His mouth opened and closed, and he swallowed hard as she released his hard cock. See, men couldn’t help it. Cheyenne closed her lips around its head and Paul groaned. He was still tentative, though, refusing to touch her, but equally, he couldn’t stop her as her tongue slid down his length, her lips wrapping around his now throbbing member. “Oh God,” he said, his eyes swimming shut, every part of him tensing.
“I knew you’d appreciate this,” Cheyenne said before taking him deep in her mouth again.
Noise flared into her ears mid-stroke and both of their attention turned to the door, which had swung open. Alice Cavandish stood in the doorway taking in the scene with shocked eyes. Well, this would be hard to explain away, Cheyenne thought with a chuckle as Paul pulled out of her mouth.
Paul was frantically tucking himself away, and after a moment of frozen shock, Alice ducked out of the doorway and disappeared. “Well, that’s awkward,” Cheyenne said as she stood, straightening her dress. “You’d think people would appreciate a closed door.”
Paul was flustered, running his hand through his hair for a moment before deciding to run after the woman, leaving Cheyenne alone in the study. See, now that was just rude, she told herself, not feeling the least bit sorry that she had informed one of the waiters to tell Alice that Paul was making a phone call in the study.
Well, if you tried to play Cheyenne, you got played, she thought as she walked out of the apartment. Objective complete. There was no reason to stay now, particularly if Paul was going to sulk. No, really, he should take it like a man.
Chapter 48
Surprisingly, Terese was enjoying the party. In light of her newfound ‘fuck it’ policy, she’d accepted the invitation and had met up with Jillian, who she’d been quite close to at school. They hadn’t kept in touch, but now it was a bit of a revelation chatting with her. She’d apparently gone back to the UK for uni and had worked at Vogue as an intern for a year.
Terese drank and listened, and talked in turn, describing her life in New York and subsequently Berlin. She hadn’t thought she would find anyone here she had much in common with, but Jillian was lovely.
Parmi hadn’t been invited and that did sadden her. This was what Parmi wanted, the trap she had fallen into, like apparently Terese herself had so very long ago. And Parmi was still excluded, probably more so than ever. It was sad and it was cruel, and everybody and their dog blamed Parmi for wanting it. What was so wrong with wanting to be part of this crowd? Why did one have to be punished for that?
Turns out, Jillian was quite a drinker and she was dragging Terese along with her. They sat along a sofa group, talking about fashion, with vodka cranberries being delivered by waiters—attractive Spanish guys. Terese suspected Aggie was quite choosy in the waiters she picked for her party. That they were all gorgeous was probably not an accident.
The vodka made her thoughts less inhibited and she wondered if she could imagine herself having a fling with one of the gorgeous Spanish boys. Growing up, it had been a taboo thing, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. It would be nice, though, to have a fling, to feel the excitement of a person and not have it be fraught with questions around where was it leading, how did he perceive her, or if she wasn’t doing what she was supposed to be doing? All those horrible questions that bounced through the mind when looking at someone as boyfriend potential.
Maybe it would even be incredible to have an affair with someone you didn’t speak a common language with. It would all be eyes and body language, and kisses. She could use someone to kiss. It had been a while. The whole thing around relationships seemed too serious in Berlin, probably because she lived here, and now she had managed to get this holiday to feel like a holiday.
“I need to go to the bathroom. Then I have to see what’s happened to Colin. We should have coffee in the next couple of days. It’s been so lovely to see you again. Put your number in my phone and I’ll give you a call. I think I have a bit of a headache developing. Probably haven’t drunk enough,” Jillian said with an exaggerated face.
Terese took her phone and entered her number. “Here you go,” she said and handed it back.
“Ta,” Jillian said and rose, pulling down her skirt. She wandered off, the tiniest bit unstable, while Terese still sat there, just thinking of how good it felt to reconnect with an old friend. Jillian was at the same time different, but also the same as Terese had known her. The expressions and phrases were the same, but she was more mature in a way.
