WET 2: London: A Steamy Holiday Romance

by Maggie Carpenter

  Resting her head on his chest, Brittany closed her eyes and melted against him.

  "I could go to sleep right here. I'm so sorry I took off this morning."

  "You can explain tomorrow, but right now all I want to do is hold you."

  "Stop with the canoodling," Catherine declared, walking back inside. "You both need a cup of tea and something to eat, then bed."

  "All right, Miss Bossy Boots," Duncan retorted, his arm still around Brittany as they followed her to the kitchen.

  "Sit down and I'll get cooking. Brittany, tell us what happened with the cricket bat."

  As Catherine made a pot of tea, scrambled eggs and buttered toast, Brittany explained how she'd used the bat to incapacitate her attacker by targeting his most vulnerable area.

  "You're so brave," Catherine exclaimed. "I wouldn't have had the courage to do something like that. Okay, Duncan, your turn. How did you end up getting punched in the gut?"

  "I'll tell you, but first, Brittany, I'm speechless. Didn't his purple face scare you?"

  "I wasn't looking at his face. I was totally focused on landing the bat where I needed to. Once he was on the ground nothing mattered except finding you."

  "You can stay with me any time," Catherine said, dishing out their supper. "I'd feel very safe with you in my flat."

  "That's unbelievable," Duncan mumbled, then frowning, he added, "I should probably call Nigel. There's no way I'll be going to the office tomorrow, but it's so late."

  "I'll call him," Catherine offered. "I'll make sure he's convinced you were a gallant hero and ended up in hospital for your trouble."

  "Thanks, that would be great. In fact, embellish the story. I need a few uninterrupted days with this precious girl here."

  "I'd love that," Brittany said softly. "Thanks, Catherine. Those eggs were delicious."

  "Time for bed," Duncan declared, moving across to peck Catherine on the cheek. "Thanks for coming," he said gratefully, then whispered, "May I tell Brittany about the ring?"

  "Sure," she replied quietly, then picked up a mug of tea. "I'm taking this to our friendly policeman. You two go to bed. I'll lock up and set the alarm before I take off."

  Leaving the kitchen together, they separated in the foyer, Catherine heading to the front door, while Duncan and Brittany started slowly up the stairs.

  "I can't deal with a shower," Brittany murmured. "I'm collapsing the minute I see that bed."

  "Good plan. If you passed out I wouldn't be able to pick you up."

  Entering the bedroom, she peeled off her clothes and crawled between the sheets. Duncan quickly followed, but not before finding the pain killers the doctor had given him and insisting she take one. Finally curled up with the lights out, she snuggled against him, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

  "I meant what I said, precious girl. I love you."

  "I meant it too."

  But the words had barely escaped her lips before sleep had swept her away.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Waking in the morning with Brittany nestled against him, Duncan relished the feel of her soft, warm, yielding body, but the dangerous chain of events had been sent into motion because of her snooping. Though he cared for her deeply, her impetuous behavior had to stop, and she needed to trust him enough to talk to him if she had questions or concerns. Gently extricating himself from her limbs, he moved quietly across to the bathroom, softly closed the door, and started the steam in the shower stall. He didn't use the expensive feature often, but when he did he was grateful he'd incurred the added expense. In the midst of a difficult case, or dealing with an impossible client, ten minutes in the hot fog would relax his body, clear his head, and oftentimes, he'd find answers to confounding problems. Settling on the bench seat, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the marble wall. He had residual pain in his stomach, but it wasn't bad, and as the wet heat cloaked him, visions of Brittany flashed through his mind's eye. The way she'd writhed in pain and pleasure as his flogger swished across her glorious bottom, her charming blush whenever he said something provocative, and the sound of her sweet, soft, southern accent.

  I have to have this every day for the rest of my life.

  Her repeated comment made him grin.

  Abruptly Brittany's image moved away and Catherine appeared, standing with her fiancee, Robert Logan. Robert was a venture capitalist with tremendous ambition. Though a couple of years younger than Duncan, he had already accumulated significant wealth. Duncan's eyes popped open.

