Taken Identity

by Raven McAllan

  Chapter Three

  “Well, that’s one way of telling us apart then.” Jules looked at him as he stared at the pen she held loosely in her left hand. My God, she thought, he’s about as easy for me to read as Sanskrit. Those deep, dark eyes were unfathomable. His face, gray beneath its tan, was rigid and expressionless. Only his hands, the knuckles showing whitely, displayed any signs of emotion.

  “I’d hate to play against you in chess or cards,” Jules said. At his questioning look, she continued. “The phrase poker face fits you to perfection. You give no one any idea what you’re thinking.”

  “Sorry, force of habit. A good boardroom tactic.” He smiled, and everything changed. His face lit up.

  Bottle it and sell it, she thought. Instant arousal for anyone looking. She could feel her body tingling in response to his unwitting invitation. Down, girl, sex is not on the table. Oh, for heaven’s sake, do not think of sex and table or down. No, not down—not on him or my knees. Oh hell. Cold showers. She admonished herself and almost groaned aloud. No! Not sex and showers. Definitely not Gray, sex and showers. Get your mind and body away from the amorous and into the mundane. Shit, I hope he can’t read what I’m thinking. I know I’ve not got a poker face.

  If he had, the only recognition was a slight tightening of his body, and movements in his chair as if his immaculate trousers, instead of obviously being handmade for him, were a size too small. Hooray for upper-crust correctness.

  “Pity it wasn’t the other way around, though.”

  “Huh?” Jules had no idea what he was talking about. Surely he wasn’t arguing with her over her sex and a shower scenario or polite behavior. She was certain it had only been thoughts, not words.

  “Left hand, right hand. If she’d been left-handed and you right, people would perhaps have noticed more.”

  He was still talking about her dominant hand.

  Argh, now she was thinking Dominant again. Wash your mind out, Jules, and concentrate on the matter in hand. Enough.

  “Not necessarily,” Jules argued, relieved to have something other than hot, hard sex on her mind. “After all, if you find someone who knows her, they’ll know if she was left or right-handed. Anyway, even if we do find someone who knew her, I can’t really see how that’s going to help us, unless they know where she is now.”

  Gray nodded. “I’ll buy that, but what else do we do? If Sean can’t find her—and he’s supposed to be among the best in his business—do I spend the rest of my life in limbo? Married, but not really, to someone who isn’t who she says she is? Because I can tell you, it’s a damned shit place to be—not a husband, but married. No idea what the hell is going on. No idea why she left so suddenly. It wasn’t as if we had a row or anything. Granted, she had been somewhat distant, but she’d never been over demonstrative, so there was no reason to think anything was amiss. It was all normal. But unless my jewelry is returned, that’s going to be where I am.”

  What an awful description of a boring marriage, Jules thought—undemonstrative and distant. She shuddered. So not how she saw Gray at all.

  “Um, was she happy with…?” She waved her hand in the air, uncertain to voice her exact thoughts. “You know…stuff?”

  His eyes narrowed. “And just what do you mean by that? No, don’t wriggle and look away, pet. Explain yourself.”

  Pet? Oh… “Well, I sort of got the idea you’re very much—” She hesitated then took the plunge. “A Dom?”

  There was silence and Jules’ stomach sank to her toes. Had she read him all wrong? Was she deep in the mire now?”

  “Would it bother you?” he asked finally, just as she was ready to run out and hide in the loo. “Be honest.”

  “Nooo. Not the Dom bit. The ‘what you might expect me to do’ does, but only because all I know is second hand and from books.”

  Liar, liar pants on fire.

  “Well at the moment, I’ve no right to expect anything, and I’ll be doing nothing. Later? Well, that would be for us to decide. Now let’s change the subject. That is all too painful when it’s a no go area for now. As for Julia, let’s say she suffered it. No, not suffered—did as little as possible and wasn’t interested. She went through the motions. That is even more emasculating than an outright no. Right, so, all I think we can do, between the three of us, is try to trace all movements by anyone with your name, eliminate the ones you made and concentrate on the others and keep our fingers crossed something comes from it.”

