The air stills, he looks through it one wall at a time. “This room is the one place I feel safe: it’s
sound proof, has six inches of metal plating on four sides and a reinforced door that you would need a
blow torch to cut through. I’m untouchable in here.” He turns to me. “You think I had this room built
for fantasy fucking but I didn’t, not initially. It’s a safe room, like if there’s someone in the house or a
nuclear explosion. I’ll be saved.” He pauses to smile.
“Great!” I roll my eyes.
“Yes, it is.” He caresses my knuckles. “I have only ever brought two women down here before you,
both for the same reason: to fuck them, in whatever way I pleased. They knew. I knew. Simple. No
grey areas. And then … you come along, knock me right out of kilter so I don’t know which way is
up.” He pauses to stroke my tousled hair. “And … and all I can think about is making love to you,
bringing you down here and pleasuring the hell out of you. But I don’t.”
“You bide your time.”
“I bide my time. Introduce you to new things …”
“The gifts …”
“Yes. And I wait. And wait until you’re ready, falling so hard for you along the way my head’s in a
spin.”
“And now I’m here?”
“Now all I can think about is marrying you, announcing to the world that you belong to me. That I
belong to you. That we belong together. I thought you wanted that too Beth. Was I wrong?”
I feel the muscles in my throat tightening, I am overcome with emotion. His confession touches my
soul and smooths out the jagged edges of my fear. I want to explain. I need to explain. “Ayden …”
The words stick in my mouth and tears swamp my eyes. I wipe away my tears as best I can with my
cuffs and try to form a coherent sentence. “Everything that’s happened has been so sudden and so
dramatic, I’m still trying to make sense of it all.”
He wipes away salty droplets from my cheeks with his thumbs. “I know baby. You’ve been through
a lot.”
I lean back and say what I should have said before I wounded him with my glib remark. “I want to
marry you Ayden, but only when I can honestly say I know you. We’ve both fallen so fast, not
stopping to pick up on the little things along the way.”
He looks bewildered. “Little things?”
“Yes. There are things I need to know about: your childhood, where you went to school, what your
parents are like. How you got started. Who you are.”
“But you know me better than anyone Beth.” He looks helpless; there’s a vulnerability in his eyes
that moves me, almost to the point of shedding more tears.
“No, I don’t Ayden, not really. I know what it feels like to have you inside me. I know the shape of
your mouth when you’re being playful and the look you get when you’re thinking about me. These
precious things I know.” I caress his cheek and skim over his lips with my thumb, feeling the
roughness of an unshaven face against my palm. “You say you’re an open book but that’s not true.
You’re a book that has been bound and gagged and locked away behind six inches of metal plating.” I
look about me. “Everything you are is right here in this room.”
When I have mustered enough courage, I prepare to tell him the truth. We have reached an impasse
and with that revelation comes a momentous question that only he can answer. “How can you expect
me to marry a man I don’t know?”
My single, salient question leaves him tacit, voiceless and reflective. “I can’t.” The silence is
deafening; it hovers in the air amplifying this moment of truth.
He looks to me, bright eyed and decisive. “Tomorrow, we’ll have an open book day,” he says, with
faltering breath. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know to make an informed decision about me. If
you say no after that, then … then we’ll know. You’ll know.”
Grasping the magnitude of his gesture I throw my arms around him and hold on, feeling a post-
orgasmic high. “You’d do that?”
Taking my arms from round his neck he holds me in place, unwilling or unable to let go. “Yes. I’d
do anything for you. You only have to ask.”
Feeling strangely invigorated I have a mischievous thought. “In that case, will you come with me to
Charlie’s party tomorrow night?”
Seeming a little put-out, he smiles. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”
I spit out the punch-line. “It’s fancy dress.”
Knowing what I’ve done leaves him with a dilemma. “I think you are an unscrupulous negotiator
Miss. Parker. You seem to have me at a disadvantage.” He’s cocking his head to one side and grinning
at me. Only a few men can pull off a look like that and still look this sexy, and he’s one of them.
“Please, tell me it’s not some ridiculous theme like cartoon characters or 80’s pop stars!”
“No.” I cannot speak for giggling. “It’s movie heroes. You should feel right at home.”
“Why’s that?” he asks, unconvinced.
“You’re my hero: you’ve saved me from a life of perpetual loneliness and from the clutches of a
madman.” He’s shaking his head in total disbelief. I continue. “Maybe you should wear your signature
suit and go as you?” With that suggestion his mouth twists and his hand finds its way to his neck.
That’s my cue to back-off. “So, will you?” I give him a wide, blue eyed stare.
He’s shaking his head, saying no but his smile is saying yes. “You drive a hard bargain …”
“I do. Is that a yes?”
“He will not be pressured further. “It’s a definite maybe …”
A what?
“That’s a very unStone-like thing to say.”
