Linger

Book 0: The In Vino Veritas Series

by Lauren Jameson

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

From the author of Breathe and Blush comes a blisteringly hot new novel about baring it all.…

On her last night in Nevada before embarking on a yearlong veterinary internship, Scarlett Malone is celebrating—and looking for one night of incredible pleasure. But the man who draws her eye is not her usual type: He’s a cowboy whose alpha-male tendencies tempt her beyond belief. Scarlett can’t understand why she wants this man and no one else, but she’s determined to entice him to submit.…

Dr. Logan Brody lives an isolated life in rural Montana, running a ranch and suppressing his submissive tendencies. Only on his occasional trips does he give into his hidden urges. He can’t deny his scorching attraction to Scarlett or that she makes him want more, but he never lets anyone break him down fully. He’s hers for one night and one night only.

But when Scarlett shows up at Logan’s door as his intern for the year, he realizes that the walls around his heart are about to crumble—and that this sexy dominant woman has no intention of letting him keep control.…

Release date: September 2, 2014

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF LAUREN JAMESON

ALSO BY LAUREN JAMESON

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This is quite probably my favorite out of all the stories I’ve ever written. But if my editor had accepted what I first sent her for a proposal for Linger, it never would have been written. So I have a huge thank-you to her for pushing me further. And an equally huge thanks to Deidre Knight, who held my hand while I struggled to get it right. I hope you enjoy your namesake in this book. Snort. For the fabulous Suzanne Rock, who had the brilliance to say “Maybe having the hero tied to the fence post in the first scene is . . . a little too weird.” Well played, Sue. Well played. Thank you to the magical art department at New American Library for a cover that I am in love with. To Eden Bradley, Roni Loren, Erika Wilde, Cathryn Fox and Suzanne Rock for endorsing it. For Erica Haglund, aka the BookCellarX, for offering her thoughts and knowledge of all things bunny. And as always, to my husband, Rob, and my mom, Penny, for entertaining Mr. I Am Three so that I could spit this book out.

CHAPTER ONE

Coming here always felt like home.

Scarlett Malone sucked in a deep breath, savoring the humidity that lingered even after the sun had set in Vegas. It was not yet fully dark; when she arched her neck and looked up, she found a blueberry-tinged twilight surrounding the old Victorian mansion that was her second home.

She was going to miss this, she realized, a lot more than she’d thought she would. The fantasies and desires that were explored here at In Vino Veritas, a wine bar and kink club, had started merely as sexual curiosity for her and instead had wound up fulfilling a deeply seated need.

There were no kink clubs in rural Montana, where she was soon headed, at least not that she’d been able to find. And even if there had been, nothing could ever be the same as Veritas.

Better make the most of your last night, then, Scar. Grinning to herself, Scarlett ran a hand over her sleek brown hair, which she’d pulled back in a tight knot for the occasion. She was sad to be leaving Vegas—her home—for an entire year, sure. But nothing could keep her down for long when a night of kinky playtime stretched out before her.

She would find someone good tonight; she could feel it in her gut. She hadn’t been playing for long enough to have defined exactly what “good” constituted, but not being able to put it into words didn’t mean she wouldn’t recognize it.

Shifting her weight from one spike heel to the other—she loved how the leather boots looked but not necessarily how they felt, even on feet that had once spent hours in pointe shoes—Scarlett joined the line of people waiting in front of the massive wooden door that led to the secrets inside Veritas.

Julien Knight, the club’s manager, waved and winked. Even as he checked the credentials of the woman dressed in a vinyl catsuit who was doing her best to catch his eye, he made an exaggerated show of looking Scarlett up and down, then whistling.

“Looking good tonight, Mistress Scarlett!” he called as he gestured her forward. His perusal of her body—and blatant appreciation—gave Scarlett a flurry of pleasant tingles in her belly. Tall and lean, with dreadlocks pulled back loosely from his face and a swarthy complexion, he was exactly the kind of man Scarlett was usually drawn to.

Except she knew she could never make it work with him. Julien liked to be in control. So did she.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t look.

