Two by Day, Three by Night Read online

  Two by Day, Three by Night

  By

  Breanna Hayse

  Copyright © 2012 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

  Copyright © 2012 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Hayse, Breanna

  Two by Day, Three by Night

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Image by The Killion Group

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Chapter One

  Swiping the back of his hand across his brow, Baron Marcas Kalnovky paused to study the large, oddly shaped canister elaborately decorated with fetish art. A trill of excitement raced through him as he closely examined the intricate carvings of women being spanked on bare bottoms in multiple positions with different implements. What a beautiful piece to add to his unique collection! He chuckled, stroking the canister lovingly. No one but his faithful old friend, Sebastian, knew of his dark side… the part of him that relished lust and corporal discipline. It was so different than what the world saw from him… a cultural representative of his homeland of Romania.

  He had waited years to finally obtain this piece from a private collector in Asia and now it was his! But why was it sealed? What other treasures were hidden under the heavy wax lid? Despite myriads of warnings issued by the archeology professors from his college days, the man used a crowbar to dislodge the cap after carefully chipping away layers of murky wax. With a deafening explosion, the plug blew into the air and a heavy cloud of dark blue dust impacted against his face. Marcas screamed as the contents ravenously bit into his pores, blinding him and cutting off his air supply. Frantically, he tried to wipe the bitter particles from his eyes and mouth, staggering backwards over the discarded wood shipping crate and packing materials that the canister had come to him in. He lost his footing and struck his head against the side of a table located in his private apartment of downtown Bucharest. Slowly, pain stole his consciousness.

  “Are you sure you’re alright, Baron Kalnovky?” the physician questioned, peering into the cold, silver eyes of the young noble.

  “I am perfectly fine and will be better once you cease pecking on me like an old hen,” Marcas growled, pulling away. “Is it safe for me to travel? I wish to get home.”

  “I just don’t understand why you have no visible marks or areas of irritation. The powder in that container was highly caustic; it burned your clothes,” the physician commented, sitting back to study the surly man.

  “Maybe the old blood is stronger than we believed. Are you done? Goodbye, then,” Marcas said, picking up his jacket and starting to slip it over his arm. He noticed the large, gaping holes in the fabric where the dust had touched. With an invisible shudder of what his handsome face should have been reduced to, Marcas left the office, throwing the jacket into a waste can.

  He felt odd as he walked along the pebbled path that led to the majestic stone manor that had been in his family for over 24 generations. He paused to inhale the fresh, sweet air that blew gently over the distant mountain ridge and squinted his eyes to focus on the lush, green fields and large copses of dense forests. He carefully made his way up the narrow, stone stairs, occasionally rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The setting sun hurt dreadfully, even with wearing sunglasses, and he yearned for the cool darkness of his cellar. He carefully ventured down into the bowels of the estate, not bothering to turn on the lights as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him to ward off any unwanted visitors. With a groan, Marcas eased along the wooden staircase and headed towards the hand-crafted mahogany divan covered with plush red velvet and trimmed in black silk. He ran his hand along the smooth carving of an upturned female bottom on the arm rest before sinking into the soft, familiar cushions.

  “Hello, Old Friend,” Marcas sighed. “I sure missed you today. Sebastian is going to severely reprimand me when he discovers my foolishness, but I brought home a new addition to our collection. She’s almost as beautiful as you are. A treasure worth having, for certain.”

  The divan said nothing back in return, but merely sat in silence as he lovingly stroked the carved bottom.

  * * *

  “Courtney? Hey, hon, it’s Sue. I have an assignment for you, but I’d like you to meet me at the office to talk about it. There are some… Extenuating circumstances.”

  “On my way. Just got to finish up the med set up.” Courtney Wells, DPN, turned to smile at the child sitting in front of her, fearfully clinging to the large Teddy Bear. “So, do you have any questions, Mercedes? Do you think you can give Teddy his insulin now without it hurting too badly?”

  “I’m gonna try, Miss Courtney. Mama can help if I need it, right?”

  “She sure can. But only ask her if you are having a hard time, not just because you’re scared,” Courtney said kindly, stroking the little girl’s ponytail. “I know it’s hard. I have to give myself shots, too.”

  “You do? Do they hurt?” Mercedes’ eyes were large.

  “I’ll tell you the truth. Sticking my finger hurts lots more than the shots. And if you do it the way I showed you, I promise you won’t feel a thing. Just be brave, it may be hard the very first time without me to help, but you can do it.”

  “I’ll be ok. I’m gonna miss you,” the little girl said, throwing her arms around the young nurse’s neck.

  “I’m going to miss you too, honey. You take good care of mama, ok?”

