Original Sin (35 page)

He bent and brushed his lips against her neck. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘I can’t go,’ she laughed slowly. ‘I have to get back to Windsor tonight.’

‘We won’t be long,’ he whispered, taking her hand and leading her away from the glowing lights, tinkle of glasses and laughter at the party. They disappeared out of the embassy’s gates and hailed a black cab that was dropping guests off at the party.

Leaning into the driver’s window, he said with a grin, ‘Take us to the nearest hotel.’

Three minutes later, the nonplussed driver dropped the giggling couple at the Park House Hotel on the outer ring road. The room was shoebox–sized, with a small double bed, trouser press, and sink in the corner. Dom didn’t even bother to switch on the lights as he peeled off Tess’s dress and let it slide to the floor. They were both breathing heavily in their excitement as they kissed, both pulling at the buttons on Dom’s shirt. Just then, Tess pulled away and sat on the edge of bed, spreading her knees and pulling him between them. He remained standing as she unbuckled his trousers. His cock reared out in front of him and she took it in both hands. It was long and thick and she kept eye contact with him as she licked along his length, her saliva glistening in the streetlights. Still looking into his eyes, she took him into her mouth and unhooked her bra. He reached down and stroked her full breast, squeezing and rolling her nipples between his finger and thumb.

Both gasping with desire now, he pushed her back onto the bed. Taking off her high heels he started kissing her toes, the curve of her ankle, working his way up her leg with feathery kisses. His warm hands spreads her legs as he flicked his tongue up the inside of her thigh, then nuzzled into her closed, secret lips with his nose and his tongue.

‘Oh God, yes, yes,’ she moaned, rubbing her own breasts now.

Dom inched aside her thong and pushed his tongue into her, taking long languid laps of her juices, circling her hard clitoris and up and down her slit.

‘Now, now,’ she panted. ‘I want you, I want you.’

Grinning, he guided his cock into her slowly, slowly, feeding it inch by inch until he was buried deep inside. Impatiently, she thrust her hips up towards him and they fell back, their bodies together in rhythm and motion. His nose and chin were damp and musky from her juices as she took his face in both hands and kissed him, sucking on his tongue.

His lips moved down over her swollen nipples, biting and sucking, her arms splayed out behind her, grabbing at the pillows. The pleasure was intense now, her passion heightened by weeks of suppressed emotions: the anger from her confrontation with Sean, the longing and frustration of her separation from Dom, all building to a crescendo.

‘Oh Jesus, oh Christ!’ she cried out as she came in wave after wave. She clenched herself as tight as she could around his cock, her hips bucking upwards, her nails digging into Dom’s taut buttocks. He fell down on top of her, spent and exhausted. They had not had sex like that in a long time. Ever. She felt a rush of excitement, as if she was falling in love all over again. She rolled over and folded herself into the curve of his body, wondering if it took being apart to bring some people back together. Lying there, she felt that their relationship wasn’t just fixed, but infinitely better. He turned to her and smiled.

‘I hope these walls aren’t paper–thin.’

‘Who cares?’ she grinned, nestling into him.

‘I can’t wait to come to New York.’

‘In which case, let’s get back to the party and talk about that visa.’

CHAPTER TWENTY–FOUR

Jewel Cay was even more beautiful than Brooke remembered. She hadn’t visited Leonard Asgill’s colonial–style home, perched on a tiny private island in the Florida Keys, for years – before college, in fact. In the interim, Jewel Cay’s grounds had grown more lush with foliage and, somehow, the water surrounding it had taken on an even brighter sparkle. Thankfully, David also loved the estate on sight, although in Brooke’s mind it would be hard to dislike the proud white house with its long decked porch, the hammocks swinging between shady banana trees and manicured lawns sloped down to the turquoise Caribbean. No wonder Leonard had cut down his workload at Asgill’s in the past few years, thought Brooke. During the winter months, he only worked two weeks out of every four, allowing him to come down and stay here. Since the death of his wife two years earlier, Leonard had begun to refer to Jewel Cay as ‘The Sanctuary’. Brooke was honoured that he would allow her and David to share its tranquil atmosphere.

