by Harper Cole
Breaking The Limits: Limitless Trilogy, Book Three
Harper Cole
Text copyright 2014 Harper Cole
All rights reserved
Chapter One - Jas
I was wearing far too many clothes. Holy hell, I’d spent a couple weeks in the UK - okay, maybe a month - and I must have acclimatized way more than I’d expected. Now I was back in the US in a southern state in summer and I swear I was about three seconds away from melting into the sidewalk. They’d just find a big puddle of goo and my travel bag. After everything I’d been through lately - oh, you know, the kidnapping, being held hostage by my new boyfriend’s partner, then another hostage situation with my new boyfriend’s goddamn personal driver - well, if I was going to die, I wanted it to be a heck of a lot more spectacular than fucking heatstroke.
No one was answering the buzzer. I checked and re-checked the details that Andrew had given me. Yep, right address, right building, right apartment. My head was feeling thick with jetlag. I’d landed around nine am, US time, but my body told me it was mid-afternoon, and coupled with my lack of sleep the night before, I was ready for a good, long siesta.
Okay, so maybe this guy was out. It was Saturday but I didn’t know what he did or even who he was - just that Andrew said that his friend Mike would help me.
There was a phone number on the card that Andrew had given me. It had taken me about half an hour to persuade my cell to work now I was back home again, but it had finally been convinced to pick up the network. I felt nervous as I called the number. I mean, what the hell was I going to say?
I had spent most of the transatlantic flight trying to come up with a plausible explanation but it sounded crazier the more truth that I told.
A rich, deep voice answered and my heart leapt. A man with a calm voice like that was a dependable sort, for sure.
“Hi there. Uh, you don’t know me, but Andrew Walker-Wilkinson said you’d be able to help me. My name is Jasmine Turner, and I…”
“Who?”
“Jasmine Turner.”
“No, not you. Andrew Walker-Wilkinson? And why would he want me?” There was something in his voice that no longer sounded so inviting.
“He doesn’t. I mean, he’s not here.” I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand a little taller. He couldn’t see me, but I had learned a lot in business and one crucial lesson was to act more confident than you felt, and always make difficult phone calls while standing up. “He’s in England but I’ve had to fly over here to deal with some emergency and he said you would be able to help me out. He said that I could trust you,” I added meaningfully. Always appeal to a guy’s sense of honor. They liked that.
“Well, let me tell you something, little lady. He don’t know jack shit about me and whether I can be trusted and for another thing, I don’t owe him nothing either. If it was that big of an emergency I am sure he would be here himself.”
To be honest, I had decided I wanted nothing to do with this man the minute he said “little lady.” So I drew in a deep breath and said “Fuck you, then,” and was gratified beyond belief when I managed to hang up before he did. It wasn’t much of a victory, but it was something.
Now what? It was approaching midday and I just wanted to crawl into a cool, dark room and sleep for about a week.
This was no good. I shook myself and headed downtown to find a coffee shop.
* * * *
After two strong coffees I was ready to try and call my mom. All psyched up for it, I was crushed all over again when she didn’t pick up. Maybe I should have gotten myself a new number or a disposable phone or something, so she wouldn’t have known it was me.
After all, the last time I spoke with her, she accused me of lying.
I dropped the handset to the table and pressed the palms of my hands to my eyes, sighing. My life had changed utterly when I’d met Andrew. Our love affair had knocked me sideways and turned my own self-image upside down. He could come across as an arrogant jerk, and the first time I met him, I didn’t want to know him. He was hot, but look at me: I’m a modern woman, and I don’t want to judge men on appearance any more than I would like them to judge me on shallow and superficial things.
The whole mating game is a primal thing, though. I can talk about my feminism and my independence but there was something about him - pheromones? Who knows! - that connected directly with my ovaries. Much to my chagrin, I gotta say. My mind said “run” but my belly was literally dragging me toward him screaming “fuck me.”
We both thought we could keep it light. Have some fun fooling around, and not let anything heavy get in the way of our work.
Yeah, right.
So then his rich daddy got all uppity. I’d like to say it was fucking weird-ass English aristocracy and all, because old man Walker-Wilkinson had expected his son to go into business and feed him info to consolidate his corrupt empire in London. Unfortunately for rich daddy, Andrew wanted to go his own way.
Thing is, it was all about power. All of them had more money than any one person really needed. Jeez, even Andrew didn’t bat an eyelid when his father disinherited him; Andrew’s a financial wizard and can make half a million in a day on the stock market, or so it seems to me.
Power. Makes a man crazy, for sure.
I stared at my phone, and then tried calling my mom again. This time, I left her a message, sounding more confident than I felt.
“Hi mom, it’s Jas. Hi. I’m back home for a little while. I sure want to meet your new man. Please call me as soon as you can. I promise I’m not gonna shout or scream or anything. I just want to talk, okay?”
Talk. Like that was going to make everything okay.
First I needed to meet this new man of hers - the one who was “helping” her with financial issues.
