Despite her earlier aversion to the idea, she decided--with a spurt of bravado--maybe it was time to toughen up. He was practically giving her an engraved invitation to explore things with him, and he wouldn't judge, right? It wouldn't get personal. At least as far as he knew. It was always personal to her.
He shrugged. "Depends on the person. I do one-on-ones, like with Troy, but I also do talks about BDSM to interested groups, and orientation for club newcomers. I've even addressed a group of erotic romance authors. They asked a lot of interesting questions."
"I'll bet." At her nervous chuckle, he smiled at her. His expression shifted then, becoming more practical.
"Earlier today, you implied selling at Naughty Bits would be like selling cars or appliances. But you're selling a fantasy, a wish, an emotion realized, a hope or a dream. So that makes a difference in how you sell it." His gaze met hers. "Most importantly, you have to believe in what you're selling."
"You don't think I believe in it?" she asked, stiffening.
His brown eyes kindled with . . . interest, challenge? "I think it's hard to believe in it when you've dealt with men who've made you believe it's a scam, not a fantasy. A fantasy connects to your reality in a way that gives the fantasy wings, but it always returns to your heart, to who you are. Madison."
The man could overcome a woman's senses with nothing but words. The way he said her name, like punctuation at the end, made her want to hear him say it again. Each time he did, she'd be bound to him even further, as if he were a sorcerer.
She'd tried to become a pragmatist, and in business, she'd succeeded. Most of the people who knew her in Boston would agree that was one of her strongest traits. But Alice had never bought it as more than a skin-deep act. You're a romantic, MadGirl. Jesus, it's obvious in every decision you've made. You can't change who you
are by putting on a different coat of paint. It's always the same house beneath.
He tilted his head toward the cage. "Would you like to try it out, see what it feels like?"
"Sorry. I try not to let men I barely know lock me into cages. Especially in windowless rooms. Falls under the whole only if I've lost my freaking mind category."
He grinned at that. It helped dial back her discomfort, yet her gaze lingered on the cage. The hinges and carved embellishments gave a feminine touch to the piece, making it a proper fit for a woman's bedroom, even though it was built to hold a strong, tall man like Troy.
"I made one last year for a tester bed," Logan said, leaning against the St. Andrew's Cross. "Since the bed sits up so high, it was easy to build it to fit beneath. The customer had a live-in sub, but wanted a detachable cell wall that could be added to divide the cage in case she ever had a second, additional sub staying over. She could watch her pets play with each other through the bars, if she ordered them to do so. She called her subs her pets," he added, as if she needed that clarification.
What a Master could require two submissives to do to one another through those bars was whirling around in her head like leaves on a fall day. Encouraging her to jump into the raked piles. "What do you call your subs?" she asked with a note of desperation. "Pets? Slaves?"
"Mine." His attention slid over her face. "Though I have none right now. What would you want to be called, if you belonged to a Master?"
"I wouldn't . . ." She tried to scoff, cleared her throat instead. "I've never given it thought."
"But now you will. Let me know what you come up with."
She gave him a quelling glance, an attempt to convey that she had no interest in being part of such a conversation. "What's the picnic bench?"
He looked puzzled, then he followed her gesture toward it. "It's a modified spanking bench. The sub lies down on her stomach on the platform and her legs are folded beneath her, shins resting on the side pieces. That one over in that opposite corner"--he nodded toward it--"is another version of it. It has two different levels, so the submissive can brace herself at different angles, depending on what the Dom desires."
She moved to touch the wood of the "picnic" bench, as well as the upholstery covering the side pieces. The wood felt like silk. "It's beautiful work," she allowed. "I've been in Boston furniture galleries where designer pieces aren't as well made as this. It must take hours to sand properly."
"It does. But it's a meditative process. You get into a rhythm and your mind goes into good places. You work out problems, come up with new ideas, defuse from a stressful day. I can show you the proper way to sand if you'd like to give it a try sometime."
"Does anyone actually fall for that? To help you get out of sanding?"
He chuckled. "It's the truth, but it does occasionally result in some help. I'm very particular about how it's done, however. Troy's gotten his knuckles rapped more than once."
And of course that converted Logan into a stern schoolteacher in her mind, the next page of the fantasy volume she was building around him. She tried to suppress the resulting ridiculous tingle at the base of her spine. Her praise had obviously pleased him, and that made their discussion feel less one-sided. She wasn't totally a wide-eyed newbie. She was in control here.
"What did you do before the hardware store?" she asked. She stepped away from the piece, winding her way through the different items with a flick of her glance here and there, neutral interest. It put space between the two of them.
Logan let her get away with it, bracing his very fine ass on a sawhorse, crossing his arms. "I went into the Army from high school. I've done woodworking and construction all my life, so after my tour was up, I worked as a building inspector. Then I became a private contractor, building houses on a resort island. That's where I pulled together the money for the hardware store. Once I had the hardware store up and running, I started this as a hobby."
He nodded to one of the pieces. "As to the quality of the furniture, it has to be well made. There's risk involved in BDSM, so a good Dom's top priority is safety. Making sure the equipment's sound is a big part of that."
"Did Alice send you business from her customers?"
"She did." Logan gave her an even look. "But that's not why I'm showing it to you."
"Though it's a nice side benefit," she pointed out. He didn't smile, and she turned away to study the item in the last corner, not able to meet his penetrating gaze. She swallowed as he came up behind her, his fingers wrapping around her elbow again, only this time it wasn't to guide her. Their bodies overlapped, his upper thigh brushing her buttock where he stood behind her and to her left. She didn't pull away.