Chapter 1
Willow shut off her SUV before she fucking turned her phone off, too. She’d needed the GPS to find the cabin, but now she was officially in healing mode. No contact with the outside world. With her mother. Her sister. Her damned ex.
And maybe calling himdamnedwasn’t fair, but she was in a mood.
The nearly straight-up-the-mountain driveway to the cabin had forked toward another cabin half a mile back — and she’d checked satellite images before booking the cabin to make double-damned sure she wouldn’t have close neighbors.
She took a few minutes to look at the gorgeous house perched on the apex of the mountain, more glass walls than solid, and she couldn’twaitto see the view from the top deck.
After the worst Halloweenever, she was going to enjoy her solitude up here with no phone, no social media, no nothing. She’d loaded up her e-reader, had her hiking boots, and hell, she might even decide to spend a day or two as her hawk, though she’d need to scout the area and observe the local wildlife before making that decision.
With the audiobook no longer keeping her mind off her shit-show of a relationship blow-up, the silence dragged her back to the big proposal she’d had no idea was coming. James had gone all out, flying them on his private jet to Sleepy Hollow in New York. Jameslovesholidays, so she hadn’t suspected a thing.
He’d had a special eighteenth-century floor-length silk gown made for her — swishable flowing fabric over a floofy crinoline, bodice that flattered her every curve. He was in a sharp period suit complete with the fancy vest, and they’d been maskedand gloved, ferried around in a horse-drawn carriage through the costumed crowd, the music and drumming in the air, fire dancers painting sparks into the night.
His security had led them to a cordoned-off balcony above the square as the parade slowed below. The headless horseman stopped his mount, tilted his pumpkin head up toward them in theatrical salute… and James dropped to one knee.
Her pulse had pounded in her ears, her throat closed, and she had to work harder than ever to keep her inner hawk from bursting out of her soul and taking flight when she realized what he was doing.
She liked James. She enjoyed spending time with him. Shewantedto love him, but in that moment, Willow knew she couldn’t spend another day with him, much less marry him. He was as vanilla as they come, and she’d desperately tried to make it work, but feel-good sex was never going to be enough.
The collar and rituals she craved weren’t in him. He’d never spank her. Never whip her. Never order her to her knees for a merciless throat fucking.
He had his schedule, and he’d expected her to follow it: to have a drink waiting for him at a certain time, to arrive for lunch when his assistant told her to, to be his socially acceptable arm candy at social events — and to wear the jewelry he draped over her. His choice, not hers. She’d thought that would be enough.
She’d desperately tried to make itbeenough.
But it wasvanillacontrol, and not the specific brand of power exchange she so desperately craved. She wanted someone to control her every minute, with consequences for not following orders. Jameshadcontrolled her daytime schedule, and she’d loved it, but without consequences when she wasn’t where she was supposed to be, it would never be enough.
She hadn’t wanted to humiliate him in front of the crowd, so rather than shaking her head, she’d hiked her dress and ranwhile escape plans formed, wondering if she could get a flight back home that night, and how she’d get to the airport when the streets in the area were closed.
She ran in heels through the brisk October air the two blocks to the gorgeous eighteenth-century inn, and was wearing jeans by the time he arrived.
“You don’t mean this,” he’d said, voice calm but carrying the weight he’d built his empire with. The perfect Dom voice. “You’re overwhelmed. I came at it wrong. I won’t apologize, but we’ll do this your way. Tell me the kind of wedding you want.”
He hadn’t become a billionaire by acceptingnofor an answer. He knew how to get his way, but this time, Willow had maintained her position and walked out. When he’d grabbed her wrist to stop her from leaving, her clit had come to life, but she knew he didn’t mean it the way her body took it.
He’d let go when she told him he was hurting her, and she’d walked out.
Now, back on the mountaintop, Willow opened the SUV’s door and cut the memory off mid-loop. Enough.
She grabbed her duffel, her backpack, and her purse, and then had to turn her phone back on to get the code when she reached the door.
And turned it right the fuck back off as soon as she was inside and the code was committed to memory.
Her sister and mother were pissed at her for breaking up with James. Like she was some old maid who needed to just take whatever came along.
Though her mother was seeing all those dollar signs, but Willow had been attracted to his power, not his money.
But throwing that power around meant nothing without the kinds of consequences Willow wanted.
And if she was honest, she was going to miss his parrot more than she’d miss him.
The view from the top deck was everything she’d hoped it would be. Mountains rolling as far as she could see, and the little town of Gatlinburg below, the cars crawling around like ants.
She made another trip to her car to bring the groceries in and put them away. Tonight would be two medium-rare ribeyes, baked potatoes, apple pie, and vanilla motherfucking ice cream.
She’d come off a weeklong work stint in Atlanta three days before Halloween, and she wasn’t due to work again until Thanksgiving week. As a traveling nurse, she’d make mega-bucks working the holiday. She’d turned down work during Christmas so she could go with James to…fuck, she wouldn’t be going anymore. He’d booked a week in Lapland, a glass-roofed igloo suite in a private chalet with its own sauna. Reindeer-drawn sleigh rides through a snow-dark forest, a husky run at noon-blue twilight, a helicopter hop to watch the aurora, and a complex chef’s tasting menu and fireside champagne. One night in an ice hotel, but the rest in the glass-roofed igloo so the sky could pour the northern lights right over the bed. Assuming they appeared.
