Finding Dani (Men of Steele - Book Three)

By Zoë Mullins

Smart. Sexy. Successful. Sayid had it all, including a bevy of young subs willing to serve his needs at Club Nirvana. He should be happy, but he can't shake the feeling that something is missing. He didn't expect a single mom starting over would be just what he was looking for to cure his melancholia.

She's quirky, outspoken and artistic. And yet something about Dani appeals to the uptight Doctor.

Starting over and as a single mom, wasn't what Dani had expected, but it's turning out, she thinks, rather well. She loves her adopted town, St. Augustin, her little cottage rental and her new design business. She has friends who are there to support her. It's the perfect place to raise her little girl and start a new life.

Meeting a sexy Dom wasn't high on her list of priorities, but when he walked into her studio, the sparks were instantaneous. It wasn't what either of them were expecting but it may be just what they need.

(Reader Advisory: Grab a glass of wine and put the kids to bed. This story contains an experienced Dom and a single mom who is ready for some ‘me’ time. Graphic sexual language and scenes are expected.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoë Mullins
• Release date: Feb 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9780995800526

Zoë Mullins

A prolific writer, even in elementary school, Zoë was forever jotting down poems and stories whenever she had the chance - usually during math class. After years of working in corporate communications, she decided to refocus on the kind of writing she loves – sexy, hot romances with quirky heroines, hunky heroes and of course, happily-ever-after endings. She and her husband of nearly 20 years live in Atlantic Canada with their fur-babies (two dogs - Moxie and Karma). When not at her desk you can find her at her favorite yoga studio, camping by the lake or renovating their money-pit of a house.

Book preview

Dedication

To those who continue to support me, even when I hibernate in my office

and don’t come out or call for weeks at a time.

I still love you.

Chapter One

Sayid had thought a night at his club, Nirvana, would take his mind off the patient he’d lost today. A few hours at the club usually allowed him a sense of forgetfulness. He could concentrate on the needs of a submissive, someone who didn’t know what he’d been through that day and didn’t ask.

Sitting in the large and decadent lounge, he could survey the small, themed, stage areas and the curtained entrances to the private discipline rooms. Even though he had a private dungeon at home, as an investor in Nirvana, he liked to drop in a couple of times a week, at least for a drink, though more often than not he would find a sub of his own or participate in another’s scene. He took an active role in mentoring new Dominants and helped plan the schedule of BDSM demonstrations each month.

Tonight, he realized after sitting down at the bar, the club was the last thing he needed. The pressures of the last two weeks weighed heavily on him. He would never be able to distance himself enough from his patients not to grieve with them and for them. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the ones who lost after fighting against all odds for a remission or a cure, or those who accepted the inevitable and tried to find solace and joy in the time they had left.

Today’s patient hadn’t had a choice. There was nothing he or anyone could have done. Stage IV uterine cancer would’ve developed in the muscles and connective tissues of the uterus before invading the myometrium and lymph nodes. By the time she’d been referred to him, there wasn’t much left to fight.

He swirled the whiskey around in his glass. It had been a fucking disaster. He was used to women surrounded by family and friends, wailing and cursing, but she’d had no one. There was no one for her to cry to, or curse at. No one but the volunteers he had found to sit with her, give her sips of water, read to her, and hold her hand.

Jane Eyre, she had told him, was her mother’s favorite book. Today, he’d been the one sitting beside her, his hand resting on hers, reading to her as she quietly passed.

Fuck it, he said, downing the last swallow of the harsh amber liquid. This was a bad idea, he thought as he grabbed his duffel bag off the floor. He had to get out of here before he did something he would regret. He was angry at the world, and an angry Dom was a bad Dom. He couldn’t afford to lose his shit with some sub. He’d go for a run or swim instead. Punish his own body—not someone else’s.

Deacon, his friend and another of the club’s investors, stopped him before he could leave.

What are you doing here? he asked. You look like shit. Are you feeling okay?

Deacon could always be counted on not to pull any punches. The thought made him smile. Sayid knew he probably had bags under his eyes. He hadn’t trimmed his beard in the few days he sat vigil next to his patient. He hadn’t even been home in three days. Not that anyone—not even his butler—would think that unusual.

It’s been a shitty week, Sayid said, leaning back against the wall and letting his body sag into the weariness it felt.

Deacon narrowed his eyes. Should you be here?

Sayid chuckled. No, I really shouldn’t. That’s why I am leaving.

Even as he said it, the words took on a new meaning. Leaving. That sounded about right. He wanted to leave. Leave here. Leave the city, maybe.

You want to stay and talk? Have a drink?

Sayid looked up at Deacon, and took a deep breath. He appreciated that Deacon was throwing him a lifeline, and he usually liked nothing better than kicking back and having a scotch with his old friend. They would talk about the club and errant subs, and the new Doms they’d approved for membership. Deacon, a successful attorney who was married to his sub and had a new baby at home, exemplified the best of what the lifestyle could offer. He and his wife had also seamlessly included a third partner into their life, and they considered him their husband, too.

