Her Highland Master (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 1) (11 page)

She shoved the depressing thought from her mind, determined to soak up enough of the fantasy to make it last a lifetime.

Draping the robe over a chair, she dove into the pool, swimming freestyle laps. What kind of woman was she? She'd had sex with a man she didn't know. Really great, likely the best she's ever had, mind-blowing, how many times can one woman orgasm before launching herself off the planet sex. In all her life, she'd never had casual sex, and definitely not with a man she didn't know, until now. She'd had serious boyfriends over the years. Men she had dated and with whom she been intimate—but without a true love connection.

In the last twenty-four hours she'd engaged with and allowed a man she didn't know to tie her up and do things to her—and with her—that she'd never imagined people did in real life. She had assumed her fantasies, some of the things she'd read about, were more fiction than truth. After a dozen laps she rested against the edge, her body floating. Except now she knew that world did exist. If she was honest with herself, last night with Declan had been the most freeing moment of her life. It had been a sense of selflessness, like she no longer belonged to herself but to him. Then this morning… her face flamed at the memory of Jared between her legs.

Think of the devil and he appears.

Zoey inaudibly groaned as Jared strode into the room carrying a tray not a minute later. He arranged the tray on a nearby table. Then scooped up her robe and stood near the stairs, apparently waiting for her. He really was the sexiest butler she'd ever seen. This was the first time she'd been alone with him since she had arrived, and knowing that he had not only seen her without her clothes on but had joined in love play with her and Declan, made her belly quiver.

She climbed out of the pool, allowing him to help her into the robe. She shivered as his fingers lightly grazed her collarbone and felt her nipples harden at the contact. She was thankful that the robe covered her boobs at least, so he couldn't see that it just took a touch and she was turned on.

And he had only given her oral sex.

How could she want two different men? What the hell was wrong with her?

She allowed him to lead her over to the table. There was quite a bit more than just a spinach salad with chicken laid out before her. There were slices of cheese, grapes, warm French bread, and a crock of honey.

"But there's so much food," she said, looking up at Jared, confused by everything as she sat.

"Eat as much as you can. Declan said to make sure you were getting extra to help replenish your energy for tonight." He smiled knowingly, his gaze tracing over her body.

Even though she was fully clothed, his gaze raked her with heat in his eyes. She blushed under his frank stare. He knew exactly what she looked like without a stitch on—and what was more, what she tasted like.

Desire punched through her system, remembering how much she had wanted to taste him. How could she be feeling passion for two men? Granted, both were some of the finest specimens of the male sex that she'd ever encountered, but it didn't make her conundrum any less of a mess. She'd come to Scotland to get away from messy situations.

Zoey tried to shoo her thoughts away from the dangerous direction they wanted to race down; one where she and Jared built on their experience that morning. "Did you want to join me?" she asked. There was more than enough food to feed a family, let alone just her. And it would give her something to do other than fantasize about what she'd like to do with him.

As if he could read her thoughts, his gaze heated. "You could tempt a saint. Eat up, American lass. You will need it for the night's pleasure."

She gulped as he chuckled, giving her a wink and leaving her alone with her thoughts. Once she started eating, she discovered that she was famished. She filled up on bread smothered in honey, her salad, eating every last bite, and then topping it all off with some of the Manchego cheese.

When Zoey had finished, Sherry came strolling in.

"All finished?" she asked, taking inventory of the near empty plates.

"Yes, thank you. It was wonderful." Zoey felt replete with a full tummy and relaxed from her swim.

"By the way, I think you might be missing this." Sherry laid Zoey's cell phone on the table. "They found it behind the bench in the front entryway."

Her cell phone! She'd worried that it had been lost in the snow somewhere. It must have slipped out of her purse when she had fainted in the foyer. She had better hope that the apocalypse never happened, roughing it was so not her forte.

"How did they find it?" Zoey questioned, curious and thankful all at the same time. Her life was regaining some semblance of balance with the returned phone.

