Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
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.
“There’s Lawrence over there,” Marjorie said, thankfully breaking the spell. “I’ll introduce you to him next.”
Hannah could almost feel Mason’s gaze following her as they walked away. It took an act of will not to look back to check.
Thrusting him from her mind, Hannah followed Marjorie toward a nondescript guy in his late thirties or early forties. He had a slender build, thinning sandy-blond hair and narrow shoulders. This unprepossessing guy was The Enclave’s disciplinarian?
Head down, he sat in a large wingback chair, his legs resting on something, or was it someone?
As they got closer, Hannah saw it was indeed someone. A naked young woman with long, pin-straight shiny blond hair was on all fours, apparently serving as his footrest.
The Dom was on his cell phone, thumbs flying. He didn’t look up as they approached. “Lawrence,” Marjorie said. “I want to introduce Charlotte’s guest for tonight’s festivities. This is Hannah.”
Finally, the man looked up from his phone, fixing Hannah with pale blue eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice warmer than she’d expected.
“You, as well,” she managed, unable to stop staring at the crouching woman at his feet.
Following her gaze, Lawrence lifted his legs from his human ottoman and leaned over the naked girl. He wrapped his hand in her hair, using it to pull her head up.
The girl, probably mid-twenties, was absolutely gorgeous, with high cheekbones, dark blue eyes, a small, upturned nose and full lips. Hannah’s immediate thought was what the hell was she doing with this guy?
“This is slave Danielle, my proudest possession.” As he said the words, his face was transformed with happiness, his eyes lighting up as a tender smile lifted his lips.
Danielle also smiled, fixing her gaze on Lawrence with such open adoration it took Hannah’s breath away. Silently, she chided herself for judging a book by its cover. Love could find its way into the most unlikely places, and flourish there.
“Danielle,” Marjorie said, smiling down at the girl. “You might be interested to know Hannah writes under the pen name Angelique Rose.” To Hannah, she added, “Danielle’s read all your books.”
The girl’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open as she stared up at Hannah. She looked back to Lawrence. “Permission to speak, Sir?”
“Of course, darling,” he replied, stroking her cheek.
Still holding her position on hands and knees, she gushed, “I love your work, Ms. Rose. I’d heard you were local. I’ve always wanted to meet you.”