But she groped at the side of the bed, picked up her mobile and lit the screen, looking once more at those few words of text, just to make sure that they, and not the dream, had been real. Yes, they were still there, in black-and-white. Or black-and-grey. The Man existed. The kiss had happened. Almost unconsciously, she put her hand to her neck. She could still feel him there. Reassured, she drifted back into sleep.
There was a face. Was it his face? No, it was a snake’s face, fierce and fanged, and the twine was back, but this time it was the snake’s body. Entwined in the coils, she tossed and turned, but the thick, ropelike length passed between her legs, and every movement only served to allow it to rub against her most intimate parts, sparking them into life. The snake was seducing her, taking possession of her body and forcing her into a state of sexual desire that she could not escape. She tried to form words, to plead for mercy, looking up at the snake’s head, but it was not quite a snake’s head now, and its eyes reminded her of some that she had seen quite recently—a man’s eyes—and they were watching her while she fought her impending climax, fought the slick thick bonds that stimulated her clit and crept up behind along the crack of her bottom, fought the wash of orgasm that was threatening to overwhelm her…
Until it was too late and she was coming hard, beneath the pitiless eyes of the snake-face stranger, who laughed at her, laughed like a space opera villain, until…
She was awake again. Daylight.
“Oh God, I’m blushing!” she exclaimed, putting her hands to her cheeks. “That was so intense. Thank God people can’t see your dreams. Anna Rice, you’re a perv. And you didn’t know it.”
Laughing to herself, she went to wash in the bathroom downstairs and hoped to calm her nerves while getting ready to face the barrage of gossip that would no doubt meet her at the office.
“Shit.” She frowned, rummaging once more in her shoulder bag, finding her mobile and checking it for messages (none), but still unable to lay hands on her security pass. Approaching the Recorder offices, she looked unthinkingly over to the spot of pavement outside the Dolly where It Had Happened, and once again that spreading flush of warmth circulated around her insides, and she caught herself in an inane grin. All the same, she was going to have to lurk outside the doors until a friend came along to beep her in with them, which meant an unobtrusive spot was called for, from which she could see but not be seen. The last thing she needed was Rob pitching up and interrogating her about last night. Way too early for the non-Spanish Inquisition.
“Mimi!” she whispered sharply as her best friend approached, caramel curls bouncing like a model’s in a shampoo advertisement, all fragrant and accessorised to the point of caricature.
“Darling, why are you lurking? Must you lurk? It’s so off-putting. Especially first thing in the morning.”
“Can’t find my pass, sorry.”
“Again? Security will spank you.”
“As long as it’s the one who looks like Zachary Quinto, I can live with that.”
“Mmm, think I could too.”
They nodded at the security man in the lobby—not the Zachary Quinto lookalike, unfortunately, and headed for the lifts.
“I hope Rob’s off sick,” Anna said, cringing.
“Oh dear. And Liam?”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want him to be ill. I just hope he’s…invisible today.”
“There, there.” Mimi consolingly patted her friend’s arm. “One day of pain, and then it will all be forgotten. There’ll be a new temp or something, and Rob will chase after her instead. Everything will go over Liam’s head, as it always does, and he’ll be the same as ever. And perhaps your mysterious hedge fund man will call. You never know.”
“I do know,” Anna said, smiling a secret smile, then wiping it off in order to take the very deep breath that was necessary before stepping out onto the third floor.
“I’ll come into the office with you. Moral support,” whispered Mimi, entering the open-plan shark pit in advance of her friend. Anna scurried gratefully to her desk, feigning intent interest in the booting of her computer, while all those around her looked up and exchanged glances.
“You should have said.” Rob was the first to speak, diagonally opposite.
“Said what?” Anna did not dare raise her eyes.
“That you were meeting your dad. I’d have understood.”
Muffled giggles.
“Oh, so petulant,” Mimi said airily. “Girls don’t love petulance, Robert. Rule number thirty-eight thousand and three. Add it to your list.” She beamed at him maternally, then turned away and kissed Anna’s cheek. “Let’s do lunch, love,” she suggested. “See you in the canteen. Ciao.”
“You’ll break that keyboard,” Liam observed with a frown. “You don’t have to stab the keys.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” Flustered, Anna ventured a glance. Liam was still gorgeous. But she felt pleasantly detached from his gorgeousness, and the realisation was so liberating that she smiled and straightened in her chair. “Have you had coffee yet?”
“I have. But I haven’t had a mochaccino. Or a muffin.”
“Cheeky!”
“I know. But you love it really.”
Anna skipped off to the canteen, suddenly so lighthearted she thought she might float down the stairs. Was she really over Liam? Had that happened overnight, with a metaphorical click of the fingers? Or rather, she thought, touching her neck again, by a literal kiss. But God, what a kiss. Oh, what a kiss.
She was still reliving the moment on her return to her office, sinking her lips into the cappuccino froth and making a smile shape in the beige, determined to ignore any unpleasantness that might be hanging in the air.
“While tearing off a game of golf / I may make a play for the caddy,” Lucinda Rae, Rob’s best friend and flatmate was singing innocently as she typed. “But when I do, I don’t follow through / 'Cause my heart belongs to Daddy.”
