The Contract (Nightlong #1)

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “Besides, my ghosts don’t live here, not like in London. It’s something I can’t explain but when we come to Paris, I’m a different person. London holds bad memories. That’s all I can tell you in a public place like this.”

  While he scoped the room, I thought about his work. Was it violent? Was it legit…?

  “So nobody knows to put your face to the fixer’s, then?”

  “Correct.” He stabbed his dinner and chomped.

  “Who precisely do you agent for? What does your business entail?”

  He put his cutlery down and folded his hands, a glint in his eye. “If I were to tell you Cornish was one of mine, might that give you an idea?”

  “You mean…” I bit my lip, looking around the room, “…people like him come to you with a problem, and you clean it up? You protect their image? Do whatever is necessary.”

  “That’s not a badly uninformed summation, Ciara.”

  I shook my head. “But there’s more to it?”

  He took my hands in his and whispered, “It involves lots of money changing hands, it involves bribes and corruption and knowing who to trust… but it also encapsulates protection and building protection from the very beginning… from the very moment a star becomes promising. My networks are established and before someone is even famous, they log their interest and I watch them from afar. Call it insurance.”

  “So they’re on your books early on?”

  “Yes,” he winked, “and they pay out big time when they realise how valuable I am.”

  “How do you build trust?” I asked, intrigued.

  “With great care and attention. What I do hasn’t happened overnight. I built everything from scratch, I laboured and took risks… I waited patiently. My team was carefully handpicked and outside of them and you, there are only a handful of people who know I am The Fixer. People I trust implicitly.”

  People like Sexton? But who else…?

  “What job did you do before Daltrey died?”

  He smiled. “I was a failed law student, well… I was in Dad’s eyes. You could say academia bored me to tears. Dad wanted me to go even though he never pursued any kind of academic study himself. He thinks that all children born into aristocracy have to go to university, even if it’s not for them.”

  I squinted. “How the hell does an aristocrat end up running a brothel?”

  He shook his head from side to side, a little more light than usual in his eyes from being able to unburden himself of all this. “My father grew up dirt poor, absolutely dirt poor. He was a self-made millionaire. My mother’s family are the aristocrats. My father was the one who never felt worthy… and back off to worthlessness he goes whenever anything goes wrong.”

  I chewed my lip. “So, you quarrelled with your dad over dropping out of school and he legged it to Vegas?”

  He smiled with an innocent glint in his eyes. “I wish it were as simple as that.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “He told me I needed discipline, needed an education to put me in a better position to deal with the money I was due to inherit. When I dropped out of school, he told me I was on my own, and that if I fucked up he wouldn’t bail me out.”

  “So, what does he think of the fixing?”

  “He thinks that’s bollocks.”

  I laughed. “Oh I see. So it wouldn’t matter what you did, nothing would ever be good enough?”

  “Well, yes and no. He knows I’ll always side with Mum, no matter their argument, and that was the first bone of contention between us. Me being a mummy’s boy, so to speak. I’m a lot less forgiving than she is you see and she tells me what he’s up to. If you think my tastes are rare, Ciara… well, you haven’t met my father. He built up an empire to seek some sort of self-worth only to end up tossing himself back in the gutter when it all went to shit… when the light of our family died out. The good son. The pure one, dead suddenly. Dad’s never had any self-worth and what little he had left, he gave away the minute Daltrey lay six feet under.”

  “You reckon he worked like a dog building up the clothing company, trying to prove himself?”

  “And then I bought out his entire life’s work didn’t I? With just the push of a pen. He hates me, Ciara. Hates I got Mum’s good looks. Hates that I got the keys to the kingdom. Hates that while he had it rough, I got it easy… if only that were fucking true. Daltrey dying killed me too, if only he could see that. You know?”

  I took his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  He blinked quickly, trying to prevent himself shedding tears. “He’s jealous of me. He’s hurt. We don’t have a relationship, not that we ever did anyway.”

