TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (33 page)

I step out of my shoes and throw them into my bedroom in a steaming temper. Ayden is pouring

wine.

“Do you want this or should I wait until you’ve calmed down?”

Don’t you arch your brows at me!

I stomp over to him and snatch the glass from his hand, and throw back half of its contents. I place

it softly onto the tablecloth and prepare to let loose. “You knew? You fucking knew and you didn’t tell

me? You kept me locked up in your house like a prisoner all this time?” I take another couple of

gulps. “You even made me lie to him. He could have investigated my case and caught him, but no, you

made me lie.” I continue to stomp around the room throwing accusations at him, cursing him, letting

off steam.

When I’m too exhausted to say anymore, I fall back onto the sofa like a heap of un-ironed clothes.

“It’s a pity he didn’t jerk off on here. I might have got a new sofa,” I say sarcastically.

Ayden’s mouth lifts on one side but he holds off on a smile. “Are you done?”

I nod my head and lower it, embarrassed by my outburst.

“Come and eat something.” He ushers me to the table and I trundle over, my head down, repentant,

like a badly behaved child. He lifts my chin and I look up at him with eyes that still shine with some

of the foolishness leftover from my tantrum.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” he muses, straightening my tousled hair and gazing into my eyes.

“And there I was thinking my little genie was meek and mild.”

I’m happy to take in his stunning visage. “I never said I was meek and mild. You’ve chosen to see

me that way.”

“Then the fault is mine. Rest assured, I won’t make
that
mistake again Miss Parker.” He rubs my

nose with his. “For all your shouting, you’re still as sexy as fuck!”

The softness of his kiss on my smiling lips, is just the right side of forgive me to make everything

better again. Minus my shoes, I’m a good six inches shorter than him and from this vantage point I get

to see him from a different angle. Leaning back, I notice for the first time the length of his eyelashes

and the shape of his chin as it angles perfectly into his neck. I rest my head against his heart and wrap

my arms around him, the way I do when I want to feel safe and protected. He offers me that without

asking why.

“All I seem to be saying these days is thank you. You’ve given me so much and I can’t seem to

find the words. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”

He pushes me back and takes hold of my hands. “I know Beth and I’m sorry I didn’t have the

courage to tell you. I thought it would break your heart.” He looks around the apartment. “This is your

home. It’s clean now, back to how it was. And … I asked you to say nothing because I already have

my people looking into what happened and, believe me, they’ll get the bastard a whole lot quicker that

Detective Inspector Bowker.” He nods towards the table. “Now can we eat, because I’m famished?”

“Yes, what have you ordered?”

“Wait and see, it’s a sur …” I hold up my hand to stop him finishing the word.

“Please Ayden, just tell me. I don’t think I can take any more surprises today …”

It’s 8.30p.m. I’m sitting in the back seat of Ayden’s silver Rolls Royce, dressed to kill and dying a

little inside with every passing mile. Charlie chose my outfit and I must
thank
her when I see her.

Could she have chosen anything more tightfitting or short? The answer is no.

It has taken me twenty minutes to complete the ensemble. Thanks to her, I’m clad in a black leather

skirt and fitted bodice, with over-knee boots and wearing a cape. I’m Bat Girl! Where the hell does

she get these outfits?

I’m mindful of the fact that I’m going to this party alone; there will be mutual friends, male

friends, and this is not the kind of outfit that says stay away. In one respect I’m grateful Ayden won’t

be attending. He has a jealous streak as wide as the Atlantic Ocean and that would be tested to the

absolute limit tonight. Maybe it’s for the best.

When we reach Docklands, Charlie’s party is well underway. Even from street level her eighth floor

apartment is well lit and the sound of popular hits reverberates across the Thames and into the night. I

prepare to step out of the Rolls, refusing to look at Lester. I’ve suffered the silent censorship of his

disapproving eyes once tonight, I don’t think my self-confidence will withstand it again.

