Captive in the Millionaire’s Castle

by Lee Wilkinson

  Though she doubted the wisdom of going on, having stuck her neck out, she felt she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she asked, ‘Have you ever considered carrying any of your previous characters over to another book?’

  His attention caught, he queried, ‘If by any chance I did, which of the characters would you advocate?’

  Her face eager, she said, ‘Two that I found particularly fascinating were Finn and Dodie…’

  She had named two minor characters from his third novel, Rubicon, the fate of whom, to suit the plot, had been left deliberately vague and inconclusive. Characters he had often thought he could have done a great deal more with.

  ‘I’ve always wondered what happened to them after they left Orlando.’

  The fact that she had spoken about them as if they were real people set off fireworks in his mind and sent his thoughts racing.

  Watching his face grow aloof and distant, and only too aware of the lengthening silence, she lost countenance and said, ‘I—I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I should have kept my suggestions to myself.’

  ‘Far from it!’ he exclaimed jubilantly, and, removing the empty cup from her nerveless fingers, set it down, and, taking her face between his palms, kissed her full on the lips. ‘You’ve given me just the idea I needed.’

  When he released her, flushed and breathless, she stammered, ‘Oh… W-well, I only hope it works.’

  ‘It’ll work,’ he told her with certainty.

  Shaken by that kiss, but warmed by the thought that she’d been able to help in some small way, she watched him pack away the cups and the flask.

  Shrugging the rucksack into place, he said, ‘I suggest we have lunch at Gull Point, but first, as a reward, I’ll take you to a secret cave with an answering echo.’

  That day set the pattern for the days that followed. A stationary high pressure system kept the weather fine and dry, and while the book began to take shape they walked the length and breadth of the island.

  Though Jenny ventured no further suggestions, rather to Michael’s surprise he found himself talking to her about the emerging plot, finding it an advantage to have an intelligent listener to bounce his ideas off.

  The days spent walking in the open air working up an appetite were followed by good and substantial evening meals.

  Michael had been in touch with Mrs Blair, and while they were out that good lady made a daily visit to tidy up, lay the fires, and replenish the fridge.

  Each evening, after their return, they would sit down to a pre-dinner drink and decide on a menu. At Jenny’s suggestion, they now took it in turns to make dinner, and he was pleased to find that she was an excellent and inventive cook.

  Dinner over, they spent their evenings by the fire, sometimes talking, sometimes reading, sometimes in what passed as a companionable silence.

  On the surface everything appeared to be calm and contented, but beneath the surface there were still disturbing eddies and undercurrents.

  Though Jenny appeared to be as ideal as Paul had suggested, along with his unanswered questions and reoccurring doubts Michael was struggling against a growing physical attraction that he was finding hard to control.

  He tried to tell himself that it was nothing serious, simply a normal male’s sexual response to a beautiful, desirable female, and that any other woman might have caused the same response.

  But remembering the many attractive women who had vied for his attention after his divorce—all of whom had left him cold—somehow he didn’t believe it.

  Since that last, impulsive kiss, well aware that it would be playing with fire, he had been careful not to touch her, not even to let their fingers accidentally brush when he handed her a drink.

  For her part, still plagued by that disturbing sexual awareness, and knowing how vulnerable she was, Jenny was grateful for his restraint.

  Then the weather changed abruptly. Storm clouds rolled in over the sea, and that day, having walked the more hilly centre of the island, they were forced to battle their way back through heavy rain and a raging wind.

  That evening it should have been Jenny’s turn to cook, but seeing how tired she was after changing into dry clothes Michael had sent her to sit in front of the range while he made a seafood risotto.

  Her hair was still damp, and she had left it loose around her shoulders. It made her look about sixteen, he thought, and even more appealing.

  After the meal they sat by the fire, sipping coffee and talking desultorily while they listened to the rain beating against the windows and the soughing of the wind in the chimney.

  To all intents and purposes it was a quiet, contented, domestic scene.

  A few weeks ago that thought would have made him laugh cynically. But now, to his surprise, rather than hating to have someone else here he was starting to look forward to the quiet evenings spent in Jenny’s company.

  He watched her face in the flickering firelight. Her eyes were half closed, and between softly parted lips he caught the gleam of pearly teeth.

  His pulse rate quickening, he was forced to look away while he searched for some safe topic of conversation that would steer him well away from temptation.

  By nine-thirty, noticing that she was having to stifle her yawns, he suggested that they both needed an early night.

  She rose at once, and, having escorted her upstairs, Michael said an abrupt, ‘Goodnight,’ and disappeared into his own room before he gave way to the urge to kiss her.

  Wondering at that sudden curtness, she went through to the bathroom to clean her teeth and shower.

  Over the past week, though still plagued by that unbidden attraction and unable to totally relax, she had found the time spent in Michael’s company both exciting and rewarding.

  Though things had got off to a rocky start, she was beginning to feel that she had made the right decision after all, and to hope that by the time the month’s trial period ended he might feel the same.

  If he didn’t, she knew she would be desolate.

  She derived an immense amount of pleasure and satisfaction from the fact that he discussed his book with her and, from time to time, not only asked her opinion but appeared to listen to it.

