Deliverance (The LockDown Series Book 1)

by Dobson, Shannon

  “You know how to drive at all Abbi?” he asks me, gesturing to the steering wheel.

  “I learnt when I was with Lisa, my foster mum. I passed my theory test but didn’t do my practical. Theory has run out now, so I guess I need to do that again.” I chuckle softly.

  “We’ll get you through it don’t worry. You need your own car, it means you can get around without relying on me,” he beams a white toothed all American playboy smile.

  More than anything in this world right now I wanted last night to have been real, he was just so perfect. I craved him with a ferocious hunger that was eating me alive. My feelings were crazy; I had known him for all of thirty six hours.

  “I guess so. Hey, thanks for everything. All I need now is to get myself a job so I can help out a little with rent and stuff.” I smile back at him, grateful for every tiny thing this man has done for me.

  “Don’t be ridiculous Abbi; you don’t need to pay for anything. But if you want a job, then you can always come and help at the restaurant a few times a week, wait tables, or help out at the bar,” he tells me, looking back and forth between me and the road.

  “Really? Like for real, you would give me a job?” I ask excitedly, the thought of actually earning my own money and buying my own things is making my heart pump hard and fast in my chest.

  “Sure, if that’s what you want. You don’t need to work, I can supply anything you need, but if it makes you happy to work then you can always help out there.”

  “Oh God, thank you so much Leigh, can I call you Leigh?” I question him, still sounding like an overly excited child at Christmas.

  “Yes, you can call me Leigh.” He places his hand on my knee and squeezes slightly. I look down and watch whilst he strokes it for a second before removing it to change gear.

  I squirm in my seat trying to relieve the pressure, trying to eradicate the images my mind had set for me, my chest aching for him to put his hand back there. Deep inside it hurt because I knew I wanted him more than he would ever want me.

  We arrive at Tesco within twenty minutes. I open the door and swing myself out of the car.

  We spend an hour and a half overfilling the metal cage that is a trolley, before approaching the checkout with every grocery item you could need.

  A total of three hundred and twenty seven pounds, thirty six pence later we have a boot full of bagged food and are driving back to the mansion in the Audi.

  “Bring on tonight. Just a warning Abbi, these ‘lads nights,’” he says using his fingers to quotation mark the lads nights part, “They can get messy so it might be best to step away from it. Don’t want you subjected to the filth that their drunk mouths project.”

  I sit and think to myself, ‘Oh God, I hope it does get messy. That would be one awesome fucking end to the night.’

  After arriving home, Leighton and I pack away the shopping, overfilling the cupboard and refrigerator space.

  “So, food? What are we preparing?” I ask Leigh as I close the last polished door of the kitchen unit.

  “Was thinking, maybe just get a pizza in? Would be easier for us both, that way I can catch up with some paperwork and you can relax and enjoy your freedom. I have a pool and spa if you want to relax there for a while.” He was munching his way through a very delicious and juicy apple, his teeth slicing through the fruit with ease. I was staring at his mouth like an estranged stalker.

  “What are you looking at?” he asks me, seeing my distraction.

  “That,” I reply, pointing to the ruby red apple in his clasp; I want nothing more than to have a taste, of him that was.

  “You aren’t having any, it’s mine,” he tells me as he takes an extra-large bite, the crunch of the fruit echoing in the large kitchen. He is clearly trying to wind me up further.

  I pout my lip at him, batting my eyelashes and forcing fake tears to surface. That’s right I could be a fucking drama queen.

  “Don’t even try that shit with me Abbi, I have a little sister. She has tried to pull that since she was a kid, doesn’t work with me sweetheart.” I continue to pout and even manage to force a tear to fall, sniffling exaggeratingly. “It’s not going to work, stop with the tears,” he tells me, trying his hardest to consume his apple, taking gargantuan bites, chewing quickly and then swallowing.

  I try to stop myself from falling on the floor laughing, as he begins to choke on the huge mouthful. His face turns red as he pounds his chest, trying to dislodge the piece caught in his throat.

