Marbella Beauty

by Oster, Camille

  Her mewls turned to groans and she clasped his shoulders, shuddering as desire built in her. He felt when she started to convulse around him and it sent him over the edge. He pulsed into her, spending himself in her glorious body. In that moment, he felt alive, he felt victorious, unbeatable.

  Chapter 45

  The bright sun was sneaking into Dominic’s office, although the tint made it seem a little like a postcard from the past. Looking up from the research report he’d been reading, he took a moment to consider how he wanted to respond to this opportunity. Risk was building; the markets were volatile and things could go badly. He wasn’t sure whether it was worth going for riskier growth opportunities just yet. Any change in the markets presented opportunities, but it was best to take a considered position during the actual change.

  His cell phone rang and Dominic was annoyed. Few people had his cell number as he preferred them going through Fennie.

  Grudgingly, he picked it up. “Hey, Dad,” Felix said. Felix rarely called him. In fact, they didn’t speak that often on the phone, or perhaps at all, in all honesty. Their house was mainly used for sleeping by all parties involved. Although he assumed the kids spent part of their day there.

  “Felix,” he said.

  “So there’s an issue with Esme.”

  “An issue?” Dominic repeated.

  “So she got a bit carried away and had to have her stomach pumped. She’s in the hospital. Thought you should know.”

  Dominic’s eyebrows rose for a moment, before a wave of panic hit. His heart beat powerfully and he heard a rush through his ears. “Is she alright?”

  “She will be, they say.”

  For a moment, Dominic didn’t know what to do. He wanted to rush out, do something, but he stopped himself. “What hospital?”

  “She’s at the International Hospital,” Felix said. “I’m heading there now.”

  So Felix wasn’t with her. Dominic hung up. “Fennie,” he yelled, and she appeared in short order.

  “Call the car. I need to head out.”

  “You have a meeting.”

  “Cancel it and any other today.”

  “Of course,” she said and returned to her desk.

  Dominic marched out and headed to the lift, which seemed to take an age to get there. One of the reasons he hated this building: the lifts were slow.

  How had this happened? What had happened? Esme wasn’t the most sensible girl around, but she wasn’t stupid. Something must have gone terribly wrong.

  The driver was waiting by the time he reached the lobby and he stepped in. The drive wasn’t too bad this time of the morning. Staring out the window, Dominic wasn’t sure how he felt. Emotions were jumbling through him during the entire drive to the hospital, which was a long, squat, white building where the sun shone off mirrored glass.

  The reception was clear and an orderly came to show him the way. He found Esme sitting in a chair in a private room. A huge relief washed over him, seeing that she was alright. She looked rough, with makeup smeared around her eyes, but otherwise, she looked fine. Felix was standing along the wall, his arms crossed. There was also a couple of other people, some girl he didn’t know, and a guy who was vaguely familiar.

  “Who are these people?” he demanded. He wanted to know what kind of people she’d been spending her time with, people who obviously led her to this state. Relief was giving way to anger. “Where are the doctors?”

  A nurse appeared. She wasn’t local and spoke with a German accent. “Mr. Dunbury, I have been taking care of your daughter.” He didn’t really want to hear about the medical stuff; he wanted to rip strips off Esme for getting herself into this state, for being so utterly stupid. “Your daughter came in around eleven p.m. last night, unconscious.”

  Dominic gritted his teeth. Again, how could she be so utterly stupid? He’d thought she could be trusted, but apparently his trust had been misplaced. They were supposed to be smarter than this. Well, maybe this was something he’d expected Felix to do, but Esme?

  “She will be fine. Very dehydrated.” For the first time, he saw the drip in her arm.

  “When can she come home?”

  “Not long,” the woman said. She checked her watch. “We prefer to keep her until this afternoon, just to make sure. We had to pump her stomach. Do doubt she is not feeling so good right now,” the nurse said, giving Esme a pointed look. “The doctor will be along to talk to you, if you wish.”