As Scarlett made her way to the front of the crowd, a woman laughed in the middle of the story she was telling, stepped back, and accidentally jostled Scarlett. Losing the precarious balance that she had on her spike heels—so much for those years of ballet training—Scarlett stumbled and braced herself to slam into the unyielding stone of the walkway.

As she threw her hands out . . . they connected with a firm wall of muscle.

“Are you all right?” The voice was warm, with a hint of a Western drawl. Strong arms squeezed her waist gently, making her shiver. Scarlett closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the sensation, before trying to step back, to straighten her skirt.

But those hands didn’t let go. A spark lit inside Scarlett as she slowly looked up at the man who had saved her from a tumble that would have likely scraped her knees, her hands, her legs, effectively putting a damper on her evening.

His face was largely shadowed by the wide brim of a cowboy hat, but the piercing stare of his blue eyes caught her attention. She also quickly took in his tall form and wide chest, stretching the confines of a black T-shirt.

“I said, are you all right, miss?” The man’s voice told her he expected her to answer, which started Scarlett’s blood fizzing.

Arching an eyebrow, she looked up. When those blue eyes again caught her stare and held, she felt her heart skip a beat with excitement.

“I’m fine, thank you.” A smile started to curve her lips—oh, there was no way in hell that this man was a submissive, but still, she couldn’t deny the interest that was sparking throughout her body. Reaching out, she placed a hand flirtatiously on his biceps.

Beneath her fingers, the hard muscle tensed. The man tilted his head to the side, looking at her as though she were an exotic bird. Those flutters of initial attraction made Scarlett feel as though she’d swallowed a flute of champagne too fast.

She parted her lips—to say what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Then the man nodded, released her, stepped back.

His touch remained like a ghostly imprint on her skin.

And then he was gone, waved through the doors to Veritas, leaving Scarlett to catch her breath and wonder what, exactly, had just happened.

That simple helping touch from one man—from a strang- er—had excited her more than some of the most complex scenes she’d done.

She wanted more. And she wasn’t the kind of woman who liked to take no for an answer.

•   •   •

Dr. Logan Brody barely looked around as he strode down the long front hall of Veritas. His pulse had accelerated—he could feel the steady beat pounding beneath the skin at the base of his jaw—and he knew exactly why.

That gorgeous little brunette out front—she’d gotten to him. He’d meant only to stop her from falling, a courtesy from one decent human being to another, though he wasn’t sure he always counted as decent, at least not anymore. But something about her warm flesh beneath his fingers, about the way her spine had stiffened when he’d pushed her to answer his question, had snared him.

She was that perfect combination of softness and steel. When she’d laid a hand on his biceps, he had felt interest stirring. Had wanted to flirt in return, to see where their encounter would go.

That she was a Mistress, he had no doubt. Even if she hadn’t been dressed like one, that calm confidence that every Dominant he’d ever known possessed had been like a halo around her.

The forceful presence, combined with her killer curves, the gorgeous face, the scent of vanilla that emanated from her skin when she moved . . . had left him wanting.

Yet something about her told him that she wouldn’t be an easy Mistress, and he wasn’t looking for anyone to dig past his shell. Still, he’d considered throwing all caution to the wind for one night—and then he had remembered where he was. His surroundings—the city, the traffic, the people—had slammed against him like a freight train.

It had thrown him off balance, had let the panic that he worked so hard to keep at bay gain control.

So he’d left, like a jackass. At least he’d remembered to nod a farewell.

Forget about her. Pushing through the door to the men’s change room, Logan found an empty locker and opened it with more force than was strictly necessary. The sound of metal on metal clanged loudly even in the busy room.

As he slid off his jacket, his hat, his T-shirt, he tried to pull those mental shutters back down in place.

He came to Veritas for only one night, maybe two, every year—whenever the need got too bad to take care of himself. One of the owners of this particular establishment was an old friend, which made it a safer place in his mind.

If he had to get away, he could always go sit in Luca’s office or his apartment. He wouldn’t feel completely calm again until he was back on his ranch, the wide-open skies arching above him, but knowing he had a bit of a safety net helped, allowed him to get what he needed.

