The Pleasures of Autumn

by Evie Hunter

  Obediently, she climbed into the Jeep and fastened her seatbelt but her hands shook.

  He glanced over at her. Poor girl, she was shaken by Maurice’s death. Violent death was hard to take, especially when it was someone close. Maurice had been her friend, her mentor.

  He wished she had been in his bed last night, even if he had been unconscious.

  He drove carefully, allowing the pieces of the puzzle to fit themselves into place, but knowing he was missing something significant.

  ‘Who do you think could have killed him?’ he asked.

  Sinead kept her eyes on the road in front of her. ‘I have no idea. It must have been a robbery.’

  And the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

  What the hell was going on?

  26

  Sinead gripped her hands together while Niall negotiated his way through the traffic, driving too slowly for her taste. When a siren blared, she froze, only relaxing when the sound faded into the distance.

  He touched the call button on his in-car Parrot and the phone clicked on. ‘Andy,’ he said in a clipped tone. After a few moments, Andy responded. ‘The situation has escalated,’ Niall continued. ‘I need to know everything about Maurice Verdon’s death asap. Use your contacts, but discreetly. Our ETA is fifteen minutes.’

  The authority in his voice reminded her of their night at Ville d’Avray. He demanded and expected that he would be obeyed without question. The flinty stare he gave her when their eyes met in the rear view mirror made her shiver. This was the Niall she remembered from London when her cousin Summer had been kidnapped. He had taken over her uncle’s mansion and insisted on interrogating each one of the staff personally. This man was icily controlled. The man who had made love to her until she begged him to stop was gone.

  He held her elbow as they entered the lift, smiling politely at an elderly lady carrying a Chihuahua in an over-sized handbag. His gesture was a parody of affection. Niall’s grip was like a vice. When they left the elevator, he practically dragged her across the lobby to their apartment.

  ‘Andy,’ Niall said as soon as he walked through the door. ‘The situation has become critical. We’re returning to Geneva.’

  Sinead swallowed. She was ‘the situation’ as he so crudely put it and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be under Niall’s control right now.

  Andy nodded and reached for his jacket. ‘I’ll sort out the travel arrangements.’

  When Andy left, Niall locked and bolted the door. Ignoring her, he picked up a straight-backed chair and placed it in the centre of the room.

  ‘Take a seat.’ The silky voice held more than a touch of menace.

  She tried for bravado. ‘Thanks, but I’m not sure if I want to.’

  ‘Sit.’

  He barely raised his voice but it was enough to make her stomach flip. She hadn’t felt so panicky since her first performance. She sat, stiff and upright in the chair, trying to quell her nerves.

  Niall took off his tie and dropped it over the arm of the couch. ‘Let’s start with something simple, shall we? Tell me about your family.’

  Simple? He had no idea. Sinead twisted her hands in her lap. ‘There’s nothing much to tell. My dad left when I was little.’ Best hurry over that bit. ‘My mum is dead. I was raised by my grandparents.’

  ‘Ah.’

  That loaded little word irritated the hell out of her. She had been in therapy for a while and she knew the drill. Poor little orphan girl. ‘Not everyone has a perfect childhood, you know. Lots of families break up.’

  She hated the flash of pity in Niall’s eyes; hated that she sounded so defensive. She was doing just fine. She didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for her.

  ‘Touched a sore spot, did I?’

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Feck off.’

  ‘Okay, subject change. Tell me about school.’

  She huffed out a breath. ‘St Louis in Monaghan. Trinity College.’ There was no need to tell him about her early years. Or how Granny O’Sullivan had intervened to make sure that she was educated with her cousin, Summer.

  ‘After that, an MA at Sotheby’s Institute of Art. They took me on before I graduated.’

  ‘Impressive. Why was that?’

  ‘Because I can spot a fake a mile away.’

  ‘How?’

  She shrugged. ‘Some of it is science. I can analyse wavelet decomposition readings for paintings and check provenances of newly discovered “missing” old masters. But most of it is gut feeling and instinct.’

