BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (6 page)

One brow arched, he inclined his head. "As a matter of fact, I do."

"The insurance alone must be insane!"

"Perhaps, to some." He stepped up to her side and watched her as she went back to drooling over his car. "But I've always wanted a Porsche."

Her jaw almost hit the pavement. "Are you retarded? This is an
Aston Martin!
You dump over a million dollars into a car and you don't even know what it is?"

"Of course I know what it is, mi cielo." He tapped under her chin and smiled when her jaw snapped shut. "I was curious to see if you were just admiring the pretty car. I'm pleased that you know enough to appreciate it."

Appreciate it? Fuck, I want to have its babies!
She held her breath and inched closer to it. "You're crazy, but you've got damn good taste."

"Yes, I do." He put his hand on the small of her back and propelled her towards the passenger side. His breath flowing over the nape of her neck as he leaned around her to unlock the door made all the tiny hairs rise. "In cars and women."

"Then you should have hooked up with the redhead."

"I could have. Just as I could have bought a
Porshe
, but that wasn't what I wanted, mi cielo. I wanted a car with soul. I want a woman with spirit." He pressed a soft kiss on the back of her neck. "I want you."

* * * *

A jazz band played on the huge stage in the center of the classy restaurant as Sebastian led Jami to his regular table, close to the windows overlooking the harbor. Both the music and the view added a little something special to dining out, but he usually indulged in the alluring atmosphere, and fine cuisine, alone. There were other nice restaurants to bring the women who expected five star treatment because he was rich. He'd never wanted to ruin the experience for himself by bringing them here. But for some reason, he wasn't concerned about that happening with this woman.

His only concern was that she was too young to truly appreciate it. A girl who dyed her hair blue most likely listened to some kind of grunge music and didn't often—if ever—eat in places where knowing the right fork to use for shrimp or salad was required. This would have been a better choice for a later date, after she'd had a chance to dress up and prepare herself for the high class patrons who might judge her.

But he hadn't thought of that before bringing her. To him, she looked perfect. Fresh and so full of life. Nothing seemed to intimidate her, and he hoped this would be no different. He couldn't care less if she ate with her fingers and talked with her mouth full. This place was part of his lifestyle and he wanted to see her in it. Too soon for such crazy thoughts, but she intrigued him, drew him in. It would be better to lay it all out now than to wait until she burrowed herself deep inside him and he began changing things about himself he had no desire to change just to hold on to her.

If they weren't a good match, best to find out before it was too late. Perhaps he was setting them up for failure to protect himself.

He certainly hoped not.

After settling herself gracefully into the chair he pulled out for her, Jami shook out the pale pink napkin she took from beside her plate and laid in over her lap. "This is not what I expected when we talked about having steak."

Sebastian shrugged and made himself comfortable in the seat across from her. "I've never found another place that serves steak just the way I like it. You were very specific in what you wanted to eat. Au Port is the best."

"We'll see about that." She rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. "My father is an excellent cook and he taught me well. I'm willing to bet I could fix you up a nice, juicy t-bone just as good, if not better, than they can."

He sat back and rubbed his jaw. "You surprise me, Jami. You do not seem like the type of woman who would cook for a man, but you would cook for me?"

"Mr. Ramos, I've made it pretty obvious that there are." She paused and her tongue swept slowly over her bottom lip as she looked him over. "A lot of things." The edge of her mouth crept up as her foot—shoeless for some reason—found its way between his thighs. "I'd like to do to you, for you, whatever." She studied his face as she massaged his hardening cock with her toes. A grin flashed across her face as he ground his teeth. She sat up straight and moved her foot. "But cooking for you? We'll have to work up to that."

"Jami." He reached across the table and took both her hands in his. His tone dropped to the dangerous low that made most subs tremble. "You will pay for every time you tease me. I suggest you consider that before you do it again."

"What, are you going to spank me?" She scoffed, even though she looked a bit nervous. "You're missing a little thing called consent. I'm not your sub. This is our first date. Save the threats."