"Master Jared heard it ringing, and moved all the furniture in the hall until he discovered, 'What the bleeding hell was making such a god-awful noise,' as he put it."

Zoey burst out laughing. Her ringtone was rather annoying when she thought about it. She'd picked one that she could hear even if she was playing music or watching a movie. Glancing at her phone, she saw she had half a dozen missed calls from Ophelia and Lucy.

"Thank you. If Declan needs me, I'm heading back to my room for a bit to make some calls and change."

"I'll take care of this for you." Sherry lifted the tray.

Zoey nodded her thanks and went back to her room. After another shower to rinse all the chlorine from her hair, she tried unsuccessfully to reach her sister.

"Lia, it's Zoey. Change of plans, I'm not staying at the Thistle Bed & Breakfast. There was a freak snow storm, if you can believe it, and I'm staying at this historic manor house. Try not to worry, I'm fine, doing what I can to figure my life out." She left the message and hung up. Lucy wasn't to be reached either, and Zoey realized that, with the time difference, they would both be asleep.

Figure her life out. She wasn't even close. Sometimes she felt like everyone else had been provided with the script for how life was supposed to run and she had somehow never received it. She'd always thought that if she faked it until she made it, she would eventually make it. And she would have, too, if not for that backstabbing little prick who'd leaked client data to the press and then blamed it on Zoey.

With their clients being some of the most wealthy and powerful people in Hollywood, having an agency release private client data online was akin to committing career suicide. She'd never get another agency to hire her. Her name had been bandied about on the five o'clock news with vicious relish. The image of that little prick's smile as she took the fall for his misdeeds made her want to commit violence. She'd never forget being led from the building, and the position she'd loved so much, with her small box of belongings, shell-shocked about being accused of leaking client data for money.

They had traced the leak to her computer. Only Zoey didn't do it. And she had realized, as she was escorted out of the building, that the snide little prick had set her up. He'd used her computer to leak all the information knowing it would automatically tank her career. They'd both been competing for the same promotion and that little worm had ensured he clinched it.

She'd done what her parents had asked her and look where it had gotten her. Zoey wondered for the umpteenth time where her life would be if she had gone to the culinary arts college like she'd wanted. Maybe it was something she could look into when she returned to Los Angeles. But the thought of going back to LA was depressing instead of comforting as it had once been. The familiarity of staying in the home their parents had bought and paid for before their deaths had been good for both her and her sister. That created a bit of a cushion for the two of them, softening the blow of suddenly becoming orphans.

Zoey dressed, knowing she would see Declan and, more importantly, have sex with him. As part of their agreement, he could use her whenever he wanted. The logical side of her brain believed she should feel shame at the deal she had struck. Except she didn't, she was taking a vacation from her life in the truest sense of the word.

Leaving her room, she started exploring the magnificent estate she found herself in. Starting on the first level, she walked through rooms that made her think of the Victorian England manor homes Jane Austen wrote about. The ballroom was enormous, as large as her high school's gymnasium, if not more so, with gilded ceilings, chandeliers, and glistening marble floors.

She wandered from room to room on the first floor, being completely noisy. She opened closets, stroked the leather couches, studied all the artwork.

There was a music room with a grand piano and chairs arranged in concert formation. She found an armory, of all things, with swords, Claymores, tartans, flintlock pistols, bayonets, and more. They were all museum quality pieces and an ode to the bygone eras this manor must have borne witness to. While Zoey thoroughly enjoyed history—thinking of the Scottish clans, kings, castles, the knights of the round table, and knights Templar—if she were able to time travel, she'd go to the future. She'd love to see where mankind was heading, the technology that was sure to develop if we don't blow ourselves up first, whether we put a man on Mars.

She rounded the corner and almost barreled into Declan.

His arms steadied her. He was so gorgeous, it sucker-punched her. Had there ever been a man who took her breath away? From his thick, dark hair to his succulent mouth, overnight this enigma of a man had become even more attractive, if that was possible. She loved the way his bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her.

