Vengeful Love (16 page)

“I’m joking! This is wonderful, thank you. I’ve wanted to visit for ages I’ve just never found the time to do it.”

Gregory’s staggered look turns to a soft smile.

“My dad would love this,” I find myself saying. “Are we going in?”

He laughs as if my question is ludicrous. “Yes. Actually, I thought we might stay the night and have dinner, if you’d like to?”

My vulva pulses as anticipation and longing instantly course through me. Leaning toward him, my nails dig into his denim covered thigh. My lips part so close to his mouth I can feel his breath, smell his sweet, natural scent. His eyes squeeze tightly shut and his hand clasps mine, holding me still as he takes a deep, controlled breath.

He whispers dryly, “Not here.” He kisses my temple and leans back in his seat. I move my hand higher, cupping his growing crotch. His eyes are still nipped shut. I press my fingers harder against him and moan appreciatively at his clear arousal.

“Fuck it!” He pulls my face to his, his tongue breaking into my mouth. Taking his signal, I unfasten his trousers and move my hand down his hard shaft, absorbing his groans. I work his length, turning my thumb around his tip but I want more, I want to taste him.

I pull back, questioning him with a lick of my lips, wondering whether I can really be so forward, but I have a primal need to take him. He gives me the pass I need with a single look and I lean forward, circling his tip with my tongue, swallowing the bead that’s already formed.

He takes a sharp inhale of breath as I wrap my mouth around him and slide down until he’s touching the back of my throat. My eyes fire open and I gag, I hope subtly.

“Take a second,” he breathes, his words husky.

I do as he says, mentally preparing myself for the next movement, then I draw down his length again, opening my throat.

“Jesus, Scarlett!”

With confidence I never knew I had, I continue to slide up and down his shaft, twirling my tongue around the bulging head, savouring the taste of him.

“Your mouth is fucking magic.”

I cup his sack in my hand and work him there, continuing to suck. He moves his hips, pushing into me as he groans.

“Fuck, I’m nearly there.”

Grabbing my hair he holds me still as he fucks my mouth and I’m focused on only him, the pleasure he’s feeling.

His body stiffens, his balls lift and his cock swells. I wrap a hand around his base and pump as he pushes into my mouth, my own body charged by the knowledge that I can bring this extraordinary man to his knees.

I feel him pulse and his fingers yank at my hair.

“Scarlett, I’m going to come.”

I hear his warning but I don’t stop. I want this. I want him. I want him to lose control for me, forget whatever it is that keeps him so tightly wound.

Warm liquid bursts into my mouth and I swallow everything he gives to me.

Chapter Twenty

The crisp evening air fills my nose and makes me realise just how fuzzy my post-wine tasting head feels. Four reds, three whites and five sparkling tasters will do that to you. Gregory pulls my cream scarf higher up my chin and wraps my autumn coat tighter around me like I’m something he has to protect. He adjusts his perfectly tailored navy trench coat, fastening the buttons to the top of his neck. The combination of wine and the knowledge of how his body feels entwined with mine, makes my head fog even more with a need to be wrapped up in him again.

“So, you never answered my question.” The white air around his words is doused in the fragrance of sparkling wine.

“What question?”

“Would you like to stay over tonight?”

Before my impulses scream “YES!!!” I remember one problem. “My clothes. I don’t have any.”

“Hmm, well, I happen to think you look very good in my clothes, or better yet, no clothes.”

His brazen attitude gives me an idea of my own. “If you want to take off my clothes you’ll have to catch me first.”

I dash into the nearest row of vines. He follows, chasing me in a parallel row. He’s faster than me but the grapeless branches between us stop him from catching me. Cold air strikes my chest, wind lifts the tails of my coat and pulls my hair back from my face. The chase is exhilarating. Knowing I’ll eventually be captured in his arms is better.

He’s already at the end of my row when I try a dummy dart, first stepping toward him then quickly turning to run in the opposite direction. He leans full stretch, his strong hand grabbing for my waist, turning me toward him. My right foot slips in wet soil and my left leg struggles to keep me up, kicking helplessly. I try to shuffle my right foot, my arms ride a bike in the air, a high-pitched squeal escapes my lips before I thud to the earth with Gregory falling quickly after me, squelching in the mud.

“I definitely need a change of clothes now,” I manage through delirious laughter.

“That makes two of us.”

Gregory shuffles until his waist is hovering above mine, the weight of his body resting on his forearms and between my legs. He kisses me, softly at first, then tugs my lower lip between his teeth and intensifies his assault. “I’m going to make an executive decision, Miss Heath, we’re staying.”

“That’s why they pay you so much, Mr. CEO.”

* * *

The receptionist frowns as she considers our mud stained and sodden clothes but is quick to sign us in when she checks her computer and realises Mr. Ryans has made reservations in the Penthouse Suite.

