Obsessed (BBW Billionaire Light Romance) Page 8

  Jake and I spent time catching up, and when he was busy, I swam, read and sunbathed. Just chilled out. I managed to think through my small problems, get things into proportion, and decided to take action when I got back home.

  Amanda ... She stepped over the line and is lucky to even have a job, so I'll just offer her a good reference if she ever needs one, and stop feeling guilty.

  And Elizabeth? She may be annoyed that I went off to Crete without telling anyone, although I left an emergency mobile number at the office, in case they needed to contact me urgently. When I get back, if she's not away on business, I'll have a large arrangement of flowers delivered every day for a week. They'll fill her minimalist apartment and she won't have anything to put them in. She might thaw out. She's been a little distant since the Italian meal. I'll give the order for the flowers to the Flower Garden shop, too; they might as well be the ones to benefit.

  And then of course, there’s Leah. I don't think I can stop her being so defensive around me. She obviously feels embarrassed about what happened at Oxford, and perhaps regrets it. I'd thought she was experienced enough to cope with a little casual sex. I'm curious to see what this shop looks like and how she's spending what is, after all, my money. I'll go along one day when she's out on her deliveries and introduce myself to Charlie, find out exactly what's going on ...

  §

  There were a couple of Danish girls who seemed to sunbathe near to me most days. Blonde, long legs, slim, wearing those thonged bikini bottoms. I noticed them, of course, but for some reason they looked a bit skinny and also a bit flaunting. I found myself thinking of Leah: her beautiful, curvy body which she tries so hard to keep hidden. I had a bit of a day dream where I managed to get her to come away for a holiday with me. Somewhere warm and exotic. She was wearing a one-piece swim suit with a piece of floaty sort of material tied around her waist, very modest, and she made me take a long time getting her out of it.

  But I know she wouldn't come away with me if I asked her.

  The Danish girls kept walking past me, glancing back as they went into the sea. I could have pulled one of them or maybe even both. But instead I just lay there, reading. I must be maturing at last.

  Towards the end of the week, I was helping Jake out in the bar, just the two of us. Sofia and her mother were in the back, cooking, when the Danish girls came strolling in. They didn't want anything to eat, and sat on the high stools at the bar, drinking and talking to us, openly flirting.

  I noticed Sofia coming in and out with plates of food and wanted to warn Jake to cool it. Sofia can be a bit fiery.

  The girls went eventually and one of them left a piece of paper on the bar - the name of their hotel! Jake went into the kitchen and I heard a loud crash, followed by another. I picked up the ice bucket and went through to fill it up.

  Sofia had actually thrown a couple of plates at the wall! It looked like one of those Greek restaurants where they do that for entertainment.

  She was shouting at Jake in Greek and I could only catch a bit of it.

  Sofia’s really attractive when she gets angry: all flashing, dark eyes and wild, black hair. Jake is usually ninety-nine percent laid back and one percent volcano.

  She must know that. Because suddenly he turned round and swept his arm across the stack of plates on the kitchen counter – thirty or forty of them.

  They flew off and were all strewn and broken across the tiled floor. He said something to Sofia and then stalked out into the night, slamming the door as he went.

  That night, I couldn't get to sleep. Jake still hadn't come back.

  Then, in the early hours, I heard him come up the stairs, and go into their bedroom. The walls are only thin and I could hear them both talking in low voices. Sofia must have been awake. I hoped it wouldn't kick off again, but then I heard a small gasp and a low moan, the bed creaked and I put the pillow over my head, to drown out what was obviously going on.

  In the morning all was sunny and well.

  I really don't understand marriage.

  §

  When I got back from Crete, I found that everything had gone smoothly at the office in my absence, which is just what I was hoping – and what I expect from my staff.

  There was a message on my answer phone when I got home from Elizabeth. It was quite short, just saying she’d be in Germany for a few days ... I’ll arrange for the flowers to be delivered next week, when she's back.

  On Wednesday, a morning meeting with my bankers ended early, and I decided to call in at the flower shop to have a look around while Leah would be out making deliveries. I’ve noticed that the arrangements in reception look good, but haven't been around whenever she brings them.

  Well, when I went into the shop, unexpectedly, Leah was there. She was dressed in old jeans and a dark shirt. She's had her hair cut and it looks worse, a bit spiky. She did her usual thing of backing off, away from me, and she finished up leaning against the new shelves. I noticed that she'd got some of the wet paint down the side of her shirt, but I didn't say anything.

  I met Charlie, who seems fine, then got into a discussion with Leah about the terms of the loan, and realised she hadn't really even understood what she'd signed! I felt another one of my lectures coming on.

  I knew things couldn't go on like this, so when Charlie went outside, I asked her for a coffee. We sat down in the back room, and I told her that if we met again, it should just be business; she must be professional and act like an adult around me.

  We were sitting quite close, our knees almost touching.

  Then ... I asked her to spend the night with me on Saturday.

  It just came out of nowhere.

  She didn't say no, or go hysterical or hit me over the head with a bucket of flowers.