  Courtney smiled to herself after a tearful goodbye from the little family who just discovered that their eight-year-old daughter was a brittle type I diabetic. It was so much easier than most of her cases, which required educating the patients and their families in the subject of thanatology… death. Courtney was a hospice nurse. Her primary job was to help the terminally ill spend their final days in dignity and free of pain. It was a tough career, but Courtney found it not only professionally satisfying, but personally gratifying. She prided herself in her self-control and independence, striving to be the mistress of her own life and allowing nothing to interfere with her freedom. She could do nothing about her illness, but she refused to allow it to consume her life or dictate her limitations. With these things in mind, she wondered what type of mischief her boss, Sue, was up to. Reminding herself that patience was the greatest virtue for a hospice nurse, Courtney took a deep breath of the fresh late spring air and began the forty minute drive back to the office.

  “Courtney! I’m so glad to see you! Come in, dear. Coffee?” Sue greeted the wary nurse warmly, fawning over her like a long lost relative.

  Courtney frowned. “Ok, lady, what are you up to and what have you done with that bitch I’m used to working for?”

  Sue laughed, sitting in her chair. “Always so suspicious… Ok, I do have something up my sleeve. We have a tremendous opportunity and I wanted to give you first dibs.”

  “Translated that means the company has a chance to make a lot of money and you want to ride on my coat tail to get it. I told you, no more fundraisers. I hate public speaking. It makes me sick to my stomach.”

  “After you finished your book Celebrate Grief, we’ve had a huge demand for you to represent our company. But that’s not why I called you… not directly anyway.”

  “Spill it, Sue. I was on call last night. I’m tired a
nd want to go home.”

  “Grumpy, aren’t you? Drink some coffee, you’ll feel better,” Sue said cheerfully. “We have a potential new client who is offering to donate a significant sum of money to our Mercy Fund if we can find the right nurse to help him. He read your book and decided you would be the ideal candidate for his particular situation,” Sue said with a bright smile.

  “Is this legal?” Courtney asked with a frown as she sipped the coffee.

  “Of course it is. The donations go straight into the account for those who can’t afford our services, plus the client will be paying privately for his care.” Sue looked offended.

  “They had better. And get that look off your face. You know my feelings about donations and their use.”

  “I assure you, not one cent goes into the profit bucket. Courtney… this can help an awful lot of people. He’s willing to open a trust fund of 2 million dollars if we find the right provider for him. There is no profit for anyone.”

  “Or recognition for you? Yeah… tell me about the case.” Courtney sighed, leaning back in her chair and steepling her fingers together as Sue launched into the description.

  “We have a little language issue involved, so this is what I was able to piece together. Apparently, the baron is a cultural ambassador from Romania and came with his servant to the States on a treasure hunt for antiques. He started having some cardiac problems and then developed serious abdominal pain. He’s bedbound now and with severe weakness and a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. We have very little history on him and the servant is unwilling to disclose anything except that he’s concerned about pain.”

  “How often do I see him?”

  “Open the case and set up the Plan of Care. We’ll take it from there and see what they want.”

  “Very well…? He’s quite a way out there,” Courtney eyed the address.

  “We will provide all travel expenses plus time. We will also give you a shift differential.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You can only see the Baron at night, after sunset.”

  “And why is that?” Courtney asked again with a sneer, glaring at her boss.

  Sue shrugged. “Something about light sensitivity. He said he suffers from severe photophobia. Something about an accident to his eyes.”

  “Are you sure it isn’t about convenience? He’s paying a lot of money and might think he can dictate his care. I don’t play that game, Sue. I’m not relishing the thought of handling a full patient load, then finishing with the drive into the middle of nowhere, just because of a few bucks. I want to help him, but you need to give me a break.”

  “We will remove your regular load and focus strictly on the baron. Follow this case and we will pay you full salary plus all expenses, with overtime anything past six hours a day. We will also pay for any room and board you feel you need in the event you want to stay up there and not drive all the way home,” Sue said firmly, meeting Courtney’s gaze.

  “This must be very important to you. Throw in a few hours vacation time and I will agree to check it out, but I want your support on whatever I decide. I refuse to be stuck being a full time caregiver, especially if he doesn’t need it. You know my sentiments about long-term care. We have staff for that,” Courtney demanded, standing as she suppressed a yawn.

  “You poor thing; you are exhausted. Ok, two days for every five that you’re on the case.” Sue shook her hand in agreement. “Thanks, the company appreciates it. Here is the info. I also need you to sign this privacy statement. He doesn’t want the media catching wind of his illness, so I assured him that we would keep everything quiet.”

  “HIPPA demands that anyway… oh, just give me the damn thing. I need to get some sleep and don’t have time to read your fine print,” Courtney said with annoyance, quickly signing the documents.

  “Can you go this evening?”

  “Yes. No phone number?”

  “That’s all we have. Good luck, honey.”

  Courtney sat back in her car, glancing through the paperwork. The information was sparse and largely illegible, including a physician’s referral for hospice evaluation, open orders for treatment, and basic demographics. After stopping at the Hospice Pharmacia on the way home to pick up the comfort kit of medications and a morphine pump, Courtney began to mentally plan her trip. With the distance involved, she was not about to step foot into this situation without being somewhat prepared for anything medical that might come her way.

