Poker Posse 1: Looking at Rose Read online

  Viola’s eyes narrowed, and her shoulders went back as if he’d set something odoriferous before her. “My Rose is a good girl, Mr. Rajonovich. She doesn’t need men. Just one. For right now.”

  Ibraham fought the urge to chuckle. Viola used the same incorrect pronunciation of his last name as Rose. He didn’t bother correcting her, and Viola continued without waiting for him to comment.

  “What Rose needs is an adventure. Some fun to remind her that there’s more to having a man in your life than picking up his dirty socks and another plate for dinner.”

  Before he could respond to her vehement explanation, Deacon Bishop stepped up to the table.

  “I hate to interrupt, Master V, but your presentation has been moved forward. Cowboy carried off a pretty little blonde, so Master Damian canceled the rope demo.”

  “Thanks, Priest.” Ibraham waited until the other dom had moved away before he turned to Rose’s mother. “I have to go, but can I have a day or two to think your offer over?”

  Viola nodded.

  Every step he took away from the table, Ibraham fully expected the Powers That Be would strike him down with a bolt of lightning for his lie. There was no need to think anything over. He’d made his decision the moment he saw Rose in the club. Hell, the second he’d stripped her pants off her in her shop the night before he’d begun the steps to stake his claim. If she did as he told her, he’d be enjoying the favors of Mrs. Whittman’s daughter in less than five hours. His steps slowed. Or perhaps he’d be showing her why her favors were so valuable to him. Rose didn’t need a Mr. Right Now; she needed him, and she’d get him—as soon as she learned that her body was as beautiful a treasure as the heart beating in her chest.

  Turning his mind to his demonstration, Ibraham was disinclined to use any of his regular volunteers. Unattached subs didn’t appeal, not with the prospect of having Rose under his control soon. He glanced around the club and spotted Rachel and her pet, Celia, near the bar. Perhaps the domme would be willing to lend him her sub for his presentation. He moved toward the pair, all the while formulating his plans for what he’d do once he held Rose in his arms again.

  * * * *

  Viola watched Ibraham move into the crowd and approach two women near the bar. Having completed what she set out to do, it seemed only sensible that she relax and await her friends’ return. A quick glance at her watch assured her she had ninety minutes, but she doubted Betty Jo and the others would take that long, especially since their girls had slipped out of the club already.

  After seeing the way Rose responded to Ibraham and the way he’d come to her daughter’s rescue by distracting her, Viola was sure the boy was perfect for her Rose. She’d been amused by his stunned reaction to her request. “Why do young people persist in believing older people have forgotten what love and passion are like?” She muttered the question with a shake of her head.

  “It’s not like those parts dry up and blow away, like they have an expiration date or some such nonsense. A person in their fifties, sixties, heck even their seventies, is just as capable of enjoying sex and romance as a person in their twenties and thirties.” She took a sip of the drink Ibraham had purchased for her. “I’m startin’ to think that saying that youth is wasted on the young isn’t too far from the truth, because from what I’ve seen”—she glanced at the milling crowd—“children tend to squander the opportunities presented to them.”

  “Still talking to yourself, eh, mouse?”

  The voice set Viola’s heart racing in her chest. She had imagined it any number of times—in daydreams and nighttime fantasies—over the last twenty-seven years, but she never thought she’d actually hear it again.

  The hand that landed on her shoulder and stopped her exiting the secluded booth sent familiar heat through her body. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Drawing in a deep breath, she forced her gaze up until she met the warm gray eyes she remembered so well. “Hello, Sir.”

  She watched him slide into the seat opposite with mixed emotions twisting and tangling inside her. The smile he gave her was a blend of indulgence and amusement with just a hint of menace mixed in. “Still creating a stir, my mouse?”

  The endearment did things to her body that Viola had definitely missed. The memories were enough to make her knees weak, but instinct had her glancing toward the exit, hoping against hope that Rose and the other girls didn’t decide to come back. Much as the sight of her little girl with a man thrilled her, the idea that Vladamir might spot her Rose sent a chill through her.

