by Desiree Holt
“I’m going to take care of you before we get into bed.” His words were as soft as his caresses. “I’m going to draw a bath with those scented healing salts you love so much, and turn on the aroma diffuser with a little eucalyptus oil. I have some salve to use on your rectum that will ease the burn. And I’m going to pour a glass of wine for you to sip slowly.”
He moved over her, his mouth barely a breath away.
“I will never, no matter how intense the punishment session, leave you in pain and discomfort. But Fallon?”
“Y-yes?”
“Do not bring Brian Willoughby into our bedroom again. Into our house. I want him out of your head, no matter what we have to do to accomplish that. Do you understand?”
“He’ll go after you when he can’t get to me.” She felt sick at the thought. “I am so sorry about this.”
“You leave him to me.” His eyes darkened. “I can handle him with no problem. I don’t care how much power he’s so sure he has. I’m not the pushover he might think.”
She wet her lips and tried again to warn him. “But—”
He touched a finger to her mouth. “No buts. No arguments. Understand?”
She nodded, but that feeling of impending disaster still bubbled inside her.
“Good. If he calls you, don’t answer. If he ‘accidentally’ runs into you, get away as fast as you can.” He brushed damp hair from her sweat-misted forehead. “I don’t want to be in the position of pushing you to make a choice, girl. But he is poison to you. We have to wash any trace of him out of your system.”
If only.
Chapter 7
The first thing Cord had done when he’d made the decision to relocate and buy Comanche Pass Ranch was connect with a good accountant and an even better attorney. The team he’d worked with for so many years in Dallas had provided him not only with excellent professional support, but also unequaled insight into the workings of Dallas society and its business world, and the backgrounds on the players. He knew that if he meant to make a go of the ranch, he’d have to do the same thing here.
He could have asked Leland Grange to recommend someone but he didn’t want to get tangled up with a person who might have divided loyalties. He had a nice chunk of change in Leland’s bank, and the institution had financed part of the purchase. Of course, he could always pull it all and go somewhere else, but that would mean going through the financing process all over again. And Grange would surely be pissed off. Make the process difficult for him. Right now, Cord needed a friendly business community to make Comanche Pass work.
Instead he’d asked Rand Morgan, his Dallas attorney and a partner in a high-powered firm, to recommend someone. That brought him to Joaquin “Jack” Torres, descendant of Castilian settlers and heir to a family fortune. According to Rand, there was virtually no opportunity for anyone to buy Jack’s loyalty. Clients had to earn it the old-fashioned way. Jack was smart, sharp and connected.
And he and Cord had hit it off immediately.
It certainly helped that the man was also involved in the BDSM lifestyle. In fact, when Cord first moved to the area, Jack had invited him to a private club as his guest. Too involved in finding a ranch to buy and getting his project going to accept the invitation, by the time Cord was ready to check it out, he’d met Fallon, and that was that.
Now Jack looked at him from across a table in Club 1836, a very private, elegant club founded by descendants of people who’d lived there when Texas won its independence that same year. The membership was exclusive. When Cord had called to ask for a few minutes of his time, the attorney had suggested lunch at the club.
“Your party was a huge success,” Jack said now, giving him a smile.
“Yes, it was,” Cord agreed. “With no small thanks to Fallon.”
“She’s a winner,” Jack agreed. “Surprising to find someone with those kinds of skills in such a rural area.” He grinned. “Not to make you feel like y’all walk around with horseshit on your shoes.”
Cord laughed. “Actually, most days I do. But she really pulled it off. We’ve already got bookings at the event center for the next six months, not to mention special trail rides and picnics. I might have to hire on a couple more hands.”
“Rand said you were sharp and he was definitely right. I think if you get that new bull you plan to bid on, you’ll bump the working part of the ranch up another notch too.”
“That’s the plan.”
Discussion halted while the waiter brought their drinks and took food orders. Cord was looking for a way to broach the subject on his mind when movement at the front of the dining room caught his eye. Brian Willoughby had just come in with two men dressed just as expensively. Cord knew men’s clothing. When he’d begun to make good money, he realized the old saying “clothes make the man” held a lot of truth. The image he’d projected in Dallas was the one people who invested money wanted to see.
His jaw clenched and his fingers tightened around his glass of bourbon.
Jack narrowed his eyes at him. “See something you don’t like?” He turned slightly, just enough to see where Cord’s gaze was focused. When he turned back, he had a look on his face as if he’d just swallowed something distasteful.
“Why do I get the feeling Willoughby’s the reason you wanted to see me today? I know he was at the party.”
Cord took his time answering, taking a sip of his drink, setting the glass down carefully. “Yes, he was. As a matter of fact, he twisted Lee Grange’s arm to get an invitation.”
“Interesting.” Jack took a swallow of his own drink. “I wouldn’t have thought it was his cup of tea.”
“Too provincial?”
“You won’t get upset if I say yes, will you?”
Cord’s laugh eased a bit of his tension. “Hardly. I know exactly what I’ve got and I’m more than comfortable with it. But I have a feeling he and I are going to cross paths, and I want to be armed with as much information as I can get.”