Unbidden, the brunette’s face flashed through his mind again. Man, he was tempted by her. But she had trouble written all over her—he’d been in the BDSM scene for more than ten years, and that woman didn’t look like the type you played with once and never saw again.

A gentleman would leave her alone—if she was even still available by the time he got into the massive playroom of Veritas. A Mistress who looked like she did, commanded attention like that, she wouldn’t be short of potential partners.

“Pull it together, Brody.” Giving himself a mental shake, Logan’s hands strayed to the waistband of his jeans, then stopped. A Mistress might make him pay for it later, but he didn’t think he’d strip down completely. Not yet.

Sliding his hand into his right pocket, Logan withdrew two strips of buttery yellow leather adorned with silver hooks. As soon as he snapped the cuffs in place on his wrists, he felt his anxiety ramp down, like it was sinking just beneath the surface of the serene lake on his property.

This was why he came here—because he needed to let someone take control, just for a little bit. He’d never be able to give over the reins forever . . . but for a little while . . .

He needed it. Craved that exchange of power.

And still, as he made his way into the playroom, as the angry, sexy sound of heavy metal and the slap of flesh against flesh began to reverberate through his veins, he found himself looking around the room, the various stations, the different pieces of equipment, seeking something out.

Looking for her.

CHAPTER TWO

Scarlett perched on a barstool inside In Vino Veritas, sipping at the glass of buttery Chardonnay that Luca had gifted her.

After the encounter outside, she had been unable to stop herself from searching for the handsome stranger once she was inside. A few male submissives had tried to catch her eye, but she found herself strangely uninterested.

“Look at me,” Scarlett whispered. She’d been watching the man for a good five minutes, but he hadn’t yet looked her way. He hadn’t looked anyone’s way, actually, seeming focused on his drink.

As if he’d heard her speak, though, he turned and met her stare. Scarlett’s fingers clenched on her wineglass briefly before relaxing. Butterflies began to do a wild dance of excitement in her belly.

He reminded her of a tethered animal, restrained but only just. A heavy rock settled on top of the butterflies in her gut when she realized that the chances of this man being her type—being sexually submissive—were slim indeed.

At least eight inches taller than her own five foot six, he wore his raw masculinity like he wore the faded denim that molded to thick, muscular thighs and a tight ass that made her want to sink her teeth into it. His hair shone gold in the low crimson lights of the club, glinting as he lifted a bottle of domestic beer to his lips and reminding Scarlett of nothing so much as an ancient Viking heading to battle.

When he lowered that amber bottle of beer—no fancy wine for him—and continued to stare at her with those piercing cobalt blue eyes, Scarlett felt the desire like a punch in the chest. She couldn’t explain it and certainly hadn’t been looking for it—she was looking for a playmate for only this one night, a willing submissive on which to test her newly minted skills as a Mistress.

Scarlett held his gaze, her heart pounding in her throat. She might have been fairly new to the games of dominance and submission, but it was still far from her first time in this club. And yet she’d never felt attraction like this before. Never. Especially not to a man who looked like he would eat her alive if she let him.

When the man finally broke the stare, casting his eyes to the ground, Scarlett frowned, feeling a bit perplexed. Had he lost interest? Because surely she hadn’t imagined the indefinable connection between them, the one that had sparked outside and now only pulled tighter with each passing moment.

She knew it wasn’t all one-sided. It couldn’t be.

She let her stare drop as well, following his line of sight. Her eyes stroked over the biceps, the forearms that were tightly corded with muscle—the arms of a man who used them for a living. When she came to his wrists, she stopped short.

Wrapped around the narrowest part of the man’s arms were yellow cuffs—golden yellow leather, with metal rings meant for attaching to restraints on the various pieces of equipment around the club.

These were the yellow cuffs that the club had their seasoned submissives wear—the cuffs that signaled that the man or woman who wore them was looking for a Master or Mistress to play with.

