Sexy as Hell Box Set (56 page)

I could have told him I had, that I still did, but it wouldn’t do either of us any good. And besides, the words were stuck in my throat. Instead, I said, “I’m here to help you, believe it or not.”

“Help me? Hinder, more like.”

“No, listen to me,” I said with urgency, needing to say what I had to say before the other two came back. “I’ll make friends with Catherine, give her some ideas, some pointers. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He frowned harder than he had when he’d been looking out of the window. “Oh, God. What kind of ideas?”

“Just girl chatter about arse sex, stuff like that. Make her understand how good it is. Yes? Do you want me to do that?”

“No, not in your sledgehammer way.”

“What about a
featherlight way, hmm? Quickly, answer me.”

He blew air out, his cheeks inflating. “Yes, sod it! Yes! And…the paddle too, say something good about that, will you?”

I smiled. How could I not at the mention of the VP paddle? “Right. So get it out of your head that I have designs on you, because I bloody well don’t. And, for the record, Ollie is my
student
not my lover, and the only reason I’m acting otherwise is so Catherine doesn’t get any funny ideas about you and me having had dates in the past.
Now
do you understand what I’m
playing
at?”

He looked contrite. More relaxed. “Yes, and I’m sorry…for doubting you.”

“So you should be. And as for those texts…” I glanced over my shoulder. Ollie was on his way back. “They’re just a teaser to get you going. You know, ready for Catherine at a moment’s notice.
Don’t
think they mean anything else.”

“I won’t,” he said then grinned broadly at Ollie as he returned to his seat.

“Catherine?” Ollie asked, looking from me to Victor with suspicion written all over his ruddy face.

“All nice and refreshed?” I asked him, squeezing his thigh.

“Um, yes.” He smiled briefly.

“Yes what?” I said, squeezing harder.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said—whispered.

“I didn’t hear you, Ollie.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, louder.

“That’s better. Now,” I turned back to stare around my seat, “is that hostess ever going to bring more champagne? I need to get some down me, as you and I, Ollie, have some serious business to attend to once we arrive.” I turned back and gave him my sexual predator stare. “And you know exactly what that is, don’t you?”

He grinned. “I do.”

I looked at Victor.

It seemed he had a good idea what it was, too, but covered his knowledge well by raising one hand to signal for drinks. The air hostess came by, and he asked her for refills. She obliged, and I took mine gratefully, tossing it down in two gulps then getting up.

“Seems I need the toilet now,” I said, laughing brightly.

I made for the cubicle, went inside and sat on the toilet seat. God, how lovely it was to be alone. There was so much tension flying through the air out there that it was wonderful to be away from it. Yes, I thrived on awkwardness, yes, I enjoyed watching intense situations being acted out before me, but for once I began to wonder whether I’d bitten off more than I could chew.

Could I split Victor and Catherine up, even with good intentions?

I nodded. I had it in me to do anything I put my mind to. I just had to hope that Victor saw what I could see. That he wasn’t sitting beside the woman he ought to be spending the rest of his life with.

He’d been sitting opposite her.

“No,” I whispered. “That wasn’t what I meant…”

I stood and looked at myself in the mirror. Saw a black-haired woman, a confident woman, one who would spend the best years of her life active in the sex trade, then after that, who knew? By that time, Victor would be well ensconced in family life with whomever he met after Catherine—my work would have been done in that regard. And Ollie? Oh, he’d be off gallivanting as usual, unable to be tied down—or unable to find a woman stupid enough to put up with him. Catherine would be with a man who didn’t bug her for sex, a vanilla man who did as she asked, possibly jumping in his seat when she asked him too.

“I’m so excited…”

What was I doing here again? Really doing?

I didn’t want to know the response to that question.

It was an answer I didn’t need to hear.

“Fuck me, this is stunning,” I said, propping my holdall against a dusty wall and letting my handbag strap drop from my shoulder to the crook of my elbow.

“Do you like it?” Ollie asked, his attention on my expression rather than the sprawling villa in front of us.

“Abso-bloody-lutely.” It was nothing like I’d imagined. Oh, I knew it would be nice, extravagant even—this was a Victor trip, after all—but something in my mind had made me think rustic and dilapidated in a trendy way; weeds and rust, perhaps a few original cracks in the plasterwork. But no, before me was some kind of opulent Italian palace.

Amber brickwork showcased arches, balconies and two skinny turrets topped with orangey slate roofs. Ivy clung to the corners of the main building, caressing the wall that sat nearest a sparkling, navy-blue lake. The villa was higgledy-
piggedly but still majestic, one storey high in some places and extending to two or three in others. While the building was flanked on one side by water, a glance to my right revealed never-ending tracks of grape vines, tangled and glossy.

“This way,” Catherine said, strutting forward and tugging a cerise case behind her. “The kitchen should be stocked and ready for us.”

Victor followed Catherine beneath the largest archway that had a set of wrought iron gates propped open. He pulled his own brown, leather case, the wheels puffing up little spits of dusty gravel.

“I need a glass of water,” I said, resisting pinching my arm to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I was on holiday, here. Who’d have thought?

“Then let’s get you some, Mistress,” Ollie said, taking my case and his own. “Damn, this is heavy,” he said, readjusting his grip on the handle of my baggage.

I had the brief thought that what he was holding wasn’t my only baggage, then shoved it from my mind. I didn’t want negativity and suppressed memories spoiling this experience.

“Yes, well, I have lots of extra things packed. Packed for your pleasure,” I said.

He smiled then turned. His grin hadn’t been quite as smarmy as usual, or maybe I was just getting used to him. Used to his lap-puppy ways.

I followed him beneath the arch, happy not to be studied for a moment as I took in my surroundings.

