Текст книги "Besotted"

Автор книги: Georgia Le Carre

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 9 страниц)

Seventeen

When we arrive at the airport I am surprised to note that we are not getting into Blake’s Gulfstream jet, but a Boeing 767. We walk through the doors and I gawp in awed silence. It looks like no plane I’ve ever been in. Brand new and customized to look like the interior of an apartment it is luxurious and stunningly elegant.

I turn to Blake. ‘Do you own this?’

‘It’s registered to the Bank of Utah.’

‘But really it’s yours?’

He shrugs. ‘Own nothing, control everything.’

Smiling staff come forth with smiles and hot towels.

After take-off I turn to Blake. ‘Can I explore?’

‘Want me to show you?’

‘Nope. Want to take it all in on my own.’

He smiles and reaches for his briefcase. ‘Knock yourself out.’

I touch my lips to his. ‘I will.’

I take Sorab from Jerry and we start exploring the three floors. It is truly amazing. All the spaces have no hard edges, everything curves and swirls around to meet the next environment. There is a dining table that seats twenty, three guest bedroom suites, lifts, a kitchen, an office, a boardroom, two sumptuous lounges with cream couches, a concert hall, a TV room, a gym and a sauna.

We end up in the master bedroom, which is on two levels. I playfully throw Sorab on the massive white bed and he bounces and squeals with startled laughter. He lifts his hands up to me. I pick him up and throw him back down on the bed. He laughs happily and lifts his hands again.

‘One last time,’ I say, and fling him on the bed again. He bounces, sits up and crawls towards me. I lay on the bed.

He arrives beside me and climbs on my body. I hold him up in the air, his body horizontal to mine.

‘Mummy and Daddy will be christening this bed soon,’ I tell him.

He cackles loudly.

‘I know. Wouldn’t that be nice, huh?’

My mobile rings.

‘Where are you?’

‘In the master bedroom.’

‘Don’t move.’

We spend an hour together, playing, just as an ordinary family would. When Sorab nods off, we lay for a while with him between us, just looking into each other’s eyes.

‘We are so lucky, aren’t we?’ I whisper.

‘I can hardly believe I have both of you.’

I grin. ‘Wanna have sex?’

His answering grin is wolfish. ‘Obviously.’

‘What about His Highness?’ I jerk my head in the direction of the sleeping child.

‘He can have the bed,’ he says, and grabbing my hand he slides me off the round bed. And there on the soft white carpet we have quiet sex. It is unfamiliar and in a funny way taboo, and so incredibly exciting.

When we finish I am giggling breathlessly. ‘My knees,’ I complain.

‘We’ll use the bed on the return trip,’ Blake promises.

I stare at him in wonder. His hair is falling down his forehead, his eyes are sparkling and he looks so young and carefree.

We are flown by helicopter to the roof of the iconic and awesomely beautiful Burj Al Arab, considered the best of the three seven star hotels in the world. As soon as we step out on to the green felt landing pad, waiters in tails and white gloves stand in a line to greet us with champagne and flowers.

There is no check-in and we are immediately charmed into the royal suite. Inside the opulence is shocking. Its luxury and excess are such that it is almost intimidating. There is a butler outside the door who knows us all by name which I frankly find unnerving! I feel as if I am an impostor. Surely only kings and emperors live with gold and gilt on every surface and leopard skin-covered empire chairs.

The royal suite has red silk walls. The entrance hall leads to a grand staircase that has elaborately patterned and carved gold and black banisters. It has a faux leopard skin runner carpet. Even Jerry raises her eyebrows and goes silent on me. When she disappears into her bedroom with Sorab I turn to Blake.

‘Well, what do you think?’ he asks.

‘It’s all rather…heroic.’

He grins. ‘I’m glad it was you who said it and not me.’

We laugh. At that moment I am the happiest person on earth.

‘Shall we check out the bedroom?’

‘Shall we wait until it’s dark?’

‘Chicken,’ he teases and taking my hand pulls me towards the bedroom.

We stand at the doorway.

The room is huge with a brightly patterned carpet, gilded furniture, patterned wallpaper and gilded mirrors. The four-poster bed is massive and set on a purple pedestal, with curtains around it. Over it is a domed canopy with a pleated silk interior. There is the impression of a tent, but also the wild excess of Versace.

