The Silk Tie (Erotic Threesome Romance) (7 page)

“Mmm,
sounds great.” I shook my head and headed back into the living room. Normally,
Gabe preferred white wine and I’d never heard him describe the flavor like that.
It wasn’t his way.

After
banging around in the kitchen, he wandered in then sat next to me.

He
reached for my hand, kissed my knuckles then set his drink aside.

“So
what did you have? The hottest, spiciest thing on the menu?” I asked.

“Madras,
yes. Pretty hot.” He rubbed his sternum as though waiting for heartburn.

“You do
it every time,” I said. “I’ve left your tablets out on the side in the
kitchen.”

He
smiled and leaned close, kissed my cheek. “You’re so good to me.”

I
laughed. “I know. And you smell of curry and booze.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t
be sorry. I’m glad you had a good time with your friend.”

“I did.
Brent’s fun to be around.”

“So
what kind of things did you talk about?” I couldn’t stifle my curiosity.

“What
do you mean?”

“You
know, what conversations did you have?”

“Oh,
just the usual.”

“What’s
that? Football, cricket, pensions, women?”

He
laughed and put his arm around my shoulder, pulled me into a side hug, the way
we often sat together on the sofa. “No, not women...in fact, more the
opposite.”

“The
opposite?” I frowned and looked up at him. “What, men?”

He
shrugged and glanced at the TV screen. “Yeah.”

“What
about them?” Now I
was
intrigued.

“Just…you
know.”

“No, I
don’t. I chat about men with my girlfriends but we don’t chat about girls.” I
shoved my finger onto his belly. “Tell me.”

“Urgh,
don’t do that.” He tensed his abdomen.

“So
tell.”

“I
shouldn’t really. He glanced at the door as if wondering if there was someone
there.

“There’s
lots of things we shouldn’t do but that doesn’t stop us.” I slid my hand to his
chest then up the column of his neck and turned his attention back to me.
“Isn’t there?”

He
waggled his eyebrows. “Indeed there is.”

“So
tell me,” I whispered, stroking his stubbled chin. “Why were you discussing
men?”

“Because…Brent
had an affair with a man.” Gabe pressed his fingers over his lips, almost as if
to hold the words in that he shouldn’t have said. He’d spoken fast too, like
the sentence had spilled out of him.

“What?”
I sat up a bit. “He’s gay?”

“No,
no, nothing like that.” He shook his head.

“But he
must be, if he’s into blokes.”

“Not
all blokes. Just this one at university, years ago.”

“So it was
just experimenting, when he was a youth.” I shrugged. “We’ve all done that. Heck,
I snogged Fiona Talbot when I was eighteen and I’d had a cider too many.”

Gabe’s
face softened a little; his gaze captured mine and his lips twitched. “You
never told me that.”

“It was
no big deal.”

“Ah,
but this was a big deal for Brent. He had a proper relationship with this bloke,
Samuel, and then just before he proposed to Nadia, they met up again, spent an
entire week together. They went to the South of France on holiday, as a couple...you
know what I mean?”

“Bloody
hell.”

“Yeah,
that’s proper experimenting. Well, no not experimenting, that’s really trying
it out for size,” Gabe said.

“And he
told you all of this, tonight?”

“The
details, yes. But I had an idea because his wife, or soon-to-be ex-wife, Nadia,
has accused him of seeing Samuel throughout their marriage. She’s likely going
to be using it as a reason for her affair and trying to sting him for extra
cash because of it.”

“And does
she have grounds? Has he been seeing this Samuel?”

“No,
not at all. After that week in France he decided that it was Nadia he wanted to
be with. Even though he and Samuel were close and, from the sound of it, in
love, he felt he had to move on and Nadia was his future. He had dreams of a
family and a quiet life with a beautiful, sweet woman.”

“So he
was always faithful to her?”

“Yes,
unlike her, who’d been bed hopping for over a year and making him look a fool.”

“That’s
not fun.” I paused. “So I guess he’s bi if he’s not gay.”

“Yes,
that’s how he described himself. Say’s it’s the person he’s attracted to, not
the gender.” Gabe put his fingers over his mouth and suppressed a hiccup.

“And is
this, his sexuality, likely to get hashed out in court?”

