Lovers and Liars: An addictive sexy beach read

by Nigel May

  ‘I make sure that I work hard to always gain what I believe I can achieve in life,’ stated the boxer.

  ‘And you play hard too?’

  ‘Play?’

  Maybe Sutton’s context hadn’t been clear.

  She re-emphasised her meaning. ‘Play. Away from training and all that gym work you obviously spend hours every day doing. And it’s worth every second, by the way.’ Sutton let her eyes drift down his torso as she spoke. Did Hatton shift a little awkwardly in his seat as she let her gaze linger upon him? If he did then she chose to ignore it. ‘Surely your body likes to work out in all areas of your life.’ The sentence was layered with hopeful suggestion.

  ‘If the play is suitable and beneficial to my desires then of course.’ Hatton definitely seemed a little awkward at Sutton being so forward. He was used to women throwing themselves at him after a fight or indeed at any public appearance he made, but they weren’t normally old enough to be his mother or married to the man who was paying him a life-changing amount of money to fight at the latest of his six-star hotels.

  ‘And what makes the play suitable?’ asked Sutton, keen to see if she might fit the category. ‘Would you consider someone like me to be suitable? I’m not sure my husband always does.’

  ‘If it stirs my heart, if it gives me what I need, if it is equal. Somebody who is my natural match.’ Hatton didn’t answer her question. ‘And your husband should respect you and love you completely.’

  ‘Like that’s ever going to happen!’ snorted Sutton. ‘He’s not a man like you, Hatton, not at all. I’m not sure I would be what he would call his “natural match” these days.’ She could feel her heart sink, a deep bubble of vulnerability inside her suddenly rising to the surface at full steam. There was something about that phrase ‘natural match’, and Hatton’s lack of response, that made her think her chances of bedding him were skinnier than the delicate almond tuiles she’d been contemplating for her third course. And thinking about Sheridan’s constant infidelity was always a downer.

  Sutton may have been many things in life but Hatton’s ‘natural match’ was not one of them. He worked his powerhouse body to perfection at the gym; she changed her own body imperfections under the knife of surgeon Jona Fleet. Right now he was the number-one boxer in the world, lately she had been housing a feeling of being no more than a plus one to her own marriage. He was young and current, she was suddenly awash with the feeling of being old and past it as far as sexual attraction was concerned. What was the point in having the confidence to sassily talk the talk if no one wanted to walk the walk with her anymore?

  Her confidence skydiving into free-fall, Sutton refilled her wine glass and offered the bottle to Hatton, who now seemed to be more awkward in her company than he had been all evening. Or was that her imagination? She doubted it. She knew what the answer to the offer of alcohol would be.

  ‘No, thank you. I must think about going. I have an early training session tomorrow and my manager would not be happy with me if I ruin my chances by being foolish with drink.’

  Foolish? Is that how he saw Sutton? As a foolish old woman who liked to knock back the red wine? Maybe he was right. Her spirit broken and all thoughts of taking Hatton to her bed seemingly extinguished, Sutton gave up the chase.

  ‘No dessert? I can’t tempt you, Hatton?’

  As Hatton rose to his feet and grabbed his suit jacket from his chair, it was clear that Sutton couldn’t – neither with a calorific pudding nor indeed otherwise.

  He held out his hand for her to shake. He could see deep sadness in her eyes. ‘I must thank you for a lovely meal and good conversation. If anything else needs to be discussed for the fight in Barbados then I would be happy to meet again. Do let Fidge know what you want.’

  As she watched him disappear across the restaurant she could feel deflation and humiliation filling her every vein. Her evening had crashed and burned. The thought that no doubt her husband was somewhere banging one of his conquests flashed across her brain – how come he could pull but not her? Why weren’t lovers falling at her designer-heeled feet?

  The waiter serving Sutton’s table appeared alongside her. ‘Will there be anything else, Mrs Rivers? A dessert, perhaps? The chef is trying something different with the almond tuiles tonight if you want to give them a try. Apparently he has a new ingredient to give them a better taste.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. The meal is over. That’ll be all.’ She wafted her hand at him to shoo him away from the table. He followed her meaning and retreated.