“Presumptuous,” I say as the concierge leads us to our room.

“Or informed.”

The Penthouse Suite is draped in heavy gold-trimmed red curtains that match almost exactly the regal carpet. An antique bar table is decorated with a crystal decanter and glasses. Through an open door I see a four-post bed dressed in what I can only assume is the finest of Egyptian cotton.

The concierge leaves Gregory’s leather weekend bag and a large Harrods carrier next to the dressing table. I can’t wait for him to leave. Gregory is calm and gracious as ever. He tips the concierge then closes the door behind him and turns to meet my lascivious gaze.

“Get here.”

His demand is too hot to resist. I’m in his arms, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He kisses me furiously—my lips, my neck. We move against one wall, the pressure on my back pushing my raging body against his. We bang off another wall then he lifts me onto the dressing table. I pull off my own scarf and coat, then his.

With a change of pace, he unzips my knee-high boots, creeping the zip a centimeter at a time. I push my fingers into the rim of his jeans and pull him toward me, grinding against him, the harsh material of my chinos pressing my silk thong against my labia. The pressure makes my legs shift wider and he rolls himself against me, holding me to him with a hand gripping my arse.

Frantic, I undo his button and zip then force his jeans to his thighs. His cock is already so hard it tents his tight black boxers. I grasp it with my full palm, thriving on his responsive groan.

He pulls me forward by my belt and briskly unfastens me. In one fast, rugged move, he pulls off my pants and bottoms. I’m exposed. My legs spread and wanting. The feel of air between my legs is enough to make me palpitate.

A low rumble leaves his chest as his palm cups my sex. “This is mine.”

I nod vigorously, delirious with the sight of him, rock solid and too desperate to take off his clothes completely.

He yanks my hair and his lips meet mine with force. I grab his arse, digging in my nails, then force down his boxers.

“Say it.”

I stare at his angry erection. At this moment I’ll say anything he wants. “It’s yours.”

With his right arm he lifts me onto him, burying his cock deep inside me. We both groan and he waits, somehow controlling himself, giving me time to adjust.

“Gregory, please!”

“Please what?”

I lose myself. Lust and desperation take over. All modicum of strength and inhibition disappears. “I need you. I need you, please.”

His moan is close to a growl as he takes my lip between his teeth. He lifts me, sliding out of my centre, then lowers me down, meeting me with a punishing drive of his cock. We thrust, matching each other blow for blow, ravishing each other’s lips, tongues swirling, hands grabbing, squeezing. I dig my nails into his back and thrust until I’m groaning with sheer pleasure. He pulls harder on my hair and pushes deeper into me. I press my breasts against his chest and bite down on his neck. My breathing is erratic and deep, so deep my head begins to fuzz. I groan again louder and push faster, bouncing on him as he takes my weight.

Like a volcano my internal muscles rumble to the brink of eruption.

“I’m there, Gregory.”

“Together, baby.”

He pounds into me again and bites, hard, on the plump flesh of my breast. I roll my hips against him as he drives into me, unable to get enough of him, my fingers clutching his shoulders as my body screams for release.

“Christ, Scarlett.”

My nails pierce the skin of his arse as every muscle in my body spasms and I explode around him.

He pulls me into his chest, resting his chin on my head as we pant, our damp bodies moving against each other.

“Let’s clean you up,” he whispers into my neck.

“Sleepy,” I mutter.

“I know, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

He skillfully removes the last remnants of our clothing as he carries me to the walk-in monsoon shower with my legs wrapped tightly around his waist and my arms gripping his neck. He turns on the shower with one hand, not letting me go, and holds us under the warm spray, kissing my neck.

“Can you stand so I can wash your hair?”

I nod, already dreading the loss of contact. He places me down and turns me away from him as he massages shampoo into my scalp, placing kisses on my shoulders intermittently.

“Rinse,” he says, encouraging me to step under the water. I do as I’m bid then he repeats the process with conditioner. Next comes the shower gel, which he works into a lather over my torso, down my arms then down my legs, life finally coming back into my limbs as he moves his hands in circles around my thighs.

I turn and rub my hands over his shoulders as he bends. He trails kisses up my stomach as he rises. “You’re back,” he says on a sublime half smile.

“As are you.” My eyes fall to his hardening crotch.

He raises a brow, asking for permission, then moves a strong hand under my hair to my neck and pulls me into him. I get lost in his kiss. His hand covers my still smoldering sex and he dips two skillful fingers inside me. I’m not fully down from my last orgasm and I build almost immediately. I don’t need to open my eyes to know he’ll be pleased with himself.

He turns me away from him and pulls my hips toward him, guiding my arms to the wall in front of me. He strokes his fingers across my clit and back inside me.

“Perfect,” he hums.

Spreading my legs wider with his feet, he guides himself to my entrance then holds his position, his hips teasing me.

