“Hell. Look we have to go. I’m not up to delivering babies. Can you do it?”
Aidan assumed Jeff meant the session, not acting as a midwife. There was only one possible answer. “Of course, what time?”
“Seven.” The phone went dead.
Poor Jeff, he sounded frazzled. Kath and he were happy and settled, with a wedding in the offing once, as Kath put it, her boobs didn’t enter the room ten minutes before the rest of her. However, the imminent birth of his children seemed to have turned the steady, level-headed Dom into a gibbering idiot. Poor bloke.
Instead of steak and Shiraz, Aidan settled for salad and water. If he was showing a sub wax play, or any type of play for that matter, he didn’t need the heavy stomach that steak would give him. He never ever drank and played so that didn’t enter the equation. By six-thirty he was dressed in his favorite leather trousers and a black T-shirt, back on his bike and on his way toward Diomhair. Aidan remembered Jeff hadn’t given him any information about the wannabe sub. No name or description. However, if Ross didn’t know, all the details should be in the computer.
He guided the powerful bike around the potholes in the back drive of the castle. It was the most direct way for him to enter and shaved several miles off the distance he would cover if he used the more conventional route. Aidan sometimes thought that the upkeep of the track must be like the Forth Road Bridge painting cycle. A never-ending job to keep it up to scratch. Slowly he circled the castle to put the bike in the garage he habitually used. A red Honda was parked nearby and as he left the garage and locked it, Ross and Connie got out of the other vehicle. They weren’t a couple yet, but Aidan had noticed how they gravitated toward each other whenever possible, and Connie deferred to Ross whenever they were together.
“Hey, you two, you’re my back-up then?” He pulled the key to the castle’s main door out of his pocket and dealt with the security alarm. Once inside he switched off the extra detectors that had been added over the last few weeks. Ever since Jeff had decided someone had entered the building via the secret passage built into the walls.
“Right-o, let’s go in and get stuff sorted. Do we have any details regarding the potential sub?” Aidan asked them. “Name? Age? Sex?”
Ross shook his head. “I just got a frantic phone call to make sure I could still come and bring Connie with me. I tell you, man, the groans and swear words I could hear in the background were gruesome. I never knew Kath had such an extensive cussword vocabulary. I was impressed. Mind you, most of them seemed to involve cutting off Jeff in his prime. And making sure he never got her into the situation again. I just said sure and let them head off to be parents.”
Aidan shrugged. The only annotation in the diary was A. 7. Maybe sub? Wax or knife. Ross and Connie to assist. No wonder Ross had baulked at taking charge. It was acknowledged that Aidan or Jeff were the best Doms for those scenes, although Aidan thought once Ross gained confidence, he’d give them a run for their money.
“Ah well, we’ll know when she turns up. Okay, let’s get sorted. I was told seven and it’s quarter to.”
It took scant minutes to make sure everything was as it should be and a further thirty to decide that whoever the wannabe—or it seemed now not so wannabe—sub was, she’d decided not to show.
Aidan thanked Ross and Connie for their attendance and offered them a dungeon to play in. To his amusement, they both blushed and shook their heads. With time on his hands, Aidan decided to spend some of it practicing his knife throwing. Not run-of-the-mill D/s play, but something he enjoyed. Especially when he imagined it was his father he had pinioned to the revolving circle of wood, with the knives landing close enough to make Murison Jefferies sweat. Aidan hadn’t realized he had a malicious streak until that enjoyable scenario had flashed into his mind a few months earlier.
After he’d finished and cleaned his knives, he intended to have a sweaty session on the running machine in the tiny gym Jeff had had installed for his family and friends to use. Owing to pressure of work, and play of the nicest kind, Aidan had neglected it lately. He’d only just managed to snag the odd run here and there, and he missed the routine. A good spell on the treadmill and the punch bag would do him good.
He made a swift phone call to David, to apprise him of the situation and assure him there was no need to return to the club. Evidently they were on their way back, but would go straight to the hospital to see what was happening there, and text Aidan if there was any news.