  The 32 year old nurse was no stranger to unusual circumstances. While in the Navy, she received training as a DNP, Doctor of Nursing Practice, and served two terms overseas where she gained extensive experience in thanatology, the study of death and the grieving process. She had left the service following the death of her parents and wrote a best-selling book commemorating their final days, which ultimately gained her the reputation of being one of the finest in the field.

  Children and animals loved her; women were intimidated by her, and men… They just wanted to be with her. Courtney, however, wasn’t interested in any of the drama that came with relationships of any kind. She kept herself distanced from others, giving of herself to her patients and their families, and living life as stress-free as possible. She had no family, minor acquaintances through work, and no financial responsibilities except what was required of a traveling nurse. She was free to do as she wished and when she wished, and she liked it that way. She adamantly denied ever feeling lonely and would brush off any attempts people would make to get to know her. Her mantra was: Just because I’m alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely. I enjoy my own company.

  It was a lie, of course, and one she would not easily admit to. The fact was that she was not afraid of dying… she was more afraid of living, especially after she had been unexpectedly diagnosed with diabetes. She had seen the terrible things that happened to the patients with the disease and decided that her ability to govern her own her life allowed her to curb her fear of the disease. She needed absolute control to survive and would never voluntarily give that up to anything or anyone.

  After a long, refreshing nap and a healthy meal, she began her long drive into the darkening mountains. The sun was setting quickly and she regretted not leaving sooner to allow herself some daylight to find the Baron’s home. She grunted. Baron indeed! Sounds like someone might have an overinflated ego to make such demands. If he really cared, he would give to the Mercy Fund without a condition. She berated herself for her lack of professionalism as she pulled into the paved driveway of a darkly lit, refurbished Colonial, which was over-run by sweeping tresses of ivy. The only evidence of occupation was the amber porch light and the pale light from a single window above. Gathering her supplies, Courtney headed towards the large front door.

  She tapped her foot impatiently as the doorbell was heard ringing through the house. She didn’t know why she was so annoyed with the circumstances of this particular case… many other clients were just as demanding and had the disposition that the nursing staff was there to act as personal domestics rather than caregivers and educators. So why was this any different? Impatiently, she rang the bell two more times; her ears perked to the sound of heavy footsteps and she watched as the door slowly opened. Her eyes traveled up the length of a silhouette of one of the tallest men she had ever encountered. She felt her heart batter in her throat as she strained to meet his steel gray eyes and striking grim features. Courtney swallowed, feeling her knees quiver uncontrollably.

  “You’re late,” his low, heavily accented voice rumbled.

  “Pardon me, but the only thing I was instructed was that I arrive, and I quote, ‘after sunset’. In essence, that gives me a time frame of a good 12 hours. So, in actuality, I’m quite early,” Courtney quipped back forcefully in an effort to regain control of her situation with this unnerving man. Why wouldn’t he turn on the lights so she could see him better? Probably to be more intimidating, she scoffed mentally…

  A low chuckle was heard. “You have curaj, that is good.
Enter.”

  Courtney wrinkled her brow. The term he used sounded very much like courage in English. Where was he from? That’s right, Sue said Romania. Courtney reminded herself that there were always cultural issues to consider and not to take his rudeness personally. Silently, she followed him through the large house and up the steps into the back room, taking time to admire his graceful stride and the broad span of his shoulders that tapered to a trim waist.

  “There are several safety issues here, Mr…” Courtney began, trying to concentrate on her purpose, shaken by the unusual sensation of lustful attraction she felt for this stranger.

  “You may call me Marcas.”

  Lurch would be more appropriate, Courtney pondered. A very, very handsome version of the monster, though! She took a deep breath. “Very well, Marcas. It’s too dark in here to see well and…”

  “It will stay dark. Use a flashlight.”

  “I cannot do my work properly with a flashlight. And the safety factor…”

  “I see quite well in the dark and you need only to make your way to the upstairs rooms. You may use light in there as you need as long as I am gone,” he interrupted as he stepped aside to allow her entry.

  “If I have staff coming here, they will need to be safe and…”

  “No other staff. Just you. Go inside,” he ordered. Courtney hesitated before opening the door and entering the dimly lit room. She looked behind her… Marcas was nowhere in sight.

  “Baron Kalnovky? I’m Courtney…”

  “Baron? Oh my, no…” a frail old man chuckled, reaching his hand out from the bed to greet her. “Please, call me Sebastian, my dear. Where is Marcas?”

  “He left me at the door. I found him to be very rude for an employee. He rattled me a bit,” Courtney stated, startling herself with an uncharacteristic confession to this stranger. “I’m sorry, please disregard what I said. How are you feeling?”