Searching the crowd, she spotted him and for once he wasn’t wearing a suit either. Instead, brown pants, perhaps moleskin, and a light blue shirt. For being informal, he still looked spectacular. His sleeves were rolled up exactingly, his collar was firm and crisp, and his hair neat. Everything about him looked perfectly in place. But neither did he wear anything that came across as trendy. His clothes weren’t too tight, but they didn’t exactly hide the body underneath either.
An ache inside her showed that there was a part of her that resented him for always being so put together. She tried, and she tried hard, but that feeling that life was falling apart never seemed to quite leave her. Probably because there had been periods during her marriage when she’d had no control. Ricky had done whatever he’d wanted, including selling her salon when he felt like having some money, and there had been nothing she’d been able to do about it. Well, she had packed up and left. That counted for something, but it had been hard to get that feeling of control back.
Dominic had also exerted his control over her, and she’d been in a position where she was completely in his power. Still was to some extent, dependent on him acting decently. Well, perhaps that was true with anyone, but he was the nearest one, the one who could devastate her business if he chose to. An even scarier thing would be to think what a man like that could do to her heart—if he chose to. Luckily for her, Dominic was well behaved.
She should say hello to him, thank him for inviting them. It would be rude not to. Before she had a belly full of food and before her nerves got the better of her, she decided to get it over with. Leaving her staff behind, she walked over to him, having chosen wedges today to suit a more grassy environment.
He was amused about something as she approached, his stance strong and confident. Nothing ever ruffled him.
“Mr. Dunbury,” she said and he turned around, slightly surprised to see her. Why was he surprised when he’d invited them? Were they not supposed to accept the invitation? Thoughts raced through her mind, before she dismissed them. “Thank you for inviting us. It seems like a really special day. Quite a spread. Not sure I’ve seen the like.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure we will.” She could smell what had to be his aftershave. Musky and spicy, but not overpowering—a sign of an expensive cologne.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. “It must have been a year now since you moved your company to Marbella.”
“Getting very close,” he said. “It’s been a year of upheaval, so high time to cut loose a little and celebrate what we’ve achieved.”
A waiter presented a tray with glasses of wine. Cheryl took a white one. Dominic had a bottle of some artisan beer. “To a good year,” she said and held her glass in expectation.
“And to yet another,” he said and touched his bottle to her glass. It made a slight clinking noise.
The wine was nice, a bit on the dry side.
“To our local beautician, striving to make the ladies of Marbella that bit more manicured,” said another voice. Felix. Cheryl had, in the past, had a few run ins with Felix and had always found him slightly odd and overly forthright.
Felix placed his arm around his father’s shoulder and then took a moment to consider her. Somehow this felt awkward and Cheryl didn’t know why. “It’s Dominic’s birthday soon. Did you know?”
“No, I didn’t. Happy birthday.”
“We’re planning a bit of a bash. You should come.”
Again, this felt awkward, and if she didn’t know better, she almost saw a little blush on Dominic’s cheeks. Perhaps it was an invitation he didn’t wish extended.
“Of course, I am honoured to be asked, but perhaps it is a thing for family.”
“Nonsense. Everyone is coming. I’m sure we can send the car for you, can’t we? You live a bit out of town from what I recall, or that might be someone else.”
“No, I do.”
“Great. The car will pick you up. Wear some glad rags. It will be a hell of an evening.”
Dominic was actually giving Felix a stern look, which he refused to acknowledge. Instead took a sip of his beer. “Where’s Shania gotten to?” Felix said before wondering off.
“It’s not necessary,” Cheryl said, feeling embarrassed. She meant the whole invitation.
“The car picking you up will free you from driving home. You can enjoy yourself properly.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said obligingly, images of her drunken proclamations running through her head. Over her dead body would she be loosening her tongue around Dominic. God knows what would come out.
“Nonsense. I’m sure after a hard year of work, you could use a party,” he said.
Sadly, it was true, but she felt too nervous around Dominic to ever cut loose. “Well, I am, of course, delighted to be invited.” The opposite might actually be true. She felt pressure to accept, and not because she didn’t want to go to a party. She wasn’t completely antisocial. And she couldn’t exactly argue when Dean insisted she needed to get out and meet people. What he meant by people were men. She just wished it didn’t have to involve the person who made her the most nervous.
“We’ll see you then,” Dominic said, with a slight touch of his hand on her arm. The touch radiated through her skin and goose bumps rose up her entire arm. She did her best to smile, hoping her nipples weren’t showing like tight little pebbles under her top.
With a nod, Cheryl walked away, sighing her release at escaping. It was insane how uncomfortable he made her. Always had from the moment she’d met him. Obviously, that hadn’t changed.
Chapter 16
Esme didn’t just want to go to one café, no, she wanted to go to three different ones. They were so different, they each had to be experienced and evaluated, which Inns thought was a complete waste of time. So, Inns had drunk cup loads of tea. Granted, the décor was different with each, but they all served coffee and tea, and nibbles.