“Please, Gregory.”

On one thrust, he’s deep inside me and I scream with pleasure I never knew existed. He pauses. “Are you okay?”

I nod my head, unable to speak as he drives into me, one hand pinning my hips, the other massaging my knot. He thrusts again, this time more controlled, finding his rhythm, still reaching the same inspired angle.

“Fuck, Scarlett, now you’ve given me this I don’t think I can ever let it go.” Another grueling blow.

I know his words are the product of lust but they lift me, together with the intensity of each attack, until I’m ready to tip.

“Not yet, Scarlett. Together.”

“I can’t, it’s coming.”

He powers forward again, brutally. It’s painful but a kind of exquisite pain I’ve never felt. The kind I want to keep coming again and again. Another drive takes me to my limit. I detonate, screaming his name until he fills me.

* * *

I feel soft fingertips drawing circles on my clean, naked body as I rest on top of the super king bed.

“Room service is here, wake up,” Gregory whispers.

“Strawberries and champagne. Is this the part where I run to the bathroom to floss and you accuse me of taking drugs?” His brows furrow. “You have seen
Pretty Woman
?”

“Oh, right. Yes, I think I have.”

“You
think
you’ve seen
Pretty Woman
? It sounds like somebody needs educating. Do you ever have a movie night? Make your own popcorn, binge on chocolate?”

“You might have to show me,” he says, passing me a champagne flute and strawberry as he sits back on the bed, his toned torso displayed by his waist-high white towel.

Picking up the telephone, he dials 0 and requests popcorn, chocolates and ice cream and asks that someone arrange for
Pretty Woman
in the Penthouse Suite.

“Now seems as good a time as any,” he says, to my delighted wide eyes.

With our picnic laid out on the bed and
Pretty Woman
playing on the oversized television, I nestle into his chest, turning the few fine hairs in my fingers. The last two days have felt just like a movie to me. An exhilarating dream of everything I never knew I was looking for in reality. My very own Richard Gere.

At some point during the night, it becomes apparent to me that I missed the end of
Pretty Woman
and Gregory has tucked me into the covers, still snuggled into his chest. His heavy arm weighs down on me, pulling me closer to him and his fingers gently stroke my hair.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Harrods bag Gregory brought to the hotel contained skinny indigo jeans and a Ralph Lauren striped shirt that he had sent to the hospital yesterday to bring with us. After a tussle about me paying him back, which he of course won, I had to admit to being grateful for clean lingerie.

“I love those boots,” Gregory says through a cheeky grin as I zip them to the knee. “Can I make you mine again today?”

“You have no idea how much I wish I could say yes but I want to see my dad.”

“Of course you do. Later maybe?”

“You’re not sick of me yet?” I laugh but it’s quickly stifled by his serious face. “I’ll give you a call when I’m done at the hospital.”

We drive back toward London talking easily. In fact, everything is so comfortable between us it’s almost surreal. Gregory has an opinion on just about everything, business, law, the world. But it’s not annoying or cocky, it’s informed and intelligent. There’s a warmth in my chest as I watch the way he moves and speaks.

That feeling disappears when we pull up to the entrance of the hospital. Something feels off, wrong, not safe or right. An eerie sensation makes me shiver and the hairs prick up on my arms. I’m watching the sky turn dark and the world grow small around me from outside my own body. I don’t remember whether or how I say goodbye to Gregory as I leave the car and float to the hospital entrance.

A sudden jerk against my shoulder throws me back into the reality of my body, a jerk so hard from a hooded man that I turn to watch him walk out of the automatic doors. His head is down, his face turned toward the floor, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy jumper. He never looks back or ventures to offer an apology. I shake my head to find sense and tell my legs to keep moving toward the lifts despite the increasing weakness they feel. The lift clicks past each floor, stopping to allow people on and off until we finally arrive at my father’s ward.

“Scarlett.” Elexis, the plump nurse, has come to know me by name. Her voice is unusually leaden, her effervescent personality vanished. “We’ve been trying to call you.”

My chest tightens. “What? What is it?”

Doctor Jefferson steps toward me from behind the nurses’ station. “Let’s go to the relatives’ room.”

“Tell me, please,” I beg, unable to hide the panic in my voice.

The doctor moves to touch my arm but I snap it out of his reach.

“Let me see my dad. I want to see my dad!”

“Scarlett,” Elexis pleads, “I think you should go with the doctor first.”

“No,” I cry, tears falling from my face, saliva bursting into my words. “Let me see him! Let me see him.”

Elexis glances to another nurse who steps out of my father’s room, removing her nitrile gloves and placing them on a trolley of plastic bottles. The nurse nods to Elexis and I run to my father’s room.