  Added to that she loved the island and the house, and knew that she would be happy to stay here in this lovely place for as long as he wanted her to.

  Though they had covered a lot of ground there was still a great deal more to see, including a closer look at the castle, and she hoped that the storm would blow itself out before he began to work on his book in earnest, and they were tied to the house…

  Her thoughts still busy, she had just returned to the bedroom when, without warning, the lights went out, plunging her into total darkness.

  She had got used to the city, where there was always some degree of illumination, and the sudden complete absence of light came as a shock.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark.

  They didn’t, and she soon realized that they weren’t going to. The blackness was total. It wrapped her up and pressed against her suffocatingly, making her blind and helpless.

  As though the absence of sight sharpened her other senses, she became aware of sounds that previously had stayed in the background—waves surging up the beach and crashing onto the rocks, wind buffeting the house, and rain lashing against the windows.

  Enjoyable sounds, had she been tucked up cosily in bed. Not quite so enjoyable when she was standing in utter darkness, unsure of which way to move.

  It had been a long and strenuous day, and, feeling bone-weary, she thought longingly of getting into bed and going to sleep, so that the absence of light wouldn’t matter.

  She made an effort to visualize the room before moving carefully towards where she thought the bed ought to be.

  Only it wasn’t.

  There seemed to be a great deal more floor space than she remembered.

  Altering direction, she tried again.

  After another couple
of fruitless attempts, totally disorientated, she admitted that she hadn’t the faintest idea where the bed was.

  If she could find a wall and follow it round… One hand held out in front of her, she began to move forward cautiously.

  She had gone only a few steps when she stumbled into something she identified as the dressing-table stool, and knocked it over with a clatter.

  As she fumbled to set it upright there was a light tap and the door opened. ‘Having problems?’ Michael’s voice queried out of the darkness.

  Her heart leapt in her chest, and even in her own ears her voice sounded husky and breathless as she answered, ‘I was trying to find the bed, but I got disorientated and knocked over the dressing-table stool.’

  ‘I know exactly where the dressing-table is,’ he said reassuringly, ‘so stay where you are, and I’ll come and get you.’

  Apart from the faint brush of his bare feet on the boards, he moved silently, and a few seconds later she jumped as an unseen hand took hers.

  He must have eyes like a cat, she thought as he began to lead her unerringly through the blackness.

  Wits scattered by his touch and his nearness, it took her a little while to realize that they had left her room and were heading down the corridor.

  At the same instant that realization dawned she saw the half-open door of the next room illuminated by a reddish-gold glow.

  ‘Why are you taking me to your room?’ she demanded, hanging back.

  ‘It seems the most sensible place for you to wait while I have a look at the generator,’ he told her in a no-nonsense voice. ‘Your room will soon start to get seriously cold, and there’s a fire in mine.’

  He gave the hand he was holding a little tug.

  Unwilling to seem foolish by arguing, she bit her lip and followed him into the cosy bedroom, where an oil lamp glowed and a cheerful log fire blazed in the wide grate.

  He led her to an armchair in front of the fire and pressed her into its cushioned comfort, before releasing her hand.

  Feeling curiously shaky, her own hand still tingling from the contact, she looked up at him.

  He was wearing a short navy dressing gown belted around his lean waist, and that seemed to be all. Through the gaping lapels she caught a glimpse of a smooth, olive-skinned chest and the strong column of his throat.

  She felt a sudden, devastating urge to put her lips to the hollow at the base, and, feeling her colour rise, she hastily lowered her eyes.

  His bare legs and feet, she noticed, were strong and well proportioned, and if feet could be said to be nice his were, with straight toes and neatly trimmed nails.

  Noting her gaze, he remarked lazily, ‘Fascinating things, feet, don’t you think?’

  Blushing harder than ever, she looked away, staring with some desperation into the flames.

  Taking pity on her, he stopped his teasing, and asked, ‘Would you like a nightcap of some kind while you wait?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She was well aware that she’d sounded prim.

  ‘Well, in case a story’s flowing and I can’t sleep, or I wake up and want to work during the night, I’ve had a coffee-maker installed…’

  Of course. She remembered seeing it when he’d first shown her his room.

  ‘So when I get back, if I’ve managed to fix the generator, we can have a hot drink.’

  Bearing in mind that this was his bedroom, it sounded too intimate for comfort, and she told him quickly, ‘All I really want is to get into my bed.’

  Accepting her decision with good grace, he said, ‘Well, if you’re okay where you are for the time being, I’ll pull on some clothes and get to work.’

  While she sat and listened to his quiet movements and the rustle of clothing, she stared resolutely into the fire.

  A minute or so later, fully dressed and wearing a thick Aran sweater, he picked up the oil lamp and headed out, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Beginning to relax, she leaned back in the chair and watched pictures in the flames while she listened to the storm.

  It was warm and comfortable, and in spite of her lingering agitation the flickering firelight had a soporific effect, and after a short time her heavy eyelids began to droop.

  When Michael returned, Jenny was sitting bathed in a red-gold glow, fast asleep.

