Ice Queen (19 page)

117

Joey W. Hill

“Do you usually spout this much bullshit to your subs?” She wanted to pursue those shadows she’d seen in his eyes but they were gone as if they’d never been there, the moment lost.

He laughed, apparently enjoying her peevishness. “Yes. They’re naïve and impressionable, fawning on my every word. Do you play tennis?” She blinked. “Yes.”

“Are you good?”

“Yes.”

His smile broadened. “Good. It’s time to exercise, loosen up the muscles I abused last night. There’s a tennis outfit in our room. Skirt and sports bra, socks and tennis shoes, your size. That’s all I want you wearing. No panties.” He boosted her out of his lap, stood with her, his hand caressing her hip.

“How about you?” she asked. “Don’t I get a preference of what you wear?” He touched her bottom lip. “I’m pleased my slave has a preference. Tell me what you would like for me to wear and I’ll consider it.” She was used to telling subs how to dress, so the reminder that she didn’t have that status this weekend set her back on her heels. She did like looking at him, though. She wanted to deny it. Instead she watched in amazement as her fingers took it upon themselves to reach out toward his bare chest.

Perhaps because he knew how astounding a thing it was for her to want to reach out, he didn’t stop her and demand that she ask to touch him first as she knew a Dom had the right to do. As he’d done when she first came into the kitchen. A wealth of spontaneous physical responses were apparently unleashed in her where he was concerned. She laid her fingertips over his pectoral, moved over the soft hair, fingered the nipple as she felt his eyes on her face, his body hot under her touch.

“Keep doing that, angel, and I’ll have you down on your knees again.” Sensual promise gave his voice a husky tone.

She kept doing it. “Shorts. Just shorts. Please.” 118

Ice Queen

He had a selection of racquets. Choosing an oversized Prince, she tested the strings to make sure it would perform up to her standards. It surprised her, his decision to do this instead of taking her to some dungeon he had hidden on his sprawling estate and spending the day at the same intensity level as last night. She wasn’t ungrateful, since her system appeared to be working on overload now.

The sports bra was white, as was the skirt. Being a tennis skirt, it just made it past the cheeks of her ass. Maybe he thought it would distract her. He was in for a surprise.

When it came to winning, her focus was absolute.

When she stepped out of the room into the hallway, she found Sarah waiting for her. His house staff person looked in her fifties, with remarkably blonde hair tied back from her shoulders. She had hazel eyes and small interlocking silver heart earrings dangling from her lobes. A wedding band with a modest setting and a diamond anniversary band rested on a finger that, like the rest of her knuckles, displayed the swellings of early arthritis. Wearing a comfortable cotton blouse that rested at the swell of her hips over a neat pair of jeans, she appeared prepared to clean and cook, or step in as an appropriately casual hostess. The blouse was hand-embroidered with a floral design on the tips of the collar.

“Ma’am, Mr. Winterman asked me to show you the way to the tennis courts. He apologizes. He received a phone call in his office and had to take it.” Which explained the surprise of his sudden absence, when he hadn’t given her room to breathe since she’d arrived. “Tell him to take as long as he likes.” Then, on a sudden impulse, she asked, “May I see his room?” When the woman hesitated, Marguerite put out a hand, summoning her most practiced proprietress smile. “With you, of course. The house is so beautifully decorated, I just want to see the pieces he’s placed in his own space. And since I have a few moments before he can join me…”

“Of course. I’m sure that would be fine.” Reassured, the housekeeper changed direction, took her down the hall and across the landing. Outside the windows the sun was sparkling on the Gulf, the live oaks on the lawn framing it with imbalanced perfection, their gnarled branches shadowing a garden bench, a hammock. Marguerite glanced off the other side of the landing, toward the front entranceway, and saw a ficus tree adorned with fairy lights she hadn’t noticed coming in the night before. There appeared to be a glittering of glass ornaments on it.

“Did…Tyler do that?”

“No, of course not.” Sarah chuckled. “Everyone wonders about that because it doesn’t really match the rest of the house decor, does it? That was done by my 119

Joey W. Hill

grandchildren. Mr. Winterman let them come out for the day when they visited on Christmas break this year. They wanted to decorate it with some cheap little crystal ornaments we found in one of the storage sheds and a string or two of Christmas lights.

I was going to take it down after they left, for I certainly didn’t think it matched all these pieces Mr. Winterman has so carefully chosen but he told me to leave it. That he liked it. And then informed me that he’d recently read in a
Woman’s Day
article that such things were very fashionable, particularly when concerned with ‘decorating on a dime’.”

Marguerite was amused at the woman’s impression of Tyler’s masculine voice. “So do you ever get the urge to slap him?”

