Dare (55 page)

"And you're being rather unfair," he gasped. "There's not a lot you can accomplish with our clothes still on, Cara."

"What is it that you would live for me to accomplish, Mr. Banning?"

Simon reached between them and yanked the band of his pants down. His manhood sprang free. "I'm not sure how to ask for it," he admitted. "That night at the mansion…"

"I know what you want," Cara assured him in a husky voice. She ran her tongue along her lower lip and made sure that he noticed; she thought she saw his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed. His eyes followed her descent back down between his legs. When his cock vanished inside her eager mouth, the billionaire groaned explosively and seized a fistful of her tousled blond hair.

She loved doing this to him. There was nothing that stoked Cara's own pleasure quite like watching Simon Banning, English sex god, transported to new heights by the mere touch of her hand or mouth. She grasped his member by its root and ran her mouth down it, tasting him with a clean sweep of her tongue. Simon cursed and bucked himself toward her mouth, but the hand on his pubic bone pushed him back down into the bed again. She loved the silky feel of his shaft, and the fact that he tasted like nothing. How could she resist sampling him?

But Cara wanted more than a sample. She licked the tip of his penis, tasting the salt-sweet bead of precum, before wrapping her lips around him and lowering her head once more. "Oh fuck
me,
Cara!" Simon exclaimed. She knew that she would fulfill his request eventually, but right now, the man seemed more like he was ejaculating curses in an effort to prevent himself from ejaculating elsewhere.

Not that she would have minded. In fact, it was on Cara's bedroom bucket list to suck Simon Banning dry. One of these days.

She loved giving head, and Simon was the best possible subject she could have asked for. She sucked him deep into her throat, relaxing the muscles that would allow her to swallow him utterly. She knew the sensation of being buried deep inside her mouth would feel amazing to him, but she also knew what would be more amazing. Cara pulled him in and out of her mouth, again and again, fellating him until the man's tense grip on her hair signaled that he couldn't take anymore.

"Cara, stop," he warned. She released him from her mouth with an audible
pop!
and grinned wolfishly when she noticed how flushed his face had become.

"You don't want me to stop," she said as she climbed up to the pillow to join him. Her talented tongue found the breathless part in his lips and slipped its way inside. She felt his hands pressing against the swell of her waist, guiding her down to sit on his chest as his thumb hooked and pulled the elastic of her panties down. The head of his penis slipped inside her, and Cara gasped as he forced her down onto him fully.

"I love you, Cara," Simon groaned as they came together. The heat of his words made her shudder, and she realized that they had never made love before, not like this, with the word
love
alive and present between them.

"I love you too, Simon."

Gerald drove them to the hotel, where a valet took over parking the limousine for them. The butler came around the side of the car, and Cara stepped out first.

              She was dressed in her tight black number, and she felt both frightened and thrilled to be showing it off again once more. It clung to her every curve like a sleeve, or a second skin, terminating short inches above her knees. She wore no tights or nylons of any kind, and her long, supple legs were fully presented to the world; a pair of black pumps completed the look below the waist.

              Cara generally didn't bother with a lot of makeup, mainly because she was a student and didn't have the time, money, or inclination to doll herself up before her last minute morning runs to class. She had done up her eyes heavily for tonight's occasion, offsetting her brilliant eyes with a smoky blue eyeshadow and carefully tapered wings with her eyeliner. She had rouged her cheekbones on the car ride over, and applied a fire engine red lipstick that Simon had been insistent on kissing off of her with almost every application. She had been forced to wipe his mouth clean with a napkin every time so he could avoid showing up at the party looking like he had just gotten out of clown college.

              Beside her, Simon looked absolutely brilliant in a three piece suit and tie. Cara felt like she was walking out onto the Hollywood red carpet the moment Gerald let her out the door and her heels touched down. She had never felt as 'power couple' as she did with Simon. Whoever was here tonight with the intention of causing trouble had better look out.

              "You look beautiful." Simon dropped the whisper in her ear as they wound their way toward the entrance of the hotel. "Have I said that already?" Cara laughed.

              "Yes. Only a hundred times on our way over here!" Not that she particularly minded looking beautiful, and it was certainly good to hear that she had achieved the intended effect from a man who was used to attending these events.

              "We still haven't decided on a backstory for you," he reminded her as they revolved together through the glass doors. "How good are our accents? Because if you can come across as passably English, that could be fun. At the very least you should be Australian."

              "Why should I have to be anything?" Cara demanded. "Are Americans somehow considered unsexy and you didn't tell me?"

