The Wrangler (The Yacht Club #2)

Chapter 9

Nine

Alex

“Ready to work?”

SJ is leaning back in her chair, soft like a contented cat. Maybe that explains my urge to pet her, cuddle with her. She glances over, eyelids heavy—exactly how she’d look the next morning in my bed. Nope . I scoot my chair back irritated with my reaction to this woman Stone is sticking me with. Stone has the subtlety of a tank. “Daylight’s burning.”

My momma raised me right, so I pull out the chair and help SJ up. Her hand barely touches mine, but her long elegant fingers still shoot heat and possibility up my arm. I release her as soon as she’s standing. “Let’s get this done. I need some sleep.”

“We don’t— Okay.” SJ thanks everyone for dinner and Amy brushes off her offer to help clean up. I follow her inside nearly running her over when she stops unexpectedly to ask, “Where should we work? My room or yours?”

An image of me working her in my bedroom, her tied, naked, to the frame flashes through my brain straight to my dick. “Neither.” The word explodes out of me in a growl. I clear my throat. “How about we work down here? We can sit at the table or lounge on the couches. Up to you.”

She swivels her attention between the two spaces. “The couches. Let me grab my notebook. Be right back.”

My eyes are glued to her perfect ass as she bounds up the stairs. I’m grateful when I lose sight of her so I can breathe again. What the fuck is this woman doing to me? I can’t be around her at all without getting a damned chub. She’s fucking voodoo.

The mental list of tasks still remaining at the worksite, along with all the issues I’m having with the subs, works to soften my dick so I can sit comfortably. I drop into the corner of the couch that faces the fireplace. SJ can take the other couch and we’ll still be close enough to talk. At least that’s the plan, but she wrecks that, and any composure I gained with my mental checklist, when she drops on the cushion next to me, eyes wide with false innocence.

She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

I know exactly what I’d like to do to her.

I also know what a bad idea it would be.

I shift into the corner putting a tiny bit more space between us as if that matters. The soft scent of her, like peaches and vanilla ice cream on a hot summer day, teases me. Only way to get out of this is to go through. “Ask away.”

“What makes going to a sex club appealing to people and why will The Yacht Club be better or more unique than the others.”

She doesn’t hold her punches. “For one, there’s no club like it in the area. Pandora serves their community and it feels that way, casual, like a community center in any town but instead of weight benches and a pool, it has spanking benches and St. Andrews crosses.”

She stops scribbling. “Won’t your club have those things?”

“Of course, but the level of delivery will be different. Less local gym, more fantasy vacation. High end finishes, polished stained floors. Leather, sound-proofed walls. Instead of folding tables and chairs, booths with privacy curtains, a main stage for demos and guest appearances.” I rub my neck. I shouldn’t be the one selling this. I’m just the construction guy. “The restaurant will be five-star too. The guys interviewed a bunch of chefs. Got a new hot shot looking to earn her first Michelin Star. And then there’s the resort itself.”

“What about it?” She leans closer, those blue eyes hanging on my next words. So naturally submissive and she probably isn’t even aware.

“Luxury condos and first class service. It will have all the amenities, of course a full gym and and huge pool. Two actually. Half a dozen hot tubs. We’re already starting to take reservations and phase one won’t be complete until late September.”

“Phase one?”

“Building it in stages. First the restaurant and the dungeon.”

“Dungeon? Will you really call it that?”

So innocent. “Yes. Maybe not on the website that faces the public. But there will be a way for those who know to invite people. Everyone will be vetted.”

“Everyone?”

Why does that word sound like an accusation? “Absolutely.”

“How did you get into tying people up?”

Where the heck did that question come from? It has nothing to do with the website or marketing. I could refuse to answer. I rub the back of my neck. She’s probably just curious, can’t just boop her on the nose and tell her “no” like a naughty kitten. “Kind of a long story.”

“Not going anywhere.”

“When I was a kid, I was kind of small.”

Her gaze glides up and down my body. “Hard to believe.”

“It’s true. My older sister tried to help. Convinced me to punch the bully who was making my life hell.” I fucking hated that dude. George Conrad His smug face and evil glee when he targeted the smaller kids has never faded.

“Did you hit him?”

“Yeah. I balled up my fist and gave my best shot right into his gut.”

“And?” She leans closer, her hand on my thigh.

And let’s go upstairs. “He laughed and pushed me down in the lunch line. Thought he was going to kick me, but the lunch lady stepped in.”

“Did he get in trouble?” Her frown mimics the one my sister had so long ago, disgusted with the possible injustice.

