Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Truthfully, I thought three days into Greta’s grace period, one of the men would die. I expected her to get it out of the way as soon as she could. She wouldn’t like to think of her future as being up in the air, especially with the bionic technology she’s been working on set to cause a storm in the business markets.

  The whole thing has been rather anti-climactic. I was expecting all sorts. Tension, strife, arguments. I imagined her standing up in the middle of the mess, screeching at everyone, forcing them to listen to her. Urging them to help her, trying to poison them against me.

  I expected revenge, hatred. I shored up my defenses, waiting for some kind of turnabout, waiting for her to dole out her punishment for my evicting her.

  What did I get?

  Butt kiss. Nada.

  As it is, I’m put out. She has blind-sided me and I hate that. I have to wonder if the she-bitch has grown fond of Alexei or James. Maybe she doesn’t want to hurt them. Time has a way of smoothing over rough edges. She’s older now. They could be her family. After all, she has nobody else. No other friends on the commune. No one else really tolerates her. The men probably would, but their wives won’t let them.

  Knowing her character, I just can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine her doing the honorable thing. It’s alien to her.

  I just want a confession.

  I want to know who killed John. I definitely want to know why. I want to know how they did it.

  By now, I thought I’d be reading a faked suicide note: Christ, doesn’t that sound like something out of an episode of Columbo? But I did. It sounds melodramatic, but we’re talking murder here. Is there anything more dramatic? More traumatic than that?

  As it is, I have to question which man is the weaker of the two. Which one is more likely to give the game away?

  I think that man is Alexei.

  James is quiet. Reserved. Alexei is a babbler. He gets nervous easily. He can be stubborn, so obstinate he’ll hold his tongue, but once he lets loose, that’s it. And I have to believe the answer lies there.

  After all, what if the three of them have cooked up a plan of their own?

  My own relies upon Greta’s heartlessness. If she loves the two men, then the three of them might have their own agenda.

  Alexei and James might have agreed to stay on here, to reap the rewards of their hard work, then pull out when they’ve earned what they consider a fair amount. After all, no matter what happens, Blue Ridge will be the biggest winner. If all three of them leave, then all the earnings revert to the commune. It’s part of the contract everyone signs here, when they start to work for the ranch. It encourages people to stay here until the coffin-maker comes a-calling.

  My belief that Alexei is the weakest link leads me to the dorms. I don’t come here often. I’ve no need to. The title, dorms, makes it sound like some sort of building in an Enid Blyton boarding school book. Either that, or an outhouse in a John Steinbeck novel.

  The dorms are small studio apartments housed within a two-story bungalow. They’re for the singletons on the commune. There are over thirty, freestanding cabins, and they’re all in the same style. Timber-framed, pitched-roofs with whitewashed window frames and a small verandah that surrounds each property with white picket fences. They’re quaint. Sweet.

  I head toward Alexei’s dorm knowing it’s unorthodox for me to come here. Especially at this time of night. We’re running out of time. Tomorrow is the seventh day of the eviction notice riding Greta’s shoulders, and I don’t want her to leave a free woman. I want her in cuffs. I want a police escort. She deserves nothing less.

  Tapping on Alexei’s door, I wait for him to answer. Inside, I hear stumbling, the sounds of something being knocked over and heavy feet. The door opens on a whoosh and I stare at a dressing gown-sporting Alexei in the middle of a huge drunk. He reeks of alcohol, and if I’m not wrong, piss.

  My nose scrunches at the smell and as I damn this setback, I ask, “May I come in?”

  “Why should I let you?” he slurs. “She’s going ’cos of you. She’s leaving. Nowhere to go. Nuffin’ to do. All becurs you’re jeh-luss.”

  “I’m not jeh-luss, Alexei,” I mock. “I’m mad. And if you knew what she’d done, you would be to.”

  “Don’t want to talk to you. Go ’way. You bitch; she’s goin’ becurs of you.” I watch, in horror, as Alexei bursts into tears. Great, rollicking teardrops roll down his cheeks, landing on the floor with a tiny splash. “I love ’er. No one understands ’er. No one. Love of my life, goin’. Becurs of you.”

