‘I’m not spying. I’m—’
‘Do you trust me?’ I ask calmly, though on the inside I’m raging. After everything he’s put me through?
‘I trust you. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.’ He shoves his glass away. ‘I haven’t got time for this.’ Taking the fresh glass being handed to him by the barman, he knocks back another Haig and slams his empty down.
‘You haven’t got time for this? You mean us?’ I ask, prickling with irritation. ‘Nice to know you’re invested. Maybe I haven’t got time to wrap my head around the shit you keep landing on me,’ I seethe. ‘I’m not hanging around to be accused of whatever your paranoid brain conjures up. Have a good night, Hunt.’ I storm off, needing to get out of here before I swing at him. He hasn’t got time for this? What, now or ever?
The arsehole.
Making my way from the room, I resist the urge to go back and slap his face. Then I wish I had, because someone else has just caught my eye. Someone I fucking hate. My hackles shoot up. I swallow down my growl of anger, my eyes drilling into Alexa’s back as I force myself to continue on my way. My feet have become heavy, telling me that leaving Becker here would be a stupid move with her loitering around. Those long, skinny legs look poised and ready to wrap around a waist at any moment.
I bump into a chair, knocking it into the table. ‘Shit,’ I curse, ignoring all of the disapproving looks being thrown at me. ‘Sorry.’ I don’t rush to put the chair back, and instead stumble my way towards the door, now set on finding the ladies and composing myself. I’m not leaving here with that floozy on the prowl.
My heels hit the mosaic tiles of the entrance hall, and I dip and weave through the scattered crowds, apologising constantly for bumping into people as I go.
Then I’m suddenly not moving any more. I yelp when something grabs my wrist and yanks me to a stop, nearly pulling my shoulder out of its socket, and before I register who, what and how, I’m being guided back through the crowds. Becker’s unique smell invades my nose, his arm coiled around my waist. ‘Get off me,’ I spit, wriggling to free myself.
‘Shut the fuck up, princess.’
‘Go to hell.’ My feet are barely touching the ground as he moves with conviction, looking straight ahead and ignoring all of the curious looks coming our way.
He heads to the right, taking us through a ballroom that has an orchestra set up in the corner, and then down a corridor. I’m pushed into the room, and the door slams loudly. I take a quick glimpse around to see where he’s taken me. There’s a fireplace, large and elaborate with stone carvings, and huge armchairs scattered here and there. It’s a smoking room.
He points a finger in my face, snarling. ‘There’s not one thing in this world that pisses me off more than you.’
He’s got a nerve. I’ve done nothing wrong. ‘Back at ya, Hunt.’ My eyes, damn my eyes, automatically drop to his crotch. I suck my lip between my teeth when I see he’s solid. Because he finds himself hard, even when he’s mad with me. I look up through my lashes at him, to the poised, het-up beast of a man before me.
Who’s loaded to the eyeballs with craving.
He releases a strangled growl, and the next second, he lunges at me, tackling my body and virtually throwing me at the wall. My mouth is taken greedily, hard and forceful, and I accept it all, bringing my leg up, curling my thigh around his waist. But he pushes it down aggressively, biting on my lip. My protest gets no further than my throat before I’m spun around, pushed front-forward into the wall, meeting it with force. I feel his hand meet the back of my thigh, and I clench my eyes shut, knowing what’s coming. He wrenches the hem of my dress up.
Smack!
I scream, a mixture of pain and delight, before he flings me back around and grabs me behind my thighs, hauling me up to his body. One hand holds me in place against the wall while his other makes quick work of freeing himself from the confines of his trousers.
Then on a carnal roar, he levels himself up and smashes into me, jerking me up the wall. The shock invasion has me slamming my head back, clawing at the material of his tuxedo at his shoulders.
Holding still, he pants into my neck, giving me a few needed moments to meld around his solid cock. ‘Start breathing, princess,’ he orders, slowly slipping free.
His command reminds me that I’m holding my breath, and I let it sail out, beginning to shake in his hold. I stare up at the ceiling, bracing myself for him. This is going to be hard. He reeks power, is leaking with a need to possess me. And then it happens. His first forceful slam into me. I find his neck to muffle my scream, not resisting the need to bite down onto his shoulder through his suit. He doesn’t hold back, ignoring any pain I might be causing from my vicious bite. He repeatedly and forcefully plunges deeply, thrusting me up the wall on low grunts, hitting me harshly each and every time.