We turn to look at each other.

‘Heroic,’ we blurt out at precisely the same time and laugh.

‘How much does it cost?’

‘More than a hero’s ransom.’

I chuckle. ‘Come on, let’s check out the bathroom.

There: gold marble walls, cream marble columns, and blue-veined chocolate marble floors, gilded mirrors, polished bronze tiles, gold taps and fittings, and Hermes toiletries.

‘Looks like fun times ahead for you and me,’ Blake says looking meaningfully at the round Jacuzzi bath.

I grin. ‘A midnight bath?’

‘Who am I to turn down such a beautiful woman?’

‘I’ve never been in a Jacuzzi.’

‘Eyes tell a story. Yours tell me to open your legs and devour you.’ His voice is low and throbbing with passion.

I watch the heat come into his eyes, the dark hunger, and my stomach twists with excitement. ‘I like the word excess. It has sex inside it,’ I whisper.

We use the hotel’s Ferrari. It is scarlet and roars like some great beast when Blake guns it. Dubai, it turns out, is littered with speed cameras and Blake makes everyone of them flash.

We eat at At.mosphere, the highest restaurant in the world, one hundred and twenty-three floors away from the ground. The views are breathtaking.

‘I fancy getting legless,’ I announce.

Blake raises his eyebrows, but does not say anything while I knock the cocktails back.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ I ask, already tipsy.

‘No, not at all. I’m actually rather curious. I’ve never seen you drunk.’

I giggle like a schoolgirl and look at him from beneath my eyelashes.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘It feels as if I’ve always known you, perhaps even in other lifetimes.’

‘You know what you’re like?’ His voice is but a whisper.

I lean forward. ‘Tell me.’

‘You’re like a force that swept into my life, cast me into the winds, and set me ablaze. Afterwards you made me rise from the ashes, like a phoenix reborn.’

‘Wow! That’s deep.’ I wave a finger towards the glass walls at the sky. ‘And there you are flying in the skies.’

‘I like drunk Lana.’

‘Ooo… Is it already time for dessert?’

What looks like a chocolate ball arrives. I lift my eyes towards Blake.

‘Want to taste?’

He shakes his head. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

I tuck in. Delicious.

At the ‘floating’ staircase, going down, I become suddenly nervous. Blake kneels at my feet and takes my shoes off for me. Holding me tight we go down it. In the high-speed lift I start to feel a bit sick, but outside with cool breezes blowing on the fountain terrace, I recover very quickly and start to look forward to the Jacuzzi.

Blake looks at his watch, ‘Come on,’ he says and takes me closer to the water’s edge. Suddenly music fills the air. I look around surprised. It is Pink and Nat Ruess.

‘They’re playing our song, Lana.’

I gaze up at him. ‘You remembered.’

‘How could I forget? The night is branded in my mind forever. You were so, so innocent and so very beautiful.’ He puts his hands on either side of my cheeks and turns my face towards the fountains. ‘Watch the fountains dance,’ he says, and stands so close behind me.

I lean back and stare with amazement. All around me people are taking their phones out to record the stupendous spectacle. Indeed, they are dancing fountains. Soaring, leaning, bending, running like fire upon the surface of the water, all in tempo with the music. It is very beautiful and I am so overcome with joy that tears gather in my eyes and streak down my face.

When the last fountain dies down, he turns me around to face him.

‘Why are you crying?’

I sniff loudly. ‘These are happy tears. Just ignore me.’

‘Until I met you I never wanted a woman’s tears, but I want yours. I want your sighs, I want your laughter, I want your joy, your smell, your smile. I want it all.’

Behind me I hear fireworks. I turn my face up to the skies and watch the beautiful display. They are still exploding around us when Blake takes a ring out of his jacket and slips it on my finger.

I gaze down at it. It is the biggest pink diamond I have ever seen. It would have been gaudy if not for the plain setting and the astonishing intensity of its color. The light from the fireworks makes it glitter like a pink fire. It is also a perfect fit. It is too big and beautiful to not be… Is it? Could it really be? I look up at him with shocked eyes. The flare from the fireworks streak across his face.

