“Ooooh!” Belle whispered. “Oh, how totally precious.”
“Just been a couple of days now. Jack Cooper’s golden got to her.”
“Oh, look at them, how utterly precious,” Belle repeated. “Golden lab or golden retriever?” Belle inquired.
“Retriever. They’ll have coats I should think, but regardless they’ll be a fine lot,” he remarked, crouching down and running his hand across Bonny back. “I’ll have her spayed now. Should have had it done a while back.”
“That certainly explains why she didn’t come running up to the house,” Simon remarked.
“Bailey’s not left her side,” Bert proclaimed proudly.
A distant clap of thunder rumbled from the skies, and Bert straightened up, a frown crossing his brow.
“Looks like we’re in for it,” Bert declared. “You’d best get back to the house before it starts. I’d offer you a cup of tea, but I don’t want you caught in the storm.”
“It’s been so wonderful to meet you,” Belle smiled, “and these adorable little creatures.”
“Give my best to Clara when she gets back,” Simon offered.
“I will, Mr. Sinclair. Can’t be soon enough for me, as you can see by the state of things around here, and I’ll need her help with those pups pretty soon.”
Bustling their way out, Simon and Belle started down the short path to the trail.
“Darn, I forgot my umbrella,” Simon exclaimed, and turning around, hurriedly made his way back to the cottage door.
The wind was beginning to make itself known, and as she looked across the horizon she could see the darkening skies. Simon returned with brolly in hand, and they hiked back through the woods towards the house. By the time they were jogging up the steps the first sprinkles had started.
“I do have a staff here,” he told her, closing the large door behind him, “but I gave them the weekend off so we could have the place to ourselves. On an afternoon like today, they would be running around lighting all the fires.”
“Are they all natural wood fireplaces?” she asked.
“Of course! At least, in this wing they are. Tyler wanted to put in gas grates, and he did in his suite of rooms, but down here and in my quarters it’s as it was back in the day, well, for the most part,” he chuckled.
As she was hanging her jacket on the hall tree, Simon’s phone jangled in his pocket. Answering it, he walked away, coining phrases Belle didn’t understand, about amortization, cap-rates and reinvestment schedules. Wandering into the cozy living room, she set about piling kindle and paper on the old metal grate, over which she placed small logs.
“Who taught you how to build a fire?” Simon inquired, walking up behind her.
“My dad. Before he became really important he’d take us up to a lake cabin and we’d build campfires,” she sighed.
“He taught you well. That’s about as good a fire preparation as I’ve seen. I have to go into the study and I think it’s going to be a while. You’re welcome to sit and keep me company, or wander about looking for secret passageways. Whatever you want to do.”
She tilted her head to one side.
“I think I’m going to jump on the net and check my emails, then start my new journal.”
“Journal?”
“Yes. I’ve kept one during the important times in my life. When I was living in London, when I first arrived in Los Angeles, all the life-changing times. There’s so much I want to record and I need to start now. When you took me up to the dome at City View, for instance,” she smiled, her eyes twinkling up at him.
“Yes, that was...”
His voice trailed off, not sure where his words would take him.
“I’d love a cup of tea though. Do I just pull the cord?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “I’d like one as well. Leave it with me.”
“Thank you,” she replied, and impulsively taking his head in her hands, she kissed him, a warm, lingering kiss that stirred his heart as well as his cock.
“Naughty girl,” he whispered, “trying to distract me.”
“You can’t spank me,” she reminded him. “You said you weren’t going to.”
“Ah, but tomorrow night will roll around soon enough, and I’m keeping tabs. Now scoot,” he laughed, giving her a light swat.
She decided to climb the stairs rather than take the lift, and on the second floor she slowly wandered the hallways. Simon’s tour had come to an abrupt end when they had entered the dungeon, and as she roamed through the marvelous old manor, she was overcome with the depth of history, and came across another huge portrait of the same man whose likeness hung over the fireplace in his bedroom.
