DeAnne's Dilemma (Naughty Forties Book 2)

by Raven McAllan

  Only then did I glance at his companion.

  Like in all good mysteries, the moon came out from behind a cloud and I could see Miss—or Mrs. Mystery clearly. Now that was a turn up for the books.

  “So, what has he supposedly done or not this time?” I asked with a hint of amusement in my voice.

  It was that pregnant silence thing again. Then the woman sighed. Not in a nice way either.

  “Ask him, not me,” she snapped. “After all, no doubt it was him who screwed you, so you looked like a tart at the photoshoot.”

  I studied her long enough for her to shift from foot to foot. “Oh dear,” I drawled after I pinched Quinn to tell him not to interfere. Whatever was going on was between her and me, not him. “Green eyes showing? Don’t you know it’s bad form to want to fuck someone else’s husband?”

  She blanched. “You what? Don’t be disgusting. You tell her, Quinn, or I go to the papers. And you better think over what I asked.” She picked up a camera and tripod from the shadows and marched off in the direction of the car park. I waited until she’d disappeared from sight.

  “Maybe it’s time to tell me what Beatrix the dominatrix had got to do with you, me, and the break-up of our marriage.”

  Chapter Six

  “Too much and not enough.”

  Ten minutes later we were in my suite, with a dram each, facing each other across a tartan topped, ugly as sin coffee table.

  Quinn warmed his glass in his hands. I’d gone the heathen route and put ice in mine.

  The silence wasn’t at all uncomfortable. In the past we’d often sat without the need to talk. Just enjoyed each other’s company, as we watched the view or the flames of a fire in winter.

  I sipped and waited.

  At last he stirred. “Oh, how to start.”

  “At the beginning.”

  He nodded. “It’s not very edifying.”

  “Life sometimes isn’t. But best to go cold turkey and spill it all.”

  He put his untouched glass down. “It started a lot of years ago. You might never want me around after I share it all.”

  “Bollocks.” I took a deep breath. “I always want you, always have, always will. I didn’t leave you, you went. No one knew where you were. I was stuck in that bloody hotel for almost a month with no news. In the end I came home. You didn’t.”

  Quinn sighed. “I did, and you weren’t there. I hung around for a day or so, and then had to go. I’d sneaked away from a reshoot, and the studio was screaming for my balls on a platter. Soon, I thought. Soon we’ll be in touch. But then whenever we did get together it was a quick … well you know, and oh I don’t know. We never gave ourselves time to talk.”

  That was true. We’d eventually made arrangements to meet, and life seemed to conspire against us sorting anything out. Okay, we managed to find the time to make love. Let’s be honest it was the first thing that happened. The second was, A, he got a phone call to say he had to be on the other side of the world asap, B, I broke a tooth and got an emergency appointment which took up the rest of the time he could be around, and C, we met by accident at Schiphol, were booked into the same airside hotel but were going off in opposite directions at some unearthly hour in the morning.

  “And here we are.”

  And I was none the wiser. I picked up on one thing. “Away? But I never went … oh hell, I so did. For one bloody night. I was in hospital.”

  He went white. “Why, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing now. I had a cyst in my boob, not at all sinister, but it hurt. I went to have it whipped out. Should have been day surgery but as there had been an emergency elsewhere I was late going down to theatre, so I had to stop in overnight. I was too sore to drive, so Rhonda came to get me. But as she’d had to detour around a lost load of manure we didn’t get back until after lunch.”

  “And I’d gone.”

  “It happened. Let’s draw a line under it. Now go on and tell me whatever you need to.” I admit my patience wasn’t what it should be. However, there were mitigating circumstances, surely? After all this could affect the rest of both our lives.

  “Right. Here we go.”

  “Wait a sec, I have an idea. We sit on the settee and hold on to each other?”

  “I want you to see my face, so you know I’m telling the truth.”

  Stubborn blighter. “Then we sit on the settee hold hands and face each other.”

  We were there in a flash.

  “Okay, carry on.”

