Authors: Elise Alden
He crossed his arms. “You look like you’re on the prowl.”
I was insulted even though I’d thought much the same. Nevertheless, what James needed was a slap on the dick or better yet, a splash of my “glass of water” sluttiness to shrink it down to nothing. I would show him I didn’t care what he thought of me.
“You’re right,” I said, slipping the coat off my shoulders and pivoting slowly. “I’m looking for a man. Do you think I’ll find one who isn’t afraid to kiss me?”
“They’ll want more than that,” he gritted out through his teeth.
I smoothed my hands over the sheer red skirt and traced the low waistline with my fingers. “Even better,” I said, tossing my hair back. “I’m not wearing knickers because, well, sometimes a girl just wants to get laid. Filled by a big, thick cock and fucked so hard she screams.”
James’s eyes followed my hands, his eyebrows slanting into a thunderous black V. Nostrils flaring, he looked like an enraged bull getting ready to charge at the taunting, flag-waving matador. His expression sent little frissons of alarm down my spine. At the same time my inner savage thrilled at its violent hunger. Gone was the man who had so easily dismissed me.
The controlled softness in his tone communicated his reaction to my taunt more effectively than a snarl. “Have you seen a man you want?”
I nodded.
“Who?”
“Jealous much?”
James started. “Don’t be ludicrous. I’m trying to watch out for you.”
“Too late for that I’m afraid, but don’t worry, all the men here are upper crust. They’ll say pretty please before they fuck me, right? Maybe I’ll screw more than one.”
Oh God, I’d done it now.
I gulped, wondering if James would burst out of his suit and turn into a green monster with massive pecs and an anger management problem. The only way out of the clearing was through the maze and the only way to the maze was through James. I controlled the urge to bolt as he stalked towards me.
Hey, why the hell was I backing away?
James didn’t own me, and he had no right to police me. His reaction was just as ludicrous as he’d accused me of being. Nevertheless, every instinct I possessed was telling me to turn off the belligerent slut and get the hell out of there. My bottom hit the rim of the crumbling fountain, forcing me to a stop. My heart thumped so hard I could hear it in my ears. I didn’t look down to see whether it had burst through my chest though. Matadors never take their eyes off the bull.
They up the ante.
I licked my lips. “Mmm. Maybe I’ll suck a few dicks while I’m at it.”
James loomed over me, glaring like he didn’t know whether to wash my mouth out with soap or use his tongue instead. I read him loud and clear. He was aroused and he was angry, wanting to yank my skirt up, fit himself inside me and make me swear not to screw anybody but him. And he couldn’t understand it. Hell, I couldn’t understand it either. It just
was
.
But at least I had the advantage of knowing that our bodies had laid claim to one another. With a primitive stake, by the look on his face, one that stabbed through the layers to pierce our basic instincts. His breathing was harsh and so was mine. The strain proved too much for the little crucifix pin over my breasts and the bolero popped open. I squared my shoulders and his eyes dropped to my breasts. My nipples were hard, poking through fabric that barely covered them.
“You look like you’re begging for it,” he sneered.
“No, I’m prowling, remember? Looking for a good lay.”
If he were a bull I think he would’ve bitten a large chunk out of me. “You’re not going to find one tonight!”
James’s hands were hot on my hips, fingers splayed. When had that happened? He didn’t even seem to notice how close our bodies were or how tightly he was digging into my skin. His eyes were glazed with jealousy. I shifted against him and he held me more tightly. Would I see hooves instead of human hands if I looked down?
James followed my gaze to his hands and cursed. He jerked his hands off me like I was a contagious disease and backed away. The slow, deep breaths he took were controlled but the look he gave me was so hungry I thought he’d forego the wedding feast to have me instead.
When he spoke he paused between each word, like a parent who’s reached the end of his tether.
“Put your coat on.”
“Why would I want to do that?” I said belligerently. “News flash, Jamie boy. I can do whatever I want and you can’t stop me.”
Silence.
Oh God, I hadn’t used that childish tone, had I? Said those bratty words? I’d just relegated myself to a stroppy kid who wants her own way. All I needed was to add “so there” to sound like seven-year-old Kai.
James’s superior look told me he agreed. “If you act like a brat you can expect to be treated like one.”
Ignoring my angry curses, he pulled the trench coat up my arms and yanked the sides together. He was in control now, adult to child. Overbearing and dictatorial, he showed me how naughty children were dealt with, buttoning me up as I struggled against him. He knotted the tie at my waist so tightly it felt like a straitjacket.
