Chapter 11

Ira

The day is beautiful. Just the right temperature, enough clouds to keep me from burning in my light linen clothes, and so little humidity that I don't have to worry about sweating in front of the hundreds of guests my father has invited to my childhood home.

Once a season, Donovan Mathison throws the biggest party around. Sometimes he has to skip one, but he doesn't like to. You see, these parties put up the front that it's all about unwinding from the hard world of business or whatever the hell people do, but in reality, the people he invites are either his business associates or people he's looking to court as associates.

At least my father has the greatest party planning assistant on this good green Earth. The woman knows how to throw a shindig, even if I want to be here half the time.

The theme this season is "country club white." All the guests were told to show up in their best white apparel, because it's after Memorial Day, don't you know? I am wearing a loose linen shirt tucked into khaki pants because that's what my assistant Vivian told me looks best for this type of party. Most of the others are dressed in white dresses – with hints of other colors and patterns – white suits, or some hodgepodge of pastels, blacks, and even gray. Depends on how quickly they decided to show up.

My family's home has a sprawling field in the back. Most of the other families in the area concentrate on landscaping to the point they have elaborate flower gardens like Etta Coleman or hedge mazes like at Le Manoir a few hours from here. My father has the opposite tastes. For all his wealth, he's a minimalist. Of course, when I was a young snot with too much energy, I thought the big rambling field tucked between old-growth forests was the best thing in the world. I'd make my mother and nanny have their picnic lunches out there during the summer so I could build forts with cut grass and twigs I dragged in from the forest.

That was fun until I hit puberty earlier than most. Then I was two feet taller, growing boobs I hadn't asked for, and lusting after every girl who wasn't my mother or nanny – she was an older German woman named Mildred, okay?

Now my father uses this field to host his outdoor parties. Complete with elaborate croquet courses for groups of seven or eight to play while we wait for the catering to come through with sandwiches and other finger foods.

"It's your turn, dear," my mother says, tapping her mallet into the ground. "And please make an interesting play. I'm dying of boredom here."

My mother hated these parties when she was married to my father, and she hates them even more now that she has to travel to attend them. She has her ways of getting back, however, Like wearing black to a country club party.

I line up my shot and carefully hit the ball. I barely miss the one I was aiming for and will now wait until my next invigorating turn. My brain is probably about half as melted as my mother's. When it comes to these sorts of functions, I get all of my personality from her.

"So, how's the project coming along?" We're standing off to the side while two old ladies fat with West Coast money squabble over whose ball is whose. "Your father says that the Anderssens paid a visit to you and Kathleen on Friday."

I'm lucky it's not my turn, because I've done a bang-up job forgetting about Kathleen and Friday. Don't get me wrong. I don't regret making her come while feeling her body writhe between mine and the wall. If we didn't do it, I would have exploded. Again. Like I did twelve years – damnit stop thinking about that.

But I didn't explode anywhere but against her. And hell, it was damn good.

Ahem.

"It's fine." Sweat fogs up my sunglasses, and I don't know why I'm perspiring. Didn't start until my mother mentioned Kathleen.

"Uh-huh." My mother clears her throat. "I'm surprised the Allens aren't here today. I would think your father would invite them after the Anderssens."

The star couple is schmoozing near the buffet table. Lara Anderssen, dressed in a stunning white summer dress that accentuates her figure while still covering her up, puts her hand on everyone's shoulder and bats her eyelashes at them – including the men. Some of them flirt back with her, which makes her spouse Kennedy smirk in approval. Sure, she's keeping it cool, but a Domme knows when another is salivating over their wife making nice with beautiful women. Knowing what I do about the Anderssens' personal lives? None of these people stand a chance. They're all going to bed.

Yet I can't help but laugh when I see the latest target is one of the heads of the community council. Well, if they're going to use their swinger powers for good…

"The Allens couldn't make it," I say. "They had something else planned."

"Pity. I haven't seen Kathleen in a while."

For some reason, that makes me flinch.

"You two used to date, right?"

I turn around, facing my mother for the first time in five minutes. I half expect to see her smiling at me in that teasing way. Instead, she's looking as if she's searching her brain for the right answer. Seriously?

"No. We have never dated." My mallet digs into the earth, creating a fun divot for someone to fix later. "You must be thinking of another blonde."

"No… no, I clearly remember it being Kathleen Allen at that gala all those years ago."

Play it cool, okay? What does your mother know about the gala? "Remember it being her for what, exactly?" Don't act like you know what she's talking about. Play it cool.

