True Colours (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

‘We’re moving at our own speed.’

‘As far as I can see, we’re moving at your speed.  This is the maddest sodding roller-coaster ride I’ve ever been on.  It’s like standing in front of a freight train.  It’s like you’ve only got one gear.’

He grins again.

‘Are we finished with the clichés?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Good.’  He moves a strand of hair behind my ear.  ‘Then, I’ll slow down.  Or at least, I’ll try.’

‘And you’ll hang fire on the studio?’

‘Of course.’

There’s a flash of something in his eyes, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find his fingers crossed.  I’m on the verge of checking when he tugs me in for another kiss, more demanding than before, as if he’s reminding me of who’s in charge.  When I’m finally released, I gasp for breath.

‘Don’t be mad at me, Maya.  I’m on a learning curve.’

He slips a hand under my dress and cups my clitoris, setting off a spasm of warmth in my vagina.

‘Are we about to have al-fresco sex?’ I ask, battling off the impulse to drag him down onto the wet grass before he’s had a chance to reply.

‘Certainly not.  You get ramblers in those woods.  I’m not performing for some sicko in walking boots.’  He pauses, brushing his lips against mine.  ‘Can we stay here tonight?’

‘Of course.’

He fixes me with a good long gaze.

‘You and me are for keeps.  I just want you to feel like this is your home.  That’s why I want you to choose the colours.  That’s why I want a studio here.’

I smile, defeated by his kisses, his touch, his words.

‘All I need right now is a few pairs of knickers.’

‘Then I’ll pick some up in town.’  Taking my hand, he begins to lead me back towards the house.

‘I’m not coming with you?’

‘No.  I need to do this on my own.’

I struggle against his grip, annoyed by his pronouncement and deciding that if he’s determined to go around making executive decisions, I’m going to make him pay for it in the worst way known to a man.

‘Well then, you’re going to have to go to the chemists as well.’

He comes to a halt, turns and cocks his head to one side.

‘Chemists?’

‘I need some tampons.  I took my last pill yesterday and I’m due on.’

He winces.  And oh yes, my weapon of choice has hit the mark, head on.

‘Fair enough.’  He mutters, managing to suppress a grimace.  ‘Women’s things.  I forgot I’d have to deal with all that.’

When we get back to the house, I’m halted in my tracks by the sight of an accountant at the kitchen table.

‘What are you doing here?’ I demand.

‘I heard about the dog.’  Leaning back in his chair, Clive rests a hand on the newspaper spread out in front of him, and smiles at me.  ‘I just wanted to see if Norman and Betty are alright.’

If that really was the intention, he’s making a pretty bad job of it, seeing as Norman and Betty are nowhere to be seen.

‘Where are they?’ Dan asks.

‘Gone back to the cottage.  Betty got a bit emotional.  Norman’s taking the day off.’

‘So he should.  Right, I’m off then.’  I’m ushered to a chair and pressed down onto it.  ‘I won’t be long.  Clive can keep you company.’

‘But …’

He kisses the top of my head, straightens up and points a finger at me.

‘No arguments.  And don’t give him grief.’

I could try complaining, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t get me very far.  I’m just going to have to go along with Dan’s agenda.  And besides, while the boyfriend’s dealing with the vets and getting thoroughly embarrassed in a chemists, I can drill the side-kick for information.

‘Why would I do that?’ I ask, smiling innocently.  ‘Go and do what you need to do.  I’ll be perfectly nice to Clive.’

With a last glance, he picks up the car keys and leaves us.  As soon as the door closes, Clive goes back to reading the newspaper, or at least pretending to, and I wait until the crunch of tyres against gravel fades into the distance before I make a start.  I’m about to give Clive a good dollop of grief.

‘How was the party at the Tate?’

He flicks over a page of the newspaper.  His top lip twitches, ever so slightly.  ‘Fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

Turning another page, he takes in a deep breath, blows it out and looks up.

