Original Sin (52 page)

‘So good,’ he moaned, grabbing hold of her wrists and rolling her over, pushing her thighs wider and wider. Finally, he reared forward and sank his cock into her. She flung her arms back, gripping the silk sheets as he bent down to kiss her mouth, her neck, the curve of her armpit and across to her hard, budded nipples, his appetite ruthless, unyielding, and urgent. Tasting her sweat on his tongue, she spread her legs so he could push further into her wetness. Thrust by thrust their pace quickened, powered by desire and need, two expert lovers, each as driven and focused as the other, each taking turns to dominate, be in control. Arching her back, she squeezed herself tighter around him, knowing he was about to come. Her concentration was so fierce that she screamed, but she knew she could delay the fierce sweet pulse of pleasure around her own body no longer. Wendell pulled out of her and slid down to put his face between her thighs, finishing her off with long, luxurious laps of her clitoris until she came so hard her entire body was trembling.

He rolled over and sank back onto the pillow, propping his hand casually under his head.

‘I might have to revisit my assessment of you as
capabl
e,’ he said finally with a note of amusement.

For a moment Liz was speechless. Sex was not something that ever threw her, but what had just happened had shaken her. It had been incredible. She turned to kiss him again, but, as she moved, he slipped out of the other side of the bed.

‘I’m staying here for the evening,’ he said, picking up his silk boxer shorts and pulling them back on. ‘I’m due to meet a friend for dinner at seven.’

There was a detachment in his voice that had not been present before they had sex. Liz knew the code: she was being given the brush–off. She felt a flare of annoyance, but to show it would be to show weakness.

‘Yes, I should get back to work,’ she said, standing up and stretching her long, naked body, knowing that his eyes were on her, knowing that he already wanted more in spite of himself. She bent down at the dressing table, showing him her perfectly shaped arse, and quickly checked her make–up.

‘Could you have the helicopter take me back?’ she asked casually.

‘Of course.’

Their eyes met, and for the first time in her life, Liz Asgill knew she had found her personal, professional, and sexual equal.

CHAPTER FORTY

‘So sweetiepie, are you anywhere nearer making a decision about the guest books?’ Alessandro Franchetti’s voice on the telephone was impatient. ‘If you need a steer, I just love the hand–bound midnight–blue calfskin or the taupe ostrich. Two hundred gsm paperweight, ivory rather than white. The paper is handmade in Italy, by the way. I just love it.’

Brooke sighed. For some reason she just couldn’t seem to muster much enthusiasm for the guest books. After all, it was just a large bound book left at the wedding for people to write their messages of goodwill in. She looked over to the huge pile of them that Alessandro had sent over. It wasn’t just the guest books, of course. Her apartment was littered with swatches, folders, boxes, and endless samples of envelopes, cards, fabric, and even cutlery. There were so many choices to be made, she felt overwhelmed.

‘Okay, yes to the heavy ivory paper and I like the midnight blue,’ she said, ‘but I’m just not comfortable with the idea of calfskin.’

‘What are you suggesting baby?’ he asked. ‘Fish skin? Tofu? Never mind, never mind. I’ll sort something out. Now, are you totally happy with that?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Brooke, propping the receiver under her chin and flicking idly through a copy of
Elle
. She wondered when the shift had happened, where choosing every last detail for the wedding had become, well, a bit of a chore. It hadn’t been so long ago that she had bought every single bridal magazine – US and international – poring over them night and day. She wanted her day to be perfect, of course. Of
course
she did, but Jewel Key was so gorgeous, she knew that just the sound of the sea and the tropical breeze washing over them as they said their vows would give the day all the stardust it needed. If she was honest, she really didn’t care what sort of card the place settings were made from. Brooke was well aware of the irony; she and David had quarrelled over this very thing only weeks ago, but now meetings, phone calls, and emails from Alessandro took up at least an hour of her time a day. It was starting to get too much.

‘We can still do lunch on Friday, sweetness?’ asked Alessandro. ‘I haven’t quite worked out the details for the ceremony departure yet.’

‘What’s that?’

There was the smallest of sighs down the phone. ‘When you leave the chapel, darling. Well, in this instance, the ceremonial platform.’

‘Oh, you mean the “confetti bit”,’ said Brooke.

He coughed meaningfully. ‘Alessandro Franchetti doesn’t do confetti, sweet thing. I was thinking hundreds of butterflies released from an aviary. Maybe red admirals, as red is traditionally good luck at Chinese weddings?’ he mused aloud. ‘Although blue is the lucky colour in the West, isn’t it?’

‘What do they say about working with children and animals?’ said Brooke, smiling to herself, but Alessandro didn’t seem to be listening.

‘Maybe I’ll give Princess Olga of Greece a call,’ he said. ‘You must know her, right? She’s a butterfly expert. I’ll call her right now. Get her view on it and call you straight back.’

Gratefully, Brooke put down the phone and threw herself back on the sofa, gazing out at the greying Manhattan sky. It was funny how quickly the dark nights came in, she thought. She grabbed the controls for her TiVo, and decided to watch
World Watch
which she had recorded earlier in the week. It featured the thirty–minute documentary segment David had recorded in Iraq. He had a presence and substance you didn’t often see in TV presenters. The critics seemed to agree with her and were already calling it one of the documentaries of the year, while at the network there were rumours about a promotion for David to lead anchor, or even his own show. Brooke hoped he got it; to her mind, that was a better fit than politics.

When her phone rang, she debated not answering it, but while she’d definitely had enough of Alessandro Franchetti for one evening, it was better to get this guest book and butterfly business sorted out sooner rather than later.

