Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (51 page)

With eyes shut tight, he revisits the soon
to be scene of the crime, a crime of passion resulting from days, months and
years of infatuation. The prospects of that gives him butterflies that skip and
summersault around his intestines. He uses his heavy hands to massage away the
frisky insects with palms that no longer hurt. In fact, they have hardened up
quite nicely. From fingers to wrist, the skin is pleated and puckered into neat
little wrinkles. They look as if they belong to someone ancient, withered or dead.

Untouched by vanity, he lifts them from
under the duvet, switches on the lamp and inspects them. With his fingers
splayed, his palms look like huge sheets of sandpaper. Instinctively, his
thoughts turn to the love of his life, ‘These hands will keep you in place,
feel your soft skin, explore your body, inside and out. You won’t forget the
feel of
these
hands.’

There had been moments of self-doubt this
week when he’d seriously thought about throwing in the towel, but not anymore.
He’s a man who has found his second wind and, even with less than four hours
sleep, he’s fighting fit.

What usually amounts to a fleeting
encounter between flesh and flannel, turns into a long, drawn-out face to face
between skin and scorching streams of water. For some reason, he feels the need
to cleanse himself, of what, he has no idea.

When he steps from the shower, his skin is
glowing the former colour of his scorched palms; he scarcely recognises himself
in the bathroom mirror. Naturally his face is flushed from the self-inflicted
scalding, but there’s something about his eyes; they are glistening, alight
with lust and brutish thoughts. He’s a man who has been raised from the dead:
he’s alive. The lascivious grin only reinforces the fact he has the upper-hand.
He’s mentally and physically prepared to fight for what is rightfully his and,
when he takes it, to indulge in whatever activity takes his fancy to achieve
total, sexual gratification.

In false light, his newspaper free lounge
seems dustier than ever. Foot square shapes of brightly coloured carpet have
appeared around the walls, reminding him of just how long the hunt for his girl
has been going on. It had seemed like an exercise in perseverance, a tour of
duty that would never end, but now he is coming home. Or at least that’s how it
feels.

Breakfast is a simple matter of eating
what’s edible and throwing away what’s not. He sits down by his computer and
boots it up while sipping hot tea from a mug that has the University of
Cambridge crest on it. He Googles Heathrow airport and clicks on ‘Flight
Arrivals.’ There are eight flights coming in from Rome, starting at 0945hrs.
The last flight is 22.00. To be on the safe side, he decides to get to Elm
Gardens for 1000hrs, giving him ample time. He’ll have to break off to meet
Elise, but that won’t be a problem, everything is in place and it will simply
be a case of retrieval: ‘Operation Snatchback’ is good to go.

His rucksack is so light he barely notices
the weight of it. He has off-loaded its contents on earlier expeditions and
there is little left to carry. He attributes his anticipated success to
premeditation, that and ingenuity. He has a date with destiny and he’s making
good time.

“Time
to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

I smell my prince’s provocative scent
before I see his face: it’s Obsession and he’s mine.

“It’s 11.30, we need to catch our flight
before one o’clock or we’ll miss our slot.” He brushes away the unruly strands
of hair from my face. “Feeling better?”

I turn to face him, unprepared for what I
see: he’s even more handsome than I’ve remembered him from an hour ago. He’s
showered and now he’s wearing a tightly fitting, V neck, white T-shirt and pale
blue jeans. I swear I can see every contour of his perfect body. What a wake-up
call.

“Yes, I’m rested. You look and smell
scrumptious.”

“Good to know,” he grins. “Still feel
wobbly?” Standing, he eyes my nether region suggestively.

“No, the only thing that’s wobbling is my
pride.” I swing my legs off the bed. “I need to freshen up before we leave,
give me ten minutes.”

“Sure, take this with you.” I take the
steaming cup of coffee from him.
What a nice thought.

Having nothing left to salvage from my
make-up I shower quickly and reapply some tinted moisturiser, a little mascara
and a warm pink lip gloss. Thankfully my jeans and white T-shirt have survived
our sexual encounter better than my cosmetics and I slip them on in a second.
With so little time, I scrape back my hair into a decorative clip and saunter
out into the lounge with all my toiletries thrown into an oversized make-up bag.
There they sit by my navy blazer waiting to be packed into our hand luggage.

“All done,” I call out to Ayden, but he’s
disappeared. I take a seat, finish my coffee and catch my breath, remembering
to take two travel sickness tablets. I don’t want to embarrass myself again. Although
the outcome was a lot of fun as I recall.

I jump up when I hear his voice outside in
the hall, preparing to leave and excited at the prospect of another four hours
of quality time spent with the man I love.

“All set?” He asks curtly.

“Just my toiletries to pack.” He takes
them from me and hands the bag to a gentleman in uniform waiting outside the
door who immediately disappears down the hallway. “Where’s he taking my
things?”