  Instead, she said, "maybe".

  Maybe!

  In spite of her awkward manner, her terrible dress sense, and the fact that she's a bit over-weight, this girl really bothers me. She just gets under my skin. And I know what I need is a whole night with her, just one, to get it out of my system, and finish what we started in the hotel in Oxford. One night, without any complications.

  But she won't agree to it, of course.

  It was only later, as I was heading back, that I realised I'd totally forgotten to order the flowers for Elizabeth.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The taxi drew up outside the large house in Belsize Park. Leah realised that the fare had been paid for, but she hesitated, wondering whether to get out or ask the driver to turn round and take her home.

  The taxi driver had looked at her with a bit of a surprised expression. In spite of herself, she’d climbed into his cab wearing the creased, grubby, tight pink dress, and high strappy sandals.

  On her lap, she carried a small supermarket bag with a pair of white cotton crop pants and her navy shirt. She noticed that there was a bit of white paint on the shirt, but even so, she deliberately didn't swap it. In the morning, she’d make her own way home, casually dressed, no expectations of more. If she stayed the night ...

  She’d soaked in the bath for an hour, washed her spiky hair and used up her remaining supply of perfumed creams and moisturisers.

  Leah rang the bell and heard it echo throughout the house. The taxi had gone now, the road seemed really dark and quiet, and she rang again. Suddenly she had a moment of panic. But then James opened the door, took a look at her and stepped backwards into the spacious hall. For a moment, Leah thought that she saw something unreadable flicker in his steel grey eyes. Was he really expecting her? She didn't even know this man, not really. But he recovered himself quickly.

  "Come in,” he said. “The taxi was on time then?"

  How could he be so cool? Leah wondered.

  She stepped past him and felt that familiar tremble in her knees.

  He opened a door on the left, to a huge room, with a stripped glowing wooden floor, Turkish rugs in jewel colours, a marble fireplace, large, squashy, pale cream sofas, and subdued lighting.
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  There was a coffee table in front of one of the sofas and Leah noticed a cut glass tumbler, half filled with a golden liquid, and next to it, a book about the history of Crete lay open. He’d obviously been relaxing, drinking and reading, while she had been jumping around, wondering whether to even go or not, what to wear, and what might be expected of her, as she’d tried to steady her nerves.

  "Would you like a drink?" he said, playing the perfect host.

  "Please," she replied.

  He went across to the other side of the room and took a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket, opened it expertly and poured out a flute. He handed it to her.

  "Don't drink it too quickly," he said with a wry smile. "You're only getting one."

  "A bit of a waste to open a bottle then," Leah shot back.

  They were still standing, not too close, and Leah sipped the cool drink. She was confused. It seemed that he didn't intend to get her drunk and play out some sort of fantasy; as usual, she had let her imagination run wild, and got things wrong.

  "I see you kept the dress. I’m glad you didn't throw it out."

  "Well, you said to wear it," Leah replied. She was finding the evening rather difficult so far; it didn’t seem to be going to any sort of plan.

  "Actually, I was joking about the dress," James replied.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Leah put her drink down clumsily onto the coffee table and some of the champagne spilled onto the surface.

  "What is it you want with me, James?” she snapped. “I don't really get your jokes.” She’d raised her voice, and was beginning to feel angry. "You ask me here, suggest what to wear, mention having fun. Then you limit my drinking and say it was just a joke! You make me feel cheap. Is this some sort of pay back for something I've done?"

  At this, James stepped forward and took her in his arms, sliding his strong hands up and down her bare arms, stroking round her waist and over her curvy hips. He held her firmly and, at last, looked deep into her eyes.

  "Although I sent the taxi, I didn't really think you'd come,” he explained. “And then the dress took me a little by surprise. I want you, Leah, you must know that, but I don't want you to feel cheap. That really wasn't my intention."

  “What was your intention, then?" she asked.

  "One night, no strings, just for pleasure."

  He took his hands away and picked up his glass.

  "But this was a mistake, drink up and I'll order a taxi."

  "A taxi?" Leah couldn't believe her ears.

  "I'm sending you home," he said.

  "Sending me? Like some sort of parcel? You don't like the goods that you've had delivered, so you just send it back?" Leah was losing control now. How the hell could he humiliate her like this?

  "Oh there's nothing I'd like more at this moment than to take you upstairs to my room and shag you all night,” he snapped. “But now, I can see it would be wrong, that you're too vulnerable. There's really no future in it. You might finish up getting hurt."

  He raked his fingers through his hair, then gently held her, kissing her lightly on the top of her head.

  "You're going home," he said.

  §

  Leah sat in the taxi, barely able to believe what had just happened. She’d gone to his house, made it plain that she was there for the night, and he had thrown her out! Well, not exactly thrown, but he had certainly made it clear that she was going home. She felt emotional: angry that he’d turned her away, humiliated that it had all gone so terribly wrong, and ashamed that she’d even considered turning up in the first place. She knew that he really had mentioned the dress and having fun. She had wanted him, she’d agonised about going and now she was overcome with embarrassment at the outcome.

