by Pippa Croft
‘Oh, OK, thanks.’
The moment I shut the door of my room, I open the box and tear open the tissue paper inside.
Wow!
It’s a dress and heels, and not just any dress or any heels but a full-length Alexander McQueen bustier gown in a blue so pale and translucent it’s like the ice of a glacier. The silk chiffon material falls from the strapless bodice like a waterfall. It has to be from Alexander but … wow. Where on earth can he be taking me in a gown like this?
I lay it reverently on the bed while I hold up the shoes. Oh, the shoes.
They’re Manolo Blahniks, six-inch silver stiletto-heeled pumps. I think they may be the ones I saw in Vogue over the holidays. Whatever, they are more a work of art than footwear and it feels almost wrong to slip my feet into them, but of course I do. And of course they fit perfectly.
At the bottom of the box, I find a note that simply reads:
Wear this tonight. Be ready and waiting in the Lodge by 5 p.m. Alexander x
This ‘stealth date’ is typical Alexander, and the extravagant gifts, like the Cartier necklace he sent after we’d almost had sex for the first time. I returned it, of course, because I’d thought he was trying to buy me. It took a lot of persuading on his part to convince me otherwise and it was the convincing rather than the necklace that finally got me into his bed.
Now I know Alexander better, I believe these grand gestures aren’t about trying to buy me, they are how he shows his emotions, or rather how he avoids showing them. It’s not a good thing, but I’m only human and the cryptic note has me intrigued. This may also be his way of making up for not seeing me as much as he’d like.
I slip out of my jeans and top and step into the dress. It’s not only the perfect fit for my frame, it’s also exactly the right length. So now I’m standing in my room, in full evening dress, with no idea where we’re going to.
It kills me to take off the outfit and try to settle down to some work, but I have to. Finally, at four, I give in and grab a lightning-fast shower and start to do my hair and make-up. I go for the simple low ponytail that’s worked for me before because there’s no time to get my hair done professionally. Luckily, Immy and I got French manis a couple of days ago at a spa in the centre of town. At the top of my closet, I find a Kate Spade silver clutch and a cashmere pashmina that my mother gave me for Christmas. If we’re going to the ballet at Covent Garden again, it’s going to be freezing, even stepping from the Bentley into the opera house.
I just make it into the Lodge at one minute past five but there’s no sign of Alexander. In most places, I’d attract attention dressed in evening wear at five in the afternoon, but this is Oxford and spotting people in tuxes and ballgowns is de rigueur. I am shivering, however, and the Hunts’ chauffeur, Brandon, standing outside by the Bentley is a welcome sight.
‘Good evening, Miss Cusack,’ he says, going ahead of me to open the door as I walk towards the car.
‘Hello, Brandon. Where are we going?’
‘Lord Falconbury said to tell you it’s a surprise.’
‘Can’t you even hint?’
‘Lord Falconbury said you’d ask me that.’
‘Oh, really, and what else did Lord Falconbury say?’
‘That I’d be fired if I told you anything.’
‘Really? He must have been joking.’
‘His lordship rarely jokes about things like this.’ Brandon looks genuinely astonished.
It’s all I can do to stop myself from laughing. ‘That figures. OK, I guess I’ll have to be patient. I wouldn’t want you to lose your job.’
He allows a smile to touch his lips. ‘Oh, there’s no danger of that, Miss Cusack. Would you care to get into the car? We’re on a tight schedule.’
‘Is that a hint as to where we’re going?’
He looks pissed now, and waves his hand in the direction of the door. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, please?’
Though I’m half tempted to tell him I’ve left something I need in my room just to see his face, I really shouldn’t tease him, especially when Alexander has obviously read him the riot act. I decide to obey and manage to get inside without putting my heel through the skirt. The Bentley purrs away from the kerb and twenty minutes later we’re in the middle of nowhere. I don’t recognize any of the place names in the twilight; they all have Middle Earth-type names like Piddlehinton-by-Tew and Footminster-on-Stour. The sun is just disappearing below the horizon as the car turns off the main road and along a drive to a checkpoint in a wire fence.
