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"Kellan," I mumble, reluctantly accepting reality. My rescuer is my brother's best friend and teammate. Yay for me.
Kellan Alexander is flipping gorgeous. He's tall, dark, and devilishly handsome. If I have a type, it's all three. Or him. It might just be him. He's hot as Hades. I've tried to convince myself that's the only reason he haunts my dreams, but I'm pretty sure I'm deluding myself.
"Parker," he practically purrs. My name sounds so sexy on his lips. It's an androgynous name. I've been called Mister Michaud or Mister Parker forever. People never seem to consider that Parker might be a girl until I'm standing in front of them, correcting their miscalculations. Kellan makes my name sound feminine and sexy, not at all androgynous.
I just stare at him, rendered silent for the first time in…well, ever, actually.
"Why'd you come to Dionysus tonight, Rebel?" He takes a step toward me.
"The free drinks," I lie, shifting my gaze away from him. Except it lands on a neatly coiled length of rope and heat climbs into my cheeks. Funny how the tools in this room don't seem nearly as intimidating with this man standing amongst them as they did with Riding Crop in front of me. Running and hiding don't seem like the best options right now, either.
"Are you trying to stress your brother out?"
My gaze drifts back to Kellan. I roll my eyes. Why do men always think we're trying to stress them out whenever we decide to live a little? "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."
His gaze skirts across my face, curious and probing.
I shift beneath the weight of it, certain he sees what no one else ever does. To the rest of the world, I'm just Jonas Michaud's little sister. I exist in his shadow, walk in his shadow, live in his shadow. I don't mind. My brother is my hero. But I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm twenty-one. I…chafe at the fact that no one seems to realize that I've grown up.
I have thoughts and needs, and desires. But as soon as someone finds out who my brother is, I might as well be an extension of him. I've never been on a date, let alone been kissed. How many other girls my age can say that? My brother is my hero…and he's ruining my sex life.
I don't even have a sex life because of him! Men either want to get close to me because he's my brother, or they're terrified to touch me because he's my brother. It's always one or the other. I guess I came here tonight not just out of curiosity but partly because the allure of complete anonymity is a powerful thing when you've never had it.
Back home, everyone hero-worshipped Jonas. He was the farm boy who made it big. I'm so freaking proud of him. He deserves every bit of his success because he's an incredible person and a phenomenal player. I've never met anyone who worked as hard as he has his entire life to get where he is. But I want a life, too. It's why I begged and pleaded to move to Nashville, where no one knows me.
That's not so wrong, is it?
The man standing before me is the other reason I came here tonight. Since moving to Nashville, I've been looking over my shoulder, waiting to run into him again, eager for that moment. I'm obsessed with someone who doesn't even know I exist. He's probably sleeping his way through half of Nashville, and I'm hung up on one brief interaction from six months ago that he probably doesn't even remember.
It's pathetic, really.
"There are better ways to get what you want, Rebel. Smarter ways."
"Right," I snort, sure he thinks so. Women probably throw themselves at him morning, noon, and night. The thought drives me insane. But there's not a chance in hell I'm going to admit to this man that he's part of the reason I'm here.
"Right? What does that mean?" Kellan takes another step toward me and then another.
"It means if I were a guy, we wouldn't be having this conversation, Superstar. You'd be slapping me on the back and telling me congratulations or swapping conquest stories with me or whatever men do after a night in a place like this. We're only having this conversation because I'm female, and you're friends with my brother."
"We're having this conversation because you don't belong in a BDSM club, Parker," he growls. "We'd be having the same conversation if you weren't Jonas's little sister. You were about two minutes from being Gordon's next playmate, and you aren't even remotely ready for some shit like that."
"My business is my own, Superstar," I say, irritated that he thinks I can't handle myself. "I don't owe you answers about why I'm here. I don't need a savior, either. If I came to sleep with half the club, that's my business, not yours. It's not Jonas's business, either. I'm grown. I get to decide what I do and who I do it with."
