Clifftop Fantasies [BDSM Menage Fantasies] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (12 page)

“Not now. Who was that other man and what was he doing here? And what did you mean, ‘not the ones you’re thinking of’?”

“He is a business associate of Charlie’s named Conrad. They wanted to consult with me about a project they’re working on. It’s a private matter at the moment, or we would have indulged your curiosity.”

“Consult with you?”

His smile dimmed a little. “Yes. You may not believe this either, but I do happen to have some skills in the area of photography. Charlie and I have worked together before. I’m not
just
a handyman, although I am a damn-good one.” He glanced in the direction of the house. “And I do have work to do, so if you would be so kind as to tell me why you came running in here like your tail was on fire, I’d appreciate it.”

She debated storming out indignantly, but the idea of going back to the empty house wasn’t appealing at the moment. He might be making fun of her, but at least he was company. And male. And sexy as hell.

“I want to ask you about Jane.” It was out of her mouth before she realized she was going to say it. Her face felt hot again, which was getting annoyingly repetitive, but he only nodded.

“Ah, yes. What about her?”

“You said I shouldn’t trust her. Why?”

He leaned against the table, looking closely at her. “What’s she done?”

It took a second before she could get the words out. “She’s having lunch with Brad.”

He pursed his lips and considered. “Okay. You can take that one of two ways. Either you can believe that she went there to talk sense into him, or that she’s moving in on him to break you up. Which one do you think is the right explanation?”

Allie shrugged, going to sit down. “I want to think she’s trying to help, but I also don’t want to be an idiot. Why would she hit on Brad?”

He took a chair across from her, leaning forward. “Either to make you fight for him, in which case you’ll probably decide to sell the house to prove that he’s more important to you. Or she wants to break you up, in which case you won’t want to run the place by yourself and will also sell it. Besides, he has a pulse, and that’s usually all it takes for her.”

“But she was so supportive,” Allie said. “Why would she want me to sell the house?”

“Because she thinks she can weasel some of the money out of you. Or she wants the house for some shady project she has going—which is more likely, knowing her.” He looked exasperated, as if she should have been able to figure that out for herself. He went on. “Don’t you think it’s funny that she showed up out of the blue like that, just as you’re finishing the renovations?”

Allie frowned. “What if she is legitimately trying to help, though?”

“Then we’ll see evidence of that, won’t we? Brad will come back, or at least he’ll be thinking about the good advice she’s giving him and will be willing to discuss things with you. Jane can be very persuasive, and Brad—well, let’s not go there.” He stood up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. “I know you’re not going to tell her to get out. You have some idea that she was loyal to your father and you should give her a chance. I’d tell you exactly how loyal she was, but I’m not sure you’d believe that either, and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get rid of her so I can stake a claim on the place myself.”

“What does that mean?”

He gave her a slight push toward the door. “I have advice for you, but you’re not ready to hear it. You go and spend the afternoon working. It’ll center you. Paint, or cook, or clean, or do whatever is most meditative for you. Just don’t sit and brood. You need to experience yourself as a strong, productive, capable person so you don’t sink into a depression about Brad. Go prove that you don’t need him to run this place. Then when he does come crawling back, begging your forgiveness, you can decide if you want him back for the sake of your relationship, not for the sake of this house.”

Allie had to admit as she went into the kitchen that Karl’s little speech had definitely made her feel better. She looked around, really noticing for the first time what a great job they had done with this place. It was bright and colorful, sparkling with new paint and interesting antiques. Her father’s tamer pictures lined the walls, along with others that Karl had assured her were excellent. She walked around, looking at them, vowing to learn for herself what it was that made them great art as opposed to simply photographs.

Then, feeling the need to be creative, she went into the kitchen and pulled out her most impressive cookbooks. She opened a bottle of wine and sat down to pick out a few new recipes to try.

At six o’clock, the back door opened and Karl came in. Allie raised her drink in greeting. “Hi, honey. I’m home.” She giggled, taking another wine glass down from the rack.

“Any word from Brad?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she poured him out a generous amount to match her own.

“Nope,” she answered, pouting dramatically. Then she giggled again, clinked glasses with him, and turned back to frost her cake.

“Well, you’ve certainly been busy, at least,” he observed, looking at the scalloped potatoes and fresh rolls cooling on the counter and the chocolate layer cake she was working on. He sniffed. “And that’s a pot roast I smell, isn’t it?”

“Beef Wellington,” she told him cheerfully, holding out a frosting-covered spoon for him to lick. He gave her an appraising look but took it.

“Good,” he said, turning on the hot water to wash the dishes that she’d been piling in the sink all afternoon.

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him, turning the oven off and pulling out the roasting pan. “I’ll get them later.”

“Mm-hmm.” He kept working. “You just finish what you’re doing.”

They worked in silence for a while, Allie humming to herself as she put the finishing touches on dinner and Karl washing up after her.

“You’re a messy cook, but a good one,” he said when she popped a small piece of buttered roll into his mouth.

“Thank you.” She giggled again and took another swig of wine. “I’ve been cooking all afternoon.” She frowned at the plates she was pulling from the cupboard. “How many do you think there’ll be?”

Karl took the stack from her. “I don’t think you should be carrying those. How much wine have you had?”

She peered uncertainly into the recyclable bin. “Only one.”

He pointed to the bottle on the counter. “And a half.”

She stared at it as if he had just pulled it out of a top hat along with a rabbit. “A half? Really?”

“Come on, you lush,” he said, opening the silverware drawer for her. “We’ll set the table for four. Jane and Brad should be here any minute.”

Allie remembered Brad saying he wasn’t going to come home. But she had sent him a text that she’d made a special dinner. He couldn’t possibly resist that. It was Brad, after all. He would be reasonable and come home to work everything out.