  Though the neckline of her ivory satin nightie was modest by modern-day standards, it allowed an enticing glimpse of the upper curve of her breasts and the start of the shadowy cleft between them.

  She looked like every man’s dream, lovely enough to tempt even a saint, and he felt his heart start to beat faster.

  He put down the lamp, tossed aside his sweater, and, irresistibly drawn, moved closer and stood gazing down at her.

  Her head was tilted a little to one side, and beneath silky brows her long black lashes lay like fans against her high cheekbones. Even in sleep the pure line of her jaw and the curve of her chin showed character and determination, but her beautiful mouth looked soft and vulnerable.

  He wanted to stoop and crush it beneath his own, to take her in his arms, to carry her off to bed and make love to her. But he knew instinctively that if he did, it wouldn’t be just a one-night stand.

  Even though he still had to solve the puzzle of what kind of woman she was, he was beginning to feel that she was destined to play some special kind of role in his life.

  Perhaps Paul had already sensed that. Paul who had sounded a little anxious when, a few minutes before the lights went out, he had phoned to say, ‘I’m sorry to call so late. But I wondered how you were getting on with Jenny Mansell.’

  ‘No real problems so far,’ Michael answered cautiously. ‘What makes you ask?’

  ‘Earlier tonight I went out for drink with Peter, one of the personnel bods from Global, and heard something a bit disturbing.’

  ‘Go on,’ Michael said evenly.

  ‘Well, as it happens, Peter’s sister, Lisa, is in the same department that Jenny used to work in. Apparently, soon after she’d left, Lisa overheard one of the men telling another that Jennifer Mansell’s coolness was all put on, that once she was away from the office, she was “hot stuff”.

  ‘He boasted that on quite a number of occasions she’d taken him back to her place and acted “like some sex-starved nymphomaniac”.

  ‘When Lisa, who had apparently liked Jenny, asked him why he hadn’t said anything sooner, he protested that it was hardly the done thing to talk about a woman while she was still there.

  ‘Lisa pointed out that it was hardly the done thing to talk about a woman behind her back. That shut him up temporarily. But only temporarily. Now rumours about Jennifer Mansell being predatory are rife.’

  ‘Tell me something, do you believe the rumours?’

  ‘I’m more inclined to believe that they’re simply malicious, and spring from the fact that he’d made a pass at her in front of the entire office and been turned down flat. But I thought, having got you involved with the lady in question, I’d better let you know.’

  ‘Well, thanks for the warning.’

  ‘Sorry and all that. If there’s anything I can do…?’

  ‘As a matter of fact there is. Jenny once mentioned that she had a flatmate. Flatmates tend to know one another well, so if you could have a discreet word with her or him…?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ Michael seized the opportunity to ask, ‘when you first told her about this job, did you mention Slinterwood at all?’

  ‘Slinterwood?’ Paul sounded a bit blank. ‘No, should I have done? Was there a problem?’

  ‘No, no problem. I just wondered.’

  ‘She didn’t dig her heels in about going?’

  ‘No, not at all. Look, I’ll tell you all about it one of these days.’

  ‘Right. I’ll let you know what, if anything, the flatmate has to say.’

  Frowning, Michael ended the call, his thoughts in turmoil. He didn’t want to believe that there was any truth in the rumours
. But though, up to press, she had shown not the slightest sign of coming on to him, in fact just the opposite, his brush with predatory women had made him wary.

  However, sooner or later he’d find out the truth, but now he should wake her, and let her get to bed.

  Thinking of Sleeping Beauty, he stooped and touched his mouth to hers.

  Though her eyes remained closed, she gave a little sigh, her lips parted beneath that lightest of pressures, and her warm arms slid round his neck.

  Without conscious volition, he lifted her to her feet while he deepened the kiss, and, like dropping a lighted match into a pool of petrol, passion exploded between them.

  Fully awake now, and with no thought of past or future, of rights or wrongs or consequences, Jenny kissed him back, melting against him.

  She was warm and fragrant in his arms, and while he kissed her his hands traced her slender curves, lingering over the enticing swell of her hips and buttocks, before following her ribcage upwards to the soft but firm curves of her breasts.

  The touch of his hands made Jenny’s pulse race madly and brought every nerve-ending in her body into singing life.

  Through the thin satin of her nightdress his fingers found and teased the nipples, feeling them grow firm beneath his touch.

  Transported by the exquisite, needle-sharp sensations he was arousing, she began to make little mewing sounds deep in her throat.

  Those sounds inflaming him even further, he slipped the satin straps from her shoulders and bent his dark head to take first one, and then the other, of the pink velvety nipples into his mouth.

  As he suckled sweetly she gasped and shuddered, the acute pleasure he was giving her almost more than she could bear.

  When her nipples felt seductively ripe and swollen on his tongue, he slid the nightie down over her hips and let it pool around her bare feet.

  Then, her arms still around his neck, he drew back a little and looked down at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips gently swollen.

  His eyes dropped, and in the golden glow from the dying fire he saw her naked body for the first time.

  She was graceful and perfectly proportioned, with a smooth, flawless skin. Her breasts were beautifully shaped, her waist slender above nicely rounded hips, her legs long and slim as a ballerina’s.