Page 5 of Master Key Resort

Nine months earlier ...

Cordell observed the skittish-looking woman whose gaze was searching the Panera Bread restaurant. He’d recognize her anywhere from her social media pages, but she was even prettier in person. A month shy of her twenty-eighth birthday, she was about five foot six, slender—a little too slender, in his opinion—with beautiful, wavy, dark-brown hair, and chestnut-colored eyes. She was biting her plump bottom lip, worrying the abused flesh.

Mitch Sawyer had warned him about several of Tiffany Armstrong’s issues when it came to dominant men. Looking at her now, Cordell doubted the other Dom had scratched the surface of the submissive’s “issues.” She’d been in an unhealthy D/s relationship for two years and, thankfully, had gotten out of it recently. However, the damage had been done. Her so-called Master had really fucked with her mind. Cordell had seen it many times before and had become known in the local lifestyle community as the “submissive whisperer.” He thought the title was corny but true. He’d helped many subs recover from bad relationships over the years and then had found them Masters who would continue the work he’d started. Each Dom had been fully investigated—like Sawyer had done before contacting Cordell—and he hadn’t regretted a single D/s match he’d facilitated. He kept in contact with all of them on a monthly or semi-annual basis, talking in private conversations with both the Dom and submissive to make sure there weren’t any problems that couldn’t easily be fixed. Two of his rehabilitated submissives had actually married the Doms he’d paired them with, and one of those was now expecting her second child.

Cordell wasn’t sure how he’d developed a gift for helping damaged submissives and wished he could save them all, but he only took one at a time into his care. It wouldn’t be fair to any recovering submissive to have to compete with another for his attention and affection. However, he’d made it clear to each of them before a contract was signed that their time with him had an end date when he was certain they were ready to move on. He had to be careful when reading a sub because, sometimes, they were scared to leave him and started acting up again if they thought he was getting ready to cut them loose. Some subs stayed with him for only a few weeks or months. The longest had been a little over a year, and she was the one who was now happily married with children.

From across the room, the little wisp of a woman’s gaze slammed into his, and she froze. She clearly recognized him from the screen shot he’d sent her. He hadn’t wanted her to approach any random single men looking for him if she’d beaten him there. Of course, he’d arrived fifteen minutes early to ensure that wouldn’t happen.

Cordell started silently counting to three, but the word “two” had barely registered in his mind before her gaze dropped to the floor in front of him. She stood there, waiting, and Cordell knew if he didn’t approach her or call out a demand, she would stand there all day. People walking in and out skirted around her, with a few giving her looks of confusion or annoyance.

Getting to his feet, Cordell strode over. Her gaze lifted, briefly, before hitting the floor again. Cordell stopped in front of her. “Tiffany?”

“Yes, Master Cordell,” she responded immediately but didn’t look up. Her words had been spoken so faintly, he was certain he was the only person who’d heard her, despite the lunch crowd. The responses of “yes, Master,” and “no, Master,” had probably been drilled into her so often, she didn’t realize what she was saying half the time. They were just automatic, subconscious reactions to anything a Dom said to her. According to Mitch, the sub seemed much more confident when she was interacting with people who weren’t alpha males.

“Eyes on me, pet.”

“Yes, Master Cordell.” Slowly, her chin lifted, and when her eyes met his he gave her a soft smile to try to ease the wariness that filled her face.

“I’m simply Cordell when we’re in public, Tiffany.”

She nodded. “Yes, Master—um, I mean, Cordell. Thank you for clarifying.”

Oh, yeah, she was ready to bolt or drop to her knees the moment he did or said anything that scared her. Hell, something as simple as holding out his hand for her to shake might cause her to collapse. Mitch had said it’d taken a few hours for her to relax around him with others present. When it’d finally happened, she’d been bubbly and delightful, but that wariness had always been under the surface, waiting to emerge again. Cordell had his work cut out for him, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

Taking a step back and to the side, he gestured toward the table he’d been sitting at. “Please, come have a seat and join me.” When she hesitated, he knew he was going to have to spell out every request or command to her. “If I want you to walk behind me, little one, I’ll make that clear. However, we have much to talk about before we start with any rules. For now, please walk in front of me to our table.”

“Yes, Mas—yes, Cor-Cordell.”

As he followed her, she glanced back at him several times, as if making certain she was walking correctly. When they reached their table, he pulled out a chair for her. “Please, sit.” When she complied, he asked, “What would you like to drink and eat, little one?”

Her eyes grew wide. “I-I don’t need anything, Sir.”

He stared down at her. “That wasn’t what I asked you, Tiffany. Did you eat before you came here?”

“No-no, Mas—” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I was too—too nervous.”

The corners of his mouth ticked upward. “Thank you for your honesty. Now, I asked you here to have lunch with me, so we could talk in a neutral setting. Eating and drinking were included in that. I also prefer not to eat alone when in the company of a beautiful woman, so I’ll ask you once more. What can I order you for lunch?”

“Um, I’m—I’m not picky.” Her shoulders lifted up and then dropped. “And I like all their salads, so I’ll have whatever you order for me.”

Not exactly the answer he wanted, but it was a start. “And what would you like to drink?”

Tiffany let out a shaky breath. “Uh, water or an iced tea is fine. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. I’ll be back in a few minutes. In the meantime, please try to relax.” Yeah, that was probably like telling a chicken to relax while it was surrounded by a dozen foxes. At least Tiffany nodded in response. “Good girl.”

As Cordell stood in line at the counter, he studied his new recovery project. That’s how he had to think of the women he helped, to keep from growing too close to them. He often compared himself to a person who fostered stray dogs or cats, socializing them until they could be adopted into their forever homes. Yes, it was sad to say goodbye to them, but knowing they were in good hands made the heartache a little easier.

Each of Cordell’s projects had been different—unique in their personal backgrounds and the hell they’d gone through at the hands of someone who’d been supposed to cherish them, not abuse them. It could take him a few hours, days, or weeks before he could get into their minds so he could figure out what his plan of action needed to be. In the meantime, he’d take one step at a time, gaining their trust and submission. Today started step one for Ms. Tiffany Armstrong.

* * *

All Tiffany wantedto do was throw up—well, that and run out of there. Thankfully, her stomach was empty. As for hightailing it, she didn’t think her knees would support her if she tried to stand up again. She just had to get her nerves under control before Master—no—before Cordell returned. She’d recognized him right away from the photo he’d texted her after they’d made arrangements to meet. When Mitch had given her the police lieutenant’s number and told her he was expecting her call, she’d just assumed Cordell would talk to her and negotiate a contract with her over the phone. Instead, their conversation had been brief, mostly pertaining to their current public meeting.

Her palms were sweating, and she rubbed them on her thighs. She hoped she was dressed okay. It’d taken her over an hour to settle on a navy-blue skort, an emerald-green, short-sleeved, V-neck top, and navy and white sandals. Her clothing was appropriate for both the weather and the venue, but she didn’t care about either of those things. Instead, she was worried about what Master Cordell thought of her outfit. Was it too revealing? Not revealing enough? And, damn it, stop calling him Master. Do as he told you to do and just call him Cordell. At least in public like this.

“Here you go, pet.”

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