“Downstairs with our bags. The car’s
waiting.”

“Oh ok.”

He’s eager to get going. How quickly he
loses his holiday spirit: it’s business as usual. And, as usual Ayden Stone is
impatient and impervious to the needs of others He’s the proverbial one man
band and I feel a little like an ex-band member. I can hear drawers opening and
closing in each room and wardrobe doors slamming, he’s making sure nothing is
left behind, either that or he’s in a foul mood.

I slip on my blazer and wander out onto
the terrace one last time, savouring the mid-morning sun on my face. “Arevedici
Rome.”

The sunlight fades as I move away from the
French doors towards the elevator with Ayden a couple of paces behind me. When
the door slides open, he takes my hand and we step into the lift together. He’s
breathing faster than usual and there’s no doubting he’s a little tense.

I squeeze his hand. “Is there something
bothering you, only you seem bit ... off?”

He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and
plants a soft kiss on my left cheek. “No, I’m good, we’re running a little late
and we need to make that flight so I can attend to a couple of things. That’s
all.”

I nod and present a sympathetic smile,
suspecting he’s about to walk into a fire storm which may have been averted if
he’d been paying better attention. Instead he’s been bestowing upon me the most
priceless of gifts after his love: his time.

Thankfully, we make it to Fiumincino
airport with twenty minutes to spare, but the sprint to the fuelled private jet
waiting on the tarmac leaves me exhausted and a little light headed.

By the time we’re buckled in and are ready
for take-off, I’m shattered: I may just sleep through the entire flight. After
enduring a large dose of self-control and endurance, I survive the white
knuckle take-off, aware of Ayden’s eyes upon me the whole time. I must appear
very weak willed to him but I simply don’t understand the physics of the
process and anticipate a miscalculation on every flight.

Once we’re airborne, I set about making
coffee, as much to steady my nerves as to fulfil some sort of function. The two
guys up front are flying the plane and Ayden is conversing with God knows who
on the other side of the world. Once again, I seem to have become superfluous.

My phone makes its text received noise.
Leaving the coffee to percolate I reach over to my bag and take a look.

Thanks for delivering the package to L.A.
Any chance of an early HK delivery? The shit’s hitting the fan here!! Work your
magic. J.

Not surprisingly, my face betrays my
astonishment and I’m having to think quickly to throw Ayden off the scent.

He looks up. “Bad news?”

“Oh, the usual. Charlie’s had a bump in
her car. Some buffoon reversed into her new Audi yesterday. She’s pissed. I’ll
give her a call when we land.” Feigning indifference, I archive the message,
throw the phone into my bag and return to my coffee making duty. For some
reason Ayden has taken it upon himself to watch me closely.  Does he suspect I
was lying?

“Can I help you with something Mr. Stone?”
Sweetly, I tilt my head to the left.

“No, just the coffee for now.” He returns to
his iPad, and breaks off again. “I was picturing you in my kitchen.”

What?

“Oh, you thought you’d throw that out
there did you? Ok, it’s a swerve ball but I’ll run with it. Let me serve coffee
first.” I wiggle my way to the cockpit and give a gentle tap. “Can I interest
you in a cup of coffee gentlemen?” They accept the beverages with thanks and I
close the door behind me and prepare to be reeled in.

“Go on, I’m listening.” I hand him his
coffee and seat myself opposite on the plush leather chair.

“I’m thinking of putting Stone Heath on
the market, my house in Belgravia.”

“Why?”

“Because you won’t like it.”

“That’s not very business-like, it’s your
home. Besides, I might love it? That is if I ever get an invite.” I sip my
coffee and flutter my eye lashes at him, stressing the point.

“We’ll go there today when we land. You’ve
got everything you need in your case.”

That was a very quick change of plan, but
one I like the sound of. “Ok, but now you’ve got me hooked.” I kick off my
flats and pull my legs up underneath me. “Why won’t I like it, is it a playboy
mansion with a mirrored ceiling in the master bedroom?”

“How did you guess?” My mouth falls open
and he starts to chuckle while still focusing on his iPad.

I roll my eyes. “Dear God, tell me you’re
joking.”

“I’m joking but it’s ... how can I put
it?”

“A bachelor pad?” I interrupt, helping him
out.

“Yes, but an up-market one, as you would
expect.” Now he’s rolling his eyes.

“Naturally.” I wouldn’t
expect
anything less.

“But, it isn’t homely, not like your apartment.”
A flat smile graces his lips.

I see such an endearing warmth emanating
from his eyes that it makes me want to take him in my arms. “My apartment is
what an estate agent would call bijou and compact; it’s a one bedroom shoe box
with a private parking spot in North London.”

“Yes but it’s ... cosy.”