  I move across the room giggling as I move behind him. I slap between his shoulder blades as hard as my laughing body will allow. “Cough hard you plank.” I continue to thump him as he coughs hard, a piece of apple eventually flying across the room.

  “That’s what you get for being a greedy arse,” I tell him, poking my tongue out at him as I move past. “Next time you’ll know to share won’t you, Mr. Leighton?” I look at him in mock seriousness. “You say, Yes Miss Adams, next time I will share”

  He looks at me, raising his eyebrow as if to say ‘You seem to think’.

  “Say it, or I will dispose of every apple you have just paid for. We share in this household now, Mr. Leighton”.

  “Not the apples,” he begs me, pointing to bowl of shiny red fruit, his lips quivering a little.

  “Then say it or the fruit gets it.” I begin to walk towards the bowl, reaching my hands to take it from the side.

  “Fine, stop, stop, I’ll say it,” he says, his hand grasps my wrist to stop me. I want to laugh, laugh really hard at how serious he was taking it. For someone to love apples so much they were willing to beg, now that was a serious mental problem.

  I gesture for him to continue, rolling my hand in the air, “I’m waiting Leighton.” I am literally biting my tongue to control the impending giggle fit.

  “I will share my apples from now on,” he announces sulkily, no enthusiasm whatsoever.

  “Oh come on Leigh, you can give more enthusiasm than that,” I scold him for his lack of life.

  “I WILL share MY APPLES from now on Abbi,” he says, faking a big smile.

  “That’s better, but there’s only one problem,” I tell him, tapping my chin.

  “Yeah, and what’s that Abigail?” he asks me, his lips in a straight hard line. He isn’t impressed with my scolding approach.

  “Well, the thing is, I... Well I don’t like apples.” I burst out laughing as his face changes to a horrible shade.

  I jump as he bolts across the room, grabbing me, digging his fingers into my sides, tickling me with a serious amount of revenge. God it hurt too much. I can’t stop laughing as I struggle to get myself from his embrace.

  “Now it’s your turn to say what I want you to say,” he tells me, lifting me from the floor and taking me through the house to the lounge. Placing me on the sofa he climbs atop me pinning my arms and legs down with his thighs. I’m not complaining on the view to be honest because his jean clad crutch is in my direct view.

  “Yeah, and what’s that sir?” I mock him, not the best thing to do because his fingers really go to town on my hips and tummy. It makes tears spring into my eyes, as the torturous pain hits every nerve in my body.

  “Say, ‘Leighton is the best; I will obey his every order and kiss his feet for the rest of my life.’” I laugh aloud, his requests making a smile frame my face. He is so laid back and relaxed it does nothing but sooth my soul, even with the pain of his fingers tickling me.

  “Yeah, because that’s going to happen.” He tickles harder making me squirm and almost cry.

  “Say it,” he commands me, his deep pine tree eyes staring at me intently.

  I am compelled straight away; from the moment I look into those irises I am gone. “Leighton is the best; I will obey his every order and kiss his feet for the rest of my life.”

  “Good girl,” he replies as he climbs from the sofa, but not before leaning down, his face in line with mine, his lips within reaching d
istance. I pout my lips out preparing for his attack.

  “Argh, you disgusting man,” I shout as his tongue swipes the length of my face, licking me, a wet trail left in its wake.

  “Payback’s a bitch. Don’t touch my apples,” he warns me, as he jumps from me and runs from the room.

  I sit up and rearrange my messy hair, tucking bits back into a hair-band. I can’t stop smiling; my cheeks are hurting as the muscles stretch in my face.

  “Abigail!” I hear Leighton shout from the kitchen, I sit up and walk through the house to him.

  “Yes sir, what can one assist one with?” I ask him, mocking his need for me to kiss his feet for eternity.

  “Where the hell did you put my scotch? I can’t find it.” He looks sad at the loss, making me chuckle hard.

  “Aww poor baby. I put it in the drinks cabinet there.” I point across the kitchen to the glass and oak piece of furniture that is laden with bottles of expensive looking alcohol.

