For nothing.
I cricked my neck and blew out a heated breath, I was getting angry again. I’d never put myself out as much as I had for her, there was obviously nothing else I could do to convince her and I wasn’t going to try. Not hearing from her had devastated me, women around the world desired me, they fought over me, some even tried to blackmail me into becoming their personal fuck toy. There was a reason I was the best, that my reputation preceded me, virtually no one could resist me. Except the one damn woman I actually wanted. The one I was now going to get out of my system by fucking as many clients as was humanly possible, until the pain that saturated my very bones was dulled by an overdose of sexual endorphins. I was resolved that I wasn’t ever going to set eyes on Summer damn Beresford again. Right up until the moment I emptied my letterbox to find her as the headline of my newspaper, yet again. With Daron fucking Beck at her side, his arm around her waist, again. I immediately ripped it to shreds with a growl and shoved the pieces in the dustbin, before throwing myself down on the sofa.
How the hell was I supposed to forget her? I’d known she was going to be a star from the moment I first saw her photo on that booking request. Since her premiere everyone was going crazy for her, saying she was the next Jennifer Lawrence. Rumours were, that her agent had already secured her a ridiculous amount to star in the remaining two films of the trilogy and he was fielding offers for up and coming projects that were set to make her millions. I was happy for her, she worked hard and was so humble and down to earth with it, but I hated the fact that I was never going to be able to get away from her. She was on TV, the radio, in newspapers and magazines. Before long she’d probably be doing international advertising campaigns for designer brands. I tried to reassure myself that her feelings for me were genuine, that she hadn’t called me because her agent had told her that her career came first, I’d been stupid enough to think mine should, why shouldn’t she?
I checked my watch, it was nearly time to leave. Eve Myers was my client for tonight, wanting a bad boy biker fantasy. I’d toyed with taking my own bike out, a Harley Davidson Rocker with twin cam engine. It was tricked out in a sexy vivid black and immaculate chrome, just thinking about it got me hard. In addition to the fact that I didn’t want to risk Eve scratching it, I also realised that I couldn’t allow her to see the number plates, or she could try to trace me. Very few people knew my real identity and I wanted it to stay that way. I hadn’t even got around to telling Summer my real name, so I’d be damned if I’d risk it for a thrill with a new client. Instead, I’d hired a VRSC Night Rod Special, in pitch black with orange trim. I’d accessorised my ripped denim jeans, black leather boots, and white t-shirt with a fitted black leather jacket with an orange stripe, to match the bike, that was currently sitting in a workshop in the East End of London, which I’d secured for the night from my mechanic, Ray.
Eve wanted the real roughing it experience, her explicit instructions were to push her to the limits, to bite her, spank her and pound her until she begged me to stop. As long as I didn’t leave any bruises, which was totally against my code anyway, rough sex was fine, not abusive sex. Well she was going to get it rough for sure. There wasn’t going to be any fancy hotel tonight, it was a mattress on a sleeping platform above Ray’s demountable office in the corner of the workshop, where he sometimes stayed over if he was working late. I still had my standards though, I’d purchased a new mattress, pillows, duvet and linen for the occasion, towels too, which Ray insisted was all the payment he needed if he got to keep them after. I checked the overnight bag I’d prepared, with a change of clothes, my wash kit, the usual stock of condoms and lubricant, not that wetness was usually an issue with any of the women I bedded, the opposite in fact. Most of them creamed their knickers before I even got naked and they set their eyes on my impressive erection. I’d also purchased Eve’s favourite toiletries and some fresh underwear for the morning, all thanks to my IT tech Ian Smith, who accessed all my clients’ financial records and online accounts to discover what they used. I doubted even the FBI would be able to keep him out if he wanted to hack them, assuming he hadn’t already. I smiled as I checked my watch again when my doorbell rang, good old James, punctual as ever. I flung the door open, eager to get out and give myself something else, other than Summer, to focus on.
‘Good evening, Sir,’ nodded James.
