Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender

by Opal Carew

  As expected Clara wasn't pleased to hear from him. She was on a spa weekend with "a friend" and she clearly wasn't expecting him to find out about the ski trip until after the event. It was Toby's pride in his big adventure that had created this situation and Clara was annoyed.

  "I can never get hold of you," she declared, as if that was a good enough excuse to keep him in the dark.

  It was also a lie.

  "What am I supposed to do, inform you of his every move? I'm his mother. I'm supposed to make these decisions."

  "The terms of the custody agreement stated you should discuss major decisions with me. This is his first trip without either one of us. I consider that a major decision. All you have to do is send a text message or e-mail and I'll get back to you within minutes."

  He moved further along the terrace when a waiter ushered a group of women to the outdoor seating, trying to keep his call private. More people came outside. He kept walking.

  "This was a last-minute decision," Clara stated.

  "So I gathered. And you're quite content to send him on this trip even though he's not yet eight years old?"

  "He has to learn independence at some point."

  "Of course he does, but we should have discussed whether it was the right time. What was the age group of the party?"

  There was silence at the other end and Lucas smiled wryly. "Don't tell me, eight to fourteen?"

  He could just picture it, Clara squeezing him in at the last minute on the basis that he would be eight in just a few weeks time, on his next birthday.

  He didn't even want to listen to another excuse. "It's done now. Text me the details of where he's staying. You can do that much."

  By the time he'd dealt with Clara and sent a text message to Toby telling him to have fun but do as his teachers told him, he'd been gone a good twelve minutes. That was plenty of time for Naomi to read and sign the contract.

  The terrace had filled up and he weaved through the tables. Once inside, he saw she wasn't sitting where he'd left her. The contract was still on the table, but there was no sign of Naomi.

  He craned his neck, scanning the reception area as he strode across the space.

  Perhaps she'd gone to the cloakroom.

  When he reached the table, he glanced down at the contract and read the comment she'd written across it. Stunned, it took him a moment to register the fact that this hadn't gone as he assumed it would.

  Again he looked toward the ladies' cloakroom and back at the reception area.

  Naomi wanted a contract, and she deserved one, so what had gone wrong? He looked at his scribbled note, the condition he'd added. It wasn't serious, that caveat. It wasn't in the contract itself and it wasn't meant to be binding.

  Was that it? She didn't want a relationship with him? If that was the case, he had to hear it from her lips, because it wasn't what he'd felt between them.

  But her jacket and bag were gone. That's when it hit him, like a punch to the gut. Naomi had walked out on him. Why? The contract was what she'd wanted. And he'd wanted to give Naomi Kildare everything she wanted. Perhaps she didn't think he'd thought it through. Or had she misunderstood his intentions? There was no way of knowing, not without speaking to her.

  I've totally cocked up here.

  Lucas slumped down into the chair, dropping the contract back onto the table. He rested his forehead in his hands, buckling. Too fast, he told himself. But he was sure, and he wanted her to be happy. Messed up, got to put it right.

  For the first time in many years Lucas felt his sense of control shifting and that left his instinct out of whack. He didn't like it, but he knew what it meant – it indicated just how much she meant to him. Whatever he'd done wrong he had to undo that and try to start again. Standing, he snatched up the contract.

  Where had she gone? I'll find her.

  Cursing himself, he realized he didn't even have her phone number. They'd spent every moment together since they'd met, apart from the short break where he'd had to deal with Clara, and now he hadn't the first idea where Naomi was and how to reach her.

  Thinking on his feet, he headed to the door. He'd have to rifle through Georgio's diary to find what he needed. He refused to believe she didn't want to see him. Every move, every glance, every breath she'd taken while they were together showed him she'd felt the way he had.

  Whatever the hell he'd done wrong, he needed to resolve it, and quickly.

  Chapter Eight

  When the train finally pulled into Edinburgh's Waverley Station, Naomi rose to her feet and took a deep breath. There had been delays along the route and she'd had plenty of time to think. The journey had numbed her emotions somewhat, but she still felt as if she'd had the most intense and incredible experience of her life before being rudely awoken by the reality of the situation.

  Lucas thought she'd slept with him for a contract.

  It felt like a cold, harsh slap around the face.

  To him her designs were nothing but a bargaining tool for a short term affair. If she had accepted the contract, both she and her work would be compromised and – no doubt – cast aside when he got bored.

  Naomi was mortified. She'd had an appointment with a buyer, and that's what she'd got. It infuriated her that she'd been so naïve about their relationship.

  Home comforts would help, she was sure of it. She disembarked the train and headed through the familiar station quickly, taking a shortcut to the little shop where she sold her designs. The cozy flat above the shop was her home, and it would welcome her back and help her forget the mad weekend of passion and regret with Lucas Eaglestone.

  The shop stood just off the Royal Mile, at the bottom of the majestic hill and just out of the main catchment of the tourist area. It was only a short walk from Waverley Station, not distant enough to take a taxi unless luggage was involved.