  Dominic wasn’t sure whether he needed to speak to the doctor. It was quite clear what had happened. What wasn’t clear was what he would do about it. Had she been taking drugs? Was that what his kids were doing? Why hadn’t he seen this coming?

  Pacing around the room, he didn’t know where to look, he was so angry. “I am severely disappointed in you, Esme.”

  “I’m sorry. Things just got out of hand.”

  “Getting your stomach pumped is more than a little out of hand.” Unfortunately, she was too old to send to some very strict boarding school. Yes, she was a teenager, but she was supposed to be past this stupid behaviour. He actually had very little to threaten her with. Well, he could cut her spending money, which he would probably have to do if she spent the money on drugs and alcohol. “You will have to go to rehab,” he finally said.

  “Dad! It was a one-off thing. I just got carried away.”

  “Carried away and almost ended up dead. I can’t trust you to manage yourself, so I think you need to go and sort your problem.”

  There was an exclusive rehab in the jungles in Thailand where one of his execs had gone to dry out. That sounded perfect. Perhaps Esme needed some time away from these friends, who had now scrambled out of sight. Perhaps Felix could use a stay, too.

  Dominic had thought it was youthful exuberance, but his kids’ drinking seemed to be getting out of control. “I have to get back to the office,” he said. He was too angry to stand around and stare at her. Plus, there was some co-ordination needed. “You better be packed by the time I get home tonight,” he said to Esme.

  “This is completely unnecessary.”

  “Well, an alcoholic or drug user would say that, wouldn’t they? What exactly had you taken last night?”

  “I was just drinking.”

  He didn’t believe her. No, it was time to get some professional help with this. “And you,” he said to Felix. “Make sure she gets home when they release her.”

  He marched out. The disappointment in his kids bit hard. How had they gotten to this point? Why was it so hard for them to get themselves together? Felix had been messing around for years, gone through some really bad patches. Nothing Dominic had suggested took. Wealth had a way of ruining kids. Problem was, he had no idea how to fix it. Lecturing didn’t work. While Esme was gone, maybe it was time to sit down with Felix, yet again, and discuss his future. The boy was getting a bit long in the tooth to be messing around like he was.

  Chapter 46

  Sitting in the shade, Cheryl sipped her cup of coffee. Dylan was in bed with his PlayStation, battling the sniffles and cough that came with his cold. Cheryl always stayed home when one of her kids was sick, feeling it was a mother’s job to be there when one of them was feeling under the weather.

  Actually, it was nice to be at home after the chaos of the weekend. The boys were all too boisterous, but they’d had a great time. They did love it here, as did she. The outdoor living they had was unsurpassed. The boys had built a giant slingshot between a couple of trees and had fired water balloons all over the property. Then had grumbled when she’d made them scour the entire place for balloon remnants.

  She loved her crazy life here. And it had been rather funny when Grace had gone chasing after them, drenched after being fired on, until she’d cornered them up a tree, their lithe little bodies hanging on like monkeys.

  But now it was quiet. Dylan was firmly confined to his bed. That was the condition of being home sick. It wasn’t a day off for enjoyment; it was spent in bed with the requisite moaning o
f sickliness.

  “Mum!” Dylan screamed out the window. “Can you cut me up an orange?”

  Cheryl sighed. It was the third orange, after the breakfast he’d refused to eat, the two water glasses he’d wanted and the incessant request for ice-cream, to which he got a firm ‘no’.

  “Or some Sprite?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You’re so mean.”

  “How about an apple instead? I’m sure there’s a limit to the amount of oranges you should eat in one day.”

  “Fine, but a red one. I don’t like the green.”

  Rising from her chair, Cheryl walked over the gravel back to the house and stepped inside the French doors. She grabbed an apple out of the fruit basket and cut it into quarters. A knock on the door distracted her. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

  Putting the knife down, she walked to the door and opened it, surprised to see Dominic Dunbury there. He looked bored. “You’re not at work,” he said.