Aidan nipped into the Dom’s locker room, grabbed his sports bag and black running shorts and a T-shirt, which had lost the sleeves in a new washing machine/clueless male incident months before. It suited him fine for working out. In a much better frame of mind than he had been earlier, he headed to toward the gym. He’d change there and shower afterwards in the tiny locker room next door. With a much lighter heart, he whistled as he scrolled down the messages on his phone and listened to a call on his answer phone.
Chapter Two
Damn, blast and fuck. Someone had gotten the supposed timings all wrong. Deep inside Diomhair castle, Ailsa McLagan heard a tuneful whistle, glanced along the corridor in the direction from where it was coming and swore roundly. There was no way she could afford to be caught there. She took a deep breath and opened a door on her right. It led into a shoebox-sized cupboard with dusty shelves and not much else. Just as well. Taking care not to hit her elbow on the wall, she slid onto one of the shelves, and closed the door behind her, thankful to see a handle on the inside. She well remembered getting locked in the under stair cupboard at her gran’s by accident, or goaded on by her cousin, it was a toss-up as to which was the reason. There hadn’t been a handle on the inside. Gran just leaned hard on the door if she ever shut herself in. The four-year-old Ailsa wasn’t heavy or strong enough to do that.
By the time someone had realized she was missing, she’d been in there a good ten minutes. The darkness hadn’t bothered her. The thought of spiders had, and her screams had gotten louder and louder, until she was discovered. Then she was pulled out and to her annoyance had had her bottom smacked for disobeying her gran’s edict to stay away from it. She’d never like corporal punishment, but after that, even a playful pat was enough for her to clench her teeth and her fists.
Dust tickled her nose as she remembered the ignominy of having her bum smacked in front of her cousin Sandra. To give Sandra her due, Sandra had tried to say it was her fault, but she’d been ignored. Ailsa had been scolded before on more than one occasion when she’d tried to go inside the cupboard. It held some strange fascination for her. Well up to then. Right up until her gran left the house for a smaller, compact bungalow more than twenty years later, Ailsa had never ventured near it again. Even when she’d helped Gran move, the cupboard remained in her ‘oh no, not me’ area.
Something tickled her cheek and she bit back a scream. It was a tendril of her hair that had fallen forward, not a spider. A noise outside made her even less inclined to open her mouth. Somehow she managed not to move—it was handy being pint sized—or sneeze as voices got louder.
“…a waste of time,” a male voice said.
A deeper voice replied, but it came through the door as an indistinct rumble and Ailsa couldn’t have sworn whether it was someone else there, or someone on the end of a speakerphone. Then there was silence. Ailsa counted to fifty and opened the door a crack. The corridor was empty. She eased herself down from the shelf and looked at the dust that coated her.
If anything would give away her presence, a trail of dust would, and she wasn’t supposed to be found.
So much for good, clean undercover work. How many times had she wished she was back on the beat, policing a football match or shepherding drunken undergrads back to their lodgings? Well not many, she owned, but sometimes she wondered if she was right in the head. This job wasn’t all glamorous parties and secret microphones. Most of it was standing in the freezing cold and waiting for something and you had no idea what for.
Sh
e wiped her shoes on the inside of her coat, held them in one hand, slipped her mucky socks into her pocket and walked quietly away in the opposite direction from where the voices had gone. Ailsa mentally smiled at her thoughts. Independently acting voices and no bodies to go with them?
God she hoped not, she wasn’t a sci-fi or horror fan.
Stupidly she turned left not right and found herself in the gym.
And heard the whistling again.
It seemed someone was about, and she was going to be in big trouble. There wasn’t even a desk to hide under like in all good movies, or a floor length curtain. The windows had fitted blinds. A treadmill, cross trainer and rowing machine didn’t make good hiding places. Nor did the water cooler.
With a sigh deep enough to clear leaves from a footpath, Ailsa slipped her shoes back on, straightened her shoulders and faced the door.
