by Lucy Wild
“Shit, you’re right.” I took a step over to her, my hand outstretched. “Dominic Hawke. And you are?”
“Evangeline Hawkslayer.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I am. It’s Evangeline Simpson.”
“Well, I’ll bid you good night for now, Evangeline.”
I couldn’t resist. I lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, breathing in the soft scent of her skin. A jolt of electricity passed from her hand to my lips and I almost ran from the cubicle.
Any longer in there and I’d have stripped her naked and just fucked her. A hospital emergency department was not the place to do it. I could wait. Not for much longer but I could wait.
Once I was outside I was able to think more clearly. “Take me to Greg’s,” I said to my driver who was waiting patiently by the car. “Think you can manage it without hitting anyone this time?”
He set off without a word and I leaned back on my seat and rubbed my eyes. Thirty million was missing, Greg wanted me to involve my father, our lead accountant might be in on it and the company might tank unless we sorted it. But all I could think about was the look of little Lily’s body as she stood in her underwear in front of me. She was a little Lily, not an adult Evangeline. I wanted to go back in and run my hands over her chest. The swell of her breasts, the way they looked like they were built for my hands to caress. That long neck of hers, the way her ass would look if I spanked it. I wanted it all.
I shook my head to try and clear it but I was still thinking about her when I got to Greg’s to run through another mountain of paperwork, I was thinking that I hoped she was late again so I had the perfect excuse to punish her.
SEVEN
EVANGELINE
I was kept in hospital overnight. It gave me time to think. My headache faded around midnight but it was a long time before I was able to get to sleep. I was in a ward with three other beds, apparently containing the three contestants for world’s loudest snorer. The lights were low but I could still see the nurses passing by in the corridor outside. It didn’t help my rest that I couldn’t stop thinking about Dominic Hawke.
It was just my luck that I’d run into him, quite literally. He sounded furious in the car, so protective of me, like he just wanted to keep me safe. The thought made butterflies flit through my tummy. He wanted to protect me.
It was almost possible to ignore the fact that he’d now seen me in my underwear. It had to be a day when I wasn’t wearing matching bra and panties either. White bra and black thong, nice. When he’d appeared in the cubicle, I knew it was a bad idea to let him help me undress but I couldn’t resist. My body came to life despite the pain when he pulled off my top. I saw the way his eyes went to my chest, even though his expression didn’t change a single iota. I found myself yearning for him to offer to remove my bra.
When he knelt down though. I wanted to tell him not to take my skirt off but his hands were already on me and then I couldn’t say anything. The feel of his skin on mine as he rolled my skirt down made me shudder with desire and I felt myself getting wet, feeling his eyes burning into my pussy, as if he could see it through my thong.
I hoped the wetness wouldn’t soak into my panties, that was the last thing I needed, looking like an uncontrollable nympho just because he’d taken my skirt off. It was bad enough controlling myself when his finger traced a line around the graze on my leg. I had to bite my lip to stop myself screaming, “Just fuck me already.”
I was sure he was going to kiss me. Just before his phone rang, he was leaning towards me and I was already tingling with readiness. But then he had to go and I was left to think about that kiss on the back of my hand, a thought that turned into a desire for those lips to kiss the rest of my body. Like I said, it took a long time to get to sleep.
I couldn’t even ease the throbbing desire in my pussy, not in a ward with three other people and nurses passing by every couple of minutes. So I laid there frustrated and bored until I finally drifted off.
I woke up the next morning to find a doctor hovering over me, flipping through the chart from the end of my bed. “Helmet next time,” he said, turning to the nurse next to me. “Better give her a scan to be sure.”
I spent half the morning sat in bed, making conversation with the old lady in the bed next to mine. By the time we’d recycled our weather talk for the third time, I was ready to get up and discharge myself. Luckily, that was when they came to get me to take me for the scan.
It was noon by the time I left the hospital. The scan had found no damage which was a relief and then I was free to get dressed. This time I did it without help though a large part of me wished Dominic was still there to assist me. I walked out of the emergency department to find a bored looking man in a suit holding a sign with my name on it. “That’s me,” I said, pointing at the sign.
“I’m to drive you home,” he said, lowering the sign. “If you’re ready?”
I nodded, following him into the car park. “Oh, God,” I muttered when I saw the limousine taking up three spaces. “Tell me that’s not for me.”
“Mr Hawke’s instructions,” he replied, pulling open the rear door. “Mind your head.”
I felt like a cross between royalty and a teenage prom goer. “I’ve never been in a limo before,” I said as we headed out of the car park. “I could get used to this.”
“Where am I taking you?” he replied.
I gave him my address and then luxuriated in the journey, feeling sorry for myself when it finally came to an end. I climbed out at the top of my cul-de-sac, there was no chance of fitting a limo down there and then getting it turned round at the dead end past my house. “Thanks a lot,” I said, waving bye to the driver before heading inside to find Clare pacing the floor of the living room.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been ringing you all night, I was so worried.”
