The Berkeley Method (12 page)

Everyone looks blank.

“You probably weren’t in the studio when it happened,” I explain to Will and Callum. “There was a short for a few minutes.”

“That’s strange,” says Camilla. “Are you sure there was a power cut?”

“Well. Um, yeah,” I say. “As sure as I can be. The lights went out.” I shrug.

Camilla frowns. “I didn’t see any power cut,” she says, “and the whole system is on a closed loop.” She pauses to roll her eyes again. “Did I mention that James made me learn
everything
about how the studio works?”

I smile in response, but I’m only half listening. I’ve just noticed my phone display shows a message from James. I open it up.

Come to your chalet. Now.

I frown at the absence of kisses or general courtesy. Maybe it’s something to do with the power cut. I am pretty clumsy. Hopefully, I haven’t done something stupid and caused the short.

“I gotta go,” I say, holding up the phone. “James just texted me.”

I realise this is a stupid thing to say as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

James said we needed to be discrete about seeing one another, and here I am waving around a text from him. I put the phone down quickly.

Luckily, no one seems to think there is anything the least bit untoward about this.

“You go ahead, leading lady,” says Callum with a smile. “He probably wants to discuss the first scenes to be shot with you.”

“Don’t let him work you too hard,” frowns Camilla. “James can be a real slave driver.”

I suppress a smile.
Don’t I know it.

“It was so good to meet you all,” I say as I stand. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you again.”

I really mean it. I can see us having great fun working together.

“I’ve just got off the LA flight, and I’m about ready to crash,” says Callum. “But maybe we should all meet tomorrow and practise some lines? Since we’re all here at such short notice.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. At least I’m not the only one anxious about the last minute schedule.

“Ok, great. I’d love that,” I say with a smile.

Rehearsing with Callum Reed!

“Get my number from James,” suggests Callum. “Cam, you’ll be there too, right?”

Camilla gives a little squeak of excitement. “Oh I’d
love
to. I mean, I don’t have much to rehearse. I only have three lines, and I know them so well, I talk them in my sleep.”

She tilts her head to look at me. “But I can help. I mean, I can fetch coffee and things. It would be good practise for my real role,” she adds with a wry smile.

“Great,” says Callum, “that’s sorted then. See you tomorrow, Issy.”

“See you tomorrow.” I wave them all goodbye.

As I head out of the restaurant, my thoughts return to what possible damage I might have done to the chalet. Camilla said there wasn’t a power cut elsewhere in the studio. I run through my last movements. I opened the make-up fridge in the bathroom. Maybe I did it wrong and broke something.

The creepy laugh comes back to me, and I feel my stomach turn.
What if I wasn’t imagining things after all?

Only one way to find out, I think, heading for my chalet.

Chapter 1
3

I reach my chalet to find that, instead of James, there’s a note on the door.

I yank it off and read.

“Come inside and go up to the bedroom.”

Oh. Nothing to do with the power cut then.

I feel a little thrill shoot through me, remembering the objects in my bedside drawer.

I use my fingerprints and key card to enter the chalet, and walk quietly up the staircase. My earlier anxiety has vanished. How silly to imagine that anyone could get inside here. The security’s so tight, I’m amazed that James can get in.

The bedroom door is shut, and I push the door open and walk in.

To my disappointment, James isn’t in the room waiting for me.

Instead, there is a large bunch of beautiful violet-coloured roses.

I give a little half smile. I haven’t told James that I know about his past. That he hasn’t given a woman red roses since the death of his mother.

Violet roses. Hmmm.

There’s a crisp envelope made of heavy paper next to the blooms. Reflexively, I pick the flowers up using both hands and inhale the delicate fragrance. Then I replace them on the bed and slide a card out of the envelope.

“Violet. For enchantment. Because you have enchanted me.”

I smile to myself. The next line causes a more mixed reaction.

“Open the top drawer of your bedside cabinet,” it instructs, “and put on the pearl G-string.”

I put the card back down on the bed and hesitate. The pearl G-string.

When I picked it up earlier, it seemed as though it would be an uncomfortable thing to wear.

Slowly, I pull open the top drawer and take it out. I hold up the panties thoughtfully, letting the perfect pearls hang down in a line. They’re larger than I might imagine would be a good choice for the area they’re designed to fit.

Then something else occurs to me. The second drawer is for underwear. The third drawer is for what I would refer to as bondage items. The top drawer is filled with sex toys.

Does this mean these panties are some kind of sex toy?

I stare at them thoughtfully. The pearls seem to go around a little further than where the buttock line would end. Do they go underneath as well?

I pause for a moment before deciding that there’s only one way to find out.

I slide off my panties and tug on the G-string under my denim skirt.

Oh!

I was right about one thing. The pearls fit right around, underneath. And they’re far from uncomfortable. The silken spheres gently press against me, with a subtle tantalising pressure.

I’m still adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation of the pearls when my phone rings.

I move to answer it and the pearls slide over me, sending a pulse of pleasure through my body.

Wow!
It feels as though I’m being softly stroked.

I pick up the phone and click to answer.

“Are you wearing it?” the question comes deep and low.

“I… Um. Yes. Is that any way to greet a girl on the phone?” I add, collecting myself.

