Catherine Spencer - Mistress on his Terms

Fists clenched so tight her fingernails gouged the palms of her hands, Lily huddled in her seat and prayed they’d reach Stentonbridge without incident. But they’d covered only about forty miles of the remaining distance when Sebastian brought the car to a sudden, screeching halt.

There was no sign of human habitation; no lights in farmhouses, no illuminated storefronts, no street lamps. Nothing but the driving rain pounding on the car roof like urgent jungle drums, and the dark shapes of trees twisting in the wind.

“Why are we stopping here?” she said. “Or aren’t I allowed to ask?”

And then she saw. Where earlier in the day there’d been a bridge over a ravine, there now was a torrent of muddy water cascading down the hillside and taking with it everything that stood in its path. Another twenty feet, and the car would have careened into empty space, then plunged into the swirling rapids.

“Precisely,” Sebastian said, hearing her shocked gasp.

It was late July. High summer in that part of Ontario. Even the nights were warm. But suddenly she was freezingly cold and shivering so hard that her teeth rattled.

This was how it happened: one minute people were alive, with the blood flowing through their veins, and their minds full of plans for the next day, the next year…and then, in less time than it took to blink, it was all over. That’s how it had been for her parents, and how it had almost been for her.

Tragedy wasn’t selective in its choice of victims; it could strike twice.

She tried to breathe and could not. The air inside the car was too close, too drenched, and she was suffocating. With a strangled moan, she released the buckle of her seat belt and fumbled for the door handle.

Her lungs were bursting. She had to get out—out into the open air. With a mighty shove, she sent the door flying wide and half-fell, half-crawled from her seat. Never mind the rain pelting down, or the wind whipping wet strands of hair across her face. Anything was better than being locked in the close confines of that long, low-slung burgundy car, which all at once looked and felt too much like a mahogany coffin.

Blind with panic, she set off through the wild night with one thought uppermost in her mind: to find her way back to the brightly lit safety of the roadside café. She’d covered no more than a few feet, however, before she blundered full tilt into a solid wall of resistance and felt her arms pinioned in an iron hold.

“Have you lost your tiny mind?” Sebastian Caine bellowed, raising his voice above the din of the waterfall. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

“We were almost killed!”

“And almost isn’t good enough? You want to finish off the job?”

“I w-want…” But the irrational, superstitious terror that had propelled her out of the car and sent her stumbling away in the dark refused to translate into words. She tasted salt and was astonished to find tears mingling with the rain on her face. To her shame, a great ugly sob broke loose from her throat.

“Stop that!” he ordered. “Nothing’s happened yet. At least have the decency to wait until real calamity strikes before you decide to fall apart.” He gave her a little shake, but the hint of sympathy texturing his next remark showed he wasn’t as blind to the cause of her distress as he’d first appeared. “Look, I appreciate that your parents’ accident must still be pretty vivid in your mind, but letting your imagination run wild isn’t helping. Get a grip, Lily, and go back to the car.”

“I don’t think I can,” she wailed.

Even though the night was black as the inside of a cave, she sensed his frustration. “Then let me make it easy for you!”

Before she knew what was happening, he bent down, grabbed her behind her knees and flung her, firefighter-fashion, over his shoulder. Oblivious to her shriek of outrage or her hands clawing at his back, he marched back to the car and tossed her into the passenger seat as if she were a sack of potatoes.

“You’ve taxed my patience enough for one day,” he informed her savagely, yanking her seat belt into place, “so don’t even think about pulling another stunt like the last one, or you will wind up alone on the side of the road and let me tell you, it won’t be an experience you’ll want to talk about—always assuming, of course, that you survive the night.” Then, as a further inducement to comply with his orders, “You do know, of course, that this whole area’s swarming with cougars and snakes. And vampire bats.”

He slammed her door, raced back to the driver’s side and climbed in.

“You’re lying,” she said shakily. “Especially about the bats.”

In the glow from the dashboard, his grin and the whites of his eyes gleamed demonically. “Prove it.”

Unable to drum up an answering smile she huddled down in the seat, listless with defeat. The day, which had started out so full of anticipation, had sunk too far in disappointment to be redeemed with humor and she was beyond fighting to save it. She just wanted it to be over.

As he swung the car around, the headlights sliced across the landscape, turning the rain to long silver darning needles spearing the night. “We passed a motel about ten miles back. Let’s hope the road hasn’t washed out between here and there, and that they still have vacancies.”

Luck was with them, but barely. The motel had been built in the fifties and hadn’t seen a dollar spent on it since. A bare bulb hung above the desk in the office. Tears in the vinyl padding on the one chair were held together with duct tape. The manager, Lily noticed with a shudder, reeked of tobacco and had tufts of hair growing out of his ears, which left him looking like a troll.

“Busy night tonight, what with the weather and all,” he told them. “Only got the one room left. Take it or leave it, folks. You don’t want it, someone else will.”

“We’ll take it,” Sebastian said, slapping down a credit card and filling out the registration card.

