Under His Influence

by Justine Elyot

“Why?”

  “Because you’re too conscientious. You need to rest, and I need to know that you are resting. Just for today. Come on.” He stretched a hand out, the fingers flicking the command. Bemused, Anna reached into her handbag and handed over the phone. He came around the table to sit beside her on the bench, clamping her to his side with an arm, ruffling her hair. “Good girl,” he crooned. “Have sweet dreams while I’m out, won’t you? Preferably about me. I’ll be back before you know it.” Despite herself, Anna dismissed the tiny niggle of anxiety that had blossomed in her stomach and let him kiss her into total acquiescence once more.

  “Oh, by the way,” he said, stopping at the kitchen door before taking himself and his briefcase off to the City. “I presume you are on the pill, are you?”

  Anna stared into her greasy plate, hating practical talk to intrude on her Huge Romance. “Yeah.”

  “Right. Just so we’re clear. Goodbye, darling. Take care of yourself.”

  Chapter Five

  Barefoot and draped in one of John’s shirts, Anna wandered through each cavernous room of the house, imagining herself here, its mistress. The furnishings were too austere for her taste; she listed the feminine touches she would add as she made her inventory of each chamber. Vases of long-stemmed roses on each table, she thought, and photographs on the wall—those big portraits, blown up. Perhaps there would be wedding photographs… No, Anna. This is all too unreal anyway. Don’t go adding the big white dress and the society wedding to a brew already more potent than you could have dreamed. She paused, holding on to a pillar for support. Oh, her legs ached and her eyelids were so heavy. She would have to lie down. Lie down and think of that dark, rapt night just past. The avidity of him, his unerring intuition for how she should be touched and what made her melt or burn—where did it come from? It was as if she had called him up from a place beyond Earth—a perfect man, fashioned to pleasure her, to love her, to give her everything she had ever wanted. It was almost too uncanny. She shivered, hugged the John-smelling shirt tighter around her depleted body and blanked into sleep once more.

  John had been expecting the call, and when the Recorder’s number flashed up on his screen, he allowed himself a smile.

  “John Stone.”

  “Mr. Stone, hello. I expect your secretary told you—”

  “Yes, she did. You want an interview?”

  “Just a bit of background for the article Mr. Prendergast has commissioned on your new projects. The ‘man behind the machine’ kind of thing. Would you be willing?”

  “It’s short notice, isn’t it? The article is going to be in Wednesday’s technology supplement, I thought.” John tapped the desk with a digital pen, waiting to enter the details in his electronic notepad, not particularly interested in what the girl’s lame rationale might be, but wanting to make her work anyway.

  “I can get it written up by the end of play today, if you’re free for lunch. I only need an hour.”

  “An hour represents a considerable investment of my time, Ms…?”

  “Leblanc. Miranda. And yes, I do understand that. I’ll try to keep it as brief as possible. Say, the King of Ludgate, at one?”

  “The King of Ludgate. One. Don’t be late, now.”

  “I won’t. Goodbye, Mr. Stone. Thank you.”

  “See you later.”

  Anna was bathed in confetti, a froth of tulle swishing around her ankles, which were cross-strapped in something by Monsieur Louboutin. She was so happy that she was floating a few inches above the ground, looking down to find the person she wanted to aim her bouquet at. Where was she? Smiling faces stretched for miles on every side, upturned, calling out well wishes, and John was standing in the distance, beside a coach and four, calling to her, “Come on, come on, it’s time to go, just throw it, Anna, and let’s go.”

  But she couldn’t find the one she wanted, so she threw the spray of roses willy-nilly, above the heads of the crowd. A pair of hands with grotesquely long false nails shot up and caught the flowers. Anna clapped, shouted “Mimi!” But Mimi’s face was warped and decayed, and she cackled as the roses landed and, on contact, withered. The petals, now brown, fell from the stalks, and Mimi took the thorny stems and hurled them back, fast, heading straight for Anna’s eyes…

  She screamed and woke up, sweating, clutching at cushions, looking instinctively for John.

