The Pleasures of Spring (9 page)

Cheyenne shuddered. ‘Can we have a drink while we’re deciding? Something Irish?’

‘Sure thing.’ The barman poured out two glasses of a dark beer, letting them sit for a while before he topped them up to reveal a creamy white head. After looking at Cheyenne, he poured a measure of blackcurrant into both of them. ‘There you go, Guinness and black.’

It was a lot different from her usual red wine, but Roz decided she could get used to it. By the time Cheyenne had decided on salmon and salad, and Roz had ordered steak and garlic potatoes, they had finished their drinks. Roz switched to alcohol-free beer and Cheyenne was sipping her second Guinness.

Maybe it was the food, the dim pub, the alcohol, but something snapped in Cheyenne. With almost no warning, she told Roz about her disastrous marriage.

‘How was I to know he didn’t like sex? They should tell you this stuff before they marry you. Or maybe it was sex with me that he didn’t like.’

She took another huge gulp of her Guinness, no longer wincing at the bitter aftertaste. ‘Maybe I am too fat for him. But dammit, I try. I diet and I work out and I do yoga and Pilates and swim and lift weights.’

Where had this come from? They had been talking about how hot Jack Winter was and how much he adored his wife. Roz patted her on the shoulder. ‘You’re not fat or ugly. You’re a Hollywood film star.’

Cheyenne snorted, causing a bit of froth to hit her nose. She continued without noticing it. ‘It doesn’t matter how much I work out, I can’t make myself younger. No man is ever going to hit on me again. Do you know how long it is since I had an orgasm?’

‘Not really my business.’ Roz shoved her side dish at
the older woman. ‘Try some of the garlic potatoes, they’ll give you an orgasm.’

‘I might as well eat garlic. No man is ever going to be interested in me again. It doesn’t matter if my breath stinks.’

‘That’s not true. You’re gorgeous.’

Cheyenne sniffed, on the verge of tears. ‘No, I’m fat and ugly. And look, no one has tried to hit on me once tonight.’

Roz was torn between impatience and sympathy. ‘That’s because they’re Irish, and the Irish are even more socially inept than the English. I bet that you could have any man in this pub. Hell, you could have every man in this pub.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

It was time to bring out the big guns. If there was one thing Roz had learnt from a year working as a pro-Domme, it was how to deal with men. She sat up and prepared to release her inner Domme.

She pulled off her baggy jumper, revealing a slim-fitting tank top. It wasn’t glamorous or sexy, but it showed the shape of her body. She looked around the pub slowly, catching the eye of every man there, and could feel the rise of sexual tension that rippled in the wake of her glance.

There, in the corner, that was the one. He was probably twenty-three or -four, but nice looking. Roz held his eyes for a long moment, and then beckoned him over. He almost tipped over his table in his eagerness to get to her side.

She held out her hand to him. ‘Hi, I’m Roz, and this is my friend Cheyenne.’

He gripped it, trembling with eagerness. ‘I’m Conor. Nice to meet you, Roz and Cheyenne.’

Roz lowered her voice to a throaty purr. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Conor.’ She indicated Cheyenne’s empty glass. ‘I think my friend needs another drink.’

Conor whipped his wallet out of his pocket so quickly he dropped it and flushed bright red. He knelt down on the floor to pick it up.

‘Oh, you look right at home there,’ Roz told him.

He looked up, blushing. ‘What?’

‘You look right at home there, kneeling at the feet of a beautiful woman. Isn’t she the most stunning woman you’ve ever seen?’

Dazed, not sure what had happened, Conor stared up at Cheyenne. ‘Yes, she is. She’s amazing.’

Tentatively, Cheyenne reached out and patted his head. ‘You’re so sweet.’ He kissed her hand, and stayed where he was.

‘Now it’s your turn,’ Roz told her. ‘Pick out another one and bring him over here.’

‘Are you sure?’ Cheyenne asked, stunned by the turn of events.

Roz nodded, and watched while Cheyenne examined the men in the pub. The two women were now the centre of attention, and it was easy for her to find one who looked eager. She beckoned to him, but seemed shocked when he came immediately. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he asked.

