Her Highland Master (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 1)

by Anya Summers

  They had traced the leak to her computer. Only Zoey didn't do it. And she had realized, as she was escorted out of the building, that the snide little prick had set her up. He'd used her computer to leak all the information knowing it would automatically tank her career. They'd both been competing for the same promotion and that little worm had ensured he clinched it.

  She'd done what her parents had asked her and look where it had gotten her. Zoey wondered for the umpteenth time where her life would be if she had gone to the culinary arts college like she'd wanted. Maybe it was something she could look into when she returned to Los Angeles. But the thought of going back to LA was depressing instead of comforting as it had once been. The familiarity of staying in the home their parents had bought and paid for before their deaths had been good for both her and her sister. That created a bit of a cushion for the two of them, softening the blow of suddenly becoming orphans.

  Zoey dressed, knowing she would see Declan and, more importantly, have sex with him. As part of their agreement, he could use her whenever he wanted. The logical side of her brain believed she should feel shame at the deal she had struck. Except she didn't, she was taking a vacation from her life in the truest sense of the word.

  Leaving her room, she started exploring the magnificent estate she found herself in. Starting on the first level, she walked through rooms that made her think of the Victorian England manor homes Jane Austen wrote about. The ballroom was enormous, as large as her high school's gymnasium, if not more so, with gilded ceilings, chandeliers, and glistening marble floors.

  She wandered from room to room on the first floor, being completely noisy. She opened closets, stroked the leather couches, studied all the artwork.

  There was a music room with a grand piano and chairs arranged in concert formation. She found an armory, of all things, with swords, Claymores, tartans, flintlock pistols, bayonets, and more. They were all museum quality pieces and an ode to the bygone eras this manor must have borne witness to. While Zoey thoroughly enjoyed history—thinking of the Scottish clans, kings, castles, the knights of the round table, and knights Templar—if she were able to time travel, she'd go to the future. She'd love to see where mankind was heading, the technology that was sure to develop if we don't blow ourselves up first, whether we put a man on Mars.

  She rounded the corner and almost barreled into Declan.

  His arms steadied her. He was so gorgeous, it sucker-punched her. Had there ever been a man who took her breath away? From his thick, dark hair to his succulent mouth, overnight this enigma of a man had become even more attractive, if that was possible. She loved the way his bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her.

  "There you are. Would you care to join me for dinner?" he asked, those damn blue eyes of his crinkling more. Zoey felt warmth spread through her limbs at his invitation. She wanted to know this man. What made him tick? What made him accept a stranger into his home without any thought? What made him propose a week of uninhibited sexual pleasure?

  She nodded, smiling in return, and feeling some of her natural shyness return. "That would be nice."

  He held his arm out in the gentlemanly fashion, waiting for her. She slid her hands around his arm and walked with him to a formal dining room. The room held two grand, dark wooden tables. At the far end of one, table settings had been arranged with candlelight and white roses. In the nearby hearth, a fire crackled. He pulled a chair out for her, and got her situated before he withdrew a bottle of wine from a silver bucket.

  "Wine?" he inquired.

  "Yes, please."

  He filled her glass with a chardonnay.

  An older woman, in her fifties, Zoey guessed, her gray hair scraped back in a tight bun, with extra flesh covering her squat little body and dressed in a white chef's coat, wheeled out a cart bearing a soup tureen. The woman ladled an orange colored soup into the china bowls.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Stewart. The squash soup looks delectable as always," Declan said.

  She bubbled. "Thank you, sir. Now, save some room because I have the most succulent roast prepared with roast red potatoes and carrots cooked in a brandy maple glaze. Then, for dessert, I have a hummingbird cake."

  Zoey gained five pounds just listening to the dinner menu. To hell with it. If you couldn't indulge on vacation, when could you? No longer was she going to work her tail off, allowing life to pass her by. She wanted to live, dammit. She wanted to grab life by the horns and ride the hell out of it. Starting with the man sitting next to her at the dinner table.

  "You spoil us, Mrs. Stewart," he said.

  "Thank you," Zoey chimed in as the plump matron rolled the cart back out of the room.

  "Now, where were we? Did you enjoy your swim?"

  How the hell did he know about that? It was his house and she was a guest, but still. "It was quite lovely. Thank you, by the way, for rescuing my luggage."

  "While I did enjoy seeing you dressed in nothing but my shirt, you seem more comfortable in your own. And it was actually Jared who rescued your things, but I shall certainly pass along your thanks."

  "I see. How did your work go? And what is it you do actually?" she asked, wanting to uncover more of this man.

  "My late father loved acquiring things; women, cars, money, and most of all, businesses. I am the majority shareholder for a bunch of small multi-billion dollar companies. It's all very boring. I had a shareholder meeting today that I held virtually with the rest of the board in London. However, my father wanted, if nothing else, to remake me in his image, making sure I didn't inherit the bulk of what he left me until I was thirty-two. So by the time I came of age, so to speak, I had discovered I loved business—not how he conducted it, mind you—but loved creating something out of nothing. Investing in small tech startups and such."

