He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. What the hell did he do now? Leave and be away from her, that’s what he needed to do. He had to go and not let her know why. But he couldn’t keep pretending with her and he knew it. She was just too good at it. He’d break if he had to keep lying to her. No amount of hatred for her was enough to convince himself that he didn’t love her, because for the first time in his life, he was hopelessly in love and he felt it to his core.
No, he needed to be rid of her. It was the only way he could deal with Henry and the possible annihilation of his fortune. His pathetic heart would simply have to deal with it and move the fuck on.
He could tell her he didn’t love her and let her go. That would force her out of the door. She’d presented the opportunity for him to decline her invitation of a blissful future. Yes, he’d made a complete fucking idiot of himself at the ball but he could blame that on the joy of making so much money from the callous bastards that surrounded him in the room. The callous bastards that had now seen his weaknesses, the ones she’d made him show. Christ, she was good.
After lying there for a few moments, he heard music coming from downstairs, soft and gentle classical music, the beginnings of Clair De Lune.
“Bitch,” he muttered as he turned back onto his side and listened to his favourite piece of hopeful music, the only piece of music that soothed his core to some sort of peaceful rhythm. She probably knew and was using it to manipulate him, to make him feel relaxed and calm. She no doubt felt that he hadn’t been entirely with her when he fucked her and probably knew that he wasn’t really asleep. He almost laughed at the thought of his narcissistic self, thinking she was an amateur at playing these devious games of politics and business. Nobody was that good at playing chess if they didn’t know how to manipulate everything around them. She’d pretty much told him herself when she’d explained her father’s reason for teaching her. Another very clever man obviously.
“Chess is ruthless. You’ve got to be prepared to kill people.” That he did laugh at. He couldn’t imagine her even having the ability to kill a spider let alone people. She’d completely dazzled him. Henry had taught her well.
Swinging his legs over the bed and reaching down for his trousers, he abruptly threw them down to the floor again. If she wanted to continue with her little game then she could, at least for the rest of the night anyway. It would do him good to have her again. Maybe if he screwed her from behind, he could imagine her sucking at Henry. That should get her out of his head. He felt himself shudder at the thought and shook his head. “You’re a fucking fool, White. You know you want her again,” he mumbled to himself.
As he walked to the door, he realised the music wasn’t coming from the kitchen. She didn’t know how to work the system in the lounge so where was she? He got to the bottom of the stairs and noticed along the corridor that the door to the music room was open. Not that it was his room really… When the last owners of the house went bankrupt, they just left everything in the house. He’d thrown most of it but the music room had filled him with a sense of pleasure he hadn’t quite understood, so he’d just closed the door on it and left it all in there, waiting for him to find the meaning of it someday. As he realised that the piano was being played, he felt his heart constricting a notch tighter at the thought that this tragedy of love was apparently its meaning.
He moved closer and saw that the lamp in the corner was on and there, sitting at the grand under the window, was Elizabeth, her fingers travelling across the keys as if she were one with it while his shirt draped loosely around her body, moving with her as he should be. She wore the damn thing better than he did.
The sweet sound of Debussy filling the air with thoughts of hope and delicate whimsical visions made him suck in a breath at the sheer beauty that sat before him. She was, he had to admit, exceptionally good, and as he hovered in the doorway and traced the lines of her elegant legs with his eyes, the legs that had been in that bastard’s hands a few hours before, rage welled up inside him again. He sneered quietly and leaned against the frame. Whatever his feelings for the woman in front of him, he loved this piece of music, the music she was ruining for him forever, but he wanted to watch her play it and play it she did.
Her body swayed to the melody effortlessly, her hands pausing with palpable effect over each note as if imagining every emotion contained within the notes. He itched to kiss her, to travel his mouth along her delicate collarbone and whisper words of love into her ear. Adoration leapt into his mind again before he could stop it and he felt himself moving forward, inexplicably drawn to her. He hated himself in that moment but he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to hold her again, to touch her again, just for one more night, to just pretend for one more fucking night. He wanted to feel her wrapped around him and to hear the words she said with ease even if they were lies. God, he’d loved hearing those words coming from her mouth, the feel of her against his skin as she moaned out his name and kissed him with more intensity than he’d ever felt before. He’d loved everything about her and yet here he was, preparing to throw her out in the morning, because tomorrow he would tell her it was over and then she would be gone and he would be alone, again.
Reaching his fingers towards her, he waited and let her finish the piece. As it started to peter out into its final notes, he could hear her soft sobs as she bought the piece to an end and closed her eyes. She gracefully fingered the last notes and chords as she tilted her head to the side and allowed the music to bring her back to reality as it so often did for him. The world of hopes and dreams was lost in those last few notes of the song for him. The reality of his world always hit him hard at that moment when the notes just seemed to die on the piano, as his life seemed to seep back towards him and the dull and deflated thoughts took hold again. Those tragic thoughts of his bastard father and of the violence that haunted him daily, that same violence that he’d rung down on so many others with the same ease and disregard. The blood, the pain, the disinterest in anybody else’s life or care for their existence. It had been his job. He’d done it and enjoyed it, still would if it wasn’t for this charade of a life he currently lived. No amount of love would ever erase his past and he was a fool for thinking that it could. She’d almost done it, made him believe he was worthy of something more and flashed visions of peace at him, but that was over now, destroyed.
