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Five weeks surrounded by the death and chaos that was the Mangaize refugee camp in Niger was enough to change my focus from politics to popular culture. From grave to glib.
"I'd really like to just take you out for coffee or a drink," he said. "I feel like I've known you forever from everything your father's told me about you. But I probably shouldn't."
"Probably," I said, although I didn't know why I agreed or what he meant. I stopped and turned to face him, our eyes meeting. "Can I ask why?" My face heated, but I was curious now why he thought he shouldn't ask me out.
He shook his head quickly. "You're The Hangin' Judge's daughter," he said, his face dark, his brow furrowed. "I'm not the kind of man Judge McDermott's daughter should get involved with."
I frowned. "He thinks very highly of you."
He cracked a strange grin, that didn't reach his eyes. "He doesn't really know me."
I said nothing more. What does he mean by that?
We walked to the door to the café, his hand very soft on the small of my back, and he opened the door for me.
"Thank you for doing an interview," I said once again as I stepped outside into the cool air, still a bit taken back by what he said.
He smiled, a crooked grin. "Goodbye, lovely Katherine."
That sent a jolt of pleasant surprise through me that only added to my confusion. Then the door closed and he walked one way, while I walked the other, the image of his face, his smile, in my mind's eye as I made my way down the street to the subway.
Before the door to my apartment was even closed, I was on the phone with Dawn, telling her about my meeting with Dave and Dr. Morgan.
"So I think you were right about him being a bad boy," I said, remembering his words at the café.
"Why? What did he say?"
"He told me he wanted to ask me out on a date, but that he wasn’t the kind of man someone like me should get involved with."
"What?"
"I know," I said, frowning. "Strange, right? He said my father didn't really know him."
"Holy crap," Dawn said. "That's cryptic. And ominous. Like I said, stay away from him, Kate. He's trouble."
I spent the rest of the week interviewing other people on my father's list of philanthropic giants for my article on charity for Geist. I had to turn it in before the weekend and so I spent my spare time working on it, polishing it before I had to send it to my editor.
I wished I could see Drake again, despite his warning for there was just something so… enticing and slightly dangerous about him. It wasn't just that he was drop-dead beautiful. It wasn't just that he was a surgeon and skilled. He was powerful. Self-assured. But there was something else.
It was something in his bearing that made you believe he could sweep you off your feet, like one of those bare-chested heroes in the bodice-ripping romance novels my girlfriends and I consumed like candy when we were teens. His dark arched brows and deep voice made you think he was out for plunder, like a pirate searching for treasure or some rich Lord of a great estate surveying the pretty daughters of his indentured serfs for his next trifle.
I had to admit I resorted to Big a few times in the ensuing days…
CHAPTER THREE
Later that week, I sat at a tiny table in the corner of the patio at a small café in the upper West Side of Manhattan. I was waiting to meet Mistress Lara to talk about meeting the Dominant she'd promised I could interview for my research project. Although late October, the weather was perfect. I didn't want to miss the chance to sit outside one last time before winter set in. There were few patrons outside despite the warm weather and so we could talk in relative privacy.
The sunshine and the nice weather did nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach.
I could have chosen a safe topic for my paper – something uncomplicated and straight-forward, familiar ground for me. Like the war in the Congo or rendition to Guantanamo Bay. I could have met with someone from the military – a veteran with combat experience or a military strategist – and used them as an informant. But I'd changed focus from politics to pop-culture, no longer able to handle the darkness of my previous areas.
Instead, I decided to write about sexual politics and the world of BDSM, which had become quite a topical subject since those books were published a few years earlier. I created a profile at FetLife.com and spent some time reviewing profiles and reading message boards, fending off a few Doms who expressed an interest in spanking me.
One of the Dommes on the board took me under her wing, offering to help me. I set up a meeting with Mistress Lara, as she called herself, a Domme who happened to be a lawyer in real life. She contacted me after I indicated I was a student interested in learning about the lifestyle for a paper I was
writing. She was hesitant to meet with me in person, interrogating me about why I needed to be anonymous. I had to confess my identity to her, and when she heard my last name, she made the connection and agreed to meet with me.
"Just invite me to one of your father's fundraisers," she said over the phone. "When you're a defense lawyer, it never hurts career-wise to have friends in high places, especially judges."