Esme was incapable of being quiet and had to comment on absolutely everything. Her hair was messy, which Inns expected she had done on purpose and it looked a bit contrary with her pink Chanel suit jacket with a skirt that was much too short. Long, tanned legs always crossed when she sat down. Her lips matched the suit colour and she was always a bit intense with the eye contact.
Grudgingly, he had to give her credit that she was taking this project seriously, and in terms of evaluating the customer segment, she was much more detailed focused than he was. They complemented each other in perspectives. She cared about the customers, the image and the marketing, while he cared about the finances, practicalities and the operations. Who would have thought they’d make a solid team?
He was getting used to finding her waiting for him outside the main entrance to the school when he arrived in the mornings. That wasn’t to say he was comfortable around her. In a nutshell, she was everything he didn’t understand about humanity, and he saw her waiting when he pulled into the carpark.
Today, she wore a small pleated, white skirt, white trainers and a cardigan over what looked like a silk top. Her hair was in a messy ponytail. Inns knew she was fashionable; her confidence told him more than any notion that he could actually tell by the clothes—or largely any other notion. In terms of clothes, he knew his uniform and felt comfortable with that. Her unimpressed look down his body hadn’t gone unnoticed, but he refused to care what some clotheshorse thought. Fashion was utterly unimportant, something girls with more money than sense cared about. Unfortunately, he also knew that his mother never got the hang of it either and did look as if she didn’t every time she tried to dress for a party or a wedding. The same repertoire of ugly frocks got pulled out over and over.
But that was not Esme, who wore something different every day, sometimes with big, chunky jewellery, or sunglasses that covered half her face. Granted, she wasn’t ugly and she often dressed for cuteness rather than skin hugging, revealing trashiness. Well, she did show an inordinate amount of le
g most days.
He was a bit tired, having spent much of last night on the financial plan for their fictional café.
“Class has been cancelled,” she said.
Had Inns driven here all for nothing?
“There’s a guest lecture today and we’re all expected to go. Harry Caplan, or something such. Have you heard of him?”
“No,” Inns admitted.
“He’s some kind of property guy from what I gather. It’s starting like right now. Should we bunk?”
“No,” Inns said with annoyance. He walked past her. Granted, he wasn’t hanging on with bated breath to see this presentation, but was contrary because she had suggested they skip it.
A few people were making their way into the doors of the large lecture theatre, where he guessed this talk was. He followed suit and could hear her behind him. He walked into darkness and for a moment couldn’t orientate himself although he heard someone speaking through a mic.
Once his eyes adjusted and he made his way out of the little dark vestibule he could see that the whole theatre was packed. Every seat was taken and people were even sitting in the aisle. There were also people along the topmost walkway. It seemed everyone in the entire school was there. Every possible surface to sit on was taken and Inns cursed himself for not having recalled this talk was on. Everyone else in the school seemed to have known. Even Esme had known. How could he have missed it?
If there was one thing he hated, it was feeling crowded, and he spotted a clear space at the very back corner, on the other side of a table loaded with documents and a couple of boxes. Excusing himself through the crowd, he made his way towards this table, to the only non-crowded place in the whole auditorium, primarily because it was a tiny space on the other side of a table and as far away from the stage as possible. In fact, they couldn’t really see the man speaking.
Finally he emerged through the other side of the crowd and felt he could breathe. The space was tiny, but with the table between him and others, it felt less oppressive than being surrounded by people. Esme seemed to have followed him.
“We can’t see anything,” she whispered.
“You’re perfectly welcome to go find some other space.”
She gave him a look in the shadows and turned her attention to the dark, crowded theatre. They could hear just as well as anyone else, could even see most of the slides, which shone brightly in the dark space, but couldn’t see the speaker.
In the small space, he had to stand behind Esme and he could hear her sigh as she leant against the black wall of the theatre. He could smell her hair, or maybe it was some kind of perfume, subtle and a little fruity. As far as he’d seen, there was never anything about her that was smelly or scratchy. Her skin was smooth, her hair soft and she was always perfectly put together.
After a while, standing got wearisome and he put his backpack down on a mound of documents on the table. Esme shifted from one foot to another. Her shift brought them into contact and her firm backside brushed against him.
“Don’t stand so close,” he said brusquely. She turned to give him a frowning look again, as if chiding him for his rudeness, probably not getting that right now, he didn’t need a reminder how firm her arse was under that small, pleated skirt, how her accidental touch had pressed on his cock. In truth, heat burned up his cheeks and he was glad she didn’t see it.
Another thing he didn’t want her to know was how inexperienced he was. He wasn’t a virgin. There had been that pro at a party who had gotten down on her knees and sucked him off, and there had been that drunken fumble with Alicia Stoneworth in the bushes at the Vickery wedding. The sum of his experiences was pitiful, really, but it had never been a focus in his life, primarily because he didn’t get on with women in a general sense. They didn’t seem to take to him, in other words. Maybe because he found them so damned awkward to deal with.
