Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

She held her breath as she moved silently past the closed study door. A few more steps and she would be in the front hall.

Her heart high in her throat, she turned the lock on the front door. She placed a hand on the knob and turned. Slowly, carefully, she pulled the door open, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges.

Once outside, she eased it closed behind her with a satisfying click.

Without looking back, she took off at a run.

Chapter 12

“Come on. Come on,” Eric urged the Uber app as he scanned the road. “Rowan needs me.”

He’d almost ignored his buzzing phone. He’d been in the middle of an especially delicate refinishing job on a vintage Heywood-Wakefield highboy dresser for a repeat client who wanted it back yesterday. Whoever it was could wait till he was done.

Unless it was Rowan.

The possibility had made him drop his brush and hurry to the sideboard where he’d left his phone and house keys. Wiping his hands on the back of his jeans, he grabbed the cell and looked at the screen. He hadn’t recognized the phone number at the top of the text. But when he’d seen her name in the message, his heart had lurched with both fear and hope.

Now he bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet as he waited for a driver to take his fare. After what seemed like forever but was probably more like two minutes, his phone pinged, indicating a driver would be there soon. A few minutes later, an older model Toyota Camry double parked in front of the building.

Eric raced to the car and leaped into the back seat. “Thanks. I’m in a hurry, so there’s a good tip and five stars for you if you can get me there ASAP.”

“You got it,” the driver agreed affably.

It being late morning, the traffic was manageable, thank goodness, and they made good time. Trying to relax, Eric read and reread the brief text exchange as they headed out of the city, as if he might glean something new from the words.

The thought of that son of a bitch making her feel unsafe—possibly even harming her—filled him with fury. He wanted to hunt the guy down and beat him to a pulp.

But first, he had to connect with Rowan—to see her and to make sure she was okay.

If I’m not at the diner, please come to the house. 24 Chedworth Road.

He almost looked forward to that scenario—to breaking down the door and confronting the bastard. What a pleasure it would be to wipe that smug, self-satisfied expression from his face with a well-placed fist.

But no, that was just his own macho bullshit talking. Violence wasn’t the answer. It was far better that she got away, as quickly as possible.

He would respect her wish for no police—for now. But if Garfield became more of a problem than he already was, Eric wouldn’t hesitate to bring the power and influence of the entire Masters Club community to bear.

His motives weren’t entirely altruistic. He hadn’t been able to get Rowan out of his mind. Now that he was no longer bound by the restraints of his professional obligations, he could admit the truth to himself. His friend, Michael, had called it from that first day. Since the moment he’d met Rowan, he’d thought of little else.

In the years Eric had been actively involved in the scene, he’d met dozens of submissives. He’d had a few satisfying relationships, but that deep, soulmate connection had remained elusive. He’d always clung to the belief there was more out there for him—a woman he could claim not only as his submissive, but as his true love.

He had always gravitated toward the sassy subs who knew their own minds and hearts. At first blush, Rowan had seemed to be the opposite—a timid, anxious girl, desperately eager to please.

Yet, in just the two days they’d worked together, it had become abundantly clear there was far more to this young woman than met the eye. As he scratched just a little below the surface, Eric had quickly realized she’d been sucked in by the wealthy, GQ-handsome swagger of that bully in Dom’s clothing. It had become increasingly clear her stated goals for the relationship were in fact all Garfield’s.

Once she’d been able to relax, her true nature had come more to the fore. Far from being somebody’s doormat, she was an independent woman who’d made it on her own in the big, bad city. She was passionate about her work and had already sold a few pieces, which was quite impressive for someone so young.

On the BDSM front, she was sensitive and receptive, able to fly with only a flogging. Her sexual responsiveness had been a sight to behold. Memories of her pleasuring herself made Eric’s cock harden each time he thought of it.