Aviana had decorated with a Louisiana flair. A picture of a tiger representing LSU hung from the wall, alongside an autographed New Orleans Saints football jersey, and neon signs from the thriving local brewery.

Tonight, he’d chosen his table with care. He had an excellent view of Aviana’s throne, a number of the Saint Andrew’s crosses, along with a few of the spanking benches. And of course, her. Captivated, curious, he stretched out his legs and watched her approach.

When she entered, she paused to scan the long, polished bar and the people seated there. A couple was snuggled together with their foreheads touching. Two stools were occupied by Doms without subs.

Obviously having made a decision, she walked toward the back of the space so she could sit alone, at the end of the bar, with an empty, inviting chair next to her.

About three feet away from him, she saw him and jerked to a stop, eyes wide. For a moment, their gazes locked.

Fuck it to hell. Shock, hot and white, pulsed through him.

The sexy temptress—with the parted, enticing mouth—was his friend’s daughter. Did Brian have any idea that his only child was more than a thousand miles from school and that she liked to get her ass spanked by men she might not know?

Willow blinked, severing their connection. Instead of saying anything, she squared her shoulders and continued past him.

Jesus. What the living hell was wrong with him? He was lusting after her.

Now that Jax knew who she was, he was torn between pretending he hadn’t seen her and paddling her ass himself.

If he were smart, he’d pay his bill, collect his play bag from the coat check, then go home where he could masturbate to some fantasy woman and forget he’d ever seen Willow. But he wasn’t sure he could walk away, despite the risks.

The Quarter had a strict code of conduct. Movie stars, musicians, politicians, and business tycoons needed a place free from scrutiny, which made privacy Aviana’s main priority. Many people opted to use a scene name, and unless there was an agreement between all parties, no one could acknowledge they knew one another outside the club. No doubt that was one of Willow’s reasons for joining.

At the very least, striding over to her and turning her over his knee would guarantee a suspension of membership privileges. There was a chance he’d be expelled. Since visiting the club on his rare trips to Louisiana provided a much-needed break from the grind of running his digital-media conglomerate, Jax valued his membership. So for the moment, he waited and watched, bouncing his leg with customary impatience.

She wriggled onto a barstool, exaggerating her movements—he was sure—to capture attention.