by J. D. Chase
Isla was about to chide him for not answering until she realised that her own phone was switched off so Xander couldn’t reach her, and she held back the rebuke. Instead, she began to walk towards the exit. ‘I own this place.’ The remark was casually tossed over her shoulder.
‘What? How on earth could you afford this place? A few months ago you were claiming poverty when you bought out my share of the flat. There’s no way you could buy a hotel.’
She allowed him to get level with her before smiling at him. ‘Because I’ve learned not to let cheating rats get me down, Jamie. I’m better than that. And this place proves it. It’s mine. I have the paperwork to prove it.’
As they reached the revolving door, Isla remembered that she couldn’t go outside so she stopped, just inside and thanked him again for bringing her things. Bidding him goodnight, she looked through the glazed doors. The car park was bathed in evening sunshine and she tried to see whether Xander had given up his stakeout. She couldn’t tell.
When she looked back at Jamie, he was looking at her wistfully but once their eyes met, he turned away and pushed the revolving door, ready to step inside.
‘Hey, isn’t that his car?’ he exclaimed.
‘Hmm?’ Isla was once again attempting to peer on to the road outside.
‘You’re still seeing him, aren’t you? You lied to me. You’re no better than I am.’
She sighed heavily, glancing over at Nadine to find her watching keenly, although she looked away when Isla caught her staring. ‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed. ‘No, I’m not.’
Jamie’s face contorted into a vitriolic expression as he hissed back, ‘Then what’s his fucking car doing outside? God knows how I didn’t spot it on the way in but that’s definitely his car. I’d know it anywhere. So this is his hotel, not yours.’
‘It was his car, Jamie. I bought it. Now it’s mine. So is the hotel.’
He appraised her through narrowed eyes, just as she appraised him. Nothing had changed, she decided. He was lonely and he had a chip on his shoulder that his bit on the side had dumped him.
She pondered whether to demand the key to her flat but figured that since she was a prisoner here for the foreseeable future, it would be useful for him to hang on to it for a while. She was about to bid him goodnight but the question that had eluded her earlier, popped into her head.
‘Jamie, just out of curiosity, how do you know Xander?’
His lips turned down in a vague gesture of distaste. ‘I don’t know him, I just know of him. He’s a friend of a friend, that’s all.’
Oooh, I know that look – he’s jealous. He doesn’t like Xander because he’s envious of him . . . yeah, that sounds like Jamie. Xander has money, a nice car and women lust over him at first sight . . . not to mention the fact that he was fucking me. Oh yeah, Jamie wouldn’t like Xander at all. I’ve seen this reaction many times before and it’s always born out of jealousy. How many times have I told him that money isn’t everything, that it doesn’t make someone better than you? I guess he’ll never learn.
‘Ah, I see. Thanks again for your help tonight. I’ll see you around, Jamie.’
Without waiting for his reply, she turned and walked back over to where she’d left her suitcase. With every step she took, she could feel his eyes on her back. She grasped the handle of the case and wheeled it over to the lift. When she pressed the call button, the doors opened instantly and, as she stepped inside, she sneaked a look at the entrance. Jamie had gone.
Chapter Four
She hoisted her suitcase on to the bed and flopped down next to it. She felt drained but she knew she should unpack her case before everything creased so she forced herself back on to her feet and set about emptying it. Pleasingly, everything she’d asked Jamie to pick up for her was there. She wandered through into the living room and took off her suit jacket, intending to sink down on to the sofa and flick on the TV. However, she found herself drawn to the window that overlooked the front of the hotel.
He’s still there.
She stood, staring at the grey hatchback parked next to the car park entrance for several minutes. The glare of the sun on the driver’s window prevented her from seeing whether he was sitting inside but, since she couldn’t see him anywhere else, she had to assume that he was in there. She felt her hands gripping the windowsill as the burden of it all began to weigh heavily on her shoulders.
When will he give up? Oh I know he won’t give up on getting the hotel back but when will he tire of sitting there? I’m tired of these games already.
Why did he have to be married?
Because all men are bastards, that’s why!
