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Authors: Jamie DeBree

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The Minister's Maid

BOOK: The Minister's Maid
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Table of Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About the Author

 

 

The Minister's Maid
by
Jamie DeBree

 

 

Copyright 2012 by Jamie M. DeBree

Edited by Carol R. Ward

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination, and used fictitiously
.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

Betsy Majors slid the tray of empty champagne flutes onto the counter, adjusted the white lace collar over her chest and then reached for a fresh round of drinks.
Deep breath in, deep breath out, and smile
, she coached herself before backing through the swinging door into the lavish dining room. Silverware clattered against white stoneware plates over the low rumble of voices, ringing in her ears as she made her way to the other end of the table. She leaned over to replace empty glasses with full, keenly aware of eyes glued to her cleavage and fingers grazing her ass and thighs as she worked. It came with the French maid costume, and in the two years she'd been playing the part she'd learned that constant motion was the best offense.

"Another drink, monsieur?" she purred in her best French accent, placing a flute in front of an older gentleman to her right. He smiled shyly and nodded as she moved to the right. The group was part of a business conference currently taking place in Reno that had booked the Millionaire Mansion for a fun and exotic night out for its VIP crowd. So far everyone had been on good behavior, but that was to be expected. The rules of conduct for the Fantasy Ranch were strict and laid out when each booking was made, then again when each individual arrived. No violence, sex only between consenting adults and no abuse of the staff were the top three, and every fantasy scene included several burly security guards to make sure everyone complied. Betsy and Harley had wanted the ranch to be a safe place for people to explore their fantasies.

She glanced through the open double doors into the hall at the stately grandfather clock. Eleven o' clock. The party would be shifting into the parlor soon for brandy and cigars, and she'd start cleaning up while the other girls served after-dinner drinks. Tucking her now-empty tray under her arm, she started back toward the kitchen just as the man at the head of the table clinked his knife against a crystal glass.

"I'd like to thank you all for coming tonight," he said as the rumble died down to a low murmur. "It's been a great conference, and your support is what keeps our company running." There was a smattering of applause in return before he held his hands up to quiet the crowd. "I've been informed that we have brandy and cigars in the parlor if you'd like to join me down the hall." The guests clapped again, chairs scraping back against the tile floor as everyone rose almost at once. Betsy stood still against the wall just to the side of an ornate marble buffet table. She knew from experience that it was safer to stay put when such a large crowd was transitioning from one room to another. A smile pasted on her face, she idly watched the faces go by.

Then one caught her eye from across the room and she froze, feeling the blood drain from her face as she watched him walk past on the other side of the table. "No," she whispered, her pulse pounding as she fought the urge to run. "It can't be..."

As soon as the man went through the doors she pushed through the crowd to the kitchen, stopping only long enough to set her tray on the counter and tell one of the other girls she had to leave. Then she sprinted out the back door and through the alley, cautious to avoid the main road as she ran toward the chapel at the back of the compound.

 

* * *

 

Ian Mitchell frowned at the screen, deleting the paragraph he'd just written. There wasn't any good way to write a resignation letter and this was particularly difficult because he and Harley had been friends for so long. But he couldn't stay. Not with Betsy here, taunting him mercilessly with his own desire. He'd thought after being away from her for the past three years that he had a handle on his feelings, but it was increasingly clear that he'd never get over the crush that had started when they were just kids. It would be different if she wanted him for more than just a fling, but Betsy wasn’t the type to settle down, and he wasn’t sure he could survive letting her go after she tired of him. The thought that maybe she’d decide to stay with him sent his mother’s voice whispering through his mind.

You should never try to change people, Ian. Accept them as they are. Then you won’t be disappointed.

A noise from the hall drew his attention and he sighed. He'd been hoping for a quiet night to get this letter done and take it to Harley, but the only people who normally looked for him after hours were people wanting to get married on a whim. He hated doing impulse weddings - it was one of the other reasons he was leaving the ranch. In his experience people who decided to get married on a whim generally gave it no more thought than buying a cup of coffee. He wondered how many of the people he'd married in the year he'd been on the ranch were still together.

Someone knocked three times on his door and he stood, steeling himself for the inevitable and pasting a calm smile on his face. "Come in."

The door opened slowly and his pulse sped up as a familiar pixie face appeared in the opening. The object of his fantasies stepped into the room as if he'd conjured her straight from his dreams. Long blond hair swung in a high pony tail, accentuating a long, slender neck and snow white skin. She'd never been able to hold a tan in all the years he'd known her. She must have come straight from the mansion, and his cock stirred as he took in the slight French maid's costume that constituted her uniform. Between the crest of cleavage threatening to spill over the low scoop neck and the black garters flirting just under her hemline, no man alive had a chance of resisting her charms.

