The Berkeley Method

by JS Taylor

  Hmmm. I feel as though there is still some battle to be won here. Will I ever wake up with this man?

  A glance at the end of the bed reveals my clothing and underwear has been laundered and laid out fresh. Although by whom, I’m unsure. I assume James must have some laundry service which picks up and delivers in the early hours.

  Rising quietly, I slip into the en-suite shower and let the warm water wash away the residue of last night.

  I towel myself dry and then wrap myself in one of his designer sheets before padding softly out into the main apartment.

  He’s working away on a laptop and looks up apologetically as I enter. “It’s still business hours in parts of America,” he explains.

  Last night, he was wearing dark jeans, a T-shirt, and a suit jacket. Now he’s in slightly more casual wear – a T-shirt emblazoned with The Who and lighter designer jeans. His feet are clad in worn-in Converse. Combined with his ruffled brown hair, and he looks like a sexy musician.

  Mmmmm.

  I walk over to where he’s sitting and slide onto his lap. “I remember this desk,” I murmur, stroking the walnut wood which I was pressed against last night.

  “Yes,” he says, moving an arm to hold me and reaching up to take my chin. “I plan on making you quite familiar with it.”

  I break the gaze and slip off his lap. I’m uncertain, suddenly, as to what our relationship is about.

  James follows my movements as I walk across the apartment.

  “I ordered some croissants for breakfast,” he says. “They’re freshly baked this morning. Would you like one?”

  “Sure.” My eyes rest on a package of pastries on the kitchen countertop. The paper bag is embossed with a beautiful gold motif. I suppress a little smile. An artisan bakery. How could I expect less?

  I pull out a golden croissant and shred away a little portion to nibble on. Last night I was overcome with my feelings for this man. Now I feel in limbo. Uncertain.

  As if sensing my mood, James strides across the apartment and puts his arms around me.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you asked me last night,” he says, “and I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

  Ok. I wonder where this is going.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about myself to the extent you would like,” he says. “But I’ll try. And in the meantime, I can show you something more of what you’re looking for.”

  Show me? What does he mean?

  James gently cups my chin, and then his mouth is on mine in a deep, passionate kiss. And suddenly I’m falling, my body held tight, my soul expanding into his.

  This is some kiss.

  I feel my doubts loosen and fall away. I have enough love in my heart to overcome his issues. I know I do. I just need to find out more about him. This will take time.

  He pulls away and looks deep into my eyes.

  I let him hold me, feeling the tenderness he has for me in his arms. And then the barriers seem to fall again. His face changes, just slightly, as though he’s taken a step away from me.

  “James?” I look up at him, trying to get him back. Gently, he unclasps his arms.

  “So,” he says, “are you ready for me to drive you to the studio?”

  I blink at him, momentarily confused.

  “Now?” I ask.

  Did he get too close? Why the sudden distance?

  “Now,” he nods.

  “Ok. Well, I need to pack,” I explain. “I’ll have to get clothes and a toothbrush, and…”

  He puts a finger over my lips, cutting me off.

  “It’s been done,” he says, “you have everything you need at the studio. There’s an entire wardrobe full of clothes waiting for you and any toiletry you can think of. I doubt you’ll need anything further. But if you do, we can send a runner to your apartment to pick up what you need.”

  Oh. He’s bought me clothes. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  “Isn’t that a bit… of an assumption?” I ask. “You didn’t know I’d agree to such short notice.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose it is,” he admits. “But if you hadn’t been able to make the schedule, I would have changed it. So, I knew you would come in the end.”

  He’d change the schedule for me? This is news. I file it away to ask him about later.

  “Ok,” I breathe, trying to come to terms with it all.

  But I need to make some sort of stand. He can’t expect me to drop everything to follow his plans.

  “Is this what it’s going to be like with you?” I accuse. “Swept from pillar to post without any choice in things.”

  He presses close against me and pulls me tight.

  “I’d certainly like to give you a choice in things,” he says, bringing his lips to brush gently against mine.

  Wow.

  I’m still reeling from the last kiss, and the touch of his mouth sends electric sparks through me.

  “But it depends on which pillars and which posts we’re talking about,” he adds, pushing his hips into me. I feel his erection hard on my body.

  Oh.

  “Mr. Berkeley,” I say, aiming for a serious tone, “I’m a professional actress.”

  In answer, he lifts me onto the kitchen countertop and tugs away the sheet I’m wrapped in.

  “A professional actress wearing a bed sheet,” he says, dropping his hands to spread my naked legs apart. “I would say that is asking for trouble.”

  I lower my eyes to his.

  “What kind of trouble did you have in mind?” I murmur.

  I let my hand fall to rub against him, and he moans. I’m feeling daring. Must have been something in that kiss.

  My hand strokes him firmly, feeling his warmth. The hardness of him feels barely contained by the fabric of his jeans.

  James moans again. Then he drops down so that his head is level with my thighs.

  Oh! Am I ready for this? His mouth there?

  I gasp as I feel his mouth between my legs, his tongue moving like fire over me. The sensation is exquisite.

  “You taste incredible,” he whispers, lifting himself away to plant kisses along the inside of my thighs.

  Then his mouth is back between my legs, and I arch into him as he continues the expert movements of his tongue. His hands slide to cup my behind as his mouth presses into me, building a pulsing warmth.

  “Ahhh.” I feel myself rising into orgasm. Just as I’m near my peak, James rises so he’s standing between my legs and extracts a condom from his pocket. In one seamless movement, he rips it free, slips it on and pushes gently into me, stretching me open.

  His hands reach to hold my head, and then he’s kissing me in that deep and passionate way that has so much meaning behind it.

  He moves inside me, and it’s nothing like the hard thrusting of last night. This time he moves slowly, softly, and I realise he’s showing me the tenderness I asked of him.

  He’s making love to me, and the feeling touches deep in my soul. His green eyes gaze into mine as his mouth moves deep against me, and his body moves with slow, meaningful strokes.

  Now I feel a different kind of orgasm as warmth washes over my entire body. I am submitting my entire self to him. It is an act of total bodily surrender.

  “Oh, James,” I gasp. I feel the orgasm begin to build through me.

  “Isabella,” he whispers. His eyes look soft, vulnerable. I feel a sudden flash of deeper feelings for him.

  Is this what love feels like?

  Then he gasps aloud, and I feel him shudder. My orgasm bursts around him as we meld together in mutual release. We grip each other tightly, bound up close in what we’re feeling. The sensation is so much deeper than before, as though my heart and soul are complicit.

  I pull him close and say his name, and he whispers mine into my hair.

  Then we cling to each other, lost in the moment.

  “Isabella,” he says finally. “What have you done to me?”

  Chapter 9

&nbs
p; James opens the car door for me, and I give him a wry smile.

  “A BMW Z3?” I say, “In London?”

  “A man needs a small vehicle to deal with the dreadful parking in this city,” he says. “Now get in the car, Isabella. It’s time for you to see my studio.”

  I sink into the plush leather seat. I recognise the car from a James Bond film, which seems rather apt somehow for Mr. James Berkeley. It’s a sleek little convertible with far greater capacity than city driving would ever call for.

  James slides into the driver’s seat and gives me a wicked grin.

  “You’re not scared of high speeds, are you Ms. Green?”

  “Stick to the speed limit please, Mr. Berkeley,” I say. “Good driving is safe driving.”

  He starts up the engine, still grinning, and I feel the power of the motor rip through the car.

  Wow. This car has some bite.

  Leaving the apartment, James threw on a leather jacket over his band T-shirt. The kind you buy in an eye-wateringly expensive, retro seconds shop. So, now he has a little bit of James Dean about him. Behind the wheel, the look is unnerving.

  “You’d best buckle-up, Isabella,” he says, leaning over to pull my belt across. “I’m going to show you what driving in London is all about.”

  The BMW zooms out of Shad Thames and zips lightning-fast over London Bridge.

  James looks over to where I am gripping both sides of the seat.

  “I’ll go a little slower,” he says, suppressing a smile. He dips his speed, and I exhale in relief as we glide through the maze of London backstreets.

  He sure knows how to drive, I think, watching the car spin along the Thames River.

  We drive through the West End, close to Chelsea, and I remember that Lorna still has my cell phone.

  “Can we drop by my apartment?” I ask. “I want to pick up my phone. I gave it to Lorna last night.”

  I don’t tell him why I gave it her - to stop me from sending him a string of heartbroken text messages.

  “Ok.” He swings the car into the Chelsea streets.

  “My apartment is just up here,” I say, pointing.

  James smiles without taking his eyes off the road.

  “I know where it is, Isabella,” he says. “I could probably drive to your apartment in my sleep.”

  He pulls up outside, and I exit and race quickly indoors, without waiting for him to open the car door for me. Parking outside my apartment is a red zone, and I don’t want him to get a ticket.

  I wave to the doorman as I run up the stairs. The elevator would take too long. I reach my floor and pull out my keys.

  I turn them in the lock and open the door to the apartment, panting from running. The hallway and kitchen are empty.

  “Hey!” I call. “Lorna?”

  A surprised looking Lorna appears in the hallway. She’s only wearing a pale blue bra and panties. Her lean model frame is showcased to perfection.

  “Hey, honey,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you back.”

  Something in her expression seems a little guarded. My eyes flick towards her bedroom.

  “Did you bring someone back?” I mouth, pointing to the half open door.

  She gives a guilty half smile, nods, and shrugs.

  Hmmm. Not like Lorna to feel guilty about male company. Then I make the connection.

  “It’s Ben Gracey, isn’t it?” I say, not bothering to keep the outrage from my voice.

  Lorna gives another small nod, her eyes pleading with me not to make a scene.

  Part of me wants to storm into her bedroom and give Ben a piece of my mind. Last time I saw him with Lorna, she fell into a diabetic coma. And he conveniently vanished from the bar.

  But James is parked outside in a no parking zone, and I don’t want to be responsible for him getting fined. Plus, I don’t know how much of my business it is. Maybe there was an innocent explanation for Ben’s disappearance.

  “Do you have my phone?” I say eventually.

