Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1 (32 page)

“I hope it gives you a raging hard-on.” I sweep past him. “All night.”

“A dead cert, kitten. Why do you think I promised myself I could have you afterwards?”

I don’t let him see me grind my teeth. I will never admit it makes me want him so badly I could combust. The truth is we both want different things from this situation. He wants temporary possession and mastery. I want commitment and love. We both disguise our desires under the terms of a business arrangement. And there’s no squaring that circle.

He sets me straight. “It’s simply another lesson.”

You’d think I’d be used to his rejection by now but I feel hurt.

“Time to go.” Jack weaves his fingers through mine, drawing me beside him to the elevator doors. I feel his warmth; smell the delectable scent of his skin, ensnaring my senses. Each step I take, each movement of his body in opposition to mine, stokes the inferno blazing inside.

I study myself in the bronzed elevator mirrors, my fingers straying constantly to the precious metal about my neck which teases, masquerades. Perhaps a collar and a gift of jewellery are both symbols of a man’s need to possess. Just as he says, it looks like a necklace off-set by my skin, reflecting the dramatic hue of the ball gown in its cool shiny surface. But is there a deeper, more truthful meaning to it or is that wishful thinking on my part? Wanting resolution of this thing with Jack burns my body as never before.

I catch him watching me as I finger the smooth metal. He appears relaxed and content whilst an insect of irritation, of panic, crawls beneath my skin. I yearn to snatch it from my neck and feeling an irrational rush of claustrophobia, reach for the clasp. I claw at the padlock at the back of my neck to which only Jack holds the key.

“Leave it alone.”

“Take it off, Jack.”

“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. What is it that concerns you so much about it?”

“Everything.” It troubles me. It excites me. It promises me things that are only illusions. My emotions reel from one state to another and I feel so confused. If he knows how much I want him, why won’t he make love to me?

He takes my hands in his and steps behind me, framing me in the mirror again, calming me with the rhythmic caress of his fingers on my bare shoulders. “See what I see, Tabitha. A captivating woman. A confident woman. A woman of poise.”

I laugh. A nervous sound. Full of disbelief. “I feel…”

“Tell me.” His tone soothes, encourages.

I glance up at his reflection. “This isn’t me. It’s false. Fake. I’m fake.” My rising pitch betrays growing panic as I twist in his arms. “I can’t go to the ball.”

Jack’s smile is soft and benign. “You can and you most certainly will. I’ll be beside you all the time. You’re only just discovering the power you have.”

I try a series of deep, steadying breaths but they don’t work. “How can something like this give me confidence?” Bending my neck, I rattle the thing I can no longer name. “It undermines me.” A crisp note of edginess enters my voice.

“You can overcome these insecurities.”

My nerves tighten. My irritation grows. “How does it make you feel, Jack? Smug and superior?” I see Jack’s brow arch as I snap at him and I don’t care if I get lectured for it tomorrow. His jaw tightens. I notice the rapid pulse ticking beneath his skin.

“Honestly? When you accept what I ask of you, it makes me feel closer to you. When you challenge it, I know you don’t trust me. Why can’t you trust me, Tabby?” His question stuns me.

I want to. I used to. But how can I after what he once did? He abandoned me. I want to scream the accusation in his face but I’m incapable. Jack moves me round and takes my face between his hands. He presses his lips softly over mine.

Still I detect a fleeting shadow of darkness in his eyes but put it down to wild imagination.

“Hold your head high, Tabby. You’re as good as anyone in that ballroom and tonight I’m going to show you that.”

He takes my silence for agreement. Perhaps it is. I can refuse anytime I want, after all. I can end everything with a word. Or tell him how I truly feel about him.

No. That’s the one thing I can never do.

Even this short time with Jack has turned everything I believed on its head. I’d become used to using long hours of hard work and an excess of alcohol to dull my senses. I no longer trust my own feelings anymore. I alternate from being coolly compliant to becoming this smart-mouthed creature trying to push him away. Even then, I want him to consume me. I’m too confused to know what it is I feel.