‘This is just
glorious
,’ said Alessandro Franchetti, watching a pod of dolphins leap across the bay through the wide French windows. Behind him it was getting dark, the sun setting in banners of vivid red, lavender, and bronze across the sky. Alessandro had arrived two hours earlier in order to see Jewel Cay at night – Brooke and David’s wedding was to be at sunset. Alessandro was wearing a white linen suit, presumably in deference to his surroundings, although Brooke giggled to herself that he looked more like an up–market pimp. In Alessandro’s flamboyant entourage were two representatives from Miami’s leading wedding caterers, his handsome PA, who looked as if he belonged on the Versace runway, and two other assistants, whom he mysteriously referred to as the ‘set–up team’. Clicking his fingers, Alessandro beckoned them to follow him to the front of the house. Brooke gasped as she stepped outside. Somehow, since his arrival, candles had been placed all around the fountain on the front lawn, while strings of fairy lights seemed to drip from the mahogany trees.

‘Alessandro, this is magical,’ said Brooke, her hands to her mouth. ‘Is this what your assistants have been doing?’

He gave a casual shrug.

‘I just wanted to get us in the mood.’

‘What for? I thought he was getting us to sample canapé options,’ whispered David as Alessandro sat them at a small linen–draped table under a tree.

Alessandro clapped his hands. Soft jazz floated from inside the house and two white–coated waiters came out holding trays of tiny, delicate food.

‘Imagine it’s December the twenty–ninth, your wedding day. Close your eyes, David. Come on.’

Brooke took a small ball of choux pastry off the silver platter. As she bit the delicate crust, soft mousse dissolved onto her tongue. It was exquisite.

‘Wow. David, try one of these.’

David gingerly picked one up and popped it into his mouth.

‘Umm,’ he nodded, ‘that’s really good.’

‘Of course it’s good,’ said Alessandro, his eyes wide open. ‘The guy who made it used to be Alain Ducasse’s pastry chef. That mousse is truffle–scented.’

Each canapé seemed more delicious that the one preceding it: caviar on rye and pumpkin brittle, topped with crème fraîche and chives from England, spoons of Finnish cloudberry sorbet, the softest beef carpaccio, tartlets filled with rare cheese and asparagus.

Finally Alessandro clapped his hands and the waiters disappeared.

‘These are my favourite caterers,’ said Alessandro, sotto voce. ‘I want to go with them, but the choice is entirely yours. They’ve signed a confidentiality agreement – but you never know. I dated a chef once: terrible gossip. He had to go of course, gossip is toxic in my professional life as you can imagine.’

David covered his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh. ‘I think they’re amazing Alessandro,’ said Brooke. ‘I love the food, I love the lights, and I also love your idea to have the ceremony around the pool.’

‘Well, I haven’t quite worked out how we’re going to build an aisle over the water, but leave it with me. In the meantime I’ve auditioned five Cuban jazz bands already. Miami–based but from Havana originally. One of them is especially cute.’

‘We want to know what they sound like, not look like,’ smiled David.

‘I like a nice all–round package,’ said Alessandro briskly.

‘So I heard,’ quipped Brooke. She had found Alessandro hard work at first but, having spent many hours with him, both in person and on the phone, she was beginning to enjoy his company. It was hard not to be dragged along in the slipstream of his seemingly endless enthusiasm.

‘You are a very naughty young lady,’ said Alessandro, swatting her on the arm.

Together the three of them walked through the grounds, talking through Alessandro’s ‘vision’. There would be jugglers and fire–eaters, a champagne bar by the ocean and an extravagant firework display at midnight. David was quiet throughout Alessandro’s walk–through. Brooke watched him carefully as Alessandro explained how he planned to fly a DJ in from Paris for the dance floor they would build by the pool. In the ten days since he’d been back from Syria, he’d been spending long days in the studio, plus there had been couple of big benefits including the Costume Institute Gala at the Met. No wonder he looked tired.

‘Are we both okay for the second canapé–tasting at ten tomorrow?’ asked Alessandro. ‘It’s with Starlight caterers. They’re based in South Beach and they’ve done fabulous parties for Madonna and Julio Iglesias.’

