The Pleasures of Winter

by Evie Hunter

  He couldn’t help it. ‘Does he ever talk about me?’

  ‘Not much. But he watches every film you’re in, and reads all the letters you send to Mam.’

  Jack didn’t know what to say to that. He had never forgotten the night his father had thrown him out.

  They fell into silence as Ciara gave all her attention to negotiating the slushy roads. They crawled along. He was glad of the chance to get his head around the fact that he was actually back in Dublin. Finally, they got to a stretch where the traffic was flowing. Ciara gave him a sideways glance before saying, ‘So, what did happen back then, Jack? I remember all the fuss, but no one would tell me any details.’

  ‘You were too young.’

  She stopped at a set of traffic lights on to the main road and looked right at him. ‘Well, I’m not young and innocent any more, so spill. Or I’ll assume the worst. And you have no idea how vivid my imagination is.’

  ‘It was nothing. Or it should have been nothing. Do you remember Sarah who was one of my gang in college?’

  ‘I used to slag her about her D4 accent, but I thought she was all right.’

  Jack gave a reluctant laugh. ‘Me too. But we had a lot in common.’ He couldn’t tell Ciara just how much they had in common. Ciara might be an adult now, but she was still his little sister.

  ‘Anyway, we had been at the Horse Show. She bought a riding crop in the Exhibition Hall and that night we played with it.’

  Ciara surprised him with a dirty laugh. ‘I’ll bet you did.’ So, his little sister wasn’t so innocent any more.

  ‘We were a bit surprised at how strong the marks were, but she liked it. Then her mother took her to Brown Thomas to buy a dress for the Horse Show ball. She saw them and raised hell. And Sarah was too scared of her mother, and of what everyone would think, to tell her that it was consensual. She made out that I had lost it and attacked her.’ Jack shrugged, trying to sound casual. ‘I was arrested and charged with assault, and locked up in the Bridewell.’

  Ciara winced. ‘I didn’t know about that. Are you still claustrophobic?’

  He grimaced. ‘A bit. I hate small planes or confined spaces.’ That was an understatement.

  ‘Dad pulled a few strings and got me out and he went and spoke to her parents and the charges were dropped.’

  ‘If he did that, why did you fall out? Why haven’t you talked in twelve years?’

  ‘He never asked me what happened. Just assumed I had beaten her, and told me to get out of his sight.’ All these years later, the hurt of that was still fresh.

  ‘Give him a break. A cop – a sergeant, at that – whose son was arrested for kinky stuff? Of course he wouldn’t react well. Talk to him. He’ll forgive you.’

  The idea made Jack’s fists clench. ‘I didn’t do anything that needs forgiving. He assumed the worst.’ He took a breath. ‘Anyway, I won’t have time to talk to him. I’m only here for a day or two, until I can pick up,’ he hesitated, ‘a friend. A special friend.’

  ‘Abbie Marshall. I know.’ Ciara wasn’t even looking at him, she was watching a tractor towing a sports car.

  He nearly pulled a tendon in his neck, he whipped round so fast. ‘What? How did you know?’

  ‘Of course I know. As soon as I saw her on the news when you were found I could see that she was just your type. And Kev said that she had gone missing.’

  ‘Kev?’

  ‘Well, sure. Even though you scared him out of asking me out, we’re Facebook friends and e-mail occasionally. He follows me on Twitter,’ she added proudly, ‘which is more than you do.’

  Jack felt as if he had fallen down a rabbit hole. Why had he assumed that what happened in America wouldn’t reach Ireland?

  She pulled out and overtook a lorry salting the road, a bus and a Ford Focus in one manoeuvre. He might have survived a crashing plane and a Honduran rainforest full of poisonous snakes and man-eating cats, but if he got through Dublin in one piece it would be a miracle.

  ‘So, are you staying with me or going home?’

  ‘Neither. I’ve booked a room in the Clarence.’

  Ciara took her attention off the road and gave him an incredulous look. ‘No bloody way. My house or Mam’s. I am not taking you to a hotel. Not unless you want to have photographers chasing you all over Temple Bar.’