Finishing her jewel-red drink, she stood, trying to think when cranberry had become so popular. They never had been growing up, but now it seemed common everywhere. The global coup of the cranberry. Someone was killing it on the marketing for that.
This house was old, older than most on the coast. White stucco with rounded arches, floodlit from below. Grecian-looking balustrades ran along it. It wasn’t glitzy as most houses tended to be, more subtle with old-world charm, as if this building belonged to another era. Perhaps it did.
She could hear the waves on the beach and could smell salt. Drawing breath, she figured she would use a moment to compose herself; she really was a bit tipsy. She wandered towards the edge of the property where the grass gave way to sand. It still held the heat from the day, but there was a lovely breeze coming off the water, which looked inky black, reflected moonlight dancing off the gentle movement. It lapped the shore and Terese took her shoes off and sat down on the dry sand.
“Hiding?” a much too familiar voice said. Even his voice annoyed her—that sharp accent. Had he always had it or had it gotten sharper in England. What did it matter?
“Just needed a breather.”
“The amount you’ve been drinking, you’re probably quite pickled.”
“You’ve been watching me.” She’d purposefully ignored him and had refused to seek him in the crowd of a party Jillian had made that both interesting and rewarding.
He didn’t reply. Again, not that she cared? He could watch her to his heart’s content; she didn’t care.
Darkness surrounded them. The music from the party came and went on the breeze, but there was little light other than moonlight. He sat down and leaned back, stretching his legs out.
“Why exactly are you here?” she asked, much more forward than if she’d been sober. She was quite pleased that her ‘don’t give a fuck’ was holding strong through a fair bit of inebriation. “You’re an arsehole, in every conceivable way. You must be aware of that. Why are you here, anyway? Aren’t we strictly not friends?”
“That was your choice.”
“So you decided to sleep with my friend—out of spite, may I add—and you’re still open to being friends? What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t readily have an answer.”
Terese stared at him for a moment, while his gaze was out to sea. Damn it, he was beautiful. Why couldn’t ugly people just be ugly? Where was the temptation in that? a part of her brain asked. Don’t care, she reminded herself.
“Where’d you get that dress?” he asked, looking down her retro dress, with thick white, light blue and dark brown stripes.
“Milan,” she answered.
“Swanky.”
“No, actually, this one could have been New York.”
“Not your typical Harrods girl, then?”
“Hardly.”
“Are you aware how arrogant you are?” he said.
“Why, because I have taste?”
“Think you do.”
“Know I do. You might rule this coop, Alistair, but you know shit all about fashion.”
She could see he was smiling. “Do you know you have anger issues? You should see someone about that,” he said.
“I know; I just can’t stand wankers. They infuriate me, but I should cut my anger loose. So off you go.” She waved him away with her fingers.
He didn’t move and Terese collapsed her hand onto the sand. Christ, she was drunk. Things might actually be spinning a bit.
“Not much good a
t holding your liquor, are you?”
“I actually don’t drink that much,” she admitted. “And by the way, I don’t want you. You’re vile.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Nope,” she said adamantly.
“Let’s test that theory,” he said, moving and the next moment, she was kissing him, taste and heat flooding her mind. In the sweetness, she lost all semblance of where she was. Dangerous beauty was kissing her and it was inordinately sexy. The kiss deepened, his tongue slipped into her mouth, teasing until her insides clenched in anticipation.
The kiss broke and her lips felt bruised. “So very bad,” she said, partially referring to her own reaction. Kissing him was fraught with meaning in her mind. On some level, it felt like validation, justification for all the stupidity.
He was leaning on his side again, looking like he could be an advert for some fashion line. Or was that just the remnants of the stupid infatuation she’d had. “I thought you were so hot,” she said honestly, the alcohol making her uninhibited. “And you think everyone wants you just because you’re beautiful and popular.”
“Not sure about everyone, but you do.”
She snorted.