‘I’m not your sub.’
Apparently, she thought she knew a little about the lifestyle. Kinky sex had become quite mainstream. One day soon he might teach her the difference.

Lifting her hands up to his lips, he kissed the back of each one, then smiled at her. "I believe in the punishment fitting the crime." He released her hands and straightened as the waiter came to take their order. "We will discuss this later. I take it you'd like to order for yourself?"

"Yes, thank you." Her demeanor changed completely as she spoke pleasantly to the waiter. "A t-bone steak, medium rare, with a salad, French dressing on the side. Bacon bits and sour cream on the potatoes, please. No chives. And sparkling water if you have it."

"Yes, ma'am." The young waiter seemed impressed by Jami's manners, and Sebastian couldn't blame him. At first glance, Jami came off as rebellious, and he had noticed she could be objectionable, but not in a way that demanded attention. She wasn't 'sticking it to the man' with her appearance or her attitude. She was just being herself.

And herself could be both bold and timid, from what he'd seen already. No. Not timid. Submissive. He hadn't misread that, no matter how much she tried to hide it. But she caught her reactions to his natural dominance and masked it as quickly as she could. Many
submissives
struggled with their natures, and she wouldn't be the first one he'd eased into accepting it. However, he couldn't recall ever looking forward to the prospect quite so much.

He waited until they were served, until Jami took her first bite of steak, chewing into it with a little sigh of bliss, before he spoke. "You are aware that being a submissive doesn't make you weak?"

She finished chewing, swallowed, and nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure, I get that. But exploring that BDSM stuff doesn't interest me."

"I see." He filled his mouth with a chunk of juicy meat and leaned his forearms on the table as he studied her. "Are you under the impression that exploring would involve more pain than you can handle?"

Her fork dipped into her potatoes, came up almost empty, and jabbed her bottom lip. She blushed. "No. That's not it."

Very interesting.
The pain didn't bother her—in fact, if her reactions were anything to go on, she would enjoy that part of play very much. She was already somewhat aware of how pain could be pleasurable then.

"Then what bothers you? Have you found the missionary position so thrilling you're unwilling to try anything else?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're really blunt?" She stabbed her potato, scooping out the white innards as though gutting it, glaring as though she'd like to gut
him.
"I pegged you for a Dom, okay, but I was
kinda
hoping you weren't a one trick wonder."

He froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. "A what?"

She leaned forward and spoke low. "Can you get hard without tying a woman down? Without a flogger in your hand? I've always wondered that about '
Doms
'."

Chuckling as she shoveled some potatoes into her mouth, he reclined and rested one elbow behind him on the back of his chair. "Mi cielo, just watching you eat gets me hard."

"Really?" She sliced a piece of meat, brought it to her mouth, then tore into it with her teeth. Smirking at his wince, she set her fork down and spoke around the meat. "How about now?"

"That depends." He had to be quick to stay a step ahead of her. Thankfully, he hadn't touched his wine. And didn't plan to. He needed his wits about him. "How would you feel if I used my teeth on you? Not quite so viciously, but with enough pressure to hurt you, just a little."

Her fork clattered on her plate. Her lips moved soundlessly as she squirmed in her seat. "You're a bad, bad man, Mr. Ramos. My daddy warned me about men like you."

"Did he?" Sebastian calmly cut another piece of steak, then brought it to his lips. "Why do I get the impression you go after the very kind of man your father warned you away from? That if he told you to stay away from me, you'd find me irresistible?"

 
She shook her head and let out a sharp laugh. "Damn it, I already find you irresistible."

"And you consider me blunt? Where is your teasing now, Jami?"

"You told me I would pay for teasing you."

"I did. But I'm surprised you took heed to my warning, since you are not a sub and couldn't care less about punishments."

"I'm also not stupid. You don't turn it off, do you? Or maybe you can't. If you didn't think I was a sub, you wouldn't even be interested in me." She finished the last bite of her steak and sighed. "Listen, I don't mind things getting a little kinky. This isn't your average date. We both know exactly how this is going to end."

