The Pleasures of Autumn (25 page)

A waiter offered them a glass of pink champagne decorated with a sliver of strawberry and they continued their journey around the pool. There was no one who looked remotely like her. Roisin wasn’t here. She nibbled her lower lip, trying to contain her disappointment.

‘Would you like to tell me about the hot routine with the whip?’ Niall’s expression betrayed nothing. He might have been admiring the charming seventeenth century architecture, but there was nothing charming about his tone.

‘I told you already. Gabriel worked as a dancer and I grew up around horses. We made something up.’ Her excuse sounded lame, even to her, and she knew from Niall’s expression that he didn’t believe a word she had said. Working with horses wasn’t exactly the same as the hours she had spent training and rehearsing for a dance routine.

‘Is that what we’ll be doing tonight? Making something up? I’m afraid I don’t dance.’

Sinead blinked. He was right. Why hadn’t she thought this through? She had been so wrapped up in what she’d say to her sister that she hadn’t thought about having to pass as her.

‘Niall? Niall Moore?’ A tall man pushed his way through the crowd. ‘I thought it was you. What are you doing here?’

Niall’s face blanched beneath his fake tan as the man
gave him a frank stare. ‘Same as you,’ Niall replied levelly.

‘But I had no idea you were on the scene. And I’d have figured you for a Dom.’

Sinead glanced around her. They were beginning to draw attention and not the kind that they wanted. She caressed Niall’s arm with her nails, leaving a red mark along his skin. ‘He’s a switch, but he only subs to me. Don’t you, sweetie?’

Niall flashed her a look that would freeze a volcano.

‘Yes, Mistress.’ He ground the word out through clenched teeth.

‘Frederic?’ A dark-haired woman arrived wearing the red leather catsuit Sinead had admired in Clara’s workroom. She attached a leash to his collar. ‘I hope he hasn’t been a nuisance. He’s very playful.’

‘So I noticed.’ Sinead replied. ‘It’s Mimi Lorenzo, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you since …’

‘This time last year.’ Mimi laughed. ‘I presume you’ll be performing for us again?’

‘Er, I’m not sure about that. I –’

‘Madame.’ The footman who had shown them to their room appeared out of nowhere. ‘The display area in the garden has been set up. When do you wish to start?’

Sinead looked to Niall for help, but he kept his expression inscrutably blank, like a good submissive. ‘Fifteen minutes,’ she said.

‘
Très bien
.’ He nodded his head. ‘And will you require music?’

There was no point in having music if Niall couldn’t dance. ‘No. We don’t need music.’

‘
D’accord
, I will inform Madame Hermione.’

She wished Mimi good evening and watched the footman disappearing through the crowd. If they were putting on a display, Hermione would expect more than a simple flogging and Niall’s back wouldn’t take much punishment. They would have to do something more elaborate. ‘What are we going to do now?’

Niall gave her a tight smile. ‘We have two choices. We can go back to the car and get Andy to drive us the hell out of here, or we can put on a show.’

They had no choice. They had to go through with this. Sinead nodded. ‘What do you suggest?’

Niall drained his glass and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter. ‘That depends on you. Just how good are you with a whip?’

If they were going to get through the next hour, it was time for honesty. She couldn’t let him face her and not know what it was going to be like. She gave him a level stare. ‘I’m scary.’

One dark blond brow shot up in surprise. Niall hadn’t expected that. ‘You can tell me all about it later. Right now, I need to find a weapon. Or this display won’t last five minutes.’

Ten minutes later, she stood at the edge of the circle of guests while Hermione performed the introductions. Two of the footmen had carried a velvet chaise longue from the main salon, the only prop she would need. Niall was armed with a flat-bladed sword, taken from an armoury display on the stairs. It wouldn’t kill her, but it could certainly leave bruises if Niall was not accurate.

She took her place in the centre of the impromptu stage, lying down on the chaise longue. Behind the silken folds of
her costume, her nipples peaked and she wasn’t sure if it was from the chill that accompanied the deepening twilight or the prospect of coming face to face with Niall.

Excitement curled in her abdomen at the prospect of an erotic battle fought before an audience. They both knew the outcome. Niall must eventually surrender or their cover would be blown, but he wouldn’t give in easily. His taming would be a battle that every mistress watching would relish.

She closed her eyes and turned her focus inwards, inhaling the scent of smoke from the burning torches. A flurry of autumn leaves whispered across the flagstone terrace. Glasses clinked and the low murmur of conversation drifted into silence. It was time.

A startled cry was the first indication that Niall had arrived. He vaulted silently over the low terrace wall. His hair was loose, his sword already unsheathed, a conquering warrior ready to do battle with an enemy, but finding none except her.

Sinead lay perfectly still, feigning sleep, trying to control a tremor of nervousness as he approached. When the blunt sword traced a path along her thigh, she sprang into action, rolling off the chaise in a graceful movement that clearly surprised him. She suppressed a laugh at his obvious dismay. Did he really think it would be that easy?

The audience cheered as, in a move worthy of Indiana Jones, she snagged her whip from beneath the chaise. The battle was on.

With a flick of her wrist, the tip of her single-tail whip cracked the ground beside his foot. Niall sidestepped fluidly, but his eyes narrowed and determination hardened
his features. He crouched, sword in hand, trying to anticipate her next move.

Sinead used the whip again, trying to dislodge the sword from his hand, but he was ready, parrying with a blow that sliced through the thin silk sleeve of her outfit, leaving the shreds fluttering in the breeze.

She almost called him a bastard. She had been looking forward to wearing the outfit again, but the amused quirk of his mouth cautioned her. Niall wasn’t going to make this easy. Fine. If he wanted to play rough, they would play rough.

