The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

has a different hairstyle every time I see her. Tonight, she’s pulled the hair around her face up into a high ponytail. The rest falls in caramel ringlets to her shoulders. It’s pretty, but it’s a little too styled for me. I prefer Emily’s long, loose curls that I can run my hands through.

I also prefer Emily’s school-girl uniform to the black leather basque set that Rachel’s filling out. The uniform reminds me of school in Morecambe, where I fit in, had good friends and played rugby and cricket. Those aren’t sexy memories, but they’re rich and warm.

They’re much better memories than the memories of my last few weeks with Rachel. That’s when she started wearing the basque set of a house sub. That’s also when she made me and Sante compete for her. I push those memories aside. We’ve both moved on. All the heat, hurt, anger and remorse that was between us can stay in its grave.

Rachel waits until we reach the landing, where I pause to let Emily catch her breath. Rachel steps forward, kneels and prostrates herself at my feet, the way I taught her to do whenever her Master entered a room.

“Master,” she says into the carpet. “Welcome home.”

I’m not amused. I snap my fingers at her. “Get up, Rachel.”

“Yes, Master.” She rises and takes a step back. There’s a little bloom on her high cheeks, but that could just be blusher, since she’s made up like she’s about to hit a catwalk. Sante’s generous. I never let her wear anything but mascara, so I could see the black streaks running down her cheeks when I made her cry.

“Rachel, this is Emily. Emily, Rachel.”

Rachel’s deep brown eyes flick to Emily and then back to me. She doesn’t greet Emily or acknowledge her, a little discourtesy that’s getting reported to her Master.

“We’ll be using the Library play space for about an hour,” I tell her.

After she became exclusive with Sante, Rachel moved from house submissive to hostess for the playrooms. It’s a good fit for her skills. Rachel’s very organized; in her life outside the club, she’s a wedding planner. But it’s a move that left a lot of my brothers, and guests like Rick, very disgruntled at the loss of Rachel as a play-mate.

“Yes, Master,” she says. She doesn’t consult a clipboard, or the flatscreen that’s mounted on the landing wall, showing the various rooms in use. Rachel can keep hundreds of details in her head, even during the harshest of scenes.

“Good. Mark me down for an hour.”

She nods and bows. “Master, may I be of service during your scene?”

I give her a stern look. “Yes, Rachel. You can be of service by staying on station and serving the other Masters and Mistresses and our guests.”

“Yes, Master.” She bows her head, but not before I see her chin quiver. Maude was right about her being upset. Maybe it’s my fault. I stepped back from the club. I didn’t bring any of my dates here. She might have taken that as me pining for her. But if that’s what she thought, she got it wrong, and it’s time she got over it.

I don’t praise her, because that’s not my job anymore. But I throw her a bone. “What scene would you recommend we watch?”

“There’s a hunt going on in the long gallery. Master Ryan is leading it,” Rachel says, without lifting her head.

The long gallery is on the way to the library, and it’ll be good to see Ryan. I don’t think I’ve seen him since he led the hunt at Quinquatria.

“Good choice, thank you, Rachel.” I rub Emily’s back. She’s been still and quiet beside me while I’ve spoken to Rachel, and I’m sure she’s taking in all the subtext of the conversation, but it hasn’t made her stiff or tense. She’s breathing evenly. I check my watch. Three minutes and thirteen seconds. “Ready, Emily? Gallery’s to the left.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily says, turning under my hand.

I hear Rachel take a harsh breath. Humoring her is not my job anymore, either, and if she makes a fuss, I’m going to turn her over to Maude for discipline. She can cry it all out to Maude, before the battle-axe makes her lie on a bed of nails, or whatever it is Maude does to discipline bottoms.

“Master, may I speak to you after your scene?” Rachel calls after me.

I see I’m not getting out of this. Sante’s going to hear about it, though. “Emily, walk to the end of the hallway and wait for me. I’ll only be a minute.”

She looks up at me. Her eyes are clear and untroubled. “Yes, sir.”

The trust in her eyes brings me back to where I should be. “Baby doll, how are you doing? I know the stairs were a struggle.” I stroke her bottom through her skirt very gently, not putting any pressure on the plug or reawakening the stripes from my belt.

“I’m okay.”

“Good girl.” I kiss her on the forehead and nod at the end of the hall. “I’ll be right there.”

She smiles at me before she moves away down the hall. I return to Rachel, who has lifted her head. There are tears standing in her eyes. She blinks rapidly so they don’t spill.

“What do you want, Rachel?” I put enough warning in my tone that I expect her to back down.

She doesn’t, although a tear spills. “I haven’t seen you in months, Master.”

“It’s Master Logan, Rachel. You know that. And I travel a lot for work. You know that, too.” There’s no reason for me to justify myself to her, so I stop. “You have my number. You know how to contact me if you need something.”

“Padrone confiscated my phone,” she says.

“As a punishment?” I ask. She nods. “Has he forbidden you to speak with me?”

If so, I’m not sure who I’m turning over to Maude first: Rachel for disobeying her Master, or Sante for being a bastard.

“No, Master Logan.” She glances down the hallway to where Emily