‘Who are you? What the hell is going on?’ Phil’s voice bounced off the walls.
‘Hello, Mr Michaels, Mrs Michaels. I’m Charlie, we’ve spoken on the phone. I popped over to see Lizzie, we’ve all been worried about her. I’m sorry, but I must have dropped the bolt on the door. Lizzie seemed faint when I arrived, and I was distracted.’
‘Where is she?’ Sara’s cheeks displayed furious bright spots as she pushed her way past the softly-spoken man.
‘In the lounge, she’s okay now. We had a chat.’
Charlie followed the couple, networking calmly, sweetening them one honeyed word at a time.
‘Ah, you look much better. Why don’t you go and have a bath now? Freshen up.’
‘A... a... all right, Sara - b… but Charlie was just leaving, weren’t you, Charlie?’
‘Er...’
‘A cup of tea, before you go?’ said Sara.
‘Er...’
‘Lizzie’s not up to visitors, Sara,’ Phil intervened, seething, his hackles prickled warning; he smelled danger, and yet...
‘Yes, I shouldn’t have stayed, but I was so concerned...’
Phil’s instincts screamed, but he remained silent.
Charlie’s reply sidled its way into Lizzie’s senses as she trailed out of the room and made her way to the bathroom.
‘He’s disgusting and dangerous…’ She trembled and hearing Phil see Charlie off, a dose of anger quivered into her veins.
Chapter Ten
The houses at the Knightsbridge garden square address started in excess of twelve million pounds, and Scott could not help but be impressed as he waited.
‘Follow me, sir, madam is expecting you.’
Scott made his way across the high-shine chessboard floor, thankful that his shoes made no sound as they moved him past the Art Deco staircase. A tree stood at the base of the stairs, ivory, mist grey, and white, decorated in metallic gleams of silver, copper, gold, and jade. Tables dotted the area holding vases filled with blooms, chrysanthemums, carnations, lilies, all white, their perfume assailed his senses.
The man paused in front of a polished door, gave a cursory knock, and pushed it open.
‘Come in, Scott. You may go, Higgins, I won’t need you again this evening,’ said Cara Wallace, uncurling herself from a chair.
‘Very well, madam.’ The man vanished.
‘Champagne?’
‘Thank you.’
‘To arriving at the right decision,’ she toasted, touching the rim of her flute against his.
They sipped, and he accepted her waved offer of the seat opposite hers.
‘Would you mind?’ asked Cara, handing Scott a second bottle. Business concluded, but not settled, Scott relaxed and popped the cork. The alcohol loosened him up; Cara was far more pliable and easy-going than he expected. Not for the first time that evening, Scott locked his gaze with hers a touch longer than was polite.
Her dazzling eyes glittered. He had not noticed them in the boardroom during his interview when she had worn spectacles. Undoubtedly, Cara looked stunning with or without the face furniture.
He tried to guess her age, and supposed anything from about forty-five to fifty-five, it was impossible to judge. Glossy, wealthy, attractive, and incredibly talented, Scott allowed a trickle interest to grow.
‘Do you approve?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You’re staring.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Actually, it’s flattering; I’m not against mixing a great deal of business with a modicum of pleasure.’
Scott’s collar constricted and he resisted the temptation to loosen his tie. The champagne, soft music and sumptuous surroundings ticked a message into his brain. Silence stretched between them as he contemplated her words.
‘Shall we?’ She stood up, her hand outstretched.
Rising swiftly and closing the space between them, he took her hand in his and raised it, palm up, to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the alabaster skin of her inner wrist.
Her perfume assaulted his senses; his cock led the way, hardening, as his brain pinged a warning. The battle between cock and brain raged as he pulled the woman hard against him. In her shoes, much closer to his height than Lizzie, standing nose to nose, he brushed her mouth with his, felt her melt into him, lips parted, allowing his tongue access. Jousting, he pushed his fingers into her sleek, blonde bob; her hair felt silky smooth against his fingertips. Her hands made their way to his arse, she dug into his flesh through the fabric of his trousers and pulled him hard against her, trapping his erection painfully between them. The knowledge that he would be unable to scoop Cara up into his arms briefly winded him, delivering a pang of longing for Lizzie and her body, which seemed designed to fit him.