‘Okay.’  He scratches the edge of his mouth.  ‘There wasn’t a party at the Tate.  We made it up.’

‘You lied to me.’

‘I know.’ He smiles triumphantly.  ‘It worked though.’

‘Of course it did.  Just don’t make a habit of it.’

The smile mutates slightly, an edge of discomfort creeping into his eyes.

‘So, why are you really here, Clive?’ I ask.

Looking down at the paper, he sucks at his bottom lip.  ‘Like I said, I was worried about Norman and Betty.’  He’s being shifty now and I know it.  He flips to another page and takes a pen out of his jacket pocket.  ‘Sudoku,’ he mutters.  Avoiding all eye contact, he leans forwards and inspects the puzzle.  ‘I should be better at these things, but …’  He clicks the pen, holds the nib above the page, and finally fills in the first number.

‘Cup of tea?’ I ask.

‘Super.’

I’m not exactly sure why I’m making a cup of tea.  Maybe it’s just the process of making the bloody stuff that I need.  After all, it’s what I seem to do whenever I’m in a flap.  Getting up, I locate the kettle, turn it round and try to find a switch.

‘It’s not electric,’ Clive explains.  ‘It works on the Aga.  Left hand plate.  Mind yourself.  It’s hot.’

With a sigh, I fill up the kettle and slam it down onto the hot plate.  Good God, if this is going to be my new home, then Mr Foster can rectify this little situation.  I’m just not prepared to live in the nineteenth century.  An electric kettle is a necessity.

‘So, how’s it going with you and Lucy?’ I lean back against the counter.

‘Very well.’  He eyes me, warily.  ‘I like her.  She’s a bit scatty but a lot of fun.’

Deciding that I really don’t want to know about the fun aspect of their relationship, I open a cupboard door.  Sugar.  Flour.  Baking soda.  A cake-making cupboard.  And what the hell are you supposed to do with one of those?  Knowing that I’m never going to venture into it again, I open another.  Salt.  Pepper.  Herbs and spices.  A variety of sauces, but no ketchup.  I’m about to go for a third door when Clive puts me right.

‘The cupboard to the left of the sink.’

Tugging open the correct door, I’m relieved to find a packet of teabags and a jar of instant coffee.  Pulling out a couple of teabags, I retrieve two mugs from a mug tree and set about tapping Clive for information.

‘Clive?’

‘Uh huh?’

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Of course.’

‘When’s Dan’s birthday?’  Keeping my back to him, I chuck the teabags into the mugs.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just wondering.’  The kettle’s beginning to simmer now.  ‘Shouldn’t you know when it’s your boyfriend’s birthday?’

‘I suppose so.’  I turn to find him eyeing me suspiciously.  ‘It’s this Friday.  But he doesn’t celebrate it.  I wouldn’t mention it if I were you.  And I certainly wouldn’t get him a card.’

So that’s why there was a ripped up card in the bin?  Simply because he doesn’t celebrate his birthday?  Not because of some huge rift with his sister?  A screeching whistle jolts me out of my thoughts.  Bloody hell, that Aga’s quick.  Making the tea, I take it over to the table and seat myself opposite Clive.  I’m going to have to tackle this head-on, and while I’m at it, I’ll need to feign a little ignorance.

‘Does he ever see his sisters?’

Clive takes hold of his mug.  ‘Not that I know of.’

‘Does he ever talk about them?’

He shakes his head and takes a sip.

‘But he’s talked to you about his childhood?’

‘I know the bare bones, and it’s taken me twenty years to get that far.  You probably know more about him than I do by now.’

I stew on matters a little.

‘I just can’t understand why he wouldn’t be in touch with them.’

‘Neither can I, but I wouldn’t push him on it.’

‘But what if we ever …’

I stumble to a halt, realising that I’m about to take a step too far, and look up to find Clive’s mouth open.  He’s trying his damnedest to suppress a laugh.

‘Get married?’ he asks.  ‘Have children?’

