A waiter appears almost immediately.
The waiter looks at Lana’s plate. ‘Was everything all right, mademoiselle?’
‘It was fine. Just not hungry.’
‘Perhaps you have left some space for dessert?’ he suggests with a tilted head.
She shakes her head. The waiter looks at Blake.
‘Monsieur?’
‘Just the check.’
‘Of course,’ the waiter says with a nod, and raises his eyebrow to another waiter hovering by a pillar. The man comes and begins clearing away the plates. The bill is presented discreetly in a black wallet. Blake drops his card into it. When the card comes back, Blake says, ‘Shall we?’
He stands and, with his hand on the small of her back, leads her out.
Twelve
he drive is completed in silence and when they get Tinto the softly lit apartment, Blake tosses his card key on the side table and turns to her. ‘Money’s in the bank?’
She nods
‘We’re good?’
She nods again.
‘I gave you what you need; now you will give me what I need.’
She nods, ashamed by her own rudeness. It was a deal and he had kept to his side.
‘I’ll pour us a drink. Change into those and meet me in the bedroom,’ Blake says, and nods towards the flat box that Peter brought in earlier and put on the side table. He leaves her and walks down that beautiful corridor into the living room.
She takes the box and turning into the first door in the corridor, goes into the main bedroom. Someone has come in and turned on the bedside lights, and turned down the bed. She goes into the bathroom and closes the door.
Inside the box are wisps of lace and silk. She takes them out. A little dress in some transparent white material, an all lace bra, a thong, suspenders and silk stockings and a pair of platform shoes very similar to the ones she was wearing the night they met. Except for the fine baby blue ribbons on the suspenders, everything is in pure white.
She looks at the size on the bra. Of course. 32B.
Lana quickly slips out of her clothes and gets into the bra and suspenders. Then she carefully pulls on the stockings. She has never worn suspenders before and the little hooks are fiddly and take her a long time. She hears a noise in the bedroom. Blake has already come in.
Nervously, she pulls on the lacey white knickers and looks at herself in the mirror. She can hardly believe it is her.
She rinses with mouthwash, takes a deep breath and, opening the door goes into the bedroom. And just stands there staring, her heart crashing against her ribcage.
Good God!
He is lying shirtless on the bed, propped against pillows, all sexy and toned. His legs are crossed at his ankles and his eyes are hooded. There is no expression in his face and no way of knowing what he is thinking. There is also something very bad and exciting about being in that lush bedroom with a cold, cold banker who has paid for you.
‘Come closer,’ he invites.
Clubland chart music is playing in the background.
‘Give Me a Reason’ by Pink and Nate Ruess comes on.
Pink is singing, Right from the start you were a thief. You stole my heart. And I your willing victim.
Lana walks slowly into the middle of the room. Her stomach is in knots. Her mouth is dry. Her eyes are saucers. There is not an ounce of fat on his sleek body.
This is definitely not a man who imbibes Hobnobs. When she is two feet away from the bed, he says, ‘Stop.’
She stops.
‘Strip. Slowly.’
She freezes with shock.
He laughs. The sound is soft but carries some hint of cruelty. He is the cat playing with the mouse. From his position of dominance and control he says, ‘I won’t say relax, I’m not going to eat you, because I am.’
She straightens her back and steps out of her platforms.
‘No,’ he commands. ‘Not the shoes. Keep those on.’
Silently she steps back into them. She can hear the blood pounding in her ears. Nobody has seen her nude.
She unties the ribbon in front of the dress and shrugs. It slips off her, whispering and sighing.
For a moment she stands in her lacy underwear, suspenders and stockings.
Pink and Nate are belting out, Just give me a reason.
Just a little bit’s enough.
For a second Lana thinks of Billie saying every puss needs a good pair of boots, and she tells herself, sure, why not? It is just sex. She twists her hands behind her back and takes her bra off. Lets it dangle at the tip of one finger before she lets it drop.
