Besotted (The Billionaire Banker Series)

by Le Carre, Georgia

  ‘Have you been to the opera?’ Marcus asks me. His voice is smooth.

  I suddenly remember the way I was that night, and flushing bright red with embarrassment and confusion, look to Blake.

  ‘Yes, we went to see L’incoronazione de Poppea in Venice,’ Blake cuts in smoothly.

  Marcus nods approvingly. ‘The only place to experience Monteverdi.’ He turns to me. ‘Was that your first time?’

  ‘Yes,’ I mumble.

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  The memory makes me blush. I turn my head towards Blake, and my eyes are caught by his. There is hunger in his.

  Marcus coughs delicately. I tear my eyes away. ‘Yes, very much,’ I say huskily.

  ‘Freya, my wife, and I love the opera. We were at the Met for Rossini’s La Cenerentola last week.’

  Blake glances at me. ‘Cinderella,’ he says by way of explanation.

  I nod gratefully.

  ‘I’m afraid it was a grotesque, painfully anti-musical burlesque, only intermittently redeemed by virtuoso vocalism by the central waif.’

  Marcus sips at his Latour.

  I bite my lip. Suddenly I feel ignorant, uncultured and inferior. I realize that Blake has been careful never to let me feel less educated than he is. The truth is his world is totally different from mine. I remember Victoria telling me that no matter what I wear or do they will smell me out. In their eyes I will never be good enough. Will I ever be able to wear this mask of apparent reticence and nonchalance that Marcus wears with such ease? Will I ever possess this studied carelessness that hides all that is real about a person? Marcus is still talking. Surreptitiously I sneak a look at Blake. He is buttering his roll and nodding. Will Blake be ashamed of me one day?

  ‘And what about you, Lana?’

  Shit. I wasn’t listening. ‘Um… Please excuse me. I have to go to the…loo.’

  The moment I say that word, I actually feel light-headed. I remember that it was that beast, Rupert Lothian, who taught me it. His sneering words come back to me, ‘This lot call it the loo.’ I stand up and both men get to their feet. For a moment I look at them confused, and then I realize, of course, it is their way, an exaggerated politeness in the presence of a lady. I nod and walk towards the Ladies.

  There is no one in there, and I lean against one of the walls, and close my eyes. Why am I so affected by Marcus? Why have I allowed myself to become such a mess of shattered nerves? Is it because we met in my moment of great fear and confusion that I have allowed him to grow into such a monster in my mind? I go to the basin, wash my hands and look at my own reflection.

  ‘You have nothing to fear from him,’ I tell myself. Then I take my mobile out and call Billie.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she asks.

  ‘Er… I’m not sure.’

  ‘It’s a yes or no with reptiles.’

  ‘It’s a no.’

  ‘Hmmnnn… Your son is giving trouble.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘He doesn’t want to sleep. He thinks he should be allowed to climb through the window, on to the balcony, and probably over it.’

  ‘It’s not one of his best ideas.’

  ‘I’ll say, but he is surprisingly fast for such a little thing.’

  ‘Tie him up or something. I’ll be there soon.’

  ‘Lana. Reptiles are creatures of instinct and repetition. A mammal can out-think them any day.’

  ‘Doesn’t feel like it right now.’

  ‘In that case give him a black eye. That always works.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll be sure to bear it in mind.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Use all your strength.’

  I end the call, reapply lip gloss, and walk back to the table. Again both men stand while I seat myself. A brand new napkin has been put beside my plate. I open it and place it on my lap.

  ‘I was just saying to Blake that both of you should come to Victoria’s birthday party.’

  My eyes widen. I feel the blood leaving my face.

  Blake weaves his fingers through mine. I turn my head towards him.

  ‘Victoria is Marcus’s second daughter.’

  I turn to face Marcus. He is looking at me innocently, but suddenly I know. He knew I would think he was referring to Blake’s ex. He wanted to rattle me. But his revealing action has the opposite effect on me. I feel a little stronger. It was not knowing what I was dealing with that made me so weak. Now I know, it is better.