  It was only eleven-forty in the morning. He was still at work. He wouldn’t be back for a long time. She stumbled to the kitchen and chopped up some fruit for a smoothie, and stared out at the heavily cultivated back garden. Would all this be hers? Was it meant to be?

  The King of Ludgate had stood on the same corner of Ludgate Circus for hundreds of years, though for most of that time it had not been quite as full of men in suits as it was now.

  Mimi was not sure she would recognise John Stone, having in her mind only an impression of a generic City gent. She trod a careful path through the throng of expensively dressed City boys, checking every table for likely candidates, fending off various rude remarks or offers of drinks en route. Oh, yes, there, feeding coins into the slot machine in a frenzy, banging on the buttons, that was him. How could she have thought she would not know him? There was that indefinable something about him, the thing that must have sucked Anna in so quickly and efficiently. She held back for a while, waiting for the game to end, which it did in a jingling waterfall of coin. Stone, aggressive in victory, scooped it all up and pocketed it before swinging around to face her unexpectedly.

  “Mimi.”

  She caught her breath, suddenly fearful.

  “M-Miranda,” she reminded him, uncertainly holding out her hand. “From The Recorder.”

  “But they call you Mimi,” he countered, failing to reciprocate her gesture. “I’ll find a table. Mine’s a still mineral water.”

  Mimi felt nauseated all the way to the bar, and all the way back with their two bottles of overpriced water. He must know she was here to ask about Anna. To warn him off, if necessary. She was going to have to play it tough, really tough, or he would make mincemeat of her. She could see he had that potential, and everybody had said he was not a man to mess with. Why did he have to choose her sweet, vulnerable, ditsy friend to prey on, then? Why poor orphaned Anna?

  He was counting his winnings at the corner table he had secured for them.

  “You’re a gambling man?” Mimi set down the bottles and sat opposite him, keeping her face as guarded as she could.

  “For me it isn’t gambling, Mimi,” he mused, making little piles of pounds in neat rows. “For me, chance is a myth, which has been used to successfully confound your kind for millennia.”

  “My kind?”

  He looked up, clicking his teeth. “Forget it. Let’s just say, I play to win, or I don’t play. So belief in chance, or coincidence, isn’t in my makeup.”

  “And do you always win?”

  “So far.”

  “You’ve been lucky?”

  “No. No, I really wouldn’t say that. That’s one thing I’ve never been.”

  Mimi took a contemplative swig of water, thinking it best to wait for Stone’s next line of attack.

  “You aren’t here to interview me about the ozone replacement programme, are you? They would have sent a science writer for that, and you aren’t a science writer, are you? You’re on the Meaningless Wittering desk, aren’t you? You deal with ‘Fake Tan Emergencies’ and ‘How to Date a Metrosexual Man.’ That kind of thing. Or at least, so I’ve heard.” He smiled. The effect was not ingratiating, and neither was it meant to be.

  “What have you done with Anna?”

  “What haven’t I done with her?”

  He must have seen Mimi’s muscles tense, her hand fly up as if she was going to slap him. He held up a deflective palm, and suddenly took on an expression of appeasement.

  “I’m sorry. It was flippant and ungentlemanly of me. The fact is, Mimi, Anna is happy. She is happy with me, and I with her. We have a chance to hold on t
o that happiness together. There is nothing more to it than that. I can understand why you are so protective of her—but I’m going to take care of her.”

  Mimi retracted her hand, unconvinced by Stone’s smooth, persuasive tones, but having nothing concrete to fight against now. She took refuge in her glass of water.

  “And I think you’ve already shoved your oar in far enough, don’t you? You’re a journalist, aren’t you? Surely your researching on Google skills extend beyond reading the first page of results?”

  “Okay, I admit I was wrong about that. I’m sorry. I read about your wife over the weekend. I know she’s…not with you. Anymore.”

  “Ah, and you chose not to tell Anna? Why would you do that? Are you her keeper?”

  Mimi drew a deep breath. “Yes, in a way, I suppose I do see myself as such. Look, Mr. Stone, you don’t know Anna well, but you must have seen enough to know how vulnerable she is. She’s an innocent. She’s alone in the world—I’m almost all she has. I see her as a little sister as much as a friend.”

