Black Orchid (14 page)

She tried to keep her eyes focussed on her low-heeled leather
pumps as she walked, concentrating on controlling her growing
dismay. After all, what did it matter if the man her mother
had booked for her found her physically attractive? So long as
she liked him, he was being paid to make love to her.

'Are you feeling all right?'

She started as Maggie spoke to her and swallowed hard.

'Perfectly. Thank you.'

The woman smiled sympathetically at her and ushered her
through a door marked 'Private'.

'This flat belongs to Alexander, one of the chief trainers. He
doesn't use it very often as he has made other arrangements,
but it's kept clean and tidy and we felt you might be more
comfortable in here.'

Emily nodded and looked around her. They had stepped into
a living room, quite small, but cosy. The twin sofas, arranged
around the fireplace, were covered in a dark-red damask and
looked brand new. There was a small coffee table between
them on which a selection of magazines was displayed.
Glancing at them, Emily saw that they were all current.

By the window there was a compact, circular table, covered
in a dark-pink cloth flanked by two dining chairs. It was set
for dinner; two place settings and a silver bud vase with a
single pink rose in the centre. Straight ahead, she could see a
small kitchen. A delicious smell wafted through the open door
and tantalised her tastebuds, reminding her that she had been
so nervous about tonight, she hadn't eaten since breakfast.

To her right, beyond the fireplace, was another open door
through which she could just see a large double bed. Emily
felt the heat rush into her cheeks as she quickly looked away.
Until that moment, she had almost begun to relax, the small
flat gave the appearance of being so homely. But the sight of
the bed had reminded her sharply of her true reason for
coming and all her misgivings rushed back.

'Dinner's almost ready,' Maggie said gently. 'I'll stay until
I've introduced you to Brett, by that time your meal should be
served.'

Brett. Emily was conscious that she was holding her breath
as there was a light tap on the door and Maggie went to open
it. She didn't know what to do with her hands, they suddenly
felt too large and she folded them carefully behind her back.
Vaguely, she was aware of Maggie speaking, of a man walking
into the room.

'Emily? Emily, this is Brett.'

A pair of polished black lace-up Oxfords came into Emily's
line of vision as she stared at the floor. Slowly raising her eyes,
they travelled up a pair of long legs clad in loose-fitting black
chinos. She saw the soft, dark hairs on the backs of his hands
as he clasped them loosely in front of himself. Noted the long,
sensitive fingers and the masculine, knotted veins standing
out on the insides of his wrists.

Moving up, there was a conservative, moss green cashmere
sweater, worn over a white shirt with a plain grey tie. Emily's
eyes stopped at the tie. So far the man had looked singularly
unthreatening and she was almost afraid to look at his face.
Then he spoke.

'Good evening, Emily,' was all he said, but there was such
gentleness in those three words that it gave her enough
courage to raise her head and look him full in the face.

It was a strong face, well tanned under thick black hair
which looked newly barbered. It was shaped around his small,
perfectly formed ears and only slightly ventured onto his broad
forehead. Emily guessed that, when it grew, it would flop
forward and probably irritate him. His eyebrows were thick,
but not bushy, and the eyes which gazed back at her were as
dark as any she had ever seen.

His nose suited him, not conventionally handsome, but just
right. He smiled at her, a slightly crooked, ironic little smile
and she forced her own cold, stiff lips to respond.

'How-how do you do?' she managed to respond at last.

He took a step towards her and she was unable to stop herself
from flinching. He immediately stopped, turning instead
towards the kitchen as if that had been his intention all along.
As he removed a tray from the oven, Maggie touched her arm.

'All right?'

Emily glanced back at Brett and tried to imagine how it
would feel to be enclosed by those strong, finely muscled arms.
She shivered.

'Yes,' she whispered.

Maggie looked quizzically at her, but said nothing. As Brett
came back into the room bearing a covered dish, both women
watched him. He laid it carefully down on the table, on top of
a place-mat and turned his smile on them both.

'Voila!' he announced, as if he'd cooked it himself.

'I'll leave you two to eat,' Maggie said.