‘I was just thinking,’ she said, snatching up the phone, ‘maybe we should go for red butterflies. I think David’s dad is inviting lots of prominent Republicans, so I think he’ll prefer the party colours.’

‘Butterflies? What are you talking about, Brooke?’

‘Matt, is that you?’ she said, pleased to hear his voice.

‘The same.’

She giggled. ‘God, save me from wedding madness. I’ve just been debating whether I should have five hundred red or blue butterflies released after my wedding.’

‘What happened to the plain old shower of confetti?’

‘Too plain and old, apparently.’

There was an awkward pause.

‘I haven’t seen you for ages,’ she said. ‘Where did you get to?’

‘Just busy,’ said Matt vaguely.

‘Well, how about doing something this weekend?’ She ran through her diary in her head. David was away again and although Tess
had
said she and David should meet Matt together, what harm could a coffee or a pizza do?

‘I think I’m busy this weekend.’

‘Long shift?’

There was a long pause.

She knew instinctively what he was doing that weekend.

‘You have a date!’ she said, chiding him.

‘I guess.’

‘I thought we were friends, Matthew Palmer,’ she said over–brightly. ‘But you tell me nothing.’

Matt laughed. ‘There’s nothing much to tell. We’ve only been out a few times.’

‘You’ve been out a few times and there’s nothing to tell? You have a
girlfriend
!’

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ said Matt. ‘She’s called Suzy, she’s fun, she’s an aromatherapist.’

‘Ooh, just think of all those sexy, oily massages.’

‘Brooke–’

‘So where did you meet her?’

‘At a party. She’s the friend of a friend.’

Brooke was suddenly aware that Matt had a life that she knew nothing about. Somehow she had this romantic notion of him toiling in ER for twenty hours at a time, then returning home only to sleep and eat pizza before doing it all again, but clearly he was out at parties with attractive bohemian aromatherapists.

‘So when am I going to meet her?’ asked Brooke.

‘Well, that’s why I’m calling. I was going to invite you to supper. It’s my birthday in a couple of weeks, I thought I’d better do the decent thing and celebrate.’

‘Great. I’ll bring David. My publicist has been telling me forever that you two should meet … ’ She paused, realizing that sounded wrong somehow. ‘Well, you know, just in case anyone thinks there might be something funny going on between us. Stupid I know, but you know how people talk.’

‘No, no, she’s right,’ said Matt. ‘That’s a good idea.’

There was another long pause.

‘Well, I’ll text you the details of the meal when I’ve decided what to cook.’

‘Fine. Great. See you then.’

She snapped her mobile shut and marched straight over to the towering pile of guest books, taking them down and examining them with total concentration. Suddenly choosing between the blue book and the taupe one was the most important decision in the world.

CHAPTER FORTY–ONE

Tess never wanted to see another envelope in her entire life. Her desk and floor were covered with a rainbow of different coloured paper, along with endless Jiffy bags and packages. She had just spent the last hour laboriously going through them and her fingers – not to mention her head – were starting to ache. It was one of the chores she hated. Every morning she received an enormous volume of post that took hours to sift through, so she invariably left it until last thing. The vast majority of the envelopes contained party invitations for Brooke, everything from red–carpet events to fundraisers to shop openings. Brooke had to be seen at some of them, of course, the ones Tess would cherry–pick as the most high profile or ‘on brand’, but the majority went straight into the oversized recycling bin.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t have other things to do. As September slipped into October, media speculation about Brooke and David’s wedding had already cranked up several notches, meaning that Tess was constantly fielding phone calls and emails from press and television stations wanting everything from confirmation of location and dates to actual access to the wedding.

Today had been a particularly arduous day, and Tess was looking forward to going home. She had just pulled her coat off the back of her chair when she heard footsteps in the corridor outside her door.

‘Meredith,’ said Tess looking up. ‘I didn’t think you were in today.’

‘My secretary called me so I’ve just dropped by.’

‘Well, that’s good luck, because I wanted to speak to you. Could you come in? Sorry about the mess.’

Meredith walked into the room and took the seat opposite Tess, folding her pale, stocking–clad legs elegantly under the chair as she waited for Tess to continue.

‘I want to take a holiday,’ said Tess, trying keep her voice even. She was unsure why she thought the request might be interpreted as unreasonable – perhaps because of the ‘in at six, home at ten’ mentality of the New York worker; perhaps because they were getting closer to the ‘big day’; but either way she had been delaying asking Meredith. In the event she merely nodded.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘When were you thinking, and for how long?’

‘This weekend actually. I’m sorry for the late notice but I’ve only just found out about the trip. It’s just a Friday night until Tuesday trip, so it would involve very little time out of the office and I would have my BlackBerry on all the time … ’

Meredith was already shaking her head. ‘I’m afraid it’s not convenient.’

Tess felt a sinking disappointment, but knew she couldn’t object. Her job came first – it had to, the amount they were paying her – but when Jemma had told her about a trip she was taking to Lake Tahoe with some new friends, Tess had been keen to go along. She barely knew Jemma’s new social circle, but to Tess that was a bonus. What she really wanted to do was interact with people who weren’t anything to do with work. A look in the mirror told her she was tired. The nagging pains between her shoulder blades said she was stressed. She just wanted to have some fun.

‘Really?’ she said, flipping a few pages of her diary with a frown. She couldn’t see any pressing events written there. ‘Anything I should know about?’

‘Every year we have a Miss Asgill Hawaiian Glo pageant in Hawaii,’ said Meredith. She was trying to be matter of fact, but she clearly found the idea a little distasteful. Didn’t fit in with her new vision of Asgill’s as a luxury brand, perhaps, thought Tess.

‘We usually have a representative from the company on the judging panel. This year I was keen for Leonard to go along, but he’s had to schedule a hospital appointment.’