  “This obviously isn’t the right time.”

  “Never will be, neither. Soon as I get my money, I’m leavin’ this place. She’ll wait for me. We’ll live happily evar aftah,” he spits out the words, his Russian accent making his slurs harder to understand than usual. “You’ve taken everyfink ’way from her. Told lies. She stole nuffin’. Can’t steal sumfink that’s given. Not thief.”

  Well, this hasn’t gone how I’d planned. Shit. I’d hoped to make him talk. Stir up his hotheadedness and get him to tell me something I could use against Greta. As it is, that plan has disintegrated into dust. I expected him to defend her, but this?

  “Go ’way. Bitch. Don’t wanna see you. Not ever,” he stumbles over his words. “Neh-ever ’gain.”

  I hold up my hands in the universal sign of surrender and back away, leaving him to his drunk and to the hangover come morning. Gritting my teeth, I back out the way I came and start the short walk back to the homestead.

  Damn. That didn’t work out as planned.

  On my return, I come across Donald and Erick’s Aunt Marie. The two of them are whispering to each other. I’d say it’s sweet nothings, but as far as I know, Donald’s still hooked on his dead wife. The way they’re talking though, it makes me wonder if they’re bitching. Donald happens to look up as I walk past, and he grins at me.

  “Everything alright?” I ask, hovering before them, curiosity making me study the pair of them closely. Around every large patch of lawn or flower-bed, there are seating areas. These two are sitting on a bench overlooking some radishes and turnips that are flourishing in the mild winter we’ve been having.

  “Yeah. I was just telling Marie about Greta.”

  “Did she really steal John Kelly’s work?”

  Marie’s anger is evident. I shrug and say, “Alexei Sergov says not, but an MIT expert says she did. He gave me a preliminary report on the day I told her I was evicting her. He’s sent in more a detailed one now. Definitely the same work and when he compared it to the stuff Greta has published over the years, it’s a completely different signature. I don’t understand it, but he says Greta’s usual work has a geometer viewpoint. Whereas the work she stole was in the analytic style?”

  Both Donald and Marie nod as though that makes perfect sense. Thanks to the Internet, I know what the hell my MIT contact, Matt Dawson, is talking about.

  “Geometers start with a visual aid. Analysts with a formula. Two completely different thinking styles.” Marie taps her fingers against the bench. “I’d like to see the report, if I may, Marina?”

  “Of course. When I log on tomorrow, I’ll email it over. I’m no mathematician; I barely understood half of the report, but what I did understand is that Greta’s a liar and a goddamn cheat. Throwing her off the ranch won’t come soon enough.”

  “Your father should have listened to me when I told him to refuse her admission to Blue Ridge.”

  “Erick told me about that. I can’t understand why father didn’t.”

  Marie’s brows rise. “He told you that?”

  I simply nod. “I’ll never understand the way my father’s mind worked. I won’t start bothering to dissect it now.”

  Donald butts in, “She had most men drooling after her; hell, even though I was head over heels for Molly, I could see why. Your mother wasn’t a...”

  When Marie nudges him with her elbow, I hold up a hand. “No, it’s okay, Marie. I know what my mother was and wasn’t.
I guess every man needs a little affection in his life. Even one as engrossed in his work as my father.” I say the words even though the idea of my dad engaging in an affair with Greta Abelmann is astounding.

  “Yes, well,” Donald continues. “She was very lucky he took a shine to her. That’s all I’ll say.”

  I smile at him to make sure he knows I’m not offended by his comment. “Just think, this time tomorrow she’ll be anywhere but here.”

  Waving at them, I bid them goodnight and continue on my way to the homestead. From twenty feet away, I see the glow of a cigar on the verandah and sigh, recognizing it as Uncle Sam, because he’s the only fool who smokes on the ranch. What the hell he’s doing out here, this late at night, when he’s usually tucked up in bed with some boring tome, I don’t know.

  I’m still pissed at him. I’ll make no bones about that. I’ve reverted to civility; simply because even I can’t hold a grudge this long.

  “What’s up, Sam? It’s too damned cold to be out here,” I grumble, shivering in my lamb-wool jacket.

