Marbella Twist

by Camille Oster

  Leaning back against the sink, he crossed his arms and considered her. “But why are you doing it with me?”

  With a shrug, Esme stared back at him. She really didn’t want to talk about it. The truth was that she didn’t have any answers. “I don’t know. Convenience, maybe. Maybe I’m doing a public service, because I’m not sure I know anyone who needs it more than you.”

  “Making the world a better place with your fanny? You should be a beauty queen.”

  Esme rolled her eyes. Post coital bliss was clearly over for him and he was now back to his typical acerbic self. “Honestly, I have no idea. It’s not like you inspire any desire for getting close and personal.”

  “I’ve never had a girl use me before.”

  Was she using him? Of course she was. What else could it be? “You don’t seem to mind.” She reapplied her lip gloss and smoothed her hair.

  He said nothing for a while, just watched her as she straightened herself out. There was still that little tug there, that tug to mess him up again, to stick her hand down his pants and force him to break that stifling reserve of his. There was something to that. “Maybe I just like seeing the mess I turn you into.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Generic pussy is nothing more than that.”

  Oh, and he bit back. Part of her wanted to sink her teeth into his lips and draw blood, watch as his eyes begged for more. Nope, wasn’t worth the effort. She spritzed on perfume. The problem with these little trysts was that there was that little bit of his lingering scent on her, and she hated it. It would randomly remind her of him later in the day. She knew his scent now, and sometimes she would pick something up off her floor and it had that hint of him. “Whatever,” she said and walked out of the bathroom, carrying her bag on the crook of her elbow.

  Dismissing him from her thoughts, she tried to organise the things she had to get done that day. There was an assignment she had to work on. Everything was more fun now that she was planning her own business. She looked forward to the assignments, to tackling all the things she needed to put in place. Last week, she had even forced the Dunbury Industries financial director to sit down and review her financial plan. He’d humoured her. If he’d gone on and told father later, she didn’t know. Dominic hadn’t said anything to her about it.

  Chapter 31

  Cheyenne was buzzing with excitement. The most extraordinary thing had happened. Because of pregnancy, Emerald Horsham could not continue with her weekly pairs tennis game with Samara Azmer, Viola Tanning and Julia Carter-Bycross. This had eventuated from running into Viola Tanning at a party the other day, which had been a coup in and of itself. Getting invited as their forth for their weekly tennis game was success beyond compare.

  These women ruled Marbella, and not the old crones, these women were the pinnacle of power in this town. Samara was richer than God, Viola was married to a former parliamentarian minister, still an integral part of the Tory party. Julia Carter-Bycross was a divorcee with the most expensive settlement that had ever been given in London.

  Being a part of this circle was beyond where even Alexi could touch. Money didn’t buy entrance into this circle, although it was part of the requirements. These women were untouchable and now Cheyenne was the forth in their tennis match. How stupid of Emerald to get herself knocked up, Cheyenne thought, relegating herself to nurseries and day-cares—a ticket out to something infinitely less than. The kiddy circle was well respected, but it wasn’t the big time, and Emerald’s loss was Cheyenne’s gain.

  Twisting her body slightly, Cheyenne considered herself in her new tennis whites. Her legs looked tanned and slim, perfectly even and smooth.

  The best thing about this group was that she didn’t have to hide any of her assets. This was the group for the best and she was happy to shine. That was the point. It was the best of the best, and petty jealousy was irrelevant. Who belonged there if not she? She was rich, was even titled, stunningly gorgeous, and escorted around by the hottest A-list star around. Finally, she was given the reverence she deserved.

  Her game wasn’t half bad either, although she had taxed herself a little with the excitement of this development.

  Roan had watched her dress from the bed, where he lay with his arm behind his head, looking casually beautiful. It was lying in bed like that when he was at his best; those hooded eyes gently caressing her curves. If she had time for another fuck right now, she’d take it, but she wasn’t going to mess this up—not on the first meeting.

  “I’ll be all hot and sweaty when I get back,” she promised, watching him through the mirror. “I would really like to pick up exactly where we are right now when I return.”

  Roan bit his lip and his eyes sparkled, making it even harder for her to walk away, but wild success awaited her, so she had to force herself. “I will definitely make it worth the wait. Wouldn’t miss it if I were you.” She smiled at him, grabbing her tennis racquet.

  She’d thought she’d found power in men erotic, but it was nothing compared to power in herself. Every part of her felt alive. Finally, it was all coming together. Hopping in her Bentley, she drove away from the hotel.

  Granted, they hadn’t managed to settle on a house they both liked, but they would keep trying. Finding a house worthy of their station wasn’t necessarily a simple thing. It had to be spectacular; a place everyone wanted to be invited to.

  There was a park for her right in front at the Athletic Club and she squealed with excitement. This might be the most monumental thing that had happened, the reward for all her hard work.

  Only a few minutes early, she made her way down to the tennis courts. Samara was already there, placing a large Hermés tennis bag with a racquet pocket sewn into the side.

  “Cheyenne,” she said in her mellow accent. Her dark eyes were expertly coloured. This woman had a makeup artist on staff. Her black hair was sleek and silky, the sun reflecting as she took a drink from her water bottle. “You look well.”

