Secrets Learned
What happens at Diomhair, stays there. Pleasure or pain? Mimi needs to know and Alex wants to show her.
When Mimi Leman is asked to go to a ‘Meet the Dom and chat to a sub’ night at her local BDSM club, little does she know what she’ll find.
Curious? Oh yes. Interested? She’s not sure.
After all, she’s anti pain and a BDSM virgin. Mimi knows things will go either badly wrong or perfectly right and has no idea which.
It’s up to scribing artist Alex Sunderland to ensure it’s the latter. He’s everyone’s idea of how a Dom should be—even Mimi can see that—but is he the one to show her the lifestyle?
Alex is intrigued by Mimi and is sure that deep down she’s the perfect sub…for him.
Mimi wants to be, but can she conquer her fear of pain and let herself fly?
Only trying will tell.
Secrets Dispelled
Diomhair—Secret. What happens there stays there. Whether you want to learn or teach, be in control or controlled, Diomhair could be the place for you.
Nothing in life is easy.
Finn was a gamekeeper, not a sub…
Or so she thought.
Not only that, she had enough on her plate coping with a play-away boss and his sex life, missing sheep, and someone out to harm her.
As for a growing attraction for a man she hadn’t got time for?
There was no way she was going to examine, let alone act on, those feelings. She didn’t want a Dom, not even him. It was time to harden her heart.
Coll was a Dom, and he knew it. He also knew that given the chance, Finn would fly for him. Mind you, as she seemed to either threaten him with a shotgun or disappear whenever they met, he despaired that he would never get that chance.
However, when circumstances throw them together, it’s up to Coll to show Finn she’s a perfect sub, and he’s the Dom for her.
All the while keeping her safe from her enemies.
Not too much to ask, is it?
Reader Advisory: This book contains references to scribing, wax play and public exhibition.
General Release Date: 3rd May 2016
Secrets Learned
“Er, you want me to do what?” Dominique Leman—Mimi to her friends—stared at the ingratiating, smiling, slimy guy on the other side of the table and wondered if she kicked hard enough she’d reach his balls and knock some of the ‘great I am’ out of him. Mind you, knowing her aim, she’d get the inoffensive elderly gentleman next to him or the tall, talkative, younger woman on the other side.
Him, though? Talk about smug and self-satisfied. If there was an Olympic medal in it, he’d win the gold.
Eric Lonnergan, deputy head of the forum, rocked his chair on two legs, put his hands high above his head and stretched and smiled. His shirt—bright enough to give her a migraine and two decades too young for him, in an obviously slim-fit style—stretched over his luckily flat stomach. She’d hate to see him naked. Mimi reckoned he’d be pigeon chested and have spindly legs. That was as bad as a beer belly in her opinion.
Now that builder guy I saw on the roof next door would look good naked. I wish I’d seen his face. She was sucker for a guy with shoulder length dark hair and a killer body.
“Are you listening or in a world of your own?” Eric snapped.
The woman next to him at the large oval table opened her eyes wide but didn’t speak. Two or three of the other people nearby shifted in their seats. Out of the eight adults in the tiny, cream-painted and overly bland room, only he seemed happy with his attitude.
He, of course, Mimi thought, was so full of himself he didn’t notice. He was more concerned with making sure he struck a pose.
With him sitting in such a position, the material of Eric’s shirt was sadly more than form fitting and she couldn’t take her eyes off one ‘shall I stay or shall I go’ button, half in and half out of its buttonhole. No wonder her mind had wandered.
“This is important.” He stared at each person in turn. “It’s the integrity of our community that’s at stake here.”
I could maybe just kick the chair legs now.
“Mimi, are you listening? I said, I’m sure you can do it.” He brought one hand down to stroke his tummy like an owner did to a favorite dog. “We have faith in your ability to do what’s right.”
We? Who the hell is we? Pompous ass. At least he’s not touching me.
“Just go and see the place and put in a report that it should be shut down.” He held out his spare hand toward her, across the table. Mimi ignored it. Clammy was an understatement. She never shook hands with him if she could help it. Their first meeting as a new member of staff and the headmaster had been enough. As soon as she’d pulled her hand away, Mimi had immediately wanted to go to the bathroom. How she’d resisted wiping her palm on her skirt she never knew. If he’d been headmaster when she’d been offered the job, she would have turned it down. However, he’d started at the same time as she did. As he had worked at another school nearby, as a deputy head, it was a step up for him, and Mimi was darned sure it had gone to his head.
Eric frowned, twitched his fingers and withdrew his arm to rest his hand over the one still caressing his midriff. God knew why he was so fond of it. It was mundane in the extreme.
“Why?” Mimi asked now. She should have known the slimy asshole had more than a cup of coffee on his mind when he’d asked her to meet him before the forum convened. She’d been wary of him and his ‘I am God’ attitude ever since she’d been introduced to him. With good reason, it seemed. Mindful of the fact he wasn’t called Octopus Eric without justification—those wandering hands were clammy—she had made her apologies and said no. Now maybe it would have been better to have met him, sat well out of arm’s length and told him what she thought of his idea and where to stick it. Instead he’d hit her with the request halfway through the meeting.