Cheyenne nodded, and he sat down beside her.

After that, they were mobbed. Every man there
descended, looking for a sliver of attention from the two femmes fatales at the bar.

‘What did you do?’ Cheyenne demanded when they left an hour later.

‘What we did.’ Roz grinned at her while she unlocked the motorbike. ‘Nothing. We allowed the men to show us how much they liked us.’

She shook her head. ‘No, it was more than that.’

Roz pulled out her helmet and handed one to Cheyenne. ‘Men are simple creatures. They like women. They like women’s bodies, real bodies, not Barbie-shaped ones. They like being told what to do. All we did was show them what we wanted and they did it.’

Cheyenne sang under her breath on the ride home, and Roz congratulated herself on a job well done.

Back in the caravan, she realized she hadn’t been applying her knowledge to her own life. It was time to remind Andy who was in charge.

she messaged him.

Simple, clear, direct. That should do it.

She didn’t know why she was disappointed.

The minutes ticked by, while she waited in the silence of the caravan.

Six minutes later, her phone beeped. She opened it to see the picture. A black rooster with a huge red wattle glared into the camera with his beak open.

She laughed.

Her phone beeped again.

She messaged back.

Andy glanced at his watch. He wasn’t going to fall asleep again after that little exchange. And what the hell was Roz doing up at this hour? Was she drunk? Horny? He entertained himself with a brief fantasy of a tipsy, sexually aroused Roz clambering onto bed eager to take advantage of him.

Usually he liked to be in charge, but could he submit to her?

No. He decided. He was certain that if Roz got something too easily, she would have no respect for it. The woman had the attention span of a mayfly. She needed a strong man, someone who would challenge her in every way – in and out of the bedroom.

Someone like him.

No. No. No. He was not going there. He had enough troubles on his plate at the moment without inviting more into his life. Once he was sure his father was on the road to recovery he would go back to work. Hunt Roz down. Return her to her sister and get as far the hell away as he could.

In the early hours of the morning, Roz lay in the narrow bed, wondering how Andy was. Damn it, she didn’t want to think about him. That was never going to end well, but she couldn’t resist taking out her phone and checking. He was online. Roz hesitated. This online thing with Andy was turning into a habit. One that she didn’t want to break.

‘Oh, don’t be silly. It’s not as if he knows where you are.’ She messaged him.

The answer came immediately.

She hadn’t expected that.

There was a pause before he continued.

She knew that feeling. The first time she saw her dad in prison, she had been horrified. The man who had met her wearing prison overalls looked three sizes smaller than the larger-than-life father she had grown up with. For the first time, she noticed how grey his hair was, and the lines in his face.

She grinned as she swiped the message.

The nerve of him.

She laughed. She never travelled O’Sullivan Air, even when she wasn’t in trouble. There was something about their signature yellow and green colours that made her want to barf.

Andy went on.

A wave of longing went through Roz. What must it be like to have someone who never wanted you to leave? She wasn’t going to say that to him, so she joked,

She laughed out loud, and Frankie turned over in his bed, so she forced herself to be quiet again.

Even across the internet, the acid leached.

What would a hands-on mum have been like? Roz had begged her dad for stories about her mother. She had never been real to her. The one small photograph he had was black and white, and didn’t convey any hint of the vibrant woman he told her about. And now the poor little rich boy was complaining.

Andy didn’t rise to her bait.

What? She had run a computer search on Andy, but his background was a mystery.

She wished she did.

The memory of that particular place made her shiver. Frankie’s little caravan, small as it was, was warm and cosy in comparison.

Roz paused, and then decided to go for it. There was something about the pre-dawn silence which made it easy to ask awkward questions.

The inside of the castle had changed her mind about a lot of things. The huge drawing room took half a forest to heat. Lucky there was one outside. From here, she could hear the trees swaying in the breeze.

Andy jumped on that, of course.

Roz laughed.

That wiped the smile off her face. She messaged quickly.

