The Pleasures of Autumn

by Evie Hunter

  He might not be in the market for a new bed-mate every night – he had resigned himself to the knowledge that very few women could cope with him and his profession – but he was still a man, with a Y chromosome and the usual amount of testosterone. He should have noticed Sinead as a woman. And he hadn’t.

  And given her spectacularly talented mouth, she should have had men lining up around the block to go out with her. Yet his investigation had turned up nothing. There were no boyfriends and she hadn’t had a date in months.

  There were odd blanks in her profile too – evenings and weekends when she was off the grid. If she really was an old maid, he would have assumed she was at home, watching television. Or more likely, reading some obscure book about the history of jewels. God knew, she had enough of them in her apartment. But the woman who had seduced him so skilfully did not sit at home every night.

  ‘So what time are we leaving?’ Andy was asking. He was holding the invitation in his hand.

  ‘We’ll have to drive there, so about eight, I think.’ Sinead cupped a bowl of coffee in her hand and took a sip. She caught a glimpse of him at the door and smiled. ‘Niall, you’re up.’

  ‘Got any more coffee?’ he asked. ‘And some food? I’m starving.’

  She jumped up to get him some. ‘We’re planning what we’ll do at the fetish party tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, I don’t fancy the loincloth, I’m thinking that leather outfit would do me,’ Andy said.

  Niall held up his hand. ‘We’re not going there. It’s too dangerous and there is no point.’

  Before Sinead could protest, Andy handed him a sheet of paper. ‘Before you decide that, you might want to take a look at the guest list.’

  Niall read the thirty names on it and blinked. It read like a Who’s Who of European politics, business, academia and science. And one name in particular made him whistle. Vadim Gorev, one of the biggest names in the Russian Mafia. If there was anyone who could dispose of a $50 million jewel, this was the man.

  ‘Andy, I think you deserve a raise.’

  ‘Yeah, boss, I keep telling you that.’

  Sinead looked from one to the other. ‘What’s going on? Are we going?’

  Doubt niggled at him. Finding a ‘missing’ sister was one thing, but throwing Vadim into the mix was something entirely different. Sinead looked so innocent, but he knew she was hiding something. If he wanted to get the stone back, he would have to let her go to the party. But he would be there, watching her for the entire weekend.

  Niall looked from Andy to Sinead. ‘We’re going. I’m going with you.’

  ‘Dude, have you looked at yourself?’ Andy gestured at the mirror over the mantelpiece. ‘You look like a train wreck.’

  Niall managed a smile at the choice of words, and grimaced. That hurt. ‘Doesn’t matter. We’re not going to win a beauty contest. Have you forgotten what this is about? We’re there to find Sinead’s sister.’

  ‘What are you going to do if you find her?’ Andy asked.

  Sinead looked at him in surprise. ‘Get the ruby back, of course, and then bring her home to meet my family.’ It was too obvious to need saying.

  From the grim expression on their faces, the men did not agree. ‘Sinead, it’s not that simple,’ Niall said. ‘She stole a valuable jewel and framed you for the theft. We can’t just let her go.’

  ‘But –’ She looked from one to the other. ‘She must have had a good reason. She’s my sister. She wouldn’t try to hurt me.’

  ‘She already has,’ Niall said.

  Sinead stood her ground. ‘It’s a mistake. You’ll see. I want you to promise me you won’t do anything to her without my permission. After all, you’re working for me.’

  Andy hooted with laughter, while Niall gave a reluctant nod. ‘We’ll consult with you. Fair enough?’

  She nodded. ‘And what happens if she is not there?’

  ‘That’s more tricky. We’ll have to try to pass you off as her, and see if we can find out where she lives or what she does for a living.’

  Andy handed Niall a mirror. ‘Have you looked at yourself, boss? You’ll never pass as a slave. I think I should do it.’

  The mirror showed him that Andy was right. His face was covered with bruises, his right eye was turning black and there was a cut under it. Hall had fists like anvils.

  Sinead gasped. ‘Your back!’

  He twisted around and saw that it was a mass of livid cuts and purple bruises.

