A Touch of Autumn

by Hunter, Evie

  A TOUCH OF AUTUMN

  An Erotic Short Story by Evie Hunter

  FIRST KINDLE EDITION

  Copyright Eileen Gormley, Caroline McCall © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the purchaser. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The right of Eileen Gormley and Caroline McCall to be identified as the Authors of the Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other person. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you'd like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Look for The Pleasures of Autumn, the new book by Evie Hunter, on sale now in the Kindle store

  Visit Visit www.eviehunter.com

  Follow Evie @pleasureswinter

  Become a fan on www.facebook.com/eviehunterbooks

  For Gabriel, Suarach, Zoltar and all of our FL buddies too numerous to mention.

  You inspired us

  Chapter One

  His naked body moved smoothly through the water, stroke after powerful stroke propelling him to the end of the pool. The pale azure water did nothing to disguise the livid lines that tracked his spine or the dark purple bruises on his upper arms. Even without the evidence of a recent battle, his size alone would have marked him as a dangerous man.

  Which was probably why he had the pool to himself, despite the perfect autumn morning.

  He kicked harder, increasing speed. His blond head broke the surface to draw breath and she caught a glimpse of the ruthless focus on his face as he began yet another length. She had lost count after thirty, but wouldn’t have been surprised it if was close to a hundred by now. Despite the warmth of the luxurious bedroom in the French chateau, Sinead O’Sullivan shivered.

  She was playing with fire.

  How could she have thought that she could pull this off? Gate-crashing an exclusive BDSM party in Paris had been nerve-wracking enough. But it wasn’t half as terrifying as trying to pass herself off as her twin, a professional Dominatrix. Yep, she was about as Domme as a plate of jelly. She might be able to boss people around in work, but when it came to the bedroom she was a kitten rather than a tigress.

  A movement at the edge of the pool caught her eye. Niall surfaced for the final time and hauled himself out of the water. Uncaring that he was naked he moved to the shower stand and turned the water on.

  She sighed. No matter how many times she saw him like this, she would never tire of watching his solid muscular perfection. Don’t even think about falling for him. Just find your sister, persuade her to return what she stole from the museum and get your life back.

  But a girl could look, couldn’t she?

  And it was hard not to stare as Niall tossed his head back and rinsed the shampoo from his long fair hair. Rivulets of water ran over his knife-edge cheekbones and strong jaw line. Viking. The word had popped into her head the first time she saw him. And she had found it impossible to stop thinking about him ever since.

  This was the man who had shared her bed the previous night, the one who had driven her to ecstasy with his big hands and talented mouth. This was the man who would to pretend to be her submissive for the next forty-eight hours – in public. When they were alone, all bets were off.

  Being accused of stealing one of the most fabulous jewels on the planet was nothing, compared to dealing with an undercover investigator like Niall Moore.

  Memories of the previous night clouded her mind. His touch, his scent, and the way he made her… She sighed. Stop this right now. You have a job to do and so does he.

  And that was the problem. Niall was employed to make sure that she turned up for her court appearances and didn’t break her bail conditions. When this was over he would walk away from her without a thought.

  Niall switched off the water and dried himself before slinging a fresh towel around his hips. He looked up at her window and his eyes narrowed. She dropped the light voile panel back into place, but it was too late. He had spotted her watching him.

  Sinead raced to the bathroom. She couldn’t be naked when he arrived or they would never leave the room. She was barely out of the shower when she heard the bedroom door opening. Sinead belted her bathrobe around her damp body. There would be no more playing until they found her sister.

  She eyed the skimpy towel around his hips. ‘Please tell me you didn’t walk through the house wearing that?’ she said primly.

  Niall grinned at her. “Weekend fetish party, remember? Most of the other guys are wearing less than this.”

  He was right. It had been hard not to stare the previous evening when she had watched the other mistresses with their slaves. She wasn’t a prude. She had worked as a dancer to put herself through college, and had seen her fair share of nudity, both onstage and off.

  “But if you’d prefer me without it, you only have to ask, Mistress.” He emphasized the last word as he dropped his towel onto the floor.

  Sinead swallowed. She was tempted to reach out and touch him right now, to feel the strength of the hard muscles beneath his skin. She wanted to command him to kiss her, to put his hands on her and take her as fiercely and as passionately as he had done the previous evening.

  For the next two days she was his Mistress. He was hers to command and to touch and to take whenever and however she pleased. Behind the thick toweling robe her nipples formed two hard points, and the ache between her thighs brought back unsettling memories of the night before.

  Sinead blushed when she remembered how she had surrendered to him. She was fooling herself if she thought for one moment that she was in command here. Niall was teasing her, offering her the illusion that she was in control. The reality was that she was out of her depth.

  He stalked towards her with the supple grace of a panther. “How may I serve my Mistress this morning?”