Seething, I glared at him with a mixture of anger and wounded pride. But I didn’t try to take off my coat. His face said he’d do it all over, and then he would win the battle of the trench and I would feel even more the chastised brat.
“You want me—that’s why you’re covering me up,” I jeered.
The man who’d turned into a jealous beast at the sight of my scantily clad body looked at me as if I were delusional. His tone was pitying. “I just married the only woman I want.”
I turned and looked at the faceless cherub. “You think Caroline is perfect, so compassionate and loving, but you have no idea who she really is. She’s cruel and hateful, without a bone of compassion or tenderness in her body. A social-climbing bitch who—”
“She’s the woman I love, worthy of my name and position,” he interrupted sharply.
“Your name and position?” I mimicked, whirling around. “Shit James, would that be the Scott-Thomas horizontal or the vertical? Those are the only positions of yours
I’m
interested in.”
He made a disgusted noise. “You’d do better to interest yourself in controlling your basic proclivities,” he said, pausing to sweep his eyes over my body and frown. “For the record, neither of those positions interests me, not with you.”
He was standing in profile, from his straight nose down to his straight—
My forced smile hurt almost as much as his words. “And you’d do better to get lost in the maze before you head back to your bride. You’re stuck on vertical.”
Chapter Seven
“I Want” Doesn’t Get
I was still seething when I made my way inside the hotel and found the banqueting hall. It was an impressive example of Victorian architecture, full of opulent historical charm. Shame about the virginal-white wedding decorations. I wanted to slap some paint onto the walls, swirls of orange, red and purple; throw in vivid flowers like birds of paradise and cover the insipid white with the warmth of colour.
The top table was set on a dais halfway down the left-hand side of the room, opposite a small minstrel’s gallery where the DJ would be based. I found the seating plan and peeked over another guest’s shoulders, scrolling down the list for my name. The enormous chandeliers made me hope my table wasn’t underneath one of them—you never know, right?—and that I would be seated near the elegant bay windows showing a view of the lawns.
No chandelier and no window view either, but table 23 suited me perfectly all the same. It was near the exit, and as far away from my family as possible while still giving me a good view of the top table. A few children ran past me as I negotiated my way to my seat. They had bright auras, pinks and greens and blues, and I paused to look at them, fascinated at the colours dancing around their bodies. Auras weren’t something I normally saw and I was enjoying this facet of pregnancy.
When I got to my table I struggled out of my coat, mentally cursing James for being a domineering jerk. After the meal was over I would pop the coat back on and corner Father Martin. The first dance would allow me the opportunity I needed to find him alone. I kind of wanted to see their performance since Caroline had complained that James refused to take lessons and couldn’t dance worth shit.
My words, not hers.
Dancing came to me as easily as lying and I was looking forward to watching James trip up. Petty I know, but where he was concerned I was oscillating between anger, wounded pride and a strange feeling of loss.
Hunger gnawed at my stomach and before I knew it, I’d eaten the tiny white bun on my side plate. I know that’s rude but I couldn’t help it. Pregnancy hunger is different from normal hunger; it turns your stomach into a ravenous beast. Mine didn’t growl, it roared so loudly I apologised. Then I blushed, hand halfway to somebody else’s plate. I never used to steal other people’s bread when they weren’t looking. Well, not the white and fluffy kind, anyway.
Pregnancy was also turning me back into a thief.
“Sorry,” I said.
The diner dipped his eyes to my chest and I looked down. Nope, my annoying nipples weren’t in attention-seeking position. I checked out the dainty white card in front of the man’s plate. Warren Howard Davies was perving on me even though he’d brought a hot date to the wedding. I turned my attention to my left. Another man. He saw my hungry stare and offered me his bread.
I looked at his little name thingy. “Thanks Paul.”
“Bride or groom?”
“Neither—I’m here to heckle.”
He laughed and his eyes lingered below my neck. I stifled a sigh. I had done the shit so I would take the hit. So far a few lusty stares and an invitation to room 206 from a guest outside the bathroom. Paul moved his seat closer and told me his date was his sister. I flirted, throwing my hair back as I laughed.
When I looked at the top table James was staring at me. Caroline noticed and ran her eyes over my dress. Shit, my parents might not be able to see me but Caroline had an excellent view. I tried to concentrate on flirting but it was no use. When I looked back James was plundering Caroline’s lips like a dying man looking for God inside her mouth—and she was
enjoying
it.
He released her and our eyes met. One, two, three seconds of looking into emerald slits that mirrored the jealous colour of my thoughts. Caroline blushed at the whistles, laughing at something the best man said, and James kissed her cheek.