He frowned, set down his fork, and placed his hands beside his plate. "Do we?"

"Yes. So, the question is, your place or mine? Let's skip dessert, okay? One hot night and we can both move on. You can find the sweet sub you're looking for and I can . . . ."

The lost look on her face tugged at his heart. He took her hands in his, searching her face for a clue that would tell him how to proceed as he laced his fingers through hers. But he found nothing. So he proceeded, blindly. Carefully. "You can what, Jami? Please, don't think up another witty remark to throw me off. Why are you so determined to let me use you for one night and walk away?"

She tugged at her hands, but not hard, not like she really wanted to be free of him. "I didn't say that. I'm just clear on what you want."

"You have no idea what I want. Nor what you want, I think." He took in a slow, measured breath as she dropped her gaze to the table. "Shall we finish our meal and move to another topic? Something beyond 'the lifestyle'."

Nodding jerkily, she glanced up at him. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Do you like the music?"

She surprised him with a smile. "Oh, I love it. The saxophone most of all. I played a bit in high school, but I wasn't any good. The woman here is a bit stiff, like she's tired of playing the same stuff. When we first came in, and I heard the way she was playing, I almost wanted to make a request to see if it would loosen her up."

"What would you have requested?"

She didn't hesitate. "Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty."

"So why don't you? Go ask if they know it while I order us some dessert."

"But I said—"

"Jami." He dropped his tone, leveling his gaze with hers, firm enough to get through to her, but not enough to cause her to balk. "The night will not end as you expect it to. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."

Thrusting up from her chair, her chin jutted up, she gave him a curt nod, then strode to the stage. Her hands were fisted at her sides as she spoke to the drummer who'd stepped down for a drink. He moved in close to her, as though he couldn't hear her, but with the band on a break that obviously wasn't the case. Sebastian had to force himself to stay where he was and not join them to lay his claim on her. It was too soon. Much too soon.

His presence obviously wasn't necessary. Jami slid past the drummer when the female band member took interest in the conversation and spoke to the woman. She'd likely been very direct because the woman hugged her saxophone and drew up as though insulted. But by the time Jami was done, she looked determined. The song began as Jami returned to the table. And the woman was playing her heart out.

He'd never noticed how mundane the music had become until Jami had pointed it out. And the change was startling. Listening to the soulful rendition, it almost seemed a shame that the talented lady had settled for playing here rather than pursuing something bigger. He wondered if Jami's words would push her to do just that.

"Oh, I love this song." Jami speared the last of her potatoes, peel and all, from her plate before the waiter could take it away. After finishing the mouthful, she rested an elbow on the table and cupped her cheek in her palm. "I wish I had talent like that. I wish I could do . . . something worthwhile."

"You're auditioning to become an Ice Girl. Surely you believe your skills on the ice, or your dancing, is worthwhile?"

 
She shrugged. "I can skate. I've done figure skating and played hockey a bit. I'm good on the ice. But I can't dance. Not when someone's telling me how to move." She bit her bottom lip. "And I don't love it. Not like some of the girls do."

"Then what do you love?" He needed to know, needed her to tell him all her vitality, all her passion, wasn't going to waste. "What drives you?"

Her shoulders slumped. "Nothing. I have no idea what I want to do. I want to be an Ice Girl to show my dad I care about the game, even though I hate it."

She hated the game? Nothing she'd said so far shocked him, but this did. "Why do you hate it?"

"It's like . . . I don't know, maybe like a sibling that got all the attention? All my life, that's all my dad talked about. And I tried to get into it, but all I saw was my mom trying to get away because she couldn't compete—" She covered her face with her hands. "No, that's not true. My mother didn't want to settle down, with a kid or a husband. She wanted to travel and experience life without anything holding her back. Sometimes I'm afraid I'm just like her—"

Lips pressed together she glared at him as though she'd said too much and it was all his fault.