Mr. Knightsbridge

by Louise Bay

  Why was Dexter wondering what I thought I was worth? I’d been thinking I would never wear a silk scarf once I went back to Oregon, that it would sit in its box the rest of its life. And that led to a thousand more questions. After spending time in London, how could I go back? Would I be successful in getting a job at a jewelers in New York? And even if I did, wherever I was, whatever job I was doing, would I always be Hollie Lumen from the trailer park?

  Of course I would.

  I’d never have a reason to wear a scarf so expensive and beautiful. My die was cast.

  The scarf represented a life I’d never have and a woman I’d never be.

  “Hey,” Dexter said, pulling me closer. “It wasn’t meant to make you sad.”

  It wasn’t his fault. He’d done something nice for me. Something wonderful.

  “I’m not sad,” I replied, the hitch in my voice telling a different story. “It’s just too much.” For me. “Too expensive,” I corrected myself.

  “It’s just money, Hollie. And given the jewelry we’re surrounded by every day, it’s not that much money.”

  I rolled my eyes and pushed off his lap. He had no clue. Only people with money could afford to say that anything was just money.

  “We come from very different worlds, Dexter. I have no idea what a Hermes scarf would cost, but I can guarantee it’s way too much money. I’m guessing that’s a month’s grocery shopping right there.” I lifted my chin to the silk strewn on the bed next to us.

  He scowled at me. “You’re right. We do come from different worlds. But I don’t see why that means I can’t use my money to buy you something nice.”

  “I don’t need your money.”

  “I know you don’t.” His tone had changed to the one I was used to hearing in the office but never here. Never when it was just us. “I don’t know what the hell I’ve done. Maybe you’re only happy when people are bleeding you dry.”

  His words were like a physical blow.

  “You’re saying my family are leeches now?” I stood on the bed, waiting for his reply. “I’ve never said anything that would make you think that.”

  He didn’t reply and when I glanced at him, he was pinching the bridge of his nose. I’d learned now that Dexter did this when he didn’t like what was happening or what someone was telling him. “I can put two and two together and come up with four. You pay your sister’s tuition, your parents’ rent. Does anyone in your family do anything for themselves?”

  I was so angry I was rooted to the spot, not knowing if I should punch him in the mouth or flee. “They’re my family. Are you telling me if your parents were alive, you wouldn’t help them out if they needed something?”

  Dexter abandoned his cheese plate and tried to grab my arm. But I scooted away and jumped off the bed. I’d had enough of this conversation. I was ready to go back to my apartment. I’d call my sister, who was sure to agree with me that Dexter was a complete nutjob.

  “Hey,” he said, following me into the bathroom. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I was just trying to make sense of why giving you the scarf made you look like you were going to vomit all over my duvet. I could take offense, you know.”

  I ignored him, fastening my bra and slipping on my shirt. “You’re ridiculous,” I said, my anger simmering, ready to boil over. He clearly wasn’t taking offense. He was far more interested in pissing me off. Leeches? “Not everyone who doesn’t have money is a leech. Some people in this world don’t have the opportunities, the talent or gene pool you did.” I pulled on my underwear and jeans, my anger giving way to a wave of grief over all those lives I could have led if things were different—all those opportunities I hadn’t had. I worked hard to make sure my sister could go to college and my parents always had a roof over their heads. But it was hard. There wasn’t anything left for me after everyone else was taken care of and sometimes, I could admit, it felt thankless. All Dexter was doing was reminding me of my responsibilities, and of how much I’d sacrificed to fulfill them.

  I had to leave. A rumble of self-pity sounded in the distance and clouds of sadness gathered in my ribcage. If I didn’t get out of here, I was going to cry until I ran out of tears. And Jiminy Cricket, that was the last thing I wanted Dexter to see.

  He came up behind me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that about your family. But it sounds like you go unappreciated. That’s all.”

  His words were coaxing out my tears. “I have to go.” I scanned the floor, pretending to be looking for something so he wouldn’t see how upset I was.