  It was Sunday opening hours, so the cafés and pubs were starting to close up and staff were sweeping out as she passed. Megan, her one employee, would be surprised to find her home early. She wasn't due back home for another twenty-four hours. Megan had opened up on Friday and Saturday, and she was scheduled to run the shop tomorrow. Naomi made a mental note to text Megan to let her know she was home and would be able to open up.

  When she turned the corner and crossed the cobbles into her street, she craned her neck to see her little shop. The antique rose of the fascias glowed in the streetlight. The name "Drusilla Hielan" was painted in old gold calligraphy above the entrance and the sight of it made Naomi smile.

  The little shop had been such an important stepping stone over the last year. It had given her the confidence to think about expanding her range and launching it further a field. The tourists and visitors who'd found her shop had done it for her too. So many of them had marveled at her designs – Europeans, Americans, visitors from the Far East and all over the place. Many of them had told her they wished they could order her goods online or find them in other cities in the world. She kept those voices in her head and in her heart and she would continue to do so.

  There are other agencies in the world, she thought to herself.

  It was then she saw a shadowy figure in the doorway of the shop. A tall man in dark clothing stood on the doorstep.

  Her breath hitched, her heart stalling. Her pace slowed as realization sank in. Lucas. Here? How could it be?

  She'd hightailed it out of London on the first train. There was no way he could get here before her. Even if he'd broken the speed limit it was impossible to get out of the city that quickly, let alone the rest. She paused, suddenly doubting her eyesight, aware it could be someone else who was waiting to accost her.

  Lucas stepped out of the shadows and into the fall of the street light.

  "Lucas?" Her voice trembled, because even as she queried it she could see it was him. The light glinted off his eyes, the fall of his hair accenting those strong cheekbones of his.

  "I had to come. I hope I've done the right thing."

  Was th
at uncertainty she heard in his voice? If it was, it was the first time. "How did you get here?"

  "I flew."

  Confused, she frowned. "But with check-in and transfer time...it's barely possible."

  "I have a private jet."

  Of course he did. She clutched her bag tighter still, unnerved.

  "I realized I handled things badly," he continued. "Please, let me explain."

  Naomi stared at him, wondering if she was daydreaming this. Yes, she was still on the train and any moment now she'd wake up in a crowded carriage surrounded by tired, grumpy children and restless students.

  She stepped closer in order to see his face fully in streetlight. As she did, something in the pit of her belly ached for him. It was like an automatic response, something that should have been shrugged off the moment she walked out on him in London, and yet it still happened.

  "Please, we need to talk...can we go inside?" He gestured at her shop.

  Yes, perhaps they did need to talk. She had a few choice things she needed to get off her chest, now that she'd had time to think it all through. If the local bars had still been open she'd have opted for neutral ground. One thing was for sure, she was going to have to be careful. She reached into her bag and groped around for the keys. She didn't trust herself to say the right thing. He was used to getting what he wanted. How had he even found her? He must have gone back to her original contact information with Georgio Melandros and started there. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, she'd observed the way he worked in the short time they'd been together.

  Keys in hand she stepped past him, ignoring the frisson of excitement that passed over her skin when she got close to him, and unlocked the door. Passing quickly inside she went to the alarm keypad and entered the code to switch off the alarm. By the time she turned around Lucas had closed the door and was looking around her shop with curiosity, his eyes sharp, everything about him indicating he was on high alert. No, no weary long journey on a train for him, but did he ever tire? He looked less confident, but not weary. She doubted he ever looked tired or weighted down by the world's problems. Even as she thought that, she decided it wouldn't suit him. She pulled down the blind on the door, deposited her bag on the countertop, and folded her arms over her chest.

  She wasn't prepared to take him into the back where there was a cozy corner housing a couple of armchairs. She couldn't risk anything that would let down her barriers. A man like Lucas could so easily take advantage and have her on her back and helpless in a moment. Even though the idea of being on her back and under him was extremely tempting, she'd just hightailed out of London to get away from him and his incorrect assumptions about her. She wasn't going to melt just because he'd followed her up here in a private jet – unbelievable though it seemed to her.

  How very tall he seemed, here in her little cluttered shop. She'd thought he looked powerful in his vast office. Out of context his character and stature were only emphasized.

  "What does it mean," he asked, "the name over the door?"

  Surprised, she answered without thinking twice. "Drusilla means magic, and Hielan means of the Highlands. I wanted a name that would sound like a creative person's actual name, but one that would have a special Celtic meaning too. "Would he remember what she'd said about her mother? She was about to find out. "Drusilla was also my mother's name and she was born in the Highlands, as was I."

  He nodded appreciatively "I like it. It works as a brand name, and it's a lovely memoriam"

  Naomi tried to ignore the flutter of pleasure she felt at his words and took a deep breath. Keep your head. "Say your piece."

  He looked at her, maintaining silence.

  It unnerved her. It was a tactic, she was sure of it.

  Then she caught him taking another quick glimpse around and wondered what he made of the place. The tiny shop was set up to make use of every storage space. Aside from the racks of clothing on either side, the walls were lined with boxed shelf units all the way up to the ceiling. The knitwear range was folded neatly in the box shelves, arranged by size, color and shade. Oftentimes, when the sunshine came through the window, the array of colors made her feel as if she were in the Highlands landscape, which was just the affect she was going for. Tourists gushed about it and many asked if they could take photos to show their friends at home. In a couple of cases, ladies who said they'd loved the shop blogged about it on their return home. She'd been touched by their kind words.