‘Becker,’ I yell, detecting the first sign of release on the horizon.
‘Me too,’ he confirms, increasing his pace to an almost unbearable level. There’s no time between each of his drives to recover. The pain is constant, but so is the pleasure. His face remains submerged in my neck as he drives us to ultimate rapture. We’re both just clinging onto each other, grappling, clumsy and chaotic.
My build up is gradual, almost annoyingly slow, but when it finally hits, it literally takes me out. ‘Shit,’ I choke into Becker’s shoulder, solidifying in his hold as surges of pleasure rip through my body like an epic tornado. ‘Jesus,’ I breathe.
‘Yeah,’ he whispers, jacking me up the wall and joining me in my spiralling ecstasy, his cock swelling and pulsing, compressing against my internal walls.
I feel deliciously full and sated, still tingling, still constricting around him as I peel my eyes open and push my lips into his wet neck, sucking gently. But my contented attention is interrupted when something across the room catches my eye.
Alexa.
She’s standing in the doorway, holding the handle. Watching us. I hold her eyes for an age, relishing in the desolation she’s trying to hide, before slowly turning my attention back to Becker. I nuzzle into his cheek until he turns his face and lets me at his mouth. And I kiss him, slowly, lovingly and like he belongs to me. Because he does.
‘I love you,’ I mumble between rotations of my soft, swirling tongue, nibbling my way up his cheek.
‘I love you more,’ he breathes, and I smile sickly, letting him ravish me for a few, precious seconds. And when I look back to the door, Alexa is gone.
Becker exhales, releasing me and pushing my legs gently from his waist. I keep myself propped against the wall, pulling my dress down while he fastens himself quietly, thinking. When he’s done, he looks up at me and catches my chin in his fingers, holding my face in place.
‘For the record, there’s nothing in this world I’m more invested in than you.’ He lets his gaze plummet to the ground at his feet, and my muscles relax as I watch him thinking. ‘I just worry about things. Like what if you suddenly realise that you can’t handle me? My life, my ways, my need to make your arse sore because I love the thought of it burning from my touch.’ He drags in air, wincing.
Just listen to him. Sure, but so unsure. I move forward, reaching for the waistband of his trousers and slipping my fingers past. I use it as leverage and pull him towards me, and our torsos meet. So do our lips. They just touch, but the sense of belonging doesn’t feel any less potent than when we’re eating each other alive.
‘I want to tell you something,’ he whispers.
My body locks up, instinctively going into protective mode. What else could there be? ‘What?’ I murmur reluctantly.
‘I want to tell you about the moment I realised I was in love with you,’ he says against my lips. I’ve withdrawn in surprise before I can stop myself, finding Becker smiling shyly, his whole body tense now, too. ‘When you ran away from me, after you found out it was me who was in your ap—�
�
I raise a hand quickly, halting him, telling him silently that an elaboration on that particular time isn’t necessary. He nods his understanding. ‘I stood in the middle of the road in fucking agony. I tried to tell myself that the freezing cold was hurting me, but then I realised that I was hurting so much more than anything physical could inflict.’ My heart melts, but I don’t interrupt his flow. ‘I knew I loved you at that point. It had to be love, because I know it’s the only thing in this world that hurts so badly. When I lost my mum and dad, the pain paralysed me.’ He clenches his eyes shut for a split second, his head tilting back. ‘Jesus, Eleanor, I never wanted to feel like that again, and when you ran away, I did. And I realised, unlike my parents’ death, it was my fault. I was inflicting the pain on myself.’
I move into him quickly and circle his waist, hugging him tightly. ‘Stop it.’ I order, feeling his arms come around me and cling on desperately. ‘Just . . . stop.’
‘No, you need to know, because I feel like I’m going fucking mad.’
‘You’re not going mad,’ I placate him, doubting myself. I must be going mad, too. The things I know, the things I’ve accepted. I’ve surprised myself. No. Surprised is the wrong word. Shocked. I’ve shocked myself.