Sighing and running a hand through his hair, he stepped forward to her.
“That was beautiful,” he murmured. She jumped and swivelled around like a scared rabbit.
“Alex, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I didn’t know you were there. You made me jump,” she said as she got up and walked across to him, smiling that sexy smile that disabled him so much. Not this time, bitch. He smiled back and held his arms out to her.
“I didn’t know you could play,” he said as he held her. Thoughts of warm, sunny days and fields of corn drifted through his mind, teasing him with happy no fucking mores. He quickly shook his head.
“You never asked and I suppose it never came up. I found the piano the other day. I hope you don’t mind,” she said quietly with her captivating face nuzzling into his chest.
“What were you thinking about?” he said, hoping to God she would say him but knowing it was a lie if she did. She was thinking of Henry and about how much she wished she was with him.
“You. You amazed me tonight. I was filled with such an overwhelming sense of pride and love for you that I think I just needed a little time to myself to process everything that happened this evening. I couldn’t sleep. When I was little and I couldn’t sleep, my grandmother would play the piano for me. I thought it might help me relax a little.” Oh, and now come the stories of happy families and loving parents. God, she knew how to work him well. It was fucking pathetic really. How the hell had he allowed any of it to consume him so?
“Well, let’s get you to bed now. You’re tired and it’s been a long day. Besides, I know something that might tire you o
ut,” he said as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs. God, she felt good pressed against him as she giggled beautifully and nuzzled back into his chest.
“You’re insatiable, Mr. White,” she said suggestively, pressing a kiss to his heart. Bitch. He fucking hated her, hated those eyes, hated those lips, and hated that fucking glorious hair that was tickling his throat. The throat that belonged to her, only her.
“That I am, Elizabeth.” For you. Or I was, but no more. After tonight you will be gone and I will go back to mindless fucking with random women who will never fill your place in my heart.
Laying her on the bed, he undid the shirt she had been wearing and gently pulled it off her. She rose immediately to kiss him and pulled him down to her.
“Make love to me, Alex. Show me how you feel.” He gazed at her with longing for a reality he knew he could no longer have. She was so perfect, her lovely skin and her amazing contours, those big, beautiful brown eyes that now held nothing but lies and deceit in them.
I love you and you betrayed me. How could you? You’ve destroyed me.
“Turn over, Elizabeth.” She complied, and as he slowly kissed his way down her body and savoured her taste, he barely held in the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes, the damned tears that he had not cried since he was a young boy.
“I love you,” she whispered in the darkness.
No you don’t, but that won’t stop me holding onto it for just one more night. Just one more time for a life I hoped I might have.
He slowly pushed himself inside her, closed his eyes and reached for her throat.
Damn you, Elizabeth. Damn you to hell.
By five am he was sitting in the back of the Bentley, travelling to the airport. He’d watched her sleep for another hour after he’d made love to her and then decided he couldn’t do it. Try as he might, the connection had been too strong to deny and so he’d poured every emotion he had left into her and watched her take it and destroy him all over again in the process. So he knew with absolute certainty that he couldn’t look at her and tell her he didn’t love her. She’d see right through him and probably change his mind or something equally as frustrating. Guzzling another mouthful of whiskey out of the bottle, he stared out the window, gazed into the darkness and remembered the note he’d left her in the kitchen. A coward’s way out, yes, but nonetheless, he knew himself well enough to know he couldn’t look at her again. He just couldn’t bear it. He was supposed to be furious and enjoy throwing her out of his house while he laughed at her, but that just wasn’t possible with her. He honestly couldn’t think of a time in his life when he’d been so unable to face someone head on and enjoy their torment. As long as she thought it was just his fucked up sense of appropriate, Henry would never work out that he knew what was going on.
Sighing, he swigged again and gazed at her bracelet in his hand. She hadn’t worn it the night before. They’d been too busy laughing and giggling and trying to get out the door to the ball so he’d forgotten to give it to her. Her bracelet… He brought it to his nose and inhaled her perfume before tucking it into his pocket and drinking more Scotch.
Elizabeth, I’m sorry but I can’t give you what you want. I don’t love you and you deserve better than that. I am going to New York for a few weeks so you won’t have to see me again.
I thought you were the one, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.
AW
The steps on the jet were down and Phillip waited at the top as he and Andrews boarded the plane.
“Good morning, sir,” Phillip said.
“Is it? I don’t fucking think so somehow,” he replied as he frowned and made his way unsteadily to his seat. The alcohol was doing its job quite nicely.
He watched as Andrews muttered something to Phillip and then took the chair opposite him. Within minutes the jet started to move, thank fuck. He couldn’t get away from London and the bitch quick enough.
“Good morning, sir,” Tara said as she waltzed into the cabin and started doing her final checks. Did she fucking speak? Really? Who the fuck told her to speak?