Brooke nodded, her eyes still on David. Her fingers moved up to touch the scarf around her neck. It was a beautiful piece of copper silk, shot through with gold thread, which David had brought back from Syria. They’d made up on the telephone after their quarrel about the bodyguards, but Brooke had still been relieved to receive it.

‘Wonderful, we’ll see you then,’ said Alessandro, summoning his PA and assistants, jumping into a waiting boat to take them back to the mainland. When the boat’s engine had died away, all was quiet again, just the occasional rustle of the palm trees in the breeze. Brooke walked back inside the house and poured them both a drink of iced tea from a pitcher.

‘Do we have to do all that again tomorrow?’ said David after a few moments.

‘Do what?’

‘Food theatre,’ he said with a half grin.

‘This is really important, David,’ said Brooke, trying to control her annoyance. ‘And he’s not being theatrical he’s just putting the food in context.’

David laughed lightly and shook his head. ‘Honey, I think you need to reassess your definition of “important”.’

‘So you don’t think our wedding is important?’

‘Of course it’s important. Jewel Cay is important. I needed to see it and I love it; I couldn’t think of a more magical place to marry you in. But I’m being honest here: do I care if we have tea–smoked duck blinis or mini foie–gras mousses? Frankly, I don’t.’ She recoiled, piqued at his flippancy.

I’m beginning to wonder how much you actually care about the wedding, period,’ she snapped. ‘If it’s relative to how much you’ve done for it, then I’m beginning to think you don’t care a great deal.’

She knew she was being a little unfair. David’s workload was twice hers, but it annoyed her that he seemed quite content to leave every last detail and decision to her. She mused suddenly if he would be like this if he was marrying Alicia Wintrop, and then stopped herself.

All she wanted was for David to hug her and reassure her that he wanted to marry her more than anything in the world, but instead he ran his hand through his hair irritably.

‘Brooke, I have had a really tough week,’ he said. ‘I was just hoping this could be a break for us too. I mean, how often do we get away together these days?’

‘And how often do we get married?’

David looked at her. ‘I didn’t come all this way to get into a fight.’

‘Well, I didn’t start it.’

‘Neither did I.’

There was a tense pause and Brooke turned away, frowning more in puzzlement than anger. One of the reasons she’d been so sure that David was the right man for her was because they didn’t row and always felt so easy and natural in each other’s company. But recently, they’d had arguments about David’s ex, Alicia Wintrop, and her involvement in the
Oracle
story, a spat about the bodyguard, plus dozens of other little cross words and disagreements. Each of them had been patched up by flowers or sex, but it all left an anxious feeling hovering over her like a black cloud.

‘So why are we arguing, David?’ she asked. ‘Ever since we became engaged that’s all we seem to have been doing.’

His voice was cold. ‘That’s a slight exaggeration.’

‘Well, shall I be a little more specific then?’ she continued. ‘We argue whenever you’re around, which hasn’t been a great deal, has it?’

‘So this is what it’s
really
about? My job? Because I’m not in New York twenty–four/seven? Is that why you’ve been running around having lunch dates with Matt Palmer.

‘I met up with Matt once.’ Brooke wished she’d never told him and was certainly glad she hadn’t mentioned it was a six–hour round trip into Pennsylvania. ‘It was just to say thanks for him looking at my foot.’

‘Of course, his tender loving care,’ he said sarcastically.

She looked at him as if observing a stranger. She’d never thought he’d be capable of jealousy, it just wasn’t part of his personality; he had too much old–money self–confidence for that.

‘David, when have I ever complained to you about seeing female friends?’ It was true, she didn’t complain, but it sometimes bothered her. She was glad David wasn’t like his father and brother, traditional old–money Alpha males who frequented private ‘men–only’ clubs like the Racquet and Tennis Club, and huddled together after dinner to talk about sports and stocks and shares. But David had an uncommon amount of female friends, especially at work, who were always calling him up to ask him to lunch or just ‘catch up’. It certainly bothered her, even if she didn’t show it.