Sure Thing

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Sure Thing

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-883-8

  ©Copyright Ashe Barker 2013

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2013

  Edited by Sarah Smeaton

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2013 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Melting and a Sexometer of 3.

  This story contains 174 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 9 pages.

  Sure Mastery

  SURE THING

  Ashe Barker

  Book two in the Sure Mastery series

  He wants her body, but will she surrender her soul too? Despite her fears, is submission her only choice?

  As their relationship deepens, Ashley is terrified and fascinated by her enigmatic lover, and drawn towards the seductive promise of surrender to him. But she’s escaped one abusive relationship, and it cost her dearly. How can she be sure that the exquisite pain promised by her dominant, masterful partner will be any more acceptable? And will the pleasure be worth the price? Should she take a risk? Will the reward be there for her?

  He wants her, but he wants her surrender too. And Tom Shore knows just how to make that happen. He uses his sensual expertise and talent to arouse her desire, but will he be able to he win back her trust? Sure mastery leads to absolute surrender—or does it?

  As Ashley reaches tentatively for happiness, is it about to be brutally snatched away? Might she still find a way to forgive Tom and move on? Despite their past, can they build a future together, or even just settle for here and now? As her Master strengthens his sensual hold on her, Ashley has to make her choice.

  Dedication

  As always, this book is dedicated to John, to Hannah, and to Elsie. And to survivors.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Land Rover: Jaguar Land Rover Automotive PLC

  Smarties: Nestlé S.A.

  Nike: Nike, Inc.

  iPhone: Apple, Inc.

  La Senza: L Brands, Inc.

  Next: Next plc

  Farmer’s Weekly: Reed Business Information

  Marks and Spencer: Marks and Spencer plc

  Harvey Nichols: Dickson Concepts (International) Ltd.

  Schuh: Genesco Ltd.

  Planet: Jacques Vert Group Ltd

  Clio: Renault S.A.

  Sky Sports: British Sky Broadcasting

  Levi’s: Levi Strauss & Co.

  Tesco: Tesco PLC

  Post-it: 3M Company

  Jacuzzi: Jacuzzi Hot Tubs, Inc.

  Chapter One

  “No, keep still, Barney.” I try to grab hold of the huge dog’s collar, force him to remain curled up next to me. But he’s wriggling, determined suddenly to be up. To be off. He’s leaving me. Leaving me here on my own.

  “No, Barney, please come back. Please stay.” My voice is no more than a whisper. I should try to summon up some sort of commanding presence, sufficient to make the dog obey me, but that’s well beyond my powers just now. Well beyond my powers even on a good day, probably. And he weighs at least three times what I do, there’s no way I can make him stay if he’s decided he’s had enough of shivering out here in the snow. And it seems he has.

  The huge dog is standing a few feet away, alert, staring into the darkness. I can just make out his outline, a massive black shadow against the midnight-blue inky sky. He looks as though he’s about to charge after something, something I can’t see. Leaving me alone, to freeze to death, out here on the moors. I hunch up, squeezing myself back into a tiny ball in some sort of puny attempt to ward off the cold permeating every part of me now that the warmth of the huge dog has gone.

  My head almost shatters at the loud, booming bark. He doesn’t make much noise, as a rule, for such a large beast, but when he decides to let rip Barney has a decent pair of lungs on him. He barks again and I cover my ears, trying to prevent the top of my head erupting.

  “Barney! Barney! Where are you, lad?”

  The dog barks again, loud, booming, ear-splitting.

  “Barney! Barney!” Not my voice, but familiar.

  Who…? How…?

  Then a flash of light. I realize my eyes are open and I slam them shut, feeling rather than seeing Barney suddenly take off into the gloom. His frantic barks are more distant now, and the other voice is out there too. Nearby. Coming nearer.

  “Good lad, good boy. Where is she then. Show me.”

  What? Who? Tom!

  It’s Tom, he’s found me. I hear the rumble of an engine, the sharp, searing flash of blinding light bouncing everywhere as the Land Rover comes over the crest of a nearby mound, just ahead of me and to my right. The lights circle, sweeping the hillside until I’m caught in them. Caught between joy and relief and absolute agony as my eyes scream and threaten to melt in their sockets. I turn to the wall beside me, press my face against it. Seconds later strong hands are on my shoulders, turning me.

  I spin toward him, grabbing his sweatshirt in my cold fists, keeping my eyes screwed up tight as I try to crawl inside his unzipped waxed jacket, seeking both warmth and darkness. And I’m so desperately, pathetically glad he’s here.

  “It’s okay, babe, I’ve got you.” His arms are around me, holding me, his hands running up and down my back as if to rub warmth into me. For a few seconds we just cling to each other. Then Tom seems to recall the business in hand. “What’s happened? Why are you still up here so late? Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head briefly. And moan with the pain even that slight movement causes me. His hands tighten around me. “Ashley, tell me, babe, tell me what’s wrong.” The relief has gone from his tone, to be replaced by anxiety.

