‘Of course,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
Robert nodded as he smiled. ‘I’ve always liked that about you, Sasha. You’re ambitious and you’re not afraid to admit it. We’re alike, you and I.’
He took a drink and smiled at her. ‘Just do me a favour, huh?’
Sasha felt a flutter of anticipation. ‘What’s that?’
‘Never sit around waiting for Miles.’
Her face betrayed her surprise. What was he suggesting?
‘I don’t intend to, Mr Ashford,’ she replied coolly.
‘Good,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘Because I think you could do better. Much better.’
He looked at his watch and put his empty tumbler on the wall. ‘I’m just going to talk to Nelson. A few things to sort out for tomorrow.’
‘Of course,’ said Sasha. ‘And thanks for being an incredible host. I speak for us all when I say we’ve had an amazing time.’
‘You’re very welcome, Sasha.’
Sasha watched him go, perplexed and anxious at the same time. Had he just been pointing out the obvious, that his son was a heartless deadbeat? Or had he been coming on to her? If he thought Miles was a deadbeat, at least he had a point. Her boyfriend had certainly been distant and vague all holiday, preferring to spend time with Alex bloody Doyle and ducking the question whenever she wanted to discuss plans for next year. Sasha didn’t like to admit to weakness even to herself, but the truth of it was that she had felt lonely, even used.
She shook her head. Maybe she’d just had too many cocktails. She was tired too; last night she and Miles had been up till 5 a.m. screwing. Sasha had used every trick in the book – literally. Unbeknownst to Miles, she had been using a sex manual she’d bought in Soho during the Easter holidays and she was determined to try out every position before the summer was over. She already considered herself sexually experienced, having lost her virginity at fifteen to a thirty-six-year-old Iranian businessman she’d met at the L’Equipe Anglaise nightclub behind Selfridges. She’d told him she was twenty, he’d given her a Rolex. Between him and Miles there had been four others and she had swiftly learnt that there was only one word which would keep a rich man happy and that was S-EX. It had worked with Miles, after all. Just two months after the start of term in the lower sixth, she had seduced him at the school bonfire party simply by ignoring him. Well, that and not wearing a bra. She had dragged him behind the science block and, their breath puffing in the cold air, panted in his ear that she would do anything he wanted her to. Anything. It was a policy she had stuck to ever since to keep their love life on track.
God, this is making me depressed, she thought. I need a pick-me-up.
She walked through the house and up to the room she and Miles had been sharing before she had moved into a single room when Robert arrived; Miles had claimed his dad would ‘shit a brick’ if he suspected they were sleeping together. Sasha rummaged through his leather suitcase. She knew he had some coke in the room somewhere. She walked through to the en suite and checked his wash-bag. ‘Ah-ha!’ she whispered to herself, finding a little ziplock bag hidden in the side pocket. She fished out the wrap and dug a long fingernail into the white powder, taking a quick hit and slipping the rest into her bra for later.
On her way out, she snatched the cigarette packet sitting on the dressing table and lit one, waving her hand to clear the tarry smell from the air. She knew that Robert Ashford didn’t approve of smoking: he was a health nut. Miles had told her – to his great amusement – that his father had recently taken up yoga with ‘some fit French bird’ and had been on a health kick ever since, as Miles said, so he could keep up with her in bed.
Her jewelled sandals click-clacked down the stairs and out past the pool. In the distance she could make out laughter coming from the bonfire, but she didn’t feel like going back there just yet. She turned the other way, taking a path that wound down to a quiet cove. There was a store house for kayaks and a short jetty, and she kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge as she finished her cigarette. There had to be a way of manipulating Miles into a commitment. She just didn’t know what it was right now.
A noise behind her made her turn.
‘Hey there.’
A boy her age was standing on the path next to the kayak store. Light from the single bulb over the door shone on his face. He was quite sexy.
‘I don’t suppose you have a spare one of those on you?’ he asked, pointing to the cigarette.
‘Sorry, no,’ she said, standing up and throwing the stub into the black water. As cute as the boy was, she felt a little vulnerable out here in the dark with a complete stranger.
‘Sorry,’ said the boy, as if he felt her discomfort. ‘I’m Bradley.’
‘Ah, you’re the new boat boy I heard the girls talking about earlier, aren’t you?’ said Sasha. ‘You were quite a hit.’
The boy shrugged, a little embarrassed.
‘Where are you from?’
‘West Virginia.’
‘I mean recently. I haven’t seen you on the island before.’
‘I just got here today to work at Robert Ashford’s party.’
Sasha began to walk back the way she had come and Bradley fell in step.
‘Long way to come, from West Virginia for four days.’
‘Ah no, I’ve been bumming around the islands since I left high school last year, picking up work at the resorts. I heard Mr Ashford wanted some extra crew for some corporate thing he’s having this weekend. Money’s good and I go to Harvard in the fall, which isn’t cheap.’
Sasha looked at him again, her head feeling fuzzy. ‘Harvard, eh?’ she said. ‘Clever boy.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Bradley. ‘Anyway, shame it’s just until next week. I’d love to work here all summer. Nelson and his family have a real cushy number. I hear the Ashfords are only here a few weeks of the year.’