‘I must be, Eleanor,’ Becker says. ‘I can’t focus on much except you, and that’s not wholly a good thing.’
‘Why?’ I try my best not to sound affronted. I can’t focus on much either, but I’ve seen it as a good thing. Something so powerful, it helps accept all the other shit.
‘Because I might get myself into trouble.’
This makes me smile. ‘I feel the same,’ I offer, hoping he appreciates that. Keeping my claws to myself is proving harder and harder.
Becker forces me away and holds me by my arms, gazing down at me. ‘Are you going to stay now?’ He pushes out his bottom lip cheekily.
‘Pick up your lip. I’ll stay.’ He doesn’t need to know that I spotted Alexa and changed my mind.
‘Super.’
He takes my hand and leads on, and when we breach the entrance of the main room, I spy Lucy and Mark seated at a table, both laughing like drains.
Becker swings into gracious action, giving Mark a slap on the shoulder and Lucy a kiss on the cheek. He helps me to my seat next to Lucy before taking the one on the other side of Mark.
‘You okay?’ Lucy stops a waiter as he passes and grabs a glass of champagne, thrusting it at me. I’m eternally grateful. Accepting keenly, I savour the taste as I glance around, feeling an icy glare stabbing at my back, and though it’s obvious who it’s coming from, I can’t see where who is hiding.
I sigh, rolling my shoulders as I lean back, but relaxing when I’m constantly on the lookout for Alexa isn’t easy. She’s made it clear what her game is. I’m mentally kitting myself out in body armour as I sit here stewing, set for battle. I peek around the room again.
‘Who are you looking for?’ Lucy asks, coming in closer, leaving the boys behind her chatting and laughing.
‘Alexa.’
‘Who’s Alexa?’
‘My equivalent of your printer-room girl. Except bitchier. And more conniving.’
‘Oh,’ she breathes, taking a glimpse round the room. ‘Hey, is that her?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t look.’
‘Well, she’s spitting nails this way, so I guess it is. Blonde, perfect legs.’
‘That’s her.’
‘What is it with perfect fucking legs?’ Lucy asks. ‘I hate her.’
‘Who is she with?’
‘Mature woman. Red gown with fur.’
‘That’s the countess. Her aunt. Also a fan of Becker’s.’
‘Nice.’ Lucy knocks my knee, turning into the table, and I join her, pushing back thoughts of Alexa and what game she’s playing. ‘It’s a bit swanky, isn’t it?’ She lifts her glass and swishes her champagne, looking around.
‘Yes, some seriously posh shit,’ I quip, and she chuckles. ‘Do you feel out of place?’ I ask, hoping it’s a big fat yes. I feel really out of place. I could do with a friend to join me there.
‘Nah.’ She downs her drink and moans her pleasure. ‘These aristocratic humpty-dumpty pillocks don’t intimidate me. Money can’t buy you happiness, Eleanor. Under all of these couture dresses and precious gems are a bunch of unfulfilled miserable bitches.’ She grins. ‘I wish I had gone for tits and legs.’
I laugh loudly and chink my glass with her empty. I’m so glad she’s here keeping me grounded.
Chapter 33
Dinner is pleasant. We share a table with some people who Becker knows through business – more hoity-toity old farts – and chat enthusiastically about the trade. After we eat, Mark and Lucy excuse themselves to go explore Countryscape, and Becker shifts across to Lucy’s chair. I watch him lower to the seat, smiling when I notice his bow tie is uneven, one side hanging longer than the other. I reach over and straighten it up for him.
Taking my hands from his neck, he brings them to his lap and brushes thoughtfully over my skin with his thumbs.
‘This isn’t you,’ I say quietly, shuffling my chair in to get closer to him. ‘All of the snobbish people, the noses in the air, the showiness. It’s not you.’
He smiles down at my hands, and then slowly lifts his gaze to mine. His hazel orbs are shining so brightly past the lenses of his glasses. ‘You’ve called me a holier-than-thou twat plenty of times, princess.’ He brings my hands to his mouth and kisses them tenderly. ‘But I’ll never be holier than thou.’
‘You’re becoming quite the romantic, Saint Becker.’
