A Touch of Winter (A Short Story)

Having a Hollywood heartthrob for a lover had one major downside and Abbie Marshall had just been confronted with it.

Underneath her short trench coat, Abbie was naked. She had spent hours in the salon getting rid of the evidence of a month in the jungle. She had been waxed and primped, buffed and smoothed. Now every inch of her was achingly aware of the soft brush of fabric against her skin. She was ready for Jack.

The playroom was open and she could almost taste the sweat in air, the sweet pheromone of woman and the heavier, muskier scent of aroused male.

Jack’s unique smell.
Damn you Jack
.

Despite the gnawing pain clawing away at her insides, Abbie couldn’t look away. With sick fascination, she watched as Jack adjusted the intricate web of hemp rope suspended from the ceiling that formed a Shibari cradle. Pleased with the arrangement, Jack pulled a rope and the woman’s position changed. He pushed and set her spinning slowly. She cried out. Something in Spanish that sounded like a prayer. Jack immediately stopped the spin and soothed her with his voice, using that soft Irish lilt that was so different from the west coast accent he used on screen. His low tone and soothing words were so like the ones he had whispered to her a few weeks before, that Abbie wanted to cry.

Jack stroked the woman’s hair. It was long and dark, thick and shiny and her skin had that rich olive glow that made Latina women look so sexy. Abbie contrasted it jealously with her own chin-length bob and her pale limbs with their smattering of freckles. Her knees were still bruised from crouching behind an armed barricade, a souvenir from the latest war zone.
Who said that being a reporter was glamorous?

It didn’t matter what she did, or how much time she spent in the spa, she would always be ordinary, a dull moon orbiting a bright star.

Jack’s star.

For all the movie star hype that surrounded him, Jack Winter liked to live life on the edge. He had a dark side that she had learned to love and crave in equal measure. Before him, she had never known the sound of a whip whistling through the air. Never imagined that she could hunger for the flash of a crop against her skin or afterwards ache for the soothing touch of his hands.

Yes, she had learned a lot about herself since she met Jack. Mostly that she had a dark side too and a submissive streak a mile wide when it came to him. But standing at the entrance to the playroom tonight, the last thing on her mind was submission.

She clutched the beribboned box from Van Clef and Arpels. A one of a kind item created just for him. If the jeweller had been shocked by her strange request, he didn’t show it. Money
can
buy everything and she wanted this evening to be perfect. Something special to commemorate their first anniversary. Something designed to bring a smile to Jack’s mouth and the hungry glint of passion to his eye.

But not now. Not after what she’d seen tonight.

From her hiding place in the doorway, she couldn’t see the woman’s face and Abbie mentally scanned the female cast of Jack’s latest blockbuster. Was this someone new or someone he’d been seeing for months? It didn’t matter.

Half of her wanted to scream at Jack, to hate him for his betrayal. The reporter in her clinically analysed the scene. The woman suspended, helpless. Jack, naked from the waist up, a sheen of sweat glistening on his abs. Abbie watched the rise and fall of his chest as he adjusted the ropes, checking the woman’s circulation. Keeping her safe. Even now, the movement of muscles under his skin fascinated her.

Jack was the ultimate specimen of physical perfection. She wanted to touch him, to stroke each familiar plane and lick the salt from his skin. Until she caught a glimpse of the woman’s face. Paloma. Jack’s former sub. The woman he had lived with when they were both struggling actors in New York. The one he still kept in contact with despite the fact that she had a new Dom. The woman she once believed was her friend.
Damn you, Jack. How could you do this with her of all people?

With effort, Abbie crushed the temptation to rage at him for his infidelity. Whatever hope, whatever love she had felt for him was swallowed up in a landslide of pain. There was no coming back from this.
Jack Winter and I are over.

She backed away quietly, leaving the door of the playroom open. In the entrance lobby, Blackie and Brownie, Jack’s two German shepherds waited for their master. Blackie dropped a toy at her feet, hoping for a game. Abbie ruffled her thick fur with one hand and reached into her pocket with the other. 'You want to play?' she whispered. 'Okay, let’s play.'

She threw the rubber ball and the dogs raced across the hallway, eager for the chase. Abbie eyed the glass sculpture on the stand beside the playroom door. She remembered the weekend Jack had bought it in New York. He said that he wanted something in his home that she had chosen. Something that would remind him of her.

As a memento, it obviously hadn’t worked. Abbie picked it up. The dark glass was heavy in her hand. Well, she would give Jack something to remember her by. Her heels clicked as she stepped into the playroom again and Jack’s head shot up. A perplexed expression crossed his face. 'Abbie, what are you—'

'You’re a two-timing bastard and a liar. And I never want to see you again.' She drew back her arm and threw the sculpture as hard as she could. He ducked and it shattered against the wall, scattering shards of glass everywhere. Abbie felt a sense of grim satisfaction when Paloma screamed, struggling against the ropes, sending her body crashing into Jack.

