Substitute (10 page)

‘I think math could be your best subject!’ Richard’s voice broke her reverie. He propped himself up on one elbow and wiped his own come from her face. She blushed. Somehow she was shy again, even after her wanton behaviour of a moment ago.

He laughed quietly to himself.

‘Yeah, it’s going to take a while before you’re really comfortable with this, in daylight hours anyway, but there’s time …’

He leant over and kissed her gently, almost chastely.

‘Romy says you gotta big day tomorrow.’

‘Yes, yes, I have. A couple of days.’

‘You packed and ready?’

‘I’m packed ….’

Richard laughed. ‘Well, whether you’re ready or not, sometimes you just gotta jump, sweetheart. Now get some beauty sleep. I ain’t gonna sleep here because there is no way I could stop from fucking you if I do that!’

He kissed her forehead, then stood up. He picked up his clothes, and with that he was gone, shutting the door gently behind him.

Sometimes you just gotta jump, he’d said.

But how? With Richard she felt safe, he
was
safe. Tony was definitely not; he was a walking trap. And then there was Nathan … 

Chapter Seven

The air was especially cold. Alexia pulled the fur of her coat collar closer around her neck as she stepped off the bus. It was mid-afternoon, but the day was still wearing the chill it had woken up with. She looked up. An ice blue cloudless sky. She hoped the freezing wind wasn’t a sign of a Siberian chill in Nathan’s mood.

Alexia looked across the road to see him pulling up outside the office in a dark blue Jaguar, the sporty version. It was a beautiful car, the car of a very successful man. A car she would have to spend the next two hours in. Two hours with Nathan. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to turn and run, run home, run away, far, far away. But he was climbing out of the car now and he had seen her. Her heart was thumping.

She crossed the road. There was very little traffic in the small London square and the noise of the wheels of her trolley bag seemed to bounce off the office façades as they rattled along the pavement. Any hope of sidling up quietly was gone.

‘Good morning,’ said Nathan. He’d barely looked up at her. Professional, stark, cold.

‘Good morning.’ Was her voice shaking? Hard to tell above the rattling wheels. She reached the car, reached Nathan. Now he looked up.

He looked tense, a little tired, as if he was carrying an invisible weight. But he was still immaculate. He was wearing a beautiful jacket with an open shirt, tieless, and his long legs enveloped in chinos.

Alexia tried to push down the handle of her trolley bag, but it was a cheap case and the handle was sticking. She desperately wanted to appear in control on this trip; this wasn’t a good start.

He reached forward and took the case from her. He pushed the handle down easily with one rasping slide. He pressed his key fob and the car boot opened gracefully with the whisper of expensive engineering. Smooth, sleek, efficient.

‘Once we get out of London it shouldn’t take us too long. Make yourself comfortable.’

Alexia obeyed silently. She walked to the passenger side of the car. Nathan took off his jacket and put it on the back seat. Alexia did the same. It seemed to be an intimate act, putting her coat in the back seat of Nathan’s car. How silly was that? But it did.

She climbed into the front seat and sank into the luxurious leather. The car was a cocoon; the outside world sank away as the heavy door clunked shut. Two hours in this tiny space with nothing to do but talk?

She busied herself, stowing her handbag at her feet and pulling the seat belt through its runner to wrap around herself. The click pinned her in; she was strapped into his world. She felt a blast of cold air as he opened the driver door. She looked up to see his long leg and strong flank ease sideways into his seat. He seemed to fill the car. That aftershave. Every time she smelt it she felt that now familiar clutching sensation deep in her pussy. The scent of him, the nearness of him was agonising.

‘OK, let’s go.’ He pressed the ignition button and a low, rumbling purr emanated from under the bonnet. He eased the car away from the kerb and took them out of the square into the traffic. She watched him drive. People say you can tell what a man will be like in bed by the way he dances, but she thought the way a man drives tells you more about him.

The engine noise barely registered as Nathan slipped the wheel through his long fingers, gliding the car through the traffic with a sureness of touch. He was a man in control, in control of a big, mechanical cat.

‘I need to find out what’s going on today, if you don’t mind.’ Nathan put the radio on, a sports talk station going over the morning news stories.

‘Of course not,’ said Alexia. Work, she thought.

The babbling of the presenters filled the car. She was glad of their disembodied company; it eased the tension as Nathan drove them expertly through the traffic, taking short cuts and side roads that brought them to the edge of the city with remarkable speed.

As they hit the motorway, Nathan opened up the accelerator. She could almost feel the flex in his thigh as his foot squeezed down, thrusting them towards the speed limit in a single breath.

