The Mistress
He rested his forehead against hers.
“You didn’t.”
Part Six
PROMOTION
40
THE QUEEN
The day Søren and Kingsley saved her was the best day of her life. And like all her best days, Nora spent it entirely in bed. The day after she woke up to an empty bed and a note from Søren on his pillow that simply read “Running.”
She smiled at the note. Running. Of course he was. Grace brought her breakfast and they spent a good hour catching up. She’d liked Grace from the moment she’d met her all those months ago at her house—liked her so much that it made it impossible for Nora to put up any kind of fight for Zach. Of course he belonged with Grace. She knew it the second she saw that beautiful scared, brave Welsh redhead standing on her porch. Nora offered to help Grace with the breakfast dishes but Grace told her to stay in bed—Søren’s orders.
A few hours later Søren returned from his long run and brought her lunch. He spent a good hour after lunch massaging the unbruised parts of her body. Two days cuffed and tied up in weird positions had left her more sore than she’d ever been in her life. And for a woman like her, who’d lived the life she’d lived, that was saying something.
At dinnertime, Grace showed up again with more food.
“I’m loving this room service,” Nora said as Grace handed her a mug of tea. “But I feel like I’m being quarantined. I don’t think ‘kidnap victim’ is an illness that’s catching.”
“Your priest has ordered all of us to leave you alone.” Grace blushed a little and Nora narrowed her eyes at her. “I don’t think any of us are brave enough to countermand his orders.”
“Countermand away. He went for another run.”
Grace sat on the bed next to Nora’s hip.
“Another one? Didn’t he go running this morning?”
Nora nodded. “Yeah. He’s feeling a bit pent-up.”
“Pent-up?”
As she sipped at her tea, Nora tried to figure out a way of putting the matter to Grace delicately. Then she remembered she was Nora Sutherlin and didn’t ever put anything delicately.
“I mean, he’s horny.”
Grace nearly choked on her tea. She coughed to clear her throat.
“What? Priests get horny, too,” Nora reminded her. “He’s a sadist so that complicates the whole sex thing. I’m a wreck. He’ll be giving me the kid glove treatment for weeks. Kingsley’s a wreck. He needs stitches, but Søren says he won’t hold still long enough to let anyone take care of him. When Søren gets like this, and he can’t punish someone else, he punishes himself. Hence the running. We need to get him a sub.”
“A sub? You mean—”
“A submissive. Kink is like Søren’s lithium. It’s a mood stabilizer for a lot of people. Half my clients came to me for medical reasons—not sexual. Without kink Søren gets...difficult.”
“Difficult?”
“Cranky. Grumpy. Surly. Pick a synonym for bitchy.”
“Fascinating. So he needs a submissive to play with?”
“If by ‘play with’ you mean ‘beat the shit out of,’ yes. Wish you could order a sub and get one delivered. The people, not the sandwiches.”
“I can’t imagine anyone would charge him a single pence for the privilege of spending the night with him.”
“Not for him, no. Søren practically has to beat the subs off with a stick. And he does sometimes.”
“I can certainly see why.”
Nora narrowed her eyes at Grace. Grace seemed to notice the scrutiny as a blush started on the center of her pale, freckled cheeks and spread to her ears.
“You have a crush on my priest,” Nora said.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“You totally do.”
“Nora, I’m married.”
“You’re human. Don’t deny it. I’m not the jealous type. Kind of the opposite actually. More the ‘either let me watch or give me all the details after’ type.”
Nora fell silent as Grace looked away and stared out the window and down the road. Was she waiting for Søren to return? Probably.
“He got to you, didn’t he?”
Grace shook her head. “I told you—I’m happily married and that’s the end of the discussion.”
“Grace, I was kidnapped and held at gunpoint. I could have died. You can at least answer my question.”
“You’re playing the ‘I was kidnapped’ card?”
“Yes, and I will keep playing it as long as I can.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Do you want to see the soccer-ball-size bruise on my side from where I got kicked?”
Nora raised her eyebrow at Grace and waited.
“Spit it out, Red.”
“Your priest is magnificent beyond words and I’m a poet. I should have the words. I...rejoice is the only word I can come up with, knowing he’s real and he’s on this earth. He has a holiness to him that I feel in my spirit, in my soul. He went to die for you, and that is a great and mighty thing. I feel scattered around him and yet blessed. If he sat on a throne, I would sit at his feet. This feeling isn’t even romantic or sexual. It’s simply...” She paused and raised her empty hands. She’d run out of words. Nora knew the feeling. “And, Nora...I don’t even like blonds.”