  Viola shook her head. “I was never the one creating the stir. It was always everyone’s surprise that you would even pay attention to me that made the tongues wag.” She didn’t wait for him to respond before forging ahead with the question she’d wanted to ask for so long. “How’s your wife?”

  Before Vladamir could respond, Betty Jo and Mabel interrupted, the heated exchange between the two women easily drowning out anything he might have said. Viola immediately slid from the booth, not wanting her friends to begin interrogating her about the man seated across from her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, making sure to steer the ladies away from the booth and toward the entrance to the club. Vladamir’s intent look assured her he was willing to let her go. This time.

  “Mabel allowed some cowboy to carry off her girl,” Betty Jo accused.

  Mabel harrumphed. “That girl wasn’t my Mirrie anymore than the little redhead was Ari. Our girls wouldn’t frequent a place like this.”

  Lucy joined them as the trio reached the door and the squabble continued.

  Viola ignored it and breathed a sigh of relief at her escape. The last thing she needed was to have her friends get a good look at Vladamir.

  Chapter Six

  Rose paced her shop, unsure what she was doing there. She had to be insane, crazy, for following Ibraham’s instructions, but at the same time excitement sizzled through her veins at the thought of meeting him. Of actually being with him again. Exasperated at her spinning thoughts, Rose shoved them to the back of her mind and took several deep breaths to try to steady herself.

  She’d left the shop lights off. Only the muted glow from her supply room illuminated the store. It wasn’t like she didn’t know every square inch of the place, but somehow, at one in the morning, knowing that she’d sneaked out of her house for a rendezvous made everything a bit more ominous. Even her imagination was getting away from her as her gaze lingered on the shadowed workbench in front of the display window. The shade was drawn, but Rose had no problem falling into a familiar fantasy of Ibraham watching her from the sidewalk.

  His gaze rapt, his attention so focused on her, none of the pedestrians around him seem to register. He stands like a rock in the middle of a stream, unmoving as the people give way to his presence, stepping around him or steering far out of his path so they don’t get anywhere close to touching him.

  She finishes the cake she’s working on and eases it into the cardboard box. Then, she looks up to see him move out of the sea of human traffic and toward her door. The bell tinkles and he enters, closing the door behind him. The quiet snick of the lock sounds in the empty shop. She watches him flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED. No one on the sidewalk seems to notice the change going on just feet away.

  Rose tucks the cake into the refrigerator to be picked up later by her client, then looks up to find him standing in front of her. The clothes she’s wearing seem to melt away like magic. The people outside are oblivious to begin with. Until Ibraham backs her up to the table and lifts her onto it—laying her out among her bowls and bottles and boxes of ingredients for anyone to see.

  Simply thinking about it made Rose’s skin tingle with excitement, her breathing increase, and her body heat up. Before she could take her fantasy to the next level, the sharp rap of knuckles on the front door startled a squeak from her. She looked up to see Ibraham, still dressed in the black leather pants, but now wearing a black shirt, and boots, outside the door, watching
her. Taking a moment to settle her thoughts, she headed to the door. Deep breathing didn’t help. She fumbled with the lock and let him into the darkened shop.

  “You changed.” His tone, as much as the frown on his face, hinted at displeasure.

  Rose swallowed. In the darkness, his height, which had drawn her to him, now seemed menacing. “I…you didn’t say…”

  She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. Something about this Ibraham was far more intimidating than the sweet and open winemaker she knew. Rose brushed her sweaty hands over the soft denim of her jeans to wipe away the moisture. The T-shirt was floppy but couldn’t hide the fact she’d left off her bra. Mustering up her courage, she cleared her throat and met his gaze. “If you’d wanted me to stay in the other clothes, you should have said so.”

  His expression eased, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a wry half grin, acknowledging her argument. “True. Next time I will remember to be more specific.”