Now she's smiling at me, and I know I'm in trouble. "The one who was making eyes with you all day. Don't play innocent, Ira. A mother knows when her child is… doing that."

What is she implying? And why would she bring this up now? "Perhaps so. That was a long time ago. I don't really remember."

"Oh, dear, I would think you remember that."

"You'd be mistaken."

Before I know it, my turn has come again. My mother eyes me while I line up a shot. "You've always been a terrible liar to me."

Her words make me miss my shot, and everyone around us chuckles.

"What am I lying about?" I mouth at her. She signals to the balls on the ground. Now I'm forced to take my shot again, and I miss the hoop by about five miles. More chuckling. I feel like a jackass. When a server comes by with tiny flutes of champagne, I down one in five seconds, giving me enough time to return it to the tray before the server goes on her merry way.

Mother waits until I'm properly humiliated and back at her side before replying. "Forgive me. Your taste for blondes has led to me making embarrassing assumptions."

She's not embarrassed.

"Your father was the same way. Had a thing for brown hair." My mother tucks her hand beneath her brown locks and tosses them behind her shoulder. "He wouldn't shut up about two things when we dated – my hair and my tits."

"Is this going somewhere?"

She shrugs. This is not what I really mean, but sometimes I hate my mother, in that slighted teenager sort of way. It bothers me that she knows so much about me and my life, even though I've stopped telling her a lot about it. She's damned nosy. You'd never guess she cares about the answers you give her, but she does. She's that good at masking all emotions.

Drives me nuts!

The game ends before I have the chance to take my next shitty shot. Thank God. I'm done being too distracted to play a game. Time to get away from my mother and drink something harder than champagne. Thankfully, my father always has a wet bar on hand at these functions.

Since it's so crowded around the bar, I don't see who's sitting at the far end, alone, because nobody ever wants to deal with her scary ass.

"Oh, good, about time I found someone in charge around here." Eve Warner smacks her hand on my arm, and I nearly jump out of my skin and drop my glass. "Who do I talk to about a severe lack of vodka at the bar? I need it to get through crap like this."

Eve Warner is almost worse than my mother. I say almost because, unlike my mother, Eve can't hide the fact that she's messing with someone.

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that."

Even though she's wearing thick sunglasses, the twitch in her lips says that she's amused. "Kathleen told me that you know so much, though."

Damnit, is today the day of harassing Ira about Kathleen? Are all these people in on some big secret together? Or maybe I'm going insane. "All right. I'll indulge you. What do you want?"

"Touché!" Her long limbs slip off a stool, and now she's standing next to me, nearly towering over me because the Warners are ridiculously tall. They say her ladylike sister Helen has to sit in the lowest chair in the room to keep from intimidating her business partners during meetings. Meanwhile, androgynes like Kennedy Anderssen are probably stuffing lifts into their shoes to look taller. It takes all kinds in this rich world of ours.

Eve senses that I'm uncomfortable and slouches. How kind of the woman who is overdressed in a stylish white suit. Overdressed, and yet not even I can care because she owns it so well. Sometimes I revel in the fact that I can at least relate to her in that we were both born lesbians. I get to not give a shit about a single thing and still fuck women. Best of both worlds?

"I was wondering where that pretty blonde was." She shrugs as if I shouldn't be suspicious. "The one from last weekend. The two of you seemed to be having a lot of… fun at the club."

I'm lucky she's keeping her voice down. "You liked what you saw, huh? Something you want to confess?" I can play her inappropriate game. In fact, I have to. Right now I have no idea if Kathleen has told her about what's going on. I don't know if she's talked to her best friend about us having sex, or if she's mentioned what else happened at the club. I'm not going to give that information away, but I also don't want to act ignorant. Not in front of Eve.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Why do you care? I'm not seeing her right now."

The way she looks at me is beyond unnerving, although I do my best to not let it show. Especially when we're shortly joined by two people I could live without right now.

"Evelyn!" Lara Anderssen takes the woman's hands and kisses the air around her cheeks. "So good to see you after so long. I didn't know you were friendly with our pal Ira here."

She almost chokes. I covertly roll my eyes. "They're working with Kathleen, you know."

"Ah, yes, Kathleen." Lara sounds so judgmental that I almost burst out laughing. "She's, ah… interesting."

For once, Eve and I are sharing a mutual look of defense mode. Except I have no idea why I feel this passionately about Kathleen's honor.

Let's set something straight. I have no problem with the Anderssens. They're a quirky couple who are a bit too big for their britches, but they're smart, shrewd, and not afraid to go after what they want – even if that includes another person. Except right now they're being a pain in my ass. Between this charade with The Ace and now snide comments about Kathleen, my blood may be boiling.