  “Thank you,” Cheyenne said and put down her own bag and kissed the woman on the cheek. “Ready for a bit of exercise. Perfect day for a hit around the courts.”

  “I understand you are still looking for a house.”

  “It’s actually hard to find something appropriate.”

  “Building always works, but it does take time and effort.”

  “It’s a last-ditch option. Not sure I have the patience. I’m still hoping something will come on the market.”

  Julia arrived, looking good in a knit top with a cinched waist. Viola followed and a flurry of kisses followed.

  “Where is that lovely man of yours?” Viola asked.

  “Still lying in bed,” Cheyenne said with a smile. “Had to drag myself away.”

  “Well, we’re glad you’ve managed to join us today.”

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  “A girl must work up an appetite,” Julia said, walking out on court to take her place. Cheyenne waited to see which side she would be on, who Emerald typically played with. “How are the renovations going?” she asked Samara.

  “Slow. The workmen are so dense. I tell them one thing and nothing keeps in their heads. You can never leave them with instructions and hope they get on with things. What is the point of hiring a project manager if I still have to keep an eye on everything? Useless.”

  “Good things take time,” Julia said. “And you have excellent taste.”

  “You mean I have middle eastern taste,” Samara stated, obviously harping back to some prior conversation.

  “What is your taste, Cheyenne?”

  “Probably a bit more Mediterranean.”

  Samara gave her a pointed look as Cheyenne joined her as a partner. “They are minimalists. So boring. No comfort. What is more comfortable than gold? They are all trends. Concrete and chrome. It’s ugly.”

  “Gold plating is so old-fashioned,” Julia said tightly.

  “Who is talking about plating?” Samara said with a lazy shrug. Viola’s laugh was light and tin
kly.

  “Someone else who is shopping around is Bianca Solstice. Stephane is taking her around, but he says she is only leasing,” Viola continued.

  “Probably because she got stripped in her divorce,” asserted Julia.

  “It’s no secret she has her eyes on Dominic Dunbury,” Viola said.

  “Were they school chums or something?”

  “They were of the same group. Used to be best friends with Sophie Dunbury.”

  “I never liked Sophie. There was something about her that wasn’t quite right,” Samara said. “Never trusted her. No substance.”

  “And who she dumped Dominic for. Really? The point is to upgrade, not downgrade.”

  “So, the old friend, Bianca, is moving in to take her place. And he doesn’t seem to be complaining, letting her host his parties.”

  “Oldest trick in the book, the friend stepping in,” Samara complained.

  Cheyenne had to agree. “She looks good, though. Whoever is doing her work does a good job.”

  “Probably spent her divorce settlement on her face.”

  “If she bags Dunbury, it would be worth every penny,” Viola said tersely.

  Hopefully the old gossip about Cheyenne being passed over by Dominic once when she’d hit on him wouldn’t resurface. Some of the ladies in Marbella had jumped on that fact and used it as their rally cry against her at one point.

  “You were friends for a while, weren’t you?” Julia said, holding her head slightly to the side. Cheyenne had to stop herself from narrowing her eyes.

  “I still consider him a friend,” she said without an ounce of embarrassment. “I got to know him well while I was with Alexi.”

  “Well, there’s a man who’s been turned into a pussycat,” Samara said. The focus was now off her failed attempt with Dominic, and Cheyenne was grateful. She decided she liked Samara, her unapologetic style, and seeming boredom with the business of other people. “It’s like she’s had him neutered. What is that woman’s name?”

  Cheyenne shrugged, seeing no point in highlighting she knew fully who Rosalie Wallis was, and just about everything about her. Expectant eyes were on her. “I don’t know her; some girl he knew at university decades back. Once I move on, I lose interest. There is always much more fun looking forwards.”

  “The current isn’t all too bad either?” Samara suggested with an amused wink.

  Chapter 32

  Esme hadn’t said a word when she’d arrived. They hadn’t needed to. What was there to say? In silence, she’d undressed him and he’d waited patiently, his cock as hard as stone. There was definitely something a little sick about this, but he didn’t care, or couldn’t bring himself to care, but there was also a tad more to this than him just being grateful that a girl would fuck him.

  It was nice doing it in a bed, as opposed to some dark corner, hidden in a place where they shouldn’t be. This was normal, and there was a girl in his bed, whose boobs bounced beautifully as he fucked her. Naked before him, with a dazed and glassy look in her eyes, she was actually quite stunning. She really liked what he did to her and maybe he wasn’t actually entirely shit in bed.

  And was there anything better than coming buried deep inside her? It sure as hell beat wanking and the irrepressible notion of guilt afterwards. Not guilt that he was wanking as such, more that he was alone. But he wasn’t alone now. She was here, her chest expanding with laboured breaths as he pulled out of her and flopped down on his back beside her.

  Heat radiated from his body. “Why are we doing this?” he asked again.

  “Why do you keep asking me that?”

  Why did he keep on asking? At first, he’d been angry and stunned that it had happened, then perhaps grateful. Now? Now he needed to know what this was. Was she his girlfriend? Honestly, he didn’t quite know how such things happened. It had never happened to him before. “Are we going to keep doing this?”