  She didn’t know how to explain the utter certainty when she looked at a piece of art or a jewel. She didn’t need the equipment to tell her that it was the real thing.

  ‘Tell me about the stone.’

  At last. Something easy to answer. ‘The Fire of Autumn. It is the world’s largest ruby. At $48.5 million, it set the record at Sotheby’s for the most expensive single jewel ever sold at auction.’

  When he didn’t stop her, she continued on. ‘Originally from the Indian kingdom of Salkonda, it was a Sultan’s wedding gift to his bride. King Philip of Spain purchased the jewel and included it in the dowry of his teenage daughter, Margaret Teresa, in 1664.

  ‘The Fire disappeared and reappeared over the centuries, turning up as a centrepiece in the collections of the royal houses of Europe, including that of Archduke Ferdinand. After the First World War, the stone vanished, only to resurface as part of a secret Nazi horde at the end of the Second World War.

  ‘Now owned by King Abdullah, it’s currently on loan to the Rheinbach museum in Geneva.’

  Sinead stopped. She was so involved in telling the story of the stone that she had almost forgotten about the theft.

  ‘See, not a hesitation, not a flicker of doubt. You can tell the truth when you want to.’

  ‘I haven’t lied to you.’

  The moment the words were out of her mouth she winced. She had lied to him. She had run out on him. She had left him carrying the can with her uncle Tim for a million Swiss francs. And while it had nothing to do with the theft of the ruby, not telling him about Lottie gnawed at her. The longer she left it, the harder it got.

  ‘When I find my sister –’

  Niall covered the distance between them in a flash. His strong fingers hooked under her chin and forced her to look up at him. ‘You don’t have a sister. You’re an only child. Tim confirmed it when I spoke to him yesterday.’

  Sinead closed her eyes. How could she tell him what it was like when Uncle Tim and her grandmother had found her at the camp? Of the nights that she cried for Roro. But no one would believe her after their initial search for her twin found no trace of the girl. She was just a traumatized child with a vivid imagination. She stopped herself. It had been hard enough to tell Gabriel and he was her closest friend. Why should she tell Niall? He wasn’t going to believe her anyway. She wondered what else had he asked Tim and what had her uncle told him? Sinead opened her eyes and stared back at him. Let him question her. She would tell him nothing.

  Niall’s gaze was cold and fathomless. If she hadn’t been sitting down, she would have run. Instead, she sat frozen to the chair. Niall didn’t believe her. He didn’t trust her an inch.

  ‘You stole the Fire of Autumn. You made me break my word to your uncle. And I hate breaking my word.’

  Niall released her chin and stepped away. She watched him walk to the bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying the holdall he had taken to the party. He dropped it beside the chair and bent his head until his face was inches from hers. Following his angry accusations, his slow, tender kiss took her by surprise. In spite of everything, she couldn’t resist him.

  She whimpered softly as she leaned into it, opening her mouth, craving the taste of him. This was the Niall she needed right now.

  Niall pulled away with a smile and busied himself with the bag. He pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs.

  ‘Where did you …?’

  ‘A gift from Hermione. Technically, yo
u could say that it’s a goodie bag. Although I think she meant you to use them on me.’

  He fixed the cuff to her wrist and fastened her deftly to the chair.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He couldn’t possibly want to do this now. Not when they were in the middle of an argument.

  ‘You like playing games, don’t you, Sinead?’ He produced a second pair of cuffs. This time he attached them to her other wrist and clipped them onto the other arm of the chair.

  Standing behind her, he pushed her hair aside and kissed the tender skin where her neck met her shoulder. ‘This is a game called truth or dare.’

  His deft fingers opened the top two buttons of her shirt and brushed lightly along her breasts, raising goose bumps where they touched. ‘You tell me the truth, or I take it as a dare to do something to you.’

  Her eyes flew open. ‘What?’

  She tugged against the chair, but they were serious cuffs, not the kind they used at hen parties.

  Smiling, he returned to his task of dealing with her buttons, dropping a kiss on each inch of exposed flesh. His hair tickled as it came in contact with her skin. Niall couldn’t be serious.