‘Are you asking me to marry you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh.’ The wind changes. A fine mist of water from the fountain reaches us, lands on my skin. It is deliciously cool on my flushed skin.

‘If you ask you might get a no and I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m telling you: we’re getting married.’

For a moment I take in the beautiful, beautiful eyes, that tough, unyielding jaw, the straight mouth, the aristocratic nose, then I fling my arms around his neck and our lips meet in the most beautiful kiss. It is deep and lusty and romantic and just perfect. I forget the fireworks, the people, the fountain.

All I know is when he first kissed me a lifetime ago, he didn’t kiss my lips, he kissed my soul.

Hey Beautiful,

Thank you! You’ve kept me this company this far into Blake and Lana’s journey, and it will be my greatest pleasure to have you around until the series is complete.

The next part, Seduce Me, is told through the point of view of Lana’s bridesmaid, Julie Sugar. It will be the conclusion of the Lana and Blake saga, but it is also the story of Julie’s search for true love.

See you between the sheets of Seduce Me…

xx Georgia

https://www.facebook.com/georgia.lecarre

https://twitter.com/georgiaLeCarre

http://www.goodreads.com/GeorgiaLeCarre

Bonus Material

POV

Forty 2 Days

When Blake Met Lana At the Bank

Chapter 1

For a whole fucking year I hear nothing.

She flies out of Heathrow with her mother, lands in Tehran and then…  The trail goes stone cold. That still shocks me. The ease with which a woman can enter Iran, don a drab, loose-fitting garment, and simply disappear, become totally invisible. Without the powerful tentacles of a central bank in that country I have no way of tracking her financially either. The only connection left was the Swiss bank account, but that registered no activity, until recently, when the account was emptied and closed on the same day.

Then there was nothing left of her, but memories and hurt. Hurt like I had never imagined possible.

Sometimes, especially in the beginning when I didn’t yet hate her, I used to imagine her veiled and in the desert. She always wanted to go there. My dreams were romantic then. Telescoped without reality or reason we traveled in slow motion upon shifting sands, untroubled by the blazing sun, sharing a camel, only one goatskin water bag between us. In my dreams everything was perfect: the rocking of the camel, perfect. Her, perfect. Us, perfect.

And then I would wake up and feel like shit.

In the day I throw myself into work. At night I trawl the city’s night scene looking for the same thing anyone who crawls into the underbelly of cities finds—moments of forgetfulness between the legs of strangers. But nothing would fill the void or the terrible longing for her.

I wanted us on one camel.

In my recurring fantasy, she comes to my office, talks her away around Laura, and opens my door. I am too shocked to stand. She comes towards me hips swaying, a slut. Dressed as I had found her that first night we met, she comes around the desk, swipes all my papers to the floor and sits on the table facing me. With one shoe she pushes my chair a little away. Then she lifts her legs, knees together, the way a girl who has been to finishing school is supposed to get out of a car, and pushes her butt deeper into the desk. I look at her. Her gaze is greedy, the way I know her eyes can be. She leans back so that both the palms of her hands are on the desk behind her, and spreads her legs wide open. My eyes slip down. There it is. Open: running with sweet juices.

‘Get your mouth on it,’ her red lips command. ‘I’ve been dying for a good suck.’

But it is absolutely true what the philosophers say:  love and hate are just two ends of the same string. You love someone, they lie to you, and you love them less; then they cheat on you, and you love them even less, and you keep going down that string until you hate them. So I traveled down that string.

I hate that woman, that is as obvious as hell to me, but it is also as clear as day that I cannot let her go. She cheated me. Kicked me when I was down. Brought me to my knees. No one has ever done that. Ever. If I do not punish her… Betrayal then, forever. I will know myself to be a weak man pretending to be strong. I must have my pound of flesh.

Then three days ago a little light on my computer screen flashed. For a moment my mind went blank. Then hot blood began to pulse again in my veins and my cheek muscles moved, my lips curved. I was smiling again.

‘Gotcha.’

I hear footsteps approaching in the corridor and my heart begins to race. The excitement of seeing her again is so uncontrollably strong that it startles me. But I hate her guts. Immensely. This is purely about revenge. This is about me getting what I am owed. I lay my palms flat on the desk. I want to be cold and controlled. I don’t want the bitch to have the satisfaction of knowing that she has affected me at all. The footsteps pause outside the door. I take a deep breath. She is nothing, I tell myself. She just wanted to count my money.