She stood, staring at him, and was again stunned by the likeness.
“You have to be related,” she said out loud. “The resemblance is uncanny.”
Finally reaching the third floor she sensed her way through the corridors to the bedroom suite, and finding the box with the laptop, and her journal whose pages were waiting for her pen, headed to the elevator to take her back down.
Returning to the sitting room, she found a tray with a pot of tea and some scones, and decided to have her morning respite at the desk by the window watching the inclement weather. As she munched and sipped, the mysteriously odd Amaranth floated into her mind, and when she’d finished her tea break, she decided to do a little searching on the internet.
It only took her a few minutes to set up the brand new machine, and she typed ‘Amaranth Simington’ into the search engine. She found several press releases, all relating to Simon, and a pay site offered to give her the address and telephone number of the “subject person.”
Sitting back on the couch, she recalled Simon having told her Amaranth’s original name had been Athena Stephanopalous. Retyping the name, she hit search, and discovered page upon page of information about her father, a multinational business tycoon who had fingers in dozens of pies. There were hundreds of photographs of the man, and some with his daughter, Athena.
Belle was stumped. Racking her brains for another search, it occurred to her to explore the woman’s education. She’d obviously attended the very best of schools, so she typed in, ‘Athena Stephanopalous, Simon Sinclair, Starvos Stephanopalous, Education, School,’ and hit search. She struck gold.
There was a photograph of Athena and Simon. They weren’t side by side, but they shared the camera’s eye. The article covered a visit by England’s youngest millionaire, Simon Sinclair, to the very chic all-girls college, where he gave a speech entitled ‘Finding and Seizing Opportunity.’
Surrounded by smiling, adoring teenagers, Simon looked stunningly handsome in a three-piece business suit, and Athena, tall even then, was standing in the back row behind him.
Wow. She met him all those years ago. Is she a stalker? But her father asked Simon to watch over her. Still...
A cold chill shuddered through her and she instinctively hugged herself. Just how unbalanced was Amaranth Athena Simington Stephanopalous, and why did she change her name?
Her name. There must be something about the name Amaranth!
Instinct telling her she was on to something, she searched the meaning of the name Amaranth, and there it was, not just the meaning of the name, but the answer to the entire situation with the cold, strange woman.
Meaning: Immortal; unfading Origin: Greek
Of course. Immortal and Simington. She and Simon, immortal and unfading. She’s been obsessed with him since she was a teenager. I have to tell him. No wonder she hates me. Okay, this is scary!
Her search was over. Having lost her desire to check her emails, or anything else for that matter, she closed the laptop, stood up and stretched.
Walking to the window, she stared out at the squall.
I must tell Simon. Maybe on the way back into town. I don’t want to bring it up now. This weekend is too special.
It was blustery and raining heavily. The fire was burning, warming the room, and walking back to the couch she picke
d up her diary and began to write, logging her feelings about the astonishing and marvelous sights to which she’d been witness, her growing emotional connection to Simon, and the frightening information she’d just learned about her possibly dangerous nemesis.
In London, Amaranth was a very busy bee. After her breakfast she had moved quickly to her office, retrieving the keys to Simon’s suite. He was conscientious about security and kept his quarters locked when out of town, only she and Henry having access. Gripping them firmly, she had taken the back stairs , moved softly along a few corridors, arriving at the suite through a circuitous route. She doubted anyone would be in his rooms on a Saturday morning, and she could certainly come up with a reason for being there, but avoiding the staff was preferable to explaining herself.
Placing her ear against the door she knocked quietly, heard not a sound, and inserting her key let herself in, locking the door behind her. Certain she would not be disturbed, but not wanting to dally, she moved quickly into Belle’s dressing room.