              "I thought it would help to keep our mind off the other people in the room," Simon said as they walked through the lobby. Cara definitely noticed heads turning to follow them as they passed. "You never know who is going to show up to these sorts of things.

              "How about the people you invited?"

"Only half the people invited originally RSVP, and half of
those
ever actually do wind up coming. Everyone else is just rich enough, and just curious enough, to make their way in to see what the fuss is all about."

"But aren't most of these people friends of the Pembrooks?" she reminded them. They made their way to the hotel bar, which also happened to be where the dining room and stage were located. The room was packed surprisingly full of very young and very beautiful people, and Cara suspected that her question had been ill-conceived.

"See, you would think that, wouldn't you? Considering that the Pembrooks were the ones with ultimate power over whose name wound up on the guest list," Simon agreed. "Except someone must have gotten hold of it in the press somehow, so now every millionaire an billionaire with nothing better to do is here. What a disaster."

"It's not a disaster yet." Cara spotted the Pembrooks over by one of the dining room tables, talking to cluster of people and occasionally glancing about nervously. "Look, there they are. Just go over and talk to them. It will look bad if they aren't the first people you speak to. Reassure them that the attendees they don't recognize really are here to honor their son."

Simon nodded. "Good thinking. If you'll excuse me, I shall return." He detached from his arm and made his way over to the group of invited guests. Cara watched him. Something was bothering her more than just sympathetic nerves.

Someone must have got hold of it in the press.

How? Cara knew that information escaped its intended channels, but she also knew that the more money you had, the more you could protect yourself against this sort of thing happening. Was the press in London really that good? Well, they
had
been waiting a very long time for the return of the prodigal son.

She watched as a man in a suit stepped to the front of the group and shook Simon's hand. She turned and when to sit at the bar. She hadn't forgotten what Simon had told her about the legal drinking age in England, and she was sorely tempted to order something for herself now, but she was feeling a bit nervous all of a sudden, and she didn't think that alcohol would necessarily help matters. Less than five minutes later, Simon sat down on the stool beside her.

"You're back already?" Cara looked puzzled. "I thought you would talk with the Pembrooks a bit longer."

"Their
lawyer
is here!" Simon said sharply below his breath. Cara turned, and once again identified the man in the suit, who looked slightly out of place at the perimeter of the group.

"Wait, are you serious? What did he say to you?"

"This was a mistake. This was a terrible mistake," the man at her side was muttering repeatedly. "I need to call my own lawyer. I need backup, and legal representation."

"Calm down," she said. "And
don't
call your lawyer." She looked over her shoulder again. "I do think that's strange, but the mood of the evening will totally shift if you meet them on their level. This is so weird!" she said suddenly. "I thought you said you guys were starting to interact better around each other. And I mean, you didn't
have
to set this evening up for them."

"What do I do, Cara?" Simon asked miserably. She laid a sympathetic hand on his elbow, before noticing Gerald exiting out of the kitchen with a tray of drinks. She met his gaze as he moved to serve the Pembrooks and their guests, and his eyes dropped to Simon's slumped form from across the room. The old butler nodded as if he understood.

"Stay here," she said, "and don't talk to them any more unless you absolutely have to. Make them come to you, and set the terms of your discourse—if you don't want their lawyer around, make that clear with your body language. I don't think you can tell them to send him away, but you don't have to engage in anything you don't want to with them, either."

"Brilliant." Simon was running a distraught hand through his hair, and it broke Cara's heart to see the styling job he had done going to complete waste now. She squeezed his arm again.

"Listen, I think Gerald is going to bring you a drink as soon as he's finished over there. I'm going to run to the restroom real quick."

"I love you, Cara."

The simple words arrowed through her. She rose up out of her chair, cupped his face, and kissed him. Simon didn't move from where he sat, but submitted to her affection as if it was the draught he had come to the bar for in the first place. She realized then that much of her own nervousness had stemmed from being there
with
Simon; now, she didn't care who saw or guessed what their relationship might be.

She broke away and smiled. "If you think it's a good idea, you can take me over and introduce me when I get back. I'm excellent at breaking the ice." Simon returned her smile, and she departed the room to go and look for the bathroom.

It took her longer than she had hoped to locate it. She refreshed her makeup with a compact from her purse, and then checked her phone out of habit. She had several new e-mails pertaining to Melinda's death, and she decided to thumb through them hastily. The biggest development was that the poison that Melinda had "administered" in her "suicide" had been discovered to be of foreign origins.

