Initiation (Master Class Book 1)

by Sierra Cartwright

  “Why not?” Noelle demanded.

  “He looks…” She paused then settled for, “Too dangerous.” Too masculine. Too broad. Too big. Too handsome. Too focused.

  “His scar’s sexy,” Noelle said.

  It was.

  “Scar?” Eden looked between the two of them. “What kind of scar?”

  “A jagged one. It runs from the corner of his eye up into his hairline,” Noelle replied for her. “When I asked him about it one time, he changed the subject. And Joe told me to leave it alone. I know Logan is a detective of some sort, but I don’t think it’s for a police department. It could be his own company.” She shrugged. “All Joe will tell me about Logan’s past is that the two of them were in the Middle East a number of years ago. They were there as civilian contractors. I think maybe they’d both served tours of duty in Iraq or Afghanistan when they were in the service, so going back made sense to them.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s where the scar happened, but that’s my guess.”

  Ava shivered dramatically. “Logan sounds yummy.”

  “He is.” Jennifer had noticed him the moment he’d entered the basement, and her core temperature had shot up. And that sexy scar had continually drawn her attention, despite her intention not to stare.

  When she’d gone home after the party, she’d masturbated. But instead of remembering the paddling, she’d imagined that Logan had been standing behind her. Rather than swatting her through the skirt, she’d fantasized that he’d bared her skin and given her hard, deliberate smacks.

  But now… The image of him wielding a flogger was all but etched in her mind.

  “Why don’t you call him? You should.” Eden asked, “Do you have his number?”

  Her blood went sluggish. “Because I’m a coward.”

  “No, you’re not,” Ava countered. “You did go to the party after all.”

  Jennifer appreciated her friend’s loyalty.

  “Come on. Here’s your chance to live a little,” Noelle said.

  Until recently, Jennifer had always done the right thing. In school, she’d worked hard so she could get into the college her parents had selected for her. She’d graduated near the top of her class, become a CPA, and joined her father’s firm, exactly as expected. Even so, she was still figuring out what she wanted.

  “He’s trustworthy,” Noelle went on. “Joe considers him a friend. He doesn’t say that about many people. Very few, in fact. And…” She reached for her glass and trailed off mysteriously.

  Jennifer didn’t want to be intrigued. But damn it, she leaned forward with interest.

  Noelle glanced around, heightening the tension. “I’ve spoken to a couple of the subs he’s played with…”

  “Quit teasing and tell us,” Eden begged.

  “They say he’s an exceptional Dom. Unrelenting, demanding, but patient.”

  Ava and Morgan fanned themselves. Jennifer was suddenly tempted to do the same.

  “As good as the guy in the movie?” Morgan leaned forward.

  “Better,” Noelle said.

  “No way,” Ava protested.

  “You could do worse,” Noelle finished, leveling a look at Jennifer.

  “You can’t let What’s-His-Face fuck up your whole life,” Eden added unhelpfully.

  “Brett,” Jennifer supplied. “His name was—is—Brett.” Not that Eden had forgotten.

  “I think you should let this Logan guy flog you,” Ava said.

  “Master Logan,” Noelle corrected.

  Jennifer met her friend’s gaze.

  “Well, if he were swinging a flogger at my naked body, I’d call him Master Logan,” Noelle clarified.

  Jennifer tried to shove that image from her mind. But it wouldn’t budge.

  After they’d shared a few giggles, the conversation moved on, thankfully away from her and a fictional scene with Logan.

  Ava mentioned the new guy who’d been hired at her firm. She said he dressed in suits and seemed aloof. But she’d seen him last weekend while running in Washington Park. Since it had been unseasonably warm, he’d been in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, and she’d noticed he had a tattoo. It seemed that Mr. Professional had an intriguing side.

  “Did you talk to him?” Eden asked. “Maybe trip him?”

  Ava shook her head and finished her wine.

  “You should go for it,” Noelle encouraged. “Ask him to coffee or something. What can it hurt?”

  Though she tried to participate in the conversation and nodded at what she hoped were appropriate intervals, Jennifer was otherwise occupied with the tantalizing fantasy that Logan might demand she call him Master…

  Even after her guests had left, the thought remained. More than ever, she wished she had been brave enough to take Logan up on his offer at Noelle’s party.

  She retrieved his business card from her coat pocket where it had rested, undisturbed, for a week.

  It didn’t reveal much. His name. Office number. An email address from a service that half the country seemed to use.

  There was no occupation listed, no company name, no cell phone number.

  She traced his name, and a dragon seemed to roar to life in her stomach. It wasn’t butterflies, but something fire-breathing, threatening to consume her.

  As much as she wanted to have the courage to dial his number, she didn’t.

  She dropped the card back into the pocket. Then she told herself that she’d run into him again in the future. If he offered to scene again, she’d accept his offer. She wouldn’t be a coward twice. After all, Noelle had said he was a good Dom. And that made him a safe choice.

  A chill skated up her spine and caused a cold feeling to seep into her head.

  There was no way Logan Powell—Master Logan—was safe, no matter what she told herself.

