Secrets Dispatched (3 page)

Wuss, get out of the car. Or turn on the engine and go away for good and try to enjoy a cold, wet holiday
. She took a deep breath, did her coat up, pulled her hood over her head and stepped out of the vehicle. A blast of icy wind rocked her on her heels and almost took her breath away. The temperature had dropped considerably, and the snow was now so heavy her tire tracks were almost obliterated.

Shane hoped to hell someone was at home, or she’d more than likely be found in spring as a frozen corpse inside her buried car. She moved toward the castle door with her breath making white, misty spirals in the air and with snowflakes on her eyelashes. Thank goodness for contact lenses. Specs would be useless. Mind you, she patted her pocket to make sure her lenses case and her glasses were there. She’d lost too many lenses in the past and ended up half blind, not to carry specs around, annoying though it might be.

She looked at the walls of the castle and groaned. She had to get in there? Why not try something less challenging like breaking into the Royal Mint or wrestling with a croc.

Okay you can do it. Deep breath and go.

The snow was piled up higher near those forbidding walls and even though she only had a few yards to trudge through it, her jeans were soaked by the time she searched for the doorbell. To her amusement, it was an old fashioned tug rope type. Not that she felt much amused. Pissed, more like. Could they not have an ordinary bell like everyone else? It would take a giant to get a good sound from it, not a five foot something woman.

She hauled and after a second or two, heard a deep clang echo inside the building.

“Come on. Hurry up.” Shane pulled the bell again. “Please, please someone answer the bloody door.” She stamped her feet, to try and get her circulation moving faster and for the first time thought what an idiot she’d been to continue her journey to the castle once the snow started. Shane dipped her head to pull her hood farther over her head in a vain effort to keep her hair dry. Already frizz-head hair had begun, and she’d have a devil of a job with it once she got it dried again. Not for the first time, Shane wished she’d kept it short in the style she’d cut it after the arsehole experience, as she now called it. Instead, she’d let it grow, more as a way to show herself that Poisonous Pete the Plonker and his only long hair is acceptable diktat, wasn’t why it was long. The one thing she did do now—which he’d objected to—was using straighteners on it. Hence knowing that all her hard work was about to be ruined if no one answered the door.

“For fuck sake, open won’t you? What if I say open sesame? Or get on my knees and beg? Will that work?”

There was a grating noise, and a blast of heat hit her. Before Shane looked up, someone spoke.

“Open sesame won’t. But I do like the idea of you on your knees and begging. I won’t make you do it in the snow though.”

Oh, fuck and shit. I know that voice.

Chapter Two

Ross Mackie looked down at the snow-covered woman in front of him and wondered if he was hallucinating. Who in their right mind would be out and about this far from a semi-decent road in weather like this? Especially with her head bowed and if you discounted the fact she wasn’t on her knees, in an almost perfect subbie pose.

Was this some kind of joke? Had Jeff and David decided to teach him a lesson for refusing to go on holiday and, as they said it, recharge his batteries? The only place Ross knew how to do that was right there, at Diomhair with the perfect sub. Not on a far-flung beach or on a city break bored out of his skull, all by himself.

Sadly he’d come to the conclusion there was no such thing as a perfect sub, at least not for him. Seeing his colleagues all loved—and subbed—up brought it home very forcibly that he had no one in mind to play with on a permanent or even semi-permanent basis.

Goodness knows why. There were plenty of people who were members of the club who would go down on their knees for him to practice his area of expertise on them, but none he would choose to do so with. Except on a teaching basis. For a while, he’d thought he and Connie, one of the subs, would make a go of it, but eventually they’d both agreed they made better friends than Dom and sub. She still subbed for him if he needed one for a demonstration, but that was it. By choice or not, he was alone.

Sad or what?

Now his interest and his cock were piqued. It was a shame it was so bloody cold, because he reckoned his dick would snap in half if it got as hard as he sensed it could.

“So, pet? Are you stopping there to become a snowman or do you want to come in? You can kneel and beg inside instead of out here.”

