Thor (Recherché #1) (15 page)

Another sob tears up her throat. “Please stop.” She begs.

“I was an escort. I own an escort agency. You made me break the rules. You made me want more, made me want you. I’ve never apologised for it or felt ashamed…until now. Until you.”

She pushes away from me and this time, I let her go. She swipes at the tears under her eyes. “Good. You should feel ashamed. You’re disgusting.” She tilts her head back and focuses her gaze on the ceiling. “God, I’m so fucking stupid. Of course, someone who looks like you would have to be paid to even notice me.”

It hurts me that she thinks that. I push off the door and wind a hand around the back of her neck. “No, it took someone as beautiful as you to make me turn my back on the only thing I know.” I press my lips against her forehead. “I wish you saw what I see, Poppy Whitely.” I release her and take a step back. Her watery eyes meet mine and we stare at each other like strangers. The truth is, she might be the only person who’s ever gotten a glimpse at the real me. She once asked me if she was a toy in my eyes. The truth is, she’s the detonator that tore my world apart before reassembling it.

She shakes her head. “I can’t, Thor.” She holds her hands up in defeat and another stray tear trickles over her cheek.

I nod and manage to feign a smile. “That’s okay.” I swallow heavily. “But just know that I’m still the same person, ginge, and you’ll always be mine.”

She sniffs and looks straight at me. “On that, you’re probably right, Thor Jameson.” I can’t expect anything more from her. I went into this with my eyes wide open, knowing exactly what I was doing. I told myself a hundred times to stay away and every time I went against my better judgment. All I’ve done is hurt her and that’s the last thing I ever wanted. Even now though, I can’t bring myself to regret it.

“Goodbye, Poppy.” I take one last look at her tear stained face and walk away from her.

I wish I could say it’s the last time I’ll see her, that I can leave her the fuck alone and go on with my life, but I’ve learned with Poppy…staying away is easier said than done.

One month later

I open the door to the gallery and the bell above the door tinkles. Davina looks up from her spot behind the till and a wide smile breaks across her face.

“You’re here!” She opens her arms to hug me and kisses me on the cheek. Over the last couple of months, Davina and I have become close friends. I needed that after the whole thing with Elodie. I forgave her and we’re friends but it’s not the same and I don’t know that it ever will be.

Davina reaches into her pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper. “Here you go.” I open it and it’s a cheque for ten thousand pounds. This is the second month she’s sold out of all my paintings.

“They all went to the same buyer again.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Who? Another gallery?”

She shakes her head and I follow her back to the till. She opens a folder and traces her finger down one of the pages. “A Recherché?” I shake my head.

“Never heard of it.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Well, they were delivered to a London address.” She scribbles something on a scrap of paper and hands it to me. I look at the Hyde Park address scrawled across it.

“Okay, well, I have to shoot, but thanks.” I wave and leave, already taking my phone out of my bag on the way out. I open up the Google browser and type in Recherché London. One site pops up. I click on the link and a black page pops up with elegant white writing, displaying the one word, Recherché and beneath it, the words, elite escort services. I squeeze the phone in my hand and take a deep breath. Thor.

I don’t know what I’m thinking or why I do it, but I jump in a taxi and find myself half way across London, standing outside 42 Park Street, the delivery address for Recherché I don’t know what I was expecting, put it wasn’t the three story townhouse in front of me.

I stare at the glossy black door, brushing my fingers over the heavy silver knocker shaped in an elegant scroll. Without thinking, I rap it against the door.

My stomach twists violently and my throat tightens until each raspy breath feels like a struggle. I hear the creak of a floorboard, the sliding of a chain on the other side of the door and then it opens revealing a guy in tracksuit bottoms and a half unzipped hoody. I can’t help but glance at the v of skin that dips below his bulging chest muscles. A drop of sweat rolls down his throat and between his pecs. I force myself to look up and meet his eyes. He could be Thor’s brother they’re so similar looking. The only difference is that where Thor’s eyes are green, this guy's are dark and filled with a kind of scrutiny that makes me want to shy away from him.

“Can I help you?” He asks, his voice smooth and articulate.

I release a slow breath and squeeze my eyes shut on a frown. What am I doing here? Why does it matter? I don’t really know, but it just does. “I need to see Thor.” I open my eyes again and his expression changes.

His eyes narrow and his head tilts to the side before realisation crosses his features. “Poppy.” He says my name slowly.

Fuck. I don’t know why, but I panic. “I... just ask him to call me.” I turn away from him and am on the second step before he speaks.

“Why now?” I drag a hand through my hair and whirl around to face him. “It’s been months, so why now?”

I sigh and roll my neck to the side. “Just tell him to stop buying my work. Please.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe. “So you just found out that he’s buying your stuff and you’re annoyed.” He says it as though explaining it to himself. “Have you ever thought that he buys your paintings because he wants them? Or maybe he buys them because he cares?”

I can feel this pressure building in my chest, a tension that’s spreading through my body. “He lied to me!” I snap, taking an involuntary step forward. “He doesn’t get to care!” I thought I was over this, that I had moved on, but standing here, talking about him, the anger rises up as though it were only yesterday that I was standing in that art gallery being told that the man I’d grown to feel something for was basically a prostitute. “He doesn’t get to care.” I repeat quietly.

A small smile pulls at his lips. “Doesn’t he?” He says it so calmly, so rationally that he makes me feel as though I’m ridiculous for even being annoyed.