The engine purred only slightly louder as the car ate up the distance between London and Cleaver Hall, the country house hotel which was to be their home for the night.

The radio news programme finished and Nathan turned the dial. The car was silent again.

What now? Alexia fixed her gaze out of the window, not daring to turn and look at him.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

Alexia’s heart leapt, unsure how to answer. ‘Um …’

‘About this evening, I mean. The dinner arrangements for the boys and the sponsors and the press conference?’

Her heart sank. She was terrified when she thought the question was personal. But now it was clear it wasn’t, she felt a crushing disappointment.

‘Um, yes, I think so. Romy’s made sure I’m up to speed. And I reconfirmed everything yesterday afternoon. I won’t let you down.’ Alexia hoped it would satisfy him.

‘I don’t think for a minute you’ll let me down, Alexia. I just …’ Nathan hesitated.

He’d used her name. She looked at him. She’d never really studied him from this angle. His face was strong, and in profile that ever so slight crookedness in his nose made him look very French. His lashes were long over dark blue eyes. But she couldn’t read the expression in them.

‘I just don’t want you to be nervous,’ he said.

It wasn’t the event that was making her nervous. She wanted to yell at him, scream at him that just being next to him was shredding her nerve endings, spiralling her hormones into freefall. How could he not know? She wasn’t that good an actress. Or maybe she was …

Or maybe she was …

‘Well I’m here to do whatever you need – I’m your sub,’ said Alexia.

She thought she felt Nathan catch his breath slightly. ‘I mean your substitute PA!’ she blurted, catching a note of panic in her own voice.

There was silence again. She dared not look at Nathan. Her face was burning.

‘You seem tense.’

Alexia didn’t reply. What could she say?

Nathan shifted in his seat. Even the slight movement of his body unnerved her in this confined and cushioned space. But he seemed to be sharing her discomfort. He breathed out heavily.

‘Look, I … The other day in the office, that … I’m sorry, it shouldn’t have happened.’

Alexia felt her heart in her throat. It shouldn’t have happened?

‘I … I …’ Alexia started to speak but no words would come. She wanted to ask him why it shouldn’t have happened, but the words wouldn’t come. The silence between them was like a stone wall.

Nathan broke the silence eventually. ‘That man. Your ex-boyfriend …?’ It was a statement, but framed as a question.

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry he turned up at work.’

Alexia was wringing her hands.

‘I’m not worried about that. I was worried about
you
,’ he said.

Silence again. He was waiting.

‘Carter, his name is Carter.’

Nathan didn’t reply; he was letting her fill the gap. He wasn’t going to pry but clearly wanted to know more. He pulled into the slow lane.

‘I lived with him for a while, after I left college. It wasn’t … He wasn’t …’

How would she describe him? She couldn’t use the same language she’d used with Richard, not here, not now.
Cunt!
Yes, he was, but she felt Nathan might crash the car if she confessed to that.

‘He was a bully. He caught me when I was vulnerable and inexperienced and …’

She felt a need to tell him everything, to confess, to apologise for Carter’s sudden, unwanted appearance outside the agency. The details were wildly inappropriate, too much, but she desperately wanted to explain.

‘I didn’t realise it at first but he’s nasty. He’s the kind of man who strips your confidence. Slowly, so you don’t realise it’s happening, and before you know it, you’re a doormat …’ Her voice dropped. ‘A trapped doormat.’

Alexia felt tears stinging behind her eyes. She fought them back, afraid Nathan might hear the telling sadness in her voice.

He turned to look at her for a moment. Then his hand was on hers. The shock of its warmth and tenderness sent a surge of need through her, not erotic need, but a yearning for comfort, for strong and secure arms to hold her. His arms.

He was watching the road but his attention was all on her as she talked about Carter.

‘You wonder how you could end up like that, in a situation like that, a relationship like that. You wake up one day and think how did I get here? But then you don’t have the confidence to get out.’

She almost hiccupped the last word and fell silent. Afraid her emotions would spill out. She closed her eyes.

Then she heard Nathan’s voice, low and soft. ‘Did he hurt you?’

Alexia froze for a moment. It was hard to breathe. Hard to form words.

‘Not … No, not exactly. He didn’t hit me, but …’ She looked out of the window again, unsure how to answer. How could she tell him about Carter’s bedroom cruelties?

But he understood. She felt a soft squeeze of her hand. She felt she would cry if he kept squeezing, kept touching her. She had to move the conversation on.

