Hooked Up: Book 3 (4 page)

“I get out here, Pearl. My driver, he takes you wherever you want to go and he picks me up later. We speak tomorrow, no?”

“Thank you, Sophie.”

“It’s normal,” she said with a smile, as she eased her graceful way out of the limousine. And then she turned and fixed her eyes on my face as if she was studying me. “I’m sorry, Pearl for zee names I called you once.”

“It’s water under the bridge.”

Water under the bridge
. It brought a memory to mind; when I was a little girl playing Pooh-Sticks with my brother John; throwing the stick off the bridge, upstream, and rushing to the other side to catch the stick bobbing along the foamy water. The memory made my eyes prickle again.

“Bye, Sophie. Thanks so much for lending me your driver.”

“What time is your flight?”

“About ten twenty, I think.”

“Who are you flying wiz?”

“British Airways.”

“Bon voyage, Pearl—see you in New York. Soon.”

I
CALLED PEARL, but her cell was off. I wanted to explain the whole Laura fiasco, minus the Bloody Mary incident. I still couldn’t bring myself to admit it had ever happened. I felt ashamed of myself being trussed up, hands bound, body numb—as immovable as a Thanksgiving turkey about to be delved into. It made me feel like a real fucking fool. One day I’d tell Pearl—after I’d gotten a ring on her finger, but right now wasn’t the time.

I wondered how much longer she’d be staying in London. I debated whether I should go to Hampstead—to Daisy’s mother’s house—and just wait outside the front door for Pearl until she came back. Then my cell rang. I hoped it was her calling me, but then it hit home,
Why on Earth would Pearl call me now? She’s given up on me. Not interested. Can’t be bothered with my stupid games,
and I don’t blame her.

I pressed TALK. It was Sebastian, my new video game partner.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Do you have time for a pint?” I’d forgotten that—the British are always talking about ‘pints down the pub.’ I weighed my options. I really did want to just get going to Hampstead. Be that stalker.

“No,” I answered in a flat voice. “You’ve caught me at a bad time.”

“I really need you to meet our other programmer. Just for five minutes. You know, you can always tell in the first few seconds if you like a person or not. I’d rather you checked him out, personally.”

“I trust your judgment, Sebastian.”

“He’s coming over to the office, so I thought we’d pop round the pub just to make him feel at ease.”

“The one around the corner from the office?”

“Yeah, The Lamb and Flag.”

I looked at my watch. Covent Garden was pretty much
en route
to Hampstead. “Okay but just five minutes.”

I hailed a cab.

AFTER OUR BRIEF pub meeting—the new guy nervous, but a good, hard-working type and apparently very talented—I stood outside the pub on the street, amidst the traffic, and tried calling Pearl again. I’d noticed that London had become a fascinating melting pot of foreign bodies, fluttering and weaving about like ribbons of different colored flags through the busy streets. Nobody spoke English here anymore; Brazilians, French, Italians, Germans, South Americans, all having made London their home—was anyone British? (Except the taxi drivers—the opposite of New York City.) The phone rang and rang. No bloody answer. My cell buzzed in my hand—it made me jump. It was Sophie.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in London, Alexandre? I’m here, too. We could have met up.”

“What for?” My voice was clipped. Sophie was not my favorite person in the world right now. In fact,
everyone
was getting under my skin since Pearl and I had been parted for the last two weeks. I’d been edgy, snappy, and volatile. “How did you know I was in London?”

“That’s why I’m calling. Pearl told me. We bumped into each other. She just dropped me off in Hampstead.”

“She dropped
you
off? She rented a car?”

“No. She’s with my driver. I dropped in to see a friend up here. Pearl and I crossed paths in Harrods. What a coincidence, eh? She confirmed what you told me about Laura’s lies. Said she’d been at Laura’s and recounted the whole freaky story—that Laura said I’d tried to kill her—that her accident was my fault. Fucking crazy! Alexandre, I don’t know what game you’re playing seeing Laura, still, but Pearl loves you.
Really
loves you. She told me she saw you at Laura’s house. Entering her front door. What the hell were you doing there? Are you
fucking
her?”

