Bernadette removed herself stiffly from his clutches. ‘He doesn’t need anyone to take care of him. Excuse me, I’m sure you mean well, but I do not answer to you. I don’t know you.’
‘Feisty!’ said Andrew, nodding sagely. ‘I’m impressed. I like that! Yeah!’
Bernadette shuddered and turned to say goodbye to Carter and Susan. The older woman leant in with a confiding air. ‘You know, this crowd of guys can be a bit of a trip. If you need anything, call me! Us girls need to stick together, you know what I mean?’
‘You’re very kind,’ Bernadette murmured.
The short drive to the Four Seasons allowed Bernadette just enough time to vent in agitation. ‘How can you put up with that?’ she demanded of Radley, who sat placidly by her side. ‘How can you stand anyone claiming ownership of you? It was shameless! The false feeling, and the gaucherie, it made me feel ill.’
‘Don’t hold back, will you?’ he said with a droll smile.
‘But honestly! Why do you allow it? You must know they’re all trying to get something from you.’
‘This is the problem with manipulative people. You assume the rest of the world must work as you do. Not everyone has an ulterior motive. They’re my friends.’
Bernadette rolled her eyes. ‘Well, no wonder.’
‘No wonder what?’
‘No wonder you came looking for me.’
Radley allowed a pause, his head cocked to one side as he regarded her inquisitively. ‘Isn’t that a quote from Pretty Woman?’ he asked. Bernadette scowled.
The male receptionist recognised Radley, and had a suite made available to them immediately. ‘Would you like help with your bags?’ he asked.
‘We’re fine, thanks,’ said Radley.
Bernadette felt keenly the lack of an overnight bag. She wondered what impression the receptionist had formed about a couple demanding a room late at night, with no luggage.
Her heart was beating fiercely in her chest, her breathing shallower than it should be. She was painfully aware of Radley’s every movement, and it seemed suddenly that he was acting in a deliberately suggestive manner, his body turning to hers full of promise for the night ahead. He took her hand and led her across the lobby, past the restaurant, to a row of burnished elevators. He called the elevator with his free hand and pulled her to him.
‘You are like a girl from a storybook,’ he said.
Bernadette thrilled as he gazed sincerely into her eyes. It was the type of compliment that suited her exactly, the kind of thing she had always longed to hear someone say. Bernadette placed great stock in storybooks.
Radley laughed at her dreamy expression. ‘See?’ he said, rather mischievously. ‘How did you like that? That was me pushing your buttons. I told you I could …’
Bernadette snapped from her trance and frowned. ‘Good work while it lasted. But can you keep it up without requiring praise for every punch that lands?’
They entered the elevator and Radley pressed the button. ‘It is strange,’ he said, as they ascended, ‘to be riding in an elevator with you and not have it stop mid-journey.’
‘We don’t need it to,’ said Bernadette. ‘There’s a bed waiting for us.’
They arrived without incident on the top floor. Radley found their room, Bernadette trailing behind, enjoying the deliciousness of anticipation. He managed the key card without any fumbling, pulled her into the room behind him, and shut the door firmly.
7
Once the door to the hotel room had shut behind them, Radley was all movement. Bernadette wasn’t given the luxury of inspecting the grand suite with its many sofas. Radley pulled her urgently through to the bedroom, where a huge white bed was not allowed to be an elephant – he didn’t give it time.
Instead, he pushed her rather roughly on to the smooth linen, her legs giving way easily, and then lay with his full weight on her prone form. It was everything she had expected, and her mind was quiet, finally, as limbic impulse took over. She was quivering, half afraid, of herself more than him, and half exultant.
‘This is what you want, isn’t it?’ he said, searching her eyes for a response. She nodded as he pushed himself harder on top of her, so that the bed springs coiled in anticipation. She could feel his body through his clothes, and the chemical desire coursing through her own body made her vision blurry. She looked up at him through grey clouds, and was only slightly aware of the intensity with which he was returning her gaze. He was watching her every move. She closed her eyes and lifted her mouth to be kissed.