  “So, what did you inherit? I only ask out of curiosity–”

  He smiled, not suspicious, but impressed I wanted to know his worth. “My mother’s brother, Lord Barlow… he left me all his money.”

  “That Lord Barlow,” I spat, referencing the one who was gay, worked in government, went to prison for corruption and wrote his memoirs while there. It seemed feasible he might leave all his wealth to Daltrey if he had no children of his own…

  “Why didn’t Daltrey get the money, being the eldest?”

  “He passed on it.”

  “Why?” I asked, because money was just money at the end of the day, so wherever it came from didn’t matter – surely?

  Dante looked me clean in the eye. “Personal preference. There was a peerage attached but that wasn’t binding, whereas some other responsibilities attached to the estate were. Daltrey only ever wanted to be a doctor. That’s all he wanted. I was a teenager when Barlow died and everything was put in trust for me. Daltrey and I were close, but he didn’t speak to me about Barlow’s will… said he wouldn’t sway my decision whether to accept the inheritance. It was my choice, he said but it felt like he was driving a wedge between us with this choice he’d left me with. It was always a bone of contention and sometimes for the sake of our brotherhood, certain things went unspoken between us.”

  “Why contention?”

  “Him not accepting the estate made me the only one who could. There was no proxy. It was left up to me to accept it or the legacy Barlow left behind would eventually die.”

  “I’m guessing your relationship suffered.”

  He gave a quick nod. “I inherited when I was twenty-one. I’d barely scraped a second class degree in law at Oxford and my father was pushing me to take it further, to become a barrister… pass the bar and all that–”

  “Which clearly you could do. You’re clever enough to.”

  “Maybe.”

  He sank some wine, pausing a moment.

  “Then, what happened?”

  “I lasted three months on the BPTC… I was wild, too much partying… too much shagging. Wasting time. I didn’t really have a purpose, Ciara. I had all my money… and I just couldn’t see why I needed to slog so hard, when I had all my money. I’d known I was getting that money for six years… I’d known all my teenage life I would come into money. It meant I didn’t have to work. I’d always known it.”

  “I see. A spoiled brat?”

  “Yes, yes I was,” he told me fearfully, “and I quit the course, didn’t I? For three years after that, I wasted my time and money on women, drink and all the assorted nonsense a young man craves. Then–”

  He’d never told me his age but from my mental calculations, I realised he was thirty-four or thirty-five. Twenty-four when Daltrey died, thirty-four or thirty-five now, the event having taken place ten years ago, he said. My love actually looked forty. He could have even passed for fifty if he had the grey hairs to match, which he didn’t, not yet. The whole thing had shattered him, obviously. The work he did tired him… obviously.

  “He bit the dust… and… everything changed for you, didn’t it?”

  “I changed,” he said, biting his lip. “It was out of the blue, that was the worst thing. I still don’t have any answers at all. That’s the worst of it,” he repeated, his eyes avoiding mine. He looked as th
ough he was right back to the day his brother died, lost and confused – and reminded that nobody lived forever.

  “Maybe ten years… it’s enough. Maybe it’s time to stop grieving. He wouldn’t want you to dwell on his death, but celebrate his life… and live on for him.”

  Hand over his mouth, Dante’s eyes looked up. “I know but I can’t. I can’t let go, Ciara… it’s half the reason I’ve tried to save you from me. I’m not right in the head. What happened to him haunts me everyday. I was the bad one, Ciara. If anyone was meant to die–”

  “Don’t say that to me, not when I’ve agreed to be your wife. Don’t say that when god knows what might have happened to me if you hadn’t come along. I don’t care how damaged or burdened you are, you’re my light and now I have you, I’m not letting go Dante. Never.”

  He took a deep breath and seemed to agree with me, but I knew he didn’t. I knew that everything he was wrapped up in, in terms of his work, all led back to Daltrey. Until he could settle that debt, he would never be free and me being with him meant that I was agreeing to be shackled, too.

