Close Up and Personal (22 page)

“Oh yes?” he leans closer.

“That you would treat me the same here as you would in an open bar.”

“
Well, I have a confession to make, Isabella,” he says. “I don’t always keep my promises. At least not where you’re concerned.”

He takes my chin softly in his hands and begins planting gentle kisses over my face. I close my eyes as his lips brush my cheeks, my eyelids. The delicate feeling of
his lips awakes something deep inside me.

I swallow and feel myself yielding to him.
A dangerous little voice in my head makes a suggestion.
Even if he did have a drug problem, what would I do about it?

“
We should talk,” I manage, my voice betraying my true feelings.

“Oh yes?
” he continues kissing me, moving his mouth down the side of my neck. The sensation is electric, as though he’s raising every hair on by body with his touch.

His mouth moves further down, pla
nting soft kisses across my collar bone. I feel my neck arch back, my eyes fluttering.

“I need to know something
,” I protest, as his mouth continues to work on my body. He loosens the top of my dress, and his lips begin kissing the tops of my breasts.

“What do you want to know?” The words are partially lost.

“I saw Ben Gracey today.”

“Oh.”

James’s head comes up. His green eyes still have a softness about them. But they are wary too.

Is this confirmation that Ben was telling the truth?

“He. Um. He said some things,” I manage.

“He always does,” says James sardonically. He’s upright facing me now, and he sighs. “Come and sit down
, Isabella,” he says. “Perhaps we should have that drink after all.”

Part of me feels as though I’ve disappointed him. But I hold firm. I am entitled to know, I think, something about him. Particularly since his behaviour is so erratic.

I sit on a white couch, and James opens the mini bar. It is stacked full of glittering miniature versions of branded spirits, French wine and Champagne.

“Would you like a gin and tonic?” he says
. “Or shall I order a drink to be delivered from the bar.”

“Gin and tonic is fine,” I say, watching as his hands work to slice and squeeze lime, and measure gin, ice and tonic.

“You look very professional,” I say.

He gives a half smile. “I’ve made myself adept in most drinks services,” he says. “It helps immeasurably in having an understanding of when drinks are made well.”

I like that, I decide, that he’s actually learned something menial despite his vast wealth. He walks towards me holding two clinking glasses of ice and lime, and hands me one.

I take a grateful sip. The gin is sour, complex, and is perfectly balanced by the fresh lime and sparkling tonic.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Now,” he sits next to me on the couch, so our knees are touching. “What is it that Ben Gracey has been telling you?”

He says it in a world-weary kind of way, and I wonder again if I’ve misjudged him.

“He… Um. He said you’d had a problem with drugs,” I say,
raising my eyes to him in apology for even partially crediting such a silly story. But he doesn’t meet my gaze.

“That’s true,” he says finally.

There’s a long pause whilst we both consider this. I remember that strange look on his face earlier in the bar, when he asked me if Lorna had taken anything.

“Do you still have a problem now?” I ask.

“No.” He says this adamantly, meeting my gaze. “No, I do not. Nor will I be anywhere near where people are taking drugs. And I have a zero tolerance for actors who indulge. They are removed from set and asked to provide a weekly urine sample until I can assure myself they are free from the habit.”

“Ok.” That makes sense, I think. Although it’s typical controlling Berkeley.

“Is that why…”

The question is half-formed and James answers the unsaid words.

“Is that why I feel the need to be in control? Yes. Partially.”

“Is it why you want me to be obedient to you? Because you have a problem with control?” I am surprised at my courage for saying the words out loud.

James seems surprised too. He looks down for a moment, considering, and then meets my gaze.

“In a way. Yes.”

He leans forward and takes my hands.

“I have something of an addictive nature, Isabella.” He’s saying this almost apologetically. “
My nature something I’ve battled with, to an extent, and overcome. I have not had the easiest of lives, and I am drawn to activities which allow me to forget. To immerse myself. At one time this was drugs.”

Practices that allow him to forget.
Like beating women?

“So, what is it now?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“I… I like to give pleasure to others,” he says. “But my background has drawn out my preferences in a single direction.”

He meets my gaze, his green eyes open and honest.

“Creating submission,” he says, “in those who desire it. This is what now allows me to lose myself. To forget my demons.”

I open my mouth to say something and James places a finger over my lips.

“I have told you all I am willing to explain,” he says. “I don’t want you to ask me anything else.”

I take a nervous sip of my gin and tonic, wondering what to say now.

“What if I can help you?” I say finally.

“What do you mean?”

“What if I can help you? In a different way?”

“What do you mean?” his eyes are alert, wary.

I swallow my mouthful of gin. “What if someone could help you by truly caring for you?” My words come out as a soft whisper. I think for a terrible moment that he might laugh at me, or dismiss the idea. But instead he looks thoughtful.

“I don’t know
, Isabella.” James shakes his head. “I think it might be too late to change me now.”

“
Then what if I were willing to try it your way?” My jaw sets slightly as I say the words. But really I’m in too deep. I’m falling hard for this complicated, powerful man. I’m under his spell, and I am prepared to give more of myself than I thought possible.

“You don’t know what you’re suggesting,” he says. His voice is dangerous.

“So show me.”