‘Take your panties off.’
She slips the fingers of both hands into the bit of lace and string and eases it slowly down her legs. She comes up slowly resisting the urge to cover herself with her hands.
‘You have a very, very beautiful body, Lana Bloom,’ the man on the bed says. His voice is thick with lust.
We’re not broken, just bent. And we can learn to love again.
She faces his gaze again. His eyes are eating her alive.
She has never seen hunger like that.
‘Turn around.’
She turns around.
You’re pouring a drink. No, nothing is as bad as it seems.
‘Now spread your legs.’
We’ll come clean. We’re not broken, just bent. She steps outwards.
‘More.’
She obliges. Her calve muscles strain to hold the position in the high shoes.
‘Bend forward.’
She bends.
‘Touch the floor.’
She spreads her fingers, lays them on the floor, and hears his gasp. For some long seconds she is bent forward, her legs spread far apart, and her bum high in the air. His eyes are a hot tingle on her skin. The pose is blatantly demeaning. She should feel degraded and humiliated.
Instead there is an unfamiliar heat between her legs. And her belly is clenched with feral excitement.
‘Come here.’
She drops to her knees and crouching low, turns around. He is sitting on the edge of the bed. She stands and goes to him. His strong hands span her narrow waist and before she knows it she is travelling in the air. She lands on the bed with a slight bounce. On her back she watches him. His eyes are black and impenetrable. His body hard and big, the muscles rippling.
‘Mine,’ he says possessively. ‘You’re mine to do with as I please.’ Then he pins her on the bed and she watches with wide eyes as he takes off his trousers and steps out of his boxers, a truly magnificent creature.
She stares at his cock with fascination. It is thicker than her wrist and huge. Will it fit inside her? He picks up a condom by the bedside, tears it open, and puts it on. He is as hard as a rock. Then he bends over her, opens her legs and stares at her opened, freshly waxed pussy. She feels her body tremble with anticipation.
‘What a beauty you are.’ He runs his fingers along the slit of flesh. It opens out further, like the petals of a pink flower.
‘Soaking wet.’
He takes his fingers out and puts them in his mouth.
‘And as I expected: sweet.’
Her heart is hammering in her chest.
‘You want this too,’ he says so softly she has to strain to hear him. ‘As much as me.’ And she realizes that he is right: she does. She wants him as much as he wants her.
She wants from him what she has never wanted from any other man. She wants him inside her, stretching her, possessing her.
She stares at his angrily throbbing, erect dick. She wants all of that inside her. Her hands come up and touch it. Silky. But that small and tentative response from her drives him over the edge.
‘Sorry,’ he grates suddenly. ‘I just can’t do foreplay this time.’
He put his hands on either side of her and plunges into her. The shock of his sudden entry makes her cry out in pain. He hurt her. A lot.
He freezes. The ferocious lust is wiped away from his eyes.
<
br /> ‘Jesus,’ he swears, and pulls out of her.
She cannot help it. Tears well up in her eyes and escape down the sides of her temples.
She closes her eyes.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You didn’t ask,’ she sniffs. She feels incredibly stupid.
His hard length shifts and he sits facing away from her.
‘It will be better next time,’ he says, and without touching her or comforting her, stands and begins to dress. Rejected and defeated, she watches his strong V-shaped back, the beautifully proportioned buttocks, and the columns of muscular legs as he shrugs into his shirt. He buttons it as he walks to the door.
He cannot wait to get away from her.
She is a great disappointment to him. She should have asked Billie for some lessons on how to pleasure a man.
Instead she has lain there like a pillow and then worse still, she screamed when he entered her. She covers her cheeks with her hands. Oh, the shame of it. And this was what she saved up for. A fine mistress she was going to make.
She hears the door close and she is alone in that stupendous apartment.
Blake punches the button on the elevator and waits for it to come. He is in a state of shock. It is unbelievable. He curses himself. He should never have been so rough. He treated her like a common prostitute. But he never suspected that air of untouched innocence was not cultivated.
