The Pleasures of Spring (10 page)

‘No.’ Trust his mother to plan one of her get-togethers and not tell him.

‘It’s a small party, no more than a dozen. Your father is a lot better and she thought you’d like to catch up with your old friends.’

‘Great.’ Not great. Between them, his mother and Maggie could have run MI5. The pair of them had more plots than a library full of books. What were they up to now?

It had been an easy day for Roz. The whole crew had turned up to watch the big love scene between Cheyenne and Jack Winter. It was amazing, Roz reflected, how kissing Jack Winter could look boring when you saw it happen seventeen times before the director was satisfied.

She spent a bit of time chatting to Nagsy, trying to convince herself that this horse could possibly be sold for half a million. He butted her hand with his nose, clearly hoping for another treat. Roz held out the core of the apple she had been eating, carefully keeping her hand flat as Frankie had told her, and Nagsy lipped it up without hurting her.

‘I’m getting fond of you,’ she told him and petted his nose. The warm, horsey scent had become familiar and welcome. There was something peaceful about the dim stable tent that made her feel safe. No one would think of looking for her here. She was a city girl through and through. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine she’d be somewhere in the middle of the Irish countryside petting a horse and talking to him like a friend. Paris and Hall seemed a long way away.

She watched as the grooms saddled and unsaddled the
horses, admiring their fearlessness while dealing with the huge beasts.

The film set was an enclosed world of its own; so far away from Interpol, murdered art dealers and ruthless ex-SEALs that she could pretend it was all a dream. She knew it was fantasy, that Hall was still out there, but the sense of safety was seductive.

Roz got her dinner from the catering van and ate outside the caravan. It was warm enough to sit out as long as she wore a jacket. Frankie would be along later, but for now, she was enjoying the break from the crowds.

Cheyenne appeared with a plate in her hand and stood there awkwardly. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

Astonished, Roz waved her to a seat. Frankie could get another chair when he turned up. ‘Of course not. But I thought you’d be hanging out with the rest of the actors.’

Cheyenne sat down carefully and set her plate on the small table. It was piled high with salad leaves and a small chicken breast. ‘I needed some me time, you know?’

Roz nodded, not pointing out the obvious. If Cheyenne wanted to be alone, inside her trailer was the place to go.

‘And I wanted to talk to you,’ Cheyenne continued. Roz had a good idea what was coming. ‘Last night, in the bar. What did you do?’

Roz shrugged. ‘I showed you that you’re an attractive woman.’

Cheyenne shook her head. ‘No, it was more than that. I heard about women like you. Are you some sort of Domme?’ She pronounced the word ‘Dom-my’, and made it sound like a foreign species.

‘Domme,’ Roz said. ‘I was, but it’s not a big deal.’ She shrugged. That part of her life seemed a long way away.

But Cheyenne was looking at her as if she had grown two heads. ‘I didn’t know that was real. What did you do? How do you make men do things for you? Did you sleep with them?’

She laughed. ‘God no. I didn’t sleep with any of them. Do you think I’m some sort of prostitute?’ She tried to convince herself it was funny, but there was an edge in her voice.

Cheyenne backtracked rapidly. ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t know.’

She was so upset that Roz relented. ‘It’s not like that. A good Domme doesn’t have sex with her submissive. She works out what he needs, and challenges him to push himself.’

‘So it’s not about giving orders?’

‘Well, it involves giving orders. Men like clear directions and women who know what they want.’

Cheyenne ignored her chicken and pushed the salad leaves around her plate. ‘Tell me more about it. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I thought it was all whips and chains and funny clothes.’

Roz laughed. ‘It can be. Being handy with a whip is a good skill for a Domme. It’s amazing how many men want to be flogged hard enough to push them into subspace.’

‘Subspace?’

Roz searched for the words to explain it. ‘It’s when the adrenaline and endorphins and oxytocin combine in a way that produces an altered state of consciousness.’

She saw the other woman’s face scrunch in confusion. ‘Don’t worry about the technicalities. What matters is that they are in a headspace where they’re not worrying about the hostile takeover of their company.’

Funny, Roz knew exactly how to push other people into subspace, but had never had it happen to her. She’d never had a relationship where anyone cared enough to spend the time it took.

‘You’ve flogged men?’ Cheyenne looked shocked – and fascinated.

She shrugged. ‘If that’s what they needed. One client wanted to be treated like a puppy. I threw balls for him to fetch.’ The memory made her smile.

‘And there was one man I didn’t like, so I locked him in a cage to keep him out of my hair. He swears it was the best night of his life.’

‘This stuff happens? For real? There are men who like it when you give them orders and flog them?’