“I
think we have to prepare for it. We’re going to leave her living a very
different life to what she’s used to and she’ll get nasty. She’s like the
Wicked Witch of the West. Nothing is sacred, nothing can’t be aired in public.”

“She
sounds a real charmer.”

Gabe
shook his head. “Makes me wonder what he saw in her. She’s not attractive,
she’s mean, false, the furthest thing you can imagine from beautiful and sweet.
You’ve gotta wonder.”

“Bet
you’re glad you’ve got me, eh?”

He
squeezed me close. “I’m thankful for that every minute of every day and you
know it.”

He
pulled me up his body for a kiss.

He
tasted of wine and smelled of a medley of Indian spices. I loved him even in
this tipsy, curried state. Wanted him too.

I
shifted and straddled his legs, my knees folded against the outer edges of his
thighs and my crotch pressing on his groin.

He
still wore his suit, although his tie was gone—likely rolled into his
pocket—and his collar had the top button undone.

“So,
Mr. Stone,” I said onto his lips.

He ran
his hands up my back. “Mmm, what?”

“I’ve
told you my secret about kissing Fiona Talbot, you’ve told me Brent’s secret,
so now it’s time for you to tell me yours.”

He
kissed me lightly. “What do you mean?”

I cupped
his face and pulled back. “Did you have any secret kisses with boys when you
were growing up?”

He
huffed. “No, my youth wasn’t that exciting.”

“So it
would be exciting to kiss a boy?”

He
stared at me; his eyes were a little glazed but he was really looking, really
delving into the depths of my curiosity. He didn’t speak, didn’t answer. Instead,
he kissed me.

His
woman.

The
next morning I slept late. With no friends to meet, no social occasion to
prepare for, I enjoyed the languid state of dozing and letting my body recover
from a week of rushing about.

I
stretched my right leg across the bed. Gabe wasn’t there and hadn’t been for a
while as the sheets were cool.

The
need for tea called, so I got up, reached for my robe then headed downstairs.

I put
the kettle on, wondering where Gabe was then spotted him outside.

We had
a very small garden, barely enough to warrant the title and it didn’t have any
grass, just slate paving slabs. But it was big enough for a wooden table and
chairs, a deluxe BBQ and several terracotta pots full of flowers. It was more
than many Londoners had and I always enjoyed buying little things for it.

Gabe was
sitting on one of the chairs with a shard of golden sunshine streaming down on
to him. He had his right ankle crossed on his left knee and was pushing his
hand through his hair with his face angled at the sky.

He was
also on the phone. It was pressed to his ear and he smiled at whatever was
being said to him and shut his eyes against the bright light above.

Who was
he talking to?

His
relaxed pose told me it wasn’t anything to do with work, nor was it his mother
or an annoying marketing call. In fact, I’d never seen him chatting like that
on the phone, with such casual ease and a carefree posture.

The
kettle clicked off and I turned and made tea.

Once
I’d poured it, I took a sip then headed out of the back door.

Gabe
looked at me and mouthed. “Morning.”

I
pressed a kiss to the top of his head and sat next to him.

“Yes,”
he was saying. “It sounds like a good plan.” He paused. “I’ll ask her and call
you back, but I’m pretty sure we’re free.”

He hung
up.

I
licked my lips and watched him place his iPhone on the table and reach for his
coffee.

“That
was Brent,” Gabe said.

“He was
ringing early.”

“Nah, I
rang him. Just to say thanks for dinner last night.” He took a sip of his
drink. “He paid.”

I
nodded. “That was kind of him.”

“I
don’t think money is one of his problems and I intend for it to stay that way.”

“What,
as opposed to being bisexual and having a wife after his blood. They’re
problems, aren’t they?”

Gabe
frowned. “Shh, I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“But you
did. And now I’m wondering if he fancies my husband.” I laughed at my own joke.

“Jesus,
that’s ridiculous,” Gabe snapped.

“Hey,
I’m messing with you.” I rested my hand on his arm. “But I wouldn’t blame him.
You’re quite a catch.”

His
shoulders relaxed. “Just as well I was caught by you, eh.”

“Indeed.”

We were
quiet for a moment.

“So
what do you have to ring him back about?” I asked.

