Besotted (13 page)

Bonus Material

POV

Forty 2 Days

When Blake Met Lana At the Bank

Chapter 1

F
or a whole fucking year I hear nothing.

She flies out of Heathrow with her mother, lands in Tehran and then…  The trail goes stone cold. That still shocks me. The ease with which a woman can enter Iran, don a drab, loose-fitting garment, and simply disappear, become totally invisible. Without the powerful tentacles of a central bank in that country I have no way of tracking her financially either. The only connection left was the Swiss bank account, but that registered no activity, until recently, when the account was emptied and closed on the same day.

Then there was nothing left of her, but memories and hurt. Hurt like I had never imagined possible.

Sometimes, especially in the beginning when I didn’t yet hate her, I used to imagine her veiled and in the desert. She always wanted to go there. My dreams were romantic then. Telescoped without reality or reason we traveled in slow motion upon shifting sands, untroubled by the blazing sun, sharing a camel, only one goatskin water bag between us. In my dreams everything was perfect: the rocking of the camel, perfect. Her, perfect. Us, perfect.

And then I would wake up and feel like shit.

In the day I throw myself into work. At night I trawl the city’s night scene looking for the same thing anyone who crawls into the underbelly of cities finds—moments of forgetfulness between the legs of strangers. But nothing would fill the void or the terrible longing for her.

I wanted us on one camel.

In my recurring fantasy, she comes to my office, talks her away around Laura, and opens my door. I am too shocked to stand. She comes towards me hips swaying, a slut. Dressed as I had found her that first night we met, she comes around the desk, swipes all my papers to the floor and sits on the table facing me. With one shoe she pushes my chair a little away. Then she lifts her legs, knees together, the way a girl who has been to finishing school is supposed to get out of a car, and pushes her butt deeper into the desk. I look at her. Her gaze is greedy, the way I know her eyes can be. She leans back so that both the palms of her hands are on the desk behind her, and spreads her legs wide open. My eyes slip down. There it is. Open: running with sweet juices.

‘Get your mouth on it,’ her red lips command. ‘I’ve been dying for a good suck.’

But it is absolutely true what the philosophers say:  love and hate are just two ends of the same string. You love someone, they lie to you, and you love them less; then they cheat on you, and you love them even less, and you keep going down that string until you hate them. So I traveled down that string.

I hate that woman, that is as obvious as hell to me, but it is also as clear as day that I cannot let her go. She cheated me. Kicked me when I was down. Brought me to my knees. No one has ever done that. Ever. If I do not punish her… Betrayal then, forever. I will know myself to be a weak man pretending to be strong. I must have my pound of flesh.

Then three days ago a little light on my computer screen flashed. For a moment my mind went blank. Then hot blood began to pulse again in my veins and my cheek muscles moved, my lips curved. I was smiling again.

‘Gotcha.’

I hear footsteps approaching in the corridor and my heart begins to race. The excitement of seeing her again is so uncontrollably strong that it startles me. But I hate her guts. Immensely. This is purely about revenge. This is about me getting what I am owed. I lay my palms flat on the desk. I want to be cold and controlled. I don’t want the bitch to have the satisfaction of knowing that she has affected me at all. The footsteps pause outside the door. I take a deep breath. She is nothing, I tell myself. She just wanted to count my money.

My face becomes an unfeeling mask.

I cease my wild thoughts.

A brief knock, and the door opens.

And…  All the ugly words that had kept me sane—whore, slut, gold-digger, bitch—become empty balloons that are floating away. I cannot keep a single one. She may be a whore, a slut and a gold-digger, but she is mine. My slut, my bitch, my gold-digger.

Fuck, already I am itching to see her naked. I want to strip off that ugly suit she’s wearing, pop her on the table and fuck her until she screams. That’s the second part of the fantasy.

She walked in with a smile—big, false, irritating. That hurt. Obviously, she has not suffered as I have. Fortunately for her, the smile doesn’t last long. Dies on contact with my person. Her face drains of color and her mouth hangs open. That’s more like it, darling. Papa’s here to get back what he is owed. You forgot—nobody cheats Papa. While she is doing a better than average impression of a goldfish, I study her. How thin she has become. Starving-African-children thin. Nobody should be that thin.

The employee who showed her in closes the door. Time to take control.

‘Hello, Lana,’ I say, remaining seated behind the desk. My voice comes out…  Good. Encouraged, I add more words. ‘Have a seat,’ I invite. That, too, I am pleased to note, comes out smooth.

But she does not move. She keeps doing the goldfish thing, but doesn’t find her voice. I see her swallow and try again.

‘What are you doing here?’ It is barely a hoarse whisper.

‘Processing your loan application.’

She frowns. ‘What?’

‘I’m here to process your loan application,’ I repeat with deliberate patience. I am enjoying this head fuck. The element of surprise has completely worked in my favor.

She shakes her head. ‘You don’t work here. You don’t process tiny little loans.’

‘I’m here to process yours.’

‘Why?’ Some thought crosses her mind and she is suddenly galvanized into action. ‘So you can turn me down? Don’t bother. I’ll show myself out,’ she cries hotly and begins to turn.

I am on my feet instantly, the chair wheeling away behind me. ‘Lana, wait.’

She hesitates, looks up at me blankly.

‘I am the one in the entire banking industry most likely to extend you this loan.’

She continues to stare at me.

‘Please,’ I continue, more carefully this time, ‘take a seat.’

Dazed she looks at the two chairs facing me, but she does not move. ‘How did you know I would be here today?