“Of course not. I was taking those bloody English books back and went to get my car.”

“Well you should stay away from that little bitch—she has it in for you.”

“Yeah, I’m coming to that very same conclusion. She’s insane. That accident did something to her brain. Did Laura mention the Bloody Mary fiasco to Pearl?”

“I don’t think so—if she did, Pearl didn’t mention it. Pearl told me you’d split up, that you didn’t want to give her the time of day, and that you were dating Laura again. You’re not lying to me, are you? It’s not true, is it?”

“What do you think? Of course bloody not.”

“I didn’t think so. We bonded, Alexandre. For the first time ever, Pearl was open with me. She was crying and everything—she’s so distraught and brokenhearted. I felt so guilty for having been such a bitch to her. Poor thing, she’s really hurting right now. She’s so in love with you, Alexandre. So in love.”

I felt an ache in my solar plexus.
Poor Pearl. She must be confused out of her mind.
“Well I’m going to hail a cab right now and go up to Hampstead.”

“She won’t be there now. She just zipped by the house to get her suitcase and say goodbye to Daisy’s mother—I told my driver to take her to Heathrow Airport.”

“Where’s she going?”

“New York.”

“Do you know what time?”

“I do, actually. She’ll be leaving about ten thirty. She’s flying with British Airways.” All Sophie’s information was computing in my brain. There was no point going to Hampstead now. I’d get on a plane myself to New York—get there first, and wait for Pearl at her new apartment—the one I’d rented for her. Ha! I even had a spare set of keys. She wouldn’t be able to avoid me.

I called the airline and got her upgraded to First class, with special instructions to take extra care of her. That was the least I could do.

S
OPHIE MUST HAVE called the airport because when I boarded the plane I found I’d been upgraded to First Class. The irony was not lost on me. Finally, she and I had a chance to be friends. She was making so much effort, but our friendship had come too late.

I mulled over everything that Laura had said about her, and envisioned Laura clicking her slim fingers and the hot, passionate embrace that she and Alexandre must have shared, knowing that their relationship was back on course. A rush of jealousy flooded through me, and for a moment I felt the urge to plot some kind of Sicilian revenge on her, but then I sank back into my plush airplane seat and appreciated the fact that she met Alexandre first. In her mind she had priority, and however strongly I felt about him was neither here nor there. It was Laura he had chosen, not me.

Traveling First Class reminded me of how my life would have continued had I been the wife of a billionaire. That word, “billionaire” sounded ridiculous—out of my league—even out of Alexandre’s league, because he was just a young guy in T-shirt and jeans who liked to surf and rock climb. But he
was
a billionaire—that was a fact—and Laura was claiming him for her own because of it. His wealth was letting our love down. I thought of the tree house option in Thailand, and wished I had snapped it up there and then; away from Laura and her treacherous, gold-digging claws.

Alexandre didn’t love me, it was clear. He didn’t even pick up the phone anymore.

It was over. I would just have to go back to how things were before: back to The Desert. Because the only person I wanted was him. I could not even imagine kissing anyone else, let alone sex.

I stretched back on my comfortable seat and closed my eyes. I could feel his touch; the way he stroked my inner thigh, brushing his finger lightly against my panties, which were always soaked by the time we make love because he waited until I’d beg him . . . scream for him. He was always rock-hard, even when he just kissed me, even when all he did was look at me.
Stop, Pearl! Stop torturing yourself!

“Would you like a beverage, ma’am?” I jolted myself out of my reverie and a pretty flight attendant was looking at me sweetly.

“Yes, please. Bring me a Bloody Mary with extra horseradish, and one of your best Russian Vodkas—you choose.”

“Certainly.”

Perhaps I could drown my sorrows, one last time, before I landed in New York and started my life afresh. I had already arranged things with Daisy. She and Amy would be moving in with me. I’d be back working on documentaries, and back to being the self-sufficient woman I was before.

Life happens when you’re busy making plans.
So true.