An hour later, the two of them sat at the table, finishing the third bottle of wine and attempting to have dinner. Karl had convinced Allie to eat, but she wasn’t managing much. Her cheerful mood had deteriorated steadily after several attempts to call Brad and getting only voice mail.

She speared a slice of potato angrily and said, “That rat. They’re probably having sex someplace.” She considered where they might be having sex and what her chances were of finding them and bursting in, but the thought kept turning into a confused threesome fantasy, or somehow a foursome as she imagined Karl coming in behind her. The whole thing melted into a bad porno movie in her head and she shook it, trying to bring herself back to reality.

“That rat Jane or Brad?” Karl didn’t sound completely sober himself, Allie thought in gratitude. She hated being drunk by herself.

“Yes.” She stared at the potato as if it was responsible for Brad’s defection and then put it down again, almost missing the plate.

“I’m sorry, honey.” He didn’t try to convince her that she was wrong, she noticed, or that Brad would change his mind and show up to apologize and have makeup sex with her. He just sounded sympathetic. She tried to smile, but her mouth turned down instead.

“He’s a jerk.” She tried to force her eyes away from her food. It seemed to be almost mocking her, asking her what good it was to cook him a nice dinner when he had a sexpot like Jane offering him something more interesting. Sexpot? Where had that come from? She couldn’t ever remember using the word “sexpot” before. Strange.

Brad was saying something. She looked up foggily. No, it wasn’t Brad. It was Karl. “Huh?”

He repeated it, but she still didn’t really hear. She tilted her head to the side and watched his mouth move. It was a very sexy mouth, with nice full, soft-looking lips. Everything about him was sexy, she thought. He was much more masculine than Brad. His broad shoulders and bulky arms gave him the look of someone who could pick her up without any problem, sling her over his shoulder and carry her off into the bedroom. Maybe he would tie her up, rip her clothes off violently, and take her by force. She shouldn’t be thinking that, she knew, but if he did, it wouldn’t be her fault, would it? She would be a helpless victim. Sure, she would have to call the police afterwards, and that would be a shame. She had a feeling the experience wouldn’t be unpleasant overall. Maybe if he promised never to do it again, she wouldn’t call the police…or if he promised to do it again…or something.

“…coffee?” he said. She shook her head in confusion, trying to pull herself back into the conversation. Whatever she did, she couldn’t let herself keep thinking about Karl and bedrooms and being tied up.

“No, thanks,” she mumbled then focused on him. “Or—I’m sorry. Did you say you want coffee? I’ll get the cake.”

She got to her feet, weaving a little, and suddenly Karl was next to her. She jumped, wondering if he was actually going to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder. But then she realized fuzzily that he was just making sure she wasn’t going to fall down.

“No,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “We can have the cake for breakfast. I’m going to take you upstairs to bed now.”

A tingle went through her stomach all the way down to her groin. She opened her eyes wide and tried to focus on him to see what he had meant by that. It wasn’t easy to tell. His face seemed to be waving back and forth slightly in front of her.

He laughed at her expression. “Don’t worry, princess. You’re not going to be violated tonight. I’m just going to put you to bed before you pass out in your plate. We can’t have you drown in your potatoes. I’ll take care of the leftovers,” he continued as she made a motion to start clearing the table. “You need to go to sleep before you start crying or do something you’d regret later.”

“Crying?” She peered at him.

“Never mind,” he said hastily, turning her to the stairs. He gave her a swat on the ass to get her moving forward.

“Hey!” She turned and tried to point an accusing finger at him, but it swayed drunkenly, refusing to stay where she’d aimed it. She settled for a glare instead.

“Get moving,” he said. “Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you?”

“I can walk,” she assured him, nodding confidently as she turned and concentrated on finding the stairs. She reached for the handrail, but it seemed to evade her. She stumbled, but Karl lunged forward and managed to save her from doing a face plant.

“This is a beautiful staircase, by the way,” she told him as she straightened back up, trying to focus on the wooden banister they had picked out and installed together. She reached out again and managed to connect with it this time. She draped herself partially over it in admiration, stroking it lovingly with one hand.

“My house,” she mumbled softly. “I love my house. Thank you for helping make my house so beautiful.” Tears sprang to her eyes, although she wasn’t sure exactly why. She closed them and rubbed her cheek on the smooth polished wood, smiling dreamily.

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes flew open as she was scooped up and away from the railing. His face came into focus only inches from her own, and she realized he was holding her in his arms and starting upstairs.

“Are you—are you going to…” She knew she should be screaming for help, but much as she tried to want to, she found herself smiling instead.

“Am I going to what?”

“There’s no one to hear if I do, anyway,” she mused, mostly to herself. She had a hazy idea that it would be better if she didn’t resist. Screaming might just make him angry. She peered at him, trying to decide if he was angry or not, hoping he just wanted to rape her. He was certainly capable of it, she thought, feeling the movement of the muscles in his arms as they encircled her. “You’re so strong,” she murmured, then tried to clap a hand over her mouth. She shouldn’t encourage him. The hand landed on her cheek instead, and she pulled it away to give it an indignant look.

He chuckled. “Thank you.”

That was a good sign, she decided. She sighed and her head relaxed against his shoulder. It was actually nice to be carried to bed, even if she was going to be brutally ravaged in a minute. She didn’t really think he wanted to murder her, though. She drifted off into a light doze, debating to herself whether she should call the police in the morning or wait until he had finished painting the barn.

She was aware of being lowered onto the bed. That was odd. Surely if he was going to rape her he would have thrown her down instead and maybe pulled her hands over her head. She’d never been fucked with her hands held or tied over her head. “I hope he does,” she murmured to herself. Not hearing anything, she opened her eyes, expecting to see him standing over her, unzipping his pants and regarding her with an evil leer.