              Cara squinted at the name. She had never even heard of it before. She would have to do more research on the subject when she got back to the mansion, but this was starting to smell fishier than it already had been smelling for the past week. When had Melinda last been out of the country? If she was one of Simon's oldest employees, then he was certain to know the answer. For the first time, Cara felt secure in the fact that she was on the right track. This was the best development that she could have possibly hoped for, one with the potential for a tangible answer, and she would pursue it until she arrived at a conclusion.

              She exited the bathroom and found her way back to the bar a lot easier this time. She was surprised to discover that everything was
not
as she had left it.

              The moment she entered the dining room, she heard the spray of glass across the floor. Someone had dropped their drink and it had shattered; not that unusual. But when she saw that someone was Simon, Cara's heart lodged in her throat.

              Quite a few people had turned their attention in his direction, and quite a few more turned when they heard the noise the man was making.

              Simon was laughing.

Cara didn't know what was going on, but she knew that she needed to get him out of there, and quickly, before anyone with a press connection decided it would be a good idea to snap a photo with their phone.

              She crossed to the bar rapidly and lay a gentle touch on his shoulder. Simon turned, blue eyes shining when he spotted her. She noticed that his face looked flushed beneath the bar light.

              "There she is! There's my favorite American!"

              "Don't call me that." For some reason, the endearment sounded unnatural to her. She could deal with being called "minx" or "cheeky girl", but a public space wasn't the place to try out a new nickname. It felt superficial and strange.

              She was confused by his attitude, and her confusion made her sound angry, so she tried again more softly. "I already know I'm your favorite."

              "Yes. Yes you
do."
Simon revolved awkwardly on his stool, and for a moment she thought his elbow would slip off the bar. He already had another drink in his hand—what was he drinking? And how many of them had he had already? She had only been gone for a few moments! "There are all sorts of ways I let you know it—"

              "Ohhh-kay," Cara interrupted quickly. "Let's go get some fresh air, shall we?"

              Simon looked positively delighted by this suggestion, and so did the man behind the bar. As she helped the billionaire down from his stool, she shot a look over his shoulder at the bartender and indicated with a quick gesticulation of her hand that she wanted to know how many drinks Simon had already imbibed. The bartender shrugged and slapped his white towel down over his shoulder.
How do you not know?
Cara mouthed angrily as she steered Simon away. He probably thought there were plenty of opportunities for clients of the hotel to get drunk without him, but Cara hadn't seen any indication earlier in the evening that Simon was pre-funking without telling her.

              There were too many people clustered in the lobby and around the revolving doors at the entrance. She didn't feel secure taking Simon out that way—what if someone recognized him? "How do you feel about stairs?" she asked as she turned them back around to walk the other way. Simon grinned.

              "Brilliant."

              They climbed to the next floor without incident and wrapped around the indoor balcony. As they walked, Cara kept an eye on Simon's stride. He seemed basically coordinated, although he was blinking more than usual, as if he was having trouble seeing straight. "What happened to you?" she whispered quietly. They passed a group of women who did not appear to be there for the party, but Cara fell silent automatically. It was no good. They needed a quieter place to talk, and she still needed to get Simon outdoors so he could sober up.

              She chose a dark hallway with an exit sign glowing at the end. One of the lights had gone out overhead, which suited their purposes just fine. She doubted they were going to be able to find a more private place to talk without renting out a room.

              They were halfway down the hallway when Simon thrust her into a small enclosure indented in the wall. Cara went with a cry of protest; she hadn't expected him to be capable of such a maneuver right now, much less capable of the foresight to execute it successfully. Her back hit the wall, and his mouth was upon hers.

              She shouldn't have enjoyed the unexpectedness of Simon's passion as much as she did. The man clearly wasn't thinking coherently, but since he was the one who had initiated it, she decided it would be all right… if she didn't let it go on too long. She threaded her arms around his neck and slipped her tongue past his scorching hot lips. His mouth moved against hers emphatically, and a moment later she felt a hand slip beneath her dress.

              "Simon!" she gasped. She broke away to seize his wrist, but the arm that pinned her between her legs didn't retreat. He did slow his assault, opting to massage her through her panties. She squirmed and gasped some more and tried not to make the noises her body so desperately needed for release.

              "You're wet," he murmured into the dip of her neck. His breath felt ragged and hot against the junction of her shoulder, and he was only succeeding in fulfilling his own prophecy. Cara could feel it between her legs, and her heart was already fluttering with anticipation and arousal. She knew that the typically mild-mannered Simon could be a different person in the bedroom, but the way he came onto her so strongly now was unlike anything she had experienced before. Still, she had her pride.