The centre of the villa was a paved courtyard. Although the weather wasn’t hot, the sun was out and carved shadows around the walls and mapped out the shapes of several bronze urns holding lollipop-shaped topiary trees. A set of black metal chairs and a table sat in the sunshine, and several doors and windows looked onto the courtyard.

“What’s that?” I asked Ollie, pointing to a wooden contraption in the corner.

“Looks like an old wine press or something,” he said, studying it.

“They don’t use those things any more, though, do they?” I asked.

“No,” Catherine said, rummaging in her bag and producing a key. “Samantha and Tristan send their grapes away to be pressed. It’s simply too much work for them, what with the upkeep of this place and the kids.” She slotted in the key and flung open two large, glass doors. “Here’s the kitchen. In you come.”

We all stepped in. Again I tried not to show how obvious it was that I’d never been to such an amazing place. The room was enormous, and although the city panorama from Victor’s apartment was pretty amazing, the one from this was naturally stunning.

I was immediately drawn across the flagstone floor to stare out at the lake. Looking from here, it felt to me as though we could be the only people in the world. Not a house or a boat in sight, just deep water, lush hills dense with trees and a crisp blue sky.

Victor moved next to me. His aftershave reached my nose. I squashed a memory of him kissing my cheek in the lobby of The Savoy.

“You’ve always appreciated a good view,” he said quietly.

“I suppose that’s because I grew up looking out at a council estate. Graffiti and dog shit everywhere and gangs of youths who’d push me over for my dinner money on the way to school, or worse.” A wave of nausea washed over me, and I swallowed it down, my guts clenching.

“Really?” he asked, surprise in his tone.

I sensed him looking at me, knew there would be shock in his eyes as well as a sprinkle of pity. Maybe even a glimmer of uncertainty, unsure whether or not to believe me.

I shrugged. Composed myself. It was in the past, thank goodness, and what did I care if he believed me or not? There were plenty of things that had happened there that I hadn’t been believed about. “What’s the lake called?”

“
Lago di Vagli
,” Catherine said, rolling her tongue around the words in a sickeningly pretentious way. “There used to be a village there, but they created a dam downstream and filled the valley up. Village no more.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” I stared at the glassy surface, thinking of the drowned homes and washed away memories. Shame they couldn’t have done it to my old place, preferably with a certain few people in it.

I heard a fridge door open, the rattle of glass on glass. The clink was a welcome distraction from heading down a chain of thoughts I usually steered well clear of.

“Oh, excellent, we’ve got plenty to keep us going,” Catherine exclaimed. “Victor, be a poppet and open some bubbly, will you?”

I looked up at Victor. He had a frown line between his eyebrows. I sensed he preferred being called Virgin. “Go on,” I said, licking my bottom lip. “Be a poppet.”

He narrowed his eyes and marched to the island, the soles of his shoes clacking on the floor.

I turned to the scenery again, watched what looked like a heron flapping its wings lazily as it flew north to south above the lake. Took a deep breath and enjoyed the beauty of the unfamiliar scenery.

“Here you go,” Ollie said, handing me a tumbler of water.

I took it and drank greedily; the champagne on the flight had dehydrated me. My lips felt a little stiff, my cheeks itchy. If I wasn’t careful I’d soon have a thumping head.

The cork popped on the champagne, echoing around the vast, stone-walled room.

“Oh, my favourite sound.” Catherine giggled. “And finally we’re here, and all together.” She took the glass Victor held out to her, lifted it high. “To friends old and new, and having a great time.” She knocked back half of the drink in one go.

Victor stepped up to me and Ollie, his expression steely, and passed us both a glass.

“Thanks,” Ollie said, his shoulder brushing mine.

Victor looked at where we’d connected. It was an innocent brush of limbs, nothing sordid or sexy about it. But still, he tilted his chin a little, the way I’d seen him do when holding back words.

What did he want to say? Did he want to tell Ollie to move away from me? Did Victor want to be standing at my side sipping champagne instead of by Catherine, who seemed to have quite a taste for the bubbly stuff?

Of course he didn’t. He’d made it clear I wasn’t the one for him.

I turned to Ollie, reached up and stroked my finger down his cheek. “We should get settled into our room. We have things to attend to and I need to unpack my equipment.”

Ollie leaned into my caress, tipped his lips into a smile. “Good plan.” He glanced at Catherine, who was refilling her glass, then whispered, “Mistress.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Victor mumbled, turning away.

“What’s the matter, Victor?” I asked.

He reached for his drink, gulped and then stared at us both. He pressed his lips tight, into a mean line, then rubbed his fingertips over them.

Oh, now I knew he still had plenty to say. He just couldn’t. But was it because he didn’t want Catherine to hear, or was it because they were words that should remain unspoken?

Our room was beautiful. A huge bed with tall ornate posts at each corner, like a four-poster that hadn’t been completed, dominated the space. The covers were heavy brocade with gold and burgundy detail, and a ridiculous amount of over-stuffed pillows were stacked high at the head end. As soon as I saw the bed I thought how useful it would be. I could tie Ollie to it for hours at a time, especially if he was annoying me. Perhaps I’d strap him up and shove a vibrator up his arse. Leave him like that for a whole morning while I went for a walk or for coffee or something. He’d like that, Ollie—he might not know it at the time, but he would.

I flicked the lock on the door, swept my fingertip over a highly polished cabinet that held a bunch of flowers, then admired a picture above it of an orgy scene—it was tasteful, nothing too much on show, just several Rubenesque figures feeding each other fruit beneath a tree.

“Shit a brick,” Ollie said, flinging open a set of French doors. “We’ve got a balcony.”