The degree to which he could be cold and distant was something he was trying to work on.
Chapter 7
The Marbella Athletic Club had state-of-the-art equipment and Roan worked up a good sweat in the weights room. People stared and whispered, but no one approached. Cheyenne had been right about people here having the sense of privacy to leave him alone, and he was pleased to learn it.
Stepping off the machine, he stretched his muscles. The travelling had left him feeling stiff and tired, and a good workout would see to that. The more pressing feeling was related to all the change in his life. While he knew he needed it, it felt uncomfortable heading to an unknown location full of unknown people. He very much let Cheyenne lead him here, expressly because he knew he needed to do something, and this option was as good as any.
Not having anything to do was disconcerting, as well. That discomfort was the very reason he was there. But then, he knew that the true discomfort about his lack of direction hadn’t really arrived yet. He was currently in the transit stage, the stage where he felt like he was travelling and taking care of basic necessities in some hotel. The holiday stage hadn’t even been reached yet, when he could start to relax and not feel like he had to run for the next plane. Holidays he could probably manage.
It was the stage after which terrified him, the stage where the holiday ended and a new reality started. This trip was more than just a holiday; it was a full-on sabbatical. His intention was to spend some time here, get to know himself as something other than an actor who pulled on different personalities in front of a camera.
While he knew he needed a break from the business, his agent had also grudgingly agreed. Overexposure was a death knell in the industry and he was still just a little too popular, Harry, his agent had conceded. That popularity was a double-edged sword and could turn to contempt if he stayed at that crazy level of interest. Time to step back, for both personal and professional reasons.
For many people in his set, that urge to change something often expressed itself in drugs and alcohol, and he wasn’t interested in going down that route—turning up drunk out of his head with a couple of hookers in some Vegas hotel room. In fact, he’d already done that and had been lucky he hadn’t been caught doing it. There was precious little he could do these days without being observed.
But so far, not a single paparazzo had been seen following him around. Time would tell if photos of him on the treadmill would turn up on the internet by evening.
Grabbing his towel, he walked out through the main lobby and out the other side towards the tennis court where Cheyenne was playing with someone she knew. A fit young guy, it turned out. Some Australian guy with a Men’s Health body. It wasn’t his first time with a tennis racquet either. Cheyenne was no athlete, but she tried her hardest, like she did with everything.
Roan walked over to the snack bar and grabbed an ice cold isotonic. The gardens around the court were lush and tropical, the courts maintained in perfect condition, as seemed everything else in the club. It was a nice place. He might make coming here a daily thing.
“There you are,” Cheyenne said, looking sexy in the skimpy white tennis skirt. Her legs might be the most beautiful he’d ever seen and he felt himself tighten seeing her like this. There was something very teasing about short tennis skirts. She walked off the court and came over to the group of tables where he was sitting, bending over to get something out of her back, flashing him a perfect view of her backside.
He liked the way Cheyenne teased. Teasing was a game to her and she was quite the expert at it. She had amused him from the moment he’d met her at some party at a producer’s house. It had never been the clumsy attempt of someone enamoured with his onscreen persona; instead, her teasing had been sassy and even funny. For all she was, and he certainly hadn’t worked it out, she was a smart girl who wasn’t distracted by fame or fortune.
In fact, he hadn’t quite figured out what made her tick. But approaching him hadn’t been about making real some sexual fantasy starring him. With some girls, it actually seemed scripted as if they expected him to act a certain way, follow along with the fantasy in their head. It was actually quite creepy.
Cheyenne had adeptly worked around his defences, in the end had seduced him with a look and then teased him about. Granted, she’d been on her knees in front of him. What guy wouldn’t have wandering thoughts in that situation? Some well-placed teasing later, she’d made good on her offer, using her expert tongue on him until he’d positively melted. Christ, she gave good head.
Mr. Body came over and introduced himself. Cory, he said. Australian by accent. “Glad you could join us,” the guy said in the slight singing way Australians spoke. Roan caught himself musing on the accent more than what the guy was saying.
“Cheyenne says this is the best club in the country.”
“Can’t argue there. I work here. Anything you need, mate, you let me know.” The guy bounded up the stairs, all sun bronzed and buff. Roan wasn’t bad, but he didn’t quite look like that either. Maybe that was something he could focus on—achieving optimal physique.
It felt like the first grasp of some purpose. Maybe not much of one, but it was one he could hold onto as a starting point.
“Hey, sexy,” Cheyenne said, coming over and embracing him. They were both sweaty and hot, which again was very diverting. “You ready to hit the showers?”
“Absolutely.” Soap and warm water. That would do nicely right now. Her body tended to glisten in the shower and her moans echoed off tiled walls. His cock hardened at the thought, thinking how her insides had tightly gripped him the last time he’d had her in the shower. “Let’s head back and shower at the hotel.”
She stepped away, her slim limbs moving smoothly. “Want to go out tonight? Maybe meet some people?” she said as she turned around, the tiny, pleated skirt flaring slightly. Another rush of heat tightened his shorts.