But why Xander? I’ve never met anyone like him and most likely never will again. The way he made me feel . . . the way my body responded to him . . . that dirty mouth . . . that frustratingly exhilarating arrogance, those strong hands . . . that talented tongue . . . that fucking rock hard— No! Don’t even go there. There’s more to life than sex . . .
Like being a prisoner in your place of work, that you own but don’t actually own?
The truth is bound to come out one way or another. Then the staff will know that I’ve fed them a pack of lies. What will happen then? I’ll be out of a job with a mortgage to pay and no reference to help get another job. And I’ll be a laughing stock – no, worse than that, I’ll be pitied. Poor Isla, she couldn’t keep her knickers on when her married boss was around . . . her married boss with a baby on the way. Then she played silly beggars out of spite . . . and Xander still won’t have learned his lesson.
So whilst I’m left with nothing, not even my pride, he’ll have lost precisely nothing. I’m here, a prisoner in his hotel, pretending I’m teaching him a lesson and for what exactly?
She felt the windowsill cutting into her palms, such was her grip. She slackened it, closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself.
Well fuck you, Xander Rhodes. Who says it all has to end like that? Who says I can’t teach you a lesson – you fucking deserve it. I have the law on my side and if it got to court, who’d believe you . . . a man who walked out on his pregnant wife? What kind of credibility does that give you? What proof is there that we were even having a relationship?
Oh yes, Xander Rhodes, I’m not going to give up that easily. You may as well retreat to your other hotel and settle down for a good night’s sleep . . . you’re going to need it, you cheating, lowlife bastard. Because I’m going to be your worst nightmare. I hope your wife gives you hell too.
She turned back from the window and gasped as another thought struck her.
Oh God, all the time he was fucking me, he might have been fucking her too. He might have left their bed to come to mine and . . . hold on, she’s pregnant . . . maybe that’s why he was so desperate for sex. Maybe she’s one of those women who won’t have sex during pregnancy. Oh God, I hope so. Not that it excuses him one little bit but it makes me feel a little less dirty. A little less tainted.
Jesus, I can’t bear the thought of him leaving her bed and coming to mine . . .
That makes me feel sick. Fuck, I really need another drink.
She looked over at the mini bar and then thought better of it. She needed company to distract her from her thoughts, lest she begin to doubt herself again. She headed to the door; drinking in the bar would be a better idea. She was less likely to drown her sorrows in public.
Thankfully, the bar was almost empty. Dean beamed when he saw her.
‘I didn’t expect to see you again tonight.’
She perched on a bar stool. ‘It’s been one of those days – and then some. I’m sorry for disappearing like that. Could I have another Chardonnay please?’
He was obviously delighted to have her company because he continued to smile as he poured her drink. ‘Oh, that’s okay. I understand completely. I’ve voiced my concerns about the long hours you put in so many times that I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m wasting my breath,’ he teased.
‘Wel
l, you can take that back because it wasn’t work,’ she said with exaggerated smugness.
His face fell. ‘Oh. If it wasn’t work, was it pleasure?’ He looked wary of her response.
Isla laughed. ‘Hardly. It was my ex that was here to see me.’ She took a long sip of her wine then closed her eyes as the cool liquid refreshed her mouth and slid down her throat. ‘Oh God, you don’t know how good that wine tastes.’
‘Your ex?’
‘Yeah. I remembered that he had a key to my flat and since I’m stuck here, with that knob end out there lying in wait for me, I had to get some clothes and stuff brought to the hotel so I asked him to do it for me. He owed me big time so he couldn’t say no.’
Dean’s eyebrows raised slightly. ‘I’d have gone and collected your things if you’d asked me to.’
She smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you, Dean, but I couldn’t ask that of you. Besides, you’re working.’