  ‘No way are you going out in a loincloth, dude,’ Andy said. ‘You’ll scare the ladies there. Now me, I’ll be like the flower that attracts all the bees.’

  ‘I hope they sting you to death,’ Sinead snapped.

  ‘But what a way to go.’

  Niall scowled at both of them. ‘I am going. Andy, you can drive us. And get me some more of those pills. I’ll get through this and crash later.’

  Andy opened his mouth to argue and then shut it without saying anything.

  Sinead’s eyes were narrowed. ‘You are impossible, both of you. I feel like going on my own.’

  ‘No!’ both men said at once.

  ‘Oh, very well. But Andy’s right, you can’t wear the loincloth. We’ll have to find you something else.’ She groped in her bag and found her phone. ‘Hey Clara? L – Listen, Sinead here. We need a new costume for tonight.’

  Damn. She had almost said Lottie. Sinead held Niall’s eyes while she said, ‘Turns out my date is not as pretty from the back as I had thought. We need something that covers his back completely, but we still need to make him look like a slave. He’s going to be very servile tonight.’

  She listened to whatever Clara was saying, occasionally commenting. ‘Okay, that sounds great. I’ll send someone to pick it up.’

  She disconnected the call, an evil laugh in her eyes. ‘Oh, you are going to love this.’

  Niall closed his eyes. He had a feeling she was going to torture him. And in the meantime, he needed to track down Hall and find out what the bastard was up to.

  While Niall was on the laptop chasing down a lead to Hall, Sinead permitted herself the luxury of a bath. It had been a while since her last public appearance and she needed the works if she was wearing that skimpy costume.

  As she lounged in the warm water, memories of their earlier encounter flooded her head. What had come over her? She had almost let Lottie out of the box. Now, each time Niall looked at her, there was heat in his eyes that he didn’t bother to disguise.

  ‘You cannot do this,’ she told the steam-clouded mirror.

  Great. Now she was talking to herself. A relationship with Niall would be impossible. She couldn’t possibly keep a secret like Lottie. And it looked like Lottie would have to come out of retirement until she found another job. It was lucky she hadn’t sold her costumes and stage props.

  She slopped a wet flannel over her arms, letting the soapy water dribble across her skin. She was falling for Niall and that was way out of her comfort zone. Her only long-term relationship had been with Gabriel, and that had been friendship and fun rather than passion. He knew the score. Keep it light. No promises and no tears when it was over. She could never surrender her heart to a man.

  Falling in love was a big no-no. She needed to control her relationships, and she was never going to leave herself vulnerable to another person who might leave her. She’d already lost too many people. Sinead shut the lid on that memory. She was not going there. No falling in love. And definitely no falling in love with Niall.

  ‘Sinead, have you fallen asleep in there? Andy is back.’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ she replied. She climbed out of the bath and oiled her damp skin. As she grabbed a robe from the back of the door, raised voices carried through from the sitting room: Andy’s laughter and Niall’s clipped tone. Oh dear. He had obviously seen his costume. She hurried outside.

  ‘I am not going to a party dressed like Russell fucking Crowe. You can take it back and get me something else.’

  ‘Clara say
s it’s Spartacus and that all the women will –’

  Sinead clapped her hands to get their attention. ‘Boys, please. Stop fighting.’

  ‘You.’ She addressed her remarks to Niall in the sternest voice she could manage. ‘The party starts in less than two hours. The store is closed. There will be no other costume.’

  ‘And you.’ She rounded on Andy. ‘Stop laughing at him. God knows he’s bad enough.’

  Sinead picked up the new costume. Clara had done a fine job. The strips of leather were stitched together and studded to form a tunic that would cover the damage to his back. The gladiator-style skirt would barely come to mid-thigh on him. Andy was right. Even with the cuts and bruises, the women would melt when they saw him coming. Digging into the tissue-lined box, she found two leather arm braces. They would barely go round his forearm, but they would cover some of the bruising there. As for the rest of the injuries, he would have to be content with looking dangerous.

