Unbound (10 page)

I look for a street sign or some other indication of what street we’re on or what’s inside the house but there’s nothing visible. Only two white posts on either side of the curved gate.

I turn to Jonathan. “Where are we?”

“Primrose Hill.”

Didn’t he say that he lived in Knightsbridge? “Is that your house?” I point to the white building outside.

He shakes his head. “No. That’s the club.”

The club. Of course. Steven was supposed to take him there. But what kind of a club is it? I thought he meant some kind of bar, but it doesn’t look like a bar. I’m about to ask him, but he’s already opening the door, he’s in a hurry. “See you tomorrow.” But before he can get out, a sudden impulse makes me put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Thank you,” I say, when he looks at me. “For today. It was … nice.”

A smile plays about his lips and he leans forward and looks straight into my eyes. “That was just the beginning, Grace,” he says and there is something in his voice that sends a shiver through me.

Then he leaps out of the car and slams the door shut behind him. As the limousine drives off, I watch him through the window. He approaches the iron gate with long strides and it opens, closing again directly behind him. A moment later, the villa disappears from view and I lean back against the upholstery, heart thumping. His scent is still hanging in the air and I close my eyes, breathing it in with a smile.

“I’ve heard of that club,” Annie says, a little later. I’m back in Islington now, sitting at the kitchen table with her. “He goes there a lot but no one knows exactly what it is.” She frowns. “He didn’t want you to go in with him, did he?”

“No.”

“Good.”

I look at Annie. “What do you know about the club?”

She avoids my gaze. “Nothing at all. But if you ask me, it’s something strange. So stay away. It’s none of your business what the man does in his free time, after all.” She probably wanted to scare me off but her vagueness has had exactly the opposite effect. Now I’m really curious. That part of the conversation seems to be over for her, though, because she gets up and starts to clear the table. I help her.

While we are washing the dishes together, Marcus enters the kitchen. He greets me warmly with a hearty hug, and then takes a dishtowel and starts drying the dishes with me.

“Where’s Ian, by the way?” I ask. I haven’t seen our Scottish roommate yet.

“Out,” Marcus explains. “Annie and I are meeting him later. We’re going out for a drink. Wanna come?”

I hesitate. The whole reason I’ve been looking forward to sharing an apartment is to be able to hang out with the others and not have to sit around on my own. But now I suddenly need the exact opposite: time to myself, to think. So I shake my head.

“No, I’m too tired tonight. It’s been a long day and I’ve got to be in good shape tomorrow.”

Marcus sighs. “What a shame. I really hoped you wouldn’t leave me alone with the lovebirds.”

Annie punches him on the arm playfully. “You don’t usually mind going out with Ian and me.”

“But right now I do,” Marcus answers. And although he tries to hide it, I can tell how disappointed he is.

I put my hand on his arm. “Another time, OK?”

Once he’s left the kitchen, Annie takes me to one side.

“Come with me,” she says softly and looks towards the door. She obviously doesn’t want Marcus to hear her. “He was really looking forward to it.” She winks at me. “I think he really likes you.”

I sigh deeply to myself. I like Marcus too. He’s very sweet. But when I look him in the eye, I can breathe easily. With no problem at all, which is almost a shame. It would be simpler if the nice American made me short of breath—instead of the Englishman who’s much too rich, much too arrogant, and whom I can’t have.

“I’m completely pooped, Annie, really. And I think tomorrow is going to be pretty tiring again. I’ll come with you next time, I promise.”

She smiles. “OK. But I hope your boss isn’t always going to work you so hard that you can’t enjoy the pleasures of London nightlife.” She raises a threatening finger. “If that happens, we’ll bring you back to our department.”

When Annie and Marcus set off a little later, I have to reassure them several times that everything’s fine and that they can leave me on my own. I’m almost relieved when I close the door after them, pleased to have the apartment to myself.

***

Jonathan is standing beside my bed. I’m lying there naked and the knowledge that he is observing me is sending prickly shivers through me. I can’t settle down, I toss and turn in my bed, I stretch out my arms, and slide my fingers through my hair.

