by Dee Palmer
“I don’t think that’s true. You changed your whole life to come out here. I think in anyone’s book that’s a big fucking change,” Tug points out.
“True.”
“You’re just not a fan of uncertainty,” Pink highlights, and I have to agree.
“Also true.”
“What can we do to help, darlin’?”
“I don’t know, Pink. I wish I did.”
“One day at a time, honey,” Tug says, tapping the end of my nose after a short silence where no-one is able to offer anything enlightening.
“Yeah, one day at a time.” I accept a soft kiss from Tug and turn to get the same from Pink. I feel a warm rush in my chest but not really anywhere else.
So it begins.
“Oooo is this gonna be like living in the Kink castle?” Hope appears from Charge’s office and walks over to us with a sinful grin on her face.
“Kink castle?” I’m not connecting the deviant dots of the picture she is clearly drawing in her filthy mind.
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. It was the headquarters of Kink dot com where they made all the films. Stop looking at me like that, Little Miss Innocent. You had a premium membership when you were with Dave the Dick-ahh!” This time, I dash and leap at her body, wrestling her to the ground. We roll and each struggle to get on the top position. Arms and legs twist to get leverage, and every time I manage to straddle and pin her to the floor she gives a wild buck with her hips, and I lose my balance.
“What? It’s true.” She starts giggling uncontrollably, whilst still fighting me with surprising strength.
“Filter, Hope! Just because you know all my embarrassing secrets doesn’t mean I want them shared.” I pant out the words and take some comfort that she’s equally out of breath.
“Feel free to do the same.” She slams my wrists to the floor beside my head and quickly manoeuvres to get her knees to my shoulders. Fuck!
“I would, but you never get embarrassed.”
“Sucks to be you then.” She sing-songs the taunt, goading me. I narrow my eyes and glare at her, using the momentary respite to conserve my energy and plan my next move. Despite my self-defence training with Tug, she’s a different type of attacker. Even though I could disable her, I don’t really want to break her nose just to win the fight.
“Gah, you know I’ve got a gag upstairs that will fit perfectly.”
“Oooh, so this is like the Kink castle.” She snorts her trademark dirty laugh. Okay, maybe I do want to break her nose.
“Hope! You’re dead.”
“Oh, bring it, Seraphim. Haven’t whooped your arse in ages.” She leans down to kiss me, switching to lick my cheek instead.
“Should we break them apart?” Pink asks. I can see they have moved to the edge of the living room, out of the way as Hope and I tussle and tumble from rug to rug across the expanse of floor.
“Are you kidding? Get the camera, this is hot as fuck.” Tug laughs, and I yell at him.
“Tug!”
He shrugs unapologetically and leans to remark to Pink, “Come on, tell me that’s not hot as hell.”
“It really is, but we still have to break them apart before they get hurt,” Pink replies and steps closer to us. He looks a little wary as he avoids flailing arms and kicking legs. He turns to encourage Tug to offer his assistance, reminding him at the same time why it’s necessary to intervene. “Finn bruises, and Charge with have our nuts if she’s covered in marks.”
“Damn, I didn’t even get any pictures.” Tug lifts Hope clean off my body. She’s still bent double and laughing as Pink helps me up. I’m laughing, too, and Hope turns to wrap me in an all-forgiving hug.
“Are the pancakes ready?” She asks brightly.
“Yep, coming right up.” Pink points to the island where he was about to make the second batch. Arm-in-arm, Hope and I follow him back into the kitchen.
“So what’s the plan today?” Hope asks with a mouthful of fresh fluffy pancake. “Oh, my god, Pink, these are amazing. I thought you said Charge was the chef?” She moans while chewing down her food.
“Everyone can cook, Charge just enjoys it more. Glad you like them, darlin’” Pink grins.
“I love that.”
“What?”
“The way you call everyone darlin.’”
“I don’t call everyone darlin’,” He winks at me, and she smiles my way, tilting her head and sporting a sappy twist to her glossy pink lips.
“We’re going out to the cabin for the night to camp, have s’mores and count the stars.” I explain the very bare bones of what the boys and I have planned for the weekend.
“Sounds fun.”
