one side, she
threw herself down on the bed, and the heavy satin throw and decorative pillow
enveloped her. She stroked over the luxurious fabric and sighed. Once, many
years ago, on a trip to Italy, she’d had a night of mind-blowing sex in a
four-poster bed. Marcello had introduced her to the delights of a firm hand and
some carefully tied restraints. They had messaged back and forth for a while
when she returned to England but life took over and Marcello soon became a
distant memory.
Her
room, unlike the rest of the castle, had a cosy feeling to it, its thick velvet
curtains and dark wood adding warmth to the grey stone. The bed canopy was the
same red material as the curtains and Samantha fought the urge to untie them
and hide away from the world. Why was it that daytime was the only time she
could sleep on her own?
Maybe
Annie was right, maybe she did need to find another man, preferably one like
Marcello. It was not like she’d made any attempts to meet anyone since her
split from David six months ago. Bloody hell, had it really been that long? No
wonder she couldn’t sleep. She sat up abruptly. She needed to get laid.
Next
weekend, she decided. Next weekend, she’d persuade the girls to go out on the
town and she’d find herself a nice man for the night. Laughing at herself, she
climbed off the bed and unzipped her suitcase, flinging her clothes over the
dark chair that occupied one corner of the room. Yeah, right. Samantha had
never done one-night stands and she doubted she was going to start now she was
nearing her thirties. What’s more, she’d never find the dominant man she was
after.
Pausing
to stare out of the window, she conceded the Inverrock loch was beautiful - at
least in an eerie way. Surrounded by mountains and rocks, she imagined on a
sunny day it would be breath-taking.
A
flash of something caught her eye and she pressed her nose against the cold
glass. Tartan . She was sure she had just seen the flick of a kilt
rounding the corner of the castle. But Aileen had said they were the only
guests. Maybe it was one of the actors or something.
Another
yawn overtook her and Samantha slumped back down on the bed. They were going to
be up late hunting ghosts so she might as well close her eyes for a bit. Images
of hunky kilted men swam before her eyes as she sunk into slumber.
***
Jolting
upright, Samantha clutched at her chest as her heart raced.
“Sam,”
Lucy called through the door as she bashed at it. “Are you coming?”
Glancing
around, she realised the room was shrouded in darkness. Pushing down that
stupid feeling of someone being behind her as she fumbled for the light switch,
she slipped on her trainers and lifted the latch on the door.
“Come
on, we’ll be late for dinner.”
Looking
Lucy up and down, Samantha glanced at her worn jeans. “Shit, Lucy, I didn’t
realise we were dressing for dinner.”
“Well,
hurry up and dress. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Nodding,
she slammed the door and scurried over to the chair where she’d abandoned her
clothes. Flinging off her jeans and jumper, she grabbed her red dress and
slipped it over her head before smoothing down her hair and slashing some
lipstick across her mouth. Manoeuvring her cleavage into place, she flicked a
look in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. Not bad for five minutes. The
red set off her blonde hair and pale skin nicely and the tight bust of the
dress emphasised her pert breasts.
A
breeze fluttered between her thighs and she remembered she hadn’t put any
knickers on yet - a habit she’d got into recently when wearing trousers.
Flinging her clothes off the chair, she scowled. She had packed a pair surely?
Wrenching open her suitcase, she shook her head. Obviously not. Oh well, if it
was good enough for a Scotsman, it was good enough for her. Besides, her skirt
was fairly long, brushing just above her knees and it was not like there was
anyone to flash. The girls had seen it all before and probably
threw herself down on the bed, and the heavy satin throw and decorative pillow
enveloped her. She stroked over the luxurious fabric and sighed. Once, many
years ago, on a trip to Italy, she’d had a night of mind-blowing sex in a
four-poster bed. Marcello had introduced her to the delights of a firm hand and
some carefully tied restraints. They had messaged back and forth for a while
when she returned to England but life took over and Marcello soon became a
distant memory.
Her
room, unlike the rest of the castle, had a cosy feeling to it, its thick velvet
curtains and dark wood adding warmth to the grey stone. The bed canopy was the
same red material as the curtains and Samantha fought the urge to untie them
and hide away from the world. Why was it that daytime was the only time she
could sleep on her own?
Maybe
Annie was right, maybe she did need to find another man, preferably one like
Marcello. It was not like she’d made any attempts to meet anyone since her
split from David six months ago. Bloody hell, had it really been that long? No
wonder she couldn’t sleep. She sat up abruptly. She needed to get laid.
Next
weekend, she decided. Next weekend, she’d persuade the girls to go out on the
town and she’d find herself a nice man for the night. Laughing at herself, she
climbed off the bed and unzipped her suitcase, flinging her clothes over the
dark chair that occupied one corner of the room. Yeah, right. Samantha had
never done one-night stands and she doubted she was going to start now she was
nearing her thirties. What’s more, she’d never find the dominant man she was
after.
Pausing
to stare out of the window, she conceded the Inverrock loch was beautiful - at
least in an eerie way. Surrounded by mountains and rocks, she imagined on a
sunny day it would be breath-taking.
A
flash of something caught her eye and she pressed her nose against the cold
glass. Tartan . She was sure she had just seen the flick of a kilt
rounding the corner of the castle. But Aileen had said they were the only
guests. Maybe it was one of the actors or something.
Another
yawn overtook her and Samantha slumped back down on the bed. They were going to
be up late hunting ghosts so she might as well close her eyes for a bit. Images
of hunky kilted men swam before her eyes as she sunk into slumber.
***
Jolting
upright, Samantha clutched at her chest as her heart raced.
“Sam,”
Lucy called through the door as she bashed at it. “Are you coming?”
Glancing
around, she realised the room was shrouded in darkness. Pushing down that
stupid feeling of someone being behind her as she fumbled for the light switch,
she slipped on her trainers and lifted the latch on the door.
“Come
on, we’ll be late for dinner.”
Looking
Lucy up and down, Samantha glanced at her worn jeans. “Shit, Lucy, I didn’t
realise we were dressing for dinner.”
“Well,
hurry up and dress. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Nodding,
she slammed the door and scurried over to the chair where she’d abandoned her
clothes. Flinging off her jeans and jumper, she grabbed her red dress and
slipped it over her head before smoothing down her hair and slashing some
lipstick across her mouth. Manoeuvring her cleavage into place, she flicked a
look in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. Not bad for five minutes. The
red set off her blonde hair and pale skin nicely and the tight bust of the
dress emphasised her pert breasts.
A
breeze fluttered between her thighs and she remembered she hadn’t put any
knickers on yet - a habit she’d got into recently when wearing trousers.
Flinging her clothes off the chair, she scowled. She had packed a pair surely?
Wrenching open her suitcase, she shook her head. Obviously not. Oh well, if it
was good enough for a Scotsman, it was good enough for her. Besides, her skirt
was fairly long, brushing just above her knees and it was not like there was
anyone to flash. The girls had seen it all before and probably
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