“Constantly. Almost as much as I get the urge to mother him. I suppose they go hand in hand.” Sarah beamed. “Sometimes I come upon him here first thing in the morning. He’ll have his coffee and be sitting on the landing in his pajamas, his feet between the railings dangling down like a little boy’s while he watches the sun come up. Of course, once you get above those feet nothing else reminds you of a little boy.” She gave Marguerite a mischievous glance that made Marguerite bite her lips against a smile. ‘Good morning, Sarah,’ he’ll say with a smile, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be sitting there. Then again it’d be almost a sin to have that view in the morning and not take time to pay tribute to it.”

“You’re obviously fond of him.”

“He’s a gentleman, in a world where they’re hard to come by. Both meanings, you know. Gentleman and gentle man. Like my Robert.” Sarah pushed open a door. “This is his room, Miss Perruquet. I’m sorry but I do feel like I should stay.”

“I enjoy your company,” Marguerite reassured her, stepping in and appreciating the woman’s sense of responsibility, her protectiveness. It was a rare commodity and one of the many reasons she valued Chloe and Gen so much.

Yes. This was his room. It was not just the simple, mission style bed of polished dark wood and matching armoire that looked as if it contained an entertainment center behind its doors. It was the more personal items her sharp eyes caught here that she’d missed in the other room. Several scripts piled on the bureau for review. Receipts from his wallet. A photograph showing a ballerina bent over in a graceful pose, accepting a bouquet of roses from the orchestra maestro while she was on stage.

“Who is the dancer?”

“Mr. Winterman’s wife.”

Marguerite turned from the photograph, startled, and the housekeeper blanched, realizing the source of her consternation. “Oh, no, not his current wife. She’s his ex-wife. Somewhat. Oh, dear, I’m not sure if that’s the right description.”

“Somewhat?” Then Marguerite saw a small heart-shaped box next to the picture.

Through the crystal top, she could see three rings, the man’s lying diagonally on top of the woman’s wedding set, linking them.

“I shouldn’t have brought you in here. I’m so sorry, Miss Perruquet. I…” 120

Ice Queen

“You haven’t abused his trust,” Marguerite said firmly, facing her. “I won’t abuse the knowledge, but if you don’t feel it would jeopardize your position I would like to know what ‘somewhat’ means.”

Sarah pursed her lips, apparently mulling it over, and Marguerite gave her the time to do so with the patience that many a sub had both cursed and blessed her for.

At last, she spoke. “All right. I’ll tell you. For the same reason I agreed to bring you here in the first place. Mr. Winterman gave us very specific instructions on Friday morning. He told me, ‘Anything she asks for, other than to leave—’” a smile touched her lips, “‘she’s to have.’ He’s different about you.” Marguerite tried to appear unaffected by that knowledge. “I’m sure Tyler often offers his hospitality to women.”

“His hospitality, but not that. Not an open door.” She shook her head. “I’ve raised my children, I have a husband. No matter the things that go on in this house, certain things remain the same. I know when a man is trying especially hard to make an impression on a woman. And I know enough about Mr. Winterman to know if he’s trying so hard for you, then you must be extraordinary.”

“Now
that
I don’t think he’d appreciate you telling me.”

“Perhaps not.” Sarah nodded. “But he’s got so much charm, I thought you might appreciate having an edge on him.”

It startled a wave of amusement out of Marguerite. “I appreciate every weapon I can get,” she agreed. “His wife?”

“Oh.” The light went out of the housekeeper’s eyes and she looked toward the picture. A frown marred her brow and she stepped past Marguerite to straighten the runner on the dresser that Tyler had apparently knocked off kilter when he laid the stack of scripts there. “Mr. Winterman’s wife was a dancer, an extraordinary one.

European. Very…fragile. Temperamental. All the things you’ve heard about prima ballerinas—with her, they were true. But she loved him so much, depended on him so much. He…” She paused, as if reconsidering her decision to speak.

“He…” Marguerite prompted. She knew she was prying, encouraging the woman when she shouldn’t, but in the past twelve hours Tyler had spun her on her axis. It seemed she’d been in retreat mode the whole time. She wanted to know more about him. While she knew the hazards of that desire, she was too far into the danger zone now to back away from a little additional knowledge. And while she could rationalize and tell herself it was to increase her arsenal of defenses, she wanted to know
him
.

Those shadows in his eyes at breakfast had bothered her.

Sarah folded her hands before her. “He wasn’t always in the career field he’s in now. He worked for the government. He left active duty some time ago, though I think he still does some work for them occasionally, mostly out of Washington. When he worked for them full time, he was assigned to Panama during that terrible time with Noriega. He was also involved in the Gulf War. When he came back from those conflicts, something had happened. You could tell from his eyes he saw things the rest 121

Joey W. Hill

of us didn’t ever want to see. I thank God for men and women like him who are willing to see it and take care of it so the rest of us don’t have to do so. But a part of him was shattered. He needed…he needed a woman’s understanding and love, because he was in a very bad place in his heart. And she had always depended on him emotionally.” The housekeeper’s glance shifted away briefly. “They had the type of relationship you often see in this house.”