  He chuckled. “Bossy lady. You’d make a good director.”

  “No way, I’d scream at you all. Give you the sack and get it myself.”

  “There is that. Mind you, you’re bloody good in the sack.”

  I giggled. “Thank you, kind sir. But that’s in it, not giving it or getting it.”

  “True, right, so, you know I was adopted?”

  I nodded. “You told me. And no one knows who your parents were. Except them, or at least your birth mother, I guess.”

  “I thought so. Mum and Dad were open and honest, and as far as I’m concerned they are all I need.”

  I was beginning to get a glimmer of an idea where he was heading, but I remained silent.

  “After we married, and I got nominated for Call Fathers, I got a letter from someone purporting to be my mother, and suggesting we meet up. I ignored it, and the next two. Then around six or so months later, I was waylaid at a promo affair by someone who said she was my half-sister.”

  “Ah, Bloo—er Beatrix?”

  “Exactly. And told me my birth mother was dying from cancer and she had begged Beatrix to find me and ask me to go to see her. Let her do the beg for forgiveness thing. I said there was no need, the woman had done as she had to. But she, Beatrix, I mean popped up at every event over the next three weeks. Until you heard her begging me to go with her and well…”

  “You went?”

  “I went. What a fucking charade.”

  “A scam?” I guessed. “She wasn’t your mother?”

  “Oh, she’s my birth mother all right. All the info she showed me proved that. But there was no cancer. She was as fit as a fiddle. Just looking for handouts or she’d go to the papers and say I wasn’t prepared to acknowledge her or help her out. I told her to fuck off and do what the hell she liked. But I had to go to see Phillip to warn him he might need to do some damage control. He, of course, was on holiday, so I had to chase him around half of Europe. I daren’t put any of all this in writing or tell you over the phone. The old walls have ears stuff.” He picked up his glass and sipped some whisky. I guessed the fiery liquid would do something positive.

  “What did Phillip say?” Phillip Bletchley was his long-time agent. A portly man in his sixties who I adored. And who I’d chosen not to communicate with since it all kicked off, not wanting him to feel pressurized in any way.

  I missed him.

  “To let her do her worst. Which up until today is nothing.”

  “So why now?” That was puzzling me. “What’s so different?”

  He shrugged. “According to Beatrix, she really does have cancer and wants to make amends for her last mess. According to Phil she doesn’t and it’s another try at emotional blackmail. Beatrix alleges the woman doesn’t want money, just forgiveness.” He paused. “I have no idea if that’s true or not.”

  “Do you want to find out? Go and see? Would you forgive yourself if you didn’t and it was true?”

  “Honestly? I don’t care if it is or isn’t. My mum and dad are not her and whoever provided the sperm. You know, I’ve never mentioned this, but she’d just walked out of the nursing home, no note, without telling anyone. Left me in the loo. And that wasn’t necessary. So that’s it. Hell, I’ve even got my adopted mum’s maiden name as a middle name, and I still love them. That woman means nothing to me. Harsh but true. If she’d come to me, and just said ‘hello, I did what I did because whatever’, I’d have been fine with it. But just to try and blackmail money out of me? No chance.�
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  “Then let it be.”

  “You’d be happy with that?”

  Silly man.

  “If you’re happy, I’m happy. As long as we’re happy together.”

  He grinned, the first true proper, Quinn my lover, not Quinn the public persona face he’d worn all day.

  Actually, he might have looked like it when we were making love, but I’d been too engrossed in all those tingles and so on to notice.

  “Then I really think we should celebrate.” He went to the fridge and took out a bottle of champagne, popping the cork and pouring it with a smooth, effortless competence I admired. We clinked glasses, and then I put mine down, took his from him, and placed it next to mine.

  “I think we need to celebrate in a different way.” I stood up and pulled him after me, turned to face him and twined my arms around his shoulders.

  He smiled and raised one eyebrow. “You do? How do you think we should go about it?” I felt him begin to inch my zipper down.

