Chapter One
Damn him! How can he be so good at this? Panting hot lustful breaths as her slender fingers buried themselves in the lush softness of his hair, Vickey tried to fight back her moans as her lover’s tongue parted her folds. Swivelling deep, its silky smoothness teased her senses into delirium. Desperate for more, she opened her legs wider, surrendering herself and opening up to him in the most intimate of ways. “Mmm- Ah! Jake! Ahhh! Oh fuck… Please!”
He always knew just where to touch, where to lick, to suck. She couldn’t explain it. He just seemed to know how to get her hot, how to have her crying out as the fiery serpent spread from his villainous tongue to coil within her belly, heat seeping through her being in a flood of white-hot pleasure. “Oh! There, right there!”
It was so incredibly delicious. He might just drive her insane.
“That’s it, love, don’t be shy. You love this, don’t you? Me eating you. Licking your clit," he whispered, his voice reverberating through her most sensitive spot, feeding her desire. “Want some more?” He blew across her clit, as though to emphasise the question, and the feeling of his warm breath rushing over the pearl, seeming to brush over every nerve in her body, had her bucking and writhing against him, eyes squeezed shut against waves of delirious pleasure.
“Yes. Yes! Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don- oh my fucking God! I’m gonna cum!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he buried his head between her thighs, eating her with a starving hunger, tongue drinking in her flowing nectar before swirling around her clit. Then he was sucking, cheeks hollowing, drawing her little bud from the safety of its hood and into a sensory overload that had her head spinning.
“Open your eyes, angel. Watch me eat your delicious cunt.” His words were hot and dirty. She shook her head, the hot knot of tension spiking deliciously at his words and the feeling of his tongue fluttering over her centre. It was too much. Any more and she would shatter. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t-
“Open your eyes.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The command was in his tone, and her body obeyed. His eyes gleamed up at her from between her thighs. His hot, predatory gaze burning into hers as that merciless tongue slid over and under. It was so erotic. So…
“Vickey? Hello! You still with us over there?”
Vickey blinked through the haze to find Erika sitting across the table, waving a dainty but expertly manicured hand tipped with silver and white nails. Angela sat beside her, not saying anything, but that sly little grin pulling at the corner of the fiery redhead’s mouth spoke volumes. At the very least, it was enough to assure Vickey that her flatmate knew exactly what was going on.
Heat blooming across her face, she dropped her gaze to their table, refusing to meet their eyes. Dammit, I did it again. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get him out of my head?
“Geez, Vi, you could make a cherry look pale,” Erika observed, dropping her hand to take a long sip of her colourful cocktail, draining the glass. “Mmm… that’s good. My usual now, Mike,” she called to the burly chap behind the bar. Though not exactly their local, they were there just often enough to be called regulars and have a slate for their drinks. They paid off just enough that Mike, the publican, and his staff would let them slide when they wanted a drink but were having a bad week. Or if they showed off a bit of thigh and asked nicely. “So, who brought that blush to your cheeks?”
Vickey shuddered and kept her eyes down, resisting the impulse to touch the heat still burning her skin. The Crown was the quaint, old-fashioned sort of establishment one would expect to find lost in the pages of an Agatha Christie or Jane Austen novel, with a piano in one corner, oak beams running across the ceiling, and a huge old oak bar framed by every sort of bottle and glass. It was a quiet pub where friends could meet and chat after work, but hardly a place to discuss the man haunting her dreams whenever she closed her eyes.
“Oh, I know,” Angela cut in. “It’s him. Right? The guy you were seeing.” The small grin spread into a smile that was surely evil incarnate. “The one you’ve been pining for.”
“Piss off!” Vickey rounded, forcing a smile, but she was unable to resist rising to the bait.
The redhead shot a sideways look at Erika and winked. “He’s all she thinks about.”
“Goddammit Angie!” The heat was practically radiating off her now. “I told you to stop eavesdropping on me when I go to bed!”
“I ain't been droppin’ no eaves miss, honest.” Angie grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Wish I could, Vick, but you’re a screamer, and I live vicariously.” The redhead laughed again as her roommate flipped her the bird.
“Isn’t it bad enough you steal my clothes when I’m out? Don’t think I don’t recognise that top you’re flaunting.”
Angela’s smile dropped. “Aww… come on. You know this looks way cuter on me.”
“Is that your idea of an excuse? I know the only reason you want it is so you can show off your tits to every guy who walks by our booth.”
“Exactly.” She gave an exaggerated wiggle that had her already emphasised breasts jiggling within the confines of the plunging halter that had rhinestones along the hem of the bust. “They get a show, and in return, I get a free drink. Isn’t that trade worth your sacrifice?”
“No. I want my top back,” Vickey countered dryly, refusing to back down. She needed to stay on the attack and keep the conversation moving.
“What, you want me to strip off right here? In front of everyone?” She grinned and gestured over her shoulder to where a group of lads were clustered around a tallboy. “I know it’s Christmas, Vick, but shouldn’t I wait to let one of those lucky guys open his present?”