He stares at me, his gaze totally unwavering. I have no idea who this guy is, but when he looks at me I feel stripped bare and completely exposed. It’s as if he can see everything, every ugly scar and unwanted weakness. He’s digging through my layers, pinpointing the buried part of me that once felt something for Thor.

He finally breaks the silence. “Thor’s in the office if you want to come in.”

I scowl at him. “So the point of this conversation was…?”

His lips twitch. “We’re just talking, Poppy. I’m Xavier, Thor’s friend.” He opens the door wider and gestures for me to come inside. I oblige and he closes it behind me, leading me down a long corridor. I follow him into a living space with a seating area and a kitchen. He knocks on a door on the far side of the room and opens it.

“You have a visitor.” He mumbles and then he turns and walks away. I stand there in front of that inconspicuous looking door feeling like an idiot. Okay, this will be fine. Just tell him to stop buying the paintings and leave. Eventually, I summon the courage to push it open and step into the room. Thor looks up at me from behind a desk. The moment our eyes lock it’s like everything freezes, time physically standing still for a second. One look at those green eyes has my mind blinking like a faulty film reel, flashing with images of him, me, us together. I remember everything with crystal clarity, the way his hands feel on my skin, his lips against mine, the way he makes me feel. It all lingers right there in the air between us and neither of us says anything for long seconds. My heart thuds awkwardly in my chest as anticipation and longing rise to the surface. This is why I should have stayed away because as soon as I’m near him he makes me doubt everything. Anything that was sane and rational suddenly seems inconsequential under that emerald gaze. When I turned him away before I was hurt and angry, and that anger gave me strength. God, why did I think coming here was a good idea?

“Poppy.” He says my name and a shiver works over my skin.

“I…” I swallow heavily. “You need to stop buying my paintings.” He renders me weak, but I have to remember beneath that beautiful exterior, beneath the lust he makes me feel, he’s a liar.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together in front of him. Those eyes study me like I’m some kind of apparition. His shirt strains across his broad chest, the muscles of his arms. I’d forgotten how disarmingly beautiful he is, and the reality of him is so much more powerful than the memory.

“How have you been?” He asks, that deep voice caressing each word.

God, I didn’t come here for small talk. “Fine, apart from you buying all my paintings.” I fight with myself to maintain my front.

“And that’s a problem because…?”

“You’re not supposed to be in my life, Thor. We went our separate ways, or at least I did.” He pushes up out of his seat and the second he does I know I’m in trouble. He slowly moves around his desk, adjusting the edge of his rolled-up shirt sleeve.

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.” His eyes darken and something flutters in my stomach, a blend of fear and anticipation.

“You lied to me…”

“I did.” He takes slow, seemingly casual steps towards me, but nothing about him is casual. I back away from him. “And I apologised.”

“You did.” I breathe. “And it didn’t change anything.” He smiles.

My thighs bump against something and I glance over my shoulder to find another desk. When I look back he’s barely a foot away, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. I feel intimidated and threatened by him, but not in a violent way. I simply don’t trust myself to be this close to him and he knows it. Because for all Thor’s faults, for everything that should repulse me about him, he’s still Thor. His ability to make me want him has never been in question. He stands there in silence, but I think it’s the worst thing he could do to me. The tension builds until I feel like a cornered animal, desperate and frantic.

“I shouldn’t have come.” I go to move past him but he lashes out, grabbing me around the throat and spinning me until my back hits the wall next to the door. My breath hitches violently and my heart slams against my ribs so hard it’s all I can hear. His grip isn’t tight, but I can feel each of his fingertips burning into the skin of my neck. I slam my eyes closed and try to calm my breathing, slow my rapidly rising heart rate.

His nose skims over my jaw and a broken whimper slips from my throat. The scent of his aftershave wraps around me like a warm blanket, comforting me. Even with his hand wrapped around my throat and his massive body pressing against me, I can’t feel anything but safe, because Thor has never made me feel anything else.

Fingertips trail over my cheek in a feather light caress and I find myself leaning into his touch. Fight it! “I have thought about you every fucking day, but I stayed away because I hurt you, Poppy.” His breath blows over my face. “But now you’re here…”

My eyes flash open. His face is only inches from mine, the details so painfully beautiful. “You know why I came.”

He leans in until his lips are almost brushing mine. “If that was all you wanted to say, then a phone call would have sufficed.” I open my mouth to respond. “A text, a letter, an email.” He goes on.

His mouth trails across my cheek until his lips are at my ear. I tremble in his grasp. “I bought your paintings because I care about you.” He places the lightest kiss just below my ear. “I bought them because they remind me of you.” Oh god. Heat floods my body, building into something wild and untameable.

“Thor, please...” I beg through gritted teeth. I feel like I’m hanging onto a cliff face and my fingers are losing grip, slipping one by one until I’m hanging by a single finger.

He pulls back until his eyes meet mine again. “Please what?” His hand moves away from my throat, his fingers trailing down the centre of my chest and drifting to my waist. He should disgust me, his touch should repulse me, I should hate this, but I don’t and I hate myself for it.

“Nothing’s changed.” I whisper. He still holds the same maddening pull over me and I still feel like I’m being played by a master because this is what he does remember? He’s a master of sex and women. “You’re a whore.” Escort makes it seem less than what it is, but the fact is, he has sex with people for money.