Dance: The Collected Series

by Charlotte Eve

  Of course he’s married. Suddenly it all makes sense: why he took me all the way out here, to hide in this great big empty house, and why his sister’s been acting so damn off with me. For the first time, the cold reality of our ‘arrangement’ fully dawns on me, and I feel like such a bitch. A home-wrecker. A whore.

  I turn and run back down the corridor to my room, cursing myself for how stupid I’ve been. And I guess I’ve got to admit that maybe part of that is because I’ve been developing feelings for him.

  §

  I spend the rest of the afternoon lying on the bed, just staring into space. I keep thinking about just getting the hell out of here: of finding James and asking him to book me a cab to the nearest train station. But then reality kicks in all over again and I remember just why I’m here in the first place. This isn’t just some romantic week away in a picturesque Rhode Island holiday resort. I’m here to give Dylan Campbell his kicks, plain and simple: to get him off in all the dirty, kinky ways that maybe his clean and wholesome wife doesn’t want to do anymore. And if I can just stick it out for another three days, I’m going to be rewarded ‘very handsomely’ for my trouble.

  It’s this final thought that keeps me from sulking when Dylan knocks on my door early that evening.

  “I thought you’d be by the pool,” he says, looking in at me from the doorway, my room plunged into dimness from the blinds I’ve not had the energy to open all day. There’s exasperation in his voice, as if he’s angry with me for not making the most of his beautiful house.

  “I guess I’m a little tired of the pool,” I reply, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  “That’s a shame,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Meet me by the pool house in twenty minutes and you’ll find out,” he replies. “Bathing suit optional.”

  §

  Of course I wear a bathing suit. I’m not gonna give in and let him see me naked that easily. Especially after my little discovery this afternoon. But I’m hardly in a position to decline his offer, am I? For the next few days, I’m still his employee and I signed up for this – wife or no wife.

  When I get to the pool house, Dylan’s already there. He’s wearing a robe, so I can’t tell if he’s got trunks on underneath, or whether he’s going commando. I’ve got my robe on too, so he doesn’t know what I’m wearing underneath either. And if he’s hoping I’m naked, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

  “Come with me,” is all he says.

  So I follow him, around and past the pool, then through a secluded grove of trees, past a beautiful rockery full of plants and flowers, and then finally down some dark gray slate steps that look like they’ve been carved out of the cliff. The whole effect is breath-taking. And then there, nestled away, hidden from view by shrubbery and foliage is a steaming hot tub, a bottle of champagne chilling next to it in a silver ice bucket.

  I wonder where his perfect family is tonight, and what exactly it is they think he’s up to.

  “Wow,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really know how to treat a girl.”

  “I like to make a woman feel special,” he replies. And if he’s noticed my bitterness, he’s choosing to ignore it. “After you,” he adds, gesturing towards the tub.

  I shrug off my fluffy white cotton robe. Beneath it, I’m wearing the least revealing bikini I could find in the wardrobe. It’s a plain white halter top, with high-waisted shorts and an elegant gold buckle. But for all its extra fabric, it’s still a bikini, and it leaves little to the imagination. Dylan looks at me approvingly for a half-second, before slipping his robe off, too, his body knocking the air from my lungs despite myself.

  I suppose this is the first time I’ve seen the whole of him in one go and damn. He’s as perfectly formed as a statue; lean yet muscular, lightly tanned, perfectly in proportion, except of course that extra-large package between his legs, shown off obscenely by what has to be the tightest pair of trunks I think I’ve ever seen on a guy before. I force myself to pull my eyes away from his gorgeous body, turning and climbing into the tub, registering an embarrassing dampness between my legs as I step into the water.

  Okay. This is actually pretty cool.

  I’ve never been in a hot tub before now, but I can totally see the appeal.

  “You like it?” Dylan asks once he’s climbed in too, handing me a chilled glass of champagne, and I have to nod. And with that heady combination of the overpowering heat of the water, the luscious scenery all around us, and the deliciously cold champagne, I’m finding it harder and harder to stay mad at him.