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t,” Vickey countered. “Anyway, I bet it’s not something half the guys here haven’t opened before.”
“You bitch.” Angela laughed, only to be checked by the sudden appearance of a fresh tray of drinks.
“Hey girls,” a waitress by the name of Autumn greeted. She was a natural head-turner with sun-kissed curls and rosy cheeks, and she was made all the more noticeable by the little two-piece Santa uniform that showed off plenty of thigh and midriff. “These are from the guy over at table thirteen.” She shuddered, though made sure to keep it as nonchalant as possible so that only the three other women around the table would notice before tilting her head. Vickey followed the movement.
At first, it looked like she was indicating to the lads around the tall boy, but the black number nine stamped to the edge of the brass plate suggested otherwise. So instead she looked past the lads to the far end of the pub where a forty-something guy with a greasy top-knot was drooping in a chair. The table’s brass plate was marked thirteen.
Following Vickey’s gaze, Angela visibly deflated, and it was all Erika could do not to burst into hysterics. Seeming to sense he had an audience, the guy then turned towards them, smiled and raised his half-a-lager. His broad smile made him look remarkably like Jabba the Hutt, and all three girls quickly looked away.
“Thanks,” Angela mumbled to Autumn’s retreating back, then pushed the drink over to Vickey. “Okay, bad example. But I-”
“Wait a minute!” Erika’s eyes were suddenly bright. “You mean that guy, right? The one you said was a marathon man? Looks kinda like a young-ish Sean Bean, only with a goatee. Oh… he was hot, but…” She looked from Angela to Vickey. “Didn’t you give him the elbow last month?” Geez, thanks Erika.
Immediately aware of both sets of eyes fixing on her, Vickey dropped her gaze down to the drink Angela had passed her. Eyes pricking with tears, she refused to let either woman see her cry and instead focused on the bubbles rising to pop on the murky top of the Rum and Coke. Had it really only been a month? And to think, they had been so happy.
She had been so happy.
It was such a strange idea, her, happy.
But she had been at the time. That's how it had been with the others. A few dates, that was all. Then she’d end things. No attachments. No teary farewells or goodbyes. No commitment. No emotion. It was the best way. Best for her, and most certainly best for them.
And she’d been fine with it every time. They were just men, after all. If necessary, the best parts of them could be replaced by a pair of Triple-A batteries and a trip to the toy aisle in Ann Summers. But with Jake…
It was madness, pure madness, but in the space of a few weeks, he had completely consumed her in a way no other man had. Made her feel complete and safe. Happy.
Now he was gone, and it was her fault.
Sipping the rum, she wiped away the tear burning her cheek with the side of her hand.
Angela didn’t buy the act for a second. “God, what’s with you?”
“What?” Vickey asked, avoiding the redhead’s scrutinising stare.
“What?” she parroted, then arched a long elegant brow. “Come off it, Vick. Don’t give us that load of old pony. You never go out with a guy for more than a handful of dates before cutting him out of your life. Then this guy comes along, and you’re suddenly attached to him at the hip. You sicken us with a routine that would make Shakespeare tom and dick. Then you break up with him out of the blue. Now I have to drag you out by your hair just to get you to come out for a drink on Christmas Eve.” Her smirk dropped. “Seriously, what is it about this guy?”
“It’s nothing.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Really? Because I could have sworn that was The Only Way is Essex you were watching when I came home.”
“I like-”
“You can’t stand soaps,” Erika countered, cutting her off before she could even finish the lie.
“It's entertaining.”
“It's shit.”
Vickey shot her another glare but made no effort to defend the program further. A veteran of all things soap, reality, and celebrity T.V.. If Erika said it was crap, then there was no argument.
She sighed and put her glass down, defeated. “It’s nothing. He’s… different.”
“Different?” Angela asked. “Different how?”
Vickey shrugged. She couldn't explain it. Jake wasn't like other men. Not the kind her friends understood. He was dark and dangerous. Full of that confidence which bordered on arrogance but with that sexy, irresistible bite. Dominating, but not overbearing. Scary without terror. He was a complete enigma. Even to her. “Just… different.”
Erika and Angela shared a look that made Vickey’s belly somersault. She knew that look.
“So, what does he do?” Erika finally asked, taking a long draw on her cider, watching her across the glass.
Vickey blinked. “I… I don’t know.”
“He didn't tell you?” Angela leant forward, scrutinising.
“I never asked.”
“But how come?”
And there it was, the question that she dreaded. How could she tell them she was afraid to ask? Afraid of what his answer might be?
Vickey wasn’t a liar. She’d grown up with liars. She’d learnt to lie before she could walk. She was possibly one of the greatest liars who’d ever lived. She’d seen the hurt they caused. She hated lying. She certainly didn’t want to lie to two of the only true friends she’d ever had, but she'd seen the truth.
Jake never made a big deal about her finding it that time, but it was there.
