WET 2: London: A Steamy Holiday Romance Read online

  "You did?"

  "I did. Come with me."

  Hurrying after him as he walked across the foyer and into the living room, she discovered it flowed into a formal dining room, and a swinging door led into a pristine kitchen decorated in white and grey.

  "Are you all right?" Duncan asked, studying her as he placed the bags on the kitchen island. "You look flushed, or is that embarrassment?"

  "I'm fine," she replied, "and I guess I deserve that."

  "I guess you do, but are you sure you're fine?"

  "I do feel strangely hot. In fact, that's what woke me up. I came down to get a glass of water."

  "Let me feel your forehead," he murmured, walking across to her and placing his palm on her brow. "Heavens, girl, you're burning up."

  "I am? It's probably just the long flight."

  "I don't think so. Get yourself straight back to bed. I'll bring you some tea and aspirin in a few minutes."

  "Duncan, that's really sweet of you, but—"

  "No arguments, Brittany," he said firmly. "You're getting sick. If we're lucky we can nip it in the bud."

  A shiver rippled through her, but she wasn't sure if it was his sexy authority, or a chill from whatever was ailing her.

  "Okay. I'm going, but what's a Wooten?"

  "As you saw, it's a desk, but a very unique one. I'll show it to you later. Now go up to bed. I'll be there shortly."

  "Okay, I'm going, and thank you."

  "For what?"

  "Taking care of me."

  "It's my pleasure. Now, scoot."

  Moving back through the house and up the stairs, when she entered the bedroom she spied her purse and suitcase. Though still feeling hot and weak, she dug out her soft cotton aqua nightgown and toiletries bag, and carried them into the bathroom. Switching out Duncan's T-shirt for her nightie, she wiped her face with a damp cloth, applied some moisturizer and brushed her hair, but she still looked terrible. Ambling back into the bedroom, she discovered Duncan standing next to his dresser holding a tray.

  "How do you feel, Brittany?"

  "A bit warm and kind of achy, but I think I was dehydrated."

  "Your fever isn't from dehydration. I think you're getting the flu, and we have to stop it before it takes hold."

  "You might be right," she said with a frown, touching her fingers to her throat. "I'm getting a tickle."

  "I have some soup and aspirin for you, and I'll stay in the guest room until you're past this. No point in both of us being sick."

  "I'll stay there. You shouldn't have to give up your bedroom."

  "I want you in here," he insisted, carrying the tray over as she climbed back into bed. "Besides, I can't be bothered changing the sheets. Finish this soup and toast, then take the aspirin and the pill. It's homeopathic and very effective. It will stop the bug before it takes hold. I'll be back with a hot cup of tea."

  "Thank you, Duncan. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I'm getting sick. What a bummer."

  "My goodness, you don't have to apologize," he said gently. "It's unfortunate, but it happens, especially after such a long journey. Not to worry, you'll be good as gold in no time."

  "Good as gold," she repeated, managing a smile. "Such a lovely saying. I know you're very strict, but you're also very sweet and thoughtful."

  "The two go together, at least with me. Enjoy your soup. I won't be long."

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Trotting down the stairs, Duncan entered his office and moved across to his desk. The magnificent antique had been left to him by his great uncle. It didn't have a scratch or mark on it, and swinging it open, he lowered the writing panel to reveal the many drawers and receptacles. Retrieving a file he wanted to review, he carried it into the living room, tossed it on the coffee table, fired up the fireplace, then headed into the kitchen.

  As he set the water to boil, dropped the tea leaves into the tea pot, and the bread into the toaster, he found himself smiling. While it was regrettable Brittany was unwell, there was something charming about her sitting in his bed sipping chicken soup. The toast popped up, and smothering it with blackcurrant jam, he finished making the tea, poured it into a cup, and added the milk and sugar. Carrying the plate with the toast, and the cup and saucer, carefully up to his room, he walked in and found her leaning back on the headboard with her eyes closed. The soup bowl was empty and the pill had been taken. Placing the tea and small plate on the nightstand, he picked up the tray from her lap.

