The Redeemer (19 page)

‘The doors are unlocked,’ she muttered into his mouth as his tongue sought hers.

‘So?’

She thought about pointing out that their relationship was meant to be a secret but he kissed her harder, placing his feet in between hers and rubbing his thigh against her mound as his hands roughly caressed her breasts.

‘What were you saying?’ he muttered hoarsely a few minutes later.

‘I have no idea.’ And she really hadn’t. All she could think of was his cock. Inside her. Like now.

He laughed into her open mouth before shoving his hand up her skirt, grabbing the side of her knickers and yanking them clean off her.

The sound of tearing fabric made her gasp. When she realised what he’d done, she gasped again.

‘What did you do that for?’

He grinned. That cocky, self-assured arrogance that made her palm itch. ‘To remind you that we should be keeping a professional distance. And to keep me going until later when we’re out of this place.’

He held them up to his face and breathed in. ‘Fuck me, you smell so good. By the time I get you naked, my cock’s going to be so angry that it’s been kept waiting. Every time I smell them, it’s going to make it worse. It’s going to make last night seem like mere foreplay.’

Stuffing her knickers into his pocket, he gave her a last, smouldering look and then sauntered out of the office. His voice drifted back to her. ‘I’m off to see Charlie.’

She knew he wasn’t joking.

‘I’m not looking forward to tonight at all,’ she muttered, half under her breath.

Liar. You can’t wait.

But wait she did. Neither of them was willing to leave the hotel until the inspector had returned to her room for the night, and even then Isla thought it might be a better idea if they stayed overnight. So, during dinner they requested feedback from Xander’s
maître d'
. It appeared that all was going well. The inspector had settled herself at the bar as both of them waited anxiously in the office for news that she’d retired to her room when Isla’s phone rang. It was an unknown number.

‘Isla Hamilton.’

‘Hi Miss Hamilton, it’s Jones here from Orion Security. I apologise for calling you like this but I need your help.’

Isla frowned. ‘How do you need my help exactly?’

She saw Xander turn his head from the computer screen and raise his eyebrows. She shrugged to answer his unasked question.

‘When I was trying to track you down, because Dean was missing I decided to track him down too. I managed to find him using his phone’s GPS. He was in a bar in Soho. He wouldn’t answer his phone so I went to find him. He wasn’t in a good way.’

‘What had happened?’

‘Um . . . I don’t think it’s my place to repeat anything right now. He was trashed out of his skull yet still intent on drinking himself into oblivion. I had to intervene to prevent the bouncers from giving him a good hiding after he’d turned on them when one suggested it was time for him to go home. Anyway, I know he hasn’t been into work since, and I’ve been in Soho this evening so I checked the bar. Sure enough, he’s in there and he’s in a right mess again.’

Isla’s first thought was that he could say goodbye to his job if he was going to spend all day getting pissed instead of coming in to work but, in the pit of her stomach, she knew this was something to do with her. The fact that Jones was calling her and wouldn’t repeat what he knew backed that up. She turned away from Xander and took a deep breath. She knew she should go and see Dean and try to sort this whole thing out.

‘Where are you?’

She memorised the name of the bar and told him that she’d be there as soon as she could.

‘What’s going on? Where are you going?’ Xander demanded as soon as she’d hung up.

‘Look, it’s Dean. I need to go and get him out of some trouble. I’ll explain later. You keep an eye on things here. I won’t be long. I’m taking the Holden.’

‘Like hell you are,’ he snapped. ‘Whatever our Lothario barman has got himself into outside of work is his own concern. You’re needed here. I’ll go.’

She returned his glare. ‘Okay. I’ll take a cab which means it’ll take me longer. You can sort out anything that happens here and I said I won’t be long. We’ve been sitting in here for ages now, not being of any use to anyone. She’ll probably go straight up to bed once she’s finished her drink. I’ll be back soon and we can get to bed. Okay?’

His stare intensified and she felt his will wrapping itself around her like snakes of iron.