The words come out thickly, and without meaning to
, I find myself pouting my lips as I say them.

“You’re sure?”

I blink. “Yes. I want to know what you mean.”

There is a long pause, and for a moment
, I think he will refuse.

Then he nods, slowly, not taking his eyes from mine.

“Very well,” he says.

I stare back at him.

“For the next hour you are mine to do as I will with, do you understand?”

I swallow, not sure whether I can agree.

“You will do whatever is asked of you without question. And I, for my part, promise that I will not do anything you will not like.”

That doesn’t sound so bad.

“However,” adds James with an unfathomable smile, “you may not realise you like some of the things I plan to do to you. Do you accept?”

I try to imagine what he could mean by that, and find I can’t.

It’s as though I’m at a crossroads. One way headed for the tame and empty life I’ve always known. The other branching out to something which is unknown and frightening. In my heart I already know which path I’m bound to choose.

I find myself nodding. Mostly, I think, I just want to know. If it’s really bad then I still have an outside chance of escaping with my heart intact. But if I continue to let myself get ever more entangled in the complicated wonder of James Berkeley
, then I may never get out.

James
stands suddenly and looks over me for a long moment. Then, very gently, he loosens the orange rose from my grip. I didn’t realise until this moment that I was still holding it.

“Wait there,” he says
.

He
walks into the bathroom, and I hear taps running. I sit squirming on my seat, wondering what he has in mind for me.

He appears again at the bathroom door.

“You will find a black box on top of the mini-bar,” he says. “Bring it into the bathroom. Do not open it.”

He vanishes again, and I blink, standing to obey his instructions.
So far, not so bad. What does he have planned for me in the bathroom?

I approach the mini-bar and see there is a slim black box sat atop. Next to it
are a set of beautifully wrapped chocolates.

I lift the box, and can see there is white writing on the top of it. “
Intimacy Kit”
is printed in delicate white looping text.

Did James bring this with him? My eyes flick to a tiny menu propped up by the mini-bar. It lists the prices of all the spirits and Champagne inside. Then I see
, at the end, ‘Kiki de Montparnasse Intimacy Kit” is listed, with a price of £225.

I walk into the bathroom, carrying the box, wondering what’s inside.
Since it’s supplied by the hotel, there can’t be anything too frightening inside.

As I enter, a cloud of fragrant steam welcomes me. James has run a bath, and floating on top are the petals of the orange rose.

The bath is absolutely enormous, with a large antique style gold-plated tap which also runs to an elaborate showerhead. There is also a large shower in the bathroom and two his-and-her sinks, with the same style gold taps as the bath. There are mirrors everywhere.

He picks up a bottle of elegant looking bath
oil – another payable extra of the room I assume – and tips a thin stream into the water.

“I have chosen oil instead of bubbles,” he says. “I want to see every part of your naked body in this tub. And the oil will also help for what I have in mind for you.”

Oh. What does he have in mind?

“I assume it’s against the rules for
me to ask what you are going to do to me?”

I’m standing in the entrance, holding the black box nervously.

James smiles slightly.

“We make the rules together, Isabella,” he says. “But for the purposes of this experiment. No. You are not permitted to ask.”

He nods at me. “Open the box.”

Taking a step closer I
loosen the lid. Inside is pink and black tissue paper, stuck with a single round label, bearing the words “Kiki de Montparnasse.”

I
pull open the paper, tearing it softly. Underneath is a beautiful lace G-string. I lift it from the box. It is made so delicately, it almost feels as though it will fall apart in my hands.

“Take out the rest
,” James commands.

I delve inside again and bring out a tiny black vibrator. It feels soft.
Like velvety skin. There are also condoms and lubricant.

“Put the condoms and the lubricant on the side,” he says, gesturing to the place where the soaps and shampoos are elegantly stacked.

I do as he asks.

“Give the vibrator to me.”

I walk towards him and push the black vibrator into his outstretched hand. His fingers close around it.

“A small advantage of this hotel,” he notes as he takes it.
“This particular lingerie brand is one of my favourites. I look forward to taking you to one of their stores soon. They sell all manner of interesting items.”

I can tell by the way he says
interesting items that he’s not talking about underwear.

“Now,” he says, “undress, and put on the panties which were in the box.”

I hesitate for a moment.

“Isabella,” he says sternly. “You agreed to try things my way.”

I nod and begin removing my clothes. He watches as I unzip my retro print dress at the side and let it fall to the floor.

I’m wearing black underwear. Not the designer kind I imagine he’s used to. But it’s one of my better sets.

“Nice.” He stands, looking me up and down. “Now take it off.”

I pause fractionally, but before he can say anything
, I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. Then I slide off my panties.

This last step is about as much as I can bear of him looking at me, and I almost race to grab a towel to cover myself up.

“I want you to stay there for a moment, Isabella,” he says, “and let me look at you.”

I was dreading he’d ask this. Standing naked in front of a man pulls up every bad thought I ever had about my body. And not even to be wearing panties. I feel the flush sweep from my chest up over my face.

“You are very beautiful,” says James. “Under my care you will learn to believe it.”

He takes a step forward and I hear a faint buzzing sound. He moves his hand to touch my nipples, and I see the vibrator in his hand.