Chapter 4 #2
He’s pretending to be a gentleman about it all, but I know that’s just a ruse.
He’s play-acting too.
Playing me at my own game.
Okay, then, fine. I guess it’s time to regroup and rethink my battle plan.
I nod in brisk agreement. ‘That would be great, thanks.’
He looks at me for a couple more beats, as if expecting me to say something else. Perhaps beg him to give me that orgasm he’s promised right now.
Never going to happen.
‘Follow me,’ he says finally, and I’m sure I catch a flash of disappointment in his face.
He leads me out of the library and up a sweeping staircase to the wide landing. To the left are three doors and to the right three more.
‘You’re the farthest room on the right,’ he says, gesturing in that direction.
‘You’ll find clothes in your size in the wardrobe if you’d like to change into something a little more casual.
I’m guessing you didn’t bring your suitcase to the island with you.
’ This time he gives me a warm, joshing sort of smile, as if I’m a friend who’s decided at the last minute to stay on for a fun weekend.
‘Thank you,’ I say stiffly. I refuse to smile back and play his game. We’re not friends now and we never will be again. He might know my clothes size, but it doesn’t mean he knows me. Not any more.
‘I’ll arrange to have my suitcase sent over from my hotel suite on the mainland,’ I add.
He nods. ‘If you like, but I have everything you need here.’ He starts to walk away, leaving me staring after him. ‘Food will be ready in an hour. We’ll eat on the terrace,’ he shouts over his shoulder as he saunters to the top of the stairs.
As soon as he reaches them, I stride to the room he pointed me towards and shut the door firmly behind me, leaning against the reassuringly solid wood and letting out a long, low breath of frustration.
I hate him, hate him, for putting me through this.
It’s revenge, I know it is, for the way I finished our relationship all those years ago.
Not that he hasn’t already punished me for it after the way he acted afterwards, sleeping with as many women as he could possibly fit into his bed, knowing it would get back to me.
And the vicious rumour about me that went around afterwards had his fingerprints all over it.
Not that I demeaned myself to ask him about it.
I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
I had more important things to worry about at that point in my life, such as preventing my family from falling apart.
And now he’s doing this to me – making me feel all sorts of things I thought I’d escaped from. Forcing me to confront what I gave up in order to do the right thing.
I haven’t felt this turned on in years. I’d forgotten how much I could ache for my body to be touched, stroked and played with. Explored and dominated.
But he’s going to make me wait.
He’s such a bastard.
I walk over to a mirror positioned above a large oak dressing table and study my flushed face, seeing the strain of the situation reflected in my eyes.
I don’t look good. I look wired and out of control.
Ah, hell. I think I’m in serious trouble here.
Jamie
I’m aware of my fingers twitching by my sides as I descend the stairs and stroll towards the kitchen to begin cooking the evening meal.
Fuck, that was hard.
It had taken all my willpower to ignore the insane eroticism of the moment, as well as the lingering sense of loss I was still feeling, and bring our focus back to practicalities.
She was so temptingly there, with her wide, defiant eyes and her damp, kissable mouth.
I wanted so fucking much to avenge my younger self’s misery by taking her the way I’ve been dreaming about since that aborted fuck a few weeks ago.
But I know it wouldn’t have worked like that.
She’s not ready to give me what I’m looking for yet.
I want her to want it – need it – to happen so badly she begs me for it.
Only then will I feel that I’ve redressed the balance between us.
So more pleasure-delaying it is. For now.
I made the deliberate decision to give my housekeeper and chef the next couple of days off so April and I can be alone together.
I want to gain her trust by cooking for her myself, reminding her there’s more to me than she’s come to believe.
I actually really enjoy cooking for people.
I taught myself how to do it a few years ago and I find it a soothing activity.
I think I’m pretty good at it too. My meals are something else I never get complaints about from the women I entertain.
My blood spikes with adrenaline as I remember April’s disdainful expression when she’d thrown that barb at me about not being capable of making her come.
I’m glad I’m getting the opportunity to put that fallacy to bed, even though I consider it an added extra compared to my real reason for getting her to stay here with me.
I can tell she’s still very much on her guard, which isn’t surprising, considering my rather unusual demand.
Not that it seems to have fazed her at all.
As I suspected, she’s willing to do anything in order to get what she wants for her family’s business.
To further her career. She’s that mercenary.
Though I guess I’ve no room to talk at the moment, considering the way I’m acting.
But it’s a means to an end. An opportunity to put everything right and move on. To get a major source of hurt and stress out of my life.
This thing between us has followed me around for too many years now, like an abused but loyal dog, and I’m coming to recognise how unhealthy it is.
It’s coloured every single relationship with a woman I’ve had, in one way or another.
I think subconsciously I’ve compared them to her, and they’ve all come up wanting.
Not that I can put my finger on why, exactly.
She’s not that special. But, despite my continued attempts to forget what happened between us, I’ve never been able to put it to rest and move on.
But now it’s time to do exactly that.