She closed her eyes and strengthened her resolve. ‘I don’t know what’s happened but I know it’s serious. I’m going, Xander, whether you like it or not. You can’t call the shots the whole time. If that’s what you want, then I’m not the woman for you.’

She opened her eyes and awaited his response. After a pause, he nodded. ‘I’ll just take out your insolence on your body later.’ Then he stood up and threw her the car keys.

She caught them and blew him a kiss.

Phew. That went better than expected. He’s such an enigma, that man. And I do so love keeping him on his toes.

Isla managed to find the bar once she’d managed to locate a parking space. It wasn’t the kind of place that she’d usually frequent. From the outside, it didn’t look so much like a bar as a seedy ‘gentleman’s club’. She’d never understood the term. It was surely the last place a true gentleman would be found. But then she pictured Xander. He was publicly such a gentleman but she had a feeling that he’d be perfectly at home here.

That’ll teach me for stereotyping.

She’d expected to have to argue her way inside but, as long as she paid her money, they didn’t seem to care that she was female. She saw why when she got inside. The place was larger than it looked from the front – it must go back from the road a long way, she realised. It was dimly lit with bright spot lights in some areas highlighting the women who were working on little stages; dancing or stripping or both. She didn’t recognise the music track that was playing loudly, but she found it to be intensely suggestive and somehow erotic. She didn’t think it was just the setting that made her feel that; it was definitely the intention of the composer. She tried to look around but the only place that she could see clearly was the bar. She made her way over to it as her eyes acclimatised to the dark.

Once they did, everywhere she looked there were patrons of either sex ogling erotic dancers, strippers, lap dancers and, judging from the way people were disappearing through a door at the back, there was a lot more than that going on. Especially since some of them who returned to the room were still adjusting their clothes.

The place was literally heaving with bodies. There was no sign of either Dean or Jones at the bar. She wandered around, feeling a little like a pervert as she searched the dimly lit booths for their faces. She was glad she didn’t blush easily and that she was no prude. This place was not for the faint-hearted.

A hand on her arm made her jump. She spun around, ready to give whoever had touched her a mouthful but she found Jones standing there, looking a little bemused. She wasn’t sure whether he was out of his comfort zone or whether he thought she would be. They were near a huge wall-mounted speaker and the music was so loud that she couldn’t hear what he was saying. He pointed and then took her hand and tugged her along, through the mass of bodies that was surrounding a raised platform where a stripper was doing more than just strip, and getting handsomely tipped in the process.

Away from the speaker, Jones leaned in and said, ‘He’s with someone at the moment. She’s taken him into a room out the back.’

He quickly explained when he saw Isla’s eyes widen.

‘Oh no, sorry – it’s not like that. He’s chatting to a sex therapist.’

Isla pulled a face to convey her scepticism.

Jones smirked. ‘I know how it looks but she seems legit. She has a degree in psychology and told us we could look up her credentials. She was a Community Psychiatric Nurse and then a full-on shrink for a few years but, since she loves sex and there’s not a lot of good sex going on – her words not mine – she decided to help people who were having problems with matters of a sexual nature. It was much quieter in here until just before you arrived and Dean was getting a bit loud and leery.’

‘Dean? Loud and leery?’ she gasped.

‘Uh-huh. I think the bouncers had had enough of him and it was about to escalate fast. I did what I could but there were six of them and they’re big boys. Really big boys. I can take care of myself but Dean could barely stand up so I knew I had no chance if we took them on. They’d have laid into him, especially since he’d thought it was a good idea to take the piss out of their appearance and cast aspersions about their ability to satisfy a woman. He was a dead man walking . . . well, staggering. Then she stepped in. I tell you something, Miss Hamilton, she’s got some clout. One word from her and they took notice. A bollocking from her and they backed off. She’s as feisty as fu─ I mean, she takes no prisoners. And she seems utterly fearless.’

‘Maybe she works here or is connected with the owners in some way. So why did you call me?’

‘He got talking to her just after I called you.’

‘I see. But I don’t understand why you called me. What can I do? Surely, if this woman has influence here, she can sort it out.’

