Doms of Chicago, Boxed Set One, page 70
“Well?” Amery barely recognized his own voice as he waited. “Tell me what?”
Simon gave him a brief smile. “That was our man Sanders. He stopped Myrna at the front door and after speaking to her briefly, he ascertained that while she was a bit agitated she isn’t a danger to herself or others. He offered to get one of us and when she refused outright, he convinced her to let him pay for a cab to take her home. So relax, she’ll be fine.”
Relief washed over Amery. Myrna wasn’t going to get herself killed because she ran off into the night like Emma had. Even as memories of his last submissive tugged at him, he forced them away when he heard the furious steps approaching them. Had Myrna returned? Even if she’d returned to give him hell, hope sprang eternal and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Well, maybe relaxing is the last thing you should do. That’s one pissed off Domme headed our way.”
Amery swore internally even as he turned to face the seething Olivia. Her eyes were snapping with fury and her chest was falling and rising with her angry breathing.
“You and I need to talk, Master Alastar! What the hell where you thinking by telling her she had to either choose to be your slave, or you’d withhold your help?” The slender fists were propped on her hips and there was no doubt in his mind Olivia was way, way beyond pissed.
“Fuck,” was the only thing Amery said before ordering a shot of scotch.
Chapter Four
Slamming into her house, Myrna tossed her keys onto the small stand where she kept her mail caddy. The clink of metal against metal did little to sooth her already frayed nerves. Her little trip to the Sanctuary’s Lair had done nothing to help her. While seeing the other members engaging in various games of domination and submission hadn’t bothered her as she’d expected, her innocent response to pleasing Olivia had. Was she so desperate to recapture the feeling of submission that she’d taken her pleasure even from a woman she considered a daughter?
As she mused over the question, she methodically emptied the pockets of her coat. Chapstick, a small bag of sugar-free butterscotch candy, and a scrap of paper with a scribbled number on it joined her keys. Spotting it, she picked it up. Soothing it out, she remembered her promise to the doorman/bouncer.
Studying it for a moment, Myrna kicked off her shoes before heading to her kitchen. She’d call him while she was waiting for the coffee to brew. She needed something to steady her nerves. Ignoring the flashing light on the phone next to the entryway, she entered her favorite room. Large and airy, decorated in country blues with its butcher block countertops and oak cabinets, it was her dream kitchen. When she’d bought the house, she’d imagined preparing family Christmas feasts here for her extended family – Caelan, Olivia and their future families, and of course, Amery. She sobered. While she’d imagined both her son and daughter having families, she’d never once considered Amery marrying and having a family of his own. Surprisingly the very idea of it was extremely disturbing.
Flipping on the lights, she clicked on the coffee maker before gathering the half empty container of half-cream out of her fridge. A brief smile touched her lips. When she’d spoken with him on the phone earlier in the evening, Caelan had been interrupted by Nisey who’d asked if he’d wanted half and half in his coffee. She’d been puzzled at first until he’d explained it was the same thing as half-cream. Amazing how the Americans can have a different name for something as simple as half-cream.
Moving to her pantry, a small but dusty bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream was her next victim. Setting her booty down on the immaculate surface of her counter, she headed for the phone. Now that her drink was brewing, she’d better get this over with, she decided.
Without a thought, she pressed the flashing red button to listen to her messages first. The first was from her insurance man asking her to call him about December’s payment. Absently she made a mental note to call his office tomorrow to clear up the matter before hitting the delete button. She’d mailed his payment over a week ago, but knowing his absent-minded secretary who just happened to also be his mother, it must’ve gotten misplaced again. The woman was notorious for misplacing things but her son refused to fire her. She was getting up in age, and the job gave the woman not only needed support, but also got her out the house.
A small smile tugged at her mouth. She idly wondered if Caelan would do the same for her when she got that old…but then decided no. She wouldn’t mind visiting her son in America but she loved her little home here in Ireland. Even as disgusted as she was with Amery at the moment, she thanked the Lord regularly he’d been there for her after Grant had left her. It was his doing that she even had this home. His generosity over the years was almost enough to forgive his earlier ultimatum – almost but not quite. Despite it all though, she’d move in with Amery first before even considering moving to America. A giggle escaped her at the idea of both her and Amery in their late seventies, chasing each other around Amery’s huge house. Him with a tattered old flogger and her with his favorite tie – the ugly one she’d been trying for years to get rid of.
Her giggling stopped and her smile disappeared when a voice she hadn’t heard in more than thirty years filled her kitchen.
“Myrna, this is Grant. I need to see you. I’ve just arrived in Dublin a half hour ago. I’ll be jumping on the train and should arrive in Killarney in a couple of days. Make some time for me, we need to talk.”
Fury like none she’d ever experienced before filled her. She’d thought she’d known anger earlier this evening, but it was paltry compared to this hot burning rush of emotion. “Like hell I will. You rotten bastard! You can take the long train to Hell before I’ll ever let you tell me what to do again.”
She hit the delete key once more. Her ire hadn’t even begun to ebb away when the final message played. It was her bank.