Inhaling shakily as adrenaline burst through her veins, Scarlett forced the fingers that had unconsciously clenched once more around the stem of her wineglass to relax.

As she’d watched him, she had hoped he could maybe, possibly be a submissive. From the way he was dressed, she couldn’t tell.

And he hadn’t lowered his gaze when she’d first caught his eye, either outside or here in the playroom, which told her that while he might have marked himself as a submissive, he wasn’t going to be taken down easily.

Subs like that could eat an unwary Mistress alive. But still, arousal made her flush. Could she really be lucky enough to have found what she desired so deeply—a man strong enough to dominate but who chose to walk the submissive side?

She might have been green, but she had no intention of screwing this up. Everything about the man attracted her—the way his size made her feel small, the intensity in his eyes, the feral energy that surrounded him.

Topping him would be like taming a lion, and she couldn’t wait to get in the ring.

“He’s an ambitious choice. You haven’t been flying solo for very long.” A hand reached across the polished wood of the bar, catching the wineglass that she carelessly shoved away before she cracked the delicate stem. Scarlett turned to find her friend Luca leaning on the bar, the corners of his lips curled up in a dangerous smile, but concern in his eyes.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d known Luca for only a couple of years—since the first time she’d come to the club—but the big Dom was ridiculously overprotective of her. She knew it came from a good place, but still.

“I’ve never wanted easy. You know that.” Scarlett spared Luca only the briefest of glances before turning back to the object of her affection, who was now leaning against the back of a chair. The posture forced his pelvis forward, giving Scarlett a glimpse of flat stomach and the sexiest hip bones that she’d ever seen.

Her mouth watered. She wanted a taste of him now, but she owed Luca the chance to say what he was clearly going to say regardless. They were both Dominants and therefore equal, at least here in the club, but he was a friend as well as her mentor in the BDSM lifestyle.

“No, you certainly don’t do things the easy way,” Luca agreed, and Scarlett flicked one more glance toward the massive sadist who had taught her everything she knew about being a Mistress. He was as large as the man whose presence kept calling to Scarlett, but though his wicked good looks attracted more submissives than he knew what to do with, Scarlett had never felt anything more than a mild buzz of attraction around him, even when they’d played during her training.

“Is this where you tell me to choose my subs carefully?” Scarlett forced herself to give Luca her full attention this time. Her mind was made up—she had to at least try—but she owed it to Luca to listen.

“I would never presume to direct a Mistress’s choice of slave,” Luca said with a twinkle in his eye, and Scarlett huffed out a breath of exasperation.

“Like hell.” She fought the urge to turn around, to see if her mystery man was still watching her. “You’re the bossiest Dom I know. You’d put me in a cage if you thought you could get away with it.”

“And you’d deserve it, brat.” Luca affectionately tugged at the tight coil of Scarlett’s long hair. “You were the worst sub I’ve ever had.”

Settling his not inconsiderable weight onto his elbows, Luca’s expression turned thoughtful.

“I know him.” He nodded toward Scarlett’s target, and she fought the urge to twist in her seat and look again herself. “He’s not an easy sub. Not an easy person. An alpha who chooses to be beta in the bedroom, for the Mistress who can control him.”

Scarlett knew he wasn’t necessarily trying to deter her. Luca knew as well as she did that control was a heady aphrodisiac for Scarlett, a way of adding discipline to a life that had been chaotic until adulthood. Still, his tone annoyed her a bit.

“And you don’t think I can?” Scarlett raised an eyebrow at her mentor, mildly insulted.

Luca shook his head, a grin playing over his lips.

“If anyone has a shot at taming that beast, Scarlett, it’s you.” He nodded toward where the man stood, gesturing with his hand at the same time. Something—was that guilt?—flickered over his face. He parted his lips as if about to say something, then closed them again and shook his head.

“What—” she began to ask, but was distracted by his next comment.

“I’d hurry up and make your move, little one. Looks like Mistress Avery has her eye on your tasty cowboy, too.”