  “Good. I was worried then. The guys would kill me if I didn’t have anything to give them.” He physically relaxes.

  “Oh no, nothing to drink. Not like you don’t have another ten bottles of drink in that cabinet.”

  “Yes, but they are not 15 year old Talisker single malt scotch whiskey are they. No they are not. You will learn pretty soon what I like and I pay high for what I like.” He winks at me as he moves across the room, grabbing a glass from the cupboard before opening the drinks cabinet up and removing the scotch.

  He pours a little slosh into the glass before swirling it around and then swallows the lot.

  “That is good. And that is why I do not buy scotch at Tesco’s,” he smiles.

  “Where did you buy it then because you got it today?” I ask him, intrigued as to how he managed to swing that one by me.

  “When we stopped at that shop on the way home, it’s a specialist. It’s the only place I will go.” I shake my head at him.

  “Sorry Mr. Alcohol Snob.” I laugh at him. “So tell me, why does a rich fellow like yourself, with a lot of money, shop at somewhere like Tesco’s? Surely you’re a Waitrose or Mark’s kind of guy.”

  “Because, Abigail, there is no point in wasting good money, that could be used for this beautiful stuff,” he points to the glass, “on groceries that taste the same in all supermarkets.” He smiles widely at me.

  “Okay,” I answer simply before turning and leaving the room. A huge smile on my face.

  “Where you going Abbi?” he asks me in that well-spoken British voice, the angry or horny one, and it makes me tingle all over.

  “I’m going to swim Sir, do you mind if I use your facilities?” I ask him sarcastically, smiling wide as I do.

  “Not at all, sweetheart. You enjoy yourself. The guys will be here in about two hours so do what you want to for the evening and don’t mind their loud voices,” he tells me, pouring himself another small glass of scotch and downing it.

  “See you later, Leighton. Thanks again for everything.” I turn and walk from the room, going to my bedroom to collect a bikini and towel.

  I arrive back downstairs and search the perimeters of the hallways trying to find where this pool and spa are. I don’t want to look like an idiot asking, so I just kept wandering until I smell the chlorine.

  Pushing open a wooden door and then a set of glass frosted doors, I arrive at the side of a beautiful walk-in swimming pool. I can feel the heat of the water before even getting in. I breathe in the steamy air, my lungs feeling clear and refreshed.

  I look to the other side of the large space, seeing a few doored cubicles. I open one and enter. I change into my bikini quickly, leaving my clothes inside the little room. I take my towel with me and leave it by the pool.

  If there is one thing in this world I am good at, it was swimming. I can go for hours, any stroke you ask me to do I can do. I can dive perfectly, slicing the water without as much as a drop of water disturbed. Call me Tom Daley if you must, but I am damn good at it.

  I stretch my arms above my head, inhaling deep before bending my knees and then stretching my legs to push myself from the edge of the water. I fly through the air quickly, my fingertips grazing the water surface as they slice through the barrier.

  I feel the warm liquid mold around my body as I penetrate it, my tiny frame spearing through the torrent around me. The tiny bubbles fizz around me like a mini jacuzzi. I kick my legs bringing me to the surface to collect some air into my relaxed lungs.

  I wade around, using both hands to sweep my wet hair, that had somehow broke free of the hair band that held it from my face, my blonde locks clinging to my back. I pull the elastic free and then retie my hair back up tighter and neater.

  I breast stroke to the nearest end of the pool and line myself up close to the wall. I take a deep breath, holding onto the wall bringing my legs up like a frog. I kick off, bringing my arms out in front of me like I was horizontally diving. I slice through the water and then bring one arm over my head, bringing it down into the water, and then the next arm.

  I swim the length of the pool, rolling and kicking back off the wall at the other end. I swim six lengths of the sauna like pool, rolling and kicking at the end of each one.

  After completing the six front crawl lengths, I switch to back stroke, turning onto my back and rotating my arms above my head and bringing them through the water.

  I feel so at peace and relaxed doing this. It was one of the only things in my life that I was good at, one of the only things that made me feel so calm and collected. When I lived with Lisa, I used to swim on a daily basis, one of the reasons my body was so toned.