Emily glanced at her. She could have sworn she heard a note
of regret in the older woman's voice. But no, Maggie was smiling
indulgently at her.

'Have fun,' she said lightly as she walked away.

For an instant, Emily thought she would call her back, but
Maggie was already in the corridor. The door clicked softly shut
behind her, and then she was alone with Brett.

'Are you hungry?'

Emily dragged her eyes away from the closed door with
difficulty as Brett spoke. It was a perfectly normal, unthreatening
question and she fought her rising panic to answer him with a
nod. He pulled out her chair for her and, seeing her hesitate
before moving towards it, moved back to his side of the table.

Heavens above, here she was expecting to make love with
this man, and she couldn't even bring herself to risk brushing
against him when she took her seat! It was never going to
work.

'Um . . . I don't know that this was such a good idea . . . I—'

She raised her hands, palms upwards in a small gesture of
helplessness as she struggled, and failed to find the right words.
Glancing nervously at Brett, she saw that he was regarding
her levelly, his dark head held slightly on one side, as if waiting
for her to answer an unspoken question.

'What I mean is . . .' she continued, her voice rising on a note
of desperation, 'I've changed my mind. This has all been a
ghastly mistake!'

There – it was said. Emily held her breath, her eyes fixed on
her own hands, folding and unfolding over each other, as she
waited for his inevitably angry response. When it did not come,
she chanced a glance at him and saw that he was still watching
her, his face relaxed.

'No problem,' he said softly. 'You're calling the shots, Emily
– remember?'

He smiled at her startled expression and she felt some of
the awful tension ebb away.

'You . . . you mean you don't mind?'

Most men she knew would have hidden their hurt pride
under loud bluster, but Brett merely stared calmly back at her,
his dark eyes untroubled.

'Of course not. It would be a shame to let good food go to
waste, though. Won't you at least stay and eat with me?'

Emily glanced at the covered dishes and felt her mouth
water. It did smell delicious.

'Why don't you put on some music while I pour the wine
and light the candles?'

He picked up a bottle from the dumb waiter beside the table
and Emily watched as he deftly dispensed of the cork and
poured the ruby red liquid into two large, crystal glasses. He
seemed so unconcerned by her rejection of him that for one
contrary moment, she felt piqued. Smiling to herself, she went
over to the CD player.

What kind of music would he like? she wondered. There was
a large, eclectic selection ranging from Country music through
to Soul, Classical and Heavy Rock. She wavered for a moment
between Grieg and Sinatra, plumping in the end for Harry
Connick, Jr. As the first track began, she took her place at the
table and picked up her wine glass.

Brett was looking at her strangely.

'What?' she asked, alarmed, 'What is it?'

He smiled in the face of her agitation and raised his glass
to her.

'You chose one of my favourite albums,' he told her.

For a moment she thought, cynically, that he was taking
the mickey, but then she saw the respect in his eyes and she
smiled.

'I saw him play live when he came over to England last,' she
told him. 'My mother loves that kind of thing, but it wasn't
until after I heard Harry sing that I understood why!'

'Yeah, he's a one off. It takes courage to fly in the face of the
modern scene at his age.'

'They say he's Sinatra's successor, don't they?'

'About time they found one!'

They laughed and some of the tension between them
disappeared. Brett uncovered the shiny silver dishes and they
helped themselves to rich, fragrant Boeuf Bourgignon and
fluffy vegetable rice. Emily ate hungrily, washing it down with
large gulps of the full-bodied red wine with which Brett kept
topping up their glasses.

The music ebbed and flowed around them, its bluesy,
upbeat style making her feel happy, combining with the wine
to make her feel mellow. Brett was a stimulating companion,
eager to argue good naturedly with her when they discovered
they had both read the same book, but disagreed about its
merit.

'But you couldn't possibly be qualified to comment – you
don't know how a woman would think in that situation.'

'Don't be so chauvinistic! Men feel too, you know and I don't
think there are such fundamental differences as feminists
would have us believe.'

'Oh really? So how would you say you're like a woman?' she
scoffed.

'For a start, men look for relationships in the same way that
women do.'

