TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (17 page)

Dan’s not impressed. “Tell me something I don’t know…”

Before he can finish, she interjects. “I will. He will have fucked her every which way you can think

of, and probably a few ways you can’t think of by now.”

Dan is floored by her candour and holds his tongue. In the space of ten minutes this woman has

made him divulge his secret and is now pressing more buttons than is advisable, bearing in mind his

already fragile state. His head hurts, his hand hurts and now his pride is wounded too. He leans back

and gains his second wind. “So, what makes your such a fucking expert all of a sudden?”

“Like I said before, we go way back …”

He’s shaking his head from side to side. “I’m not buying it. You’ll have to give me more than that

if you want me to bite. I’m not signing up for anything.” Using his size to intimidate her, he leans

forward and rests his chin on his non bandaged hand. “So …”

She takes an oversized breath. “Well, if you must know… he raped me.”

It’s not what he’s expecting to hear. He leans back in his chair and watches as she fixes him with a

cold stare. “Fuck!”

“That’s one way of describing it.” She turns away and sniggers before zoning in on him. “So …

Plan B? Are you in?”

“I’m not going to sign on the dotted line until I know what it is.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m determined to see it through with or without you.”

“I can see that.”

“You’ll get what you want at the end of it too. I don’t expect you to help me without there being

something, or someone, in it for you. Then again, maybe we should wait until your hand gets better?

She’s bound to be a handful.”

Dan cannot hold back on a wicked smile. “I’m counting on it.”

“So am I,” she states, mirroring his look and reinforcing it with a carefree shrug of her shoulders.

“But, we’ll have to be careful and make sure
he’s
not around; he’s pretty handy with his fists too.”

Dan laughs out loud. “This just gets better and better.”

She is suddenly serious. “No, I mean it. I don’t want you to hurt him – not seriously, anyway.”

“I can do that. You want his pretty face left unmarked, is that it?”

“And his pretty body…”

“Sorry Elise, no can do. I can’t guarantee that.” He feigns regret. “Anyway, what do you care after

what he did?”

She is unflinching in her request. “No, Dan, I mean it. I want him left in pristine condition.”

“Why?”

“That way he’ll be able to make a lot more friends when he’s in prison.”

Dan lifts up his pint glass. “I’ve got to give it to you Elise. There I was thinking you were a lady

when it turns out you’re a blonde bitch with an axe to grind.” Their glasses chink loudly. “To Plan B.”

A polite gentleman dressed in a colourful shirt approaches them. “Your table for two is ready. If

you’d like to follow me?”

Dan picks up his and Elise’s glasses. She looks to him, their eyes meet. “Ladies first,” he grins.

Side by side they move through the crowded restaurant to a table at the far end of the room, out of

the way and, more importantly, out of ear shot. They have lots to discuss.

8

All
through the night we lay side by side, sleeping peacefully. When Ayden leans over to turn off his

alarm, I find myself stretched out across him, clinging on for dear life like a barnacle on the hull of a

polished yacht. By attaching myself, I’ve caused his skin to become glossy with perspiration.

“Morning beautiful,” he says, nuzzling my messy hair. “Go back to sleep, it’s early.”

Mid yawn, I ask, “What time is it?”

“Six o’clock.”

“In the morning?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ve done my stint of nursing. Now it’s time to go be your Mr. P.”

I smile into his chest and follow the shape of his pectoral muscles with my fingertips. “Oh, I think I

can give you some time off for good behaviour.”

“Thank you. You’re a very agreeable patient.” He kisses my palm and gives me back my hand. The

bedside lamp clicks on and the room is drenched in subdued light, enough to see but not enough to

hurt my eyes.

I watch him slide out from underneath the duvet and crawl over to his side of the bed, wrapping my

arms around his pillow and breathing him in. “What time will you be back?”

He’s wriggling into his cut offs. “Around two. I’ve got some work to do and then a couple of

meetings. I’ll tie them in with lunch and be back at 2.30 at the latest.” He’s rubbing his chin with his

right hand, feeling the stubble and yawning loudly. “Will you be alright?”

I nod, grateful for the chance to see him like this. Usually he’s done a couple of hours work before I

appear from the realms of slumber. “Is that what you’re wearing?” I ask.

“No, I’m going downstairs to shower and dress in the master suite.”

I raise my brows and he smirks at the implications of his description. “Master suite? How apt,” I

ponder, tightening the grip on his pillow. “And what will master be expecting when he returns home?”

Without warning he plonks himself down on the bed, unravels my hands from his pillow, rolls me

gently onto my back and entwines his fingers into mine, keeping my arms outstretched above my

head. Suddenly, I’m awake and alert. At first I’m wary of my back but, thankfully it’s fine and

actually doesn’t feel as bad as it looks. My breathing hitches at the proximity of his hard body,

pinioning me to the bed.

“Tonight I’m going to give you the tour and you know what that means?”

I shake my head from left to right and back again.

He tips his head to the left, that way he does when he’s being playful. “No? Are you sure?”

Oh fuck! Alenka’s photos? His fantasy fucking room. My eyes widen at the thought.

“I believe the penny just dropped.” Now he’s grinning at me. “No retrograde amnesia then?” I feel

a lush kiss on my lips and arch my back towards him, hoping for more. With a spring in his step he

leaps up, grabs his phone and scoots off.

Once again, left to mourn his departure, I’m alone with my thoughts and that’s not a good thing, not

yet anyway. Taking care not to catch my feet on the cover, I swing my legs out of bed and settle them

on the heated, marble floor. For my own peace of mind, I turn up my right foot to inspect the damage;

all along my instep are tiny cuts that look like pink and red sprinkles on a birthday cake. Same again, I

take a look at my left foot. The cuts are a little larger and a little deeper, and more painful but

bearable. I take a deep breath, so grateful to have my mobility restored.