  "So you've always known what you wanted to do, then? And if you inherited when you were thirty-two, how old are you now?" she asked, wanting to lick the bowl clean. The soup was divine. Quite the taste explosion. If she wasn't mistaken, she'd tasted pumpkin spice.

  "No. I haven't always known. In fact, I rebelled for a number of years in my teens after my mother passed away. After I ended up in some legal trouble; fighting, public intoxication—it was purely kid stuff, mind you—my father sat me down and gave me a choice: either I could leave with the clothes on my back and not a penny to my name to make my way in the world, or I could clean up my act and go to business school in London, learn about what it took to run a conglomerate enterprise and inherit the money he had made. As you can see, I choose the latter. I turned thirty-five this past June. What about you? What do you do in America, Zoey?"

  "At the moment, nothing." There, she said it, staring at the empty soup bowl. She was an inept vagrant hanging on the bevels of society.

  Mrs. Stewart wheeled out the main course, cleared away the soup dishes, and left them alone once again.

  "I see. What did you do before the nothing?" Declan studied her response as he ate his meal with relish, as he did with everything that brought him pleasure. This was a man who knew how to live, who held nothing back, and reveled in the experience. It was heady, just being near him.

  "I was an account marketing expert with an entertainment agency in Los Angeles. Working with actors, models, and the like." Zoey took a bite and almost groaned. It was the best roast ever, there were hints of red wine, and some type of spice she should be familiar with but couldn't recall the name.

  "That sounds interesting. Did you work with anyone famous?"

  It was refreshing that someone had not heard of her great life blunder. At least her story had not gone international. Yet. "A few, but the confidentiality agreements I signed as part of my employment there actually extend three years past my departure date, so I can't discuss who I worked with at the firm."

  "Understandable. So, do you want to keep on working in movies and such? If so, I have some friends in the industry with whom I could put in a good word for you," he said, so earnestly it ma
de her heart sputter. He would, too. There was no guile or rancor, only a generosity that amazed her.

  "Um, thank you, but no." Her reputation in the entertainment industry was on life support. No matter who put in a good word for her, that part of her life was finished. She didn't want favors from him, however well-meaning they were. She wanted to stay wrapped in the cocoon of the fantasy here and didn't want the outside world to intrude. If he contacted his friend, they surely would have heard of her complete and utter ruin. Zoey's blunder would become a cautionary tale for those who followed the same career path.

  Her time here was supposed to be a vacation from her life. The last thing she wanted was to watch the warmth in Declan's gaze sputter out, and have him stare at her with the same contempt she'd received at the grocery store last week when the clerk recognized her image from the news.

  "If you are sure?" he persisted, his visage unreadable.

  "Yes, I am. Thank you anyway. I don't know that I want to go back to that particular line of work. It's actually why I'm in Scotland in the first place. I'm trying to figure out what my next step should be." That at least was the truth. She didn't like lying to him, but she needed the reprieve.

  "I see. Anything in particular?" he asked as Mrs. Stewart brought their dessert.

  The woman was an expert and even though Zoey had stuffed herself, she couldn't turn down the cake. Tomorrow she'd go swim laps in the pool to work it off, she promised herself.

  Taking a bite, she groaned. "Um, oh my god that is good," she said, enjoying the pineapple, banana nuttiness of the cake. "I'd always wanted to try the culinary arts. In fact, I was accepted to the culinary institute in California before I went to college."

  "Yes it is—good, that is. Mrs. Stewart definitely has a way in the kitchen. Why didn't you go then, to culinary school?" He was earnest in his curiosity.

  "My parents. They didn't think there was any good reason why I should go become a chef. Where's the money in that, my father had said repeatedly, until I chose a local college business program. I interned at a movie studio during one of my summer breaks and ended up meeting my former boss there."

  "Well, if you want to try your skills in the kitchen, I'm sure Mrs. Stewart would love the extra help, and it might help you decide if that truly is something you want to do," he offered.

  "Thank you. You really have been too kind." It made her feel weepy; his need to take care of her. When was the last time anyone had done that?

  "And what did your parents think when you left your job and decided to travel to Scotland on your own?"

  It still ached. The loss. "It's just my sister and me. Our parents died in a car crash a week after I graduated from college. Do you have any other family in the area?" There was still a stab of pain at the loss, and probably always would be. She'd been twenty-two, fresh faced, with a college degree with the ink still drying on the paper. It had been a sunny Tuesday, she'd been running late for work that day, when she received a knock on the door that changed her and her sister's lives forever. She opened that door to find a state trooper on her stoop, hat in his hand as he informed her about her parents' car crash, told her that she and her sister were orphans. She'd aged almost overnight. She'd had to.

  "No. Just me. I was an only child. There are some distant relatives on the family tree that I see about once a year, cousins and such, but none that my parents or I were ever really close to," he explained.

  "I'm sorry. That must be hard." Zoey understood more than he knew. Her parents had been only children, and her grandparents had all died before her tenth birthday.

  "It is, but you already know that, having lost your parents so recently," he murmured.