His face is in shadow and I can’t see his expression, but that only heightens my arousal. The area between my legs grows hot and the throbbing desire there increases. I want him to touch me; I want to feel his hands on me.

“Please,” I whisper, but he won’t touch me—he stays in the shadows, tall and dark. My heart is beating wildly and I feel strangely free, I’m not ashamed of my nakedness.

The burning sensation on my skin refuses to subside, so I touch myself, run my hands over my shoulders and down to my breasts, grasping them firmly. My nipples are erect and when I touch them, a bolt of electricity shoots down to my lower body and makes me groan. I pluck at them again and again, and enjoy the waves of pleasure spreading through me. The throbbing sensation between my thighs is almost unbearable now, and one of my hands wanders down there, almost of its own accord, places itself on the soft mound and presses against it, stimulating its sensitive place.

I stare at the dark figure beside my bed, as if hypnotized. He could assuage these torments. But I don’t know how to get him to do that.

I run my tongue over my dry lips despairingly, as my breath grows increasingly labored. I can’t see his face but I can see his eyes. The fire blazing in their icy blue depths is burning me. I pant and arch my back. My body is seized by tremors, the pleasure seems to be gathering itself between my legs and it’s getting stronger, becoming inescapably intense. And then comes the point everything has been driving toward and there is an explosion that sets off wide, liberating shockwaves inside me. Shudders run through me and I hear myself scream with pleasure.

I want to hold Jonathan but he retreats, disappears completely into the shadows again, until I can’t see him anymore. He’s slipping away from me, he’s leaving me behind.

No …

I wake up with a start and raise my head and look around the room. The street lamp outside is casting a pale light into the room. I can clearly see the outlines of furniture. I’m in bed. Alone. My nightgown has been pushed halfway up; I’ve got one hand between my thighs and the other holding my breast. I let both hands sink back onto the mattress, with a deep sigh, and throw my head back onto my pillows.

It was just a dream.

But I have trouble calming myself down again. I’m still breathing rapidly. The more my breath slows and the more the feeling of satisfaction subsides, the more reality comes into focus. I roll over onto my side and draw my knees in toward my body, protectively. I’ve never had such an intense erotic dream before, and it truly shocks me. Because it felt so incredibly real—and because I enjoyed the feelings it aroused so much. I’m obviously drawn to Jonathan Huntington by much more than just a simple crush.

Which means I’m in big trouble.

“Sleep well?”

Jonathan’s words make me look up in shock. When he had wished me good morning, just now, the sound of his voice had already sent a shiver down my spine. And now his question throws me completely for a loop because it immediately brings back the vivid image of last night’s dream.

He’s standing in the doorway of the office next to his—my office. Catherine Shepard showed me in this morning. It’s just as big as Jonathan’s and almost identically furnished. The desk I’m sitting at is also just like his one.

“Yes, thanks,” I stammer and I feel myself turning red as we look at each other. When I came in earlier, he hadn’t yet arrived, but there were stacks of files waiting on my desk. I pounced on them, throwing myself into my work, in order to stop thinking about the fact that I was about to see him again.

And now he’s here. He’s not wearing his jacket today, unusually for him—just a shirt, another black one, and black jeans. He looks more casual, more relaxed, he’s smiling at me. Which forms a knot in my stomach.

“How was the …club?” My question sounds much more assertive than I feel. But I can’t resist asking. Ever since Annie made those strange remarks about it, I can’t get it out of my mind. I hope he’ll tell me more about it but he just stares at me. For a long time. So long that I melt under his gaze and have trouble remembering to breathe.

“Interesting,” he answers finally, pushing himself away from the doorframe. He comes up to the desk and this time he’s the one who sits down in the guest chair on the other side. The chair is smaller than his desk chair and accentuates his height. He observes me, smiling. “I see we’ve coordinated our outfits again.” The way he says it sounds so intimate that I get butterflies in my stomach once more. But I try to hide it, as I look down at the tight black shirt I’m wearing. It has quite a deep V-neck, which is precisely why I chose it, together with the short black skirt I’m wearing, and my big silver hoop earrings. They’re classic but striking at the same time.

