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A kidnap ordeal brings mother and daughter closer.


'How the hell do I do that?' asked a perplexed looking Luke.

'Don't look so worried, mate. It's a lot of fun. Let me explain...' grinned Jack.


Meg considered herself lucky to live within the vicinity of a rural creative writing retreat, which regularly ran short residential writing courses. As well as attending interesting lectures, she was able to meet and swap valuable ideas with other students. Meg was signed up to attend a number of short courses during the summer. Part of the allure, she wasn't afraid to admit, was the overnight accommodation package. Each student was provided with their own private cottage and these were scattered throughout the large estate. The facilities included a swimming pool, sauna, a nearby private beach and fantastic all-inclusive restaurant.

Arriving at lunchtime, Meg settled happily into her little cottage and then strolled to the main building to attend an afternoon lecture and workshop led by Scott Martin. Scott was a successful novelist and definitely Meg's favourite lecturer at the retreat. Recognising a number of previous attendees, Meg spent a happy afternoon alongside them, debating plot and characterisation, followed by a delicious meal and a couple of glasses of wine. She meandered happily back to her cottage at dusk and sank contentedly into an exquisitely comfortable king-sized bed.

From a far away place, woken from deep slumber, Meg inhaled, slow and deep. It was pitch black and felt like the middle of the night. How very annoying to wake at such an inconvenient time and she was having such a pleasant dream until that point as well. The dream floated away from her grasp, but memories of a tall, chiselled, sexy gardener remained with her. Slowly rotating her shoulder, she realised she couldn't move her arm. In fact, she couldn't move either arm...or her legs. Struggling, Meg's heart rate suddenly shot up as adrenalin rushed through her body and her predicament was realised; she was laying face down on the bed, spreadeagled, with her wrists and ankles bound to each of the four corners. She went to shout for help, but out of the darkness a hand came forward to cover her mouth.

'If you scream, I will gag you. If you don't scream, you can stay as you are. I am not going to hurt you.' As the hand was removed, Meg noted his voice was deep, strong and confident, with a hint of a Scottish accent.

'Let me go. Please,' she begged.

'I can't do that.'

'What do you want?'

'It is probably I who should be asking that question. Now, I'm going to tie a blindfold over your eyes so I can turn the light on.'

'No, please. Please let me go,' begged Meg hopelessly as silk material was fastened around her head.

'I'm sorry but I can't do that,' he repeated. 'And very shortly, I promise that you won't want me to.' Meg heard the click of the bedside lamp but thanks to the blindfold saw only darkness.

'That's better.'

'What do you want?'

'I'm only here for one purpose, Meg. Your pleasure,' he murmured.

'You're a rapist?' mumbled a terrified Meg into the pillow.

'Of course I'm not!' spoke the deep voice. Even in Meg's frightened state, she recognised the tone of mild outrage and it made her feel slightly calmer.

'Who are you?'

'Why don't you call me Sam?'

Meg lay there disbelievingly. This could not be happening. Being blindfolded had heightened her other senses and she was very aware of the man walking about the room, moving items around. She pulled down on her restraints but to no avail. Her mind was churning through the men on the course with her and whether they might potentially be this man. Nobody had a voice this deep though and no-one was Scottish. Her chaotic thoughts were rudely interrupted as he began to speak once more.

'You must have worked out what's going to happen next? You've lived this scene a thousand times in your head. Now it's going to happen for real.'

'No,' she moaned.

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