  Lucas, in his black suit and open necked shirt was oddly juxtaposed to the array of colors and textures around him. It made her see how different they were, when all weekend she'd been thinking about how similar – how driven and intense – they both were. The truth was they were leagues apart, in different cities and in different worlds. Seeing him out of his usual habitat confirmed what she should have known all along.

  "I'm used to getting my way," he said, quite simply.

  Smiling wryly, she nodded. "That much is blatantly apparent and has been since the moment we met."

  "I'm not saying I'm proud of that. It's how I've had to be in life, to stay in charge, and it crosses over into my personal life. I realize I haven't handled this situation with the finesse I should have."

  Handled it with the finesse he should have? She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you saying you should've dressed it up a bit prettier for the lady?"

  "No, that's not what I'm saying."

  He rested one hand on a nearby dresser and put the other hand on his hip, inside his jacket. The posture, although it indicated the presence of tension in his shoulders, only drew her eye to his magnificent physique.

  Concentrate, she told herself. When she tried to do that, it only brought her emotions bubbling to the surface. "Bloody hell, Lucas, you thought I slept with you for a contract – which was absolutely not the case."

  A frown darkened his brow.

  Obviously he wasn't pleased to have her interrupt his flow.

  "I slept with you because I wanted to," she continued, fuming. "I liked you, a lot, more fool me." Her heart thumped in her chest. She glared at him, angry with herself for showing her true feelings, but there was no holding back, not now. "Do you know how degrading it was for me when I realized you thought it was some sort of trade off for my business?"

  "Wait...what?" He stared at her.

  "No!" She put her hands up. "You wait, because I haven't finished. Degraded isn't even the word. I felt totally wretched. You assumed I'd slept with you for a contract. That's so, so wrong. You not only made me feel like some sort of cheap lay, you showed no respect for my designs and my hopes for--"

  "I never thought that," Lucas interrupted, loudly. His eyes were dark with anger. "I can't believe you thought that."

  Naomi's thoughts stumbled to a halt in the face of his vehement denial.

  "You deserve a contract," he continued. "Naomi, your work is unique and you know it. You're an intelligent, talented, and level-headed business woman. You're the epitome of the type of client we want for the agency."

  It was everything she'd wanted to hear, but she was confused and unsure of what to believe.

  "I charged ahead. I didn't think about you and how you'd expect things to progress. I'm not used to dealing with women like you."

  "What's that supposed to mean, women like me?" Even though she was calming down a bit, pulling back and listening to his words, she was still upset and close to tears.

  "You, you're strong and intelligent and beautiful. God dammit, Naomi, you're an enigma. You fascinated me from the moment I saw you. You're like the perfect submissive, but just so strong and independent, but you're not easy to understand and you're not easily baited."

  "Wow, that almost sounds like a compliment, that I'm not easily baited." She was still feeling defensive and sarcasm rang heavily in her tone.

  "Obviously I'm still not handling this right." There was a pleading look in his eyes now and it tugged on her heartstrings.

  "Explain yourself then."

 
; "With me it's all been simple with women."

  "You click your fingers and they come running."

  "Well, yes."

  There was no smugness in his tone or his expression so she let him off with that one. "At least you're honest."

  "I've had one long-term relationship. As you know I'm divorced. My ex-wife, well she was easy to manage." He actually looked a bit shamefaced.

  "And I'm not."

  "No, you bloody well are not! And I like that." He stared at her, pleading. "With Clara it was easy, she wanted money and prestige, and she'd do anything to get it. You're different. You demand respect, rightly so."

  She nodded. If it was true, and not an attempted whitewash, it made sense. "Do you know why I was so hurt by your proposition?"

  "I think so. I judged you by my previous experience, and it was too soon. We don't understand each other yet. My mistake. We understand each other in other ways. It's as if we've been lovers for a long time." That possessive look was back in his eyes. "That's why I miss-stepped."

  He was trying really hard, and it did mean a lot. "It was more than that."

  "Tell me then, please." He stared at her. "Is there someone else? Did you lie?"

  "No!"

  Relief flickered in his eyes. He'd had his doubts too, coming up here. She saw that now. "It's my work. You're not the fashion buyer, and you simply used your power to get what you want. Whilst I'm flattered you want…more…I went into your offices in the high hopes someone would rate my work and give it exposure with full belief in the designs."

  The overcast look in his expression began to alter. "If that's what it is, we can start again. I'll arrange for you to meet Georgio, just as originally planned."

  "Oh, right, yeah, so you can manipulate what goes on from behind the scenes instead?"

  "No, clean slate. He'd know nothing of what has gone on between us. Nothing of what I hope will continue to go on between us."

  "There you go taking charge again."

  "I'm sorry, I'm rusty." The shamefaced look was back. It made him look more boyish, and that amused her. It was so not him.