Her next blow hit home. The red welt on his upper arm drew a groan from several slaves and an approving murmur from the Dommes. The grim set of his mouth told her that he didn’t appreciate her skill and he lunged, determined to inflict more damage to her frail costume.

Sinead moved out of his reach and ripped away the shredded silk. The entire sleeve was gone, leaving a jewelled collar and a scrap of fabric covering her breast. The top wouldn’t survive another blow. She was going to make him pay for that one.

She feinted and he turned quickly out of the path of the whip, the short leather skirt flaring out, giving a glimpse of his taut thighs and butt. That was too much temptation for her to resist. The follow-up blow caught him soundly and he cursed.
She
would pay for that later.

He advanced, sword poised for attack.

With her next blow, she managed to curl the whip around his blade and drag it from his hand. The audience gasped as it sailed through the air, landing harmlessly among the straggling late blooms of Hermione’s rose display.

He evaded her next blow, but not the following one, which landed on his unprotected thigh.

‘Witch.’ His accusation was carried across the terrace, drawing a laugh from Frederic that was quickly silenced by his mistress.

She advanced, delivering a series of blows, most of which hit his leather tunic. At least she didn’t have to hold back. The armour was strong enough to protect him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione run her tongue along her lower lip.

The minute distraction was enough for Niall. Recovering himself, he parried the next blow and managed to grab the tail of the whip.

Sinead tugged but his grasp was too strong. He reeled her in like a fish, stopping when they were inches apart. They were both panting. A fine sheen of sweat glazed his brow, but his eyes showed a fierce determination to win. Grasping a handful of her hair, he bent his head and plundered her mouth with a kiss.

Sinead jerked away, using the opportunity to recover her weapon. With her left hand, she struck him, a move that raised a cheer from the crowd.

Niall showed no reaction to the blow. If anything, she would swear that her resistance turned him on. She wasn’t as delicate as she appeared – something he was only beginning to realize. He turned away, searching for his weapon.

Emerging from the shrubbery with his sword, he stalked her with animal grace, staying out of range of the merciless tip of her weapon. They circled each other like prize-fighters in a ring, neither willing to give an inch.

His sudden lunge caught her by surprise and she didn’t have to look down to realize that she had lost the remains of one leg of her costume. Sinead flashed him a look that promised revenge. Before he could recover she flicked the end of the whip and caught his weapon again. It sailed dangerously through the air, clattering to the ground inches from her feet. The crowd cheered their approval.

Let’s see how you like it.

Keeping her eyes focused on his, she crouched and retrieved his weapon. She had never used a sword in a routine before, but she mimicked the fighting stance he had taken earlier, beckoning him with the sword, inviting him to approach.

Niall didn’t refuse her challenge. He moved within reach of her and then stood still. The crowd held their collective breaths as Sinead let her whip fly, striking his torso over and over with precision, being careful to land the occasional blow on his arms and legs for show. A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts.

Niall didn’t flinch. The heat in his eyes was unmistakeable. Their usual calm grey was replaced by molten steel. He trusted her not to hurt him too much. She nodded in a pre-arranged signal and he raised one arm as if to defend himself.

With a final flourish of the whip, she curled the leather tail around his arm brace and tugged hard, dragging him to his knees. This time he stayed down.

Sinead stalked forwards, her sword still in her hand. When she was within reach, she touched his throat with the tip. He didn’t move a muscle. Only the racing pulse at his throat betrayed any emotion. Sinead flung the sword
aside and grabbed a fistful of his hair in a move that mirrored his earlier attack on her.

Bending her head she took his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss that branded him as her possession. Her slave.

As the crowd showed their appreciation, she continued to kiss him, her tongue tangling with his. The scent of sweat and leather mingled with the oil on his skin. Niall’s soft growl of appreciation urged her on.

‘I can see that you two have a lot more playing to do.’ Hermione’s words cut through the haze of desire and Sinead raised her head, still a little dazed by his kiss.

‘Wonderful performance, my dear. A complete change of style. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that you were another person entirely.’

The smile froze on Sinead’s lips. ‘You know me, I love trying something new.’

Hermione laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up. I’ll see you both later.’

Niall couldn’t remember when he had ever been so turned on. The aches and pains he was suffering were gone, swallowed by pure, undiluted lust. The sight of Sinead with that whip in her hand, staring him down, eye to eye, strength to strength, had sent every drop of blood he owned straight to his cock.

He could barely remember his own name. Every thought he had was consumed with Sinead and how much he wanted to get her into their room and turn the tables on her.

Somewhere during that scene, a circuit in his brain had
closed. He couldn’t believe how he had missed it before. The woman in front of him, still holding her whip, with her mouth swollen from his kiss, was
his.

His mate.

His perfect counterpart.

His lover.

He didn’t know all of her secrets, and there were a lot of things to be settled between them, but those were minor details.

He had finally found the woman he had been searching for, the one he needed, his equal.

He must have been crazy thinking he had to find one with his military expertise. It had nothing to do with the ability to shoot a target or carry a 50kg backpack. It was nerve and intelligence and strength of mind.

And Sinead had all those qualities in spades.

He inhaled, and realized he’d been holding his breath. He would settle things with Sinead when this mission was over, but that had to wait.

She beckoned to him.

He bowed to Sinead. ‘Yes, Mistress.’ His tone was subtly mocking, but his bow was that of one equal to another. ‘I’ll be happy to serve you your just deserts very shortly.’

Her expression of triumph morphed to one of wariness, as well it should. She really didn’t think she would get away with that little scene without retribution, did she?