She shifted once more, and again, she rubbed against him. He growled slightly at the imposition, but she refused to move away, instead stay there—in contact with him. She was punishing him for being rude, by refusing to do what he said—give him the space he needed. There were times when she did that, the exact opposite of what he wanted her to and it exasperated him. Only this time, she was pressing right on his cock and it wasn’t just some slight touch for him.
He tried to back away, but there wasn’t any space for him to move. Would it be more mortifying to ask her to move, to admit how uncomfortable he was, or would that simply show how out of his depth he was with this? Blood rushed around his body, making him rock hard and embarrassment burned up his cheeks even more. There was no way she didn’t feel that. The merest touch and he got a full hard-on, his pants probably tenting if he cared to look down.
Her stillness and held breath told him she knew full well what kind of state he was in. The tip of his cock was basically pressing into her. Should he calmly ask her to move away? In a really perverse sense, he didn’t want to. He might not have a great deal of experience, but he had sexual fantasies as perverted as anyone else. And some girl in a short skirt and innocent-looking trainers rubbing along him fit in nicely.
His whole body was burning with mixed emotions, her having him pinned until she chose to move away, which for some reason, she didn’t see fit to do. Instead, she seemed to shift back even more, until their contact was more complete. There was no doubt now that she knew exactly what she was doing. Which was what exactly? Teasing him? Inns swallowed hard.
Shifting, she arched her hips back slightly until she rubbed along him, teasing him for reacting so fiercely and he didn’t know if he was dying from mortification or the luscious sensations this was stirring throughout him. Yes, fine, he had a raging hard-on, and she was making it a thousand times worse by playing with it.
Desire throbbed through his cock, and he wondered if it would burn through his pants. Moving back further, she ground herself to him, including dropping her head back onto his shoulder. This was too much and he had to wonder if he was actually dreaming. He wouldn’t be this confused and conflicted in a dream, and terrified he’d be coming in his pants in a minute.
Suddenly, he searched around to see if anyone noticed them, but no one was looking their way in the darkness. The speaker was still droning on.
Inns’ mouth had gone completely dry and he had to calmly breathe through his mouth to stop himself panting like a worked horse. Her hips teased him again, and pleasure radiated all the way up his body. Her crumpled skirt rose up along him as she did and this looked more and more like a fantasy he’d concocted. Her skirt no longer served as a barrier between them and his mind involuntarily honed in on that fact. It was just underwear and his pants between his straining cock and the warm heaven he knew beckoned with such temptation he didn’t know how to control himself.
But why was she doing this? Was she teasing him to taunt him with this later? She had to be ridiculing him in some way. It just felt so delicious, forbidden. Her grinding didn’t stop. Desire was taking over every part of his mind, so caught in the sensation he couldn’t help sinking down into cloying pleasure. It felt so good, and so wrong, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to stop this even if he should.
Her hands were now on his lower thighs and she arched back into him. It struck him that she was actually turned on. The idea of her wet and wanting on the other side of those scant barriers between them was almost more than he could handle. Could the material of his pants stretch to enter her? He just wanted to feel what is was like to slip inside her.
With bitter disappointment, he felt her straighten, shift away from where his cock was pressing against her entrance, but to his amazement, her hands shifted around and drew his zip down over his painfully straining cock. This had to be a dream. Stuff like this happened in dreams, not real life. If a dream, he would try to fuck her, but it never really felt right or even closely satisfying.
His cock was free, he felt the cool air caress his heated skin. Seeing her draw her underwear down beneath her shor
t skirt might be the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Then she was pressing back onto him, him slipping into the tantalising warmth of her. Pleasure, like molten honey filled his entire being, radiating like electric current. She ground into him and he ground back, unable to breathe.
Her insides pulsed around him, her legs slightly parted as she arched back. He ground and ground, until he felt every part of himself tighten, getting ready to come. The orgasm hit him with the force of a train, the glorious warmth inside her milking sheer pleasure out of him again and again.
To top it all off there was applause. The whole theatre was clapping and Inns forced his eyes open to see if they were the object, but no one was looking. The last of his orgasm shuddered through him, making his cock twitch inside her. Her muscles were clamped down so hard on him, he felt deliciously caught inside her—wanted.
As he softened, mortified horror replaced the pleasure. On one level, he wasn’t exactly sorry. He was a guy after all, but he’d just let himself be seduced in a darkened theatre—had sex in public with Esme Dunbury, the girl who represented everything he hated about this place. His disdain had counted for nothing as soon as she’d been willing to touch his cock, it seemed.
Pulling out of her, he tucked himself away. People were starting to rise and Esme straightened her skirt. “My, you’re full of surprises, Inns,” she said. Was she mocking him? He didn’t know and wasn’t about to find out. Pushing past her, he made his way to the door, pressed into the crowd he hated in his need to escape. Any derision right now was probably more than he could tolerate. He felt exposed and raw, even emotional. The mortification might kill him if she observed that.
Chapter 17
Marbella Twist Page 6