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  Luke smiled. “Well, you’ll have the opportunity to review the paperwork before each new client arrives. And remember, I’m here for you as well as him. If anything, anything at all, worries or bothers you, come straight to me.”

  Luke’s absolute certainty in his role eased some of the butterflies in Rowan’s stomach. Luke Redding seemed like a man that kept his word.

  It was another half an hour before Luke finished taking Rowan through the various rules and regulations of The Retreat and Rowan’s head was buzzing by the time he was done.

  “Don’t worry if you don’t remember everything I’ve told you,” Luke said, humor in his tone. “You will learn as you go along, and I’m here to correct you if you go wrong. Punishments, however, will be Mr. Wilder’s domain.”

  Rowan caught the sparkle in Luke’s eyes and had to repress a smile. Luke was a Dominant first, manager second, and clearly relished the idea of administering punishment. Rowan was relieved he would only have to deal with one Dom at a time. He decided staying silent was the best course of action.

  “I’ll give you the rest of the tour now,” Luke said, pushing his chair back. “Then you can explore on your own for a bit and I’ll meet you in the staff dining room for lunch. It’s just off the kitchen.”

  Luke led the way back to the entrance hall then ascended the left-hand staircase to the landing. “The bedrooms don’t have nameplates or numbers, but they each have a color theme so that’s how the staff recognize them. Mr. Wilder may choose to use one of them, or all of them, during his stay. That’s entirely up to him and each room has its…surprises. Those I’ll leave you to discover for yourself. Each room has its own bathroom and a phone that can connect you either to my office or the kitchen. Catering is available twenty-four hours a day, as am I. When I’m not in my office, the number will reroute to my mobile so you can always get hold of me if you need to. Don’t ever worry about disturbing me. That’s what I’m here for.” Luke pushed open the first bedroom door then gestured for Rowan to step inside. Rowan’s jaw dropped.

  “This must be the Blue Room. It’s fabulous.” He gazed at the luxurious furnishings, which included a magnificent four-poster. Every detail was exquisite. He remembered Olly mentioning a sling hidden in the canopy of a four-poster and wondered if this was the same one.

  “Mr. Hoffman and his partner have spared no expense in giving The Retreat the best of everything. Each room is unique and the furniture is either bespoke or antique. One of your duties will be to take care of the cleaning in whichever room Mr. Wilder selects for his own use. We have a cleaning service on call and they will attend to the rest of the house but only when Mr. Wilder is not in residence, or at night after he has retired. They will do a more thorough clean at the end of each guest’s stay. We don’t want our clients to be bothered by mundane necessities and aim to keep housekeeping as invisible as possible. You will also be responsible for refreshing the bed linen and towels, but not for the laundry. We have another service for that. I’ll show you where the sheets and towels are stored later. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Redding. May I ask if you have specialist cleaning products and polish?” Rowan ran his fingers over the arm of a particularly fine chair. “I wouldn’t want to be using a can of Pledge on this furniture.”

  Luke chuckled. “I think we have everything you could possibly need but if there is a particular product you think would be better, let me know and I’ll make sure it’s brought in for you.”

  The remaining four rooms were all equally stunning, though Rowan harbored a secret preference for the Blue Room. Any of them would be a pleasure to look after and he could almost smell beeswax and linseed oil. He just hoped he could avoid breaking anything because he would have to work for free for the rest of his life to pay for any replacements.

  The tour continued downstairs. Rowan tried hard to memorize the circuitous routes between the dining hall, snug, formal lounge and the recreation facilities. There was a well-equipped gym and a sizeable pool, sauna and steam room all housed in a separate block that was modern but had been built to blend seamlessly with the house. Luke also showed him the stairs that led to the attic and told him they would explore there shortly.

  “Now I’ll introduce you to one of the highlights of The Retreat.”

  Rowan didn’t hide his curiosity. He wasn’t sure how the facilities could get any better.

