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  “Those fires really kick out some heat,” I said, as if to excuse the lusty furnace burning inside of me, making my cheeks red raw.

  “I got you a wine,” he said, pointing at it.

  I took the wine in one hand and took several long pulls on it. All I knew was that as I put the glass back on the table, there was maybe a sip or two left.

  He laughed raucously. “Wow, bad day?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  With Dutch courage, and nerves making me babble, I proceeded to tell him all about Mark and how I was afraid it would get out… and how few blokes actually complained about being dismissed by me, but he had. You could only expect so much from the ice queen, right?

  Ruben listened carefully and after he had, he asked, “Another drink?”

  “Yeah, please.”

  He left the table and returned bearing more of the same drinks—whisky for him, wine for me. However, there was something different about the look in his eyes as he scanned mine.

  Sitting down, he murmured, “It’s strange, but I think I knew when we met that we’re the same.”

  I peered at him, wondering at his meaning. “I beg your pardon.”

  He leaned in and whispered, “We’re both sluts.”

  How ironic that I’d met my match… and also given that he was my match, it would likely never work between us.

  Ever.

  I needed to hate him. To despise him. It would be easier that way. Better.

  “If you’re such a slut, then do tell me about your latest exploit. Since I told you mine.”

  He dug his elbow in the table’s scarred surface and held his chin in his hand. He looked even more carefree as he pursed his lips and watched people passing by the windows outside. Whatever he was about to tell me, it seemed to him like it was nothing. His nose wrinkled as he smiled to himself, recalling in his mind’s eye whatever assignation he’d recently enjoyed.

  “I was shopping this morning at Waitrose when a woman with a wedding ring and a trolley full of kids’ food propositioned me. She said to meet her in the car park and we could have sex behind the tinted windows of her Volvo. I hadn’t had my breakfast so I politely declined. I’m no good before I’ve had my bacon and eggs.” He turned his eyes to mine, chuckling, and I pressed my lips together, amused. “And just this evening, when I arrived in this pub, the barmaid told me she gets off at ten. She’s not my type so I told her I already have a date.”

  “Me?” I questioned.

  “Needs must.”

  I laughed, even though his words hurt.

  “Anyway,” he said, scratching his beard, “I have a regular girl, Fiona. She does whatever I want. She doesn’t ask questions, expects nothing. Comes when I call, usually very late at night, and she sucks my cock like it’s candy. It’s simple that way. She knows how to get me off, I know how to get her off, there’s no performance or awkwardness. It’s just sex.”

  I sniffed, shaking my head. “Until it’s not. Until she becomes like Mark.”

  “Cross that bridge and all that.”

  I stared at the floor. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  My heart had opened and closed, all on the same day.

  It didn’t hurt… I just felt numb.

  Chapter Twelve

  A New Home?

  It’s late when we finally get to Ruben’s place. He leaves his Range Rover running as he dumps me and my stuff at the front door so that he can go and park his car around the corner after unloading. Handing me his house keys, he whispers the alarm code in my ear and zooms off. Good luck parking in London, I decide—unless he has a coveted garage or something.

  I let myself into the house and drag my cases and boxes inside, leaving just the dressing table on the doorstep for Ruben to deal with when he gets back. It’s unlikely anyone around here might go about pinching it at this time of night.

  I clamber over my luggage and head for the kitchen. It’s all white and modern, as I imagined it would be. I locate the kettle, fill it up and flick it on. I need nothing more than a strong cup of tea right now. While it boils, I stand staring through the glass of the French doors and catch sight of the decked area out back. It’s all very civilised… very Ruben.

  “It’s just me,” he shouts through, clattering about with the dressing table. “Where do you want this?”

  “Oh, anywhere. Wherever you like. Garage or shed or wherever, up to you.”

  “I’ll take it upstairs.”

  I make two cups of tea. I don’t even know if he wants one. I don’t know anything right now.