“Miss Parker.” Even the way he says my name makes my skin itch.

For a moment I pause before pressing the security buzzer and look back. “Will you collect me at

11.30?”

“Of course and Mr. Stone asked me to stress that you do not leave the party unescorted.”

I bet he did …

“Alright. I won’t. Where the hell am I going to go dressed like this anyway?” I ask, shrugging my

shoulder.

“I’ll be here at 11.30 Miss Parker.” And that’s how you end a conversation.

He watches me get into the lift until the door closes. Eight floors up and the noise hits me; the door

to Charlie’s apartment is almost bowing with the bass sounds bouncing off it. I push it open and step

inside, feeling overwhelmed by this level of sound and activity.

I emerge like a black shadow, blinking into the flashing kaleidoscope of colours circling the room.

In every corner uplighters are beaming shapes and fluorescent hues into the ceiling. Along one wall a

projector is playing videos and in the next room, a drinks fountain is overflowing with some weird and

wonderful potion that will have me flat on my back after a single glass. I spot Charlie and she runs

over.

“Beth. You’re here.” She stands back to give me the once over. “Look at
you!”

I hug her and can’t help but reflect her contagious smile; she’s having a great time. “It’s amazing.

You’ve gone all out.” I’m having to shout above the music. “You look great. Thanks for the outfit.” I

brush my hands against the leather bustier.

“Well, you know me, everything in the extreme.” I’m treated to an impromptu twirl. She’s wearing

a Wonder Woman outfit and it’s so apt. She carries it off beautifully.

“Today’s the first day I’ve been out, so can we go birthday shopping at the weekend?” I feel bad

about not getting her a present but I’ve had other things to contend with. She’ll understand.

She gives my black wig a tug. “Don’t worry about that hon, we’ll make a day of it. I’m just glad

you’re here. It wouldn’t have been the same without you. Come and get a drink, I think you know

everyone so go mingle. You won’t have any shortage of admirers looking like that.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“This isn’t Mr. P’s scene, so you can let your hair down. God knows you need to after what you’ve

been through.” She gives me a sisterly hug and is lost in the multitude of party revellers, leaving a

blaze of a red in her wake.

I head in the direction of the fountain. Whatever’s in it looks pretty but I doubt it’s as gentle on the

throat as it is on the eye.

Two minutes in and so it begins; a tall, blond guy with perfect teeth wearing a Spiderman outfit

introduces himself and, for the next fifteen minutes, proceeds to bore me with talk of hedge funds and

ski trips. He’s trying too hard and as dark as his brown eyes are, I can’t see myself reflected in them. I

excuse myself and go in search of pastures new.

That takes the form of a friendly Canadian who’s wearing an Incredible Hulk body suit; his

interests are cooking and cycling. He’s good for another fifteen minutes but he doesn’t arch his brows

the way Ayden does when he speaks and his lips are too full, not carved into that perfect V like

Ayden’s.

By 9.30, I’ve finished my drink and I’m tiring from attention overload from perfectly charming

men. I don’t want to be charmed. I want to be challenged; I want a staggeringly good looking man to

come and talk to me about romantic poetry, to speak to me in French and to tie me up and fuck me

senseless. I want Ayden.

I become aware of a familiar song. It takes me back to a time before … that night. It has me closing

my eyes and smiling. It’s 2003, Charlie and I are a pair or fun-loving girls, wanting no more than a

couple of drinks and some music to dance to: Beyoncé singing
Naughty Girl,
what else?

Ask Charlie who she would like to be in the whole world and she’ll say Beyoncé Knowles. Before I

count to ten, she will have found me and before I count to twenty, we’ll be on the dance floor doing

our
dance. Thank God Ayden won’t be here to see it.