  She scrambled out of the taxi, opened the door to the small rented house and ran upstairs to her room.

  Desperately, she ripped the dress off and flung it into the far corner of the bedroom. She got into bed, although it was still light, and pulled the sheet up over her. At last the tears could come. She’d made a complete and utter fool of herself and James had used her. Or not used her, which was somehow even worse.

  Shag her, he'd said – such an ugly word. And if that's how he felt about her, then it really was all just another casual night for him, probably one of many.

  Leah was devastated. She never wanted to see or speak to him again. The memory of that day in Oxford was ruined. She didn't think that she could bring herself to tell anyone about it, even Emma. It was a night she simply wanted to forget.

  §

  Leah tossed and turned all through the night, unable to settle. In the morning she staggered down to the kitchen and made herself a cup of strong coffee. Emma appeared and took one look at her.

  "Well?" she asked, as she put two slices of bread into the toaster. "How did it go?"

  Leah hung her head in her hands; in spite of her intentions she had to tell someone, and Emma was a true friend.

  So she went through everything that had happened, all that was said, how she’d come back early and of course her feelings of shame for going there and humiliation that he’d sent her away again ...

  Emma removed her slices of toast from the toaster, buttered them, then sat down quietly. As usual, she was thinking things over before she spoke. Oh, how Leah wished she could be half as sensible.

  "So, he wouldn't sleep with you," Emma said. "He wouldn't let you drink and sent you home."

  "Yes! How humiliating! He turned me down, and he was the one who suggested the idea in the first place, then changed his mind."

  "I think perhaps he was being honest when he said he didn't think you'd turn up. He probably realised he shouldn't have made the suggestion."

  "You're taking his side," Leah said, dismayed.

  "There isn't a side. He must have just had second thoughts,” Emma continued. “He said you might get hurt. Be honest, did you expect to stay longer, then start seeing him, going on dates, having an affair, all that? You knew he wasn't up for that. Also you know that he's involved with Elizabeth."

  "I don't know,” Leah sighed. “He just confuses me. I get angry, but I can't stop thinking about him ..."

  "Well," Emma said softly, "better to be a bit let down now than really hurt later."

  "What am I going to do?" Leah asked.

  "Just forget him."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  James

  By the time it got to Saturday I had second thoughts. Things might just spiral out of control. I considered sending a message, cancelling. Instead I sent the taxi, as arranged, but even so, I didn't think she'd actually come. Then there she stood, in that dreadful pink dress, all apprehensive.

  I poured a drink while I considered the situation. She obviously thought that what I had in mind was just to get her drunk and indulge in some sort of fantasy based on the night of the wedding.

  No.

  And I could tell that, for her, one night was definitely not going to be the answer to sorting things out between us.

  It was a bit of a crazy idea anyway. Of course I wanted her. I was tempted. I mean, we'd had such a great time in Oxford. I could have kept her in bed all weekend, but I sensed that would just lead to trouble.

  There’s something unsophisticated about her; she lets her feelings show too easily, and she's really quite vulnerable.

  I realised that she if she stayed she might be upset in the morning when I put her in a taxi. The whole idea was to treat it all as just a pleasurable one-off for both of us, but I don't think she’d just enjoy the night and be able to move on. To my surprise I actually found myself concerned for her!

  She might get hurt, and I really don't want that. It's much better to finish things once and for all.

  So I sent her home ...

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Leah immersed herself in work. It was the only way she knew to get her life back in balance. She was pleased with the final look of the shop – pretty, welcoming, somehow more spacious and much more effi
cient. They’d chosen a new van, too, and had it customised with the name and all the details. Charlie was more than supportive. He began to come up with ideas of his own, too, and it was amazing what the confidence of money to invest could achieve.

  One morning, she was surprised to get another order from the Canary Wharf complex. A large arrangement for the entrance lobby was required and Leah dealt with the price and order conditions herself, managing to get a good deal. Her confidence in work was rising, but at the same time she was still unsure of her personal feelings.

  She’d tried to avoid thinking about James and that last time that she’d seen him. When she was delivering the arrangements to his office block, she made it speedy, making sure the lift was empty, and keeping an eye out in case he was around.

  She guessed that he was probably doing the same thing, too, to ensure they didn't bump into each other.

  She did meet his new PA, a permanent replacement, who came out to reception and introduced herself. Leah had been expecting another Amanda, but this new PA was far more mature, early forties, calm, and quietly dressed in a grey shift dress, with a string of pearls around her neck.

  She queried whether it was really necessary for a separate vase of flowers to be supplied for her own office and Leah used all her skills to get her to continue with the order. She then confirmed that the same arrangements should carry on for the future, too.

  Leah felt that she’d made a good step. It was her first negotiated order on her own for the lobby, and Centrax would continue with both arrangements.

  The advertising campaign was bringing in new enquiries, too, and Leah began to feel that Charlie was risking being swamped with work. They discussed taking on a part-time skilled florist and using Maggie for even more of the simple arrangements. Leah felt that, at last, she’d really found a purpose in her work.