Instead she heard him moan, an almost painful sound of longing. Her eyes opened as he ran his hand gently down her throat, dragging the tips of his fingers across her pale skin. Then suddenly he looked away. ‘I can’t,’ he said hoarsely, pushing himself up to standing and moving from the bed.
‘What?’ she cried, aghast.
‘I never intended to.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want you like this,’ he said, as if that was enough of an explanation. He walked into the adjoining bathroom, out of sight, and Bernadette could hear him running a tap. When he returned, she noticed he had splashed water across his face and wrists. ‘I don’t appreciate being used, by you or anybody. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurt in your past, and I don’t want to take advantage of a vulnerable person, but equally, I don’t want you to take advantage of me. What you said in the elevator today made me determined not to sleep with you.’
‘I’m not using you,’ said Bernadette, trying to stop her breath coming in ragged gasps. ‘It’s mutual.’
‘But it isn’t,’ he said, shaking his head with shining eyes. ‘It isn’t mutual at all. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.’
‘So have me!’ she cried impatiently, wondering why most of her romantic encounters ended in debate rather than debauchery.
‘I won’t have you unless I can have all of you. Can you please get that idea lodged firmly into your pretty head?’
‘But in the elevator, at your office – you said … you agreed that we would spend the night here.’
‘I’m proving a point. Heavy-handedly, no doubt, but I am trying. You think all men are idiotic charlatans who can’t resist you. But here I am, refusing to budge. My body is hurting with the denial, but I will not move. The reason you’re so enamoured with Tim is because he won’t let himself fall down the fucking rabbit hole. But I am a good man too!’ he said, his voice a notch higher than usual. ‘I am a good man. And I won’t give in to the temptation. I want more. I admit it. Make of it what you will.’
‘You’re not a good man, you’re horrible!’ she cried, leaping from the bed and storming into the sitting room, banging the interconnecting door loudly behind her.
She threw herself down on an obliging sofa and indulged in a good, loud cry. She had been enjoying Radley very much, and the pain of interrupted titillation, the end of the frottage, had been an unexpected drop from heaven.
He had tricked her. He had purposely aroused her desire knowing that he was going to deny her satisfaction. He was pretending to be like Tim – he was trying to wrench feeling from her by force. She considered writing it all in her article to show the world the real nature of the ‘reserved’ Radley Blake. But her own involvement made it difficult. She would have to explain how she had demanded they spend the night together. How she had been prepared to sleep with him while on assignment. How Radley Blake had refused the Man Whisperer, while she lay whimpering with ardour beneath him. Glowering, she went in search of the minibar.
She woke the next morning in the large white bed, her clothes folded neatly on a nearby chair. Radley was lying next to her fully clothed, checking emails on his iPhone.
‘What happened?’ she said, sitting up slowly.
‘I carried you through. You’d fallen asleep on the couch.’
‘You undressed me?’
‘I left your underwear on,’ he said, casually.
‘Did we … did we …?’
�
��My dear,’ he said, slowly, ‘if I wouldn’t touch you when you were conscious and demanding it, is it likely that I would touch you when you were passed out and drooling?’
‘You could be that kind of pervert,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’
‘Nope,’ he replied, cheerfully, ‘I’m definitely into consensual acts of a sexual nature. I’d like to hear you panting my name.’
She took a pillow from behind her head and whacked him with it. ‘I hate you. You’ve humiliated me.’
‘Let’s not exaggerate,’ he said. ‘I heard you crying last night and it very nearly broke my heart. But you have nothing to cry about. Last night I made it very clear that I wouldn’t sleep with you until you gave me proof that you’d be willing to have some kind of meaningful relationship with me. I will not be used as a sexual toy to help you get over your feelings for Tim, although’ – he shrugged with false modesty – ‘I’m fairly certain you would forget about him pretty quickly.’
‘Would not,’ she interjected.
‘Be that as it may, all that happened last night was that a man who desperately wanted you – who pushed himself to the very limit – refused to take you in search of higher pleasure. That’s not really all that bad, is it? You should be flattered.’