I pull an I-know-I’m-talking-crap kind of face, except I’m not talking crap at all.  I know damn well why Dan told me his favourite colour’s white, just like I know why he’s having the bedrooms redecorated.  He’s planning for the end-game.  And when all’s said and done, as long as he takes his time, I’ll be quite happy to play along.

‘If we do get married and have kids … at some point … they might think, you know, it’s a bit strange … if they never saw their relatives.’  I let out a groan, wondering why on Earth I’m spilling this out to Clive.  ‘Jesus, don’t tell him I said that.’

Clive chuckles.

‘Mum’s the word.’  He lays down the pen and rests his arms on the table.  ‘He doesn’t like to think about where he came from: that’s my take on matters.  But if you and Dan ever did … you know … then you should probably talk to him about it.’

I stew some more.  My mission to dig for information seems to be falling flat on its face.  I’m not satisfied with Clive’s answers.  Which reminds me, there’s something else I’m having difficulty believing.

‘Why are you really here?’

‘I’ve told you twice.’  His lip gives another twitch.

And I’ve had enough.  I’ll ask him straight.

‘Third time lucky then.  Are you here to protect me?’

‘Protect you?  I couldn’t protect a fly.’

‘Seriously?  You hit Dan the other week.  And you managed to drag Boyd out of Slaters.’

And that’s it.  At the mention of Boyd’s name, the lip gives one almighty twitch.

‘You know what?’ I inform him.  ‘It’s a ruddy miracle you managed to dupe me yesterday.’

Before he speaks again, he spends a few seconds tracing his finger in a small circle across the puzzles page.

‘If you say anything to Dan, I’ll end up with another black eye.  And the last one’s only just gone.’

I’ve got him.  Another prompt, and I’ll have confirmation of what I think I already know.

‘So, what’s going on?’

‘He didn’t want to leave you alone.’

‘I’m not alone.  Norman’s here.  And Betty.’

‘Norman might be built like a brick shithouse but he’s got a heart condition.  And as for Betty, she’s hardly a black belt.’

Fending off an image of Betty in a karate outfit, high kicking some unseen opponent, I move on to the obvious point.

‘Is this about Boyd?’

He groans quietly, shifts about on the chair and scratches his ear lobe.

‘Just spill the beans, Clive.’

He shakes his head.

‘Now.’

‘Okay.’  He screws up his face and then blurts it all out in one go.  ‘It is about Boyd.  Dan wanted your bodyguard down here but it couldn’t be arranged in time.  He called me.  I’m a stop gap.  Don’t say anything.’

‘Mum’s the word.’  It’s my turn to smile triumphantly.  ‘But if he’s that worried, why couldn’t I just go with him to the bloody vets?’

‘I don’t know.’

My brain sparks into life.  ‘He doesn’t think …  He doesn’t actually think Boyd poisoned his dog?’

Clive’s mouth twitches again.  He raises a hand and points at his face.

‘Black eye.’

‘Spit it out.’

He sighs heavily.  ‘He just wants to know for sure.’

‘God, he’s a piece of work.’

‘He’s just playing it safe.’

‘And I’m obviously in love with a paranoid idiot.  Bloody hell.’

Pushing the mug of tea to one side, Clive leans forwards.

‘He’s doesn’t want to worry you.  That’s all.  Promise you won’t say anything to him.’

Staring at Clive’s anxious features, I tap an index finger against the table, dragging out the wait before I finally give him an answer.

‘I promise.’  I stand up.

‘Where are you going?’

To get some peace.  That’s what I’d like to say.  To clear my head and think things through.

‘Upstairs,’ I mutter.

He leans back again, a wide grin playing across his face.

‘Planning the colours?’ he asks mischievously.

And I grimace.

‘Oh, shut up.’