'This is a funny setting for you to put forward that view!
After all, aren't the women here trying to conduct their sex
lives as they would if they were a man?'

'Maybe. But I think that's great. Why shouldn't women learn
to take as much as they give? It doesn't make them any less
feminine.'

Emily pushed away her empty plate and sat back in her
chair, replete. She regarded Brett a little hazily over the rim of
her wine glass. He too had finished his meal and was busy
uncorking their third bottle of wine.

'So what made you come to work here?' she asked curiously.

Brett shrugged.

'I get free bed and board, unlimited access to the gym and
the 'work' isn't so hard.'

'Don't you like hard work?'

A shadow passed across his eyes and Emily wished the
sarcastic words unsaid.

'I'm sorry – that was unbelievably rude of me.'

She reached across and touched the back of his hand as it
rested on the table. The crisp dark hair tickled the pads of her
fingers and she pulled her hand away, as if she had inadvertently
touched something hot. Dragging her gaze back to her
wine glass, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

'It's OK. I know how it sounds. The fact is, I had an accident
a few months ago. Nothing too serious, I just need to take
things easy for a while. Build myself back up.'

Emily looked up in surprise.

'You look adequately built up to me,' she said, without
thinking, blushing even more furiously as she realised that
now he would think she had been ogling his body.

He laughed, softly.

'I'm getting there. Would you like a sweet? I believe I saw
chocolate mousse with pears at the back of the fridge.'

'Chocolate is my passion!' she announced, swallowing
uncomfortably as Brett merely raised an eloquent eyebrow at
her.

She watched him as he walked into the kitchen. The loosefitting
black trousers hid the outline of his legs, skimming his
buttocks and giving the merest hint of their shape. Emily liked
the way he walked, loosely, as if he was comfortable within
his own skin. Confident. Yes, that was it. There was an air of
confidence about him that she found appealing, erotic.

Emily brought herself up short. They had agreed to keep
things light and she was determined to stick to that agreement.
She would not let herself be fooled by the mellowing effect of
the wine and the music, lulled into a false sense of security by
Brett's hitherto undemanding company.

She had let herself be fooled before, thinking that this time
it would be different, that she would be able to go through
with it. Once or twice she had even got as far as kissing,
touching, feeling . . . Then the clear, horrific image of that other
man's leering face would intrude, his cruel, hurting hands
would replace those of the man she was with and it would be
over.

'Emily?'

She jumped as Brett's warm, concerned voice enveloped her
and she looked up at him, unable to hide the sudden panic
which had gripped her. He frowned slightly as she stared up
at him, wide eyed. He withdrew the hand he had automatically
reached out to her, using it instead to pick up the glass dish
he had placed on the table in front of him.

'Chocolate mousse?' he asked in a voice which made the
innocuous phrase sound like 'multiple orgasms?'

Emily smiled and took the dish from him, forgetting to flinch
as her fingers brushed his.

The CD had run its course and Brett got up to change it. Emily
smiled in delight as she realised he had selected a compilation
of classical tracks which she loved. Brett returned the smile as
he regained his seat.

The rich, dark chocolate mousse slid seductively down
Emily's throat, chased by the cool slipperiness of the pear. Her
eyes were caught by the movement of Brett's throat as he ate,
imagining him feeling the same sensations. As she raised her
eyes to his, she caught her breath.

He was watching her mouth, his expression intent. As he
felt her gaze on him, he met her eye and all the easy friendliness
between them disappeared in an instant. Emily watched,
mesmerised, as he slowly reached out his hand and touched
the corner of her mouth with his forefinger.

Her lips parted slightly at the slight pressure. As he withdrew
his hand, she saw that he had wiped away a smear of
mousse from her lips. As she watched, he slowly brought his
finger up to his own mouth and inserted the tip between his
lips. Her breath hurt in her chest as she watched the movement
of his lips as he sucked on his own finger.

They rose from the table with one accord and moved into
the small space between it and the red damask sofas flanking
the fire. Emily fought to make her mind remain blank, concentrating
only on Brett as he reached out and took her hand.