“Three day suspension. He promised to kill me as soon as he got back so I told my daddy I was done with school, focusing on ranching from that day on.”

She laughs, and her whole face lights up. “I can see you, “little’Alex announcing your plans. Stomping your booted foot. How’d that work out?”

“Not as well as I’d planned.” I grin at the remembrance of the utter shock on my daddy’s face. “Luckily, my sister stepped in. She had a flyer from school about a martial arts place that was running classes on Wednesdays after school and they even had a bus to pick us up.” I shrug because one thing led to another. It’s obvious.

“So you went to Karate class and that led to ropes?” Her forehead wrinkles. So dang cute.

“Jiu Jitsu. It was the coolest thing I’d ever done. Different from everything that came before. As far from Texas and ranching as a boy could get. I was hooked—had to know everything about it. I checked books out of the library. That led to Hojojutsu as I got older. Eventually, I convinced the sensei to help me with some of the ties. I was well familiar with working with ropes on the ranch, leading horses around, helping my dad rope the calf legs. Hell, I even did some rodeo events.”

Her face softens and she stares at me for a quiet moment as if she can see me as a kid.

“But roping on the ranch is not precision, artistry, control. It’s nothing like Shibari.”

“What about your bully?”

“He backed off. Turns out, the older kids in the Jiu Jitsu class didn’t put up with anyone picking on the younger ones. I think they made it clear to George that if he hit me again, they would spend an afternoon teaching him what it felt like to get picked on my someone bigger.”

“So this bully George is the blame for you hanging out in dungeons and tying up woman?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s something deeper in the question.

I give her the most irreverent answer I can to hopefully stop her digging into me and my past. “I should probably write him a thank you note or something.”

“Rodeos and Jiu Jitsu explains your fascination with rope. But how does that translate into BDSM? I’m guessing your small town didn’t have a dungeon.”

Doesn’t sound like a guess. I never mentioned how big the town was. “Wasn’t too small for an internet connection. You’d be amazed what videos there are to be found if you dig deep enough.”

She drops her head and her cheeks turn red.

“Or maybe you wouldn’t be. Done some surfing?”

“A bit. But back to the Yacht Club.” She scoots away adjusting her notebook. “If you could only tell people one thing about it, what would you say?”

“It’s a bucket list experience.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, scribbling more notes.

“There are a lot of dungeons out there. Some people even host events in their home, converted basements and all that.”

She nods as if she’s trying to figure out who she knows with a basement.

“But the Yacht Club will be complete indulgence. Best food, best relaxation, best dungeon. Few will be able to afford a membership, but many will be able to splurge on a once-in-a-lifetime visit.”

“How will you keep people from being outed? I imagine some of the very wealthy are also very famous.”

“Without pictures, can’t prove it ever happened. They might say something to their friends who are in the community, but even if they say something more publicly, who’ll believe them. Pictures or it never happened, right?”

“Right.” She rolls her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze drops to her notebook and she goes silent.

Did I say something rude? “Eliot and his crew are experts in security. They won’t let anything happen. You wouldn’t believe the wiring they had me build into the place. Pretty sure I could run a data center in the basement if the dungeon fails.”

She barely reacts.

“Did you have any more questions?” Please talk to me again. I’m a total bastard and I don’t even know what I’ve done.

SJ clutches her notebook to her chest and stands. “No. I’m good for now. Have enough to work with. Thanks.”

I stand too, but she backs away. This is like a scene gone wrong, but I can’t release my ropes and cuddle her to make it better.

She’s nearly at the stairs when I call out. “Bring your questions this weekend. Everyone will be in the car and you can get more than just my stupid country-ass opinion.”

She pauses mid-step, one foot on the stair, hand on the rail. Her gaze pins me in place. “You’re far from stupid, Alex. And I love the country.”

Her words pierce through a protective layer around my heart I wasn’t aware was there until she busted it wide open. Drawn to her, I rush around the sofa, but by the time I clear the open living room to get to the stairs, I only catch the briefest glimpse of her as she darts down the hallway. I swear I hear a sobbing noise. What the fuck did I do?

The stairs slow me down because I don’t want to break my neck on the Victorian era treads. Not designed for my big ole feet. One of which I must have shoved in my mouth back there. She’s almost to her room. “SJ?”

My call doesn’t slow her. She’s in the room, door closed, lock snicking into place. I grip the frame and lean my forehead against the door. “I’m sorry,” I say in a low whisper.

I have no clue what I did, but I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.

The bigger issue is I want to.