  He winced. He hadn’t thought of that. ‘OK, your house it is, if you’re sure Johnny won’t mind.’

  She kept her attention on the road. ‘He’ll be fine. And Aoife is mad to meet the uncle who sends her all the presents.’ Ciara pulled into a side street. ‘Here we are. Grab your bag and prepare to enter Bedlam.’

  For the moment, the subject was dropped.

  33

  Abbie unwrapped the dark-blue tissue paper and gasped. She lifted the green silk dress and shook it, trying to shake out the creases. ‘It’s fabulous.’

  ‘I wore it the night I met Martin.’ Barbara gazed at the dress wistfully. ‘It doesn’t fit me now but it will look lovely on you.’

  Abbie held it up against her and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The dress brought out the colour of her eyes. Jack would … No. No more thinking about Jack. It was almost a week since their conversation and she hadn’t heard a word from him since.

  His threat of making her pay had been empty. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed. She had thrown herself into helping Barbara with the preparations for the hunt ball. Tonight she would meet Tom Breslin and get back to work. It would be good to have a story to focus on.

  ‘There’s a headdress to match.’ Barbara opened a second, smaller tissue parcel. A jewelled headband glittered in the paper. Wrapped separately were two feathers, dyed to match the colour of the dress.

  Abbie sat obediently as Barbara fitted the headband and attached the feathers. Even without make-up the elaborate band made her look sophisticated. It wasn’t a look she did often.

  ‘You won’t be able to sit down all night.’

  ‘What?’ Barbara’s words startled her. The last person to use those words meant something else entirely. Abbie blushed and Barbara gave her a knowing smile.

  ‘I meant dancing. You won’t be short of partners. You go and get ready. I’ll iron this for you.’

  For once, the shower didn’t turn cold halfway through. Abbie took a while to moisturize her skin. There were no bruises on her ass, no burning rasp from five o’clock shadow, no marks on her wrists from restraints. All traces of her adventures in D/s were gone. She felt naked.

  But it wasn’t just any marks she wanted; it was Jack’s marks. Kit had been right. She was a natural submissive, but it didn’t matter. There was only one man that she would ever submit to and that was never going to happen again. For all Jack’s talk about trust and openness in a D/s relationship, in the end he hadn’t trusted her.

  She applied her make-up carefully and pulled a face at her reflection. ‘Stop thinking about Jack. You’re worse than a teenager.’

  Barbara had laid the dress out on the bed. Creases gone, the silk shimmered under the lamplight. Abbie adjusted her headdress and attached the feathers. An exotic creature stared back at her from the mirror. She painted a Cupid’s bow on her lips. ‘Very Louise Brooks,’ she approved. ‘Now, let’s see if the paint job will tempt Mr Breslin.’

  She had never made an entrance before, but the green dress certainly drew attention. She spotted Martin in the crowd, wearing a formal dinner jacket. He was chatting to the ambassador and another man in his forties. Barbara was at the centre of the crowd as usual.

  An octogenarian friend of Martin’s who had been at the Christmas party offered her his arm. His suit was shiny in places and he smelled faintly of mothballs. ‘You haven’t forgotten you promised me a dance tonight, have you?’

  Abbie smiled. He was a sweet old guy. ‘Of course not, lead the way.’

  Three dances passed before she could politely disentangle herself from his grasp. For an old guy, he had a lot of moves and some of them weren’t pol
ite. She made her way through the heaving crowd to where Martin and the others were still chatting. Drink in hand, Martin was holding forth about his favourite subject.

  ‘Do you ever stop talking about horses?’ she asked.

  He glanced around the room at the swathe of female flesh on view. ‘Sure, what else would we talk about? Mind you, there’s a few fine fillies about the place tonight, including yourself. Have you met Tom? He’s with the ambassador.’

  So this was Tom Breslin. Forties, handsome, dark hair and beautiful tailoring. Thanks to Miffy, Abbie knew enough about clothes to recognize that Breslin’s tuxedo was handmade and that the black pearl stickpin was real. His sharp eyes drank her in from head to foot before returning to her boobs. Abbie ignored his impolite stare and offered her hand. ‘I’m Abbie, Martin’s niece.’

