“Do you mean we need more alcohol?” I smirk and make my way back through to the kitchen.
“James will be here in a second. Why don’t we wait till we get home?” I call back to her as I continue to sniff away my tears and wipe my cheeks. If I can get away with not having to discuss it at all then I’ll try. The very idea of having to go through that sort of information is not entirely appealing, given that the only man that has ever touched me in that way is the one man I’m trying desperately to forget.
Unfortunately, something tells me deep down that there isn’t a cat’s chance in hell of forgetting Alex White, but just maybe I can pretend that he isn’t the only man in my mind. Maybe I can at least try to convince myself that I can find more elsewhere. I have to because more with him just isn’t a possibility anymore and that means it’s time to let him go. He doesn’t love me and there’s nothing I can do about it.
~
Three hours, the tube ride from hell and a bottle of wine later, I find myself lying in the bath, trying to stop myself from thinking about him, again. Being naked and surrounded by soothing warm heat is not helping me in the slightest. Every time the water swirls around me it reminds me of his hands and the way he moulded them over me or his weight as he dragged his body over mine with that effortless dominance that left me utterly lost and completely his. Every bubble seems to highlight the showers we shared together as he pushed me against a wall and showed me a new version of sex that I couldn’t have imagined previously, and each drip of the tap keeps pulling me back to that bloody clock, its heavy tick tock reminding me of his home.
“Sod off,” I scream at no one, trying to tell Alex exactly how I feel about him and that he should get out of my head. I haven’t even had the chance to vent at him. The man just upped and left in the middle of the night, leaving me with a note, okay a very explanatory note but a note nonetheless. I never saw him as a note kind of man. Why didn’t he tell me to my face? He seems to have no problem telling everyone else what he thinks. Fucking coward.
Shaking myself irritably, I get out and head to my room, feeling remarkably happy about the fact that I feel so angry. It’s giving me the confidence I need to make the call to Pascal. It’s a strange feeling for me. Normally I do the whole suffer in silence thing, hoping to not cause too much of a fuss about my feelings, but for some reason I feel stronger somehow, as if I have a right to feel extremely pissed off about the whole situation and that I should do something about it. Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Belle is right; this moping around thing is done with and I’m going to call Pascal.
I move toward the dresser and pull out some shorts and a t-shirt. Yanking them on, I grab a brush and head to the kitchen. Coffee? No. Wine? Standing there for several seconds, I try to make up my mind what I want to drink. Never have decisions been so difficult. When the hell has that happened? It’s a bloody drink, Beth. I grab the wine and head to the sofa, collapsing on it with a serious bang.
Oh, Jesus, I’m going to call Pascal. Who on earth thought this was a good idea? Oh yeah, me and both of my girls. Really? This is not a good idea.
Swiping his card from the table, I palm it in my hand for a few minutes. It’s nothing like the man at all. Alex’s card made me feel him, the elegant scrolled writing and the thick heavy embossing of the card itself shouted style quietly and had a businesslike quality that made you feel that you were dealing with superiority and power. I feel myself running to the bedroom to get it before I even realise what I’m doing. Pascal’s card just feels wrong somehow. I sit back down and lay them both on the table in front of me.
Pascal’s card is black. The weight is just as thick but the writing is a simple block font in white and there’s no embossed detail to it. It feels clinical, cold even, and that’s not an image I’ve ever imagined of the man. He’s fantasy and almost ethereal in a devilish sort of way. He’s bloody dangerous, that’s what he is. It amuses me that his card gives away so little of who he is and I chuckle a little. The irony of the two cards is quite perplexing. Alex, the man who gives so little emotion away but seems to let himself flow through his business card, and then Pascal who shows you exactly what he is with no remorse or apology and yet his card delivers nothing to you.
Do I really want to see him?