Strange how badly he wants to go back into that bedroom and hold her. How much he wants to wipe away those tears and hold her until she falls asleep in his arms.
But a larger part of him hates the way he feels. He doesn’t want to feel for her. He is glad he has left her body. Away from it he can think rationally.
Still he shouldn’t have done what he did.
He got carried away and lost himself in her essence, and the undeniable need to possess her completely. He doesn’t exactly understand why, but whenever he is near her, he loses all his carefully cultivated ‘cool’. Al he wants to do is strap her to his bed and have total control of her body.
And why shouldn’t he? He has paid for the privilege. The urge is strong now, he tells himself, but it will lessen with every single coupling. She will never be more than his three-month itch.
A bottle-blonde is walking down the corridor towards the lift. The occupant of the other penthouse is an Arab sheik. He glances at her. She is wearing a tube top and white leggings. Her boobs are obviously fake, but she is beautiful in a hard sort of way. The way a mistress should be. He thinks of Lana again. The way the helpless tears escaped. He had not expected that. He cannot understand. Why would a virgin be propositioning someone like Lothian for money? For the first time he wonders why she had wanted the money.
The lift arrives and he stands back to allow the woman to enter first. She has a good ass. She turns around in the lift and their eyes meet again. Neither smile, but her mouth twists. The air becomes thick with her unspoken invitation. He lets his eyes travel down her body and convinces himself Lana is not special. Even this one will do too.Nothing has changed.
He will marry Victoria. He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves a text for his secretary: Red roses—Lana.
White roses—Victoria
Thirteen
’m baking a cake,’ Lana’s mother says.
‘I‘You are?’ There is a brightness in Lana’s voice. Her mother only bakes when she is feeling good.
‘Lemon, your favorite.’
‘Oh good.’
‘What time are you coming home?’
‘I’m leaving now actually.’
‘Good. I want you to take a quarter over to Jack’s mum.’
‘OK. See you in twenty minutes,’ Lana says and after putting a jar of blackberry jam, two tins of biscuits, and a box of fancy chocolates into her bag, leaves the apartment.
She takes the bus to Kilburn.
As she is running up the steps she meets Tom’s sister who says, ‘Heard you snagged yourself a rich boyfriend.’
‘Not quite,’ Lana replies, and before she can be bullied into a confessional conversation steps aside, saying, ‘Sorry, Ann, but got to rush.’ She runs past her taking the shallow steps two at a time. Already the curtain twitchers have spread the story.
She turns the key in their blue door and is greeted by the fragrant smell of her mother’s baking. It is instantly familiar and dear. This is her home. Her mother is in the kitchen washing up after the baking.
‘Hey, I can do that for you.’
‘No, I’m finished,’ her mother says, turns the tap shut and snaps off her rubber gloves. She faces her daughter.
Her eyes, assessing, careful, and worried, change when she sees Lana.
‘Oh my God!’ she cries. ‘Your hair. I can’t believe how beautiful you look.’
Lana smiles at her mother. ‘I missed you yesterday.’
‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘Yeah. I brought some stuff for you.’ Lana reaches into her knapsack, brings out the tins of biscuits and chocolates and puts it on her mother’s small kitchen table. Her mother comes forward, but she does not touch the food.
Instead she looks at her daughter. ‘Did you steal this?’
Her voice is no more than a whisper.
‘Mum!’ Lana cries, shocked. ‘What are you saying?
Blake’s secretary bought all this for me and I brought some back for you.’
Her mother sinks weakly into a chair. ‘Sorry. Sorry, Lana. Of course, you would never steal. I’ve just been so worried about you. Everything is so different. I don’t know what to think anymore.’
The oven pings and she stands, but Lana pushes her down gently.