‘Most of the time I come with them actually,’ said Sasha with a hint of superiority. ‘Miles Ashford is my boyfriend.’
Bradley smiled. ‘I know.’
She glanced at him again, smirking. She was flattered despite herself. He obviously had noticed her.
‘I’m Sasha, anyway. Sasha Sinclair,’ she said. ‘Although I guess you know that already.’
He shook her hand with a firm grip. ‘Bradley Hartford.’ He smiled. ‘Real pleased to meet you, Sasha.’
A string of hurricane lights hanging from the trees warmed his face. She could see that he was even more good-looking than she had first thought. Nothing striking about his face, but clean-cut all-American good looks that worked well with his plain navy polo shirt and shorts.
‘Shouldn’t you be down on the beach with the others?’ he asked, pointing down the track which led to the beach.
She pulled a face. ‘Not much of a party. They’re all a bit drunk and acting stupid.’
Bradley nodded back towards the house. ‘I’ve got beers in my room just up there in the staff quarters if you’re interested.’
She looked him up and down.
He is cute, she thought, emboldened by most of a bottle of champagne and a snort of coke. Sod Miles if he can’t be bothered to wonder where I am. Why the hell not?
‘You’re on, cowboy,’ she said, boldly looping her arm through his and walking up the path.
The staff accommodation was all behind the main house. Nelson had an attractive Creole house of his own close to Richmond Cove while Puerto, the head chef, whose job it was to keep Angel stocked with the best food and wine, was in a small annexe. The rest of the cooks, cleaners and groundsmen were housed in a long row of one-storey wooden cabins hidden behind a line of banana trees. Sasha was glad that Bradley’s cabin was at the end of the row. For all her rebellion, she didn’t really want anyone to see her slumming it, but there were no lights on in the neighbouring cabins.
‘I’ve got my own room. Some of these cabins have got three sous chefs in them at the moment.’
‘So how
come you got your own space, new boy?’ she whispered.
‘Charm.’ He grinned.
The cabin was basic. Just a narrow single bed and side table, wardrobe and chest of drawers. They both sat on the bed and Bradley twisted the top off a beer and handed it to her.
‘So tell me, Sasha Sinclair,’ he said with a smile. ‘What are you doing all alone by the boathouse when everyone else is having a great time on the beach?’
She shrugged and looked away. She knew it was wrong to be here, but this boy was looking at her as if he desired her.
‘Where’s your glamorous boyfriend?’ he persisted.
‘You tell me,’ she huffed.
‘Uh-oh,’ he said. ‘Lovers’ tiff?’
‘More like my boyfriend just doesn’t appreciate me.’
‘How does that happen with someone as beautiful as you?’
It was cheesy and transparent, but Sasha liked hearing the flattery nonetheless. She could see pure sexual attraction in his eyes, whereas Miles looked at her like she was an embarrassment. A wave of defiance surged up in her. Miles had behaved disgracefully this evening; all holiday in fact. How dare he? Sasha Sinclair was the most popular girl at Danehurst, she had an Elan Models contract, and one day the whole world would know her name. Fuck Miles, fuck them all.
‘Hey, what have you done to your cheek?’ she asked, lifting a finger to touch the red mark.
‘Just a burn. Don’t touch it.’ He caught hold of her finger, then held it, looking at her for a long exquisite second. Up close, he was even better-looking, with thick lashes, and lips the colour of Scottish raspberries. Looking back later at what little she could remember of the evening, she could never pinpoint why suddenly, as if someone had flicked a switch, she was kissing him; softly at first, getting deeper and harder, so their teeth clinked, tongues tasting lipstick and beer.
Bradley drew away, looking stunned, anxious, elated, then taking her face in his hands he kissed her more softly, as if every taste was like nectar. Sasha felt a shiver of anticipation as a sense of danger rippled through her. Miles had never taken his time in their love-making; he always seemed keen to get it over with. Gently, Bradley lowered her down on to the narrow bed. He was firm but unhurried, discovering her kiss by kiss, his urgent breath in her ear, his warm lips on her cheek, her throat. Without thinking, fuelled by anger and desire, she pulled her dress over her head and unclasped her bra. He paused for a moment to take in her naked breasts, ripe and full, cupping them in his hands, then lowered his lips to taste each beige nipple in turn, sucking, savouring them as they grew hard and swollen in his mouth. His need was turning her on and she tugged off his T-shirt, grazing his chest with her long nails. Unlike Miles’ slim, effete limbs, Bradley’s arms were thick and strong from lugging boats and pulling ropes, his hands rough on her tanned skin. Unbuttoning his shorts, she pulled them off over his thighs. He had a tattoo of the sun on his hip-bone which she stroked with her fingertip.
She reclined on her back. His tongue connected with her belly, heading down towards her navel as her spine rose in an arc. She moaned as his thumbs peeled down her thong, spreading her legs as he pushed two fingers inside her, in, out, in sweet rhythm.