  Inside the cozy, wood-paneled snug, Luke pressed one of the panels to reveal a concealed door. He closed it again so that Rowan could see how cleverly it was hidden. With the door shut it was completely invisible. Even though Rowan knew it was there, he couldn’t make out its edges. Luke opened it again and beyond the door a set of steps led downward.

  “You may be surprised to learn that this doesn’t lead to the wine cellar,” Luke said. “That’s accessed via the kitchen.” He reached the bottom of the steps and flicked a switch, illuminating a cavernous space. “This is a genuine dungeon, though the equipment is a lot safer than the devices that would have been used here centuries ago.”

  Rowan stared. He realized that he wasn’t looking at a single room because along one wall were three further doors with small barred windows set into them. He walked over to peer through one of them and found a cell, equipped with a chair that he imagined might be used by a psychopathic dentist. He gulped. All kinds of kinky scenarios ran through his mind. A quick peek into the other two cells revealed different set-ups. One had a bare floor and several sets of chains attached to the walls, the other contained some kind of frame that he couldn’t imagine a use for.

  The main area of the dungeon housed a selection of impressive equipment including a leather-padded cross, a spanking bench and a cage large enough for a man to stand in. There were several storage chests and cupboards but Rowan hardly dared look to see what was inside them. His heart was pounding and his skin felt hot, almost fevered. His cock was doing its best impression of a steel rod. He caught Luke’s eye and his cheeks burned as much as the rest of him.

  “It’s… Well, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s wonderful. The closest I’ve come to anything like this is when I toured the private rooms at The Underground.”

  “Some of the equipment may well be familiar. Mr. Hoffman used the same manufacturer that produces all the kit for his club.”

  Rowan nodded. It made sense. Carey Hoffman didn’t stint on anything where The Underground was concerned. Why would he do it here at The Retreat? Rowan really hoped that Mr. Wilder would be keen to test out the dungeon’s facilities. He’d have to keep his enthusiasm in check though because it wouldn’t be up to him.

  “Now you know where the door is, you can come back later and explore more on your own if you want to,” Luke said. “But now we have to get to the top of the house so I can show you the attic.”

  To Rowan’s surprise, the attic was almost as inspiring to his imagination as the dungeon. It wasn’t full of equipment but at one gable end there was a huge picture window with an incredible view of the forest. Perfectly positioned in front of it, as if it had been designed that way, an A-frame constructed from ancient oak beams supported the roof. Cast iron D-rings were set into the wood at strategic points and it wasn’t hard for Rowan to visualize how a man could be restrained there. He wondered if the distraction of the view would reduce the pain of a flogging, or the burn of a whip.

  Once they were back in the entrance hall, Luke gave Rowan directions to the kitchen. “I’ll meet you there shortly. I have one or two phone calls to make first, but lunch will be ready so introduce yourself to Tor and he’ll make sure you’re fed.”

  Rowan wandered back to the kitchen in a daze, his head full of the possibilities that The Retreat offered. His slight trepidation at meeting Mr. Wilder the next day had been replaced by anticipation. Rowan loved everything he had seen so far and he knew he’d made the right career choice.

  Chapter Four

  “Mr. Wilder! Mr. Wilder, are you in there?” The persistent knocking on his offi
ce door told Lorcan Wilder that he wasn’t going to be left in peace anytime soon.

  “Come in, Drew.” Lorcan stepped away from the floor-to-ceiling window and its view of the Golden Gate Bridge. He faced the door, which swung open to reveal his harried personal assistant. Andrew Gates, fresh out of college, shiny MBA in his back pocket, was flushed and his normally immaculate hair tousled.

  “People are looking for you, sir. The press office wants another statement and the phones are ringing off the hook.”

  “Let them ring.”

  “Sir?”

  “Drew, the sale of this company has been planned for months. Every scenario has been worked through. Press releases prepared. The staff informed, right down to the night janitor. Everybody knows what they need to know.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course. But you haven’t said what you’re going to do next or where you’re going.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Lorcan smiled. “And I’m not going to. My life is my own now. It doesn’t belong to the Board, the shareholders or the media, despite what they might think. My plans are my business, no one else’s, and I’ve gone to great lengths to minimize press intrusion.” He used the same tone he employed when speaking to his Board of Directors—firm and calm. Drew’s shoulders slumped. He was cute, eminently fuckable and certainly submissive, but Lorcan didn’t play with his staff, however much of a crush they might have on him.