If anyone else had called her an endearment that sounded so much like he was talking down to her, Scarlett would have found herself grinding her teeth with irritation. But Luca had topped her while she was undergoing the vigorous training that the club required of their neophytes, and the term had stuck.

“Catch you later.” Scarlett was off her barstool before the words had even finished leaving her lips. Mistress Avery was one of the club’s most notorious Dommes, an androgynous-looking blonde around whom subs were never quite sure whether to beg for mercy or to ask for more.

She also had a reputation for convincing the most reluctant of submissives, male or female, that they wanted to play with her, although coerced might have been closer to the truth. When Scarlett saw that the other woman was indeed making her way toward the delicious specimen of man, she hurried her stride, though she made sure to still keep her stiletto-heeled saunter deliberate.

BDSM was a game of control . . . even if something inside of her said that this connection, this man, was more important than most.

She sized him up anew as she made her way across the crowded club floor, trying to get some kind of handle on him before she reached him. Her intense attraction to him puzzled her a bit, because he wasn’t entirely her type. He had that dominating presence that she had craved, yes, but Scarlett was typically drawn to Latin-lover types, men who groomed themselves impeccably and had suave charm to spare.

This man, who looked to be in his midthirties to her twenty-four years, looked like a rough-and-tumble Norse god. His pale hair was weeks past needing a haircut, and matching stubble covered the strong line of his jaw.

Hair dusted that wide, solid chest, too, and a trail led from beneath his navel into the low-riding denim. It made Scarlett’s mind stray to all of the wicked, wicked things she wanted to do with what lay at the end of that trail.

Instead of wearing briefs or latex, or any kind of fetish wear at all, he wore those faded blue jeans, ones that were worn from actual use and not as a nod to fashion. His feet were clad in equally scuffed cowboy boots.

And there, she realized with delight. There was her opening.

She curved her lips up in a predatory smile, feeling herself slipping into the role. When Scarlett reached the man, she caught a whiff of his scent. She was glad that she’d planted her high heels firmly on the ground when the combination of soap, spicy aftershave, and raw male hit her senses.

This was it—he was it. She couldn’t have explained it, but she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted any other sexual partner in her life. Her experiences with the submissives that she had topped before this had all felt generic and unsatisfying.

But with this man . . . she had the feeling that it would all be different.

She waited for him to raise his eyes to hers, something only a poorly trained or very stubborn sub would do. Thanks to Luca’s warning, she knew he was the latter.

As she’d suspected, he did, and she again felt the power of their inexplicable connection surge when his incredibly blue eyes met her own gray ones.

“I’m Mistress S, sub. And we have a problem.”

•   •   •

Logan felt a wicked surge of excitement as the small Mistress planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips. Very sexy hips, he noted yet again, ones that flowed into a slender waist and the curves of full breasts. He’d felt a deep sense of satisfaction to find that she appeared every bit as interested in him as he was in her.

Something in him again warned him to find a different partner for the evening, one who would be satisfied with administering a flogging, then sharing hard, impersonal sex.

Every other part of him wanted the woman currently standing in front of him, though he knew somehow that she was going to push him further than he was comfortable. Just having met her had thinned the barriers he always kept in place.

He hadn’t been in the club for very long, but he was already feeling the pain from being trapped in the crush of people. A scary-looking Mistress—or Master, he wasn’t quite sure—had started bearing down on him at the same time as the tasty treat in front of him, and he’d felt as if the walls had been closing in on him, stealing away his air.

But it was different with this one . . .

An experienced submissive, he could tell that she was a fairly new Mistress. The nerves were there, in her eyes, around the corners of her mouth. Still, despite the sweet features of her face, dominance seemed to seep out of her very pores, an exotic perfume that caught his attention like a dog with a steak.

And then there was that strange pull between them, the one that had snapped into place the second his arms had wrapped around her outside. The one that made every other Dominant woman in the room seem dull and unappealing.

It was an irresistible combination for a man who ran the show everywhere besides the bedroom.

And he couldn’t ignore the fact that, since she’d introduced herself and glared at him with that bitchy expression that made his cock hard, he’d found it a little easier to breathe.

