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  “No you don’t. Your rules, Miss Heath.”

  He lands me on my feet in front of the four-post bed. He looks up to the horizontal post above my head, then to my feet and disappears to the wardrobe. He comes back with my black stilettos and bends to put them on my feet.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Giving you what you asked for.” He looks up at me through smouldering, hooded eyes. I’ve no idea what’s going through that gorgeous mind of his but I can’t wait to find out.

  He stands and yanks the silk belt of my kimono, pulling me into him. I lift my hands to his neck but he places them back at my sides. “No touching. Your rules.”

  He unties my belt and pushes my kimono back over my shoulders to the floor, leaving me naked in my heels. He draws his fingertips up the sides of my body painfully slowly, then lifts my hands above my head. He wraps the silk belt twice around each of my wrists then threads it around the bed frame, binding my arms. I tug gently. They’re secure.

  The only other time he’s gotten kinky in this way, it was also my fault. I came home from Harrods with bags for me and one bag for him, containing a corset and stockings. I’d dressed in them and the new heels he’d bought me for Lara’s party. I’d lain out on his chaise longue waiting for him to come to me. The thought of that night, how he blindfolded me and made me feel and smell everything intensely, has me squirming, my chest lifting and exposing my breasts.

  He takes a step back and scrutinises. “Perfect.”

  He removes his tie. I know where it’s going. His mind has conjured up the same memory as mine. I bite down on my lip to suppress the tension building between my thighs. He moves to the bed behind me and passes his tie across my eyes, knotting it at the back of my head.

  I’m nervously waiting. Vulnerable and desperate. I can hear him moving around the room but I can’t see a thing. Everything goes silent, then Shakespeare’s Sister’s “Stay” fills my ears. God, this is sexy as hell. I’m already squirming in anticipation, craving his touch. I let my head hang back, my arms pulling on the silk belt.

  He starts with my toes. Soft, tingling feathers. They move up my lower leg in slow, controlled swirls. I swallow the desire that’s built in my dry throat. The sensation climbs, circling my thigh, working higher. He reaches my hip, so close to where I want him, and my back arches so I’m tugging on my restraint.

  My breathing quickens. The strokes move to my navel and spiral torturously up my abdomen. The feathers move in a soft line between my breasts, up my sternum. My muscles tense, my lungs unable to function. I silently beg him to move to my breasts and gasp when I feel the feathers tickle the full perimeter of my plump flesh then stroke my nipple. I moan as my chest rises towards him and my clit swells, tingling. I shuffle my feet further apart. The desire to have him inside me is overwhelming. Every nerve ending in my body is coming to life.

  My lungs fill with air when the feathers move to my shoulder and slowly down the length of my arm, finding places I’ve never been touched, driving me insane. He circles my wrist then pulls the feathers through my fingers, a most oddly sensual feeling. The tingling glides to my neck. I drop my head back, my arms yanking at the bedframe. The feathers caress my heated face and move down the skin of my throat, then my opposite arm, before coming back to my other breast. He draws a circle around the hard end, pausing as I pant and writhe.

  This is crazy but it’s happening. He hasn’t even touched me. I haven’t felt his lips. I haven’t felt his skin on mine, yet my hips are lifting as my insides begin to tense, my muscles crying out to feel him. I lick my lips at the thought of him naked in front of me, his erection, waiting to move inside me.

  The caresses move across my waist. “Please.”

  I can’t take any more. The feathers trace my hip then stroke my thigh, swirling around my lower leg, down to my foot. He pulls the feathers through my toes and draws a line straight back up my thigh.

  Now. It has to be now.

  My head is fogging, my insides are pulsing. Then he does it. He draws a line straight down my centre, the feathers answering the prayers of each frantic nerve in my sex and I scream his name as my legs go weak and an orgasm shudders through my body.

  “I love watching you come for me, Scarlett.”

  Jesus, the sound of him saying my name has me writhing again. I want him inside me. I want him to continue the heady euphoria of my climax. I want to feel him come inside me.