              "That has nothing to do with it." She could feel her face growing hot beneath his scrutiny. No, this should definitely
not
be happening, not here, not now. What if someone walked in on them? They weren't even positioned in a room that could be walked in
to.
"You jumped me in the middle of a hallway. At an expensive hotel in London! At your own party, Simon!"

"I want you." The man shivered as if it was agony to be near her and not filling her. The hand continued to stroke her until she threatened to purr like a kitten beneath his caresses. This was insane. So much was at stake, yet she couldn't tear herself away from the sensations of her own body. If they didn't satisfy themselves now, then when? Simon had already put her over the threshold with his too-good fingers; if she didn't give into him now, then she was going to be thoroughly miserable for the rest of the evening.

She didn't return his claim, or say anything at all; all she could do was nod, once, to give consent. She had barely raised her chin again before Simon was pressing every line of his hard-muscled frame against the front of hers as he attacked her mouth once more. She could feel the considerable tent he had pitched in his pants as he ground it against her, and realized that there would have been no hope of them returning to the party anyway if it had persisted. She unbuttoned the front of his trousers quickly, happy to lend a helping hand.

But Simon didn't want a helping hand. He wanted her,
all of her,
and he wanted it right then and there in the hallway. As soon as she had freed him, he was pushing his erection beneath the hem of her dress and teasing her entrance. All that remained between them as a barrier was Cara's underwear, and even that was starting to feel completely inadequate in staving him off.

"Simon…" she murmured. He was worshiping the curve of her neck once more with his mouth, and Cara vaguely registered that he had pushed the strap of her dress down one shoulder. He was completely ravishing her in the darkness of a dimly-lit, all too public hallway. This was probably the craziest thing she had ever done.

The hand beneath her dress pushed the elastic band of her panties; as soon as its work was done, the hand gripped Cara beneath her thigh and lifted, forcing their hips together in one jerking movement. His member slid past her entrance and missed, although he might have only been teasing her on purpose, because the feeling of him moving against her clit was incredible. The back of Cara's head hit the wall, and she moaned a last futile protest. "We can't do this here…"

"Of course we can, love," the Englishman muttered, and in the next instant he was thrusting into her. He yanked her thigh up again to grant himself better access as he penetrated her fully. Despite Cara's own earlier warnings, the cry she gave was explosive.

He drove into her with quick, jerking thrusts. Soon her dress was reduced to a sweat-soaked, tangled garment, and she had no idea whether or not it was covering all the parts of her body it was meant to conceal from view. All of her felt thrillingly exposed beneath him.

Each thrust of Simon's lovemaking carried her back hard against the wall, and each time he held her more firmly pinned in place until Cara was being pushed halfway up the wall. His strength was incredible that he could do this to her.

"Hurry, Simon," she pleaded. She was beyond trying to talk them both out of it now. Their tryst was sending her into ecstasies. Simon must have known what a woman of filthy predilections she was if he had assumed all along that she would enjoy this.

A few more quick thrusts sent Cara over the moon. He muffled her unexpected cry of release with a kiss, drawing her moan of pleasure into his mouth as his grip on her thigh tightened. Soon enough he was coming as well, shooting his load into her in a hot, unbearable rush, and she swallowed his own exclamation with a fervent kiss.

There was no time to recover afterwards. Anyone might come by at any moment and find them in their compromising position against the wall. They needed to clean up and get out of there, quick. "Simon, what did you do with my underwear?" Cara slid down from the wall and hunted all around in the darkness for it as Simon withdrew. She noticed him struggling to button the front of his pants, before ultimately giving up and pressing his forehead against the wall with a little laugh. "Simon?"

His legs nearly gave way beneath him then. Cara rose from her desperate search and managed to catch him under the arm in time to keep him from spilling over completely. "What's the matter?" she exclaimed in alarm. She struggled to hold him and pull the strap of her dress back up as they made it to the wall for support. Simon leaned his back against it and gazed off happily into space. Cara wished she could say it was the after effects of having sex with her that had put him into a daze, but she had a sudden, dreadful suspicion that it wasn't. All of the puzzle pieces suddenly locked into place: Simon's strange behavior, and the relatively short amount of time it had taken him to arrive at this state, all added up to a possibility she hadn't even considered before.

              "Oh my God, Simon. I think you'vebeen drugged."