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And as far as this affair with Caliph was concerned, she knew what she wanted, but she didn’t feel confident enough to say it aloud only to have him reject her. She’d ridden the rejection train before and, quite frankly, it sucked.

Unfortunately, Caliph had taken her on adventures her sex-starved, fairly vivid imagination hadn’t even thought to conjure up. He hadn’t just ruined her for other men. He’d made sure she wouldn’t be able to escape into her books anymore without wishing she were the heroine and he the hero in every story. So much for fictional therapy.

“I had a really great time.” The inane words were nearly accompanied by a wince, but she managed to school her features just in time.

Caliph nodded slowly. “So did I. You’re an incredible woman, Jen.”

She wasn’t feeling very incredible right now. In fact, all she felt was pure terror. So she instituted the standard quick escape. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

She backed up her lame farewell with the most ridiculous platonic hug in history. God, she gave her distant cousin, the one she only saw every third year at the family reunions, a more familiar embrace.

Caliph was frowning when she stepped away, but she couldn’t summon enough courage to do more than lift her hand in a lighthearted wave before she turned and all but sprinted to her car.

By the time she’d buckled herself into the driver’s seat and found the nerve to turn around and look back toward the shop, Caliph had entered the building.

She fell forward as she lightly pounded her forehead on the steering wheel.

“Stupid fucking girl,” she muttered, completely disgusted with herself.

What the hell had she done?

The answer resounded in her head like a cathedral bell. She’d reverted to character. The Jennifer who’d arrived at Caliph’s house on Friday night had returned with a vengeance, running like a scared mouse at the first sign of rejection.

God, she was an idiot.

She hated that woman. The one who’d sat quietly and let her husband of seventeen years break her heart and walk away without one word of anger. The one who’d wasted a year of her life mourning over a man who didn’t deserve her.

The one who’d just let the coolest, hottest, kindest man she’d ever met go without telling him exactly how wonderful he was.

If she could manage the position, she felt the overwhelming desire to get out of the car and kick her own ass.

No. Screw this. This life. This eternal hell.

She wanted more and, by God, she was going for it.

Before she could think of any reason why it was a bad idea, she was out of her car and standing at the door to Midnight Ink. She pushed the door open with way more force than she should have, the bell above it making her jump as it jingled.

While her arrival seemed unnervingly showy to her, it didn’t appear to have caught anyone’s notice.

“Caliph,” she said, louder than she’d intended. The only other person in the shop was a woman Jennifer hadn’t seen before. She assumed this was Rosie, the female tattoo artist Caliph had mentioned.

Caliph glanced up. He’d been standing next to his chair, staring into his cup of coffee like a zombie.

“Jen?”

“I don’t, I mean, I was hoping…” God, she sounded like a complete tool.

“Say it.”

His tone was one of pure command, the sound reminding her of everything that had passed between them. It spoke to her on some level she’d never acknowledged or noticed prior to this weekend with him. And it left her so damn hot, she felt as if she could burst into flames.

“I want to see you again.”

She could feel the other woman staring at her, but Jennifer pushed through her embarrassment, her nervousness. She’d spent two days and only a handful of hours prior to the weekend with Caliph, yet he’d done more to help her find her feet, her strength than months’ worth of conversations with well-meaning friends after her divorce. “I’d really like to go out with you again.”

She held his gaze and let her words stand, willing to take this risk. If he told her he wasn’t interested, she would be hurt. But she wouldn’t fall apart. She wasn’t the fragile woman Marcus had left nearly a year ago. She’d proven she could pick up the pieces and move on. There was a big difference between needing a man in your life and wanting one.

And she wanted this one…for as long as it lasted. If that wasn’t forever, then so be it. There were plenty of other fish in the sea, petals on her daisy. One day, she’d find the one who would love her for who she was, who would make her happy. And even if she didn’t, she intended to live a life without regrets.

Caliph grinned. “I’d like to keep seeing you too.”