“You may need to be armed with more than information,” the attorney said. He paused as their food arrived and the waiter set their plates on the table. “So I’m guessing you want a full rundown.”
“I do. His reputation as a coldhearted asshole was known even in Dallas, but this is his home base. I want to know what people think of him here.”
“In a nutshell, I’d have to say he’s the most despised person I’ve ever known. But people figuratively suck his dick because he can destroy them if he gets pissed off.”
Cord took a sip of water, trying to wash the sick taste from his mouth. “Yeah, that’s what they say in Dallas too. How the fuck did he get into such a position?”
“Well, he comes from old money. A lot of it. Both his father and his grandfather were the worst bastards to do business with you can imagine.” Jack sliced off a piece of steak, chewed it thoughtfully. “They saw something they wanted and they took it. Much of the time, they left human wreckage in their wake.”
Cord raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“The grandfather was a sharpie, a financial wizard with a magic touch in business. He built the base of Willoughby International by going after weak companies. Businesses that were failing financially. And gobbling them up like candy. He’d find a way to force them into bankruptcy, then absorb them. Employees frequently became victims, financially ruined. The human cost meant nothing as far as the Willoughbys were concerned.”
“How can you keep running a business that way?” Cord shook his head. “Eventually someone pushes back but it seems no one has yet. Why?”
“Nobody pushed Goliath. It’s like that old question—where does the elephant sit? Anywhere he wants to. The people who work for him are terrified, but he compensates for his lack of humanity by paying them exorbitant salaries.”
“So nobody fights back,” Cord guessed, “and nobody complains.”
“No, they don’t. Going head to head with him in a business deal has left a lot of people broken and bleeding,” Jack continu
ed.
“Yeah, that was the rumor in Dallas.”
“He gets what he wants one way or another,” Jack added, “littering the landscape with people devastated by his actions. Rumor has it he’s the same way with women.”
Cord’s stomach muscles tightened. “Yeah? What do you hear? Because the rumors in that area are pretty rotten too.”
“The story is, he’s taken the BDSM lifestyle and corrupted it to suit his personality. He uses only the elements that fit his perverted needs.”
“What do you mean?”
Jack swallowed another bite of steak, then looked at Cord. “You and I know the rules of the lifestyle, the dictates that ensure a quality relationship. Especially those key words—safe, sane, consensual. But this guy.” He shook his head. “The local community won’t have anything to do with him. Unnecessary cruelty, lack of respect, no trust. And people who cross him barely live to regret it.”
“So he’s a real bastard in all aspects of his life.” Cord’s entire body tensed at the thought of Fallon under this man’s spell.
“Absolutely.” Jack took a sip of his drink. “Word is he uses the need and dependency he instills in his subs to create an unhealthy environment, rather than participation in an exciting power exchange. He uses denial, isolation, dependency, anger and control for maximum emotional impact.”
“Jesus.”
“I’ve even heard he slips his subs tiny doses of drugs to keep them pliable and subservient.” Jack shrugged. “It’s just a rumor, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Drugs?” Bile rose in Cord’s throat. Had Fallon even been aware of that?
Jack nodded. “I truly believe he was born without a single human emotion except the driving need for power and control. I actually think he gets off on destroying people, stripping away their humanity.”
“Nice guy.” But Cord felt disgusted as he listened, imagining what Fallon had endured at the hands of this man.
“Not someone you want to cross swords with. He’s got money, power and stature, and controls the fate of a lot of people in this town.”
Cord forked up a piece of chicken, letting Jack’s information roll around in his mind. “I can’t believe so many people are afraid of one man.” He looked at Jack thoughtfully. “You don’t seem to be.”
Jack shrugged. “My lineage traces back further than his does, for one thing. My ancestors had a foothold in the area before his even showed up. My grandfather was one of the original members of the Sons of the Republic of Texas. All the men in my immediate family are members, including me.” He glanced at Cord. “Ancestry is a big deal in Texas, and Brian Willoughby would like nothing better than to be a member of the SRT. He just doesn’t qualify. And he’s discovered that’s one group he doesn’t want to mess with.”
Like everyone else who lived in the Lone Star State, Cord knew that the SRT, founded in 1893, had an elite membership. To be included, your lineage had to trace back to those who had settled the Republic of Texas before it became one of the United States. It wasn’t an organization you could buy your way into. He could imagine Willoughby’s rage at having the membership ranks closed to him.
He also knew many of the members were very powerful men in the state of Texas, financially, politically, and socially. They weren’t people whose bad sides he wanted to be on.
If push came to shove with Willoughby, Cord wondered if he could count on Jack and his SRT friends to be in his corner.
He hoped so.
“I’d like nothing better than to take that bastard down a peg or two,” Jack said, as if reading Cord’s thoughts. “He’s run roughshod over too many people.”
Cord was about to say something when he noted Willoughby approaching their table. The man gave a sharp nod to Jack, who responded in kind. Then he turned to Cord.
“If you think you can keep Fallon on your little ranch, think again. You’ll never be able to give her what I did. Or make her your possession.”