Leaving Clive to struggle with the Sudoku, I go in search of peace and quiet, but as soon as I reach the top of the staircase, I’m distracted by other matters.  Intrigued by what I’ve been informed is my new home, I begin to wander through the bedrooms, four on the first floor, two more up in the eaves, all decked out with antique furniture, cleaned to within an inch of their life and definitely in need of a little make-over.  At last, I come to the master bedroom, our bedroom.  When I open the first of the two mahogany wardrobes, I discover that it’s full of Dan’s things: a range of suits, shirts and casual wear.  When I open the second, I find it empty, waiting for a new set of clothes, evidently mine.  Finally, I lie down on the bed and gaze up at the ceiling, wondering if I’ll ever feel at home in a place like this, because at the moment I feel like nothing more than a guest in some posh country hotel.

Closing my eyes, I try to clear my mind.  I’m nowhere near thinking things through when I hear a door slam downstairs.  With a jolt, I sit up, knowing that Dan’s returned.  I rouse myself, make my way back downstairs, and falter at the bottom of the staircase, listening to the sound of muffled voices coming from the kitchen.  I can’t make out the words, but it’s perfectly clear that Dan’s agitated about something.  As soon as I open the door, the conversation slams to a halt.  While Clive’s still seated at the table, Dan’s by the window, leaning back against the counter, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

‘What’s wrong?’  I edge forwards.

‘Nothing.’  Dan shakes his head.

‘So, what happened?’

‘Tests.  They’re sending off samples to the lab.  It’s going to take a couple of days.’

‘And Mr Rush-it here can’t wait that long,’ Clive interrupts.  ‘I’ve got to get back to London.’  Closing the newspaper, he gets to his feet, shrugs on his suit jacket and touches Dan on the shoulder.  ‘Relax, for fuck’s sake.  It’ll be sorted tonight.’  He casts a glance in my direction.  ‘See you later, Maya.’

While Dan sees him out, I stay rooted to the spot, feeling distinctly unsettled by the tension in the air.  Somehow, in the middle of it all, I manage to note the plastic bag on the table, and smile at the fact that he’s fulfilled his shopping mission.  But the smile dissolves quickly.  Hearing him lock the back door, listening to the footsteps that bring him back into the kitchen, my heart begins to pound.

He moves forwards, coming to stand right in front of me.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘Fine.’

But it’s obvious he’s not.  His lips have tightened into a straight line, his eyes hardened.

‘So what was that about?  What’ll be sorted tonight?’

He shrugs dismissively.  ‘Nothing.  Work.’

‘If you’re so bothered by it, why don’t you just go in?’

‘No.  Today’s for you and me.  That fucking place isn’t going to make me feel any better.’

‘Then what is?’

He grabs hold of my hand.

‘You.’

Without another word, he guides me out of the kitchen, through the shadowy servants’ hallway and further into the main part of the house.  In silence, I’m led back up the staircase, into the bedroom and left to stand in the middle of the room while he closes the door and draws the curtains.  Finally, he’s in front of me again, a couple of feet away, his eyes fixed on my face.  There’s no humour in them now, just a hard edge of determination.

‘Take off your dress,’ he murmurs.

I should really get him to talk, to explain this strange transformation, but logic and sense have been scattered to the wind.  For some reason, Mr Mean and Hot and Moody seems to have reared his sexy head, and he’s totally in control.

I simply do as I’m told … and wait.

I have no idea how long he spends just standing there, taking me in, every last bit of me, as if he’s surveying his property.  All I know is that my skin is beginning to tingle under his gaze, and there’s a throbbing sensation at the apex of my thighs, and my heart and lungs are floundering in a mire of lust.

Finally, without the slightest hint of emotion, he takes a step forwards, reaches up and lightly traces his fingers across my lips, down the side of my neck.  The tingles multiply exponentially.  Like leaves blown in the wind, they skitter and gather and whirlwind their way across my body.  I close my eyes and let out a moan.  And then I feel him closer, his breath against my mouth, his arms around me as he unfastens my bra and drops it to the floor.  Sliding his right hand across my buttocks, he draws me in to his erection while he traces the ridges of my backbone with the fingertips of his left hand, taking them all the way down to the base of my spine.  Flattening out his palm between my shoulder blades, he pulls me in tight, nuzzling his face into my neck.