‘You were amazing, really. I’ve never seen anyone drop someone to the floor like that.’

Nathan laughed to himself. ‘Army,’ he said. No more explanation necessary.’

‘But I’m …’ Alexia looked at him. ‘Thank you.’

Her voice was low and soft, and as it trailed away she saw his expression change. The tension had left his jaw, and although his eyes were on the road, she could see they were softer.

He faltered. He looked embarrassed, unsettled. He took his hand from hers; the sudden removal shocked her. She wanted it back.

But he needed it, he was driving, and he clicked the indicator and pulled onto the slip road. They had reached the end of their motorway journey. She clasped her hands tightly together, afraid if she left her hand on her thigh it would look like an invitation, a plea for more.

‘Not far now, a couple of miles,’ said Nathan. Their “moment” was over; he had retreated into his professional shell.

They drove through a small market town, past tasteful little shops and restaurants with Tudor fronts, catering for the many ladies who lunch who clearly inhabited this wealthy part of England.

A little bleeping sound emanated from her handbag. Self-consciously, she put it on her lap and fished out her mobile phone from an exterior pocket.

Texts might be private, but in this little space she felt the arrival of the message deserved an explanation. She pressed the button and her heart sank.

‘It’s from Tony,’ she said, afraid to look at Nathan. ‘He’s waiting for us in the hotel lounge.

‘OK,’ said Nathan, his voice now cool and hard.

The rest of the journey passed in silence. Tony had come between them again.

They drew up to the gates of Cleaver Hall and pulled in to a sycamore-lined driveway that swept them up to the house. A stunning 17th century manor house hoved into view. It was magnificent, refurbished as a luxury hotel and spa, fit for the rich and famous, the only clientele with bank accounts large enough to feed its voracious appetite.

‘Only the best for the Premier League,’ said Nathan, as he uncoiled his long legs and stepped out of the car, handing the keys to a uniformed flunky.

Alexia undid her safety belt and stepped unsteadily out of the Jaguar. She was unaccustomed to such luxury, and was glad that Nathan was clearly unfazed by the rapid attention they received from the staff.

She realised that Nathan was waiting for her to walk in before him. Carter had trained her so well to expect nothing that a man being a real gentleman was quite a surprise. She smiled a weak thank you and walked past him.

As they walked through the galleried lobby, Alexia received another text. She thought she saw Nathan’s jaw tense. She pressed the button. It was from Romy.

Hi hon, have put a little pressie in your bag, might help keep things under control ;-) xxx

They walked up to where an immaculately turned out young woman was sitting at a large French writing desk.

‘Ah, Monsieur Fallon, how good to see you again,’ she cooed. French desk, French accent. ‘We ’ave reserved your favourite room.’ She made a rather indecent Gallic meal of the word “favourite”. How can French women pout and talk at the same time? thought Alexia.

‘Thank you, Michelle, that’s very kind.’

He was so smooth and the woman gave him a kittenish smile. Alexia felt a surge of jealousy. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, it’s her job to be charming.

‘One of your colleagues ’as already checked in,’ the receptionist said, checking her paperwork.

They chatted for a moment. Alexia fished in her bag, looking for whatever Romy had put in there to try and distract herself. It was a large bag and it took some rooting, but eventually she put her hands on a pocket vibrator.

She slammed the bag shut and looked up.

‘And you must be Miss Alexia Wright …’ The receptionist looked at Alexia and gave her a polished hospitality smile.

‘Er, yes,’ said Alexia, aware that the warmth flooding her face must be visible. What was Romy thinking?

The receptionist continued, ‘Here are you keys, Monsieur Fallon. For you, the Ashbourne suite, and for you, Miss Wright, Room
Soixante-neuf
.’

Alexia gulped and flushed. Was the woman serious? Room 69. She felt as if she’d landed in a French farce, quite literally. She felt a curling in her loins as the memory of Richard’s tongue inside her pussy raced back to greet her. She darted a look up, but Nathan’s attention was already elsewhere. Tony was striding towards them. The junior agent was in his element, swaggering around in the luxurious surroundings. He was casually dressed in designer jeans and an immaculate shirt, the kind with a patterned collar that says “I may be in a plain shirt, but I’ve got style”.

‘Hey, Nathan …’ He strode up and looked at Alexia. She flushed again. She turned around to greet him, her key in hand. He saw the number and grinned.

‘I asked Michelle to sort our rooms out so we’d be next to each other so we could
co-ordinate
,’ said Tony, his words heavy with double meaning. He held up his own key. Number 70. His eyes danced.