  “Just thinking. Can’t a man think in privacy?”

  “Not when you’re doing it on my verandah.”

  “Didn’t realize I wasn’t welcome in the house where I was born anymore,” he snipes, and I grin at him, something he notices in the dim light above the door, before taking the load off and sitting beside him.

  “Depends. If you’re going to pollute my air, you can piss off.” I snatch the cigar out of his mouth and bending over, stub it on the ashtray he’s balanced on the armrest.

  “That’s a damned good cigar. Too good to waste.”

  I hand him the remnants. “If you want to kill yourself, go ahead. Just don’t contaminate my home. Anyone foolish enough to smoke on Blue Ridge quit a long time ago. I don’t know why you haven’t. You could probably asphalt the drive with the stuff in your lungs.”

  He snorts. “You have to die of something.”

  “That’s maudlin talk. Too maudlin for this late at night.”

  “Maudlin’s how you get at my age.”

  It’s my turn to snort. “You’ve been maudlin all your goddamned life, so don’t pretty it up and make it sound like it’s old age that’s changed you.”

  He turns to me with a grin. “Never could pull the wool over your eyes. Shame your father wasn’t as damned perceptive as you are.” He sucks in a breath. “Is it true? What the gossips are saying?”

  “Depends on what the topic is.”

  Sam grunts. “It’s a bitch when you have to hear about important shit from the likes of Luisa Martinez. Boy, that woman has a jaw on her. And you know very well I’m talking about Abelmann. Never did like her. Snake.”

  Snake seems to be the general consensus. Now that I’ve thrown her off the commune, true opinions are making themselves known. If I say, that in the nearly three decades she’s been here, she’s alienated ninety percent of the people on the commune, I don’t think that’s an understatement.

  “Yeah, it’s true. She stole John Kelly’s work. Do you remember him?”

  “Course I do. Memory like an elephant, me.”

  “Belly of one, too.”

  He chuckles at my comment. “At least I’m not as skinny as a giraffe’s neck.”

  “I’ve put on ten pounds since I’ve come home, thank you very much.”

  Sam whistles. “That’s more than the doctor ordered if memory serves. All that sex must be doing you some good then.”

  “You did not just say that.” I’m glad it’s too dark for him to see my blush. As it is, my voice is part-rasp, part-squeak.

  “All those damned noises you make, have people wondering what the hell Conroy does to you in there.”

  A low chuckle sounds behind us. “That’s nobody’s business but Marina’s and mine, Sam. So stop sniffing around.”

  “Not sniffing. Just saying I’m glad she’s happy, that’s all.” Sam’s head turns toward Nate before returning to me. “Always was a peculiar girl. Never liked it easy. Had to pick Jimmy for a boyfriend even though it damn near gave your mother an apoplexy. Couldn’t just take on Erick, even though he’d have been perfect for you.”

  Fuck, could Sam have just commented upon the most unfortunate thing ever?

  “Erick wasn’t perfect for me. If he had been, I wouldn’t have chosen Jimmy, would I?” I point out, hoping Nate isn’t mad at Sam’s thoughtless comment.

  “I know, I know. Just saying, that’s all. Born difficult, that’s you.”

  “Proud of it.”

  He chuckles. “Drove your ma and pa crazy it did.”

  “Not as much as you calling them ma and pa. They never did understand why you liked talking like a hick.”

  “Habit, I guess. Was always a great way of wiggling that stick your father had shoved up his ass.” He sighs, as though the memories of doing just that, are very happy ones. “I’ll be off, then. Just wanted to see if it’s true. When is she going?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Nate answers.

  “Not a moment too soon,” I say to no one in particular.

  “Night to the pair of you. And just a piece of advice, son, while you’re decorating missy’s bedroom, get it soundproofed.”

  Wishing I could throw something at Sam’s head, I simmer, hearing him walk off with a chortle. Nate’s boots clomp on the verandah, telling me he’s moving near me. He takes a seat and wraps his arm around my shoulder, before tugging me closer against his side.

  In the dim light, I can see my breath frosting before me, but with Nate at my side, I don’t care.