“I think we have differing opinions on that.” Cord had to restrain himself from punching the man in the middle of the restaurant. “And Fallon’s a person, not a play toy. I won’t say this twice. Stay away from her.”
The other man’s laugh was anything but humorous. “Don’t think so. She got away from me once. It won’t happen again. And if you try to interfere, I’ll destroy you.”
He turned and walked away.
“Damn!” Jack blew out a breath. “I’m guessing the two of you won’t be sharing a meal anytime soon.”
“You got that right.” Cord was so angry he could barely get the words out.
“A word of friendly advice. If Fallon means anything to you, lock her up and keep her out of sight.”
Cord swallowed the taste of bile. “I hear you.”
Jack’s face was grim. “Like I said before, the BDSM community has him blacklisted. He’s a destroyer. A user. The landscape is littered with women sucked in by his power and wealth. And, to be fair, his magnetic personality. Then he destroys and discards them.”
Nausea bubbled in Cord’s stomach.
“One more thing.” Jack leaned across the table. “If he gives you any more shit, or interferes in your life or Fallon’s, let me know. There are plenty of people who’d love a reason to take him down.”
“Thanks for that. I really appreciate it but I think I’ve got it handled.”
I damn well hope.
Jack gave him a nod. “Now. Let’s talk about the results of that great party and if you need legal help restructuring anything.” He grinned. “If not, then tell me when I can bring my family out for a look at the ranch. That’s all Lina’s been asking about since the party.”
“Anytime you want. Just let me know you’re coming.”
They chatted throughout the balance of the meal, Cord managing to keep his cool until the men separated in the parking garage. He climbed into his BMW but sat there for a long moment, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel and trying to tamp down the stew of emotions boiling inside him.
He wanted to take Jack Torres’ advice and lock Fallon away until he’d erased every effect of Brian Willoughby from her body and mind. Failing that, he thought about taking his handgun, waylaying the man someplace and shooting him in the balls.
But he knew neither of those answers would work anyway. Ultimately, this was something Fallon would have to figure out on her own. She’d either fight back and refuse to let him into her life again, or…
He shook himself. He didn’t want to think of that.
But he was aware what the consequences were with a Dom like Willoughby. He’d seen it a few times in Dallas, and each time, it had sickened him. There would be no consensual power exchange. No forgiveness following punishment. A sub could get used to being treated poorly and begin to accept it as normal.
And if the Dom used drugs?
Being entirely truthful with himself, he’d sensed a change in Fallon since the day she’d run into the asshole. Almost as if a sheer curtain had dropped between them. He could see her, even touch her, but he couldn’t push the curtain away.
Shit!
Checking his watch, he saw that it was well after two o’clock. Fallon was meeting with some clients, now that the grand opening was out of the way. The new director of the event center would take over the operation of the place now. Fallon had told him she probably wouldn’t be home until close to six o’clock. He planned to finish everything he needed to do by then so he could strip her naked and fuck her brains out. Maybe that would make both of them feel better.
Fallon shifted in the driver’s seat of her car, trying to find a more comfortable spot. Even though Cord had treated her ass with a soothing cream after he’d removed the extra-large plug, the aftereffects still lingered. Every time she changed position or sat too quickly, the persistent burn singed those delicate nerve endings and caused her discomfort. Deliberate, she was sure, so she wouldn’t forget for a moment who her Master was and whom she belonged to.
No
t that she wanted to forget. Truth be told, right now she was glad for that persistent reminder to counteract the shadow of her run-ins with Brian. Each time his name popped into her head, memories swept through her of the hell he’d put her through and her inability to pull away. Of his ability to break her down completely until she was nothing except what he permitted.
She needed Cord’s lightness to shield her from the dark. Each time she crossed paths with Brian, the darkness invaded her, spreading sick cravings through her body.
Fallon glanced at the clock on her dashboard. Three o’clock. Good. She had just enough time to get to her next appointment, the last for the day. This was a new client, referred by someone who had been at the party. The new owner of the historic bed and breakfast on the edge of the Guadalupe River. Supposedly they wanted to make it a destination facility, much like Cord’s event center. According to her notes, the person who had bought the place had closed it for renovations. Today she’d be meeting with Hill Country Resorts’ executive director.
First appointments always took a long time, but the good thing was she’d be close to home and could be with Cord shortly after she finished. Entering the address into her GPS, she pulled into traffic and headed west.
The place was easy to find and the setting nearly took her breath away. The grounds were filled with ancient massive oaks and other trees native to the area. The building itself looked like a turn-of-the-century ranch house, two stories with a wraparound porch. She could easily visualize it with big clay pots of colorful flowers, rockers on the porch, people lounging at the pool set off to the side.
With the right promotion, this place could be booked twelve months out of the year.
There were two other vehicles in the parking lot, a brand new SUV and a dark blue Lexus sedan. Fallon wondered who else would be at the meeting besides—she pulled up the notes on her phone—Shelley Brandon. She mounted the four steps to the porch and opened the front door, a massive piece carved out of dark wood, and found herself in a reception area. There was the typical check-in desk, plus two chairs with a little table between them. She was looking around, trying to decide if she should call out and announce herself or just wait, when a woman hurried through an open doorway.