‘You should have taken what you could get,’ she said, meanly. ‘Cheap physical affection is all you’re worth.’
He made no sound and she turned, scared, in case her words had affected him too deeply. Words sometimes sprang from her lips before she could check them, her reputation as a bitch well earned from such outbursts. He smiled at her bravely. ‘I guess I deserve that. It was a rotten trick.’
They flew back to Los Angeles in a haze of sadness and mistrust. Bernadette realised she should be taking more notes for her article, and the Dictaphones sat boldly on the table between them. They blundered through some simple question-and-answers, but neither heart was in it.
It was strange how arriving back at Radley’s house seemed like coming home, and how despite the fact that it had only been twenty-four hours, their trip to the Bay Area had felt like a long journey.
‘Elizabeth is coming over in a bit. Do you want to watch a movie until she gets here?’ Radley asked. Bernadette was struck by the simple, domestic nature of the question.
‘Okay,’ she said. Her manner had been all gentle compliance since boarding the plane. She was tired, and confused in herself, and Radley seemed at a loss too.
She followed him down into the basement, neither of them having the energy to make a joke about sex dungeons or similar. The basement of Radley’s house was not like the basement of a normal person’s house. It was a full-on movie theatre, with thick black silk carpet, silk acoustic panels lining the walls, a tasteful LED starry ceiling, and specially designed velvet couches facing an enormous screen. Radley served her popcorn from a professional machine, and she helped herself to pick-and-mix from rows of glass candy jars behind a black lacquered bar.
They settled themselves on the middle couch, and Radley started up the screen. He had chosen Pretty Woman. ‘I know you’ve seen it before,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know that we’re in the mood for anything that requires much brainpower.’
Bernadette put her bag of sweets on the floor, tucked her legs up underneath her, and leaned against Radley with a confiding air that touched his heart. He put his arm around her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
‘It’s okay,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m fine. I don’t fancy you that much.’
They watched the familiar movie in companionable silence, with Bernadette snuggled under his arm. She tried to focus on the film, but the feel of Radley so close to her was distracting. She thought about the impressive Clarion Molecular buildings, and what an enormous undertaking the whole enterprise must be. Radley Blake was a genius after all.
But his behaviour towards her had been very ungentlemanly. He had premeditated a situation designed to hurt her, like a sadist would. She must not fall for him. The MP had been trauma enough, a romantic entanglement that had changed her whole personality and left her a wreck of her former self. Radley would guarantee her demise in entirety.
Just before the end of the film, a door at the back of the room opened, letting in annoying light, and Elizabeth’s voice called out a hesitant ‘Hello?’
Radley and Bernadette sprung apart as though caught doing something untoward. ‘Am I interrupting?’ continued Elizabeth, quite hopefully, as she peered into the darkened room.
‘No,’ said Radley, moving to greet her. ‘We were just waiting for you.’
It had been Bernadette’s idea to go to the Hollywood Bowl. She had demanded that Radley do something sophisticated, so that she could write about it in her article. ‘Watching Pretty Woman,’ she said, ‘does not cut it.’ So Radley had scored them three last-minute tickets to an Elgar concerto, and his chef had spent the afternoon preparing a picnic. Bernadette went home briefly to change her clothes, but was back at Radley’s in good time.
Elizabeth was in excellent spirits as they arrived at the Bowl, streaming in with the large crowd. ‘This is so cool!’ she giggled. ‘I don’t do anything last-minute. I never even think about it. It must be wonderful to be like you, Bernie, so free and experimental.’
‘I’d hardly call Elgar experimental,’ said Bernadette, elbowing people aside as she made a beeline for their allotted seats.
Elizabeth carefully unpacked the picnic basket that Radley had been carrying, and Bernadette pulled out a Dictaphone, which she thrust under Radley’s nose. ‘Give me a quote about Elgar,’ she demanded.
‘I like Elgar. He was English, like you. And he was a self-made man, like me. Elgar could be our nineteenth-century love child.’
‘Good enough,’ said Bernadette, clicking off her Dictaphone, her work done for the evening.
