Inescapable

by C. J. Fallowfield

  ‘I’m sorry that someone has treated you so badly that you don’t value your worth as a woman, other than by what’s between your legs.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I shot to my feet and glowered at him, some of fierce Isabelle Knight still lived inside me.

  ‘You heard me. Am I attracted to you? Of course I bloody am, you’re a beautiful and sexy as hell woman. But much as I love a challenge, trust me when I say that when I pursue a woman to get her in my bed, I don’t mind her playing hard to get, but deep down she has to want to be pursued, or I’m not the man to chase her. And you, Alex Bishop, will never be ready if you don’t start to confront those demons and put the blame for whatever that bastard did to you firmly back on his shoulders, where it belongs. Right now, you’re carrying that burden for him, and you’ll always be looking over your shoulder, wondering when he’ll be back to add more weight to the load. Judging by what’s happened here tonight, I’d say he’s already added a few more pounds to weigh you down.’

  ‘Were you born this insightful?’ I almost snapped at him, furious that a total stranger could read me better than I could myself.

  ‘Sadly not. But that’s where I can help you, in the form of a meeting with my therapist. Say the word and I can arrange to take you straight to your first meeting with her.’

  ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock at night. You’re on that good terms with your therapist that she’d drop everything to fit me in at ten o’clock, just on your command?’

  ‘I pay her handsomely to be at my beck and call whenever I need her, but it would take about twenty-four hours to get you to my island in the Caribbean to meet with her. I only came to London for your exhibition and to convince you to spend a month painting the best parts of my island.’

  ‘Oh.’ I didn’t know what to say to that.

  ‘Oh, indeed,’ he replied. ‘As you say, it’s late, you’re resistant, and I have an early start tomorrow. Please think carefully about my offer. What I’d pay you would make it worth cancelling any commissions you have for the coming year.’

  ‘It’s not about the money.’

  ‘You can’t make a sweeping statement like that before we’ve even discussed it.’

  ‘I might need more than a month. Until I’m in the location and see, and get the feel for a vista myself, I have no idea how long the commissions might take me. True beauty on a canvas can’t be forced.’

  ‘Time isn’t a factor, either,’ he stated.

  ‘Really?’ I smirked as he tipped his wrist to look at his watch.

  ‘For me right now, it is. For you to paint, you’d be my guest as long as you needed. Private luxury board and lodgings would be provided in addition to your payment, as would all supplies needed to carry out my requests. And, of course, you’d have daily access to someone who I know can help you with those demons you seem to stubbornly want to cling on to. Here’s my business card,’ he stated, setting it down on my desk. ‘You can call me with any questions and to discuss remuneration. I promise, I’ll make it worth your time. Good night, Alex.’

  I barely had time to blink before I was watching his masculine physique stride away up the corridor. I stumbled backwards, my backside coming to rest on the edge of my desk as I picked up his card and stared at it bewildered. I felt like I’d just been hit by a tornado. Again. As if I’d just experienced déjà vu. It reminded me so much of my first meeting with Richard.

  ‘Did you do it already?’ Tom exclaimed as he appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame. ‘He looked like he’d have more stamina.’

  ‘I didn’t have sex with him, though I’m getting that you’d like to have.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t? If he hadn’t turned into some recluse wherever the hell he’s moved to, he’d be the hottest bachelor in London. So, what’s going on?’ he asked, suddenly turning serious.

  ‘I think it’s time I told you and Janice the truth about my past, as it looks like it’s finally caught up with me. You both need to be aware that I might have put you in danger.’

  ‘I eat danger for breakfast,’ he scoffed, then wilted under my “now’s not the time for your jokes” look. ‘Actually, I eat Coco Pops for breakfast. No, that’s a lie too. I don’t eat them, I leave them sitting in a big bowl of milk, until they unleash all of their chocolatey goodness into it. Then I strain the annoying cereal bits out and drink the delicious nectar.’

  ‘Why not just buy ready-made chocolate milk?’ I asked with a soft laugh. He never failed to put a smile on my face.