  “Seriously,” he said, grabbing my hand as I went past him. I tried to shake him off but he gripped my wrist tighter.

  “I won’t have you—”

  Before I had the chance to finish my sentence, he’d scooped me up, carried me to the bedroom and tossed me on the bed, capturing my wrists on either side of my head. “I need you to listen to me. Because this is getting out of hand. You’re overreacting. I’m clearly being insensitive—I’m pushing every one of your buttons, and I have no clue what’s really going on.”

  “Just get off me,” I said, squirming underneath him. Anger would be easier. Tears would be far more difficult to explain.

  “I want to talk,” he said as he released me. “I don’t want you running out when we’re having an argument I don’t understand. I was trying to do something nice and you’re upset and angry and I want to resolve this.”

  I didn’t move from where he’d left me. He was a jerk for calling my family leeches, even if sometimes it felt like my parents could do more to help themselves.

  On a sigh, he grabbed the scarf and tossed it in the trash. “Sod the fucking scarf. I wish I’d never listened to Stella.”

  My skin seemed to shrivel as if I’d been dunked in an ice-cold lake. I’d hurt his feelings, been rude to the one person who had my back. Dexter probably thought I was being spoiled. He couldn’t know that a kind and thoughtful gift would stir up so much in me. “It just felt a bit weird,” I said, my voice small. I slid my gaze sideways, barely able to look at him.

  He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me, raking his fingers through his hair. He was too gorgeous. Too kind. Too good to me. “I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for him and then pulling my hand away, concerned he’d flinch if I touched him. “Maybe I’m scared I’m going to get used to . . .” Him? Anyone other than Autumn being so good to me? A life that I knew I was going to have to walk away from? “You’re just really nice to me.”

  “And you’re really nice to me. Normally.”

  How could he even think that? What had I done for him? “I am not.”

  “What do you mean you’re not?” He turned toward me, shaking his head. “Really, Hollie, you are. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here with you.”

  “Come on, Dexter. Look at everything you’ve done for me. The job, the salary, now the scarf. It’s a lot. And maybe you’re right, maybe I’m not used to some billionaire saving my ass all the time. It’s not something many girls at the Sunshine Trailer Park are used to.”

  “Don’t you see that you do nice things for me too? You make food for me most nights and you’re the most amazing cook. When you’ve been here, I always find a vase of flowers on the kitchen side or—”

  “Dexter, the roses I buy cost me five pounds from Tesco and I’ve only done it twice.”

  “The money doesn’t matter, Hollie. You’re being kind. You’re giving. I might buy you a Hermes scarf, but I have more money than you. It’s the thought behind it—the intention.” He sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have . . .”

  I hadn’t thought about how the cooking and the flowers could be thought of as giving. It seemed like nothing in comparison to what he’d given me, though I supposed it was. But it wasn’t a big deal. I was happy to do it—I enjoyed it. “I like cooking. I like that you like it. And I didn’t even realize you noticed the flowers,” I replied. His flat was gorgeous, like something you’d see in a magazine. Cheap flowers probably mad
e it look worse, not better.

  “I don’t want you to freak out, but you just said yourself that you don’t even realize when you’re giving, when you’re doing nice things for people. It’s ingrained in you. You’re so used to it that you don’t even see it. Usually between people, it’s a two-way street—both parties are nice to each other. I’m just not sure that’s your normal.”

  “Maybe that’s true,” I said. “And maybe the reason I was so upset is that I can’t be anyone other than who I am. I’m always going to be the girl from Nowheresville, Oregon. I’m never going to be some sophisticated city girl who went to college, majored in marketing and then got a job in New York City. Even if I got out of Sunshine someday, it wouldn’t erase who I am. For me, a Hermes scarf will never not be a big deal.”

  “I think who you are is kind of wonderful,” he said and my heart lifted a little, trying to find a foothold to burst out of my chest and give itself to this man in front of me.

  How had I found him?

