“You don’t sound too optimistic?”
“I’ve seen this shit before. It will take a gutsy—or maybe I should say foolish—person to attempt to break these rings. I’ve seen journalists fall. These brutes corrupt juries. If it were me, I would try to find another Achilles heel. You may blow fifty thousand, or even worse, it could be you that they come after. Make sure your cupboards are clean.”
I left a hundred-pound note for the tab.
His face brightened. “Thanks. If there’s anything else…”
“I’ll let you know,” I said.
My tread was slow and heavy as I mulled over the detective’s chilling advice. My cupboards were far from clean.
20
* * *
PENELOPE
BLAKE TOUCHED MY HAND under the table. Despite that heated session behind the tree, I sensed he wasn’t into public displays of affection. Bubbling under the surface of that cool and restrained expression, I sensed a deep and complex man riddled with contradictions. I knew he was like that not from what he said, given he kept that to a minimum, but by his body language and his eyes, which softened when he stared at me and smoldered when he touched me but then would go remote when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“Can I get you another drink?” he asked.
It was the same intimate darkly lit bar as before. We even sat at the same table, tucked away in a quiet corner by a window. Blake needed to sit by a particular window. When I asked why, he shrugged it off as though it were a natural human inclination.
He’d offered to have Patrick pick me up. Being at the estate, I suggested we meet instead. A tense pause followed. I wasn’t ready to reveal that part of my life to him. I’d become paranoid that when Blake discovered my background, he’d run away from me.
As his hand settled on my knee, my body tingled.
“What would you like to eat?” he asked.
You.
I bit my lip. “I really don’t mind. I’m not that hungry.”
“Mayfair, then?”
Although anticipation gushed through me, I nodded as coolly as possible.
I followed him to the shiny Bentley parked on the curb, where Patrick stood in wait.
“Hey, Patrick.” I smiled.
He returned a smile. “Nice to see you, Penelope.”
This time, I waited for him to open the door and indulged in the novelty of being treated like royalty.
Once we were seated in the car, Blake moved up close and, taking me into his arms, crushed me with affection. His warm lips pecked at my neck. My heart pounded, and just one breath of his scent brought back memories of him inside of me.
We pulled apart and stared into each other’s eyes. His eyes had darkened almost to a shade of black. He’d worn that same look when entering me—fragile and lost to the sensation, just like me.
“Have you had anything to eat? I could get Maria to prepare one of her delicious pasta dishes.”
“Although that sounds nice, I’m not that hungry at the moment.”
He turned to look at me and caressed my arm. “I’m hungry.”
I was about to say I didn’t mind eating, but something told me he meant something else.
“For you,” he added. “I’ve thought of nothing else. Two nights is too long to wait.” He paused and looked at me. “About the other morning…”
I took a deep breath. “I didn’t understand it, to be honest. You virtually pushed me out the door.”
He wore an apologetic smile. “I’m new to this.”
“And so am I.” I frowned. “You’ve never had a woman in your life?”
“I’ve been with women, of course. But none have stayed over.”
A hot thirty-year-old man not having a girlfriend ever? How can that be? The alarm bells should have sounded. Instead, as the heat of his soft palm on my thigh teased, making my legs clamp, it felt like I’d won a prize. At least there wouldn’t be a bevy of exes banging down his door.
“But that’s kind of peculiar.”
He turned to look at me.
My nipples hardened as his gaze started at my eyes and wandered down to my breasts, which were a little pouty due to the fitted blouse. Sheldon had been right about that—sexy clothes made one feel hot.
“This is nice. A little revealing,” he said, stroking the fabric of my blouse.
I tilted my head with a questioning frown. “You don’t like clothes that show a little flesh? I just thought, given your…”
He brushed my nipples with the back of his hand. “My addiction to your body, you mean?” He undid two buttons of my shirt to the edge of my lacy red bra.
“I like red on you. I’d love to feel you in silk.” His voice had a seductive rasp that traveled down to my swollen pussy. He reached into his inner pocket and brought out an envelope. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I asked, my voice tightening as his finger continued to flutter over my cleavage, puckering the skin and making my nipples ache for his lips.
“Open it. It’s a credit card.” He adjusted his position and I caught a glimpse of his bulge, sending my hormones into a frenzy.
I shook my head in disbelief.
“There’s no limit. Spend it as you want.”
“Huh?”
He leaned in and kissed me. “I want you to have beautiful things. I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” I looked down at the card. “This is a little too much, especially after you deposited all that money into my account for my paintings.”
He whispered into my ear, “Just let me fuck you. That’s all I ask.”
I bit into my cheek. “Like a prostitute?”
“A prostitute would never stay at my home, Penelope. Or spend so much time with me or…”
“Or what?”
He squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes. “Let’s not do this. Suffice it to say, that wasn’t my intention. That’s not how I see you.”
We arrived at his two-story home, which overlooked a park, in a tree-lined street with expensive cars. On the pavement, there was not a scrap of rubbish in sight.
The credit card remained in my hand. Blake had thrown me a curve ball and he knew it. Responding to my sudden distance, Blake, who seemed to take his cues from me, reverted to introspection.
Patrick opened my door, and I slid out.
Blake opened his arm. “Come.”
I moved close, and he placed his arm around my waist gently.
Blake removed his jacket and placed it on a coatrack at the entrance.
“Can I get you a G&T?” he asked, with the formality of a stranger.
“Um… sure.”
He pointed at the sofa. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
I sat and placed the credit card on the table. When he came back with our drinks in hand, his eyes landed on the card responsible for placing a wedge between us.
Passing me the glass, he said, “Would it make you happier if I took that card away?”
Taking a deep breath, I crossed my legs. “I would prefer not to have it. While I appreciate your generosity, it makes this feel like a professional arrangement.”
He sat down close and turned to look at me. “That’s not what this is to me. I’m swimming in uncharted waters. I’ve never had a woman give that part of herself to me. It has affected me in a way that words cannot describe.”