  No, Sutton wouldn’t be tasting Hatton Eden tonight and she wouldn’t be tasting the chef’s new almond tuiles either despite them being her favourite. Nothing tasted good when it was served with disappointment and rejection.

  14

  ‘And here comes the storm,’ sighed Heather as she watched the runway at Heraklion International Airport, the major gateway for Crete’s thousands of happy holidaymakers. But Heather wasn’t talking meteorologically. She was passing comment on the arrival of the private jet that was just steering itself into resting position at the edge of the runway. The one carrying hotel tycoon and her father, Sheridan Rivers, to the island. If anyone was set to cause devastation by blowing into paradise at a hurricane speed then it was him. And as Heather watched him from their observation point she had to admit that she wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing him again.

  Not that she didn’t love her father, she did, but she knew what he was capable of and she was hoping that his visit to the beautiful Aegean island was to be a fruitless one. She had grown to love the place over the last few days, with its white mountains, cultural heritage and family-run businesses, and the last thing any of that needed was a multi-millionaire with a ready-to-play wrecking ball. Heather had fallen for Crete, hook, line and Greek fishing sinker and the fact that she had been able to share her time there with Max by her side made the place even more idyllic.

  Max pulled his wife close as he watched Sheridan descend from the jet, Kassidy Orpin just two steps behind him. Despite the intensity of the overhead sun, Sheridan was dressed in the sharpest of black suits and looked in complete contrast to the rest of the airport arrivals, who were flying in from around the world sporting floral prints, baggy shorts and oversized sunglasses. They were here to make merry, whereas Sheridan, as ever, was here to make money, no matter what the cost.

  ‘And breathe,’ said Max, kissing the top of Heather’s head. ‘I’m sure your father will try and keep his plan to open a hotel here as fluid and non-disruptive as possible. It is a beautiful place for people to visit and if he does decide to build a Velvet hotel here then at least it will bring some more tourism and business to the island. It is what he does best, after all.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but you’re talking about the man who would demolish the Pope’s house if he thought that a Velvet hotel in the middle of Vatican City would be a money-spinner. He destroyed half a nature reserve to build the Velvet hotel in Cannes. My father may be a high flyer but he has low morals.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure his cutest daughter can persuade him that maybe building a hotel here isn’t the smartest move, although of all the places Velvet do have hotels this would definitely be one that I would come to time and again with you and all of the little Stonehams in the future. Imagine our kids splashing in the sea, chasing after lizards or playing in the caves here. Any kid would be happy to spend a lot of time here.’

  Heather loved the idea and a grin swept across her face, as bright as the sun above. ‘Well then, maybe I need to persuade Dad to just build a small hotel here, with minimal fuss, and with a personal suite for us two and our future brood.’ Her hand automatically moved to her stomach as she spoke, an unconscious action, but one that spoke volumes. Heather had been thinking more and more about the possibility of children in her life and at twenty-four her heart was telling her that maybe the timing was right.

  ‘Right, let’s go and meet dear father, shall we?’ she smiled, taking Max’s hand in her
s. ‘And attempt to prove to him that he doesn’t have to bulldoze every quaint fishing shack within a twenty-mile radius to earn a fortune.’

  ‘Lead the way.’

  Heather squeezed his hand as they walked away from the observation area and into the main arrivals area of the airport where they were to meet Sheridan and Kassidy.

  ‘Let’s just hope it’s all calm and sunny days and not a gale force ten, Storm Jonas nightmare, shall we?’

  Heather still wasn’t talking about the weather.

  Blair Lonergan watched the rain lashing against his hotel room window as a pair of expert hands worked their way across the naked flesh of his back. He loved the rain, he always had done. Especially like this, when he was inside and able to just take in the majesty of the storm clouds that had gathered in the New York skies and erupted with one of those full-on thunderous rain showers that, in his mind’s eye, only the Big Apple seemed to have. Large, full droplets of rain exploded onto the sidewalks and the army of umbrellas carried by New Yorkers determined another downpour would not stop them from continuing with their day. Nothing could soak the spirit of NYC and that was one of the many reasons why he adored it. The sound of the city would never be softened by the crack of thunder or the outbreak of lightning.

