The Pleasures of Spring

by Evie Hunter

  She grinned, his answer changing her mood.

 

 

 

  She laughed.

 

 

  Of course he couldn’t let it go.

  Weariness suddenly flattened her.

 

  Why couldn’t he leave her alone? She didn’t want him prying into her mind or her pathetic life.

 

  He had no idea how tempting that was. But he didn’t mean it. Andy was just doing his job and she had to remember that. Her fingers flew over the keypad.

 

  She wasn’t going to admit to any guilt about that.

 

  For some reason, she cheered up.

 

  She wasn’t going there. Kissing Andy McTavish again would be dangerous. That mouth should be licensed as a weapon. And the taste of him, so seductive. When he had kissed her, her mind had stopped functioning.

 

 

 

  She shoved her phone under her pillow and settled herself to sleep, with no idea why she was smiling.

  Eventually Andy gave up on sleep. There was nothing more from Roz, the house was silent and he was still awake. He would go for a run. Lord knows he could do with the exercise. After changing into his running gear he made his way through the darkened halls. It would be dawn in an hour or so. He could work up a sweat by then.

  He ran around the back of the house, his feet crunching loudly on the gravel. His warm breath fogged on the cool pre-dawn air.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  Andy skidded to a halt as he recognized the voice. ‘What the fuck? Paddy, is that you?’

  The old stable hand had been with the family for over forty years. Andy clapped him on the shoulder and was rewarded with a gap-toothed grin. ‘Andy, I heard you were back. What the hell are you doing running around the place in the middle of the night?’

  ‘I might ask you the same question.’

  A guarded look crossed the old man’s face. ‘Me and the boys have been taking turns watching the place since, well you know …’

  Andy’s inbuilt radar for trouble kicked in. ‘Since what?’

  ‘Since the night your father had the heart attack.’

  Dawn was long past by the time Andy dragged every scrap of information he could from Paddy and the other stable lads. Four teenagers in a stolen car had thought Lough Darra was an easy target for a robbery. They hadn’t reckoned on his father coming at them with a hunting rifle loaded with blanks.

  Dougal had been congratulating himself on a job well done when his heart rebelled. His mother had insisted on calling an ambulance despite his father’s protests. The ‘heart attack’ had been a mild episode and his father was recovering.

  Back at the house, Maggie was preparing breakfast. Andy poured himself a coffee and tucked into a bowl of cereal. He refused her offer of another fry-up and settled for a plate of scrambled eggs instead. If he stayed long enough he would be waddling.

  As he sipped his coffee, Maggie kept a monologue going of the latest news in the village. ‘And of course it will be nice to see the Turners again.’

  Andy made an interested noise, trying to appear polite. Weren’t they the family with that freckle-faced girl his mother was always trying to set him up with? What was her name? Iris, Rose, some kind of flower.

  ‘And Lily is back, you know. Her romance with the Scottish doctor didn’t work out. He’s one of them, you know?’

  Maggie paused, clearly expecting a response.

  ‘One of what?’

  ‘Kinky folk,’ she whispered before turning her attention to the stove. ‘They say she came home from work early to find him wearing one of her dresses.’

  Andy almost snorted his coffee through his nose. Lily had no figure to speak of. She was built like a beanpole and was as strait-laced as a nun. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to get into her clothes, whether she was wearing them or not.

  ‘But you won’t mention it, will you? The poor girl is so upset.’

  Andy shrugged. ‘I’m not likely to run into her.’

  A puzzled look crossed Maggie’s face. ‘Of course you are. Your mother has invited them for dinner on Friday night. Didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘No.’ Trust his mother to plan one of her get-togethers and not tell him.

  ‘It’s a small party, no more than a dozen. Your father is a lot better and she thought you’d like to catch up with your old friends.’

  ‘Great.’ Not great. Between them, his mother and Maggie could have run MI5. The pair of them had more plots than a library full of books. What were they up to now?

  It had been an easy day for Roz. The whole crew had turned up to watch the big love scene between Cheyenne and Jack Winter. It was amazing, Roz reflected, how kissing Jack Winter could look boring when you saw it happen seventeen times before the director was satisfied.

  She spent a bit of time chatting to Nagsy, trying to convince herself that this horse could possibly be sold for half a million. He butted her hand with his nose, clearly hoping for another treat. Roz held out the core of the apple she had been eating, carefully keeping her hand flat as Frankie had told her, and Nagsy lipped it up without hurting her.

  ‘I’m getting fond of you,’ she told him and petted his nose. The warm, horsey scent had become familiar and welcome. There was something peaceful about the dim stable tent that made her feel safe. No one would think of looking for her here. She was a city girl through and through. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine she’d be somewhere in the middle of the Irish countryside petting a horse and talking to him like a friend. Paris and Hall seemed a long way away.

  She watched as the grooms saddled and unsaddled the horses, admiring their fearlessness while dealing with the huge beasts.

