Five
Max
My mind was still reeling from what I had done. I had kissed Amber, initially to prove a point and it had backfired, big time. My body still throbbed from the feeling of her soft body pressed against my chest and I could smell her sweet scent on my skin. I hated to admit it but I had never been more turned on in my life.
When she’d pulled away and ran from me, that arsehole side of me wanted to go after her, haul her back outside and go for another round. I wanted to show her what it felt like when a real man fucked her. I felt like a savage.
I hadn’t of course, I’d managed to pull myself together. It was the sight of that hint of tears which stopped me. I hadn’t badged Amber as a crier and it knocked me for six. I’d been rough with her to start with and I knew that was wrong. My parents had raised me better. Yes, I liked the rough stuff in the bedroom but only when that was reciprocated.
The soft feel of her tongue against mine, as she submitted, had shot straight to my dick, blowing my mind. Yes, I’d been the aggressor but Amber had soon melted in my arms. I told myself that wasn’t the point. I felt another stab of remorse, irrespective of her response, I shouldn’t have behaved that way. The woman was a bitch, but didn’t deserve that type of treatment.
I also hadn’t appreciated my best friend looking at me like I was some type of sexual deviant. After Gabriel had torn me a new one for kissing Amber, his driver Marco had dropped me off at my apartment. I’d explained to her pathetic excuse for a date that she’d taken ill with a headache and had paid their bill. I could be Mr Nice Guy if the moment called for it. Did he believe my excuse? Who gave a shit? The guy got a free meal for his troubles and Felice’s wasn’t cheap.
Lady Amber-Leigh Swift was now even more of a puzzle. Who would have that beneath that stuck-up bitchy exterior coated in ice was a hot, passionate woman. And one that fitted against me so perfectly; almost like she was made for me.
That moment before I’d kissed her was intense. Like the developing stage of a storm; something which had always fascinated me, especially tornadoes. I had always found them beautiful, irrespective of the danger and carnage they created.
Talk about a sucker punch. That spark of liquid fire I’d felt once my mouth had met hers was electric . Once Amber’s sweet tongue had tangled with mine, I’d wanted to lift her dress and bury myself inside her against that bloody door. Either that or drag her onto the ground like an animal. Which I wouldn’t have done, of course, I’d never force myself on a woman.
Another surge of shame shot through me. Fuck . Amber had stirred up such a dangerous, primitive need inside me, especially when her stomach rubbed against my junk. When I realised her change of heart as she’d pushed me away, I let her go. It had been hard but I’d done the right thing.
There was no denying the truth now, Amber had turned me into a randy teenager looking for a quicky. Even now the thought of worshiping her body with mine was making me hard.
I wasn’t stupid, seeing her with Hopton had made me jealous, and that’s why I’d acted like such a dick. It had sod all to do with her father, but once the bullshit had started to flow, I couldn’t stop it. Add several shots of whisky into the mix and out came the dickhead; that side of me that always got what he wanted, or thought he did. Watching that fucknut Hopton get handsy with her, pissed me the hell off .
I hadn’t realised that the tension between Amber and I had been so sexual, but after that kiss, it all made sense. The forbidden fruit had her name written all over it. I could still taste her and God, past all that sour she was ripe and sweet. That little moan she had made into my mouth almost had me coming in my jeans. There wasn’t a shadow of doubt in my mind now that I wanted her. And she wanted me to, no matter how she had denied it.
As I said, I hadn’t intended to kiss her, initially. The amount of alcohol I’d sunk and then seeing her with Hopton had forced me to demand answers. I needed to know why they were together and what the hell she saw in that dipshit. When I’d seen the punk with his hand on her and knowing his questionable past, I’d seen red. The desire to fuck him up had been swift but fortunately, I’d managed to appear civil. When riled, I usually hit first and talked after. What? Talking is overrated when a strong message needs to be sent.
When Amber ran, I’d followed, ploughing past Gabriel and out of the dining area but I’d lost her. I’d needed to know she was OK.
I almost regretted manhandling her.
Almost.