  "That was so good," she mumbled, opening her eyes. "Thank you."

  "Do you want to go back to sleep?"

  "Yes, definitely, but is that tea? I'd love some tea."

  Opening the nightstand drawer, he withdrew a plastic bottle and tipped out two small pills, placing them next to the lamp.

  "These are Melatonin. If you wake up later and it's nighttime, slip them under your tongue. They'll help you fall back into sleep and regulate your body clock. Try not to worry. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

  "I hope so," she said with a sniffle. "I'm so looking forward to running around London with you."

  "It will happen, I promise. If you need me, pick up the phone and call my mobile. It will be easier than yelling down the stairs."

  "Good idea, but I doubt I will. I'll be going back to sleep the minute I finish this wonderful tea."

  "I'll check on you later, and I'm not going to kiss you, but I'll make up for that when you're better."

  "You'd be an excellent doctor," she said, gazing up at him. "You have an outstanding bedside manner."

  "I thought about going into medicine, but I was worried it would take the romance out of life."

  "Funny you should say that. I've often wondered how doctors can be normal around people outside their office. I didn't say that very well. I really do feel muddled."

  "Get some rest," he said softly. "I'll see you later."

  As he walked out the door she reached for her toast. The sweet, tangy jam melted in her mouth, and washing it down with the hot, rich tea, she slipped under the covers and closed her very tired eyes.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Downstairs in the living room, lounging in an overstuffed chair in front of the fire with his feet up on an ottoman, Duncan was reviewing documents of an old case. Reading snatches of legalize for a few days helped his transition back into the heady practice of law, not always easy after writing naughty novels. His client had been accused of embezzling. Duncan had known the man for many years and had been convinced of his innocence. After gathering a team of skilled investigators, the truth had been discovered, and his client and longtime friend had been cleared.

  The guilty party had been revealed in a dramatic moment inside the courtroom. It was the stuff of Law and Order. Reading the file again was just what he needed to get his head out of his erotic books and inspire him to return to work, but he was abruptly interrupted. Mozart jangled in his pocket. Retrieving his phone and seeing the name on the screen he quickly accepted the call.

  "Jane, lovely to hear from you. How are you?"

  "Glad you're back, I missed you terribly. Are you awake enough for dinner later?"

  "Of course. The usual place?"

  "Perfect, see you there around six. You can tell me all about your trip."

  "Excellent. See you there."

  He ended the call, then sat for a moment, thinking of Brittany upstairs in his bed. Not wanting to disturb her, he decided to leave her a note on the off-chance she woke up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Stirring from a deep, dreamless sleep, Brittany rolled on her side and stared at the clock. 7:04 p.m. With a long stretch and heavy yawn, she reached up and switched on the lamp. Her teacup and small plate were gone, and an envelope with her name scrawled across the front was resting in their place. Tearing it open she found a small pill, along with a note.

  If you're reading this between 6 p.m and 8 p.m., I'm with a friend for dinner. The pill is another dos
e of the homeopathic remedy. You need to take it along with the Melatonin. On the dresser are some copies of Horse and Hound that might help you relax and drift back to sleep. I've also left you a sandwich and a glass of milk in case you're hungry. I'll poke my head in when I get back.

  L & K,

  Duncan.

  "You left me a sandwich and a glass of milk?" she mumbled. "You're so thoughtful."

  Slipping from the bed, she padded into the bathroom, freshened up, and was about to return for her snack when she noticed a door at the far end with a fluffy mat in front of it. Her warning voice whispered she should think twice before exploring, but her curiosity won out. Turning the handle, she gently pushed, and as the bathroom light splashed into the room, she spied a row of hanging suits and shirts. She'd found his closet! Locating the light switch on the wall just inside the door, she flicked it on.

  "Wow, there are closets, and there are closets!" she exclaimed, stepping inside. "This is incredible!"