  “Little sisters fall in love, Mimi. With men who want nothing more than to love and look after them.”

  “But you…I don’t buy it. I don’t know why. I just don’t.”

  Don’t look directly into his eyes. Mimi took heed of her inner warning voice. It had never let her down before, and her capacity to trust her instincts was one of the things Mimi took most pride in.

  “You think it’s too soon after my wife’s death? That’s understandable. It looks as if I’m on the rebound. Believe me, I’m not. Saskia and I were a mismatch. I know it sounds harsh, and I’m not speaking ill of her. She was a terrific woman. Just not the woman for me. Now I’m free, and I’ve found the woman for me. It’s simple.”

  “Simple?” It sounded anything but. “You think Anna is the woman for you? You met her, what is it, four or five days ago? How can you say that?”

  “Have you ever been in love, Mimi?”

  “We aren’t here to discuss me or my love life.”

  “Oh, so you haven’t. I thought not. You have that confidence, that hard gleam of self-righteousness that comes from never giving your heart away. Are you scared of love, Mimi? Is that why you are so angry that Anna has found it? Because, deep down, you worry that you never will. Yet I think you’ll find it. I think you’ll lose that self-control you’re so proud of one day. Either that or you’ll carry on dating and accepting the worshippers and perhaps you’ll even marry. But it would be a shame to keep your heart in that tough little shell, wouldn’t it, Miranda? You think Anna is weak, but she’s stronger than you in that respect. Braver. And I both respect and admire her for it.”

  Mimi barely heard the words. They seemed to be distorted by the sheer force of his intonation. She fought the shivers that threatened her body, fought the stupid impulse to cry and rant at this uncanny man.

  “We aren’t here to discuss me or my love life,” she reiterated, grinding the shaky edge out of her voice. “So you’re set on Anna? Is there anything I can give you to induce you to let her go?”

  Stone half smiled and shook his head. “I’m keeping her.”

  “She isn’t a pet.”

  “Oh, she is. Such a little pet.” If Mimi wasn’t mistaken, that smile was almost a sneer. “Don’t look so shocked. I mean it affectionately. Of course.”

  “You’d better treat her right, Stone.”

  “Or? Oh, don’t worry. I will. I’ll treat her right. Just the way she wants to be treated.”

  Mimi had to concede defeat. There was nothing she could do against the peculiar power Stone radiated. Her only chance now was to see that he didn’t manage to cut her out of Anna’s life. If she could just keep contact with her friend, perhaps there was some hope.

  “Good,” she said, breathing out, feigning relief. “That was all I wanted to know, Mr. Stone.”

  “Call me John. Please.”

  “I care deeply for Anna, and I wanted to be sure that you did too. We both want what’s best for her. Can we shake hands on that?”

  He eyed her at a slant, clearly suspicious, but eventually decided to take the easy, nonconfrontational route she suggested, accepting her hand and pumping it earnestly. “I’m glad you see it that way.”

  “Will Anna be back at work tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s very tired.” The wicked glint returned to his eye and Mimi shuddered, picturing for a second Stone on top of Anna, an insatiable satyr draining every vestige of energy from her. “Let’s leave that up to her, shall we? And now I really must be going. I have an appointment with a jeweller. Goodbye, Mimi.”

  Mimi gasped and half rose from her seat, contemplating pursuit, but he was already away, threading through the lunchtime crowd, towards the door and then off in the direction of Hatton Garden.

  “My darling.”

  He woke her with a soft stroke of her brow. She put a hand up to her forehead, thinking that her own hair had created the sensation, forgetful of where she was or who might be with her for as long as it took her eyes to clear and the fog to dissipate from her brain. Then the crinkled golden brown eyes and the beloved smile appeared through the haze, like beacons, bringing her home to the man she loved. She felt almost guilty for leaving him, even though it had only been in sleep, as if she had been unfaithful in some way.

  “My dream girl.”

