The Pleasures of Winter (13 page)

‘I am broken-hearted –’

‘Maybe, but not about William. Come on, this is me you’re talking to, not some random woman you met in a coffee shop. That reminds me. I’d better contact the local branch of Husband Hunters and tell them that William is back on the market.’

Abbie threw a cushion at her. ‘See if I care.’

‘Well, that answers that question. Now, I can’t wait for a minute longer. What happened between you and Jack Winter, and please don’t say “no comment”.’

‘It’s hard to say.’

She wasn’t being evasive. Well, no more than usual. But if she could talk to anyone about this mess, it would be Kit. She was her oldest friend, and on those rare occasions when she got the urge to unburden herself Kit was the one she turned to. She had an uncanny instinct for knowing when to shut up and just listen. They had shared and analysed all the milestones – getting high, getting laid, getting launched into their careers – and everything in between. Kit never judged. And yet Abbie suddenly felt awkward, unsure how to explain Jack to her. She wasn’t sure how to explain Jack to anyone.

A wave of heat moved up her neck and over her face.

‘Oh my god, Abbie. Please tell me that you slept with him. No, wait. I need more alcohol first.’

Abbie heard her in the kitchen opening another bottle of wine and a bag of pretzels. They were going to have horrific hangovers in the morning. She didn’t care. She had to talk to someone.

Kit poured two large glasses of Viognier. ‘OK, shoot.’

Abbie swallowed. ‘I didn’t sleep with him, exactly. Well,
what I mean to say is that we did sleep together, in a hammock.’

‘And was he – I mean, was there any activity in the horizontal salsa department? Oh come on, Abbie. I’m a visual person, I need details.’

‘Is that a clinical term – “horizontal salsa”?’ Abbie asked. ‘Is that what you ask your clients? “How are things in the horizontal salsa department?” Impressive.’

Now it was Kit’s turn to throw a cushion.

‘Abbie, I didn’t need to become a therapist to know when someone is avoiding the issue. Now, for the last time, what happened?’

‘We kissed.’

Kit’s scream could probably be heard two blocks away. ‘Sorry, sorry. Go on. You kissed and …’

‘We fooled around a bit.’

‘What’s a bit? Oh stop being such a puritan. Was he hot?’

She took another sip of wine.

‘Jack Winter was hotter than hell.’

There, it was out. She had said it out loud. She was physically attracted to Jack Winter. Physical attraction was too feeble a term for what she felt – he had ignited something in her that was sheer torture: a glimpse of an unknown side of herself and a craving for more. It was an exquisite form of torment because she couldn’t have more. He was Hollywood and she was New York. There was no point in dreaming. She had to get this out of her system.

‘There’s something else.’

Kit put down her glass and leaned forwards. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, he warned me about burying the fish debris after we ate one night – to avoid attracting predators – and, well, I didn’t and a jaguar showed up. Lucky he frightened it away but he was absolutely furious –’

Abbie placed her glass on the table and paused before deciding to go through with it.

‘He dragged me into a cave and he spanked me.’

Kit’s expression was a mixture of shock and envy. ‘Oh. My. God.’

‘It’s worse than that, Kit. I mean when he started to, you know, hit me I kicked and screamed and called him every name I could think of but … I don’t know how to say this –’

‘I’m a relationship counsellor – nothing that you could say would shock me.’

‘I liked it,’ she said miserably. ‘I had an orgasm.’

‘Oh.’

Kit’s expression turned serious.

‘Yes, “oh”. The most intense O that I’ve ever had. And it’s wrecking my head that someone like him could do that to me.’

‘Oh, Abbie.’ Kit abandoned her glass and enveloped Abbie in a hug. ‘Had you any inclination before now? I mean, have you explored your submissive tendencies in other relationships?’

She pulled away from Kit.

‘What are you talking about, my “submissive tendencies”? I’m not one of your weird clients.’

Kit looked at her with a mixture of affection and exasperation.

‘Abbie, please don’t take this the wrong way, but for a
woman of the world, you have some major gaps in your knowledge. What do you think I’m talking about?’

‘I don’t know. S and M, I suppose. The whole idea of it freaks me out completely. I mean, can you imagine me asking William to –’

They looked at each other before bursting into fits of laughter at the thought of William doing anything remotely kinky in the bedroom. Abbie mightn’t have given Kit a blow-by-blow account of their sex life – or non-sex life – but she had told her enough. Sometimes, over a few glasses of wine, Kit had probed gently, asking her if she was sure a future with William was what she really wanted, but Abbie always fobbed her off.

Then Kit sobered up and became serious. ‘Abbie, it’s not about what people do, but who they
are
sexually.’

Abbie wasn’t sure where Kit was going with this, but she stayed quiet and listened.

‘There are some people who get off on dominance and submission – there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s normal for them. Some people have wild sex lives. And there’s also a whole world of faithful couples out there who got together because one of them is a Dom and the other a sub.

‘Abbie, having submissive tendencies doesn’t mean you’re “weird”, and I’ve noticed that you have some.’

Abbie felt as if her head were about to explode.

‘Look, you’re not my client. I’m saying this as a friend. You may be able to jump on a plane and follow a story to hell, but when you’re at home you’re a wuss.’