For the umpteenth time I railed at myself, needing to get a grip on the insane possessiveness that had taken hold of me. Thinking of my taunting, immature behaviour in the garden maze made me cringe. No wonder James was showing me how little he wanted me. I didn’t realise I’d poured myself a glass of wine until I was gulping it down. A few raised eyebrows made me pour myself another full glass. Then Warren decided he was thirsty and soon enough the whole table was drinking. That’s manners for you, posh and common.
I forced myself to slow down and concentrate on my table companions. The five couples seated with me were James’s colleagues and their dates. As we waited for the dinner service to reach us they criticised everything about the wedding. A woman who looked like Zara Phillips leaned in conspiratorially. I dubbed her Horsey.
“How long before they file?” she said, sotto voce.
“Two years, tops,” Warren postulated.
The prematurely balding guy three places down sniggered. “Irreconcilable differences.”
Everybody jumped in to express an opinion. I mean table 23 really got into the spirit of it, laughing and drinking as they made bets on the length of James and Caroline’s marriage. Three years. Six months. Four years. One year.
As they argued I drank my wine. Then Horsey remembered I hadn’t given my flutter.
“One night.” I said, loud and clear. “Adultery.”
They laughed and toasted me. We argued about happiness and marriage all the way through dinner. They were lawyers after all, keen to hear the sound of their own voices. I kept my eyes resolutely at my table and gave myself up to the pleasure of enjoying a fantastic meal and delicious, expensive wine. My last drink of the night, I promised myself.
Liar
, my mind sneered, zapping me so painfully I took another sip
.
* * *
I had just finished my profiterole when I saw my mother walking towards me. Into the middle of the table went my full glass of wine, replaced by a hastily poured glass of water.
“What’s that?” she demanded.
I offered the glass up for her to sniff and her jaw relaxed. She looked me over and her face screwed up again.
“I need you to go up to the bridal suite and get the bridesmaids’ gifts,” she said, handing me an electronic key. “They’re in the Harrods bag.”
“Why can’t Caroline or James get them?”
“Because the bridal suite is a surprise for Caroline and James is busy.” She clutched my upper arm and leaned in to my ear. “While you’re in the suite you will change into the white summer dress Caroline bought last week. It’s in the grey suitcase by the bathroom door.”
I flinched at her venomous thoughts.
“Caroline is very upset. You’re an embarrassment to us and to James,” she hissed.
“I hardly think James gives a toss.”
“He’s the one who suggested Caroline lend you her clothes. ‘Something appropriate’ was the way he put it. He was being kind for your sake.”
I snorted into my water. “Pompous git.”
She grabbed my chin, and after a glance at my dinner companions, cupped it in her palm instead. For all intents and purposes a loving caress, but in reality a vice-like grip that made me wince.
“You will take off this harlot dress or so help me God I will allow your father to do whatever he wants to you tomorrow,” she whispered viciously.
She pushed my chin away with a sharp tap on my bruised cheek and watched me exit the banqueting hall. Thankfully, I’d had enough to drink to make me feel pleasantly woolly, but not tipsy enough to teeter.
As soon as I walked into the bridal suite I stopped and stared, wondering if I’d had more wine than I thought.
“Well, fuck me sideways.”
The room was huge, but that wasn’t why my eyes were wide or why I was laughing in delight. The bridal suite was brothel chic at its best. In stark contrast to the banqueting hall the colour scheme was black-on-black. From the circular bed draped in shiny satin to the velvet chaise-longues and luxurious brocade curtains. The candelabrums looked like something out of a Dracula film and the large black cushions and decadent rugs strewn in front of the marble fireplace spoke more of
Arabian Nights
than Wedding Night.
I parted the sheer black canopy over the bed. James had thought of everything. The single red rose on the beaded cushions was the same colour as those in Caroline’s bouquet. James had planned this room for the woman he’d made love to.
For
me
.
It was sultry and indulgent, and it exuded sex. A vampire-meets-sultan’s-harem that was just a little sleazy. Oh yeah, James got me all right, all the way up to the shiny mirror on the ceiling. The thought filled me with an uncomfortable mixture of pleasure and pain.
Curious, I flicked the switch at the top of the bed and heard a low purring sound. The bed vibrated, rotating slowly. I couldn’t resist lying down and trying it out, laughing at James’s sense of humour while I watched myself spin in the mirror. Maybe I needed to re-evaluate my colour prejudices, because this room was
fucktastic!
Caroline would be horrified.