“Oh,
yeah. He’s invited us to Henley for the weekend.”

“That’s
nice. When?”

“Now.
This weekend.”

“What?”

Gabe placed
his cup down. “Don’t look so shocked at a spontaneous plan, Hayley.”

“But—”

“We
used to always be spontaneous.”

“We
still are, plenty.”

He
shook his head. “I’m not talking about the bedroom. I’m talking about our
social plans. It can happen even if it’s not in your diary, you know.”

“Yes, I
get that.” I put my tea down, folded my arms. “But there’s nothing wrong with
being organized.”

“Of
course not, and I love you for organizing our lives, I’d be hopeless on my own,
but…”

“But?”

“But
let’s do this. Brent has to go to the house in Oxford—”

“How
many does he have? Houses, that is.”

“Three
that he uses for himself. The apartment in Chelsea, the Oxford house and the
small-holding in Essex that he shared with Nadia.”

“Quite
the property guru.”

“He’s
hoping to sell the one in Essex, use that profit for any divorce settlements
and then just have his pad in the city and a country escape.” Gabe reached over
and took my hand. “Come on, let’s go. It’s bound to be a fabulous place. The
sun is out and the country air will do us good after all this heat and smog.”

“Well…”

“Go
on…” he said in a whiney, persuasive voice.

I
laughed. “Oh, okay, we’ll go. I can’t exactly let you go on your own, can I?
Not after the state you came back in last night.”

“What
state?” he asked huffing.

“Pissed.”
I rolled my eyes.

“I
wasn’t.”

“Mr.
Stone, you’re guilty as charged and you know it.”

His
face cracked into a smile. “I am on my third cup of coffee, so yes, you’re
probably right, but it didn’t stop me having a good time with Mrs. Stone.”

* * * *

The
trip to Oxford started off slow as we wound through City traffic, but once out
on the motorway, hills soon dominated the landscape and we picked up speed.

I put
some classical music on and was happy to relax back and let Gabe drive.

Driving
had never been my cup of tea. I contented myself with the fact I was good at
many things, but not getting behind a wheel.

We left
the high-speed roads and navigated down smaller ones to Henley. Another
glorious day had brought locals and tourists out in their summer finest, and as
we went through small towns, ladies in pretty dresses browsed quaint shops,
kids in shorts ate ice cream, and when we went over an old stone bridge, a
regatta was being held on the river below.

Gabe
slowed in the line of traffic and I admired the well-dressed audience lining
the bank, the long skinny boats packed with scantily dressed rowers, and the
officials in red-and-white-striped jackets and straw boater hats who were
marching around full of self-importance.

“Looks
like they’re having fun,” Gabe said. “I didn’t realize it was regatta weekend,
no wonder the roads have been busy these last few miles.”

“It’s
not been too bad. I think it’s just about to start.”

“Brent
said his garden backs on to the Thames, so we’re likely to see rowers whizzing
past all day.”

“Best
seat in the house, eh.”

“Indeed.”

Gabe
pulled off and we left the regatta and the town. But it was only a couple of
minutes later that the Satnav informed us that we’d reached our destination.

Hardon
Manor.

Gabe
turned right onto a gravel driveway. We passed through large wooden gates with brass
furniture then onto a long, slim stretch of tarmac lined with silver birches.

In the
distance I could see the house. Even from this far away I could tell it was the
largest for miles around. It was of mansion proportions.

“Phew,”
I said. “You weren’t kidding when you said money wasn’t an issue for Brent
Dawson.”

“He
didn’t buy this,” Gabe said. “It’s the family home, it’s where he grew up and it’s
protected by a pre-nup his father insisted upon on his death bed.”

“Thank
goodness for that.”

“I
guess he could see his son’s new wife for what she was, even when ill.”

“And
Brent’s mother? Does she live here?”

“No, she
died not long after he and Nadia split. So he’s had a lot to cope with. Said that
his mother had never been the same without his father and that although
diagnosed with cancer she’d actually died of a broken heart.”

“That’s
sad.”

“I
guess they couldn’t live without each other.” Gabe reached over and touched my
knee, only briefly, then took the steering wheel again.