"Betsy - come in." His voice came out scratchy and raw and he cleared his throat, heat rising in his cheeks. "What can I do for you?"

She grinned, the worried look on her face relaxing at his words. "You know the answer to that, Ian," she said, sauntering forward with a hip-swing designed to drive men wild. He shook his head, brushing off her seductive moves. She'd always been a flirt.

Sitting down to hide his aroused state, he motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. Her skirt rose up when she sat, awarding him a glimpse of black lace panties before she crossed one leg over the other. When he met her gaze again, it was evident she knew what he'd seen. Planned it even, perhaps. He leaned his arms on the desk, attempting to maintain some sort of professional demeanor.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he tried again, biting back a groan as she placed her elbows on the desk as well, leaning forward to give him a very clear view of her creamy breasts. Her nipples poked enticingly at the front of her outfit, and he nearly shivered at the thought of how they'd taste on his tongue. Swallowing hard, he stared into her eyes. "Should I prepare the chapel? Do we have a wedding to perform?" Thankfully his voice didn't shake as much as his legs were under the desk.

Betsy licked her lips slowly, the corners stretching up into a smile. "Come on, Ian - don't you want to play? Talk dirty to me." Her words were enticing, but her eyes reflected something more serious. Worry, maybe even fear. He leaned back, regarding her thoughtfully.

"Something's wrong," he said, knowing he was right when her lips dropped into a serious line. "You know you and Harley are my family - you can tell me anything. What's going on?"

She looked down then, settling back in her chair and nervously playing with the tiny lace apron she wore. "I--well, there was this guy tonight at the Mansion," she said, her gaze darting around the room. "I got a call last week, and it's probably not related, but I thought I should tell someone just in case, but I knew Harley would overreact, and--"

"Hey," he said, coming around the desk against his better judgment. He pulled the second chair to face her and sat down, reaching out to grasp her hand. A jolt of warm energy infused his skin the second they touched, but he focused on the worried green eyes finally focused back on him. "Just tell me, it's okay. Did you sleep with him?"
Please say no.

"No! It's nothing like that, I just..." She yanked her hand out of his, launching out of her chair to pace at the side of his desk. "Last week, my lawyer called to tell me that Derek was up for parole. They let him out two days ago." She stopped, inhaling deeply then letting it out in a long shaky sigh.

That would explain why her hands were shaking so badly, Ian noted. Her ex-husband had tried to kill her five years ago, and had been sent to prison for attempted manslaughter. He'd promised to finish the job when he got out, but no one had expected him to be granted parole. No wonder she was afraid. He rose, walking over to fold her in his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Bets," he said, wishing he could do something to ease her worries. "We need to let Harley know, just in case he...well, just in case."

She pulled back a little, looking up at him with such anguish it broke his heart. "That's the thing, Ian. I think I saw him tonight. At the Mansion. I think he's here already." Tears fell down her cheeks as she buried her face in his chest, her fingers holding on to his shirt as if her life depended on it.

Holding her tight with one arm, Ian picked up the phone on his desk with the other. He pressed "zero", then waited, slowly rocking Betsy side to side as she clung to him.

"You've reached the voice mail of Harley Majors. Leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can." A long beep sounded in his ear.

"Harley, this is Ian. Listen, Derek Taft is out of jail, and your sister thinks she saw him here tonight, on the ranch. Get back to me as soon as possible - Betsy's with me." He hung up, then gently untangled her fingers from his shirt so he could step back, needing to put some distance between them so he could think. "How sure are you that it was Derek? Is there any chance it could have just been someone who looked like him?"

She sunk into a chair, taking the tissue he handed her and wiping her nose. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head and staring out the window behind him. "It really looked a lot like him, but I can't be sure. I just...froze when I saw him, then I panicked and came straight to you." She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. "I didn't know what else to do."

"It's okay," he said, unable to resist running a finger down the side of her face. "I won't let anything happen to you, you know that, right?"

She turned into his touch, closing her eyes and placing a soft kiss in the palm of his hand. "I know," she whispered, taking his hands as she rose from the chair. "You've always looked after me, Ian. I knew I could count on you." Placing a hand on his shoulder she stood on her tiptoes and pulled his head down just a little, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. Then another on his jaw. And one on his chin.

BOOK: The Minister's Maid
3.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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