Chapter 7

Reluctant Participants

IN A CUBICLE IN ANoffice shared by the field PIs and security specialists, Noah's hands stilled on the keyboard as he squinted at his notes.

"Is that an eight or a five?" he muttered, turning his head from side to side.

He'd written it and still couldn't make it out. Which was one of two reasons he was keying in his own time sheet and expenses. Usually the clerical staff performed the task, but he was a month past the deadline, and no one could read his prescription pad chicken scratch, as the office manager called it.

Jenny, their anal-retentive drill sergeant of a manager, hand selected by Keiran and Eric specifically for those qualities, didn't realize her insult was outdated. It had been years, probably a decade at least, since he'd actually handwritten a prescription. Nowadays, everything was digital to prevent medication errors caused by penmanship-challenged doctors like him.

"Damn paperwork," he grunted, closing his burning eyes as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed the kink in his neck. Whether at the hospital, his clinic, or at Rossi, it was a necessary evil to cover everyone's ass and pay the bills. But he hated every minute of it because it wasted time better spent on something productive.

Guessing the unknown number was a five—and the least impactful for the client if he was wrong—Noah hit print, logged off the computer, and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his neck.

"Doc. You're here!"

He cracked open one eye. Valerie Dupree stood in the doorway. Esme Finnegan peeked over her shoulder, smiling, albeit nervously.

"Tell me you came to rescue me from this drudgery, Esme."

"I wish I could, but I'm not working today, Doc. Besides, I can't read your chicken scratch either."

He sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"I dictate my notes, so there's no question," Val offered helpfully.

Why hadn't he thought of that? He dictated his surgical reports all the time. He wanted to kick himself but told her, instead, "That's a great idea. I'll do that."

When they didn't move along, he asked, "Is there something I can do for you ladies?"

"It's more like what we can do for you," came Esme's cryptic reply.

"Care to explain?" he asked, skewering Val with a quizzical look when the redhead nudged her in the side.

"We've found you a match," she exclaimed.

"Excuse me?"

"You know, through Kinky Matches, our new club service."

"She's perfect for you, sir," Esme declared.

"How is this possible when I never filled out a questionnaire?"

The two women glanced at one another before Val admitted, "We, uh, kind of, did it for you because we knew you two would be perfect for each other and... Voila! You are. On paper."

He rose, crossing to the printer across the room. When he retrieved his paperwork, he moved to the door, and with arms folded stared down at the two women, a frown on his face to show his displeasure. "How can you kind of fill out an application, and what happened to this being voluntary? I was there when you made that proposal to Eric, if you recall."

Esme gripped his forearm. "It was my idea, Master Noah. I can't stand seeing you so miserable. I know what you're feeling."

She'd lost her first husband tragically. And Val's had died from cancer. Both survived and found love again. He was happy for them, but losing Claire and Leah wasn't something he discussed—ever.

"I'm sorry, Esme, but you don't."

"After you lose a spouse who is like half of yourself, the pain is so intense you shut down, withdrawing into yourself and just existing," she pressed, describing exactly what he'd done. And what she had done after her police detective husband had been shot in a mafia-style vengeance kill. "When you come out of it," she went on in a rush, "all you want to do is protect what remains of your shattered heart. But there comes a time when you have to move forward with your life or get counseling so you can."

"Not to minimize the loss of your husband, Red, but you didn't also lose a child."

Val gasped. "Oh my god! I didn't know."

Green eyes bright with tears, Esme went on as if Val hadn't spoken. "After such a devastating loss, the survivor is often unwilling to risk opening their heart again. I sure didn't want to. But it's a long, lonely life without joy, fulfillment, and love. That was me until Keiran snapped me out of it. You're young, Master Noah. That's no way to live another four or five decades. Would your wife or daughter have wanted that? If the situation had been reversed, would you have wanted that for them?"

Leah was much too young to understand, but Claire—unselfish and so giving—she'd be pissed as hell at his self-imposed bachelorhood when it would solve nothing because it wouldn't bring either of them back.

"What do you have to lose by trying?" she asked.

The answer resonated loudly through his head—his heart. She was right about one thing though. His existence was damn lonely.

Knowing he would have to go to their doms to get the well-meaning pair to let it go, which he'd prefer not to do, his shoulders slumped in resignation. "Fine. Who is it?"

"Fiona," Val replied. "You remember—"

His laughter rang out. "How could I forget? I hate to tell you, but your processes or whatever you're using to match doms with subs and vice versa is off. Fiona rejected me once already."

Clearly shocked, the two partners frowned at one another.

Val dug through her bag muttering, "I was sure she left the question about any members being off-limits blank."

"Could it have been a misunderstanding?" Esme asked him. "She doesn't have much experience."

"No, thank you is hard to misconstrue," Noah drawled.

"Here it is," Val said, referring to her iPad. "We can clarify—"

"She'll know I'm the dom you're setting her up with?" he asked to be certain.

"Yes," Val replied as Esme answered with an emphatic, "Of course."

He wasn't about to let an opportunity to be with Fiona pass him by. She haunted his dreams, and he compared every other submissive at the club to her. All of them coming up short.

He wasn't sure why. There were other beautiful women who actually wanted to be with him and sought his attention. What was it about her? Not the fact that she'd turned him down—flat. Surely, he wasn't that superficial.

There was one way to find out.

"Set it up. Thursday at eight o'clock. You've got one chance and one chance only," he grumbled before stalking down the hall. He dropped his paperwork into the box on the office manager's door as he passed then slammed out the glass double doors in the lobby.

Much of his irritation was bravado at being manipulated by two submissives, even though they meant well. Still, Esme's words had struck a chord.

