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“She’s engaged.”
Why would that be her first response? I can guess. Blossom doesn’t want me near her friend. Good.
“I know, I saw her ring. But I’m more interested in your relationship status.” I move toward her left hand, and at her nod, I take it. It’s cold. Is she still nervous? “I don’t see a ring.”
“That’s because I’m not wearing one.” She lets out an uneasy chuckle. “Not on my left hand anyway. This ruby on my right hand is my birthstone. A gift from my father.”
I sense there’s a story there, but I don’t know her well enough to pry, even though, for some reason, I want to. My curiosity is roaring.
“Are you involved with anyone?”
She pauses a moment. Then, “No.”
I can’t help it. I let a slow smile spread across my face. I don’t usually allow my feelings to be known to a submissive. I don’t usually even have feelings for a submissive, other than fondness and genuine regard for her wellbeing and pleasure. Blossom is different.
I’m not sure why, but I want to find out.
“I’m not involved with anyone, either,” I tell her.
She stares at me as if she can see inside my brain. “I don’t recall asking.”
“No, you didn’t.” I lean closer to her, still holding her left hand. It doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore. “But I’m not the kind of man who waits to be asked, and I think you know that.”
Her cheeks blush, and in the dim lighting of the club, she looks even more beautiful.
“This is my first night here,” I offer. “I only moved to New York a couple of months ago, and I researched all of the underground leather clubs in the city before choosing this one.”
“Oh? What attracted you to Black Rose?”
“I know the owner. He and I have done business together.”
“I see.”
“But that’s not the reason I chose this club. That’s just how I heard about it. I chose it for its privacy. Its security. They take a lot of safety measures here, make sure everyone who comes in here feels at ease. It feels similar to the club I attended in Glasgow.”
“So you’re truly Scottish?”
I glance down at my tartan. “Guilty, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes spark with interest. “How come you don’t sound like Jamie Fraser, then?”
“Jamie who?”
Her gaze falls on my chest…and then lower. “From the Outlander series.”
“Never read it. Or watched it.”
Her cheeks redden further. “I suppose you’re not one for romance. But anyway, I meant you don’t sound Scottish.”
Right. “I grew up here in the States. My mother’s American. I did all my schooling here.”
“I grew up here, too,” she says. “On Long Island, I mean.”
“But you live here now?”
“In the city? Yeah. I’ve been here for years. I love it.”
Interesting.