‘What’s wrong?’ Don’t worry, we’ll say nothing about this during business hours, it will be our secret. Come along, darling, let’s make love.’ Cara grabbed his tie and yanked.
Scott’s cock softened, betraying his usual difficulty with forceful, demanding women, female aggression turned him off. Without revealing his dilemma, Scott allowed Cara to lead him by the neck, out of the room, across the entrance hall, and up the sweeping staircase, as if he were a dog on a leash.
‘Here we are,’ she announced.
Scott didn’t bother to resist.
Cara stepped out of her shoes and dress, stood at the foot of the canopied bed in her lingerie, a finger of invitation beckoned. Finally, loosening his tie, Scott obeyed, and took her in his arms again, kissed her, willing his cock to harden, and prayed she wouldn’t notice before he’d combated the problem, his cunning contingency in servicing her with his tongue.
‘Mmm, Scott, how wonderful,’ she exclaimed as he pushed her hard onto the bed, her body bouncing before settling back onto the coverlet.
Scott grabbed her legs and pulled her towards him until her bottom was resting at the edge of the bed. Hiding his lack of interest, Scott dropped to his knees between her thighs, moved the scrap of silk that passed for panties to one side, and buried his face into her. Inhaling her, unbearably making comparisons with Lizzie, he held her outer lips open with his thumbs, eating as if he were sucking the flesh from a ripe fruit. Lapping up and down, teasing silken folds, feeling her quiver, she laced slender fingers into his hair. Although too polite to push against his mouth, mewls and small noises left no doubt that she was close to climax.
Vibrating cells hummed on his tongue, as if she were plugged with a pulsating sex-toy, her central nub scarlet, engorged. In different circumstances, Scott’s sole desire would have been to demonstrate his expertise, but he struggled to maintain momentum. Although the well-manicured fingers in his hair sparked latent instinct, his mind refused to unclench around Lizzie until he closed his eyes and allowed Cara’s whimpers and moans to work their magic. At last, his cock stirred, driving all thoughts of Lizzie far into the distance as if he were in a field of flowers. Cara’s bloom being closest, blossoming and compelling while Lizzie’s perfume drifted far away, her fragrance masked by the overpowering scent of woman permeating his lips, tongue, and fingertips.
‘Fuck me,’ gasped Cara. ‘Now.’ Her hands in his hair, reinforced her words, pushing his mouth away, she slithered up the bed and removed her sodden panties. She opened her legs, wide, mesmerising him with her split self in an invitation few men would refuse.
‘There’s a condom under the pillow.’ Her words emitted on a long breath.
Standing and using a bedpost for balance, he stripped. At last, his cock ignoring his heart, stood firm, hard, proud, and ready for service. Retrieving the rubber he glanced down at the woman, spread, waiting, still, perfectly still, a starfish of expectation. Glancing the length of her, following a visible shiver which rippled from her head to toes, as if she were a racehorse anticipating the starting pistol, eyes closed, blinkered, while he unrolled the rubber.
Kneeling between her legs, he wished he had requested a little bondage; he didn’t want her nails to rake his back. I�
�ll bet she screams and scratches, he mused. On the other hand, perhaps a little hardball is exactly what I need; maybe mortification of my outer flesh will match the inner. It’s all falling apart.
Scott’s cock twitched and conjured visions of rough play served their purpose; he’d fuck his way out of his lethargy and using each thrust, deliver a dose of anger high up into the woman who had made herself so available for service. Probing and ready to pierce her with driving force, he guided his cock home with one hand, taking his weight with the other, ensuring impalement in one fluid movement. Suddenly, a whoosh of action engulfed him before he had a chance to hide an inch; Cara rose up, and forced him into her in a rush, wrapping him with legs and arms, in a vice-like grip.
‘Christ!’