  I don’t know why I’m so exhausted, but I am. Spiritually, emotionally… physically. Not to mention, mentally. I’m so glad it’s a rest day tomorrow, but after that I’ve got three ten-hour shifts in a row. I am allowed to take long breaks for lunch or dinner or whatever, but when you’re the manager of a hotel and you’re there, even when you say you’re on a break, you’re never really on a break.

  As I swirl a teaspoon around the bags in the cups, I hear heavy footsteps going up and down the stairs. No doubt he’s taking my stuff up. Hopefully he has a junk room to stuff it all inside.

  Then, suddenly, he’s behind me… his gentle hand on mine.

  “Let me do that,” he says, motioning the tea is stewed already.

  He gets rid of the bags, adds milk and carries the cups into the living room, beckoning I follow.

  On the mantlepiece there’s a huge photo of him and his brother. Ruben’s wearing his kit and had just won some big match by the looks of it. His brother is pictured wearing a suit, a very proud sibling pointing at the shiny medal around Ruben’s neck.

  “What was his name?” I ask, as I take a seat in the sofa, holding my tea between two hands.

  “Laurent,” he says.

  “You and he were very alike.”

  “Only in looks. He was always much cleverer, but luckily football kept me out of too much trouble. He always used to say that.”

  “All the while hiding his own troubles,” I suggest, stroking my hand over his knee.

  He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Yes.”

  He looks sad.

  On the one wall over at the other side of the room, he has a cabinet full of medals and trophies, clippings and all sorts. I can see that with Laurent’s death came the end of a lot of the things in Ruben’s life that he loved.

  It’s overwhelming how much I already care for him and I hate that I’m another added complication in his life. I hate that I’ll no doubt let him down and prove to be just another in a long line of disappointments.

  “You’re tired,” he whispers, stroking my hair, “let’s get you in bed.”

  He takes my half-drunk cup of tea from me and leaves his empty one on the coffee table in front of us.

  There’s a moment where I catch his eye and I can hardly bear it. I shake my head because I’m just not ready to talk about it. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs. I’m barely holding things together as he takes me up.

  “There are fresh towels if you want a bath or shower.”

  “Just a quick shower.”

  He guides me into the bathroom and shuts me inside. I peel off my work clothes and leave them in a heap beside his laundry basket. My clothes don’t belong here yet and I’m not sure I do, either. However, what else is there to be done?

  I leave my hair tied back and wash my body only, my make-up running down my forearms as I rub it away. I grab the soap and focus on the areas I neglected earlier as I washed in one of the hotel bathrooms… as if I was a stowaway in my own place of business or something… because being homeless is, after all, something to be ashamed of, right? Especially when you’re meant to be someone the other members of staff look up to. Yet here I am, no better than anybody else. Just another pathetic human on this road to nowhere.

  “Can you bring me my razor, Ruben?” I shout, suddenly remembering.

  “Yeah, where is it?” He opens the door a sliver to talk to me.

  “Umm, I
don’t know. I didn’t pack my bags.”

  “Use mine, I’ve got plenty of spares, plus I only use it for the bush anyway.”

  “Okay,” I giggle.

  I get to work tackling my armpits, my bikini line and lower legs. I didn’t have any time at all to shave over the weekend, not with Ruben always on me, nor with little luggage owing to the last-minute nature of it all.

  I climb out of the shower cubicle and pat myself dry. His towels are soft and fluffy, not at all what I’d expected from a bachelor—unless he went out today and bought in new stuff, especially.

  I leave the bathroom, calling, “Ruben?”

  “Be up in a minute. Check the bed.”

  I enter his bedroom and find the bedside lamps on low. Everything in here is dove-grey or white. He has a huge bed, one of those European size ones, and a walk-in closet where all my luggage has been left for me to sort out. I can’t be bothered with that now.

  I check the bed as he suggested and find a plain white t-shirt. After pulling it on, I go back to the bathroom and leave my towel on the chrome rail. I clean my teeth using his brush and then shut off the light.

