"She likes men just fine. What I mean is, she'll start playing, if a guy interests her. If he bores her, she bails."

"She'll leave in the middle of a scene?"

"It's happened a handful of times." Gregorio folded his arms across his chest. "She's earned the name the Brat around here."

"She sounds like a challenge," Michael said.

Gregorio laughed. The sound was both ominous and sympathetic. "A few other Doms have felt that way," Gregorio said. "Even though she hasn't been here in a while, 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."

Up close 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.

Sydney placed her glass on the tray, even though it was still mostly full. He appreciated the fact she didn't need something to toy with.

When they were alone again, she said, "I understand you're divorced, Mr Dayton. No kids. You have a ranch you'd like to protect from gold diggers. You scene every once in a while, and you're not looking for a serious commitment."

"Do you know my blood type?"

She gave a quick grin. "No. I only asked about the important stuff."

"You found out a lot quickly."

"I like being prepared. If I'm going to spend an hour with a man, I want to make sure the time is worth it. I don't think it's fair to either of us if there are false expectations."

"You're mistaken, Sydney."

"About which part?"

"We'll be spending more than an hour together. I can't get you properly warmed up in under sixty minutes, and I intend to keep you on the edge, writhing for an orgasm for much, much longer than that."

Her eyes widened, and for the first time he noticed how blue they were, a shade of ice, a shocking contradiction to the heat she radiated.

"That's a brash statement, Michael."

He captured her chin gently. "Find out for yourself, Ms Wallace. Let's have an experiment here at the Den to see if we have chemistry. After that, we can head out to my ranch. It's about forty-five minutes from here. Or if you'd prefer, we can go to your place. Wherever you feel most comfortable." He noticed her legs were alluringly bare. He'd always been a stockings man. Or at least he had been. Until now. "Are you wearing underwear?"

"I..."

With his index finger, her stroked her cheekbone. "I asked you a question."

"Yes."

"What kind?"

She hesitated a moment, and he wondered if she was going to answer or whether she was going to run. He held her lightly enough that her movements weren't restricted.

"Boy shorts," she said.

"Please remove them for me."

"Now? Here?"

"Maybe you're the one who should be afraid," he said quietly, "rather than me. Gregorio says you often bail out of scenes. I wondered at first if it was because Doms asked too much from you. But I'm thinking they probably don't ask enough. I've known you less than five minutes, but I've figured out you're assertive. You know what you want, but I'm guessing you're not always good at asking for it. Furthermore," he added, leaning closer towards her, "I'm willing to bet you're bored with anyone who isn't as aggressive as you are. Am I wrong about that?"

She shivered. Since the Colorado evening was mild and they were standing near the fire, he knew she couldn't be cold. So something he'd said had hit a nerve.

Surprising him, she unflinchingly met his gaze. "You're right about the fact I get bored easily," she admitted. She put her hand around his wrist. "And you're wrong if you think I'm afraid of anything."

"Fair enough. In that case, take off your panties." He released his grip on her chin and she let go of him. He stayed in place, physically and figuratively refusing to give her space.

He offered his arm and she held onto it while precariously balancing on her heels.

Finally, she straightened and looked at him as she dangled the pretty pink material from her index finger. Too late he realised he'd made a mistake by not asking to see them on her first. They material would probably stretch across her derriere, highlighting her butt cheeks perfectly.

He accepted the proffered underwear and stuffed the lace and nylon confection in his pocket. Who would have suspected that she wore something so pretty beneath black leather? "What are your limits?"

"I haven't found any," she said.

"Then you've been playing with the wrong Doms."

She shrugged. "That's possible. But maybe I'm tougher than you think."

"Perhaps," he agreed, but with some scepticism. His ex-wife had let him believe she wanted things raw, but the moment the ring had been placed on her finger, the figurative collar had come off her throat. "Humiliation?"

"I don't have a lot of experience with that."

"No one has made you stand in a corner with your nose pressed to the wall when you misbehaved?"

Her lips parted for a moment, just long enough for him to wonder how she tasted. He loved anticipation, enjoyed getting a woman so turned on she lost her inhibitions, but now, with Sydney, unaccustomed impatience nipped at him.