  “I know why you’ve been hiding in your room. I’m really sorry about Isabella,” he says genuinely. “I don’t know what to do with her sometimes. Believe it or not, she’s actually calmed down a lot over the past few years. She used to be really wild, like totally uncontrollable. Now she’s just your regular spoiled brat, I guess. Sometimes I wish she didn’t have her trust fund to fall back on. It’s making her lazy. It’s no good for her.”

  It’s really weird, but when he’s talking about his family, he’s like a different person. Gone is the guy who’s focused solely on himself – on getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it, and damn the consequences. Instead, this guy, the guy who’s talking about his family, seems more real, more rounded, more ... human.

  “At least you have a sister,” I reply, “even if she is trouble. Most of my life, it’s just been me and my dad. It could get kind of lonely. And he came with his own set of problems as well – drinking, gambling, unable to hold down a job for more than five minutes. I’ve always wished for a sibling. You know, just someone I could say, “Isn’t dad being an asshole?” to. Someone to share the burden. But the only person in the whole world who knows what I’ve been through is me. I suppose I’ve gotten used to that by now ...”

  “To family,” Dylan says ironically, holding out his champagne glass. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I reply, clinking my glass against his.

  Because he’s totally right: whether fantastically rich like his, or dirt poor like mine, family is family, and it always comes with problems.

  The combination of the temperature and the champagne has gone straight to my head, so much so that I don’t even notice that Dylan’s arm is anywhere near me, before all of a sudden my bikini top pops undone.

  “Hey!” I squeal, covering my breasts with my free hand as the top floats away. “How did you manage that?”

  “Practice,” he grins.

  As if to prove the point, he leans in towards me, both taking the glass from my hand and pressing his lips against my own all in one smooth motion. And I quickly feel my reservations melting away, as our kisses get hot and heavy, the steam from the water rising around us as our hands begin to explore each other’s bodies too.

  I moan as his fingers move between my legs, pushing my tongue deeper into his mouth as he tugs my bikini roughly to the side, his fingertips circling my aching clit. I push my hand beneath the water to discover his hard cock, straining at his trunks. He groans as I free him, stroking his thick shaft beneath the surface of the water, our tongues flicking, our eyes closed ...

  And then an image appears in my head: Dylan with his wife and kid.

  I pull away from him, his eyes opening in confusion.

  “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, his voice tight with lust. “Don’t stop now.”

  I don’t know what to do, what to say.

  A part of me wants to tell him to go to hell – or at least back to his wife and family.

  But then I think about the money again: one hundred thousand dollars, enough to secure my future more than my precious virginity ever could.

  Do this for you, Julia. Do this for your future ...

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I reply, forcing a sweet smile back onto my face and hitching up my ass to slide my bikini bottoms down my thighs, before pushing myself back towards him
, wrapping my arms around him, my hard nipples grazing against his muscular chest as I begin to straddle him now, feeling his cock pressing between my legs, his hands moving to my ass, spreading me wide, urging me down onto him.

  This is it ...

  “I’ve been wanting this for so long,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “And tonight, I’m finally going to have you ...”

  I shiver, as I feel him reach between my legs, guiding his cock into place, his hardness touching right against my hot wet cunt, ready to push himself into me.

  I take a deep breath then push my lips against his, about to take him inside me when ...

  “Jesus!” he says, his whole body stiffening in shock. He pushes me off him, turning to look at something behind me.

  “Isabella?” he cries out. “What the fuck?!”

  I spin around, snapping back into reality, just in time to see Isabella teetering precariously down the wet stone steps, bottle of whiskey in one hand, lit cigarette in the other. She stops halfway, her mouth curling into a woozy grin.

  “Well, well, well,” she slurs, before taking a big hit on the whiskey bottle.

  “Bella?” Dylan says firmly. “That better not be Dad’s Macallan ...”

