Vengeful Love (27 page)

He withdraws his fingers and flips me by my hips, pulling my knees to the floor, my back to his chest. He doesn’t speak but moves his mouth to my neck, biting my skin. Reaching back, I dig my nails into his bare thighs.

He leans me forward and spreads my legs with his knees. I brace my body with my arms on the sofa and try to relax. Despite his urgency, he strokes a hand between my legs to make sure I’m ready to accept him, then he thrusts himself deep inside me on a bark.

The depth of his relentless, powerful drives has me crying out in a frenzy of spine curling pain and otherworldly pleasure. He continues his thrusts, maintaining momentum. I’m close and as hard as I’m trying not to, I’m going to tip over the edge if he doesn’t end this soon. But my hips are pushing back with my own anger. Anger for the scars on his back and wrists. Anger over his shadows. Rage because his past murdered my father.

He grabs my hair in his fist and pulls my head back then wraps an arm around my stomach and pulls my body against his.

Yanking my hair, he turns my head toward him and assaults my mouth, more desperate than he’s ever been. I push my hips back to meet his thrust and groan into his mouth as we both climax violently, our mouths absorbing our cries.

Chapter Thirty-One

“Good morning,” he whispers as I open my eyes.

His cool breath smells of mint. He rests on the bed next to me leaning up on his elbow. He’s part dressed for work, his navy suit trousers hugging his svelte hips, his chest bare. I shuffle closer and breathe in the scent of Dolce and Gabbana.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” I say, nibbling his enticing nipple.

“Don’t. I need to go to the office, I’ve got a call with China and I already don’t want to leave you.”

I run my finger from the waist of his trousers up his side until goose pimples form beneath his skin. He flexes his hips and sighs. I kiss his chest then, wrapped in his white bed sheet, I make my way to the bathroom but not before one last glance across my shoulder.
What has he done to me? Who is this minx who’s taken over Scarlett Heath’s body?

“I’ll see you later?” I ask.

“Are you going to work today?”

“Mmm hmm, I feel up to it. Plus, I’m having coffee with a friend this morning. Schmoozing.”

“Schmoozing who?”

“A
friend
, like I said. An old uni friend.”

“She’s a client?”

“He and not yet but I’m hoping he’ll put some work my way soon.”

“He?”

“Yes,
he,
and relax, Gregory, I’m a lawyer, not a hooker.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s in corporate finance.”

“Corporate finance?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

Rolling my eyes, I make to leave the room on an obviously disgruntled sigh. “His name is Luke Davenport.”

“I’ll see you at home tonight then,” he says.

“Home for this week,” I say, waving a hand lazily as I exit the room.

With one towel wrapped around my wet hair and another wrapped around my body, I wander to the kitchen and make myself a coffee. Waiting for the machine, I look around the apartment and can’t help but think that I could be happy here, with him. I watch from the window, my coffee cup warming my hands, as people walk in the streets below and rain streams down the side of the glass building. The first signs of the South Bank Christmas Market are beginning to show, they’re getting ready for the traditional November opening weekend; wooden frames are being erected. For the first year in many, I won’t be taking my father but it dawns on me that the same would’ve been true with or without Pearson. A chill runs down my spine and I find myself snarling.

I take my coffee to the dressing room and search the wardrobe Gregory has given me to hang my things for the week. I select a crimson dress, black pointed heels and a knee-length black wool coat. When my hair is dry, I clip it straight into a French roll to avoid rain-induced frizz later in the day.

The concierge dips his head to me as I pass. Stepping onto the street, I open my dome umbrella as quickly as I can. As I lift it up and above my head, I see Jackson, squinting as rain hits his cheeks, holding the back door of the Mercedes open for me.

Shaking my head I laugh. “I give in. Let’s go.”

He smiles, closes the door behind me and sits into the driver seat. I tap the visor that compartmentalises us and Jackson winds it down.

“Where are we headed?” he asks.

“Canary Wharf. One Canada Square, please.”

“Sure thing.”

“I hear you’re helping Sandy move today.”

“That’s right.”

“I like you, Jackson, I really do.”

“But?”

“But if you
ever
hurt her, I
will
cut off your balls, fry them in sweet chili sauce and feed them to urban foxes. Understand?”

“I think I’ve got that,” he says, his nearest cheek rising toward his eye. “I have no intention of hurting her, Scarlett.”

“Well okay then. But I hear urban foxes
really
like sweet chili. Just saying.”