I want to get his attention. And I want him to like what he sees. I want him to notice me, not just as an intern, but also as a woman.

“Does that bother you?” I ask.

He gives me his cocky, charming smile again and when I look into his eyes, I notice that they aren’t just blue at all. They also have a few dark specks, dark sprinkles, that you only discover when you look closely. “No, on the contrary. But I liked what you had on yesterday too. You look good in both outfits, Grace.”

I’m so bewildered by the compliment that for a moment I can’t answer. Then my brain starts working again, analyzing his words more precisely. Was it actually a compliment? Or does he think I’m copying him, and doesn’t want that? Should I stop wearing black?

“What do you mean?”

Now
he
looks surprised. Then he throws his head back and laughs. “You’re quite unique, do you know that? What do I mean? Well, I mean exactly what I said. You look great in black or any other color. What else could I have meant?”

For God’s sake, Grace! I scold myself, shocked. Why do you always say the first thing that comes into your head? Think before you speak for once!

“Nothing. I …I just wasn’t sure.” Did he really say he finds me unique?

Now he’s not smiling anymore, he’s frowning. Which suits him just as much. Everything suits him. “Don’t you usually get a lot of compliments?”

“Yes, I guess so,” I answer hesitantly. “Sometimes.”

Actually, men seldom remark on my appearance, probably because I rarely date, and they don’t get the chance. And if someone
does
say something nice, I rarely believe him anyway.

He leans forward. “Then we urgently need to raise the frequency.” His smile goes straight to my heart and I slide three levels up on the How-likely-am-I-to-fall-in-love-with-Jonathan-Huntington? scale. If Annie and Hope could see me now …

He indicates the stack of papers on my desk. “Ready for the new day?”

I take a deep breath and nod.

He explains which files correspond to which appointments. We have several in the afternoon, but not as many as yesterday, and only one this morning—a further meeting about the Hackney building project.

“Why do we need another meeting about that?” I ask, puzzled.

“We haven’t finished yet,” Jonathan explains, standing up.

I think about the progress of yesterday’s discussions, the heated arguments. He had to defend the project fiercely to his partners, which is why the session went on for so long. Although it had ended with the opposing factions as entrenched as ever. He clearly didn’t want to let it rest.

“Jonathan?”

He’s already on his way back to his office but when I address him he stops and turns back to me.

“You said I could ask you anything.”

He nods. “Be my guest.”

I hesitate but I simply have got to know. “Why is this Hackney project so important to you?”

He obviously wasn’t expecting that question because he frowns. “It’s very profitable,” he says, but I shake my head because I studied the figures thoroughly yesterday while I was listening to the discussions. That’s simply not true.

“The investment costs are far too high and it’s already over-budget. And, besides, the neighborhood is rather rundown and you don’t have any guaranteed anchor tenants,” I explain.

“The expert has spoken.” He says it very sarcastically but it’s obvious I’ve hit a nerve. He wasn’t expecting me to be able to analyze the situation.

“So, why is it important to you?” I insist.

“Sometimes you have to take the long view, if you want to be successful.” But yesterday I watched him quickly overturn projects whose profitability wasn’t completely obvious. Something doesn’t quite fit here.

“I think I know why you are determined to do it.” He raises his eyebrows.

“Aha. And why is that, according to you?”

“The project is important for the neighborhood, for the local people. There’s a lot hanging on it, it will create jobs. And you’d like to make that possible.”

He expels a puff of air and shakes his head. “Sometimes you can be really …” He doesn’t finish his sentence and his expression turns serious. “I’m not a do-gooder, if that’s what you think. I run a business.”

“But it would be nothing to be ashamed of, if that were your reason for supporting it.” On the contrary, it already occurred to me yesterday, when I saw him in the meeting. And I like it. There’s a reason why the people Jonathan Huntington does business with respect and value him so much. And even if I shouldn’t—I can’t help but admire it, too.

He lets out a low growl and comes back, bends over the desk, and leans his hands on it. His face is very close to mine. “If you want to see it that way, Grace, I can’t stop you. But don’t be disappointed if at some point you find out that I’m no hero. You’d be well advised not to make me into one.” Then he leaves me on my own.