  "Catherine! Why did you come to me for help with your ring, and not talk to him? Were you afraid? Damn! Is that why Brittany didn't ask me about the photograph? She told me she'd sneaked into my closet, but she didn't tell me everything. I know I can be strict, but am I so strict she's actually scared?"

  Turning off the steam and starting the shower, he braced himself for the cold that would burst from the overhead waterfall spout. The shock lasted only a moment, then the water became warm and comforting. Shampooing his hair and soaping his body, he rinsed off quickly, then stepped from the stall feeling clear-headed and invigorated. Toweling himself off, he pulled on his robe, and ambled back into the bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed.

  "I'm glad you're still sleeping," he murmured. "You need the rest, but when you wake up we need to clear the air about some things. It's in my nature to take charge, but I don't want you to fear me so much you're afraid to talk to me, not the way Catherine's afraid to talk to Robert. I won't have that, and I don't want it for my sister. It's up to her of course, but now I'm concerned, very concerned."

  Brittany hadn't stirred, and though the conversation had been one-sided he felt better, but as he was about to leave she mumbled something.

  "Hey, precious girl. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

  "I'm not sure you did, but Duncan, I'm still so tired."

  "Stay in bed. There's no reason for you to get up. How's your head?"

  "No headache, I'm just so tired," she repeated. "I couldn't leave this bed even if I wanted to."

  "Go back to sleep."

  "Can I ask you something?" she murmured, her eyes still half-closed as she stared at him.

  "You can ask me anything."

  "I need to know. I'm sorry, but I won't be able to rest until I do."

  "Go ahead, though I can guess."

  "What I saw in that cafe, the engagement ring…"

  "It was too big. Catherine was supposed to have it sized, but she waited too long. It fell off her finger in the sink. The platinum band was badly damaged in the garbage disposal."

  "Oh, no."

  "Her fiancé had been pestering her to take it into his jeweler, and she panicked. This happened the day before I left on the cruise. When she called me she was very upset, so I took it to a place I knew could make it right. Fortunately Robert, that's her fiancé, travels a great deal and he'd left on a two week business trip. When I gave it back to her, she took it straight to his jeweler to finally be sized. I promised her it would be our secret, so—"

  "So you couldn't tell me why I wasn't able to join you for lunch."

  "That's right, but last night she said it would be okay."

  "Duncan, I'm so embarrassed, and so sorry about everything."

  "You just get the rest you need," he said, moving the covers over her shoulders. "We can do our postmortem when you're up and around."

  "I don't know why I'm still so wiped out."

  "You went through a major drama. Now go back to sleep" he murmured, softly kissing her, "and have sweet dreams."

  As she let out a sigh and closed her eyes, he wanted to slip off his robe and crawl in next to her, but resisting the temptation he headed into his closet. Dressing in comfortable clothes, he walked downstairs, brought the fireplace to life, made a pot of tea, then placed a call to Catherine.

  "How are you?" she immediately asked. "How's the stomach?"

  "It's okay, but I need to ask you something ve
ry important, and I want you to be straight with me. Deal?"

  "Sure, fire away, but remember I'm at work."

  "Close your door."

  "This sounds serious. Sure, hold on."

  Catherine was an executive at a high-profile public relations company. Their clients were some of the richest and most famous in London. It was through her work she'd met Robert Logan.

  "I'm back. What's the question?"

  "Why were you afraid to tell Robert what happened to your ring?"

  He heard a quick breath.

  "Um, I, uh—"

  "When you start a sentence like that, it means you're looking for a way to fudge your answer," he said, interrupting her. "Just tell me. You know I'm on your side."

  "Duncan, it's nothing you need to worry about."

  "I've worried about you since the day our mother brought you home from the hospital, and that's not going to change. I'll worry more if you don't tell me what's going on with you two."

  "Okay. I'll tell you. He's developed a temper. I was afraid if I told him what happened to the ring it would set him off."