  Jules considered his suggestions—all of them—and his profile. Her thighs were damp and her nipples and clit were so sore she wanted to rub them. She might be tempted except he looked, she thought, almost haunted. Another thought struck her and that one was considerably more upsetting.

  “Sean said he’d been told Julia was pregnant. I’m not, so whoever told him that must know her and not me. Can’t he track her down through that person?”

  Gray shook his head. “Anonymous letter, not even by email. Before you ask, postmarked Glasgow. Another reason to assume you were her.”

  “Blast. Another alleyway blocked. Oh, and please don’t get all uppity when I ask this, but if she is pregnant—who’s the father?”

  Surprising her, Gray laughed. “Another million-pound question. Not me, anyway. Unless triple strength latex isn’t effective. And you can’t be pregnant for over a year.”

  “All’s possible, I suppose, but why the over a year pregnant bit? Or is that too much information? You told me it was eighteen months.”

  “Because, I, er, saw her a year ago, in Italy.” His laugh mocked himself. “I try to block that out, it wasn’t my finest hour. And, well, oh, hell, do I need to spell it out? We were at a party, a very dark and mysterious, masked ball. Still, I was certain I recognized her and sure enough, my host introduced her as Julia Frayne. I started to ask about the jewels and she said later and, shit, I’d had wine and a long flight, and thought ‘okay, why not’. To my shame, I thought she might be easier to question later, after, well… Ah bugger, I sound a right prick now. We had sex—oh, Christ, not at the party, at my hotel. I’m not that depraved. She disappeared before I had the chance to ask her what the fuck she had been playing at. I was jet-lagged and fell asleep after the most mind-blowing sex I had ever experienced in my life. I had no idea she was capable of responding as she did. She responded as the most perfect sub any Dom could ever ask for. I haven’t seen or heard from her since. So an elephant pregnancy or nothing to do with me.”

  “And she knew you were, er…you? You told her your name?” She held her breath. This could get very, very awkward. Did she look as stunned as she felt? Evidently not, as he shook his head before continuing.

  “No, my host just called me Fox. My nickname at school. But even masked, I can’t believe she didn’t know it was me. Apart from which, even I drew the line at keeping the bloody things on while we made love. Although, come to think of it, she did make me keep the light off. Said it was better in the moonlight. Hell, I shouldn’t be telling you all this. Sufficient to say, that was the last time I saw her.”

  He looked uncomfortable discussing what had happened. Pfft, she thought. Not nearly half as uncomfortable as I am.

  “Er, whereabouts in Italy?” she queried, although she was fairly sure she knew the answer.

  She did.

  Oops. Shit. Hell. Shit and bugger. And any other words suitable were the only things that sprang to mind. Even masked—or only lit by moonlight—should she be offended that she was so forgettable? Jules conveniently didn’t remind herself that, at that time, her hair had been a good six inches longer and due to the sun, several shades lighter, and he had sported hair that had curled over his collar and a good three-day’s growth of designer stubble. Her breasts had held on to the rash to prove it for several days, and her ass had hurt to sit on for even longer. Instead, she chose to interpret it as just another example of men thinking with their gonads.

  “Ah, well, okay,” she said lamely. She wasn’t even going anywher
e near that. “So, not yours, but someone’s though, unless we have an immaculate conception. Did the note say how pregnant she was?”

  He shook his head.

  Jules mulled over the latest revelations. “This is what I think we do, then. I’ll make a spreadsheet. Set out everywhere I’ve been during the years from when I was published, to when you met Julia.” Luckily, she thought, relieved, no need to go later than that. “And put down where I was. If Sean comes up with anything, we might be able to narrow down if and when our paths crossed. Yes?”

  “Sounds good to me. But lunch first?”

  In response, Jules’ tummy growled. She laughed. “Seems like the best idea all day.”