Roz smiled. ‘Oh yes, and women too. Ever been tempted?’

Cheyenne ducked her head to hide her face. ‘A little. But men don’t want me the way they want you,’ she mumbled.

What the hell was going on? ‘Why would you say that? You saw the reaction of the men in the bar last night.’

‘No, that was you. Not me. Today I was doing love scenes with Jack and he barely kissed me. I tried the stuff you showed me last night and it didn’t work.’

Exasperated, Roz put her glass down on the small table. ‘What do you expect? He’s married, and everyone knows
he’s madly in love.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And from what I’ve seen, his inclinations run in the opposite direction. He’s a Dom.’

‘Oh!’ Cheyenne sat up a little straighter. ‘How can you tell?’

‘It’s something to do with the body language. How they stand, how they sit, it’s a quiet confidence that’s hard to fake.’

Jack Winter had it. Roz had no doubt about it. Of course, that confidence could be because he was one of the top actors in the world, but she was pretty sure it was more than that.

The image of another man with that type of confidence flashed into her mind. There was nothing quiet about Andy McTavish, but he gave off that same vibe. Why hadn’t she spotted it before? Damn, he was out of her league. She might not be a Domme anymore, but she was definitely not a submissive. For a moment, she considered faking it, to see how he’d react. She shivered. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all.

‘Please tell me you’re not in love with Jack Winter.’

Cheyenne’s mouth formed a small O. ‘Of course not. I know I haven’t a chance and he’s not my type. No, there’s someone else I like, but he never notices me.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

Interesting. Roz ran through the men Cheyenne had been chatting to, but there were so many on the set she couldn’t pick one out.

Before she could ask for more details, Frankie stomped
through the gathering darkness. ‘Hello ladies, is there room for one more?’ He was holding a plate of food and a glass of wine.

Roz laughed. ‘I think we can squeeze you in. It’s not like you take up too much room.’

‘Cheeky brat.’

Cheyenne jumped up. ‘I’m sorry, I’m in your place. Please sit down.’ Her cheeks were bright red.

Ah! Realization dawned. For an actress, Cheyenne was terrible at concealing her emotions. Roz stood up. ‘Don’t be silly. Frankie, you take my seat, I’m finished eating and need to find a bathroom. Cheyenne, can you stay and keep Frankie company until I get back?’

The other two looked at each other. There was a small smile on Frankie’s face, and Cheyenne was blushing.

‘Take your time,’ Frankie said. ‘I’ll look after your friend.’

Grinning, Roz left them alone.

Andy twisted his neck from side to side, straining against the collar of his borrowed shirt. He hadn’t packed anything suitable and if his mother hadn’t insisted, he would still be wearing jeans.

The table in the formal dining room was set with the best silver and crystal. Vases containing early blooms from the garden perfumed the air. Twelve place settings were artfully arranged. He was halfway down the middle on one side. There would be no escape from his mother’s guests.

The sound of car doors closing indicated that the visitors had arrived. He peeked through a gap in the velvet curtains. Friendly get together, his ass. Eight, or was it nine guests, mostly women teetering in high heels on the gravel drive. A fox would have more luck against a pack of hounds. For the first time in his life, he felt sorry for Mr Darcy. This evening was turning into a Regency farce.

He downed his pre-dinner drink in two gulps as he struggled to remember the names of his neighbours’ daughters. Kirsty, the youngest, couldn’t have been more than sixteen and was trouble in the making if ever he saw one.

Lily, her older sister, was almost as tall as he was. He tried not to smile as he caught a glimpse of a pair of blue Crocs peeking out from beneath a shapeless floral print
dress which did nothing for her. Brenda, the middle child, was down from Queens for the weekend and was already bored.

He had the vaguest recollection of the Turner family. They had bought the farm next door around the time that he left. Deirdre looked almost as uncomfortable as Brenda and the pair sat and whispered together.

‘And this is Isobel,’ his mother introduced him to the eldest Turner daughter.

Frank grey eyes stared back at him and she gave him an apologetic smile. She didn’t want to be here either. At least he had found one ally. ‘Nice to meet you.’

His mother clapped her hands. ‘I believe that dinner is ready. Why don’t we all go inside?’

As he had feared, Andy was surrounded by women. Usually it wouldn’t have bothered him but this evening he felt like a prize stallion being put through its paces in the stable yard.

‘I believe you’re in security,’ Mr Turner said politely as he sipped his soup.

‘That’s right,’ Andy agreed.

‘Like in a shopping mall?’ Kirsty pulled a face.