  So be it.

  The waitress collected our plates and I was thoughtful over dessert. He seemed to trust me which meant that I owed it to him to trust him, too. The weight of his past felt heavy, but at the same time, I felt more in love with him than ever before. Even though we’d already known one another for six years, I felt like for the first time, I understood the painful memories which drove him on – and in knowing all that, I knew the real Dante, too.

  ***

  ON Friday, our last day in Paris for the time being, he sent me to a spa for the afternoon. We’d been in town for almost a week and the next day we were flying home.

  On the way to this spa in the country, I asked Sexton, “What’s he up to today?”

  “Nothing work related, if that’s what you’re wondering?”

  “No, I was actually wondering about what he’s got planned for tonight…”

  “Not sure, miss,” he said, avoiding my glare in the rear-view mirror.

  “Fine, that’s just fine Sexton. I’ll remember this when you want a little info in future.”

  He sniggered. “Sinclair is busy preparing a little romance for you, is that a horrible prospect?”

  It was something I still wasn’t used to – Dante actually being nice. It scared me because it made me love and want him, more.

  AFTER a full body massage, mani-pedi and a few laps of the pool, plus some light lunch and strong herbal tea, Sexton drove home a cleansed version of me. I hardly knew myself! I’d also had the salon at the spa give my hair a treatment so that it now lay in sleek waves all down my back, a little softer than they hung naturally.

  “You seem serene,” Sexton said, observing me as he drove.

  “I really feel it. I can’t wait to get back to Sinclair. I missed him.”

  “He would have hated the spa. He can hardly sit still at the best of times.”

  “Oh, tell me about it.”

  Sexton dropped me off outside the apartment building as the sun started to set and I let myself into the building using a key Dante had given me. Eager to see him again, I ran up the stairs and dashed straight for our apartment, rattling the keys in a rush.

  When I got inside the house, I thought I’d landed in the wrong place. Everything had changed.

  “Dante?” I called, because he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Just a second,” he shouted from the bedroom.

  He’d obviously been busy because a lot of his male influence around the apartment had disappeared. Brown and beige had been replaced by floral cushions, throws and large vases filled with flowers. He’d even had a picture he’d taken on his phone of us framed and I gazed at it on a white sideboard, sitting in a silver frame.

  “Will you come through, Ciara?”

  He’d been cleaning, too. I smelt lavender furniture polish and the scent of carpet cleaner. Rather than a holiday drop-in, he’d tried to make this more homely. More me. He’d obviously taken stock of the way I’d dressed the home in Knightsbridge and now he was trying to emulate that.

  Wondering what he’d done to the bedroom, I walked in to find him naked on the bed, a rose clutched between his teeth. I burst out laughing, flinging my hands to my mouth.

  “Oh my god.”

  “Come here,” he said.

  I shrugged out of my jacket and left it hanging over the back of the dressing-table chair. Unzipping my dress on the way, I let it fall to the floor and climbed onto the bed next to him.

  He’d even bought a new bed for the room I’d formerly slept in alone. Before we were together, he slept in the spare room during our Paris visits, and I slept in the master because he’d told me sleep wasn’t a luxury he’d ever been able to enjoy. He’d bought new linen too and put up new paintings and threaded fairy lights around every picture and every mirror, as well as through the brass bed frame.

  I took the rose from his mouth, plunging my nose deep into the red petals to smell the scent of sweetness and romance. “Beautiful.”

  “I wanted to make a gesture,” he said, pulling me close. “We should spend more time here. I want this to be somewhere we escape to regularly.”

  “Yeah, but…? I mean, what are you saying?”

  “I want to work less and be with you more, it’s as simple as that.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure I can compromise… and this seems best all round. What do you say?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  He reached over to the bedside table and produced a Cartier box. “Will you marry me, sweet Ciara? Will you love me forever, as I’ll love you?”