  With deft fingers, he untied her belt, tugged it free and dropped it onto the bed. His broad hands slipped beneath the collar of her robe and he massaged her shoulders gently before dropping a feather light kiss at the base of her throat. She caught the scent of shampoo in his still-damp hair and inhaled, her resolve weakening by the second.

  “Like this?” His voice rumbled against her breast before his wicked tongue flicked against one erect nipple, sending a sizzling spark of lust straight to her core.

  “Or maybe like this?” Niall’s mouth fastened on the tender peak and sucked hard. She tangled her fingers in his hair, drawing him closer, arching into his embrace.

  He pushed the robe from her shoulders and it fell to the carpeted floor. Niall stroked the length of her back before reaching her hips. He pushed her onto the unmade bed and cradled her with his large frame, allowing her to feel his urgent need. Niall bit down lightly on her breast and she cried out. He licked the mark gently, before turning his attention to her other breast. She rubbed against him, relishing the sensation of his shaft against her belly, aching for the moment when he would drive them both to ecstasy.

  Dizzily, she clung to him. How could his touch always to this to her? What sort of a Mistress was she? She hadn’t managed to resist him for more than two minutes. How was she going to pass herself off as a Dominatrix if she fell apart the moment he touched her? If she couldn’t pull this off, she would never find her s
ister or the stone.

  “Stop!” She managed to gasp out the word.

  Niall froze and pulled away immediately, a questioning look on his face.

  She put as much sternness into her voice as she could muster. “You are a very bad slave. I didn’t say that you could play. Now, kneel and wait.”

  The twinkling laughter in his eyes didn’t do much for her confidence, but he slid off the bed slowly and knelt.

  “Good.” She sat up and inched to the edge of the bed. Reaching out, she stroked his hair, showing him that she was pleased with him.

  He leaned closer, pressing a kiss against her belly and nuzzled her damp skin. With a slow, hot lick, he collected a droplet of water and then another, licking her dry. One arm drew her closer while his other hand stroked her thigh. In a move she hadn’t expected, he lifted her leg over his shoulder, opening her to him. The rumble of amusement against her core sent another flash of heat through her. Niall had her exactly where he wanted her.

  As she clung to his broad shoulders, his tongue lapped at her tender flesh. She caught a glimpse of herself in the antique mirror above the bed. Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright with passion. Long red hair fell in a tangle down her back. She looked wanton.

  His mouth fastened on her clit, suckling hard and she cried out again. Sinead clung on, her nails digging crescents into his shoulders. She was close, so close.

  An insistent tap came on the door. And then another. “Niall?” A man called from outside. “I really need to talk to you.”

  The sensual assault stopped. With his temper barely held in check, Niall came to his feet and pulled her robe tightly around her. “Whoever is out there is a dead man.”

  Niall stormed over to the door. He was going to kill the intruder. He finally had Sinead to himself, without an audience. God, he loved listening to the noises she made as he pushed her to the brink and held her there.

  He had to force himself to remember that she was a client. Usually, he would keep his hands to himself, but searching for the missing ruby, the Fire of Autumn, at a FemDom party in Paris had given him the sort of opportunity most men only dreamed of. And he was not going to waste one minute of it dealing with crap.

  He jerked the door open, scowl already in place. “What the fuck do you want?” He was going to tear the servant apart, limb from limb.

  He paused at the sight of the man on the other side of the door. It was one of the guests, not a servant.

  “Niall Moore, it is you isn't it?” Frederic Killy hesitated, now looking uncertain. He was sweating, despite the comfortable conditions of the Chateau, and turned to cast an anxious eye up the elegant corridor. He was not at all bothered by the fact that Niall was still stark naked. And semi-erect.

  Something was wrong. This was not a man on a social call. Niall held the door open. “Come in.”

  Killy slipped in, surprisingly stealthy for such a big man. He had the broad shoulders and strong thighs of a rugby player, but a few years working in a laboratory in CERN had softened him a little.

  Once inside the room, Killy calmed. He wiped the sweat off his temples and took a breath. “You are Niall Moore, the investigator, aren't you?”

  Niall nodded. He tucked a towel around his hips and gestured Killy to go on.

  “You won't know me, but I'm the cousin of a woman you rescued in Afghanistan last year. She never stops talking about you, and showed me clipping about your activities. If anyone can help me, you can.”

  Killy held an envelope in his hand, and was about to hand it to Niall when he saw Sinead standing beside the bed, her bathrobe tied tightly around her. It hid her luscious curves from the other man, but Niall still resented Killy's presence here with his lady.

  Killy, dressed in a pair of casual cotton trousers and a shirt, was the most formally dressed of all of them.

  Damn it, his morning had been ruined. It was clear Niall was not going to get lucky in the immediate future. He pulled on a pair of old jeans and a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned to keep the pressure off the bruises and cuts on his back.

  “What's the problem?” he asked Killy. He had seen him last night at the party, and knew him by reputation as one of the most brilliant scientists in the world, but had never been formally introduced to him.