Stashed away in his drawer, between a packet of paracetamol and a box of condoms.
A SIG Sauer P226.
Only certain men carried those. And none of them worked jobs that made good gossip. Good, healthy gossip anyway.
“It just never came up,” Vickey shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “But he works a lot of strange hours and keeps himself in shape. Not very toned, but healthy, like he does a lot of running. And his stamina is amazing, so maybe he’s a personal trainer.” That at least was a half-truth. She’d never liked those muscle-bound guys. They were so heavy and slow, all show and no bite. Jake had been just her type, tall and lean but with muscle in all the right places.
Erika shot Angela a knowing sideways look. “Maybe he’s married.”
The words were like an icy shiver down Vickey’s spine. “What?”
Angela didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, he’s married and seeing you on the side.”
“No.”
“Well, where does he live?” asked Erika, now beaming.
“I don’t... I think in one of those new towers they built on the East End a couple of years ago. But he only took me there a couple of times and I never paid much attention.”
Where did he live? The cabby had always been waiting for them and she’d always been too preoccupied to pay much attention to where he was taking her.
“He’s married.”
Vickey grit her teeth, growing angry with that smug smile playing across her roommate’s peach coloured lips. “No, he’s not.”
Angela gave her a withering look. “Oh, have a day off, Vick. He doesn’t tell you anything about himself, works weird hours, takes you back to a flat that could be anywhere in the city for all you know-”
“What about his phone?” Erika asked.
Vickey rounded on her. “What about it?”
“W-was he on it a lot?” Her friend seemed to shrink under her glare. “Did he ever try and hide it from you, refuse to let you use it or-”
“No, Erika. I never asked to use his phone, and he never made a big deal out of it. He’s not married, so just drop it.” Knowing she needed to calm dawn, Vickey grabbed the Rum and Coke and took a drink. It didn’t help. “And what does it matter now? It’s over, remember? I broke it off. Not him. Me!”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Erika pressed on regardless, though changing tact, as if worried the accusations had somehow insulted her. “You certainly wouldn’t be the first. My mum once met this guy who had a girlfriend and a wife, he… he told them all he drove juggernauts so they wouldn’t-”
“He’s not married!” Vickey snapped, with more certainty than she had any right to have. The hot ice of her tone cutting off any remaining argument Erika might have had and made her friend’s eyes drop to stare at the now empty cider glass.
Vickey immediately regretted being so sharp with her. She hadn’t meant to be, but she couldn’t help it. He wasn’t married, she just knew it. Men lying about their marriage didn’t turn up with the sorts of bruises Jake would sprout overnight. Or look at her the way he had; as if he were looking into her, to the centre of her being. No one had ever looked at her that way before. He can’t be married. He just can’t!
Angela nervously cleared her throat. “What did he think about your dad’s breakout?”
“He didn’t know.”
“But… how?” Erika looked up, surprise written across her face. “Your dad’s escape from Belmarsh was all over the news.”
“I told him my surname’s Romano. It was my mother’s maiden name.”
“So, you never...” Erika paused.
“What?”
Angela leaned forward, voice hushed. “Told him about your family?”
Vickey snorted, “Of course not. God, what do you suggest? Shag him senseless, then go, Hey, babe, that was wild. Oh, by the way, you know that escaped murderer who’s been all over the news? That’s my dad. I’ve heard some crazy pillow talk, but that about takes the biscuit. Then just for kicks, I could add, ‘And if the wrong person sees us together, Terrance Daley is likely to cut your cock off and feed you your balls’.” She gave another dry laugh, then threw back the remains of the Rum and Coke, ignoring the way her friends exchanged worried looks at the mention of Daley.
Forty years ago, Terrance Daley - or just Terry to his friends, the River Police, Flying Squad, and Daily Mail readers- had been an infamous enforcer of Freddie Foreman. Five years ago, The Mail had called him The People's King of London, but Vickey had only ever known him as Uncle Terry.
Suddenly, she was there again. In that room. The night cold and crawling over her skin, fingers grasping her chin, sour breath reeking of whisky hissing in her ear. “Good girl, now lie down on the bed and let Uncle Terry see…”
“Jesus! Vickey… Vickey!” Angela and Erika stood around her. “You’re as white as a sheet.”
“What’s wrong? You feelin’ alright?”
“Y… yeah. I’m fine.” Christ, where did that come from?
She shook her head, trying to clear the fog, and suddenly was all too aware of the sweat clinging to her brow. Then, she realised just about every head in the bar was watching their table. “Listen… I’ve got to go.”
“What?”
“Where are you going-”
“Are you sure you’re-”
“Want us to come-”
“Maybe we should get you checked out-”
She shook them off.
“No. No, I’m fine.” Grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair, she slung her handbag over a shoulder.
“I just need some air. To think. Yeah. I’ll see you later.”
Then, eyes glassy and heart pounding, she was moving past a shaken Autumn, round the bar, and through the door into the winter night.