“Mrs. Doherty, its Charles D. Spurnman at First Trust of Dublin. I’m in charge of Consumer Accounts in our Dublin office. I was just reviewing our records and was disappointed to see your husband had closed out your account two days ago. I was wondering if there was anything we could do to retain you as a loyal customer. Please give me a call.”
Myrna’s breathing halted. She swayed on her feet - the shock of the message cutting through her fury. “Oh please tell me he didn’t… Not again!” Grabbing the wall to keep from falling, tears stinging the back of her eyes, she made her way to her small home office and to the brand new laptop Amery had given her for Christmas last year. With trembling fingers she turned it on. Within minutes she was on the bank’s secured website. There in black and white was the evidence. Her rotten, lying, cheating, deserting bastard of a husband had cleaned out every penny she’d saved over the past thirty years. Her savings were gone. Her retirement money was gone. Her checking was empty. No wonder her insurance check had bounced.
Fear had her mouth drying out and her shoulders slumped. How was she supposed to survive? How could Grant have taken the money? It wasn’t even his! She’d earned every last Euro that had been in her accounts. None of it was his! He shouldn’t have been able to touch it.
While she’d never pursued a divorce under Irish law, the accounts, which had been originally joint accounts, had been closed out and she’d opened new ones in her name alone. At Amery’s insistence, she’d added him as the only person with power-of-attorney so Grant couldn’t do this again. Her husband - estranged or not, wasn’t supposed to have any access to her accounts. That’s what both Amery and the bank had assured her. So how the hell had he gotten her money?
Thinking back now, Myrna realized she should’ve taken Amery’s offer to help pay for her divorce when they had lifted the referendum against it in ’95. But I just had to be stubborn. I didn’t want him spending any more money on me - after all he done. I didn’t think it would matter. Why the hell couldn’t that bastard Grant Doherty just stay gone?
Nearly an hour later, she shut down the computer with numb fingers. She’d done some research online. Her future didn’t seem as bleak as it had earlier, but it still wasn’t rosy. She’d have to cut back on her charities and go back to work. She’d call the staffing service in the morning and see if they could place her. With nearly thirty years of secretarial experience, it shouldn’t be an issue to find her work. Then her next call would be to her former bank. She had to find out how Grant had gotten her money and if there was any way to get it back. She had to get it back…for her sake and her son’s.
It was either that or she really would have to move to America and live off her son. She refused to go crawling to Amery to get her old job back. He’d helped her pick up the pieces last time Grant had screwed her over, but she couldn’t allow him to do it again. Determination filled her. She was a grown woman - as such she now had the skills to support herself. Wandering back into the kitchen, she poured herself half a cup of coffee before adding first the liquor and then the half-cream. That’s when she noticed the rumpled piece of paper on the counter.
She’d completely forgotten about calling Sanders back. Sighing, she took a sip of her drink. After a quick clean up the kitchen, she trudged back over to the phone. She was just getting ready to dial the number when the phone rang. Answering it, she wasn’t surprised that it was Amery. In the background, she could hear the faint noises from the club – the moans and slaps of leather striking flesh. Her breathing increased as her imagination ran wild. She imagined him standing where she’d been earlier in the evening, staring down at scene below him. Next to him at his feet, she was kneeling waiting for his direction. He was absently playing with her hair. When he tugged on a strand, she looked up at him. His mouth parted and…
“It’s obvious, you made it home. I’ll let Sanders know.” The curt tone in his voice set her on edge. Despite his calm tone, she could tell he was pissed. She twirled the cord around her finger, debating on whether or not to tell Amery what had happened. She couldn’t do it – couldn’t admit what a fool she’d been not to take his help with the divorce. She couldn’t tell him how that rat bastard Grant had cheated her again.
“I’m sorry. I had a few things to take care of. I was just getting ready to…”
“Well now you won’t have to. Good night, Myrna.” The sound of the dial tone in her ear had tears welling up. She’d never been on the receiving end of Amery’s wrath before. It hurt. Slowly hanging up the phone, the tears which had been threatening since she’d ran from the club, spilled over. Sometimes, she decided, when it rained it poured.
Clicking off the light to the kitchen, she carried her drink into the living room. After changing into her flannel nightgown, she settled into her favorite chair, cupped the barely warm mug of coffee and stared into the flames in her fireplace. It was going to be a long night. She needed to think about all the things that had happened and what she was going to tell Amery when he found out. Sure as the sun rises in the east, the bank is going to contact him and there’ll be pure hell to pay. A low moan escaped her at the thought of Amery turning her over his knees. She was hopeless, she decided.
* * * *
Myrna’s eyes grew heavy and flames wavered. Try as she might, she couldn’t forget the fact her louse of a husband had screwed her over again. As she skated along the line of slumber, her mind turned towards Amery… Her Amery – the strong Master who taught others to be like him. The flickering need to submit to him teased her along with the flickering light of dawn. The sun had just breached the skyline as she drifted towards sleep. A small smile covered her mouth at the thought of accepting what Amery offered her. In her dreamy state, she thought she’d heard the deep rumble of his voice before a pair of strong arms picked her up. The tantalizing scent of his cologne and warmth of his body teased her senses as she slipped further into sleep. Her last hazy thought was of relief. Amery – he’s here. He’ll take care of me.