Shrugging, he replied, ‘I’d have gone after work. So anyway, you and your ex are friends? I think that’s admirable. I’ve tried to remain friends with all of mine but somehow, no matter how amicable the split and good the intentions, it’s never happened. Not that there are many exes . . . God, that sounds awful. In fact, if I count them, there are only—’
‘It’s okay, Dean,’ Isla laughed. ‘I get it, you’re not a man whore! And no, Jamie and I aren’t really friends. In fact, apart from bumping into him this morning, I hadn’t spoken to him since we went our separate ways well over six months ago. It wasn’t an amicable split so that’s hardly surprising.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope I didn’t bring back any painful memories. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.’ His face was the image of sincerity, making Isla realise just how sensitive he was. Much more sensitive than any man with whom she’d had a relationship.
Perhaps there’s a lesson there . . . only get involved with sensitive men. Well, if I ever go near another one, I’ll bear that in mind but for now . . . all men are bastards.
She shook her head and smiled reassuringly before draining her glass. ‘God no, that’s well in the past now. It was awful for a time because I found he was seeing someone else. We worked together and, of course, it spilled over into work and once it was common knowledge I couldn’t bear the constant gossip or worse, the pity, so I left. Stockbroking’s a very tightly knit community so word had spread and I needed an income to pay the mortgage on the flat, especially since I’d kicked Jamie out so I applied for anything. And that’s how I ended up here. And thank God I got the job here because, just when I was starting to get my life back on track, I received a letter from a solicitor stating that Jamie would force the sale of our flat if I didn’t buy him out. Thankfully, I had some savings and I managed to do it but paying the full mortgage each month is crippling me.’ She laughed. ‘Man, that sounds depressing – get the violins out. But, on the bright side, I will own the flat outright and I found out what type of man Jamie really was so I’m a winner, I guess.’
She held out her empty glass for Dean to refill. He took it but he just stared wistfully at her. Finally, he muttered, sadly, ‘You were a stockbroker and you went through a horrendous time before you started here. And you were working here when you received that letter? And I knew nothing about it. I thought we were friends, Isla. If you’d told me, I’d have tried to help in some way. At the very least, I could have given you moral support and a shoulder to cry on. I feel awful knowing now that you went through all that alone yet you came in here every day with a smile on your face. I really wish I’d known.’
‘Dean, you’re too kind by far. I didn’t know you when the shit hit the fan and, when the letter arrived, I’d not been here long. You’ve nothing to beat yourself up about. Plus, I’m one of those people who contain everything, keep their head down and do whatever needs to be done to get through it. I doubt you could have helped. It doesn’t matter now anyway. I’m a stronger person for having gone through that and, like I say, it’s in the past.’
The only other people in the bar, an elderly couple who’d been chatting over a couple of glasses of malt whiskey passed by the bar, holding hands. Isla and Dean both wished them goodnight.
‘Isn’t that lovely to see?’ he mused once they’d left.
‘What? A full glass of wine? Yes, that would be lovely to see,’ Isla teased, poking out her tongue at his raised eyebrows.
‘All right, all right,’ he said with exaggerated exasperation, retrieving a bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge. ‘I meant it was lovely to see an old couple, still very much together and enjoying each other’s company after goodness knows how many years of marriage. It gives me hope, seeing couples like that. Especially after hearing your tale. What a dickhead Jamie must be. I fucking abhor cheating and could never cheat on a woman, whether it was a serious relationship or not. If you’re tempted to cheat, the relationship is over so why bother? End the relationship then fuck who you want, no need for lying and sneaking around. I just couldn’t do that to someone I cared about. Men who cheat on their partners should have their bollocks removed . . . without anaesthetic and have “cheating bastard” tattooed on their foreheads to alert potential victims.’
He passed her the refilled glass and, once again, Isla was struck by the sincerity of his expression as well as the ferocity of his words. She sat unblinking for a few seconds before raising her glass. ‘I’ll drink to that. And the same goes for women who cheat, although chopping off their bollocks may prove more than difficult but the sentiment is there . . . pour yourself a drink, Dean. I’m not drinking to that alone.’
His passionate expression morphed into a relaxed smile. ‘It’ll have to be a soft one, I’m driving. I’ll have an orange juice.’
Isla’s mouth turned down. ‘Orange juice, smorange juice! We can’t put the world to rights on an orange. For goodness sake, man . . . just one won’t hurt, will it?’
