The Pleasures of Winter (36 page)

‘I heard about that.’ He suddenly sounded interested. ‘Weren’t you with that actor, what’s his name, Winter?’

Beside her, Abbie watched as Martin stopped pouring a glass of whiskey.
OK, you can do this, Marshall. It’s not going to be the only time that someone mentions his name
. She put on her brightest smile. ‘That’s right. Jack Winter.’

The ambassador winked at her. ‘That’s the one. My teenage daughter is crazy about him. Any chance you could get me an autograph?’

Abbie’s smile froze. She would rather chew her own toenails than ask Jack for anything. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Now, who was the man you wanted to contact?’

‘His name is Breslin. Tom Breslin,’ she offered.

‘Ah, Tom. Good guy, he’s only been with us for a couple of weeks. Big into the horses too, I understand.’

Martin rubbed his hands together. ‘Bring him along to the hunt ball, then. I could do with another bit of business.’

‘Only if we split the commission.’ The ambassador laughed. ‘Do you want me to give Tom a message?’

And warn him in advance? Not a chance. The ball would be a perfect opportunity to find out just what Breslin’s involvement in Honduras was.

‘No, let it be a surprise.’

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned. It was Barbara. ‘There’s a phone call for you in the study. It’s from America.’

Abbie left the party behind and hurried to the study. It had to be Miffy or Kit. Maybe the girls had opened their gifts and wanted to say thanks. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Abbie.’

She closed her eyes. Jack. Almost a full minute of silence passed while she tried to stop the words from spewing from her mouth. How hurt she was that he had believed she had betrayed her. How angry she was that he had tracked her down. How much she had missed him. Instead, she steeled her voice to be as curt and professional as possible. ‘How do you do, Mr Winter?’

‘We’re back to that again, huh? You weren’t so formal in LA.’

Her head flooded with the memories. Jack’s mouth kissing her, Jack’s arms holding her, Jack’s hands as he … No, she wasn’t going to think about that. ‘I remember a lot of things about LA. Not all of them were pleasant.’

Jack laughed, a low earthy tone that sent a shiver down her spine. ‘That’s my girl. Still sassy.’

‘I am not your girl.’

‘Oh baby, you’ll always be my girl.’ His tone was silky with menace and she shivered. He had used that same tone when he told her in explicit detail what he was going to do to her.

It excited her now as much as it did then. There was no way that she was giving in to this again. ‘Save the theatrics for the silver screen, Mr Winter. Don’t you have a party to attend? Some sweet little starlet who’s begging for your attentions?’ God knew how many women Jack had invited to his playroom since she left. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

She half expected him to hang up, to respond with a sarcastic one-liner as only Jack could. Instead he laughed.

‘Did I say something funny?’ She found it hard to keep the edge out of her voice.

‘No, you said exactly what I wanted to hear. The best Christmas present ever. You still want me.’

‘I do not –’

‘Yes, you do, and you’re jealous as hell that I might have played with someone else. The truth is I haven’t been near a woman since you left.’

Abbie gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Thanks for the update, but I’m no longer interested. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have a party to go to.’

‘Abbie.’ His voice had an edge to it now.

If she was in LA that tone would signal a punishment. Against her will, her nipples hardened. It was infuriating: five thousand miles away and he could still arouse her. She had to finish this. ‘Thanks for scratching my itch, Mr Winter, but I’m not interested in playing and –’

‘Abbie, get out of that sulky mood you’re in or there will be consequences.’

With that he hung up. Abbie sat down on the arm of the chair. Nesbitt crossed the room and put his head on her lap. She scratched behind his ears. What did he mean,
consequences? How could there be consequences? He was thousands of miles away.

Dublin looked different. Even the airport wasn’t the way he remembered. When he left Ireland twelve years earlier, there had been one terminal. Now there were two, and the maze of roads leading to car parks, bus stops and drop-off points was like doing a jigsaw in the dark.

He had only brought hand luggage. It wasn’t as if he planned to stay in Ireland for one minute longer than it took to find Abbie and drag her back to America with him. This time, she wasn’t getting away. He had plans for sweet Abbie. On the journey from LA to Dublin, he had time to imagine what he was going to do to her when he got her back in his bed.