  ‘How does that feel, Mr Lonergan? Is that deep enough for you, or do you prefer it harder?’

  Blair took his mind away from the rain for a moment to talk to the masseuse currently kneading his back into nirvana with her expert hands. It was another of the things he loved about his contract with Velvet. He was allowed to request massages and treatments whenever he wanted, all free of charge and all within the privacy of his own suite. And the added joy about being back on home turf was that he was able to request Bonnie, one of the in-house team at Velvet NYC and the woman with, as far as he was concerned, the most expert hands when it came to relaxing him before a gig. He had made sure that she was available to come to his twenty-first floor suite in the hotel as soon as he’d arrived.

  Blair was lying face down on the massage table, a towel draped across his butt, naked apart from that. He tilted his head slightly to speak to Bonnie.

  ‘Now, come on, Bonnie, you know I hate all that formal shit! You call me Blair and you know full well that I like the deepest massage you can give me. Why do you think I always ask for you? I want you to work my skin so deep you find Atlantis.’

  Bonnie smiled, somewhat confused by his reference. ‘Okay, Mr… I mean Blair.’ She began to rotate her knuckles deeply into the skin around his shoulder blades.

  Blair let out a sigh as he went back to watching the rain outside. Not that he was totally concentrating on the rainstorm washing the New York streets. He was thinking about the woman he had seen climbing into the taxi outside the hotel on his arrival. He couldn’t remove her striking features from his mind. It had been a long time since Blair Lonergan had been knocked sideways by somebody’s appearance. Those eyes, that skin, her tumbling hair, it was all imprinted firmly on his mind. Not that he needed to imagine it anymore. He now knew who she was. He knew he’d vaguely recognised her and when he’d opened the Velvet hotels brochure in his suite before the massage the penny finally dropped. There she was, standing alongside her folks and sister in a family shot: Nikki Rivers, heiress to the Velvet fortune. He’d seen her on E! News and on Fashion Police. Blair didn’t really follow the celebrity world as he found most of them vacuous and insipid, but he had seen Nikki before. She was that fabulous cocktail of media cool and minted. And with killer looks that could slay men by the battalion. He was surprised he’d never run into her before, but seeing as she literally continent-hopped between the Velvet hotels around the globe, it was no wonder their paths hadn’t crossed. But if she was in the Big Apple, maybe she was here for his gig, and if she was then he would have to make sure it was a set to remember, for all the right reasons.

  ‘Okay, Blair, time to turn over. I’ll massage your front,’ stated Bonnie.

  Blair flipped himself over, a knowing grin across his face. The towel fell to the floor as he moved and he made no attempt to retrieve it. Bonnie gasped as she saw his erection, proud and poker-straight.

  ‘Oh, Blair… Where do you want me to start?’

  ‘Another stupid question, Bonnie! Can’t you see what you do for me?’

  He lay back and closed his eyes as he felt Bonnie’s lips close around his erect cock. It was another reason he always insisted on her for his New York massages. She had no issues with giving Blair that extra personal touch – she seemed to enjoy it. Not that he was thinking about Bonnie as she worked her mouth up and down his prick. No, the face that filled his mind was that of Nikki Rivers.

  15

  Sutton Rivers was not a happy woman. Which was why she had been drinking ever since she returned to her Velvet London suite after her meal with Hatton. The boxer had turned her down. Not in so many words, but Christ, she had made her intentions clear enough. What was it with men? If a woman in her prime served up seduction on a plate then he’d have to be mad not to take a bite.

  She drained the last drops of champagne from her glass as she stared into the full-length mirror on the wall. Her legs wobbled slightly underneath her and she slumped to the ground, sitting herself as comfortably as her black Calvin Klein dress would allow.

