I love the word Diomhair. Not only does it mean Secret in Gaelic, it sounds all mysterious, and, well, secretive.
Sometimes I think my characters want it to be a secret from me as well. Or are my heroes just exercising their Dommly rights? I knew from the first moment I thought—or my characters told me—I would write a book about a BDSM club in a restored castle, the very place I'd base the story. An old ruined castle near where I live. That was fine. But they made me work to discover all the secrets both within and outside the walls. Not writers block, anything but. More if you're going to write our story, we're going to make sure you do it exactly the way we say.
Secrets Remembered, is book three in the Diomhair series. Each book can be read as a standalone, and not spoil what's happening.
Here's the series blurb…
Secret. What's happens there stays there.
It doesn't matter whether you want to learn or teach, be in control or controlled, Diomhair could be the place for you.
The ruined castle deep in the Scottish countryside had been rebuilt into an exclusive, private, BDSM club, where people could learn about and enjoy the lifestyle.
Not everyone approved, and not everyone appreciated it, but for those who did and fit the criteria, it was somewhere to go and be themselves, relax and play.
And if you found love there, your own perfect match, well that could only be a bonus.
For isn't the secret to true love the biggest secret of all?
And the book blurb…
What comes first your happiness or your job?
Ailsa McLagan is sent undercover to investigate possible shady dealings at the private BDSM Club Diomhair. The last thing she expects is to be confronted by one of the Masters there. Not only does he make her want her to sink to her knees, but he seems to see straight through her disguise, too.
Aidan is instantly attracted to the clueless Sub he stumbles upon. Even though he knows she is hiding her true identity he can't help but push her to discover her limits, and introduce her to the delights of subbing to him.
Scared by the intensity if her reaction, Ailsa runs and all seems lost.
When the truth is revealed, can they work towards a true Dom/sub relationship, even though theirs started on a lie?
And of course, as we say in Scotland, a wee tease…
How many times had she wished she was back on the beat, policing a football match or shepherding drunken undergrads back to their lodgings? Well not many, she owned, but sometimes she wondered if she was right in the head. This job wasn’t all glamorous parties and secret microphones. Most of it was standing in the freezing cold and waiting for something and you had no idea what for.
She wiped her shoes on the inside of her coat, held them in one hand, slipped her mucky socks into her pocket and walked quietly away in the opposite direction from where the voices had gone. Ailsa mentally smiled at her thoughts. Independently acting voices and no bodies to go with them?
God she hoped not, she wasn’t a sci-fi or horror fan.
Stupidly she turned left not right and found herself in the gym.
And heard the whistling again.
It seemed someone was about, and she was going to be in big trouble. There wasn’t even a desk to hide under like in all good movies, or a floor length curtain. The windows had fitted blinds. A treadmill, cross trainer and rowing machine didn’t make good hiding places. Nor did the water cooler.
With a sigh deep enough to clear leaves from a footpath, Ailsa slipped her shoes back on, straightened her shoulders and faced the door.
The man who stopped dead in the doorway, mid whistle, was hot enough for her chin to drop, her eyes to widen and her body to tighten. Whoever said there was no such thing as instant lust was oh so very wrong. She might not subscribe to lacy thongs that got stuck up your arse like a cheese grater, but if she did, Ailsa reckoned they’d be wet and wrung out. As it was, her sensible, cotton, chain store knickers were damp under her thermals. Dark, soft, leather trousers and a black T-shirt were the clothes her wet dreams were made of.
He dropped the bag he was carrying, straightened and looked her up and down. “Well now, what have we here?”
Ailsa swallowed. How to reply to that and not be in trouble?
“Pet, answer me.”
The tone sent shivers down her spine, and the hairs on her arms stood on end in sympathy. Ailsa gulped. Who on earth did he think she was? Pet? Should she woof or growl? If there was one thing she hated it was being called silly names like pet, or chick. She was a woman, not an animal.
“Pet, are you wanting a punishment? The mood I’m in I’ll be happy to oblige. Surely you know the basic protocol?” There was no give in the harsh voice.
Well, no she didn’t, not unless you counted what she’d read in books and that was all fantasy and fiction—wasn’t it? She hadn’t even ventured around the club part of the castle. Her time inside the place was too limited to explore unnecessarily.
“Hello, I’m Ailsa McLagan.” Dumb, Ailsa, now he can trace you.
Eh? “Pardon?” Oh fuck. Not a scooby. No way. “No, I’m a miss. And you are?” Apart from a prick? I thought Doms were… Oh actually, nope, oh double shit. “Um, oh, sorry, er, Sir, well you see I just forgot where I was. I’m scared.” Would he believe her?
“Really. Do you remember now?” It seemed sarcasm was his forte.
God that voice. I could drown in it, sarcasm or not. Double dipped chocolate velvet and ohh shit, steel. Hard, hard steel. What do I do now? Come on, what would that dippy heroine from the last book you deleted from your eReader do? No not her, think of the other one. The one whose Sir made you wet. See, a Sir, oh, you ninny, Ailsa.
Secrets Remembered is now available from
you can find all about me on www.ravenmcallan.com