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Sutter’s eyes closed in bliss. When he blinked them open, there were tears in Saoirse’s eyes.
“Good tears or bad tears?” he asked.
“Good. I’ve wanted to call someone Daddy for a really long time.”
“I feel privileged it’s me, Saoirse.”
She nodded, still trembling.
“Ready?” he asked. “Everything okay? Just emotional?”
She took a deep breath and let it out, then lifted her hand to check for tremors. “Just emotional. All okay.”
He ran his hand up her cheek, through the long feathers that framed her face. “Don’t hold back when we’re downstairs, babygirl. Let everyone see your enthusiasm, your sense of wonder. Tell me what you think. I want to know every thought. And if you’ve had enough at any point, just say the word and we’ll leave.”
“Okay,” Saoirse whispered. “I’ll try.”
Sutter kissed her forehead. “That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”
He turned and picked up a shiny, cream silk shawl he’d gotten to go with the dress, knowing more than he wanted to about London’s variable weather. Draping it over Saoirse’s bare shoulders, he cinched it with his arm and swept her out of the room to meet his family.
Chapter 8
Sutter wanted to know what she thought—everythingshe thought—but Saoirse honestly didn’t know what to think of Winter’s Sin. Or his family.
The club itself was lush: all done in white, red, and black, with mirrors reflecting Saoirse’s wide eyes back at her on every wall. On the ground level, there was a huge bar and dance floor where several dozen people were mingling. The bar was underlit with deep crimson lights and a huge, mirrored glass display of top-shelf liquor behind the bar. There was a dry ice machine puffing a mist that smelled of cinnamon and made Saoirse’s nose wrinkle. It had a suitably wintry and sinful vibe, even in the height of summer, but Saoirse couldn’t imagine coming here. It wasn’t a place she’d want to have a drink with friends—if she did drink, which she didn’t except on her birthday and New Year’s—or come to play. It wasn’tinviting.
Neither was Sutter’s family.
There was Sutter’s aunt, Suzanna. Sutter had called it her club. Except that no one congratulated her. The lines of her patrician face, similar enough to Sutter’s that Saoirse didn’t have to ask who she was even before she introduced herself, were drawn tight with displeasure. Her graying blonde hair was twisted up into a bun that looked like it was giving her a migraine. She kept running her hand down the jacket of her skirt-suit. Although it was perfectly tailored, in a deep, rose-colored silk that clashed slightly with the crimson lighting, Saoirse thought Suzanna looked uncomfortable. Saoirse couldn’t see her wearing jeans or something more relaxed, though. Was she longing for a corset and a whip? Saoirse couldn’t get a handle on Suzanna’s role.
Nor could Saoirse understand why it was Sutter’s stepfather, Gray, who received most of the back-patting. Suited men swirled around Gray like moths at a light, shaking his hand, slapping his back and shoulders. What hand did he have in the club? Sutter said it was a family business. Was Gray also a Dom? Saoirse didn’t get any of the tingle she’d felt around the Doms at M Street and Blunts or the Daddies at the Ranch. Was that because he was Sutter’s stepfather?
Then there was Sutter’s mother, Cordelia. She was Suzanna’s opposite in every way: her white-blonde hair spiraled in dramatic curls down to a classic, black cocktail dress that fit like a second skin. As soon as Cordelia saw Saoirse, her nostrils pinched tight over her crimson lips, like she’d smelled something bad. She shook hands limply and told Sutter they needed to speak privately. When Sutter refused on the grounds that he didn’t want to leave Saoirse alone in a room where she didn’t know anyone, Cordelia’s upper lip had twitched for a moment before she straightened her face and smiled.
“Of course, dear,” Cordelia said, patting Sutter’s arm. “We’ll chat later.”
Sutter nodded but didn’t seem affected by his mother’s irritation, quickly drawing Saoirse off to meet his “unofficial” Uncle Jux, another blond bear of a man like Sutter himself. They met with hugs and back-slaps. Sutter had been getting a lot of hugs and back-slaps as he circulated, several men welcoming him “to the fold” and congratulating him on the club. Saoirse didn’t understand what Sutter had to do with the club. Hadn’t he been cleaning pools all summer? Were they just congratulating him on a family asset? It felt more personal than that.
While Sutter greeted his unofficial uncle, Saoirse cast her eyes back to where Sutter’s mother was standing, talking to two young women at the bar. They were clearly relatives.
Lots of Viking and Anglo-Saxon blood here, Saoirse thought. Her own family was Gaelic and she felt dark and plain in comparison to Sutter’s family.
The two girls—twins, Saoirse realized—who Cordelia was speaking to turned to look at her. They weren’t identical twins. One was dark blonde and the other strawberry blonde, but their green eyes were Sutter’s, and his mother’s. Their smiles were identical. Not the disdain Saoirse had seen on Cordelia’s face. The twins were welcoming, but also cruel. If they hadn’t been family—and very young looking—Saoirse would have guessed they were club Dommes.
Saoirse knew how to handle Dommes. She gave them a polite smile and respectful nod.
Sutter touched her elbow, drawing her attention back to him.
“Saoirse, this is Juxton: Whitley James’ chief financial officer, my father’s best friend, and menace with a pool cue.”
Saoirse laughed at Juxton’s accolades and accepted the hug the older man gave her. Sutter immediately drew her back to his side, resting his big, warm hand on her hip.
“What do you think of our newest club?” Juxton asked her.
“It’s beautiful,” Saoirse said honestly. “I like the color scheme. Perfect for Winter’s Sin.”
Juxton nodded at her, smiling, and Saoirse felt both a twinge of relief that he’d accepted her answer and one of guilt that she hadn’t told the whole truth. But she didn’t owe anyone but Sutter that, and she’d tell him later, in private.