“You would?” Damn insecure Jennifer crept out at the most annoying times.

Caliph didn’t seem to mind. He laughed. “Yeah. I would. In fact, I’d like to nail down our next date right now. Make this decision official before you try to run away again. You realize that was the worst morning-after goodbye in history, right?”

She laughed, relief flowing through her like a hot shower on a cold winter’s night. “Yeah. My brain wasn’t fully functioning back there. Luckily it caught up to my stupid mouth before I drove away.”

He walked over to her. “So what about that date?”

“I’m free next weekend.”

He shook his head. “Too far away. Dinner. Tomorrow night.”

Jennifer didn’t even need to consider her schedule. She’d make it work. “Deal. I’ll cook for you at my place to make up for being such a jackass.”

Caliph grasped her hand and pulled her closer. “Food is a good way to apologize, but I can think of a better one.”

“Dirty bastard.”

He wrapped his arm around her and pinched her ass as she giggled. “Don’t remember hearing any complaints when I had you tied to my bed yesterday.”

Jennifer had forgotten they weren’t alone until she heard the woman at the next station laugh.

“TMI,” the other woman joked.

Caliph chuckled, then did the introductions. “Jen, this is Rosie. Rosie, this is Jennifer.”

Like Sassy, Rosie was sporting some fun colored streaks in her hair, not to mention some serious ink on her arms and collarbone. For a moment, Jennifer considered asking Rosie where she got her hair done. She wouldn’t mind adding a bit of color—maybe purple—to her own long tresses.

Rosie gave her a quick up-and-down glance. “So this is the daisy tattoo girl.”

Jennifer looked at Caliph curiously.

Rosie answered her unspoken question. “He was a maniac last week, waiting—not very patiently—to see you again on Friday. Glad to see you two had a good time.”

“We did.”

Rosie studied Caliph’s face. “And I’m glad to hear you’re willing to see him again tomorrow. Something tells me he’s not going to get you out of his system for quite a while.”

Jennifer laughed, flattered to hear he had been looking forward to their date as much as her. “I hope not.”

Her quick response appeared to have won Rosie’s approval. The pretty tattoo artist looked at Caliph. “Well done, my friend.”

The bell jangled over the door as a handsome, hulking blond man entered.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Rosie’s face lit up as she walked away from them without a second glance.

Caliph leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “That’s Finn. I haven’t been the only maniac around here lately. Finn seems to make the rest of us mortals disappear in Rosie’s world.”

Jennifer understood the feeling. Whenever she was with Caliph, it felt as if they were the only two people on the planet.

“You in a hurry?” Caliph asked her.

She shook her head. One of the best parts of her job was that she—as senior hotel manager—got the weekends off.

“Good. Come here.”

Caliph grasped her hand and tugged her through a door that led to a storage area in the back. He threw the lock on the door.

“What are you—”

Her question was cut off when Caliph grabbed her, kissing her so passionately her head spun. The embrace could have lasted for minutes or months for all Jennifer knew.

When he finally released her, he looked at her with stern, serious eyes. “I should punish you for that stunt you pulled in the parking lot. I thought you were really leaving.”

“I thought I was too.”

“What stopped you?”

“I’m tired of being a doormat.” The words flew out without thought and she realized they weren’t entirely correct. “I can’t keep standing on the sidelines of my own life like some uninterested observer. I felt more alive this past weekend than I have in years. God, maybe even decades. It was a good feeling.”

The laugh lines beside his eyes became more pronounced as she spoke. His smile grew wider.

“We’re complete opposites, Caliph, and maybe this fling is just going to be that. A fling. But for now, it’s exactly what I need.”

Caliph tilted his head and studied her face. “I’m cool with riding this out, seeing where it takes us. The weekend wasn’t enough for me, Jen. I want more of you.”

Her stomach fluttered at his admission—with anticipation and desire. “I can’t imagine there’s much of me left to claim. You explored a hell of a lot of uncharted territory this weekend.”