One half of the closet was now respectfully full of clothes. Dressy outfits and every day attire hung separately, organized by her hand, shoes in their compartments and bags nearby. Efficient, neat and easy to navigate. Amaranth knew all the drawers and what was where, so she started searching in the areas not yet used. It didn’t take very long for her to discover the sacred pink box, and lifting the lid, Belle’s diaries.
As she rifled through them, she found entries about all kinds of things, but when she began reading about Furio, and Belle’s passion for him and her undying love, Amaranth almost did a little jig of joy. She had it! Proof positive that Belle was having an affair. Not just an affair, a mad, passionate, crazy affair, and it would now be ludicrously obvious to Simon that Belle was only after him for his pot of gold.
Trembling with her heady success, Amaranth popped the lid back on the box, returning it exactly where she’d found it, and hastened her step out of the suite, being careful to lock up. Hurrying back to her office, book in hand, she turned on the copy machine and waited for the tiny green light to signal its readiness, impatiently tapping her foot on the ground.
Now you’ll get your walking papers, Miss Belle of The Ball. Now you’ll suffer the fate you deserve. You’ll be out on your ear, and I’ll be here to pick up the pieces, just like I do every time. Ha! I am the one he’ll eventually marry. Me. I’m tall, and elegantly thin, and have the education, and the quiet wealth he must have in a wife. You don’t have a clue. You think your big tits and glossy hair can get you a man like Simon Sinclair? Ha! Think again.
The machine beeped, the green light blinked, and Amaranth began making copious copies. When to use the damning material was yet to be determined, and she wanted to return the diary to its box as quickly as possible. Belle would be none the wiser, and she’d expose the little vixen when the time was right.
The tempest had raged through the afternoon. Simon’s obligations took far longer than he had wished, and he’d finally joined Belle in the sitting room late in the day just as Belle was completing her last entry in the journal. It was about their visit to the dome, and she had written,
I know he’s in love with me, and I cannot wait for him to tell me, because then I can tell him I feel the same.
He was not in a particularly cheery mood, irritated that his weekend had been interrupted and he’d been kept away from her for so long, but her upbeat spirit and joy at seeing him had brought a smile back to his lips.
“I need a long, hot shower,” he announced. “I’ll meet you back here in half an hour.”
“And I need a long, hot bath,” she declared. “I saw there’s a bathroom down the hallway from your bedroom with a big tub. I’ll use that.”
When Simon returned to the living room half an hour later, he was delighted to find Belle dressed in an elegant, sensual, scarlet silk dress, lounging exotically across the couch, waiting for him.
“Look at you. Come here, you gorgeous creature,” he grinned as he mentally devoured her.
Grinning happily, she made a slinky move off the sofa and sidled up to him.
“Well, Mr. Sinclair, how nice of you to join me. I believe dinner will be served very soon.”
“I’m delighted to hear it, but it’s dessert that I’m looking forward to,” he whispered, leaning in and nipping her neck.
“Mmmm, me too,” she murmured.
“Ah, well, tonight you will be having something a little different.”
“I had something a little different last night,” she giggled.
“That you did.”
The ringing of the dinner bell called them to the dining room, and they sat down to enjoy an elegant, gourmet meal. Being Saturday night, the chef had prepared some of Simon’s favorites, and when the meal ended, the earlier cloud over his head was barely a memory, and the cabernet had given him a gentle buzz.
“Have I told you that you look ravishing this evening?” he asked.
“Um, no, you have not used that particular word,” she replied coyly.
“Well, you do.”
Standing up, he walked around the table and pulled her to her feet.
“Do you know where I got that move? Careful, this is a test,” he warned.
“Of course. Chess scene, The Thomas Crown Affair with Steve McQueen.”
“Exactly,” he exclaimed, and pulling her into him, planted a strong, no holds barred, kiss on her mouth.
“My goodness, sailor, what ship did you sail in on?”
“Your ship,” he said somberly, gazing at her intensely. “Come with me.”