‘Hello, James. Why the face?’ I asked, as I saw him trying to contain a smile.
‘I’m sorry, I’m just used to you in suits, not this … casual “wanna be bad boy” look,’ he replied, as he indicated with a finger up and down my outfit.
‘I’ll have you know that I am a bad boy, for real. I have a Harley in the basement, thank you very much.’
‘Then may I enquire why the hell I’m chauffeuring you around at all hours of the day and night?’
‘Because I pay you exceeding well to,’ I retorted rather more sharply than I’d intended. James quickly opened the back door of the Mercedes for me and dipped his head as a way of apology, as I folded my tall frame into the back seat. ‘I’m sorry,’ I sighed, as I looked up at him. ‘You didn’t deserve that. I’m not in the best of moods I’m afraid, but that’s no excuse for me taking it out on you.’
‘Understood, Sir. Say no more,’ he replied, as he closed the door. I rested my elbow on the door frame as I frowned out of the window, I needed to get my head in the game. This was my career, a career it seemed I’d be having for a long time. If I couldn’t tell Summer I was prepared to quit, then I doubted anyone else would ever tempt me to consider giving it up in the future. James and I remained unusually silent as we drove through London, but a question that I’d been toying with kept rising to the forefront of my mind.
‘James?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Last Sunday, when you took Miss Beresford home, I don’t suppose you found a handwritten note when you were giving the inside of the car a clean, did you?’ I held my breath as I waited for his response, I really hoped he had, that the only reason she hadn’t called me was simply that she’d lost my number.
‘No, Sir and I always inspect the cars thoroughly before cleaning them, after every booking.’
‘Right,’ I sighed and pinched the top of my nose as I closed my eyes, he’d just blown my last shred of hope to smithereens. So that was it, we were done, once and for all.
‘Please tell me if I’m speaking out of turn, Sir, but you seem more out of sorts than normal. Has something happened with Miss Beresford?’
‘Precisely nothing has happened with Miss Beresford, which is the reason for my less than amiable mood.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that, Sir. I really thought that the two of you were well suited.’
‘So did I, James, so did I. Are we all set for this evening?’
‘Of course we are. I gave David the outfit for Miss Myers in the gift box from you, ready to deliver at precisely seven-thirty, then he’ll go around to the servants entrance to pick her up at eight o’clock, as planned.’
‘Are you sure he’s up to the task?’ I enquired. Eve’s lineage meant that she rarely went anywhere without a bodyguard tailing her. She’d asked me to ensure that my driver would be skilled enough to shake him, James had personally recommended David.
‘Honestly, Sir, he’d give me a run for my money behind the wheel.’
‘You’re not saying he’d actually drive at the speed limit?’ I grinned, with a mock gasp.
‘I’m only being respectful of you in the back seat,’ James responded, with the closest to a scowl I’d ever seen on him in the mirrored reflection.
‘Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself,’ I winked.
‘What are you doing a week on Tuesday?’
‘Talk about random,’ I laughed.
‘You’re casting aspersions on my driving ability. I’m going to prove that you have no idea what I’m capable of. If you’re free I’ll pick you up at eight a.m. Every other month I spend a day at a race track, practici
ng on their formula one speed track, off roading, the skid pan and rally course, keeping my skills up to date. I’d suggest you wear an adult nappy, in case I make you ruin those fancy designer jeans you’re so fond of.’
‘An adult nappy?!’ I let out a loud guffaw of laughter. James never failed to cheer me up.
‘So do we have a date, Sir? A very male platonic, I’ll make you eat your words, date?’
‘We certainly do, James. We certainly do.’
‘Then be thankful I didn’t invite you to my Krav Maga class, I’d wipe the floor with you and you’d need help to change that soiled nappy, as your wrists would be in plaster casts.’
‘James,’ I chortled. Deadly and funny. He was a breath of fresh air, fresh air I’d been in desperate need of.
‘Do you have a change of clothes for when I collect you in the morning? I don’t fancy spending my Sunday cleaning grease or oil off the leather. Mrs. Smith and I have plans.’