Decorum and I had never been the closest of friends. I usually did what I wanted when I wanted.
My mind was still spinning with a thousand questions; ones I needed answers to. I wasn’t lying when I’d told her I’d seen her eye-fucking me, but it was just something I got used to from most women. It was standard stuff and so I’d disregarded that having any gravitas. The fact that she appeared so indifferent and unimpressed when we spoke had also shat on those coy glances. Now I knew the gleams of hunger I’d witnessed were real .
As I fisted myself in the shower later that night, I thought about Amber; imagining all the things I wanted to do to her. The images my hungry mind created were unbearably erotic; thoughts that made my entire body throb. I came so hard that I almost passed out.
After cleaning up, I left the bathroom naked and padded into my bedroom.
I had an eight-thirty meeting and needed to sleep but I couldn’t stop the chaos of my forbidden thoughts. The thrum of a looming alcohol-induced headache also suggested I needed my bed.
After grabbing a towel from the drawer, I rubbed it against my hair before wrapping it around my waist.
Lowering myself onto my bed, I grabbed my phone and swiped the screen. I needed to message Amber, maybe clear the air, and apologise. I didn’t usually feel regret. Regret was for pussies but I had to say something . Fuck. I’d had my tongue down her throat and would see her in the morning. What would I say? If I didn’t message her before we came face to face that could be as awkward as hell. Was I imagining it or had I said something about her coming home with me?
Sitting there staring at the phone, I typed and deleted the text message several times. I wasn’t one who ever apologised for anything but what could I do?
I was about to press send when a message appeared on WhatsApp.
Opening the text, it was from Amber or as I had named her on my phone, The Antichrist . The muscles in my jaw tensed.
It never happened. She’d messaged. Great, she went straight there? Denial.
Rubbing the muscles in the back of my neck, I gritted my teeth as annoyance pumped through me. Again, she’d beaten me to the punch. It also pissed me off that she would know I’d read it within seconds of its arrival. Like I was sitting at the other end of the phone, panting for contact from her like a sad fuck.
Screw my apology, the stubborn little witch.
I waited a few more minutes to see if she’d add anything else before I sent my intended reply. The woman was playing with fire with her smart mouth and lush little body .
Fine by me.
Not the most kick-ass response but sod it. If that was how she wanted to play it, so be it. I’d pretend too. My silence would always be much louder than hers and I never lost.
I thought about her killer body and stunning face, those cat-like eyes with a thousand stories locked inside them.
Fuck it, the woman had hard work written all over her. I’d clearly sunk too much booze.
I now knew that I needed to keep whatever perverted thing I had going for the woman under wraps. Under no circumstances could I allow myself to scratch that itch. I didn’t chase women, ever . I didn’t have to.
Nothing good would come out of any personal attachment to such a woman. And I didn’t do complicated.
End of.
Amber
Over the next couple of days that followed that mind-blowing kiss, Max was only on-site for a few hours each day. If he was avoiding me, it was probably for the best. Luckily our paths didn’t cross at all, not to talk anyway.
On Friday morning, we had stared at each other through the glass of my office window before he took the stairs to his own; like a silent conversation where no words needed to be said.
During lunch, I’d seen him standing with some of the lads sharing a smoke, but he’d been wearing aviators, so I couldn’t see where he was looking. His face had oozed his trademark smirk, so I’d guessed his attention was on me.
Most of the time, I remained glued to my laptop typing up the bloody essay he’d requested and answering emails. Max clearly had business elsewhere, either that or he was avoiding me. I had half expected him to seek me out and gloat about how I had responded to him. Max usually wore his arse-hole badge on his sleeve and was a master with the snide comments.
As I attempted to work, I cringed at how I’d switched into slut mode within seconds, recalling that fireball of need that had raced through my body. That level of chemistry he’d stirred with his killer tongue had unearthed feelings I thought I had buried deep. Max’s actions made me wonder if he knew what made me tick. A tide of dread at being so exposed washed through me. I couldn’t allow him to see my vulnerabilities.