He worked all the time to stay busy because he was lonely, but he was lonely because he worked all the time. He loved his wife and daughter; nothing would ever replace them, but he was damned tired of coming home to an empty house, eating dinner out of a can, and going to bed alone.

Night after night, he stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, the silence in the house deafening. More and more, when he finally fell asleep, instead of Claire's blue eyes and Leah's infectious baby giggles, he encountered deep-brown eyes, wavy caramel-kissed hair—and so damn much of it—and Fiona's velvety voice.

The guilt of betrayal gnawed at him, even though he knew it was irrational after almost five years. Like Esme had urged, he had to break free of his frozen state or find someone to help him. Maybe Fiona was that someone.

That he was open to a potential match might be the difference for her this time around. But could he open his heart to another woman? Did he even want to?

If it turned out the answer was no, he'd see a professional. No more Doctor, heal thyself. Obviously, this was a specialty he did not excel in.

WITH ESME PRESSED AGAINSTher back, Val peeked around the doorjamb, and together, they watched as Master Noah stormed out.

"What do you think, Val? Is it a case of methinks he doth protest too much?"

"Definitely. You should have seen him that night. I thought he was going to strangle Jordan, which he richly deserved. Then he carried her all the way to our apartment, cradled in his arms. And once, while she was crying, he kissed her head." She heard Esme's breath catch in her throat at the romantic gesture, the same way she'd felt when she saw it. "That goes beyond bedside manner, don't you think?"

"Maybe not for a master at a kink club."

"But remember that night in the lounge? He seemed ticked about Axyl being with her over a year ago. It was at an open sub night, so it couldn't have been much of anything, but I could see the green-eyed monster stirring before he locked it down. If a man isn't interested, he doesn't get jealous. Besides, neither of them was going to fill out the questionnaire on their own. We had to do something."

"Forging Doc's answers though, Val. You're going to get us both in big trouble. I'm talking carousel punishment level."

"You think so?" she replied, intrigued. "I've never been for a ride. Have you?"

"No, and I don't want to. One dom doing erotic and kinky things to my body is enough, thank you very much. I'm not angling for six."

"Seven," Val reminded her. "Your master would ride with you too."

"Yeah," Esme said softly. "I forgot about that part."

They got quiet, their fast breathing making it obvious they were lost in their own hot and spicy carnival ride, with their dom as the kinky ringmaster.

Val cleared her throat, interrupting the long silence. "You're right. A ménage à six plus Eric is entirely too much. I'll keep riding the carousel a crazy notion in my head, where it belongs."

"That's my definition of sanity," Esme soberly disagreed. "As long as it's the same for Keiran and Eric, should they find out."

FIONA'S TWO O'CLOCKcanceled, and her three o'clock was running late. That never happened. She was pulling up the lunar calendar to see if it was coming up on a full moon or something when her phone rang. Seeing Val's number, she wasn't even tempted to send it to voice mail.

"You work fast," she said in greeting.

"That's because you matched with over 90 percent compatibility. That's the highest rating I've seen yet."

"Really. Who is it?"

"Master Noah. He's not really a club master, so we shouldn't call him master. Most club members do because he should be."

She frowned, not recognizing the name. "Is he new?"

There was a long pause from Val, and, when she spoke again, she sounded funny. Not funny ha ha, but funny strange. "You've met him, Fiona. I was sure you'd remember."

Allison, the receptionist, stuck her head in. "Your three o'clock is finally here. Mom said they left an hour ago but hit traffic."

Fiona looked at the clock. They were twenty minutes late.

This would put her behind on all the appointments that followed and those patients, mostly the parents, would be irritated with her for making them wait. She'd have to do an abbreviated session, but she needed to start now.

"I hate to, but I'm due back and have to cut this short. Where and when?"

"Does Thursday at eight work for you?"

She pulled up her schedule. "It does."

"Perfect," Val replied, sounding relieved. "I might have some arranging to do before I know where. I'll leave that for you at the front desk."

"That's fine as long as it's not center stage, thirty feet in the air."

"I wouldn't do that to you. Neither would Master Noah. You can trust him, Fi. He's experienced and respected by the club masters. The only reason he's not one of them is because he's often on call for work and travels some, and declined. All the subs have nothing but positive things to say about him. I feel good about the two of you."

"That makes one of us," she replied, rather pithily, unsure she wanted a dom that all the other subs had.

It didn't mean they all had sex with him. Many engaged in bondage or impact play without sex being the goal. But they were all adults, and it was often how a scene ended. And variety was often how this lifestyle worked. But that wasn't her style, and why she wanted a dom of her own.

"What did I tell you about negative self-talk?" Val the clinical social worker countered. "It's often a self-fulfilling prophesy."

"You're right. One of my patients threw a monkey wrench into my entire afternoon, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Mine are often in crisis. I've been there, hon, and understand completely."

"I'll be at the club at eight on Thursday. But this is my one shot, Val."

"Where have I heard that before?" she muttered.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a little joke you weren't in on. But I'm confident this is a good match for you."

"I hope so. I can't handle any more failure."

"Have faith. I can't wait to hear how it turns out. I'll let you go."

"Bye, Val," she said, seeing Jenny and her mom on the other side of the gym waiting for her.

Her hands trembled slightly as she silenced her phone for the session, having second thoughts already. But she plastered a smile on her face and got to work, something she was good at. Besides, her kids never cared what she looked like or how she dressed or if she carried a few extra pounds. They were happy to have her undivided attention, helping them get better, and that was reward enough.

If she crashed and burned again on Thursday, it would have to be.