Читать книгу Charm - Flora Dain - Страница 8

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘No, Darnley. I’m being sensible.’

Morning’s here and already we’re arguing. Our food smells delicious – ham and eggs, warm pastries and coffee. Our intimate table for two is shining with silver and vivid with fruit juice. Our breakfast sparkles cheerfully in the sunshine.

Darnley glowers at me, his expression stormy.

I’m damp from the shower, my hair a curling, rebellious mess, and I’m wearing only the thin waffle-cotton robe supplied with our thick, luxurious towels. He’s fully dressed, his soft silk tie carefully knotted, his suit immaculate, no hair out of place.

He looks stunning.

I feel soft and pink and ready for bed.

His cheeks slant into deep hollows over his clenched, stubborn jaw. He’s already been at work a good two hours on seemingly endless business, most of it baffling and technical.

He’s just poured a third cup of coffee so he can stay at table long enough to make me eat the croissant he put on my plate before I sat down.

I’m not hungry. I’m trying to be reasonable. I’ll eat when he sees sense.

We’re arguing about Ryan and I’m gaining ground.

‘If Ryan’s gone to Fort Worth there must be some reason. And I want to talk to him alone. You’ll just get in the way. Or you’ll bully him into saying something he’ll regret.’ My affection for Ryan is long gone but I’m no fan of blood sports. Exposing Ryan to Darnley’s wrath without prior warning would be like pushing a puppy into the den of a leopard – or a Wolfe.

Darnley’s exasperated. ‘It makes no sense. You want to meet him. I want to meet him. We’ll go together.’

‘He wants to meet me,’ I insist, my temper rising. ‘And I want to hear his side of the story.’

The wave of anger from across the table hits me like a blast from a furnace.

‘His side? So I’m a liar now?’

I roll my eyes and start on the croissant, hoping this tiny concession will calm him down. ‘There’s two sides to everything and so far I’ve only heard yours. I know him. I can’t believe he’s as bad as you make out. Maybe you’ve got this all wrong. Maybe it’s all a mistake.’

He gulps the last of his coffee and crashes the cup back onto the table. ‘Fine, if you insist. At least let me put you in a decent car and send somebody with you. It’s a long drive. You don’t know the city. You’ll never make it in that death-trap rental you came in yesterday.’

I slam my knife down on my plate, spraying flakes of pastry all over the cloth. ‘It’s a perfectly reputable company and the car’s fine, thanks very much. It’s less than an hour from here. It’s hardly Timbuktu. If it makes you any happier I’ll get them to send a bigger car.’

‘Eat.’ He slumps back in his chair and I relax. If he’s scolding me about my calorie intake then I’ve won on the car. I cram flaky morsels of croissant and peach conserve into my mouth and pretend to chew. His sullen, furious gaze has made my mouth go dry. A hasty sip of fruit juice helps.

But I don’t hold his attention long. I’m starting to realise that running an empire is hard work. The time he devoted to me last night must have been filched from a tight schedule. I woke to the deep, steady staccato of his voice as he strode about the suite making call after call, taking others in between. They’ve carried on without cease.

He’s switched off his phone to pick a fight during breakfast but the fifteen minutes he’s given up to me and my problems are fast running out and now I see his eyes stray repeatedly to his watch.

With any luck he’ll soon leave me in peace. And as I finish the last of my croissant he heaves a long sigh, gives me an exasperated look and gets to his feet. ‘Fine. Do what you like.’

I get up from the table in a flurry of crumbs and shake out my damp, knotted hair. As I run my fingers through it he notices my wrists and frowns again. All at once he seizes my hands, turns them over palm upwards and inspects them carefully. Last night’s passion has left faint rosy rings on the outside edges where I tugged repeatedly during our glorious – my glorious – ordeal.

I recall with a faint blush that he held back from taking his own pleasure. I hold my breath and try to pull away but he grips me harder and glances up, his eyes dark as graphite. ‘Are you OK? Should you put something on these?’

‘I’m fine.’ I smile airily, my tone light. ‘The marks will be gone by evening. Anyway, what’s the big deal about letting me out alone? Scared somebody else will tie me up?’

His eyes flash and for a split second I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I breathe out slowly as his eyes narrow.

‘You don’t get it, do you? You might be in danger, Ella. You’re worth money now to the right people. You seem to think industrial secrets are a walk in the park but if there’s big money at stake – and I assure you there could be – you’re at risk. I just want to keep you safe, that’s all.’

I laugh softly, still high as a kite after his lavish attentions last night. ‘Now who’s being ridiculous? You keep me safe? You’re the most dangerous person I know. You go off to your meeting. I’ll see you later.’

As he turns towards the door I follow him. Still playful, I lean up and kiss him lightly on the jaw like a happy housewife in a fifties commercial.

Mistake.

‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ His eyes flash. He glares down at me, his jaw rigid, and kicks the door shut again with his foot.