  “You’ve done a great job for me and the new CEO is lucky to have you at his beck and call, Drew. Please go back to the boardroom and tell them I’ll be with them in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.” Drew scurried from the room, leaving Lorcan alone. He surveyed his office one final time then took his jacket from the back of his chair. He slipped it on, checked his pocket for his keys then left, closing the door behind him. At nine in the evening, his outer office was empty. He made it to the service elevator without running across anyone and from there it was a quick trip to the basement garage. The security cameras would capture his E-Type as he left but there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. Sooner or later the directors would realize he wasn’t coming back. He didn’t enjoy lying to Drew but on this occasion, it was justified and Lorcan wouldn’t be the one dealing with rabid journalists demanding information.

  Heels tapping on the concrete, Lorcan crossed the garage to his reserved space. He hadn’t driven himself for several years and was looking forward to getting behind the wheel. His chauffeur now served another man. Lorcan would miss Dalton’s acerbic wit and lack of deference. He’d left him a generous parting gift—one he would find when checking the glove compartment of the company BMW. Drew’s parting gift would also be waiting for him when he got home. Lorcan hoped Drew wouldn’t be too upset at his departure but he was young and ambitious—he’d get over it and find a new mentor to crush on.

  The scent of leather surrounded him as Lorcan sank into the Jaguar’s driver’s seat. He shut the door and for a moment enjoyed the cocoon of silence. The tinted windows with their armored glass provided both protection and privacy, though Lorcan often spurned the first and craved the second. He gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel until his knuckles blanched. Letting go was harder than he’d thought it would be. Work, the business he’d built from scratch, had been his entire life since he was nineteen. Ten years on, it was time to be selfish. He had more money than the treasury of a small country and intended to enjoy it whilst deciding what he wanted to do next. Self-indulgence would be his mantra while he shucked off years of stress. Spontaneity, however, was not his thing. He had a plan. A detailed blueprint for the coming weeks that had been months in the making.

  Lorcan flexed his fingers, imagining the handle of a crop in his palm instead of the wheel. He could hear the hiss as his strike split the air and the smack of leather on willing flesh. Beneath the fine wool of his Armani suit pants and the silk-cotton blend of his underwear, his dick twitched. With a wry grin, he inserted the key into the ignition. The car’s marque was appropriate because the purr of the engine could have belonged to a sleek big cat. Lorcan caressed the gear knob before putting the car into first. He’d chosen a stick shift model because, as in every aspect of his life, he had to be in complete control.

  The drive from Lorcan’s office building on Mission Street to his home in Pacific Heights was less than four miles but he took his time, and a circuitous route, in getting there. Automatic number plate recognition ensured he had only a brief wait while his electronic gates opened. A remote gave him access to the four-car garage and, once the Jag was parked, he felt able to relax a fraction. An interior door took him into the house where he followed a familiar path through the kitchen to the hall. A spiral staircase led to his expansive bedroom. He loved the house and the privacy it afforded him, but he wasn’t sorry to be leaving it for a while. Two suitcases, already packed, stood in front of the fitted cupboards in the bedroom.

  He stripped with his usual economy of movement, pausing to examine his reflection in a full-length mirror—not through vanity but in a clinical appraisal of his physique. His job hadn’t allowed him much time for exercise but he’d done his best to stay in shape. The defined abs and flat belly were a testament to his stubborn will more than anything. He gave a brief nod of satisfaction then headed for the attached bathroom. After a sixteen-hour working day, a hot shower was top of his current agenda. Before he could turn on the spray, his phone rang. He retrieved it from his jacket pocket only because he recognized the ring tone as unique to his best friend, Giles Greville.

  “Giles, I’m naked. This had better be good.” Lorcan leaned against the bathroom doorframe.