  The lock slid into place with a soft click.

  Next time? Rose forced herself not to dance with excitement, but the grin on her face clearly evidenced her feelings.

  Amusement glittered in Ibraham’s dark eyes but quickly faded. He moved closer, backing her into the low counter. “Why were you in the club tonight, Rose?”

  Rose’s pulse tripled, and the amount of air in the room seemed to drop to practically zero. After last night and what she’d discovered about him tonight, she wasn’t about to pass up her opportunity to try again with him. Perhaps, after seeing her at the club, he’d be more inclined to make love to her despite her virginity than he’d been last night.

  Throwing caution to the wind, she propped her hands on the counter and hoisted herself up so she was sitting on the cool tile, her face even with his. With luck it would remind him of what they’d done the previous night on the slick surface where she took customer orders and payments. “I went with my friends to find men.”

  His right eyebrow rose, then lowered. He moved in close, edging her thighs open so he stood between them and his hands rested on the countertop beside hers. “For them or you?”

  Rose grinned and shrugged, “Both.”

  “And did you find any before your mother arrived?”

  “A few.” The lie slipped from her lips so easily Rose almost convinced herself.

  Ibraham shook his head, a disappointed frown on his face. “That’s too bad,” he said.

  His look and the tone of his voice threw her. Could he actually be hoping she’d find a man other than him? Did he truly dislike the thought that she’d never been intimate with anyone before and wish she had more experience? She swallowed her own disappointment and asked, “Why?”

  He wrapped his left hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him, then lifted his right and tangled it in the loose ponytail she’d put her hair up in. “Because I don’t share, Rose.”

  His mouth settled over hers, the kiss gentle, coaxing. Nothing like the passion-driven claiming of her lips from earlier at the club. Still, Rose enjoyed the taste of his mouth, the smell of his flesh, the feel of his body as he held her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, urging him to tangle his tongue with hers, to up the heat.

  Instead Ibraham pulled back and loosened her arms. Taking her hands in his, he drew a deep breath and looked deep into her eyes. “Come upstairs with me, Rose.”

  The fingers of one hand released hers and covered her lips to stop the eager agreement about to spill free.

  “Not for sex.”

  Rose protested, “But—”

  His hand cupped her cheek, and he pressed a kiss to her brow. “You need to know what my lifestyle is like before we take that step.” A smirk lifted the left side of his mouth. “I’ll not promise I won’t strip you naked and do just about everything but fuck you, but you’ll leave my apartment knowing what I’d expect from you as my submissive.”

  Disappointment mingled with excitement, but Rose wasn’t about to pass up another opportunity to be with Ibraham. She nodded. “Okay.”

  He lifted her from the counter and led her through the shop to the back door without a word. As she set the alarm and locked the door, the throaty rumble of a motorcycle echoed off the buildings lining the alley. Ibraham wrapped his arms around her, surrounding her with his heat, his scent, before his mouth captured hers in another kiss. Rose wasn’t sure if the low steady vibrations pulsing through her were a result of her arousal or the motorcycle as it moved past them and out to the street, and as long as Ibraham held her, she didn’t care.

  Wobbly with arousal and short of breath, she followed Ibraham through a door and up the stairs to the apartment he occupied over both their shops. While Ibraham toed off his boots and set them next to the door, Rose slipped her sneakers off as well. “This is a lot bigger than the other apartments the property manager showed me.”

  Ibraham took her hand and led her past the gourmet kitchen and the open living room. “Yes. When my uncle told me he was developing a strip mall here in Magnolia, I convinced him to let me have space for my winery. The size of the fermentation tanks didn’t allow for living space over the majority of my shop, so he expanded the original studio design to a three-bedroom, two-bath flat. It covers both your shop and your friend’s bridal shop.”

  The closer they got to the door, the faster Rose’s heart pounded in her chest.