Sayid didn’t think of himself as a jealous man, but he could admit his envy of Deacon. He had found the relationship and the support system that worked for him.

Don’t you have a happy little domestic situation waiting at home? That came out more bitter than he’d intended, Sayid realized. He’d meant to tease, but that wasn’t the impression he’d given.

Deacon stared at him a moment—no doubt sensing the underlying hostility—then smiled. I do, he conceded. But I’m not henpecked. If I think a friend has his head up his ass and needs some help pulling it out, my wife will understand. She’ll probably even wait on dessert for me.

I’m sorry, Sayid sighed.

It wasn’t lost on him that he’d been much quicker to lash out lately. He hadn’t lost more patients than usual, but for some reason it was hitting him harder. Each diagnosis. Each fight. Each death.

Do you know how long I’ve been doing my job? Dealing with the worst-case scenarios? Trying to convince my patients not to give up hope?

A long time, man, Deacon said, letting out a long breath. As long as I’ve known you. So what—a decade? More?

More, he confirmed, and that sounded wrong to him. He had seen better doctors than him burn out in half the time. He routinely encouraged others, those feeling the way he was now, to take time off. Take a break so they were stronger for their patients and their families.

I’m tired.

Stay for a drink. We’ll talk.

He shook his head. Not tonight. I have something I need to do.

You sure you’re okay?

You asking as my lawyer, my business partner, or my friend?

Deacon gave a derisive snort. All three.

I’m going to be okay, he assured him, promising to call in the next day or two to arrange a time to go for drinks or dinner.

He sighed as he leaned his head against the door of his SUV, noting that even a few minutes of conversation with Deacon was proving too much social interaction tonight.

Is this what burnout feels like? he asked himself. Have I finally hit a wall? How did I not see this coming?

Easy, he realized. He had more outlets for his stress than most of his contemporaries. More ways to relieve the strain of what they dealt with each day.

But it had been two years since he’d had a sub living with him. Elaine. Powerhouse realtor by day, naked, subservient sex slave by night. They hadn’t lasted a year before her frustration with his schedule—or lack thereof—wore down her nerves. When Mr. Butler told him that she had packed and left, he had shrugged and asked for a cup of tea and a scone to be brought to his study.

So much for deep feelings, he thought to himself as he slid behind the wheel of the Mercedes. He didn’t think caffeine and carbs were going to fix the ache inside him. He started the engine so he could access the onboard controls. As the engine hummed to life, he asked the car to call Joon-am, his pet name for Sophie.

When she picked up on the other end, he had just one question for her. Is your condo still for rent?

***

It took him four weeks to organize his escape and transfer his patients and residents to his colleagues. The administration wasn’t happy, but he reminded them of the terms of his contract. It also hadn’t hurt when he pointed out who had funded a third of the new oncology center. When people got shirty, he wasn’t above playing the money card. Three million dollars counted for much more than the three-month sabbatical he was taking. He wasn’t sure three months was going to be enough, but he’d decided not to make any hasty decisions. There would be time to plan his future while he was away.

He looked over his desk, deciding what else he needed to take with him. He picked up his daytimer and tossed it into the box. He still preferred a written calendar over an electronic version. A few family photos joined the planner in the messenger bag he had brought with him.

Looks like you’re not coming back, Dr. Jillian Raine said, leaning against the doorway.

He looked over at her and smiled. Her golden blonde hair was tucked behind her ears, making her blue eyes seem larger. Her skin had a healthy glow that said she liked to spend time outdoors, and he knew she was out mountain biking every chance she had. She was smart and dedicated, which were the first two things that had attracted him to her. She was also quite beautiful.

He wished that he could’ve allowed himself more than one taste of her lips when he’d escorted her to a hospital fundraiser last year. She had been delicious, but she was not the type of woman he needed. She didn’t feel like home. He wondered if he would judge every relationship on the one he’d shared with Sophie. If he did, he was doomed.

What am I going to do without you? Jillian asked, feigning a pout.

I’m not retiring. I’m just taking a break.

Dr. Randall in neuro took a break and he never came back.

Randall was hit by a bus while vacationing in Tanzania, he reminded her, laughing. So not the same thing.

That could happen to you. She shoved her hands deeply into her jeans pockets. She habitually wore jeans and polo shirts, heedless of the hospital dress code, which prohibited denim of any kind.

Another reason we wouldn’t have made a good couple, Sayid thought as he straightened his Armani tie.

I don’t think there is bus service in St. Augustin.

I didn’t think your house would be ready so soon. She was referring to the summer home he’d commissioned last fall after investing in a real estate development there.

It’s not. I’m borrowing a friend’s condo. He slung the bag over his shoulder. Sea views. Marina access. You should come down for a few days if you can get away.

The look she gave him said she wouldn’t be caught dead there. What if I need you?

