by Helena Stone
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
The deep voice brought Heather back to earth with a shock. Turning toward the sound, she had to tilt her head back to look into the face of the giant who’d addressed her. Well over six feet tall, he was built like a house. With his relaxed facial expression, his short blond hair and friendly eyes, he reminded her of Sting—be it a much larger version—an artist she’d been attracted to for as long as she could remember.
“It’s fabulous.” She knew the smile on her face didn’t begin to reach her eyes, but since she’d never felt less sure of herself in her life, there wasn’t much she could do about it.
“You’re Jay?”
The giant smiled and his features transformed from rather stern into warm and welcoming. “No, I’m Karl Mulready. The Master is in his office.” The smile faded from his face again to be replaced by something she couldn’t name. “I’ll take you to him in a minute.”
“That would be great, thank you. I left my car in front of the building, I hope that’s okay?”
Heather wanted to kick herself. She shouldn’t be feeling and sounding this insecure. She was supposed to be an experienced party-organizer. Even if it had been some time since she last planned an event, she shouldn’t be feeling as if this was her first ever project. When a little voice in the back of her head tried to suggest party planning wasn’t the only thing she’d ignored for almost two years, she slammed a mental door in its face.
The man, Karl, walked around the desk and approached her. “If you give me your keys I’ll make sure your luggage is brought to your room and have the car parked in the staff area.”
Either the manager didn’t pick up on her insecurities or he’d successfully mastered the art of disguising his thoughts. If Heather had to make a guess, she’d pick the second option but that didn’t lessen her relief. She was grateful he didn’t make her feel any more stupid than she already did. Handing over her keys, she watched as Karl passed them on to a younger man who smiled at her before walking out of the door.
“If you’d follow me?”
Karl strode off down the corridor, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was behind him. Her surroundings turned into a blur as Heather rushed to keep up with the manager, grateful she didn’t have the time to worry about her upcoming meeting with the man Karl had called the Master. A few minutes from now she’d know who she’d be dealing with and would hopefully be able to scratch one item off her long list of worries. She’d do this one step at a time. If she could stop herself from obsessing about the big picture and her personal issues, she might just make it through the next few days. Maybe…
* * * *
He wanted to scream. No amount of staring at the pile of papers on his desk or the schedules on his screen made it any clearer how he could possibly turn this weekend into anything but an unmitigated disaster. What had seemed a great idea four months ago had turned into a nightmare of apocalyptic proportions. He only had just over two weeks left before everybody who was anybody in the Irish BDSM scene would descend on his Blowhole, expecting to be—as he’d so poetically put it in the invitations—blown away by the facilities he had to offer.
Of course, four months ago he’d still been himself. He’d been happy in this setting he’d created and secure in the knowledge he’d found his place in the world at last. Now he didn’t know who or what he was and felt like an imposter. He almost laughed. An imposter who happened to own and run the show. He’d introduced himself as Master Jay on the invitations, a title that could only be interpreted one way. A title he was less comfortable wearing with each passing day.
He got up and walked to the window, taking in the view in front of him. The sight usually filled him with calm and pride. The gardens were impressive, a riot of colors lit up by the sunshine. The Atlantic provided a glorious backdrop. Under most circumstances, the beauty surrounding him was enough to set his mind at ease. Today the perfection outside only served to feed his inner turmoil.
Besides, it was too late for second thoughts. The invitations had been sent and accepted. All but one or two of his rooms had been booked for the anniversary weekend. Nothing short of the place burning down would stop this party from taking place.
The idea of having to spend a weekend with practicing Dominants while having lost his urge to dominate filled him with horror. He knew they would immediately recognize something wasn’t right. The people he’d invited had no way of knowing he was indeed an experienced and well-respected Dom—in America. He knew his last scene, a month ago, had raised eyebrows. He’d been fielding concerned questions from his friends for weeks. His guests would take one look at him and see a man incapable of living up to his self-proclaimed image. A wannabe. A failure.
A low buzzing sound brought him back to the here and now. That would be Karl, warning him his visitor had arrived. He was about to come face-to-face with another one of his many questionable decisions. Leaving the initial planning to Karl had been an escape mechanism, making it possible for him to pretend he didn’t have a party and possible public relations disaster in his near future. But now that she’d arrived, he had to deal with somebody he knew next to nothing about. And to make the situation even more prone to disaster, Karl had seen fit to hire someone who’d been out of the loop for the better part of two years.
He turned to his desk, moved the mouse and watched as the website sprang to life. He’d better have a quick look at this woman Karl had hired before she walked into his office. The website looked professional enough and a quick glance at the testimonials showed nothing except lavish praise. But all the information was nearly two years old. Still, the time for second thoughts had long since passed. With the party taking place in a fortnight, and this company apparently being the only one specializing in events like the one he’d be hosting, he had no other options. He’d left it much too late to get somebody from America. He only had himself to blame. If he hadn’t abdicated all responsibility for the preparations to Karl, he wouldn’t be in this position.