  “One of my kids is sick.”

  For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to say, ‘So?’ Cheryl crossed her arms. “What can I do for you?”

  “I brought the new tenancy contract.”

  “You could have mailed it.”

  “I had time on my hands and felt like going for a drive.”

  “Then the privilege is all mine,” she said, barely keeping the sarcasm out of her voice. “Please come in. I’ll be right back,” she said, stepping back into the kitchen and picking up the small plate of cut apple. She walked upstairs to Dylan’s room.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Just someone about work,” she said, taking her time, seeing no need to run down to be at Dominic Dunbury’s beck and call. “I suppose I better go see what he wants.”

  He had gone outside when she returned downstairs, standing with his arms crossed, his forefinger up the side of his cheek.

  “I’ll have my solicitor read over the contract.”

  “You won’t get a better deal,” he said sharply. “This place needs a lot of work. The plaster is cracking.”

  “Yes, it does. Thank you for pointing that out.”

  “This really is a hovel.”

  “Yes, thank you. Charming of you to say.”

  “Why are you here in Marbella?” His eyes travelled down her, focusing disapprovingly on her pink, fluffy wedges.

  Cheryl felt as if she was being interrogated, and judged as being deficient. “Because I like the climate,” she said sharply. “Is there anything else I can help you with? I have a sick boy upstairs that needs tending, so if there’s nothing else—”

  He gave her a sharp look, then turned his back on her again. “How is your boy?”

  “Fine. Just a sniffle, really.” She wasn’t sure how she wanted to react. This man was rude beyond comparison. Part of her wanted to kick him out of the house. “Are you aware how rude you are?”

  This surprised him, but he shrugged as if he didn’t care. “I’m sending my daughter off to rehab tonight,” he said and Cheryl’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “She apparently overdid it last night and ended up in hospital.”

  “I’m sorry. That must be awful.”

  “Kids never turn out as you expect. You can’t seem to instil ambition in children.”

  “I don’t know. I think that depends on what they’re ambitious about.”

  “Their ambition seems to be doing nothing, and perhaps to gain a trophy for drinking copious amounts of alcohol.”

  Cheryl didn’t quite know what to say. She remembered well the son she’d met, his suspicious eyes and the manner that told he’d had everything this world had to offer.

  “You have ambition, Miss Waters. No means of achieving them, but you have it nonetheless.”

  “So perhaps ambitions are unrelated to means.”

  “Of course, it’s unrelated to means. Life here on the coast more than shows that. Affluenza, the Americans call it. The inability to get bearings in life due to too much wealth.”

  This was not a topic Cheryl knew anything about and she had no idea what to say. She also had no idea why he was telling her this. With sinking shoulders, she said, “Would you like a coffee?”

  “An espresso might be good.”

  “No, I only have instant today.”

  The grimace showed his distaste.

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “A simple espresso maker surely can’t be outside your means.”

  “I don’t put that much effort into my coffee.”

  “Clearly. You seem to put even less into your wardrobe.”

  “Different strokes for different folks,” she replied through gritted teeth. His dislike of her wardrobe had been something that hadn’t escaped her. Then again, he wore boring suits, every time. Fine, they were very nice suits. Each, no doubt, cost more than her entire wardrobe. Did he have anything else? Oh and yeah, screw him; she liked her wardrobe. She felt good in her clothes; she felt sexy, and he could get fucked.

  Chapter 47

  A filthy look at the security man was all that was needed as Cheyenne breezed into Alexi’s apartment building. In this dress, no one challenged her. Roberto Cavalli himself had picked this dress for her and it had been sewn to fit her perfectly. Her body looked exquisite in it and she carried a small clutch with it.

  The lift took her to the penthouse as it had done so many times before. A bitter feeling washed through her. This should have been hers. It had been, for a while, but somehow it had slipped out of her fingers, and into the hands of some ridiculous academic, who couldn’t possibly appreciate what all this meant. Cheyenne belonged in a place like this. This was what she’d been born for.