‘Pilates, and I’m a Karate black belt,’ she hissed, holding him tight, tight against the length of her. The inner muscles of her snug sheath clutched his buried shaft, emulating her limbs. Creating a prison for every part of him, she brought them both to the brink of orgasm, and he didn’t have to move a single cell. Feeling her rhythmic pulses dancing on his shaft until a frozen millisecond when she shuddered in release, Scott’s experience paid off, and he managed to ensure her satisfaction without ejaculating. He didn’t want to come inside her, sheathed or not. He withdrew and a raging torrent of exploded seed flooded the redundant condom.
‘There’s a bathroom through there.’ She pointed.
Angrily discarding the evidence of his inability to resist temptation into the toilet bowl, Scott filled the sink with cold water and splashed his face. Self-disgust reflected from all sides in the theatre-like mirrors, which spanned the walls. He delayed as long as possible before returning to the bedroom. To his relief, she had disappeared. Scott dressed swiftly, made his way back out onto the landing and looked over the banisters to see Cara, robed, and waiting below.
‘I’ve called a car. They’ll take you wherever you want to go. I’ll expect to hear from you at eight sharp on Monday morning with your answer regarding our earlier discussions,’ she said as he made his way down. ‘There’s no need to let our tryst get in the way of the future.’
‘Thank you, Cara, you’re rather remarkable.’
‘As are you, Scott. I look forward to our ongoing connection.’
He gave the driver the address of his hotel, and settled back into the soft leather seats. His thoughts wandered to Lizzie, his need to shower, and his plans for the future, which, in spite of her presumption, did not feature Cara Wallace or Stock, Bond and Partners.
Chapter Eleven
‘He seems all right, and like the rest of us, he’s concerned about you. What do you think, Phil? Do you like him?’ Sara Michaels fixed on her husband.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Do you like him, Lizzie?’ At Phil’s gentle questioning, Lizzie dissolved into sobs.
Jumping up, knocking his chair over, Phil scooped her into his arms and carried the precious cargo to the sofa.
‘Get her quilt, Sara, and call the doctor, she’s in a dreadful way, look at her. Why didn’t we see it? She’s like a shadow, barely here at all, if it weren’t for the tears, you’d never know there was a little soul inside her. She’s hollow. Go phone the doctor, Sara, and make him come out... There, there, don’t cry, please try and stop. You’ll make yourself ill.’
‘No, not the doctor, please, Sara, don’t call the doctor. I’ll be okay.’ Lizzie coughed words while her sister tucked the quilt around her.
‘But you can’t go on like this, if you’re not better by tomorrow, we insist that you go and see someone first thing on Monday. Charlie told us you’d been off work too. You didn’t say that you missed work. When did you miss work?’
‘Oh, he’s got it wrong. It was the weekend we worked overtime when I stayed away from home. I wasn’t off sick at all. He must have mixed me up with someone else.’
‘Hmm,’ said Sara. She liked Charlie in spite of her husband’s reservations; he genuinely appeared to care for Lizzie, though evidently, he had little time for Scott Worth.
‘Charlie and Scott don’t get along?’
‘Leave the girl alone, Sara, she needs rest, not the Inquisition.’
‘Charming. There’s no need to be rude, Phil. There’s something that doesn’t add up. I won’t rest until I find out what it is.’
Lizzie inert, eyes closed, heard the sound of the argument fade in and out. Guilt weighed heavy, confusion scurried her thoughts into a scattered scrimmage. She would have to confide in Sara at some point, even though she had fallen for Green’s crap. Weird didn’t begin to cover it, he was gross, and his presence made her feel like vomiting. As if she needed any help in that department, she’d hardly done anything but throw up over the past few days.
‘Can you manage some soup?’ Sara fussed, rearranging the quilt.
‘Tomato?’
‘Of course, tomato. Isn’t it the only flavour when you’re feeling down?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘And after that, will you text Summer and see if she’s free to visit tomorrow?’
‘Okay.’
‘Good. That’s settled then. Switch on the TV, Phil, find something fun, then come into the kitchen and lend me a hand.’
‘Certainly, my little dictator,’ saluted Phil, clicking his heels together.