  The film set was an enclosed world of its own; so far away from Interpol, murdered art dealers and ruthless ex-SEALs that she could pretend it was all a dream. She knew it was fantasy, that Hall was still out there, but the sense of safety was seductive.

  Roz got her dinner from the catering van and ate outside the caravan. It was warm enough to sit out as long as she wore a jacket. Frankie would be along later, but for now, she was enjoying the break from the crowds.

  Cheyenne appeared with a plate in her hand and stood there awkwardly. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

  Astonished, Roz waved her to a seat. Frankie could get another chair when he turned up. ‘Of course not. But I thought you’d be hanging out with the rest of the actors.’

  Cheyenne sat down carefully and set her plate on the small table. It was piled high with salad leaves and a small chicken breast. ‘I needed some me time, you know?’

  Roz nodded, not pointing out the obvious. If Cheyenne wanted to be alone, inside her trailer was the place to go.

  ‘A
nd I wanted to talk to you,’ Cheyenne continued. Roz had a good idea what was coming. ‘Last night, in the bar. What did you do?’

  Roz shrugged. ‘I showed you that you’re an attractive woman.’

  Cheyenne shook her head. ‘No, it was more than that. I heard about women like you. Are you some sort of Domme?’ She pronounced the word ‘Dom-my’, and made it sound like a foreign species.

  ‘Domme,’ Roz said. ‘I was, but it’s not a big deal.’ She shrugged. That part of her life seemed a long way away.

  But Cheyenne was looking at her as if she had grown two heads. ‘I didn’t know that was real. What did you do? How do you make men do things for you? Did you sleep with them?’

  She laughed. ‘God no. I didn’t sleep with any of them. Do you think I’m some sort of prostitute?’ She tried to convince herself it was funny, but there was an edge in her voice.

  Cheyenne backtracked rapidly. ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t know.’

  She was so upset that Roz relented. ‘It’s not like that. A good Domme doesn’t have sex with her submissive. She works out what he needs, and challenges him to push himself.’

  ‘So it’s not about giving orders?’

  ‘Well, it involves giving orders. Men like clear directions and women who know what they want.’

  Cheyenne ignored her chicken and pushed the salad leaves around her plate. ‘Tell me more about it. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I thought it was all whips and chains and funny clothes.’

  Roz laughed. ‘It can be. Being handy with a whip is a good skill for a Domme. It’s amazing how many men want to be flogged hard enough to push them into subspace.’

  ‘Subspace?’

  Roz searched for the words to explain it. ‘It’s when the adrenaline and endorphins and oxytocin combine in a way that produces an altered state of consciousness.’

  She saw the other woman’s face scrunch in confusion. ‘Don’t worry about the technicalities. What matters is that they are in a headspace where they’re not worrying about the hostile takeover of their company.’

  Funny, Roz knew exactly how to push other people into subspace, but had never had it happen to her. She’d never had a relationship where anyone cared enough to spend the time it took.

  ‘You’ve flogged men?’ Cheyenne looked shocked – and fascinated.

  She shrugged. ‘If that’s what they needed. One client wanted to be treated like a puppy. I threw balls for him to fetch.’ The memory made her smile.

  ‘And there was one man I didn’t like, so I locked him in a cage to keep him out of my hair. He swears it was the best night of his life.’

  ‘This stuff happens? For real? There are men who like it when you give them orders and flog them?’

  Roz smiled. ‘Oh yes, and women too. Ever been tempted?’

  Cheyenne ducked her head to hide her face. ‘A little. But men don’t want me the way they want you,’ she mumbled.

  What the hell was going on? ‘Why would you say that? You saw the reaction of the men in the bar last night.’

  ‘No, that was you. Not me. Today I was doing love scenes with Jack and he barely kissed me. I tried the stuff you showed me last night and it didn’t work.’

  Exasperated, Roz put her glass down on the small table. ‘What do you expect? He’s married, and everyone knows he’s madly in love.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And from what I’ve seen, his inclinations run in the opposite direction. He’s a Dom.’

  ‘Oh!’ Cheyenne sat up a little straighter. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘It’s something to do with the body language. How they stand, how they sit, it’s a quiet confidence that’s hard to fake.’

  Jack Winter had it. Roz had no doubt about it. Of course, that confidence could be because he was one of the top actors in the world, but she was pretty sure it was more than that.

  The image of another man with that type of confidence flashed into her mind. There was nothing quiet about Andy McTavish, but he gave off that same vibe. Why hadn’t she spotted it before? Damn, he was out of her league. She might not be a Domme anymore, but she was definitely not a submissive. For a moment, she considered faking it, to see how he’d react. She shivered. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  ‘Please tell me you’re not in love with Jack Winter.’

  Cheyenne’s mouth formed a small O. ‘Of course not. I know I haven’t a chance and he’s not my type. No, there’s someone else I like, but he never notices me.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I’d rather not say.’

  Interesting. Roz ran through the men Cheyenne had been chatting to, but there were so many on the set she couldn’t pick one out.