“We’re going to drive and the boys will ride out later. It takes longer by Jeep because of the creek that runs through the land.
“‘Creek’. Listen to you, so cute sounding like a ‘local’,” she blurts and wipes the pieces of pancake from her chin when she stops chuckling.
“River. There’s a big arsed river that we can’t drive through, but if you weren’t such a wimp, we could ride the horses.” I correct myself.
“I’ll take wimp over saddle sore and no feeling in my clit for a week.”
“Oh, god,” I drop my head in my hands, heat instantly colouring my cheeks. I don’t know who I hate more at the moment, Hope for revealing every detail of my life or myself for telling her every detail of my life.
“What? You told me—”
“Eat, don’t talk.” I pick up her last remaining pancake and stuff it into her open mouth, much to the amusement of Pink and Tug.
“Mmmm mmmm…” She grins and chews, and whatever she’s saying is lost in the pastry.
“Jeep’s all loaded.” Toxic announces, walking in through the back door with a full box of groceries. Charge is behind him and drops the case of beer on the counter, then swivels my stool so he can step between my legs, flush to my body. He cups my face and crashes his lips to mine like he is starving for my taste. I feel exactly the same.
“You drive carefully,” he says when he releases my lips. There’s a flash of pain in his eyes, and he quickly closes them. I know what’s going on; he lost his parents in a car accident, and he worries whenever I drive. It’s understandable.
“I will,” I reply and watch as he fights the tension in his face and forces a smile. It’s all I can say, because it’s not like I’m never going to drive again, and honestly, I’m more worried about the damn snakes they have out there than I am about driving on the roads.
“HERE TAKE THIS.” CHARGE HANDS Finn what looks like a portable television, it’s so clumpy.
“I’ve got my phone, Charge.” She takes it, and it immediately drops it in her lap with the considerable weight.
“That is a satellite phone. It always has a signal, and it’s fully charged with a solar back-up charger,” he explains, and I start to bite back the snicker. She did say he was more than a little protective.
“Got it, Lieutenant.” She salutes.
“You know I prefer Sir.” He leans into the vehicle so his mouth is at her ear. The low rumble of words fills the car, and I swear it makes me shiver with the sweet sensuality of the intonation. Still, I’m not going to say that when my other reaction is more in-keeping.
“And I prefer to keep my breakfast in my stomach rather than have a visual of my best friend bound, gagged, and taking it like a pro.”
“You got all that from ‘Sir’?” Charge raises a brow, and his expression is somewhat impressed.
“Yep.”
“She’s got a very vivid imagination,” Finn explains, and I’m happy to add a little more colour to those cheeks. She makes it so damn easy sometimes.
“Or I’ve been told all the details—”
“All right, then, lets get this show on the road. Bye!” She gives Charge a quick kiss. She’d kissed the others before we got in the Jeep. We both wave to them all as we pull away, sending a plume of dust thanks to the thick mud tyres of this beaten up
convertible Jeep.
“Is it far?” I ask after only ten minutes of bumping along the unimproved road.
“It’s going to take a few hours to get there. The dirt road is mostly fine but as we get nearer, it’s more dirt than road so I have to slow down. The cabin is on the far edge of the farm. It’s stunning out there. This bit is a little dull but once we get to the ridge you’ll see what I’m talking about.”
“It’s beautiful here. I can see why you like it. And the guys, they love you.” I kick my shoes off and plant my feet, lean my head back, and soaking up the sun, which isn’t a patch on the heat I have felt raging inside me since…
Finn cuts across my troublesome thoughts. “And I love them. I know you don’t get it—”
I jump right back in with my own interruption. “I get it.”
I am too quick to respond, and she gives me that look. I will tell her, but only when I’ve sorted my head out. She’s got enough going on without hearing about my shambles of a love life.
Love life, oh, the irony runs deep and shameful.
“Hope?” she urges me with imploring eyes, and I just can’t go there, not now, and hopefully, not ever. I’m here to forget, to move on, and I know her; she wouldn’t let that happen if she knew. She’d want to fix it, fix me, and in this instance, she’s too late.
