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“Cool. I like that way of looking at it.”
“Yeah. I’m not talking about a casual scene at some club with a random dude with a whip. That might be sexy and fun and push the right buttons. But in the end, it’s only a game. For there to be any kind of meaningful, intimate connection, there has to be trust.”
“Trust,” Rowan had echoed, thinking about John. In the end, John had abused her trust. He’d perverted the D/s dynamic between them with his relentless pursuit of total control. And she had lacked the courage and self-awareness to set boundaries that might have changed the doomed trajectory of their relationship. Neither of them, she realized now, had ever been emotionally intimate with the other, because they’d never established that foundation of trust.
How different it felt with Eric, despite their being so new. She had gotten far closer to him in a week than she had in three months with John.
Now, just the thought of seeing him again made her anxious. Those terrifying hours spent alone in the dark, bound and gagged while he slept obliviously on in the next room were still the stuff of her nightmares. If she never again saw the house that had become her prison, or the man who had built the bars, it would have been fine with her.
She was almost willing to give up any claim to her portfolio, if it meant never having to face John again. But that would be letting him win, or, more accurately, allowing herself to lose.
Apparently sensing her nerves, Eric reached over and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. She flashed a grateful smile. She was probably worrying for nothing. John no longer had power over her, because she would no longer give it to him.
Could it really be as simple as that?
When Eric eventually pulled up in front of the house, Rowan reached for the collar that was no longer around her neck, a fresh jolt of nerves nearly lifting her off the seat.
You got this, she reminded herself. You’re just picking up your stuff from an ex. No big deal.
Eric cut the engine and turned to her. “Want me to go in with you?”
Her first impulse was to shout, “Yes!” But her rational mind prevailed. She needed to handle this on her own. Not to mention, she was well aware there was no love lost between the two men, and she didn’t want any male posturing adding to what already promised to be a stressful situation.
She forced a smile as she shook her head. “No, thanks. It’s better if I go alone.” At his worried expression, she added, “If I’m not out of there in thirty minutes, then please, yes, do come in and get me.”
“Okay,” he agreed, though she could tell he had wanted a different response. “I recommend you just grab your stuff and get out of there, the sooner the better. And please keep your phone handy. Text me if you feel uncomfortable in any way.”
She headed up the stone pathway to the front door. The last time she’d been there, she’d been literally running for her life. John’s terrifying words were still burned into her memory.
“I’m going to break you down and build you back again, bit by bit, into the slave girl I want you to be.”
If she hadn’t escaped when she had, would he have succeeded?
Her pulse kicked up its pace as she lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall three times in succession.
As if John had been waiting on the other side, the door was pulled open almost immediately. He was as drop-dead gorgeous as she remembered. And, as always, he was beautifully dressed in a midnight blue knit top tailored perfectly to his form, his pale-yellow linen pants breaking perfectly just above fancy Italian loafers. Some small part of her reacted to his sheer beauty, and she felt a residual tug of desire for the man who had recently and so completely controlled her world.
John looked past her toward the van waiting at the curb. He narrowed his eyes, perhaps recognizing Eric in the driver’s seat. Rowan held her breath, praying he didn’t make a scene. Thankfully, he said nothing about it.
Instead, he took a step back, smiling a perfect, movie-star smile that didn’t quite reach his bedroom eyes. “Come in, Rowan. It’s great to see you again.”
As she stepped inside, he closed the front door. As it clicked shut, her mouth suddenly went dry. Was she an idiot to have walked back into the lion’s den alone? Should she have taken up Eric’s offer?
To her relief, however, John only said, “The canvases are packed and ready. Your clothing’s in a duffel in there, too.”
When she’d texted she was coming to get her things, she had half expected to find her clothing and canvases tossed out haphazardly on the front lawn. Instead, he was behaving with a grace she hadn’t expected.