  A smaller box revealed a sheer stole to match her costume and a metal headdress that looked vaguely Roman. Clara had thought of everything. They were no longer going as Samson and Delilah but as a Roman lady and her gladiator, one of her favourite fantasies.

  ‘I don’t suppose Clara gave you a sword?’ she asked, trying to lighten the tension.

  ‘If she did, I know where I’d stick it.’

  Andy snorted with laughter. ‘Look on the bright side; it covers more than the loincloth.’

  ‘Keep digging that hole and I’ll be happy to bury you in it.’

  Sinead rolled her eyes. They were worse than a pair of two year olds. ‘You have half an hour to get ready. I suggest you hit the shower. Andy, you better change into your chauffeur’s outfit. You get to be my servant for the weekend.’

  21

  Ninety minutes later, they were waved through the tall iron gates of the mansion near Ville D’Avray. Sinead reached for Niall’s hand. It was too late to turn back.

  He squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll be fine. Don’t sweat it. We’ll stay in the background, ask a few discreet questions and get out as soon as possible. It’s only a few weirdoes dressed up like plonkers.’

  Andy’s snort of laughter could be heard from the driver’s seat. ‘Like you, you mean? I’d give my next pay cheque to see you wearing that outfit in public.’

  ‘Keep that up and you might not be getting one.’

  Sinead could feel the tension thrumming through him. The winding entrance road led through a screen of trees. The house was well concealed from prying eyes. Around the next bend, a gravelled forecourt was lit with lights strung through the branches of mature trees. Several limousines were parked outside, their drivers sharing banter and cigarettes.

  ‘Here we are.’ Andy pulled up at the entrance and hurried to open the rear door for them.

  Niall released her hand. ‘Ready?’

  She managed a nervous smile. Her stomach was churning and she wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of meeting her sister or getting the stone back. Or both.

  When this was over, there would be no excuse for them to be together. Niall would go his way and she would go back to her old life. The prospect made her spirits plummet. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  She accepted Niall’s hand as she climbed out of the car and her heel wobbled momentarily on the stones beneath her feet.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll be fine. It’s just a party.’

  Andy opened the trunk and unpacked the bags containing their costumes and a few items he had purchased in the sex shop. Sinead closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was show time and she had never felt so nervous before a performance.

  The door to the mansion opened. A footman wearing a striped waistcoat descended the stone steps and took their bags from Andy. Niall moved to follow him and Sinead raised an eyebrow at his audacity. Chastened, he remembered his role as her slave and waited for her direction.

  ‘This way, Madame.’ The footman led the way into the house.

  Sinead paused in the doorway, tempted to whistle. The black and white marble tiled floor was original, as were the array of mirrored doors leading in all directions. An unending series of reflections greeted them, her red hair cascading over the dark evening cloak that Andy had picked up in a local flea market, and Niall, tight lipped and serious, in a dark suit.

  ‘Red! Darling. It’s been far too long.’

  The perfectly-coiffed blonde hairstyle matched the cultured Parisian accent. She was stick thin. The slanted cast around her eyes and slightly widened mouth was a clue to her surgeon’s expertise. She might have been a well-preserved forty but was probably closer to sixty.

  Would she recognize her as a fake? Could she pass for her sister? She worked to keep her French as perfect as possible.

  ‘Darling.’ Sinead air-kissed her cheeks. This could only be Hermione.

  ‘I haven’t seen you since Stockholm, or was it Helsinki?’ She looked at Sinead expectantly.

  Sinead stared blankly at her. Apparently her sister got around. She had a fifty-fifty chance of getting this one right. ‘Wasn’t it Stockholm at the …’

  Hermione clapped her hands. ‘Of course, George’s party. Silly me. You did that fabulous routine with two subs.’

  Apparently her sister had some pretty extreme tastes.

  Hermione eyed Niall openly and ran an expert hand along his upper arm. ‘He’s new. Nice looking brute. But then you always did have good taste.’

  She gave Sinead a perfectly even smile that did not crease the skin at her eyes. ‘I look forward to seeing you put him through his paces.’