The waitress sashayed over to me and asked if I needed anything else. She was all smiles and teeth, and seemed genuinely pleased to see me. I’d missed the southern warmth - not just the weather, but the people, too. Sure, I knew she was paid to be friendly. But I could kid myself she liked me.
And that thought led me to Carlee. I ordered an iced tea - something else I’d missed in England - and thought about my oldest, closest friend. Yeah, someone else I’d argued with, too. But then Carlee had phoned me, and told me that I needed to come and help my mom. So I knew Carlee still had a place for me.
But when I called her up, I hit another dead end; she answered the call in a whisper, telling me she was at work, which surprised me because she had a nine-to-five regular weekday office job. She couldn’t talk, she told me, and she sounded stressed.
She shouldn’t have even answered my call, she said, but she wanted me to know she was glad I was back.
And that was it.
Well, that really was it. Suddenly, my home state felt like a foreign country to me. I needed to find a hotel, and get some sleep. I knew of a couple places I might try, though the idea of having to find accommodation when I was actually in the place I grew up in was a bit strange.
I got myself a cab and rode uptown. While I was paying the driver, my phone started ringing again. I ended up doing that “need three hands and failing to do one thing well” dance, dropping my purse and scattering some English coins to the sidewalk. I paid him at last and caught the final ring of the phone - to my delight, it was Andrew.
His voice was tinny and there was a fuzzy kind of echo on the line. “Jas, I don’t have long to talk. Sorry about this.”
That made me stop and stare. I moved to the side, out of the way of the few pedestrians stupid enough to be out in the heat. Andrew never apologized for anything.
“I’ve been arrested for that incident with Amjad. I went to the police myself. Tell Mike I’ll be in his debt. And
don’t worry about me. Don’t do anything till I call you again. Please. Don’t approach my father - you mustn’t let him know you’re in the States without me. It makes you too vulnerable. Okay?”
“Andrew, Mike is …” but I caught myself and swallowed it. What good would it do for Andrew to know that Mike had let him down? I changed my direction. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t do anything. I just need to see my mom…”
“I know. Look, I have to go. I don’t get long to talk.”
“What’s going to happen?” Andrew had beaten Amjad pretty severely, after all. I felt a pang of guilt. Amjad had taken me prisoner; Andrew was merely rescuing me. I needed to be in the UK and explain what happened.
But I needed to be here to rescue my mom from Leonard, too.
The line went dead before Andrew could answer me and I felt a crushing, heavy feeling in my stomach. I gripped the handle of my travel bag, shouldered my purse, and went in search of a decent hotel.
Chapter Two - Andrew
I checked behind me. The man in the seat to the rear had already reclined his, and when I caught his eye, he nodded. Ahh, the unspoken dance of politeness on a flight. First class gave the passengers plenty of leg room, anyway, but it was still best to acknowledge the person behind before tipping the seat back. Not everyone was so respectful but I tended not to use the cheaper airlines anyway.
Quality. It was one of my father’s watchwords; he’d always insisted we only have the very best. I had thought him an arrogant arsehole but now I was thinking the same things as him. So what did that make me?
I sighed. I was tired. And being tired made me feel pensive and a little petulant, if I’m totally honest. Spending the night in the custody suite of the local police station had been an eye-opening experience. Literally, in fact, as I’d had no sleep whatsoever. I’d been in a cell on my own, with a low bed and thin mattress, and revolting stainless steel toilet behind a low wall. I wouldn’t have been able to drop off even if I hadn’t been continually disturbed by the clanging of doors, the shouting of officers and the vomit-filled rants of drunks and drug addicts.
I’d been able to speak to Jas, for which I was truly grateful. Speaking nicely to the officers had paid off, and I hadn’t been treated with the contempt that I saw them mete out to some of the other inmates.
And then - out of the blue - a uniformed man had unlocked the door in the morning, and led me to the front desk in the custody suite without a word. I wasn’t cuffed or escorted. I was simply walked through, and at the counter there was a middle-aged female officer shaking a plastic bag which contained the things I’d had to give up when I’d been arrested; my phone, my watch, my belt and my shoelaces.
“You’re free to go,” she said. “Sign here, and here.”
I pulled the bag toward me, but shook my head. “It’s not that I’m unhappy about this,” I said, “But why? I did confess to beating that man.”
She shrugged and glanced at something that was on the lower part of the desk, behind a high partition. I couldn’t see what it was. “Says here, charges were dropped by the alleged victim.”
“Right. But…” I knew I should stop talking but it made no sense to me.
She looked up. “So you’re free to go. It’s not in the CPS’s interests to take it any further. Don’t do it again.”
Don’t do it again? Like I was a naughty boy caught stealing toffees? I strapped my Rolex back onto my wrist and attempted a smile. This was madness. Amjad would never have given up the fight.
* * * *
Still, here I was on the plane, and dammit if I didn’t feel just a little like a conquering hero swooping in to rescue his fair lady - again. I had to laugh to myself. If anyone had told Jas to her face that she needed rescuing, she’d likely stab them. Or she’d want to.
I’d seen a different side to her. One that fired me up in some unexpected ways. She was all ice and harsh edges and modern woman - on the outside. Inside, she wanted to be protected.
