I was running five minutes late, rushing through the open foyer – dodging all of my bewildered new colleague in my haste to be outside for him.
He’d distracted my entire morning with those words; I’d basically sat around in some kind of introspective therapy session with myself in front of the Mac for nearly two hours.
I’d even thought about calling my mother – spurred and encouraged by his words – but then realised that she hadn’t left any contact details on the message, and although she might well be some kind of undercover spy, I most certainly wasn’t. I decided to cut my losses and let fate decide – it was obviously an omen from the Gods that being back in touch with her would not bring me good things. I can hear you calling me a coward – trust me, one small part of my mind was doing exactly the same thing – but I was going for a Carpe Diem kind of motto. Today was not the day to seize my mother, the Gods seemed to be telling me.
Instead I’d gone through some folders and catalogues – made short, succinct notes on the upcoming fundraiser, and hoped to God that it would be enough should any of my superiors decide to stroll in and check on my progress. I’d basically moved mountains on my first day, so my subsequent slacking might not be too obvious.
Until, at approximately twelve minutes past twelve (not that I was clock-watching, you understand), I began to panic about the state of my hair and make-up after three hours in a sweaty office on a hot and humid Thursday afternoon. You will have never seen a woman move so quickly in your life – I raced to the staff toilets, noting with a raging despair the blurred shadows that the mascara had left under my eyes, and pulled out my cosmetic bag like it could defuse an atomic bomb.
It took a bit longer to fix than I’d anticipated, but I was still looking around me blindly for Cayden outside CJ Entertainments ten minutes later.
The Audi lurched to a stop in front of me mere seconds later, making me jump back onto the pavement with a heart-stopping gasp. I could hear that deep, throaty chuckle even before I stooped down to peer through the passenger window.
The sight did nothing to settle my erratic heart rate – it was just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. One bulky arm was curled around the headrest; he’d taken off his jacket and tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt to reveal a muscular forearm dusted with dark hair. He dominated the entire interior of the car with a relaxed, sexy pose that would have looked pathetic on any other man. With his head thrown back in the fits of laughter, his unruly hair ruffled with the light breeze seeping through the driver’s window and the sunroof, he looked a stark contrast to the authoritative, cosmopolitan God that had bid me farewell at my office door that morning with a discreet, lingering kiss. He was the coarse animalistic man that could fuck me into senselessness.
His mirrored Prada aviators reflected a young blonde back at me – her jaw almost scraping the floor like a Neanderthal.
“Five minutes late princess,” he tutted at me with a wink, “Had to get you back somehow.”
Low-blow. One dark eyebrow raised over the rim of his shades – that trademark bad boy smirk gracing his lips – gone was Mr. C. J. Gates, Entertainment Entrepreneur. Primitive man had shed his cloak of obedience, and held out his hand for me to walk on the wild side – even if it was only for lunch.
I was all in.
Throwing my Chanel onto the backseat, I climbed in, cranking up the volume on the radio.
“Notorious B.I.G?” I looked over at him with an eyebrow quirked, “Well, aren’t you just the walking cliché?”
“What can I say?” he snickered back, reversing out of the ‘parking’ spot like a Formula One professional, “I love it when you call me Big Pa – Pa.”
“Oh God,” I rolled my eyes facetiously, my fingernails already digging into the sleek leather seats.
***************************************
Cayden stopped the car in front of one of the most luxurious hotels I’d ever seen in my life; white bricked, with a stark contemporary lettering spelling out The Gray in a gold font over the glass entrance, it loomed over the busy sidewalk like a temple.
He leaned over me, reaching into the glove compartment for his wallet ostensibly, but I felt his breath on my neck – warm and moist – and it sent my pulse rocketing to a break-neck speed. I felt the almost imperceptible stiffening in his body, and knew he felt the exact same reaction to the proximity of our bodies.
“Holy shit,” he muttered hoarsely into the juncture between my neck and my shoulder, “We should have gone somewhere first – met in the office or something – how the fuck am I meant to keep my hands off you through lunch?”
I caught his gaze with mine, trying to tell him that I felt exactly the same without any words, because I knew I’d never have the courage. But the telling darkening in his eyes instantly boosted my courage as I caught his lightly rasping jaw with my palm.
“There’s always room service?” I gestured down to my Topshop shift dress sheepishly, “I don’t know how well I’d fit in here – they probably wouldn’t want the likes of me at their dinner tables anyway.”
I had no problem with swanky places – as long as I had on my armour, as long as I was coached beforehand.
His pale eyes were intense for a minute – running over my features carefully.
“I think I must have dreamt you,” he murmured, “You’re so fucking perfect you were basically created to rock my world on its axis. But don’t worry about what any of those assholes in there are thinking – they don’t care for me much either.”
I guess they wouldn’t. My eyes drifted back over to the hotel – the footmen all dressed in white nervously waiting outside the car for valet. It was a place where the middle class could go to validate themselves and their menial lives after a game of golf and a hard day at the office. I wondered how Cayden had ever even heard of the place.