  “Gregory, I want you so much. Let me feel you. Please.” My words are barely audible, a frenzied beg.

  The tie is pulled from my eyes and I open my lids, rewarded with a look of desire.

  I take in the sight of his proud, angry erection against his stomach and I groan.

  “Fuck your rules!” He lifts my thighs around his waist and rams himself into me on a bark. I cry out with sheer pleasure, my painful yearning satisfied. He holds us still for a moment, taking my weight. I let him settle his throbs then move my hips, needing to feel him. He draws out and drives back in relentlessly until we’re both on the edge.

  “Please, Gregory!” It’s one continuous orgasm but my insides are crying out to peak again, to feel the high.

  “Come for me, baby.”

  The most profound climax rips through every vein in my body and I implode. “Gregory!” As I scream his name, his hips buck, pushing him brutally deep. His teeth clamp down on my shoulder as he bursts inside me.

  Once his breathing has returned to normal, he holds me up with one arm, pressing our sweaty chests together. He unties my wrists with his free hand, my limbs falling around his shoulders, weightless.

  “How did you do that?” My words are weak mutterings into his neck. I don’t need to look to know he has a smug grin on his face. Right now, I don’t know whether to hate the other women he’s been with or be grateful for the many skills this man has acquired, the skills he uses to show me a new world.

  * * *

  My energy levels match my enthusiasm for attending this dinner, with all the predatory eyes I know will come with it. Gregory takes himself to the shower whilst I set about fixing my hair and finishing my makeup. I slip into a black lace thong and strapless bra then ponder how the devil I will get this Diane von Furstenberg over my head and face without unravelling everything I’ve just fixed.

  I’m grateful that Gregory is tucked in the bathroom as I fumble my way, not at all sexily, into my one shoulder gown. I adjust the one long sleeve at the wrist, untwisting it all the way up to my shoulder. The gown hugs every curve of my body, the front sweeping the floor even in my heels, the back trailing slightly. I touch up my red lips and spray myself in Coco Mademoiselle, then carry out a final once over in the floor-length mirror.

  “You look unbelievable.” He’s leaning against the doorframe, his hair slicked back, his three piece dinner suit impeccable. He quite literally takes my breath away. We stay locked in a heated stare until my lungs cry out for oxygen.

  “Shall we go, Miss Heath?” He lifts an elbow for me to slide an arm through and leads me from the room, his strength preventing my trembling legs from giving way beneath me.

  The whispers and scrutinising eyes of both men and women are even more uncomfortable than I’ve been imagining they would be. There’re more people for dinner than were here this morning, at least eighty, maybe more. As we walk into the grand reception room, we’re presented with a tray of full champagne flutes. Gregory releases my arm to take two glasses, giving me a chance to absorb the majesty of the old room. Red satin drapes across the large arched windows, drawn back in the middle by gold rope ties. A concert harpist is playing an almost gothic melody as the log fire roars beside her. Whilst most people stand in their finery, snacking on canapés and sipping champagne, I see Florence talking to a plump man with a beard and moustache, both sitting back into tall wooden thrones. The thrones are upholstered in thick re
d linen and match variations of the same chairs scattered around the perimeter of the room.

  I’m handed a glass of champagne on a reassuring smile before Charlotte and Williams make their way towards us. We have a chance to quickly exchange air kisses before the Duke and Duchess are announced to the room. The poor Duchess really looks beautiful in her royal blue two piece but she shuffles in clear discomfort into the room. The Duke guides her subtly by the elbow, bending his tall, thin, frame just a little to give her support. He thanks the hunt for returning for a fifty-third consecutive year, reminisces of tales of his father, then on completion of his speech, announces dinner.

  We make our way into another, even grander—if that’s possible—room. A nudge in my side knocks me into Gregory. His arm flies up protectively and I lean in to him, thrilled that Stella is scowling.

  “Ever so sorry, Sarah.”

