The Dungeon Fantasy Club Page 3

  Get a hold of yourself, Mills. You do not go all gooey for a man, ever. You are likely suffering from the trauma of the day and need to pull yourself together.

  He smiled like he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. He stopped next to the bed. "Come, let's get you dressed."

  "Thanks, I can take care of it from here."

  "Obviously, you can't. I have other business to attend to besides you. So come." He stood with an eyebrow cocked.

  He wasn't going to give her any privacy. Why she should care that he saw her naked bits, when he'd already seen all there was to see, was beyond her. She gulped and shoved the covers off her body, scooting to the edge of the big bed. He wasn't going to give an inch, but was apparently going to make her move all the way out of the bed. She stood and held her hand out for the robe.

  "Turn," he ordered. She rolled her eyes. He wanted the full view apparently. She shifted, giving him her back, and he helped her into the robe. His hands grazed her breasts as he slid it around her body.

  It was a huge man's robe, the material butter-soft microfiber, and it swamped her. On her small five foot two body, it dragged on the floor. The belt went around her waist twice before she fastened it at the front. The sleeves were so long she had to fold them back a few times, just so her hands weren't covered.

  Straightening her shoulders, she shoved the fingers of desire threading through her system back under wraps as much as possible. Still apprehensive, she cautiously shifted until she was facing Declan. She almost sagged in relief as she watched him wrap himself into a silk robe.

  "Thank you," Zoey responded, feeling grateful. He had made sure she didn't suffer from hypothermia. She really owed him. She hated feeling indebted to anyone. It was owing someone a favor that had tanked her career.

  Declan nodded at her thanks and murmured, "Follow me to the library, Ms. Mills, and we will get the situation figured out."

  She trailed behind him, mindful of the robe, careful that she didn't trip. He had a long stride and she had to take three steps to his one just to keep up. She studied him from behind. Declan was thick in form, all muscled; his body harkened back to another era when men swung battleaxes and broadswords. Declan stopped in front of—she couldn't believe it—an elevator, in a home?

  She followed him into the enclosed space and was acutely aware of his presence. He strutted in front of her with the confident ease of a man who was inherently familiar with acquiring what he wanted and never being told no. Zoey had always avoided wealthy men, on principle. Living with Hollywood practically in her backyard, she had seen what oodles of money could turn a man into, a stuck-up ass who believed he was God's gift to the universe, and who went through women like some men changed socks.

  Zoey never considered herself claustrophobic, but distinctly felt the enclosed space around them shrink as Declan studied her. She knew she must look a fright, like a drowned cat. And what must he think of her, kissing him like that?

  She followed him off the elevator to the right, down a decadently decorated hall with gorgeous works of art. Zoey wondered if they were the real deal, not some reproduced knockoff. They entered a room at the end of the hall that was a sort of multi-purpose room. Grand white shelves lined the ivory walls, housing all manner of books, from dime store novels to hardcover editions. At the opposite end of the room were resplendent leather sofas and matching chairs, set before a blazing marble fireplace.

  The dancing flames of the fire drew her deeper into the room, where she noticed a rich mahogany table with matching chairs positioned next to large windows. She was sure that, first thing in the morning, with the sun streaming in on a cold winter's day, having breakfast next to a roaring fire while sunlight lit the room would be a marvelous experience.

  "Why don't you warm yourself by the fire, while I go get dressed and make a call. I'll have Mrs. Stewart send some food up with Jared, and then you can tell me how an American girl finds herself alone in the Highlands of Scotland."

  "I can do that," she replied. He wasn't going to toss her out on her rear—not yet, anyway—and she might get a meal out of it. Her stomach growled. She had not had time to stop for lunch. In a world of women who dieted and forgot to eat, Zoey rarely skipped a meal. She actually hated women who would take two bites of salad and say they were full. What the hell did they eat, air? She wanted food, and while she was health conscious, keeping her meals to mainly healthy options, she didn't pass up an opportunity to eat a bacon cheeseburger or pizza, either. Maybe she was a bit fleshier in her butt and thighs, but she could still run five miles a day.

  "There's a phone over there if you need to call for a tow or a hotel." Declan pointed to a desk they had passed as he left her alone.

  And with that, her happy delusion burst. She wasn't going to be invited to stay here for the night, but would be forced back out into the storm. She only prayed she could get a truck to come out in this weather.

  Nearly tripping over the robe she made it to the desk, picked up the old style receiver, and dialed the operator, since all of the information for her reservations were in the rental car.

  As far as Zoey was concerned, she never should have left LA.

  "Yes, I understand it was non-refundable, but what about for acts of God, and…" Declan heard Zoey utter, her voice riddled with frustration. "Yes, ma'am. I understand. Thank you."

  He strode into the library and his gaze fixed on the delectable Zoey. She sat at the desk, the robe dwarfing her tiny body, making her seem smaller than she was, staring at the phone in resigned defeat. He wanted to cuddle her and had a primal urge to slay monsters for her at the same time.

  "Problem?" he asked, distinctly aware of his little damsel.

