My hands curled into fists. “Are you going to wipe me off the map, too?”
“Annoyingly, you’re everywhere, Em. You’d take an extra day to wipe out.”
“Do you get off on this?”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face as he glanced in the rearview mirror. He was playing with me.
“I’m up for anything,” I said cheerfully.
“Love your spirit.”
“Take me home. Fuck me. Then fall asleep and see what happens.”
“I’m aroused quite frankly.”
The way he held the steering wheel irritated me—his strong hands showing masterful control. He glanced over and gave a sexy smirk to reveal he was enjoying every second of torturing me.
“Why have we stopped?”
He unclipped his seatbelt. “We’re here.”
James had parked the car next to a tall building. A few policemen mingled nearby.
The sign for Downing Street was up ahead. We were close to the headquarters of the British Government and the Prime Minister’s home. Security matched the location. Either he was as reckless as hell or had total confidence I’d not make a scene.
James climbed out and rounded the front of the car—probably to do the gentlemanly act and help me out the Jag.
I shoved my door open before he could. “Where are we going?”
“You’re so intrigued with what it is I do for a living that I thought I’d give you a glimpse behind the veil.” He stepped back onto the pavement.
Xander’s words came back to haunt me…
“There’s a veil. Once you see beyond the curtain there’s no going back.”
I hesitated by the side of the car.
“Consider this an olive branch, Em.”
“In what way?”
He stared down the street as though mulling over how best to answer. “It’s what I promised Xander.”
“What exactly did you promise him?”
He gave me a kind smile. “That I’d help you forget him.”
I squeezed back tears, feeling that old familiar ache of loneliness.
I wasn’t ready to let Xander go. How could I after all we’d shared, all we’d planned? The man heading off down the pathway was a wedge between our happiest years. I had never hated anyone more.
If I wanted to scream, now was a good time.
James walked along the side of a grey brick building with a tall brass fence around it. It looked like we’d be walking directly past Number 10.
I caught up with him. “Aren’t you nervous about all these people seeing me with you?”
“No.”
“You like danger, don’t you, James?”
“I’m not the only one.” He flashed a grin. “I know all about you.”
“Are you referring to my need for an adrenaline rush during a good fuck?”
“You might want to keep your voice down. Don’t want the Prime Minister hearing. He might get overexcited.”
The fact that Xander had shared such an intimate detail about me burned like hell.
I stopped abruptly.
James had led me directly to the highly polished black door of Number 10.
The door swung open and he stepped into an entrance hall. With a pivot, he gave me another heart-stopping smile. In a daze, I followed him in and gave a nervous nod to the policeman who doubled as a doorman.
What the hell are we doing here?
Beneath the long red rug we stood on was a checkered floor and to my right was a large fireplace. Elegant antiquities hinted of another time. This was like a British museum and every painting, ticking clock, and dark piece of wooden furniture had been lovingly cared for. The lemony scent of furniture polish permeated the air and gave the place an old English atmosphere, a bit like a church where the voices are hushed, carrying a reverence as thick as the green velvet curtains.
The way James strolled down the hallway made it obvious he’d been here before. The respectful nods he received from those we passed showed they recognized him, too. I followed quickly, realizing his influence went all the way to one of the highest offices.
What have I gotten myself into? No, what has Xander gotten us embroiled in?
James pointed toward a leather chair. “Churchill’s.”
“He sat there?” I moved closer to study it.
“Those marks on the armrests are where his fingernails scratched the leather in frustration.” James tilted his head to get me to keep following. “Quite a burden carrying Europe through a war.”
We navigated around the staff streaming in and out of various rooms.
James flashed a warm smile my way. “What did the inspector whisper to you before we left the station?”
“She was available to talk if I wanted to come back.” I stared straight ahead to hide the lie. “Where are we going?”
He paused before an office. “Here.” He opened the door and entered the room.
Standing in the doorway, I questioned whether we were even allowed in here. The gold plaque on the desk announced we’d walked into the Prime Minister’s private office.
He’ll get me arrested.
In the center of the room was a generously sized redwood desk. To prove this was the Prime Minister’s office, and to curtail any doubt to my addled brain, there was a photo on the desk of the PM himself, Charles Wildwood. He and his pretty wife were posed happily with their two children in front of a Christmas tree in the foyer here. Behind the desk sat his high-back swivel chair. The one he actually sat in when making those tough decisions. The very man I’d seen countless times addressing the nation.
I’d voted for Wildwood—stood in a booth and ticked the box for the Conservative party, and it had made me feel so grown up. Never had I considered the possibility I’d ever be in his bloody office.
My flesh chilled as I tried to fathom why I’d been brought here.