Anything to avoid thinking about what else he faced in Ireland. His family. What would Ciara look like now? She had emailed photos over the years, her engagement, wedding, pregnancy, the birth of her baby, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in the flesh. She had chatted on Skype but refused to turn the webcam on, claiming she’d crack the screen. There had been fewer pictures of his mother, and fewer still of his father. The old man’s face was always the same: stern and unforgiving.

Jack didn’t want forgiveness. He had done nothing wrong. It was his father who had turned his back, not him.

‘Michael! Michael! Over here!’ He didn’t register the name – it was so long since anyone had called him that – but the screaming woman in the bright-red snow jacket was impossible to ignore.

‘Ciara? What are you doing here?’ Even as he spoke, he couldn’t resist sweeping her up into a rib-cracking embrace. She hugged him back with equal fervour. Even her smell was familiar, and something inside him eased at her welcome.

‘You thick eejit, I came to welcome you home.’ Finally she stepped back and looked him up and down. ‘You’ve lost weight. You’re thinner.’

Perhaps it was true, but he shrugged it off. ‘The camera makes you look fatter than you are, that’s all.’

Ciara gave him a salacious grin. ‘Still, if you weren’t my brother I’d say you were a fine-looking thing – not bad, not bad at all.’

He checked out the arrivals hall to see if he had been recognized. A few people were looking at him and nudging each other, but no one approached or asked for his autograph. His newfound fame as a sexual predator had obviously proceeded him.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ Ciara demanded as she led the way out of the airport. ‘I only found out when I rang up and that trainer fella told me.’ She put money into a machine to get her ticket stamped and led him out into the slush-covered car park.

At least Ciara was dressed for the weather, in a snow coat and heavy boots. Jack’s Converse trainers were already soggy and his leather jacket was not doing a thing to keep him warm. He had forgotten the weather in Ireland. Ciara stopped beside a scruffy Civic and motioned Jack into the front passenger seat.

‘So, is it Michael or Jack now that you’re here?’ she asked as she put the car into gear and pulled out carefully.

‘It’s Jack. Michael ceased to exist the minute I left Ireland.’ Everything felt strange. He was on the wrong side, the car was far too small for a man of his height and Ciara had grown up.

She snorted. ‘Try telling Dad that.’

He couldn’t help it. ‘Does he ever talk about me?’

‘Not much. But he watches every film you’re in, and reads all the letters you send to Mam.’

Jack didn’t know what to say to that. He had never forgotten the night his father had thrown him out.

They fell into silence as Ciara gave all her attention to negotiating the slushy roads. They crawled along. He was glad of the chance to get his head around the fact that he was actually back in Dublin. Finally, they got to a stretch where the traffic was flowing. Ciara gave him a sideways glance before saying, ‘So, what did happen back then, Jack? I remember all the fuss, but no one would tell me any details.’

‘You were too young.’

She stopped at a set of traffic lights on to the main road and looked right at him. ‘Well, I’m not young and innocent any more, so spill. Or I’ll assume the worst. And you have no idea how vivid my imagination is.’

‘It was nothing. Or it should have been nothing. Do you remember Sarah who was one of my gang in college?’

‘I used to slag her about her D4 accent, but I thought she was all right.’

Jack gave a reluctant laugh. ‘Me too. But we had a lot in common.’ He couldn’t tell Ciara just how much they had in common. Ciara might be an adult now, but she was still his little sister.

‘Anyway, we had been at the Horse Show. She bought a riding crop in the Exhibition Hall and that night we played with it.’

Ciara surprised him with a dirty laugh. ‘I’ll bet you did.’ So, his little sister wasn’t so innocent any more.

‘We were a bit surprised at how strong the marks were, but she liked it. Then her mother took her to Brown Thomas to buy a dress for the Horse Show ball. She saw them and raised hell. And Sarah was too scared of her mother, and of what everyone would think, to tell her that it was consensual. She made out that I had lost it and attacked her.’ Jack shrugged, trying to sound casual. ‘I was arrested and charged with assault, and locked up in the Bridewell.’

Ciara winced. ‘I didn’t know about that. Are you still claustrophobic?’

He grimaced. ‘A bit. I hate small planes or confined spaces.’ That was an understatement.

‘Dad pulled a few strings and got me out and he went and spoke to her parents and the charges were dropped.’

‘If he did that, why did you fall out? Why haven’t you talked in twelve years?’

‘He never asked me what happened. Just assumed I had beaten her, and told me to get out of his sight.’ All these years later, the hurt of that was still fresh.