As much fun as I will probably have with him, Alex will find out about it. It’s not exactly getting myself away from Mr. White, is it? I should be looking elsewhere, socialising in a different part of town and trying to find new people to be around. The fact is that being near or around Pascal will lead to seeing Alex again. Mind you, being around Conner will mean exactly the same thing and there isn’t a bloody thing I can do about that either. I have to admit that the introduction to his preferences has opened my mind to a new world, and much as the thought of doing anything with anybody other than Alex scares me to death, it’s obvious to me that I won’t be happy with anything else now. He consumed me, showed me a different route, and my body yielded with such enthusiasm that I can’t go backwards now even if I try. But for that, I need the right type of man and there is only a few ways of finding them. Unfortunately, Pascal is a damn good starting point. The fact that it’s Alex I want to learn from, give my heart to and feel above me is... Well it just isn’t possible anymore.
Sucking in a long breath, I gulp down a large glass of wine and look back at the cards. One last thought of Alex and I reach for Pascal’s card and dial the number.
“Yes?” His voice is clipped, almost annoyed. My inner slut recoils instantly. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing or frankly how to do it.
“Hello, Pascal, it’s...”
“Ah, my English rose. I could never forget how enticing that voice of yours is. It reminds me of your mouth and all that I want from it,” he says in his very familiar smooth voice. I smile.
“Well thank you, Pascal. It’s lovely to hear yours, too,” I reply, scrabbling around to regain my nerve. Cool, Beth. Cool and in control.
“Mmm...” I can hear the cogs in his brain clicking over with measured timing. “So, my dear, what do you need from me? Entertainment or protection? I believe those were our last words when I left you with Alexander?” he asks, his voice dripping with the usual Pascal naughtiness.
“I don’t think you offered me protection, Pascal. You actually said you’d fight for me,” I reply as sexily as I can manage as I try to knock him off balance a bit. The only real way of dealing with the man is to play him at his own game a bit. If I let him take over, I will be utterly lost, or maybe that’s the point? Oh, fuck it!
“I would willingly kill for you, my rose, but I believe you have your own protector closer to home than I, do you not?” Oh, I haven’t thought about this at all. What do I say now? Do I tell him I’ve been dumped? There isn’t much point in lying. He’s going to find out anyway. Actually, it surprises me that he doesn’t already know. Perhaps there’s a way around it.
“You told me he would be worth my love, Pascal. He was not,” I answer sharply with as little emotion as I can.
“Ah… So very English, my dear. Even in your anger you are pleasant with your insinuations. Did he fuck someone else or was he too cowardly to give his soul to you?” he says as I hear the pop of a cork on the line and laughter in the background. Clearly he’s having a good time.
“Probably both, Pascal, but he isn’t my concern anymore and I’m not interested in discussing him with you, so I was wondering if the other offer of your entertainment might still be available?” I ask, trying to get the image of Alex with someone else out of my bloody head. Not nice at all.
“Of course it is, my dear. I told you to come to me when he bored you. I was, however, positive I would never get hold of you again.” He chuckles. “Such a fool... Now, what are you doing next Friday evening?” he asks. I feel nerves race up my spine at the thought of this really happening. “I’m afraid I have to go to Berlin tomorrow morning for the week and unfortunately it cannot be avoided or I would cancel it for y
ou.”
“Next Friday is fine, Pascal. It will be perfect actually,” I reply softly. At least I’ll have an entire week to get my head around the idea. There isn’t an event booked in on the Saturday so I can do what I want, whatever that might be.
“Oh, my dear, you sound thoroughly dull and extinguished. Do not worry, my rose, we shall soon resolve that issue. I shall have you squealing with delight the instant I get my hands on you. Remember how sinful you are and do wear something that leaves little to my imagination.” I can see the devilish smile creeping up his mouth. It’s actually very appealing.
“Okay, Pascal.” I giggle stupidly. It’s ridiculous but at least something feels nice for once. “I’ll try to find something suitable for you.”
“Good. I’ll send a car for you at eight thirty. Bring an overnight bag with you and please give your sister my number. I would hate for her to worry.” What?
