Obsessed (BBW Billionaire Light Romance) Read online

  It was all very informal. First a toast by someone from the hospital where Sam worked, then a short, funny speech by a friend from uni, and then a thank you to the bridesmaids.

  Leah tried to slink down in her seat as all eyes turned Emma and herself, and then they were all relaxed, eating, drinking, chatting again.

  "It's all going so well," Emma said, sitting next to Leah. "Lucy's on a cloud."

  §

  Late afternoon slipped into evening. The DJ arrived and people began to dance. Leah was faintly aware that she’d drunk rather a lot during the afternoon and into the early evening, but that's what weddings were all about: eating, drinking, having fun, meeting new people. Someone grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the small dance floor. She vaguely remembered he was something to do with the Cardiac Department at the hospital where Sam worked, and she hoped he wouldn't be needed as the noise increased and the party became more boisterous.

  The atmosphere was great: everyone drinking, chatting or dancing as the evening wore on. Leah was happy for Lucy. Her great day was certainly going with a swing.

  Lucy and Sam were entwined on the dance floor; they appeared to be in a world of their own. Lucy, with her stunning, blonde looks and Sam, dark, lean, almost hungry looking, holding her as though he would never let go.

  The evening wore happily on, and Leah danced with several of the young guests.

  After a while, she began to feel a little hot, and decided she needed some air. Lifting another full glass from the table, she slipped outside.

  It was dark and the fairy lights and lanterns lit up the magical garden. She wanted to be somewhere quiet, just to sit down for a while in the cool to rest her feet.

  To her surprise, when the air hit her, she felt dizzy and found that she was having a little difficulty managing to walk in her high-heeled strappy sandals.

  She wandered away from the marquee, and down a narrow unlit path, which curved away into a darker part of the garden. There was a bench under a tree and she flopped down gratefully onto it, leaning back, closing her eyes for a moment and stretching out her legs.

  She tried to pull herself together, then sat up as the world began to spin. Out of the corner of her eye, she became aware that someone else was sitting at the other end of the long bench, too, deep in the shadows.

  "Sorry," Leah mumbled, "is this seat taken?"

  "No, help yourself."

  She glanced round, into the dark, noticing the shape of a man. His jacket lay on the bench between them and his pale shirt gleamed in the darkness.

  "One of the bridesmaids?" he asked, in a deep, cultured voice.

  "Obviously," Leah giggled. "You wouldn't normally see me dead in a dress like this, but Lucy insisted."

  She pulled at the hem of the silky dress, which had ridden up when she sat down.

  "It seems very sudden, this wedding."

  Leah turned, trying to make out more of the mysterious shape in the darkness.

  "Well, we thought so too, but they were very determined to get married before he goes to Canada," she replied, wondering just who this guest was.

  "Sam knows some sort of rich, old guy who offered this garden and the catering. Too good a chance to miss. So there you go!"

  "Oh really?" The voice sounded a little cold, and Leah wondered if perhaps was talking too much, disturbing his quiet respite in the garden. She knew that she always talked too much when she'd been drinking.

  So she moved further away, along the bench, clutching her glass loosely, and all of a sudden found that most of the champagne had spilled down the front of her dress.

  "Damn it," she cursed, as she started to rub at the material.

  "It'll come out."

  "I'm not bothered about the dress, I didn't want to wear it anyway. I've just lost my drink. I'll go and get another."

  With this, Leah leaned forward, but the ground seemed to be tilting away from her.

  "Don't you think you've had enough?" the voice said from the dark, still a little curt sounding.

  Leah stumbled to her feet, waving the empty flute.

  "It's a wedding! I'm going to celebrate ..."

  She weaved her way along the dark path, back towards the lights of the marquee. An urgent need to pee suddenly overwhelmed her. She’d find a bathroom somewhere in the house, she decided, grab some drink on the way back and enjoy the rest of the evening. There were plenty of young men in the tent, and she was ready for a bit of flirting.

  Following a path lit by lanterns, she found herself at the back of the house, where a door stood open, and she became aware of the caterers busily working in a huge kitchen.

  She glanced around, dimly noticing long granite worktops, steel accessories and a tiled, shiny floor. The impressive size of the room was probably more than the whole ground floor of the house in Clapham.

  "Toilet?" she enquired, and a girl with a tray waved towards a door opposite.

  "Down the corridor, on the left."

  Leah stumbled through the door and down a long corridor. There were several doors, and she tried the first on the left, but it seemed to be a utility room, so she tried the next. It was locked – surely the toilet but obviously occupied.

  She leaned against the wall, waiting, but decided she couldn't hold on much longer. There was a narrow staircase at the end of the hallway, probably the one used by servants in the past when the house was first built, and she made her way carefully towards it, climbing steeply upwards clutching onto the wooden rail, aware that she was a bit unsteady.

  Leah found herself upstairs, a long passageway opening up before her with several closed doors on either side.

  Carefully, she opened first one, then another, all bedrooms, probably en-suite. At last a bathroom, and she staggered in gratefully.

  §

  Washing her hands afterwards, she looked at herself in the huge mirror. Her eyes were slightly glazed, her mascara had run and the pink dress was damp at the front where she had spilled her drink.

