Followed by a Stranger (BILLIONAIRE BEHAVING BADLY SERIES Book 3) (3 page)

“Okay then.
 
How about The British Museum, Tate Modern with
a stop for lunch in the restaurant at the top, then a stroll along the South
Bank and if you haven’t been, we could go to the top of the Shard?”

“Sounds great,” he said, smiling with
a look of genuine excitement.
 
I was excited
too.
 
I didn’t often spend time appreciating
the city I lived in and it would be nice to share the experience with someone
who would be seeing everything through fresh eyes.

“Do you want to shower and
change?”
 

“That’d be great.”
 
Andrew got up to retrieve the things he
needed from his suitcase and we converged in the corridor to my bathroom, me
with a clean towel to give him, feeling ridiculous for finding the whole
prospect of him showering in my flat more intimate than the insane sex we’d
shared.
 
Everything seemed backwards and
upside down.

“The shower’s pretty easy to use,” I
said, lurking at the door while he walked into my tiny bathroom.
 
“Just press the red button and it should be
the right temperature.”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning.
 
“Maybe I’ll check out your bathroom cupboards
while I’m at it.”

I laughed.
 
“You’ll only find a load of boxes of tampons
and some spare toilet-rolls.
 
Nothing scandalous in there.”

“Shame,” he said, reaching for the
door handle and leaning against it, looking way too sexy for his own good.
 
In a memory flash I remembered the first time
he’d pushed open my knees and traced the seam of my pussy, and felt instantly
wet.
 

“See you in a bit,” I said, turning
before he caught sight of the flush on my cheeks.
 

Andrew emerged ten minutes later in a
cloud of amazing-smelling steam looking like a model from the cover of GQ.
 
He’d styled his hair differently so it was
edgier and messier than I’d seen before, and he was dressed down in dark jeans
and a sweater that looked like it was made from the world’s softest fabric.
 
His feet were bare and catching sight of them
made my tummy flip.
 
I internally cursed
myself for being such an idiot.
 
I was
ready to leave and it looked like he was almost there, perching on the edge of
my sofa to put his socks and boots on.
 

“It’s only a five minute walk to the
tube station,” I said, pushing my arms into my slouchy grey coat and zipping up
my knee high black boots.
 

“My driver’s outside.
 
He can take us.”

“Your driver?”
I said, thinking about how long
Andrew had been with me and about the poor man who had been sitting in the car
all that time.
 

“He went to get breakfast but I
messaged him when I was in the bathroom.
 
He should be here now.”

“Oh,” I said, unsure how I felt about
being chauffeur driven.
 
I mean, it was
definitely a luxury but London traffic was a nightmare, not to mention I’d
liked the idea of making Andrew slum it for a day.
 

“You don’t sound happy,” said Mr.
Perceptive.
 

“I don’t mind.
 
I thought we could go in on the tube but if
you’d rather take the car…”

“Well, we could use the car to get
dropped at the station.
 
What about that
for a compromise?”

“Sounds good,” I said, slinging my
satchel strap across my body, ready for a day of walking and looking forward to
it more than I should be.
 

ANDREW

The day I spent with Rebecca in London was one of the best
I’d had in a long time.
 
We travelled in
on the subway – or ‘Tube’ as the Brits refer to it – missing the rush-hour,
thank goodness.
 
The underground
passageways were like a maze and I was glad I had a native to guide me.
 
Getting off at Holborn, we walked to the
first museum like friends, close but not touching.
 
Rebecca told me about school trips she had
taken to see the ancient treasures within and said I was going to love it
there, having seen my love of antiquities at my apartment.
 
The outside of the building was awe
inspiring, influenced strongly by those from Ancient Greece, complete with
columns and statues that towered above the crowds of tourists.
 
Inside, the museum housed amazing examples of
treasures from all major ancient civilizations, taking my breath away.
 