Chapter Twelve
I sometimes think I must be jinxed, thought Summer as she boarded the train an hour and a half later than the one she had intended to catch. A litany of disaster had plagued her all morning, starting with a power cut when she went to shower. Luckily, there was enough hot water for a bath, but barely time, leading to the first setback of the day, unable to use her hairdryer, and without suitable light, in the end she had to leave the house bare-faced and tousle-haired.
Named Summer in contradiction of the night she was born, there had been a power cut then too, and Diana Marlow went into labour during one of the worst storms in living memory. The weather closed in after her admission to hospital, and rain lashed down all night, accompanied by lightning and deafening thunder, which continued for hours. Summer’s parents had jointly decided on Daisy if their baby turned out to be a girl, but Diana changed her mind and convinced her husband to abandon the idea too.
Summer found it difficult to imagine her parents being new to parenting and fearful of the future. She was the youngest of their three children, and had only recently left home. Her brother and sister had each married within a year of the other and produced five children between them. The families lived close and benefited from doting grandparents on call.
Placing her red tartan case on the floor at her feet, she took a seat in the corner of a row of three, set in a group of six with a small table between her and the place opposite. Putting her phone onto the seat beside her, she retrieved her makeup pouch and mirror. Using the light from the window, she was happy to work on her face in public. Accustomed to travelling by train and Tube, in common with many commuters, Summer used public transport as an extension of her personal space, and she had to be practical, there was no way she’d turn up to work without her slap.
Peeking a quick glance at her trademark hair, its unwashed state didn’t much matter because Summer’s thick bob was bishop’s purple and the expensive cut always sat well, even without the use of straightening irons. She shrugged the thoughts away and hurried, knowing time would be limited before the carriages started filling as the train made stops at stations nearer to the city. She applied her base, before streaking white highlighter just below her brows, which betrayed her natural dark brown colour. A dab of vivid blue cream shadow slicked her eyelids, and after emphasising the sockets with a darker blue, she lined her eyes at the root of both sets of lashes, extending outward from the corners. She applied two coats of vibrant blue mascara, to finish the job. The colour was her trademark, which she had been wearing for as long as she had been making up. So far, when one brand discontinued the shade, she was able to find a
nother. She completed her look with deep pink, shiny lipstick without any errors of smudging in spite of the swaying, rumbling carriage, and replaced everything into her bag.
Adjusting the dusky pink patterned, cloth band tied around her head, adorned with an oversized silk flower of the same colour, she smoothed imaginary creases out of the tight black blouse, noticing the buttons at her breasts gaped a little. Summer ran her hands over the black skirt and glancing down, moved her feet this way and that, admiring new pumps, the opaque sheen of her tights accentuating ankle and shinbones. Satisfied with her appearance and checking her mobile, she retrieved her messages. At last, a response from Lizzie.
Do you have a day off tomorrow? If you do, please come over, I’m not well, I need cheering up.
Summer dialled instead of texting.
‘At last, I hear from you, Pimpernel. I’ll be over tomorrow, after lunch. Gotta sleep in, it’s been a long week. I have loads to tell you, and I want to know what you’ve been up to as well, it’s been ages... You know my black scarf? My favourite? Well, that guy I told you about stole it. No, seriously, he did. While we were having a drink yesterday lunchtime, he kept sniffing it, and saying stuff like, “mmm, it smells lovely” and “good enough to eat” and then, after taking it off me, and going on about how nice it smelled, he kept it. Really. The bugger didn’t return it. I’m peeved, I loved that scarf. I hope I see him again to get it back.’
‘He fancies you... wants you to ring him.’
‘Well, I shan’t give him the satisfaction, bloody cheek, that scarf was a present.’
‘I know, I bought it,’ laughed Lizzie, already feeling better and the girls giggled while they discussed the best way of dealing with the thief. Summer had been dying to get off with the thieving bastard for a while and thought of the stolen scarf as progress.
‘He’s so childish,’ they agreed.
Settling back into her seat, she scanned the faces. After a while, a few passengers looked familiar, and she wondered if she’d seen them before, whether they’d come into the theatre or if the older lady at the other end of the coach had once been her teacher.
Break it to Love Page 5