In the underground car park, Blackstock waits by a huge black Mercedes limousine. Tonight we’re travelling in style. “Good evening, Mr Keogh. Miss Caid.”

“Blackstock.”

Jack’s driver studiously averts his eyes. I have way too much voluptuous flesh on show but he’s a respectful employee. He holds the back door open for me to get in. Jack enters at the other side. Once beside me he gives my hand a gentle squeeze but I pull it from his grasp, unsettled. He frowns at me and takes my hand back again like he’s claiming territory and I don’t fight him. I need his security too much right now.

He thinks everything between us is settled. He can be so very dense sometimes. Every minute things unravel a little bit more.

The hired limousine is lavish and roomy but my dress feels tight and I find it difficult to stay in one place on the polished leather seat as the car circles and exits. I slither all over the place in spite of the seat belt. My nerves are completely strung out what with the ball, the shifting emotional sands I’m negotiating and this latest complication of a padlock engraved with an eternal knot. I fight the urge to fling open the door.

“Why are you fidgeting?”

“This dress is too tight. I can hardly breathe. It’s not designed to sit down in, that’s for sure.” I find safety in anger and squirm until even I worry it might fall apart at the seams. He’d have to take me back home then, wouldn’t he?

“You won’t be sitting down. You’ll be dancing and socialising and networking the room.” He sounds absolutely certain about that.

The thought of all those high powered people gives me heart palpitations. My mouth is dry as a sandbox and I feel a faintness wash over me. He expects me to live up to his lofty expectations and frankly, a padlock is the least of my worries. My mind is a whirlwind of apprehension. Why can’t I be like other young women of my age? Normal. Confident. Not ready to panic at the slightest provocation.

I have to do this. For CaidCo. For Harry. For me. The thought makes me consciously sit straighter and cease my restlessness. I watch the city lights pass by my window in their blur of bright colours. Jack thinks I‘ve calmed down but I haven’t. I know too well that the closer I move to a panic attack, the cooler I appear. It’s like being in physical paralysis or drowning to the point of near-death. Beneath the appearance of calm I’m fighting my way out of a mental strait-jacket like a lunatic.

The limousine shifts into the queue of cars lining up to offload passengers at the Mansion House venue’s colonnaded entrance. The opulence of the occasion is impressed upon me with all the milling paparazzi, lights flashing indiscriminately, and the television news cameras trained on reporters and guests outside. Massive banners trail from the roof to proclaim the event. The City of London police redirect traffic and hold back a crowd of excited onlookers behind a cordon of hefty security personnel dressed in dark suits. I note their discrete earpieces and the way they constantly sweep eyes across the crowd, ever anticipating trouble.

They remind me of Blackstock arriving to collect me on Friday night when my life still seemed relatively normal. Clearly Jack’s driver is security trained too but it doesn’t make me feel any safer. My fears are mine alone to face. I’ve never needed a good stiff drink or three quite as much as I do right now. The worse thing is I know I’m being ridiculous but a lifetime of panic attacks isn’t easy to overcome.

It will take more than a padlocked charm to divert me, I swear to God.

Jack reaches into his inner pocket pulling out a gilt-edged card. “Hold the invitation, a moment please, Tabitha.” He offers it to me, his hand steady as I take it. Mine trembles.

I glance at the beautiful cursive lettering. I suppose I want to see how it’s worded. I read Jack’s name and expect to see a pretty standard plus guest but am surprised to see my own name –
Ms Tabitha Caid
– embossed in beautiful italics under Jack’s own and separated from it by a pretty little
&
sign. He wants me to know I belong here.

I do realise that no way would I have received an invitation in my own right to such a prestigious event. Jack must have requested it on my behalf and the organisers wouldn’t dream of refusing him however insignificant I am. I feel more kindly disposed towards him than I have for the past hour.

“My name is on it too.” I offer a contrite smile to Jack and he returns an acceptance of his own. He looks so desirable in his formal wear I feel lucky to be the woman at his side this year. Yet the magnitude of the occasion won’t allow my nerves to settle.

