The Pleasures of Winter
The Pleasures of Winter
PENGUIN BOOKS
PENGUIN BOOKS
Evie Hunter is actually two authors who met at a creative writing workshop in 2010 and discovered a shared love of erotica. Since then, while they have both written fiction in other genres, they have also written a number of BDSM-themed novellas together.
The Pleasures of Winter
is their first collaboration on a novel. They plan for Evie to have a long and productive career.
The Pleasures of Winter
is dedicated to all of the Masters and submissives who so openly shared their personal experiences with us. Especially to D – rock, hard place and confidant.
Our grateful thanks to Ian O’Reilly of the BBC for the champagne and invaluable information about Honduras.
And to our neglected families who only complained slightly when we disappeared to write
The Pleasures of Winter
– normal service will be resumed shortly.
Abbie Marshall tucked the handset of the payphone under her chin as she scanned the display in Toncontín Airport. Despite the air conditioning, her T-shirt was already damp from the Honduran heat. ‘You have to get me out of here.’
Every flight to the States was full and now she had a bigger problem. Two of them, to be precise. They had been on her tail since she left the hotel and the dark-eyed one with the scar on his cheek was horribly familiar.
She almost missed her editor’s reply. ‘I’m on it. Give me an hour and I’ll –’
When Scarface rose to his feet, Abbie’s heart dropped like a stone and she swallowed hard. This was an international airport. They couldn’t just take her. Her gut told her something different. She had seen enough in the past two weeks to know that these men could do whatever they wanted, and no one would stop them. ‘Josh, I don’t think I have an hour.’
‘How close are they?’
Abbie gripped the handset tighter. ‘Would you be upset if I said thirty feet? I’m a sitting duck here. I can’t get a signal on my cell. I’ll find another payphone if I can’t stay on this one.’
A string of expletives followed. ‘I want you to stay on the line. Talk to me, Princess.’
Abbie ignored the princess jibe. ‘I’m fine, I just … I’m fine. Tell Sara that I’ve got the story and I’ll file it as soon as I get home.’
She eased the battered rucksack off her shoulder. It had seen her through some scary assignments – north Africa, Burma, Haiti. This might be the last trip for both of them. She had been in tight spots before, but nothing like this.
The flight to New York was announced and Abbie watched the passengers leave for the departure gate. Scarface returned from the bar and raised his glass in her direction. She wasn’t any safer here than she had been at the hotel. In a couple of hours the last flight would be gone and the men would make their move.
‘Abbie, you still there?
Abbie!
’ Her editor’s sharp tone jolted her back to reality. ‘Listen. Go to the charter desk in the main hall. There’s a private jet departing for Miami in thirty minutes. Jack Winter is on it. You can interview him on the way.’
‘What are you talking about – interview Jack Winter?’
She heard an exasperated sigh on the other end.
‘Do you want to get out of there or not? Standard Studios have been trying to put us together with Winter for months. He agreed to an interview, but we’ve never been able to get hold of him. It’s your lucky day because of all the godforsaken places he could have turned up in, he’s in Honduras. Or was. He’s leaving on that plane tonight. The publicist is making sure you can get on the flight but she can’t get through to Winter or his people. You’ll just have to sweet-talk him when you get there. Now,
run!
’
Abbie closed her eyes. Apart from her work gear, her small rucksack contained nothing but a washbag and a
change of underwear. There had been no time to grab anything else when fleeing the hotel. Her T-shirt was stuck to her body. And Josh expected her to interview a Hollywood heart-throb, a guy more famous for his hell-raising and womanizing than his acting?
When she opened her eyes again, Scarface was staring at her.
‘I’m on it.’ Abbie dropped the handset into the receiver and, picking up her rucksack, she ran.
The men were surprised by her sudden flight. She heard a chair scraping noisily against the tiles and a bottle crashing to the floor. Pushing her way through the waiting passengers, she fled across the lobby, ignoring the shouts of the men racing behind her. Abbie only slowed when she spotted the armed security personnel. Toncontín also served as a military airport and she didn’t want to be arrested or shot by mistake.
A quick glance over her shoulder told her that Scarface hadn’t been so lucky. The men had been stopped. Maybe she might get out of this after all. She hurried along the main hall. Most of the desks were closed and the man at the charter desk was pulling down the shutters.
‘My name is Abbie Marshall. You should have had a call about this. I’m getting a ride on the Standard Studios jet.’
He glanced at his watch and gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Marshall, but you’re too late. The jet is ready for departure.’