  I took a deep breath and sniffed back my tears. “Yes, Dante. I’ll love you forever.”

  He slid the ring on my finger and rolled on top of my body, pulling me tight into his arms. His kiss needy and desperate, he seeped into my veins and my heart with his passion.

  “I can’t handle this barrier,” he said, snapping my knickers off my body.

  I opened my legs wide and we both watched as he sank inside me. “Ah, Dante.”

  He lifted off the camisole I’d been wearing beneath my Chanel dress and licked delicately around my nipple.

  Clutching his hair at the sides of his head, I threw my head back and felt him slide deeper inside me as I grew wetter.

  “You are so precious to me, sweetheart, so precious,” he whispered, holding me close, his lips buried in my throat as he fucked me.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  He rolled us over and I began riding him slowly, my hands grasping his chest, his on my hips, gripping tight. How was this man mine?

  “Am I doing it right, Dante?”

  “Yes,” he breathed, “don’t stop. You feel amazing.”

  I wanted his babies, I wanted dozens of them. I felt wildly free with him. Throwing my head back, I fondled my breast and slipped my hand to my clit.

  “Ah Dante, ah baby,” I moaned, and came around him, gasping, my thighs shaking.

  He rolled up and we got comfy in a sitting position. I rubbed his nipples and enjoyed him pulling my buttocks back and forth to slide along him.

  His hands felt amazing on my body but when I looked into his eyes, the look of love he had for me… that was what made my heart beat harder.

  “You smell absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured against my breast as he kissed my skin.

  “I feel amazing, the spa was wonderful. I got so aroused… thinking of you enjoying me. Ah, my need for you is insane.”

  “We’re both destined for the asylum, then.”

  I smoothed my hands over his strong shoulders, needing his protection, needing his strength. It was something so simple, so pure – a woman needing a man’s arms. Primitive, even.

  “Let’s change position,” I suggested.

  We moved so we were both kneeling, his chest flush to my back, his legs outside mine. Gently, he pushed back inside me and swung his hips into mine. Pulling his
arms tight around me, I let my head fall back against his shoulder.

  My fingers locked on top of his, I felt as his hands moved around, as he touched my breast or my side. His lips poured light kisses up and down my neck and he gathered my hair over one shoulder to free more skin for him to touch.

  “I’m gonna come, Dante,” I warned him, and he whispered, “Wait, slow down.”

  He slowed his movements and brought my hand up to his cheek, holding it there. His skin clammy and hot, his loud breathing made me feel even more aroused and I could hardly contain my climax.

  “Together,” he said, “slowly. Slowly, Ciara,” he said in my ear, and we swung back and forth together slowly, and together, letting the pressure build simultaneously. When I tried to speed things up, he grasped my hip to slow me, to remind me, and he rested his forehead on my shoulder to concentrate on what he was doing.

  His hands cupping my breasts, I could hardly control myself when he began long, deep strokes into my body, the sounds of his own pleasure fuelling mine. I fell forward to all fours to let him control me completely.

  Grunting, he continued to fuck me with controlled thrusts and I gasped with each one, and each time I felt his sweaty palms dig into my hips, I almost came.

  “Ah yeah…” he began chanting, and started fucking me fast and hard. I let myself lose control and everything inside me began to spin and careen, round and round. I pushed back against him, heard him smash his hips against my arse, thwacking and slicing my body right open. The sounds were animalistic and pure. I wanted him to use me, make me his, seize me and give me the deepest pleasure I’d ever enjoyed.

  The spasms wrecked me when I finally came and his cock felt like succulent heat, stripping me bare, sizzling and seizing me every time he drew in and out. I came so hard, I fell flat on the bed with him on top of me. He scooped his arms around me and rolled us so he was spooning me.

  “Hold me tight, oh god, hold me tight,” I begged, and he kissed my arm, from my shoulder to my wrist. He kissed my hip, my stomach. My knees, toes, and calves, my lower back and my breasts.