‘I have a change of clothes, yes,’ I replied. ‘It’s not my first day on the job. What plans do you have?’
‘O I couldn’t possibly tell you that, Sir, or I’d have to kill you,’ he winked in the mirror, making me smile again. It really was a pretty shitty state of affairs, when my chauffeur was the only person able to put a smile on my face in a whole damn week.
Eve Myers
‘Tiff, I really ought to jump in the shower, I’m being picked up by Logan’s chauffeur in an hour.’
‘I can’t believe you’re doing this, I mean you’re paying for sex, when you could get it for free any night of the week. Especially with Dale, you know he wants you. Badly.’
‘It’s not like I don’t want him, but can you imagine the look on my parents’ faces if I introduced them? He’s from one of the roughest estates in London, covered in tattoos and rides a battered old motorbike. You saw the picture he sent me of it. He couldn’t be more far-fetched from their visions of proper boyfriend material, which is clean shaven, with unblemished skin, a fantastically high paid job and a Ferrari or Lamborghini parked in the basement of their penthouse, or preferably in one of the garages of their stately home. My parents have certain expectations of me when it comes to boyfriends, you know that. They’d think all Dale was interested in was my trust fund.’
‘I bet Dale doesn’t even have a clue who you are, Eve. It’s not like he’s the type to read HELLO! or OK! magazine.’
‘I just can’t risk it, Tiff. They were so disappointed in my Uni grades, I couldn’t bear to see that look on their faces again. They do so much for me, you know they do. I owe it to them to respect their wishes.’
‘And what about your happiness? Money doesn’t make a nice guy, Eve. You’ve been out with some real shit bags, that your dad considered eligible bachelors. Surely being attracted to a guy, being able to laugh with him and wanting to rip those tight sexy leather trousers off that biteable bloody backside, is more important than a title or money?’
‘Well I think so, maybe you could try convincing them? All I get is, “Eve, we didn’t send you to finishing school for you to pick up any Tom, Dick or Harry off the street, darling.”’
‘Well it’s sexism, that’s what it is. Double standards. Do they care who your brother screws? No, and he’s been out with some real skanky slappers.’
‘I assume you’re not including yourself in that sweeping statement,’ I laughed. Tiff and Charles, my brother, had been screwing on and off for years. ‘Listen, I know you mean well, and I love you for it, but I seriously need to get ready. No way am I jeopardising the opportunity to have wild hot sex with a biker, an opportunity that Dale and I will never get to experience in real life. One picture in the paper of the two of us, it would finish Dad off and I don’t think Mum could live with “the shame” of it.’
‘I say screw them, you’re an adult now. What’s the worst they can do? Cut off your trust fund? You’re modelling now, you’re earning decent money on your own, sure that extra few million would come in handy, but it’s not like you need it. I just want you to be happy and you’re not happy, Eve.’
‘I know,’ I sighed. ‘Let’s go out for lunch Monday, before I fly back to New York, and we can talk then. I can fill you in on my amazing evening and then we can debate my dilemma, ok?’
‘Let’s hope this Logan is as good as Felicia made him out to be.’
‘I seriously hope so and his discretion had better be top notch as well. If it ever came out that The Earl of Beaumond’s daughter paid for sex, I won’t just be disinherited, I’ll be disavowed,’ I sighed as Tiff laughed.
‘Go, get ready, but I can’t believe Dale put himself out there and sent you a text asking for a date and you’ve ignored him. Enjoy your night, text me when you’re up tomorrow to arrange a meet, assuming you can still walk of course.’