  I don’t know what he’s doing downstairs, but I haven’t got the energy to find out.

  Back in the bedroom, I run my hand along the satin-soft duvet cover and pull it away, along with the white coversheet underneath. I pick the left side because Ruben keeps a few books near the other side and a glasses case too, so I figure that’s the side he sleeps on.

  I dim the lights even more, tuck the covers around me, and fall instantly.

  A groan wakes me up and I’m astonished to realise it’s my own. I’m in his arms, he’s spooning me, and he’s hard. He has his hand underneath my shirt on my breast and his other hand is on my lower stomach, trying to encourage me to open my legs.

  I reach back for his hair and sigh, writhing against him. He grips my breast tighter and I moan when he plants his mouth on the back of my neck and sucks gently. He’s rubbing his cock between my bum cheeks and he’s hot and slightly damp all over. How did this happen? Have we been dry humping in our sleep? I open my thighs and slide the front of my foot against one of his calves, giving him what he desires.

  Ruben’s hand is straight between my legs, his finger sliding right into me. I clutch him and groan, arching back against him. I work my bum along his length and he pants against my ear, sucking my lobe gently. I reach for the hem of the t-shirt he lent me and pull it up and over my head. Our skin meets and I’m instantly gasping and moaning for him. He wraps his arm over my breasts and holds me tight, his lips pushed into the space between my shoulder blades. He adds another finger inside me and rubs me until I come, my walls grasping his fingers, my body entirely his—my aching cunt and my everything, Ruben’s to own and to pleasure.

  He lifts my leg and pushes into me, gasping as he finds me tight and wet and impossibly hot. He smooths his hand over my bum and squeezes my rump, groaning and grunting in my ear. I hold onto his thigh, and with my other hand, link my fingers through his across my chest. He moves inside me pleasurably enough… and he feels so big from this angle, so tight, his hold on me and his kisses on my throat wonderful…

  However, I still want more.

  I slip away from him and roll onto all fours, waggling my arse in the air.

  Ruben’s hands span my bottom before he pierces me, coming into me much deeper and thicker than before. I clutch the pillow in my hands and ride back against him, gasping on air as he hits me so deep, it feels criminal.

  Without warning, I feel warm spit slide between my crack and then Ruben’s finger in my arse. I can do nothing but squeeze my eyes shut and enjoy the tightness and sensitivity of it all as he also begins to ride my cunt from behind, faster than he’s ever tried to before.

  With each blow I try to hold my breath but it feels like I’ll be holding it forever. Eventually, I need to scream, so I do. I scream as he takes me brutally and more physically than before. When I come this time, it flattens me, literally. I fall to the bed on my stomach and can’t move.

  Then there are his lips on my bottom, nipping and kissing. He flips me over and my hair covers my face, but I’m too happy and pleasured to move a muscle. He slips his tongue inside my pussy and I push my hands against the top of his head, trying to get him away because I’m so sensitive.

  His kisses fall all over my stomach and I’m wriggling again, squirming and writhing. He sucks my nipple and I arch, shaking and trembling.

  Then he’s on top of me, my legs forced wide open, his lips on my throat…

  I’m just dying to have him kiss me. On the lips. Just that.

  He splits me in half when he comes into me, his cock rigid and hot, and yet as his cool kisses cover my mouth, I’m whole again and content, nothing whatsoever wrong.

  I hold into his shoulders and rock with him, our lovemaking slow and tender and careful. He kisses me passionately and sweetly, his eyes on mine. We grind together and find that delicious rise and fall rhythm, keeping each other on edge.

  Then he locks his fingers through mine and his drives become long and deliberate, so that he’s the only one in charge. He sucks furiously on my nipple right before burying his face in my throat and rubbing my clit with his thumb. I thwack my hips into his and milk his cock so hard, I scream the house down, drowning out his quieter groans of joy.