Thinking he was taking her back to the dungeon, she followed along expectantly, but to her surprise he led her into his study. She’d just glanced through the door during the brief tour, and as he closed and locked the door behind him, she ambled forward, taking in her surroundings.
The room was decidedly masculine, and it rang a bell, as if she’d seen something very similar before. It boasted paneled walls, a standing globe of the world, and a leather chesterfield sofa in front of a large fireplace, behind which sat a chess set and two chairs. It was the sight of the chess set that rang the bell.
“Simon, this is very much like his den. Thomas Crown’s I mean.”
“Yes,” he answered simply.
“Yet it looks like you,” she remarked. “I mean, the whole ambience really suits you.”
“I relate to the character very much, always have, but even more so the last couple of years,” he declared seriously, walking over and sitting on the edge of his desk. “This afternoon I made several millions of dollars. It will land in my Swiss bank account on Monday afternoon. It was only one of several deals that I will be closing next week. Running my business has become rudimentary. It’s shocking to say that but it’s true. It’s just habit now, something to do.”
He paused, studying her. She had been listening to him standing quite still in the middle of the room, and she ambled across, sitting in a chair in front of him.
“You, Belle,” he continued, looking down at her, “have made me see my life from a completely different perspective. You’ve not just sharpened my focus, you’ve changed it. City View is the most exciting project I’ve done, but it was easy. It’s all so easy for me now. I look across a conference table at my opponents knowing exactly what they’re thinking and the moves they’ll make. It’s just like a chess game I’ve played too many times, but you, Belle, you’re not easy. You’re challenging and interesting, and so darn beautiful I just want to keep looking at you. You have taken my breath away.”
“I have?” she whispered.
“Yes, you have,” he answered.
“I don’t see how I’m challenging,” she frowned.
“You are. You completely confound me.”
As Belle slowly stood up, he opened his arms, inviting her in. Leaning into his body, she could feel his hardness, and the heat between her legs transforming into wetness. His hands cupped her bottom, squeezing and fondling, then lifted her
skirt to explore what might lie beneath. He found naked skin.
“God,” he groaned burying his head in her shoulder.
Belle slipped her fingers against his crotch, finding his zipper, and deftly slid it down, then unbuckled his belt and button. Dropping to her knees she reached in, finding the soldier standing at attention, and extricated him from the confines of his trousers.
He grit his teeth as she began to slither her lips along his shaft, gripping the edge of the desk with his hands, allowing her to move as she wished, resisting the temptation to clutch her hair. Closing his eyes he sank into the hot, heady sensation, relishing her worship, surrendering to the warm, slippery succulence.
The splattering of the continuing rain, the warm, glowing flames of the fire and the subtle aroma of her delicate perfume swirled in the air, cloaking him in a surreal cloud of scintillating sensation. As his pending climax drew near, he allowed it to flow without thought or restriction, and flow forth it did, like a gentle brook released from its dam, flooding forward, sweeping over the rocks in its inevitable path forward.
This finish had become pleasurable and comfortable for her, the past demons vanquished into the ether, and as the last drops of his creamy dew slithered down her throat, and she lapped and washed him, she sighed contentedly, gently resting her head against his thigh.
Opening his eyes, he stroked her head, then shifting slightly, pushed himself inside his clothing and zipped up. Reaching down, he brought her to her feet.
The front of her dress had buttons from the neck to the hem, and he began at the bottom, slowly unfastening, working his way up. As each button unclipped, he pulled the dress apart, gazing fondly at the pale naked flesh beneath. Beginning with her thighs, he touched his lips against her skin, kissing and licking as was his pleasure. It was only when he reached her waist that he glimpsed the treasure. A red satin something was stretched around her middle. Button after button fell away, until at last the lingerie was revealed. It was a corset, one that ended at her waist, and the full cups that encased her breasts were pointed, their design from a bygone era. It was one of the most unusual pieces he’d ever seen, and Simon Sinclair had seen a great deal.
The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Two Page 10