Pursing his lips and giving it some consideration, he poured himself a small glass of Merlot and raised it to hover near Isla’s.
She grinned. ‘Okay, so here’s to men’s dicks shrivelling up and dropping off if they so much as go near a woman when they’re committed to another.’
They clinked glasses and Dean took a sip, but Isla downed a mouthful.
He laughed. ‘And here’s to lawmakers the world over, waking up in the morning and decreeing that men’s bollocks will be chopped off if they fuck around. And women’s . . .’
‘Women’s vaginas being stapled with rusty staples . . . with a straw inserted into their pee-holes if they cheat on their partner,’ Isla chimed.
Dean’s face contorted. ‘Oh God, that’s evil. You can’t mutilate a gorgeous pussy. That’s just wrong.’
‘Hey, if they cheat, they deserve it. After all, I worship cocks but I’m willing to see them shrivel up to look like maggots before they fall off. Fair’s fair, Deano.’
Dean didn’t appear to notice the slight slurring of her words. ‘Oh okay then. I suppose I can get past the thought of a beautiful pussy being defaced if it belonged to a cheater . . . I wouldn’t want to be near it anyway. Oh and I’d be warned by the forehead tattoo so I wouldn’t ever have the misfortune of getting up close and personal with one. Cheers!’
‘Exactly. Cheers.’
They clinked glasses and, as Dean sipped his, Isla drained hers and held it out for a refill. Dean was chuckling as he obliged.
‘What?’ she demanded as he passed back her glass.
‘You,’ he grinned. ‘I worship cocks . . . what are you like?’
Shrugging, she replied, the slurring in evidence once more, ‘Honest. That’s what. A cock is a thing of beauty and it’s pretty damned amazing. I know they’re all different but that just makes each unique cock extra amazing. One minute it’s all soft and cute and it morphs in seconds into a truncheon. And if it’s uncircumcised . . . fuck me! That silky soft hood slipping back to reveal the proud, purplish head . . . it’s totally breathtaking . . . and
makes me as horny as fuck. And oh God, yeah, if it’s glistening with precum . . . that makes me drool with anticipation. My mouth will gape open and my tongue will wet my lips . . . without any conscious thought . . . it will just want to wrap itself around that cock and taste it and even when it does, it’s not enough. It wants to milk it dry. You don’t want to know what that does to me . . . nipples like granite . . . pussy clenches galore . . . soggy knickers are guaranteed . . . as is a noisy, sloppy blow job.’
If she’d been sober, she might have thought that Dean wasn’t listening. He was standing stock-still as though paralysed. He eventually shook himself out of it, as if leaving hypnosis, but he continued to stand there, regarding her with a strange expression on his face as he drained his glass. The bar hid the movement of his hand from her eyes, as he subtly rearranged the contents of his boxers before pouring himself another glass of wine. He took a slug but it didn’t hit the spot so he poured himself a large bourbon and knocked it back. His lips pulled back as the liquid burned his throat, but still he could not shake off the images Isla had conjured in his mind of her worshipping cock. His cock. So he poured another.
Blissfully unaware, she continued, ‘I guess it’s the same for you men when it comes to pussies. Each one is uniquely beautiful in the eye of the beholder. But whether it’s an innie or an outie, when she’s turned on and parts her thighs, giving you an unrestricted viewing of her moist labia slowly parting to reveal her glistening pink slit, it must short-circuit your brain and send the message straight to your cock . . . or your tongue. And when her swollen clitoris comes into view pleading for attention . . . and your nostrils catch the scent of her . . . that must send you over the edge. You’d be desperate to taste her and your cock would be begging to be sheathed inside her, needing to feel the heat from her tight muscles as they clamp down on your rock-solid cock as you slide inside her. Tell me I’m wrong. Dean . . . Dean?’
With his jaw clamped firmly closed, eyes glossy and dark from dilated pupils and very shallow breathing, Dean was gripping the bar with both hands. Her slurred musings had seemingly mesmerised him.