My legs give way beneath me at the sight of his grey, lifeless body laid out in fresh sheets. His eyes are closed and his arms rest perfectly still at either side of his body. His hair has been combed in a way Sandy and I would never comb it, and seems darker than it did just yesterday. His face is peaceful and for the first time since I can remember, there are no signs of pain. He looks like my old father, the one who has been lost for too long. The machines are gone and the wet lip swaps have been removed from the side table. The clouds in the sky have dispersed to allow a small ray of sun to beam through the window and across my father’s cheek.

Wiping my face, I walk hesitantly to his side and take his cold hand in mine.

“How long?”

“About an hour,” Elexis says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Does Sandy know?”

“No, I’m sorry, Scarlett, we couldn’t call her. If you like, with your permission, I can call her now for you.”

“No, thank you. I’ll do it.”

She nods and turns to leave the room.

“Wait. Was he alone?”

She sighs, which I take to mean yes. “Scarlett, you really need to speak to the doctor.”

“Please tell me how it happened.”

She sighs again. “I found him.”

“Found him?” I ask, turning to face her.

“It was time. I’ve been in this job many years and you can tell, by their breathing, their colouring. I knew it was almost time. I left the room to call you but I couldn’t reach you.”

A small sob escapes me.

“When I came back to him, his machine...his oxygen, had...well, I don’t know, maybe come loose. He was gone.”

“What are you saying, Elexis?”

“I—I...it could have happened I guess if his body jumped at the last minute, like a reflex, I’m not sure.”

“Did his machine coming loose kill him?” I probe.

“It would be hard to say which came first, Scarlett. Like I said, his body was failing him, he was going. I just wanted to give you the full picture because there might have to be an inquest. I hope not, because it was natural in my opinion, but that’s what Doctor Jefferson will explain to you.”

Confused, I thank her and ask to be left alone. As she’s leaving the room, I hear commotion in the corridor, the sound of someone running. Suddenly Gregory is at the entrance to my father’s room, sweating and panting. Seeing my father’s lifeless body he pulls his hands through his hair then drops one hand to cover his mouth.

“Christ. Fuck. Scarlett.”

Something is very wrong. My father was frail, yes, but just yesterday, just hours ago, he was still fighting.

“W-what are you doing here?” I ask warily, unsure if I want to know the answer. “Gregory!” I shout at his blank expression. The colour drains from his flushed cheeks and his desperate breaths stop. “Gregory!”

He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. His face twists and his eyes shine with something—anger or pain, maybe. He bites his knuckle and pulls his free hand through his hair again.

“Gregory, you’re scaring me.”

“Scarlett,” he croaks, moving closer to me. I take a step back, pressing my legs against my father’s bed. He reaches his hands toward my face but drops them when I flinch.

“There was a note,” he says, his voice more certain.

“What kind of note?”

“At the apartment. Jackson left me a voicemail but—but I didn’t get it until I dropped you off and checked my messages.”

Jackson
. The man who thought my father had been pushed down the stairs. The one who’d seen—who’d shared—the seed of doubt I’d refused to let grow.

“What did the note say? What did the note say, Gregory?”

I don’t need an answer. I know what it said. Jackson was right. I was right. Pearson was seeking revenge. Gregory’s father has killed mine.

“Oh God!” Realisation comes crashing to me. My hands rise to cover my face. “It was him. All along. Jackson knew. It was him. Pearson was at my house but he found my father instead of me. He put my dad in here. He put him here and the sick fuck came back to finish what he started. Fuck!”

“Scarlett, baby.” He steps toward me and I lash out, smacking his hands away.

“I’m not your fucking baby! I’ll never be your baby. This is—”

I stop myself short of telling him that this is all his fault. I don’t know why but even now, I can’t say those words.

“Why?” I cry. “Why me? Why my dad? Why us?”

Gregory takes a deep breath and pulls his body to stand straight. He looks from me to my father and back to me before saying, almost inaudibly, “Because of me.”

The words impale me. The words I was expecting but didn’t want to hear strike my body like lasers, burning deep beneath the surface.

Pearson killed my father. Murdered him to avenge that deal. Gregory’s deal. The one I helped him close.

I
killed my father.

Cramps tear through my stomach, causing me to fold forward then drop to my knees. I open my mouth to scream through the agony but no noise materialises. Pain courses through me, a pain so bad I think my head might split into two halves. Gregory steps toward me but I manage to raise one hand to tell him to stop.

“Get out!” I whisper through clenched tenth.

“Scarlett, please,” Gregory begs, taking another step toward me.

Finally, I find my voice and scream, “Get out!”

As if hearing my cries, Sandy is at the door.

“Jackson told me,” she says to Gregory before running to be next to me on the floor.

“Breathe, darling, I’m here,” she says softly into my ear then kisses my brow.

“He’s gone,” I sob into her chest. “It wasn’t time. He wasn’t ready. He’s gone.”

What I don’t say is
he was murdered
.