  “That’s a good start.” I stepped out of the dress as soon as it pooled by my feet. “Now what next?”

  “You show me. If you dare.” There was that grin again.

  “Oh, I dare.” I dropped my hands to the buttons on his shirt and undid them one by one. When each inch of skin appeared, I pressed a damp kiss on it. When his nipples appeared, they got a nip and a suck. By the time I’d pulled the garment free from his trousers and shrugged him out of it, his waistcoat, and his jacket, I was damp and throbbing.

  As I lowered his zipper and revealed his cock, I salivated. Quinn did a sexy wriggle and his trousers slid down, past his hips onto his shoes.

  His cock stood out proudly and waved a challenge.

  That was a challenge I couldn’t refuse. With what I hoped was a sultry smile but was more likely to be an expression that made him think I had toothache, I got down on my knees, put one hand round his leg for balance and pulled his dick tight into my mouth. And began to lave and love it.

  You know it’s a strange thing, but BQ—before Quinn—I would never have voluntarily given head. I hated it then, right down to gagging if I tasted any cum.

  Now, with him? Bring it on.

  I sucked and tugged, caressed his balls and squeezed them. His groans, moans and “hell yes, fucking amazing” were all I could wish for.

  Even more fantastic was when he shuddered, shot his load into my mouth, and I swallowed the lot. If I hadn’t got a mouthful of cum and cock I would have high fived and shouted my delight.

  As it was I just sucked a bit more, loath to let him plop out.

  As we’re not superhuman or aliens, at least not to my knowledge, he softened, I got cramp, and we moved. Quinn hobbled—he still had his trousers around his ankles—in the direction of the bathroom, and I heard the sound of taps running. I managed to roll over, get up, and flop flat out on the sofa, eyes shut and my breath so uneven if it was on a seismograph you’d think there had been some sizeable earthquake.

  I still heaved and panted like a walrus when he came back and nudged me.

  “Hmmph?” I opened one eye.

  He waved a flannel and towel. “Shove up and let me clean you.”

  “Does that mean no round two? Or is it three?”

  “Not a chance of there not being. But you’ll be all icky sticky.”

  “Only my hands and mouth.” And as I hoped to be using them again as soon as possible, why waste time?

  “Oh well then.” Quinn dropped the flannel and towel on the floor, hauled me up like a sack of potatoes and slung me over his shoulder. “Let the next round commence.”

  And oh boy, did it. We did make it to the bed. Just. Quinn put me on the mattress, like I was a piece of precious china, and looked down at me.

  God, that look! If I hadn’t already been a quivering mass of over sensitive nerves, with a damp and throbbing pussy and clit, I would be now.

  He lowered himself on top of me. I moved my legs without even thinking about it and put one ‘round each shoulder.

  “That’s it, my gorgeous, lovely sweet pea. Bloody spot on.”

  His cock nudged the entrance to my channel. Guess it’s still true that a man, if it’s needed, has remarkable powers of recovery.

  I pushed my hips off the bed. He surged forward, and, well not to put too a fine a point on it, fucking followed.

  Hot, full on loving. A dance of arousal and acceptance. Oh, and with several grunts moans and ear-shattering screams—the latter from me—arousal turned to satiation.

  I have no idea how long we both lay there, with him still in me, our harsh breathing loud in the quiet room.

  Somewhere a clock chimed. It might have been two, three, or twenty. I didn’t know and didn’t care.

  I was home.

  “Dee, we are together now? Whatever I or my birth mother chose to do?” Quinn’s voice was soft and husky in my ear. “Properly back together?”

  “Of course. We were so bloody stupid not to sort it out earlier.” I bit my lip. Maybe, okay yes, definitely that was unfair. It was 99.9 percent me in the wrong. He could have the other .1 percent for not telling me what was going on at the time. “Scratch that. I was in no mood to meet you halfway. I should have been open and told you about the bitchy comments and innuendos that you were with Miss X or Mrs. Y, but I couldn’t. I was scared.”