  Sutton tried to study her reflection, despite an inability to focus given the amount of drink she had consumed. From the neck down she had to admit that she looked drop-dead gorgeous. Her skin was smooth, her breasts displayed to perfection underneath the print of the fabric and her waist pinched in to a size that would please a woman half her age. So the problem had to be from the neck up.

  She moved herself as close to the mirror as she could and stared into her own eyes: a touch bloodshot, no surprise there. Mind you, she had been reading about two surgeons who now performed eye-whitening surgery – one in Korea and another in the States, if she remembered correctly. Maybe she would have to investigate. A bloodshot eye was an ugly eye as far as she was concerned. Her lids could do with some perking up too; they were straying into the realms of puffiness and drooping from what she could see. A dose of youth-inducing blepharoplasty might be in order. Maybe she would mention it to Jona.

  Sutton giggled slightly and said the word ‘blepharoplasty’ out loud. It was funny. At school back in New York she could scarcely remember her four times table or the names of the Three Wise Men, but these days she knew the medical words for cosmetic procedures for every part of the body. From labiaplasty to vaginoplasty via umbilicoplasty through to the weird saline-injection bagel forehead procedures that she’d read about being massive in Japan, Sutton had studied them all, considered virtually all of them and undergone any she deemed necessary, no matter what others around her had advised.

  Were her cheeks looking a little too chubby for her liking? She thought maybe they were. Perhaps she should talk to Jona about buccal lipectomy too. Plus, maybe a jawline reduction at some point in the future. She stroked her jaw, already perfect in shape, and felt slightly repulsed by what she thought she felt there. Through eyes that were not seeing the truth she examined her face, wincing as she mouthed the word ‘Jawzilla’. She sucked her cheeks in, contemplating the idea of dimples. ‘Oh Sutton, look at you, you tragic piece of work. Why can’t you have dimples like Jennifer Garner?’

  Sutton could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. This misery would have to stop. She felt unloved. Hatton Eden didn’t know what he was missing and that was his fault entirely as far as she was concerned, even if her own reflection was trying to tell her a different story. There was only one thing for it: more champagne.

  Sutton crawled across on her hands and knees to a table a few feet away from her and picked up the telephone. She pressed the button she needed and slurred her demand for champagne into the handset. Having being told that room service would deliver it to her suite immediately she clicked the phone off and waited for the champagne’s arrival.

  It wa
s less than five minutes later when a knock sounded at the door of her suite. Weaving her way to the door, Sutton grabbed the handle and yanked it open. Sure enough, standing there was one of Velvet London’s room service men carrying an ice bucket housing a full bottle of the finest bubbles money could buy. The man must have been about twenty-five years of age, his thick black hair hipster cool, shaved East and West with a side parting that eased into a wave of flowing fringe that was styled to perfection on top of his head. A close-trimmed beard and fair skin completed the look.

  ‘You ordered champagne, Mrs Rivers?’

  Sutton smiled and beckoned him in. ‘I sure did, cutie. Why don’t you come on in and pop my cork for me?’ Her words were slurred and the man could see from the way she swayed, her legs not quite seeming to house the strength to keep her upright, that she was clearly drunk. But this was his big boss’s wife, so if she wanted him to pop her cork, then pop her cork he would. He smiled sheepishly and entered the suite. Sutton slammed the door behind him.

  ‘Okay, pour me a glass then, mister room service, and why not have one yourself? Treat yourself to a bit of mighty fine fizz.’

  ‘I’m not supposed to drink on duty, Mrs Rivers, but thank you for the offer.’

  ‘Shush, sweetie, shush!’ Sutton moved her finger to her lips. ‘You just do as I say. And I say there are lots of things you can do on duty, including having a drink with me.’ She let out a squeal as the man popped the cork from the bottle, the noise causing her to giggle. ‘My favourite sound!’

  The man, unnerved by Sutton’s obvious suggestion, poured two glasses and handed one to her. The last person he was going to piss off was Sutton Rivers.

  Sutton took a swig, some of the liquid missing her mouth and sweeping down her chin and tumbling onto her dress. She lifted the back of her arm to her face to wipe it away.