CHAPTER FOURTEEN BECKETT
As we reached the end of the drive at Cameron’s delightfully-ostentatious home, I held open the door of the vintage Bentley for my wife and she slipped inside as the press flashed cameras at us.
I slipped into the seat beside her and the driver headed off as I slammed the door.
Whew.
I turned to look at the woman who sat beside me in the back of the car. I tried to struggle with my warring emotions. She is not my wife.
I didn’t want to think that. It didn’t seem natural to think that. But I had to make myself think that or I would be tearing the clothes off her right now, pressing her down into the seat and making furious love in the back of the bridal car. At least, that was where my mind was leading me right now.
I smiled at her. “Well, at least the press is out of our way,” I said encouragingly. She laughed.
“Exactly! That was scary.”
“We can just hold our breath and hope no-one tipped them off about where we’re going next.” I leaned back on the seat, looking out of the window.
“What if they follow us?” she asked, reasonably. I smiled. Somehow, I felt proud and smug to be telling her that eventuality was covered.
“We planned that already,” I said contentedly. “Didn’t we, Sammy?”
The driver grinned at me. “We did so, sir!”
I explained to her that the plan was to confuse them. There were two bridal cars, the one behind us. “At some point, Terence, the driver of the other one, will overtake us. We’ll do it a few times, to keep them good and confused, then head home. Terry will take them to the hotel where I met you. By the time they realize they’re with the wrong car, we’ll be inside.”
She laughed. Her pale brown eyes sparked. “That’s great,” she said. She sounded impressed and I felt my chest swell with pride. I laughed at myself.
Get a grip, Beckett. But then, it is understandable. She is stunningly-beautiful.
I looked at her, feeling my body tense up with wanting. The dress was a simple one—a bodice with a low-cut neck, cap sleeves, and a tight waist, widening into a full skirt that trailed along the floor about three feet behind her. The bodice showed pale breasts, pushed against the tight neckline. I wanted to touch them and had to sit on my hands to stop myself from wrapping that trim waist in my one hand, my other sliding over her breasts under the satiny fabric, my hand tracing her wide hips and narrow waist, body pressed to hers…
“Beckett.”
“What?” I asked, shaking myself to bring myself back to the present, out of the realm of longing in which I had been drifting until that moment.
“I was just thinking…never mind,” she said, laughing shyly and looking out of the window. “We’ll be back soon, yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed softly. I considered asking her what she had been thinking of, but I decided it wasn’t fair to her to pry. If she had felt comfortable enough to tell me she would have done. And after today I meant to be careful not to upset her. All she had said to me there in the chapel had brought home to me how unfair I was.
She doesn’t know anything about what’s going on. She has a right to know. She’s part of it now.
As I thought that—that she was part of it now—I couldn’t help smiling, and I felt a warmth rise inside me. I glanced across at her, not wanting to risk a more lingering look, since I didn’t want to give in to the temptation her body was offering me.
She is part of it now. She’s here with you. Part of your family.
It was crazy. It made me wonder if anything made sense, after all. I mean, she and I had signed a contract—one drawn up by my company’s lawyer, for heaven’s sake! We weren’t married.
But everyone who read the papers would think we were.
I wish I could believe it too. Could let myself believe I was driving to a long, slow wedding night…
I felt my groin tighten as I thought of it. I imagined pushing her back onto the bed, covering her body with kisses. I wanted to take her hard and fast, but then kiss her slowly, treating her with all the devotion she deserved. I wanted to make slow, tender love to her, my body plunging deep inside her and showing her how much I wanted her.
Come on, Beckett!
I erased slowly from my mind the thought of what her naked body would look like—big breasts, small waist, generous hips, and those long legs, lying back on the bed, body raised on the pillow, legs provocatively apart…
“Sir?”
“Yes?” My voice sounded tight as I answered the driver and I hoped he’d put it down to nerves.