The man who stopped dead in the doorway, mid whistle, was hot enough for her chin to drop, her eyes to widen and her body to tighten. Whoever said there was no such thing as instant lust was oh so very wrong. She might not subscribe to lacy thongs that got stuck up your arse like a cheese grater, but if she did, Ailsa reckoned they’d be wet and wrung out. As it was, her sensible, cotton, chain store knickers were damp under her thermals. Dark, soft, leather trousers and a black T-shirt were the clothes her wet dreams were made of.
He dropped the bag he was carrying, straightened then looked her up and down. “Well now, what have we here?”
Ailsa swallowed. How to reply to that and not be in trouble?
“Pet, answer me.”
The tone sent shivers down her spine, and the hairs on her arms stood on end in sympathy. Ailsa gulped. Who on earth did he think she was? Pet? Should she woof or growl? If there was one thing she hated it was being called silly names like pet, or chick. She was a woman, not an animal.
“Pet, are you wanting a punishment? The mood I’m in I’ll be happy to oblige. Surely you know the basic protocol?” There was no give in the harsh voice.
Well, no she didn’t, not unless you counted what she’d read in books and that was all fantasy and fiction—wasn’t it? She hadn’t even ventured around the club part of the castle. Her time inside the place was too limited to explore unnecessarily.
“Hello, I’m Ailsa McLagan.” Dumb, Ailsa, now he can trace you.
“Sir.”
Eh? “Pardon?” Oh fuck. Not a scooby. No way. “No, I’m a miss. And you are?” Apart from a prick? I thought Doms were… Oh actually, nope, oh double shit. “Um, oh, sorry, er, Sir, well you see I just forgot where I was. I’m scared.” Would he believe her?
“Really. Do you remember now?” It seemed sarcasm was his forte.
God, that voice. I could drown in it, sarcasm or not. Double dipped chocolate velvet and ohh shit, steel. Hard, hard steel. What do I do now? Come on, what would that dippy heroine from the last book you deleted from your eReader do? No not her, think of the other one. The one whose Sir made you wet. See, a Sir, oh, you ninny, Ailsa.
“Yes, I do, sorry, Sir. I got lost.” She played the dumb blonde for all she was worth.
He gave her no idea if he’d fallen for the act or not. He just stared at her. And continued to stare.
Why doesn’t he say or do something? It was enough to make a saint fidget, and Ailsa knew damn well she was no saint. At last, just as she was about to do her impersonation of a blubbering idiot, whatever it is, it w-wasn’t me, dumb blonde routine, he nodded and tapped his hand on his thigh.
“You’re late. This is the gym, not the main club room. How did you get in here?”
Okay so it looked like Mar Take No Prisoners, Sir was expecting someone. Who hopefully hadn’t shown up? Maybe, just maybe, Ailsa thought, she could turn that to her advantage.
“I opened the door, and—”
“Don’t get bratty.” He stopped her mid-sentence. “Bratty subs, wannabe or not, get punished.” His voice was level, and he showed no emotion. He just continued to look at her with his dark, unblinking gray eyes.
Sub? Bratty? Oh shit. Was he expecting a sub? Ailsa had a lump in her stomach. And for the life of her she didn’t know if it was a hot ‘Oh, my God, what next?’ lump or an ‘Oh, my God, not on your life’ one.
“Oh sorry.” Shoot. “Sir.”
“Better. So let me ask again, how did you get inside?”
Ailsa opened her eyes wide and put on her best innocent expression. “I just walked through the door. I thought that was what I was supposed to do. I’m sorry if it wasn’t. I’ll just go then.” She edged toward the door. “Excuse me.”
“No.” He stood immobile in the doorway, blocking her exit.
“I beg your pardon?” Even though her heartbeat sped up, Ailsa hoped her demeanor didn’t show her agitation. After all, he had a good foot in height and several stone in weight to his favor. She might be nippy on her feet, but she had to get past him first.
“You came for a lesson, so a lesson you’ll have. My father would be most disappointed if you missed out. I have to give him what he thinks he wants.”
His father? What on earth is he talking about?