He’d just have a quick glance at the picture gallery and…
A firm knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Party time. With a frown, Jason got up and turned to stare out of the window again while he listened to the door opening behind him.
Chapter Two
“Master Jay.”
Heather heard the surprise in Karl’s voice but wasn’t quite sure what had elicited it.
“Your guest, Heather Staunton, has arrived.”
“Thank you, Karl.”
The voice was gruff and faintly familiar.
Heather took advantage of the fact that the man on the other side of the bright and spacious office had his back to her and studied her surroundings. She liked this room with its uncluttered feel. The furniture was big, made of dark wood and very masculine. The window on the other side of the room gave her another spectacular view of the Atlantic. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of that picture. A slight change in the light provided Heather with a vague reflection of the man who had to be Master Jay. Something inside her stuttered. She knew this man. But no, it couldn’t be. Surely she had to be imagining things. There was no way on earth Master Jay could be the same person as the man she’d known as…
“Mrs. Staunton.” The man turned and stopped talking. “Heather?”
“Jason?”
She would have laughed at both of them speaking at exactly the same time if she hadn’t been so shocked about finding herself face-to-face with somebody she hadn’t expected to ever meet again.
How long had it been? It had to be at least twenty years since she’d last seen this man she’d known as Jason Hudson. Twenty years since that summer in Wexford when they hadn’t quite managed to get together. A chill ran down Heather’s spine. What did this mean? Would this make her project harder or easier? Would she have preferred to deal with a complete stranger? Then again, wasn’t he a stranger anyway? A few weeks over one summer twenty years ago didn’t mean she knew who this man was
—or how to work with him.
“Jason. It’s okay to call you Jason, isn’t it? Should I say Jay? Or even”—she couldn’t stop herself from smiling—“Master Jay?”
It was a relief to see him return her smile as he took her hands and squeezed them lightly. The frown that had formed on his face when he first recognized her had been worrying.
“Jason is fine, Heather. It is my name, even if I rarely use it these days. And I’m not your Master.”
The smile disappeared again.
“In fact…”
Heather watched, trying to make sense of the unfinished sentence and the deepening frown. It reassured her Jason was as surprised by this meeting as she was. On the other hand, she’d enough reservations about this project without having to take on the possible complications resulting from their previous acquaintance as well. She needed him to be sure of what they were doing because she knew she wasn’t. One of them had to be in charge or they’d never get this party organized, never mind turned into a success.
She recognized the moment he gave himself a mental shake and took control.
“How did we not know we were dealing with each other?” Heather couldn’t keep the confusion out of her voice. “I know I’ve been talking to Karl until now, but how did you not know you were hiring me?”
“I…” A frown crossed his face again. “I’ve left all the preliminary work up to Karl. What’s the point in having a manager if you don’t allow him to manage?” His smile seemed forced. Jason’s gaze dropped to the screen on his desk and his frown returned. “If I’d taken the time to study your website before now… But somehow I never got around to it.”
When Jason gestured with his hand, Heather sat down in one of the luxurious leather chairs in the corner and watched as he instructed Karl, who’d been patiently observing their confusion, to send someone along with coffee.
Jason seated himself in the chair opposite hers and Heather studied him. “There are no photos of you on your website, Jason. Why not?”
The question appeared to surprise him and he took his time answering.
“The website has been set up to advertise The Blowhole, not me. In fact, I’m not on the menu, so to speak.”
The frown, a facial expression Heather didn’t remember from the past, returned again.
“The website only has pictures of those members of staff who are available to the visitors. I try to avoid raising unrealistic expectations. If I show pictures of people whose job description doesn’t extend to playing with the guests, it may lead to disappointment. I try not to elicit feelings like that in my visitors.”
Nodding her head, Heather looked around the office again. His answer made perfect sense and yet, she’d never come across a club owner who wasn’t available to his clients at least some of the time. There had to be something else going on to make him so publicity shy. Now wasn’t the moment to ask deeper questions though.
“What about you? Why is all the information on your site at least two years old, Heather?”
She couldn’t quite suppress her frustration. She didn’t want to get into all of this right now. “As I explained to your manager”—it might have been embarrassment flashing across his face—serves him right—“that’s when Darren got too ill to continue.”
She saw the confusion in his eyes and sighed before explaining.
“Darren was my husband and business partner.” As well as so much more. The thought hurt. She refused to indulge in those memories right now. “He died eighteen months ago.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft. “For your loss and for having to explain that to me now. I should have known.”
Damn right. The thought flew through her head and nearly out of her mouth. Instead she forced herself to smile.
“Tell me about your anniversary party.” She didn’t want to talk about the past right now—or ever. She had to keep Darren out of her mind as much as possible if she wanted to do this job.
