Because Bernice reacted to every kiss of the cat, Amelia figured she would get more pleasure from watching the woman struggle beneath the punishment. Savouring the rush of vindictive fury, Amelia whipped harder and faster and threw more fury into each swipe.
‘Here,’ Yale said.
As he spoke, his hand touched her shoulder.
Amelia turned to face him. She was brandishing the whip when she felt his fingers caress her arm. Caught up in a world of euphoria, where she could excite and control anyone with a simple flick of her whip, she was on the point of striking him.
It was only the sight of the proffered cigarette in his fingers that stopped her. With a grudging murmur of thanks, she dropped her whip to the floor and took the lit smoke from his hand.
‘The intention is to punish both of them,’ Yale said. His voice was soft but firm. ‘The entire series is called Woman in Control, remember?’
Amelia sniffed. Drawing on the cigarette, she said nothing.
She knew all about the series he was currently working on. She had been the ‘woman in control’ in each of the paintings. For the first painting her image had been captured naked whilst she was sexually dominating a bound and gagged Christian. The second had shown her in a similar posture, wickedly punishing Bernice. They were now posing for the third painting in a set of four and, as Yale had just reminded her, she was supposed to be whipping both of her charges.
‘If I was going to call the series Mad Bitch Who Loses her Cool and Flays the Shit Out of Another Woman, then you’d have exactly the right posture for this session.’
She stepped past him, ignoring his sarcasm as she drew on her smoke. The sound of her stilettos striking the wooden floor of the studio echoed dully in her ears. It was her intention to be angry with him and try to defy him in some way. It was easy to get annoyed with Yale but from past experience she knew it was almost impossible to stay that way. This time, her anger was assuaged by the sight of his canvas. The picture he had been working on was going to be yet another masterpiece.
He had captured the background with his usual effortless finesse. The opaque black of the studio’s windows added a sinister air of gloom to the painting. The peach-like mounds of Bernice’s bare arse had been recreated beautifully in acrylics. He had even managed to capture the gleaming silver slivers of the metal rings that pierced her nipples and labia. The same loving care had been spent detailing the vision of Christian’s arse. Staring at the painting, Amelia couldn’t help but smile with appreciation. A small tear touched the edge of her eyelid and she blinked it away before it could spoil her mascara. Yale had placed most of her image in the picture but he had neglected to give her a face. He had captured every sleek curve of her leather-clad body, emphasising the rise of her breast and the muscular line of her thighs. He had shown her long dark hair in a cascade of auburn-tinted black, catching her in the act of cracking the whip. But the canvas tapered off to a beige wash where her face should have been.
She glanced curiously at him. ‘You haven’t painted my head,’ she told him.
‘You haven’t started posing as I want you to,’ he returned. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you still brooding about her? Is that why you’re acting like such a bitch?’
He placed enough stress on the word that they both knew who he was talking about. Amelia blushed furiously and turned away. His words struck harder than a slap to the face.
‘You said you weren’t going to mention her again.’ She watched cigarette smoke shape each word as it left her lips. ‘As I recall, it’s one of your bloody rules that no one mentions her.’
His hands were on Amelia’s arms again and he turned her around effortlessly. Yale’s nearness always had a disturbing effect and she struggled against the rising passion that his touch evoked. She tried to glare at him but the expression felt false and contrived. Rather than simply holding her where she stood, his hands caressed the leather-clad arms of her cat suit, exciting the warm flesh beneath.
Helplessly, she shivered.
‘I had to make a choice between you and that bitch you were screwing,’ he said softly. ‘For me, there was no contest. I chose you. Now you have to make a choice between what you had and what you’ve got.’ He raised a silencing hand as she tried to interrupt him, seeming determined to make his point. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘I’m not going to mention the hold she had over you. I have no intention of using the words “manipulative” and “soulless” when I talk about her. Nor do I intend to use the words “godless and depraved” when I talk about the way you two were together. I simply want you to accept the way things are. It’s just you and me now. She’s out of the picture.’
Amelia glared at him.
She wished she could believe his words but it was more than a little difficult. For a start, it wasn’t just the two of them. Aside from Bernice and Christian she realised there were also Yale’s paintings. He had devoted so much of himself to each one that she felt as though she were competing for his affections with every completed canvas. Glancing over his shoulder she caught sight of one particular painting that seemed to ridicule his sensible words. She remembered modelling for the picture and she could still feel the memory of every delicious moment that she had endured as Yale captured that image. It was a picture that showed her naked and holding another woman – her – in a lover’s embrace.
‘You weren’t using the words “godless and depraved” when you painted Forbidden Love,’ she reminded him. ‘When you painted that, you had trouble keeping your prick in your jeans.’
He had the good grace to blush but his eyes never left Amelia. ‘Hurting Bernice won’t change things.’
‘I’m not that stupid,’ she spat. ‘I know that hurting Bernice won’t change things.’ She hurled her cigarette to the floor, stamped on it with the toe of her shoe and started back for the whip.
He stopped her.
Strong fingers gripped her arm.