'Oh, I almost forgot.' Taking the precious gift from her pocket, she tossed it onto the floor at his feet. 'Happy Anniversary, Jack.'

There was no way she was going to hunt for the clothes she had left in Jack’s house.  He could burn them for all she cared. Still naked under her coat, she stalked out into the night and slammed the front door behind her.

* * *

Jack swore. Fuck. Paloma has been spacing nicely, until Abbie burst in and broke her out of it. Now Paloma was gasping and panting, once again battling her fear of suspension. Damn it, she had been doing so well, he thought they had conquered it. Now they would have to start again. But not now. Right now, he had an angry Abbie to deal with.

He kept his voice quiet while he started the process of untying Paloma from her suspension. She was valiantly trying to stay calm, but her underwear was wet with sweat by the time she was free. She slumped against him, panting slightly.

There was a time when this would have been a natural prelude to making love, but now she had her own Dom, and he had Abbie.

Well, he amended, he had an angry sub who needed to be put over his knee and soundly spanked for that little stunt. When he had reddened her delectable ass, and she had apologized then he’d make love to her until neither of them could stand up.

He couldn’t help smiling when he thought about Abbie. He still didn’t know how he had got so lucky. Other guys in Hollywood had to settle for plastic Barbie dolls who were obsessed with auditions, calories, boot camps and hair extensions. He had a real woman, one so sexy she turned him inside out. The thing that amazed Jack most was that she was clueless about the effect she had on him.

She was the sweetest, softest, sexiest woman he had ever known. She excelled at everything she did.

He grinned. Well, perhaps not one thing. Abbie might be all his, but she was the worst submissive he had ever know. And he wouldn’t have her any other way.

He wrapped Paloma in a soft blanket and held her for a few minutes, until she had come back to herself. She kissed him softly on the cheek. 'Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.'

'You’re welcome.' He itched to get Paloma sorted out so that he could find out what was bugging Abbie. Why the hell had she thrown his favorite statue?

Recovering slightly, Paloma stood upright, pushing away from him. 'Was that Abbie? You need to go after her.' She stepped back, putting distance between them. Then she gave a cry of pain. She had stepped on a piece of broken glass.

Jack swept her up and carried her to the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood dripping in her wake. He was aching to get after Abbie, but he couldn’t leave Paloma injured and in need of attention. He managed to keep his hands steady and his voice calm while he pulled out a splinter of glass from her foot and bandaged it up firmly.

Blackie and Brownie were surrounded by soggy confetti, and Blackie was chewing on a length of silver ribbon. Jack picked his way carefully through the glass to where his companion was slobbering over something shiny. He coaxed Brownie to give it to him, then whooshed the dogs away from the glass before wiping away the doggie drool.

It was a custom-made silver and gold cock ring, the most beautiful one he had ever seen. And it was engraved with tiny Sheela-na-gigs. This wasn’t an airport gift, this was special.

'Fuck! Fuck!' He raced to the sitting room where he had left his phone. Abbie’s number was the first one on speed dial. It rang once, twice, then cut off. He tried again. This time his call was cut off after one ring. Damn it. Jack dialed her work phone, the one that contained the private number of the President, the Mayor, the British Prime Minister, Prince William and half the crime lords in the English speaking world. It rang once and was cut off as well.

Abbie was pissed at him, no doubt about that.

He had to find her. 'Paloma, I’ve got to go after Abbie. Can you finish getting dressed and I’ll get the limo to bring you home?'

'Of course. And you’ll explain what was happening?'

He nodded, mind already churning with the problem of where Abbie could be. An hour later, he was showered, dressed – and going out of his mind. She continued to cut him off every time he phoned her and no one else had any idea where Abbie was.

The longer he spent without her, the more angry and pissed off he became. This wasn’t the first time Abbie had run away when she was upset. Last time, it had damn near wrecked both of their lives. He wasn’t letting her do it again.

He called Kit O’Malley, Abbie’s best friend. 'Is she with you?'

'No. Next question.'

Jack swore. He had counted on Abbie running to Kit. 'At least tell me you’ve heard from her.'

Kit chuckled. She just loved annoying Jack. 'Yes, but I’m sworn to secrecy.'

'For fuck’s sake, Kit, this is important.'

'Everything’s important with you.' Jack continued to pester her, and eventually Kit relented. 'I can’t break a promise. All I can tell you is that we are in New York. We are not in our beach house in LA. There is no point at all in going to the beach house. None at all.'

'Thank you, I owe you one.'

'Don’t worry, I’ll make you pay,' Kit promised, and hung up.

Jack raced for the six-car garage and ignored all the gleaming cars while he dragged out his Harley. His gut screamed at him that he didn’t have time to waste.