Although he initiated it, I’d kissed him back. The moment his lips had met mine all bets were off. Desire had rushed through my body like a forest fire. Max had pulled the rug out from under me and there had been no stopping that reckless thrill his touch evoked.
That’s why I’d messaged him to say it never happened. Sweeping it under the carpet was safer.
I wondered if his request that I join him at that charity ball was still on the table. Part of me hoped not. If he was that talented with his mouth, he’d probably be amazing in bed and I couldn’t allow myself to go there. If I followed Mia’s advice, I was supposed to be looking for normal, not a guy with ‘bad boy heartbreaker’ tattooed all over him. The term ‘relationship’ made players like Max, break out in a rash.
Shame settled over me like an impenetrable fog. I had to rethink my strategy and keep Max Hunter at arm's length. I would not allow the physical pull I was suddenly experiencing to get under my skin. I needed a distraction and something safe to cut my teeth on, like the Rory Hoptons of this world. Although not the version that cheated, if that was the case. I had tried to get more intel from the girls at work but they didn’t tell me anything particularly horrifying about him .
Although now Rory also seemed to be steering clear of me and I wondered if Max had something to do with that. I had messaged him to say a family emergency had pulled me away from Felice’s that night. Rory’s reply had been understanding but brief. To be honest, I should have been relieved, apart from being a noisy chewer, if he was one of those men who bragged about their conquests, I certainly didn’t want to be one of them.
It was now the weekend and I was spending the afternoon with Hannah, a party planner I had paid to assist with the arrangements for my father’s seventieth birthday party. The event was going to take place at our family estate and the guest list was vast. The Swift family celebrated birthdays in style, no expense was spared, especially milestone ones.
For my twenty-first, my father bought me a Bugatti sports car. I couldn’t even drive. I imagined he’d done it to encourage me to take lessons, but I hadn’t had the chance so far. Now being a new ‘career’ woman, maybe I should work towards getting my full license as I already had my provisional. It would also give me more independence. I didn’t get many opportunities to ‘seize the day’ with Dexter driving me everywhere. I also knew he kept my father up to date on my whereabouts, like some type of spy. There was nothing worse than the staff grassing you up to your dad.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I walked to the patio doors which led out to my small balcony and stared across at that ostentatious vehicle. The main focal view from my room was of our long sweeping driveway, the stables and part of the garages. My father’s Range Rover Sport was also parked there and a couple of other cars used by the staff. The paintwork on the Bugatti glistened like a large blue thumb. I had only sat in it a handful of times and Mia had taken me out for a drive once, but that was it.
Pulling my gaze away from the driveway, I focused on the beauty of where we lived. My rooms were on the first floor and spread across one wing of the house. Due to my bedroom being in a full corner section of the mansion, I also had a partial view of the gardens and the horse paddock.
Lush grass rolled off well into the distance, giving a sense of freedom and space, but the house in the past had felt like a cage. Especially during those first few months when I was returned to my father by the police.
You see, during my early teens, I had been a victim. I know that now.
My father’s now ex-business partner, Ray Coombs had a gambling addiction and he had borrowed money from some dodgy people. And I don’t mean loan sharks, we are talking about a cohort of gangsters. A group of individuals who may dress well and drive fancy cars, but who were nothing more than a bunch of London thugs. Ray had used my father’s name as a guarantor without his knowledge so he could borrow a huge sum of cash.
When the shit had hit the fan and Ray couldn’t repay his debt, he attempted to embezzle money from one of my father’s companies. His efforts however had been picked up during an audit and Ray had been taken into custody for questioning.
Whilst Ray was nice and safe on the inside, those thugs I mentioned still didn’t have their money which is when they started to squeeze my father.
That’s where Alexander Harker came in. He was a ‘connected guy’ (an associate) who worked with said thugs as an enforcer; a man who did occasional jobs.
One of those jobs turned out to be me.
I had been taken as leverage to put pressure on my father to pay the eight hundred and sixty grand Ray owed the mob. I had been kidnapped from my home in the middle of the night and held for ransom.