  There was no recognition on his face. Good. Maybe he hadn’t associated her with the reporter who had been trying to get an interview with him for weeks.

  ‘Delighted to meet you, Abbie.’ He took her hand in his.

  Abbie tried not to grimace when she felt his clammy hand. She hated men with sweaty palms. She forced a bright smile. ‘So, you work with the ambassador. My, that must be interesting. I bet you get to travel a lot.’

  Breslin returned her smile and moved closer. ‘Yes, I do. Europe, South America –’

  ‘South America? Wow! I’d love to hear about that. That part of the world has always fascinated me.’

  Breslin took the bait. ‘Why don’t we dance?’

  Jack eyed the house where the East Meath Harriers’ Hunt Ball was in full swing. He didn’t have an invitation and he had no interest in horses, hunting or the horsy set, but if this was where Abbie was, he was definitely interested.

  No one was going to keep him from Abbie.

  He marched up to the wide front door, where a group of men were smoking and discussing the prospects for hunting the following week, if the snow melted enough. He had no doubt he could mingle with them and get in but their slow pace would drive him mad. He needed to see Abbie.

  When a pompous little man with a list tried to stop him, Jack waved him away. ‘I’m here to see Abbie Marshall. Can you direct me?’

  ‘Um.’ The man with the list was thrown. He looked from Jack’s face to the list. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sure I know you, but …’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Jack said, walking past him. ‘Happens all the time.’

  He strode down the hallway towards the sound of music, voices and laughter at the back of the house. All the partitions between the living room, dining room and conservatory had been pulled back, creating a long, high room which was thronged with brightly clad, boisterous partygoers, all intent on having a good time.

  There was a small band playing Tom Jones at one end of the room, and a dozen couples were dancing with more energy than grace. Ten tables seated large groups of diners who chatted loudly and occasionally cheered for no reason that Jack could see.

  The men were dressed like him, in dinner jackets and suits, apart from a few in hunting pinks, and the women wore long dresses which revealed a lot of cleavage. The makeshift ballroom was decorated with a ceiling-scraping Christmas tree, tinsel, balloons and rosettes. The revellers varied in age from a babe in arms to an elderly lady with a walking stick, thinning white hair and bright red lipstick.

  Where was Abbie? If this was another dead end, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. She had been away from him for too long.

  The crowd parted, and he caught a glimpse of green and a couple of waving feathers. Abbie looked as if she had stepped from a 1920s movie. She eclipsed every other woman in the place in a vintage dress that made her eyes seem like pure jade. The silk gown shimmered with every step she took. She wore a beaded headband trimmed with feathers that should have looked ridiculous, but instead made him want to strip her and use those feathers to torture her.

  He strode forward, anxious to claim her and put her back where she belonged, in his arms and in his bed.

  She threw back her head and laughed. She was dancing with another man, a man who had his arms around her. And she wasn’t fighting him off.

  ‘Hi, Abbie,’ he said, stopping right beside her and keeping his voice level, which took some effort. ‘My dance, I believe.’

  He got a certain amount of satisfaction from the shocked expression on her face. Her jaw slackened and her eyes rounded. There was a mix of elation and anger in her eyes but she recovered herself quickly.

  ‘Sorry. What do they say at these things? My card is already full.’ She turned her attention to the man she was dancing with. ‘What were you saying, Tom?’

  No way. No fucking way. He had come halfway across the world for her, faced down his father for her, gatecrashed a stupid hunt ball, and she was blowing him off. He fed his anger so the desolation inside couldn’t take over.

  Jack turned to the other man, using his extra height to intimidate him. ‘You won’t mind if I cut in, will you?’ He was pretty sure he’d once used those lines in some crappy historical play.

  Something in his face must have been a warning. The other man backed away, hands up. ‘No, that’s fine, you have your dance.’

  Jack took Abbie into his arms. She fitted there as if she had been made exclusively for him. Her perfume, subtle and enticing, teased his senses. The sense of rightness was overwhelming. Abbie leaned against him for a moment, letting him take her weight, before she pushed back and stared at him coldly.

  ‘What are doing here, Jack? You sent me away, remember?’