I sank onto the sofa, explaining as best I could what had happened to me, omitting to mention that Dominic helped me undress. It would make me sound too slutty.
“Didn’t they have a phone in the hospital?” she said when I finished.
“They did but it would have cost money to use it.”
“Couldn’t you have asked Mr Millionaire to lend you a quid?”
“I didn’t think. I’m sorry, Clare.”
“So you should be. Going and getting yourself injured like that. How selfish of you. Although it does give me a chance to make my legendary chicken broth for you.”
“I’m not dying, Clare. I only fell off my bike.”
“Are you saying you don’t want any?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Thought not. You rest there. I’ll be back.”
The smell of cooking began to drift through from the kitchen as I slumped back on the sofa and closed my eyes. I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, a bowl of delicious smelling chicken was being wafted under my nostrils. I sat up and took it from her as she sat down opposite me and tucked into her own bowl.
“So,” she said a minute later. “How is it?”
“Good,” I replied through a mouthful. “Very good.”
“You better eat it all. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to give me every single tiny little detail about what happened between you and Dominic Hawke. Omit nothing no matter how filthy.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Bullshit. The man gets you injured and alone, Misery style, and you’re saying nothing happened?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Then I guess he’s not interested in you.”
“I guess not.”
“Then presumably you won’t be interested in delivering this to him?” She reached behind her chair and brought out a parcel.
“Oh come on, I’ve no bike, I’ve just come out of hospital. I am not delivering that for you. I’m not a courier, Clare. You are.”
“You are for this one.”
“What are you talking about?�
��
“It has explicit instructions on it that it is to be delivered by Evangeline Simpson.”
“What? I don’t work for them, you do.”
“See for yourself.”
She passed the parcel over to me and I looked at the printed sticker on the front of it. “What’s he playing at?”
“I guess there’s only way to find out, isn’t there?”
“But I’ve no bike. I can’t walk all that way and get it there by-” I looked at the parcel again, “-three o’clock this afternoon.”
“You shall go to the ball, Cinderella,” she said with a grin, picking up her phone and punching numbers into it. “Hello? Six Five Minicabs? Hi, I’d like a taxi from Fulmer Row to the Riverside Building in the city centre please, as quick as you can.”
Twenty minutes later I was in the cab. While waiting for it to come, I’d berated Clare for wasting her money on a taxi, then had a quick wash. I was under strict instructions not to shower until I took the covering off my grazes. I’d then changed into three different dresses before finally settling on the one that Clare said made me look “hot as fuck.”
When the cab pulled up outside the Riverside Building, I handed over the money Clare had given me. “I won’t be long,” I said, leaving him with the engine running as I walked over to the door, waving through to the doorman.
“Another parcel,” I said after he’d let me inside.
“So I see,” he replied. “No bike today?”
“Nope,” I said, crossing to the lift and hitting the button.
“That’s a nice dress,” he said behind me.
I looked back at him but he was already over by the door, as if he hadn’t said anything. We could maybe end up friends if he kept warming up like that. The lift arrived a few seconds later and I stepped inside, trying to calm myself down.
When I stepped out on the top floor, I had to stop for a moment, needing to bring my breathing back to normal. I thought I might hyperventilate, my nerves were shot to ribbons. He wanted me to deliver this parcel. He must like me. But last time he told me there’d be trouble if I was late again and it was two minutes past three. Damn the taxi driver for taking his sweet time. What kind of trouble was I going to be in? Was it the kind I yearned for? I hoped so.
I didn’t want to wait any longer or I might lose my nerve so I hit the doorbell. When he answered, he looked different. For one thing, he had his jacket off, the sleeves rolled up. I could see the muscles in his arm as he gripped the edge of the door, they looked like arms that would sweep you up and keep you safe forever.
“You’re late,” he said coldly. “I warned you about lateness.”
“I thought you might cut me some slack seeing as you tried to kill me.”
A smile flickered across his lips. “Lateness and backchat? You’re only making it worse.”
“Are you going to take this or not?” I said, trying to sound bold as I held out the parcel.
“I don’t know. Are you going to give me your phone number?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You want my phone number?”
He nodded.
“What for?”
“So I can arrange your punishment for being late three times in a row.”
He said the words while smiling and the breathing I’d just gotten under control decided it was time to go crazy. My chest heaved as I fought to control myself, unable to say anything for too long a time. He waited, still smiling.
“Well?” he said at last. “What do you say?”
“I can’t give you my number,” I said, wanting to fan my face, feeling stupidly hot all of a sudden. Damn him for being so bloody sexy.
“Oh, why not?”
“Because I lost my phone when I came off my bike.”
“Then how about I get you another one?”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“That I get to have your number.”
EIGHT
DOMINIC
I didn’t want to go see my father but Greg had been very clear. “You go and see him and find out whether or not he signed that,” he’d said, waving a piece of paper in front of my face.