  “Who cares what it is,” she mumbles. “I found it in the cellar. I’m bored shitless, Dylan. I wanna get drunk. Come on! Come and get drunk with me. Please?” Then her glazed eyes turn from Dylan to me. “Just you, not her,” she says with a dismissive sneer.

  “Isabella, that’s enough,” Dylan snaps, sounding more like her father than her brother.

  He’s seriously pissed – I can tell by his voice.

  “You’re no fun,” she whines, turning on her heel to leave. But she only makes it two steps up the path before her foot flies from under her, skidding on the wet slate, and she topples backwards, landing hard on her ass, right at the bottom of the path, the whiskey bottle – I really hope it wasn’t the Macallen; that’s $50 a glass where I work – smashing loudly next to her.

  Ouch. That must have hurt.

  “Jesus,” Dylan mutters beneath his breath, quickly adjusting his trunks then jumping out of the hot tub and grabbing his robe for good measure.

  She’s sitting on the floor in a pool of broken glass, crying like a baby. “I’ve fucked up again, haven’t I?” she says between sobs as Dylan tries to help her to her feet.

  “No, no, no,” he says, bringing her into a tender hug as she sobs loudly in his arms.

  Snapping back to reality, I remember that I’m butt naked, so while nobody’s looking, I fish out my bikini, pulling it back on and grabbing my robe, before I head over to them, super careful to avoid the broken glass that’s strewn all around, sparkling in the moonlight, beautiful but dangerous.

  Isabella might well be a total nightmare and a spoiled bitch, but even so, right now I still feel kinda sorry for her.

  “Hey,” I say as I join them, thinking about just what I’d want if I was in this kind of a state, “why don’t we all go inside and watch TV? I bet Keeping Up with the Kardashians is on ...”

  She sniffs back the last of her tears then nods her head. “You know, my friend Ashley totally made out with Kendall’s boyfriend in a club in Vegas this one time, right behind her back,” she slurs.

  Taking one arm each, Dylan and I carefully escort Isabella back up the path and into the house. As we walk, she seems to have forgotten all about her little outburst, plus how much she’s supposed to hate me, and as she gossips away happily, Dylan looks at me over her head and silently mouths, ‘thank you.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At breakfast the next morning, Isabella is nowhere to be seen. I’m guessing she’s most likely sleeping off an awful hangover somewhere. And after last night’s little incident, I reckon Dylan owes me one. So it gives me the courage to come out and say it aloud.

  “Listen,” I begin. “I’ve been bored out of my mind hanging around this amazing palace all day. Please don’t go to work again today. Come on. Stay here with me for once. Let’s do something. Something fun. What’s the worst that’s gonna happen?”

  He looks at me, his face so serious, contemplating my offer like it’s a million dollar business deal. Then, finally, he nods to himself.

  “Come on,” I persist. “You can take a day off, right? You’re the one in charge after all ...”

  “Okay, you’re right,” he says. “What’s the worst that can happen? I won’t go into the office today. I’ll stay here with you.”

  Yes, I think excitedly. I mean, it’s just one day, but even so, it’s still a victory.

  “So?” I say. “What do you wanna do?”

  “Let’s go walk on the beach,” he suggests. “It’s beautiful this time of year. You’ll love it. I spent whole summers there as a kid. It’s been way too long since I was back.”

  “See,” I offer. “You’ve done the right thing.”

  He nods again, slowly and contemplatively, then folds up his newspaper, drains his coffee and stands to leave the table. And it’s only then that I notice that his shirt is made of more of a rumpled cream linen that his usual crisp white numbers, and his pants are soft navy chinos rather than tight-fitting, tailored suit pants.

  “Besides,” he says with a slowly spreading smile. “It’s Saturday. Meet you at the front door in twenty minutes.”

  Touché, I think.