Once slumber claimed her, Myrna never realized the arms that carried her, the scent of his cologne, and huskiness of Amery’s voice were real. She never felt him deposit her gently on her bed before pulling the covers over her. Nor did she hear the exasperated sigh he gave as he stared down at her. Her body had finally given into its need for rest. It didn’t realize when she awoke there was going to be pure hell to pay.
* * * *
Several hours later in Myrna’s office, Amery clacked away on her laptop and felt absolutely no guilt at his invasion of her privacy. The need to know what she’d conveniently forgotten to tell him last night had driven him. The shock of returning home to find a voice mail from the bank had pushed past his anger. Now he wanted answers – from both Myrna and Mr. Spurnman. Dragging a hand through his hair, he scowled as he reviewed the browser history on the screen. He wanted to know if she’d known or not before he accused her of anything.
When he’d listened to his voice mail, his first instinct had been protect Myrna. Then he’d wanted to go out and beat the living hell out of Grant. That had been quickly followed by irritation that Myrna hadn’t confided in him. If Spurnman had called him, he’d also called Myrna. So the first thing he’d done after finding the worn out Myrna slumped over in her chair – sound asleep, was to check her answering machine. She’d been so tired she hadn’t even stirred when he’d replayed the bank’s message.
Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Amery sat back in the chair while he waited for the page in front of him to load. So why hadn’t she confided in me?
It was one of the many questions he was going to ask her when she awoke. Even though he’d been short with her last night on the phone, she still should’ve told him. As her friend and as the sole person to hold her Power of Attorney, he had the right to know about any major changes in her financial background.
A low growled emerged from his throat when the page finished loading. It was for a local staffing service. Her intent was quite obvious. She was going to go back to work instead of asking him for help.
“I’m gonna beat her arse!” The threat escaped through his gritted teeth as he surged out of the computer desk chair.
* * * *
Myrna snuggled lower. Despite the faint urgency from her bladder, she refused to give up the sleepy warmth surrounding her. She knew she’d fallen asleep in her chair and shouldn’t be this comfortable, but she was reluctant to let go of the vestiges of sleep. That was until a masculine bellow startled her in wakefulness.
“Myrna Marie Doherty!”
Myrna’s eyes flew open in surprise. She gazed around at her bedroom in disorientation. How had she gotten here? The hazy recollection of being held – no carried, she decided-astonished her. It must have been Amery who had carried her to bed. Her cheeks began to burn. He’d actually picked her up. They were both too old for that nonsense. Why hadn’t he just wakened me?
The sound of her bedroom door hitting the wall had her rolling onto her side to see the entryway to her room. Amery’s thick body filled the opening before he strode inside with jerky motions. As his face came into view, she tried to scoot away.
“Don’t move!”
With his gray eyes glittering with anger, it was quite obvious he was pissed. Before she could scramble out of bed, he launched himself at her. A startled ‘oomph’ escaped her as she found herself pinned under two hundred pounds of masculine fury. Instinctively she struggled against his pinioning hold. Wiggling, kicking, and even smacking at him all to no avail. With his superior strength, she found herself flat on her back with both arms pinned above her head by one firm hand, while the other caressed her cheek.
“Let me go! Amery, what the devil do you think you are doing…”
“Silence, slave!” His dark command had her heart pounding frantically. Her eyes darted away from his intense gaze, even as an illicit thrill shot through her. Under the flannel of her gown, her nipples hardened into tight peaks. It’s just a physical reaction to having a man in my bed for the first time in years. It’s not because of his dominance, or the fact I’ve wanted him for so long. Even as she half-heartedly tried to convince herself, her body made a mockery of her denial. Her nipples remained hard, her heart raced, and between her thighs, the traitorous flesh began to weep.
“Look at me, slave.” The harsh demand had her responding despite her desire not to. Her eyes met his. The anger was still there, but under it she could see hurt. Hurt? That can’t be…
“When were you going to tell me?” The thumb on his free hand ran over the corner of her mouth, before sliding down her neck to her shoulders, then traveling out and up her out-stretched arms.
“Tell you what?”
His mouth firmed with displeasure, as a frown appeared between his eyes. “Are you sure you want to play this out? Are you forgetting that as the person who holds your Power of Attorney, the bank has to call and advise me about Grant closing out your accounts?”
Her breath caught in her throat as uncertainty filled her. When she’d spoken to him last night she honestly hadn’t thought about the fact that the bank might contact him. It wasn’t until later in the evening that she’d thought about it. What else did he know? Uncertainty turned into fear. Did he know about Grant’s call? Her lips parted on a nervous breath before she shrugged. “I don’t know how he even got the money out of the account.” She tried to tug her hands free, but stopped when he tightened his hand around them. “I was planning on calling the bank this morning.” She pushed up with her hips. “Let me up. I need to call them now - before it gets any later.
“It’s nearly three o’clock in the afternoon, Myrna.” He pressed her hips back down with his own. She nearly swallowed her tongue when she felt the impression of his erection against her mound. A rough hiss escaped him before he ground against her, his eyes darkening even as his breathing became more erratic.