A submissive. Of course. So Tyler’s Dominant side had been a part of him so long it had even been part of his marriage.

“She didn’t know how to help him, couldn’t even understand it.” Sarah shook her head. “It broke my heart to watch them. She thought that he should just be able to be home, watch her dance and that would make his heart happy again. Two years later she left him, confused. He let her go, too heartsick to help her find him again because he couldn’t find himself. As I said, she was a fragile creature. It took him about eighteen months after that, after she went back to Europe, but he straightened things out for himself and went after her.”

“They never…”

“No.” Sarah stroked a hand over the bed, as if she touched the man who slept there, her hazel eyes sad, loving. “He never divorced her, you see. And she never asked for one. But before he could reconcile with her, she killed herself. Right after a stunning performance of
Swan Lake
where the troupe was called back for five curtain calls. They said it was the most poignant dancing she’d ever done. When her Odette died, there wasn’t a dry eye in the entire theater.”

“Dear Goddess.” The words were spoken before Marguerite could think to hold them back. “Tyler… What did he do?”

“He buried her, mourned her and picked up the pieces. I thought for a while he’d never reach out to a woman again. But after about three years he started having lady guests.”

“Like Leila.”

The housekeeper didn’t look surprised that she knew about Leila. But if Tyler held D/s parties here regularly, there probably wasn’t much about Tyler’s current or past relationships that startled her. Yet she had called Tyler a gentleman and meant it.

Which meant Sarah was an extraordinary housekeeper. Or she worked for an extraordinary man, a sly whisper from her subconscious that Marguerite chose to ignore.

“Miss Leila was a good thing for his heart. She laughs so easily and enjoys the types of things Mr. Winterman enjoys.” Again that tactful wording. “She was a strong woman. I guess…” a faint blush tinged her cheeks. “I thought all women who did that type of thing were like Mrs. Winterman. Somewhat dependent, needy. I realized then that it was just a part of Mrs. Winterman.

“We all have our ghosts that haunt us.” Her gaze went to another photograph, this one on the wall. It was a photo from what Marguerite now guessed was Panama. A 122

Ice Queen

soldier surrounded by children, reaching up for candy. “Sometimes when I come in and see him sitting on that landing, I know he’s been sitting there half the night, watching the water, waiting for the sun come up. He’s managed to heal himself, but it was a near thing. He put the pieces back together by himself. And most people couldn’t have done that.”

After a moment of silence between the two women, Marguerite spoke. “No, they couldn’t. Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate your honesty. And I promise, regardless of what Tyler and I inflict on each other, I’ll try not to use the things you’ve told me to hurt him.”

Sarah gestured, letting Marguerite precede her from the room. As she closed the door, she paused with her hand on the knob. “Miss Perruquet, regardless of the instructions Mr. Winterman left me, I didn’t plan to tell you such personal things about him.”

“So why did you?”

“I’m not sure.” The housekeeper considered Marguerite. Marguerite was thankful she kept her eyes on her face, not on the rather revealing outfit. “I just felt it was the right thing to do.”

After that surprising statement Sarah led Marguerite out of the room, down the stairs and back through the kitchen. “The tennis courts are out this entrance. Just follow the path through the gardens and you’ll see them below the pool house. Mr. Winterman also told me to give you this note to take with you.” She handed Marguerite a folded piece of heavy, cream-colored stationery from the kitchen table. “He said to read it when you reached the orchid area. You’ll recognize it. There’s a small greenhouse for the more exotic ones. He has the hardier species planted in a bed just beside it. You’ll also find a statue of Aphrodite there and a fountain pool with koi fish. Now, you and Mr. Winterman be sure to come back in for lunch soon. I’m making up chocolate chip cookies for dessert and snacks. You’ll know they’re ready because you can smell them all the way into the gardens. It usually brings Robert in, no matter how far afield he’s wandered.”

Marguerite nodded, not sure whether to be amused or disturbed at the dichotomy, a motherly admonishment offered as she stepped out in a tennis outfit that hardly covered her bare ass.

The gardens were Southern landscaping at its finest, foliage arranged in artful wild clusters of white and deep fuchsia azaleas, oleanders, ginger plants with salmon-colored, pink and yellow fragrant blossoms. Everything carefully planted and arranged to look natural and yet not cluttered. And throughout the garden was one of the most amazing collections of bronze statuary she’d ever seen. A lone soldier. A dog lying down, asleep. Dancers. So many dancers, slender bodies reaching, stretching, appearing as if they danced for the joy of the sun-drenched day and the flowers around them.