“Don’t open your fucking mouth again. You’re a whore like the rest of them. Do your damned job and stay the hell out of my way,” he roared. She visibly faltered and stared at him in shock. He simply averted his eyes and stared out of the window. Tara scuttled off to the front of the cabin and he sneered at the thought of fucking her, disgusted with himself at the very image of it. Actually, maybe he should do it again and break her fucking neck at the same time. That would shut the slut up, wouldn’t it? Fucking women - better used as tools. It was easier, cleaner, less... whatever the hell the word for “heart-wrenching” or “soul destroying” was. And he could still smell her fucking perfume. Why could he still smell that? It had probably ingrained itself on his skin, just like her damn smile and perfect legs wrapping around him while she lied and thought of Henry. He needed a fucking shower to scrub the deceit off him. He rubbed at the bracelet in his pocket and heaved in a breath. Bitch.
“Do you want to tell me why we’re going to New York?” Andrews asked calmly. He could fuck off, too with his, “she won’t hurt you” damned pathetic lecture.
“I don’t need to tell you anything. Just do as you’re told,” he replied abruptly as the jet took off.
Andrews fidgeted a bit and looked like he might say something, so he lifted an eyebrow, daring him to speak. Quite cleverly the idiot didn’t so he simply took another gulp of whiskey and closed his eyes.
About an hour later, he woke up and rubbed his forehead, which fucking hurt. For a second he didn’t remember and then it all came flooding back to him as the pain took hold again. Looking over at Andrews reading, he sighed and poured more whiskey down his throat.
Michael Andrews, six foot two of solid murdering machine and apparently he thought of himself as some sort of father figure. The irony was hilarious. If Michael knew half the things he’d done to people in his life, he wouldn’t exactly be proud of his admission of fatherly intent. But he had always been there for him, dragged him out of all sorts of situations when he’d been too coked up to do it himself, fought for him and been hurt in the process. He supposed it was reasonably fatherly, not that he’d have a damn clue what a reasonable father was.
“You said she wouldn’t hurt me,” he said quietly while gazing out of the window.
“She wouldn’t,” Andrews replied, lifting his eyes up from his book with a quizzical expression.
“She’s in it with Henry. I saw them together.” Andrews flinched then frowned, putting his book on the table.
“Are you sure?” he asked, clearly very confused.
“Yes,” he replied with an acid hiss as more Scotch was poured down his throat. Andrews sighed as he saw where Alex was deciding to take himself.
“Did you ask her about it?” he questioned.
“What, and completely degrade myself? I won’t be her fucking toy anymore,” he seethed as he poured some more whiskey. “I won’t ever be anyone’s plaything again. Twice is quite enough.” He noticed his own slurring and smiled. Life was about to get much better.
“How do you know it’s the truth then? What if you’ve got it wrong?”
“I know what I saw, Michael. It’s all been a game to her. I guess she had us both wrapped around her fucking beautiful fingers. She really was very good at it though. I should employ her.” He chuckled a little as the alcohol started to take hold of him again, the room spinning quite effectively. He reached for his glass and watched as it magically jumped out of his fingers and over the side of the table. “Really very special indeed. Il diavolo travestito da angelo,” he continued as he lurched toward the bottle instead, missed and landed face first on the table with a thud and another chuckle. “Fairies. Damned pesky fuckers.”
Andrews moved the whiskey away from him and stood up.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he said as he reached for Alex and pulled him from the seat.
“Michael
, if you’re after sex I’m afraid I’m just not into men. Pascal couldn’t get it from me so you definitely won’t. Actually, I don’t think I could get it up anyway. I’m properly fucked.” He snickered as Andrews dragged him towards his bedroom, picking him up as he fell over and almost carrying him there.
“I don’t want you for your body, you idiot,” Andrews replied as he hauled him along the corridor.
“What do you want me for then? My money? Ha! You can’t fucking have it. It’s all mine, just for me,” he slurred. “Nobody to fucking share it with anyway, and she doesn’t want me. Why would she?” he said as he abruptly stopped and pushed Andrews up against the wall. “Why did she do this to me, Michael? Why?”
~
Andrews stared at him for a moment and contemplated an answer. What could he say? Suddenly Alex’s legs gave way and he crashed to the floor in a heap. Andrews rubbed his forehead in exasperation and looked down at the mess on the carpet. He hadn’t seen him like this for quite some time. It didn’t bode well in the slightest. Heaving him back up, he dragged him along towards the bed again and considered his options, which included calling Conner or following the dick until he got it out of his system. He’d go for the latter for the time being.
Laying him down, Andrews took off Alex’s shoes and watched as he passed out. Watching him sleep for a few minutes, he resolved to go back in a while and check he hadn’t choked on his own vomit, which was more than likely coming at some point. As he was about to leave, he saw something hanging out of Alex’s pocket. Walking back in, he lifted the bracelet out and studied it for a few moments. He knew who it belonged to, and placing it on the table next to the bed, he hoped that the guy was wrong, that he’d misread the situation somehow. It was possible, but unfortunately Alexander White was exceptional at reading situations. He left the door open, took one last glance at him to check he was alright and left the room.
Seeing White Page 52