I got to the home at three that Sunday afternoon. Even my millions didn’t mean I could go in outside visiting hours. I pushed open the door to the home. Charlotte was behind reception as ever, flicking through a magazine that had me on the front cover. “How is he?” I asked when I reached her.
“Mr Hawke, lovely to see you again. I was just reading about your donation to the research they’re doing. You’re a good man, you know.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. How’s my father?”
“He’s not too bad. He’s been reading a lot.”
“When doesn’t he?”
“I did tell him you were coming but…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. Sometimes he remembered and was waiting for me in the lounge. Other times I had to go hunting for him. “Thanks, Charlotte,” I said, heading down the corridor past the dining room, the sound of conversation growing louder.
He was in the lounge, in his favourite chair. No matter what else he forgot, he knew that was his chair, out of direct sun but near the radiator, away from the television, near the biscuit tin. “Hi, Dad,” I said, pulling up one of the wheeled chairs to sit next to him. “How’ve you been?”
“Hello Dom,” he said with a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Reading again,” I said, nodding towards the book in his lap.
“It’s a good one,” he said, looking at the spine. “I’ve not read it before. Have you?”
I winced internally. It was The Hounds of the Baskervilles, his absolute favourite, the one he used to read to me when I was little, distracting me from the pain of losing my mother. “No, I haven’t,” I replied. “What’s it about?”
“I’m not sure, I’ve only just started.”
This wasn’t going to be easy. For the last year it had been harder and harder to come and speak to him. I knew that I’d have to get power of attorney from him sooner rather later but this wasn’t the time. “Listen, Dad,” I said, leaning towards him. “Have you seen Archibald recently?”
“Archie?” he said, smiling. “How is Archie?”
“He’s great, Dad but listen. Has he been to see you at all?”
“Oh, yes. He comes to visit me quite a lot.”
“What do you two talk about?”
“All kinds of things. He tells me what you’re up to, for one thing, keeps a close eye on you for me.”
“Does he ever talk about money with you?”
“Money? Why would I talk to him about money? You’re not in trouble are you, Dom? I could lend you some if you need me to.”
“No, Dad, I’m fine. So Archie doesn’t talk about money with you?”
“No, not any more.”
That pulled me up. “What do you mean, any more?”
“Oh, you know, he’s so good, isn’t he? Doesn’t want me to worry.”
“What did he say to you, Dad?”
“He said he’d take care of things for me. I didn’t have to do anything, just had to sign a couple of papers.”
My hands began to clench into fists. “Can you remember what was on those papers? What they were about?”
“It was all legal mumbo jumbo, Dom.” His face began to contort and I knew I was losing him. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” I said, tapping his knee. “It’s fine.”
“Good,” he said, picking up his book and turning to the first page. “Have you read this one, Dom? It’s really good.”
I nodded as he began to describe the book. My phone vibrated in my pocket but I ignored it. “I’ve not read that one. Is it good?”
He began to wax lyrical about Conan Doyle. “Wrote some amazing books. Did you know he killed off Sherlock Holmes but th
en had to bring him back to life? Isn’t that funny?”
“Yes, Dad. You told me, remember?”
“Did I?” He frowned as if thinking but then the look faded and he was staring down at the book again. He began to read without looking at me, perhaps he didn’t even know I was there anymore.
I sat in silence and watched him for a few minutes. Soon he was yawning so I made my excuses, not that he heard me, before heading off, leaving him with his head nodding. “Bye, Dad,” I said from the door but he was already asleep.
Once I was outside, I sat on a bench near the car for a while, gathering my thoughts. I would have liked to have stayed longer. It was always hard to see him but it was even harder to leave. He’d been such a shadow over my progress in the business for most of my life, it was strange not having him there anymore.
It was even stranger to think that the guy who’d terrified half the businesses in the country, if not the continent, with his cutthroat ways, was at that very moment settled in a battered old armchair, with holes gradually gnawing their way through his brain.
Growing up, he’d been sharp as a tack. After my mother had died, he’d somehow managed dual roles, master and commander of his business empire, and both parents to me. I still didn’t know how he’d done it. He hadn’t even hired a nanny, just an au pair who used to smoke cheap cigarettes in the back garden when he was at work.
Maybe I’d get Greg to arrange power of attorney. Part of my reluctance was the finality of it. If I got him to sign things over to me, it would be like admitting my father wasn’t coming back, that he was gone forever, that brilliant mind was gone forever. I couldn’t do it. Instead, I swept the thoughts into a drawer in my mind, to be dealt with later, like so many things.
I stood up and walked over to the car park. I was sat in the back of my car, I dug my phone out, ready to text Greg. Archibald was behind this, there could be no doubt. Greg had found my father’s signature on several deeply buried documents, the papers hidden in contracts that neither of us would normally need to bother with. Had Archibald got the legal department in his pocket too? Or was it just him?