“Pascal, I...” I don’t know what to say. I don’t want him thinking I’m a sure thing for his taking. No matter how mischievous he is, I’m unfortunately still in love with Alex. Or maybe I should let him have me. Perhaps he can dispel the man from my brain. If anyone can, it’s more than likely him.
“Elizabeth, you want entertaining and in my world, that means all night. I will not accept anything less from you. It could only be compared to crushing a pupa before it has achieved its metamorphosis and that would be supremely disappointing to say the least.”
Oh…
“Right, well I’ll pack a bag then. Where will we be going?” I ask, suddenly feeling a little concerned about what the man is up to.
“To my club of course,” he replies with a snort as if the very idea of going elsewhere is beyond him. “I have a feeling the sight of you in my dungeon may be my undoing.” He chuckles and I instantly feel a little sick with nerves. Dungeons, really?
“Umm... right. I think I should probably go now before this gets a little too much for me.” I have to get off the line before I change my mind. Regardless of how much his green eyes are lingering in my mind, Alex’s blues are disappointingly merging fast.
“Of course, my dear. Just one more question if I may?” he asks, far too politely for my liking. It immediately reminds me of Alex again and I can sense what type of question is coming from his far too kissable lips.
“Yes, Pascal?” I try for relaxed and casual.
“Steel or rope?” I freeze, my insides hardening instantly at the thought of rope. Alex is so good with rope. It’s his thing. The thought of anyone else using rope is just wrong and completely uncomfortable. Why am I even considering this question? I’m not doing anything with Pascal anyway, am I? Probably not. Although my little inner slut is certainly warming up to the idea as I feel my groin alight to the idea.
“Steel,” I reply without thinking too much more about it. Have I just given Pascal permission to use handcuffs on me? Oh god, what am I doing?
“Mmm... yes, he is rather good with rope, isn’t he? Quite the master of it in fact.” He remains quiet for a moment and I know he’s giving me time to think more about if I want to go through with this. “I won’t allow him between us, my dear. I assume you realise this?” I frown, as I understand what he’s trying to say. “If you come to me, I expect you to be ready for me alone. I will not compete with him.” Am I? The ability to remove Alex from my thoughts while I’m with Pascal is certainly not going to be easy. I don’t even know if I really want to yet. How am I supposed to not compare the two of them?
“Pascal, if I come, I’ll be ready,” I reply smoothly. At this moment it’s the only honest answer I can give and I’ve given up on the playing games thing. I’ll know by next week if I can really do what he asks, and if I can’t, I’ll cancel it. Simple. Silence follows my statement for a few moments.
“Excellent. I’ll look forward to the pleasure of your company next week then, my rose,” he eventually says.
“Yes, me too,” I reply as I nervously chew my thumbnail and flip his card over in my fingers, unfortunately realising that I’m trying to get used to the feel of it under my fingers.
“Goodnight, Elizabeth,” he clips, suddenly seeming a little cold again.
“Goodnight,” is my reply as I end the call and stare into the room.
Ten minutes later and I’m still staring around the room, not really looking at anything, just continuing with flicking his card around in my palm. No matter how hard I try, though, it just doesn’t feel comfortable to me. The words unfamiliar and unproven cross my mind. I have a feeling Pascal is probably very proven though, just not to me, not like Alex was anyway.
Who is Pascal? I have no idea whatsoever really. The man is immeasurable. I just know that his behaviour around me made me feel appreciated. No, that’s the wrong word. Maybe desired is a better explanation of how he made me feel. I’m sure he makes every woman feel like that. It’s part of his job, after all. I watched the woman flock to him in Rome as if he were their saviour. Clearly the man is distractingly handsome, but it’s more than that. He has that same tortured soul thing happening that Alex pulls off with such precision and beauty. It‘s some sort of aura they have around them that just makes you want to run to them and let them devour you in a bid to rid them of their sins. What sins does Pascal hide? He said Alex and I reminded of a different time in his life. What was that life like for him? I try to envisage a kinder Pascal, a man who shows a loving nature. He showed me snippets of him in Alex’s kitchen when he told me how much Alex felt for me. That man seemed nice. Well, apart from the fact that he was outrageously groping me at the same time. The thought makes me chuckle to myself as it reminds me that I probably won’t be meeting the nice version next week and I highly doubt Pascal has any intention of anything nice being lined up for me on our date.
