“I screamed with pain as searing fire penetrated my bones. Before I could register the shock from one blow or summon enough strength to withstand another, it was upon me. The volley of blows stopped, allowing me to catch my breath. I hung from my arms, the tortured flesh of my ass stung. The impatient rambling of the man waiting his turn rendered me faint.”

This was nothing as sensual as what I’d seen from Mr. Dermot. The lady over his knee wasn’t bound and screaming for her life like this woman!

“He massaged a mixture of blood and sweat into the welts on my bottom while kissing and licking the wounds on my battered back as if they excited him. ‘We’re not finished with you.’ He stepped back and admired his work.”

I hit the stop button. I couldn’t watch anymore. How could I have been so ignorant? I lectured myself. My outburst, well warranted in most respects, seemed like an immature tantrum. Though I stood by my decision to meet with my friends and believed them to be sound, I freely admit I wasn’t thinking clearly and may have very well walked into a situation I was ill-equipped to handle. Mr. Dermot, in his frigid self-possessed way, protected me and I smugly defied him.

I went to the window and look across the inky black terrain. My desperate need for stimulation, and my lack judgment kicked around in my head. Blake Hall was a lonesome dwelling; now I would have my freedom. After acting like an eavesdropping bitch in heat, I’d be fired. I wrapped myself tightly and went to my room to gather my belongings. I threw on a pair of jeans and a heavy tunic and said goodbye to the small room at the top of the stairs I’d called home.

“This is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Mr. Dermot voice spun me around quickly. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” My eyes trained on the floor as he came towards me.

He gestured to the darkness peeking through the window. “It’s the dead of night and you have nowhere to go.” He continued with a trace of concern. “Were you going to stay with your friends?”

“No!” My eyes darted to him then back to the floor. “No, I wasn’t going to them.” Ashamed of myself, I avoided touch. This angered him.

“Do you think you’re different from other woman?” he asked roughly. “When you’ve had one you’ve had them all. You’re just like the rest of them. You’re not special.”

Even now it amazes me how his words hurt me so bitterly. I fought back the tears welling in my eyes, but a small muffled sob escaped my throat and rang loud in the silence between us. He cupped my face and slowly, very slowly lifted my gaze. I feared what I would, or should I say, wouldn’t see in his eyes.

“What am I saying? I didn’t mean it.” his eyes roamed over my face. “I can’t think straight when I’m around you; nor can I leave. I want to touch you and look at you.” He swallowed hard, his face tight, his eyes half closed. “Your dark eyes watching me; its torture. You don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t trying to…that is, I didn’t mean to...”

“It was me.” he whispered against my mouth. “Just being close to you—knowing I can’t have you—that’s why I’ve been angry.” He paused briefly. “I’m rash and reckless. I’ve done things I’m not proud of; some under this roof. I roam, trying to forget. Then I find perfection; living, breathing, unspoiled perfection in you.” His finger traced the curve of my neck. “You’re impetuous but you’re also gentle and innocent. Everything I used to be.” His eyes searched mine as if to reclaim a measure of what he’d lost.

“So you pushed me away?”

He nodded.

“And all the harsh rules?”

“Redemption.”

I didn’t venture any further or ask him to expound because, while I didn’t know the extenuating circumstances, I understood how discipline, structure brought peace of mind. And how doggedly adhering to those nonsensical routines one could replace chaos with order. But why me? Tiny nobody I was, why had I caught his eye? My ego would have given the attraction over to my dazzling personality but that was a far cry from the truth. It was more cerebral; in me he saw his old self—the one who would have kicked against his confines rather than submit all. I challenged him, and in doing so I won his respect. And he’d won mine.

“Teach me.” I held his hand against my neck.

“No. Heaven knows I’d change your life if we….”

“Teach me.” I stilled his lips with my index finger. He moved me away as he leaned back against the wall just behind him. He stood for a second with his eyes closed, his chest heaving with the effort to control his feelings.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

I closed the space between us. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m asking, but I am asking. Teach me, Mr. Dermot.”

“Call me Owen.” He thumbed my cheek. “Once you open Pandora’s Box it can’t be closed.”

“I’m ready…Owen. Teach me.” I kissed the center of his chest. He tilted my face and forced me to meet his eyes.

“Will you please stop saying that?”

“No, I won’t. We both want it. You wouldn’t have stopped running from whatever plagues you if there was nothing tangible here.” I kissed the hollow of his neck. “…if you didn’t think I was worthy….if you didn’t want it.”

He leaned in, kissed me beneath my ear and cooed, “Du kommer att tigga hela natten.”

“Yes,” I replied without knowing what I agreed to.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if to ask ‘Didn’t you hear a word I said?’ Confident I was in my right frame of mind, he kissed me than whispered, “Dress for bed. No undergarments. Meet me in my room.” With that he left and my heart sank.


It was really going to happen.