  “Have you got a problem with that?”

  “No,” he said, trying to sound light. Certainly not trying to sound as if he was becoming quite attached to this. “Just, you know, wanting to know what I can expect out of all this. Obviously, I have absolutely no patience for drama.”

  Turning to her side, she looked at him and he felt exposed and uncomfortable. It was one thing dealing with the lust, but this post-fucking engagement, he didn’t exactly know how to deal with. “I’ve had my share of fucking,” he lied, “but when it comes to anything more, I’m not exactly Mr. Sensitive.”

  “I would never have guessed,” she said sarcastically with a smile.

  As much as he despised it, he’d just more or less admitted that he had little experience with girlfriends. “Girls don’t generally like me. In fact, people don’t like me. I’m not a likeable person in any respect, really. It’s not that I particularly try to be an arsehole. I just am an arsehole and that’s probably not going to change anytime soon—fucking included. So if you’re hoping to change me in some respect, you’re wasting your time.”

  “Happy as you are, huh?”

  “I’m just not going to change.”

  Propping her head up on her hand, she reached for his arm and traced her nails lightly down his skin. It contracted under the touch. What did this signify? What was she trying to say? “So what do you want to do?” she finally said.

  “About what?”

  “This.”

  How the hell was he supposed to answer that? “What is it I can say that that will keep you coming over here and fucking me senseless. Because I’m actually quite partial to it.”

  “I’m growing on you.”

  “Pfft,” he said dismissively. “The sex has a certain allure, I admit.”

  Shifting her body closer, she kissed him on the shoulder then stopped. The sensual touch radiated down his body, making him grow hard again. Alright, his cock was completely enthralled with her. Her, with her hare-brained notions, slavish adherence to fashion and seeing of the world through rose tinted glasses. But somehow this girl found him sexy, and that was profoundly sexy.

  Grabbing her bottom, he pulled her to him. How in the world could this have happened? Her rosebud nipple stiffed as he took it in his mouth. A groan of satisfaction escaped her lips. God, would he ever get over this persistent hard-on? It was actually interfering with his life. Wasn’t that the definition of an addiction? He was addicted to this girl.

  She was tight when he rolled her onto her back and pressed into her again. Pleasure soaked his brain, his whole body centred around the glorious sensations of burying himself inside her. If he could only stay here forever, in this perfect moment. God, he loved fucking. Okay, and maybe right now, he couldn’t imagine fucking anyone else other than her. In every way, she was his polar opposites and he despised everything she stood for, but she wanted him and he wanted her. And they fucked beautifully. And that thing she did with her tongue—it made him worship.

  Chapter 33

  The quietness of the salon was getting hard to ignore. The staff were sitting around, silent in their boredom. Cheryl did her best to put on a brave face, but her staff weren’t stupid. They knew things were looking bad. Appointments had dried up completely and the few customers they had commented uncomfortably on how quiet it was. The stigma of a failing business was driving away the rest, even if they hadn’t heard the rumours that were persisting.

  The latest one was that she was a prison wife, which particularly stung, because there had been a stint when her ex had been inside. It had been a tumultuous period in her life and one she’d gladly put behind her, except someone was dragging it into the light. Actually, she wasn’t sure if this rumour was started by someone who knew the truth, or whether they were designed falsehoods to hurt her. Someone was definitely trying to hurt her, though.

  At this rate, she was burning through her savings at an alarming rate, and she was starting to come to the conclusion that this wasn’t just a blip. This was a severe downshift in the business and she had to respond. Before long, she would run o
ut of money, hoping things would pick up again. That would be the end of it. They didn’t say anything, but the staff knew what was coming, even if she hadn’t been willing to accept it.

  What she had been grappling with while trying to keep herself busy was whether there was a retrenchment position to be found, a means to downsize so the business would survive. They only really had enough clients for her and there was a possibility of minimising the business to fit. Even so, she couldn’t afford the rent on the salon.

  In her head, she knew she needed to act. Her heart was holding out hope even as she knew she was past the point where things would come right. She had to act.

  The exhaustion from sleepless nights threatened to overwhelm her. Things were alright, she told herself. Her kids where fine, were healthy. That was all that mattered. But then, this salon felt like her baby too, and it was dying. Sorrow clenched her heart and she steeled herself against the tears she refused to shed. She’d known it was all too good to be true, a part of her lamented. Things just didn’t work well for her; they didn’t work out. This had all been a trick to make her think it could, to make it hurt that bit more. Her marriage had failed; her salon in the UK had been stolen. Why did she think this would work out?

  It was time to face the facts. The business was dying and she was losing what money she had denying it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm the panic in her chest. It time to be a grown up and face the facts.

  Stepping out of the supply office, she drew the attention of the meandering staff. “I think it’s time to face the facts,” she stated. The room was silent. Natasha turned around in her chair with her head piece still on. “Things have gotten really dire, to the point where I can’t keep up with payroll.”

  “Things will come right,” Chelsea, the newest girl, said without much enthusiasm.

  “I think it’s best you all start looking for new positions.”