“I’m sorry if your father will be sorry, but what’s that got to do with me?” Ailsa asked him. Had she slipped into a time warp? Was her boss playing tricks on her for not handing in her expenses on time? Why the hell had she left the beat? She could be safe behind a riot shield listening to rude chants about her sexuality now, or typing up yet another D and D report instead of wondering how to worm her way out of whatever she’d gotten into. Mind you, it did add credibility to her boss’s belief of nefarious deeds being done.
Who was this bloke? It would be helpful to know his name. So she could tell her colleagues who the nutter was if she ever got away. Ailsa took a quick mental inventory. Tall, short dark hair, gray eyes, an arse to die for and abs… Whoa, girl, that can’t go into an identikit description.
“You tell me,” he said cryptically. “Right, let’s move.” He took her arm and swung her through the doorway after him. “So are we going for wax or knife?”
He was crazy. Surely even a Sir or Dom didn’t pick up random women and ask them that? Then Ailsa remembered he’d said she was late. She didn’t think he meant her as in her Ailsa McLagan, or she hoped he didn’t, else she had slipped into a nightmare. Therefore it must be as she thought and he’d mistaken her for someone else. She’d best go along with it until she could make her getaway.
“Ohh, er, well, you see.” She giggled. Grief, I sound like a right idiot. “I really don’t know. I mean, should I?”
He stopped dead and as he was towing Ailsa along in his wake she bumped into him. All hard muscles and sinews, a body that she’d bet would look great in boardies and not much else.
Down, girl. He’s too much everything for you. You need to get away, not stay.
“Oh, I so think you should.” He turned and looked at her face, without releasing his grip on her arm. The voice was smooth, but no one could have mistaken the steely note of authority in it. “After all, why waste the evening, and your money? If you’re worried I’m not Jeff, even he’ll say I’m a better teacher in wax and knife play than he is.”
What? Think here. “Then why was I booked with him?” Hopefully it was a good guess.
“Because I was busy. Now I’m not. Except with you. You have my whole attention.”
That was what she was worried about.
Ailsa studied the guy from under her lashes. “What did you say your name was?” she asked him.
He flicked her chin then held it in one hand to lift her head up. Her neck cranked back as she was forced to gaze upward at an impossible angle.
“Well now, pet, all you need to know is between these walls, you call me Sir.”
The inflexion in his voice, his intense gaze on her, with eyes that seemed to see into her soul, and the slight pressure on her chin made her heartbeat speed up. Go on, admit it, you’re curious. I know but what if I hate it and stuff? Well there’s a get
out clause isn’t there? Shout red. That’s what they do in the books. And the Doms try to persuade them different. Oh, sheesh, do I? Don’t I? Ailsa had a mental conversation with herself as she stood in front of the Dom. To agree would help her in more than one way. Both to get out of the castle without having to explain why she was there, and to satisfy her curiosity. If only she knew what his father had to do with it all. Was that someone she needed to check up on? Then she’d need to find out who this man was first.
“So, pet. What’s it to be? Perhaps you want a little of each?” The hold on her chin tightened just enough to sting.
Ailsa swallowed. It was so hard to think when her mind was full of him. “I think maybe wax, Sir.” After all, it was something that made her go all gooey inside when she read about it. “Yes, wax, please, Sir.” Why did using the salutation sound so natural? His demeanor certainly helped but so did the knowledge of where she was. Little pinpricks of excitement bombarded her, and she metaphorically held her breath until he let go of her chin and nodded.
“Very well, pet. You’re overdressed, but we’ll sort that in a second. Assume the position.” He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare at her without blinking. “You can do that?”
It took Ailsa all her concentration not to wriggle. Overdressed? Sort it? Do it?
“Waiting, pet.”
Oh Lordy. She’d been so mesmerized by his look she’d forgotten what he’d asked of her. Now come on, remember the books. Ailsa dropped to her knees, not very gracefully. A slight run in with the car fender when her arms were full of groceries had left her with a swollen and bruised knee. She gasped as the tender skin made contact with the wooden floor.
Secrets Remembered Page 2