Rubbish. She would never be able to keep Darren out of her head. She could try to keep him out of her conversations though. If she managed that, she might just make it through the coming weeks without turning into a drama queen…maybe.
It surprised Heather to see Jason look as relieved as she felt when the conversation turned to matters of business. He didn’t appear to be any more eager to talk about personal issues than she was.
“It’s like Karl pointed out in his emails.”
Jason smiled at the beautiful young woman, placing coffee cups, a cafetière and a plate with treats on the table.
“It’s been nearly a year since I opened The Blowhole and for all those months I’ve been entertaining visitors from overseas. I lived in America for close to twenty years and have extensive contacts in the BDSM world there. Having old friends and acquaintances as my first visitors made the starting up process a lot easier than it might have been.”
Heather nodded as she listened to Jason. Visitors from abroad, even if they weren’t friends, would be so much safer than guests who were part of the Irish BDSM community. For starters, those Americans wouldn’t see him as potential competition. She relaxed into her comfortable chair and sipped from the excellent coffee as he explained how he’d been able to create a relaxed environment in which to find his feet and train his staff to his personal standards.
“Of course, I can’t continue this dependence on customers from overseas. Not to mention that if I’d wanted to cater to Americans, I could have stayed there.” Jason looked at her, lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t think there is a place just like mine here in Ireland. I also believe there is a market for what I have to offer. So it is time to take the next big step and allow the ‘locals’ to discover The Blowhole. But—” Jason smiled. “That’s enough for now. You’ve had a long drive to get here and must be tired. Let me show you to your apartment and we’ll get together again in a few hours.”
As if his words had triggered the sensation, Heather felt tiredness descend on her. She could do with a shower, maybe a nap and definitely some time to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about this coincidence. Some time alone might clarify things for her—or not.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
She watched him as he walked to the desk and picked up the phone. Jason hadn’t changed a lot in the past twenty years. He was older, of course. His face was less round, and more sculpted. His chin was stronger and there were fine lines next to his eyes, indicating both the passing of years and an inclination to smile a lot. His lips still had the tendency to turn up at the corners, although she had no doubt he’d make a domineering presence without that smile on his face.
When he held out his hand to help her up, Heather took the opportunity to look into his eyes. They were as brown and beautiful as she remembered. Well, not so much remembered but recalled again, now she found herself face-to-face with this blast from her past. She couldn’t say she’d thought about him a lot since she last saw him, but the memories rushing back made it clear she hadn’t forgotten him either. She’d loved his short but unruly black hair when she’d first met him, and was glad he hadn’t felt the need to change his style over the years. Tiny spots of gray streaked the black now, but it still had the tousled look suggesting little concern about styling and lots of running his hands through his hair.
Staring at Jason the way she was should have embarrassed Heather. Since he studied her with equal intensity, she didn’t feel too self-conscious about it. To her surprise, the fact that he held on to her hand longer than was strictly necessary didn’t worry her either. With both of them on their feet she noticed that, of course, he was still as tall as he’d always been. But then, she was still as short.
Heather considered pulling her hand free when Jason started to lead her from his office but decided against it. To her surprise she didn’t mind the contact, and pulling away now would only draw attention to the fact that he appeared to be reluctant to let go of her hand in the first place.<
br />
“I hope you don’t mind you won’t be staying in one of the guest rooms while you’re here, Heather.”
“I guess it depends on where you’ve decided to put me.” Heather couldn’t stop the laughter in her voice as she faced him while the elevator took them up.
“I don’t think you’ll have any objections.”
Jason returned her smile as they exited on a hallway with two doors facing each other. When he opened the door on the right, Heather’s feet stopped in their tracks.
“This will be your home away from home while you’re here.”
She looked around in wonder—a whole apartment to herself. She’d hoped her room wouldn’t be too small and claustrophobic. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined she’d have this much space. She took a moment to study her surroundings as Jason showed her what appeared to be living quarters. The sitting area was spacious and the blue leather chairs and sofa looked as comfortable as the chair in his office had been. The large desk at the window, overlooking the ocean, would make an ideal spot for writing or day-dreaming. There was a small but fully equipped kitchen off to the right.
“You are, of course, free to use the restaurant and room service whenever you want.” Jason’s voice broke through Heather’s thoughts in a way that made her wonder if he could read her mind.
“If you need anything else, just let me or housekeeping know.”
Lost for words, Heather could only nod her head as Jason led her farther into the apartment then opened the door to the bedroom. It was luxury personified. A whole wall length worth of wardrobes was far more than she could possibly need for the clothes she had brought. But the four-poster bed had to be the star attraction. Big enough to sleep at least three people comfortably, she couldn’t help feeling it was wasted on her. As were those bars and hooks she saw, strategically placed on the posts and headboards and footboards. This was a bedroom for someone who wanted to play. She wasn’t that someone. She might be taking her first tentative steps back into this world. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready to play again. Playing without Darren… She couldn’t imagine it.