  * * * *

  Lunch turned out to be a long assault on the senses in a setting made for seduction. Gray seemed totally unfazed by the intimate little room they were shown to. A table on its own sat at an angle to the sumptuously draped window. Even though it was summer, a crackling fire flamed in the hearth. They sat side by side on an enclosed settee, the high sides and canopied roof shielding them from anyone who happened to make their way through the shrubs surrounding the tiny, outside courtyard. The food was set out in front of them, the champagne on ice. Moreover, the waiter’s parting words were, “Please ring when you want something. Otherwise, enjoy.” All designed, Jules thought, with sex and seduction in mind. As a consequence, along with recent revelations, she couldn’t get sex and seduction out of her mind. She wondered how Gray felt. Talk about clams—or even a duck’s bum. His thoughts, it seemed, were tightly guarded.

  So now it was time to pry open those thoughts.

  “You chose this? This setting for lunch?”

  For once, his laughter seemed unforced and genuinely amused. “Good grief, no. What do you take me for? I asked for a secluded table for two, meaning no one to be able to overhear anything we talked about. Obviously, that translated into seduction in Scottish-mode. When I seduce you, it’s going to be somewhere special, and somewhere we’ll get no interruptions. Preferably my playroom, but if not, it’ll be private—for our first time, at least.”

  He laughed again, obviously seeing the astounded look on her face. Jules knew her jaw had dropped. Playroom? Oh my.

  “D’you want me to ask them to move us to the main restaurant? I will, but then, of course, there is the chance of being overheard.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be daft, of course not. I’m with you that I just thought this was a bit OTT.”

  He laughed. “Well, yes, it is. Just blame Iain MacFarlane, the manager. When I said I wanted somewhere private, he probably thought I wanted seduction. Hence here.”

  “Don’t tell me, you went to school with him, as well?” As he nodded, Jules groaned. Was his friend another Dom? Hell, would she even recognize one if it hit her in the face? Or should that be he hit her on the bum? She was so bloody clueless most of the time. “And I suppose you own part of the hotel, as well?”

  He shook his head and laughed as she mimed relief. “Nope, not part. All. Sorry.”

  “Sorry? Not good enough. Here you are at your hotel, and the guy who runs it thinks you’ve brought me here for sex! What the hell do your friends think I am?”

  “Not you,” he reassured her. “Me. I, er, got a bit of a reputation in my younger days. A rock chick, a room and a rebel—me. Several crops, a set of cuffs and she said I was the best partner ever. Made the tabloids, and I’ve never lived it down. Except that the rock chick was my non-kissing cousin, the crops were for a riding competition she was in the next day, her dad was a cop, her parents were there and I was partnering her in a horse ride for charity. The rebel? Well, I had a motorbike and leathers. From such little info, a legend is made.”

  Now that was a picture made to put any girl into sexual awareness overdrive, Jules reflected, as she felt her breath quicken and her imagination surge. Think of something negative, like his wife. Yup, designed to kill any interesting scenarios before they even get started in your mind.

  “I can imagine.” Jules tried half-heartedly to dispel the images. “One day, I’d love to see you in leathers!”

  “One day, you shall, then.” He winked. “Though they won’t be the sort I’d wear on my bike.”

  Jules couldn’t stop her gasp as her body filled with heat and her juices gathered at the entrance to her pussy. His laugh, and soft, “Oh yes, my pet, you like the thought of that,” did nothing to dispel them. She gritted her teeth and looked at the table.

  “Oh God, he really did think you were in seduction mode, didn’t he?” She gestured toward the food—oysters, finger food and strawberries, all designed to be fed to each other. And a bottle of champagne sitting in a cooler. Luckily, she couldn’t see any whipped cream. That would have been the end.

  “Maybe he just knows I love oysters?” Gray suggested.

  “Hmm. Do you?”

  “Actually, no, I hate them. They’re all yours.”

  “You’re too generous. I don’t suppose there’s a helpful cat around with a penchant for mollusk?”

  “No, no cat. Leave them, and I’ll tell him we don’t need any extra stimulation.”

  Heat ran over her skin as she absorbed his words. “Gray, you can’t. I’ll swallow the bloody things and pretend they’re strawberries.”

  “Leave them.”

  Oh ho, Dom alert. She dipped her head and cursed under her breath as he spoke into her ear.

  “I like that.” Gray raised his voice. “Shall we?”