  “If only you were a sweet, young, spankable blond. I’d be there in an instant.” Giles chuckled.

  “With your voracious appetites, I’d be shocked if there was a single man left in the city you haven’t had your wicked way with, blond or not.”

  “While you, of course, are much more discerning. Or perhaps it’s just harder to find pretty things prepared to give in to your…unique demands.”

  “I’m hardly unique, Giles.”

  “True. There are a fair number of kinky bastards in this town, myself among them. How did it go today?”

  “As planned.” Lorcan rolled his head from side to side, easing some knots from his neck.

  “As if you’d allow it to happen any other way. My friend, the ultimate control freak.”

  “Have I ever denied it?”

  “So, now you’ve risen from the realms of the super-rich to the stratospherically wealthy, how do you feel?”

  Lorcan considered for a moment. “Liberated. My time is my own.”

  “And mine is taken up with fielding all the calls you re-routed my way. I’m surprised you have an ounce of sanity left, Lorc.”

  “I owe you. I don’t want anyone to know where I’m going. No interruptions.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. I’m green with envy, however, and will be expecting detailed reports on all the facilities. If the place weren’t booked out for the next two years, I’d be treating you as my advance research party. As it is, I’ve had to join a damned waiting list.”

  “I’m there for a month, Giles. If you want to join me for a few days…well, the invitation is open.”

  “I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I may well be tempted. Dad confiscated my passport after that last episode in Paris but I know the combination to the safe.”

  Lorcan laughed. Giles always managed to entertain him. “Can I get in the shower now?”

  “Oh…yes. I was just checking in. What time are you flying out in the morning?”

  “Eleven. The advantage of a private jet is how civilized the flight times can be.”

  “That sure is the truth. Happy travels, my friend, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

  “That leaves very little. I’ll be in touch, Giles.” Lorcan turned off the phone before tossing it onto the bed. He had no intention of taking any more calls that night.

  The showe
r was less about getting clean than washing away the past. Water and scented gel worked their magic. Lorcan had always been able to compartmentalize parts of his life—it was a survival strategy. Now he locked one of those compartments for good. He was proud of what he’d achieved in the business world, but work had taken over his life to such an extent that he had lost his sense of self. He wanted that back.

  Stepping from beneath the spray, Lorcan dug his toes into the bath mat. He fancied he could feel every strand of the pile caressing the soles of his feet. Senses dulled by years of stress could finally come alive again. He gave a wry chuckle at his own fanciful musing.

  “Get a grip, Wilder. No one’s gonna want an overly sensitive Dom spanking his ass.” He toweled dry then went to bed, even though it was still early for him. The thread count of his sheets ran to four figures and for once he was able to appreciate cotton that could have been silk it was so smooth. Propping himself against duck-down pillows, he settled his computer on his lap. The webpage he wanted was bookmarked so it took seconds to bring up the online brochure for The Retreat. If it had been a paper version, it would have been well-thumbed from frequent reading. As it was, it had the benefit of pristine, electronic pages. Lorcan had an eidetic memory so he didn’t need to read the pages at all but somehow it was more exciting to examine the words and pictures on the screen than to recall them.

  “The Retreat is a haven from the world, where you can be yourself, where dreams become reality.” Reading the words aloud gave them solidity. “I can’t wait.” And now I don’t have to. Not for much longer. The day he had received an email containing a link to The Retreat’s hidden website had been the day his life had changed. It was a catalyst, a spark, and all he’d needed to take steps that had been forming in his mind for two years. Maintaining his expensive membership of The Underground when he only got to the UK once or twice a year had been self-indulgent, but his years of loyal membership had paid off. Only a very select elite got to hear about The Retreat. It was an endorsement of his status as a respected Dominant and demonstrated a level of trust he had no right to expect. He had met Carey Hoffman, The Underground’s charismatic owner, several times and he liked him a great deal. Carey exuded calm and doted on his submissive, Alastair, but beneath his serene surface was a shrewd, ruthless businessman—qualities Lorcan admired.