  “You could, I would have reassured you.”

  “By clearing off and not saying why or where?”

  Quinn had the grace to appear a little, only a little, mind you, shamefaced. “Yeah, point taken. But seriously was I so unapproachable?”

  “I didn’t want to show you my insecurities. I was a wuss. And look where it led to.”

  He kissed my nose. Such a little but loving gesture. I went all gooey inside.

  “No more?”

  “I promise, no more. I love you,” I said.

  “Thank God. I love you as well. “

  “Oh good.”

  Blimey, this was so serious. True but serious. I knew him. He’d now worry it was all too much.

  Yet another dilemma. How to reassure him?

  “Well, I do have one proviso.” I tugged his head down and nipped his ear.

  His head shot up. Lucky. I’d let go of his ear. The amused expression on my face apparently worked because he relaxed. “Which is?”

  “If you go skinny dipping or pole dancing, warn me.”

  “So you can stop me?”

  “Nah.” I shook my head. “So I can go with you. They are both on my bucket list.”

  He did, and we did.

  Yes, it made the tabloids, and no, we didn’t care.

  His birth mother and Beatrix never did go to the papers.

  Sandy and Alistair did have a baby, nine months give or take, after. We followed on six months after that. Two months later we reaffirmed our vows. On the same beach wearing similar clothes as to the first time. There was no dilemma about that.

  Right down to Sandy in a pink bikini. Well, you have to make sure you don’t jinx it, don’t you?

  The End

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  BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER

  THE ROCK STAR’S WIFE

  Their Wives, 1

  Raven McAllan

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  "No, not a chance."

  "God you're so bloody negative you should run a photo booth." Kenna looked at the man in front of her, whose crossed arms created a 'do not touch' aura and sighed. Loudly. "Grief, anyone would think you were my dad, not my husband."

  Nico Vassos Hughes—known to a great deal of the world simply as Hughes—folded his arms over his chest. "It's not on, Kenna and you know it. You're my wife."

  "Wife, not chattel. Grief, Nico, I had a job. A high powered job I loved."

  "You have a job now, a high powered job. That of my wife."

  She noticed he didn't ad
d, 'one that you love'. Just as well, she couldn't honestly agree with that, not at that moment.

  "It should be enough." His accent usually turned her on. Greek, English and a hint of the Caribbean. Now it annoyed her. Hell, he annoyed her.

  She snorted. "Tell me what's high powered and all consuming about that? You're rarely here, and when you are, the front door should revolve with the number of people that come through it." Shit, I sound a right cow. "People who have no idea I exist and if they do catch a glimpse of me think I'm the housekeeper or the woman who does the flowers. They ask who I am. You're Hughes's who?"

  "You are the one who does the flowers." His tone was humorous—or was it humoring her? "Beautifully."

  Kenna managed not to scream, but it was hard going. She grit her teeth narrowed her eyes, tightened her hands into fists, and counted to ten. Twice. Backward.

  "Nico, you're an absentee husband. Yes, before you say it's your job, I know it is, and yes, I knew that when I married you. However, what I didn’t know and you failed to tell me was you didn't expect, no that's not right, you had no intention of letting me be involved with that—that ninety nine percent of your life. I'm not even on the edges. I'm hanging over them into the abyss of invisibility by the tip of my fingers. I do not exist for most of the time. I have to carry on doing nothing for months on end, and then wham bam you're back for however long, and I'm expected to rearrange my life around you. Oh as long as we don't go out, don't show we're together and don't act like a normal couple. And don't you bloody dare say we're not a normal couple. I sodding well know that." She took a deep breath and made herself calm down. "No normal couple would dream of living a life like this. And hellfire, now I've lost my ability to talk without cussing. Don't you understand? It's not enough. I've totted up how much time we've spent together in the last year. Do you have any idea how many days, let alone nights I've seen you? No, sorry, not seen you. That's easy. I just need to turn on the TV. Let's say been able to talk to you face to face, touch your skin, and feel flesh and blood."