  After finishing six lengths of backstroke I switch to breast stroke, literally looking like a frog this time, bringing my head up out of the water, with every stroke to collect air.

  Eighteen lengths later I only have six of the hardest to do. Well hard for someone who couldn’t swim well. Butterfly is without a doubt my favorite stroke, the one I used to swim in competitions and galas.

  I switch over to my front, both of my arms parallel to one another as they simultaneously slice through the warm water. I can feel the lactic acid in my legs and arms building, my muscles beginning to ache as I push them further than I have pushed them in years.

  Reaching the sixth lengths of my butterfly stroke and twenty four lengths of the pool, I cling onto the wall, breathing deeply, struggling to get my lungs full again.

  “Wow, you can really swim.” I hear the beautiful Essex tinged voice echo in the room.

  I turn my head quickly searching for him.

  I pull my hair from the band again and lower myself under the water, soaking my hair down smooth. Standing up on tip-toes I retie my hair inside the elastic so its stowed neatly away.

  “You swim so beautifully, so fluid and free.” I feel his warmth beside me as he kneels down by the pool.

  “Thank you,” I reply, my skin blushing. I’m not used to people complementing me, making me feel good.

  “Anyway sweetheart, I just came to tell you that a few of the lads have turned up, so just a warning. They know you’re here so they may come sneak a view,” he tells me standing back up.

  I use my arms to pull myself up on the edge of the pool, my bum sitting on the tiles my feet dangling in the water. “It’s cool; I’m all finished for today. I’ll take myself upstairs to shower and change. I’ll come help get some bits ready after if you like.”

  “No need Abbi, I can handle it. You go relax for the evening and I’ll see you sometime later,” Leighton explains to me, his shoes squeaking as he walks from the room.

  I lean back on my hands, taking deep breaths to collect myself. Why on earth have I found the most perfect man there could possibly on this earth but he has no interest in me at all? Just my damn luck.

  All I can hear from the relaxing depths of my bubbling spa bath are loud deep laughs, cheering and the occasional heavy swearing.

  I am trying my hardest
to enjoy the frothing water, but I can’t stop myself from laughing with them when I hear the foul mouthed lads, who are congregated somewhere in the house.

  I decide I have soaked for long enough and get myself out from the bath to dry and dress. Using a fluffy towel I get rid of the drips and then I put some comfy jeggings and a t-shirt on.

  I make my way downstairs to find where the noise is coming from.

  “Leigh, I’m so glad she’s here, she listened to me.” I recognise the voice as Scott, with that American accent that is so God damn panty combusting; it makes me nervous to see a group of seven men together.

  I have no doubt the other three men he is yet to introduce me to are going to be just as beautiful as the rest of them.

  “Shut it you prick, she had nothing to do with it. She didn’t even know where I had bought it from. This is all me boys, so shut up and drink up before I throw you all out and have the bottle to myself.” I hear the clinking of glasses and then the cheering of the men.

  “Boys wait till you see her, how Leigh hasn’t tapped her yet I have no clue.” I recognise it to once again be Scott. I shake my head at his typical male antics.

  “Scott, shut up mate. Leave her alone for at least a day please.” That is Leighton’s sexy voice, and if it doesn’t just make me melt.

  I walk into the kitchen, clearing my voice as I walk to the fridge to take a bottle of water out. Uncapping the lid I take a drink from it. I look to the group of seven men standing there staring. I recognise Scott, Leigh, Antonio and Thomas straight away. Standing with them is three very blond and very blue-eyed men. As predicted they are just as stunning as the other four men.

  “Evening, Abigail. Enjoy your relaxing?” Leigh asks me.

  “Very much, thank you for letting me use the pool. You have a beautiful home,” I express to him, taking more of the water in my mouth.

  “That’s perfectly fine Abbi; you use it whenever you want to,” Leighton replies, standing nonchalantly against his kitchen counter.

  “Well, you boys enjoy your evening. Leigh do you want me to order your pizza for you?” I ask him, wanting to feel at least a little useful.