Jones cast his eyes down to the floor for a few seconds and then looked back at her as if he was unsure of what he should say. Eventually, he said, ‘I’ll paraphrase stuff that Dean told me. Most of it was drunken ramblings and I didn’t take any notice of him when I found him on Monday night. But tonight . . . well, he said that you and he had . . . well, that you’d slept together and that things hadn’t gone well.’

Suddenly, memories flashed through Isla’s mind.

So it definitely wasn’t a bad dream. Oh God. I need a drink.

She kept her face impassive, despite the thoughts that were raging through her head because the overriding thought was not to confirm or deny anything.

‘I don’t know what he’s told you but you weren’t the first to . . . er . . . give him the impression that he . . . er . . . couldn’t satisfy you.’

The last three words came out in such a rush that Isla realised just how embarrassed Jones was. She had to suppress a smile. This tough guy, a former Marine, was mortified that he was having to recount Dean’s drunken ramblings to her.

‘Go on,’ she urged, her face a mask of indifference.

Jones looked as though she’d just asked him to strip naked and strut down the catwalk at London Fashion Week in sub-zero temperatures.

He looked down and said, ‘He couldn’t make you come and you told him he was useless.’

Did I? I know my vague memories of it were nothing to write home about . . . I was frustrated that I couldn’t get what I wanted, what I needed, but I thought it was Xander tormenting me, being deliberately gentle so as to make me beg for what I needed. I don’t recall saying that he was useless. I don’t recall knowing it was Dean in my bed. Fucking wine! Fucking stupid fucking wine. I’m never touching the fucking stuff ever again. It’s fucking lethal.

Isla suddenly felt like the biggest bitch to have ever walked the earth. She clearly remembered feeling frustration and making certain demands but to no avail but she couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said.

But what good is it calling me down here? Surely I’m the last person that Dean will want to see.

But she knew that Jones felt he needed to do something. And she supposed since she’d caused this, or at least played a part in it, she should be the one to help sort it out.

But how am I supposed to do that exactly? Maybe there’s something I could do to help that doesn’t mean I have to be here . . . after all, that might not be what Dean needs.

Chicken!

I’m not chicken. I just don’t want to rub salt into his wounds.

Maybe I should tell him that he misheard, that I didn’t say that. What might I have said that sounded like useless?

She was rudely torn away from her thoughts by Jones digging her in the ribs with his elbow.

She glared at him. But he nodded his head sideways. She followed the direction of his head jerk and saw Dean and a woman having an animated discussion just inside the room. She couldn’t see them very clearly but she recognised Dean, because he was partly illuminated in the glow of a pink neon sign. Her hands felt a little clammy but that was nothing compared to how they felt when she realised that she’d been spotted. She saw Dean point in her direction before he conversed again with the woman.

Then, as they began to walk across the room, her heart felt as though it were making a bid for freedom by banging against her ribs. She wondered how the hell she was going to pluck up the courage to talk to Dean if that woman was with him. As she watched them cross the room, the mass of people seemed to part in deference to them, allowing them to pass through unimpeded. She and Jones hadn’t caused that reaction; they’d had to push their way through. She had the feeling that this woman was someone of importance. Someone not to be messed with.

As they passed a spotlighted stage, Isla got her first good look at the so-called sex therapist. Her eyes widened. The woman was beautiful. No, more than that, she was stunning. And her body . . . the way she moved . . . the confidence and grace, despite her killer, six-inch heeled, leather thigh-length boots. Isla found her eyes travelling up her body from the tip of her stilettos to the top of her head and back down again.

The sight made her blink and swallow, no it wasn’t just the sight . . . it was her body’s reaction to it. She’d never felt attracted to a woman before but there was no doubt about it, her nipples were pulling tight, hardening like two diamonds. And her pussy was awakening as surely as if Xander was here. There was something about the sex therapist . . . she oozed sex appeal, she oozed sex, full stop. She was tall with long, straight black hair that flowed out behind her and she strode purposefully forwards. Isla guessed that she was about the same size as her but she wore a corset that gave her a waist that was tiny in comparison to the full breasts that were barely contained above it. Isla couldn’t tell what she was wearing above the expanse of flesh that was her thighs. She peered closer to determine whether she was wearing a very short skirt, knickers or nothing at all below the low hem of the corset that covered her stomach. But, as she was moving confidently through the shadowy room, it was impossible to tell.

