Red Skye at Night by Ashe Barker Page A

forehead. “This is the erogenous zone we need to work on. And I think a decent spanking would help you get your head where it needs to be.”
    “What if I like my head just as it is, thank you?”
    “Then that’s fine too. I’ll never force you, or put pressure on you to do something you really don’t want.” He tips my chin up, holding my gaze. “But, Hope, can you honestly tell me you don’t want this? That you don’t want to at least to try it? Just once?”
    I stare back at him, chewing on my lower lip. It’s a nervous habit, I know that, but I can’t seem to help it. I suspect I’ll be doing it a lot in the coming days.
    “Yes. Yes, all right.”
    “Yes, what? Yes, you can tell me you don’t want to? Or yes, let’s do it?”
    “Yes, let’s do it.”
    My reply is whispered, I can’t quite believe I’ve said it. But as soon as the words are out, I know I’m doing the right thing. The right thing for me. Harry McLeod might hurt me, challenge me, he might push my limits, but it’s high time someone did. This could be a mad, crazy idea, but no more so than agreeing to come to Scotland with a man I hardly know. A man who is turning out to be the most exciting, wonderful, vitally alive person I have ever met. A man I could love.
    “You won’t regret this, Hope. I intend to take very good care of you.”
    I believe he will. Absolutely. For as long as he’s here.
     
    * * * *
     
    We eat our chicken salad and various accompaniments picnic-style, sitting cross-legged on the huge bed, both of us wrapped in fluffy hotel towels. The food is delicious, and I’m starving. Orgasms are hungry work. By mutual but unspoken agreement, we confine the rest of our questions to the matter of sustenance.
    “Would you like the last chip?”
    “Is there any coleslaw left?”
    “Brie or red Leicester?”
    Eventually I collect the remnants of our meal back onto the tray and deposit the lot on the hall carpet outside our bedroom door. I return to the bed where Harry is already opening the road atlas at the right page.
    “So, we’re here.” He points to the little dot on the map that is Scone. “Tomorrow we head on north, and stop somewhere after about two hours. It’ll be slower going because we’re done with the freeways now. How far do you think we could do? A hundred miles or so?
    I ponder that. He’s probably about right. The roads are good, the weather not a problem. An average of fifty miles an hour or thereabouts seems doable. I can’t say I relish the prospect of driving three hundred miles a day, though, and to be expected to contend with spankings on top.
    “We can share the driving from now on. Seems fair.” Harry seems to tune in to my unspoken thought. I’m incredulous.
    “What are you on about? How can we share the driving?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “The only reason you hired me was because you can’t drive—or so you said.”
    “I think, if you recall, what I actually said was that I didn’t drive, not that I can’t. I can, and I do. And I think by now we both know I didn’t only hire you because I needed a driver. I needed you, Hope. Wanted you.”
    If I found the notion of sharing the driving difficult to comprehend, the conversation is really getting away from me now. This can’t be true. “I— You couldn’t. I mean, why? Why would a man like you want me?” I refrain from going on to say the rest of what I’m thinking— Why would a man like Harry McLeod want a plain little nobody, a grumpy cabbie with a gammy leg?
    He smiles, his expression sad. “You underrate yourself, Hope. I’ve noticed you do it a lot and we need to work on that. Can’t you just believe me when I say I took one look at you and I knew I had to have you? Would you have come with me, do you think, if I’d told you the truth? If I’d asked you to come to Scotland, to sleep with me, to fuck me, to let me give you orgasms, spank you, make you scream? Would you have said yes to all that?”