  The room was large and meticulously organized. Running the length of the wall to her left were suits and sport coats arranged by color. Against the narrower back wall, shoes in cloth bags sat in cubbyholes, and at the end of the room on the right was a door which appeared to lead into the hall. To her right were drawers, open shelves, and a floor to ceiling mirror. The crowning glory was an island in the center. Ambling past his suits and shoes, she checked the door. As she'd guessed, it opened into the passage above the stairs. Continuing around the room, she idly pulled open a drawer next to the mirror. A collection of cufflinks sat alongside a bowl of many keys, each sporting a different colored string. She couldn't imagine why he'd have so many, but losing interest, she shifted her gaze to the island. Telling herself she'd have just a quick look, she walked across to the unique piece of furniture, and slowly slid back the top drawer. It was obviously where he emptied his pockets. There were scraps of paper with scribbled telephone numbers, business cards, and odd coins in a dish, but her eyes fell upon a photograph of Duncan with a woman on a snowy mountain. Their skis leaned against their shoulders, they had their arms around each other, and they were both smiling. Turning the picture over she read the notation.

  Happy V'day. Love you, Jane.

  "V'day? Oh! Valentine's Day! But that was just a couple of months ago."

  Peering more closely, she shook her head. The woman was gorgeous.

  "I really wish I hadn't seen this," she grumbled. "I knew he wasn't a monk, but shit! He sees this picture every day!"

  Regretting the discovery, and wishing she was as beautiful as the girl in the photograph, Brittany carefully put it back and closed the drawer. Letting out a heavy sigh and trying to shake off the jealousy, she was about to leave when she noticed a cabinet at the bottom of the island with three locks running down the side.

  "I'll bet the keys in the bowl are to open this!" she exclaimed. "That's so smart! It would take forever to try them all, and only he knows which are the right ones because of the color of the strings."

  She suddenly put her hand to her head. A giddy spell had swept her up. Realizing she needed to go back to bed, she returned to the bedroom, stopping at the dresser to pick up the sandwich and milk. Climbing between the sheets, she finished the snack, popped the pill, and dropping the Melatonin under her tongue, she turned off the beside lamp and curled under the bedcovers. As she drifted back to sleep an image of Duncan floated through her mind. He was standing at the bedroom door, his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

  "Bratty Brittany, such a naughty girl. On the cruise you poked around my stateroom and were properly punished, but now you've been snooping through my things here. What am I going to do with you? You need to be taught a much stronger lesson. Clearly the first one didn't take."

  Not asleep, but not fully conscious, the vision had been frighteningly real.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Duncan had just paid his taxi and was walking up the front steps. Oftentimes a taxi was more convenient than driving, especially on a Friday night. Though the rain had diminished he was still wet, and stepping inside, he pulled off his trench coat and hung it on the antique hall tree to drip into the porcelain bowl at the base.

  The house was quiet. Abruptly overcome with a long yawn, he climbed the stairs looking forward to bed. Reaching the landing, he moved to his bedroom and peered inside. The ghostly glow of the digital clock illuminated the outline of Brittany's sleeping body, but he noticed the glass of milk had been drunk and the sandwich eaten. Though he could have entered his closet at the end of the passage, he crept across the bedroom to the bathroom to collect his toiletry bag. Gently closing the door behind him, he switched on the light and gathered what he needed, but as he turned to leave, he paused. The white, fluffy mat in front of his wardrobe was out of place.

  Moving quickly forward, he opened the door, flicked on the light and looked around. The drawer that held his cufflinks and cabinet keys sat slightly open. Shaking his head, he strode across and pushed it closed.

  "Bratty Brittany, what a naughty girl you are," he said softly. "Repeating the sins of the ship? Apparently so. I'll have to give this some thought."

  Crouching down at the back of the island, he prodded what appeared to be a solid panel. There was a soft click, and it swung open to reveal a safe. The front cabinet with the three locks was a decoy. If his home was ever burglarized it would draw the thief's attention, but if the perpetrator was successful and managed to open it, they'd be in for a very unpleasant surprise.