‘I’ll get it,’ she says, and donning the oven gloves takes the cake out. It smells divine and is nicely risen. She closes the oven door, puts the cake on the metal rack and leans against the sink. ‘Shall I put the kettle on? We need to talk.’Her mum nods and Lana sets about making the tea.
While the tea is boiling she lays cups and saucers. Everyone else in the estate drinks from mugs except her mother, who always uses a cup and saucer. She pours the boiling water into the teapot and carries it to the table. When the tea has brewed she pours it out into two cups. She opens a tin of biscuits from Fortnum and Masons and holds it out to her mum. Her mum’s thin, pale fingers hesitantly take one.
She bites into it and chews.
‘Nice?’ Lana asks.
Her mother nods.
‘You’re going to America on Wednesday, Mum.’
Lana’s mother puts the biscuit down beside the saucer.
She links her hands tightly under the table and faces her daughter.
‘I’m going nowhere until I know exactly what is going on. Exactly how you are getting all this money. And what you are doing for it.’
‘I explained last night. The man I am seeing has given it to us.’
‘Who is this man that has fifty thousand pounds to spare?’
‘Mum, he’s a millionaire many times over. He gave me double what I asked.’
Her mother stares at her aghast. ‘You asked him for money? I didn’t bring you up to ask men for money.’
‘Yeah, I asked him and so what? I didn’t force him or steal it.’
‘Well, I don’t want it. I’d rather shrivel up and die than use this money.’
Lana freezes. She stares at her mother in shock. Her mother’s face is set in the stubborn lines that Lana knows mean that her mind is made up. It cannot be changed.
Lana swallows the lump in her throat and stands suddenly.
‘You’d make me an orphan for your stupid pride,’ she accuses.
Her mother blinks suddenly, the wind taken out of her sails.‘Are you going to sit there and tell me that if I was dying and had a few weeks left to live you wouldn’t have asked a filthy rich stranger for a bit of money?’
Her mother says nothing.
‘High and mighty ideals and principles are all right when you are not utterly, utterl
y desperate, Mum.’
‘You didn’t just ask him, did you? Tell the truth. You prostituted yourself.’
‘Assuming that I did. And I didn’t.’ Lana says a little prayer for her lie. ‘Wouldn’t you have done the same for c 1 0 d
me?’Her mother begins to cry. ‘You don’t understand. You will, one day, when you have your own child. I am not important.’ She beats her chest with both her hands.
‘This is just worm food. I won’t have you sully yourself for this destroyed body. You are young. You have your whole life ahead of you and I am going to die, anyway.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Lana whispers fiercely.
‘But I am. And it’s time you accepted that.’
‘Remember when Daddy left and I swore to take care of you?’
Her mother’s eyes become bleak. ‘Yes.’
‘Would you have me break my promise?’
‘I going for another bout of chemo on Monday.’
‘What for, Mum? What for? That stuff is so dangerous it’ll probably kill you before the cancer does.’
Her mother’s lips move wordlessly. Then she covers her mouth with one hand. ‘Sit down, Lana,’ she whispers.
‘Please.’
Lana shakes her head. ‘No, I won’t. What’s the point?
In all the time I was trying to find a way to keep you alive I never thought that it would be you that would stand in my way.’
Lana turns away from her mother and begins to walk out of the house. She has sold herself for nothing. She reaches the front door and she hears her mother shout from the kitchen, ‘Do you like him?’
She turns around and her mother is standing there so c 1 1 d
frail and breakable. Now she can be truthful. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll go.’
Lana walks towards her mother.
‘I’m sorry,’ her mother sobs.
Lana takes her poor wasted body in her arms and the tears begin to flow. Neither says anything. Finally, when Lana can speak, she chokes out. ‘I love you, Mum. With all my heart. Please don’t leave me. You’re my mum. I’d do anything, anything for you.’
‘I know, I know,’ her mother soothes softly.
‘Oh shit,’ Lana says.
‘What?’
The Billionaire Banker Page 8
