EIGHT
Reilly
The sun is setting over the horizon as I pray my car makes it up the hill. It’s been on the brink for a while, still making little beeping noises when I’m asking it to do things it doesn’t like.
I know this area but I have never set foot anywhere near these houses.
This is where the insanely rich live. There is a lot of money in certain parts of Dorset, especially Sandbanks and Westbourne, but this road stands above them all.
My little Fiat is clanking up the road along the cliff top, the pavement is clear of rubbish, and the hedges and trees are manicured and tended to.
Not like around mine when you’re lucky if you’re not stepping over a used condom on a Sunday morning.
“This isn’t a date. He’s hired me to teach his niece to bake.
” The girls are on a three-way call and adamant this is a set up.
After much googling, we conceded Elton was single and had no children to speak of, but they weren’t convinced this wasn’t a way of getting me back into his bed.
A place which is painfully tempting. After Tim, I promised myself I would never be put in that position again.
“There are plenty of bakers in Bournemouth. He’s picked you in hopes of getting a little extra sugar sprinkled on the side. You said it was great sex, he wants a repeat. Guarantee it!” Sarah’s mind, as always, is on sex.
“I think it’s romantic,” says Thea. “He’s come up with a reason to spend time with you. He probably knew you would turn down an actual date. And what’s more marriage-worthy than someone spending time and money on their niece.” Thea is heading more along the romance novel route.
“It’s neither. Neive liked my cakes, and she wants to learn to bake them. Elton knows I bake. That is all.” I am aggravated at having to defend my position on this. Again. “I’m hanging up. I can’t work out which ridiculously overpriced monstrosity of a house is his palace.”
You can’t even see the houses from the road; they are all gated and hiding behind shrubbery.
This one even has lights in amongst its privacy trees.
How rich are you if you feel the need to light your plants?
And here I am working all the jobs under the sun and living with Mum trying to open a small business.
Yes, okay so I’m the one insisting on it being in the centre of the most expensive area in Dorset, meaning rent rates are sky high.
But if I don’t go all in, I’m setting myself up for failure.
Which I guess is why I find myself somewhere I don’t belong, shoving my feelings in a tiny box, locking it up tight, to be dealt with another day.
I come all the way to the top of the hill.
My old unreliable Fiat has made it. I’ll probably just let the brake off on the way down and let gravity do its thing.
My nerves are on edge as I come to a set of large black iron gates, Number 17, making sure to double-check the address.
I couldn’t cope with the embarrassment of being at the wrong house.
Pulling up to a speaker box, I press a buzzer, and a little red light blinks, letting me know the camera is recording me.
“Erm, it’s Reilly.” There’s a hum of acknowledgement – this isn’t Elton on the other end. “I’m giving baking lessons to Neive. Elton’s expecting me.”
“Proceed.” A low voice comes through the speaker. So formal.
I park near the front of the house and step out. I stare open-mouthed at the mansion in front of me. It’s a large white stone structure with long windows I can’t see through.
The large deep oak door reaches from the floor to the roof of the wrap-around porch. I grab my bag and make my way up the marble steps, trying to peer around the side of the house where I can just make out the top of the cliffs and pure uninterrupted sea views.
I come to a halt as I crash into a hard body, two large hands catch me from tumbling backwards. I right myself, taking in the fresh white polo and day-old stubble, then those two grey eyes staring at me. I smile. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
“That would be a sad day.” His hands are still holding on to me. I feel a light stroke of his fingers, as he stares at where his right hand cups my bare shoulder.
I straighten myself out of his hold and catch a breeze of his lemon-scented laundry detergent. He’s so clean.
He takes a moment to take me in, and I feel self-conscious.
I straighten my unruly curls and clutch my little tote bag.
His mouth switches, probably wondering why he was slumming so much when we first met.
Well, Elton, this is the real me. Those heels and tight dresses were a mirage.
He’s probably glad I’m technically staff now.
Elton puts a soft smile on his face, but it feels forced.
“Come in. Neive is in the kitchen.” I step through the enormous door, which swings on a hinge just off-centre.
Magnificent. I push it closed slowly so I can figure out how the mechanics work.
It eases shut with a soft click. Then a loud deadbolt slips into place, making me jump.
Elton lets out a small soft laugh. I try to hide my reddening cheeks.
He steps forward, his hand outstretched towards my face.
I turn quickly, to avoid more embarrassment, wiping at my wisps of hair that are most likely askew across my forehead.
I stop and take in the rest of the house.
