I take a small sip and taste nothing, so I put the glass on the table and look at my hands blankly. I have to find something interesting to say.
‘You have very beautiful skin,’ he says softly. ‘It was the first thing I noticed about you. Does it…mark very easily?’
‘Yes,’ I admit warily.
‘I knew it,’ he boasts with a sniff. ‘I am a connoisseur of skin. I love the taste and the touch of skin. I can already imagine the taste of yours. A skin of wine.’ He eyes me greedily over the rim of his glass.
I have been trying my best not to look at the dandruff flakes that liberally dust the shoulders of his pin-striped suit, but with that last remark he has tossed his head and a flurry of motes have floated off his head and fallen onto the pristine tablecloth. My eyes have helplessly followed their progress. I look up to find him looking at me speculatively.
‘What will I be getting for my money?’ His voice is suddenly cold and hard.
I blink. It is all wrong. I shouldn’t be here. In this dress, or shoes, sitting in front of this obscene piece of filth hiding behind his handmade shirt, gold cufflinks and plummy, upper class accent. This man degrades and offends me simply by looking at me. I wish myself somewhere else, but I am here. All my credit cards are maxed out. Two banks have impolitely turned me down and there is nothing else to do, but be here in this dress and these slutty shoes…
My stomach in knots, I smile in what I hope is a seductive way. ‘What would you like for your money?’
‘Forget what I would like for the moment. What are you selling?’ His eyes are spiteful in a way I cannot understand.
‘Me, I guess.’
That makes him snort with cruel laughter. ‘You are an extraordinarily beautiful girl, but to be honest I can get five first class supermodels right off the runway for that asking price. What makes you think you’re worth that kind of money?’
I take a deep breath. Here goes. ‘I’m a virgin.’
He stops laughing. A suspicious speculative look enters his pale blue eyes. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty.’ Well, I will be in two months’ time.
He frowns. ‘And you say you’re still a virgin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Saving yourself up for someone special, were you?’ His tone is annoying.
‘Does it matter?’ My nails bite into my clenched fists.
His eyes glitter. ‘No, I suppose not.’ He pauses. ‘How do I know you’re not lying?’
I swallow hard. The taste of my humiliation is bitter. ‘I’ll undergo any medical tests you require me to.’
He laughs. ‘No need. No need,’ he dismisses genially. ‘Blood on the sheets will be enough for me.’
The way he says blood makes my blood run cold.
‘Are all orifices up for sale?’
Oh! the brutality of the man. Something dies inside me, but I keep the image of my mother in my mind, and my voice is clear and strong. ‘Yes.’
‘So all that is left is to renegotiate the price?’
I have to stop myself from recoiling. I know now that I have committed two out of the nine sorts of behaviors my mother has warned me are considered contemptible and base. I have expected generosity from a miser and I have revealed my need to my enemy. ‘The price is not negotiable.’
His gaze sweeps meaningfully to my champagne glass. ‘Shall we give this party a go first and bargain later, when you are in a…better mood?’
I understand his thinking. He thinks he can drive the price down when I am drunk. ‘The price is not negotiable,’ I say firmly. ‘And will have to be paid up front.’
He smiles smarmily. ‘I’m sure we’ll come to some agreement that we will both be happy with.’
I frown. I have been naïve. My plan is sketchy and has no provisions for a sharp punter or price negotiations. I heard through the office grapevine where I worked as temporary secretary that my boss was one of those men who are prepared to pay ten thousand pounds a pop for his pleasure and often, but I had never imagined he would reduce me to bargaining.
While Rupert stuffs himself with cheese and biscuits I excuse myself and go to the Ladies. There is another woman standing at the mirror. She glances at me with a mixture of surprise and disgust. I wait until she leaves, then I call my mother.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Where are you, Lana?’
‘I’m still at the restaurant.’
‘What time will you be coming home?’
‘I’ll be late. I’ve been invited to a party.’
‘A party,’ my mother repeats worriedly. ‘Where?’
‘I don’t know the address. Somewhere in London.’
‘How will you get home?’ A wire of panic has crept into her voice.
I sigh gently. I have almost never left my mother alone at night; consequently she is now a bundle of jittery nerves. ‘I have a ride, Mum. Just don’t wait up for me, OK?’
‘All right. Be careful, won’t you?’
‘Nothing is going to happen to me.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she says, but she sounds distracted and unhappy.
‘How are you feeling, Mum?’
‘Good.’
‘Goodnight, then. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Lana?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I love you very much.’
‘Me too, Mum. Me too.’
I flip my phone shut with a snap. I no longer feel cheap or obscene, but strong and sure. There is nothing Rupert can do that can degrade me. I will have that money no matter what.
I look at myself in the mirror. No need for lipstick as I have hardly eaten—just watching Rupert gurgle down the oysters made me feel quite sick, and how was I to know steak tartare was ground raw meat. For a moment I think again of that sinfully sophisticated man, his eyes edged with experience and mystery, his lips twisted with sensuality, and I am suddenly overcome by a strong desire to press my body against his hard length. But he is gone and I am here.
I return my phone to my purse and go out to meet my fate.
**End of Sample**
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Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
EDEN (Eden series Book 2) Page 11