  “Migraine,” I breathe the one word, my voice the barest whisper.

  “Migraine? What the hell…?”

&n
bsp; His exclamation resounds around my head like a bullet ricocheting. I whimper, actually whimper as I try to burrow deeper into his jacket.

  “Please, no noise, no light. I can’t… I can’t…”

  And the penny drops. His voice low, quiet and calm now, he starts to sort out what’s to be done. “Ah, right.” Then, “Can you stand, love?”

  “No. And please, don’t make any noise. Please, just take me home. Please.”

  Again, he has to strain to hear me, but he manages it. Somehow. And he understands. No more words are spoken as he lifts me easily, carries me to the Land Rover. I yelp as the slam of the door clatters through my fragile skull, then I lean back against the seat, my eyes still closed. The vicious din echoes again and I hear the clatter of large dog paws on the flatbed behind me as Barney leaps into the Land Rover too. Then comes the slam of Tom’s door as he slips into the driver’s seat. I brace for the sound of the engine firing up and I’m not disappointed. Groaning, I cover my face with my hands, curling back up into a fetal ball on the passenger seat.

  Tom slips his arms out of his jacket and places it over me, pulling it right over my head to keep out light and muffle any noise. I hug it gratefully to me, finding some comfort in the musky Tom smell coming off the fleecy lining. And then I’m aware of the movement, the rocking and bumping as the Land Rover turns, making its way slowly and surely back down the hillside. The warm breeze of the heater fills the vehicle. Tom turns it up full to help thaw my frigid bones. Despite the sound of the fan I’m grateful for the comfort it offers.

  Eventually the rolling and bumping gives way to the smooth purr of tires on tarmac and I know we must have reached the road. Just a few more moments and I’ll be back at my cottage. I’ll be able to crawl, at last, into my bed. Hide under my duvet until my world levels out again, the lights stop flashing and my brain stops bouncing around inside my skull. Sure enough, the Land Rover soon rolls to a stop. Tom leaps out and comes round to my side to open my door, help me out. I hang onto him with one hand, the other maintaining my death grip on his jacket to protect my eyes from any chinks of light.

  He doesn’t speak, just lifts me again, carries me effortlessly up the path and through the door. I note, idly, that he obviously still carries the key to my cottage on him, and these days I find that notion not so troubling at all. My near-panic of earlier as I relived the trauma of that spanking seems so long ago now—now that he’s here again, holding me and helping me. I feel Tom’s gait alter. He takes the stairs, a few more paces and I’m gently placed on the bed. I’m intending to just crawl under the covers fully dressed, but Tom is untying the laces of my walking shoes, then he eases them gently from my feet. He follows this by unrolling my socks, before reaching up to unfasten my jeans. I have a moment of unease, then lie still and let him slide the denims down my legs. Only then does he gently lift the jacket from over my head.

  I let it go, my eyes remaining tight shut as he unzips my all-weather jacket and peels that off too. Apparently that’s enough because he reaches under me to pull back the duvet and I roll into the soft, warm, dark comfort of…his bed.

  Not my bed. Not Smithy’s Forge. I’m at Greystones. Back here in Tom Shore’s huge bed. And it feels absolutely wonderful.

  I roll over and promptly fall asleep.

  No sooner does it seem I’ve sunk into the deep, silent blackness that I so desperately need, than I’m awakened by voices. And light. I struggle down under the duvet, try to hide, to bury myself.

  “Sorry, love. The doctor’s here. Just a quick check-up, make sure you’re okay.” Tom’s voice is gentle, soothing. I can feel his weight alongside me as he sits on the edge of the bed.

  It’s nice that he cares. More than nice. But Christ! No way am I coming out. “Turn the bloody lights off. Please…” My voice has dropped to a whimper.

  A few seconds pass, then, “Right, the room’s dark. Can you talk to me, Miss McAllister?” It’s a female voice, sounds quite young.

  I tentatively slide the duvet down from around my head to peer out. Sure enough, the room is in darkness, but I can make out Tom close to me. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and helps me to sit up.

  Keeping his voice to a low murmur he explains, “I know you said it was migraine, and it’ll pass, but I couldn’t not call the doctor. You’ve been stranded on the moors in the cold for a couple of hours. I just want to know there’s nothing else wrong. Okay, sweetheart?”

  “Okay.” She’s had a wasted journey, but I guess he had no real choice. I’d have done the same.

  “Can I just check you over? It won’t take long?”

  The soft, polite tone is persuasive, and I bow to the inevitable. The next few minutes are spent having a cold stethoscope shoved up my top, my pulse and blood pressure checked, a thermometer in my ear, and one agonizing moment when she shined a light in my eyes. I’d suffered pretty much in silence up until then, but that had been more than I could bear. I just screamed and stuck my head back in the pillow.