Despite himself, Andy laughed. ‘No. I’m involved in the other kind of security. Personal security. Bodyguard. That type of thing.’

‘Oh. And have you met anyone famous?’

If he hadn’t signed non-disclosure agreements, he could have given them a list as long as his arm. ‘Lots of actors, actresses, some foreign dignitaries.’

‘Like who?’ Kirsty was interested now.

He put his spoon down. ‘Well, I looked after Jack Winter and his wife while they were on honeymoon in Scotland.’

Look after them. That was a laugh. They had spent most of their time in bed. But Jack was a friendly guy and obviously crazy about his American wife.

‘What was he like?’

At this point he had the attention of all of the women at the table. What was it about Winter that made women go weak at the knees?

The soup plates were cleared away and Maggie served the main course.

‘But you won’t be running around the world like that forever, will you, Andy?’

His mother was smiling, but there was a brittle edge to her voice that made Andy sit up and take notice. She was getting on in years. The heart attack had given her a scare and she wanted her only son home. Not tearing around the planet from one trouble spot to another.

His voice was gentle when he replied, ‘Of course not. If I transfer from field operative to running teams, I can work from anywhere.’

Poppy and Dougal exchanged a satisfied glance. He would have to talk to them later. He wasn’t going to escape without an interrogation about his future plans. He wished he could say that he had some.

‘Cool,’ Kirsty chipped in. She shot a sly glance at her sisters. ‘And do you have a girlfriend?’

His mother glanced up. Lily paused with a fork halfway to her mouth and Isobel was trying her best to stifle a
smile. He could look forward to weeks of dinners like this one if he didn’t nip his mother’s plans in the bud right now.

‘Actually, I do.’

A knife clattered at the far end of the table. He suspected it was his mother’s, but Andy kept his focus on Kirsty. The child had a great future ahead of her as an interrogator.

He could hardly make up a story about someone they were likely to meet socially. The glimmer of an idea dawned. ‘She works in London.’

Well, that bit was technically true. He pressed on before his mother could interrupt. ‘She’s one of the O’Sullivans. You know – the airline family.’

‘Tim O’Sullivan keeps a fine stable,’ his father agreed. ‘Horsey girl, is she?’

‘I have no idea, Dad.’ He knew Roz was good with a whip, but he didn’t know if she had ever been near a horse. ‘We only got together quite recently.’

Like a few days before, in the middle of a gun battle, when he believed she was pregnant.

‘And do you like her?’

His mother’s question put an end to Kirsty’s interrogation.

Did he like her? It was a simple question. One he should have been able to answer without thinking about it. Roz was a thief and a liar and lord knows what else. He had been on her trail for more than a year and he probably knew more about her than he did about his last five girlfriends. But did he like Roz? He only knew that
she intrigued him more than any woman he had met for years.

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I do like her.’

After dinner, they returned to the sitting room and sipped drinks beside the fire. Brenda and Deirdre took turns playing the piano, earning them a smattering of unenthusiastic applause. Kirsty rolled her eyes at them, pulled out her iPhone and logged on to
E!
online.

Five minutes later, she straightened up with a squeal. ‘Oh, Jack Winter is in Ireland!’

She flushed when Brenda stopped playing and demanded, ‘Show me.’ All eyes turned to Kirsty.

‘It will be on the TV,’ she said. ‘Put on
E! News
.’

To avoid any more torture from the piano, Andy switched on the television and within minutes he found the news clip about Jack Winter. A student film-maker had managed to get onto the set of Jack’s latest movie and persuaded the star to give him an interview. A large castle loomed in the background.

A bearded Jack was surrounded by a bunch of rough looking Norsemen who waved their shields at the camera.

Andy’s attention was drawn to a group of actors in the background. One woman nodded as she listened to instructions from the director. The hood of her cloak fell back and a mass of strawberry blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders.

Under the director’s orders, an actor approached the woman and aimed a blow. The redhead staggered and fell to the ground, only to get up a moment later, smiling. The
delicate line of her profile was one that he had last seen in a London hotel room. Roz Spring. The latex belly was gone, revealing that she was in good shape. Excellent shape.

Excitement thrummed in his belly at the prospect of the chase. He had her. He had finally tracked Roz down. Andy gulped down his coffee and wondered how soon could he make his excuses and leave the party.

He calculated swiftly. It would take about three hours to drive there. He could imagine her face if he turned up in the middle of the night. No. That would encourage her to run. He would have to be patient. Turning up while she was working and couldn’t leave the set would be so much better.

He would be able to observe her from a distance while he let Niall and Sinead know where she was. Then it would be job done. He wasn’t sure why the prospect of that made him edgy. He wanted this over. Right?