A large gold-framed mirror hung on the wall and from here I watched James watching me. The floor was made up of intricate white tiles and I wondered who had stood on them before us. Probably visiting dignitaries and all the others members of State who had made their stamp on history.
The ceiling was just as ornate with its white piping. The office was messy but still looked organized. There were keepsakes placed here and there from visits to other countries. Like the curved sword sheathed in silver. There were photos taken with other world leaders. He’d played a round of golf with the American President, and the photo of them relaxing on the green proved they were good at faking that they liked each other.
James was proving how powerful he was.
That’s what this visit was about.
He strolled behind the office chair and held the backrest. “Sit.”
“I’m not sitting there.” I closed the door behind me. “What if he comes in?”
“Then he’ll see you sitting in his chair.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“That’s probably wise. Now sit.”
Approaching the chair, I ran through the different scenarios that could play out, but it was hard to focus while being trapped in here with James. This man was full of surprises and not the good kind. Yet he oozed a dangerous sophistication that made him magnetic and it was hard to pull my stare away from his regal stature. I’d seen how his charisma impressed the police back at New Scotland Yard. Even here, walking the endless hallways in the most reverent of places, he inspired a quiet awe.
My jaw tightened with frustration. “What point are you trying to make?”
He pulled the chair out to give me room to sit.
This, this was surreal. A moment in time that would never be repeated, and one I’d never envisioned. It was something I’d have loved to have told Xander about. Now, thanks to this man, there was no one left in my life to share this story with.
As though reading my mind he said, “Tell no one about your visit here. Understand?”
I gave a shrug.
“No, Emily, not even your mother.”
If James threatened my mum, I’d stab him with that fancy marble letter opener.
I sat in the chair, resting my hands on the armrests, and soaked in the atmosphere. There was a grandeur to it with the many files neatly stacked in their leather binders, a green desk lamp to the right for those late-night sessions. In the center of the desk rested an impressively large Apple monitor. And there, on a coaster, was a half-finished mug of tea. Proving the PM even worked on a Saturday.
This was as close as I would get to a brush with a world-renowned figure.
James leaned forward and took my hand, placing it on the desk and then wrapping his fingers around my wrist. His touch made my skin tingle. The way he held me there was intimidating.
And precariously erotic.
“I get it,” I said. “You have friends in high places.”
When his grip tightened it sent a thrill through me.
“You’re partly right,” he said huskily.
“You influence his decisions?” I peered over my shoulder at him. “How?”
James let go of my wrist. Gripping the back of the chair, he spun me around to face him. “What do you want above all, Emily?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you want to join the orchestra. Well, you’re one step closer. What other aspirations do you have?”
“You know what I want.”
“A house in Belgravia? Give me a day and you’ll be walking through your new home in the most luxurious neighborhood in London. Money? I can have millions in gold bars placed in that safety deposit box you opened today at Lloyds. If you’re thinking grander, I’m listening.”
I felt a stab of anger at the humiliation I’d endured at the bank because of him. His knowing smile told me he’d followed my line of thought.
Blinking up at him I asked, “Did you help the Prime Minster get elected?”
James cupped my face with his hands. “He had a vision, Em.”
No. Surely, he wasn’t this influential…this powerful.
And my life was in his hands.
I closed my eyes. “James.”
Tilting my head, I leaned into his palm and drew his thumb into my mouth. I suckled, nipping the tip and moving my head suggestively to deep throat it while holding his gaze.
“It’s important you know,” he said darkly, “I can outthink you. Outmaneuver you. And out manipulate you. Flirting is endearing. But it won’t work.” He pulled his thumb from my mouth and gripped my throat. “I own the man who sits here. I made him. I keep him in power. I can remove him.”
His words resonated in the stillness.
It was a profound revelation that I wished I’d not heard. My throat began to ache and whether he intended it or not, I became aroused in response to his aggression. A shudder of pleasure shot up my spine and emanated to my limbs at his show of dominance.
“Interesting,” he said.
Raising my chin higher, I gave him a look that told him I didn’t care if he threatened my life. I wasn’t going to change my mind about Xander.
I pulled away. “You can’t hurt me any more than you already have.”
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”
He wouldn’t.
His threat to ruin my musical career made my blood chill like ice. “You’re the devil.”
“I own the devil.”
“What are you going to do?”
He studied me with a calm expression. “Everyone has a price.”
“You know what mine is.”
He shoved a hand into his trouser pocket and stood there with the pose of a man who was used to dishing out advice and getting his way.
James broke the tense moment with a confident smile. “The walk back to the car will give you time to think about what’s best for you.”
I rose from the chair and followed him out, turning briefly to take a mental snapshot of one of the most famous offices in the world.
We retraced our steps to the front door.
A sprinkle of rain met us on the other side.