  He’s a sweaty mess on top of me afterwards and I can’t get him to move. I have to wriggle out from under him and roll him away.

  He may have fallen back to sleep, but as I look down on him, I see he’s wearing a smile as he begins to snooze once more. I crawl under his arms and lie across his chest, sighing as slumber takes me too.

  I groan awake and stretch, my body aching and sore. I’m still exactly where I fell asleep, my head in the centre of Ruben’s chest.

  “Ugh,” he says, slowly waking up.

  I snuffle around in his chest hair, stroking my hands up and down his arms.

  When he’s conscious, he grabs me and pulls me upwards, my face buried in his throat. He tugs my thigh over his waist and wraps his arms tight around my body. I wrap both of my arms underneath his and cling to his shoulders.

  “This is the best day of my entire life,” he tells me. “Each day just keeps getting better and better.”

  I chuckle against his neck. “How so?”

  “I keep waking up to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, and now she’s actually in my bed. She’s finally come home with me, and now I can look after her.”

  I kiss his throat, smelling sweat and musk and everything Ruben. He thinks so highly of me, but he doesn’t know who I really am; neither do I want to tarnish and shatter his happiness.

  He slides one hand down and rubs my bottom, my thigh, my calf. I hug him tighter and burrow into him, breathing in the man I love.

  “I ache all over,” I groan, “and my back hurts.”

  “Did I hurt you?” He pulls back so he can look down into my eyes. I see sincerity and concern. I see a decent man who doesn’t deserve me.

  “It’s because I came hard. Now I need time to recover. There are always repercussions.”

  “Oh, well…” He lifts his hands behind his head, proud of himself. I roll on top of him and hold him down, grinning. I’m staring into his eyes when his gaze suddenly travels south, to my tits.

  “I just told you in so many words that I’m out of action.”

  “Benefits of you being here, Frey. I can look at your tits whenever I want, with or without the promise of sex.”

  I laugh in his face and kiss him quick. “You better fix me. I’m broken, Ruben. In more ways than one.” I only realise what I’ve said after I’ve said it. I did initially mean it only in the physical and sexual sense, but as his face changes, so must mine and his eyes are back to being full of concern.

  He brushes my hair down my back and strokes my face tenderly.

  I guess I am broken.

  I guess I have been for a long time.

>   My chest aches because he’s looking at me with pain in his eyes, and it’s the same pain I’ve not allowed myself to feel… in such a long time.

  It’s despair… absolute, utter, sheer despair.

  “Do you want to talk about it yet?” he asks softly.

  I shake my head in response. “I might never want to. I might have to be forced to.”

  “Well, until then…” He shifts us so that I’m wrapped in his arms, his body spooning mine, his leg thrown over me. “Until then I’ll just have to hold you as tight as I can, because you’re mine now, Freya. And I don’t let go of the people I love.”

  I bite my bottom lip to stop it trembling. “Promise?”

  “I won’t let go, darling. I promise.” He pushes his face in my hair and breathes me in. “But… maybe I could leave your side just to make breakfast. How about a bacon sandwich?”

  “I think I can part with you if it means I get a bacon sandwich.”

  “And I take it you’re… not working today?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, good,” he says, and I know he’s grinning even though I can’t see his face. “You can come and visit my work then this time. I only have to pop in today. I cleared my meetings just in case you needed me, but I’ve got this one, tiny thing I need to do and that’s it. I promise. We’ll be there for less than ten minutes.”

  “I don’t have to come. I could stay here. I’m not going anywhere…”

  He fondles my breast. “Take the hint, your guy wants to show you off.”

  “Oh… okay.”

  Being shown off? Never thought anyone would want to show me off.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Something’s Not Right

  The office of Ruben’s charity, Laurent’s Legacy, is positioned smack bang in the middle of the High Street in Marylebone, in converted offices just above a pub. I guess pubs aren’t run by families who live above them anymore, and rentable space is wherever there is space, in Central London anyway.