At the mention of food, Rowan’s stomach rumbled, her mouth suddenly watering. “Sounds great.”
She started to move toward the table but then stopped in her tracks, her hand going to the slave collar around her neck. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear the thought of wearing it for another second.
“Um, do you mind if we do something first? This collar opens in the back with a special key that I don’t have. Do you think you could help me get the clasp open?”
Eric moved closer, stepping behind her. She lifted her hair to show him. “Hmm,” he said, fingering the clasp. “I don’t have the tools here in the apartment I would need to break this clasp.” He paused, furrowing a brow. “Wait. I do have a pair of leather shears in my toolbox. We could cut the collar off, if you don’t mind destroying it.”
“I don’t mind a bit,” Rowan said staunchly.
Eric went to a coat closet by the front door and rummaged a moment. He returned with a pair of small, heavy shears. As she held up her hair, he slid one of the blades carefully under the collar, the metal cold against her skin.
It took several moments, but finally the leather parted and the collar fell away.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. The twisted strip of leather lying at her feet firmed her resolve. There was no going back now. Whatever she and John Garfield had once shared could never again be reclaimed.
Eric bent and retrieved the discarded collar. “No problem.”
Rowan pulled her purse from her shoulder. “Is there somewhere I can charge my phone?”
“Sure. There’s a wall outlet there by the sideboard with a phone charger already in it. You can charge up while we eat.”
“Thanks.”
She watched Eric as he walked past the table into the small space that must be the kitchenette. Though he wasn’t anywhere near as handsome or put together as John Garfield, the guy looked pretty damn good in his denim work shirt and well-worn jeans.
No, she told herself firmly. You are not leaping out of the frying pan into another fire. Eric’s a nice guy who’s giving you a safe place for the night. Nothing more.
She hung her purse over one of the dining room chairs. Phone in hand, she went over to the sideboard. Locating the outlet, she plugged in the cell and looked at the screen. She blew out a sigh of relief when it appeared to be booting up. She would give it a little time to charge before trying to retrieve Sheri’s contact information. Hopefully, Sheri would forgive her for being out of touch for so long.
Setting down the phone on the sideboard, she returned to the dining table and took a seat. Eric came out a moment later with a plate of crackers and cheese along with a huge bunch of large green grapes, along with a small knife and two napkins.
“Be right back with the drinks. I have seltzer and beer. Which would you like?”
“Seltzer is good, thanks,” Rowan said.
“Coming right up.”
For some reason, the simple fare tasted like a feast to Rowan. The soft cheese was buttery and delicious, the crisp rosemary crackers a perfect contrast. The grapes were firm and plump, with just the right balance of sweet and tart. She especially enjoyed sitting on a chair to eat and serving herself.
She was grateful that Eric didn’t try to engage her in more conversation about what she was going to do next. Instead, they talked companionably about their shared love of estate sales, antique and junk stores, and their hunts for buried and overlooked treasure.
When they’d eaten their fill, Eric cleared the table while Rowan returned to the sideboard to retrieve her phone. There was enough charge now that the screen appeared, indicating four text messages and one missed call, all sent over the past hour. She clicked on the messages first, her heart racing. As she’d feared, they were all from Master John.
Where the hell are you, slave? How dare you leave the house without permission?
Call me as soon as you get this message. You have been very disobedient. You will be punished.
Damn it, Rowan. What the fuck! We have a contract. Have you forgotten you belong to me?
Okay, okay. I just realized your phone is probably dead. If you get this message, call me at once. I need to know you are safe. I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I don’t like it. Come home, slave. Your Master is waiting.
The phone call was also from John, and he’d left a voice mail. Her heart in her throat, Rowan clicked on the voice mail and held the phone to her ear. The sound of Master John’s deep commanding voice nearly made her sink to her knees.
With an annoyed shake of her head, she remained standing. Like the trainer had said, a Master only had as much power over her as she granted him. And right now, she granted him none.