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“Jim and Charlotte,” Brandon said, “Let’s head over to the hearth there so we can go over a few details before the ceremony.” He turned to Hannah. “If you’ll excuse us, Marjorie will take you around to meet our Enclave family.”
“Of course,” Hannah said.
As the others moved away, she asked Marjorie, “Are those two young people kneeling at the hearth slave trainees? Charlotte told me The Enclave has a training facility.”
Marjorie glanced toward them with a nod. “That’s right. We presently have three slaves we are training. Those two are Michael and Ellen.”
Hannah looked again at the pair. How, she wondered, did one get recruited into the training program? Were they already “owned” by someone? Had they left their jobs to be here? She had so many questions, but now obviously wasn’t the time to ask them.
Instead, she asked, “Where is the third slave?”
“Lia is presently being punished. She’s down in her room in the slave quarters, chained to her bed.”
“Oh,” Hannah breathed, intrigued by this information, delivered so casually. “What did she, uh, do?”
“Sorry to say, I’m vague on the particulars. Lawrence, our primary disciplinarian, could give you more details if you’re interested. I’ll introduce you to him and you can ask him directly.”
Marjorie took Hannah around the room, making introductions. They stopped first at the sofa where Hans knelt on a floor cushion between two men.
The first man had chiseled features, a square jaw and wavy light brown hair. Christ, the guy was drool-worthy. The second guy had his own appeal, if you liked the burly shaved head heavily tattooed type, whichHannah did not. No, she’d much rather focus her attention on Mr. Gorgeous. Or should that be Master Gorgeous?
“Gentlemen,” Marjorie said as they stopped in front of the trio. “I’d like you to meet Charlotte’s guest, Hannah. Hannah writes under the pen name Angelique Rose, one of my favorite BDSM romance authors.”
“How delightful,” Master Gorgeous said in a to-die-for British accent. The big guy grunted noncommittally. The odds were good neither had any idea who Angelique Rose was. Not that Hannah was especially surprised, as her readership was primarily female.
Marjorie turned to Hannah. “I believe you’ve already met Hans?”
“Yes,” Hannah, smiling at the kneeling man. “Hi, again.”
He nodded in silent greeting.
Marjorie gestured toward the Brit. “This is Julian, one of the founders of our community.”
Even his name was sexy. What would it be like to scene with this beautiful man? Would she find out tonight? Just the thought left her weak in the knees.
“A pleasure to meet you, Hannah,” he said graciously. He brought her hand to his lips. Heat rose in Hannah’s face and between her legs as he lingered over her hand, his lips soft against her skin.
Letting her go, he leaned over and kissed the top of Hans’ head. “I trust my darling slave boy treated you well when you arrived?”
Damn. Why were the gorgeous ones always gay?
Hoping no one had noticed her visceral reaction to Julian’s touch, Hannah managed a smile. “He was perfect.”
“And this is Mason,” Marjorie continued, turning her attention to the other man. ”He’s not only The Enclave’s chef, but a master chef of considerable renown.”
That got Hannah’s attention. She looked at the burly guy with more interest, curious where he’d worked and where he’d trained. Obviously,now wasn’t the time for that particular conversation, but she made a mental note in case the opportunity arose.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, again extending her hand.
Mason took her hand in his. His grip was firm, his skin rough. She felt the thick calluses on his fingers as they shook—chef’s hands.
He had clear gray-green eyes beneath thick, straight brows. His nose was prominent and slightly crooked, as if it had been broken at some point. His lower lip was full, almost pouty. In contrast, the upper was asymmetrical, one corner curving slightly upward. His neck was that of a linebacker’s above square shoulders, his tattooed arms corded with muscle.
Dressed in a black T-shirt, faded jeans and heavy black boots, he came across more like a biker dude than some hotshot chef. With the shaved head and tattoos, he looked downright dangerous. If she’d met this guy in a dark alley, she would have run screaming in the other direction.
Still holding her hand in his much bigger one, he let his eyes travel insolently over her, as if his gaze alone could strip her bare. When their eyes met again, heat splashed over Hannah’s cheeks and throat. Flustered, she took a step back, pulling her hand from his.
He let her go but continued to regard her with a knowing look. In spite of herself, Hannah was involuntarily drawn into his dominant orbit.