‘I am so not a wuss.’ Abbie threw the cushion back at
Kit. It bounced harmlessly off the arm of the couch and landed on the rug.

‘Oh yes, you are. Think about it. Who does everyone in your family dump on?’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Yes, it is. Who gave up her holidays to look after the twins?’

‘But Miffy was sick –’

Kit stared at her. ‘Abbie, the woman had flu. She has a husband and a staff of twelve. And what about those awful charity events you go to? Why can’t you just say no?’

Ignoring the question, Abbie picked up a handful of pretzels. She could say no. She just didn’t want to. It wasn’t as if she had been railroaded into agreeing to marry William. She’d had a choice, hadn’t she? And she loved Miffy and the girls.

Kit poured another glass of wine. ‘I can see those little wheels turning inside your head. All I’m saying is that you’ve just broken up with William but you’re not broken up about it. In fact, I’d go as far as to say you’re relieved.’

She wasn’t like that. She couldn’t be so shallow as to break up with someone and not be broken-hearted.

‘That is a terrible thing to say.’

‘So throw another cushion at me. Look, Jack Winter has rocked your world and maybe that isn’t a bad thing. Perhaps the Abbie who isn’t running around trying to save the world should take a little time out for herself. If you like, I can put you in touch with someone. Just in case you want to find out more. I’ll say no more. It’s up to you.’

Abbie nodded. It might make Kit happy, but she had no intention of letting her submissive side out to play ever again.

Never again. I can’t do this. I will strangle that woman if I ever have to spend another hour with her.
Jack slammed the door of his apartment shut and contemplated locking himself in for the rest of his stay in New York. He could not spend any more time with Kym Kardell.

It was impossible that any woman could be that stupid. Abbie had more brains in her little finger than Kym had in her whole body.

Bad idea.
Stop thinking about Abbie.

No matter whom he measured Kym against, she came up looking like a plastic doll. Even Sarah O’Brien-Willis had brains to burn. Now that he considered it, all the women he had ever been involved with had been intelligent. So that was his hard limit, an IQ in three digits. It shouldn’t be that hard to find one in New York.

Jack tore off the tux and had a quick shower, just to get rid of the cloying smell of Kym’s perfume lingering all over him. He didn’t care how expensive it was, that stuff smelled nasty. Then, comfortable in sweats and a T-shirt, he settled in front of his laptop.

There were over forty e-mails waiting for him. He skimmed through them quickly. Some from fans. He cut-and-pasted a nice reply and tried to add something personal to each one. Two from children in the new school in Honduras, painstakingly written in basic English. He smiled and sent them a long reply. A short, stilted e-mail from his
mother promising to write to him, and a long chatty one from his sister, bringing him up to date on everything that was happening in her life, and making him homesick for Dublin.

He sent her one back, telling her about the reality of life in the jungle. Not about what happened with Abbie in that cave, though. As he knew to his cost, there were some things his family couldn’t face. Someday he would face the dark memories and go back. He had no intention of allowing his past to rule his life. But not yet. Give it another few years and maybe he would be ready.

A handful of business e-mails, some junk that had snuck past his spam filter, and finally he could open the messages he was really looking forward to. The FetLife e-mails. Jack was determined to reward himself for coping with plastic Barbie all night: he was going to hook up with someone who shared his kinks, have a great time and forget Abbie Marshall. This was New York, there had to be someone he could play with.

He opened his account and clicked into new messages. ‘Dear Disciplinarian, I’m a naughty girl who needs a good spanking. Care to oblige me?’ Jack checked her profile before replying. He had a firm rule about not getting involved with married women. But this one was completely blank. No friends, no fetishes, no groups, not even a single wall post.

He grimaced. He was willing to bet that was a reporter. No matter how hard he tried to keep his private life secret, sometimes rumours leaked out and journalists came sniffing. If they investigated a bit further, they’d know that he never got involved with someone who wasn’t introduced through a friend. The risks were too high.

Just look at the debacle with Abbie.

No, he slammed the door on that thought. Enough obsessing about her. He clicked on a couple of other messages, chatted with friends, wrote birthday wishes on a friend’s wall, noted that an old friend of his had a new Dom. Jack didn’t know him, so he checked his profile to see what he was into and who he had been involved with in the past. Nothing suspicious there, he could relax knowing she had made a good choice.

His chat box popped open. It was Paloma, a former sub of his, the only one he’d had a long-term contract with. He had met her during his early days in New York, when they were both working off-Broadway. After what happened in Dublin, he had been frightened to have anything but vanilla sex. But Paloma had sensed something in him and she had freed him. He would always think of her warmly, though they were rarely in contact any more. He hadn’t heard from her for over a year.

He replied immediately.

He waited for her to say more, but there was silence, so he prompted her.

He grinned. He remembered the way just saying those words would settle Paloma.

This time the answer came quickly.

T was her current Dom. The last Jack heard they were very happy together.

There was a pause.

Jack agreed.

She was cheering up if she was getting sassy.

Although she had moved on from him, he still felt responsible for her. And it would be great to catch up with her after so long.

After they settled the details, Jack looked again at the message from the ‘naughty girl’. No reporters. Ever. He closed down the chat box.