‘This is my sanctuary,’ he whispers.  ‘Being with you.’

Tipping my head back, I drink in the sheer bliss of it all.

‘I’m never going to lose you again.’

I’d like to reassure him that he won’t, but I can’t because he’s kissing my neck, patiently working his lips from beneath my ear, down to my shoulder and back.  I’m about to slide into a chasm of bliss when he nips at my ear lobe, causing me to jolt at the change of tactic.  A spark of excitement erupts at the nape of my neck, travelling the length of my spine and balling to a halt in my groin.  I gasp in surprise and the grip tightens.  He nips again.  Another gasp.  Another spark.  A hand comes to the back of my head, grabbing at my hair and holding me in place while his mouth moves to a spot further down my neck.  Sealing his lips against my skin, he sucks hard … and then he bites.  I jolt for a second time, sensing a burgeoning warmth in my groin.

‘Do you want this?’ he demands.

‘Yes,’ I breathe, knowing exactly what he means.  He wants it rough, and judging by the fact that I’m already wet down below, so do I.  Sense and reason have already taken a hike.  It’s my full intention to be reckless.

‘Your decision.’

Tugging my head to one side, he traces his mouth across my throat, sucking hard in places, grazing his teeth against my skin in others, sending me wild with anticipation.  I need more, and I need it now.  And there’s only one way to get it.  While my left arm is still pinned against my side, my right arm is free.  In a growing frenzy, I reach up and take hold of the back of his neck, driving my fingernails into his skin, instantly achieving the desired effect.  He stiffens, digging his fingers into my buttocks, causing me to cry out.  And then he brings his lips to mine, silencing me with a ferocious kiss.

Suddenly, we’re teetering on the edge of wild.  And I want us to topple right over.

When he finally pulls away, his pupils are dilated, his breathing sharp.

‘Remember your safeword.’

I nod.

‘Use it if you need to.’

Without warning, he spins me round, holding me tight against his chest.  While one hand comes to my left breast, cupping it firmly, the other is thrust between my legs, forcing them apart.  His fingers slide over my clitoris, probing roughly.  Overwhelmed by the attack, I lean my head back against his chest, giving in to a myriad of sensations, aware that he’s pulling at my nipple now.  Suddenly, he pinches hard.  My knees buckle at the sensation and I let out a groan.

‘We like pain, don’t we?’ he whispers into my ear.

‘Yes.’

‘Do we want more?’

‘Yes.’

He pinches again, holding my nipple tight, prolonging the agony.  ‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, please.’

Immediately, the hands are removed and I’m guided towards the bed.  Crawling onto it, I lie on my back, watching as he tugs off his shirt, ruffling his hair in the process.  When he looks up, I half expect a cheeky smile or a joke, but I get neither.  With his eyes fixed on mine, he unfastens his jeans and shrugs them off, pants and socks following quickly.  He straightens up, a powerhouse of muscles, perfectly formed, his expression utterly determined, completely focussed on the moment.  He stares down at me, his eyes emptied of all emotion, and my heart thuds with a sudden realisation.  This is the man I saw at the club: the cold, hard dominant who surfaced briefly with Claudine.  And Jesus, it’s hot.

Climbing onto the bed, he nudges my legs apart and positions himself between my thighs.  Without taking his eyes from mine, he anchors himself on his right elbow and lowers himself on top of me, grasping my hair at the forehead and forcing my head back.  I take a deep breath, waiting for the next attack, and it’s not long before it arrives: his lips are on mine again, hard and demanding, while his tongue probes my mouth, lashing out against my own.  Fired up by a strange mixture of fear and excitement, I return the ferocity of the kiss, keeping up with his momentum for an age until, at last, he draws away.