She didn’t mean personally. She was one of his referring physicians. Some of his impossible cases saw her first. He let out a long sigh. She knew Dr. Mann was taking over all new referrals. If you really need a consult, you have my number.

She nodded, resigned, and moved out of the way so he could lock up his office. Then she rested her hand on his arm. Come back, Sayid.

That’s the plan, he assured her, hoping he could live up to that promise.

***

Isn’t it enough that we’re building his goddamn house? Ben stormed into the new studio that he had built for David and flung himself down on the rattan sectional.

David looked up from his latest canvas. I take it you still haven’t made peace with the fact that he’s going to be here all summer?

Did she really think one little blow job was going to soothe my temper?

David wiped off his hands on an old towel. I think it’s been about one a day for the last week.

And how, precisely, is that any different from any other week?

David shrugged. Touché.

He thought the chemistry between them would have dimmed in the seven months they’d been together, but he’d been wrong. They were just as intense now as the first time they’d come together. The affection between the three of them—especially between him and Ben—had grown, however.

Ben slid his hand behind David’s neck, holding him to him, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless.

Go put a shirt on, Ben commanded when he finally let him go. Or I may forget that I’m only here to pick up the plans for the Morganville Community Centre.

They’re on the dining room table. David grabbed his paint-speckled T-shirt and pulled it on. Beach shorts and worn T-shirts had become his new uniform. A big change from the police blues he used to wear, but being a painter was very different than being a cop.

Ben and Sophie had helped him get his new career rolling by helping him find locations across the south shore to showcase his canvases. Places like the bank Sophie still worked at, the bed-and-breakfast that Ben’s sister owned, and the restaurant their best friends Patrick and Samantha owned. Sooner than he’d expected, he’d had requests to provide canvases to a number of gift shops and galleries in the area.

Thanks for picking them up at the printers for me, Ben said, following him back into the house.

I live to serve. He winked at Ben, and was rewarded with a growl.

Don’t I know it, Ben said, slapping David’s ass.

David felt a shiver of pleasure run through him.

You like that? Ben purred, his voice suddenly husky and seductive.

David groaned when he heard that tone. Ben never had to ask if him if he liked it when he manhandled him. David had shown him often and repeatedly how much he enjoyed it. You know the answer, Sir.

Brat. Ben grinned at him and David was struck once again with wonder that he belonged with this man. That they three of them belonged with each other.

I love you, David blurted out, then turned his head in embarrassment.

Ben was at this side in an instant, turning his face toward him, framing his cheeks with his hands. He forced David to meet his gaze.

I love you, too. You know that, right?

David nodded around the tight lump in his throat.

I still can’t believe fate has given you to me, Ben said, and David read the sincerity and earnestness in his eyes.

And Sophie.

And Sophie. But I love you for you. If I didn’t have a meeting downtown in thirty minutes, I’d show you how much. He pressed his hips against David’s, grinding against him.

David thrust his hips forward, eager to feel Ben’s arousal. I wish you didn’t have to go, too. I want you in my mouth.

Ben groaned. Wicked man.

David smiled. I can be. Then he pushed Ben away. Go. Go to your meeting. I have to get back to work, too. You’ve given me an idea for this canvas.

A gleam sparked into Ben’s eyes. Is this going to be another naughty canvas? You know you don’t get to sell any of the naughty ones.

David laughed. No. It’s not a naughty one, he promised as Ben leaned in for a quick kiss good-bye. And don’t forget to stay clear of Alter Creations if you want to avoid Sayid.

He’s still out shopping with Sophie? Ben asked.

Last I heard, she was taking him there after lunch.

Ben shook his head and David heard him curse creatively under his breath as he closed the door. All in all, David thought, Ben was taking Sayid’s presence in town pretty well.

Chapter Two

Sayid sipped his chai tea as Sophie oohed and aahed over another vase. She had stripped her condo of most of its character, taking the art, bric-a-brac, and her favorite pieces of furniture with her when she moved in with David and Ben. That didn’t mean, however, that they had to refurnish it all in one day.

"Joon-am, he began, taking the vase from her hand and placing it back on the display, I love spending the day with you, but do we have to go to every store in the township today? I’m here for the next three months."

She frowned at him, and not just because he continued to call her Joon-am, which meant my heart, an endearment that made Ben curl his fists reflexively when he heard it.

She glanced at her watch. We’ve been at it for…an hour.

Was that all it had been? It felt like a month since they’d eaten lunch. He hated shopping. He had people in Halifax who did this for him. He should call his designer and have him order what he thought he needed.

Besides, she said as she took his hand. Our next destination is just around the corner.

He let her drag him down a side street away from the waterfront. He trailed after her dutifully until they stepped in from of a tiny white chapel.

We’re going to church?

And risk you going up in flames? Please, she teased. It’s not a church anymore, which means it’s not consecrated ground. We should both be safe.

At the top of the stairs, one arched door stood open. The other remained closed, but it had a delicately hand-painted sign. She pointed to it now,