  ‘When is it?’

  Blake’s voice is very dry. ‘More than three months away.’

  So he knows too.

  The main course arrives. I thank the waiter and gaze at the Challandais duck, poached quince and chestnut polenta with dismay. There appears to be too much on my plate. How on earth am I going to eat all this when I feel sick to my stomach?

  ‘Bon appétit,’ Marcus says and tucks into his escalopes de foie gras.

  ‘Bon appétit,’ Blake calls out to me.

  ‘Bon appétit,’ I mumble, duck, spice and honey on its way to my mouth.

  When the table has been cleared Blake excuses himself, and rises from the table.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask in a panic.

  He winks. ‘I’ll be back for you, babe.’

  I watch him disappear out of sight before bringing my gaze back to Marcus. He is watching me. I smile weakly.

  ‘So,’ he says, leaning back in his chair. ‘You caught a very big fish in your net. What will you do with it now?’

  Eleven

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, and I resent both your tone and the implication that I have somehow trapped your brother.’

  ‘What would you call it?’

  ‘I love your brother.’

  ‘You don’t have to pretend with me. I don’t care who my brother fucks. It’s totally his business if he wants to take every little whore he comes across into his bed.’

  ‘If you are that unconcerned, why do you ask?’

  ‘Just curious,’ he says and smiles pompously. At that moment he reminds me of his father, but less dangerous, by far less dangerous. I was afraid of his father, but I am not of him.

  My mother’s voice is quoting Rumi in my head. You are searching in the branches for what is only in the roots. Thank you, Mum. At that moment, I stop feeling inferior. Why should I? He is not more than me. I have done nothing wrong. He is the despicable one. By a quirk of fate he is thousands of times more privileged than 99.99 percent of the population, but that doesn’t make him special or give him the right to treat everybody else as if they were beneath him.

  ‘Please forgive me if I refuse to indulge your curiosity.’ My voice is deadly calm.

  He laughs. His eyes glitter. Malice shines in his face. ‘Here’s some free advice, sweetheart—Blake will tire of you. Start your going away fund right now.’

  A waiter comes, removes Blake’s used napkin and replaces it with a brand new napkin by carefully sliding it off the plate he had brought it in. He smiles and goes on his way unconcerned with the battle Marcus and I are engaged in.

  ‘Why do you care if I am with Blake or not?’

  ‘I told you I don’t.’

  He is lying. Of that I am sure. Will I unmask him? ‘Ah, but you do.’

  He raises his eyebrows, summons an expression of incredulity, but I am not fooled. I have love on my side.

  ‘You’re jealous,’ I say. ‘You’re jealous of Blake and you are eaten up with envy because he has found something you don’t have. You don’t love anyone you’d give everything up for, do you?’

  I see a flash of real anger in his eyes. Where is the studied carelessness now? He pretends to laugh, the sound unnatural, ugly. The façade is scratched, the mask slipping. Underneath the water the effortlessly gliding swan is kicking like crazy. He is nothing but a courtier. Trained by his father to put on a performance. Now he is lost to the façade he has put up. He is not to be reviled but pitied
.

  ‘Jealous?’ he sneers.

  I say nothing.

  His voice becomes venomous. ‘Of Blake?’

  I maintain my silence. Keep eye contact.

  ‘Because he has you? A two bit whore that he paid to acquire.’ His voice is contemptuous.

  ‘Love even in the arms of a two bit whore can be precious.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  From the corners of my eyes I see Blake walking towards us. I turn eagerly towards him. He is watching my face carefully.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I answer, but my expression is stony. At that moment Alain Roux who is doing his customary tour of the dining room stops at our table. I smile stiffly and assure him that everything was wonderful. He nods graciously and moves on. I am ready to go home, but there is still the cheese trolley to endure.

  Marcus pronounces the Auvergne cheese flawlessly ‘kept’, whatever that means.

  Blake shrugs non-committally.

