Fire & Ice ~ The Drake Legacy: Book One

by Kari Wray

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It was a long time ago … Anyway, enough of this, Cassie. I’d like to talk to you about something. That was the reason I invited you here in the first place …”

  Here it comes, I thought. Here’s the moment when he invites me back to some seedy little apartment he has prepared for flings like this …

  “ … It’s rather a delicate matter. You see, I need the advice of a woman on something. And I had a good feeling about you from the start, so thought you might be able to help me.”

  “Okay …” I said, a little taken aback by this strange, unexpected turn in the conversation. “Sure. I’d be glad to help.”

  “Great,” he said, looking physically relieved. “I need to buy some jewelry, you see. A necklace. And the person I’m buying it for actually looks a little like you, so I thought you’d be able to help. And also, I don’t know the first thing about that kind of stuff.”

  I gulped. Couldn’t he tell that I didn’t know the first thing about that kind of stuff, either? And who was this mysterious necklace for? Like that, I felt all my previous excitement and nerves drain away − as I immediately realized I’d been relegated to the ‘friend zone’.

  Of course he wasn’t after me!

  And how stupid I was, to convince myself just a few brief minutes ago that he was making sleazy moves on me.

  If I’m completely honest with myself, in that moment I even felt a little disappointed, realizing that I’d have possibly even preferred that - being a dirty little slut with him for one kinky afternoon of hot, sweaty passion - than to go out shopping with him, as a friend, choosing a present for another girl.

  “Sure thing!” I said, as chirpily as I could, masking my disappointment behind a bright fake smile. “I’d love to help, Mr Drake.”

  “Call me Xander,” he said, smiling.

  I nodded and smiled back.

  Little did he know that I’d been doing that in my head for a while already.

  §

  So that afternoon, after Xander paid the bill — he wouldn’t let me see how much it came to, but I’m guessing almost as much as my first week’s salary — we didn’t head back to the office but instead jumped into a taxi and were driven down to the high-end jewelry stores by the seafront, an area of the city that I hardly ever strayed into on my own, or even out on shopping expeditions with Lauren, knowing how exclusive and expensive everything around this district was rumored to be.

  “So, where do you recommend?” Xander asked, once we had stepped out of the taxi. It was a particularly cold, frosty afternoon, and his breath hung in silver wisps in the air.

  I looked around me, left and right, at the many glitzy, expensive-looking storefronts, then simply chose a shop at random — Silvestri’s Jewelers — and pointed at it decisively.

  “This one, for definite,” I said, nodding my head. “It’s great.”

  “Phew thanks,” Xander said. “They all look the same to me! I really appreciate you coming along like this, Cassie.”

  So we both entered the small, exclusive little boutique jeweler’s and I looked down in awe at the display cabinets, at the glittering diamonds, gold and platinum on display.

  “So, what do you think?” Xander asked me in an almost-whisper. I could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the heady musk of his cologne, and my eye flitted for a moment to that curious little scar by his full red lips. “Anything catch your eye?”

  I looked down once more at the necklaces and bracelets in the cabinet in front of me. Again and again, my eye was drawn to a thin silver necklace right in the centre, with what looked like a real diamond in its centre, as beautiful and delicate as a drop of dew on a blade of grass.

  “That one,” I said quietly, pointing it out, my nail lightly ticking against the polished glass above it.

  “Oh yes,” Xander said, nodding in agreement.

  He turned and caught the attention of the jeweler, who was a kindly-looking old man with salt and pepper hair and a pronounced stoop, and who, when he hobbled over to our side of the shop, brought with him the pungent scent of old cigars and whiskey.

  “Yes sir?” he asked politely.

  “I would like a closer look at this necklace please,” Xander said, indicating the delicate silver piece in the centre of the cabinet.

  “Very good sir,” the old man said, unlocking the cabinet door and bringing out the silver and diamond necklace.

  It looked even more beautiful and delicate up close.

  “Do you mind if my friend tries it on?” Xander asked the jeweler. “Only, I’d like to see what it looks like, worn.”

  “Of course, sir,” the jeweler replied, bowing then offering up the necklace in his wrinkly old arthritic hands.

  Friend, I thought, feeling my stomach sink again.

  “Turn round, Cassie,” Xander said, quietly but firmly.

  And I felt myself softly yielding to his command, obeying, turning my back to him, waiting there, the breath clutched in my lungs. It was like time froze for a moment, and then I felt a flash of electricity as his fingertips softly brushed my hair away from the nape of my neck. A lightening shiver ran up and down my spine and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from gasping out loud. Then he touched me once more, just briefly, as he clasped the delicate silver jewel around my neck.

  Once he’d fastened it, I turned around and looked up into his big black burning eyes, and I swear I saw them widen a little, before his face broke out in a wide manly smile.

  “It’s fantastic!” he said, a strange thickness to his voice. “I’ll take it.”

  “Don’t you want to look at some of our other pieces too, sir?” the old jeweler suggested, wiggling his eyebrows, obviously sniffing big money.

  “No, no,” said Xander firmly. “This is perfect.”