With fewer physical grievances to worry about, I inspect the bathroom from the perspective of the

toilet. Facing me is the large bath, thankfully emptied of the remaining gallons of soapy water that did

not find their way onto the marble floor. To my left is an enormous mirror and floating basins, very

chic. A million miles away from my ‘in-need-of-refurbishment’ bathroom complete with miniature

shower cubicle. Just the memory of that little escapade has me chuckling. It’s an ultra-modern, high

tech, top-of-the-range, en-suite bathroom; no more than I would have expected.

Catching my reflection, I try to tamper down my hair, but concede defeat. My fingertips are a poor

substitute for GHD’s. I return to our cosy bed and prop my head up on my left arm in anticipation of

the approaching floor show.

I’m not disappointed. After a ten minute wait the show gets underway. The model of a man

approaches me showered, booted and beautiful in his signature midnight blue suit and matching

maroon tie. Happy to ogle, I say nothing while he fiddles with his watch.

He catches my eye and winks; he knows he looks good, and why wouldn’t he? Mirrors never lie.

“Don’t you look nice?” I say, holding on to some semblance of self-control.

“Thank you. I do my best. I had Lester pick up some groceries yesterday while you were taking one

of your naps. So the fridge is stocked and there’s plenty for you to eat when you get up.”

“Thanks.” I distract myself with idle chit chat. “Do you mind if I take a look around?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “No, be my guest but, whatever you do, don’t open an outside door or a

window.”

I’m puzzled. “Why?”

He lifts his hand and points to the ceiling. “Because when I leave I’ll be setting the exterior alarm.”

“So I’ll be your prisoner? Locked away in your castle, waiting for your return?” I’m screwing up

my nose playfully.

He laughs. “Something like that …”

“What if I want to go out?”

“Call me and I’ll give you the code to punch in downstairs, but I’d rather you didn’t. You’re still

convalescing.”

“I know. I was only asking in case I trigger something by accident.”

“If the alarm’s triggered then I get notified straight away. I’ll call
you
if that happens.”

I’m pacified by that and nod my acceptance.

Armani-fied, he sits on the bed, much too close for comfort. The odour of expensive cologne hits

my nostrils and makes me swoon. Not because it’s heady or overly pungent, but simply because it

reminds me of the first time we met. Little more than a fortnight ago, I was shaking his hand and

ushering him onto the stage at my school, trotting behind him, caught on a wave of sheer luxury and

testosterone; introducing him to impatient adolescents about to embark upon an apprenticeship or

further education. He impressed them with his suave sophistication, his confidence and his air of

authority and had them eating out of his hand. Me, as the saying goes, he had me at hello …

“Don’t do too much and don’t go preparing food for an evening meal. I’ll order out when I get

back.”

“Yes Ayden,” I answer sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes.

“Conserve some of your energy for later.”

He is determined to whet my appetite for his bloody tour. “I’ll be waiting. Hurry home.” I take hold

of his tie and pull him to me, feeling the warmth of his body radiating over me and his lips briefly

touching mine.

“I like the sound of that.” He grins and eases out of my grasp, leaving me with the memory of a

sexy smile. He’s gone and I’m abandoned, with only the trace of Obsession in my nostrils and an

ocean of it in my heart.

Having dozed for another hour, I’m lying here facing the wall and gazing into space; no sounds, no

movement, just the ticking of a clock. There is a chink of light peeping through the heavy drapes and

from the skylight in the bathroom but, other than that, it could be the middle of the night.

Now is as good a time as any to explore my temporary residence. I’ll have to go back to my

apartment at some point, but not today. Knowing there is no-one here to catch me if I fall, I test my

balance and feel the full impact of heated marble under my feet. I won’t be able to stand for long

periods or to walk flat footed for a while; I’ll simply tiptoe round like a cat burglar.

I pull out a camisole top from the top drawer Ayden has allocated for my clothes and wriggle into a

pair of boy shorts; it’s so balmy in this place, I hardly think I’ll need anything else. Prima Donna style

I head for the rest of the apartment, house or whatever this place is. I have no idea what lies behind

that bedroom door.

I’m walking along a narrow corridor, the walls are a kind of eggshell white and spotlights are built

into the ceiling every yard or so. On my right is an opening onto an enormous lounge area. The walls

are the same colour except on the far right hand side, where floor to ceiling windows look out onto a

patch of green. It’s the Heath.

There are no drapes but what appear to be electronic blinds that are half way up, or is it down?

Either way, the room could be so much brighter if only they were lifted a foot or so. I prop myself up

against the door jamb to take it all in. By far the most striking aspects of this would-be gallery are the

pieces of artwork, sculptures, expensive furniture and the sheer opulence of it all.

Wow!

That word just about sums it up. But, my wonderment is temporarily put on hold and overshadowed

by an intense feeling of embarrassment. Why the hell would someone who lives like this be content to

spend time at my glorified shoe box? In terms of square footage, this lounge is bigger than my entire

apartment, and I expect everything in it costs more than the market value of my apartment too.

I’m totting up the time I’ve spent with Ayden: the meals, the wine, the company jet, the hotel suite

… it’s all been like a dream, but this? This brings it all into perspective; Ayden Stone is a very

wealthy man.

With that sobering thought, I venture further into his place of residence, letting my fingers skate

along the surfaces, enjoying the feel of bronze and marble, leather, crystal and canvas; singing along

to Badfinger singing
Day after Day.

From the other side of the room, I can better grasp its proportions and layout. To the left are the

enormous windows and set side-on to them is a stunning white, leather, L shaped sofa. To my surprise,

I cannot see a TV but I suspect it’s hidden away somewhere, requiring another gadget to make it