  ‘Come on, where’s the pleasure if you don’t have to work for the result?’ he said, echoing Castle’s earlier view on chasing women.

  ‘I’m serious, Tom. You think you know me, but there’s a whole part of my life that I’ve kept hidden from you, that I’m now being forced to share. But first, I need you to clear out the shop. No one stays, and make sure that the front door is locked and the alarm has been set before you and Janice come up to my flat.’

  ‘Got it,’ he nodded. ‘I love me some secrets.’

  ‘I’m not sure you’ll say that when I’m done,’ I replied with a sigh. ‘You’d better bring the bottle of brandy up with you and I’ll get some glasses out ready.’

  ‘Leave it with me, I’m on it like a car bonnet,’ he advised with a flourish of his hand, as he spun around and started heading back towards the shop.

  ‘Tom?’ I called as I scanned the ground.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What did you do with the card?’

  ‘What card?’

  ‘The one that came with the flower delivery? I dropped it on the floor earlier.’

  ‘I haven’t touched any card.’

  ‘Where the bloody hell did that go?’ I muttered, seriously hoping I’d imagined the whole past and present colliding situation. The sinking feeling in my stomach though told me that I hadn’t, which was confirmed when I looked over my shoulder and saw the lily still sitting in its expensive box.

  Castle

  ‘Thanks for coming back for me, Watkins.’ I strode the few paces from the art gallery’s door across the black asphalt towards the car, where he stood holding the door open.

  ‘You’re welcome, sir.’ He shut the door and I pulled the seat belt across my body and locked it in place. ‘Where to?’ he asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  ‘Home, please.’

  ‘Are you still leaving for the Caribbean as planned tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’m not sure, it all depends on the artist.’

  ‘I’ll be ready whenever you need me, sir.’

  ‘Thank you. I have some calls to make I’m afraid.’

  ‘Not a problem, sir. Do you need me to put the privacy screen up?’

  ‘No, but thank you for offering.’

  I slid down in my leather seat and sighed, suddenly feeling more weary than I should for my thirty-six years. I was in the best physical shape of my life, I should have boundless energy.

  I became a successful property developer at a young age, but when Imogen had taken her life it had forced me to reassess mine. Less time was spent worrying about whether I was about to lose prime real estate around the world to a higher bidder, monitoring the bank balance, or using my keen eye to try and spot development opportunities before anyone else did. More time was spent relaxing, enjoying myself, all while having the chance to blow off steam by keeping myself in top physical condition.

  Right at this moment though, I felt like Sampson after Delilah had cut off his hair. One meeting with Alex Bishop had sapped me of my strength. It had taken every ounce of it not to haul her into my arms and take her mouth in a frenzied and hungry kiss that would leave her, and me, panting for more.

  And that was an alien concept to me.

  Seeing her when I’d turned around in her gallery, I felt like someone had sucker-punched me in the stomach. The resemblance to Imogen was uncanny. Blue enquiring eyes, soft rosy lips, lustrous brunette hair that should be tumbling down her back i
n feminine waves, not cut into that short and choppy style that catwalk models seemed to favour. She seemed to be aiming for that androgynous look with her lack of makeup as well. But, however hard she was trying to go unnoticed as a sexy feminine woman, she was failing. She was a knockout. My body hadn’t responded to a woman in that way for years. I hadn’t been lying when I’d said I recognised pain in her eyes, but I’d underestimated how much whatever had happened to her still affected her. And for some reason that bothered me.

  I wasn’t a selfish bastard as my competitors seemed to believe, but neither was I a sentimental fool who was ruled by feelings. After what happened with Imogen, I’d put my feelings on lockdown, for the most part. So why had one look at a woman in obvious distress turned me into some kind of white knight on a shining steed? Why did I feel that it was going to be hard work to get her to trust me? Was it true what I’d said about seeing her as some form of redemption for failing my wife? Or had Alex Bishop woken a primal need in me, one that recognised a kindred spirit, that instantly knew we were fated to cross paths and walk a better future than our pasts, together as one?

