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What if she didn’t have what it took? What if she made a total fool of herself?
Her sudden anxiety must have shown on her face, because Hayden covered her hand with his, his voice again gentle. “I don’t want you to worry, Dahlia. I have no intention of setting you up to fail. I understand how new you are to all this. I get it that you don’t yet know if you’re a sensual masochist, or how you’ll respond to bondage and discipline. It’s all uncharted territory at this point. That’s what makes it so exciting. We’ll figure it out together, you and me, and see where it takes us.”
The tight knot in her gut unwound a little at his reassuring words. They reminded her she could trust this man, who had never given her reason to doubt him.
She’d put her romantic life on hold in pursuit of her career long enough. Call it pure serendipity or call it fate, Hayden had appeared at just this moment in her life for a reason. She was being offered the chance of a lifetime, and no way was she going to walk away.
“Okay, Master Hayden. Count me in.”
A little after eight that evening, the uniformed doorman at Hayden’s building swung open the glass door and greeted Dahlia with a friendly smile. Once inside the elegantly-appointed lobby, she gave the man her name and whom she was visiting. He looked down at his iPad and tapped a few keys. “Ah, yes, Dr. Simon. Dr. Pierce is expecting you. Twenty-second floor, apartment A.”
“Thanks,” Dahlia replied. As she made her way to the elevator, the butterflies went wild in her belly. When the elevator door slid open, Dahlia stepped inside the car. The walls were covered in burled maple, the lighting pleasantly muted, soft music playing from hidden speakers.
When the doors re-opened, she stepped into a thickly-carpeted hallway. It appeared there were only four doors on the entire floor. Apartment A had double doors of the same burled maple as the elevator.
Suddenly over-warm, Dahlia unwound the scarf from around her neck and shoved it into her coat pocket. Unzipping the coat, she tugged down the pale green cashmere sweater she wore over her jeans. She raked her fingers through her hair, which she’d left down after her shower. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the buzzer beside the door and took a step back, heart beating high in her throat.
Various scenarios from BDSM romance novels she’d read crowded her mind. Was he going to open the door dressed from head to toe in black leather, a whip and a pair of handcuffs in his hands? Would he yank her inside and force her to her knees? Or order her to strip naked before she was even permitted entry into the apartment? What if there were other Doms there from his club, lined up and ready to have their way with her?
Stay cool, she ordered herself. This is still Hayden, your colleague and friend.
After a moment or two, the door swung silently inward. Hayden stood there, dressed in an untucked black linen button-down over faded jeans, his feet bare. His sun-kissed hair, which wasn’t quite blond or quite brown, but a lovely combination of the two, was still damp from a recent shower.
He flashed a smile. “There she is,” he said warmly. Taking a step back, he held out his arms. “Please, come in, Dahlia.”
Nearly sagging with relief, Dahlia stepped into those warm, welcoming arms. He smelled like apples and freshly-ironed linen—crisp and fresh. She relaxed into his embrace, her heart finally slowing its frantic pace.
After a moment, he let her go. Reaching behind her, he closed the door and then stepped back. “Let me take your coat,” he said, as if she were any friend stopping by for a visit.
“Holy cow,” she breathed, taking in the space, huge by New York City standards. It was an open floor plan, with a large, well-equipped kitchen opening into a dining area and a spacious living room. Her entire apartment would only fill half the space, if that.
It was beautifully decorated, with deep leather chairs and sofas, and brightly-colored throw rugs on the polished oak floors. Two of the walls were made entirely of glass, offering a spectacular view of the city at night.
“Holy cow?” Hayden teased. “Seriously? Did you grow up in a Norman Rockwell painting?”
“Shut up,” she retorted, laughing as much with relief as anything. No whips or chains in sight.
At least not yet.
Hayden chuckled. “Let me take your coat.”
She slipped off her coat, which he hung in a closet by the front door. He led her to the large kitchen island, gesturing for her to take a seat on one of the barstools in front of it. “I need to warm you up. I make a mean rum toddy. Or would you rather have tea?”