Then I see the sign by the gate.
‘This is an airfield, Brandon.’
He glances in his mirror. ‘It looks that way, miss.’
‘Are we going to Scotland or some offshore island?’
‘I really couldn’t say, miss.’
My mind works overtime but whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this. After a brief word with the security guy on the gate, Brandon drives on to the tarmac and stops the car beside a private Gulfstream jet. I know it’s a Gulfstream because I’ve waved my father off in one, but I’ve never been in one. Alexander emerges on to the steps as Brandon opens the door for me. The wind knifes through my silk dress as I climb out of the car and my wrap threatens to fly away, not to mention my gown, which pastes itself to my bare legs.
‘Here, let me help.’
Dashing forward, Alexander rescues my wrap before it sails off to wherever we’re headed.
‘You look out of this world,’ he murmurs, before shouting thanks to Brandon and taking my hand.
‘And you’re driving me crazy.’
‘In a good way?’
He looks so hot in his beautifully tailored tux he could scorch the tarmac all on his own, but I think he knows that so I’m not telling him.
‘I’ll let you know.’
Before the wind steals my wrap, Alexander helps me up the steps. I’m intrigued – I love the mystery – but I’m also wary. There’s still a part of me I’ve held back since the sex tape. I may pretend that nothing has changed between us yet something has. No private jet or designer gown is going to alter that, but …
The howl and slice of the wind dies away instantly the moment I step inside the totally clichéd and totally wonderful haven of luxury that is the Gulfstream. It’s a big jet for a private charter, with enough headroom for even Alexander to stand up in. It has a dozen seats, all clad in hand-stitched creamy leather, including a triple sofa-style bank, which I suspect may be about to see some action.
‘Wow. James Bond meets Rihanna.’
‘So you approve?’
‘Who wouldn’t? Are you going to tell me where we’re going?’
‘Can you be patient a moment longer? I’m waiting for someone.’
‘Not really.’
A man appears at the cabin door and Alexander smiles. ‘Ah, that must be Passport Control.’
The guy steps inside, smiling. ‘Miss Cusack, Lord Falconbury, good evening.’
I’m about to protest that I don’t have my passport when Alexander pulls his and mine from a drawer. The guy glances at them, smiles again and says, ‘That’s fine. Have a good trip.’
As soon as he’s gone, and the cabin steps are secure, the wind noise is replaced by the heightened note of the engines. Slightly poleaxed – make that totally poleaxed – I’m grateful to sit down on the leather sofa. ‘Wow. I think I’m being kidnapped.’
Alexander sits next to me. ‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘That’ll be a first.’
‘You …’ The engine note rises and the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom. ‘Miss Cusack, Lord Falconbury, do you mind fastening your seat belts for takeoff? Once we get airborne and over this storm, you can relax because the weather looks fine all the way to Rome.’
My mouth opens in shock. ‘Did he just say what I thought he said?’
Alexander’s face is the picture of innocence. ‘What did you think he said?’
> ‘That we’re going to Rome?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Rome as in Rome, Italy? How can I? I don’t have any luggage – or have you thought of that too?’
‘I packed a bag from the clothes you keep at my house, of course.’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘We’ll be back tomorrow, Saturday evening. I’ve booked a hotel and I have a few surprises in store for you. But first, this evening, we’re going to the Teatro dell’Opera to see a ballet. Have you been to Italy before?’
‘My father took us to Milan for a few days, as part of one of his trade visits to Europe, but that was when I was very young. Actually, he did once plan a trip to Rome, when I was little, but we never made it.’ I’m still too shell-shocked to answer properly.
‘Why not?’
‘It was just before my father was attacked.’
My whole body tenses at the memory of that horrible time. My father had driven to the drugstore to get some medication for my mother, but he never even made it inside. Some maniac in the parking lot decided it would be fun to beat him over the head with a baseball bat. For a while, we thought Daddy might not make it, but he recovered, although the brain injury destroyed part of his sight. It didn’t stop him getting re-elected to the Senate.