‘Shhhh,’ he hushes me, his lips full and kissable. ‘Don’t tell anyone.’ Leaning in, he nips at my cheek before encouraging me to stand. ‘We need to make pleasantries with someone,’ he says, leading me from the table.
‘Who?’ I don’t like the sorry look he points at me. Not at all.
‘She’s been trying to collar me all evening.’
I look up and see the dreaded countess but note just as quickly that Alexa is nowhere in sight. It’s a mild consolation. ‘Oh no,’ I grumble.
‘She’s bought the Rembrandt for thirty-five million. A few gracious words are a small price.’
‘Yes, exactly. She’s bought it. Job done.’
‘The money isn’t in the bank yet.’
I could do with an iron to smooth out the creases on my screwed-up face. Her smile is getting wider and wider as we get closer and closer, and my hand is constricting harder and harder around Becker’s.
‘Becker, darling.’ She throws her arms out, beckoning him into her embrace, and I slap on an over-the-top smile, squeezing Becker’s hand tighter when he flexes his fingers to release me. He casts a questioning look at me and virtually yanks himself free.
‘Lady Finsbury,’ he says, presenting his cheek for her to kiss. ‘Very good to see you.’
‘And you.’ She holds him by the biceps. I want to immediately disinfect him. ‘I missed you.’ She puckers her lips, showing a hint of a coy smile.
‘I left you in capable hands.’ He gently breaks away from her. ‘I know Eleanor looked after you.’ Reaching back, he grabs my wrist and pulls me forwards, as if calling for reinforcements. I should make him deal with her unbearable snooty arse alone. She’s positively unbearable. My face is going to split if I have to uphold this ridiculously stretched smile any longer.
The countess gives me the once over with eyes full of contempt. ‘I hear no one’s hands are as capable as yours, Becker.’
My stomach twists violently, my mind begging me to run before I make a spectacle of myself. God help me before I shred her. ‘Pleasure to see you again, Lady Finsbury.’
She sniffs, obviously disagreeing, and looks back to Becker. Her smile returns immediately. ‘Have you seen Alexa? She’s looking radiant this evening.’
I lock my lips tightly shut and mentally plead for Becker to remove me from this god-awful situation. Alexa didn’t look so radiant when I caught her watching Becker fuck me against the wall. The thought brings a secret smile to my face.
‘I’ll be sure to say hello,’ Becker assures her, and I prod him in the arm discreetly. He looks to me, showing hints of a knowing smile. ‘I’ll leave you ladies to talk for a few moments.’
What?
He backs away, either oblivious to my panicked eyes or just plain ignoring them. I fear it’s the latter. ‘Excuse me.’ He flashes his phone at me and turns, striding across the room and disappearing into the crowd. The fucker. And who the hell is calling him now?
‘So, Alexa tells me you’re Becker’s . . .’ The countess hums to herself for a few moments, purposely waiting for me to give her my attention. Stupidly, I do. She has a cunning glint in her eyes. ‘Skivvy,’ she finishes.
‘Lovely talking to you,’ I blurt out, sounding as insincere as I intended. I spin and make off before I lose control of my forced courtesy. I’m going to kill him.
I hear the old bat call to me as I flee, but I don’t care how rude I appear. I’m not hanging around to be insulted – not by her, not by her niece, not by anyone. I shake off the lingering unpleasant presence of the countess, shuddering as I make my way through the tables. Quite pathetically, I’m playing out a scene in my head, one where I’m telling her exactly what I think of her, no holding back. My language is vulgar . . . but I keep it contained in my mind. I have to remember: the money isn’t in the bank yet.
Breaking free of the huge room, I come to an abrupt stop when it occurs to me that Becker gave me no hint where he would be. I scan the gatherings of people before me, reaching up on tiptoes to try and spot him. My search turns up no results, so I head over to the hall that leads to the smoking room, hearing the orchestra playing a dramatic version of ‘Cry Me a River’. I smile when I see Mark and Lucy on the dance floor.
‘May I have this dance?’ A palm rests on my bare arm, and my body instantly tightens as my eyes drop to the hand and stares. ‘Please?’
Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology Book 2) Page 32
