Free Management Skills by January Rowe Page A

melted into a puddle. “But Karen’s going to be beyond disappointed. I’ve told her so much about you. She so wanted to meet one Allison Rose Fairfax.”
    She smirked, amused. “My middle name isn’t Rose.”
    “Not Rose? Is it Ravishing? No? How about Rumba? Rhododendron?”
    “It doesn’t start with an R at all.”
    He reached across the table to encircle her wrists with his big hands. His touch was gentle, but rife with meaning. It was the only public gesture of dominance he ever made. She loved it.
    “Does your family know what kind of man you are?” she whispered.
    He tugged her toward him across the table by her wrists. “And what kind of man would that be?”
    She sighed as sparkles of pleasure shot up her arms.
    “I think it’s time to go,” he said gruffly.
    The B&B was a charming gingerbread Victorian painted in eye-catching yellow and peach. According to the wooden sign above the moss-green door, it was called the Cornerstone. Grant pulled their bags out of the trunk. His suitcase was huge. What on earth did he have in his bag?
    The B&B owners, a couple in their late thirties, were expecting them. They plainly adored each other. While Grant registered, the owners sent each other loving glances, touching each other constantly. Melancholy drifted through Allie. Would she and Grant still be together in fifteen years?
    Grant had arranged for them to stay in the Tower Room on the top floor. He dragged his gigantic suitcase up three flights of marble staircase. He was probably wishing he’d reserved a room on the ground floor. Allie followed him up with her little flowery overnight slung over her shoulder. They finally got to the top floor. He was out of breath. Either she’d packed way too light, or Grant was a man-diva who’d brought a change of clothing for every meal—and a few for snack time.
    The door to their room was massive. Made of rough-hewn wood, it was held together with crude iron straps and bolts. The medieval tone of the door didn’t fit in with the whimsical Victorian exterior of the B&B.
    “Amazing door,” she said.
    “That’s for sure. The owners tell me the walls inside the room are just as amazing. Thick and imposing. Stone everywhere.”
    “Stone? What kind of a bed-and-breakfast is this?”
    “The Cornerstone is a bed-and- bondage. ” A soft smile edged his lips.
    Surprised, her mouth fell open. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
    He opened the door using a heavy iron key. She stepped inside, curious. What kind of stuff did a bed-and-bondage room have in it? She couldn’t see anything in the dim light. Illuminated only by flickering yellow candles, it took a while for her vision to adjust.
    The room was a medieval dungeon. Rough stone covered the walls and floor. An assortment of evil-looking restraints hung like streamers from the ceiling. A wooden rack, complete with heavy iron chains and leather restraints, stood in the center of the room. Grant, the lord of high-tech entertainment, intended to entertain her in a primitive dungeon. Her excitement vaulted.
    At that very moment the lord was dragging his huge suitcase into the room. She was starting to suspect there weren’t clothes in it. He set his luggage down on the floor near the rack and pulled out a smaller case.
    She gazed around the room, realizing her vision was as good as it was ever going to get. Various crude wood cabinets lined the wall, and a big pile of sweet-scented hay lay in one corner.
    “Wow,” she murmured. “This is so cool.”
    Enchanted, she drifted over to a massive stone hearth opposite the hay. The fire was quite real, smelling of pine and smoke. The cheerful crackle and light was offset by a set of sinister-looking branding irons jammed into the glowing logs.
    “Those irons had better just be for effect,” she said.
    Putting on smooth black leather gloves, he strode toward her. “The branding irons are quite real, Mine.”
    She felt a thrill of fear.
    He untied the bow of her