  Leaving the bathroom, Leah was overcome by a wave of exhaustion. It’d been a long day, the champagne was having an effect and she just wanted to lie down.

  Half an hour, she told herself, just a little nap somewhere quiet to re-charge her batteries and she would be ready to dance the night away. Perhaps she might even finish up with one of Sam's young friends, casual sex, no strings, just for fun, if only she wasn't so tired.

  She opened a door on her right and peered in. The room was large and dark, the curtains pulled across, but she could just about make out the shape of a bed in the middle.

  The floor seemed to be tilting again, as Leah weaved her way across the deep, soft carpet towards the huge bed. She sprawled across it and closed her eyes, aware of a spinning sensation. It had been some time since she'd had quite so much to drink, and she let herself drift.

  Just a little rest, and then she would re-join the party.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A noise – something moving in the room – woke Leah. She rubbed her eyes, aware that there was a shaft of daylight in the room and that she didn't recognise where she was. There was a shape opening the wardrobe door, the back of a man, naked except for a small towel around his middle.

  Oh no!

  She didn't even remember who he was. She sat up in the bed and groaned.

  "Oh, I didn't mean to wake you."

  Leah half thought she knew that voice.

  He turned round, and against the morning sunlight she could see that he was stunning: tall, fair, bronzed, tightly muscled, with piercing grey eyes – a real Greek God.

  She held her head in her hands.

  "What are you doing?" she breathed.

  "Just getting some clothes," he replied. "It is my bedroom."

  "Did we ... ?" Leah began to feel embarrassed; she really couldn't remember much about last night.

  "I found you passed out on my bed, so I took off your sandals in case you stumbled about in the night and fell over. Then I slept in one of the guest roo
ms. I'll just get some clean clothes and leave you to it."

  "Your room?" Leah was still bemused.

  He smiled slightly and she felt her heart begin to race.

  "My room, my house. James Willoughby – the rich old guy who provided the wedding venue."

  Leah flushed uncomfortably. It the man from the bench, she realised.

  "Sorry,” she said. “I only meant to lie down for a little while ..."

  "It’s okay," he replied, opening a drawer in a large chest of drawers, and turned clutching what appeared to be black boxers and a white t-shirt. "Have a lie in if you want to, use the en-suite, you'll find everything there, maybe even a headache tablet if you search around hard enough. I'll be having breakfast in the kitchen if you want anything."

  Leah kept her eyes on the floor as he strode from the room.

  And once he was gone, a tide of embarrassment washed over her at the thought that she’d met a wealthy, fantastically handsome, well-mannered man and he had seen her at her absolute worst: drunk, splayed across his bed in the terrible, grubby, over-tight, creased pink dress.

  She could never face him again.

  She lay back on the downy pillows and closed her eyes, hoping to forget her behaviour. She tried to assemble her thoughts, in spite of a raging headache. She would have a shower, find a hangover pill, thank him and then make a quick exit. It was the only way out, the only way she might try and regain just a little bit of dignity.

  §

  The huge en-suite was fitted out in pale grey marble and stainless steel fittings. A double vanity unit, roll top white bath and walk-in wet room. There was a pile of neatly folded navy towels, too. The whole thing very minimal, masculine, and gleaming. Leah opened one of the cabinets on the wall to search for any kind of medication. There were spare shower gels, soaps, toothpaste and new toothbrushes, shaving equipment, a couple of packets of condoms, but no tablets.

  She felt intrusive and moved quickly to the second cabinet and peered inside.

  Ah, a woman obviously stayed some nights – inside were expensive bath oils, body lotions and moisturisers, and Chanel perfume.

  A lower shelf held migraine tablets, paracetamol, and plasters.

  Leah shook out a couple of tablets and scooped up water from one of the basins in her hand. It was tempting to fill the bath with some of the luxurious bath oil and have a soak, but that would be taking too much advantage. She took off her dress and underwear, dropping them onto the marble floor, and stepped into the wet room.

  The shower partly revived her as she stood under the hot water, using some of the citrus shower gel. It was soothing to let the stream of water run through her tangled hair, and down her sticky body. If only she had a change of clothing with her, she thought as she wrapped herself in one of the huge, thick towels and looked despairingly at the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor.

  She dressed slowly, her hair still damp and she noticed two robes hanging on the bathroom door. One, navy towelling, and the other dark crimson, silky, floaty, almost transparent.

  This mystery woman had expensive taste.

  Back in the bedroom, Leah straightened the large bed, put on her sandals and deliberately refused to look at herself in the long mirror.

  She took a deep breath, figuring that she would go downstairs, put her head round the kitchen door, say thanks and then go.

  She picked her small, sparkling handbag up from the floor where she’d dropped it the previous night.

  There was a wide staircase at the end of the landing, not the small one she had used before. She could smell coffee and toast and followed the inviting aroma down the stairs, across the expansive entrance hall, towards the kitchen.

  James Willoughby was sitting at a glass table, a newspaper spread in front of him and a mug of coffee just nearby. He seemed to be alone. He looked up as she pushed the door open.