‘Bye, Tiffany,’ I laughed, as I hung up before she stalled me any longer. I got up from my sofa, heading way across my lounge, through my bedroom and into my master bathroom. I had four interconnecting rooms in one wing of my parents’ house, far enough away to have some of my own privacy. When I use the word “house,” that’s a mild understatement. Think Downton Abbey meets the 21st Century. My father, Rupert Augustine Myers, is indeed an Earl, a title that had been handed down through the generations and our ancestors could be traced back to the times of Henry VI, we had royal blood flowing through our veins. Granted, there would have to be some freak accident to wipe out masses of the Royal family before one of us was next in line for the throne, but we were in line, just towards the back of it. The manor we lived in, in Buckinghamshire, dated back to The War of the Roses era as well, complete with a moat and fancy gardens with a maze. We had servants and my parents dined at opposite ends of a table that stretched on so far, they had to shout to each other, with Charles and I often acting as go-betweens when the echo didn’t reverberate far enough.
Much as I loved them, much as I appreciated the trappings the family title and money had to offer, I felt stifled. I wore the façade of a well-mannered polite and graceful young lady, but in reality that was my prison. Inside, screaming to get out, was a potty mouthed, smoking, pint drinking tomboy, who longed to get pierced, inked and smoke weed with her biker gangster boyfriend. Extreme yes, but that was the point of fantasies, to be everything life wasn’t. I could leave the smoking, my mouth wasn’t all that foul and after some careful consideration, I decided that I’d have to decant part of the pint into a more ladylike half pint glass, but I really would love to have a tongue and clit hood piercing and get a tattoo. The ink was out of the question, regardless of my heritage, it was still frowned upon by the modelling agency I was signed to, but the piercings and the biker boyfriend, that was part of the fantasy that I longed for. I went to run myself a bath and filled it with an expensive fragrant oil.
I lay back and closed my eyes as I pictured Dale’s face. He so wasn’t my usual type, then again I’d never been allowed to choose my own boyfriend, they’d been introduced to me and were usually clean cut, spoke with plums in their mouths and were so immaculately groomed I wondered sometimes if I were the female in the relationship. Dale had dirty blond hair and the glossiest chocolate brown eyes that just did things to me, things far dirtier than his hair. We’d met about four months ago, in a hip new club in London. I was there with my modelling friends and he was best friends with the bass guitarist of Nevada 6, the biggest boy band to explode on the scene in recent years. He’d eyed me up for most of the night, making me blush in a way I hadn’t since I was a teenager with a crush. He’d finally snuck up behind me on the dance floor, laying his hands on my hips as we moved. It was hot, heady, sweaty and sexy, possibly the most erotic experience of my life. I could still recall the way his body felt pressed in behind mine, that erection denting my flesh, the smell of his aftershave and the faint aroma of oil from his bike. He had the bad boy look down pat. Black denim jeans, a grey t-shirt and battered old brown biker jacket and when he finally spun me around and I got to look at his face up close and
in detail, he’d smirked as he saw my reaction. He was every inch the perfect guy to turn me on. I could see the edge of a tattoo creeping up his neck, which just made his raw appeal even more appetising.
We’d ended up having a few beers and chatting, the chemistry between us was palpable. Conversation flowed with ease and I loved that he had a cheeky sense of humour, far less stiff and boring than the guys my father always picked for me. We’d ended up snogging on the dance floor, a real melt my knickers, flame my pussy kiss that rocked me to my core. I’d ended up with stubble rash all over my face the next day, which the makeup team had a job to conceal for a photo shoot on the Monday. We exchanged numbers, but as we kissed goodbye, I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t agree to date him. I wasn’t brave enough. My parents would seriously freak if I took someone like Dale home. The only reason he got that close to me, was that I’d managed to climb out of the back window of the ladies toilets in a cocktail bar and make it to the club to have a few hours before Kane, my bodyguard, finally tracked me down and hauled me away from Dale. From the best night of my life. I’d screamed and rung my best friend Tiffany the minute I got a message from Dale, asking me out on a date. The excitement was soon squashed by the thought of the look of disappointment on my mother’s face. I’d replied to say I was busy and out of the country on some assignments for a while, that I’d contact him when I returned. I think he knew it was a brush off, but he was persistent and kept contacting me, reminding me to text him when I was home, as he was “desperate” to take me out. If only he knew how desperate I was to say yes.
For the Night - Complete Box Set Page 34