He laughed. “Oh, trust me, love. We haven’t even touched the tip of the iceberg.”

She made a face, pretending to be worried, which made him laugh louder.

“In fact,” he said as he reached out and grasped her waist, pulling her hips against his, “I think we should seal this dating deal with a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?” she asked when his lips were a mere breath away from hers.

“We’ll start with that. Then see where it leads.” He ran his hands over her ass, squeezing them firmly. “After all, there’s nothing I love more than covering this pretty canvas of yours with color.”

She rubbed her cheek against his, savoring the sensation of her soft to his rough. “Pervert,” she whispered.

Caliph laughed. “Definitely. But you’re kinky, so that makes us even.”

Jennifer turned at the same time as Caliph, their lips finding each other’s, though neither of them sought to turn the touch into a kiss. “Caliph?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever had sex back here?”

He chuckled. “Nope.”

“Wanna do something really wicked?”

He laughed, then tugged on her hair with just enough force to get her engine revving. “I might have a few things we could try, kinky girl. Take off your clothes.”

Writing a book was number one on Mari Carr’s bucket list and on her thirty-fourth birthday, she set out to see that goal achieved. Now her computer is jammed full of stories — novels, novellas, short stories and dead-ends. A New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller as well as winner of the Passionate Plume, Mari finds time for writing by squeezing it into the hours between 3 a.m. and daybreak when her family is asleep and the house is quiet.

You can visit Mari’s website at
www.MariCarr.com
.

She is also on
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She blogs at
International Heat
,

and hangs out on the
Heat Wave Readers Yahoo Group
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by Mari Carr and Lila Dubois

The small foyer was exactly as she remembered. The room was small enough to be mistaken for a closet if anyone who was not a member found their way in. The walls were paneled wood, the floor covered with the same carpet as the outer room. An empty book cart took up a third of the space. Turning to her right, she examined the panels. Numbers were etched into the wood, seemingly at random.

The Grand Master’s instructions said she was to open box thirty-one. Pressing her finger against the number, she felt a click. When she pulled her hand back, a small tray popped out of the wall. Reaching in, she retrieved a key and a piece of paper.

You’ll find garments in Room C. Right hand corridor.

Wait until you hear the bell.

-Grand Master

The note was written by hand. Carly shivered a little. The Grand Master was the head of the Trinity Masters and a man of unspeakable power and influence. No one knew who he was, though there were plenty of rumors. At the Trinity Masters annual gatherings, meetings hidden inside library benefit galas, Carly had done her share of gossiping about who he might be.

Now she wasn’t curious, she was afraid.

Note and key in hand, she moved the cart out of the way and—with another push—opened the door hidden in the back wall. It revealed a narrow elevator. When she pressed the button, the door opened and Carly stepped in. She took a moment to gather herself as the small elevator took her down to the sub-basement. When it stopped and the door slid to the side, she bit the inside of her cheek to center herself.

A long marble hallway stretched out in front of her. Columns supported the double-high arched ceiling, which was a smaller replica of the grand hallway above. Her footsteps rang as she made her way along the hall, the sound bouncing off the walls to echo down to the grand double doors at the far end. There were no books here to muffle the sound. At the midway point, there were openings in the walls, one to the right, another to the left. She’d been down the left hallway before. There were changing rooms there, elegant as the locker rooms in a fancy spa. For ceremonies, all members wore robes to protect their identities, and those with the most need for secrecy had private dressing rooms.

As she turned right, she wondered if that was where she was going—to a private dressing room. Now that she had been called to the altar by the Grand Master, she supposed she’d earned a private dressing room.

After all, she was about to meet her husbands.

Or maybe it would be husband and wife.

Her hands shook, and it took her a few tries to get the key into the lock on Room C. Once in, she found a small, but well-appointed room. A white robe waited on a hook. Normally they wore gray.

Setting her purse on the vanity, she touched the robe. “It’s like a wedding dress,” she whispered to herself.