  “I’m really sorry for acting crazy.” I slipped my fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulled him toward the bed. I didn’t want to fight anymore.

  “You’re a good person, Hollie. And I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to cast aspersions on your parents—”

  I couldn’t help but laugh despite feeling as if I were in a heap of limbs at the end of a fairground ride. “‘Cast aspersions?’ You’re so British.”

  “I can’t help that.” He circled his arms around my waist. “But seriously, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. Quite the opposite.” We sat for what felt like ages, Dexter’s arms around me and our breaths the only sound surrounding us. “Don’t leave tonight.” He buried his head in my neck.

  I was dressed now, and I would normally leave before midnight anyway. “I should go home.”

  “You could stay the night, you know. Go home tomorrow morning if it makes you feel better not to go straight to the office from here.”

  Despite my initial instinct to run, right now I wanted to spend the night in his arms.

  “You promise not to return the scarf?” I said, a small smile curling around my mouth.

  “With what I’ve got planned to do to you with it, I’m not sure Hermes would take it.”

  There was no way I was going to let him ruin such a beautiful thing. I pushed away from him and retrieved the scarf, folded it quickly, slipped it back in the box and put it on the seat under the window. “Well, that’s not going to work for me. No one’s ever given me anything quite so beautiful and I’m not going to let you ruin it.” Even if I never had an opportunity to wear the scarf, I’d keep it. I’d take it home and put it in my memory box. If I ended up retiring at the Sunshine Trailer Park, I could bring it out and remember that one summer in London when the most amazing guy in the world thought I had peacock-colored eyes.

  Seventeen

  Dexter

  I didn’t argue with women. I didn’t have the energy or the will. I’d never cared enough.

  Hollie was different.

  “Are we good?” I asked, following her into the kitchen where she was checking she hadn’t left anything on. I wanted to make things better for her. I hated the idea that she felt she wouldn’t ever get to be the kind of woman who wore a Hermes scarf. There were plenty of women who didn’t have half her heart or soul that wore head-to-toe Hermes.

  It had been a confounding evening, but there was nowhere I’d rather be. The last time I fought with a woman had to have been the last time Bridget and I argued. I’d had things thrown at me a couple of times but I just didn’t engage. And some women would sometimes go completely silent on me. I just ignored it. I never cajoled them into talking about it or told them I didn’t want them to leave. I hadn’t meant to be cruel. I just thought it was better if they cooled off in their own time. And if they were so annoyed they didn’t want to hang out anymore—well, we lived in a free country. That was their choice.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” she replied, looking at me over her shoulder from where she stood by the hob.

  “Then can I kiss you?” I asked. I needed to know she was okay, not just hear her say it.

  I didn’t want to lose her.

  The realization hit me like a tree trunk to the forehead—I liked this woman. Really liked her. Liked her more than I could ever remember liking anyone.

  Except Bridget of course. Although it had been such a long time since Bridget and I had been together. Such a long time since I fell in love with her. And although I would always love her, I wasn’t sure I was actually in love with her. I wasn’t sure it was possible to be in love with a woman I hadn’t seen for fifteen years.

  Not that I was in love with Hollie. I just really liked her, more than I’d liked anyone in a long time. I hadn’t been looking for it. I hadn’t been looking for anything. I’d just thought she was beautiful from the very moment I’d laid eyes on her. And I wanted to make her laugh, buy her dinner, sleep with her. But all those things had been true for other women who had been in my life since Bridget. There was something different about Hollie from the start, but there hadn’t been any seismic shifting of tectonic plates under my feet until tonight. Until I realized I didn’t want her to leave. That I’d miss her if she did go. That I wanted us to talk through whatever was bothering her about the scarf because I didn’t want her to be upset—but more because I wanted to know her better. I wanted to know how to soothe her, how to avoid upsetting her the next time.

  It was as if I was standing under a waterfall of new feelings cascading over me.

  “The answer to that question is always yes,” she replied. Streetlights shining in from the window lit her up, a halo of yellow light making her look even more beautiful than usual.