“Tell me I’m lying.”
“Of course, you’re lying.”
He was kissing her again and the world swam. “I hate you,” she mumbled as he kissed down her neck. Her nipples were rock hard as his thumb stroked across them, sending powerful fissions down to her very centre, which was melting into pure heat.
“I can tell how much,” he said, kissing her again. Suddenly she was on the sand, her dress up her waist and her thighs wrapped around him, melting from the inside out. She wanted him so desperately she didn’t know what to do. His hips grinding to hers was more than she could bear. Forbidden pleasure tempted every part of her. How many times had she imagined this?
The hardness of him pressing on her made her wet and the kisses wouldn’t stop. She didn’t want them to stop. This felt crucial, like air. She needed him deep inside that molten heat in her.
His cock was pressing into her, and her legs wrapped around his waist. All that hurt she’d hidden, finding a way to the surface, mixing with the powerful release building in her. His hands on her hips ground her to him and unguarded groans stifled into her mouth.
Fuck, what was she doing? But she couldn’t stop. All that tension needed this, needed what felt like an exorcism. Fucking Alistair Cartright was deep inside her, pounding into her. It wasn’t sweet, but it felt honest. For so long, he’d been in her head, taunting, torturing. For all his dismissal, he still wanted to fuck her.
He shuddered as he came, pressed so tightly to her it felt like they were fusing. Her enemy, as fucked up in all this as she was.
Chapter 49
Slumped on his sofa, Paul couldn’t believe how completely weak he’d been. He’d ruined things with Alice and for what? Technically, he hadn’t invited Cheyenne to do what she did, or even wanted it, but when it came down to the nitty gritty, he hadn’t been able to say no. It had been his intention to; it just hadn’t happened.
Alice wasn’t answering his calls and he suspected going over to see her would not be welcome. He just wanted to explain, but what was there to say: he was weak? It was utterly inexcusable. Neither could he believe it was all just happenstance. Cheyenne had intended to embarrass him, show him exactly how weak he was.
Placing his head in his hands, he admitted how utterly disappointed he was with himself. And Alice had been hurt. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Alice. She did not deserve that.
They’d only spoken briefly since they got back from Madrid, which could only be described as a magical weekend. Paul hadn’t wanted to push her and they had both seemed happy to take this at a slow pace. Now it was all ruined.
He couldn’t settle; his anger dogged him. It wasn’t just that it had happened; it was Cheyenne’s intentions behind it that rubbed. She’d treated him and his life like a toy for her amusement, even after he’d told her he didn’t want to be involved. His feelings on the subject hadn’t mattered; she’d ridden right over those. And for what? What exactly was it she had achieved?
No, it was time to have another talk with her, let her know in uncertain terms how callous she was. He got in his car and drove to her house. How he knew where she lived, he wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never been there, but somehow he’d absorbed the information.
Swinging his car into the driveway, he parked and got out, knocking on the door with enough force to ensure he was serious. A Spanish woman opened the door, clearly a housekeeper of some sort. “Is Cheyenne here?” he asked.
“Yes,” the lady said and stepped back, giving him entrance. “By the pool.”
Paul walked through the house, which had obviously been decorated by someone partial to Italian glitzy décor. All marble, candelabras, gilt mirrors and furniture. She even had a statue inside the house and what looked like a zebra skin on the floor, which he desperately hoped was fake, but he doubted it.
He could see her lying by the pool in a white bikini. Just seeing her made his skin crawl.
“What exactly was it you were trying to do?” he asked.
She shifted her clunky white sunglasses up and looked at him. “Paul. You’ve come to see me,” she said brightly.
“I want to know what the point was of hurting Alice. Are you so insecure you need to hammer someone like Alice? And me. What exactly have I done to deserve your vengeance?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Paul,” she said dismissively. “You weren’t exactly saying no.”
“Well, I am saying no now.”
She gave him a look that showed she could do exactly as she wanted with him and he wouldn’t lift a hand to stop her. That incensed him even more.