  "Hello again," he said, briefly.

  "Morning," Leah mumbled, holding on to the half-opened door, "look, I just want to say sorry about invading your space last night. Thanks for being cool about it and anyway, I'll go now, get out of your way." It had come out all in one go, quickly, as she hovered in the doorway.

  "You should probably have something to eat and drink first," James said quietly and waved to the counter on the far side of the immaculate kitchen. "Coffee, tea, juice, croissants, toast, help yourself."

  He turned back casually to his newspaper.

  Leah realised that she was really thirsty, a usual result of too much alcohol, and made her way across the extensive kitchen.

  "It's so tidy in here, I seem to remember it full of food and drink last night!" she exclaimed.

  "Oh, the caterers took all their stuff away in the early hours, and my housekeeper insisted on coming in to tidy up early this morning. She doesn't really like anyone using her domain."

  Housekeeper, how great, thought Leah. She probably brought the fresh croissants and the jam and marmalade looked home-made.

  The coffee machine was big and very technical looking, she was certain to spill or break something if she attempted to use it. Her head was throbbing. She poured herself some orange juice and buttered a light croissant, then stood at the counter wondering what to do with herself.

  "Come and sit down, don't eat standing up," James said. It sounded like an order; he probably thought she made the place look untidy.

  She nibbled at the exquisite, flaky croissant and sipped the cool juice. Heavenly.

  "Would you like a coffee? I'm having another," James said as he crossed the room and expertly poured two large mugs.

  Leah glanced at him: casual this morning, jeans, white t-shirt, bare feet, tall, athletic looking. The sort of man she would dream of meeting in any other circumstances. She was aware, all over again, of her unflattering, grubby clothes.

  "Sugar?" he asked.

  "No thanks," she replied, looking quickly away.

  "I don't think you told me your name," he said as he put the two mugs of coffee down. "You're obviously one of Lucy's friends."

  "Leah Grainger, and yes, I house-share with Lucy and Emma," she supplied.

  "Sam's an old family friend. He and my young brother knew each other from school. So, tell me about Lucy, was it all a bit of a surprise, this wedding?"

  "Lucy's a beautician, she's also a great friend. Sam's a lucky guy," Leah explained.

  "We thought perhaps he would settle down with someone from the hospital, another doctor maybe."

  Leah bristled. Obviously the Willoughby family thought that Lucy was not good enough for Sam, and had probably pictured him marrying a professional woman from a good background with a brilliant career.

  "Don't underestimate Lucy just because she's really beautiful," she snapped. "She's no air-head. In fact, she's a very genuine, caring person with a good heart."

  "Then she may have to toughen up a bit," James declared firmly. "Sam was a bit of a handful when he was young."

  There was a silence in the kitchen. James returned to his newspaper and Leah slowly drank the hot coffee. A bit prickly on the subject of Sam, she thought. She wanted to know more, but knew she must restrain herself.

  Just then, James folded the paper and looked up.

  "What line are you in, Leah?" he asked. It seemed as if he was politely making conversation. Perhaps he had at least realised that the silence was becoming a little uncomfortable.

  "I'm a driver."

  "Driver?" He couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. "What sort of driver? Buses? Chauffeur?"

  "For a florist. I deliver all the bouquets to wives and girlfriends, wedding flowers, and wreaths to undertakers, which I find really difficult, and in between I help out in the shop."

  "And have you always done that?" James asked. He was looking searchingly at her now, those deep, steely grey eyes piercing her. Leah picked up her coffee, sipped slowly, and continued.

  "No, I always wanted to teach. I did all the right things, went to uni, teachers' training college and into
a school. A class of seven year olds. I thought I'd found my dream job, my future, but I couldn't do it."

  "In what way?"

  She had his full attention now.

  "I thought I would improve their enquiring minds. Lots of stories, art work, inspiring lessons, but they were actually little horrors. I tried. I watched other, experienced teachers, but I just couldn't keep control, and they walked all over me." At this, she stopped, remembering again the stress she had felt as she had approached the school gates each morning.

  "So?" he asked.

  "I left. Did temporary jobs and finally finished up working at a small florist in Putney. Charlie, the owner, has a horror of driving in London and I absolutely love the challenge, finding the hidden corners in my little van, and places I didn't know existed. So, Charlie does the flower arrangements, trains a young girl called Maggie, and I help out generally in the shop and do all the deliveries."

  "And will you stay there?" he asked.

  "For now, yes. I'm trying to build up our specialist delivery service. We do fantastic large arrangements for the reception areas of hotels, restaurants, wine bars and so on. Fresh flowers, changed twice a week. It's important to have a regular income. My next project is to target large office blocks."

  She wondered if she was talking too much, but it was better than silence.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Receptions are the first place anyone sees when visiting a company, right? Usually quite modern, impressive, but sterile, too. Occasionally they might have a fern or palm in a large pot that no-one looks after, and just gets dry and dusty. So I try and sell the idea of stunning fresh flower arrangements on the Reception desk. It’s a talking point, something different that spells out success, exclusivity ..." She paused. She was definitely going on far too much, something she always did when she felt nervous.