‘Give him a break. A cop – a sergeant, at that – whose son was arrested for kinky stuff? Of course he wouldn’t react well. Talk to him. He’ll forgive you.’

The idea made Jack’s fists clench. ‘I didn’t do anything that needs forgiving. He assumed the worst.’ He took a breath. ‘Anyway, I won’t have time to talk to him. I’m only
here for a day or two, until I can pick up,’ he hesitated, ‘a friend. A special friend.’

‘Abbie Marshall. I know.’ Ciara wasn’t even looking at him, she was watching a tractor towing a sports car.

He nearly pulled a tendon in his neck, he whipped round so fast. ‘What? How did you know?’

‘Of course I know. As soon as I saw her on the news when you were found I could see that she was just your type. And Kev said that she had gone missing.’

‘Kev?’

‘Well, sure. Even though you scared him out of asking me out, we’re Facebook friends and e-mail occasionally. He follows me on Twitter,’ she added proudly, ‘which is more than you do.’

Jack felt as if he had fallen down a rabbit hole. Why had he assumed that what happened in America wouldn’t reach Ireland?

She pulled out and overtook a lorry salting the road, a bus and a Ford Focus in one manoeuvre. He might have survived a crashing plane and a Honduran rainforest full of poisonous snakes and man-eating cats, but if he got through Dublin in one piece it would be a miracle.

‘So, are you staying with me or going home?’

‘Neither. I’ve booked a room in the Clarence.’

Ciara took her attention off the road and gave him an incredulous look. ‘No bloody way. My house or Mam’s. I am not taking you to a hotel. Not unless you want to have photographers chasing you all over Temple Bar.’

He winced. He hadn’t thought of that. ‘OK, your house it is, if you’re sure Johnny won’t mind.’

She kept her attention on the road. ‘He’ll be fine. And Aoife is mad to meet the uncle who sends her all the presents.’ Ciara pulled into a side street. ‘Here we are. Grab your bag and prepare to enter Bedlam.’

For the moment, the subject was dropped.

Abbie unwrapped the dark-blue tissue paper and gasped. She lifted the green silk dress and shook it, trying to shake out the creases. ‘It’s fabulous.’

‘I wore it the night I met Martin.’ Barbara gazed at the dress wistfully. ‘It doesn’t fit me now but it will look lovely on you.’

Abbie held it up against her and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The dress brought out the colour of her eyes. Jack would …
No.
No more thinking about Jack. It was almost a week since their conversation and she hadn’t heard a word from him since.

His threat of making her pay had been empty. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed. She had thrown herself into helping Barbara with the preparations for the hunt ball. Tonight she would meet Tom Breslin and get back to work. It would be good to have a story to focus on.

‘There’s a headdress to match.’ Barbara opened a second, smaller tissue parcel. A jewelled headband glittered in the paper. Wrapped separately were two feathers, dyed to match the colour of the dress.

Abbie sat obediently as Barbara fitted the headband and attached the feathers. Even without make-up the elaborate band made her look sophisticated. It wasn’t a look she did often.

‘You won’t be able to sit down all night.’

‘What?’ Barbara’s words startled her. The last person to use those words meant something else entirely. Abbie blushed and Barbara gave her a knowing smile.

‘I meant dancing. You won’t be short of partners. You go and get ready. I’ll iron this for you.’

For once, the shower didn’t turn cold halfway through. Abbie took a while to moisturize her skin. There were no bruises on her ass, no burning rasp from five o’clock shadow, no marks on her wrists from restraints. All traces of her adventures in D/s were gone. She felt naked.

But it wasn’t just any marks she wanted; it was Jack’s marks. Kit had been right. She was a natural submissive, but it didn’t matter. There was only one man that she would ever submit to and that was never going to happen again. For all Jack’s talk about trust and openness in a D/s relationship, in the end he hadn’t trusted her.

She applied her make-up carefully and pulled a face at her reflection. ‘Stop thinking about Jack. You’re worse than a teenager.’

Barbara had laid the dress out on the bed. Creases gone, the silk shimmered under the lamplight. Abbie adjusted her headdress and attached the feathers. An exotic creature stared back at her from the mirror. She painted a Cupid’s bow on her lips. ‘Very Louise Brooks,’ she approved. ‘Now, let’s see if the paint job will tempt Mr Breslin.’