  But that realization didn’t stop her from walking into her closet and taking her flogger from its hook.

  She traced one of the strands. The leather was firm and thick.

  For a frightening, dizzying second, she pictured the handle in Logan’s hand as he took a purposeful step toward her.

  Chapter Two

  Where the hell is everyone?

  Logan checked his very expensive, very precise watch. Three minutes after seven. Noelle Montrose’s surprise birthday party was scheduled to begin in less than fifteen minutes, and he was still the only one here. He was starting to get pissed off.

  Only for Joe and Noelle would Logan have left work early, driven up to unlock the house and put a bottle of champagne on ice.

  The doorbell shattered the silence.

  Finally.

  Jarred from his annoyance and glad someone else was here, he answered the summons.

  When he saw Jennifer Berklee standing on the stoop, hand raised to press the bell a second time, he had an instant attitude change. If Joe had mentioned that Jennifer had been invited, Logan wouldn’t have bitched at all.

  “Logan.” Her voice was rushed, her eyes wide.

  Until this moment, he hadn’t allowed himself to realize how disappointed he’d been that she hadn’t taken him up on his offer last month, and, more, that she hadn’t called him.

  So the fact that it bothered him was an irritation.

  She remained outside, mouth slightly parted, her breaths coming in quick little bursts.

  Perhaps she’d thought about him as much as he’d thought about her.

  “Come in.” He opened the door a bit farther and she entered the foyer, stamping a few snowflakes from her black ankle boots. Damn. They were just as hot, if not hotter, than the ones she’d worn the last time he’d seen her.

  He reached above her to close out the howling, unfriendly wind.

  For a moment, their gazes collided, but she shook her head.

  “Is everyone else hiding?” She dragged a trembling hand through her short hair and restored order to the weather-tossed locks.

  “I’m afraid it’s just you and me so far.”

  She scowled. “I
thought I was going to be late. Did I get the time wrong?”

  “Joe told me to be here by six.” He’d probably figured that Logan would be half an hour late, which he had been. Fortunately, no one had been waiting and Logan had found the spare key affixed to the underside of a rain gutter. That had been fun in the dark and cold.

  He took her oversize bag and placed it on the floor, wondering if she had any toys hidden in it.

  Jennifer unfastened the belt around her waist, then removed her wool peacoat. He couldn’t stop thinking of the way her skin had felt when he’d helped her into it a few weeks ago.

  She stood before him, ridiculously close since he hadn’t taken a polite step backward.

  As he might have expected, she was dressed in a short leather skirt that highlighted her feminine curves. It was appropriate for a kink event—which he anticipated this evening’s party might become—but it wasn’t so scandalous that it would be whispered about at a vanilla gathering.

  Her white turtleneck was another matter. It hugged her body, showing off her breasts and trim waist.

  She’d completed the outfit with tights and those sexy boots.

  His blood pressure spiked. “May I?” he asked, extending his hand.

  “Thanks.” She gave him the coat and he placed it on a nearby peg.

  “Let me just get Noelle’s present and my phone so I can take pictures of her when she gets here.”

  Jennifer bent to unzip the bag, but the way she angled her body ensured he couldn’t see everything in there. She extracted a gift and handed it to him, then she grabbed her cell phone from a small purse before straightening.

  “Where are we waiting?”

  “In the kitchen.” He shrugged. “Unless you have a better idea?”

  “I’m not good at the whole surprise thing,” she said, following him.

  Joe had built the house with entertaining in mind. This part of the home featured an open concept with the kitchen seamlessly transitioning to the dining area adjacent to the living room.

  The most stunning feature was a bank of picture windows that faced east and overlooked downtown Denver. Generally the view was breathtaking, but this evening a layer of threatening clouds loomed, making it seem as if he and Jennifer were cut off from the rest of the world. Until now, he hadn’t appreciated it.

  Festive streamers hung from the soaring wooden beams. Red and white balloons were everywhere, tied to chairs, attached to end tables, floating at various heights over every flat surface.

  “The place looks great,” Jennifer said.

  “Joe missed his calling as an interior decorator.”

  “He did this, really?” She glanced at him. “I figured they hired a company.”

  Logan made a circular motion near his temple. “He says it’s relaxing.”

  “I wouldn’t think so. Cleaning. Cooking. Inviting people. Tracking the RSVPs. Prep work.” She shuddered.

  Yet Joe did it routinely. At least once a month, he made the trek from his Cherry Creek home to his house in the foothills to organize play parties for his closest friends.

  “If there are only going to be a few people, this is a lot of cupcakes.” She looked toward the three-tiered structure on the dining room table.

  Plates were piled high, sitting next to the napkins and silverware. Glass dishes were filled with mints and nuts. An inviting, expensive bottle of bubbly was chilling in an elegant stainless-steel bucket.

  A chime sounded and Jennifer checked her phone.

  A moment later, his phone vibrated and he pulled it out of his pocket. Seeing there was a message from Joe, Logan entered his pass code, then read the text.

  Surprise!

  Logan frowned.

  “What the hell?” Jennifer sounded disconcerted.

  He glanced up from his screen.

