Now, as we pass Earl’s Court, my eyes are drawn to the road that leads to my mother’s home and a sad sigh escapes me. I feel Thorne lift his gaze from his laptop to look at me, unblinking and curious.
Instantly, I regret the slip.
I need to keep my wits about me, but unwittingly my eyes stray to his hand resting lightly on the corded muscles of his thigh. Without meaning to, my mind replays the sting of his slaps and the sounds I made, which I have since realized sounded more like moans of pleasure rather than protests, and that is probably what they were. It must be obvious to him as it is to me that the spanking he administered deeply excited me.
A fiery blush of shame creeps up my throat, and the upward curl of his mouth tells me he knows what I am thinking. I turn away in confusion to face the window again.
I really don’t understand why my thoughts keep obsessively taking me back to that undignified time he had me sprawled across his lap. Especially since I’m actually frigid. I’ve had two boyfriends in my life and both have flung that word at me when I was breaking up with them. One in vicious anger, and the other with despair and a plea I get help for my ‘problem’. I suppose I can’t blame them; the sex was terrible. Both times and not because of them. Barry was quite good-looking and very attentive. He tried really hard to turn me on. He would have done anything I wanted, but there was nothing I wanted. Steve was a babe magnet. Girls just flew to him like moths to a lamp, but when we got down to sex, I just didn’t want it. Nothing. Not the kissing. Not the touching and definitely not the actual sex. Ugh. Which is why my thoughts about Thorne are so confusing.
“Where are we going?” I ask, watching our reflections in the tinted glass window.
“Breckland House.”
I whirl my head around in surprise. During the entire time I worked for him he never invited anybody to his house in Richmond. In fact, it is well known that he guards his privacy like the dragon guarding its lair. With complete and relentless dedication. No intrusions are tolerated. Ever. I’ve even heard that drones fly around his grounds twenty-four seven looking for intruders and paparazzi.
“I thought we would be living in your apartment in London.”
His eyes spear me, half-exasperated, half-amused. “No. I have work to do.”
I feel myself squirm and fidget like a child. “Oh, okay.”
He turns away then and looks out of his side of the window. My gaze fixes on the thick black hair at the back of his head, and I wonder how it would feel to claw my fingers into it. When it hits me where my mind has slipped off to, again, I jerk my head around to face the scenery outside. I try to make sense of why he would take me to Richmond and not keep me in London. Why let me in?
At Hammersmith we turn off before we hit the motorway. After about twenty minutes we go past Richmond town. A few minutes later we turn off the dual carriageway into a small road. Already I can see the property’s high brick walls.
My mouth opens in a soft gasp when the car slows down, and the dark partition glass descends. In front of us are tall iron gates with golden lions stationed either side. The driveway is so long that all I can see is land stretching on either side of us dotted with ancient trees. The house is so far from the gate I have yet to actually see it.
I look around in amazement. A herd of deer are grazing in the distance as the car slowly makes its way through the stunning grounds. When my dazed eyes meet Thorne’s, I find him watching me, his expression veiled and secretive.
“This is all yours?” I ask in awe.
“It’s my home,” he says simply.
I nod. I haven’t seen the house, but I know that it will be massive and austere. Just like his office, his car, his driver, his men, and him.
Even knowing that doesn’t stop my mouth from hanging open with astonishment. What I’m staring at isn’t a house at all; it’s a vast mansion made from grey stone. Six Corinthian pillars soar upwards to bear an impressive plinth upon which is a statue of a bearded man in a chariot drawn by six white horses. There is a thick giant wooden front door and hundreds of tall windows with intricately carved stonework around them.
Thorne and I step out of the limousine, my legs are numb, my feet feel like clay. The car moves away, and I want to run after it. I’m terrified. Not of the house, or Thorne, but of me. How will I survive in these surroundings? I bite my lip. My chest fills with emotions I have no names for.
I gaze in awe at the large classical fountain directly in front of the house. It is a copper statue of a mermaid surrounded by strange creatures holding little jugs and pots spewing water into a deep pool teeming with big, brightly colored fish. It is the middle of winter. They must keep the water warm for the fish.
A tall man, with thinning white hair, wearing an immaculate black suit, and a middle-aged woman in a formal uniform, are waiting for us at the shallow stone steps. They make a small bow in our direction. Thorne introduces them as his butler, James and housekeeper, Anabel. He introduces me as Miss Appleby.
James’s expression remains inscrutable, fatalistic even. His smile is polite, but not friendly. I recognize it because that is my smile too. I see in him a kindred spirit. Anabel is a different kettle of fish. She is about 20 years older than me. She cannot hide the deep curiosity in her watery blue eyes. Her cheeks are rosy and her smile, wide and genuine. I smile back at her. I’ve half-forgotten how kind the world can be.
It is cold, but Thorne removes his jacket. I try to avoid looking at him. My eyes swivel around and I try to look past him, but I can’t. I don’t want to think about why I can’t. One moment I’m fighting myself, the next I’m drinking his profile in. My breath catches. His hair is tousled, his eyes are hooded, and his skin is pale from all the hours he spends locked away building his AI. He is an impossibly beautiful creature. He hands his jacket to his butler who takes it so smoothly, it’s like a choreographed dance move, or a slick calligraphic scrawl.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Thorne in his shirt. I stare at him. There is something so wild and untamed about him. He is an enigma, unlike any other man I have ever met, both in appearance and presence.