I feel the blood drain from my face. Now what? His breathing is laboured, his eyes wild. Something about me has enraged him but I’ve no idea what it is. Is he always like this?

‘Dammit, Ella. Kiss me like you mean it.’ He closes his arms around me and fastens his mouth on mine, his tongue making fresh claims, his lips hot and hard. After last night I’m still fired up and my warm, sensual shower did nothing to calm me down. Now his eager mouth reminds me that only hours ago I was stretched out at his mercy, aching and wet, while he was doing his utmost to make me wetter.

And now I’m wet again and in seconds he finds this out for himself as his questing fingers betray me. He pulls away, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. Nervous now, I have the grace to blush but something new and determined about his manner tells me I’m not to be let off lightly.

‘Open your legs.’

He reinforces his command by forcing his knee between my thighs and pushing me up against the wall. ‘Now put your arms up over your head and lean on them. Hard. Push away from the wall.’

Startled, I obey as heat flares once more between my thighs, the embers of last night’s passion stirring instantly to life.

‘Hold still.’ He continues to hold my gaze as he pushes my robe wide open and reaches round to scoop it into a twist, coiling the thin cotton into a roll. In seconds he’s bundled it into a cushion and wedges it behind my shoulder blades.

‘Spread wider.’ His look is focused, absorbed. He could be a master arranging the limbs of a puppet, except his voice has dropped to a low growl. His tone is so deep it scares me. I look on entranced, my heart pounding with excitement, my arousal beginning to burn. I glance down as I feel his shirt cuffs brush my belly and instantly earn a reproof.

‘Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on my face. I’m simply undoing my flies.’

Heat flares again. Now? He wants to do this now?

He takes his time, like the emotions crossing my face are the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. I sense movement down below and feel the brush of fabric against my hips as he loosens his trousers, hear the light whisper of silk as he frees himself.

‘Now unlace your arms. Keep them over your head.’

As I do it his hand runs lightly over my breasts, skimming each nipple with masterly precision. He pauses to follow through with his fingers, feeling and teasing my stiffening nipples outwards a little, his touch not yet painful but tormenting as hell since I’m straddled at this unnatural angle and they’re thrusting up against him, entirely at his mercy.

‘So what happened to the meeting?’ I say, shakily.

‘We’re having one. You hadn’t noticed? Oh, that one? I’m in plenty of time. I’m never late for meetings.’

Inwardly I sigh. I bet he isn’t. Mr Control-Freak operates on a different planet from the rest of us. But then I see the gleam in his eyes and I sense something else is happening here.

‘Tell me, Ella, did you enjoy last night? Have you had it like that before?’

I gasp. ‘What a question. Never. Why?’

He reaches up to grasp my wrists, his grip strong, his fingers closing around them like a vice. He hauls my arms taut and leans into me, his face barely an inch from mine. My eyes widen as a column of hot, power-laden gristle burns against me, reaching nearly up to my navel.

‘I thought not. Now I want to watch you come. I want to see it in your eyes.’

Pinning my hands, his look burning into me, he starts to move against me. He flexes his hips with such precision I wonder instantly how often he’s done this. I hope desperately – though I know this must be impossible – that it gives him as much excitement as it’s giving me. I was already weak with lust when he pinned me here and I’m still glowing from last night. Now everywhere between my legs erupts into full-on heat as his scorching shaft grinds against me, jutting deep into the soft flesh of my rippling, nervous belly. The ridged muscle works in tiny shifting movements hard against the very apex of my thighs where my swollen, aching folds split apart. They yearn against him to push forward my eager little bud, so engorged now a mere whisper of air or fabric might set it off and tip me over the cliff he’s building …

‘Open your eyes. I want to watch.’

His voice is harsh as his hips jerk me painfully to attention. My eyelids snap open and now I’m in trouble. I’m consumed with flame and about to peak but I usually climax in the privacy of darkness or with my eyes closed. Women are coy about these things.

Under his fierce look and in bright sunlight I feel almost ashamed to show him the full force of my pleasure. As a deep blush spreads over my cheeks I want to protest and tell him this but his look is so stern and so controlling I’m helpless in it, a rabbit in headlights. I stare back at him as shame and pleasure fuse in a terrifying, heart-stopping eruption of rapture and I climax violently against him.

He holds me pinned, curving over me, his loins thrust hard up against my writhing hips, his burning erection harder and hotter than ever, so close and yet so far out of reach, its control over me now as complete as if it had surged up inside.

Emotion wells up like it sometimes does when I come as hard and as often as this. I look up at him imploringly, aching for his entry. ‘Are you going to …?’ I tail off, unsure how to ask for this. A helpless tear trickles down my cheek.

‘Hey. Don’t cry.’ Concern flickers instantly across his face as he touches the trickle with his lips, tasting gently, and then moves lower and fastens his mouth on mine. He kisses me softly, his touch light and honeyed. I shudder in his grasp as the fading echoes of my orgasm briefly intensify.