  She held herself stiffly in his arms. Her expression was a mask of cool indifference, but the small pulse hammering at her throat told a different story. Abbie was hurt and she was still angry with him. She wasn’t going to give in easily.

  ‘Just tell me one thing. Did you write that story?’

  ‘You have to ask?’ The hurt in her eyes was his answer.

  She wrenched herself away from him and marched back to the man she had been dancing with before. Jack didn’t hear what she said to him, but he smiled at her and swung her back on to the dance floor.

  Jack was about to go after her when a hand on his arm stopped him. Fists clenched, he swung round, but the elderly man with shrewd blue eyes carefully kept a non-threatening stance. ‘No need to get riled, son. So you came to get her?’

  ‘Yes, and you’re not going to stop me.’

  The old man grinned. ‘You don’t think she’s going to just let you take up where you left off? That girl has her mother’s temper and something tells me you’ll be getting a taste of it shortly.’

  Jack wasn’t paying much attention. Abbie was dancing too close to the stranger, smiling at him flirtatiously.

  ‘Who the hell is she dancing with?’ he said to the old guy.

  ‘You don’t learn, do you?’ The older man held out his hand to Jack. ‘I’m Martin Locke, Abbie’s uncle.’

  Jack shook hands briefly, without taking his eyes off Abbie. When her partner swung her out and pulled her back against his body, he had had enough. He pushed through the other dancers, pulled Abbie away from the other man and into his arms. This was where she belonged.

  ‘You’re mine,’ he told her. ‘We signed a contract and I haven’t released you from it.’

  Abbie stiffened. She muttered furiously. ‘Are you out of your mind? I’ve had enough of D/s to last me a lifetime.’ She laughed at him. ‘I’m not a sub. You are not my Dom and you can take your overbearing attitude and shove it where the sun don’t shine.’

  Abbie stamped on his foot, her spike heel doing enough damage to make him wince. She tore herself from his slackened grasp. ‘Martin, this gentleman is leaving. Can you show him out please?’

  To Jack’s fury, four men surrounded him and indicated that they wanted him to leave. He had no option but to go.

  Abbie watched as her uncle and cousins manhandled Jack and escorted him from the hunt ball. It felt so good to see him at a disadvantage for once. When she had heard his voice
and looked up to see him standing beside her, the flood of joy had been so strong it was terrifying. He was a son of a bitch, he had treated her like dirt, but as soon as she saw him she’d wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to make love to her.

  So not going to happen.

  Even if he was the most ravishing man she had ever seen. The way Jack looked at her, the intensity in those glittering blue eyes made her feel as if she was the only woman in the world. All his attention, all his passion was focused on her. But now she knew she wasn’t content to have that for the duration of a contract. She wanted it for ever.

  What was it Jack had said – a strong Dom needed a strong sub? Well, Sir, you’re getting your wish. I’m about to become the most difficult sub in the world. Let’s see if you’re ready for me.

  The little scene had attracted the attention of all the guests. She could see some of the women whispering to each other ‘Was that Jack Winter? Oh my god!’

  Barbara came over and patted her on the back. ‘Well done, dear. It’s time you stood up for yourself. Do you want me to call the police and have him arrested for trespassing?’

  For one moment, Abbie was tempted. The idea of Jack locked up in a cell, perhaps an old-fashioned one where he would be manacled to the wall and she could visit him and … OK, not somewhere she wanted to go. Abbie shook her head. ‘No, that’s fine. He won’t bother me again.’

  She knew – or at least, she hoped – she was lying. She wanted Jack to bother her again. She wanted him to pursue her with the same ruthless intensity he had used to get them out of the jungle. Not that he was going to catch her, but she would enjoy his efforts.

  Her stomach lurched at the thought of Jack’s pursuit and heat coiled low in her belly. Unconsciously, she shifted her thighs together, trying to ease the ache that Jack always inspired. OK, perhaps she might let him catch her eventually, when he had suffered enough.

  There was still a trace of Jack’s distinctive man-and-musk scent on her skin. She took a deep breath to inhale it then caught herself. She was over Jack. She had thrown him out – and it felt good. No more running after him. It was time to get back to work.