His thick muscled shoulders, like those of a prize pitbull, are incredible, irresistible, as if he has been pulled from a story about shapeshifting men. He addresses his butler. “I’ll be working in the dungeon, bring me a sandwich in an hour.” He throws a glance at his housekeeper. “Show Miss Appleby to the blue room.”
“Of course, Mr. Blackmore.”
Without looking at me again, he turns at the hallway, and walks down a tall corridor full of tapestries to the west of the house. Interesting. He works in the dungeon of the house.
“Are your bags still in the car, lass?” Anabel asks.
I turn to face her. Her lovely broad accent tells me that she must come from North Yorkshire or somewhere close to it.
“Nope. I just have this,” I say, holding up my purse.
“That’s not a concern, your room has been fully stocked with everything you could possibly require during your stay here, but if there is anything specific you want, Ryland, the gardener, or even one of the other staff can nip into town and pick it up for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Come on sweetheart, I’ll show you to your room.”
As we walk up to the grand entranceway I have to drop my head back to look up at the majestic ceilings. They are all elaborately carved and look like they could have belonged to the palace in Versailles.
It is an absolutely beautiful house. Every artifact and art piece looks as if it was specifically designed to fit in this space. The curving stairs are a work of art. Made of beautiful dark wood with intricate gold banisters.
Anabel ascends the stairs and looks back briefly to make sure that I am still following her. I am only two steps behind. I run my hand along the wood, marveling at how deliciously cool and smooth it is. We make our way to the top of the stairs, then turn off down a corridor with a blue and pink runner carpet. Anabel stops in front of a
tall door with a brass handle, before opening it and walking in ahead of me.
“This will be your room, Miss,” she announces in the stillness of a large room.
Chelsea
I stand at the doorway, astounded. The walls are papered with gorgeous gold-sheen Chinoiserie depicting vintage roses and beautiful birds. A massive four-poster bed is at one end. The bedspread is a mixture of teal, turquoise, and deep forest green. The floor is a dark wood, with an antique cream and emerald carpet. There is very little furniture, but each piece looks like it was bought at an auction at Christies.
From the tall windows one can see the front garden of the house. The opulent brocade curtains are held back with thick ropes of piled yarns twisted together. One of the windows has been opened a crack and a cool breeze rustles the long bullion fringes of the curtains, making the silky cords shimmer in the afternoon light. On the ground, they puddle into a soft meringue of exquisite color. A peppery smell mixed in with the sweet scent of potpourri catches my nose.
It is so beautiful it almost feels like being in a dream, an ephemeral fantasy world; but I feel stricken, filled with apprehension. To step inside this splendid room will be to enter my cage.
“Come on in, lass and I’ll show you how everything works,” Anabel invites, looking at me with open speculation now.
I look at her ruddy face. I have nothing to fear. There is nothing particularly malevolent about Thorne or this place. It is just my overactive imagination. I straighten my spine and square my shoulders. “What is behind those doors?” I ask, taking two steps into the room, and pointing to the three tall doors leading away from the room.
Anabel motions to each one as she explains their uses. “That door is your walk-in closet, lass. There are some clothes there for you and you can get anything else you want over the next few days. The second one is your bathroom. And that last door is … Mr. Thorne’s bedroom.”
I feel my cheeks flush with scorching heat. I didn’t think he would be this close. The house is so incredibly large he could have put me in any room that he wanted. He must want to keep a close eye on me. “Right,” I say briskly, to cover my embarrassment.
“Let me show you how the shower works, lass,” Anabel croons, and starts walking towards the second door.
“Thank you,” I say, when she has shown me how the heater and shower work.
“Supper, which will be served in the dining room, is at six o’clock. I will send Theresa, the maid, up to escort you down at quarter to. If you’d like a sandwich or a snack before that, just ring that bell, and I’ll be more than happy to sort something out for you.”
I want to hug her. She is so kind to a complete stranger. Thanks to her warm, caring face I feel far less anxious now than when I arrived at the house. I thank her, and she leaves, closing the door behind her.
Jet lag is starting to kick in and the bed looks more comfortable to me than I want to admit, but I decide to take a shower. First though, I give in to curiosity and take a look in the closet. I’ll need something appropriate for dinner.
The ‘closet’ is almost the size of the bedroom. The floors in here are covered in a plush cream carpet. The walls are lined from ceiling to floor with shoes and clothes. Clothes that I have never seen before. In the center of the room is a comfortable couch, an armchair, and a dressing table.
I run my hands along the coats to my right and look down at the shoes underneath. The clothes and shoes have been coordinated by color and type. Next to the coats are sweaters and jackets, beside them are evening gowns, next to them, dresses, and it continues like this to the very end. Each item of clothing starts dark and gently changes to lighter hues. Whoever arranged these clothes must be very meticulous. I have an idea it is not Anabel.