God, why?

You know, I thought I got my burning need to fuck her out of my system. I was surprised that she went for it so easily, but hey, I wasn't going to say no. Having her so willing to have sex with me so quickly was a boon to my ego. Especially since she's a fellow Domme, and I thought she would resist, let alone a position like that. But I think we had a mutual understanding regarding our desire to finally accomplish what we set out to do twelve years ago.

I thought it would be all I needed to reset my brain and stop thinking about her so much. I had my fill, right? Yet I'm standing here like an idiot, wishing that I didn't care so much that someone like Lara Anderssen is even so much as implying that Kathleen doesn't have her shit together. And it's not like I feel guilty by association. I was flawless every time I presented. Shit, Eve has way more reasons to be angry. Kathleen's her best friend.

And I'm… her… what? Temporary business partner?

Lover?

I'm under no delusion that sex will happen again. I don't think I'll say no, but it's up to Kathleen, and I don't see her jumping my bones again.

But… shit. Let me tell you. I went home Friday night, tired and ready for a shower and bed. So that's what I did. I then promptly dreamed about tying that woman's smooth arms above her head and tickling her nipples with the tip of a riding crop. Her ass was bigger in my dream, and there I was, spanking her and listening to her whimper in between shouts of pleasure…

…Begging me to spank her some more, to spread her open and have my fill of her…

…Just fuck me, all right? I do not want things that will for sure never happen.

"Kathleen's been so busy working on the project that she hasn't even had time to return my calls," Eve says with a taut mouth. "And I'm in grad school."

"Oh, how is that going? Must be so exciting."

"It's fine. Helen says that during my break later this year, I should start heading a small subsidiary she's setting up. Jewelry. Good enough to get any girl's feet wet, I suppose."

"Speaking of your sister, how's she doing?"

Eve gestures behind Lara. We glance in that direction, catching sight of the tallest Warner sibling gliding through a small crowd, wearing a white-brimmed hat and a smart dress made of crisp whites and pale browns. My father's courting her to be a major investor in another project, which explains why Eve's here tagging along with her sister.

What isn't immediately apparent is the woman attached to Helen's hip, a petite feminine beauty with curly dark locks and a white gown that drapes on her thin limbs so she looks like a beautiful, lost ghost. Well, a happy one, because Monique Grant can't stop smiling whenever someone speaks to her.

I don't know much about her. Just that she's engaged to Helen Warner and runs the Manoir people go to when they need something a bit more private and fantastical than even Midnight. Rumor has it that's where they met. A tramp, that Helen.

Oh, and they put on quite the BDSM show. Don't ask me how I know. Not in front of Eve, anyway. She vomits anytime someone in our lifestyle brings it up. Oh, and don't bring it up in front of the Anderssens. That'll give them ideas, and they'll be directed toward me right now. You're beautiful, Lara, and I'm sure you'll sub for me for a night, but I'm not super interested in your spouse watching. Or involving herself. I'm dreadfully dominant to the point of being no fun for you two. Another thing Eve and I can commiserate on right now, because you keep leering at her, Lara.

"What an intriguing couple," Lara mutters, and I can't tell if she's being sarcastic. She won't say anything, though. Not in front of us. That's Eve's family. And we both know what a damned hypocrite she'll be since the Manoir is where the Anderssens have their mistress.

"It's going to be the wedding of the year." Eve's droll voice cuts between us. "Whips and chains instead of party streamers. Everyone in latex. Ball gags for everyone who doesn't compliment the bride."

We both know she's joking, but neither Lara nor I laugh. Eve soon excuses herself, leaving me with one of the most relentless women in either business or pleasure.

"Before you go along your way, Ira," Lara begins, touching her fingers to my shoulder. "A friendly reminder that Kennedy and I are so looking forward to wiping our hands of The Ace. Bit of a bother, that building is. The taxes alone… but I digress." Her sneer for the situation does not give me confidence. "What I'm trying to say is that you need to make sure Kathleen has her shit together. You may not be her keeper, but if you and your father want any chance of getting that building from us, then you had best make sure that Kathleen Allen doesn't botch up your presentation. It's bad enough that we let her get away with screwing up once. We won't stand for it again."

Those are her parting words to me before she goes off to make nice with Helen Warner and her blushing fiancée. I'm left by the damned bar with half my drink warming in my hand. I don't care. I finish it off in one gulp.

If no one else talks to me about Kathleen today, I can die happy. Because I am so tired of hearing that name, even if I'm incapable of saying anyone's name but hers.