  “Oh, John.” She tried to speak, but her voice was heavy and cracked. She had been dozing and drifting all day, and she didn’t feel quite connected with reality. It was as if John had taken her to a different place, a realm of the senses, and nothing mundane existed anymore. It was the effect of all the sleep and the sex, she was sure, but it was pleasant, in a drugged sort of way. “I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you.”

  She submitted to his kiss, a gentle one for him, and struggled to sit up.

  “Didn’t you see me in your dreams?” he asked, pretending disappointment.

  “Oh…I expect I did.” She twisted her ankles and wrists, trying to bring her body back to her. It seemed to have floated away while she slept. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Hmm. Yes. Productive. Interesting. But I preferred the night.” He slid an arm around her shoulder and arranged her so that her legs rested over his lap. Their foreheads touched and he pressed a finger to her lower lip, dragging it down. “Didn’t you?”

  She giggled, blushing. “If every night’s going to be like that, I need to get to the gym more often.”

  “You don’t need to go to the gym. I have a gym here.” His hand felt so good on her neck, so warm and strong. She reclined her head, like a cat being fussed over, nuzzling him. “And besides, sex is the best exercise there is. The way to get more stamina is to just keep doing it.”

  “Oh yeah?” She buried her face in his fingers, too coy to look at his seductive smirk.

  “Oh yeah, Miss Rice. It’s a scientific fact. So perhaps you should take off that shirt of mine and prepare for your workout.” The hand was kneading her shoulders now, underneath the creased cotton of the shirt, and his lips found the hollow of her nape and caressed it, teasing, finding every nerve ending there as surely as if they had access to a map.

  “Oh, God, John. But I’m sore…it’d hurt… But oh God. Oh John.”

  “It won’t hurt. I promise you.”

  “John, I…”

  She let him lay her on her back, removing the shirt as she descended into the bank of pillows.

  “Your nipples look sore,” he commented, and it was true that they had been throbbing all day, but as soon as he touched them, she found that the electrical impulses generated by his fingertips cancelled out the pain. “Are they?”

  “They…should be…ohhh…they aren’t really…”

  He kept stimulating the tight little buds with one hand, using the other to loosen his tie and unbutton his collar. The silk tie flapped over her stomach when he bent to lick and suck at the now completely pleasure-filled nubs.

  “See? It’s good, isn’t
it?”

  “How…do you do it?” John’s fingers were crawling down over her belly, finding the little thicket of pubic hair that sheltered her puffy, swollen sex lips.

  He lifted his head, lowering it over her face and kissing her with long, ravishing effect before drawling, “I just have the touch, Anna.”

  Her clitoris was agreeing with him. He had the touch. She felt slick and sticky with want for him and she raised her hips, opening herself to his thorough investigations.

  “Oh, my eager little sweetheart.” John unfastened his trousers, shimmying them off as quickly as he could. “You want it, don’t you? You want it again.”

  “Mmm,” she whimpered, grabbing his tie, pulling it right off. “Please.”

  “Oh, I can’t resist it when you beg,” he exclaimed, his voice half-delirious with triumph and lust. He kicked off his boxers and mounted her, still in his shirt, but careless of niceties, seeming too pent up with the frustrations of the day to wait until he was naked.

  Anna sighed, a long, punctured sigh, as his hard cock slid inside her, firing up every scintilla of sensation along the way. She should be experiencing burning pain with every frictive thrust, but instead it was as if her own flowing juices had healed the rawness with their pleasure-balm. Now she was filled with him, she was whole again, a part of him, him a part of her, where she needed to be. How had she lived so long without knowing what love and sex could be like? Was it like this for everyone? Surely it couldn’t be? Surely only John could unlock her in this way. It was important, she perceived amidst the riot of sensuality and abandon, that she never lose him. She was his, and she had to be his, always.

  “You’re mine.” His hot breath poured into her ear, and she was sure that when they were coupled he could read her mind. “Yes, you are. Always.”

  Her orgasm tipped her up and flowed into every corner of her. It was like the sleep paralysis, like the bit where her body disconnected from her brain and flipped around the room by an unseen, manipulative force. It was like that, but good.