“I’m not spending the night in the same room with you,” Lily informed him, trailing behind as he marched to their assigned unit.

“You’d rather sleep in the car?”

“No!”

He unlocked door number nineteen and flung it open. “Well, I’m not offering to, if that’s what you’re hoping, so step inside and make yourself at home while I unload our stuff.”

“Sebastian,” she exclaimed, still hovering on the threshold when he returned with her luggage, a zippered nylon sports bag, and a newspaper, “this place is a flea pit!”

He reined in a sigh. “So sorry it isn’t up to the five-star standards you were probably hoping for, but it’s warm and dry, isn’t it? There’s a shower and a bed.”

Exactly. One bed! Not a bed and a pull-out sofa, not even an armchair. Just a double mattress that sagged in the middle and was covered by an ugly green bedspread, which had seen better days. The only other furniture consisted of a nightstand holding a fake wood reading lamp, a ratty chest of drawers with a TV on top, and a straight-back chair that matched the one in the office, even down to the duct tape patching.

“I’m not sleeping on that bed!”

He shrugged. “Sack out on the floor then.”

Not an inviting prospect, either. There were suspicious stains on the threadbare carpet. “You’re the most insensitive creature I’ve ever met!”

“And you’re a spoiled brat.” Kicking the door closed, he dumped her suitcases next to it, tossed the sports bag and newspaper on the bed, and shrugged out of his jacket. His shoes and socks came off next, followed by his tie.

She watched in sly fascination as he proceeded to peel off his shirt, thereby displaying an expanse of muscular, well-tanned chest and proof positive that his width of shoulder owed nothing to clever tailoring. Well, if he thought flexing his pecs would impress her, he was in for a disappointment! It would take more than that to get a rise out of her.

Just how little more she soon found out. “What do you think you’re doing?” she squeaked in horror, when he casually began unbuckling the belt holding up his pants.

“I’d have thought it was obvious. I’m getting out of these wet clothes, and then I’m taking a shower. Close your mouth and stop gaping, Ms. Talbot.”

“I don’t believe…what I’m seeing!”

“Then don’t look.”

The belt was off, the zipper of his fly sliding down. The next second, he was shucking his trousers as unselfconsciously as if he were completely alone. And for the life of her, she couldn’t look away.

He glanced up and caught her staring. “You’re blushing, Ms. Talbot.”

Any fool could see that! “Well, one of us certainly should be, and it clearly isn’t going to be you.”

He had great legs. Wonderful thighs. Lean, muscular, tanned. Long, strong, powerful. And he preferred briefs to boxers. Plain white cotton to silk stripes and fancy colors.

“Don’t you dare remove anything else!” she said hoarsely. “I’m not interested in seeing you in the altogether.”

“Just as well,” he said, folding his trousers over the back of the chair. “I don’t show my altogether to just anyone.”

He draped his jacket over a wire hanger in the curtained recess that passed for a closet then did the same for his shirt. And she, ninny that she was, followed his every move and wondered how it was that God had seen fit to bless men with such trim, taut hips, even if the rest of them was oversized!

“Sure you don’t want to use the bathroom?”

“Quite sure, thank you. There’s probably an inch of mold growing in the tub.”

“No tub,” he said, almost gleefully, poking his head around the door to inspect. “Just a shower stall.”

“I wish you the joy of it.”

“I’m sure you do.” He flung a glance over his shoulder and she could have sworn he was biting back a snicker. “No peeking, Ms. Talbot, and no funny business.”

“Funny business?”

“There isn’t room for two in here. If you change your mind about taking a shower, wait your turn.”

“Oh, dream on!” she gasped, flabbergasted by his gall. “Heaven only knows what might come crawling up the drain.”

But the truth was, her clothes were sticking to her most uncomfortably, her skin felt unpleasantly clammy and the idea of standing under a hot shower didn’t seem such a bad idea, after all. She had fresh underwear and a nightshirt in her suitcase; dry clothes she could pull out for tomorrow. Who was she really punishing by stubbornly refusing to make the best of the situation?

Sebastian reappeared ten minutes later, wearing a skimpy towel draped perilously around his hips and nothing else. His black hair stood up in spikes, drops of water gleamed on his skin, and he smelled of clean, warm man. “The place might be a flea pit, but at least there’s plenty of hot water. Sure you don’t want to take advantage of it?”

She cleared her throat. “I might.” She eyed his makeshift loincloth, then hastily glanced away again.

“There’s another towel in there, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said snidely.

“Good,” she croaked and fled with the toiletry bag, nightshirt and panties she’d taken from her suitcase.

In keeping with the rest of the place, the bathroom was basic: a washbasin, a toilet and a fiberglass shower stall with a mottled glass door. An unused towel the same size as the one barely covering the delectable Sebastian Caine lay folded on a shelf, and the management had kindly provided a minuscule bar of soap, a tiny bottle of shampoo, most of which he’d used, and two paper cups.