Roan was too distracted looking down her body to really take in what he was saying. “Sure.”
Chapter 8
Felix and Shania literally could not keep their hands off each other. They were always touching in some small way—Felix’s hand on her hip, or just touching arms, occasionally kissing. It was both disturbing and sweet to see Felix so happy. But there was always that underlying fear that things would fall apart. It would destroy him if it did, and Esme hoped like hell he was smart enough not to be the one to screw this up. Because, let’s face it, men were not the brightest creatures around—destroying the very thing that kept them afloat, and in Felix’ case, it was Shania.
But seeing them so happy also gave her hope that it was possible to fall in love with someone and be happy, because you saw a lot of other things around here.
Growing up, she’d thought her parents’ marriage was absolutely unbreakable, but she had been wrong about that. Although the circumstances, with father’s legal troubles and consequent imprisonment, had been traumatic, the end of the marriage hadn’t been. It had just fizzled out. Mum stopped coming back and that was that. Esme hadn’t even known which one to be angry with.
In reality, she had been more angry with mum, because she had left—in fact, deserted them. Took off back to the UK and stayed there. Now Esme was getting calls from her, requests to come see her. She knew her mother wanted to propose she move back to the UK and settle with her and her stodgy new boyfriend. Ugh.
Mother had decided that Marbella was crass, not quite the thing for a girl of a certain standing, being inundated with Russian money, cheap holiday makers and tasteless new money. “We are new money,” Esme had once declared to her mother, but the woman had refused to acknowledge the statement.
Moving up socially was her mother’s new aim, and her new fiancée, Rueben Collingworth was her means to doing so. Apparently, Esme was supposed to come along for the ride.
And dad just seemed uninterested. He’d never really fought for their marriage. Then again, she couldn’t entirely blame him. If her boyfriend ditched
her when the chips were down, she wouldn’t go running after him either. Still, they were her parents and they were supposed to love each other. Granted, few relationships lasted, but her parents were supposed to be the exception, the extraordinary couple who loved each other unconditionally.
It was hard to realise your parents weren’t exceptional. In fact, she had gone through a period when she’d been so angry with them, she’d deemed neither of them worth listening to at all. But growing up meant putting her own needs and ambitions before her anger at her parents, and that was where she was now. In a sense, she was leaving them behind and looking to her own future.
At the same time, she also felt bad, because dad seemed to have no one in his life. At least no one he wanted to show them. She wasn’t naive enough to think her father was celibate. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had some mistress stashed away somewhere. It was more common than mud around here. She just hoped not to see it. Losing more respect for her parents would suck at this point.
Hence the big crisis in her relationship with men.
If Felix screwed this up by sticking his dick in some meaningless tramp, he really deserved all the pain he would get, but men did stupid, stupid things on a pretty regular basis.
“Good, everyone is here,” Dominic said as he stepped out on the patio, wearing a dark suit. Armani, she would bet. He didn’t seem to do casual clothing, or very rarely if not around golf clubs, a sailing boat or… She couldn’t think of any other occasion. “It’s good to see you all.”
“How’s Brazil been?” Felix asked.
“Good. Hot. Terrible traffic. Chopper services are a must.”
“San Pablo is worse, I hear,” Felix said. “The air is the only way to travel, or you’ll lose your whole day sitting in traffic. They really should consider taking up the model in London.”
“How are your classes at the business school?” Dominic said, turning his attention to Esme.
Maria appeared with the trout they were having. Imported from some lake in Scotland. It was baked with tomatoes and lemon. Gorgeous. Maria knew how to do fish better than most of the restaurants in town.
“Good,” she said. “It’s early days, so don’t really know what’s required yet. I’ve met the professor before, Professor Wallis.”
“I’ve met him a few times,” Dominic said. “Seems like a decent man.”
Esme shrugged. “He seems okay. Inns was there, that cousin of Aggie’s.”
“That twat,” Felix said. “I forgot he was still around. Thought he’d gone back to England.”
“No, he’s still here, starting the year with me.”
“Who?” Shania said.
“You know, that cousin of Aggie’s, hung around like a bad smell, skulking in the corners. Maybe you never actually met him. No loss. Got the personality of a termite.”
“He really does, doesn’t he? I’ve been decent to him just for the sake of him being Aggie’s cousin, but he doesn’t make it easy. It’s like talking to a wall.”
“Poor guy,” Shania said.
“Don’t be sorry for him. The prat brings it on himself.”
“He’s one of those boarding school twits who’s come out without a clue how to talk to anyone,” Esme said.
“I don’t think you can make boarding school an excuse for him. He’s just an arsehole.” Felix said.
Then again, Felix never liked anyone of their kind, except Aggie, who no one actually disliked, and everyone always feared just that little bit. When Aggie got angry, you knew about it. But she was the nice and sociable version of a toff, while Inns was the exact opposite. It was amazing they were related, although Aggie seemed positively embarrassed by him.
“He’s got the worst dress sense,” Esme said.
“Well, that’s a point of pride for them, isn’t it? The shitty dress sense is part of the code.”
