Forgotten Desires: A Short Story in Aid of the Eve Appeal (4 page)

I walk out into the sunshine and head for my car. Friday mid-morning traffic is a nightmare, but once I’m out of the city, the drive onward is pretty straightforward. The roof is down, and Adele is keeping me company. A little drive in the countryside is a lovely way to finish my work week.

I pull off the main road and onto a little lane, where I find myself in front of the biggest pair of gates that I’ve ever seen. A gold plaque on a pillar states, THE MANOR.

Bloody hell!
I take my sunglasses off, looking past the gates and down the tree-lined gravel road that seems to go for miles, images of a stuffy, cigar-smoking Lord of The Manor springing to mind immediately. I get out of my car and walk up to the gates, looking for an intercom.

“It’s behind you.” I nearly jump out of my skin when the low rumble of a voice comes from nowhere, stabbing at the silent country air.

I look around. “Hello?”

“Over here.”

I turn and see the intercom farther down the lane. I drove straight past it. I run over, pressing the button to announce myself. “Ava O’Shea, Rococo Union.”

“I know.”

I look around and spot a camera installed on the gate. “Well are you going to let me in?” I ask, just as the shift of metal breaks the countryside peace around me. The gates start opening. “Give me a chance,” I mutter as I run back to my car. I jump in my Mini and creep forward as the gates swing open, all the time wondering how I’ll remove the glass of port and cigar that are, quite clearly, wedged up that miserable sod’s arse. I’m looking less forward to this appointment by the minute. Posh country folk and their posh country mansions are not in my area of expertise.

Once the gates are fully opened, I drive through, and after a mile or so I pull into a perfectly round courtyard. I take my sunglasses off and gape at the huge, looming house. It’s superb.

The black doors—adorned with highly polished gold trim– are flanked by four giant bay windows, with pillars of carved stone guarding them. Giant limestone blocks make up the structure of the mansion, with lush bay trees lining the face, and topping off the site is a fountain in the centre of the courtyard, spraying out jets of illuminated water. It’s all very imposing.

I cut the engine and fumble with the door release to get out of my car. Standing and holding on to the top of my car door, I look up at the magnificent building and immediately think that this has to be a mistake. The place is in amazing condition.

The lawns are greener than green, the house looks like it receives daily scrub downs, and even the gravel looks like it receives a daily hoover. If the exterior is anything to go by, then I can’t imagine the inside needing any work. I look up at the dozens of sash bay windows, seeing plush curtains hanging at them all. I’m tempted to call Patrick to check that I’ve got the right address, but it did say The Manor on the gates, and that miserable sod on the other end of the intercom is obviously expecting me.

While I’m pondering my next move, the doors open, revealing the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He saunters out to the top of the steps, and I physically flinch at the sight of him, stepping back slightly. He has on a black suit– specially made for sure because that’s no regular size—a black shirt and a black tie. His skin is the color of rich ebony, his shaved head looks like it’s been buffed to a shine, and wraparound sunglasses conceal his eyes. If I could build a mental image of who I would have expected to walk out of those doors, he, most definitely, would not be it. The man is a mountain, and everything about his presence screams bodyguard. I’m suddenly slightly concerned that I’ve turned up at some mafia control center, and I search my brain trying to remember if I transferred my panic alarm to my new handbag.

“Miss O’Shea?” he drawls.

I wilt under his massive presence, putting my hand up in a nervous wave gesture. “Hi,” I whisper.

“This way,” he rumbles deeply, giving a sharp nod of his head and turning to walk back into the mansion.

I consider cutting and running, but the daring and dangerous side of me is curious about what lies beyond those doors. Grabbing my bag, I shut my car door and climb the steps, crossing the threshold into a huge entrance hall. I gaze around the vast area, and I’m immediately impressed by the grand curved staircase that leads up to the first floor.