He reaches down for his bottle of water. “I’ve become a very unStone-like man these days thanks to
you. I’ve taken your advice.”
“What advice did I give?”
“You said, I quote, ‘You’ll find people will work harder and be more loyal if you treat them with
respect.’”
“I said that?”
“You did.”
“Then I must be smarter than I look.” I shrug my shoulders, pleased he actually took note of my
advice.
He winks and I wait for a smart riposte. “Right now, I think I’d have to agree with that
observation.” He has me by my collar and is pulling my mouth onto his. “You look like you’ve been
royally fucked Miss. Parker.”
I catch myself smiling. “That’s because I have Mr. Stone and, be assured, I won’t be doing that
again for at least 24 hours. So you can take that look off your face and that glint from your eye, and
wrap it up in your vanilla coloured sheets until tomorrow.” I plant a sticky kiss on his flat mouth and
try to release myself from his grip.
He intensifies his look and his hold on me. “For your information, Miss Parker, these sheets are not
vanilla. As I said before, there’s no vanilla in here.” In a single judo role, he lifts me by my collar and
places me on my back. No amount of self-control now will prevent me from laughing, only this time
it’s not at him, it’s with him.
“ Please allow me to reiterate …”
The red house wine is having the same effect on Elise as global warming on the polar ice caps:
she’s beginning to thaw. Dan received a call from her at 1600hrs, suggesting they get together to work
o
n Plan B. He has his game face on and is taking great delight in watching her devour egg rolls and
barbecued ribs, thinking silently: ‘This woman can eat.’
He’s rolling his fingers around the stem of his wine glass, sipping occasionally; what with the fact
he’s driving and has a cocktail of pain relief tablets circulating his body, he knows better than to tempt
fate by flooding his blood stream with alcohol.
Not being one to miss an opportunity to take the initiative, he watches Elise shed her ladylike
façade, along with her inhibitions like a born-again black mamba. He decides to hold fire with the
frontal attack. Even under the influence, she’s too shrewd a character to fall for his crude probing.
He tops up her glass. “So, where did you and Stone meet?”
She sniggers. “Purely by chance. I was on a training course at the Belgravia office and one of his
lackeys came in to enquire about a house for sale in Grosvenor Crescent.”
He picks at his food and nods for her to carry on.
“They were rushed off their feet, so I agreed to do the viewing. When I got there, he’d turned-up
and I showed him around. He liked the area and thought the house had potential but, it was too small.”
She huffs and takes a sip of wine before continuing. “He does no more than go next door and offer the
neighbour a crazy amount of money to sell their house to him, so he could open them up and have
them remodelled as one enormous house. Imagine. Who does that?”
Dan had seen Stone Heath and, from the outside, it didn’t look much. He had no idea Stone owned
both houses. Sensing Elise’s resentment, he fans the flames. “So he owns half the street then?”
“More or less, it’s a quiet cul-de-sac.” Now she’s fiddling with the noodles on her plate and fishing
out tasty morsels. “He had plans for the place, you see. He’s had a pool, a sauna, a steam room and a
home cinema put in, as well as a basement room. Not to mention the rooftop terrace.”
“Got more money than sense then?”
She seems to forget herself and, strangely, the hatred Dan had witnessed in her eyes for her mortal
enemy is replaced by something else.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. He’s as smart as he’s handsome.”
Her affirmation takes him by surprise. “Well, he must be an idiot then.” He grins and waits for her
reaction.
She laughs out loud. “Yeah, right.”
It’s not what she says that has Dan suspecting her rape story is bullshit, it’s the way her eyes are
glossing over when she’s talking about Stone. The gentle glow coming from the outdated wall lights,
is picking up the softness in her usually austere and fiery eyes.
She shatters his psychoanalysis with a change of subject. “Anyway, why are you so interested in
me? I’m sure you’ve got your fair share of stories to tell?”
Dan picks up the menu, hoping to distract her with talk of strawberry cheesecake and Eton Mess.
“Na, not me. I do my job and go home to my cat.”
She smiles, not buying a word of it. “That’s when you’re not out provoking young men into
attacking you so you can beat the shit out of them, before going home to your cat?”
Dan pretends to read the dessert menu, but cannot conceal his amusement. “You’re getting me
mixed up with someone else.”
“I don’t think so. Marie at the wine bar told me what you said to the guys at the bar about their
friend with the crushed hand. The hand he foolishly placed on my arm.”
“And … what else did she say, your nosy barmaid?”
“You were winding them up, on purpose.” She’s meeting his stare and locking on fearlessly. “Were
you?”
Dan holds up his hands in defeat. “I’d had a bad day.” Quickly he lowers his injured hand, stupidly
he has drawn attention to the bandage. Elise would surely latch onto it.
“And what about today? How’s that working out for you?”
“I’ve no complaints.” He calls over a waiter.
With him distracted, she leans over and squeezes his bandaged hand, watching him wince.