  “I’m sorry. That’s me done now. And you do seem to be all right except for the migraine. Do you normally take anything for it?”

  “Yes, Amitriptyline,” I mutter. “I ran out…”

  “I’ll give you a prescription. Won’t help much now but should prevent it coming back. Are you registered with the practice?”

  “No, not yet…” I don’t elaborate on my failed attempt to get taken on as a patient at the surgery in the village.

  “Well, either register with us if you’re staying in the area, or see your own GP about long-term medication. I’ll prescribe some painkillers too.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter, already drifting back off to sleep. I’m only dimly aware of Tom thanking her for coming all the way out here, and the rustle of paper as he obviously takes my prescription from her. I hear the door gently click shut, then it’s all silent once more.

  * * * *

  I wake again some time later, my head still pounding. I try an experimental and somewhat optimistic peep out from under my pillow and crack my eyes open ever so slightly. The room’s still in darkness but the constant throbbing behind my eyes is enough to convince me I need to stay where I am a good bit longer yet. I burrow back down, rolling onto my side.

  And come up against the strong, warm, hard body that is Tom Shore.

  Surprised, confused, I make to back off, not wanting to disturb him. He reaches for me, places his hand on my shoulder then strokes me gently, sliding his palm softly down my arm.

  “You okay, babe?”

  The soft voice is sleepy, but I know he’s awake, aware. And still taking care of me.

  “Yes,” I whisper and drift back to sleep.

  * * * *

  The next time I awaken I know I’m alone. The space where Tom slept is empty, cool, and despite the closed curtains I can tell it’s daylight. Morning. And I’m still alive. Warm. Too warm. I realize I’m still wearing my thick sweatshirt and cotton T-shirt, and my underwear. But more importantly, the searing pain behind my eyes has dulled to a sharp throb. The daylight is uncomfortable but bearable. The worst has passed.

  Gently, gingerly, I ease myself to a sitting position. Beside me, on the bedside table, are two white tablets—painkillers I assume—and a glass of water. Tom must have been out somewhere and got my prescription filled. Feeling inordinately grateful I slug the medication down and swallow hard. And realize straight away that I need the loo. I need it now. I climb out of bed and, unsteady, head toward the bedroom door, then along the upstairs landing to the bathroom. The house is echoing, empty. I know without checking downstairs that Tom must be out, on the farm somewhere. No problem, I’m not ready for company just yet. I quickly do what I have to do and make my way back to bed.

  When I get there I find I have company after all in the shape of a huge, black and brown furry dog. Barney must have been in the room somewhere, or maybe out on the landing, and has now decided to make himself comfortable on the bed. I shrug, decide to let Tom take the matter of sle
eping arrangements up with Barney later if he wants to. I owe this dog, big style. He can stay as far as I’m concerned. I quickly strip off the rest of my clothes and loosen my hair from the plait I wove it into yesterday morning, a lifetime ago, before I left my cottage to head off up the moors. Naked, I climb into bed and snuggle under the duvet.

  * * * *

  The next time I wake up I feel fine. Absolutely fine. Better than fine, even. The room is in darkness again, it must be night time once more. And the migraine is gone, gone without a trace. I’ve battled with migraine all my life, and however many times it strikes me down I never cease to be amazed at how quickly, and totally, it passes. Astonishing that just twenty-four hours ago I was so helpless, so weak I couldn’t even make my way down the moors, couldn’t find my own way home if my life depended on it—which it did. I couldn’t even stand.

  And without a shadow of doubt I know I’d be dead but for Barney. And Tom. Barney who pulled me to the best shelter around, and stayed with me, kept me warm. And Tom who somehow knew where to look and came to find me. I lie still, contemplating what so nearly happened. I’ll never, ever forget what the pair of them did for me yesterday.

  But this is today, now, and I feel good. I want to be up. I want Tom. There’s so much I need to say, about yesterday, and about today too. And tomorrow. But first, I need the loo again.

  I meet Tom at the top of the stairs as I come out of the bathroom, clutching a mug of steaming coffee. His head is cocked to one side, his eyebrows raised in some surprise but obvious appreciation that I’m naked and wandering shamelessly around his house. I pad wordlessly past him, back into his bedroom, and he follows me in. He sets the mug down on the bedside table, only just in time as I launch myself at him.

  Startled, he catches me as I straddle his waist, clutching his wonderful latter-day Viking face between my hands and sink my lips onto his. In true Viking fashion he recovers from the surprise admirably and within seconds his tongue is in my mouth. I have a moment’s relief that I had the foresight to clean my teeth when I went to the bathroom just now, then I’m bouncing backwards onto the bed.