As is the norm with access to significant amounts of cash, it took time for my father to draw down the money. No police were to be involved. The transaction was supposed to be a straightforward exchange, but that isn’t how it played out .
The bad guys got their cash, Daddy lost his money and, in the process—his daughter, me. An only child.
After months of holding me, Alexander, aka Zander, had decided he didn’t want to let me go and by that stage, I was in no hurry to return to my old, empty life; one without my mother.
The connection between me and Zander had been unlike anything I had ever experienced. Scary at first, but as time passed that original captor / captive relationship changed to friendship and the bond continued to get stronger. He listened to me, like really listened. I’d felt important again and cherished, I was no longer seen and not heard.
Zander showered me with attention and affection to the point where I felt special and loved again. Something I hadn’t felt for years. I read that the human brain is wired to bond with people who look after them and so it wasn’t a surprise that we gelled so well. At first, he wasn’t abusive and harsh like you’d expect a kidnapper to be, he was kind and encouraging and I soon fell in love with him. Or thought I did.
The sexual side of things hadn’t happened straight away. It had been a gradual thing, a natural coming together , so he’d convinced me. Eventually, Zander and I became obsessed with each other. I hung on to every word he said and went to the moon and back to please him.
It was around that time that things changed; Zander changed. He became paranoid, possessive, and overly critical of anything I did. He stopped me from calling my father, something he allowed in the beginning so that I could tell my dad that I was safe and didn’t want to be found. And then Zander’s punishments became just that, the pleasure element to any pain was wiped away. It wasn’t usually a physical thing, it was more emotional, the way he would talk to me and put me down. Although there were a few instances where Zander had become overzealous with his belt. I still carried the marks to prove that. He’d been so sorry afterwards that I had forgiven him. Fool that I was .
I had blamed myself when things took a turn for the worse. If I had caused him to feel such anger then of course I was the one at fault. People didn’t just lose their temper for nothing; said no one ever.
When the authorities had caught up with him for running away with a minor, he’d been arrested for numerous other offences too. I didn’t know about them at the time, how could I? I had only known what Zander had wanted me to.
And now I saw the truth. Everything I had been unknowingly forced to feel had been a lie.
So why did I still miss it? That insane high I felt in the company of that one man who had been both my tormentor and my saviour.
Because he had taken me during a phase of my life where I had been weak.
The loss of my mother had smashed away that happy soul I used to be and I’d felt starved of affection. The proverbial poor little rich girl.
When Mum died, having spent a childhood surrounded by everything, I had felt nothing; just a strange numbness. I was fourteen when she passed. Old enough to understand death and yet I hadn’t. I couldn’t believe why something so beautiful could have been ripped away from the world. Just like that . It had just been so sudden and there hadn’t been any time to come to terms with it, to prepare.
I had felt so alone.
My father (in his own way) and our staff who were like a family, did everything they could to help me grieve, but I felt like I was sleepwalking through the days.
When I had been snatched from that safe, sheltered cocoon, it was like life had suddenly been kickstarted again. I’d felt alive . Having to survive outside of my comfort zone had given me a purpose.
I had been so young. A girl, blossoming into a woman, feeling out of her depth, and confused by her emotions. Especially the ones he brought to the surface. Alexander Harker .
With Zander, I had learned everything I knew about my body; my sexual preferences, my likes, and dislikes. I became a slave to passion. And yes, Zander had been cruel at times and harsh, but he had never forced me to have sex. The counsellors suggested coercion or encouragement as being the same thing. But there was never any rape.
Meeting that one man’s demands had been the main source of my satisfaction.
Zander had helped me to embrace a dark, hidden part of myself and I had enjoyed being mastered and surrendering control. Apart from that one time when it got out of hand. As I said, Zander had been so sorry afterwards, to the point where he broke down in tears, begging forgiveness. How could a girl not forgive a grown man who showed his emotions in such a raw way? I had taken him in my arms believing it was a mistake, one that would never be repeated. And I was wrong.