Pulling her back into his embrace, he pressed his lips over hers. His kiss was deep and lurid. His tongue pushed into her mouth and she struggled helplessly as he brushed his knuckles over the swell of her leather-clad bosom. Her nipples pressed against the shiny black hide, eager for more of his sensuous caresses.
‘Forget her,’ he whispered, moving his lips away from her mouth. ‘If you concentrate on our work together, we can all be happy.’
‘How can I forget her?’ she hissed. ‘She meant a hell of a lot to me. You know that. She meant so much to me. And we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, did we?’
He grunted dry, humourless laughter. ‘That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. She issued a bloody fatwa if I remember correctly.’
Amelia winced. Her former lover, she who could not be now named in Yale’s presence, had been Amelia’s soul-mate. She had been Amelia’s lover, partner and best friend. But, for all the positive traits that Amelia admired in her, it had not proved to be a good match. The woman had been cursed with a vindictive personality. And, when it came to Yale making a choice between Amelia and Amelia’s soul-mate, the decision had caused irrevocable upset. They had parted on bad terms.
‘Doesn’t it worry you?’ she asked.
He shrugged, seeming genuinely indifferent to the situation. ‘I’ve been threatened before. Admittedly she did it with a little more finesse than some, but at the end of the day it was only a threat. I can’t really imagine her getting into a position where I have to get down on my bended knees and grovel at her feet.’
‘Then you don’t know her very well,’ Amelia started. ‘When she …’
He pressed his finger against her lips, silencing her. Slowly, he shook his head from side to side. ‘We agreed not to mention her name, and you asked me not to talk about her any more. Let’s try to keep to that agreement, shall we?’
She tried to glare at him but it was impossible. Once again, he had ignited the fire between her legs and she was determined to do whatever he asked. His nearness was infur
iatingly arousing. It took a deliberate effort to stop herself reaching out to touch him. Smiling into his eyes, she took a step away and reached for the whip.
‘Punishment time, you worthless pair of maggots,’ she hissed.
She heard Yale’s appreciative chuckle and knew that her mood was exactly the one he wanted to capture. As she raised the cat and aimed it at Christian’s bare backside, she heard Yale’s brush caressing the canvas behind her.
The shrill whistle of a mobile phone broke the mood.
‘Shit!’ Yale exploded. ‘Don’t I ever get any peace?’
Amelia turned in time to see him hurl his paintbrush to the floor. He snatched his discarded jacket from the back of a nearby chair. A thunderous expression clouded his brow. She considered whipping Christian’s arse anyway. The idea held a torrid appeal and she was never one to shy away from that sort of temptation. But she could sense Yale’s good mood evaporating. And, like all the others who worked for him and with him, Amelia never wanted to incur Yale’s wrath.
He pulled the phone from his pocket and pressed the receive button with a paint-smeared thumb. ‘This had better be good,’ he growled into the mouthpiece.
Amelia studied the artist as he listened to the phone. He held his jacket between careless fingers. Every muscle in his body had been rigid with mounting anger. As she watched, she saw his posture soften.
For an instant, his frown returned.
‘This is a joke, right?’
Then he relaxed again.
‘This is better than good, Dominic.’ Yale’s voice was rising with delight. ‘This is tremendous. I owe you, man, and I owe you big time.’
He paused for a second.
‘Maybe not that much.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll get onto it tonight. When things are sorted, I’ll call you and let you know what’s happened, Dominic.’ He snapped the phone off and dropped it back into his jacket pocket. Smiling at Amelia he said, ‘That was Dominic.’
‘I’d guessed.’
Yale shook his head, still grinning in spite of her curt response. ‘He met the senior critic from Art last night. He’s just tried to get in touch with her again.’
Amelia continued to regard him with a speculative gaze. He was so excited and triumphant his body trembled. Intrigued, she urged him to continue.
‘She’s away from the office at the moment, but he suggested I go and introduce myself to her anyway.’
‘How can you do that if she’s away from the office?’ Amelia asked. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
Yale laughed. ‘That’s the best part,’ he told her happily. He shook his head, causing waves of long dark hair to fly around his face. ‘She’s spending a week at Holbert Manor. Dominic thinks I should go up there and show her some of my canvases.’
‘Holbert Manor? Seriously?’
Amelia drew a startled breath. This was beyond coincidence. There were so many questions, she didn’t know which to ask first.
Yale treated Holbert Manor as his own personal Mecca. The likelihood of the art critic sloping off to that particular location was so incredible Amelia thought it was more like a sign from the gods than a mere coincidence. She tried to find the words to express the sentiment but could only smile with dizzied delight.
Yale nodded, unable to suppress the idiotic grin that twisted his lips. His excitement was immense and she saw he was resisting the urge to dance with glee.
‘Get back to work,’ he instructed sharply. ‘I want this piece finished before we leave, and we leave as soon as the last brushstroke is in place.’
Without hesitating, Amelia resumed her position. She raised her cat-o’-nine-tails high and struck Bernice smartly across the rear.