She enjoyed the spectacle, the large outdoor amphitheatre alight with candles, the stirring music reminding her of home. Radley sat with an arm around each of them, and they shared a warm blanket, munching on dainty sandwiches and chugging ice-cold beer.
‘We were thinking of doing a joint bachelor and bachelorette party,’ Bernadette said suddenly. ‘It was Radley’s idea.’
Elizabeth looked beyond thrilled. ‘That’s an amazing idea!’ she said. ‘I’d love it.’
‘We were thinking Vegas. You know, make it a traditional bender?’
‘Vegas was Bernadette’s idea,’ said Radley, hastily. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be up for that, but we could—’
‘I want Vegas!’ said Elizabeth, tugging at Radley’s arm. ‘I want whatever Bernadette thinks. I know you guys will make it so special. You’re the best.’ She rubbed her head affectionately against his shoulder, like a golden retriever.
‘This had better be the party to end all parties,’ Radley hissed to Bernadette.
‘Just give me a budget and I’ll see to it,’ she said, under her breath.
‘There is no budget,’ he whispered. ‘The limit is your imagination.’
Bernadette raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
Bernadette dumped David, gently, a few days before the joint bachelor party. He was no longer necessary, a layer of skulduggery too deep, an added complication that was in no way forwarding her case with Tim. And he was annoying.
David did not react well to being discarded. He made it quite clear to Bernadette that she would never find another man who would treat her as well as he would. She thanked him politely for his concern, but said she was willing to take her chances.
She had seen very little of Tim in the run-up to the party, and had instead been spending copious amounts of time with Elizabeth, whose wide-eyed goodness was somewhat captivating. Bernadette hadn’t realised that female company could be quite so satisfying.
Radley had kept his distance, allowing her uninterrupted time to write up her article. They had had a cordial email exchange during the arranging of the party, with Bernadette taking on the role of chief plan
ner, and Radley that of financer.
The guests milled about on the tarmac by Radley’s jet, waiting for their leader. Bernadette arrived fashionably late, dragging a rolling case behind her. She insisted they take the obligatory jet-setters’ photograph, smiling in the LA sunshine, and managed to insert herself prominently between Tim and Radley. Radley’s arm around her waist was heavy and comforting, and made her efforts to seize Tim around his waist all the more titillating.
The group was a select one. Lauren Paul, she of the Pinterest hair, seemed to be watching Bernadette with unusual engrossment; every time Bernadette looked across at her, Lauren would be staring back. Stephanie and Mason had arrived in colour-coordinating outfits, T-shirts in an overused shade of Tiffany turquoise, and ill-fitting jeans. Unforgivably, Stephanie was also wearing a fanny pack. Gina and Chris were physically more presentable, but seemed incapable of being civil to one another.
They boarded the jet, climbing the steep staircase into the cabin in a tight row, like animals boarding the Ark.
‘This is something else!’ breathed Mason, as he stepped aboard. Chris followed, and swore under his breath at the sight of the plane’s interior. ‘This thing must be a babe magnet!’ he said, turning to stare in admiration at Radley.
‘Yes, as far as women are concerned, billionaires are the new vampires, thanks to popular erotic fiction. Fifty Shades did wonders for my love life.’ Radley smirked. ‘I have a jet, therefore I am a misunderstood romantic.’
‘You are a misunderstood romantic,’ Bernadette muttered, pushing past him.
The short flight was a happy and riotous one. Bernadette was pleased to see Radley. She had spent the past weeks writing up her article, and reliving their eventful time together. She regarded him fondly, and this amatory tenderness was marred only by the occasional bout of sexual longing, which overtook her when she glanced at him, or when he stood too close. She swore to herself that she would not pretend to fall in love with him just so that he would kiss her, so that she could finally feel the sensation of his lips against hers. It was disconcerting, though, how much brain space he was taking up, compared to Tim. The ratio was strangely in Radley’s favour, and Bernadette tried to consciously squash thoughts of Radley and focus on her true love.
Acts of Love Page 18