Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) (17 page)

He set his instrument in the chair opposite him and stood to stretch. “Hungry?”

“Starved.” V. mimicked Hank’s actions, then checked his phone. “Lunch?”

“Yeah. We can go downstairs; just let me get my shoes.”

V. followed him inside with their notes, ensuring the papers wouldn’t fly away while they ate. “I can’t wait. I’ve missed Alice’s bread almost as much as I missed her pastries.”

“Alice isn’t here,” Hank called as he walked down the hall.

“What? Where’d she go?”

Hank waited until he’d made it back to the kitchen with a pair of flip-flops before telling V. about Alice’s leaving, the problems with her husband’s health.

“So the market’s closing?” An actual pout pulled V.’s lips down.

“No, we’ve got someone else taking over.”

“Someone? And I’m supposed to trust
someone
with my bread?”

“Yes, you’ll trust
someone
,” Hank repeated. “I’d like you to meet her.”

“Her.” V. assessed him for a long moment. Hank set his shoes on the ground and slid his feet in, avoiding V.’s eyes. “Her, who?”

Might as well get it over with. “My new roommate.”

V. sat heavily in a chair. “You’re living with someone?”

“Well, not like you mean, but yeah.” Something bright sparked in his gut, but he kept his grin to a minimum. “We’re dating.” If you could call it that. He should’ve said they were business partners, but after last night…

They were descending the stairs before V. asked any more questions. “Why’s she living with you if you’re not ‘living together’?”

Hank explained about Sage’s move as they rounded the building to the door in the front. The crowds had dwindled a bit, and he left Knight on the porch without worry.

“Is it a good idea to date, whatever you mean by that”—V.’s tone said he knew exactly what Hank meant—“someone you have business ties to?”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but it happened anyway.” And he didn’t regret it. All he regretted was how long the day lasted. Twelve hours was way too many before he could get Sage back in bed and repeat last night all over again.

“I know that look,” V. said, swerving around a display of scented candles. “Now I definitely need to meet her.”

He was about to get his wish. A small line waited at the bakery counter where Merry stood, smiling at the next customer. Sage must be in the back filling orders. “I’m sure Sage will like meeting you too.”

V. came to a dead stop, his eyes wide and staring across the room. “Sage?” he asked, his voice strangled. “Your girlfriend’s name is Sage?”

“Yeah.” He stood next to V., but his gaze was riveted on the swinging doors leading to the kitchen. “Why?”

Not that he cared. All he cared about was his next glance of the woman he’d spent the night making love to. He was screwed; he was finally realizing that. He’d never had it this bad for a woman, especially after he’d gotten her in bed. That at least took the edge off, or it should. With Sage it just seemed to make his appetite for her all the more sharp.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Sage stepped through carrying a large tray of pastries. Hank felt his heart skip a beat.

V. made a strangled noise next to him. “Uh, Hank?”

“Yeah?” He met Sage’s gaze across the store and smiled.

“I think you have a problem, bro.”

Hank turned to his friend. “What are you talking about?”

V. was staring at Sage. A loud clatter sounded behind the counter, and Hank jerked his head back around to see Sage and Merry resettling Sage’s tray. It looked like she’d almost dropped it but managed to hit the counter instead. Pastries leaned at odd angles, jumbled together instead of their usual neat rows.

He wanted to help, even took a step toward the counter. V.’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“What’s the problem, exactly?” Hank asked his friend.

V. nodded toward Sage. “Remember that discussion about Jane? Whether you like it or not, you’ve got a submissive on your hands.”

Out of all the people she’d considered walking through the door of her new life, Master V. would never have entered her mind. She hadn’t seen the man in months, not since… A surge of nausea hit the back of her throat. Not since her last night at Heathers. Not since that last disastrous scene with Kevin. Not since the most humiliating experience of her life.

She forced herself to straighten the tray she’d almost dropped, to smile at the customer commiserating with her clumsiness. Merry patted her shaking hand, and Sage gave the woman a grateful glance. When the customer’s lunch was passed to him and they’d finished their small talk, she grasped her tray again and moved to the long bakery case to deposit the pastries.

On her way, she swept her gaze across Hank, still standing at the back of the bakery with Master V. The two men were leaned into each other, their body language and the movement of their hands telling her whatever they talked about was urgent. Emphatic. What was it? Surely Master V. wasn’t telling Hank about her, about… No. He wouldn’t do that. He’d been kind to her despite her complete fuckup that night. He wouldn’t…

Except the sudden reddening of Hank’s face and the flash of revulsion in his eyes said the Dom was, in fact, telling him. How much?

Oh God, she couldn’t handle this.

When the last cinnamon roll was transferred and the case door closed, she tucked her chin and headed for the kitchen. She needed to hide, to be safe, to not have her freakin’ past follow her into her new life. Unfortunately the swinging doors to the kitchen were incapable of slamming. Their soft swish just wasn’t as satisfying. She needed anger, needed to embrace it—it was the only thing that would combat the shame. Her mistakes haunted her enough; having them thrown in her face, or rather in the face of the man she’d had sex with last night, ate at her enough to make her seriously contemplate the nearest appropriate object for throwing. Of course, that wouldn’t help either.

She’d left LA so she could leave her life and her memories behind. Now here she was, hiding in her own kitchen because they’d managed to follow her. Maybe a new life had been a pipe dream after all.

The door to the bakery opened. She tried to brace herself, to tell herself that no matter what, she could bear it. She’d borne a lot already; what was a little humiliation in comparison? Still she found herself praying as her eyes met Hank’s piercing gaze. V. followed him, but Sage didn’t drag her eyes away from Hank’s.

Want me. Accept me. Touch me like nothing has changed in the last few hours since you made me come in your bed.