  The gentle mumble of conversation met her ears as she walked in through the large double doors at the entrance to Alexi’s home. Her heels clicked on the marble with every step. People were milling in the living room, silhouetted by the dark sea beyond. The sparkling lights of Marbella and the motorway showed off by a string of lights to the right.

  With narrowed eyes, Cheyenne surveyed the room. She wasn’t entirely sure what her objective for the night was, but she intended to cause trouble.

  “Cheyenne,” she heard Alexi’s deep voice behind her. No one said her name quite the way he did. “I did not know you were coming tonight.”

  “Paul invited me,” she lied, smiling sweetly. “It’s good to see you. You look well, Alexi. You’ve been working out.” The one lie no man could resist.

  There was a slight colouring on his cheeks, but other than that, no reaction. Alexi was very good at his poker face.

  “You behave,” he said. “No trouble with my guests.”

  “Would I cause trouble?”

  “You are trouble.”

  Cheyenne grinned at him. On some level, he missed her; she knew it. But still, as much as she wanted to take him back to show she could, she wasn’t entirely sure she could forgive him for how he’d treated her. That was the thing with men: once they got away with treating a woman badly, they knew they could, and it was on you if you let them get away with it. “I am simply here to say hello,” she said, pushing forward her shoulders in the way that squeezed her breast to seem more prominent and round. Alexi, for all his stoicism, couldn’t help noticing things like that.

  Grabbing a champagne off a passing tray, she tucked her clutch under her arm and sought her prey. Paul. Sweet, stupid Paul, had tried to diss her. That obviously was not going to happen. She spotted him talking to some man along the balcony railing.

  “Hello, darling,” she said, slinking her arm around his waist. “There you are.”

  “Cheyenne,” he said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “We left it on such bad terms the other night,” she said, pouting as she played with the buttons of his shirt. “We couldn’t leave it like that.”

  Paul didn’t quite know what to say. Words were failing him.

  Cheyenne traced her fingers down his stomach through the light cotton of his shirt. He re
ally wasn’t the best dresser. “This isn’t…” he started, but didn’t know how to finish.

  “I think we need to have a little talk, darling.”

  Paul just stared at her stupidly. He was handsome, in that contained and slightly dishevelled British way. “I thought we talked about this during the dinner.”

  “Talked about what?” she asked, looking perplexed.

  “How we weren’t going to do this anymore.”

  “Do what? Let me show you something,” she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him in towards the interior. Paul reluctantly let himself be led.

  Still holding his hand, Cheyenne walked towards Alexi’s study.

  Paul stood in the middle, still holding his champagne glass, looking a little like a deer in headlights as Cheyenne closed the door behind them. The noise of the party died away.

  “Oh, I’ve missed you,” she said, rushing towards him and kissing his shocked lips. No matter what he said, he still liked the kissing, even if he didn’t want to. Her hand ran down his front, down to the bulge in his pants. He gasped and tried to pull away. “I’ve been thinking about you all week, about this.”

  “I’m not sure we’re all that good together,” he stammered.

  “No, probably not, but I get wet thinking about your cock,” she said breathily, biting her lip, drawing his gaze into her eyes. Poor sod; he simply had no chance. Cheyenne stepped back and pulled the hem of her dress up, over her hips, revealing the silk lingerie she wore. “I’m just aching for you,” she mewled.

  Well, he was a man and he couldn’t help staring, more so when she ran her fingers down and touched herself, moaning with pleasure. She actually was wet, her core pulsing with excitement.

  Slowly sinking down on her knees, she crawled to him, placing her hands possessively on his thighs. He’d back into the desk and had nowhere to go. Well, he wasn’t exactly fighting as she undid his belt. No one dumped Cheyenne. Particularly not a nobody like Paul.