  ‘You actually expect me confess all for a few kisses?’

  He flashed her a smile that was tinged with wickedness. ‘Of course not. I expect you to lie your head off.’

  Niall tugged the sleeves of her shirt down over her arms, effectively imprisoning her. Sinead wriggled, but she couldn’t move her arms. He was serious. He was actually going to torture her for information.

  Her skirt came next but when he unzipped it she refused to help him by raising her hips. Niall went to the kitchen and returned with scissors. ‘Co-operate or I can cut it off. Your choice.’

  It wasn’t fair. She liked these clothes. ‘Stop this.’

  ‘Baby, I’m just getting started.’

  She raised her hips reluctantly and he tugged the skirt off in one swift movement, leaving her sitting in matching bra, panties, garter belt and stockings.

  He lifted the scissors to the lacy edge of her panties and then changed his mind. ‘We’ll leave them on for a while.’

  Unhooking the front fastening of her bra, he exposed her breasts for his attention. When he circled her areola with his thumb, her nipples peaked.

  ‘Nice and responsive. Just the way I like them.’

  He rummaged inside the bag and pulled out something.

  The small flogger looked as harmless as a child’s toy. He flicked it experimentally against her exposed flesh. Tiny pinpricks of sensation bloomed along her breasts. It was nice. Not quite ticklish but good.

  He knelt at the bag again and, without asking permission, he covered her eyes with a satin blindfold.

  The sudden deprivation of one sense only heightened the others.

  The next flick came in contact with her erect nipple and she jumped. ‘That was –’

  Another blow, this one harder than the last, caused her nipple to harden in response. ‘You like a little pain with your pleasure, don’t you?’

  On and on it went, a tide of sensations, sometimes hard, sometimes ticklish, building warmth and tenderness in equal measure. The blows moved lower, along her abdomen and thighs. Sinead pulled her knees together and received a stinging flick and parted them again. The flogger gave her a pleasant buzz. Not quite pain or pleasure, but something in between.

  He removed the blindfold and smiled down at her dazed expression. ‘Like that?’

  ‘I hate you.’

  He raised one blond brow in amusement before opening the bag and pulling out a chain with nipple clamps on it. ‘Good. Then I guess it’s time for our first question.’ His smile faded. ‘Were you and Gabriel lovers?’

  Sinead stared blankly at him. He could go to hell. ‘None of your business.’

  ‘That was the wrong answer.’ He fixed a clamp to her right nipple.

  That wasn’t so bad. It only pinched a little. She could put up with it for a while, but when she got out of this Niall would pay. She would …

  ‘We’ve got all night. I’ll ask the question again. Tell me about you and Gabriel. Were you lovers?’

  Sinead pressed her mouth shut and glared at him.

  Shrugging, Niall attached a second clamp to her other nipple.

  The first was beginning to burn a little, the tightness making her want to squirm, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Niall lifted the chain and gave it a gentle tug.

  Heat bloomed in both of her nipples and she cried out as the pleasure/pain zinged through her. ‘That hurts.’

  ‘It’s meant to. Let me know when you feel like talking.’

  She was expecting another round with the flogger. Instead he sat in front of the laptop Andy had been using earlier and switched it on. That was it? He was going to ignore her? Minutes later, he was still sitting there. Sinead squirmed in her chair, but each swing of the chain only added to the aching sensation in her nipples. ‘Take them off me.’

  Niall ignored her. The apartment was silent apart from the tapping of his fingers on the keyboard. She shifted in the chair again, but each time she did, the tingling became worse. He had to take them off. ‘Yes, we were lovers, but it’s been over between us for more than a year. Now please …’

  He finished typing and got up. She was going to kill him for this.

  Slowly, he approached her. He ran his index finger along the valley of her breasts, brushing the chain as he did so.

  ‘Ow,’ she cried.

  ‘Poor baby.’ Bending his head, he nuzzled one breast and unclipped the tweezer clamp.