Why the hell is he so taken with my place?
The terrace we have just left had a bigger square footage than my apartment.
“Cosy is a polite way of saying
small,
Ayden.” He’s just being kind.

“Whatever, but I’ve enjoyed spending time
there with you,” he says affectionately, reaching out to take my hand.

My heart aches. “Thank you, I’ve enjoyed
spending time there with you too, but ...

“… Don’t start with the but’s, we’re going
to need more space.”

“We are?” Where is he going with this?

“I want us to move in together until we
get married, then ...”

“… Whoa! Slow down.” My coffee cup rattles
into position on my saucer, I’m trying to keep up, but he’s moving at the speed
of light. “If you keep this up, you’ll have me dead and buried before I’m
thirty.” I start to laugh. “Take a breath Ayden, think about what you’re
saying, this is serious stuff.”

“Well why wait? This is a
serious
relationship, isn’t it?” He waits for my reply and I actually believe if it
wasn’t for the sound of the twin turbo engines, we would hear a pin drop.

I don’t think I have ever seen him look
quite so earnest about anything. He holds me in place with an unyielding stare
and I feel the colour draining from my face, not out of fear but more to do
with the impact of his conviction: my God this man is desperate to have me and
not just in his bed but in his life, permanently.

“Yes, it’s a serious relationship Ayden
but let’s not be hasty, you have more important things to be thinking about
than this: the Hong Kong merger for instance.” I reach over and kiss him softly
and return to my seat.

Whilst he continues to focus on his iPad,
I watch as his mouth twitches ever so slightly, “Did you just side-step me
asking if you want us to move in together, Miss Parker?”

“You weren’t asking Mr. Stone, you were
assuming. There’s a difference,” I reply astutely, playing with my platinum
bracelet and keeping my eyes out of range. Now he’s smiling and I’m beginning
to heat up inside, but that might only be the after effects of the coffee.

“You’ve been doting on me and dealing with
your business long distance for the past three days. You need to regroup. I’m
not going anywhere.”

“Are you done?” He asks sternly.

“No.” He gives me a ‘here we go’ face but
I continue anyway. “If you keep on like this, it will be L.A. all over again.”
I pause, knowing he’ll look at me. “I don’t need any more assurances. I’m good,
we’re good. Do the second thing your good at.” I stand and drape myself over
his body, forcing him to hold his iPad against his chest, fearing I may break
it. “Go rule the fucking world.”

He nuzzles his face into my neck and holds
me in place with his left hand at the base of my spine. His words, from my lips
have hit home.

“You didn’t wash your hair did you?” He’s
inhaling deeply and rubbing his nose beneath my hairline.

“No, I didn’t have time. Why?”

In a steaming whisper he explains,
“Because your hair smells of sex: hot, rough sex.”

Holy shit!

I fist his hair with my left hand and
slide my other down the back of his sweater and his T-shirt, desperate to feel
the heat from his skin on my palm.

“I need
this,
morning, noon and
night Beth. I need you.”

I kiss his hair and lean back, taking his
stunning face in my hands. “Ok, I’m a push over. We’ll think about moving in
together when you get back from Hong Kong.”

I’m rewarded with a knock your socks off
smile that brings tears to my eyes.  “And only because I’m looking forward to
seeing your cute arse in the mirrored ceiling.” I pull away, and begin clearing
coffee cups and saucers.

“Then I’ll have to get one fitted,” he
calls out after me, inspecting my backside as I saunter off.

“Get on with your work and less of the
seduction, this body is out of bounds.” I give him a ballerina swirl.

“Then stop flaunting it.” He feigns
annoyance, but I know better. Regardless of what comes out of his mouth, his
eyes are glowing and I know, like me, he’s enjoying our playful banter.

Having taken the recommended two
travelsick tablets, I’m feeling no air sickness, I’m enjoying listening to my
music, toes tapping and humming to Rihanna singing ‘
Only girl in the world.
’
I keep my happy thoughts to myself and lock them away behind a gentle smile.

“Beth … Beth.” Ayden is calling my name
and signalling for me to listen to him. “I have a business proposition for
you.”

Did I hear him right? “A what?”

“A business proposition.”

I pull out my ear plugs and switch off my
iPod
.

This should be interesting.

“You know when you send me songs, how do
you access the music. How do you know which songs are appropriate?”

I glance around the airplane, what a
strange topic of conversation. “I don’t know, some of them are on my iPod, so I
know them, others I remember hearing and get them off iTunes. Over the years
they’ve made coming home to an empty house a little more bearable.  Why?”

“It’s just I think you could be onto
something.” He’s so animated and enthusiastic, this isn’t chitchat. “There must
be thousands of people out there like me who don’t have your knowledge of music
but still want to communicate their feelings in a not verbal way. Don’t you
think?”