"I don't misbehave," she said with an impish grin.

He raised his brows. "Never? Or have you never played with a Dom long enough to establish a relationship?"

She gave a soft sigh. "Would you like to psychoanalyse me, Michael? If so, can we sit down somewhere? But honestly, I'm not sure if I'll ever see you again, so I'd prefer we spend an enjoyable evening together."

"I don't rush. I just want to know you a bit better before we play together. I want to give you what you need, not just what you want."

"That's an interesting distinction."

"You might want wine, but need water," he said. "I want you completely satisfied."

"You're right. I kind of move from Dom to Dom," she said. "A man, any man, would complicate my lifestyle. Maybe you think that's selfish, but it's who I am. I was hoping that since you're a divorced man who doesn't want to go through another divorce, you'd be fine with a one-night stand."

"Ouch," he said. When she opened her lovely mouth to speak again, he held up a hand to silence her. To her credit, she shut up, even though she had to bite on her lower lip. "No, you don't have to watch your words. In fact, I prefer your honesty."

"Really?"

He nodded. "And I'm not against a relationship. I'm not, in theory, against marriage." Passing the land to his heirs would be nice. He had one sister, who had two girls. Despite the fact he had a couple of horses, none of his relatives had shown any interest in the ranch.

"Are you looking for something permanent now?"

"No," he said.

"Then if you'd like to play, I would, too." Seductively, sexily, she placed her palm over his crotch.

Heat seared through the denim. Except for lovers he'd been with a long time, no woman had been so bold. He wanted to cave to his baser instincts and take her here, now. Instead, he captured her hand and moved it away.

She pulled back, breaking his grip, and he knew she felt rejected. What man in his right mind would have stopped her? "Don't talk it personally," he said. "Please. I will want you to do that in future, and right now I want to be buried balls-deep in your hot cunt as you cry out my name."

Her eyes opened wide. She seemed more intrigued than shocked. "I want that, too," she admitted.

"We need to clear up a few things."

"Right. I have no STDs, I have no physical limitations. Oh, yes, and I have condoms in my purse. Large. And medium, just in case."

He shook his head. The charming Ms Wallace was trying to goad him, and he appreciated her efforts. Rather than responding, he changed the subject, "Why do you scene?"

"Why?"

"You've thought about it, surely?"

"I guess I'm always wondering where my limits are, and I like to transcend them. I mountain climb. White water river raft. I did a triathlon, and I'm competing in a mud race in a couple of weeks, you know, running up a mountain then doing obstacle courses, under barbed wire, over a wooden wall. My team is doing it for charity."

He was forced to look at her more objectively. His initial urge had been to care for her. Now he wondered if she could kick his ass. Maybe Gregorio had been right to issue warnings. "What's your safe word?"

"Everest."

Of course it was.

"You don't need to know why."

"Okay." He figured he already knew, but he looked forward to her telling him tomorrow morning over coffee. "How about a code for slowing down?"

"I don't believe in that."

"In that case, we'll use the word caution."

She sighed. "If I have to have one, how about we use the word turtle?"

He thumbed his hat. "I think I've just been insulted."

"Not at all. That would be rude. I'm just saying that saying that turtles are slow."

Not only was she attractive, her intelligence was sharp. It had been a long time since a woman appealed to him on multiple levels. "How do you feel about public play?"

She hesitated for a second. "I've never tried it."

"Are you willing to?"

"I suppose."

"I prefer a yes or no answer," he told her. "Unless you'd rather talk about it?"

"No. I mean yes."

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir," she dutifully repeated.

"Good girl."

He saw her grit her teeth, but she said nothing. He'd hit a nerve demanding she conform to the smallest of courtesies, and he'd remember that. "Do you like impact play?"

Before he could ask further questions, she said, "I find an open-handed spanking to be really pleasurable. I also like belts." She glanced at his waist.

Oh, yeah. He'd happily lay the leather across her rear.

She was quiet for a moment, maybe as discombobulated as he was. And he realised she had an air of vulnerability that she tried to hide. Others probably missed it, but he was glad he hadn't.