  Before she could ask for more details, Frankie stomped through the gathering darkness. ‘Hello ladies, is there room for one more?’ He was holding a plate of food and a glass of wine.

  Roz laughed. ‘I think we can squeeze you in. It’s not like you take up too much room.’

  ‘Cheeky brat.’

  Cheyenne jumped up. ‘I’m sorry, I’m in your place. Please sit down.’ Her cheeks were bright red.

  Ah! Realization dawned. For an actress, Cheyenne was terrible at concealing her emotions. Roz stood up. ‘Don’t be silly. Frankie, you take my seat, I’m finished eating and need to find a bathroom. Cheyenne, can you stay and keep Frankie company until I get back?’

  The other two looked at each other. There was a small smile on Frankie’s face, and Cheyenne was blushing.

  ‘Take your time,’ Frankie said. ‘I’ll look after your friend.’

  Grinning, Roz left them alone.

  9

  Andy twisted his neck from side to side, straining against the collar of his borrowed shirt. He hadn’t packed anything suitable and if his mother hadn’t insisted, he would still be wearing jeans.

  The table in the formal dining room was set with the best silver and crystal. Vases containing early blooms from the garden perfumed the air. Twelve place settings were artfully arranged. He was halfway down the middle on one side. There would be no escape from his mother’s guests.

  The sound of car doors closing indicated that the visitors had arrived. He peeked through a gap in the velvet curtains. Friendly get together, his ass. Eight, or was it nine guests, mostly women teetering in high heels on the gravel drive. A fox would have more luck against a pack of hounds. For the first time in his life, he felt sorry for Mr Darcy. This evening was turning into a Regency farce.

  He downed his pre-dinner drink in two gulps as he struggled to remember the names of his neighbours’ daughters. Kirsty, the youngest, couldn’t have been more than sixteen and was trouble in the making if ever he saw one.

  Lily, her older sister, was almost as tall as he was. He tried not to smile as he caught a glimpse of a pair of blue Crocs peeking out from beneath a shapeless floral print dress which did nothing for her. Brenda, the middle child, was down from Queens for the weekend and was already bored.

  He had the vaguest recollection of the Turner family. They had bought the farm next door around the time that he left. Deirdre looked almost as uncomfortable as Brenda and the pair sat and whispered together.

  ‘And this is Isobel,’ his mother introduced him to the eldest Turner daughter.

  Frank grey eyes stared back at him and she gave him an apologetic smile. She didn’t want to be here either. At least he had found one ally. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  His mother clapped her hands. ‘I believe that dinner is ready. Why don’t we all go inside?’

  As he had feared, Andy was surrounded by women. Usually it wouldn’t have bothered him but this evening he felt like a prize stallion being put through its paces in the stable yard.

  ‘I believe you’re in security,’ Mr Turner said politely as he sipped his soup.

  ‘That’s right,’ Andy agreed.

  ‘Like in a shopping mall?’ Kirsty pulled a face.

  Despite himself, Andy laughed. ‘No. I’m involved in the other kind of security. Perso
nal security. Bodyguard. That type of thing.’

  ‘Oh. And have you met anyone famous?’

  If he hadn’t signed non-disclosure agreements, he could have given them a list as long as his arm. ‘Lots of actors, actresses, some foreign dignitaries.’

  ‘Like who?’ Kirsty was interested now.

  He put his spoon down. ‘Well, I looked after Jack Winter and his wife while they were on honeymoon in Scotland.’

  Look after them. That was a laugh. They had spent most of their time in bed. But Jack was a friendly guy and obviously crazy about his American wife.

  ‘What was he like?’

  At this point he had the attention of all of the women at the table. What was it about Winter that made women go weak at the knees?

  The soup plates were cleared away and Maggie served the main course.

  ‘But you won’t be running around the world like that forever, will you, Andy?’

  His mother was smiling, but there was a brittle edge to her voice that made Andy sit up and take notice. She was getting on in years. The heart attack had given her a scare and she wanted her only son home. Not tearing around the planet from one trouble spot to another.

  His voice was gentle when he replied, ‘Of course not. If I transfer from field operative to running teams, I can work from anywhere.’

  Poppy and Dougal exchanged a satisfied glance. He would have to talk to them later. He wasn’t going to escape without an interrogation about his future plans. He wished he could say that he had some.

  ‘Cool,’ Kirsty chipped in. She shot a sly glance at her sisters. ‘And do you have a girlfriend?’

  His mother glanced up. Lily paused with a fork halfway to her mouth and Isobel was trying her best to stifle a smile. He could look forward to weeks of dinners like this one if he didn’t nip his mother’s plans in the bud right now.

  ‘Actually, I do.’

  A knife clattered at the far end of the table. He suspected it was his mother’s, but Andy kept his focus on Kirsty. The child had a great future ahead of her as an interrogator.

  He could hardly make up a story about someone they were likely to meet socially. The glimmer of an idea dawned. ‘She works in London.’