“What’s the problem, sweetheart?” He grinned down at her, his expression deliberately cocky. He needed to keep his defenses up from the start around this one, to keep her from sneaking too far into his psyche.

He waited to see if she would dismiss him immediately for his rudeness.

She arched an eyebrow at his term but didn’t comment on it, which left him mildly disappointed. Instead she nodded at his feet, looking like nothing so much as a wet dream of a stern schoolteacher.

“Bottoms go barefoot in Veritas, sub. Remove the boots.”

Her voice was whiskey smooth with an undercurrent of sin, at odds with the girl-next-door face. Logan found himself wanting to fall to his knees and obey, to please her, and despite how much he wanted her, the notion didn’t sit well with him.

A Mistress had to work much harder than saying a few words and looking pretty to earn that kind of response from him.

He’d felt the punch of attraction when their eyes had first met, but now he was wary. What kind of hold did she have on him already, to make him want so badly to please her?

Shaken by the notion, he grinned insolently and shook his head. “Make me, baby.”

Logan watched as heat flickered in her eyes, which, upon closer inspection, were stormy gray rather than the expected blue.

He watched as she shrugged one shoulder, a simple gesture that was nevertheless full of innate grace.

“We’ll do it the hard way, then.” So caught up in the siren’s song of her voice, Logan was caught off guard when the little minx kicked her leg up with the smooth flexibility of a trained dancer and pressed her sharp stiletto heel against the thin denim of his crotch.

He froze when the perfectly positioned bootheel dug into the tender sac of his testicles, just enough to catch his attention.

“No need to get nasty, sweetheart.” Though he wasn’t overly concerned that she was one of those Mistresses who took joy in cock and ball torture, he was still uncomfortable enough from the feelings coursing through him to be a smart-ass.

“Take off your boots.” Damn her. She looked completely calm and in control. Like she knew he would do as she said, simply because she had said it.

Their little standoff had drawn an audience, too, and the press of bodies around them made his throat constrict with the beginnings of claustrophobia.

“A hundred bucks on the little brunette.”

Logan flicked his eyes around the gathered crowd to find the speaker and glowered when he saw that it was Luca, the only acquaintance he had at In Vino Veritas. He would have snarled if Mistress S hadn’t chosen that moment to dig that stiletto in just a bit harder.

“I warned you.” She shrugged and smiled at him, and the smile made Logan’s entire body clench with pure, undiluted need. She leaned forward, a calculated move, he knew, but still he found his attention caught on the creamy swells of her breasts, offered up as they were in the almost indecently low neckline of her black lace corset.

He wanted to get his hands on those breasts more than he wanted his next breath.

His attention was still caught on them when she lowered her leg, and he grinned as he hoped, prayed, that she would lean forward a bit more, just enough for him to see a hint of nipple that he knew would be rosy pink.

“I’d still be happy to give you the ride of your life—” Logan’s words were cut off when the slender woman whirled behind him, her movements precise and controlled. He felt the sharp toes of her boots dig into the backs of his knees, and then he landed on his knees on the floor, his breath leaving his lungs in one uncomfortable jolt.

“What the—” He threw his hands out in front of him to protect his face when she pushed him down further and straddled his hips backward. Despite the surprise and the uncomfortable position, his cock pushed against the thin denim of his jeans as his body registered the heat of her naked legs pressing tightly into his torso.

Her ass was sweetly rounded and close enough to touch. He craned his neck to see. Her skirt had ridden up when she moved, and he caught sight of the rounded curves of her behind, a hint of the sexy panties she wore beneath.

With firm hands, Mistress S tugged off one of his well-worn cowboy boots and then the other. His socks followed. Standing, she caught his eye as she very deliberately stuffed a sock inside each boot, then handed the pair off to Luca, to tuck out of reach behind the bar, he assumed.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice steady, certain he would answer . . . and he did, though he hadn’t intended to.

“Logan.” He could hear the wariness in his own voice, and rightly so—this woman was nothing like he’d expected.

“Well, then. Logan.” Her words were s