  “Very well,” the old man said, clearly amused and touched by Xander’s enthusiasm.

  Once he’d taken the necklace off me again and the old man had packaged it up, the two men went over to the till area, while I hung back, trying to distract myself by looking over the other items in the display cases, the many gold and silver bracelets and earrings, trying my hardest not to overhear the transaction that was taking place.

  But it was no use: even though they murmured quietly, I still heard every word, and when the old man said the price of the necklace, let me tell you, this time round there was no question about it: that little slip of silver — for Xander’s ‘friend’, whoever she was — cost more than I would earn all month.

  Chapter Eight

  §

  Ice Cold Eyes

  Okay. I admit it. I felt really fucking jealous of the recipient of that necklace - whoever she might be. I imagined her as some impossibly tall, blonde, stick thin, high-class bitch: essentially the polar opposite of me.

  That evening, as I got in from work, I took a long, hot shower until the bathroom was completely fogged up with clouds of billowing steam, and then, before I got dressed, I looked myself over in the full length mirror in my bedroom. I looked at my tits, seeing only that they were too big, too pendulous, and I looked at my waist, thinking only that it was far too wide. The slight bump of my belly caused me another pang of anguish.

  It was silly, but I was looking at myself so harshly, trying to view myself through Xander’s eyes, trying to get it straight and fixed in my head, in order to firmly tell myself that he wouldn’t like me.

  I just had to stop crushing on him.

  He was the head of the freaking company, for crying out loud, and who was I to imagine that there was anything more going on between us than regular a completely regular ‘boss and secretary’ relationship. I was being so stupid and big headed to imagine that there’d been anything extra between us; any kind of real chemistry or spark or electricity was just all in my head.

  Once I’d dried my hair and put on my thick, toweling bathrobe, I wandered through to the little kitchen, opening the door to the refrigerator, the sole contents lit up by th
e harsh electric light inside as if spotlit, centre stage in an amateur dramatic production: two thirds of a large raspberry cheese cake.

  As I lifted it out and took it over to the couch, to eat straight from the package with a desert spoon, I pictured that stick-thin bitch again, whoever she was, wherever she was in this city, probably munching on lettuce leaves and raw carrot, unsuspecting that she would soon receive the most beautiful gift of all; little did she know how lucky she was …

  §

  “What’s the matter?” Lauren asked me. “You look down, Cassie. Really down. I’m worried about you. All the spark has gone from your eyes.”

  It was Wednesday night, and Lauren had taken me out for white wine spritzers at a wine bar near her apartment. The dimly-lit room was sleek and swish, all white plastic and polished chrome, with retro-futuristic ice-blue laser lights running around the edges of the room and peopled to almost bursting point with well-dressed executive types.

  I found my eye straying towards the door, stupidly willing Xander Drake to walk through it. It seemed like the kind of place someone like him might hang out.

  Since our lunch on Monday, I’d hardly seen him at work. He’d been out for a business visit all of Tuesday, and then - save for five brief minutes when he updated me on his hectic schedule - he’d spent the rest of his time holed away in his office doing God-knows-what.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I lied, trying to force a cheerful smile onto my face, but knowing how useless it was. Lauren knew me inside out.

  “That, my dear,” she grinned back at me, “is major-league bullcrap. Something’s up and I’m not leaving here until you tell me what it is.”

  “Okay then,” I replied, feeling a tipsy grin of my own spreading across my face, despite my heavy heart, “then you may be in for a very long night …”

  “Very well,” she said, raising her hand in the air and snapping her perfectly manicured fingers theatrically. “Waiter!” she called, in a fake French accent. “Another round!”

  §

  By the time I did finally confess the reason for my unhappiness — and heard just how silly and schoolgirlish it sounded out loud — I was rather drunk and so was Lauren.

  “I’m being stupid aren’t I?” I asked her.

  “Yeah, a little,” she said, honestly. This was one of the things I loved most about her; the fact that she always called things how she saw them. “But I have to admit, even though I’ve never met him, it wasn’t impossible to believe that he might have a thing for you. I mean, you’re gorgeous, Cassie. And you’ve got that cute half-English thing going on. Men like him would love that.”

  “Shut up,” I said, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “I’m pretty average, really ...”

  “You’re pretty,” she said with a grin, “but your certainly not average …”

  Just as I was about to reply, my attention was drawn to the door to the bar, in particular to a tall, blonde guy, striding into the place in a perfectly-fitting white suit and an air of superiority. He moved like he thought he was a real big deal, like he was some sort of celebrity. Maybe he was. It was certainly the kind of place for it. It was odd; there was something about his face that was familiar, that reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who … Again, I wondered if he was famous; on TV perhaps, or in the movies.

  “What’s got into you?” Lauren whispered, turning in her seat to follow my line of sight, and then she turned back towards me, her eyes glinting. “Oh, I see …” she said, raising one eyebrow.

  “Does he remind you of someone?” I asked her. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

  “He looks a little like a blonde Tom Cruise?” she replied.

  I was about to say something else when he turned his head, his cold blue eyes looking directly into mine for a split second, and I felt a white hot flash of electricity.