Anna mouthed a STFU and logged on with a cheerful flourish. She would have to ask him how old he was, she decided. Surely no more than fifteen years older, though. Surely not yet forty. And what was his name? And… Her train of thought came to an abrupt halt, and she grabbed her mobile out of her bag, looking again at the text message. He had called her Miss Rice. Had she told him her surname? She was still trying to remember, forehead strained, mind stubbornly blank, when her desk phone rang. Two rings—external call. She snatched it up and almost stumbled over the stock phrase, “Good morning, Recorder and Sunday Post.”
“Good morning, Recorder and Sunday Post.” Amusement in the voice. That voice! His voice. She wanted to melt all over the phone, to squeeze herself down the lines and pop out at the other end so she could see the smiling glint in his eye. “I thought your name was Anna.”
“Hello,” she half whispered, covering the receiver and crouching low over the desk in a hopeless attempt to maintain privacy.
“How are you this morning?”
“Good. Really good. Thanks.” Anna’s head had lost its connections; the words blundered out without touching the sides of her consciousness.
“Did you sleep well? Were your dreams sweet?”
She was flooded with sudden embarrassment, remembering the climax that had shaken her slumbering body, seemingly beneath his eyes. Oh God, don’t be silly, he’s just asking a polite question.
“Uh-huh, yes, thanks.”
“Good.” He let the vowel sound stretch out before cutting it off and chuckling softly. “I need you in top form. I’m picking you up when you finish work. Six, is it? That dinner we talked about.”
“Not…straight from work!” Anna was aghast at the idea.
“Why not? It’s close to my office. It’s easy for me. Easy for you.”
“But…I’m not dressed.”
“You’re not dressed? Anna, I think I might have to come up and see you right now.”
“Noooo, I mean for dinner. You know. Somewhere nice. If it’s somewhere nice.” Argh, the conversation
was skidding way out of control. She was about to say something incredibly stupid. Best to just shut up and let him talk.
“It’s somewhere nice. But you don’t need to change. What you’re wearing—whatever you’re wearing—will be fine. I’ll be in the lobby at six then?”
“Oh…well…oh…yes, all right.”
“Perfect. I’m looking forward to it. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t. Goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye, Anna.”
“Oh! Don’t put the phone down!”
He held on, with a silence that somehow managed to sound amused.
“What’s your name? I don’t know your name.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought I’d told you. My name’s John.”
“Right. Goodbye, John.” She hugged the receiver beneath her chin, pressing it to her ear as if his voice could pour into her head and stay there.
“See you soon,” he promised. The words echoed and she tried to trap them, keep the sound waves reverberating in her mind for the rest of the day. But they had faded in seconds, and she found herself dialling Mimi’s desk on the floor above.
“Mimi! Forget the canteen! We have to go shopping at lunchtime.”
“Jesus, calm down, girl, you sound hysterical. What’s happening?”
“He called. He’s taking me out, straight from work. I can’t go to, oh, I dunno, the Ritz, in Primark capri pants.”
“Why ever not? Primark is very now.”
“Mimi, you have to help me! You know about fashion.”
“Hmmm. So this was Mr. Hedge Fund, I take it? Does he have a name now?”
“John.” Anna spoke the name as if it were that of a god, in a rapturous whisper that caressed the phone receiver.
“You aren’t going to throw yourself at him, are you?” Mimi’s voice was sharp-edged. “You’ll never see him again if you do. Just enjoy yourself and take it easy, for God’s sake. The statistical likelihood of him being a knight on a white charger is 0.00000001 percent. The statistical likelihood of him being a pervy old sleaze who wants to get you into bed is 99.9999999999 percent. Keep those figures in mind.”
“Mimi! Haven’t you ever felt the, whatsit, the coup de foudre?”
“No, I bloody haven’t. And who wants to be struck by lightning anyway?”
“I do,” gushed Anna.
“You need therapy. Okay, I’ll meet you at the back exit at one. And don’t forget your credit card. Ciao.”
Nerves were such stupid things, Anna thought, applying a third coat of lipstick then tutting and wiping it off. What did John like? What sort of makeup did he like? Subtle or full-on? Low-key bronze eye shadow or the NARS glittery stuff? Would he be offended if she did not look as if she had made an effort? Would he think she looked like a pantomime dame if she did? It was all too difficult. In the end she settled for bronze eye shadow, clear mascara, tinted moisturiser, a slick of pale pink lip gloss. She did not think she would need blusher, if the furious pink of her cheeks at this moment was any guide.
She spritzed on her purse spray—too light for evening, really, but it couldn’t be helped—and stood back to assess the full effect.
“Gorgeous!” Mimi exclaimed, entering the ladies’ behind her. “That dress is stunning. So simple and fresh, but so pretty. Like you.” If there was any envy intended in the remark, it wasn’t detectable. “You’re one of those girls who doesn’t know what they have. As opposed to me—I’m one of those girls who knows how to make the most of what they’ve been given. And the shoes!”
“I shouldn’t have bought them, really.” Anna pointed a toe and watched the sparkly straps glint in the overhead striplight. “But they were so… Oh. You know.”