“Something tells me you didn’t get this shadow boxing Mr. Rizler, or opening a can of tuna for your
cat.”
Dan pulls his throbbing hand away and laughs haughtily. “No, I got this moving furniture around at
work.”
As quick as a flash, she’s onto it. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“No need, I heal quick.”
“Good. I don’t have time for light weights.” Utterly dismissive of him, she focuses her attention on
the dessert menu.
Who the fuck are you calling a light weight?
“For the record Elise, I fought at heavy weight and nothing’s changed since then.” Dan is standing
his ground and becoming increasingly irritated by her arrogance.
Forcing a smile she addresses him. “I’m pleased to hear it.”
The verbal sparring continues through dessert and does not peter out until coffee arrives, and Elise
has drained the last drop of wine from her glass. “We’ll go Dutch,” she announces.
Dan has no intentions of talking her out of it. “Fair enough.” He stands to leave.
“Aren’t you leaving a tip?” Elise is throwing a couple of pound coins onto the tray.
“I’ll give him a tip on the way out.”
A couple of yards away from the exit door, Dan calls the waiter over, stopping him mid-sentence
from ushering another couple to their table. “I’ve got a tip for you mate,” he says condescendingly.
The waiter nods expectantly. “Don’t give your customers chopsticks, they’re about as useless as tits
on a bull.”
Elise rolls her eyes. “An ex-boxer with a sense of humour? This must be my lucky day.”
The drive back to Hatch End takes thirty minutes, during which time nothing of any consequence is
discussed. Dan follows her directions and is quick to comment on her up-market address.
“Very nice. Lived here long? You must be making a pretty penny to afford to live around here.” He
catches sight of her car. “To own that car, and to wear expensive jewellery like that.” His eyes rest on
her gold rings and bracelet. “Got yourself a sugar daddy?”
Elise attempts to incinerate him with a stare. “That’s none of your fucking business. Let me know
when you’re ready to come clean about your hand and I’ll trade you secrets. That’s the deal. Take it or
leave it.” She steps out of the car.
“Thanks for the meal and the interrogation. I’ll be in touch.” She slams the door and strides
towards an impressive block of three storey apartments.
Without so much as a second glance, Dan signals and pulls out into the quiet street; the leafless
branches create a natural corridor but block out some of the light from the reproduction Victorian
lamps, giving it an empty, eerie feel. Knowing Elise had seen through his little ploy riles him, to the
extent he feels his temper catching fire, like bracken in extreme sunlight.
“I’ll give you a fucking trade-off,” he thinks aloud. “You suck my dick and I’ll tell you about my
hand. How about that for a trade-off?”
11
Last night’s capers have left me stiff and in need of some caffeine. After discussing the finer points
of fancy dress and bedroom linens, Ayden reiterated the hell out of me for another hour until we
decided it was time to come up for air. The night ended quietly with a shower and us nestling on the
/> sofa. I read Pride and Prejudice, again, and Ayden read an ineffectual employee in Shanghai the riot
act. A perfect moment of intimacy followed and I fell asleep in his arms, in his bed.
I could only manage a bleary eyed farewell this morning when he left early, promising to be home
by one o’clock. In a 6am haze I marvelled at his delectable torso; watched him dress, feeling my eyes
widening and my pulse quickening. His hair, still damp, tickled my cheek as he leaned in to kiss me
goodbye, slipping away before I could free my arms from the duvet to beg him to stay for five minutes
more. I licked my peppermint flavoured lips and smiled, exactly the same way I’m smiling now.
I close my eyes and picture his secret smile; the one needing no translation but conveying so much
and momentarily, I’m swept away with the wonder of it all.
With little difficulty, I recall my baptism in fire. Ayden is a gifted lover, there’s no denying that.
Handing sex toys over to him is like giving a paint box to Monet and saying paint something. For
hours, I burned with a volcanic intensity, almost melting in his hands like an altar candle.
Last night I learned the potency of fear. For a designated period, Ayden played me for the novice I
am; set up the scene and had my imagination racing, my palms sweating and my heart palpating.
Then, when the fear had lessened, he spoke softly to me until my heart raced again but not with fear,
with unadulterated pleasure. My body succumbed and shuddered to those two powerful emotions. Like
the marks on my wrists they are paired as unlikely bedfellows, the difference being, the marks will
fade but the memory of their coupling will not.
Having sanctified our connection, confessions heard and new promises made, I look out upon a
world without perimeters with an open mind and eyes that are wide-open.
Today’s a big day for us. It’s Ayden’s open-book day.
Wrapped in my towelling robe, I scratch my head and attempt to make sense of the control panel in
the lounge. I press:
1. The TV materialises out of nowhere and clicks into position on the far wall.
2. Crossing my fingers that it lifts the shutters but, instead, the lamps come on; very nice but not
the intended operation.
TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 19