“His contract forbids it. Trust me, McIntyre won’t want to lose his membership by doing such a thing. I won’t cover just my ass, Morganna, but yours as well.”
Morganna stared back at him in surprise. “Meaning?”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to sponsoring you myself.” His gaze roved over her again, the mossy color darkening in sexual awareness. “But it’s your choice.”
Interesting. Morganna sat back in her chair, forcing herself to hide the nervousness moving through her. There was enough of it to power a city if it were electrical.
If Clint was considered a prime catch by the women in the clubs, then Drage Masters was considered the ultimate goal. So ultimate that he was rarely reflected upon simply because he never seemed interested.
And the lower levels of the club were only reflected upon. Even Joe wasn’t certain what went on there, because so far, no one had even admitted they were there. They were like an urban legend all their own.
“So I can finance my own in—”
“You can finance your application,” he amended. “Though honestly, no one is admitted without sponsorship of some sort. And for you, it would demand sexual sponsorship.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
He inclined his head in agreement. “Not politically correct, I’m aware, but . . .” A sensual, carnal smile tipped his lips. “A fact nonetheless.”
“Sexist,” she muttered before biting her lip and cursing her tongue.
Her response was met with a bark of laughter. “Directing all that energy would be a pleasure, Morganna,” he said moments later. “Learning to harness all that sexual energy could come in handy for you. It helps balance the rest of your life, helps you to focus.”
Oh, she just bet it did.
This sucked. She didn’t know Drage Masters, had nothing to go on except his reputation and the sparse details Joe had managed to scrounge up on him. It wasn’t enough to instill trust.
“I gather there’s not an option for no-ties sponsorship?” She lifted her brow in question.
“Sadly, no.” His lips twitched. “And the time constraints are rather strict as well. I’ll need to know before you leave the room so I can inform my security personnel of your status.”
Oh great. Her eyes strayed to the monitors, hoping to catch a glimpse of Clint so she could glare at him. They widened as she saw him, but in apprehension rather than anger now. He was stalking toward the hall, his brows lowered in a frown, anger glittering in his eyes.
“Yes, I expected him to show up,” Drage murmured.
“Asshole,” she muttered as a heavy fist landed on the door.
“Your choice?” Drage asked her. “I’m afraid, dear, you are out of time.”
“Can he rescind his request?” There had to be a way out of this.
“He can.” Drage’s lips twitched. “Though I would be surprised were he to do so. Clint rarely changes his mind.”
“Yeah, that one’s news.” She flinched as the next knock came through, loud enough to bring a frown to Drage’s dark features.
He leaned forward, pressing a button on a small control panel, then stared back at the door expectantly as it swung open slowly.
Morganna did shiver when Clint walked in. The aura of danger that swirled through the room was almost physical. His deep blue eyes were nearly black, his tall body tense, prepared. For a fight.
“Evenin’, Clint,” Drage drawled. “I assumed we had concluded our business earlier.”
“Why is she still in here?” Ice dripped from his voice.
Drage leaned back in his chair as he turned his gaze to Morganna. “I was informing her of your request as well as her possible choices.”
“There are no choices.” Clint stepped into the room, his gaze slicing to Drage. “That was my request.”
“Your request was her immediate barring from the clubs, which I decided required her the opportunity to counteroffer. We were discussing the details.”
“The counteroffer being?”
Morganna held her breath at the calm, incredibly gentle tone of Clint’s voice. The situation was getting ready to become explosive, and she knew it.
“Sponsorship, of course.” Drage lifted his brow archly. “She was just making her decision. Weren’t you, Morganna?”
She narrowed her eyes on Drage. Could she do it? Was what she wanted enough to allow another man to touch her, to hold her?
She looked over at Clint. Hard. Cold. She had waited for ten years for him, and the best he could do was throw her out of an operation she had worked her ass off for. He didn’t want her enough to risk that piece of ice he called a heart. And all this after blowing her mind with an orgasm she still hadn’t recovered from.
She clenched her teeth. She wasn’t a virgin. Other men could arouse her. She’d had other lovers before; she could again.
“I’ll need a trial period. Three nights,” she bargained. “To be certain we’ll suit.”
She could feel her stomach tightening in dread at the thought of another man touching her, even one as handsome and obviously sensual as Drage Masters. She steeled herself against it and thought of the women dying because of that drug. The pictures, the videos, the lives it was destroying.
He inclined his head in agreement. “A cautious lady. I can do that.”
“Then I agree.”
“Like hell.”
Chapter 8
Before Morganna could fight, she was over Clint’s shoulder.
“Damn you, Clint McIntyre,” she screamed out in rage as he stalked from the office.
She kicked against his hold, her fists beating at his back until a hard hand landed on her ass.
“This is getting so old.” She bucked, trying to break his hold again, only to scream in outrage when his hand landed against her behind again.
She braced her hands on his lower back, attempting to get a view of the room. Where the hell was Clete when you needed him?
Clint shifted his shoulders, breaking her position as she bounced in his hold, screaming in outrage.
She slapped his ass back with both hands. He didn’t so much as flinch, but she did. The hand that landed on her own butt burned. Right to her pussy.
Morganna let out a scream of pure frustration and anger as cool air met her back end and the doors swished closed behind them.