“I don’t understand what it is you do here,” he said. “You run around and pick at people. Is it for the fun of it? I don’t understand why anyone would behave like you do. No one, and I mean no one, speaks well of you.” Her expression soured as he spoke. “You are like this unfortunate accident that happens to people. You’re mean spirited and spiteful, and frankly, it’s growing tiresome.”
“Yet, you just can’t help yourself, can you, Paulie? I am beauty and light, and for all your words, you quiver like a schoolboy whenever I go near you.”
Paul felt himself grow red with anger.
“That’s the thing, Paul. You do what I tell you. So far you’ve never done anything but. People do what I tell them,” she shrugged as if she was describing a force of nature.
“You overestimate your own beauty, Cheyenne. The ugliness in your character shows through, which is why no one wants to be near you. I get that you think you’re a predator—”
“Again, such dramatics.”
“But all this stuff comes back to roost. People don’t forget when you step on them.”
“If I step on them, it’s because they don’t matter.”
“You know, we’re supposed to evolve from fifteen-year-old bullies. That is supposed to be a phase, but you act exactly that way.”
“Or maybe you just don’t understand how the world works, Paul. Stuck in your academic institutions. What do you know about life? What do you know about thriving? Everything has been handed to you. I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve got. When have you ever fought for anything? Did you even bother fighting for Alice, if she was so precious to you?”
Paul didn’t know what to say.
“You go on about my behaviour,” she continued, rising from the sun lounger. “What about your behaviour? Do you take no responsibility at all? Are you a boy or a man?”
Biting his lips, Paul stared at her, hearing his own accusations thrown back at him. The harsh truth was that he couldn’t excuse his own behaviour, and there was the crux of her game. She trespassed, but could blame it on her victim, and in a sense, she was right. He hated her at that moment, probably like so many others. The bully who blamed the victim.
“You’re despicabl
e,” he finally said, his voice icy cold. “Stay away from me.”
“Paul, you’re nobody. You never were, and frankly, I’m done with you. It was a parting gift. I hope you enjoyed it.” She turned sharply, her floating beach wrap swirling around her. “Now please leave before I call the police. I’m sure we both know who they would believe,” she said, putting on a pouty expression.
Paul could only shake his head. She was even less reasonable than he’d realised. There was no reasoning with her, at all. Fine, well at least she had promised not to go anywhere near him. The ‘accident’ had promised not to inflict him again, and he was happy to take that. It wasn’t his job to deal with people like Cheyenne. They could find their own ilk. Now, if he could only fix things with Alice. She may never forgive him, but he had to try. But how in the world did you apologise for being caught so completely in flagrante?
Chapter 50
Cheyenne’s curls bounced as she ran across the tarmac in a brown and gold wrap dress. Her legs were long and lean and the dress showed off every curve. Dominic spotted her through the round window. Apparently, she’d called Bridget and said she was running a few minutes late.
Dominic wasn’t happy about having company to Paris, but it wasn’t a huge imposition. The wives of some of his employees deserved a day away, he supposed. But for him, his mind was on this meeting. The Chinese were investing heavily in rail going west, and were promoting overland transportation, particularly for commodities. This did provide some interesting opportunities that needed to be explored. It also avoided the congested seaports.
Long legs appeared inside the cabin and walked with swaying strides to where Bridget sat, who rose and the two women kissed on their cheeks. John rose as well, kissing Cheyenne, who then turned to him. “Hello, Cheyenne,” he said and did the same.
She smelled spicy, like expensive perfume very subtly applied. Cheyenne sat down and crossed her legs. Compared to Bridget, Cheyenne looked like Las Vegas—all shine. Everything about her was perfect. Her hair was luscious, golden with brown tones. Her skin was perfectly tanned, every inch of her toned. Cheyenne was something else. Even in Marbella, Cheyenne was something else, but there was always a warning signal in the back of his mind whenever he met her.
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