“I’m just sleepy. This sun drains me.” Pulling a blanket from the back seat I screw it up into a makeshift pillow. I wedge it between the sill of the window and my shoulder and snuggle down.
“Okay, babe, close your eyes and sleep,” Finn hands me a hat, but I’ve got an inch thick layer of factor fifty sunscreen, so I decline the offer.
“Will you wake me when we get closer. I’d like to see the views.” I adjust my aviators, so they aren’t digging in and can still protect my closed lids.
“Oh, you’ll wake, it feels like you’re in a washing machine when we hit the plains.”
“Plains, get you,” I tease.
“Open fields, how’s that?”
“When in Rome. We’ll drive over the plains. You can show me the creek, and we can shoot at critters with that fuck-off rifle Charge packed in the back.”
“You saw that?”
“Hard to miss.”
“I’m not a fan, either, but there are wild animals out here, and guns are like a third arm to these guys.”
“Thought you said they already had a third arm.” I close my eyes so I can’t see her mortification. Like I say, too easy.
“Go to sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute and smile, not sure if she’s looking at me or the open road ahead. Either way, I can feel the pull of exhaustion drag me back under for some much needed sleep, hoping the dream world will give me some escape, since the reality of running hasn’t really helped, but then it’s early days.
Just over one month ago…
I hit the second stretch of motorway in my mum’s Audi TT, acutely aware that the car is far too small for the massive frame of the man sitting beside me. I’m also wondering why the hell we didn’t take his fuck-off Bentley, the one with the driver. Jørgen Jensen pulled up outside our Serenity’s Covent Garden salon at two o’clock. My jaw hit the floor, and my core clenched. Not him, please not him.
This is not good. He’s seen the plans. He’s been to every damn meeting. Why the hell does he need a site visit this late in the negotiations? There’s more than my back against the wall. I think I’m going to be sick.
It’s a two hundred mile drive from the city to the heart of the West Country and Greycoat Manor, and although this car is nippy as fuck, it’s not exactly spacious. I should’ve offered to drive Dolly, Finn’s trusty Citrëon 2CV, then maybe he wouldn’t have insisted on me driving at all. Although, it wasn’t so much a suggestion as an order, and that has gotten this journey off to a great and prickly start. Three hours of stone cold silence hasn’t helped any, since he turned the radio off as soon as he got in. This time of year the light starts to fade late afternoon and I’m struggling to keep my eyelids from drooping closed. He really needs to start responding in some way to my attempts at conversation, or we’re going to end up on the hard shoulder or worse, in a ditch. And as annoying as he is, it would be a crime to mar that stupidly attractive face with airbag burns.
“This is going to be a very long drive, you know, if you’re not going to engage in some sort of chit chat,” I pipe up for what I’ve decided is going to be my final attempt to break the ice king’s silence.
“I don’t do chit chat.” His response is brusque, polite, and brief as always, only this time, there’s a hint of amusement, and that’s new. Even if it isn’t, I take it as an opening for a conversation, because I wasn’t lying; this is a really long drive.
“Yes, I’m getting that, but I’ve told you everything there is to know about Greycoat Manor, and you’ve been at every investor meeting. I’m really not sure what other light I can shed on the business side, so we’re sort of left with other social niceties. Such as me asking you if you watched the match last night or what’s your favourite type of food or—”
“You could tell me about yourself,” he cuts in, and I’m momentarily silenced. My narrowed eyes meet his with suspicion. Tension crackles between us, at least I think it’s tension. I can feel the heat from even his slightest glance, but to date, I’ve managed to ignore the obvious attraction. I’ve had other things on my mind, like securing this deal and not losing my home, or my mother’s, for that matter. Still, something is different today, it’s palpable, and I just wish I could put my finger on it to see if it purrs or bites. I’m good with either. I’d just like to know what game we are playing.
“You have my CV, and you don’t strike me as the sort of guy that would enter into an investment of this size without some extra investigation. So I’m fairly confident you know all there is to know.” My observation causes his lips to quirk, and I wonder if that’s the beginning of a great thaw.