I hear him laugh.

“Probably not. But as I remember, I’m still owed a favour from you,
Ms. Green. You took your punishment for running off into that alley beautifully. But, we still have the little matter of your mistrust.”

“My mistrust?” Combined with the pearls, the sound of his voice is sending lightning bolts of lust through me.

“You assumed I had checked into rehab,” he reminds me.

“An easy mistake to make,” I counter.

“Oh no, Isabella. You’re not getting off that lightly. How are you finding the pearls?”

“They’re… having an effect,” I admit.

“You’ll find that effect will be greatly pronounced when you move around,” he says.

“I’ve already discovered that,” I agree, “when I answered the phone to you.”

He gives another deep chuckle. “Oh, Isabella. You haven’t discovered the half of it.” He pauses for a moment. “The thought of you wearing those pearls… It’s already had a strong enough effect on me. You can’t expect me to show you any mercy.”

Desire for him sweeps through me.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Cross over the bedroom,” he says, “and open the wardrobe.”

I do as he asks, and the pearls work over me like expert fingers.

I’m weak at the knees as I open the wardrobe door.

Inside I see he has slid a single violet rose into one of the dresses.

“Can you see the dress?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Take it out.”

I reach into the wardrobe and take out a black clinging dress. It looks short.

“You want me to wear it?” I guess.

“Correct.”

“With the pearls underneath?”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

“It looks
short
,” I protest. “You’re not planning on taking me out anywhere in this dress, are you?”

“That is exactly what I’m planning. And I might remind you that your earlier lack of faith in me calls for your obedience. Now put the dress on, before I come inside and spank you with something harder than my hand.”

His words charge me with an instant surge of lust.

How does he do that? He says the worst things, and they have me panting with desire.

I put the phone on the bed and take off my clothes, gasping as the movement causes the pearls to hitch a little higher.

Then I slide into the dress and turn to regard myself in the mirror.

It really is short. I turn experimentally to see whether my indecent underwear is on show. It’s not, I decide, but if I bend forward a little, the string of pearls is on clear display. I swallow. No walking up staircases then.

I pick up the phone again.

“I’m wearing the dress,” I say.

“Good. Now put on a pair of shoes and come downstairs.”

“Ok.” Did I detect something in his voice? What’s going to happen when I walk downstairs?

I select a pair of heels and slide them on.

Then I step slowly out of the bedroom, every movement bringing a fresh surge of teasing pressure to my already highly stimulated underside.

Then, as I take the first step down the stairs, I realise the reason for the edge to his voice.

The downward movement causes an extra layer of friction to rise up through the pearls.

“Ahhh,” I murmur into the phone as the pearls take me to a new level of pleasure.

“Take your time on the stairs,” says James. I can hear by his voice how pleased he is by my reaction.

“You’d better be ready to finish what you’ve started,” I mutter into the phone. “Where are you?”

I move downwards again. Each step is a beautiful, arousing agony.

“I’m outside,” he says with a little laugh. “But I don’t think I’ll be ready to finish what I’ve started for a
long
time yet. Having you in this state of arousal is giving me great pleasure.”

I emit a little half-groan of frustration.

“I hope that wasn’t a swearword, Isabella,” says James. “I think from now on, any bad language will require an extra hour wearing those pearls.”

An extra hour? He can’t mean for me to be wearing these for more than an hour at most. I resolve to keep silent, just in case.

I’ve made it off the bottom step now, and walking over flat ground is less testing. The pearls slide teasingly underneath me, but the feeling is softer, less intense.

I make it to the front door and open it to see James grinning widely on the other side. He is wearing a mid-grey suit, with a dark grey shirt and black tie. His brown hair is styled slightly upwards, making his dark brows look even more devilish than usual.

“Enjoying your penalty?” he asks innocently.

“I don’t know whether to hit you or kiss you,” I say, stepping out of the chalet.

“Kiss me then,” he says. “I’d love to see you get even more worked up.”

I nod to the car parked behind him. It’s not the convertible BMW this time. This is a sleek Mercedes. “Are we driving somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’d better let me get inside.”

“No kiss?” He feigns disappointment.

“Trust me, you couldn’t handle it.”

He raises a heavy eyebrow and then walks ahead of me to open the car door.

I slide inside, hitching the pearls to another delicious roll between my legs.

I moan as James slides into the car beside me, starting the engine.

He turns to look at me and then pulls off his tie.

“Just in case you get any ideas,” he says, reaching over and binding my hands. “I wouldn’t like you to afford yourself any relief whilst we’re driving. That wouldn’t be a fair punishment at all.” As an afterthought, he slips the seat belt over me and buckles it up.

“There,” he says, giving me an appreciat
ive look up and down. “I don’t think I have ever seen you look so fuck-able, Ms. Green. But you’ll be pleased to know I can control myself.”

“How long for?” I plead as he pops the gear and puts the car into motion.

“Patience, Isabella,” he says. “We have an entire dinner to get through before I’m finished with you. Then I might have you in the backseat. If you can offer a suitable amount of begging,” he adds.

Now that I’m sat still, the motion of the pearls has eased considerably. But they slide over me with every sharp corner or bump in the road.