  For how long would that be her answer? I wondered. At the moment it was always yes but what if we had another argument and she made it out of the door that time? What about when she went back to Oregon?

  Before I could think too much, she came over to me and hiked herself up onto the kitchen island, sliding her hands up my arms. I sighed, instantly soothed by her, her touch some kind of hypnotic balm.

  I cupped her face in my hands. She really did have the most astonishing eyes. And I pressed my lips to hers.

  “Thank you for not leaving,” I said as I pulled away.

  “Thank you for convincing me to stay,” she replied, slipping her fingers into the waistband of my trousers.

  “We have some making up to do,” I said, undoing the shirt she’d just buttoned.

  “Is that a promise?” she asked.

  I unpeeled the white cotton and pulled off her bra to reveal her soft skin. Just like I’d wanted to know her mind and what she was thinking earlier in the evening, now I wanted to map her body with my tongue.

  I wanted to know every part of her, inside and out.

  I pushed her back onto the marble, smoothing my hands down her stomach, over the peaks and dips of her hips and down to her thighs.

  “You’re touching me like you think I might not really be here,” she whispered.

  I sighed and pressed a kiss just above her ankle bone and another on the inside of her knee. Maybe she was on to something. Perhaps the woman in my bed wasn’t the one I’d been expecting all those weeks ago when I’d first spotted her at the launch of the competition. She was now the woman I fought with. The woman I didn’t want to go home. The woman I was going to bury myself in so she’d never leave.

  I pressed open her legs and placed my tongue flat against her clit. Christ, she was delicious. She was almost instantly wet and I wanted to be surrounded by it. I slid my fingers inside her, and she began to twist away.

  “Too much. I’ll come too soon,” she panted.

  I placed my hand on her stomach, keeping her in place. Yes, she’d come quickly. That’s what I wanted. I wanted her to lose count of the number of times I made her climax tonight. I wanted to leave a mark on her mind and body—make tonight unforgettable—not because we’d fought. But b
ecause we’d made up.

  As I licked, Hollie gave a little wiggle of her hips as if trying to get my fingers deeper and my tongue harder. I growled at the realization she wanted to belong to me as much as I wanted to possess her. I pulled back, not to punish her for being so greedy but because she tasted so fucking delicious I wasn’t ready to give it up.

  She moaned and I put my mouth on her again, this time letting my tongue trace her up and down, through her folds over and over. Her back arched off the stone, and I pressed my fingers into her again, grinning as I watch the calm sedation pass over her—like she’d given up whatever she was holding back. Like she had surrendered.

  To me. To us.

  I used my fingers to explore and twist while my tongue just tasted and tasted and tasted. She flopped her arms over her head and spread her legs wider. She was mine. To do with what I pleased.

  Her bulging clit began to pulse and my hardened cock reared in response. Fuck, being able to bring her to the edge so quickly made me feel like a fucking king.

  “Dexter,” she cried out and reached for me. I grabbed her hand, pressing my lips onto her stomach, feeling the ripple of her orgasm against my skin as she came.

  Her eyes still closed, my impatience to be inside her took over. I wanted my cock coated in her wetness and my fingers digging into her flesh. Just the thought had me as hard as wood, sweat starting to prickle at my neck. I gathered her in my arms and took her over to the sofa, bending her over the back cushions and pulling a condom from my trouser pocket.

  I stripped out of my clothes, rolled on the condom and rested my cock at her entrance. “Are you ready?” I asked. I was rushing. She rid me of the unflappable detachment that I had. I needed more of her. And each time she gave me what I craved, I got greedy and took more still.

  I needed to take a moment. To breathe her in. To enjoy every second. But she undid my self-control.

  “For you? Always.” I groaned and drove my cock into her, long, slow and deep. It was so good—so hot, tight and wet. I slid my hands under her arms and cupped her breasts. Her hard nipples pressed against my palms and she reached behind me, urging me deeper still.