As if sensing his indecision, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and touched the screen. It was her.

Yeah. Roz was watching a movie alright – one that wouldn’t hit the big screen for at least six months.

he typed.

Andy glanced around the room. Deirdre and Brenda had disappeared. Kirsty was bored. Lily was chatting to Isobel. She looked as if she’d had a little too much to drink and Isobel was patting her hand in sympathy. They were probably talking about the kinky doctor.

A message flashed across the screen that she had gone offline.

Andy laughed. Was she jealous? Was Roz actually interested?

‘Anything important, dear?’ His mother was frowning. He probably shouldn’t have checked his phone. He was about to say ‘nothing’ but then paused. He needed to borrow a car for a few days.

‘It’s Roz. She’s just arrived in Ireland. I’m driving south tomorrow to see her.’

The early morning traffic on the motorway south was mercifully light and Andy made good time to Tullamore. He took the road out of the midlands town and drove towards the castle. He had checked for the latest news about the movie and a company that specialized in recruiting film extras had put out a call on Facebook looking for Norsemen for a battle scene they were shooting that day.

Andy hoped that he could blag his way past security at the gate. He rolled down the window of the Jeep. ‘Kate sent me. I’m here for the battle scene.’

‘Corpse or fighter?’

‘Fighter,’ Andy replied. He could wield a sword if he had to.

‘Okay, mate. Drive half a mile up the road and take the turn-off marked western meadow. They’re doing wardrobe and make-up there.’

He waved him on and Andy made his way up the rutted drive of the castle. Someone had filled the worst of the
potholes with gravel, but he was glad he’d borrowed a Jeep. Up ahead, a group of armed Norsemen were making their way through the woods in the misty rain.

He hesitated at the turn-off. Maybe he should ‘borrow’ a costume. It would make it easier to move around the castle grounds without being noticed. Andy reversed a couple of feet and took the turn for the meadow.

After parking the Jeep, he headed for the costume depot and smiled at the girl behind the desk.

‘Norse or native?’ she asked, giving him an appreciative glance.

Beside him, a middle-aged man was being painted up to look as if he had received a spear wound. He wasn’t going there. A costume that involved chain mail might be heavier, but the long tunic beneath would at least be warm. ‘Norse,’ he replied.

She checked the rail for sizes. ‘Haven’t I seen you in something before?’

‘I’ve done a bit of theatre and film work, but to be honest, I’m waiting for a break.’

The girl studied him carefully and brushed his hair back from his face with her fingers. ‘You have great bones. The camera will eat you up. Benny might be able to use you for some scenes up around the castle. Two of the guys are injured.’

‘Benny?’

‘Benny D’Angelo, the art director.’

She punched a number into her phone. ‘Benny, I have someone who can fill in for Rory. Do you want him?’

‘Mmmm, yeah,’ she continued. ‘No beard, but he’s dark and unshaven.’

She put her hand over the phone for a moment to ask Andy, ‘Do you have weapons experience?’

He refrained from telling her that most of the weapons he used were the twenty-first century kind. ‘Yes.’

‘Horses?’

He’d very nearly been born on one. ‘Yes.’

‘Great.’ She pointed to a curtained-off area. ‘You can change in there and then head over to make-up.’

No wonder it cost millions to make a movie. Make-up took forever and he looked little different than before. Perhaps a bit more rough and dangerous but nothing to warrant two hours sitting in a chair being painted up like a ponce.

He made his way to the castle, itching for his first glimpse of Roz.

The area in front of the castle was full of trailers, trucks and portable generators. The men in jeans and T-shirts were obviously crew. The women carried clipboards, wore wellingtons with velvet skirts and constantly spoke into their Bluetooth headsets.

Ignoring the rule about no phones on set, Andy found a quiet corner and checked his messages. Nothing from Roz. He risked a message to her.

There was no reply and he was about to give up when his screen flashed.

Andy wanted to punch the air. He had reeled her in. If that wasn’t jealousy, he would eat his chain mail, link by link.

When she went offline, Andy looked around him, checking each of the trailers grouped near the set. The door of the one furthest away opened and two women emerged, both dressed in similar costumes. Even from this distance, he recognized her. Roz.

His heart thumped. Something primal awoke in him at the sight of her. A ravening hunger licked and gnawed at his insides. Andy hesitated, struggling to process a physical reaction to her. It wasn’t the usual satisfaction when he tracked down the bad guy. This was more than a job. He fancied her. He actually fancied Roz Spring. Without conscious thought, he set out across the set only to be brought up sharply by a roar.