“Yeah, probably,” Esme said, feeling uncomfortable talking about Inns. Not that she felt any loyalty; she just didn’t like kicking someone as seemingly isolated as he was. It just felt a bit shitty—deserved or not.
Chapter 9
The sun was much too bright and the windows too large in Inns’ room. The room was decorated in peach and cream colours, much too feminine for his tastes. It was a guest room and it felt that way, too. His textbooks sat on a mirrored desk and his satchel hung over the back of a chair.
Nothing in this room was to his taste, but other than that, the room was comfortable enough. It had its own ensuite bathroom, which he was definitely getting used to. They had done a great deal of work putting in ensuite bathrooms in the ‘guest rooms’ at Bennington Hall, which were really hotel rooms for the people staying for weddings or corporate events.
Ensuite bathrooms had been seen as unnecessary for the family quarters. They could see no reason to change the way things are there, the way the house was built to perform. Bathrooms were separate and down the hall, conversions from a time before bathrooms were built in old country halls like Bennington. Paying corporate and wedding guests had other standards, though. Their comfort was more important than tradition and Bennington had reluctantly been forced to comply.
Inns had seen it as a point of pride in refusing to change, but here in his room was that ensuite that was such an insult to tradition. Saying that, it was nice to not have to cart his shaving gear and soap with him to and from his room.
Sitting down by the mirrored desk, he cracked open one of the text books. It was Saturday, so there were no classes, but he saw no reason not to get started on the reading. The sooner he did it, the sooner he got it out of the way. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had any particular plans after. There was a pile of literary fiction by his bed he planned on getting through.
He didn’t particularly enjoy those books, but felt he ought to read them. That kind of reading had been part of his schooling and it was generally expected he keep up with the notable authors of the age, and previous eras. Social history was written in those books, or rather a certain kind of social history.
Settling down to read, he tried to focus on the words. The idea of getting through the assigned reading quickly was attractive, then he could focus on reading beyond the level of the course, and thereby scoring higher marks. Sadly, he wasn’t exactly a natural academic. Literary fiction, ancient Greek poetry and Roman political treatise didn’t exactly curl his toes, but that lack of attention was what had gotten him sent out into the wilderness for punishment in the first place—and a drunken run-in with a particularly aggravating classmate. The guy had fully deserved it, had the intelligence of a pig, but somehow these pointless sacks of shit had to be coddled and protected like some endangered species. It had all been ruled Inns’ fault.
He had garnered some kudos with the boys, though, appreciated and elevated for taking on a bigger guy and refusing to back down. But these days, there was punishment if they didn’t relegate themselves to being spineless wimps who took insults magnanimously. The police had been called and it all got rather ugly. Still, he was a bit of a legend in some quarters.
Without intending to, he let his eyes drift out the window. The garden was lush and tropical, a gardener tending the plants that had no business growing in the arid lands around here—coaxed to believe they were living in a rainforest.
He hated this place, hated everything about it. Aggie and her family had sold out on everything they stood for, embraced the falsity and crassness. In the past, Marbella had been a sedate and stylish place for lazy summer holidays, but those days were long gone. Marbella was an entirely different beast now.
Laughter drew his attention and his eyes sought the commotion, seeing Aggie and some of her dreadful friends down by the pool—girls in skimpy bikinis lying out in the sun for that all-important tan. These girls dripped money, showing it off with their precious metal sunglasses, ludicrously expensive—and vulgar—clothes, and cars designed for Middle Eastern royals.
Aggie had completely bought into the lifestyle here and there was no talki
ng to her about it. In fact, she became a real bitch if he so much as mentioned how tacky it all was, so he’d learnt to keep his mouth shut.
He never joined Aggie and her awful friends. Their conversation was utterly vacant—reduced to gossiping about each other and whatever new way they could display their wealth. They did nothing, walked around like cows doing nothing but standing around and grazing all day long in the sun.
And he had the misfortune of one of them turning up in his class. Esme. Dumb, ridiculous Esme. She’d looked silly turning up in her skirt suit, looking like the penultimate business woman. He’d seen her often enough to know she was anything but. She was pretty, though, with her blond hair and bronzed face. Health glowed from her, even if confidence hadn’t, sitting in the lecture hall trying to not seem nervous.
There was a good chance she was going to be a pain in the arse, because unlike others, she insisted on speaking to him. No doubt she would try to bludge off him. Perhaps he was being a little ungenerous. Her father was one of the most successful UK businessmen around. Some of it must run in the genes, although a girl like her doesn’t seem to have had to apply herself in any respect.
There was also something mentioned in passing about her being a ceaseless party girl who had spent time in the rehabs around the world. There was a good chance she wouldn’t last the month at the business school. No doubt she’d been forced into the school, her father trying to get her to sort herself out.
Chapter 10
They had a cancellation and Cheryl took the time to get some fresh air. Sometimes, being in the air-conditioning all day made her feel chilled to the bone and it was an easy remedy by just spending some time in the warmth outside. Dean could watch the salon for a little while. It wasn’t the busiest period just at the moment, so everything should be easily manageable.
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