My face becomes an unfeeling mask.

I cease my wild thoughts.

A brief knock, and the door opens.

And…  All the ugly words that had kept me sane—whore, slut, gold-digger, bitch—become empty balloons that are floating away. I cannot keep a single one. She may be a whore, a slut and a gold-digger, but she is mine. My slut, my bitch, my gold-digger.

Fuck, already I am itching to see her naked. I want to strip off that ugly suit she’s wearing, pop her on the table and fuck her until she screams. That’s the second part of the fantasy.

She walked in with a smile—big, false, irritating. That hurt. Obviously, she has not suffered as I have. Fortunately for her, the smile doesn’t last long. Dies on contact with my person. Her face drains of color and her mouth hangs open. That’s more like it, darling. Papa’s here to get back what he is owed. You forgot—nobody cheats Papa. While she is doing a better than average impression of a goldfish, I study her. How thin she has become. Starving-African-children thin. Nobody should be that thin.

The employee who showed her in closes the door. Time to take control.

‘Hello, Lana,’ I say, remaining seated behind the desk. My voice comes out…  Good. Encouraged, I add more words. ‘Have a seat,’ I invite. That, too, I am pleased to note, comes out smooth.

But she does not move. She keeps doing the goldfish thing, but doesn’t find her voice. I see her swallow and try again.

‘What are you doing here?’ It is barely a hoarse whisper.

‘Processing your loan application.’

She frowns. ‘What?’

‘I’m here to process your loan application,’ I repeat with deliberate patience. I am enjoying this head fuck. The element of surprise has completely worked in my favor.

She shakes her head. ‘You don’t work here. You don’t process tiny little loans.’

‘I’m here to process yours.’

‘Why?’ Some thought crosses her mind and she is suddenly galvanized into action. ‘So you can turn me down? Don’t bother. I’ll show myself out,’ she cries hotly and begins to turn.

I am on my feet instantly, the chair wheeling away behind me. ‘Lana, wait.’

She hesitates, looks up at me blankly.

‘I am the one in the entire banking industry most likely to extend you this loan.’

She continues to stare at me.

‘Please,’ I continue, more carefully this time, ‘take a seat.’

Dazed she looks at the two chairs facing me, but she does not move. ‘How did you know I would be here today?

I tell her about the nifty little software that flags her name and date of birth if it comes up in the banking system.

She frowns, but says nothing.

I need to engage with her. The shock has dazed her. ‘Is all the money in the Swiss account gone?’

She nods distractedly. ‘But why are you here?’

‘Same reason as before.’

‘For sex.’

I sort of lose my head then. ‘Sex?’ I hiss, my jaw clenching tight. ‘God, you have no idea, have you?’ I go around the table and advance towards her. Honestly, at that moment I want to throttle her. How easily she had said that word, diminished all my intolerable pain and my insatiable longing into one meaningless action. She carries on staring at me, almost fearfully. I stop a foot in front of her, electricity crackling between us. I take one more step and we are inches apart and suddenly I smell her. I breathe in the scent. What the…?

Baby powder!

Sick, but it fires up my imagination the way the most expensive perfume cannot. Like a snake, lust is uncoiling in the pit of my belly, spitting its venom into my veins. I want her so bad I ache. Quickly, I lower my eyelids, but it is as if she has already seen the potency of my desire for her. For the first time since she came into the room, color tinges her skin.

She reaches out a trembling hand toward me.

My reaction is instant and beyond my control. ‘Don’t,’ I rasp, stiffening. I cannot let her have the upper hand. This has to be all my way. And there is no highway for this little bird.

Shocked by the violence of my reaction, she retracts her hand. I see the realization in her eyes. Now she knows she has damaged me. Her face crumples as if she gives a flying fuck. What an actress.

‘Please,’ she whispers.

She put a lot emotion into that word and I am shocked at how much I want to believe that it is not an act. My pathetic neediness annoys me. I bend my head toward her face. Her eyes are riveted on my lips. What is she remembering? The taste of me?