I take a pair of shoes and sit down on the cream armchair to try them on. They are Christian Louboutins; pointed black pumps with red soles. They fit perfectly. I look all around and discover that every shoe is in my size. I step out of the Louboutins and walk barefoot on the soft carpet. I take a dress from a rack and hold it up. It is also in my size. I look around me in surprise. Thorne bought all these expensive designer things for me. I wonder how he even knew my size. Did his investigators go through my things in my apartment? Then an even more curious question. How is all this a punishment for stealing? A shiver runs through me at the thought of what is really expected of me.
I am just about to explore some more when I notice a turquoise rotary telephone on the coffee table. I pick it up. There is a dial tone.
I turn the dial to a telephone number that I have had memorized for years. It rings three times before there is an answer.
“Hello?” a cautious voice answers.
“Hello, Melody,” I say, happy to hear the bubbly voice of my childhood friend.
“Chelsea is that you? My, what a surprise,” she exclaims with a little giggle. “It says number unavailable. Where are you calling me from? And what time is it over there now?”
It is unusual for me to call her on the telephone. Normally, I would send her a text, or we would have a face to face chat on Skype or something, but calling her from an unavailable number never happens. “I’m in London, Melly,” I say with a laugh.
There’s a long, stunned pause on the other end. When I left London two years ago, I swore I wouldn’t be coming back for a long, long time. Not unless I had to, and we both knew what I meant by that.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. There is deep curiosity mingled with fear in her voice.
“Thorne found me,” I whisper. I don’t know if there are hidden cameras or if Thorne is watching my every move.
“What? How?” Melly screams in a high-pitched shriek.
“Private investigators. Obviously, I was not as careful as I thought I was. He turned up at my office and gave me an ultimatum. It was either come back to London with him or go to prison.”
“Wow! Since you’re not rotting behind bars, what gives?” she asks.
“I’m to stay with him at his house for three months. Looks like he’s bought me a closet full of the most beautiful clothes and shoes too, but there’s a catch …”
I wait for a response but there is none. Melly stays eerily silent.
“In return I have to be his … companion. For the next three months I must live with him and provide him with sexual favors.” I close my eyes with embarrassment as I say these things. It makes me feel dirty. I can’t even begin to imagine what Melly must think of this sordid arrangement.
“That’s it?” she asks, her voice astonished.
“What do you mean, that’s it? Did you not hear what I said? I’m here to be his fuck buddy, Melly,” I spit bitterly.
“Hold your horses, girl. Did you not hear what you said? A gorgeous and extremely wealthy man searched the globe for you. He’s keeping you safe in his mansion, he’s bought you a closet full of, I can only imagine, designer gear to put on your back and in exchange you have to sleep with this hunk? Goodness gracious, Chelsea, I wish I could be you. If a man who looked like that wanted me to be his lover, I would bloody well jump at it. No questions asked. If I thought that’s what stealing three hundred thousand dollars would get me I’d become a thief tomorrow.” Melly starts giggling.
Her laughter makes me laugh too. I thought for sure that she would be cursing and swearing on my behalf, but instead she’s almost congratulating me. Which is weird, and oddly comforting. I was feeling dirty and she threw open a door and let the sunlight in.
“Oh silly girl. This is what the best romance fantasies are made of,” she mumbles dreamily.
In the middle of my laughter, I hear the sound of the door behind me open. “I have to call you back later, Melly,” I whisper quickly, and hang up. Slowly, I turn to face the door.
Thorne is standing there, his black pupils fixed on me.
Thorne
I should be working now,
but I’ve come up here like a fucking dog in heat. Panting. My cock hanging heavy and stiff.
Chelsea’s eyes are large in her white face. Our gazes align exactly. For a stinking moment it feels as if I have made a terrible mistake. My stomach clenches. I should talk to her. There are so many things I want to say, but I have no words.
Then she lifts her chin proudly and walks to the armchair. She sinks into it like a Queen. “What do you want?” she asks scornfully.
No, I didn’t make a mistake.
She looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She is a manipulative, lying little bitch. I was right to bring her here. Here, I will exorcise her from my soul. I will dress her in the finest clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Then I will use her. After I am done with her I will discard her like yesterday’s newspapers.
She glares at me, and I feel the anger rise within me. She stole two years of my life from me. I need to punish her, as I did in the limousine. I think about how perfect her ass looked, and I know exactly what I want to do.
Silently, I walk over to the armchair that she is seated in, and touch her face. She stiffens at the contact but doesn’t move away. I get down onto my knees so we are at eye level with each other. Neither of us has uttered a word. I look down at her pink lips. They are plump, and I can already see them wrapped around my cock. My eyes glide across her face and I look at her small, upturned nose, her sparkling blue eyes, and her fair hair.
She is more beautiful now than I remember.
I place my hand on her knee without taking my eyes off her face. I slide my hand up her skirt in a way that also lifts the skirt so that it is bunched around her waist. I look at the granny panties she is wearing. They are a far cry from the lacy thong. She must have changed into this pair when I allowed her to use the bathroom in her apartment.