  "I see," Duncan murmured, forcing himself to stay calm. "How does this temper manifest itself?"

  "He yells, and…"

  "And, what?"

  "Sometimes he throws things."

  "How often does he get angry enough to throw things?"

  She paused.

  "How often, Catherine?"

  "It used to be just once in a while, but it's becoming more frequent," she said quietly, then hastily added, "He doesn't lose his temper every night, it's not like that."

  "What sort of things does he throw?"

  "I feel like I'm in the witness box and you're questioning me."

  "That's good. Take the emotion out of the story and just tell me the facts. What does he throw? Give me an example."

  "Do I have to?"

  "No. You don't have to do anything, but you can't ignore what's happening because it's uncomfortable."

  "Uncomfortable?" she repeated. "Duncan, uncomfortable is a pair of shoes that don't fit right."

  "Are you saying he throws breakables?"

  "Yes. It's, uh, extremely disturbing."

  "So his temper scares you?"

  "It didn't used to, but now it does."

  "Has he ever directly threatened you?"

  "No, but when he gets crazy that's how I feel. Threatened. Do we have to keep talking about this? It's upsetting me."

  "Back to the courtroom," he said, though softening his voice. "Take the emotion out of your answers."

  "I'll try."

  He suddenly wanted to be with her. He wanted to hold her hand and give her a hug.

  "Just one more question. Are you scared all the time?"

  "Duncan, the truth is," she began, her voice cracking, "I'm walking on eggshells. I know he's under pressure at work, there's some jumbo deal he's working on, but I never know what might set him off. A look, or how I ask him if he'd like to eat out or stay in, it could be anything."

  "Catherine, what you choose to do is your call, but marriage is a big step, and you need to be one-thousand percent sure. It's one thing to respect your husband and have the kind of fear that's built into that respect, but to fear, to truly fear, that's no way to live. You've got six months before the wedding. Use that time wisely."

  "Duncan…" she murmured breathlessly, "I don't know what to do. I'm scared to end things, and I'm scared not to."

  "You know I'm here. You can come by any time, stay here any time. Having Brittany in my life changes nothing. Understand?"

  "Thank you. I...uh...I need to hang up now."

  "I know you do."

  "Bye."

  "Bye."

  The call had shaken him, and pouring himself a second cup of tea, he leaned back in his chair.

  "If that guy touches a hair on your head, I'll follow Brittany's example and take my cricket bat to his groin."

  Gathering his wits, he placed a call to Nigel, fully expecting him to be unavailable. To his shock, Nigel picked up the call.

  "I understand you tangled with a burglar and ended up in hospital," he exclaimed. "Heavens, man, are you all right?"

  "I am, and I apologize for having to do this, but I need the rest of this week to take care of some things."

  "No doubt, no doubt."

  "Nigel, this, uh, event, for lack of a better word, has given me a new perspective. I want to lighten my workload. I don't want any more eighteen-hour days."

  "Ah, I see. You've been a workaholic for as long as I've known you. We all burn out at some point. I did. We'll talk next week."

  "I appreciate this very much."

  "You may be one of our stars around here, but you're human. Sometimes we lose sight of that. Don't hesitate to ring if you need me."

  "Thank you, Nigel."

  Ending the call, Duncan picked up his cup, wandered into the living room, and sat on the couch in front of the fire.

  "This all started with that cruise," he mumbled. "I thought my life was perfect when I boarded that ship, then I met you Brittany Carter, and all hell broke loose." Staring at the flames, a soft smile crossed his lips. "I must be crazy, but if I could do it over again I wouldn't change a damn thing."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Drifting in a boat on a pink lake, Brittany studied the thick, grey fog in the distance. The sun was warm against her skin, and a slight breeze ruffled her hair. The still, glossy water reflected the imposing mountains on either side, reminding her of the photographs she'd seen of Milford Sound in New Zealand, and the Fiords in Norway.