Blowing out another breath at my confusion, I head back into the kitchen, shaking my head, to get a cup of tea. For some reason the wine tastes sour as if there’s nothing pleasurable about it anymore. Skimming the counter top with my fingertips, I remember Alex pushing me down on top of it and shudder. Closing my eyes, I press my palms face down on it and let the vision flow around me - his mouth on me, his hands holding me down, those damned icy eyes demanding more from me. “Chess,” I mumble softly to myself to snap my own head out of the moment. It doesn’t work. I wonder actually if I’m trying to shout it to him somehow, to make him stop with his relentless twirling around inside me. Unfortunately, he isn’t doing this to me, I am. This is all me because he’s made his feelings clear.
I hear the keys in the door as I remove the teabag and turn to see a soaking wet Belle looking furious as she throws her bag onto the table and storms into her bedroom. I fill another cup and wander into the lounge. Plonking myself down onto the chair, I grab the two cards and tuck them into my pocket.
“You okay honey?” I call.
“No, I’m fucking not. Look at that,” she says as she walks across to me half dressed, chucks a magazine at me and then huffs back off into her room, presumably to continue changing her clothes. I look down at the image in front of me. Oh dear!
Conner is sitting in a very modern looking bar, surrounded by what can only be described as playboy bunnies. To be fair, he isn’t touching any of them but they’re certainly touching him. The man with him is very American looking with teeth so white they almost knock me out. He’s probably mid forties and, regardless of the casual attire, seems to have businessman pouring out of him. I scan down the page to find out who he is. Tyler Rathbone, apparently. I have absolutely no idea but the man looks expensive and very cutthroat, as he seemingly drags the women to him, not that they appear to need much persuasion. Looking back at Conner, I try to study his reaction to what’s happening around him. He seems relaxed. It’s then that I notice the dulled bruising around his face, which shows he’s been fighting. Nothing all that new as we’ve seen it before, but the fact that he’s been with Alex sends shivers across me. Is he okay? What do I bloody care? Bastard deserves it!
&nbs
p; “One week he’s been gone and he’s all over them. Look at the fucking git,” Belle seethes as she flings herself on the sofa and grabs her tea. “And he’s been fighting again. What is so bad about the man’s damn life that he needs to fight?”
“Honey, I honestly don’t think he’s all over them. He’s not even touching them and you know what the paps like to make of situations that look bad,” I reply, trying to calm her down. Conner wouldn’t do anything wrong, would he? Even I’m questioning it as I think it. What the hell do I know about men anymore?
“Well, yes, even I have to admit he doesn’t look all that into it but what’s the sodding face about?” she says a little more rationally.
“I don’t know. It might have something to do with Alex, I suppose. He did seem awfully mad when he left here,” I muse as I continue to look at the picture.
“Well fuck him. I doubt he’s even thought of the fact that this could come back to bite us on the arse. This is not good for our business,” she says as she snatches the magazine from my hands and launches it across the room. I stare in disbelief.
“That’s what you’re worried about? That this will affect us?” Does the woman have no sentiment at all?
“I can’t be seen to have a relationship with that, Beth. We’re high end caterers. We can’t be dragged into that kind of crap. We’ll lose business left, right and centre if this becomes the norm.” Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.
“Oh, right, aren’t you worried though?” I ask tentatively. She is supposed to care about him, after all.
“About what? Him? He’s a big boy and he’s clearly survived yet another brawl. No, I couldn’t give a shit about his face. I just need to find a way to do some damage limitation. Unfortunately for us, we do not have enough wealth to be able to ignore the papers, unlike idiot boy here,” she says as she begins to tap her fingers against her chin. “Perhaps I should go out with someone else? You know, be seen out with another man for a few nights.”
Feeling White Page 5