We
drove from the shadows of the birch trees and stopped beside a stone roundabout
complete with cherub holding a horn, from which water spilled down.

“This
is stunning,” I said, removing my shades.

A huge
set of steps ran up to a pillared front door. Several windows stretched out on
either side and above them a long balcony hugged the house.

Precisely
trimmed topiary trees dotted the balcony and almost touched the start of the
roof which held neatly spaced dormer windows, and at either end, massive
chimney stacks.

“Glad
you came now?” Gabe asked.

“Well,
it’s a bit shoddy,” I managed. “But I suppose I’ll cope.”

He
grinned and got out of the car. He whizzed around the front then opened my
door.

I took
his offered hand and stepped out. My heels sank into the gravel and instantly
the sun heated my arms that were cool from the air-conditioning.

“Hey,
you made it.”

I
turned to see Brent walking down the stone steps. He wore pale cream chinos,
brown deck shoes and a navy Ralph Lauren shirt. His hair looked a little damp,
like he was fresh from the shower.

“Hi,
yes, made good time,” Gabe said, walking up to him with his hand outstretched.

Brent
took Gabe’s hand, grinned and placed his other hand on Gabe’s shoulder. He gave
it a squeeze.

“Thank
goodness,” Brent said. “I completely forgot it was regatta day. Never used to,
all the hype that goes on in town, but being in the City it just slipped my
mind.”

“No,
worries,” Gabe said.

Brent
looked from Gabe to me. “Hayley, great to see you again. And I’m thrilled that
you had a free weekend to come and pay me a visit.”

“Thank
you for inviting us,” I said and gestured up at the house. “You have a
beautiful home.”

“Thank
you, but I can’t really take credit for it. My parents bought it many years ago
and painstakingly restored it to its Georgian glory. My mother, Lord rest her
soul, also had exquisite taste in antiques.”

Gabe
went to the back of the car and lifted our two overnight bags from it.

Brent
quickly took one. “Come on, I’ll show you around. Plus, you must be desperate
for a drink in this heat.”

“Yes, a
bit dry,” Gabe said laughing. “Especially after all of that wine last night.”

Brent
shook his head but smiled. “Was nice, though. Can’t beat a two thousand and
four Bordeaux Merlot.”

“It sounded
delicious,” I said, following them up the stairs.

“It
was,” Brent said over his shoulder. “But I know you prefer white, Hayley, so I
have some chilling for later.”

“That’s
very thoughtful.”

“I
try.” He threw me a wink.

* * * *

After a
tour of the house, which included admiring a magnificent drawing room, a long,
sleek dining room table, seven bedrooms and an outdoor pool, Brent sat us on
cushioned chairs on the back patio and popped the cork on a bottle of
champagne.

“Oh,
look, the river,” I said, slipping on my shades again and pointing over the
stone wall and the lawn. “You can see it from here.”

“Yes,
the regatta teams will go past soon.” Brent handed me a glass of bubbling
golden liquid.

“Thank
you.” I smiled.

He
really was incredibly good-looking and with that dense stubble going on and his
thick, dark hair, it was no wonder both men and women liked him.

I
swallowed and turned my attention to Gabe.

He, too,
was studying Brent. He had dark wrap-around sunglasses on but I could tell his
focus was on our host.

I
wondered what my husband was thinking. Was his mind going down the same paths
that mine did? Had images of Brent fucking another man crossed Gabe’s thoughts?

“Cheers,”
Brent said. “To trips to the countryside.”

“Cheers,”
me and Gabe said together.

We clinked
glasses then a rhythmic shouting and splashing down at the river caught our
attention.

“There
they go,” Brent said, holding up his crystal flute. “May the best man win.”

“Is
that a tennis court?” Gabe asked, pointing to his right.

“Yes,”
Brent said. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “Do you play?”

“Well,
not brilliantly but I’ll give it a go,” Gabe said.

I
raised my eyebrows and pressed my lips together. Gabe was notoriously rubbish
at any sport that required hand-eye coordination. He could run, swim, had even
progressed through the karate belts, but anything that required him to be
accurate with a bat and ball, no, that wasn’t for him.

“Would
you like a knock about?” Brent asked.

“Sure,
why not.” Gabe downed his drink and grinned. “Let’s do it.”