“So, what would be the point? If we’d both be uncomfortable?”
“We won’t be,” he shrugged, climbing out of the car, “I’m making an observation, I didn’t say I gave a shit.”
The footman pulled open my door, but Cayden threw the keys at him, and reached for my hand like the gentleman I knew he absolutely wasn’t. Tugging on his hand, I pulled him to a stop just as I heard the footman start up the engine.
“Cayden ...”
One look at my face, and he pulled me into his arms like it was some big, cheesy romantic film on the Upper East side of Manhattan, rather than a random London pavement overshadowed by a ridiculously exorbitant building.
Laying his forehead against mine, he curled his hand around the nape of my neck sweetly.
“It’s about going where you want, which isn’t necessarily always where you’re wanted.”
He was just spilling all these words to me that day – softly and sweetly pushing me at every opportunity.
“What the fuck? Are you my life coach or something now?”
He snickered, leaning to my ear.
“Champagne makes you filthy – I just want to make sure you get the best,” he whispered smoothly, “Hedging my bets.”
I hit him in the chest lightly with my Chanel as I burst into schoolgirl giggles on the middle of a dusty pavement.
The Gray was even more impressive inside; crystals covered the expanse of the ceiling in long thin ropes that fell from the roof like torrential rain – light cascading through from the far patio windows into prisms that bounced off the mirror-covered walls onto that booths and tables that were dotted around the vast, open space. It was sleek and modern; the Maitre D’ a handsome, young Italian with a smooth lilt to his English accent that wasn’t tacky or cheap.
He led us over to a small, secluded table in the corner, and I smiled gratefully over at Cayden – knowing he’d read some of my reticence, despite his persuasive tactics.
“We’ll have the Crystalle,” he said smoothly, as we were handed the menus and he took his seat next to me.
We had our backs to the wall – both facing out towards the patio area, watching the various holiday makers enjoy the uncharacteristic British sunshine at the pool. There were three tables dining in the entire restaurant, including us, and the other two were seated at the far end of the large room, so we were quite isolated.
I still spoke in a stage whisper to Cayden behind my open menu as our drinks were served.
“This place is amazing!”
“Should be,” he murmured abstractedly, nodding his thanks to the waiter. He didn’t take his eyes off the menu, so you would never have guessed that his errant hands were wandering into the constricted space between my thighs – my white shift dress doing wonders for keeping me in place for him, even as I squirmed. You’d never have guessed at all, if you were one of the other diners, he was completely inconspicuous about the whole thing.
Inconspicuous until I jerked my knee against the table with a wince – the element of surprise catching me completely off guard as his fingers coaxed the edge of my panties away from my core – his thumb brushing across my clit unexpectedly.
“Cayden! Someone will see!”
“They won’t suspect a thing as long as you stop practising your Judo moves on the table. Eyes on the prize, princess.”
I squirmed in the seat; tiny frissons of electricity keeping me rooted to the spot as his hands played over my responsive flesh. I had no idea what I was looking at, and I prayed he’d stop his ministrations – just for a second – when the waiter came to take our order.
He didn’t.
My face flushed beetroot, and I didn’t take my eyes off the table – too far gone to care what Cayden was ordering for me – as his fingers picked up their pace and I battled against the oncoming climax that was lingering just out of reach, and yet lay on the horizon like a looming cloud about to engulf me even while I felt the waiter’s dark eyes wandering over my drooping head with concern.
I looked up with what I hope was a smile that didn’t say, “I am just receiving some sexy time from the magic hands of the sexiest man on the planet,” but one can never be sure. I think, as long as he was assured that the Crystalle would be paid for, and I hadn’t dropped into a coma, he wasn’t too bothered.
I gripped the wooden frame of my chair as the pleasure coursed through me, and it took every ounce of concentration that I had inside me not to scream his name in frustration as he held me on the precipice of my release with erratic, sharp bursts of movement.
“Dying to come, aren’t you? You just can’t wait to soak my fingers ...”
I growled at him, throwing back my head discreetly as though moving in for a long stretch, and dragging air into my lungs. The effort of keeping quiet through this was killing me – my mouth arid as my body flew into shimmering waves of delectable pleasure that was nowhere near enough – nowhere near what I needed.
“Tell me princess ...” he breathed into my ear – nipping at my pearl earring – almost spinning me off into the tides of my own pleasure.
“It hurts,” I breathed out, “It fucking hurts so bad, please ...!”
I felt the break in his concentration – felt his eyes drift away – and then his hand as well.
“Dinner’s ready,” he whispered, sitting back in his chair with a filthy smirk while my body was crumbling on the edge of its orgasm, trembling and writhing with an arousal left unfulfilled. Every corner of skin felt flushed and agitated, over wrought and hypersensitive from the responses he’d drawn.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I almost shouted across to him, while he made all the appropriate noises about his steak dinner – still wearing that smug smile like a mark of pride.
“No, princess, I don’t joke about dinner. You’ll just have to be patient ...”