Gregorio laughed. The sound was both ominous and sympathetic. “A few other Doms have felt the same way,” Gregorio said. “Sydney has a history of battering hearts and egos.”
Water in hand, she walked around to the far side of the fire pit and stood there alone. He responded to the unspoken cue. After finishing his beer in a single gulp, he handed the empty glass to Gregorio. “Wish me luck.”
Gregorio grinned. “You’ll need more than luck, my friend.”
Michael moved towards the fire pit.
Perhaps hearing his approach, she looked up and waited for him.
“Evening, ma’am,” he said, as he stopped near her.
“I was hoping you would be brave enough to come and talk to me,” she said with a smile that could roll his socks down. “I saw you talking with Gregorio. No doubt he tried to frighten you away with tales of how terrible I am.”
“And are you?”
“I suppose there could be some truth to it.” She shrugged easily. “But there’s not. A good story is always better than the truth.”
She smelt potently dangerous. The vanilla was mixed with unadulterated pheromones, and it was a cocktail he couldn’t get enough of. “Either way, not much scares me.”
“A man among men.”
“Michael Dayton. Master Michael.” Although the June sun hadn’t completely vanished behind the distant mountain peaks, torches were being lit, adding to the ambience and catching streaks of red in her hair. He wanted to touch those strands, to curl them around his fist as he held her down and made her scream.
“Sydney Wallace,” she said, returning the formality.
“May I call you Sydney?”
She rolled her glass between her palms. With a tease in her voice, she said, “I’m hoping you can be considerably more creative than that.”
He tipped back the brim of his hat to get a better look at her. She intrigued him. “So name calling is not on your limits list.”
A server, this one a woman in a French maid’s outfit that left nothing to the imagination, walked nearby. Though she was curvy with luscious bare breasts, he only had eyes for the woman he was with.