  The craft abruptly picked up speed. It was taking her to the fog which now appeared dark and gloomy. She searched for the oars, but there were none. The fog loomed closer, towering over her like a ghostly mountain. Her fear became terror. If it swallowed her up she'd be lost forever. Miraculously Duncan appeared beside the boat, and slicing through the water like a dolphin, he used his wake to guide her towards shore. Just as the menacing cloud threatened to engulf her, Duncan wedged the boat into a sandbank, and rising up like a Greek god, beads of moisture twinkling like diamonds against his skin, he swept her into his arms. Carrying her effortlessly as he splashed his way to shore, he settled on a fallen tree trunk and flipped her over his knee.

  "What did I tell you about climbing in that boat and going off by yourself?" he scolded, pulling up her skirt and whisking down her knickers.

  "I felt like I had to," she replied earnestly, staring at him over her shoulder with pleading eyes.

  "You were almost lost in the fog. I would never have found you," he continued, delivering hot slaps on her exposed flesh. "You know how much I care about you. I cannot allow this reckless behavior to go unpunished."

  The spanking began with gusto, his hard hand landing rapid-fire swats, evoking kicks and loud squeals.

  "You knew it was wrong when you climbed in and let it take you into the lake," he declared, blistering her cheeks with a volley of rapid-fired smacks before pausing to squeeze her cheeks. "Why? You must tell me why."

  "Because I was scared."

  "Scared? But you seemed so happy at the picnic table. What scared you? I told you I'd be right back."

  "That's why I was scared. I was scared because you left and I was afraid you'd never come back. I was scared nothing was real, and how could an amazing man like you possibly love a plain girl like me, just a plain girl from a small Southern town. That's why I got in the boat. To sail somewhere safe."

  "Brittany," he said tenderly, "you must have faith in me. Do you hear me, Brittany? Do you? Do you hear me, Brittany?"

  Waking with a start, her eyes flew open. Duncan was gripping her shoulders, his worried face staring down at her.

  "Brittany, you were having a bad dream."

  "I, uh, yes, oh, my gosh."

  "Take some deep breaths, then you can tell me about it," he said, holding her tenderly.

 
"I will, but please make love to me? I need you," she begged, her hands urgently unbuttoning his shirt.

  "But what about your head?"

  "I'm fine, really. Please?"

  Hastily removing his shirt, he rose to his feet and pulled off his slacks.

  "My precious girl," he murmured, resting on top of her.

  "You still have your underwear on."

  "I will make love to you, but on my terms," he said firmly, pinning her wrists on either side of her head. "My boxers stay on until I decide to take them off."

  He saw the flicker in her eyes. She needed his control.

  "You wanted me to take charge. It calms you and makes you feel safe."

  "It does. I don't know why, but it does."

  Moving his lips to her neck, he sucked in her skin, then leisurely kissed his way to her shoulder and the hollow of her neck. As he slowly moved down to her nipples, she arched her back and raised her chest to meet his mouth.

  "Remember the clamps?" he whispered, clutching her breasts.

  "Yes, Sir."

  "One night, very soon, I'll spank you and finger you until you're gasping, then I'll put those clamps on you, but make them tighter and attach chains. They'll be attached to a belt around your waist, and when you wriggle—"

  "Oooh, you're making me crazy!"

  "And when you wriggle, they'll tug, and nip, and make you very, very wet."

  Lowering his teeth to her cherry tips, he nibbled and sucked, not stopping until she was writhing beneath him.

  "I want you so badly. Please, Sir, please will you take me?"

  Wordlessly he straightened up, slid off his boxers, then pressed his fingers into her slick slit.

  "Are you wet enough?"

  "Yes, Sir—I mean, if you think so, Sir."

  "You caught that just in time," he growled, placing himself at her entrance. Plunging inside her, he gripped her waist and began stroking vigorously. "Is this want you want?" he panted. "You want me to fuck you like this?"

  "Whatever pleases you," she said breathlessly, "but, ooh, yes, Sir."

  Accelerating his strokes, he rammed his rod without pause, then abruptly stopped.