“You bet. Just have some fun and remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. The playrooms are all over the house, and if there’s a red sign on a door, it can’t be closed. You can just watch if you want,” Jennie said, moving down the bar as somebody caught her attention.

Good advice. Definitely. Dana took the second shot and let the alcohol warm her body.

“Hello.” A man appeared at her elbow. “We haven’t met.”

She partially turned. The guy was about fifty with shrewd eyes and an iron-hard body. He wore leather pants and a red leather vest that showed muscled arms. “Hello. I’m Dana,” she said.

“Charles.” He held out a hand to shake and kept hers longer than necessary. “You here to explore a little bit?”

Oh, crap. “I’m just here to ease my way in.” She tried for a flirtatious smile, but her lips refused to curve. “In fact, I was looking for my friend Albert Nelson. Any chance you know him?”

Charles slid closer, his pupils dilated. “No. But I could make you forget him.” He took her hand again, and she tried to pull back, but he just smiled. “How about we check out some of the rooms? I could show you around.”

“No, thanks.” She forced a smile in place as panic began to rise.

“Come on—” Charles began.

“She said no.” Charles’s hand was instantly removed from hers, and he was tossed toward the dance floor, barely catching his balance before he collided with two people slow dancing.

Dana gulped, tasting tequila on her lips as she looked up, knowing the voice well. “Wolfe.” Only training kept her from blanching at the raw fury in his bourbon-colored eyes.

He leaned in, his full lips near her ear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She shivered and dug deep for her own anger. Then she pressed her hands to her hips. “What are you doing here?” she snapped back.

His gaze swept from her revealing top, down to her toes, and back up to her blazing face. “Subs don’t use that tone, baby. One who does ends up over a knee. Quickly.”

Oh, he did not. She glared. “I am not a sub,” she whispered.

“You’re dressed like one.” His dark T-shirt tightened across his muscled chest as he leaned closer again. His buzz cut had grown out to curl a bit beneath his ears, giving him a wild look.

“There weren’t many options,” she hissed.

“Wolfe.” A man also dressed in leather, his brown hair slicked back, moved up beside Wolfe. He was about forty with tattoos down one arm. “I see you found a friend. Finally going to play?”