Clean lines of white walls and wooden accents follow through to an open-plan kitchen lounge with a sunken seating area encasing white couches.
I’ll make sure to stay far away from them with anything spillable.
Floor-to-ceiling windows take up the whole back wall, which lead out to a large decking area.
Marble worktops surround the kitchen with a huge island where an extremely happy teenager is beaming at me, practically jumping on the spot.
Her hair is black and tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a white hoodie with her sleeves rolled up like she is ready to get stuck in.
“Neive, this is Reilly.” Elton gestures to Neive as he places his hand on my lower back, ushering me closer. I hold out my hand to introduce myself, but she throws her arms around my neck, pulling me off balance and evoking a laugh as Elton steadies me from behind.
“I’m so excited,” she says, bouncing up and down.
“I loved the cakes Uncle Elton got me for my birthday, and I knew you had to teach me.” Her joy is infectious and I can feel myself glow at her compliments.
Seeing this much excitement and passion in the younger generation is so fulfilling.
I know there and then, I will put my heart and soul in this.
I step forward and the sudden loss of Elton’s hand leaves an impression.
“Uncle Elton let me order a bunch of baking stuff.” She drags me over to the kitchen island, practically pulling my arm out my socket, where there is an assortment of appliances, brand-new baking trays, and a box containing the more than basic ingredients. No expense spared here.
“I wasn’t sure what you would need.” Elton leans against the door frame with his hands in his chino pockets, one leg crossed over the other, perfectly at peace in his own space.
The sexy businessman from the club has transformed into a laid-back family man.
Which might be a million times sexier than before, if that is even possible.
I give him a smile of gratitude. “This is perfect, thank you.” I turn to Neive, trying to block out the desire creeping in from my little locked box.
“We can have a chat about what you know and what you want to learn, and any recipes you want to try.” I pull out a notebook I bought today and a cute pen with a cupcake on top.
“These are for you. Baking isn’t just throwing ingredients together and seeing what comes out.
It’s a science, so you’ll want to make notes and maybe come up with a few ideas of your own.
” She beams at me and flips open the first page, writing Reilly and Neive’s Baking Lessons.
Putting little hearts over her i’s. I look over her head at Elton, his face soft as he watches Neive.
He meets my eyes, a small smile on his lips.
“I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.” Elton dips his head at me, and his stare lingers on me a second too long. Potentially, Sarah is following the right line of thinking. He still wants me, in his bed at least.
~
Neive artfully places Victoria sponge in the right light for her photos.
We started with the basics; I wanted to see what she knew and her competence in the kitchen.
It was clear we were going to have fun. Neive is engaging, inquisitive and going to be a dream to spend time with.
She’s clearly baked before but is desperate for direction.
Soft steps creep up behind me and I feel myself smiling, he leans against the counter top as I wipe the mess we managed to make.
I may be an expert baker, but I’m a messy one.
He picks up the cleaning spray and sprays the section I’ve just wiped, causing me to go over it again, and again.
My eyes burn on the spot in front of me, anything to keep myself from looking at him.
I will fall so deep if I do. Being in his house, around his family.
It’s putting my mind in a place it has no business being.
He places his hand on mine, stopping me. I lift my head and he chuckles. Bringing his fingers to my face, he wipes at the corner of my mouth. My breath hitches, my chest burns as I find myself unable to release it.
“You had a little something …” he whispers, bringing his thumb to his mouth and sucking off a lick of buttercream icing. My stomach plummets as my core tightens. What in the soft porn is this?
“Delicious.” The word shapes his mouth and I beg myself to calm the fuck down.
Shit, shit … I’m spiralling towards a dangerous place. This is only going to end one way – with my demise.
I step back, clearing my throat.
“Neive, love. I’ve got to go,” I tell her, as she turns towards me.
And I can’t stop myself clasping her hands in mine, the phone sandwiched between them.
No one her age ever puts their phone down, but she managed without it for an hour.
Which I’m sure Elton was pleased to see.
Not that his pleasure is important to me.
Or I guess it should be in this case because he’s paying me to be here.
With Neive. He’s paying me to be with Neive. Not him.
“Today was amazing, I can’t wait for next week.” She flings herself at me again, hugging me tightly. I have questions, so many questions. Where are her parents? How did she end up living with Elton? Would Elton find it weird if I ran my hands through his hair? Just once, for the memories.
“I’ll walk you out.” He hands me my bag, arm out gesturing towards the front door. As I walk past he steps closer and I can feel the heat of him behind me. Just like that night.
Push it down. Push it down.
I can’t do it again. I can’t lose myself in another man.