Chapter 25

 

 

She arrives in a cloud of perfume and animosity. It’s unsettling to see her walk towards me, almost like going back in time. From a distance, she looks like the same woman I fell in love with all those years ago, yet she’s also the same woman who walked away. There are so many memories, and the bad far outweigh the good. Yet as she draws nearer, I can’t help but acknowledge she’s still beautiful, and she draws attention to herself like she could be on film. And likely is, though not the way she feels she deserves to be.

I imagine she’s seen a few casting couches in her time. That’s why she left, supposedly. She decided she was too young to be a mother and a wife.

Her impulsiveness once endeared her to me. She was fun and spontaneous in the beginning, but she’s as ruthless as she is charming. Reckless and immoral. She thinks of no one but herself.

‘Darling.’ Her nails are pink talons she rests on my shoulder as she leans in to kiss my cheek. And I let her, while hating myself. But we’re playing a game here. It’s been two years since I saw her last. Two years since she walked into my office, trying to sweet-talk money out of me while threatening me with court. Today, I hate to say it, but she has the upper hand.

‘Jayne.’ I feel nothing in her embrace—feel nothing but her countenance stiffen with displeasure as she pulls away. Plain Jayne. She hates her name and changed it to Gianna years ago, shortly after she left for the US, I think. And though I can see the changes in her now that she’s in front of me, she’s still anything but plain. She certainly doesn’t look thirty-two years old, let alone old enough to have borne a child Sorcha age.

She’s tall and lithe. Dressed from head to toe in high fashion, she carries a designer purse in hand. These things remain a constant in her life. Appearances mean everything, and she is always flawless. But all the same, I hate myself for noticing the differences in her. Her long hair, an expensively tended-to shade of blonde, is a little darker, her mouth a little fuller. Her tits a little larger. She makes me think of one of those wee dolls Sorcha played with for about five minutes. She’s never been a doll kind of girl. She likes animals. Games. A wee bit of science.

‘Shall we?’

Before I turn to make my way to the exit, I take the handle of her case from her grip, and after a slight incline of her head, she follows me to the car. We don’t speak until we’re at the hotel. Centrally located, five stars. I usually find myself footing the bill, but this time, she asks me to wait while she checks herself in.

A new boyfriend? Maybe a wealthy or jealous one. Maybe both. It’s a novel experience for her not to expect me to pick up the bill. I often feel like I’m the one getting fucked, but instead, it looks like she’s screwing some other idiot for a change.

A liveried member of the concierge team walks by the coffee shop with her luggage. Her Louis Vuitton trolley case. Small enough for her to take herself. A case that indicates she doesn’t intend to stay in London long. Thankfully.

‘Are you coming up?’ She’s suddenly standing in front of me, all but batting her lashes, her voice a sultry purr.

I almost laugh in answer. If she wants me in her hotel room, it’s not because she has plans for my body or my cock. She’s definitely planning to fuck me, but I doubt it’s in the physical sense.

‘We can discuss what it is you want here, Jayne.’

‘It’s Gianna.’ She narrows her eyes, and I decide not to point out the tiny crow’s feet her Botox nurse seems to have missed. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Keir? It’s Gianna. And this is too public a venue for what I have to say.’

‘Not for me, it isn’t,’ I retort.

‘Trust me, Keir, it is.’

I don’t trust her, not one bit, but something in her tone has the hairs on the back of my neck sticking up. So I take her advice but not for my sake. I do it for the daughter she has yet to ask about.

We don’t speak in the lift, nor in the corridor. And I don’t look at her as we reach her room. Instead, I stare at the green light on the door.

‘Come in, sweetie.’ Says the spider to the fly. But the fly isn’t buying what she’s selling today. And the spider? She’s got herself a hotel suite, not a room. Maybe a sugar daddy to boot.

‘What is it you want, Jayne? I’ve got other shit to do today. How much?’ Because it always boils down to cash—money to fund her lifestyle. She left to become an actress, and though I’ve yet to see her in anything of note, I think she must live like Hollywood royalty. She received a hefty settlement when we split and has since been back for more. Several times.

‘Who said anything about money, Keir? Why do you have to be like this?’ she whimpers, looking for the world like she’s about to cry.

‘Call it a sixth sense. Or better still, experience.’ Because this is what it always comes down to. ‘I’m not in the mood for your games, and I’m too busy to bend over for you today. How much do you want?’

‘Oh, you wish you could get rid of me that easily,’ she taunts. ‘No, Keir. This is much better. Perfect, in fact. A friend sent me a links to the articles. So of course, I got on the next flight home. Who would’ve thought the mighty Keir—Keir, the upstanding; Keir, the moral; the man I’d entrusted my baby’s care to—could be fucking Robin Reed’s fiancée?’

‘She’s not his fiancée,’ I reply in a bored tone. I sit in the seat by the window. ‘They weren’t even together when we met.’

‘But darlin’,’ she says, laying on the transatlantic twang. ‘It’s better than that. The newspapers say she’s now doing porn. