Her steps were slow, uncertain as she returned to the office, to Sebastian’s huge building, the crystal tower to his wealth and power. She looked at the large framed portrait of him which greeted the workers each morning. On first entering that building she had been awestruck by his staggering good looks. The determination in his jawline, the firm lines as he looked seriously out on his great business but she had been left cold by the distance of the man at the top. Then when he had trapped her, she had hated him with a fury. Since then, though, she had seen a different side to him. A vulnerability behind those black beaded eyes and a startling aloneness, the isolation all fabulously wealthy and successful men must feel but rarely show.
For the first time ever, Breeze was in a quandary. One word in Sebastian’s ear and she could save him. If she remained silent however, he would go to the wall and all his power over her would disappear. The decision should have been simple. And yet, as she sat down at the computer to perform her proper job, that of earning Sebastian Dark yet more money, she suddenly had no idea which way to turn. Ever since that night when he’d challenged her, all the certainty had disappeared out of Breeze’s life. Damn him. Damn Seb Dark. Let Richard and Mr Vanhoffer take him down, what did she care? He could slap her in jail. He should rot in hell for jeopardising the family she had worked so hard to stick together. He had to go. That was it. Decision made. She only had to think up two more evenings filled with the sex - for it was sex and nothing else surely - he craved, to keep Seb ticking over and then he’d have other far more important things to occupy him than her. He’d be fighting for his business life like a drowning man fights to cling on to a piece of wreckage. She couldn’t wait.
Chapter Seven
‘SO, WHERE IS IT this time?’ Breeze felt a twinge of guilt as she settled down next to Seb in his Aston Martin DB9. He looked happy tonight, happy to be with her. ‘Or rather where am I taking you as I’m the one who’s driving?’
‘To the Sharlton Club, St James’s Street, off Piccadilly please driver.’
He had picked her up outside the office and was snaking the purring car through the city. ‘You look fabulous tonight, Breeze. Your hair’s changed, darker isn’t it? It suits you. I’d take bets that’s nearer to your natural colour. And that outfit’s knockout, you make it look timeless.’
Heat jolted through her, right down to her belly as she sat beside him. She smiled; he was nothing if not perceptive. ‘In a way it is, it’s my mother’s she wore it to a society wedding back in the 50s, it’s an original Chanel.’
‘Hmm a woman of taste. And it looks as fabulous on you today as I’m sure it did then.’
She smoothed down the little flared skirt which sat demurely over her stockinged thighs and undid the buttons on the jacket which made her feel like Lauren Bacall and Audrey Hepburn rolled into one. A white gauze blouse, almost see through challenged the formal lines of the suit, making it instantly sexy. Pearls glistening at her neck nestled alongside the little heart Summer had given her. She wasn’t about to tell Seb that she had blown all her available cash on the evening dress she’d worn at the Albert Hall. That she had no other “posh” going out clothes, that her wardrobe contained mainly office clothes. Nor that this suit and pearls that had been given to her mother by her grandfather was one of the last things her mother had preserved to sell in case they were really hard up. Breeze wouldn’t ever let her part with such treasures. They came from a happier time before her father had nearly bankrupted the family. Never again would Breeze let them suffer near ruin as they had done then.
‘It’s sort of appropriate to where we’re going, the Sharlton Club requires something demure yet classy, as befits a famous gentleman’s club.’
‘I’m impressed,’ his delectable lips settled into a smile. ‘Five minutes around the corner from Buckingham Palace, within a coin’s throw of the Ritz. I went there once. I run a charity that gives millions to teenage entrepreneurs from deprived areas and I hosted a lunch there to sweet talk rich grandees out of some of their not so hard earned cash. They looked down their noses at a self made man. Going there with you will be a way of taking them down a peg or two.’
‘Excellent.’ Breeze stroked the leather of the Aston’s seat. Seb was surrounded with luxury, he was discerning and she had thought long and hard over where to take him next. To hear him talk of giving away his money to a charity knocked her off her axis somewhat. He said it matter of factly as if it didn’t matter, certainly he kept quiet about it and she had to admit a grudging respect that he didn’t shout it from the hilltops like so many other wealthy people did. She thought about all her aspirations when she was a teenager, fledgling businesses that she would have started if only she’d have been given some sort of help and his jawline which had appeared so sharp and unyielding seemed to soften in her eyes.
‘But isn’t it members only?’ Seb said after a moment’s thought.
‘That’s right.’
‘Then you’re a member?’ He looked at her doubtfully; members were all lawyers, captains of industry, MPs, the great and the good although in truth many of them were far from being that.
‘Not exactly, but I know how to get in. Trust me.’
He parked the car up and they walked down St James’s Street. The area exuded history, the heart of fashionable London. They paused at William Evans, purveyors of country clothing, gun and rifle maker. ‘Who nowadays would wear Hunter riding boots, tweed trousers and use walking sticks with handles shaped like affronted looking pheasants waiting to be shot?’ joked Breeze.
Seb laughed and put his arm around her to shield her from the evening chill. ‘Oh I’ve met plenty like that at society parties. They bore me silly but they have money to invest.’
At James J Fox, cigar merchant, a city gent wafted cigar smoke into the air and Seb breathed it in. ‘Mmm, that’s one of life’s pleasures I’ve had to give up since ....’
The word hung on the air. ‘Since what?’ she asked.
‘Oh nothing.’ A sudden cloud came over Seb and he rubbed a place on the back of his head, at the base of the skull where she’d seen him put his hand before. When he did, he always gritted his teeth as if he was warding off inner demons, perhaps pain. But he brushed it off, forced a smile and strode on. ‘I used to smoke like a chimney; it helped me to get through the stress of buying and selling, kept me calm. But I gave it up just recently. Your pleasures can catch up with you.’
‘I guess they can.’ Breeze bit her lip and squeezed Seb’s hand which lay in hers. He was too private a person to reveal much about himself, but still she wondered whether he was battling something alone which would be much better shared. Then, just as he squeezed her hand in return, she let it fall. She reminded herself that this outing was not for pleasure, and that Sebastian Dark who had a hold over her and was using her for his own ends was not the sort of man ever to get close to. He was ruthless and would discard her once he had what he wanted as surely as he would discard his super smart car when a new model took his eye or his handmade suits when they started to fray. In the story of the thousand and one nights, the King who had a hold over Scheherazade put to death countless wives with whom he became disenchanted and Breeze wasn’t going to forget that in a hurry. Sebastian Dark was not the sort of man to whom any right-minded girl, would lose her heart.
Still, as he paced beside her, athletic, virile, strong, she remembered that twinge she had seen on his face, the hand placed to the back of the neck and recalled that she had seen that many times before. It had never meant anything because Sebastian himself had never meant anything to her. Now she found she had begun to scrutinise him more carefully. Why she didn’t know. After all, Seb meant as little to her now as ever, didn’t he? Maybe it was just that it felt good to be next to such a commanding man, to feel the protection of his broad shoulders. She had never experienced that protection before, had always stood resolutely on her own, battling the world on behalf of her sister and mother, always the strong one, the one who provided. S
ebastian knew her darkest secrets, that she stole and lied to get what she needed. But he hadn’t shopped her. In an odd twisted way, he had protected her and it felt strangely appealing. It wouldn’t last forever, he would tire of her but at least before then Richard and Mr Vanhoffer’s plan to ruin him would come into play and then Seb would no longer be a problem because he would be fighting for his financial life. She wanted him to lose his power but she was surprised to find it saddened her as well. Respect, tenderness! Those were the last things she had expected to feel towards Sebastian Dark. She wanted to shake herself to her senses, she must get this evening over with and rush back to her beloved house where she was grounded and had her priorities right.
‘Here we are,’ she announced in front of anonymous but imposing-looking navy blue doors.
‘It’s well hidden.’
‘Yes, there isn’t even a number on the door.’ She gave the bell a persistent jab. This place had fascinated her ever since she had waited tables here, way back when she was doing her accountancy exams and dreaming of being self-sufficient and independent. With its boot-scraper at the door and its Victorian streetlamp it was like something out of Sherlock Holmes. The heavy stone steps had been worn to a curve by the booted feet of countless “gentlemen”, key members of the establishment, prime ministers and lords who over the decades had come into this hallowed building to plot and scheme the making of kings and the downfall of enemies over glasses of whisky and five course dinners.
‘Yes?’ The girl at the door was Polish, in a military-style suit, with sharp eyes.
‘I am Lady Mary St John. My wedding is booked for here for next February and I want to see the Gladstone Room where the ceremony’s being held.’
‘I am sorry,’ the security girl stood firm. ‘I cannot let you in. I haven’t been told of any booking to visit the rooms.’
‘I don’t book when I want to see a venue where I have pledged to spend thousands. You had better let me and my brother in, or I may well investigate other venues. I believe the Athenaeum has rooms just as good …’ Breeze gave her a haughty glance down her nose, playing the consummate aristocrat in her Chanel suit, ‘… Or even better than yours.’
The girl looked terrified. In the background there were people in overalls running hither and thither carrying huge vases of flowers with worried looks on their faces. They were obviously setting up for a major event that evening and the air was tense. Breeze caught Seb’s glance and saw his cheeks dimpled into a smile. He was enjoying her audacity, her bare-faced cheek as she blagged her way in.
‘Well, I suppose it won’t do any harm.’ As soon as the girl hesitated, and moved slightly aside, Breeze swept past her as if she owned the place.
‘We’ll not be long.’
Breeze clicked confidently in her high heels across the black and white tiled hallway, past the sweeping staircase and straight into the massive Gladstone Room. Seb clunked the door closed behind them and gathered her into his arms. ‘You were brilliant, every inch the aristocrat. I just hope you’re not going to be too much of a lady now you’ve conned your way in here.’
Breeze felt the adrenalin pumping through her like the falls at Niagara. He’d made her do this, it was bad, but it was fun and frankly, she thought, as she fell into his long, lingering kiss she had too little fun. And too little excitement. She eyed the door, then noticing the key, flicked it locked. ‘We’ll have to be quick,’ she intoned, sliding her hand down to the already magnificently hard length between Seb’s legs. He was rigid, living on the edge, doing things you’re not supposed to excited him too. ‘They’re setting up for a grand dinner. This will be where they come for after dinner drinks. It’s all so formal, so proper, doesn’t it make you want to roll around on their plush patterned carpet, stick two fingers up at their gleaming crystal chandeliers and fuck like rabbits on their beautiful polished table?’
‘Absolutely.’ Seb’s voice was low, sensuous. ‘My God you do choose your places, look at those portraits, Mrs Thatcher, Winston Churchill – what an audience.’ He backed Breeze up to a table clothed up in white underneath a mantelpiece literally dripping with fine blossoms. Pale green hydrangeas, heady lilies, white roses, and alstroemerias filled the room with scent. Seb laid Breeze down on the table like an exotic dish at a banquet and stroked his hand tantalisingly over the flimsy gauze blouse. Her heart was already racing with excitement at his touch. His passion for her was something she had come to need desperately. He made her feel sexy, desirable, lusty as he picked at the buttons on her blouse unclothing her and breathing in the perfume between her breasts like a thirsty man drinks at an oasis in the desert. In an instant, he had prised out her breast and was feasting on it hungrily. Feeling the pressure of his toned chest bearing down on her, she knew she wanted him deep inside her. Pulling his shirt out, she ran her fingers over the ridged muscles of his back, feeling him tense with desire at her touch, pulling him to her, onto her. The table was cool and hard beneath her but as he raised her up and held her arse in his hands, pinioned her with his lean body she wanted him, only him. She slipped her hand down to undo him. His length bounced into her hand. It was massive, solid, potent. They had to be quick, but she wanted the moment to last. She raised her legs provocatively then placed Seb’s cock over the silk of her panties and started to rub. She was instantly aroused, she started to cream immediately, felt her inner secret place moisten as she used Seb as a sex toy against her throbbing opening. He was still working at her breasts, with one held firmly in his hand. As she worked his cock, used him, he propped her higher on the table. Then, licking his finger, and looking deep into her eyes, he opened the cheeks of her arse and slipped his finger between them to find her G-spot. His finger probed her tightest opening. Sliding just the tip in, she was startled and excited in equal measure. His finger there heightened every sensation, as she forced his cock to press harder through her panties, denying herself the ultimate pleasure of skin against skin but delighting in the wetness oozing over her. The connection with his gaze though made everything more intense, the honesty of his silver flecked eyes staring into hers gave their lovemaking an honesty which touched her heart, intensifying every glorious sensation of his finger pressing into her most secret opening. ‘Do you like that?’ His breath snagged, ‘I can feel you tensing, feel you getting ready for me.’
‘It’s ... it’s scary, but ... don’t stop.’
‘You make me so hard. Everything about you drives me crazy Breeze. You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like this.’
It was too much, too intense, too scary. She had to bring them to completion, had to let him in. Like a harlot, she parted her legs wider, felt him press his finger in just a fraction further, heightening the sensation so that she thought she would come there and then but she didn’t want to, didn’t want to give herself that totally. But she needed his relief, needed to feel his length. He plunged his cock into her, like a piston firing a high performance car, right up to the hilt; she was so moist, so ready for him. With his finger expertly placed, Breeze had to stare at the stern portraits to stop herself from coming, she wanted to give herself totally to Seb and yet she didn’t. That would be too much of a surrender. Still, she felt her hips rise up to meet him, still her heart pounded; still the sweat broke out on her forehead. His digit was causing an ecstasy which spread through her suddenly causing her vision to become blurry, please God he would come first. She wouldn’t give herself even though he was almost impossible to resist. His cock was divine, enormous, throbbing with power, he gazed at her, wanting all of her. The table juddered as he drove into her, taking her almost to completion, pounding her, thundering into her, gorgeously, filling her when like a bull stampeding, he groaned and shot his load. She felt satisfaction and triumph and relief that she had held her own orgasm back, that she still had something to tempt him with, that she had still kept some of herself from him. And yet, as he stood, arms rigid against the table, pumping the last remains, emptying himself into her, one part
of her wished she could give in totally to him. Wished she hadn’t held back. His sandy hair flopped forward and she reached to brush it back. A gesture of tenderness, which he matched by grasping her hand and kissing her palm.
‘Spend the night with me.’
It was part command, part a desperate plea. And in that mad instant, her body clamouring for a release she had not allowed herself she heard her voice say, ‘Yes. Yes I will.’ And her fate was sealed. For, try as she might, she wasn’t sure she could resist giving Sebastian Dark the ultimate prize much longer.
It was just as they were doing up the last buttons and Breeze was tidying up her hair that a rap came on the door. ‘Looks like we’ve been found out.’ Seb grinned as they made their way to the door and unlocked it. The Polish security girl pursed her lips and looked askance at them as she said, ‘Have you and your brother quite finished your inspection?’
‘Oh yes. Quite.’ Breeze stuck her nose up in the air, ‘it’s just what we wanted.’
As they made their way into the hallway, Seb was enjoying the game and lingered at a political cartoon framed and hung on one of the pillars which depicted two old grandees sitting in the lounge at the Sharlton Club looking at their newspapers.
‘Look Mary, this is a classic.’
‘Read it to me.’ Breeze powdered her nose while the Polish girl looked impatient.
‘One of these old guys is saying to the other, “The sex drive of a stoat, the morals of a Tunisian brothel keeper, gentleman, I think our search for a new British Prime Minister is over.” That’s brilliant don’t you think?’ Seb let out a full-throated laugh and they finally left the Polish security girl in peace.
Dark Nights Page 5