  ‘How’s your soufflé?’ Marcus enquires, suave mask tightly in place.

  I look him in the eye. ‘Faultless.’

  Marcus’s smile does not reach his eyes. Mine slide over to Blake and he is smiling into his cheese. I spoon a mouthful of raspberry soufflé into my mouth and know that I have won this round.

  Blake orders a box of petits fours.

  I look at him questioningly.

  ‘For Billie,’ he says and winks at me, and I feel a surge of joy. He is nothing like his brother. This horrible ordeal with Marcus is almost over and it will be just us again.

  We say goodbye by Marcus’s Bugatti Black Bess. Marcus shakes his brother’s hand and touches his shoulder in an attempt to ingratiate himself with Blake. I stand apart and he does not attempt to kiss or touch me. I nod coldly—now you will have to win me over. Hands entwined we watch the lights of his car disappear into the darkness.

  ‘I was proud of you tonight.’

  ‘You left the table on purpose, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you have to get used to it. Marcus’s disapproval is subtle and mild. If you can’t hold your own with him, my mother will decimate you.’

  ‘You’re scaring me.’

  He takes his eyes away from the darkness and focuses them on me. They are full of an emotion I cannot place. Maybe because, even though I love him with every ounce of my being, I don’t know him well enough. Maybe because I am a fool in love with a man I cannot understand.

  All I know is I love him no matter what.

  ‘I’m preparing you. I wish I could always be by your side to protect you, but I can’t. You must learn to fend for yourself. You must realize on your own that they are nothing. You are better than all of them put together.’

  I break eye contact and look down at my hands. I am the girl from the council estate. I won tonight, but with great difficulty.

  ‘Be confident, my love. Don’t ever ask for their approval or work for it. They will respect you more for it. You will never be one of them, but that’s OK. I’d hate it if you were.’

  ‘Are all of them going to be hateful to me, then?’

  ‘They won’t dare say anything while I am around, but you’ll have to learn to handle the odd catty remark in my absence.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Marcus looked like a whipped dog when I came back to the table.’

  ‘He did?’

  He grins wolfishly. ‘Absolutely.’

  I smile but I am thinking of the woman in black who stood next to Blake at the funeral. I know he is her favorite son and she will hate me with a passion. ‘When am I meeting your mother?’

  He laughs. ‘We’ll avoid that torture for as long as possible.’

  ‘She’s going to hate me, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. But as the two of you will hardly ever meet that shouldn’t bother you at all.’

  I sigh loudly. ‘They all want you to be with Victoria.’

  ‘That’s never going to happen and it’s time they got used to it.’

  I thrust the box of petits fours into Billie’s stomach and she opens it immediately. Blake goes on into Sorab’s room, and I stand talking to her as she eats the sweets and looks at me with shrewd eyes.

  ‘Anything to tell me?’ she whispers as soon as Blake is out of earshot.

  ‘Tell you tomorrow.’

  She nods. ‘Mmmmm… These are delicious.’

  I reach out and brush a crumb from the corner of her lips. ‘God, Billie, how I love you.’

  ‘You should go out to dinner more often with Marcus,’ she says.

  And for the first time that night I laugh.

  Twelve

  I look down at my sleeping son and savor the delicious pleasure of his warm weight in my lap. I stroke his downy head. So exposed, so vulnerable. I feel Blake’s eyes on me and look up at him. He is looking at both of us with an expression that I can only describe as fierce pride and possession. I feel cocooned in that savage light. As long as he is around we will both be safe.

  Blake settles Sorab in his cot while I get out of my dress. I hang it up carefully and start removing my make-up. I don’t take off my new jewelry. Blake loves to have me wearing nothing but the jewelry he has put on my body. I brush my hair and teeth, wrap myself in a fluffy bathrobe—it is deliciously warm from the radiator—and go out into the bedroom. He is unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls the ends out of his trousers.

  ‘Come here,’ he says.

  I go up to him.

  ‘Have I told you how beautiful you looked tonight?’

  I nod.