“We lost them, sir. All but two motorbikes gone. We’ll lose them too. Just you wait and see.”
“Good,” I said warmly. “Excellent driving skills, Sammy.” I felt slightly frustrated with him, though: he had just interrupted a beautiful train of thought. I blew my cheeks out in a sigh.
I heard him smile. “Thanks, sir.”
We sped through the LA streets and soon had lost the motorbikes too. They had evidently joined the majority in believing we were heading to the hotel. We nipped through silent streets and joined the road to Pasadena. Some of them will have the sense to lie in wait at my home. I just have to hope slipping in through the side gate fools them.
It was important for me not to scare Hayley. She hated the press, and she had enough for one day. We had all the photos the tabloids could want and probably more than any of them could use. We would give an exclusive interview to Cosmopolitan sometime later this week. At least she would, as I would be out of town for a while for work. All the media scene was set.
I was, to all intents and purpose, married again.
The thought filled me with relief.
That should sort those bastards out.
I winced, hoping against hope that “they” would not try and contact me today. I didn’t need to hear anything from them. I wanted to block that sort of thing from my mind and simply enjoy the moment, enjoy the success of our plan. And besides, Hayley was perceptive. She had clearly noticed something was going on.
She senses something. When I had that call the other night, I think she knew I was lying about it. I can’t hide stuff from her.
And there was more and more stuff to hide.
I thought back to a conversation I had with my security guy just yesterday. He hadn’t wanted to tell me that he had picked up footprints around the perimeter of the Sand Castle’s park. But he had. Someone had been trying to get into my garden.
I felt my fists clench. Estella was at home. If they came in and tried to harm her, I would never forgive myself! It would be my fault.
“Sammy?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take us in the long way. By the back entrance. I don’t want to meet the welcome party.”
He laughed. “You mean any of the press guys smart enough to know you’ll be back here?”
I laughed shortly. “Yes, that is precisely what I meant.”
He chuckled again and nodded. “Right you are, sir.”
We were ascending the small slope that led to the Sand Castle, with its magical views over the surrounding landscape. We turned left and went around the back of the hill, climbing slowly as we took the winding back way up. Beside me, Hayley looked relaxed. She was leaning back in the leather seat, watching the scenery. I looked at her and she smiled.
“You okay?” I asked. I reached across and pressed her hand. It was a bad idea, as feeling that satin-soft skin did something crazy to my loins. She seemed oblivious to that fact, however, and squeezed my fingers fondly, making my response even worse. I let out a strained breath and she let go.
“I’m fine,” she said, a little frown on her brow that seemed to ask: “and what is the matter with you, then?”. I chuckled a little hysterically. She looked very calm.
“Good. Well, then. Here we are…almost home.”
She smiled and when Sammy took us through the tall iron gates at the back of the park, she looked around with interest. We rolled up along the drive to the garage, then stopped.
“Here we are,” I said, sighing. “Back at last.”
She smiled. “Good.”
Sammy got out efficiently and opened my door, then went about unlocking the garage. I opened Hayley’s and we stood on the path together under tall chestnut trees under an afternoon sun.
Hayley looked up at me, moist pink lips wearing a soft smile. I bit my own lip, fighting the desire to plunder her mouth with my own, and coughed.
“Shall we go in?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
She walked beside me, her hand near my thigh. I tried to fight the temptation to hold it, but as we passed round by the back way into the house, I relented.
I took her hand. She looked up at me. I squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back. I bent down toward her and my breath mingled with hers.
We kissed. Her mouth was soft and welcoming, the inside tasting sweet, like sugar. As I probed it with my tongue, I felt my loins tense. I held her close, my lips tracing over hers, tongue exploring her sweet mouth, body crushed to my chest.
Then I opened my eyes a moment, seeing hers closed, her lashes resting on her cheek, face still in blissful surrender.
I groaned as my groin tensed.
