I’m up to it. What do I know about relationships? The last real one I had was with her in high school.”

“Yeah, fucking pathetic. But from what you’ve told me, that was the real thing. Love, right?”

“Yeah, it was,” he said, an edge of fierceness in his voice.

Love. Christ, he had loved her so damn much. It made his chest ache even now. He’d carried it with him all these years. Carried her with him, unable to ever let her go.

He sipped his drink, his fingers flexing hard on the glass. “I thought some time and distance would clarify things, but it hasn’t done a damn thing. I’ll have to deal with it—with her—when I get home. I came here tonight to forget for a while.”

After several silent moments Mick turned around to look at Finn. His expression was thoughtful.

“It’s your thing, you know, Mick. Your decision to make. I’m thinking maybe you’re too much in your own head.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Finn grinned. “I know a good way to get out of it.”

“That was my thought, too.”

“Ready to meet Princess, then?”

“Princess?”

His nickname for Allie since high school. Fuck.

He knew the subbie girls often chose cute nicknames, but why did this one have to be Princess?

“She’s a real beauty. Goes down nice and easy. Loves the ropes.”

Shake it off. It’s not her.

“Where is she?”

Finn made a gesture, and Mick followed the direction of his hand to see a petite woman with luscious curves and long hair dyed hot pink. She was dressed in nothing but a pale pink thong and pink knee-high boots. As she drew closer he could see that her nipples were pierced. She smiled shyly as she approached.

“Princess, this is Mick, our visitor from New Orleans. Be nice to him.”

“Of course, Finn,” she said, her voice soft, feminine.

His cock should have been hardening at the sight of her. She had a gorgeous, hot little body, her breasts large and firm, and a beautiful face to match. A prime girl—he was certain her time was vied for at the club.

“Hi, Princess.”

He couldn’t stand to call her that. Could not. Fucking. Stand it.

“Hello, Sir. Or . . . should I call you something else?”

Allie called him Mick.

“‘Sir’ is fine.”

“I would be very happy to play with you, Sir,” she said, looking up at him through long lashes. Her eyes were blue. Not that rich golden brown, like Allie’s.

Stop thinking about her.

That was the whole point in being here. So why was he finding it so damn difficult to do the things he always did with the greatest pleasure?

Finn rose to his feet. “You two seem to be doing just fine. Unless you’d prefer I stay for negotiations, Princess?”

“No, Finn, Sir. I’m fine, thank you.” She smiled, dropped a small curtsy. She was absolutely charming.

Except he was still left entirely untouched by her.

Mick stood, grabbed Finn’s arm, said quietly, “I don’t know about this, Finn.”

“Is she not to your liking? I have Tina waiting for me, but I’d be happy to trade out. She’s an amazing player. Sassy. You’d like her. Of course, Princess is top-notch, too. But if there’s no connection . . .”

Mick shook his head. “It’s not that. She’s as gorgeous as you said and I can tell she’s well trained. But I’m not . . . fuck all, I don’t know what my problem is.”

Finn looked thoughtful, then he gestured to Princess. “Sweetheart, go and wait for me with Tina, that’s a good girl.”

Princess blushed, curtsied to Mick and left. But not before he saw the disappointed pout on her pretty face.

“Oh, that girl back in New Orleans has your head twisted the fuck up, mate, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. She does. Sorry, Finn. I thought this would be the best thing for me, coming here to play. To work some of this . . . whatever it is out of my system.”

“You know, I’ve seen a few guys in your position, and it seems the only thing that’ll really work is to work her.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Mick said, his hands fisting at his sides. His head was spinning. “I can’t believe I can’t do this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Finn said. “Just do what you need to. Go home and fuck her right through the walls. Play her until she screams. Go to the gym and pummel someone’s head in. Go to one of your fights. Work it out, mate. You can handle it.”

Mick clapped Finn on the back. “Thanks for understanding.”

“No worries. I won’t let her go to waste,” Finn said with a wide grin.

“I’m sure you won’t.”

“Good to see you. Try a longer visit next time. Or I’ll come and see you soon, anyway, to talk about working with you. And Mick, let me know how it goes, will you?”

“Yeah, I will.”

He passed back through the club, his brain in a tangle—images of Allie, of the woman called Princess, and a slow, simmering anger. It was himself he was pissed at, though.

Maybe Finn had the right idea, he thought as he got back into the rental car and started the engine. Maybe he needed to go home and go to the fight club.

Punching someone in the face—in a consensual environment, of course—would feel fucking great, he had to admit. Didn’t matter if they hit him back. Hell, that was part of it all, anyway—the chance of being hit. Even the pain, Dom or not.

He needed to find the next flight out of Atlanta. Had to get back to his city.

And fuck it, he had to see Allie.

CHAPTER Ten

ALLIE BROUGHT UP her PowerPoint presentation on her laptop, and the first image popped up on the projection screen she’d set up on one of the tables at Dolcetti.

She breathed in the familiar dry warmth of her family’s bakery and glanced around. The tall jars of biscotti still lined the top of the counters, as they always had. The glass case was filled with fresh walnut shortbread cookies and macaroons, the luscious panettone with the almond and hazelnut icing that was her great-grandmother’s recipe, the colorful torta di frutta. She inhaled the scent of fruit and sugar. The scent of memories.

How many times had Mick strolled in to visit her when she worked in the bakery after school, all swagger even in their high school days? He’d stolen kisses when her mother and her aunts weren’t looking . . .

Her aunts Felisa and Renata, her mother’s younger sisters—identical twins Allie had had a hard time telling apart as a child—were already seated with their cups of coffee. She was just waiting for her mother to finish some work she was doing in the back.

It was Friday evening and the bakery was closed. She knew they were all tired after working all day, but the only day the bakery shut their doors was Sunday, when her mother and aunts spent much of the day in church. And she was ready—she didn’t want to wait any longer.