“Every situation has its positives, Tabitha. You must learn to focus on them. That’s what winners do.”

I glance back at the card with pride. Jack wants me here with him and he wants the world to know it. My hand slips willingly into his and the way he squeezes it makes me feel warm and safe. I wonder what I’ve been quite so crazy about. With Jack’s support, I can do this.

I read the invitation again. Then reread it in disbelief as I yank my hand from his. It flies to the collar. His collar. The humiliation. And not the worst one he’s engineered. My heart ceases completely then starts fluttering wildly as I shallow breathe.

“You knew.” I can barely gasp out the words.

“I did,” he admits. There isn’t a trace of shame in his voice. It’s as steady as a rock just the way it was in the boardroom when I confronted him with his previous treachery. This one outstrips all others. He doesn’t even try to avoid my disbelieving stare.

I read aloud the damnable words. “Black and White Ball, Jack. The dress code is strictly black and white. This ball is black and white.” I’m not even sure why I keep repeating the colours other than a hope, a prayer, that Jack will tell me there has been some terrible mistake. That he hasn’t done this to me deliberately.

I stare at his exceedingly suitable black and white formal attire then back at the lettering on the card, searching desperately for some explanation. Some tiny clause to do with the equal acceptability of violent blood red.

Black and white. Black and white. “It says black and white,” I screech.

I gape at my couture gown like I might only have imagined this colour. Disbelief turns to grim reality. Red. Valentino Red. Scarlet Red. The blood red of betrayal. No matter what shade I call up, the dawning realisation only gets worse. And worse.

I wheel round to face him. “You knew.” I spit out the same accusation, pure and simple. He’s engineered my very public disgrace. The ultimate punishment in the eyes of the business world for daring to challenge the great Jack Keogh over whom he chooses to do business with.

Jack doesn’t turn a hair. “Of course, I knew.”

“How could you do this to me?” I’m barely capable of speech.

“Not to you, Tabitha. For you.” His eyes hold mine without an iota of remorse.

I can no longer contain myself. I’m completely crushed; totally ashamed of myself for how carelessly I’ve allowed my guard to drop around him. I look about me. The line of cars has advanced nearer – much nearer – to the main entrance of the Lord Mayor’s official residence where Jack expects me to alight in a maelstrom of media bloodsuckers. They circle like vultures locating the scent of carrion flesh.

And any minute now, it will be mine.

He expects me to stand in front of everyone, dressed in scarlet, standing out like an incriminating blood stain on a pure white and very dead body. How could he do this to me? And so calmly. How could he be so spiteful? So cold-heartedly cruel?

Unadulterated rage sweeps me up in a torrent and tosses me over the falls.

“You bastard.” I lift my hand to strike him. This is my nightmare made real.

The glacial expression in his Arctic eyes is all it takes to instantly quell my impulse and I lower my open palm. Instead I check for an escape route as I unclip my seatbelt. The door on the pavement side, will deposit me directly in front of the high society crowd with all the reporters and cameras. It isn’t an option. His door will mean scrabbling right past him before I step into oncoming traffic and I don’t imagine for one moment he will let me get that far.

Jack secures my hands in his. His tone cautions me unequivocally. “Your behaviour is entirely inappropriate,” he warns. “I have made the decision and I had your complete agreement to do so,” he reminds me. He pulls me into the seat again.

I’m dumbfounded at his treachery. It’s the perfect moment to point out this is the second worthless deal I’ve agreed to willingly. As if I needed any reminder the only way to get out of it is to call time on my business aspirations. His poker face, par excellence, waits for me to fold my hand of cards.

On the other hand, if I play his mean little game and walk into the ball dressed in scarlet, I’ll sign my own commercial death warrant. These people are my potential future clients. My competitors. My judges. How can I demand they take me seriously when I can’t even follow a simple edict like dress in black and white, like them? I’d be sticking two fingers up to their solemn annual event. Jack has sealed my downfall, watertight.