His face falls. “You can’t do it? I’ll pay you anything you ask.”

“No. I mean, yes, I’ll do it.”

“You will?” His face brightens. I slide into a picnic table bench under a shady tree and Torment takes a seat across from me.

“Could you come tonight for an orientation? It’s the only time I have free.”

“Sure.”

He beams. “I wasn’t sure if you would agree because of your violence issues.” He pulls two wax paper packages from his pack and slides one across the table.

“I need the money, and if I stay in the first aid office and only come out when I’m needed, it shouldn’t be a problem.” I take the sandwich he offers and peek inside at the one-inch thick piece of cheese slathered in what appears to be half a tub of margarine. Horrors.

“I made it myself,” he says. Pride shines in his warm, brown eyes.

Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I smile. “I love cheese.”

Torment opens a steel container and places it between us. Chopped veggies. Very healthy, but not very delicious. I select a baby tomato and bite down. Tomato juice shoots across the table and hits Torment square in the chest.

Damn. The Clumsyosaurus strikes again.

“I’m so sorry. Obviously, I don’t get out much. Nor do I eat many vegetables.” I reach over the table and dab at Torment’s tomato-juice stained chest with a tissue from my purse. He sucks in a sharp breath.

My eyes follow his gaze into the gaping maw of my unbuttoned shirt. My cheeks heat. “Enjoying the view?”

“There wasn’t anywhere else for me to look.” Amusement flashes in his eyes and he gives me a cocky, toe-curling smile. “And even if there was, I thought it would be impolite to turn down the invitation.”

“You could have closed your eyes.” I sit back down and feign annoyance, but he is too cute, and too happy, and I can’t help but smile back. Plus, I’m quite proud of my girls.

“That would have been worse.” His voice drops to a low, sensual rumble. “My imagination might have run wild.”

My heart thuds in my chest. Me? The object of Torment’s wild fantasies? Really?

Torment takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth. He kisses my fingers one by one, and then brushes his lips down my palm. Electricity shoots from my hand straight to my core. I think he’s coming on to me. Or else, he’s really, really pleased to have a new first aid attendant.

“Since you’re willing to handle the first aid, I have another proposition for you,” he murmurs.

Frozen, rapt, unable even to breathe, I watch his sensuous lips work their way up the inside of my arm to the sensitive crease of my elbow. His kisses are as light as butterfly wings. I shiver—a bone-deep awakening of dormant desire.

“What is it?” There is almost nothing I could refuse him at this very moment. Sex on the picnic bench? Check. Strip off and do the Macarena on the grass? Check. Crawl under the table and do naughty things? Not much experience in that department either, but…check. Ride off into the sunset? Double check.

“Dinner.”

“Okay.”

“If you give me your address, I’ll pick you up at home before the club opens.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll grab some pizza, and then I can go over the rules of the club.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll do the orientation and I can show you around.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll bring you home at the end of the night.

“Okay.”

“Makayla?”

Filled with the joy of renewed hope, I lift my eyes to his.

“You have something on your cheek.”

Chapter 4

Come and get it

It is after six p.m. by the time I get home from work. Unable to face the cheery chatter of my housemates, I make my way to my bedroom, strip down to my panties, and throw on a tank top and a pair of faded, torn gym pants. All comfy for a round of “he likes me, he likes me not” with a wilted daisy from the garden, and if “not” then a sulk about hot, witty, charming guys who make me picnic lunches only to get into my first aid kit and not my pants.

Once I have arranged the purple cushions on my bed, I settle my laptop on my knees, and amuse myself by typing “Torment,” “California,” and “Redemption” into various search engines. Nothing of interest comes up. I read Redemption’s web page and find no mention of the unsanctioned events. “Torment” yields all sorts of references to games, books, music, and torture, but no pictures of men with tattoos and warm, brown eyes.

A flash of black catches my eye, and I look up. My hands fly to my mouth when I glimpse the shadow of a man by the door. I drop my computer, a shriek ripping from my throat.

“Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you.” Eyes wide, Torment holds up his hands, palms forward. He takes a step back just as my four housemates barrel into my room.

My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “What’s he doing here?”

“He said you were expecting him.” Rob’s voice wavers with uncertainty as he glances over at the leather-clad giant dwarfing my tiny room.

“Yes, but not for a few hours.” I draw in a ragged breath. “And you’re not supposed to let strangers just walk into the house. You’re supposed to ask them to wait at the door. What if I was changing? What if I didn’t really know him?”