Of course he did. Why had she allowed herself to forget who he was?

She might as well pump him while he was feeling chatty.

He knew too damn much. She shivered.

She was happy to change the subject.

Roz was sorry she hadn’t managed to take them for as much cash as possible while she was at it. Seeing Natalya crying every week when half her benefit went into the moneylender’s clutches had made her break her rule about staying out of sight. It had been a stupid risk but worth it.

Like an echo, Andy messaged,

She wasn’t going to agree with him.

And he was. She was surprised by how tempting his offer was. She wanted to talk to someone.

She shifted in the bed, ready to sleep.

But Andy’s message stopped her.

She grinned, his answer changing her mood.

She laughed.

Of course he couldn’t let it go.

Weariness suddenly flattened her.

Why couldn’t he leave her alone? She didn’t want him prying into her mind or her pathetic life.

He had no idea how tempting that was. But he didn’t mean it. Andy was just doing his job and she had to
remember that. Her fingers flew over the keypad.

She wasn’t going to admit to any guilt about that.

For some reason, she cheered up.

She wasn’t going there. Kissing Andy McTavish again would be dangerous. That mouth should be licensed as a weapon. And the taste of him, so seductive. When he had kissed her, her mind had stopped functioning.

She shoved her phone under her pillow and settled herself to sleep, with no idea why she was smiling.

Eventually Andy gave up on sleep. There was nothing more from Roz, the house was silent and he was still awake. He would go for a run. Lord knows he could do with the exercise. After changing into his running gear he made his
way through the darkened halls. It would be dawn in an hour or so. He could work up a sweat by then.

He ran around the back of the house, his feet crunching loudly on the gravel. His warm breath fogged on the cool pre-dawn air.

‘Who’s that?’

Andy skidded to a halt as he recognized the voice. ‘What the fuck? Paddy, is that you?’

The old stable hand had been with the family for over forty years. Andy clapped him on the shoulder and was rewarded with a gap-toothed grin. ‘Andy, I heard you were back. What the hell are you doing running around the place in the middle of the night?’

‘I might ask you the same question.’

A guarded look crossed the old man’s face. ‘Me and the boys have been taking turns watching the place since, well you know …’

Andy’s inbuilt radar for trouble kicked in. ‘Since what?’

‘Since the night your father had the heart attack.’

Dawn was long past by the time Andy dragged every scrap of information he could from Paddy and the other stable lads. Four teenagers in a stolen car had thought Lough Darra was an easy target for a robbery. They hadn’t reckoned on his father coming at them with a hunting rifle loaded with blanks.

Dougal had been congratulating himself on a job well done when his heart rebelled. His mother had insisted on calling an ambulance despite his father’s protests. The ‘heart attack’ had been a mild episode and his father was recovering.

Back at the house, Maggie was preparing breakfast.
Andy poured himself a coffee and tucked into a bowl of cereal. He refused her offer of another fry-up and settled for a plate of scrambled eggs instead. If he stayed long enough he would be waddling.

As he sipped his coffee, Maggie kept a monologue going of the latest news in the village. ‘And of course it will be nice to see the Turners again.’

Andy made an interested noise, trying to appear polite. Weren’t they the family with that freckle-faced girl his mother was always trying to set him up with? What was her name? Iris, Rose, some kind of flower.

‘And Lily is back, you know. Her romance with the Scottish doctor didn’t work out. He’s one of them, you know?’

Maggie paused, clearly expecting a response.

‘One of what?’

‘Kinky folk,’ she whispered before turning her attention to the stove. ‘They say she came home from work early to find him wearing one of her dresses.’

Andy almost snorted his coffee through his nose. Lily had no figure to speak of. She was built like a beanpole and was as strait-laced as a nun. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to get into her clothes, whether she was wearing them or not.

‘But you won’t mention it, will you? The poor girl is so upset.’

Andy shrugged. ‘I’m not likely to run into her.’

A puzzled look crossed Maggie’s face. ‘Of course you are. Your mother has invited them for dinner on Friday night. Didn’t she tell you?’