Now, in my everyday life, I coated myself in armour, careful not to let anyone in. Hiding behind a sharp tongue and an I don’t care attitude.
My sex life was now my own and I decided how and when. I didn’t sleep around but I had needs like any other woman, but no one had made me feel like Zander did; my forbidden indulgence.
Until now.
What worried me about Max Hunter was the realisation that he did stir something inside me that was both dark and forbidden, just like before. But I couldn’t feed into that level of feeling again, not when losing it had almost destroyed me the last time.
I could never let anyone think they could manipulate me; make me feel something so intense when it wasn’t real.
Did I still think of Zander? Yes. He had introduced me to a world of excitement I had never known existed. And that world held darker elements but I accepted that nothing and no one was perfect. Those bad times didn’t smother the good times back then so I’d let them go .
Looking back, I knew that Zander’s feelings had been an obsession with me and to those looking in from the outside, it was sordid and twisted . There it was, that word again. Twisted. He had wanted to own my body and soul and for that short time, I had let him.
Now I realised, I had been naive and cruelly manipulated. What we did, what he did was wrong.
So, I now turned my back on that girl. I had to. If I let her out with the wrong person, I was at risk of that surface crack in my heart going deeper.
And that was not going to happen.
Zander had been given six years for his involvement in the kidnapping as well as being charged with sex with a minor. I’d read that he’d been transferred a few times but was no longer aware of which prison held him. I’d even written to him in the beginning, still totally clueless as to what had happened.
For the first few months of his incarceration, I had searched on the internet, trying to keep track of what was going on, and where he was. Until I had eventually stopped; my therapist and friendship with Mia had forced me to accept the truth.
And now I had been introduced to sexual chemistry with another man as extreme as I’d experienced with the man who had initially kidnapped me as part of a contract .
The question was, did I allow it in or continue to run from it? I was no longer inexperienced and easy to manipulate. I knew what I wanted, I said when and how. Until I decided not to.
A sharp knock on my bedroom door drew me out of the chaos of my thoughts. With a dry smile, I walked away from the window.
Part of the reason it had been suggested I work was so I didn’t have too much thinking time.
“Come in,” I shouted and in walked Hannah with a catalogue in her hand .
As usual, she didn’t come up for air, “You need to choose the colour scheme for the balloon welcome arch. The caterers are also asking for your choice of the main course for dinner. Oh, and you need to confirm the guest list. Jonny has added a few last-minute names and I don’t know where to seat them,” she chirped, her usual breezy self. “Plus, all the guest rooms have been allocated now so everyone else will have to book into a hotel. I have put together a list of good ones in the area to make it easier for the guests.”
Hannah was the creative type. Her shoulder-length hair was ombre; black at the root, purple at the tip and her clothing was zany. She was nice though, always smiling and she wasn’t your typical kiss-ass and believe me, I knew plenty of those.
As she recommenced her enthusiastic ramblings about Daddy’s party, I motioned for her to join me on the soft leather sofa in my suite.
My bedroom was huge .
Our house, Winterberry Manor sat on six acres of land and was a traditional stone-built mansion with ten bedrooms and five bathrooms. The house was in Great Warley in Brentwood on the outskirts of London, way out of the hustle and bustle of the city. It was surrounded by rolling gardens on all sides which were masked by a large crumbling wall which secured the land from the countryside beyond.
Although remote, it was only a fifty-five-minute commute by train if you craved the noise of the capital. The drive was longer if you travelled by car but that didn’t bother me as Dexter usually took me into London. I had never been a good traveller and was more of a housebound hermit, but working for Max had extracted me from my norm.
The Manor was also privately situated behind a bank of mature trees and hedgerows and so was completely private .
Large iron electric gates secured the entrance and the driveway to the mansion was a long wrap-around one lined with rhododendrons. They projected a beautiful purple glow on the driveway in summer and were stunning.
Triple garages held a variety of prestige cars on one side of the mansion and the opposite side housed a set of tennis courts and the stables. I had a few horses and Daddy owned two retired Epsom Derby champions that were stabled elsewhere. The level of their care went way beyond the experience of the groomsman we employed.