  Before us, there are faint lights coming from some of the houses with people still awake. It’s only nine in the evening, but people keep funny times here. Some go to sleep at seven, others work all night.

  There’s a great wash of space ahead of us. It’s endless. Or at least, it feels that way even though I know there are plenty of buildings in the vicinity. The amount is nothing like New York though.

  The pair of us just sit in silence, until Nate breaks into it with a soft sigh, a nuzzle at my forehead and a low, “I love you, Marina.”

  My heart goes pitter-patter in my chest at the unexpected words. “I love you, too. What brought that on? Not that I’m complaining.”

  He shrugs. “I just wanted you to know.”

  “I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

  “I’ll never get tired of saying it. No matter how much I learn about you, you always shock me.”

  “I do?” I ask, pretty pleased by that statement. “You’ll never lead a dull life with me around.”

  “That’s for damned sure. I never saw you as the type to just sit in silence, taking in the views.”

  “You’re kidding? I loved this place as a kid. I’m a watcher, Nate. You’d be surprised what you’d learn from here. Don’t forget, I wasn’t allowed in the mess. This was the only place I could see what was going on. My father wasn’t interested, but even when I was only ten or so, I knew I’d be taking his place one day. I always watched.”

  “Protecting what would one day be yours?”

  “Exactly.” I pause and then chuckle. “God, how precocious do I sound?”

  “Very,” he admits, and I laugh again.

  “Weird how I managed to forget I felt that way.”

  “You were young, and Jimmy’s death just knocked it out of you. It didn’t take long to come back.”

  “Took long enough for Sam to build a goddamn stable and amass breeding stock.”

  At my grumble, he shakes me a little. “It makes the old bastard happy.”

  “So does a box of Cuban cigars. They’re a damned sight cheaper, even if they are illegal.”

  “The ranch can afford the loss. Jase is certain the stables will start paying for themselves soon enough.”

  “I know, I know. But I can still bitch about it. The lying old bugger.”

  “Bugger?” Nate comments.

  I shrug. “It’s just something an aunt used to say.” We sink back into silence,
and then, I admit, “Alexei was as drunk as a coot. Got nothing out of him. Except, he did say something like, you can’t steal what’s freely given.” I pause. “John didn’t mention anything about that in his diaries, did he? Anything that might explain it?”

  Nate shakes his head. “No. Nothing. Those last few months...his entries weren’t as regular as they usually were. They were longer, though. He used to write down anecdotes. Things that had happened on the commune. That last diary, not so much. It was different, he was different. He was focused on the algorithm. That’s why I knew he was okay; in his mind, at any rate. Whenever he had something to work on, it was like food to him, and he was a glutton.”

  “Well, I can’t deny anything about this week has gone as I’d planned it.”

  “Are you relieved?”

  I blow out a breath. “Yeah. I am. If Alexei or James had died, I’d have written it off as collateral damage. But I’m glad I don’t have them on my conscience.”

  “It isn’t the answer we wanted, but at least she won’t be here tomorrow. That’s something, I guess.”

  “It’s not enough. It will have to do, though.” I sigh and grouch, “I’m ready for bed. You?”

  “Yeah. I’m beat.”

  I clear my throat. “I’m not that tired.”

  He chuckles. “That’s good, because we have some unfinished business, don’t we?”

  And just like that, my pussy is drenched.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  There’s a cliché: drooling like Pavlov’s dogs. I swear to God, that’s exactly how I am with Nate. Knowing what’s ahead, I long for it. At the same time, I’m nervous. Not with fear, because I trust him; and he’s the first man to ever give me that, but with a blunted anticipation. One that knows pain is ahead, but it’s something I’ll enjoy regardless.

  He leads me inside, walks up the stairs with me, and together, we enter the bedroom. We’re together, like equals. But I know we’re not. With my insides quivering like Jell-O, I’m his princess, and he’s most definitely my Sir.

  Sir leads me to the armchair and expecting a spanking, I feel my legs start to tremble with expectation. He shocks me, however. He murmurs, “Take off your clothes and kneel.” So saying, he moves away from the armchair, leaving me to comply with his order.