  He pulled the table closer, and, deliberately it seemed, moved nearer to her on the padded seat, until their thighs were almost brushing.

  Whether it was an accident or he did it on purpose, Jules didn’t know, but whichever it was, it wasn’t helping her arousal level. Gray knew just how to tease her senses. Just enjoy it, Jules, she thought. They both knew that while Julia and whatever she was up to was unresolved, their growing attraction for each other would also remain unresolved.

  “I’m stuffed,” Jules said inelegantly, as she looked at the remains of their lunch. “Pure, unadulterated greed. But oh, so good. Gorgeous.”

  “Gorgeous,” he said in agreement. “And so was the food.”

  She blushed.

  “I’ve got to do this. And I sound like an old roué in a historical novel, but…” He leaned forwards and kissed her. As their tongues met and danced, Jules could feel all her resolution slipping. He popped the buttons of her blouse open, unerringly found one taut nipple and caressed it. She moaned, lifting one hand to his chest to reciprocate.

  A coal fell into the fire grate with a harsh sound. Jules jumped, moved her hand then his. He drew back and she let him, reluctance and frustration in every move.

  By the time there was a sensible distance between them, they were both breathing heavily. Gray ran his hand through his hair.

  “Er, d’you think we’d better have coffee somewhere else?” Was that breathy voice really hers?

  Gray nodded and stood to help her move away from that all-concealing settee. “Where?”

  Jules considered. “Well, not anywhere like that room where we were before. It’s so boring.”

  “It’s meant to be. It’s a conference room.”

  “Well, all it conferred on me was a desire to shut my eyes and block it out. Do you have a lounge—you know, a suite here?”

  He nodded. “But if we go there, I can’t guarantee what will happen. It seems as if we only need to be alone, to get—”

  “Aroused? Turned on? Horny as hell?”

  “I was trying to be more subtle, but that about sums it up.”

  Jules was laughing. “I don’t think there is anything subtle about the way we almost jump each other. We both know there is too much at stake to go scratching itches. I can be grown up if you can.”

  He muttered, “It’s what we consider grown up that I’m worried about.”

  Jules ignored him and opened the door. “Shall we?”

  “We shall. Definitely. Oh, you mean have coffee
in my suite? That too.”

  She was speechless. Definitely a first!

  Gray’s suite on the ground floor was large and although opulent, not ostentatious. Comfortable settees were grouped around yet another real fire, which was lit and glowing. She glanced at the sunshine outside, lighting up the yet again private courtyard, then at the fire.

  “I know,” he answered her unspoken message correctly. “These walls are thick and like the room we dined in, the fire is a much nicer way of making sure they don’t get damp, rather than having horrible central-heating radiators on. I prefer that, and as this is my private domain, well…” He did a shrug that made her nerves quiver. “Elsewhere, we accept people don’t want a fire on such a sunny day.”

  Looking at the warmth and intimacy the fire created, Jules wasn’t sure it was such a good idea at that particular moment, but kept her mouth shut. She was in deep enough already without pointing out what a romantic scene it created. Instead, she dug into her bag and took out her laptop. Then curiosity got the better of her. “Do you, um…have any other rooms here?”

  Gray stared and his face changed. Jules swallowed. If she’d needed a reminder of how he would be in Dom mode, she had it then.

  “Explain that, pet. Don’t talk in riddles.”

  Oh, lordy.

  “Well, I assume you have a bedroom, but do you have playroom?” she asked. Her words tumbled over each other as she rushed them in order not to chicken out.

  “Would you like me to have, pet?”

  Jules knew she had to be truthful. “I think so. I’d like to know what one looked like in real life, anyway.”

  “Thank you for your honesty.” Gray held her face in his hands. “Not here, but one day I will show you some of mine.”

  Some?

  “And we’ll see how we mesh, eh? But first…grief, woman, what’s in here apart from a laptop? The kitchen sink?”

  Jules gave him a withering look.

  He laughed and pulled a side table as far away from the fire as possible.

  “So we don’t get, um, overheated,” he replied blandly to her unspoken question. “And yes, okay, I’m hot enough as it is. That’s your fault.”