Can Eva outrun the secrets of her past, or is surrender her only choice?
Eva Byrne’s first encounter with the darker side of Nathan Darke’s sensuality ends in disaster. Frightened, hurt, betrayed, she struggles to regather her shattered confidence—in him, and in herself.
Desperate to continue her journey of exploration and self-discovery, Eva has to convince a skeptical Nathan that she’s worth the trouble. And that she can learn to submit to him. When she is forced to reveal elements of her past she has preferred to keep hidden, both her brilliance and her vulnerability are laid bare. Will Nathan accept Eva as she is, and help her to become the woman she longs to be, or will she face yet another rejection?
Terrified and intrigued in equal measure, Nathan has no idea how to deal with the exquisitely enigmatic Eva Byrne. Should he cut his losses and run, or allow their relationship to continue, and watch as Eva’s delicate beauty unfurls in his hands?
Fascinated and ensnared by Nathan, Eva longs to taste what he offers and her erotic journey continues. But how much will she have to surrender to him in order to liberate her own desires?
Reader Advisory: This book contains explicit scenes of dominance and submission, including sex toys, pain play, anal play, nipple clamps, spanking and restraints.
Publisher's Note: This book is best read in sequence as part of a serial. Some of the characters in this book also appear in Ashe Barker’s other serials. These serials can all standalone, but are best enjoyed in order: The Dark Side, Sure Mastery, The Hardest Word, A Richness of Swallows.
General Release Date: 12th April 2016
Mist. Dim, cloudy, swirling. Pain, intense pain, burning, searing pain. A voice, harsh, angry, cursing words. Lifting, moving. “No, stop, please… Hurts.”
“Sorry, angel. Christ, I’m sorry. Lie still, let me help you.” Soft, comfortable, gentle hands, soothing, cool.
“Aah!” More sharp pain intruding, spearing, trust-breaking. I sob, struggle. I need to escape.
“Easy, love, you’re going to be okay, I’ve got you…”
Darkness again, sweet, silent darkness. I float, drifting, escaping…
* * * *
I wake. The room is in semi-darkness, the heavy curtains closed to shut out most of the sunlight. I am face down, lying on top of the duvet on Nathan’s huge bed. I lie still, listening. Silence. But I sense I’m not alone.
The first forgetful moment of wakening slips past and I start to remember, to recall what happened. The sofa, tied down, helpless, exposed. And the cane, the beating. Jesus, the sheer mind-numbing paralyzing agony of it. Then it stopped. I must have passed out. Nathan must have released me, carried me to the bed.
He was there then. I start to recapture bits of memory, pulling the threads together. I remember Nathan’s voice, shocked, then angry as he realized I was losing consciousness, then nothing as the black fog covered me. I’m pretty sure I heard ‘Holy fucking shit’. Then nothing.
Then, much later perhaps, his hands, his arms lifting me, hurting again. My fear, my desperation to escape, to be safe. His soft words soothing, his gentle hands spreading healing, cooling cream over my tender skin. Him rousing me when I wanted to sleep, when I wanted to drift away. I don’t want to return, to be hurt anymore. Asking me my name. Asking me where I am. At last, satisfied, he let me be. I remember drifting away again, peaceful now, resting, sleeping.
And now I’m awake, and he’s here somewhere. Not talking. Watching me, perhaps. I stir, try to move, but the pain overwhelms me again. I groan, lie still. Where is he? Where’s Nathan? I need to talk to him. I need to tell him what I think of him and his bloody games. The bastard. The heartless, vicious, fucking bastard.
“Eva?” His soft, tender voice sounds close to my ear. I can feel his breath, whispering across my hair. I turn my head, face him.
The words of accusation tumble out, unchecked. “You promised not to hurt me. You promised to take care of me. You… You…” His deep, chocolate eyes are, if anything, more pain-filled than mine, but I’m not letting up. I’m driven by unexpected disappointment. In me? In him? And by a self-righteous sense of betrayal. I spit my words at him. “You bastard. You total and absolute bastard. Sadist!”
He’s crouching beside the bed, at my eye level. He doesn’t back away in spite of my anger. Neither does he retaliate, seek to defend himself. He just gazes at me.
“What date is it today, Eva?”
“How the fucking hell should I know? Go buy a newspaper. And drop dead while you’re at it.”
His wry smile only serves to enrage me further.
“Fuck off. I hate you. I hate you.” The last words are sobbed, my anger spent suddenly, giving way to grief. He reaches for me, pulls me into his arms. And I go. Unresisting, I cling to his black T-shirt, sobbing noisily. “I was scared. I was so scared… I thought I was going to die.” My voice is small, no more than a whimper. He just holds me, stroking my hair, my shoulders and my back.
“You’re not dead, love. Nowhere near. I’m sorry, though, it was my fault, I should have seen… You should have told me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I couldn’t… I just couldn’t.” Incoherent, I just cling on, my tear-stained face buried in the fabric of his T-shirt. He doesn’t press the matter. Not now. Not yet.
Embarrassed, confused, my head in turmoil, I retreat into my normal mode of defense. Myself. “I want to be on my own for a while. Please.”
“I’m not sure…”
“Please. I need to think. I need to sleep. Please, just leave me on my own for a while.”
Not convinced, he’s frowning at me. Then he relents, slightly, “All right. But I’ll be downstairs. In my office. And you, you don’t go anywhere. Understood?”
“What? Where would I go?” Bewildered, I stare up at him. I’m in no condition to go gadding about bloody Leeds, that’s for sure. The man’s an idiot as well as a sadistic bastard. Just my luck.
His smile, gentle, tender, suggests he knows what I think of him at this precise moment and has some sympathy with my views. “Okay, I’ll go, leave you in peace. For now. But I’ll be back in a couple of hours. No more.” He gestures with his head at the table beside the bed. “Your phone’s there. Text me when you wake up.” He stands, looking down at me for long moments before adding, “Eva, we need to talk about what just happened. Really talk. You scared me. I thought… I thought… Shit. We need to talk.”
I don’t answer, just pull myself over to lie on my side, my back to him. I hear him cross the room, hear the door close gently behind him and at last I am alone with my thoughts. I close my eyes again, and I sleep.
Until 2010, Ashe was a director of a regeneration company before deciding there had to be more to life and leaving to pursue a lifetime goal of self-employment.
Ashe has been an avid reader of women's fiction for many years—erotic, historical, contemporary, fantasy, romance—you name it, as long as it's written by women, for women. Now, at last in control of her own time and working from her home in rural West Yorkshire, she has been able to realise her dream of writing erotic romance herself.
She draws on settings and anecdotes from her previous and current experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters, but her stories of love, challenge, resilience and compassion are the conjurings of her own imagination. She loves to craft strong, enigmatic men and bright, sassy women to give them a hard time—in every sense of the word.
When she's not writing, Ashe's time is divided between her role as resident taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, cats, rabbits, tortoises and a hamster.
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