I tell her about the nifty little software that flags her name and date of birth if it comes up in the banking system.

She frowns, but says nothing.

I need to engage with her. The shock has dazed her. ‘Is all the money in the Swiss account gone?’

She nods distractedly. ‘But why are you here?’

‘Same reason as before.’

‘For sex.’

I sort of lose my head then. ‘Sex?’ I hiss, my jaw clenching tight. ‘God, you have no idea, have you?’ I go around the table and advance towards her. Honestly, at that moment I want to throttle her. How easily she had said that word, diminished all my intolerable pain and my insatiable longing into one meaningless action. She carries on staring at me, almost fearfully. I stop a foot in front of her, electricity crackling between us. I take one more step and we are inches apart and suddenly I smell her. I breathe in the scent.
What the…?

Baby powder!

Sick, but it fires up my imagination the way the most expensive perfume cannot. Like a snake, lust is uncoiling in the pit of my belly, spitting its venom into my veins. I want her so bad I ache. Quickly, I lower my eyelids, but it is as if she has already seen the potency of my desire for her. For the first time since she came into the room, color tinges her skin.

She reaches out a trembling hand toward me.

My reaction is instant and beyond my control. ‘Don’t,’ I rasp, stiffening. I cannot let her have the upper hand. This has to be all my way. And there is no highway for this little bird.

Shocked by the violence of my reaction, she retracts her hand. I see the realization in her eyes. Now she knows she has damaged me. Her face crumples as if she gives a flying fuck. What an actress.

‘Please,’ she whispers.

She put a lot emotion into that word and I am shocked at how much I want to believe that it is not an act. My pathetic neediness annoys me. I bend my head toward her face. Her eyes are riveted on my lips. What is she remembering? The taste of me?

‘Dishonest little Lana,’ I murmur, so close to her neck that if I put my tongue out I’d lick that tender skin. I run my hand down the smoothness of her neck—skin like pure silk. I let my fingers wrap around it—so slender, so breakable. I hear her draw in a sharp breath. Languidly I slip my hand into the collar of her cheap blouse.

She begins to tremble. I pay no attention. Instead I watch my fingers slip a button out of its hole and then another. I spread apart the joined material so that her throat, chest, and the lacy tops of her bra are exposed. The desire to rip her clothes is so strong I have to physically fight it. I frown. Yes, she is very beautiful, but I have had other very beautiful women—why does this woman alone have such an effect on me? Even knowing what I know about her doesn’t change a thing. Not having total control over my own impulses makes me feel vulnerable and defenseless. It is like falling backwards into nothing. I hate the sensation. I can never let her see my weakness. I turn coldly furious. The breaths that escape her lips are suddenly shallow and quick. I smile possessively. So nothing has changed on that front.

‘You were, by far, more when you squeezed into that little orange dress and your fuck me shoes, and went looking for money,’ I taunt. ‘Look at you now; you’re flapping around inside a man’s jacket. Two hundred thousand and you don’t even buy yourself a nice suit.’

I tut. ‘And this…’  I raise my hand to her hair. ‘This ugly bun. What were you thinking of?’ I ask softly, as I pluck the pins out of her hair and drop them on the ground. I return her hair to its silk curtain. Beautiful. I reach back, pull a tissue out of its box and start wiping away her lipstick, a horrid plum. I am unhurried—let her stew from the outside in.

I toss the stained tissue on the ground. ‘That’s better.’

She stares at me helplessly, and guess what? It turns me on to have her at my mercy.

‘Lick your lips,’ I order.

‘What?’ She looks horrified by the cold command, and yet electrified by the sexual heat that my order obviously arouses. Like a beautifully tuned guitar, the tension in her body matches mine. I feel the same desire rippling through her.

We have played this game before. We both know where it leads.

My jaw hardens. ‘You heard me.’

The tip of her small, pink tongue protrudes and I eye its sweet journey avidly. ‘That’s more like it. That’s the mercenary bitch I know,’ I say, thrusting a rough hand into her hair. It is exactly as I remember it. Soft and silky. A year of waiting. Bitch!  I tug and pull her head back. She gasps with shock, but her eyes are wide, unafraid, and innocent. Fuck you, Lana. You’re no innocent. We had a deal and you cheated me. And that fucking Dear John letter? You didn’t even have the decency to wait until I got out of hospital. I could have been dead for all she cared. I expect better from a two bit whore. But the thing that hurt the most: she didn’t care.

Now I will have my revenge. Another part of my brain is sneering—you’re fighting a losing battle here, dude.

The thought powers me to kiss her. This kiss means nothing to me. It is only a way of gauging her reaction. I will not allow myself to get sucked into it. I descend on her roughly, painfully, violently, purposely bruising her soft lips, my mouth so savage that she utters a strangled, soundless cry. That sound wakes up an uncivilized beast. I make room for it. The intense desire to hurt and have my revenge is greater than me. Let her understand that I am not the same man that I was then. Before she betrayed me.

I taste the fury in my kiss: blood!

Really, Blake? But I cannot stop. Cannot control my emotions. Cannot resist her. Cannot live without her. I don’t allow myself to feel.

A moan escapes her. And it affects me—in a way I could never have guessed. It almost makes me forget my carefully laid plans. It almost makes me take her on the floor of this drab office. The effect this woman has on me is incredible. I feel raw and starved. No matter what she does or what she is, I want her. All I want is to be buried deep inside her, but I am not a Barrington for nothing. Years of iron control come to my rescue. One of us is going to get hurt this time, and it will not be me.