  With one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around her hand, Ibraham stopped and stared at her, his dark eyes penetrating, seeming to slice through the excitement and jitters, calming her nerves. “Do you remember the safe words from the club?”

  This is real. Not just my imagination anymore. Rose drew a deep breath. “Green, yellow, and red.” She was surprised how at ease she sounded.

  He gave an approving smile and nodded. “Very good. When I ask where you’re at, or how you feel, I want you to use the safe words. Understood?”

  “Yes.” Her mind spun at the implications.

  The whirling thoughts must have showed on her face, because Ibraham released the door and her hand to cup her face in his palms. The warmth of his touch banished any chill created by her anxiety of the unknown.

  “Nothing happens unless you want it to, Rose. Submission is a gift that is more earned than given. I don’t expect anything from you except questions and an open mind. Okay?”

  The little bit of tension that had remained dissipated, and she nodded.

  He pressed a quick kiss to her brow and released her. “Good.” With a twist of the knob, he pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter. “Time for your first lesson.”

  Rose couldn’t stifle the gasp that rose to her lips. Even in the dim light coming through the windows facing the street, the four-poster bed was huge, longer and wider than even a California king, but considering Ibraham’s height and the breadth of his shoulders, it made sense. The snowy-white bedding contrasted with the dark wood that comprised the frame of the bed. The thick columns at each corner rose a foot or so from the high ceiling. Tucked against the foot of the bed was a cushioned bench, and matching night tables framed the head of the bed, all in the same glossy ebony-colored wood.

  To her right, two doors led out of the room, possibly into a closet and bathroom, Rose assumed. An overstuffed armchair with a small table and short bookcase flanking it was positioned in a corner facing the bed. It looked like a bedroom found on a showroom floor or in a fancy magazine, except for the mirrors.

  No matter where she stood, her reflection appeared on the various mirrored surfaces affixed to the walls, doors, even the ceiling of the room. The bedroom was a voyeur’s fantasy.

  Nerves began to twitch, and the arousal that had been simmering low in her belly began to cool at the thought of having her body shown to her from every angle. She was well aware of her physical faults, but to have Ibraham point them out…

  Ibraham halted halfway between the door and the bed. A tall cheval mirror stood to her right. “Wait right here.”
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  Keeping her focus on him, Rose ignored her reflection and waited while Ibraham turned on the lamp and collected a length of crimson fabric from a pillow. She rubbed her damp palms against her jean-clad thighs as she watched him approach.

  THE TEMPTATION TO ignore his conscience and simply drag her into his bed was there, but a deeper need overrode it. The dominant within him wanted her as much as he did, and it was a primal want. A recognition of something important within his grasp. Teaching Rose what he expected from a sub was only the first step if she was willing to embark on this journey with him.

  With each step back to her, he watched her skin grow pink, her hands rub against her jean-clad thighs, and her eyes focus on him, studiously ignoring the reflections surrounding her. Another lamp would be too much light for his sweet’s maker. He fought the grin that tried to form. Being the good girl her mother said she was, his Rose, despite her visit to the Omen, probably still thought the lights should be off when making love. A belief he’d have to dispel considering the fantasies he’d woven around her.

  Amusement glittered in her blue eyes as she met his gaze. “Wow, Snow White’s Evil Queen has nothing on you, huh?”

  He laughed. “I told you I like to watch and be watched.”

  “Apparently.” She avoided looking into any of the mirrors.

  Reaching up, he tugged the cloth-covered band from her hair. “You don’t like to look at yourself, do you, Rose?”

  The flush on her cheeks darkened, and she lifted one shoulder in a quick half shrug. “Nothing to look at.”

  “Hmm.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, smoothing the inky strands over her shoulders and away from her face. “Do you think I don’t know how to judge a person’s appearance?”

  She seemed to think about it for a moment before answering. “No, you’re capable of that.”

  “But not discerning?”

  Rose shook her head. “You’re discerning, but—”

  He cut her off. “But you think I’m swayed by the fact that you’re tall?”