He’d followed the rules for the night, too. Male doms were to wear leather pants and dark shirts, females any leather outfit, and subs were to wear corsets and small skirts if they were female and knit shirts and light pants if they were male. Apparently, Wolfe was a dom. Figured. She had assumed she’d chuckle at seeing guys in leather pants, but there was nothing funny about Wolfe’s long legs, powerful thighs and tight butt in those pants.

In fact, he looked even more dangerous than usual, and she would’ve bet that wasn’t possible.

Where in the heck had Wolfe found leather pants? Was he really some sort of dom who went to clubs? He didn’t like people enough to spend time with anybody in a dungeon. She giggled, the sound slightly hysterical, so she cleared her throat.

What now? She looked down at her tight green corset and a black skirt that was as short as she dared go. At least it covered the still healing knife marks on her upper thighs that she hadn’t told anybody about. Not even her doctor. The guy who’d cut her had been killed in jail, so why did it matter?

Forget the nightmares. They’ll go away soon.

Her more immediate problem was that Wolfe had just walked through the front door of the mansion housing the latest Captive party. The man she needed to find was inside that place, and she’d spent a lot of time gearing up for this.

Would Wolfe blow her cover?

She’d been sitting in her car for an hour watching people arrive. Okay. She might’ve been gathering her courage. This was so outside her experience. She hadn’t even known sex clubs existed until that movie came out about BDSM.

But her boss at the national newspaper where she used to work, had once said she’d do anything for a story, and he’d been right. Well, mostly. Okay. She could do this. In fact, why not look at the fact that Wolfe was inside as a positive? His presence gave her unexpected backup.

Yeah. That was the idea. Forget the fact that the sexiest man she’d ever met was in a sex club right now. Yep. Good plan. She slid from her car and pulled her skirt down as far as she could, which still barely covered her butt.

Her heels tottered on the uneven sidewalk as she clip-clopped alongside a high stone wall that no doubt protected another zillion-dollar mansion. Then she crossed the street, her head high, shivering in the chilly breeze as she reached the front door and knocked.

“Hello.” A man in full tuxedo opened the door. He was about six feet tall with curly blond hair, and he was built like a linebacker. “Can I help you?”