  "Yes. The Thistle Bed & Breakfast I booked did not hold my reservation. I had to check in by five, or call them by then to hold the reservation for the week. Because I didn't follow their guidelines, they gave my room to another person who was stranded by this storm. Since I forfeited my stay, the terms are very clear in their policy, they aren't even willing to offer me a refund. And the tow company in the village can't get someone here until tomorrow at the earliest."

  "Well, rest easy, lass. I won't be throwing you out in the snow. Ah, Jared has found some refreshments for us. Come, sit down and have some Scots tea."

  Jared wheeled a loaded cart past him and started spreading things out on the table. Declan held his hand out to Zoey. She gazed up at him with sad doe eyes, her inky lashes laced with the tears she was holding back. She expelled a ragged breath as she gauged the sincerity of his words, then placed her small, delicate hand in his. What had happened to her that she doubted someone offering her assistance? Beyond what surely had been a trying day for her, he sensed a profound weariness, mingled with disappointment. She stirred not just his desire to explore her passions and see if there was a beautiful little sub residing inside her, but she stoked his every protective instinct, too.

  A plan had formed in his mind after he'd rescheduled his London meeting and dressed to rejoin her. The Thistle forfeiting her reservation was nigh on to a godsend. While he would never force her to accept his proposal, even if he had to seduce her into agreeing, he always got what he wanted. And right now, that was one Zoey Mills. He wondered how she would respond to his offer. All his dominant instincts had surged inside him for Zoey. He hadn't felt that way since Jenna. Declan squelched the urge to rub his chest at the instinctive tightening. He had loved Jenna. He'd actually picked out a ring. She'd fit in with his lifestyle perfectly and had been his little sub, until she ran off with another Dom from the Club. They both died in a car crash a week later.

  Declan suppressed his anger toward his ex-girlfriend. She had paid the ultimate price in the freak accident, and he had mourned her betrayal long enough. What he wanted from Zoey was purely physical. She was visiting his country, which meant no attachments from either of them. Only pleasure. He almost growled. He sensed the fiery passion inside her just waiting for the right man to push her boundaries,
explore her desires, and Declan craved being the man to unleash it. He helped her into a chair, his fingers grazing her back lightly, as Jared served her meal first before setting his place. It was time to set his plan into motion.

  "There you are, Miss Mills," Jared murmured to Zoey. He seemed to be vying for her attention, smiling at her as she blushed.

  She looked up at Jared with a small half smile. "Thank you. Please, call me Zoey."

  "Jared McTavish, at your service." He nodded politely in her direction. Declan knew by the man's behavior that Jared was interested in Zoey's delightful little body as well. He felt the urge to beat his chest, roar at his best friend, and stake his claim. She's mine. Jared might have allowed her into his home, but Declan was the one she had kissed with such wild abandon, not Jared. He wouldn't allow any man to stand in the way of his desire for her, not even one of his best friends.

  Jared glanced his way and Declan cocked an eyebrow in challenge. More times than naught, he and Jared had shared a woman if they both had an itch for the lass. But not this time—he wanted Zoey for himself, and didn't intend to share her. An understanding, clear as day, passed between the two of them, with Jared backing off and conceding. Thankfully, she was so dazed by the day that Zoey missed the tiny interchange between them. Declan wondered what she would think if she knew he had just placed dibs on her scrumptious little body.

  "Make sure you drink some of the Scots tea, Zoey. It will warm you up better than anything else," Jared commented, giving her a wink to Declan's consternation. Jared always flirted with women, of every shape and size, and they lapped it up. Zoey was no different. She preened a little, blushing. Then Jared withdrew from the room, closing the door behind him and giving them some privacy.

  It was time Declan made her an offer.

  At Jared's words about the tea, Zoey picked up the steaming mug, blowing on it first before taking a sip. It wasn't just tea in the mug, but tea mixed with heady whisky. She felt the burn of the potent brew and residual effects as it warmed her belly. She drank half of it down, her toes curling as warmth spread throughout her body, and took the edge off slightly before turning to her host.

  Declan was, without any doubt, her every dark fantasy brought to life. Confidence rippled off him; he had this sensual essence that stirred her in ways she never expected. He was, as her BFF would say, downright fuckable. He was unlike any of the guys she'd ever dated. Oh, sure, at twenty-eight she had had her fair share of relationships, but not one of those guys had ever made her body so aware of theirs with a knowledge that if she did sample what he offered she would be forever changed.

  He sat in the chair at an angle to hers, and opted for whisky straight up without the tea. His blue eyes missed nothing as he studied her, making her want to squirm in her seat.

  "What brings you to Scotland, lass?"

  How much to tell him? The thought of rehashing all the events of the last two weeks of her life seemed pointless. She didn't want him to see her as a victim. Not only that, but he was, in fact, a stranger. She wasn't in the habit of divulging her innermost secrets to someone she didn't know.

  "I've always wanted to visit Scotland." She couldn't forget the little fact that this trip was to remember who she was and to figure out what she wanted from her life. Ease some of the depression she felt at her great master plan being blown to bits in one fell swoop. Declan didn't need to know all the gory details. "And I recently experienced a job change and had the time to do it. So I thought, why not?"