From out of nowhere she finds me, undoes my cape and throws it onto an unsuspecting female

guest minding her own business on her sofa. Half way through the first verse, we’re into our stride,

bending, writhing, pretending to kiss. It’s ludicrous. Thankfully the music and the applause dies

quickly, allowing me to sidle away and hide myself in the bathroom. I pull off the eye-mask from my

hair and leave it on the sink. That’s enough craziness for one night.

Needing some air, I head out onto the balcony and hold onto the promise of stars but there’s too

much cloud and the November wind is scattering them across the dark, night sky.

It’s the unmistakable air of expensive cologne coursing through my nostrils that focuses my senses.

I know he’s standing behind me, biding his time, filling the space between us with sensual thoughts.

To prompt his embrace I roll my fingers over the handrail on the balcony and lean over, checking out

the group of guests calling up from below.

In a nano-second, he circles his arm around my waist, drawing me close, pulling me into him.

You’re so predictable Mr. Stone …

I say nothing to the stranger at my rear, happy to arc myself against him, placing my hands over

his outstretched palm. Instinctively, I angle my head into him, resting my cheek on his collarbone,

feeling his warm breath mingling with the cool night air.

Inside I’m glowing with happiness; he decided to come, just for me.

I feel his chest expand as he prepares to speak. “I’m supposed to be here for a friend taking care of

business, so to speak.” His voice is a whisper.

The corners of my mouth tilt upwards. “Really? I’m here on my own. My future husband doesn’t do

fancy dress parties.”

“Who doesn’t do fancy dress parties? I’d pay good money to get you into an outfit like this.” I feel

his fingers splaying and venturing northwards, the warmth from his palm radiating through the rubber

material. I feel his erection against my buttocks and that excites me further. He wants me; desire is

thick in the air

“And how much would you spend to get me out of it, Mr. …?”

“Smith …”

“… Mr. Smith?” His willingness to play has me smirking and the prospect of being undressed by

him is causing the blood to surge through my veins like jet fuel.

“Name your price Miss …”

“Jones …”

“Miss Jones. I can have the money transferred into your account in ten minutes.” He takes a beat.

“However, there is one proviso.”

“And that is?”

“You agree not to tell your future husband about it.”

What?

I spin around and take a step backward, pushing Jake Harrison away from me with my flat palms.

“You!”

“Yep. Like you said. Your future husband doesn’t do fancy dress.” He holds out his arms, showing

off his Maverick outfit which, incidentally, does look very good on him. “He sent me in his place. So

here I am.”

“But, but … I thought you were Ayden.” I’m still processing what just happened and the thought of

it is making me blush. Christ! “You’re wearing his cologne.”

“His! Hardly
his.
We wear the same cologne. So shoot me.” He’s holding up his hands. He’s so

bloody animated, he’s like a mime artist. He’s nothing like Ayden.

“You had no right pretending to be him, putting your hands on me.” He can see how upset I am, and

if he can’t, then he’s so self-absorbed I don’t care either way.

“Okay, I was out of line but it was kinda fun.” What gives him the right to smile at me like that?

“Granted it turned this dismal night into something much more enjoyable, but
only
because I

thought Ayden had changed his mind and decided to come after all.”

“No chance of that. He’s way too busy. Besides, we tossed for the Maverick outfit and I won.” He

polishes the buttons with his knuckles, seeming extremely proud of himself.

His boyish mannerism makes me smile. How come he’s the most entertaining man I’ve met all

night, when there’s a room full of good looking guys? I know why. He has that sparkle, that

indefinable something about him, that special quality that Ayden has. Only, he’s not Ayden.

“I think you’ve been sampling the punch bowl,” I suggest, watching him sway a little, the way men

do when they’re trying so hard to look sober but failing miserably.

“What if I have? Are you going to report me to my boss?”

“I might. Although I think he has no illusions as to your nocturnal activities Jake.” I attempt to side

step him, but he bars my way.

“
My
nocturnal activities?” he asks, throwing back his head in a kind of mocking gesture. “You’re a