  “It’s from Noelle,” she said. “It says surprise.”

  Logan turned his phone so she could read it.

  “Now I’m really confused,” she confessed.

  Both phones signaled new messages.

  Happy Valentine’s Day! The house is all yours. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t, and enjoy the evening! We love you both… Joe and Noelle

  P.S. The champagne is for the two of you to enjoy.

  “I think we’ve been had,” Logan said unnecessarily.

  She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, he again noticed how intense they were, but tonight the blue was spiked with gold flecks of anger.

  “Noelle knows I hate Valentine’s Day. I’ll kill her. Kill her. Long. Painful. Slow. Very freaking slow.” She focused her gaze on him.

  “I had nothing to do with it. I swear.” Still holding his phone, he raised his hands. “I hate Valentine’s Day too.”

  “Do you?” She put a hand on her heart and tipped her head to the side, regarding him skeptically.

  “Rather have a root canal than deal with it.”

  “Yet here we are.”

  The truth was as cold as the Colorado windchill. “Set up by our best friends,” he said.

  “Some friends.”

  He lowered his hands.

  “All this stuff. We can’t just leave it out since we have no idea when they’ll be up here again.” She dug a hand into her hair, sending a lock spilling in front of her eyes. As she raked it back, she said, “God.”

  “What?”

  “We don’t even get to enjoy the party, and we have to clean up the mess.”

  “Who says we don’t get to enjoy it?”

  Their phones lit up again.

  We’re celebrating in town. So feel free to spend the night.

  Jennifer replied to the message. He didn’t know it was possible for a person’s fingers to move so fast. But then she stared at the screen as if expecting Noelle to respond instantly.

  After thirty long, painful seconds, it was obvious no reply was coming. Instead, Jennifer touched an icon to call Noelle.

  From a few feet away, he heard Noelle’s voice mail message.

  “She turned off her phone,” Jennifer said, shock echoing in her voice. She tried Joe’s number and got the same result.

  With a deep sigh, she tossed her phone onto the island. “Now what are we going to do?”

  “I have an idea.” Logan dropped his phone into his pocket then crossed to the bucket that held the bottle of champagne. After pulling it from the ice, he looked at the label. “Expensive stuff. I’d hate for it to go to waste.” He removed the protective wire cage, then gave the cork a quick turn before popping it off. “How about a drink?”

  Along with survival instincts, common sense urged Jennifer to get back in her car and head back to Denver. As she’d told the Divas the other night, the man spelled danger, in capital letters. It wasn’t just that compelling scar that zigzagged between his scalp and his right eye. His size intimidated her. He stood over six feet tall, and he was impossibly broad. Then there was his shadowy past. Noelle had said he was some sort of detective, but what kind of detective wore motorcycle boots, a faded-to-gray button-down shirt and a watch that cost half a year’s salary?

  His raven-colored hair was cut military short. Everything about him warned her to stay away. The man made her feel vulnerable, but she couldn’t make herself leave.

  After pouring the champagne, he held up both flutes and tipped one in her direction.

  She wanted him. And just as desperately, she wanted not to want him.

  Noelle’s words, though, echoed in Jennifer’s head. ‘They say he’s an exceptional Dom. Unrelenting, demanding, but patient.’

  Part of her still wanted to experience exactly that.

  Rationalizing that her friend trusted him and that no harm could come from sharing a simple glass of champagne, Jennifer walked into the dining area.

  When she accepted one of the flutes, electricity jolted through her.

  Jennifer snatched away the glass. Some of the expensive liquor splashed over the rim. She licked it off, then became aware of his gaze on
her.

  “So you hate Valentine’s Day?” he prompted.

  “I didn’t always.” She took a breath to steady her pulse. “I had a bad experience a couple of years ago.” At first, Brett had seemed like the ideal boyfriend. He was thirty-four, wore Italian suits, had an impressive portfolio, a stunning mansion off Eighth Avenue in Denver, a ritzy downtown office and he was a successful criminal-defense attorney. Her parents had loved him. But his expectations had started to wear her down. He was looking for the perfect wife, someone to host his events and organize a high-profile social calendar, and he’d made it clear that he expected her to forget her dreams of starting her own CPA firm.

  “What happened?” Logan asked.

  Dragged back from the unpleasant memory, she asked, “Does it matter?”

  He shrugged. “I’m curious.”

  Time and distance had helped. “Short story? A public humiliation.”

  Logan kept his gaze steady.

  His silence, nonjudgment and the fact that he didn’t immediately jump in with sympathy encouraged her to go on. “My boyfriend proposed at dinner on Valentine’s Day. When I said I wasn’t ready for his demands, giving up my dreams to become Mrs. Someone Else, he dumped my ring in a glass of water. Then he stormed out, leaving me to pay the bill and find my own way home.” Adding insult to the mortification, the meal and wine had been considerably more than she’d been able to afford.

  “He sounds more like a child than a man.”

  She nodded. “I tell myself that the unfortunate incident was better than a lifetime of misery. And honestly? I love my career, and now I have the time to invest in making my business a success. At certain times of the year, I work double shifts. I need the freedom to do that.”