In silence, we walked along the pathway with him glancing at me now and again. Probably to see how such a visit had affected me. Maybe hoping he’d scared me into compliance. James opened the car’s passenger door and gestured for me to get in.
With droplets of rain on my eyelashes, I peered into his Jag. “This is where we part ways, Mr. Ballad.”
“Am I going to be able to trust you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
“If Xander wanted me, he would have fought for me.”
The expression in his eyes turned kind, as though his empathy could touch my pain.
I closed the gap between us and wrapped my arms around James’ body, resting my head against his chest, his woolen coat scratchy against my cheek. I didn’t want James punishing Xander for my recklessness. This was me betraying myself to save him. Showing I was ready to let this go.
Let it all go.
James held me in a masterful hug.
Everything about this man screamed a desire to control and an obsession with power. Even his expensive cologne enveloped my senses, possessing the air around us.
My memory drew me back to that dimly lit room in the Barbican center yesterday. That private space where I’d mourned my dream having slipped away, minutes before James had stepped into the room and made me forget my failure.
Forget even myself.
Then, he’d given me the chance I thought I’d lost. My career was holding on by a thread. He could cut through it if I didn’t comply.
This was it then—a choice between my dream and my boyfriend.
“Xander will be proud of you,” he said soothingly.
“If he really exists,” I whispered.
James’ firm lips pressed against the top of my head in a gesture of affection. My body shuddered at the thought of his mouth lavishing me down there, swirling and teasing and luring me into an endless orgasm that he owned with precarious potency.
Peering up into his dark eyes, I whispered, “Look after him.”
“He can look after himself.”
With a shake of my head I said, “Promise me.”
James relented with a nod.
“You pervade everything, don’t you, Mr. Ballad?”
“Now you understand.”
He released me from his embrace.
I turned and walked away, feeling his stare follow me as I kept going.
I rounded the corner out of his sight and then leaned against the wall, exhaling the breath I’d been holding since leaving him behind.
They couldn’t steal my memories—those precious moments I held onto with all my heart. Our love was sacred.
The time I’d spent with Xander had helped me evolve into the person I was today. There was no avoiding that or pushing that truth aside. The life we’d built together meant everything. And he needed me.
No one was going to break us apart without facing the consequences.
I may have told James I’d accepted my fate but that had been a boldfaced lie. The hell I was letting him win—and no way was I giving him the power to ruin us. My love for Xander was all I had left. Each snapshot of the time between us was absorbed into my consciousness and held up as a shield of truth.
I’d make this right.
This wasn’t me doing anything suspicious.
This was just me remembering the photo in Xander’s office of his mum standing in front of a village post office. This was just me taking a train from Marylebone Station all the way to Great Missenden.
He’d told me he grew up in an old vicarage. As far as I knew, most towns like this only tended to have one of those. It should be relatively easy to find.
Great Missenden was as English as it got with its sprawling fields, blackberry bushes, and family owned stores dating back a century or more. Even the token red phone box outside the old-fashioned post office was a quaint touch. I recognized it from the photo and a jolt
of excitement hit me. Maybe, just maybe, I’d find my way back to him.
If Xander’s mum still lived here she may even have heard from him.
Coming here was the ultimate act in defying James.
What did he expect? I would pretend my boyfriend never existed? That a man disappearing under suspicious circumstances would simply be ignored? He had underestimated me.James had thought I’d be intimidated by the visit to Number 10 Downing Street. He’d meant to scare me off.
Yeah, not going happen.
I knocked on the front door of the vicarage, finding comfort in knowing Xander had once lived here. He’d told me this was his childhood home—he wouldn’t cut his mum out of his life, surely?
I glanced back at the quiet lane behind me with a heavy dose of paranoia. I’d made my way out of the city, jumping from train to train to throw off anyone who might be following. I’d worn jeans and a hoodie and had kept my head covered for the entire journey. Still, that lingering sense that Ballad would know I was here made me doubt the wisdom of my actions. Maybe I should go home.
You’ve come too far.
There was no response from my knock. I made my way around the back of the property and stepped into a bright garden with rows of colorful flowers. At the end, a line of lush trees with swooping leaves. It was nice to take a few seconds to imagine Xander playing over there as a boy. Then I saw it, the tree-house resting in the enormous trunk. The one he’d told me he liked to hide in to avoid the strange noises of this old house.He’d also told me he’d spent precious mid-summer days playing out here when he’d been home from boarding school.
He’d not shared much more, though, other than his parents were away a lot of the time living in far-off places while his dad served as a senior diplomat abroad. Places they were reluctant to take Xander. Later, he’d attended the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, rounding out his education in computer science that enhanced his natural flair for tech. He was so smart I imagined he wowed his professors.
Pervade London Page 11