‘Dishonest little Lana,’ I murmur, so close to her neck that if I put my tongue out I’d lick that tender skin. I run my hand down the smoothness of her neck—skin like pure silk. I let my fingers wrap around it—so slender, so breakable. I hear her draw in a sharp breath. Languidly I slip my hand into the collar of her cheap blouse.

She begins to tremble. I pay no attention. Instead I watch my fingers slip a button out of its hole and then another. I spread apart the joined material so that her throat, chest, and the lacy tops of her bra are exposed. The desire to rip her clothes is so strong I have to physically fight it. I frown. Yes, she is very beautiful, but I have had other very beautiful women—why does this woman alone have such an effect on me? Even knowing what I know about her doesn’t change a thing. Not having total control over my own impulses makes me feel vulnerable and defenseless. It is like falling backwards into nothing. I hate the sensation. I can never let her see my weakness. I turn coldly furious. The breaths that escape her lips are suddenly shallow and quick. I smile possessively. So nothing has changed on that front.

‘You were, by far, more when you squeezed into that little orange dress and your fuck me shoes, and went looking for money,’ I taunt. ‘Look at you now; you’re flapping around inside a man’s jacket. Two hundred thousand and you don’t even buy yourself a nice suit.’

I tut. ‘And this…’  I raise my hand to her hair. ‘This ugly bun. What were you thinking of?’ I ask softly, as I pluck the pins out of her hair and drop them on the ground. I return her hair to its silk curtain. Beautiful. I reach back, pull a tissue out of its box and start wiping away her lipstick, a horrid plum. I am unhurried—let her stew from the outside in.

I toss the stained tissue on the ground. ‘That’s better.’

She stares at me helplessly, and guess what? It turns me on to have her at my mercy.

‘Lick your lips,’ I order.

‘What?’ She looks horrified by the cold command, and yet electrified by the sexual heat that my order obviously arouses. Like a beautifully tuned guitar, the tension in her body matches mine. I feel the same desire rippling through her.

We have played this game before. We both know where it leads.

My jaw hardens. ‘You heard me.’

The tip of her small, pink tongue protrudes and I eye its sweet journey avidly. ‘That’s more like it. That’s the mercenary bitch I know,’ I say, thrusting a rough hand into her hair. It is exactly as I remember it. Soft and silky. A year of waiting. Bitch!  I tug and pull her head back. She gasps with shock, but her eyes are wide, unafraid, and innocent. Fuck you, Lana. You’re no innocent. We had a deal and you cheated me. And that fucking Dear John letter? You didn’t even have the decency to wait until I got out of hospital. I could have been dead for all she cared. I expect better from a two bit whore. But the thing that hurt the most: she didn’t care.

Now I will have my revenge. Another part of my brain is sneering—you’re fighting a losing battle here, dude.

The thought powers me to kiss her. This kiss means nothing to me. It is only a way of gauging her reaction. I will not allow myself to get sucked into it. I descend on her roughly, painfully, violently, purposely bruising her soft lips, my mouth so savage that she utters a strangled, soundless cry. That sound wakes up an uncivilized beast. I make room for it. The intense desire to hurt and have my revenge is greater than me. Let her understand that I am not the same man that I was then. Before she betrayed me.

I taste the fury in my kiss: blood!

Really, Blake? But I cannot stop. Cannot control my emotions. Cannot resist her. Cannot live without her. I don’t allow myself to feel.

A moan escapes her. And it affects me—in a way I could never have guessed. It almost makes me forget my carefully laid plans. It almost makes me take her on the floor of this drab office. The effect this woman has on me is incredible. I feel raw and starved. No matter what she does or what she is, I want her. All I want is to be buried deep inside her, but I am not a Barrington for nothing. Years of iron control come to my rescue. One of us is going to get hurt this time, and it will not be me.

Her hands reach up to push me away, but her palms meet the solidity of my chest, and as if with minds of their own, they push aside the lapels of my jacket, and her fingers splay open on my shirt. Oh, I know that sign. Pure submission. She’s mine. I can do anything with her now. But I want more, more than just sexual surrender. I’ve got a plan. And I’m sticking to it.

