“Can’t think of anything,” she replied sweetly, her stomach roiling as Sierra pushed a glass of wine down the table to her—her usual, her favorite, and she couldn’t even look at it. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“How about neglecting to tell those two that your sub is actually one of the most revered Masters in Louisiana?” Grit spoke up, his voice disapproving.
So, he’d finally caught up with Boudreaux’s ruse. She felt bad for him, but whatever ploys Reaux used to get into Serenity without her finding out about his presence were nothing to do with her. She’d played no part in the fabrication, her fingerprints were nowhere on the plans or execution, so she wasn’t going to accept any of the blame.
“Not in my world, he’s not. They’re all adults, Grit, capable of reading situations and playing nice with each other. Boudreaux’s got the balls to tell them no, or a working dick if he wants to take them up on whatever offer they present. I don’t really care what he chooses to do.”
“From what I’ve heard, he runs a successful chain of clubs down south,” Mack commented, glancing over at his husband as Liam returned to the table with a pitcher of water and a glass. “Seems like an okay guy. Definitely a Dom, although Ford was impressed with the scene you did with him last week.”
Violet sent her friend a baleful stare. “Was he now.”
Fordham shrugged and sipped his scotch without a care in the world. “I like the guy, Vi. For a Dom in submissive shoes, he took everything you gave him in that scene without complaint. He’s secure enough in himself to submit to you despite the fact he probably bleeds dominance. Of course,” he paused to take another sip, then hit her with a sneaky blow, “it doesn’t hurt that he’s utterly in love with you.”
“God, not you as well.” She rolled her eyes. “Boudreaux doesn’t love me, he doesn’t love anybody but the one in his bed. Trust me, it won’t take long before he gets bored of the hunt and dragshis sorry ass back to New Orleans where he can chase tail he actually stands a chance of catching.”
“I don’t think tail in general is what your guy is chasing, Violet,” Grit said thoughtfully.
“Just one in particular,” Mack agreed with a nod.
“Seems to me,” Merrick drawled, jerking his chin toward the bar, “any man who can turn those two down is either gay or has a name already tattooed on his heart.”
An image of those ridiculous violets inked into Reaux’s chest flashed through her mind before she forced herself to look over at the idiot under discussion.
He’d stepped a short distance away from Elias and Levi, she noted, to speak with Ericka and Felicity. Unsurprisingly, Ericka was already going in for the kill with her blatant flirtatious tactics; she stood close to him, her hand on his arm, her eyes direct on his.
Reaux appeared to be listening intently, his head cocked curiously, but his body language... he wasn’t engaging with Ericka. More than that, he was actively distancing himself from her without being rude, deliberately holding himself apart.
Violet frowned.
What the hell was he doing? He should be fawning over Ericka by now, throwing Felicity a little attention, doing some flirtation of his own to convince them both to have a good fucking time because that was his best goddamn skill.
Her eyebrows winged up when he grasped Ericka’s wrist gently and removed it from his arm. Whatever he said to her didn’t deter her from a second touch, a short stroke along the firm muscle of his forearm.
This time, the removal was swift and meaningful. Even as he detached her hand again, Violet saw his body language evolving, shifting from laidback and amenable into his no bullshitpersona. He stood taller, straighter, his shoulders squaring as he turned to face the two Mistresses fully.
Expression dark, features set in stern lines, he spoke again, and Violet could hear his voice in her head—that hard, cool tone he used when he was most displeased.
Felicity said something back, lifting her hands in surrender.
Boudreaux’s head swung round to stare at Violet with a mixture of frustration and amusement clearly visible from where she sat, then he smiled and leaned in to speak to Felicity. When he was done, his attention returned to Elias and Levi.
“Think you’ll find that man’s on a mission, Vi,” Merrick said gruffly as the Mistresses headed back toward the tables. “He ain’t going nowhere until he gets what he came for.”
“I’m not a lost pet being claimed from the pound because my owner forgot to put a collar on me, Merrick,” she snapped, almost forgetting herself as she lifted the wineglass. It was halfway to her lips when the smell hit her, making her recoil, and she set it down again with an angry clack of glass on wood. “If anything, I was the pet dumped at the fucking pound because I couldn’t weigh up to the prospect of a new puppy.”
A chorus of, “He cheated on you?” echoed around the tables.
Begrudgingly, she admitted, “No. Not that I’m aware of anyway. Boudreaux did what was right for him at the time. I just didn’t fit into his plans.”
“What a wanker,” Callie muttered, in a disturbingly accurate mimicry of Elias.
Evander pinched the bridge of his nose. “Language, Callie. There are penalties for swearing when you’re Little, you know that.”
Puffing up like an indignant blowfish, Callie shed her Little as easily as sneezing. “Pardon my French, Evander, but fuck that. These are extenuating circumstances. Did you let him come here knowing he was a gigantic asshole?”
“All men are assholes, Callie. They just vary in degrees of arrogance.” This from Tabitha. Shockingly pale blue eyes bore into Violet without a hint of warmth. “One word, Mistress Vi, and I can make him rue the day he screwed you over.”
Grit clamped his hand over her mouth. “No. There will be nowords,little tiger, and definitely no maiming of any kind.”