“They will pay you back. You can wear them to every occasion for the next five years. Don’t fall over though. I’ve never seen you in heels before. It takes practice.”
Anna grabbed Mimi’s hand, breathing in a huge breath.
“Will you come down the stairs with me? I don’t think I can go down in the lift. I can’t just have the lift doors open and that’s it and he’s there. I need a little bit of preparation.”
“You aren’t going to drop dead with the magnitude of his gorgeousness, surely?”
“Well…no. I can’t even remember what he looks like, properly. Nothing like George Clooney, or anything like that. I don’t know.” She screwed up her face, looking to Mimi for some understanding or reassurance. “Just…he has something, you know. Something about him. Like a vibe. It’s quite powerful.”
“Confidence?”
“Oh. Probably.”
“You could always get some of your own. It helps. And it’s all a trick, you know. Inside, he could be just as nervous as you.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
“Yeah! Right!”
Mimi tugged Anna out just as the long hand on the clock above the lifts fixed on the twelve.
“Okay, stairs to the first floor. Then we take a peek down from the balcony, the bit where they can’t see from below. Then we take the lift to the lobby.”
“It’s a plan,” Mimi agreed with a nod, commencing the two-flight descent to the first floor, her gaze set firmly on Anna’s tottering feet.
They tiptoed to the balcony, ignoring the curious eyes of the departing office workers, until the bank of seating where people waited in reception became visible. Anna saw his shoes first, highly polished and black, then his legs, crossed, then his shirt and tie, jacket on the seat next to him, then his face, abstracted, gazing ahead.
In these short bursts, the awareness of his presence was more easily manageable, even though a quick, thin flame burnt from her belly to her throat all the same. Him.
“Him?” Mimi whispered. Anna nodded. “Nice suit. Not bad-looking, I suppose. What is he? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
“Shoulders back, chin up, Rice. We’re going in.”
The lift bell chimed and they squeezed in amongst a crowd of sweaty colleagues, riding the short drop to the ground floor lobby until they were disgorged onto its tiled floor, spilling and swelling in the crowds.
John’s face lit in a smile as he rose to meet her.
“You look amazing,” he leaned forward to murmur the words into her ear, “but, I hate to tell you, a little overdressed for where we’re going.” His hand landed on her hip, weighing it down, so warm and heavy. He kissed her just beneath her ear, then paused to breathe in the scent of her hair and skin. “I’ve been dreaming of this,” he said softly. “Dreaming of breathing you in.”
Anna struggled not to fall at his feet in a pool of longing.
“Ready then?” John picked up his jacket and swung it over his shoulder, offering his other arm to Anna, who sailed out of the building on it, feeling like the Queen of Sheba in sparkly stilettos, living the moment in its delirious fullness in case it never came again.
It was early in the summer, and the London air was still warm and as fresh as it ever was, not yet heavy and opaque with grime, even though the inevitable humidity clung to Anna’s skin and threatened to make her light silk dress cling in all the wrong places. Luckily, John was not taking her far. They walked to a hidden side street a few hundred yards from the Recorder building, where a sleek silver Aston Martin convertible lay in wait.
“Oh wow, is that your car?”
John laughed as if amused at Anna’s awestruck tone. “You’ve never been in one of these?”
He bleeped the key as if pointing a laser blaster at an adversary, and turned to her with that breathtaking smile of his. “Then I shall give you the grand tour.”
He helped her into the passenger side, where Anna could not help scrunching her hands in her lap and shivering with excitement. The boys she had known had never helped her into a car—not that she needed help, but all the same—how different a man was to those clueless buffoons. After depositing his jacket on the seat behind, John sli
d in beside her, put a strong hand on the gearstick and leaned over to kiss her cheek before attending to the ignition.
“Hold on tight,” he said. “Don’t look so worried. I’m a careful driver really. It just seems like one of those things you’re supposed to say to a beautiful woman in a fast car. Don’t hold on tight if you don’t want to.”
The car prowled out of the side street and nosed into the City traffic, unable to find its feet in the stop-start of the London rush hour, but that didn’t matter to Anna, who sat back and revelled in the admiring glances. She enjoyed her relaxed view of all the famous landmarks she customarily raced past, with eyes to the pavement, on the way to some urgent appointment or other.
“Do you often drive your car around London?” Anna noticed that most of the other traffic consisted of cabs, buses and motorcycle couriers, that hardly any private cars braved these roads.
“No, I usually commute. I don’t live far out of town. Just bring the car in on special occasions.”
Anna beamed and hugged her knees at the “special occasions.” She was still warm and gooey inside from his “beautiful woman” line. Liam might have the face of an angel and the body of a god, but she couldn’t imagine him ever saying anything like that. He’s a “get your coat—you’ve pulled” kind of guy.
They drove on through the West End, past the theatres with the queues just starting to form, around Piccadilly Circus with its transient population of foreign-language students and teenage runaways, along Piccadilly to the south side of Hyde Park, where the traffic freed up and they were able to bowl along, Anna’s hair streaming in the pleasant breeze as she admired the gracious buildings of Knightsbridge.
Under His Influence Page 2