“Nothing outside of due diligence, I can assure you.” He quirks his mouth and holds my gaze as long as my attention to driving will allow. Even with this lighter tone, he is still the most intense individual I have ever come across. I pride myself that I know men, and yet I am still unsure in which box to put Mr. Jensen: Rich, arrogant, dominant-dangerous, narcissist-sociopath, hidden depths and damaged, or all of the above.
It’s not without a huge helping of irony that Jørgen Jensen is my absolute type, with one-night stand written all over him. It might also go someway to explaining the burgeoning discord I feel inside. I’m hoping it’s just the confined space, or maybe it’s in my head because, aside from my one-time hook-up rule, I also never shit where I eat, and fucking our main investor would be akin to a biblical-sized dump on the boardroom table.
“Hmm, now, why don’t I believe you?” I tap my fingers lightly on the steering wheel.
“Because you’re very smart,” He responds flatly.
“So how about you tell me what you do know?” I ask, taking the strange compliment for what it is…strange.
“You’re twenty-seven years old. You qualified as a beautician through your mother’s training programme. You studied business and recently completed a part-time MBA at Imperial College where you achieved a distinction.”
“You can’t know that, I haven’t got my results yet.” I scoff, a little hopeful of that very outcome being the case. When he arches a knowing brow, I’m about to ask for clarification when he continues as if reading from an invisible file with my name on it.
“Your father left you and your mother when you were five years old, and you had an imaginary friend from that day until you met your best friend, Finn, who has very recently moved to the United States and married.”
“My, you have been diligent. Anything else?” I mock even as I feel an uncomfortable chill travel the length of my spine. Who the fuck is this man?
“You have never had a relationship of any note.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, I’m pretty at
tached to my Rabbit,” I quip.
“You don’t have any pets,” he responds flatly, and it’s my time to give a knowing smirk.
“Not that kind of rabbit.”
“Cute.” He averts his gaze and smoothes the crease in his navy trousers. I’m not sure if the thin lips are trying to suppress a grin or keep that deep rumble vibrating in his chest from escaping into the car.
“Oh, Mr. Jensen, did I make you blush?”
“Highly unlikely, you have had several lovers, but have apparently never been in love.” he dismisses my playful jibe and carries on.
“Again, not true.”
“You’ve had more than several lovers?” His tone has sharpened with obvious agitation, and I can feel his glare on the side of my face. I’m grateful I have the perfect excuse to not meet his gaze. I feel I’d either be a pile of ash right now or withered up like a dead head on a bouquet of blooming roses.
“Yes, and I don’t blush, either, so stop staring. I appreciate the double standard regarding promiscuity between men and women, though, and I’m not a fan. Think of it as a personal crusade, but actually, that’s not what I was referring to. I love Finn very much and I’m quite fond of Carlos, her old boss, and I love my mum more than anything in the world.”
“Double standard?”
“Oh, you know, if men have sex with lots of different women, they’re ‘the man’. If a woman has a healthy, safe, and active sex life, she’s a slut. And don’t get me started on the flexible morals of the number of married men that have tried their luck with me.” I can’t stop myself. I know I should, but he’s the one that mentioned my father. It’s a raw, hateful subject, and it opens a floodgate I never open, for this very reason. I get all riled up, jump with both feet on my soapbox, and can’t shut up. “Pathetic men who tell me their wives are no longer the woman they fell in love with. Well, no shit, Sherlock. She’s fucking tired. She works, has the kids, the house, the ‘whatever’ you both agreed, and has to massage your fragile ego every minute of the day. Well, fuck you! Go and take her out. Buy her champagne at a fancy cocktail bar. Compliment her. Offer to spring for the penthouse suite of a swanky hotel for a night so you can rock her world. And maybe, just maybe, she might be that woman once more. Because, trust me, she hasn’t forgotten that woman either; she’s just too fucking exhausted to let her out to play. It’s your fucking job to remind her. She loves you; she’s a princess and a fucking saint for putting up with your shit. The least she deserves is the attention you so freely give to me—a woman that doesn’t give a shit about you—all because I look nice, shave all over and take it up the arse. Shape up or ship out, because it seems love counts for fuck-all when anal’s on the table.” I draw a ragged breath and cringe as my brain catches up with my mouth.