‘Then I’m even happier that I can finally take you to Italy. I’d assumed you’d already been, so the fact you’re a virgin to the city is a bonus.’
‘How did you get my passport?’
He taps the side of his nose. ‘You really ought to be more careful, you know. The desk drawer isn’t the safest place to keep it. There are some bad people about.’
‘I agree. Some very bad people. Wicked, in fact.’
His eyes gleam. ‘I do hope so. Now buckle up so we can get on our way.’
He clips my belt in place, then his own, and kisses me while we start to taxi to the runway. The plane accelerates and is up like a rocket, while I’m still processing the fact that I am going to Rome for the evening and that Alexander has gone to all this trouble to arrange it. He knows I adore ballet, and although he’s wealthy enough to have ‘people’ to organize a trip such as this, I’m genuinely touched at the attention to detail, even at a time when he’s weighed down with work and worries about the estate and his family. He must still be grieving the loss of his father, too. The thought of Emma creeps into the corner of my mind but I dismiss it. Alexander hasn’t mentioned her so I’ll run with the idea that ‘no news is good news’.
As the plane climbs steeply, the lights of the airfield are quickly obscured by clouds and the sky is a sharp indigo blue. Over to the west, the horizon is tinged with pink, which disappears very fast as we bank towards the south and east.
My ears pop and Alexander squeezes my hand. ‘OK?’
‘I still can’t believe you did this,’ I say, slowly coming to terms with the fact that I’m dressed for the red carpet and on my way to Italy.
‘Good. I’m happy to know I can still surprise you. I hope it’s only the first of many surprises this evening.’ He pauses, then says, ‘I wanted to make up for that video, and the fact that it ruined my Valentine’s surprise, and to say thanks for all the support you’ve given me and Emma over the past few weeks. When I landed outside your door at the start of term, you could have simply left me outside or refused to come to the funeral with me.’
‘I could,’ I reply, enjoying having him grovel – or as close as Alexander comes to grovelling …
‘I also wanted to make up for the fact I had to spend more time at Falconbury.’
‘I guess you were busy, but I think I can stand getting this trip by way of an apology.’
He shakes his head at my remark, but the smile is there. Seeing him like this – relaxed, enjoying himself and looking super sexy – reminds me of just why I fell for him in the first place. My skin tingles in anticipation of what might be to come.
The pilot announces that we can unfasten our belts and the engine note lowers a little.
‘Champagne?’ Alexander asks me.
‘I think I definitely need something.’
Alexander retrieves a bottle of Cristal from a fridge concealed behind a wood panel. He pours the straw-coloured liquid into two flutes and the froth almost spills over the rim.
‘To tonight.’
We chink glasses and I take a large gulp, bubbles bursting on my tongue. Butterflies stir my stomach, like on our first few dates, and yet I don’t know why.
Alexander sips his wine carefully. ‘Even if this is your first visit to Rome, you must have been on a private jet before.’
‘Oh, all the time.’ I shake my head. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not in the habit of travelling by private charter. My father uses them for business and my mother occasionally travels with him, but we’re not the Clintons. Not yet anyway.’ I smile. ‘Daddy has been on Air Force One, however.’
He lets out a low whistle. ‘Now, I have to admit I’m impressed.’
‘That makes a change. I thought Alexander Hunt wasn’t impressed by anything.’
He gives me a look that I fear may cause the airplane fuel to ignite. ‘I wouldn’t say that. When I saw you climb out of the Bentley, you took my breath away.’
‘No, I didn’t. Nobody does that to you.’ I blush but I am also incredibly turned on.
‘Yes, you did.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off mine.
My God, he really means it – and the temperature in the cabin just went up another ten degrees. There is something in that glance that’s more than lust, an intensity that’s scrambled my brain. My cheeks heat up and I resort to a large gulp of champagne.