I change the kiss, gentle it. Instantly her body scents victory and tries to burrow closer to me, but I keep my grip on her hair, relentless and tinged with hurting force. I cannot let her get nearer. I am in dangerous territory. One wrong move and I will fall into her honey trap again. She tries pushing her hips toward my crotch. Can’t have that. That would give me away.

I end the kiss nonchalantly, as if I have just participated in a meaningless encounter, or a polite social interaction. With the same feigned lack of emotion I put her away and casually prop myself against the desk. I fold my arms across my chest, and watch her with great satisfaction. This is my territory. Here I am boss. This time, Lana honey…

She stands before me aroused, breasts heaving and hands clenched at her sides as she tries to regain some measure of composure.

I smile. Round one—me.

Silently she takes two steps forward, reaches a hand out and puts a finger on my throat. I freeze. I can feel her skin on my frantically beating pulse. And just like that we are connected. We never break eye contact. Fuck her.

Round two—is not over yet.

‘Is it sex when I want to see you come apart?’ I ask bitterly.

Her face crumples. This woman deserves an Oscar. She takes her finger away from my throat. ‘What do you want, Blake?’

‘I want you to finish your contract.’

She drops her face into her hands. ‘I can’t,’ she whispers.

‘Why not? Because you took the money and ran while I lay in a hospital bed?’

She takes a deep breath, but does not look up. Guilty as charged.

‘I was cut up to start with,’ I say as coldly as I can. I don’t want to give her any more power than she already holds.

She looks up. Butter wouldn’t melt in that sweet O. ‘You were cut up?’

‘Funny thing that, but yes.’

‘I thought it was just a sex thing for you,’ she murmurs.

‘If you wanted money why didn’t you ask me?’ My voice is harsh.

‘I…’  She shakes her head.

‘You made a serious miscalculation, didn’t you, Lana, my love? The honey pot is here.’ I pat the middle of my chest.

She simply gazes at my hand.

‘But not to worry,’ I say sarcastically. ‘All is not lost. There’s money in the pot.’

How predictable. Her gaze lifts up to my mouth.

‘You did me a favor.’ I try to sound detached, but my voice comes out bitter and pained. ‘You opened my eyes. I see you now for what you were…  Are. I was blinded by you. I made the classic mistake. I fell in love with an illusion of purity.’

She carries on looking at me blankly.

‘If I had not bought you that night you would have gone with anyone, wouldn’t you? You are not admirable. You are despicable.’

‘So why do you want me to finish the contract?’ she asks breathily.

‘I am like the drug addict who knows his drug is poison. He despises it, but he cannot help himself. So that we are totally clear—I detest myself. I am ashamed of my need for you.’

‘The…  The…people who paid me—’

‘They can do nothing to you. My family—‘

She interrupts. ‘What about Victoria?’

And suddenly I feel very angry. What the fuck has Victoria to do with this? This is between me and her. Besides, I am fond of Victoria and hide a measure of guilt for the pain I have caused her. Her shock when I tried to break off our engagement surprised me. I had imagined that she was marrying me for the same reasons I was—consolidation, security, and continuity—but in fact she is in love with me. If anything, the extent of her possessive passion worried me a little. A marriage of convenience only works when both parties exhibit similar detachment. I don’t want to think of it now, but the truth is that I do not want Victoria. At that moment I realize that I can never marry Victoria. But for now I will deal with the most pressing problem I have: I cannot think of being with anyone other than the witch standing in front of me.

Angrily I forbid her to ever again drag Victoria into our arrangement. A flash goes off in her eyes. It’s gone in a second, but even lidded it reeks of jealousy!  I seize the opportunity to manipulate her by exaggerating Victoria’s loyalty. I rub it in that Victoria stood by me through my worst period while she swanned off to Iran. ‘One day,’ I tell her, ‘I will wake up and this sickness will be gone. Until then…  You owe me forty-two days, Lana.’

She closes her eyes and hangs her head.

‘Name your price,’ I demand curtly.

Her head snaps up. ‘No.’ Her voice is very strong and sure. ‘You don’t have to pay me again. I will finish the contract.’

‘Good,’ I remark casually, but I turn away from her immediately. Cannot let her see how elated I am by her capitulation. I can hardly believe I have won so easily. My mind is doing victory back-flips as I go around the desk, and retake my position behind it.