  "It was six years ago, but there are times it feels like yesterday," she said, remembering how the air had been sucked out of her lungs as she stood at the front door while a state trooper delivered the news. The images of the wreck would haunt her forever. She only hoped that their passing was instantaneous as the officer and medical examiner had said.

  Declan gripped her hand. She glanced at him, swallowing back the unexpected tears. She'd never really talked to anyone about it. Sure, both her sister and best friend, but this was the first time she'd explained the horror to an outsider.

  "Oh, lass. I am sorry." He surprised her by standing up, scooping her into his arms and sitting back down in his chair, holding her. She melted into his warmth, resting her head on his shoulder. He cuddled her, offering her comfort and a shoulder to lean on. When was the last time she'd had someone to lean on? Certainly none of the men she'd dated. As the oldest, she had been the one taking care of her sister, taking care of the funeral arrangements and dealing with her parents' estate. While the rest of her graduating class had been living it up in all the latest trendy clubs, backpacking through Europe, she'd been making sure her sister finished high school and was accepted into college.

  His hands stroked her back, easing the tension she'd not realized she had been carting around. This was something she could get used to all too easily. She laid her hand over his heart, feeling the rhythmic thump, and enjoying the companionable silence.

  He kissed her forehead. "I hate to have to leave you, but I have a conference call with one of my boards in China."

  And like that, the spell of the evening was broken. Zoey started to slide off his lap but he held her back, tilting her head up. He traced her lips with his thumb. Then he was kissing her. But unlike his previous kisses, this was light, gentle, and oh, so tender she felt her heart stir. This wasn't the storm of delirious passion, but heart melting. It was over before it had even begun and she felt him withdraw, still brushing her lips with his thumb.

  Up this close, she noticed all the subtle nuances of his face, his beard, and he was looking at her with such tenderness, she felt tears form in her eyes.

  "Thank you, lass, for such a fine evening. I will see you in the morning."

  "So you won't be coming to my room later?" she said, more disappointed than she wanted to admit.

  "Doubtful. The conference call might take half the night. There are many year-end fiscal details we must discuss."

  "Then I will say goodnight to you. Thank you for a lovely meal," she said as he helped her to her feet, standing up after her.

  "It was my pleasure. Pleasant dreams." He kissed her once more on the forehead before pulling back and leaving her in the dining room alone. A bereft loneliness settled in her chest at his leaving.

  Chapter Seven

  Feeling wrung out emotionally, and not a little exhausted from the past forty-eight hours, Zoey filled her wine glass with the last of the chardonnay, taking it with her to her room. She'd cuddle up in bed and watch a movie. She needed something to take her mind off the fact that she wished Declan didn't have a conference call so she could have him come to her room and allow her to explore his body.

  It scared her; this need she was developing for him. She only had five days in Scotland left before she returned to the nightmare her life had become. Five days to live out every fantasy she had with Declan.

  She opted to use his big black shirt to sleep in. Getting comfortable on the massive pile of pillows, the haze of a full stomach combined with the wine and she nodded off before the credits began rolling on the flat screen.

  A knock on the door startled her awake. The television was on but the screensaver had kicked on and was dancing around the screen. Stumbling to the door, she opened it and Declan entered, taking possession of her mouth in demanding urgency. Her body went from sleepy to needy in two seconds flat.

  He shut the door behind him as he directed her toward the bed. "If you don't want this, say so now."

  She stared into his eyes, feeling desire thrumming in her veins. His direct gaze was fierce with lust. He wanted her and her body melted. There was no running from how this man made her feel. It transcended anything she'd ever experienced before and she wanted to gorge. She answered him with her body, pulling his head back down and kissing him with everything she
was feeling.

  He groaned as he crushed her to his rock hard body. Her hands ran down his chest. She wanted to know his body. She pulled his shirt up, exposing his beautifully sculpted abs. He aided her quest and yanked his shirt off over his head as he maneuvered her toward the bed. Her hands ran over his nude chest, feeling the soft whorls of black hair that covered his pectorals. She circled him, caressing his arms, testing the firmness of his shoulders. Caressing the lines and divots as his muscles quivered under her touch, making her bolder. She traced her fingers over his nipples. Feeling them harden beneath her tiny strokes, she leaned forward, and with her tongue teased the hardened nub, nipping at it. Declan groaned, his fingers slid into her hair.

  Zoey wanted to taste all of him. Her hands stroked the hard bulge hidden beneath his pants. Her fingers trailed to his trousers, unbuckling his belt, unfastening the button, and unzipping them. She slid his pants down over his taut, muscled rear, pushing them down to his ankles and helping him step out of them. He wore black boxer briefs that rode low on his hips. Licking her lips, she teased him, trailing her fingers around the elastic of his boxers, caressing the muscles in his lower abdomen and feeling them quiver. He had stopped touching her, letting her explore his body.

  She freed his beautiful erection from his boxers, and shoving them down his legs, she knelt before him. His cock was gorgeous. Thickly erect, it bobbed under her intense scrutiny. She wanted to taste him, more than she'd ever wanted to give oral sex before. The thought of his cock in her mouth made her wet.