  "So you decided to travel alone to a foreign country?" he probed, and she had the distinct awareness of his electric blue gaze that made her think of the ocean surrounding Hawaii. He was staring at her as if he wanted to bore inside the innermost sanctum of her soul.

  It figures. He was a dominant alpha, his virile aura permeated his every move. He was probably more familiar with women who clung to him. A woman who was able to travel on her own was, in all likelihood, as foreign to him as polar bear would be in the desert. Zoey reigned in any smart aleck responses. As his uninvited guest, until she knew the lay of the land better, she would hold her more sarcastic comments back, but only to save herself from being tossed out into the snow. "Well, none of my friends could make it, and I had a break from work, so I thought I would take a week."

  Correction, she'd been asked to resign or get fired because of that bastard she wasn't going to think about anymore. Karma would come for him. Make no mistake. And this week was all about getting away from the fallout of her imploding master plan.

  "I see. And now you no longer have any reservations."

  "No." Dammit. Her life was one big, twisted mess. If she couldn't even escape from her drama-infused life for one week, how the hell was she supposed to decide on a new direction, if any? "I can call some of the other hotels in the area and see if they have any vacancies," she said.

  And are cheaper than dirt, considering I spent the bulk of my savings on getting over here and the non-refundable bed and breakfast.

  "There aren't many hotels nearby, but you could certainly try some of the other bed and breakfasts in the area," he said, at which she promptly burst into tears. She didn't have the funds to stay in another bed and breakfast. This trip had been one big horrible mistake. She should just see if she could change her plane ticket and go back home.

  To do what? Avoid the news anchor circus surrounding my house, continue to watch my image get splashed across the nightly news like I'm a criminal, or listen to another definitive no thanks from another agency.

  Damned if I know.

  "Lass, you are welcome to stay here tonight. Don't worry about finding another place for this evening. I already had my housekeeper make up a room for you, I promise you will not be forced out in the cold. Although we might be snowed in for longer than just through tomorrow—the weatherman said the storm's pace has slowed and it's now circling the Highlands, predicting it to be quite the doozy. You are welcome to stay until it is safe to leave."

  His kindness made her heart melt. She couldn't actually remember the last time a man had taken care of her. After the last two weeks of her life, the earnest compassion almost brought on a fresh bout of tears. She would repay his kind-hearted gesture. Zoey paid her debts, always. She never expected a handout, nor did she look for them. "Thank you. I can pay you. I might have to send it to you once I get back home."

  "I see the way of it." Understanding flashed in his eyes, and made her want to burrow into the ground. She was on a limited budget in a foreign country, and while she wasn't destitute, the loss of the money for the bed and breakfast created a severe deficit in her funds. So much so, that she'd probably be better off canceling the rest of her stay and aborting her great hunt for a new life direction. His direct gaze made her flush. "You don't have anywhere else to go, do you lass?" he added.

  "No." There. She had admitted it. What a fool she had been to think that a solo trip to another country would make her feel better about her wretched life. All it served to do was show her how empty, meaningless, and now nearly penniless she was.

  "It's settled then. You will stay here," he said with an air of authority, brooking no room for argument.

  "I couldn't do that." It was not that his offer wasn't incredibly kind, but in the world she was from, it had to come with a price. She hated to think that way, but usually when an offer was too good to be true, it was. No one just opened their home to a stranger in need with no ulterior motives. Even though a part of her wanted like crazy to put her faith in him and offer her trust, Zoey knew that her faith in people had been rattled recently by the whole backstabbing incident at her job.

  "Why not? You said it yourself, you have no other place to go. I'm offering you one." He smiled, making her insides melt, as he attempted to reassure her. Zoey felt warmth spill through her at his sincerity. She wanted to believe him, that he wanted nothing more than to play the good Samaritan.

  She sent up a quick prayer of thanks. At least she had a roof over her head for tonight. If
she could get a good night's sleep, maybe she could assess the situation more fully with a clear head in the morning. Her instincts said she could trust Declan. But she didn't trust herself, not when those same instincts had made such a critical error. "I'll pay back your generosity. I promise I will. Thank you for offering me a place to stay."

  "I don't want your money, Zoey. I have more than enough to last multiple lifetimes." His response brought her up short and sent fingers of dismay slithering through her system. But he did want something from her—maybe not money—she could feel it.

  "It wouldn't be right for me to take advantage of your generosity," she began. "Let me pay you back, or—"

  He cut her off, holding his hand up. They were firm hands, large, with long fingers.

  "Zoey, it's fine. I really don't want your money. Now eat," he said. His words sounded more like a command than a request. It sent shivers down her back. After years of being surrounded by men who were betas pretending to be alphas, being confronted with a real alpha was a heady experience. He expected his orders to be followed without question, and that sent her hormones into overdrive.

  Her body responded to his alpha demeanor. She'd always pooh-poohed the notion that women were biologically hardwired to seek out the most dominant male in order to procreate and further the species. Yet studying him now, remembering how he looked without any clothes on, and considering his dominant nature, she felt like she had to talk her ovaries down like a hostage negotiator. The man, pure and simple, was sex on a stick.