Abbie looked over her shoulder. Scarface and his buddy had been released. ‘Please, I have to get out of here tonight.’
As the man sized her up Abbie gave him a look that she
hoped conveyed the right mix of desperation and sympathy for his difficult job. Her life depended on changing his mind.
He made a snap decision. ‘OK, but we’ll have to run.’ He ushered her behind the desk and through a small door at the back. She followed him along a maze of concrete corridors, through an emergency door and out into the night. The thick, humid air hit her face like a furnace.
‘Hurry.’ He grabbed her arm and dragged her along the tarmac until she thought her lungs would burst. Up ahead, she could see the sleek white outline of a waiting jet. Two figures in Hi-Vis waistcoats were pulling the portable steps away.
‘No! Wait!’ Abbie said. Waving her arms and yelling, she raced for the plane. The ground crew finally heard her and paused, leaving the steps in place for another few precious seconds.
She launched herself up the steps and through the door at the top, landing on her hands and knees. She stayed there, panting, trying to catch her breath before she had to deal with her fellow passengers.
‘Are you OK?’ asked a tall man, who helped her to her feet and gave her a reassuring smile.
Still trying to control her racing heartbeat and loud breathing, Abbie smiled back. ‘I am now.’ He was cute, with brown hair and blue eyes, and an Irish accent to die for.
An older man, already strapped into his seat, frowned at her. ‘Were we expecting you?’ he asked, glancing at his watch. His expensive suit didn’t quite conceal the beginnings of a pot belly and his air of self-importance set her teeth on edge.
She stood up and dusted herself down. ‘I believe you were. I’m Abbie Marshall,
New York Independent
. I’m here to interview Jack Winter.’ She tried to make it sound as if that were the only reason she was on the plane.
‘No so fast, Ms Marshall. I’m Mr Winter’s agent. Everything should be cleared through me.’ He pulled out his smartphone.
‘This is Zeke Bryan,’ the younger man said.
‘Mr Bryan.’ She nodded politely, but made no effort to shake his hand. ‘
New York Independent
. I believe an interview was agreed with us some time ago. Part of Mr Winter’s contract with Standard Studios.’
The agent looked in two minds but before he could say anything else, the younger man flashed her a smile and said, ‘Oh, give it a rest, Zeke, it’s not as if we can’t use some female company on the flight.’
The agent sat back in his seat scowling, and then looked away. It seemed she was free to proceed.
The young man held out his hand. ‘I’m Kevin O’Malley.’
She shook his hand, enjoying his friendliness and easy manner. Abbie could understand all those stories about Irish charm.
He raised his voice slightly. ‘Hey, Jack, come and meet our lovely guest.’
There was no response. Oh, great. Jack Winter was one of those prima donna actors who ignored everyone else. Reluctantly, she followed Kevin the few steps to the back of the plane, to be introduced to the infamous star.
When Kevin stepped to one side and she finally saw Jack Winter up close, she felt as though she had been hit by an invisible fist. Abbie had to make a conscious effort
to keep breathing. Why had no one ever said? Or had she just not been paying attention? She dragged in a breath and tried to examine him objectively, like the professional journalist she was.
It was easy to see why women flocked to see his movies. Jack Winter was all masculine hard lines. He didn’t carry an ounce of spare flesh but gave the impression of lethal power, barely under control. The actor’s razor-sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw added to the tough-guy image. And yet, fighting that dazzling He-Man perfection, there was an irresistible sensual allure in the curve of his mouth. It wasn’t right: no one should be that hot.
Somehow, it made it worse that Jack was staring out the window and ignoring everything in the cabin. Kevin touched his arm to get his attention.
Thick, dark brows framed the pair of startling blue eyes that turned in her direction. In the face of so much male beauty, Abbie was conscious of her own appearance. She was dirty, sweaty and in need of a shower.
He stood up, towering over her and making her feel dainty and petite. The photographs in the glossy magazines didn’t do him justice: they couldn’t show the overwhelming potency of the man. This close, she could feel the heat radiating off his body and caught the faint aroma of an expensive cologne. But even more distinctive was the subtle but still overwhelming aura of masculinity around him. No matter how familiar he was, nothing could have prepared her for that. Her breath caught in her throat …
‘We’re about to take off,’ he said abruptly, and urged her into the seat opposite. He strapped her in before she could protest and redid his own seat belt. With that, the
plane taxied down the rough runway. The engines whined as the jet left the ground and climbed into the sky, leaving the winking lights of Tegucigalpa airport far below them.