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Tate, get a grip of yourself,’ I muttered. ‘You’re pussy whipped before even seeing it.’

  Not that I could see a woman like Alex ever gracing my bed. After Imogen had decided that death was preferable to facing whatever had driven her down that road, my priorities had shifted. I’d resolved to only ever pursue a woman who not only stirred that caveman mentality of needing to own my woman and have her need me like I was her very oxygen. I needed one that broke Imogen’s mould. I needed a woman that was prepared to fight for her life if necessary, and looking into Alex Bishop’s frightened eyes tonight, I wasn’t sure that she had the backbone to do what it took.

  I looked down at the florist’s card in my hand, which she’d dropped to the floor as I’d stepped into her office. The one I’d pocketed when she wasn’t looking at it with fear in her eyes. It was obviously meant for her, but that didn’t explain why someone telling her they were proud of her on her special night provoked such a reaction, or calling her by a different name. Something in my gut told me that she was in danger. And while it had failed in my personal life before, my gut had never let me down when it came to my business dealings.

  I pulled up Daniel Davenport’s number on my phone. He was an IT genius. What he couldn’t hack or uncover, or have one of his closely guarded sources find out, wasn’t worth knowing. If anyone could tell me more about the sender of this card, and its recipient, he could.

  After a brief call, and forwarding a screenshot of the card and inscription, I dialled the head of my security team who was based here in London.

  ‘Adams, I need twenty-four-seven eyes on an Alex Bishop, female. All I have for you at this stage is the name and address of her art gallery in SoHo. I left her there no more than ten minutes ago. How fast can you put someone in place?’

  ‘At this time of night? Less than fifteen minutes. What’s the objective?’

  ‘Protection duty only, I don’t want her to know she’s being surveilled. I have reason to believe that she’s in danger from a man from her past, but you can discount her two employees as threats, particularly the male called Tom. That’s all I can give you at this stage I’m afraid.’

  ‘Understood, sir. Read me the address and I’ll get Davis on it immediately.

  ‘Sorry I’m later than expected, have I kept you up?’ I asked as Sarah, my housekeeper, opened the front door.

  ‘Not at all. Have you eaten, can I fetch you anything?’

  ‘I’m good, thank you. I’m going to have a shower and turn in.’

  ‘What time would you like breakfast?’

  ‘Seven-thirty in the kitchen would be fine, and I think it’s going to be a chocolate pancake sort of day.’ I smiled, receiving a warm one in return.

  ‘Of course. I take it that we’re still leaving in the morning?’

  ‘I’m thinking of sending you all ahead. I might stay a bit longer to try and close a business deal.’

  ‘Understood. I’ll get everything, and everyone, sorted for a departure after breakfast. Goodnight, Mr. Castle.’

  ‘Night, Sarah.’ I undid the buttons on my jacket and took the sweeping stairs of my Edwardian town house two at a time, while I heard her setting the alarm behind me.

  Shucking off my clothes, I left a trail from my bedroom door all the way to my en-suite. I was in need of some serious tension relief, and all while the inspiration for my sudden need to come was still fresh in my mind’s eye. Turning the shower on to an almost blistering heat, I stepped in and ran my hands up over my face, pushing my hair back before grabbing my shower gel and squeezing a generous dollop into my hands.

  I ran my hands over my taut stomach, making the gel foam as it came into contact with my wet skin, which was feeling unusually hypersensitive to my touch. I hissed as my nipples and cock hardened in unison and slapped my left hand against the black slate tiled wall. My head dropped to watch my right hand move lower, my cock flexing in anticipation. Gritting my teeth, I tried to put off the inevitable, wanting to milk the moment for every ounce of pleasure as I skirted around it, soaping up my balls as I rolled and squeezed them.

  ‘Fuck.’ I hissed as my body jolted to life, swamped with sensation that crawled across my skin like ants. It was like I’d just been electrified, all of the fine hairs on my body standing to attention. My cock was painfully hard, throbbing with an intensity I hadn’t experienced in years.