The woman looked up at him and scowled. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Dark hazel eyes, fringed with long, snow-edged lashes sparked fire at him.

“Ha, ha funny—not. I’m looking for Jess Sutherland. Could I speak to her, please?”

The accent was definitely Australian and very similar to his own. Ross took a step back and gestured. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”

His visitor went pale and swayed. Ross hoped to hell she wasn’t going to faint on him. He might have done his basic first aid training, but swooning women and no one else about was an assault charge waiting to happen. In all honesty, he was probably all kinds of a fool to even think about offering her the option to wait inside until the snow stopped, or Jess turned up. He’d spoken the truth when he’d said Jess didn’t live in the castle any more. However, Jess and her husband David had said earlier they were on their way back from Glasgow, and Ross knew Jess and David would call in—snow permitting—on their way to their new home half a mile away.

Ever since Jess had looked in his fridge and seen a moldy orange, two cartons of yoghurt and nothing else, Jess was convinced he was incapable of feeding himself. It didn’t matter how much he protested he was about to go to the supermarket, Jess insisted on stocking his fridge and checking he’d eaten the contents.

He took hold of the swaying woman by the arm and held her steady. As he doubted she would be able to turn her car around and drive back down the lane anyway, he really had no option except to offer hospitality. Once he had her safely seated in a chair, he would phone and warn Jess she had a visitor.

The car was parked—or should that be abandoned—in the middle of the flowerbed, albeit a snow-covered one. Ross wondered how she’d managed to even get it that far. The tiny runaround certainly wasn’t fit for the weather. Ross didn’t want to be accused of letting her drive away and into a ditch.

“Hey, no fainting. Women are only allowed to lose consciousness around me for other reasons, not the weather or lack of someone to visit.”

He hadn’t meant to say that, especially about passing out, but once said, he couldn’t rescind his words.

Those expressive eyes widened, and she almost smiled.

“I can believe that.”

Now why did he not think that was what she had intended to say that? What did she mean by it? “Pardon?”

She dropped her gaze, all subbie correctness. Did she even know she exhibited all those traits?

“D’you want to come in and wait for her? She’ll pop in soon.” Why was he so insistent? After all, he was alone, it was a BDSM club, even if it was closed, and although she looked familiar, he didn’t know who she was or what she wanted. Not really a good situation.

“Yes, please, I’ll wait. I do need to see Jess. Don’t let me stop you from doing whatever you were doing.”

Ross stiffened. Talk about a brush off the first order. It was as well she wasn’t his sub. She’d not be able to sit comfortably for a week if that was her attitude.

“Follow me.” He spun on his heel and walked back along the corridor without waiting to see if she followed it not. The heavy thump as the door closed made him smile. Miss whoever she was had a temper then.

Ross stopped and turned around to look at her. She’d pulled her hood right down and her hair twisted in a mass of dark brown curls over her shoulders. Once again an elusive memory tugged at the edges of his mind. Perhaps if he didn’t try to recall who she was, her name would come to him? “Do you realize how stupid you are coming inside when you don’t know me from Adam? I could be an ax murderer.”

“Are you?” she said and grinned. “I’ve got a black belt in judo and know how to disarm an ax wielding madman at five paces.”

Somehow he doubted it, but he admired her grit.

She waved one hand in the air. “My brothers taught me. They said it works every time.”

The cheeky expression on her face made him jump.
Who
was it she
reminded him of?

“Ah, good. What’s their chosen method of disablement?”

She giggled. “Whip up my top, wave my boobs and when they’re gobsmacked, kick them in the goolies and run like hell.”

Ross looked down to where her heavy jacket covered her breasts. “I guess that might work.”

She nodded. “According to Troy and Jase, it will. I trust them.”

Ross narrowed his eyes. The names coupled together like that were as familiar as his own. Rather than ask her to clarify her statement, he chose to prod a little more. It was the most fun he’d had for ages. If she was related to the Donoghue brothers, she knew more about his lifestyle than she let on. He wished he could recall her name. Something not usual, he thought—a boy’s name maybe? She’d be around ten or twelve years younger than him, and someone he remembered as a leggy, flat-chested school girl. No wonder he couldn’t place her. This woman might still be leggy, but she certainly wasn’t flat-chested. Now she was a beautiful and voluptuous woman who piqued his interest.