Xander’s words about curves with confidence sprang to mind – there was no doubt about it, this woman personified that statement and she had to admit, the effect was traffic-stoppingly stunning. Isla couldn’t tear her eyes away from her. And, without looking, she knew that she wouldn’t be the only one. She’d bet that almost everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on her.

She was making her way towards Isla and Jones, a determined expression on her face. As soon as Isla realised that, her stomach began to churn but still she couldn’t look away, and no matter how much her brain told her to get out of there, her feet were incapable of moving. When they arrived, Isla managed to force her eyes to where she knew Dean was standing. He was looking resolutely at the floor. She looked back at the woman and noticed that a triangular scrap of leather was covering her most intimate parts. Isla didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed.

‘So this is her,’ the woman said bluntly as she looked Isla up and down, as bold as brass, making Isla want to shrink back or, preferably, disappear through the floor.

Dean nodded but he didn’t look up.

Oh fuck. She’s going to bollock me. I just know she is.

I’ve never felt so disconcerted by a woman in my life. Very few men have achieved it. I can’t remember the last man to have made me feel like this . . . before Xander. That’s it . . . she’s like a female Xander. Inappropriate, self-assured and arrogant. No wonder I have a lady boner. I wonder what it would be like to . . . No! Don’t even think about it.
And don’t let her walk all over you now. Stand up to her. Tell her your side of things.

She tried to smile disarmingly at the bolshie beauty but her facial muscles wouldn’t obey and she ended up with her mouth in some sort of paralysed grimace. ‘I’m Isla Hamilton, if that’s what you mean. And who, may I ask, are you?’

‘So you’re the one who told him that he was useless, that he couldn’t satisfy a woman.’

It was a statement, not a question and the raven-haired challenger wore the same impassive expression that Xander often used. Isla found it impossible to know whether she was criticising her or just ascertaining facts.

‘Not that I can recall, no. But then, I don’t recall most of that night. I was very drunk. If I said anything to upset Dean then I apologise unreservedly. It was certainly not intentional.’ Isla returned her gaze unflinchingly, despite the cartwheels that her stomach was performing.

The other woman narrowed her eyes making Isla feel very small. She braced herself for the vitriol that she knew would be coming her way from the sex therapist. She could see how damaging it could be to say such things to a man after sex. She’d never do that when she was sober. Just the thought of it made her cringe.

‘What are you apologising for? It’s the best thing you could do for him. If he’s shit in the sack, he needs to know or else he’ll keep being a shit shag. And who wants that?’

Isla stood there, mouth wide open.

Did she just say . . .? Oh my God. This woman’s unreal. Poor Dean. He must be mortified. As if what I said wasn’t bad enough.

‘But now he knows it, he’s going to change all that. In my hands, he’s going to become
the
best fuck in London. Or one of them at least. He’s going to know what women want and how to give it to them whilst making sure that he gets exactly what he needs. No more awkwardness around women. In fact, he’ll be melting their knickers with just one glance. He’s a good-looking guy with the sweetest personality – he should have no problem getting laid. But he doesn’t just want to get laid and who does, if they’re honest? Anyone can get laid. It takes talent to fuck, at least to my exacting standards of satisfaction.

‘When I’m finished with him, he’ll be a legendary fucker, waking up women’s inner whores and leaving them begging for more. Nobody knows what women want and how to give it to them like I do. And nobody can satisfy a man like I can. And, believe me, nobody knows how to fuck like I do. And I don’t just mean the physical act of cock meets cunt, thrust for all you’re worth and then bingo, you come! Fucking isn’t just physical. You could have a body to die for and a fitness level of a stallion but still be a crap lay.’