  §

  He’s right. The beach is beautiful – picturesque and unspoiled, with just a few holiday makers dotted here and there, soaking up the mid-morning sun. We walk along the very edge of the shore, bathed in the sunlight, the soft breeze ruffling our hair. Everything seems just perfect, and in a moment of madness I reach over and take his hand in mine. He doesn’t pull away, either. In fact, he does the opposite, giving my fingers a squeeze of contented happiness. This seems outside the contract somehow. I mean, he’s right, I never read it through. But I’m pretty sure there was nothing in it about a walk on the beach that seems ... romantic. Just then I see another image in my head, of that photograph: Dylan with his wife and child, and I pull my hand from his in disgust. He gives me a confused look, but decides not to challenge me on it.

  “Once more, I’m sorry about Isabella’s behavior last night,” he says instead. “Sometimes I just don’t know what her problem is. She’s such a drama queen. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted and our parents were always really careful not to spoil us. But she’s such a daddy’s girl, I think she still got spoiled anyway, and now she’s ended up acting out. And I’m sure some of her friends at Brown are a bad influence. They’ve all watched too much Real Housewives and they only seem to care about getting into the pages of NY Goss. I think it’s warped her a little.”

  If there’s one thing I hate in life, it’s a hypocrite. So I find myself lashing out before I even know quite what I’m saying, the words tumbling from my mouth with way more venom than I’d planned.

  “Your parents were careful not to spoil you? Oh come on! I saw you ‘playing the boss’ at Campbell Finance. I would say giving someone a multi-million dollar company to play with at twenty-nine is still ‘spoiling’ them, wouldn’t you?”

  He stops abruptly and turns to face me, the sea breeze ruffling his thick black hair, a look of wounded pride etched on his face.

  “What do you mean giving someone the family company to play with?”

  “Come off it, Dylan,” I continue. “It’s not like you built Campbell Finance up from nothing, is it?”

  He balls his fists in frustration then fixes me with a look of steely anger.

  “Actually? Yes, I did,” he counters, his voice cold and direct now. “Campbell Finance is completely my own baby. I’m not gonna pretend that I came up from the mean streets or anything, because yes, I worked at the family business – Campbell Industries – for several years before presenting my idea for a new way to invest to the board. I was fortunate that they trusted in me and agreed to back my idea. But I am very much the man behind Campbell Finance. Responsible for its
creation, its day-to-day running, and its current success. Now what exactly about that is ‘spoiled’?”

  Okay. He’s got me there. But I’m not gonna let him off the hook quite that easily.

  “Fine,” I say. “But hear me out. All the men I went to school with? The men I grew up with back home? They’re cab drivers, or truck drivers, or dock workers, or they’re in the factory, or the army, or jail by the age of twenty-nine. Not one of them is the CEO of his own firm. So what makes you so special, Dylan Campbell, to run your own company, and have so much responsibility at the same age? Is it all just down to hard work?”

  “No Julia, of course it isn’t,” he sighs. “I never forget how lucky I am, or that the parents we’re born to are just an accident. I know that my upbringing was just a fluke. But accident or not, I’m gonna make the very best of what I’ve got. I strive for excellence in everything I do.”

  I guess he’s got me there.

  Do I really expect him to throw away every opportunity he’s ever had, just because other people aren’t so fortunate?

  No, I guess I don’t.

  He’s a hard worker, and he doesn’t take anything for granted. What more can you expect from somebody? Why am I so angry?

  I guess if I’m honest, I’m still taking it out on him because of that photo – the one of his wife and kid, the one that makes me feel even more like a whore.

  I wish I could tell him what’s really gnawing at me. I don’t think he’s spoiled. Sure he’s lucky. But he works hard. And now I’ve had my little outburst, I’m lost for words.

  “Let’s go back to the house,” I say after a long awkward pause, turning to head back along the shore.

  And just like that, we walk back in silence.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “The first boy you ever kissed,” he says in an icy cold tone, “did you like it?”

  I shift in my chair, the dazzling spotlight shining straight in my face, blinding me, so much that I can’t even make out Dylan in his seat facing me just a few feet away. He’s obviously enjoying this little ‘interview’ he’s set up; I can tell from the tightness and the deep growl of lust in his voice that he’s clearly savoring the fact that now he’s exploring my mind as well as my body.