He’d heard about her accidental voyeur sessions all those years ago. Or was it accidental? He hadn’t caught up with Troy and Jase for years. Maybe once she owned up to who she was, he could ask her how they were. For now though…

“I think, girl, you need to explain further. What’s your name?” He barked out the question in a short staccato burst of words and she jumped. However, it seemed she wasn’t intimidated easily.

She returned his stare with one of her own.

“Why?”

Ross blinked and the pulse in his wrist jumped. One thing he wasn’t used to was backchat from sassy subs. He was more used to instant obedience and awkwardly, sometimes blind, adoration. Oh, he liked a bit of spunk, not lap dog placidness, but he never received, or welcomed, such blatant confrontations. They caused more trouble than the excitement the results gave him.

“Just answer the question.”

She bit her lip. Not in a worried way, he decided, but more in a considering one. Even though his temper was provoked, Ross had to stop himself laughing. She was so unafraid, and really she should be quaking in her sheepskin boots. There she was with a strange guy, with no one else around, and she was challenging him.
Okay, sunshine, you want it, then by God, you’ll get it.

“You’re treading on thin ice, kitten.”

Her eyes widened at the sobriquet, and he would have sworn she twitched and began to dip her head before she straightened. “Yeah, true enough. I’m trading words with an arsehole. I’ll go and wait in the car.”

Ross grabbed her arm as she began to walk away.

“I don’t think so. Shit, woman, you’d freeze to death.”

“Do not grab me, mate.”

She swung her other arm so fast that Ross only just managed to move to one side and miss the fist she shot toward him. Something glinted between her thumb and forefinger and he realized it was a set of keys with the business end sticking out far enough to disable any attacker for enough time to enable her to leave the scene. He took hold of that arm as well, and with difficulty, pried the keys out of her hand. They dropped to the floor with a metallic thunk.

If looks could kill, he’d be six feet underground. She had guts, he’d give her that, but, oh, how stupid to go head to head with a guy who was a good twelve inches taller and several stones heavier. He tamped down his temper. He’d show her how to defend herself properly, later—if she gave him the chance.

Ross held both her hands in one of his and lifted his arm so she had to stand on the balls of her feet. Even that didn’t seem to faze her because she tried to twist and kick out. He pulled her even higher until only the toe edge of her boots touched the floor. She lifted one booted foot, balanced on the other and tried to knee him in the balls. Ross moved until her back was against the wall and put his own leg across her, so she had no room to maneuver. He pressed hard enough for her to wince and gasp. It served her right. Not only for being arsy but also for being so bloody stupid to first of all come in and afterwards to carry on in the way she had. Did she have a death wish?

“Naughty. But at least you’ve woken up to the danger of being alone with someone you don’t know.”

“Not really.”

Ross waited for her to continue. She looked very pointedly at his hand, which he still had clamped tightly around her arm.

“You haven’t?”

Surely she was kidding him. However, she didn’t look as if she were joking. More that she knew something he didn’t. Ross wasn’t very happy about that.

She firmed her lips. “Nope. Now let me down.”

“Not a chance, kitten. Silly subbies need showing the errors of their ways.” Why on earth was he insisting she was a sub? And calling her kitten? He never, ever used a special nickname for a sub. It was always pet. Apart from which, she probably didn’t even know what he was talking about.

“Tell me about it,” she said, somewhat cryptically, he thought. “But as I’m not a silly subbie, you can let me down.”

“Hmm.”
So she does know then
. Life was beginning to get interesting. He stared at her and she stared back. This close, her scent drifted across to him to tease his nostrils.

“Jo Malone?” he asked.

“No, that’s not me.” She winked.

“Funny girl. The perfume as well, you know.” Ross shook her. It was handy being a full foot taller. It didn’t seem to faze her one jot. She waited until he stopped and huffed. Chestnut curls spiraled around her face and she blew a few strands off her nose.