He didn’t. Every part of her cried out for his touch, his reassurance. Instead Hank came to stand opposite her, the wide steel countertop separating them. It might as well have been the Grand Canyon. The hard set of his mouth told her he wasn’t going to cross it; he’d stay safely on his side.

V. stopped next to him, and Sage made herself look his way. Gentle green eyes met hers. That look— She squared her shoulders. She might be a sub, but she didn’t need a Dom’s pity. Especially not the Dom who’d just ruined everything.

Might as well get it over with. Not like there was any avoiding it, was there?

“Hank. Vincent.” His full name felt odd on her tongue, but at least the instinctive
Master
didn’t slip out. “Good morning.”

V. smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Sage. I didn’t know you’d moved out here.”

Of course he hadn’t. She hadn’t ventured near anyone or anything related to BDSM in months. Even if she’d dared, she would’ve been ostracized.
The bad sub. Screwed-up sub.

She slammed the door on all that. “I didn’t know you ever came out here. We’re a long way from LA.”

Hank’s lips tightened, but he still didn’t speak.

“Hank and I are band members.”

That surprised her. “You’re a musician?” She’d never been unattached, so she hadn’t been included in much of the gossip the other women at Heathers tended to absorb. Kevin had kept her on a tight leash, something she hadn’t minded at the time. Before that final night at Heathers, she hadn’t shared an actual conversation with Master V.

“Drummer,” Hank finally said. The word was short, sharp. Empty of emotion.

“Huh.” Explained his talent with floggers, she guessed. He’d always had good rhythm.

If he was a member of Weekend Washout, then he and Hank knew each other well. Likely Hank knew about V.’s interests, but they still appeared to be friends. Why did Hank seem to be having a problem with her? Was it because V. had told him she wasn’t a good sub? Or told him— No.

“What are you doing here?” V. asked. Something about his words…

“You already know that,” she said, the certainty of it ringing in her chest. Hank would’ve told him, just like V. had obviously told him what she was.

What she was.
Submissive. She’d accepted that aspect of herself long ago, a part of her but not the whole part, so why did she suddenly feel the need to hide it as deep as she could?

V. nodded once, a wry smile touching his lips. “I’m sorry. We aren’t at Heathers, but I wouldn’t prevaricate with a sub anywhere else, and I won’t do it here.” He tilted his head. “I’m very glad you found a place that fits you so well, Sage.”

“I’m not a sub here, M— V. And you’re not a Dom. I’m an adult and I own this business. Any other man would treat me as an equal, not decide how to treat me based on my sexuality.”

V. had the grace to blush. “Old habits, Sage. I’ve never known you as anything else.” Outside of the BDSM scene, he meant. He’d never seen her acting “normal.” He leaned a hand on the counter. “You’re living with Hank upstairs, then?”

She waited for Hank to answer, and when he didn’t, something small and precious, something very like hope, died inside her. “For now. He’s been kind enough to let me stay for a little while, just till I get on my feet.”

Hank didn’t deny it. He’d told her to stay, had made love to her last night and this morning with a sweet urgency that had seemed utterly real. Now? He wouldn’t even talk to her.

The tears waiting at the back of her throat sprang to her eyes. She looked down at the mixing bowl in front of her, desperate to hide them.

Neither man said anything. Try as she might, she couldn’t scramble a single thought together to fill the awkward silence sitting heavy as an elephant between the three of them. The slightly panicked look in V.’s eyes said he was searching for a topic, but Hank… He’d gone back to unreadable, though the anger coming off him in waves was fairly clear. She just couldn’t read the why.

Her hands tightened into fists on the steel countertop as she fought the moment. She was pretty sure her lungs were straining under the weight of the pounding silence, or maybe that was just the weight of her pain. Okay, no maybe about it. She’d given herself to Hank without reservations. She hadn’t questioned him about D/s, but then neither had she expected him to be so obviously thrown by a sexual preference. She’d been wrong.

V. finally broke the silence with a quiet, “So…” The single word shattered her every nerve. It was quickly followed by the sound of a stomach growling. If she hadn’t been flattened, she would’ve laughed. Instead she grabbed the chance to focus on something practical with both hands.

“Have you two had lunch?”

V. glanced at Hank, sighed, shook his head. “No, but we’d love some.”

Sage forced her feet across the room though they felt as heavy as two blocks of ice. Since this whole scene was like the sinking of the
Titanic
, she shouldn’t be surprised. “Here’s a menu; just tell me what you want.” She passed the laminated card to Vincent. “Want your usual, Hank?”

She’d said his name differently this morning when his fingers had been on her clit.

“Sure.”

He’d moaned her name this morning too. Now his voice was flat. That spurt of anger in her belly earlier flared back to life.

“Chicken club on rye? Do you want a bear claw? I noticed we were running low this morning.”

If he remembered anything about this morning, he hid it well. He hid everything well. “No thanks.”

“Fine.” She resisted the urge to add
asshole
and turned to V. “You?”

V. gave her his order, and she got to work. The men moved toward the back door, their voices low as they spoke—or rather V. spoke and Hank ignored him. When he turned to stare out the window as if he couldn’t wait to escape, she let the pain rise just a little. Would he cancel everything, throw her out? Tear up her lease? She knew all about tearing up contracts. She had the feeling this time would hurt far worse than the last.

The thought shocked her so much she almost sliced her thumb. She forced herself to stop, get a grip, take a breath. Whatever happened, happened. She’d just assumed the Hank who’d held her tight against his warm body all night would at least talk to her.

She glanced at his rigid back.
Guess not.

Packing up the food took so little time, no matter how she delayed. Five minutes and she was crossing the room with bags in hand. “Here you go.”