The front of the house was extremely grand with symmetrical elevations relieved by deep sash windows and a classical portico entrance. Large windows provided a light and airy feel when inside and I spent many days gazing out of them at the beautiful parkland beyond.
At the rear of the property, bi-folding doors from the kitchen led out onto a huge patio with steps. This then trailed downwards to an orchard at one side and an infinity-heated, marble swimming pool with a pool house.
I loved the pool; my mother had been a water baby and we had spent so much time together swimming come rain or shine.
Towards the end of the gardens, there was a private area with a natural pond with island shrubbery near the boundary wall. I used to play hide and seek with my Nanny there when I was young.
The décor throughout the house was chic and luxurious, each room painted in pastel colours with marble flooring. In the hallway, there was a sweeping staircase. It ran up the middle of the room, branching off at both sides like the letter T. A mezzanine landing with a polished balustrade led off to several corridors.
My father’s rooms were on one side of the house and mine were on the other. We both had big bedrooms with walk-in wardrobes and a private bathroom. An added luxury was that the two main bedrooms had balconies. I loved sitting out on my balcony, reading a book whilst our horses grazed in the paddock outside the stables.
The other guest rooms were also slotted towards the back of the house; four were in my wing and four in Daddy’s. Two of those rooms on my father’s side belonged to staff; Teresa, my old nanny turned housekeeper and Marcel, my father’s chef. Dexter, my driver, and our security lived in the apartment above the pool house. He operated a CCTV control system from there.
On the ground floor, there were two large living rooms, a gym and sauna and a cinema room. As I said, our kitchen was open plan with those large bi-folding doors leading to the gardens.
As well as a kitchen table we also had a separate dining room with an ornate diner which seated twelve people. My father’s study was also located on the ground floor, a place he spent most of his time when he was home from the office. Daddy was an entrepreneur and had investments with all sorts of companies. Hunter Construction was now one of those.
Dad’s study was unique from the rest of the house as my mother had allowed him to choose the décor. It was masculine with half oak panelled walls painted sage green on the top. There was also a large open fireplace which he used in the winter. Shelving took over most walls and was stocked with various leather-bound books. That was also the place where Daddy kept his safe. Only he and I knew the combination as it carried emergency money should anything ever happen to either of us (again).
Out of the five bathrooms, two of those were on the ground floor. We also had a wine cellar and a larder under the house. That was the one place that used to terrify me as a child, and I remember how my father would check it for monsters before I ever went down there.
No expense had been spared and everything had been done to my mother’s high requirements. She had been an interior designer, styling the homes of the uber-rich and had such good taste. Some soft furnishings such as the sofas in the Hearth Room still carried her scent. Madelyn Swift’s walk-in wardrobe remained untouched and some days I would take myself up there and read a book on her old and tattered chaise longue. It was the one item that didn’t match the house as it was considered an antique. It had belonged to my grandmother, (my mother’s mum) and for that reason alone it was priceless. My grandmother had passed away when I was four and I sadly, didn’t remember her.
As I cast my eyes over the guestlist my lips tightened as I spied his name. Maxim Hunter plus one. Plus one ? Who the hell was he bringing to my house? No doubt some slut fuck-buddy of his. And to think I’d allowed him to put his hands on me. My blood started to boil at the thought of him appearing at my father’s precious party with his arm around some skank.
Shit. Why did I care so much?
Pushing the unwanted feelings away, I checked the rest of the list and threw myself into some much-appreciated party planning.
It had to be perfect. My dad deserved to feel special.
Once I had tied up all the loose ends with Hannah, she left and I decided to log into my PC and finish the essay I had promised Max. Maybe I’d get some acknowledgement then. It was the fact that he was ghosting me that niggled. Although saying that, I hadn’t exactly reached out to him either.
To make a point, I put more effort than was necessary into the report. It was only one question to answer but I embellished my response and churned out well over one thousand words.
Once I had reread it, I submitted it via email with a read receipt, sat back and waited.