We spent a lot of time in the Egyptian room
but I found the Parthenon room the most fascinating, with its frieze that ran
the entire circumference, and statues that were so expertly carved, the marble
looked as soft as flesh and cloth.
 

At my request, we took a black cab to
Tate Modern and spent an hour wandering the rooms filled with strange and
bizarre modern art creations, most of which I saw absolutely no value in.
 
Modern art is a funny thing; sometimes thought
provokingly original but often trash, in my humble opinion.
 
Rebecca had a more moderate take on it,
enjoying the silliest of the exhibits and standing for a long time in front of
works by Picasso and Dali.
 
I saw
something in those too.

We took an elevator to the top of the
building and asked for a table for two near the windows that overlooked the
River Thames and St. Paul’s Cathedral.
  
The food looked average but the vista was really something.
 

Rebecca had been an excellent tour
guide, contagiously enthusiastic and with a cheeky sense of humour.
 
She’d made no effort to conceal her ogling of
the nude statues in the museum, and giggled at the lack of ‘men’s bits’.
 
I shouldn’t have been amused but I couldn’t
help myself.
 

In the restaurant though, she was
subdued.
 
It had been a strange day of
ups and downs.
 
I just wanted to be able
to leave with everything okay between us.
 
I watched as she tucked her glossy dark hair behind her ear as we waited
for our main courses.
 
She was such a
beautiful girl; young and fresh but with a maturity that gave her an interesting
edge, and enough challenge in her to keep me on my toes.
 
I couldn’t help but think about the things we
had done together.
  
The sight of her
naked body was still fresh in my mind, but that wasn’t what this was about, or
at least it should have been.

She interrupted my train of thought
with a question about my family that caught me off guard.

“I have a brother and a sister,” I
told her.
 
“My brother lives in New York
– I think I told you – and my sister lives in California near my parents.
 
She’s the only married one, much to my mother
disappointment.”

“You all live so far apart,” she
said, looking sad for me.
 
“My parents
are so close I could see them every day if I wanted.”

“Some families are better living far
apart.”
 
It was definitely true in my
case.
 
I couldn’t stand my mom’s content
questions about my private life or my father’s determination to interrogate me
about BGP. It was worse since what had happened with Adrianna.
 
I’d been weakened in their view which only
made family life more difficult.
 

“That’s sad.
 
I always want to be close to my mum and dad,”
Rebecca said.

“You’re younger.” I remembered the 9
year gap I’d worked out there was between us.
 
“They’ve had less time to annoy you.”
 
It was an attempt at humour that fell flat.

“Everyone’s families are different,”
she said cautiously, as if she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

“Yes.
 
I can’t fault them for their willingness to back me financially or their
drive to help me succeed.”

“They’ve done a good job,” Rebecca
said with a small smile.
 
“You’re a good
man.”
 
Her words shocked me.

“Am I?”

“You don’t think you are?”

I was rescued by the server arriving
with our food and I managed to steer the conversation away from the mine-field
of my self-opinion while we ate.

It was after our plates had been
cleared that Rebecca started to ask questions again.

“So, your rule…” she said, swirling
the straw around in her drink, avoiding my gaze.

“Yes.”

“Why do you have it?”
 
Her eyes flicked to mine, curious and
cautious, obviously aware that it wasn’t a subject I relished.

“Because I don’t want the women I
sleep with to get attached and I’ve found that they’re more likely to if I
sleep with them three times or more.”

“That seems like a bit of a
generalisation,” she said, frowning.

“It’s my experience.”

“So it’s all about their feelings?”

“Not all, but
mostly.”
 
I felt as though she were peeling me up at
the corners and peeking underneath, and I didn’t want her to catch a glimpse of
my demons and think the worst of me.
 
I
held my weaknesses in a tightly sealed box that even I didn’t want to open
because of the shame.

“So it’s about your feelings too?”

“You should have been a
psychologist,” I said dryly, sipping my whisky.