  As my hand moved upwards of its own accord, wrapping itself around my pulsating girth, I squeezed my eyes closed and tried desperately to push thoughts of Alex Bishop out of my mind as I began to stroke myself. Up and down, up and down, squeezing tightly as I pulled on my crown and milked myself. Usually I liked to take my time, prolong the pleasure, but for some reason my movements were becoming more frantic by the second. My hand moved faster and faster, the sound of it against the water raining down on me echoing, competing with the noise of my deep breaths. Breaths that were quickly turning into pants for air as I tugged at myself at an ever-increasing tempo.

  ‘Jesus,’ I grunted. I’d told her she needed to value herself as more than just a sex object, and yet here I was doing just that, as I jerked off to thoughts of her, like a teenager with a crush. I splayed the fingers of my left hand on the wet tiles as I leaned forward, resting my forehead on them, my feet firmly planted shoulder width apart as I braced my legs. My body was like a tightly coiled spring, waiting to be released. I’d always been in control, personally, professionally, and sexually, but right now I was spiralling down the rabbit hole, chasing her image. ‘Argh.’

  I opened my eyes at the last moment, my jaw dropping as I was hit with an overwhelming sense of relief to see myself come forcefully, the white spraying the black tiles almost like a work of art itself. My heart was racing, my legs were trembling, and my breathing ragged as I luxuriated in the heady euphoria of coming as the water continued to rain down on me.

  ‘Fuck, Alex Bishop. What the hell have you done to me,’ I muttered.

  Ever since Imogen’s death, sex for me had been a function, totally impersonal, just a need to get off. I’d trained myself to keep my feelings out of it. In fact, when it came to women, I’d been so sure I’d never have feelings again. But one meeting with this woman had jump started me, had my mind, and body, reacting in ways I’d never expected to again. I just wasn’t sure if those feelings were welcome back in my life. Things were so much more complicated than they were when I’d allowed myself to fall for a woman before.

  I squeezed the bottle of shower gel again and lathered the soap up in my hands before cleaning myself up, along with the evidence of my pleasure, and let out a heavy sigh as I turned off the water. Pulling a stark white towel off the heated rail I buried my face in it, as I tried to empty my mind and switch off, but I was disturbed by the shrill sound of my phone in the bedroom. Quickly wrapping the towel around my waist, I padded out to snatch it up
off my bedside cabinet.

  ‘Castle.’

  ‘Davenport here, have I woken you?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, massaging my aching temples with one hand. ‘You just caught me. What do you have for me?’

  ‘Nothing I’m afraid.’

  ‘What?’ I uttered in disbelief. ‘I thought you were one of the best hackers out there.’

  ‘I am, but only when there’s information in the ether that’s hackable. I can tell you that Alex Bishop has only existed for around five years and, other than her art, has led a pretty uneventful life. She’s thirty-three, financially secure, and owns her gallery, the flat upstairs, and a VW Beetle outright. While I do have access to all of her financials and identification, none of these help with telling me who or where she was for the previous twenty-eight years of her life. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this woman has reinvented herself for a reason. She either wants her past to stay buried to anyone who goes looking, or she’s hiding from it herself. Whoever this Isabelle was, there’s nothing to go on. You need to give me more than a possible first name.’

  ‘Goddamn it!’ I grated out as I closed my eyes.

  ‘Get me her surname and I’ll get you your answers.’

  ‘I know you will. I’m just not sure whether I’ll be able to do that, or if I even want to.’

  ‘You want to,’ he laughed. ‘Or you wouldn’t have called me sounding so desperate a few hours ago.’

  ‘Invoice me for your hours so far,’ I stated. Christ, if a vague acquaintance could sense desperation in me, I had it worse than I was even letting myself believe.

  ‘Consider it a freebie, I owe you for finding my Scottish hideout.’

  ‘I appreciate it, I’ll be in contact if I get any more answers.’

  I felt like hurling the phone against the wall from sheer frustration as I hung up. I just wasn’t sure if that frustration was at myself, for allowing a woman to get to me, or for not getting the answers that I wanted. Neither were scenarios that I was familiar with. I rang Davis for an update on his surveillance of Alex.