Turning on my Blackberry for the first time in days, the unread email count in my inbox rises until it shows two hundred and sixteen. A quick check of my Outlook Calendar tells me Margaret has rearranged almost everything for this week. I quickly fire off an email to warn her that I’ll be in the office by ten-thirty.

“I’ll get the tube back to the office when I’m done, Jackson, so you don’t need to wait and take me.”

He inclines his head and looks at me through the rearview mirror as if to say
you silly little girl.

I flip an exasperated hand through the air. “Or do. Whatever.”

When I leave the car, in spite of myself, I can’t help but feel sorry for Jackson, always under orders, always having to find somewhere to park in impossible places. I button up my coat and tie the waistband then walk into Pret as fast as my stilettos will allow. A croissant somehow worms its way into my order with a latte for me and a black Americano for Luke.

“Come here, you,” Luke says, grabbing me around the waist and turning me into a cuddle. He leans back and tucks one loose strand of hair that’s fallen from my French roll behind my ear in an overly familiar way. “You look a million dollars.”

“You always know how to make me feel good. Look at you in your three-piece suit. Very handsome. And when did you start combing your hair to the side like this?”

“It’s new for winter.”

I laugh, genuinely, sincerely.

“Your latte,” says the plump man in a burgundy apron behind the counter. “And the Americano must be for you, sir.”

“You always remember how I like things, Scar.”

“I don’t forget miniscule but important details like how my friends take their coffee. There’s a little pocket of my brain marked,
Things Luke Likes.
”

“Ah, yes, I forget how similar we are. I too like to hoard meaningless info so I can’t fit anything important in.”

With a grin, I let Luke lead us to a table for two in the corner of the café. When we sit, he leans forward and tears at my croissant, leaving half on my plate and taking half for himself.

“I’m doing it for your hips,” he says as I pout. “We wouldn’t want you to fatten up that ballerina frame now, would we?”

“Not much chance of that with you stealing my food.”

“So listen, Scar, before we start chatting, I don’t want to bum you out so I’ll say it now. I’m really sorry about your pops. I was at the church. It was as nice a service as it could be, if that makes sense.”

“Thanks. Can I be honest and say I really don’t want to talk about it?”

“Scar, this is me, of course.”

Luke is the only person who has ever called me Scar. Others have tried, Lord knows everyone tried at school, and I’ve always dismissed it. But Luke calling me Scar always sounded right somehow.

“So before you try to schmooze me into giving you work—don’t look at me like that, if you weren’t schmoozing we’d be headed to a club on a Saturday night, not sitting in Pret amongst a load of suits on a Monday morning. So, before you talk shop, tell me something new. Anything.”

Something new about me, the woman who works hard, cares for her father and plays a tiny amount.

“Well, actually.” I play with my coffee cup, rolling my finger around the cardboard rim. “I’m sort of, kind of—”

Then I stop midsentence, distracted by a man ducking his head behind a tabloid. “Excuse me for a minute, Luke.”

I stomp from our table to where Jackson’s sitting and snatch the tabloid from his grip. “Tell me he hasn’t sent you to spy on me.”

“He hasn’t sent me to spy on you.”

“He’s such a dick. Argh! Okay, I’m not going to make a scene in a coffee shop so can you please just leave?”

“I have a coffee.”

“Leave your coffee, or take it with you, I don’t care, but don’t sit here and watch me from behind your newspaper.”

“Scarlett, you know I can’t leave.”

I grind my teeth and breathe heavily out of my flaring nostrils. If I could breathe fire, I would fly to Gregory’s office and blow my red-hot flames all over him. But Jackson is just doing his job, taking orders from Mr. Irrational Dickhead Bazillionaire CEO.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Irritated beyond all imaginable belief, I stride huffily back to Luke.

“You were saying?” He looks like he’s suppressing a laugh at my tantrum but he knows better than to tease me.

“Never mind.” I refuse to tell anyone about Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire Ryans and how truly smitten I am with the controlling, enigmatic, most mesmerising man I’ve ever met. Because he’s also a dick. “What’s new about you?”

“Erm, single again.”

“You are? Since when?”

“About ten weeks. In fact, not
about
ten weeks, ten weeks and two days as of eleven twenty-two this morning.”

“Gosh, I can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. I’m sorry, you guys were great together. What happened?”

“Apparently, it’s not me, I have a lot to offer but I just don’t look like the dream man.”