The décor is opulent, lush, and very intimidating. Deep blues, taupes with hints of gold, and original woodwork, along with the rich mahogany parquet floor, make the place striking and massively extravagant. It’s exactly how I would have expected it to be and nowhere near my design style. But then again, looking around, why any interior designer would be here is becoming more and more confusing. Patrick said they requested me personally, so I would be inclined to think that they want to modernize, but that would’ve been before I got a glimpse of the place. The décor suits the period building. It’s in perfect condition. Why the hell am I here?

Big Guy heads off to the right, leaving me to scuttle after him, my tan heels clicking on the parquet floor as he leads me toward the back of the mansion.

I hear the hum of conversation and glance to my right, noticing many people seated at various tables; eating, drinking, and chatting. Waiters are serving food and drinks, and the distinct voices of The Rat Pack are purring in the background. I frown, but then I understand. It’s a hotel—a posh country hotel.

This is all beginning to make sense to me. I want to say something to the mountain of a man leading me God only knows where, but he hasn’t looked back once to check that I’m following. Although the click of my heels must tell him I am. He doesn’t say much, and I suspect he wouldn’t answer me if I did speak.

We continue past two more closed doors before he leads me into a summer room—a massive, light, stunningly lavish space that’s sectioned off into individual seating areas with sofas, big arm chairs, and tables. Floor-to-ceiling bi-fold doors span the room, leading to a Yorkstone patio and a vast lawn area. It’s really quite awe-inspiring, and I inwardly gasp when I spot a glass building housing a swimming pool. It’s incredible, and I shudder to think how much the nightly rate is. It has to be five stars—probably more.

Once we’ve passed through the summer room, I’m led down a corridor until Big Guy stops outside a wood-paneled door. “Mr. Ward’s office,” he rumbles, knocking on the door, surprisingly gently given his mammoth size.

“The manager?” I ask.

“The owner,” he replies, opening the door and striding through. “Come in.”

I hesitate on the threshold, watching as the big guy strides into the room ahead of me. I eventually force my feet into action, moving into the room, while gazing around at the equally luxurious surroundings of Mr. Ward’s office.

Links to Buy This Man…

www.jodiellenmalpas.co.uk/this-man

This Man (Book #1)

Young interior designer Ava O’Shea has an appointment for a first consultation at The Manor with the owner, Mr Jesse Ward. She is expecting nothing more than an overweight, cravat wearing, well-to-do countryman, and on arrival, nothing would suggest otherwise. How wrong could she be?

This Man is devastatingly handsome, charming and confident. He is also a conceited, hedonistic playboy, who knows no boundaries.

Ava desperately does not want to be attracted to him, but she can’t control the overwhelming affect he has on her. Every instinct is telling her to run, so she does, but Jesse Ward is not so willing to let her go. He wants her and is determined to have her.

She knows she is heading for heartbreak, but how can she run when he won’t let her?

Beneath This Man (Book #2)

She knew she was heading towards disaster. Every instinct told her to run, but Jesse Ward was a hard man to escape. It has been five days’ since Ava O’Shea left Jesse drunk and raging at Lusso – left behind a man who drowned her in his intensity and blindsided her with his touch. Getting over this man was never going to be easy.

And now he’s back in her life. She has questions that she needs answering, but her determination to get these answers will give the pleasure-seeking playboy the power to destroy her again. She needs to keep her eyes wide open and caution at the forefront of her mind – an ambitious intention when Jesse Ward is within touching distance.

And he plans to be.

He’s dark, he’s broken – Ava knows this, but the only way to find out how dark and how broken is to get beneath the steely exterior of this man.

This Man Confessed (Book #3)

The very place where their passionate love affair began, The Manor fills with guests on what should be the happiest day of Ava and Jesse’s lives. She has accepted that she’ll never tame the fierceness in Jesse, and she doesn’t want to. Their love is profound, their connection powerful, but just when she thinks that she’s finally got beneath his guarded exterior, more questions arise which lead Ava to believe that Jesse Ward may not be the man she thinks he is. He knows too well how to take her to a place beyond ecstasy…but will he also drive her to the brink of despair?

It’s time for this man to confess.

Read the 1
st
chapter of One Night: Promised – book #1 of the One Night Trilogy – and meet the mysterious and enigmatic Miller Hart…