Suddenly the room seemed full of him. He towered over her,
a good six inches taller than her even in her ridiculously high
heels. Emily's mouth felt suddenly dry, her heart beating
unevenly in her chest. She moved her lips once, twice, but no
sound would come out as he slipped his other arm around her
waist.

She held herself rigid as he began to waltz slowly with her
on the spot. He was only holding her loosely, a casual, impersonal
embrace as he moved her, like an automaton, backwards
and forwards. Her fingers touched his shoulder and felt the
hard steel of muscle under the soft cashmere. She could feel
his hand splayed across the small of her back. Their other hands
were loosely clasped, no other part of them was touching. Yet
she could feel the animal heat of his skin, smell the clean,
slightly musky maleness of him. She shivered.

Brett must have sensed her sudden, atavistic fear, for he
made no attempt to draw her closer, even when the melody
slowed and coiled around them. Neither did he respond when
she tentatively tried to move away, he simply kept shuffling
his feet, coaxing hers along with him and did not loosen his
grip on her.

Emily tried to concentrate on the slow, steady rhythm.
Forward, side, together, back, side, together . . . The wine had
numbed her usual heavy nervousness, relaxing her tense
muscles and creating a pleasant, rose tinged fog in her mind.
She was no longer hungry and she felt warm, slightly drowsy
from the heat of the fire. It, combined with two matching lamps
burning on either side and the flickering candles on the table,
provided the only light in the room.

Slowly, infinitely slowly, Emily found herself drawn into
the warm circle of Brett's arms. She flinched as the tips of her
breasts brushed against the broad, unyielding wall of his
chest, but she did not pull away. More than anything, she
found she wanted to lay her head in the tempting curve of
his shoulder.

As if reading her thoughts, Brett leaned slightly towards
her, so that her cheek was inches away from his chest.
Breathing slowly and deeply to calm her racing heart, Emily
rested her head lightly against him. He placed the hand he
was holding on his other shoulder and held her tenderly round
the back of her head, his other hand motionless at the small
of her back.

Emily closed her eyes and sighed. She felt so safe, so secure
in this curiously sexless embrace, she didn't want to move.
Brett's heart was beating against her cheek, its strong, steady
beat reassuring. The arms which enclosed her, though strong,
were not compelling and she did not feel the usual panic of
entrapment.

Gradually, she became aware that he was stroking her hair,
winding the soft curls which framed her face round and round
his fingers before smoothing them round her ears. Soon, his
fingers ventured in a featherlight caress to the nape of her
neck and she shuddered, not with fear this time, but in reaction
to the warm chills which ran down her spine.

Of its own accord, Emily's neck arched back and she opened
her eyes to find herself caught in his dark, fathomless gaze. Her
legs felt curiously weak and she leaned against him, aware for
the first time of the hardness of his thighs beneath the
innocuous black fabric of his trousers.

Her mind skittered to what might even now be stirring
between those thighs and she began to pull away, but Brett
held her fast by the nape of her neck, bringing his other hand
up to cup her face.

Emily stood, completely still, as he gazed down at her,
seeming to study every aspect of her face. He smoothed an
errant curl away from her forehead and traced a line from her
temple down her cheek to the corner of her mouth with his
forefinger. Her bottom lip trembled as he lightly ran his finger
over it and she felt an answering flutter low down in her
stomach.

'So beautiful,' he whispered softly.

Emily automatically began to demur, but he stopped the self
deprecating words from ever being uttered by placing his
fingers against her lips.

'Ssh!'

He reached up and untied the scarf which held her hair in
place. It tumbled down in a dark cloud against her face, to her
shoulders and Brett ran his fingers through it, drawing it back,
away from her face.

Emily's eyes widened as she watched the pupils in his dilate
and he lowered his head to hers. Her first instinct was to turn
her face away, to avoid the inevitable demands of his lips and
tongue. Brett caught her small chin between his thumb and
forefinger and gently coaxed it round.

He leaned his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes.
The tips of their noses touched and his warm breath, wine
sweet, caressed her tremulous mouth. Infinitely patient, he
waited until the unwanted panic had subsided and Emily
relaxed against him. Still he held her chin as he brought his
lips to hers.