As he started to duck into his office he saw Micah Hudson walk out of the common room and head for the exit.

“Micah,” he called.

Micah paused and turned around to look at Damon. “Hey, man.”

“You heading out so soon?” Damon gestured toward his office. “Want to have a drink?”

There was a brief hesitation before Micah ambled forward. “As long as you have something decent. That pussy shit you drink is way too fine for my redneck taste buds.”

Damon cracked a grin. “Your taste buds could use some refining. Leave it to me.”

He motioned inward, and he and Micah entered the office. Damon flicked the lights on and headed for the liquor cabinet while Micah slouched into one of the leather chairs near the desk.

Micah fumbled in his pocket and took out a nearly empty package of cigarettes. He got up and leaned over Damon’s desk for the wooden ashtray that Damon kept more for decoration than for actual use and dragged it back toward him.

“You mind?” Micah asked even as he put the end of the cigarette between his lips and flicked the lighter.

Damon shrugged. “Your lungs. I take it you’ve had no luck quitting?”

“I’m down to one or two a day,” Micah said with an air of indifference. “Pop nags me. I’ll quit. Eventually.”

“So why were you heading out so early?” Damon asked as he touched each of the tops of the bottles. Finally he settled on a very nice aged scotch. Way too sophisticated for Micah, but it gave Damon a reason to make fun of him.

Micah grunted in response. He took the glass that Damon handed him and eyeballed it suspiciously. Before responding, he sniffed it cautiously and put his lips to the rim.

Damon settled into a chair across from Micah. “So? How is it?”

“Not bad,” Micah mumbled as he took another drag of his cigarette.

Damon smiled. “And why were you checking out early? Hot date?”

Micah snorted. “Like I’ve had one of those in a long time.”

“By choice, I’m sure,” Damon said.

A shadow crossed over Micah’s face. “Yeah, man, by choice.”

Damon raised one brow but didn’t press the point. There were other things he wanted to discuss anyway. He watched Micah inhale, savoring the hit for a moment before exhaling a long plume of smoke. “So,” he said casually. “What do you know about Faith’s friend Serena James?”

“Besides the fact that she’s hot?” Micah flicked his cigarette at the ashtray then took another swallow of the scotch.

“Her hotness is a given. Any guy with eyes can ascertain that much,” Damon said dryly.

“You interested?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Not your type,” Micah said with a shake of his head.

“What makes you say that?” Damon asked with only mild curiosity. “I think she might be exactly my type.”

“What do you know that I don’t know?” Micah asked. “You’ve got one of those smug, shit-eating grins. Serena . . . she’s hot. Infinitely hot. Strong willed and well, hot. I’ve flirted with her, and she’s given as good as she gets for sure.”

“Not to mention she’s driven, intelligent, motivated, honest and confident in her sexuality.”

“But not submissive,” Micah said. “Don’t go knocking on doors closed to you, man. Wasn’t once enough?”

Damon smiled. “Do you know what sort of business Serena runs?”

“Yeah, fantasy fulfillment, and not the fun kind.”

“Well, she wants her own fantasy fulfilled. So she came to me.”

Micah leaned forward in interest. He snubbed out his cigarette and fixed Damon with a keen stare. “Are we talking sexual fantasy here?”

“She wants to be owned,” Damon said. “A slave. She wanted me to arrange for her to be sold in an auction at the house.”

“And of course you didn’t think of me,” Micah grumbled.

“No one else will have her but me,” Damon said quietly.

Micah studied him for a long moment. “Staking your claim, huh?”

Damon nodded. “She intrigues me. I want her, and she wants what I can give her. I’m willing to see where it leads.”

Micah was already shaking his head. “I can’t believe you signed on for this. Not with the way you view role-playing.”

“Who says it has to be a role? I’ll give her the real thing—”

“And she’ll give you fantasy,” Micah cut in.

“Your concern is touching,” Damon said with amusement. “I have doubts that the woman I want exists, or if she does, I don’t have a prayer of finding her. For now I’ll take what I can get.”

Micah’s expression sobered. A spasm of grief flickered in his eyes before they became cold and unreadable. “She exists, Damon. There are women out there who crave what we can give them. Once you taste it, you can’t ever let go of it,” he said with a note of sadness in his voice.

Damon studied him oddly, but Micah looked away and drained the last of the alcohol from his glass.

“I hope it works out for you,” Micah finally said. “Serena seems to be a very passionate woman. Not someone I would have pegged as slave material, but she is indeed beautiful and spirited. I know you’ll take good care of her.”

“I plan to,” Damon murmured.

“Am I invited to the auction?” Micah asked in sudden mischief.

“Fuck off,” Damon said crudely. “You’d only outbid me and complicate the issue.”

Micah grinned. “A beautiful naked woman being sold can certainly add to a man’s insanity.”

Damon set his now-empty glass down on the desk and hesitated before finally deciding to say the next thing on his mind. It was forward, and it wasn’t usually his style to be so intrusive with friends. But that was just it. Micah was someone he counted as a friend.

“When are you going to quit living in the past, Micah?”

Micah turned sharp, angry eyes on him, and just like that, the mild, amused mood vanished. He transformed into someone dark and angry. Tormented. Damon regretted his impulse even as he recognized the need to prod Micah from his status quo.

“Maybe when you do?”

Damon shook his head. “I’m moving on. I’m taking Serena as my slave.”

“You’re fulfilling some hokey fantasy for a woman who wants to play at having a master to spank her ass a little and throw around some authority. You and I both know it ain’t real, and you pretending won’t change that.”

The words came out angry and clipped, but Damon didn’t take offense. He was probably the only person Micah had ever confided in about the events that had brought him to Houston to begin with—a fact that Micah was probably regretting about now.

“Let’s just drop it,” Micah said when Damon started to respond. “Before we both say things we’ll regret.”

“Consider it dropped,” Damon agreed.

“And for what it’s worth, I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Micah said.

“I’ve already stopped looking,” Damon said quietly. “It’s kind of hard to look for something you’ve stopped believing in.”

Serena read over the file of a prospective client with a frown of concentration as she assimilated all the information in her head. The fantasy was doable, and she loved the challenge of figuring out the details. She was already setting it up in her mind as she finished the last of the questionnaire.

The middle-aged gentleman wanted to be a whale for an evening. He wanted the guise of an ultra-wealthy player, someone sought after by the casinos and his every whim catered to. He wanted an expensive car, a gorgeous woman on his arm. Serena rolled her eyes a bit at that, but hey, arm candy was part of his fantasy and so she would do what she could.

Her mind was already racing. An appointment to have him appropriately attired. Expensive suit, all the necessary accoutrements to polish the façade. She could arrange for a limo to take him over to Lake Charles, Louisiana, where one of her casino contacts would meet him with all the panache afforded their regular gamblers.

She’d need to call and arrange it for a time when the casino wasn’t already accommodating their real high rollers. The money the client gambled would be his own and it would be his choice whether to spend it, but the glitz and bowing and scraping would be arranged by her.