“You’re kidding!” Of all the reasons Luke might be dumped, being unattractive is just not one of them. When he asked me out to dinner at uni, I couldn’t believe it.
What would a guy like him want with a girl like me?
He was shabby then, he had rugged tousled brown locks and he used to wear slim fit jeans and Converse, back when Converse weren’t really that cool. His amazing, piercing blue eyes used to be the topic of every girl’s conversation. “Well, you know, a lot of people are probably counting their lucky stars that you’re back on the market.”

He rests his hand on top of mine, leans his head to one side and blows me an air kiss. My smile is short lived when I remember my stalker is sitting watching me from behind his newspaper.

“And how’s work?” I coax.

“Okay, okay, we have to go there at some point. Actually, I got promoted.”

I already know that, courtesy of Amanda. “You did? Congrats.”

“Well thanks and congrats to you too. It means I can manage my own budget for external advisors.”

“So, you could give me work if you like?” I ask with what I hope are twinkling eyes.

“I guess I could.” He chuckles.

We talk about Luke’s promotion and his new responsibilities, then some deals he might be financing in the not too distant future.

“Well you know where I am if I can help you,” I say, kissing him on the cheek and escaping from his bear hug outside the cafe.

“I’ll be in touch but I’m holding you to that night out too. I’m not waiting three months before I see you again, missy.”

Luke heads back to his office and I turn to scowl at Jackson. He’s already out of his chair, key in hand, ready to bundle me back into his car and take me to work.

* * *

“Thank you for the coffee, Margaret,” I call from my office as I take off my coat which, thanks to Jackson, has only a light smattering of raindrops despite the heavy downpour still in full flow outside.

Whilst my computer bounces through stages of set up, I flick through the mail that Margaret has already vetted for me. A letter from Companies House has arrived, which states that the new owner of Sea People International is Eclectic Technologies
or, put another way, Mr. Gregory Ryans. I lay the letter out flat on my desk and watch it as I sip my coffee, expecting it to turn black, crawl and attack me. When nothing happens, I cast the letter into my pile of filing for Margaret and open Outlook. For the second time this morning the unread email count in my inbox jumps to an impossible number but since I checked in the car on the way in there’s only one new message.

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Ryans, Gregory

Sent: Monday 5 Nov 2012 10.12

Subject: New Matter

Good morning Scarlett,

As we have recently discussed, I’ve have been in negotiations with a Chinese company regarding introducing innovative technology to the European market. I should be grateful if we could arrange a suitable time to discuss potential structures for the relationship; one possibility we have considered is a joint venture. Things are moving quickly so I would appreciate your support as soon as possible. Discussions are likely to involve Eclectic Technologies and Shangzen Tek (China). We’re about ready to get into the specifics.

Regards,

Gregory Ryans

CEO Eclectic Technologies

As I’m reading, another pops up in the bottom right corner of my screen.

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Ryans, Gregory

Sent: Monday 2 Nov 2015 10.18

Subject: Re: New Matter

iPhone.

Regards,

Gregory Ryans

CEO Eclectic Technologies

A text message waits on my iPhone screen.

Please be honest with me and tell me if you’re not ready for a deal yet. I won’t go anywhere else. I can delay it.

I quickly text back.

I’m fine. Email...

To: Ryans, Gregory

From: Heath, Scarlett

Sent: Monday 2 Nov 2015 10.22

Subject: Re: New Matter

Good morning Gregory,

Thank you for your email. I would be happy to discuss this further. I can meet with you today. Do you have any available time this afternoon?

Regards,

Scarlett Heath

Director

Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain LLP

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Ryans, Gregory

Sent: Monday 2 Nov 2015 10.23

Subject: Re: New Matter

12pm?

Regards,

Gregory Ryans

CEO Eclectic Technologies

To: Ryans, Gregory

From: Heath, Scarlett

Sent: Monday 2 Nov 2015 10:25

Subject: Re: Meeting

12pm is fine. I will see you at your office then.

Regards,

Scarlett Heath

Director

Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain LLP

Despite the fact I want to breathe dragon flames at his head, butterflies flutter in my stomach at the thought of seeing him so soon. I’m still smiling at my screen when Amanda comes into my office.

“And what do you look so pleased about? No wait, let me guess. I think you’re playing the gooey-eyed lovesick puppy. Am I right?”

“Forget that. What’s all this with you and Williams. Are you still, you know?”

“Sleeping together? Actually, no. Well, not that either of us remember. You’d think I’d know, right?”