Immediately, he begins to work his way down my neck, sucking, biting, licking, every little action growing in force and pressure and before long, I’m on edge, wondering what he’ll do next, how far he’s planning to go.  My pulse is at top speed now.  My heart’s pounding, and my brain seems to have launched into riot mode, sending out an order to reach up and grab a handful of his hair.  Tugging at it with a violence I never thought I could muster, I force him away from me, but it only fires him up more.

He brings his face up to mine, yanks my head back and I reply immediately by digging my nails into his back with all the force I can manage.  He lets go of my hair, grabs my wrist and forces my arm above my head, holding it in place.  And then he adjusts his position.  In a heartbeat, he’s propping himself up on his left elbow, grabbing hold of my free hand and pushing it above my head, pinning both of my wrists together with his right hand.

Satisfied that I’m restrained, he moves again, back onto his right elbow.  Wrapping his left palm around my waist, he squeezes hard.  I buckle at his touch, my lungs contracting involuntarily, and I cry out.

‘Use your word, Maya.’

Clamping my lips together, I shake my head.  If he thinks I’m going to throw in the towel, he can think again.  I’m enjoying this far too much.

His mouth is on me again now, working its way down my neck and across my sternum.  At last, he reaches my right breast.  Pausing there, he licks at my nipple, setting off a horde of vibrations.  I brace myself, my brain on high alert, knowing exactly what I’m in for next.  He licks again, dragging out the seconds while he sends me wild with anticipation.  I’m writhing under his grip when he finally latches on to my nipple and bites.  A shockwave of agony surges right through me, blowing every other sensation clean out of the way.  I hear a scream, and I know it’s mine.  I struggle under the weight of his body, but I’m fixed into place.  At last, he releases my nipple.  Struggling for breath, I close my eyes, mentally tracking the retreat of the pain, noting the curious sense of calm that arrives in its place.

Raising his head, he searches my eyes for something.

‘Use your word.’

It’s not an order.  It’s a plea, and one that I’m going to ignore because when all’s said and done, I want to be at his mercy, I want him to control me utterly and completely, and I want this rush.

‘No,’ I manage to groan.

His eyes flash with understanding.  Forcing my legs further apart, he presses his cock against my opening and pushes inwards, quickly.  Moving his left hand to my hip, he digs in his fingertips to the point of pain.  And then he lets go of my wrists, moving his right hand to the back of my neck, wrapping his fingers around my flesh and gripping tight.  With my hands freed, I scratch and dig at his skin, amazed at how I’ve been transformed into some violent, near demonic creature.

My actions fire him up again.  In one hard movement, he thrusts inwards, hitting the back of my vagina with a force that knocks the air out of my lungs.  I’ve just about recovered, when he thrusts again.  And I scream.  Picking up the pace now and holding me fast, he pounds into me with quick, vicious movements.  And I’m drowning, drifting away in a fog of pleasure and pain, vaguely aware that my fingernails are gouging into his back, punishing him for the onslaught.

As the familiar pressure rises in my core, his eyes remain locked onto mine, unforgiving and demanding.  At last he lowers his head, biting at my bottom lip, harder than he’s ever done before, before moving down to my nipple and biting again.  I let out another scream.  In response, he ratchets up the speed again, covering my mouth with his and kissing me fervently.  After a few more seconds of pure, unadulterated, animalistic fucking, I feel his body tense beneath my grip, his breath falter against my mouth, and I let go.  Muscles contract around him as my orgasm takes hold: an implosion, a rush of warmth travelling from my clitoris inwards.

His lips leave mine, parting as he unravels.

‘Fuck,’ he rasps.  ‘Fuck.’

Filling me with his cum, he slows the pace, shivering in my arms as he works himself down from the high.  He collapses on top of me, wrestles his body back under control and withdraws, manoeuvring himself into a sitting position.  Leaning back against the headboard, he beckons me to curl into his arms and as soon as I’m in position, he checks my wrists, turning them slowly in his hands before he moves his attention to my neck.

‘I hurt you.  You should have used your word.’

I look up to find him watching me anxiously.

‘I hurt you too.  And I didn’t need to use my word.  I liked it.’