  The door opened again and Hermione prepared to welcome her next guest. ‘Your room is on the second floor. Philippe will show you. I’ll see you in the salon when you’ve changed.’

  Dismissed, they followed the footman up the wide staircase. One entire wall was painted with a mural of a heroic battle scene.

  ‘Battle of Ulm,’ Niall informed her. ‘Karl Mack von Leiberich, or General Mack as he was known, Commander of the Austrian forces. He surrendered to Napoleon, along with thirty thousand men.’

  From the hallway below came the sound of another party of guests arriving.

  ‘This way, Madame.’ The footman was anxious to return to his duties and they followed him up another flight of stairs and along a carpeted hallway to a door at the very end. He opened the door with a flourish.

  The room was large and filled with antique furniture. An enormous upholstered Corbeille bed was set beneath a gilded mirror. The picture windows were framed with heavy damask curtains. Outside, she caught a glimpse of an azure swimming pool surrounded by trees strung with lights. The faint tinkle of a piano carried on the air.

  ‘Will that be all, Madame?’ asked the footman.

  ‘Merci.’ She smiled her thanks at him and he departed.

  Niall whistled. ‘Nice bed. And the mirror is tilted at the perfect angle for –’

  ‘Don’t get any ideas. We’re here to find my sister.’

  Niall shrugged and loosened his tie. ‘We better get changed. It looks like the party is already started.’

  He unbuttoned his shirt and placed it on the back of a chair before going to his bag. The leather skirt looked impossibly small in his hands and Sinead was tempted to laugh. He unpacked the complicated array of leather armour that would conceal most of the damage to his back. The rest she would have to cover with make-up.

  Niall frowned. ‘You’ll have to help me with this.’ He pulled it on, cursing at the number of buckles and double rings. ‘Give me a Kevlar vest any day.’

  Sinead dropped her cape on the bed before she helped Niall to adjust the straps of his costume and stood back to admire her work. ‘There. Once you lose the pants and put on the sandals, you’ll be fine. Don’t be shy.’

  His scowl told her she was skating on thin ice. Niall toed off his shoes and turned his back to her while he unzipped his pants and stepped out of his boxers. He tied the studded skirt in place and tugged it d
own to cover his butt. ‘Are you sure I can’t wear –’

  ‘No. Positively no boxers.’ She laughed at his outraged expression.

  He perched on the edge of the bed and gave her a narrow-eyed gaze. ‘Fine, but I believe it’s your turn.’

  The memory of the impromptu tease with the bath towel flashed into her head and she flushed. That had ended in some of the best sex she had ever had but they didn’t have time for that now.

  ‘Come on. Don’t be shy. Strip.’

  With his hair down and his muscled arms visible beneath the armour, he really did look like a gladiator ready for battle. She had stripped on stage for strangers without a thought, but this was personal.

  Niall’s last word had an edge of command to it that sent a blaze of heat straight to her core. Keeping her eyes focused on his, she unbuttoned her shirt, taking pleasure in the way that his eyes followed each new inch of exposed flesh. She eased it off her shoulders and dropped it onto an antique chair. Slowly, she unzipped her skirt and shimmied out of it, noticing with satisfaction that the front of his gladiator skirt was tenting.

  She kicked off her shoes, sat on the edge of the seat and unclipped her stockings from the suspender belt before rolling them down her legs slowly. A wave of feminine satisfaction surged through her as she watched him, watching her.

  Standing up, she unclipped the silk bra and let it slide down her arms. Her breasts sprang free, her nipples two hard points.

  Niall flexed his powerful thighs. ‘Now the rest,’ he said hoarsely.

  Catching the lacy waistband of her panties, she pulled them off in one deft movement and stood naked before him, wearing nothing but a mischievous grin. ‘We have a party to go to. Aren’t you going to dress me?’

  With a hungry smile, he stood up and fetched her bag. The tissue-wrapped parcel lay on top. Deftly, he opened the ribbons and shook the costume loose. If anything, it looked more outrageous than it had done in the changing room.