"There you are. Would you care to join me for dinner?" he asked, those damn blue eyes of his crinkling more. Zoey felt warmth spread through her limbs at his invitation. She wanted to know this man. What made him tick? What made him accept a stranger into his home without any thought? What made him propose a week of uninhibited sexual pleasure?

She nodded, smiling in return, and feeling some of her natural shyness return. "That would be nice."

He held his arm out in the gentlemanly fashion, waiting for her. She slid her hands around his arm and walked with him to a formal dining room. The room held two grand, dark wooden tables. At the far end of one, table settings had been arranged with candlelight and white roses. In the nearby hearth, a fire crackled. He pulled a chair out for her, and got her situated before he withdrew a bottle of wine from a silver bucket.

"Wine?" he inquired.

"Yes, please."

He filled her glass with a chardonnay.

An older woman, in her fifties, Zoey guessed, her gray hair scraped back in a tight bun, with extra flesh covering her squat little body and dressed in a white chef's coat, wheeled out a cart bearing a soup tureen. The woman ladled an orange colored soup into the china bowls.

"Thank you, Mrs. Stewart. The squash soup looks delectable as always," Declan said.

She bubbled. "Thank you, sir. Now, save some room because I have the most succulent roast prepared with roast red potatoes and carrots cooked in a brandy maple glaze. Then, for dessert, I have a hummingbird cake."

Zoey gained five pounds just listening to the dinner menu. To hell with it. If you couldn't indulge on vacation, when could you? No longer was she going to work her tail off, allowing life to pass her by. She wanted to live, dammit. She wanted to grab life by the horns and ride the hell out of it. Starting with the man sitting next to her at the dinner table.

"You spoil us, Mrs. Stewart," he said.

"Thank you," Zoey chimed in as the plump matron rolled the cart back out of the room.

"Now, where were we? Did you enjoy your swim?"

How the hell did he know about that? It was his house and she was a guest, but still. "It was quite lovely. Thank you, by the way, for rescuing my luggage."

"While I did enjoy seeing you dressed in nothing but my shirt, you seem more comfortable in your own. And it was actually Jared who rescued your things, but I shall certainly pass along your thanks."

"I see. How did your work go? And what is it you do actually?" she asked, wanting to uncover more of this man.

"My late father loved acquiring things; women, cars, money, and most of all, businesses. I am the majority shareholder for a bunch of small multi-billion dollar companies. It's all very boring. I had a shareholder meeting today that I held virtually with the rest of the board in London. However, my father wanted, if nothing else, to remake me in his image, making sure I didn't inherit the bulk of what he left me until I was thirty-two. So by the time I came of age, so to speak, I had discovered I loved business—not how he conducted it, mind you—but loved creating something out of nothing. Investing in small tech startups and such."

"So you've always known what you wanted to do, then? And if you inherited when you were thirty-two, how old are you now?" she asked, wanting to lick the bowl clean. The soup was divine. Quite the taste explosion. If she wasn't mistaken, she'd tasted pumpkin spice.

"No. I haven't always known. In fact, I rebelled for a number of years in my teens after my mother passed away. After I ended up in some legal trouble; fighting, public intoxication—it was purely kid stuff, mind you—my father sat me down and gave me a choice: either I could leave with the clothes on my back and not a penny to my name to make my way in the world, or I could clean up my act and go to business school in London, learn about what it took to run a conglomerate enterprise and inherit the money he had made. As you can see, I choose the latter. I turned thirty-five this past June. What about you? What do you do in America, Zoey?"

"At the moment, nothing." There, she said it, staring at the empty soup bowl. She was an inept vagrant hanging on the bevels of society.

Mrs. Stewart wheeled out the main course, cleared away the soup dishes, and left them alone once again.

"I see. What did you do before the nothing?" Declan studied her response as he ate his meal with relish, as he did with everything that brought him pleasure. This was a man who knew how to live, who held nothing back, and reveled in the experience. It was heady, just being near him.