  Inside was some cash and pieces of paste jewelry, but the jewelry was a booby trap that triggered a spray of purple dye. It was impossible to remove without the necessary solution, and it carried a foul odor. As much as he hoped Brittany wouldn't go so far as to open a locked cabinet, it would certainly teach her a lesson if she did.

  Unbuckling his Rolex wristwatch, he placed it carefully next to his other timepieces, then closed the safe door and back panel. Leaving the closet and ambling down the hallway to the guest room, he stripped off and slipped into bed. As he turned out the light, a wicked smile crossed his lips. Brittany would be better soon, and he would enjoy showing her the error of her ways.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  It was early morning when Brittany woke up. The tickle in her throat was gone and the body aches had passed. Padding into the bathroom, she was about to take a shower when she decided on a hot bath instead. Turning on the water she noticed some bath gel in a glass container on the counter. Dropping in some dollops, she watched it bubble into foam, then moving back to the bedroom she opened her suitcase. She'd packed for a tropical cruise, not damp London weather. Finally pulling out a long-sleeved shirt, some light sweat pants, and a pair of athletic socks that would be comfortable to wear around the house, she carried them with her into the bathroom. Clipping her hair up, she slipped into the tub and sank gratefully into the hot, foamy water.

  "Brittany?"

  Duncan's voice came with a gentle knock on the bathroom door.

  "Come in."

  "You look happy," he said as he entered. "You also look a whole lot better."

  "I am happy, and I feel great. It must have been those pills you gave me and that wonderful sleep."

  "I'm very pleased to hear it."

  "Why don't you join me? There's plenty of room in here. You have a very big tub."

  "That's an invitation I can't resist," he said, quickly undressing. "Scoot forward. I'll sit behind you."

  Climbing in, he separated his legs, and she leaned back against his chest.

  "Oh, this is lovely," she purred as his arms came around her. "I could stay in here all morning."

  "Your pussy is so wet" he whispered, sliding a hand down her body and exploring her sex, "and I don't mean from the water. Such a randy girl. Randy and naughty."

  "Randy?"

  "The British word for horny, which I truly dislike."

  "I've never cared for it much either. I like randy much better."r />
  "Brittany, turn around to face me, and put your legs around my waist, but be careful," he warned, reaching out to help her.

  "This isn't so easy."

  "There. You've done it. Now stroke my cock. If you do it well I'll take you to bed and ravage you."

  "Ooh, I'll do it well, I promise," she purred, wrapping her fingers around his shaft.

  Determined to please him, she vigorously rubbed his manhood as he kneaded her breasts, tweaked her nipples, and occasionally teased her clit. The minutes ticked by, their salacious play bringing them both to a fevered pitch. Just when she was about to beg him to take her to bed, he gripped her wrist.

  "Stop. Dry off, go back into the bedroom and wait for me, but I want to find you in a provocative pose."

  "Yes, Sir," she replied breathlessly.

  Overjoyed, she carefully climbed out of the tub, and hurriedly toweling off she tried to think of a position that would please him. Leaving the bathroom, the pose came to mind. Climbing on the bed, she rested on her elbows and knees, arched her back, and spread her legs wide apart.

  "I like it," he announced, finally entering, his turgid cock sheathed in a condom, "but presenting your ass guarantees you're going to feel the sting of my hand. Is that what you want, Brittany?" he asked, climbing on the bed behind her and smoothing his hand over her naked cheeks.

  "If it pleases—"

  He landed a volley of quick, sharp smacks, cutting her off.

  "What do you say?" he asked, teasing her entrance with the tip of his member.

  "Ooh, thank you, Sir. Please will you fuck me?"

  Clutching her hips, he thrust inside her, and began to pump with strong, slow strokes.

  "I'm going to fuck you until you're wailing into that pillow."

  "Sir, it won't take long," she gasped, "especially when you say things like that!"