  “Yeah. Sure.” She gives me a wide relieved smile. “Give me a sec.”

  She vanishes into her bedroom, and I hear a low male voice.

  My anger rises up again. How dare he show up here, after abandoning her! And what is Lorna thinking? What is the attraction to this man?

  You can talk, whispers a dark part of my subconscious. You’re falling for a man who likes spanking you.

  Lorna emerges with a smile and hands me my phone.

  “I’ll be gone for a while,” I say, my eyes still flitting uncertainly to her bedroom doorway. “The movie has been rescheduled to start in a few days.”

  Lorna’s eyes widen in surprise, but I can tell she has other things on her mind.

  She gives me a tight hug.

  “Ok, honey,” she says. “You take care. Call me, ok?”

  Her violet eyes are searching mine.

  “Ok,” I say, making it clear in my expression that I do not approve of her houseguest.

  Her face makes an adorable little expression which only Lorna could get away with. It says ‘I know I’m bad,’ and ‘I can’t help it,’ and ‘please forgive me,’ all at once.

  I smile back at her, unable to stay mad.

  “I’ll speak to you soon,” I say, hugging her again before running for the door.

  I catch a glimpse of her happy face before shooting out into the corridor.

  Who knows? I think as I race down the stairs again. Maybe I’ve got Ben wrong after all.

  I’m still dwelling on this thought as I pull open the car door and slide into the passenger seat, completely out of breath.

  “You didn’t have to run,” says James, sliding the car into gear and pulling away.

  “I didn’t want you to get a ticket,” I explain.

  “You never need to worry about that,” he says.

  Of course. He’s James Berkeley. He probably has dispensation from the Queen to park anywhere he pleases.

  “What’s wrong?” he adds, catching a glimpse of my confused expression.

  “Oh, nothing,” I explain, “it’s just that your cousin was in the apartment with Lorna. I’m not sure he’s a great influence.”

  “My cousin? As in Ben Gracey?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s not a good influence,” confirms James. “I would advise your friend to keep away from him.”

  “What’s your deal with him?” I am curious. James has told me they’re cousins, but they obviously have a history.

  James is silent for a moment, as if considering how to reply.

  “He’s my stepbrother,” he says finally.

  This is unexpected. I pause for a moment, taking it in.

  “Then why call him your cousin?”

  “Because I don’t like him,” says James simply. “And his mother is no longer married to my father.”

  Ok. That makes sense, I suppose.

  “Did the pair of you fall out?” I ask.

  “Not exactly,” says James. “He came along with my third stepmother. From a previous marriage. He resented me as competition.”

  “You had three stepmothers?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.

  “I had four stepmothers,” corrects James. “My father is currently on wife number five. He is not the easiest of men to get along with. And he’s a sucker for youth and beauty,” he adds with a touch of bitterness.

  I can’t work out from his expression how he feels about this. I can’t imagine it’s good. I remember the movie script. The film we’re about to shoot is based on Beauty and the Beast.

  Five stepmothers, and a little lost boy. No wonder James Berkeley likes fairy tales. The realisation makes a little tug on my heartstrings

  “So, Ben came into your family with the third remarriage?” I am still trying to take this all in.

  “Ben was a pampered little prince,” says James. “He was eleven when his mother married my father. And he was spoiled in every way imaginable. His mother used her looks to acquire rich men, and Ben lea
rned to manipulate people from her.”

  We’re both silent for a time. James manoeuvres the car expertly through Chelsea and out towards the north of the city.

  The act of driving seems to put all thoughts of Ben Gracey from his mind, and the annoyance has dropped from his expression.

  I eye James behind the wheel. He looks alive with pleasure, and I feel a thrill of happiness to see him so carefree.

  This could be the perfect time to quiz him, I decide. I have him all to myself, with no chance of a physical distraction.

  “How do you know Natalie?” I ask casually, opting for my most pressing question.

  He gives a smile, which shows he’s seen through me immediately.

  “Everyone in LA knows Natalie,” he says. “She’s very talented.”

  Ouch.

  “Is that why you cast her in your movie?”

  “Of course.” He turns to look at me for a moment. “I also think she needs a second chance. Natalie is one movie away from Hollywood death. It would be a shame to waste her abilities.”

  This is news to me.

  “Why one movie away?” I ask, curious.

  James shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “Because she is extremely difficult to work with,” he says. “No other director will touch her. And her last few movies bombed.”

  “But you think you can bring out the best in her?” I can’t keep the pain from my voice.

  James looks at me, surprised.

  “Isabella Green,” he says, “are you jealous?”

  “A little,” I admit. “I’m also curious. What is it she does which makes her tough to work with?”

  “What doesn’t she do,” says James. “She’s late, rude, argumentative. And she has a list of diva demands as long as your arm.”

  “But you want to work with her?”

  “I think she would be less unreasonable with me.”

  “Why is that?”

  Does she like him? Does he like her? My mind is in a jealous funk and refuses to listen to reason.

  “I am good with difficult people.”

  This brings a flash of memories to me. Of his past. His ex-girlfriend. The love of his life.

  Can I ask him about it? His car feels like a safe space somehow.