  “Scarlett,” Gregory growls at her, a reaction that pleases me immensely. She flashes my delectable gentleman a dazzling smile that isn’t returned, then glares at me before continuing her strut to her table.

  I’m relieved to be perched between Gregory and Williams for dinner. After the Duke says grace for the room, game terrine is placed in front of me. I spread a thick layer over my oat cakes and waste no time settling it into my empty stomach. It really is scrumptious.

  “Good?” Gregory asks.

  “Delicious,” I say, after clearing my mouth.

  Gregory’s stolen away from me during our main course to indulge another affected woman in conversation. This one is Adriana, the rather beautiful and much younger wife of Francis, the private equity investor Gregory seemed to dislike when he introduced us in the Shard. Francis studies me a little too closely as I eat my venison, whilst Adriana throws her head back on a fake laugh and touches Gregory anywhere she can reach despite the fact he hasn’t said anything funny.

  By the time my crème brûlée is placed in front of me, I’m too full to even attempt it. Gregory’s now in a business conversation with Francis but Adriana’s hungry eyes continue to watch him. I’m beyond fed up.

  A different loud, flirtatious laugh makes me lift my focus from the piece of thread I’m playing with on the table. Charlotte is clearly tipsy and behaving as though she’s overly interested in a middle-aged man who’s admittedly quite handsome in a silvering fox kind of way but far too old for her. It’s actually a little pervy if I’m honest, the way he’s touching her hair and feigning interest in a story about her watch, which she got for her eighteenth birthday. That it was just three years ago doesn’t seem to faze him.

  “Want to get some air?” Williams is leaning in, his hushed tone for only my ears. He seems as truly pissed off as I am.

  “Love to,” I admit with the first genuine smile I’ve offered this evening.

  As I make to stand from the table, Gregory’s hand clamps around my wrist, his face filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” My tone is sharper than I intend. I force my lips into a soft smile for the other eyes around the table but speak through my teeth. “I’m fine. I’m going to get some air with Williams.”

  “I’ll come out in five minutes.”

  “No rush.” And I mean it. He’s ignored me long enough, why change his attitude now? Christ, he has me up and down like a yo-yo. One minute I’m high on life and him, feeling like I have everything I’ll ever need and want. The next, the possibility of a break, an opportunity to get my head straight in Dubai, doesn’t seem like a bad idea. But I’m afraid. Afraid of what I could lose if I go. Those highs. My reason. My sanity. The reality that we’re on day seven of the countdown to the ballistics report comes crashing to me. We’re on borrowed time until the ballistics report.

  “How do you stand this every year?” I ask Williams. The cold air feels nice on my hot, irritable skin.

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on the wall of the veranda. “It drives me half insane but we’ve got some good business contacts here.”

  “Charlotte’s sweet.” I fold my arms across my chest, the cold beginning to bite.

  He shakes his head then drops it to look at his feet. “She’s the reason I’m out here.”

  “The flirting?”

  He shakes his head again. “I don’t know what’s gotten in to her this last year or so. It’s like she’s found sex.”

  I laugh, knowing the feeling.

  “I was going to bring Amanda,” he says, flicking a questioning eye to me. “I didn’t want to bring Charlotte after last year.”

  I don’t know which statement to respond to first. I want to dig a little about my best friend and what happened last year sounds quite intriguing too. I resolve to tackle both. “What happened last year?”

  He stands on a sigh. “Long story short. She got drunk, got flirtatious then got dragged to bed kicking and screaming.”

  “By you?”

  “Gregory. He looks out for her and bollocks me when I screw up looking after her.” I want to ask why he wasn’t looking out for his little sister himself but I move on to my next intriguing topic. “Did you ask Amanda to come?” My words are cautious.

  “I was about to when she told me she didn’t want to see me anymore. Something about her and space and learning lessons.”

  I roll my eyes. “She’ll see sense.”

  “Right!” He pushes himself up as if someone just shot him with adrenalin. “Back to fending off the wolves.”