  “Shit,” I blurted out, quickly turning my head and looking down at my half-finished drink. “He just caught me staring at him …”

  I ducked my head a little and took a sip of my spritzer, feeling my cheeks burning from embarrassment.

  “He’s still looking at you,” Lauren hissed back. “You sure you don’t know him?”

  “Positive,” I said.

  “Well, he’s looking over here like he knows you … Or at least would like to know you!”

  I picked up my glass again, lifted it to my lips, took a large gulp, tilting the delicate glass object, gulping down the rest of my drink in one long draught.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  There was something odd about that guy; something I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I knew that he was trouble, and I wasn’t hanging around to find out what kind.

  §

  I got into my apartment, kicked off my shoes, hung my coat up on the hook by the door and walked tipsily through to the bedroom. I could see the little red light flashing on my answer phone, and knew that, more likely than not, it would be my mother: calling once again to pester me or nag me about one thing or another, asking whether I was done with my ‘little adventure’ in the city yet. I lazily pressed the play button on the answer phone as I began to unzip my dress.

  “You have one new message …” the robotic voice chimed out into the room.

  I tugged on my zipper.

  “Left today at seven forty nine p.m. …”

  I let my dress fall to the floor.

  “Oh, hi Cassie, it’s me …”

  Hearing the voice, a delicious flash of excitement jolted through me. What the hell! It was Xander! I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. I stood there, frozen, in the centre of my bedroom, clad only in my underwear, my dress now laying in a rumpled circle at my feet. What in the world did he want, and why was he calling me at my home?

  “… I know it’s not exactly professional, calling you at home like this,” he continued, as if able to read my thoughts. “Only … Well …” There was a long pause, during which I could hear soft music playing in his apartment. I wondered what it was like. Sleek and designer, I imagined. A penthouse, built by his own company, perhaps. With an expansive view of the city. “… Never mind.”

  And then, just like that, there was a muffled click and the message ended.

  “To repeat this message, press one,” the robotic voice said. “To delete it, press two.”

  I pressed one, and listened to it again. There was an intensity, an urgency to his voice that took my breath away and made my pulse race in my veins. I wondered just what he could have wanted to tell me and I wondered why he suddenly felt like he couldn’t continue.

  It made no sense.

  I desperately wished I knew his home number.

  This was ridiculous.

  I played the message a third time, then unclipped my bra, stepped out of my panties and got into my bed, shivering a little, feeling the coolness of the bedsheets against my naked body, wishing I had another warm body — his warm, naked body — to cling to.

  I shut off my bedside light and lay there in the dark, my head spinning, Xander’s deep, intense, intoxicating, sonorous voice swirling around my brain, and once again I let my hands caress and explore my own body.

  Almost instinctively, my fingertips moved to my breasts, my nipples stiffening as I toyed gently with them, and then I moved my touch down, over my stomach, towards the glistening, gooey wetness of my sex.

  My clit was hard and throbbing already and I worked it in tight little circles, as I imagined Xander turning up at my door, out of breath, that same intense urgency in his eyes that I had heard just now in his voice.

  I imagined tearing the clothes off him, uncovering his rippling, naked flesh beneath, slicked and hot with his own salty sweat, which I kissed and licked off him eagerly, working my face slowly down his toned stomach, his rock-hard abs, towards his hot thick cock, which I gripped and gently masturbated in both hands, before closing my mouth gently around it.

  I’d never let a guy come in my mouth before, and for som
e reason, this was the fantasy I let play out as I brought myself to orgasm: I imagined working Xander’s shaft with my fingers, while keeping my lips clamped around his cock head, feeling it swell, hearing him groan with pleasure, and then, finally, feeling him spurt his hot, thick cum into my mouth.

  Just as I imagined him filling up my mouth with his fluid, I came too with a muffled whimper, my pussy throbbing and clenching around my wet fingers.

  A little later, as I began drifting towards a delicious sleep, another face suddenly entered my thoughts and I jolted back awake:

  Just for a brief moment, I once again saw the burning eyes of that stranger in the white suit, the one who’d been staring at me in the wine bar. Who in the hell was he? And why was he looking at me that way?

  Chapter Nine

  §

  Swallowing My Pride

  I spent the following morning a complete bundle of nerves, waiting to see Xander, hoping that I would find out, finally, what his urgent, breathy answer phone message had been all about. But instead he seemed to be avoiding me. He’d strode straight past me first thing in the morning, giving me just the briefest, most businesslike of nods, and then, a few hours later on, he came bursting out of the office again in a hurry, talking away about complicated constructional matters on his cellphone.

  That was all I’d seen of him.

  Lunch came around and once again, I ate it sitting at my desk. Today, all I’d packed for myself was a granary health bar and a kid’s size juice box. Staring down at the meagre offerings, it was a far cry from our delicious lunch date earlier in the week, and I tried not to think about that juicy cheeseburger, in case it made my tummy rumble again.

  I looked around me at the large open plan office; over at the other side of the big grey room, I could hear the muffled chatter of the other staff, working away at their computer terminals, and I realized with a pang of dismay that I’d still not really been introduced to anyone other than Xander.