  “I'd rather speak to you alone,” Killy said. He kept a wary eye on Sinead.

  Niall didn't blame him. Most of the time, Sinead O'Sullivan did a good job of disguising herself as a dowdy museum curator. Dressed in a bathrobe, her red hair loose in curls down her back, her pale skin luminous in the morning sunlight, her lips swollen from his kiss, she was a true beauty. But nothing could disguise the razor sharp intelligence in her blue eyes.

  And Killy has been there last night when she had revealed a talent with a whip that would scare most men.

  “It's okay, I trust—” He stopped himself before he could say “Sinead”. The guests at this party believed she was her twin sister, so there was no point in alerting any of them to the deception. “My mistress,” he finished.

  Killy shuffled, clearly torn between wanting to talk to Niall, and not wanting to speak in front of Sinead. “Please, this is important. Like World War three important.”

  That stopped Niall cold. Killy had a reputation for being a lot of things, including opinionated, forceful, and intellectually arrogant. But never stupid. If he thought this was important, Niall should listen.

  Reluctantly, he turned to Sinead. “This sounds like we may need backup. Can you go and find Andy McTavish? He's somewhere in the servants’ quarters, no doubt screwing anything in a French maid's outfit.” Once again, Niall cursed the rules of the chateau that forbade the use of mobile phones.

  Sinead inclined her head in agreement, but the glint in her narrowed eyes left him in no doubt that she knew he was getting rid of her. She disappeared into the dressing room and came out minutes later, wearing a kimono. She looked good enough to eat, and again Niall had to fight the urge to kick Killy out. He wanted Sinead to himself.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, Killy shoved the envelope into Niall's hands. He opened it, and found a note and several photographs.

  The note was on plain white paper, and printed out in a standard font. It read, “Bring the USB stick with your research to the Masked Ball tonight. Destroy the rest of your research. Otherwise these photos, and more like them, will go public.”

  The photos had been taken the previous night, and showed Killy on all fours beside his mistress, wearing a dog collar and loincloth. Another image showed him kissing the heels of her shoes. A third one showed him being beaten and holding still for it.

  Niall winced. He had no doubt what would happen if the tabloids got hold of these. They would be all over the front page of every European newspaper. Killy's years of study and research would be destroyed as he became known as the “Kinky Scientist” It was the end of his career.

  “Those can't go public,” Killy said, his voice shaking. “I'm in the middle of a custody battle for my daughters. If my ex-wife gets hold of those, I'll never see them again.”

  “What research are they talking about?” Niall asked.

  Killy's face changed, and a trace of pride crept into his voice. “Cold Fusion. I've perfected it. Really, it was simple; I don't see how Pons and Fleischmann missed it. It was just a—”

  Niall put up a hand to stop him. “Cold fusion? Explain.” He had an idea, but wanted to be sure.

  “Clean nuclear energy. Simple, affordable, safe.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Killy nodded. “Oh yes. There's no doubt about it.”

  Chapter Two

  Sinead padded along the thickly carpeted corridors of the chateau. Bloody men. She was supposed to be playing the mistress this weekend, the one who was giving the orders, but mention WWIII and Niall’s inner action-man was primed and ready to do battle.

  Hoping that she wouldn’t meet any of the other guests, she hurried down the wide staircase to the entrance hallway
and eyed the row of antique mirrored doors. Each one looked the same. She had to find Niall’s back-up, Andy, but she had no idea which door led to the servants’ quarters.

  Sinead opened one door and closed it quickly when she saw a woman playing with her slave. It was barely breakfast time. Wasn’t it a bit early for a flogging? And where did these people get their energy?

  She was just about to try another door when it opened. Sinead recognized the broad shouldered man with the buzz cut. The previous evening he had sat obediently on the floor and eaten food from the hand of an exotic looking woman with henna tattoos painted on her hands. This morning he looked a lot less submissive.

  His eyes lit up with recognition. “Petite Rouge, I thought it was you.”

  Sinead nodded politely. His French was heavily accented with Russian. She had no idea who he was, but he obviously knew her sister.

  “Ça va? It’s been a while,” she said, hoping that he would give her some clue as to where they were supposed to have met before.

  “Too long.” His blue eyes roved the length of her body, lingering on the curve of her waist and hips. “I did try to book you again, but Hermione said that you were travelling.”

  Sinead shrugged. “You know me. I never stay in one place for long.”

  He stretched out his hand and ran his index finger along her jaw. Something told her that this was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. “That was a hot scene you played last night with the whip. I see that you’ve learned some new skills.”

  Sinead caught the frank interest in his eyes and resisted the urge to run. Instead, she slapped his hand away and did her best impersonation of a Domme-like stare. “I see that you still haven’t learned any manners.”

  “Want to teach me? You know that I like a lot of pain with my pleasure. Perhaps we could play later?”

  The nerve of him. Sinead gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m busy this weekend. Try self-flagellation. It’s a lot cheaper.”