The smile dropped from my face. “Mrs Caroline Rose Scott-Thomas.”
Her suitcase was where my mother said it would be and the sundress wasn’t half as bad as I’d feared: white linen with a square neckline. It hugged my hips without suffocating them and showed my cleavage in a chaste kind of way—something I hadn’t been since I was thirteen. It was too staid for my tastes but at least it wasn’t a dick-deflator.
I looked like one of Caroline’s elegant work buddies: poised and classy. Even more so after I gathered my hair into a loose coil at the back of my neck. The expensive clothing made me feel like another person, a woman full of confidence. I snorted at my self-delusion but all the same I enjoyed the pretence. Maybe the dress would help make my case to Father Martin, draw his eye to my anatomy in a wholesome, innocent way that would still titillate his forbidden fantasies.
I made a face. The rose on the bridal bed smelled of Caroline—of
triumph
, and I wanted to tear out the petals and crush them. I was about to arrange the perfect flower artfully on the pillow again when the door opened and I sprang back, startled into dropping it on the floor.
James walked in and started when he saw me by the bed. Without a shield of wedding guests between us I felt raw, exposed, as if he had only to look inside me to discover my secrets. Our encounter in the maze was foremost in his thoughts, a silent replay we shot back and forth as we faced one another.
I smoothed down Caroline’s dress, feeling more awkward in virginal white than in slutty red.
“What are you doing in here?” he said.
“Putting on something appropriate, like you wanted.”
He perused me slowly, from my gathered-up hair to my bare feet. I fidgeted, waiting for him to say something judgemental. “You look lovely.”
Up went my eyebrows. I know you should say
thank you
when you get a compliment but I wasn’t used to it, except from Marcia and she didn’t count. We’re friends and boosting each other’s confidence is part of the job description. Besides, her compliments were more along the lines of “fucking good comeback, hon” or—
Oh God, my brain was babbling and my silence was stretching into social ineptitude.
“Wow, a compliment,” I said stupidly.
“The truth.”
Something made me want to give James a truth of my own. It had to be the sex. Shit, had it turned me into a wimpy, apologising goody-goody? Why wasn’t I taunting him about his hard-on in the maze or swinging my hips and going for vampy seduction? After all, we were in the perfect place for it.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry about before. I was vulgar and I acted immaturely. Bad habits I’m trying to get rid of.”
He shrugged. “Forget it. I’d like us to be friends.”
“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile. “Friends.”
He didn’t apologise for his own bad behaviour but I let it go. My chest felt compressed, heavy with the same sadness I’d felt in the church.
James looked at his watch. “There’s a pause for the quartet to play before the speeches and I’ve got to change for the first dance and talk to the DJ.”
Translation: please leave. So why the hell was I standing there staring at him? My hair had come loose and I gathered it up again, wanting to look elegant. I straightened my back, determined to make my exit as classy as I looked. All I had to do was put on my shoes and—
“Fuck and double fucking fuck!”
James closed the distance between us, alarmed. “What is it?”
“Your bloody rose attacked me.”
Gingerly, I pulled the thorny stem out of my foot and sat down to assess the damage. James handed me his pristine handkerchief and turned on the main light so I could see better.
Well, since we were “friends” and all...
“I like the porno film décor,” I teased, looking around the room. “Are you the vampire sultan?”
His smile was self-mocking. “I was aiming for Zorro.”
“Nah, this bed is hard-core. And the mirror...” I looked at the ceiling and laughed.
James flushed under his tan and pulled out a black shirt from the wardrobe. Paired with his black trousers he really would look like a romantic hero. Maybe I should pretend I needed help with my zipper and see if that zinged the Zorro into action. I discarded the thought immediately. I didn’t want clichés or obvious seductions. I wanted—
“
I
want
”
doesn’t get
, my mind chided.
James hung the shirt on the wardrobe handle, brows raised as I hopped my way past him to the bathroom. I’m no wimp in the pain department but the sting on my sole was pretty bad. I stifled an embarrassed groan at how ridiculous I appeared. Thank God I hadn’t gone for sexy vampire seduction; I looked like a vampire’s foot-fetish victim.
I reached the bathroom and let the groan escape. My shoes weren’t in there; they were at the fireplace. James watched me hop, hop, hop across the room again. I couldn’t help laughing as I hopped past his grinning face.
“I’ve never seen
that
in a porn film,” he said.
I gave in to my laughter and stopped to catch my breath, trying to balance and failing miserably. I eyed the distance to my shoes and limped forward. James picked them up for me, dropping them at my feet as I sank onto the chaise-longue.