She groaned as his mouth swept down over her damp pubic hair and as his tongue connected with her clitoris, pleasure pulsed around her body with an intensity she had never before experienced.
Miles never did this. Never.
His cock was inside her now, pushing into her with hard strokes, his eyes shut tight, his hands clenching and rucking the sheets. He was fit, keen, hungry. Her arms flung behind her head, she spread her legs wider and felt him slide so far into her, so deep, she felt as if she might tear in two.
As the tense block of pressure in her belly slowly released, she grabbed his hair and screamed out, ‘Yes, yes. Yes!’ Oh God, this is what great sex feels like. And then it was over, his spent body buckling and then collapsing on to hers. Her tawny flesh glistening with sweat, she lay back on the mattress trying to catch her breath, and as the passion subsided, reality rushed back in.
Underneath her thighs a damp patch on the sheet felt ice-cold against her skin. What had she just done?
Miles Ashford was her boyfriend. He was one of the world’s most eligible bachelors; had she thrown away a life of luxury for a quick fuck with a boat boy? A quick fuck without a condom. Where the hell was she supposed to get the morning-after pill on a private island?
‘I’d better get back,’ she said.
‘So soon?’ His fingers touched her bare back and she flinched. Naked, she felt more than just exposed, she felt vulnerable.
‘I’ll be missed,’ she said, picking up her Dior bra, part of a set that Miles had bought her for Christmas.
Sasha’s back was towards Bradley as she hurriedly dressed, but she could feel his eyes on her. Finally she smoothed down her dress and glanced at him. Her head was spinning. ‘You’re not going to say anything about this, are you?’
He paused for a moment. ‘Who to?’
‘To Miles, to anyone,’ she said, her heart pounding in panic.
Bradley just stared at her.
‘Well?’ Her tone was brusque and irritable and she immediately regretted it. She was usually so expert at manipulating men, but right now she was spooked, nervous. She knew she had made a mistake that could cost her dear. She wasn’t used to being on the back foot.
‘What’s the matter?’ she said, turning towards him. ‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’
He shrugged. ‘Disappointment,’ he said, eyes challenging hers. ‘What happened just now ... I thought we had a connection.’
She scoffed inwardly. A connection.‘What do you expect happens now, Bradley?’ she asked pointedly. ‘I’ll go out with you? We’ll have a nice little holiday romance?’
‘Maybe not, but I don’t expect you to get up and walk away the second I’ve come inside you.’
‘We’re drunk.’ She flinched. ‘I have a boyfriend. And that’s where I am going right now. To find him.’
He paused, then gave a low, shallow laugh. ‘I know where your boyfriend is.’
She looked at him sharply. There was an edge to his laugh she didn’t like.
‘Where?’ she asked quietly.
‘Making out by Paradise Cove with his boyfriend. You know, the tall good-looking one.’
Her heart was beating hard now. ‘What? What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I caught them together and that’s how I got this,’ said Bradley, pointing to the burn on his cheek. ‘Your boyfriend stubbed his cigarette out on my face because he didn’t like what I had seen.’
Sasha felt cold all over. It was unthinkable, but there was a distant, unpalatable ring of truth in Bradley’s words that chilled her to the core.
‘You’re lying.’
Bradley shook his head slowly. ‘Your boyfriend’s queer, Sasha.’ ‘You’re lying!’ she yelled.
She closed her eyes tight. It couldn’t be true.
But it is, isn’t it? said a calm, insistent voice in her head.
No, it was just a poisonous lie dreamt up by some low-rent gigolo who wanted to strike back when he found out there would be no repeat performance. It was!
The inner voice mocked her. You know it’s true.
‘My boyfriend is not gay,’ she said, fighting to control her voice. ‘It’s a ridiculous idea.’
‘Whatever,’ said Bradley sourly, not even looking at her.
She moved towards the door, then turned back. ‘You never answered my question.’
‘Which one?’ he said with a note of insolence.
Right then, she hated him. Her body boiled with fury at this jumped-up nobody who had tricked her into bed. She clenched her hands into fists, using every ounce of willpower to control herself.
‘You’re not going to say anything to anyone about this.’
He looked up at her with contempt. ‘You’re all the same, your type,’ he spat. ‘You use people and then ge
t rid of them at your convenience.’
‘I mean it, Bradley,’ said Sasha, her voice quivering with anger and frustration. ‘Don’t even think of breathing a word about what just happened...’
‘Or what?’ asked Bradley.
‘Or you’ll regret it,’ she said, staring at him with cold fury. Then she opened the door and slammed it behind her with such force, the entire cabin shook.
7
Grace wasn’t enjoying the party. It was almost 2.30 and she knew she should have gone to bed hours ago. There were over a dozen people on the beach, but the guests were outnumbered by the steel band, chefs and waiters keeping the unending supply of drink and food coming. Only Angus, Sarah, Gabby and herself were sitting by the bonfire and the previous high spirits had long since disappeared. Grace popped a final toasted marshmallow into her mouth – brought to her on a silver tray, naturally – and stood up unsteadily.
Kiss Heaven Goodbye Page 6