“Maybe,” she smiled.
 
“Why don’t you want to get attached?”

“Because I have a
busy life with lots of responsibilities and people who are relying on me.
 
I don’t have time for attachments or complex relationship politics.
 
Women can be hard work so casual sex suits my
lifestyle.”

“
Mmm
,” she
said, looking thoughtful.
 
“Doesn’t it
get lonely?”

“Not really.
 
I have lots of friends and acquaintances, and
a work life that keeps me exceptionally busy.”

“But no intimacy?”

“It’s overrated,” I said, thinking
back to the last time I made love to Adrianna before I found out the
truth.
 
I’d looked down at her face as
she came, and I remember the rush of love and adoration I felt, but it had been
for nothing; a figment of my imagination born of my foolish trust.

Rebecca took a long drink and then
gazed out of the window, her eyes following a sight-seeing boat that was
navigating the Thames.
 
“You know, you’re
the first person I’ve had sex with outside of a committed relationship.” Her eyes
met mine and then returned to the view.

“I didn’t know that,” I said, happy
at the knowledge and then annoyed at the way my mind was working.
 
It shouldn’t matter to me either way if I was
sticking with the plan.
 
No emotions, no
regrets.
 
The rule was fool proof.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for
one-night stands,” she said.

“Technically it was twice.”

“I don’t think that makes a
difference.”

“Why did you do it then, if it was so
out of character?”

Rebecca looked down at her hands that
rested on the table, delicate fingers tipped with French-manicured nails.
 
I remembered how they looked when I’d tied
her wrists; beautifully frail in their bindings.
 

She looked as though she was
struggling with what to say next but I found myself hoping she would confide in
me.
 
“I’ve been asking myself the same
question.
 
I’ve always tried to do things
properly. My parents are childhood sweethearts and they still love each other
as much now as they did when they were sixteen.
 
I always wanted to find what they have so it was important to take
things slowly.
 
My first boyfriend was
nice but it didn’t last. We went to different universities and he called it off
after a term of trying to maintain a long distance relationship.
 
The second happened at
Uni
and it didn’t work out.
 
The last was
someone I met through a work colleague.
 
He turned out to be a…a bad apple.”

I raised my eyebrows, wanting her to
elaborate.
 
Had he cheated, hit her, been
abusive in some other way?
 

She continued. “I’ve done everything
right but nothing has worked out.
 
I
guess I just wanted to do something crazy for once.
 
Something just for me, and bugger the
consequences.”

“But it wasn’t what you wanted?”

She looked shy for a minute, a small
smile playing at her pretty lips.
 
“It
was pretty great in some ways, but emotionally unfulfilling in others.
 
After I left your apartment I felt really empty.
 
I don’t think I could do it again, knowing
that sex always comes at a high price for me.”

I hated hearing about her
vulnerabilities, not because I found them annoying as I usually did with women,
but because I understood how black the hurt can be after relationships end, when
you do things hoping they are going to make you feel good but they end up
making you feel worse.
 
I’d lived the
days after Adrianna trying to drown out the darkness I felt with alcohol and
women, but the more I poured in myself, the emptier I was inside.
 
“Everything comes with a price,” I said
solemnly.
 

“Sometimes the price is worth it, but
not always.”

“So, if one night stands aren’t for
you, does that mean you’re going back to looking for a relationship?”

“I don’t know.
 
I just don’t think I want anything at the
moment.
 
I think I need to nurse my
wounds until I feel stronger.”

“Some wounds never heal,
Rebecca.
 
You’ve just got to find a way
of patching yourself up and getting on with it.”

“Is that what you’ve done?
 
Patched yourself up by sleeping your way
through the female population of Atlanta?”

“Everyone deals with things in their
own way,” I said, looking to catch the eye of the waiter so I could pay the
bill and we could get moving.
 
The
conversation had run its course, at least as far as I would allow it, and I
wanted out.