I
FUMBLED WITH my new apartment key, already impressed with the grand lobby and its plush décor below. I felt really nervous. It seemed a lifetime away when I’d last spoken to Alexandre, in the back yard of my brother’s apartment in San Francisco. Here I was now, standing by the door of one of the “fuck-off” farewell gifts, part of his guilt package that had him running back to Laura and brushing me off with money to ease his guilt.

Then my mind got working, paranoia gripping me around the throat . . . no . . . how could that be possible? Was it possible he’d wanted Laura back, all along?

To my amazement, the door swung open before me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I tumbled into the open gap, and a pair of muscular arms caught my fall. My apartment being broken into, already, and I hadn’t even started living here yet? My heart was racing and I yelped at the surprise of a stranger in my new building. I tripped forward in a double stumble and dared to look up at my adversary. I expected a masked robber, but instead I saw a pair of peridot-green eyes, inches away from my face.

“Alexandre.”

“Pearl, baby.”

My stomach flipped and folded in on itself. I fell headlong into him, gasping with desire, lust, happiness and relief. But then my inner voice warned: L.A.U.R.A.

He loves another woman.
Be careful, Pearl.

He held me tightly in his arms as he tilted my head up to kiss me. Tears in his eyes. “Jesus, I’ve missed you. I can’t live without you, Pearl. I need you. I’ve been climbing the walls.”

I tried to push him away. “Get off me! What are you playing at? You’re with Laura now. Leave me alone, Alexandre. Why are you torturing me?”

He grabbed me in his embrace again, and pressed his lips to mine. His eyes were hungry, roaming and boring into me, the green flickering like the color of lit brandy aflame. “What are you talking about? I’m not with Laura.” He breathed sex into my mouth.

I turned my head to the side and hissed, “Don’t screw with my head, Alexandre! I saw you enter Laura’s front door today. You fucked her in the middle of the afternoon. You took her a gift in a big box. You’re living with her. You’re going to marry her . . . she said so!” The words came out in screeches and squeals. I must have woken up the whole building—not the best start to my new life in this apartment.

To my horror, Alexander said nothing, just shook his head as if in disbelief. I stepped back away from him and observed a huge bulge in his jeans, and a look of libidinous need in his eyes.
Laura is right, he was “in lust” with me. He loves her and wants to be with her but he wants to “fuck” me.
His hand cupped his crotch as if to adjust his massive, uncontrollable weapon: a weapon that wanted to claim and posses me. He was wearing one of his hand-tailored, made-to-measure suits. I wondered if the Saville Row tailor instinctively knew he needed to give extra space in that area—room for Alexandre’s “weapon” to flex and maneuver itself.

I felt dizzy, nauseous, because my desire was as potent as his. I wanted to stay strong. I needed to protect myself, but all I could think of was ripping off my panties and spreading my legs for him. He was so good looking and sexy that I melted before him like the pathetic ice cream cone that I was.
Where is my will power?

He edged closer to me, brushed his lips along my neck so I quivered with longing. I tried to hide my craving. He whispered in my ear “You have to trust me, baby. I don’t want Laura. I haven’t fucked Laura, and I’m not living with her—that’s crazy, please believe me.”

“It’s not crazy! She said so. And I saw you with my own eyes at her house!”

“Well she was talking nonsense. I just zipped by her house to drop something off.”

“Bullshit! You haven’t even called me, you haven’t picked up your cell—you’ve been avoiding me!”

His voice was gentle. “I haven’t called you because I knew you needed time to sort your head out. Let’s face it, Pearl, you were all over the place. You needed time alone to reflect; not only those nightmares and all that shit, but on the whole Sophie issue, which I hear is resolving itself nicely. She told me you bumped into each other.” He cupped his large hand on my butt and I was too mesmerized by him to move. “I didn’t get in touch, chérie, because things were too haywire.” He breathed into my ear and added huskily, “But it’s been hell for me; I’ve missed you like crazy. You’re all I can think of, night and day. I’m obsessed with you. I’ve been going around with a hard-on for two weeks. Please Pearl, calm me down. I feel like an animal—I need you—I need you, baby.”