‘Oh, look, isn’t that the coast already?’
I twist around and press my face closer to the cabin window. Through a gap in the clouds, orange lights fringe the coast like beaded trim on a black cloth. On the other side of the Channel, the lights of the Continent beckon and we speculate on the towns and cities thousands of feet below.
‘How long is the flight?’
‘A couple of hours. I wonder what we can do to pass the time.’
‘Yes, I wonder …’ My body shimmers with desire under that intense gaze. I don’t really want to let him know the effect he’s having on me tonight, so I resort to my Cristal again.
‘Have I ever told you that you’re the sexiest girl on the planet?’
‘So I’ve been promoted from being merely the sexiest girl in the county? I think that was your last assessment of me.’
‘I’ve revised my opinion of late and I’m willing to promote you.’
‘If we weren’t twenty thousand feet up, I might have to hit you, Alexander Hunt.’
His response is to take my empty glass from me and slide his hand under the silk of my dress and up my shinbone. Every inch of skin tingles where his fingers rest on my knee.
‘The dress is beautiful,’ I say.
‘I hoped you’d like it. You looked amazing in the one you wore to the ball so I knew you liked the designer. I was a little worried that the shoes might not fit, even though I checked your collection thoroughly.’
‘I’ve noticed you seem to have some kind of shoe fetish.’
‘Is it a crime?’ he says, doing one of his terrible impressions of my East Coast accent.
‘No, but this … ah …’ I catch my breath as he removes his hand from my knee and slips off one of my shoes. I point my toe as he holds my foot in his hand and lifts it up. Leaning down he kisses it, right in the centre. It’s intensely erotic, like being worshipped.
‘You were saying?’
I can hardly breathe, let alone reply, as he balances my foot in his palm and runs his tongue from my ankle and over the blade of my foot, ending with a kiss on the top of my toe. ‘I was … going to ask … if checking out women’s closets was part of special forces training.’
‘No, but stealing passports is.’
Gently, he lowers my foot and starts to draw down the zip at the side of my dress. ‘We can’t do t
his up here,’ I say.
‘Can’t do what?’
‘Join the Mile High Club.’
‘Oh, we’re well over a mile high now. Probably four or five.’
He pulls down the zip and tugs the silk away from my chest. The bodice parts company with my skin and I catch my breath sharply at being bared.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asks, in between planting butterfly-soft kisses on my bare shoulder.
‘Nothing, other than it feels a little weird, knowing the pilot’s on the other side of the door. He must know what we’re doing.’
‘I’m sure he does but he’s hardly going to leave the controls to come back here and serve peanuts, is he?’
‘Alexander, you’ve never been on any airplane where they serve peanuts.’
He laughs. ‘True, but I’ve been on plenty where I’ve been shot at.’
‘Really?’
‘Many times, but I’m hoping the Romans are going to be happier to see us than most of the people on the receiving end of my visits. More importantly, I’d hate you to crease this beautiful dress.’
With both hands, he pulls the bustier completely down so that I’m topless. ‘Personally,’ he says, ‘I love the idea that I have you captive up here and I’m about to do filthy things to you.’
My throat dries and I am instantly creamy. ‘Just how filthy are we talking?’
‘Extremely filthy. You’d be shocked if I told you.’
‘Try me,’ I say breathily.
‘Well, I’d probably break you in gently with something mild like this.’ He dips his head and closes his mouth around my left nipple, which is hard as a pebble and red as a cherry. He sucks, gently at first but then harder. My head drifts back and I moan, unable to decide if the tingling in my nipples is pleasure or pain or a little of both. He stops, but only to transfer his mouth to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. His teeth graze the tip softly, drawing a squeal of delight and pain from me. When I look down, my nipples are deepest crimson, aching and ready to pop.
‘Shocked yet?’ he murmurs.
‘No.’
‘Good. Then I’ll move on to the next stage.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’ll show you in a moment but let’s get you out of this beautiful dress.’
