Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

Just as he was twisting open the cap, he heard a low, husky feminine voice that made him catch his breath. Every cell in his body suddenly on high alert, he swiveled slowly on his stool toward the entrance of the club.

She was dressed in a man’s button-down shirt over jeans, a tote bag over her arm. Her long rippling hair was blue-black in the muted light, her lovely face lifted toward Josh as she handed him her cover charge.

Josh gestured toward the lockers and Rowan moved to place her things there. Her back to Eric, she stepped out of her shoes and removed her jeans, revealing her shapely legs. Rooting in her tote, she pulled out a pair of sexy high heels and slipped them onto her feet. Finally, she unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it from her shoulders.

Eric forgot how to breathe as she turned around. She was wearing a pale blue corset that contrasted beautifully with her bronzed skin and dark hair, a pair of white lacy panties beneath. The corset was cinched tightly at the waist and hugged the lower halves of her rounded breasts, pushing them together to create a deep cleavage. The satin stopped just above her nipples, and Eric’s fingers actually itched with the impulse to cup and lift those perfect globes from their confines.

He started to rise from the stool, his soda forgotten. He was the one who’d told her about the club. Why hadn’t she let him know she was going, or better yet, asked him to go with her?

The fact that she hadn’t gave him pause.

Was someone meeting her?

Not that asshole, Garfield, surely?

No way.

A girlfriend? Another guy? He was immediately jealous of this imaginary person, even though he knew he was being ridiculous. He glared at the door, waiting, but no one new entered.

It was a positive sign that she was there, the trainer in him reminded himself. She hadn’t let that bastard steal her passion. But was it too soon? Was she too fragile to leap back into the fray?

It’s not your decision. She doesn’t belong to you.

He decided to observe her for a while and see what happened. If anyone gave her a hassle, he’d be on them in a New York minute.

He wasn’t the only one watching as she made her way into the room. Every guy in there had noticed her. Surely, he had as much right as the next Dom to invite her to scene?

If she’d wanted you here, she would have texted.

He sat back down.

~*~

Excitement and trepidation warred inside Rowan as she stepped farther into the club, taking it all in. This place was way cooler than any club she’d ever been in, save the Masters Club. With Sheri’s permission, she’d borrowed a pair of her high heels—higher than Rowan was used to, but reasonably comfortable. Though she rarely wore makeup, that night she’d applied eyeliner, mascara and lipstick. She felt glamorous and sexy in her new corset.

At the same time, a hard ball of anxiety knotted in her stomach. She hadn’t been out solo since before John. Though it was unlikely he would be there, she couldn’t help but scan the space for any sign of him. Her heart leaped into her throat when she took in the tall, dark-haired man standing with his back to her. He was leaning over a woman strapped into a punishment chair.

Rowan very nearly turned to bolt from the club, terrified at the thought of encountering him face-to-face. Then her rational mind clicked back on, informing her it was highly unlikely the man was John. And even on the off chance that it was, he no longer had any hold over her.

Then the guy turned his head, revealing a craggy face with a thick mustache and bushy eyebrows to match. She relaxed, huffing out a breath of relief. Everything was fine. She was in a small, exclusive club with serious players. Eric had been right. It was the perfect venue to venture back into the scene.

“Hey there, beautiful lady. I haven’t seen you here before. Is it your first time?” The accent was British, the man’s voice a pleasing baritone. Rowan turned to see a guy in his forties, heavyset with salt and pepper hair and kind eyes. He wore a black leather vest, no shirt beneath, along with matching leather pants.

“Oh, um, yes. I mean, no. It’s not my first time in a BDSM club. But this is the first time I’ve been in Salome’s.”

“This little gem is a well-kept secret,” he said, waving his arm around the space. “Are you a top or a bottom?”

Rowan had never cared for those terms, and answered instead, “I’m a sub. How about you?”

Shit. Had she just given the guy an inch, and now he’d take a mile? It was always dangerous to give a guy attention in a club, unless you had already decided you were interested.