And at first I thought I could be that man.
And then I realized I had to be a better man than I was.
That was painful.
Still, nothing worth doing was easy, was it?
* * * *
I slept better than I expected to. When I awoke, groggy and heavy-headed, we only had an hour of flight left. I itched to check my phone but it was dutifully turned off and stowed away. I’d leapt on the flight at the last minute, paying a huge amount for the privilege. It was Sunday. Tomorrow, I wouldn’t turn up at work. It was a short-term contract and they’d dismiss me instantly without blinking. I didn’t care.
I didn’t even need the money. I worked for the challenge and the networking. When you came from a rich family, you learned early on to find a different kind of motivation in life.
My father, it seemed, had chosen to be motivated by power.
It had twisted him and corrupted him. I saw, then, like it was a revelation, that if Jas hadn’t come along and burst me open, I’d have ended up just like him.
She’d accused me of that, once, and I’d walked away in disgust. But she was right. I could have become him, all full of rage and consumed by the need to dominate. I was learning, through Jas and our relationship, to channel those desires into something better and more constructive. Yes, I dominated Jas, but it was a mutual exercise designed to let us both explore our darker needs.
Nothing in my father’s world could possibly be seen as mutual.
So there could be no compromise and no reconciliation. Not now, not after everything. I didn’t know what his plans were for Jas’s family but I knew they could not be good plans.
There was only one solution - I had to destroy him.
I felt a little cold inside. It was a big thought. Was I really ready for this?
Not for myself, no.
But for Jas?
Yes.
Chapter Three - Jas
I ended up falling into bed early on Saturday night, and I slept a full fourteen hours. Then I took a luxurious bath and a late brunch, and finally got to catching up with Carlee, by phone.
I was shocked to hear that she’d lost her good job with all its benefits. Cutbacks and redundancies were biting, hard. Now she was working retail and hating every minute. And I was ashamed that it had happened a few weeks ago and I didn’t know. I’d been so wrapped up in everything. I told her what had happened and then she was apologizing, too, and we ended up in one of those best-mates-laughing-and-crying situations, and everything was all right again.
Or at least, I hoped so.
I went out for a walk in the early evening, but I had forgotten how muggy and humid it would be. I went once around a park and then headed back to the hotel. Halfway back, my phone buzzed with a text message.
“I’ve landed. Am about 3 hours away, sorting out a rental car. See you soon.”
Andrew! Why didn’t he phone me? Then it buzzed again.
“I don’t want you wearing any underwear when I arrive.”
It was a game. I knew that straight away. I texted back, “Yes, Sir,” so he knew that I knew.
Oh shit - he’d be going to Mike’s house. Hastily, I sent him the address of the hotel I was staying at. “Mike was unavailable,” I told him.
And then I dashed back to the hotel to upgrade the room to a much better suite.
* * * *
He seemed to accept the hotel without question. Over the following three hours, I received a succession of text messages, now based on the fact we were in a hotel and not his friend’s house.
“Go take a shower and make yourself even more beautiful,” was one, that should have made me recoil but in fact made me feel wanted and lovely.
“Wrap in a sexy robe and lie back on the bed.”
“Order up room service. Something easy to eat that won’t spoil.”
“Touch yourself and think about me.”
I couldn’t really believe he would want sex after a long transatlantic flight. Just the idea that he was th
at insatiable made me shiver in reciprocal lust. Still, I was fully prepared for him to crash out on the bed and fall right asleep.
But as my fingers slipped between the folds of my sex, and I found myself wet and warm, I did hope he would be awake and alert.
* * * *
When there was a firm knocking at the door, I knew it was him, and my heart went from “resting pulse” to “absolutely frantic” within two seconds. I scrabbled to my feet and tried to calm myself as I opened the door to him.
He was ever so slightly disheveled; his hair was sticking up in a few random directions, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was poised for a moment in the doorframe, staring intently at my face, almost as if he were holding himself back.
I hadn’t seen him for a few days. It wasn’t as if we’d been parted for months or anything. But the fact that he had flown over from England and he wanted him - I mean, wanted me with such lust plain on his face - that made me quiver in anticipation, too. I wanted to fall on him, be enfolded by him, talk with him, get naked with him - everything, all at the same time.
But I was caught, unable to move, almost as if I needed to drink in how he looked - store this image of him in my mind. This moment, forever imprinted.
Andrew broke the impasse. He stepped forward - surged, almost - and grabbed me. His hands were tight and hard on my waist as he pulled me to him and I thought he was going to kiss me, but he buried his head into my neck and sighed, deeply.
“Jas, oh God. I am so glad to see you again.”
I hugged him. “Me too. Come on in.”
“So what’s this about Mike?”
“He couldn’t help. He didn’t seem to know you as well as you maybe know him. Or something. I dunno.”
Andrew shrugged. “This place is nice, though.”
I took his hand and he let me lead him into the hotel room. There was a huge bathroom, and the main bedroom had a smaller dressing area, a circle of easy chairs by the wide glass doors, and beyond those doors was a private balcony.