  She gasped with relief but seconds later, the blood rushed back to her abused nipple and she cried out.

  His hand fisted in her hair and Niall fastened his mouth over her burning flesh, sucking and licking, riding out the storm. Desire unfurled like a sail and she arched against him, seeking more of his mouth. God, that felt so good. She could almost come, just from this.

  He released her nipple with a pop. The heat in his eyes was unmistakeable. He pulled on the chain, dragging her attention back to him. ‘No, I don’t think so. Shall we try another question?’

  Dazed from the river of sensation washing over her, she nodded.

  ‘Good girl,’ he praised her, and she didn’t know why the words sounded so good, so right to her ears. Planting tiny kisses against her heated skin, he traced a path upwards along her neck to nip at her jaw. ‘Let’s try another one.’

  Sinead tensed, but under his teasing ministrations, she relaxed again. The sensation in her left nipple had settled to an insistent throb. When he removed the clamp she was going to scream.

  ‘What was your father’s name?’

  ‘Peter,’ she gasped.

  ‘Peter what?’

  ‘That’s all I know. That’s what mum called him – Peter.’

  The picture of a smiling red-haired man popped into her head. He was laughing, lifting her skyward. Her sister clung to his leg, begging to be lifted too. It was just before he left, taking Roisin with him.

  ‘He took her. He took Roro.’

  He released the other clamp and the blood rushed back furiously. Heat shot out in bright arcs and even his suckling mouth couldn’t hope to keep it at bay. Arms rigid, she rocked back in her chair and only his strength kept her from falling.

  ‘Sinead, Sinead,’ Niall’s voice anchored her, bringing her back to him. ‘Who is Roro?’

  ‘My sister.’

  27

  Released from the handcuffs, Sinead was conscious of his hands briskly rubbing her wrists. Niall lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, setting her down on the cool quilt. Dazed, she watched as he picked up a pillow and placed it beneath her hips. What was he doing now?

  Through her eyelashes, she watched as he unbuttoned his shirt and peeled off his jeans. Except for the bruises, he was perfect, as if one of the marble statues in the Louvre had come to life. Every inch of him was strongly muscled. Her mind might be confus
ed, but her body knew exactly what it wanted. As if he had read her mind, he peeled off her panties.

  The clank of metal told her he was at the damned bag again. She mentally added Hermione to her hit list along with her sister and Granny O’Sullivan. Surely Niall couldn’t do anything more to a defenceless woman?

  Apparently he could. He fixed a leather strap to one ankle and then a second one. She tried to close her legs, but couldn’t. There was a long bar between the straps, holding her ankles apart.

  ‘It’s called a spreader bar. Like it?’ His voice rumbled with amusement.

  ‘No.’

  Ignoring her response, he clipped her handcuffs to the bed.

  ‘Sinead, focus on me.’

  Bossy Niall was back. One by one, he removed more items from his kit bag – a length of soft rope, a ball gag, which he considered and replaced in the bag, a leather paddle and another flogger – this one heavier than the last.

  Sinead swallowed. He couldn’t use that on her.

  ‘Nervous? We haven’t gotten to the good stuff yet.’ He smiled as he removed a tube of lube and finally a velvet bag. He emptied the contents onto the bed.

  The purple G-spot toy she recognized. The large wand looked like the muscle massager that some of the dancers used when their legs were aching. The small, dark toy puzzled her until she remembered their visit to the sex shop. It was a butt plug.

  ‘No,’ she shouted and tried to sit up. The handcuffs kept her in place.

  ‘Okay, we’ll keep that one in reserve for now.’ He dropped it into the bag and returned to stand at the end of the bed. Bending, he gripped the spreader bar and pushed it towards her. Sinead’s knees bent automatically. He continued to push until the bar rested inches below her hips. In this position, she was open, exposed to him. Nervousness and excitement churned in her gut.

  ‘Very pretty and very wet.’ Niall dropped a kiss on her mons. ‘Exactly the way I like my uptight museum curators.’

  ‘Somehow, I wouldn’t have thought that stuffy museum curators were high on your list.’