Was it really better to be forewarned and forearmed? Probably, though Mimi was surprised at the frisson of excitement that coursed through her. Not that she intended to show it to him, of all people. She suddenly realized she didn’t trust Eric as far as she could throw him. And she had a shit throwing arm.
“Why?” He actually harrumphed. Mimi hadn’t heard anyone under sixty make that sort of noise. “Well, it corrupts, and we don’t want such things going on around here.” His hectoring tone made someone titter and his cheeks reddened as he dropped his chair onto all four legs with a thump. “You don’t need to see it properly. Just go and check the door or something, then put in your report. You won’t be lying about having been there now, will you?” He looked around the room once more, as if daring anyone to contradict him. No one did, although Mimi decided several people seemed distinctly uncomfortable.
Unethical or what?
Secrets Dispelled
Finula Baine sneezed and swore. Whoever said Scotland would be a better place to live and work than her homeland of Eire was wrong. Oh so very wrong.
Oh, the scenery was startlingly beautiful, lush and green. The loch waters deep and mysterious, the mountains high and majestic, and the glens tree-lined and full of secrets from the past. She often thought it was just as well she was pragmatic and not susceptible to flights of fancy, or she’d spend most of the time looking over her shoulder for kelpies and things that went bump in the night.
Not that she’d had a lot of time to assimilate the scenery or wonder about spirits of any kind. She’d arrived, worked around five weeks, then been called home to help her mum through her last months. Luckily her employers—her real employers not the waste of space who was her immediate boss—had held her job open for her, and here she was, almost a year down the line and one week into gainful employment once more.
And still cursing the waste of space, whom she’d deemed lacking before she left and had no reason to change her opinion about now she was back. The man who, no doubt, was at that precise moment in his warm bed with his girlfriend. While his wife was away with their children, and his sidekick—i.e. her—was standing in the sleet and rain and thinking dire thoughts.
Finn sneezed and flicked sleet off the end of her nose. What the hell were they doing with sleet and hail in August anyway? It was ridiculous. Oh, she knew the locals said one season’s frost didn’t finish until after the next seasons had begun, which was crazy, but sleet and hail? What next, a full-blown snowstorm? An earthquake or a volcano springing up in Loch Lomond?
She stamped her feet, amused at her fanciful thoughts, but not at her situation as she watched the icy droplets bounce up and dance around like dervishes whilst she cursed bosses, weather and sheep alike. What on earth was she doing looking for a dozen or so bloody sheep out of hundreds? Why didn’t she just wait out the storm in her cozy cottage with a cup of coffee and a good book?
Because I have a conscience. And because she knew something was wrong, even if she had no tangible facts. Sheep might be stupid and get through so-called impregnable fences, but not to the extent they had been lately. As the quote went, something was rotten in the state of Denmark, or in this case, on the estate of Diomhair.
Last year pheasant poults had mysteriously disappeared and this year, just as she came back to work, it was sheep. Luckily for her, though not for the estate, the missing sheep had started to disappear before she returned. Finn was damned sure she wasn’t taking the blame for dirty goings-on. Hence she was standing in a sleet storm, sneezing and swearing about her boss, sheep and waterproof boots that weren’t, and unable to see more than three feet in front of her.
Finn sneezed again, cursed like a navvy and decided enough was enough. If someone were around and up to no good, she wouldn’t be able to see them anyway. She’d head home, have a warm bath and some soup, and if the weather cleared up, come out again before it got dark. If not? As it wasn’t something she’d ever mention to Donny her shit-faced boss, Finn couldn’t see why it would matter. Except to Finn and her conscience.
She swung onto the quad bike and after a few coughs and splutters, it roared into life. It seemed it liked sleet as little as she did. Of course there was a nice, shiny new bike in the shed at the farm, but according to the man himself, that was for Donny to use—if he ever decided to get off his butt, out of his bed and behave as a responsible adult should.
And that’s as likely as me winning the lotto. She didn’t do the lotto.
Of course she could complain to Lachy, the head gamekeeper, about Donny, but really if she couldn’t pull up her big girl panties and sort it out herself, she shouldn’t be doing the job. Yes, Donny was an arsehole, but she’d dealt with them before, and would do again. If the sod ever reappeared.
After 30 plus years in Scotland, Raven now lives near the east Yorkshire coast, with her long-suffering husband, who is used to rescuing the dinner, when she gets immersed in her writing, keeping her coffee pot warm and making sure the wine is chilled.
With a new home to decorate and a garden to plan, she’s never short of things to do, but writing is always at the top of her list.
Her other hobbies include walking along the coast and spotting the wildlife, reading, researching, cros stitch and trying not to drop stitches as she endeavours to knit.
Being left-handed, and knitting right-handed, that’s not always easy.
She loves hearing from her readers, either via her website, by email or social media.
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