* * *
Robyn watched the silhouette of the Highlands etched against the dark-blue velvet of a star-speckled sky. The peaks and troughs on the horizon shifted and fell away as she drove further north. The unlit countryside outside the car sped past her in an unseen blur as each long mile passed. Her CD player ploughed through Les Misérables for the third time and she sang along with those lyrics that she knew whenever the mood touched her. The sombre meaning behind the words wasn’t helping her introspective misery but it did distract her from the chore of driving.
The morning had begun badly with another row.
She had wanted to talk to Harold and try to resolve whatever problem was troubling their marriage. Harold hadn’t wanted to talk. He had reiterated his ultimatum from the night before and then stormed out of the house.
Climb into bed with another man, and that’s it. Our marriage will be over. I’ll cut you off without a single penny.
His words had still rung in her ears long after the last echo of the slammed front door subsided.
It seemed incredible that he could say such a thing. They had been enjoying an open marriage since the night their honeymoon ended. Harold had sloped off with a pair of waitresses that evening and she’d ended up in bed with the hotel manager. They had laughed about it and shared the dirty talk of the experience with one another as they made love together later the following day.
The honeymoon had set a delicious precedent for the relationship.
And Robyn had thought the situation would go on for ever in a catalogue of swinging, swapping and sharing experiences. Miserably, she realised she was wrong. Their honeymoon was now well and truly over.
She had seen Harold again in the office that morning but he had ignored her. His cool rejection of her conciliatory smile was more than Robyn could bear. Hurt by the impassive assessment of his dark eyes, she had been left with only one possible course of action: she had to go away and get her thoughts in order. With that decision made, she hurled a sheaf of papers into her briefcase, spoke to Gayle and then jumped into the car.
Ten hours later, with her backside weary from driving and her arms aching from holding the steering wheel, she wondered if she had made the right decision. Regardless of whether it was right or wrong, she knew she had to get away from the city. Being there only made things worse.
On the way into the office that morning a young man with long hair had caught her attention. He stood at reception, talking animatedly with a group of colleagues. His gaze had met hers and he had offered her a crooked smile.
Instinctively, Robyn had smiled back.
She knew her expression was too alluring for the morning. She knew her eyes were appraising him too lewdly but she couldn’t help herself. The familiar pulse of longing tickled between her legs and she had found herself swept up with a need for him.
Ardently fighting the desire, she had stepped into the lift and taken herself away from the temptation. At least if she were out of the city there wouldn’t be any more distractions like that. She needed the remoteness and the isolation of Holbert Manor.
From the tape-player, Madame Thénardier began singing her chorus of ‘Master of the House’. Robyn joined in cheerfully with a raucous rendition, emphasising every line and mentally directing the scathing lyrics towards Harold. When her mobile rang, she jumped in her seat, startled by the shrill, intrusive ring.
‘Robyn?’ Gayle’s familiar voice came from the speaker of the hands-free set. ‘Christ. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Is your mobile playing up again?’
Robyn glanced at the dull green glow of the dashboard clock and saw the figures 21.47. ‘Gayle?’ she said incredulously. ‘Tell me you’re not in the office. Even if it’s a lie, tell me you do occasionally go home and try to have some sort of social life.’
‘I am at home,’ Gayle said shrewishly. ‘And I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where have you been?’
‘Out of range, I guess,’ Robyn said, not giving the matter a great deal of thought. ‘What’s so important you’re still trying to reach me at this time of night? Honest to God, Gayle, this is above and beyond the call of –’
‘First of all,’ Gayle began, ‘did you give my office number to that arsehole Wayne from sales?’
Robyn smiled sourly to her
self. ‘Of course I did. You need a man in your life, Gayle. You’re turning into spinster material. I was looking after your interests.’
‘I’ll take issue with each of those comments when we’re face to face and I can claw your eyes out of their sockets. But, for the moment, that news doesn’t make me feel so bad. It actually makes me feel as though I was justified for what I’ve done.’
A crackle of static punctuated her sentence.
‘What have you done?’ Robyn asked. There was a long pause and she repeated the question, a querulous note rising in her voice. ‘What have you done, Gayle?’
‘Sorry,’ Gayle began. ‘You were breaking up then. I’m calling to tell you that a guy called Dominic was looking for you. He said he met you at the party. I told him where you’d gone.’
Robyn struck her fist against the steering wheel. ‘Shit, Gayle. That was stupid. Why the hell did you tell him that?’
There was another long, unsettling pause and Robyn prayed that the mobile’s tenuous connection would hold out long enough for her to finish this conversation. From previous experience she knew that coverage in the Highlands was notoriously unpredictable.
‘Gayle?’ she barked.
‘… you’re out in the middle of nowhere.’ Gayle sounded as though she was halfway through her sentence when the connection resumed. ‘I figured it would be far enough away from the city so he didn’t trouble you.’
Robyn sighed. ‘He’s an agent. That sort will go to the ends of the earth. There are only two places where an agent won’t go and that’s heaven and hell. They won’t go to heaven because they can’t get in there, and they won’t go to hell because that means they’re working from home.’
The mobile was silent.
It remained so and Robyn cursed, aware that the connection had been broken. She cursed again and struck the steering wheel harder than before. The vacuum of silence from the severed connection reminded her just how alone she was.
Beyond Temptation Page 5