‘What do you want, Ella? You want me inside you? Is that what you want?’

I’m still pinned. His grip is still as thrilling, his look still as fierce and his hot shaft still in place. He must want relief. He held off all last night. How can he do this? It’s unnatural.

Something of this must show in my face. His gaze softens and I see his eyelids lower. ‘I’ll take that as a yes. But you’ll have to wait a while. I’ll take you when I’m ready, not before.’ He stoops to kiss my breasts, taking a mouthful of each in turn and sucking hard, drawing the blood to my fevered nerve-endings and leaving my aureoles rosy, swollen and tingling. All at once he straightens up and kisses me full on the mouth.

‘Now I have to work. I’ll only be an hour or so. When I get back we’ll go see your boyfriend.’

He releases me with a smile and closes the door softly behind him. I stare after him and rub my wrists as my robe slowly unwinds at my back.

At that moment my phone rings.

Ryan.

Still shaky, I grab it and peer at the display but it’s not Ryan, it’s my old friend Billy Brown. I tried to reach her yesterday and now she’s calling back.

‘Willamina. Hi, where are you? Fixed your new job yet?’ My voice sounds shaky but as usual she chatters on without drawing breath.

Her new internship in a big Boston law firm has really caught her imagination. She joined them as a researcher. She’s small, dark and dynamite and gets bored easily. This is her third try in a firm so prestigious even the janitors seem to have college degrees.

I tell her she’s aiming too high. She laughs, and I know that her elfin face has lit up with mischief. That’s all that’s worth aiming for, she says, and anyway she can afford it and I aim too low.

Ouch. After we graduated we both took a course in law but I went back to literature, my first love. While she took the risky route via a legal internship Miss Normal took the safe one and decided to teach. Unlike Billy’s father mine’s no millionaire, just a country physician. I need to earn money. Also I have a paralysing shyness that sometimes roots me to the spot in interviews and forbids me to speak.

At least in the classroom it can’t do any harm – not lose me a case, like it would in law, my first career choice, or fluff a broadcast like it would in journalism, my second. Students just laugh.

So for various reasons that I’d never tell anybody else my third career choice – teaching – was also the hardest for me and presents a daily challenge. But I’d never complain. I love it.

Now she’s curious about my unscheduled trip west. I can almost see her eyes narrow. ‘I thought you were invited to speak at the Charlotte Academy Summer School in North Carolina? So how come you’re in Dallas, Texas, of all places? Come on, spill.’

I sigh. ‘It’s complicated. Ryan-related.’

‘That asshole.’

She must be feeling good. Her usual comment would make a trucker blush. I grin into the phone. ‘Tell me about it. Catch you passing through, maybe?’

She’s on office business in Austin so we could meet. We leave it in the air and I ring off. Billy’s brisk, no-nonsense energy has put me back on the rails. Now to get my day to match.

And the first thing I decide is to drive over to Fort Worth by myself. I’ll meet Ryan, find out what he wants and then get back here. Why wait for Darnley? It’s not like it’s really his business.

* * *

I leave him a brief note and then shrug on some clothes, scrape back my hair and set off to the parking bay to retrieve my hire car. Too late I recall my hasty promise to call the company for an upgrade but I decide to risk it.

At last I turn out of the impressive hotel driveway into the freeway running southwest, lower the window when the air-con fails once more to kick in, and switch on the radio.

I love driving in strange places. It’s about the most daring thing I do these days, so I’m happily bowling along, and singing along – at the top of my voice and in my best nasal twang – to Tammy Wynette and then Hank Williams on a local radio station, when I glance at the rear-view mirror. Some way behind me there’s a dark car. It looks like an expensive brand and it’s maintaining a steady distance behind me. Other cars are sliding past each other or falling behind but this particular car never seems to shift out of view.

After a few minutes I glance back again. It’s still there.

I frown at myself. Fort Worth’s the next town. Lots of people are going there.

Plenty of cars follow other cars – for miles, sometimes. I do it all the time. Why am I so jumpy about this one?

You might be in danger. Away from the seamless protection of his wealth and his lavish hotel suite Darnley’s words take on new meaning.

I press my lips together and turn up the volume on the radio. Bobbie Gentry’s mournful lament about Billie Joe McAllister fills the car and brings tears to my eyes. Irritated I switch it off and change lanes twice, speed up for ten minutes, and then slow down and change lanes again.

Other drivers lose patience and lean on the horn but to my relief the dark car has disappeared.

Panic over. My heart still thumping, I switch on the radio again and start drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as some couple – sadly not Johnny Cash and June Carter but pretty good all the same – crow about getting married in Jackson but all of a sudden I’m not listening any more.

That car has just reappeared in my mirror. It’s keeping a precise distance away from me, it’s travelling at exactly my speed and in the last twenty minutes it switched lanes each time I did.

Sweating now, I infuriate my fellow drivers further by swerving right across the slow-moving traffic and take the first exit slipway I see. I’ll lose him in the suburbs.