“Shall we go in?” I said, running a hand through my hair. She was looking up at me curiously, as if I had just turned blue and asked her what she thought had made it happen. She nodded.
“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “Let’s go.”
We walked around the side of the house together. I felt tense, glancing up the long white-gravel drive to see if any press people were lying in wait there. We sneaked around to the front door, feeling like fugitives. I heard a twig crack and tensed, stiffening behind a bush. The path around the house passed behind the shrubbery and we could hide here, passing from bush to shadow to bush, concealed from the distance of the front gate. We reached the door.
The front steps were just shaded on one side by the oak tree. I went up first, reaching down a hand.
“Come up, quick,” I whispered. Once on the front step, we would be clearly visible from the drive, at least for the seconds between reaching the top of the small stairway and getting into the house. I hoped Mrs. Delange was either here ahead of us or had assigned someone the duty of opening the front door. I would take too long trying to take out my keys.
She looked up at me. Bit her lip, her huge caramel-brown eyes nervous. I felt an overwhelming tenderness blossom inside me, a need to protect her and keep her safe from everything. She nodded and stepped up the stairs.
At the top step, we had been there for perhaps two seconds when a roar went up from the drive. She whipped round, eyes huge, terrified.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, then, hastily, “Inside.”
Mrs. Delange appeared at the door, and I considered bolting in first before sliding out of the way as gracefully as could be done as Hayley threw herself through the gap, me following narrowly behind.
“There!”
Mrs. Delange slammed the door, and they were thwarted. I looked at Hayley. She looked at me.
We all looked at each other, shy; relieved.
Then we burst out laughing.
Myself, Hayley and Mrs. Delange were all chuckling in the hallway, the unreality crashing over us and breaking, like waves on the shore. Then, sniffing, breathing in deep, I turned to the other two.
“Right,” I said, feeling my heart soaring with lightness. “That’s that, then.”
They both looked at me. Then they giggled. Hayley stopped abruptly, and walked toward me. Her face was very solemn, utterly still.
“Right,” she said in a small voice. “That’s done.”
She took my hand and we walked inside together. In the dining-room, we were met by Estella and Cameron.
“Hooray!” Estella shouted, coming over to give me a smothering embrace. “Well done, Daddy!”
As she embraced Hayley and then drew back, both of them blinking furiously to stop crying, I felt a stab of remorse.
Hayley is not really my wife. Estella thinks she is. This lie has taken hold.
There was nothing I could do about it, though, but smile and be pleased and accept the champagne and take a seat at the table and chat away with Cameron and Estella about the day, the press, the car.
All I wanted to do was to stop time a moment and go back to the day I met Hayley, or to when we signed that contract. The one in which I promised I would not touch her.
I wanted this to be my first night with her. I wanted her so much. But I had signed, and she had signed. What could we do. We were, to all intents and purpose, man and wife.
But I couldn’t touch her even though I wanted to so very, very badly. I sat beside her and tried to focus on Estella, resplendent in a turquoise gown of floaty fabric, on Cameron, whose solemn, squarish face was lit with smiles. I tried not to look at the quiet, soft radiant presence beside me; the vision in filmy white who was, after all, not my wife.
I could not risk looking at her and falling any more head-over-heels than I already was.
That night I fell asleep in a cold bed. I found it hard to actually fall asleep in the beginning: I kept on tossing and turning, my thoughts full of thoughts of Hayley.
I imagined her taking off that splendid dress; undressing herself. Undoing that zipper and wriggling from the tight bodice, all soft pale skin and lacy underwear and high, round breasts. I let myself dwell on the mental picture further; filling in the curve of her waist, the generous hips, the long legs. I imagined her taking off her bra, showing me those full breasts; sliding off her panties and lying back, waiting for me.
I groaned and turned over and, drawing the pillow over my head in despair, tried to fall asleep. It must have worked eventually, for I woke up the next morning rested but still as confused as I had been when I went to sleep, and still wanting her.