  ‘Have I told you how proud I was of you tonight?’

  I nod.

  ‘Hmmnnn… I am in danger of being boring.’

  ‘I love boring men.’

  One end of his lips curve.

  ‘Whoa… High alert… Edible sexy ahead,’ I whisper.

  ‘Serve warm, eat whole,’ he says as his hands move to the belt on my robe. He undoes it deftly and slowly leans into the gaping material to plant a kiss on my right nipple. My heart starts crashing against my chest. His large hands disappear inside the folds of the material and slide sensuously down the sides of my body. They come to a stop at my hips. He squeezes.

  ‘Amazing how I never tire of looking at your body,’ he murmurs into the side of my neck, while his fingers caress my throat and the blue stones encircling it.

  The robe drops off, my head drops back. A trail of kisses follows. A small sound escapes my throat. Amazing how my body quivers like jelly as soon as he touches me. His hands grasp my wrists and pull them upwards until they are held high above my head.

  He holds my wrists in a potent grasp with one hand and looks down at me, while his other hand roams my body freely, possessively. As if I am a slave in an auction that he is considering buying. I look up into his eyes. They are bold and dominant. I let my lips part.

  ‘My Jezebel,’ he says huskily, and takes my lower lip between his teeth. He holds the plump flesh between his teeth and pulls so I am forced to move with his head. I stand on tiptoe, skin burning all over, and wet between the legs. He lets go of my lip and moving his dark head away from me, gazes down at my body, arched and stretched out in front of him. There is a look of great satisfaction on his face.

  He turns me around. ‘Hands on the bed.’

  I open my legs, bend over, and put my palms on the bed, shoulder width apart, waist dipped down, ass high in the air. I know what he is doing. He is making me wait.

  Anticipation.

  I twist my head and watch him unhurriedly shrug out of his shirt, very deliberately pull the belt out of his trouser loops, release the button at the top of the zip, pull down the zip. Hook his fingers inside his underpants. Pull down. He stands behind me. Hot, hard, ready. I watch his glorious body eagerly.

  ‘Who do you belong to?’ he purrs.

  ‘You.’ My voice is hoarse.

  ‘Which parts belong to me?’

/>   ‘All.’

  ‘All?’

  ‘All.’

  He kneels behind me, his face inches from my sex.

  ‘I can smell your arousal,’ he says.

  I shut my eyes. I am so open, so exposed. Seconds drip by. I wait. I know it’s all a game. Patience and anticipation. My skin prickles. I feel his hot breath fan my wet flesh. The shock of his silky tongue swirling between the swollen folds makes my head jerk back. Instinctively, my hips tilt upwards, in a begging posture. I need him inside me. Now.

  ‘Please, Blake. Please. Enter me.’

  ‘Is this mine?’ he asks, and bites my sex.

  ‘Arggg…’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says pleasantly. ‘I couldn’t make that out.’ He bites me again.

  ‘Yes,’ I cry out.

  ‘To do with as I please?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  His breath fans the flushed, sensitized skin. With his thumbs, he spreads apart the folds and inserts his tongue. I gasp and writhe. He pulls my thighs farther apart, clamps his mouth on my clit and sucks.

  ‘Oh God!’

  Just as the delicious waves are starting to take hold, he takes his mouth away. Torture, pure torture. He stands. Is there to be no filling, stretching, or ramming? I am raging with need. To have him deep inside me. To be possessed by him. Frustrated and full of longing I look at him. Silently, he is gazing down at my open, greedy pussy.

  ‘Stay,’ he says, and leaving my body, gets on the bed in front of me. I gaze at his erection. My mouth is open, my breathing erratic. He is a fine specimen of a man. I have the strong urge to lick the meatus, take him in my mouth, and suck him so hard he groans helplessly.

  But he has an even better idea.

  ‘Come and sit on my cock,’ he commands.

  The order rolls over my flesh. I don’t need a second invitation. I crawl to him and impale myself on the hard shaft. The pleasure. Oh! the pleasure.