Page 8 of The Castle of Carnal Desires

I lifted myself off him and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get my wild pulse rate under control. Thank god the walls were made of stone and therefore fairly soundproofed.

As the endorphins wore off, remorse set in. Shit. Fuck. What had I done? Don’t sleep with employees or coworkers was my number one career rule.

I flew off the bed and scrambled around on the floor for my clothes. Derek just stared at me, still bound. I pulled my blouse on, and shoved my legs into my pants, before I leaned over and undid his bindings.

“Look, Derek, this was a mistake. A great mistake, but I could lose my job for this. And my job is really important to me, and I’m leaving in a few months.” I stuffed my laptop into my tote bag as I babbled. “So it would be a really bad idea to start anything. I’m sorry if I led you on but this can’t happen again. We need to be strictly professional from now on.”

I knew I was being a chicken, and I still hadn’t looked him in the eye. I bet he was giving me one of those knowing psychologist looks, or worse he looked angry or even worse again, he’d look sad. I couldn't deal with any of those things right now. I picked up my shoes and headed for the door. I was doing the walk of shame from my own damn room.

“I have to go out, and, er, work. Take your time, use the shower if you like. I’ll see you for work tomorrow.” With that I bolted out the door like my tail was on fire. I slipped into the next empty room and straightened myself up.

God, I was an idiot. What had I been thinking?

I slid my feet into my shoes, and put my pride into the trash can. I wasn’t lying though, I did have work to do, and it didn’t involve sucking face, or anything else, with the contractors.

I checked my hair in the glass of the window and left the room. I had a date with the permits office, and then I was going to find a reason to stay away from the castle for the rest of the day. My libido needed to calm down, and I had to get Derek out of my head. It was easier said than done.

I walked past Harris, who was heading toward the basement kitchen, and he raised a single eyebrow at me, like he knew. I smoothed my hand over my hair, gave him a somber nod, and prayed that the twin connection was a myth.

Chapter Four

I’d fully expected things to be weird over the next couple of days after “the incident”. I found calling it “the incident” better, because when I thought of it as “having mind blowing sex with Derek” my brain temporarily malfunctioned and I forgot why it was such a bad idea in the first place.

For his part, Derek was gracious and professional. He didn’t mention “the incident” even once, accepting my decision without trying to change my mind. I couldn't decide if I was more relieved, or annoyed that he could so easily dismiss something that had been amazing for me. Though I’d busted him more than a few times eyeing me hungrily, they were looks I chose to ignore.

Eventually, we fell into a routine, Derek, Harris and me.

Harris arrived on site at the crack of dawn with the restoration crew and worked until the sun touched the horizon. I’d struck up a pleasant working relationship with Harris that wasn't overwrought with the raw sexual tension that permeated my relationship with Derek. No, it was slow, boiling kind of heat that sat just below the surface and we both chose to ignore, for now at least. I wasn't deluding myself; there was something about watching him swing a hammer, his flannel shirt rolled up strong muscular forearms that made me go weak in the knees and resulted in me testing out the new vibrator from the sample box. I figured if I gave myself enough orgasms, I'd resist temptation. Ha.

Unlike Harris, who was all hard work and deadlines, Derek would arrive at ten, liaise with suppliers and the interior decorator, attend the official meetings that I had to attend in town, and then he’d light the fire in my room, before heading home around the same time as Harris.

That usually meant by the time that dusk had well and truly settled over Fulcairn, I was alone in the castle with nothing but the company of Netflix on my laptop and my ghostly housemate. I’d made it my mission to bring him up to date on all the classic movies of the last hundred years.

I also showed him some of what Hollywood thinks of Scotland. He’d laughed at the animated movie Brave, and scoffed at Braveheart with its historical inaccuracies, though he did chuckle when the guy got an arrow to the butt. That’s universally funny no matter what era you were from.

We would sit up late into the night, and I would have a glass of wine and he would tell me about day to day life in 17th century Scotland and I would try and explain the complexities of the internet. It was comfortable, and companionable. But like Cinderella, he would always leave me at the stroke of midnight.

I’d been in Scotland a month and I was finally comfortable. But then, Murphy’s law would say that that it was high time for everything to turn to shit.

It was the beginning of October, and snow had started to fall early for the year, and I’d given myself the day off to play in it like a child. It snowed in New York of course, but it wasn’t the same. New York City snow quickly became blackened sludge. In Fulcairn, the snow fell like a pristine white blanket. I drank hot chocolate, read a book in front of the fire I managed to maintain, and went for a walk down a snow-covered country lane. I walked for miles, and after soup and a grilled cheese, fell happily into bed.

I was sound asleep when something woke me. I couldn't say exactly why, but I was trembling all over. There was no noise, no creaking of floorboards or any other ominous noise. I slipped out of bed and put on my Ugg boots and my long dressing gown.

Creeping down the hall, LED lantern in one hand and my fire poker in the other, I slowly descended the steps. It’d probably just been a deer or something, some kind of feral cat maybe, trying to get out of the snow and their scratching woke me.

I edged around the corner in the kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief when it was empty. Maybe I’d just had a nightmare and confused my sleeping and waking worlds. Sometimes that happened. I was a very vivid sleeper.

I put the kettle on and set out a mug. Now I was awake and in the kitchen, I may as well make the most of it.

The stillness of the night was soothing, so different from the twenty-four hour hustle and bustle of New York. I steeped my tea and raised it to my lips. I could get used to the silence.

Almost on the tail of that though, the sound of shattering glass came from another room. It was so jarring that I jumped, my tea spilling on my lap.

“Fuck!” I bolted off the stool and tore my pj pants off of my scalded skin. Another noise echoed from the front room and I picked up my fire poker again. I edged toward the front entryway, and I could hear my heart thundering in my ears. I stepped around the corner, brandishing my poker like a baseball bat, but there was only shadows and darkness.

Glass was shattered all over the stone floor, and I briefly wondered if the wind had blown out the aging glass. Then I saw the rock.

“Son of a bitch!” I ran toward the door, heedless of the glass in my anger, and wrenched it open. And then screamed.

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