  I internally laugh at the thought that he has to fend dirty old men off his twenty-one—year-old sister whilst I’m struggling to fend a load of floozies off my strong, thirty-year-old man.

  “Can I escort you back, my lady?”

  “Actually, I’m going to enjoy this fine weather a little longer.” I lean forward, replacing Williams in his spot on the veranda and watch a shooting star glide through the crisp black sky until it disappears.

  “Are you going to tell me what I’ve done wrong or am I going to have to guess?” His velvet words reach me just before his dinner jacket is draped across my shoulders, still warm from his body. I inhale his scent and pull the jacket tighter around me.

  “I’ve been ignoring you,” he says when I don’t answer.

  “Acting like I don’t exist and entertaining Adriana, you mean.”

  “It’s just business, Scarlett.”

  “Please tell me what business Adriana is in,” I snap, turning to leave the veranda.

  “Hold the fort,” he says, grabbing my arm back.

  Despite my irritation, my lips curl. “You mean hold the phone.”

  “Whichever,” he says with a wink, moving to lean forward on his forearms on the veranda. I follow and resume my position next to him. “She’s in the business of if I don’t keep her happy, I don’t keep her husband happy and her husband is a very wealthy man.”

  “Her husband’s a sleazy dick.”

  He laughs, a warm sound that causes me to let out a short laugh too. “He is a dick.” He nudges into my shoulder and drops a kiss to my cheek. “Dance with me?”

  “You don’t deserve my moves,” I say stubbornly whilst tuning into the sound of the band covering Sammy Davis Junior’s “Mr. Bojangles.”

  Taking my hands, he pulls me to him. “I’ll see your moves later. Right now, I just want you to dance with me.”

  He raises my right hand in the air with his and I shuffle my left palm to his shoulder as he turns us to bo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-jangles.

  “I’m not sure you have much in common with a man in shabby clothes with a dog.”

  “I have dogs at the farm,” he smiles, the kind of smile he reserves for me. I liquefy.

  I feel his body tense before he leaves me so abruptly I almost stumble to the floor. It takes me seconds to regain my balance and process Gregory surging from the veranda into the reception room wh
ere the pervy man is leading Charlotte by the hand up the grand staircase to the bedrooms.

  It happens quickly. Gregory reaches them at the stop of the stairs. Charlotte staggers back as Gregory pins the man by his throat to the wall, just out of view of the rest of the room but not those at the bottom of the stairs and not me, making my way towards the commotion.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Gregory is seething, his muscles bulging beneath his suit, his words a strong South African bark.

  “Jesus, you fucking lunatic. Get your fucking hands off me!”

  Gregory reaffirms his grip on the man’s throat and slams his head into the stone wall again. Seeing the ruthlessness in his black eyes, I’m reminded of what Gregory is capable of. His rage will kill this man.

  “Gregory! Stop!” I yell, then move towards them, trying to shift into Gregory’s field of vision.

  His eyes flick to me and soften but then his face contorts and he slams the man’s head against the wall again.

  “Don’t ever lay a fucking hand on her again! Do you hear me?” Head meets stone again. “Do you fucking hear me?”

  “Yes, Christ! Let me go!”

  Gregory drops his grip and the man falls limply to the ground.

  “You mad bastard. She’s gagging for it.”

  Williams comes out of nowhere and grabs Gregory’s fist before he lands a blow. “I’ve got it, Greg, get out of here.”

  “You shouldn’t have fucking left her,” he snarls at Williams as he yanks his arm back, still glaring at the heap of man on the floor.

  A million thoughts are crashing through my blurred mind and I can’t get a handle on what just happened. His rage. Two wide browns move to consider me. I have nothing to say.

  “I’ve suspected for a while that he was in love with his best friend’s sister. Seems obvious now, don’t you think?” I turn to find the smug face that owns that whisper. Stella. “Well, that he’s fucked her in any event.” Her lips are curled into a snarl. She’s the final straw in this whole godawful day.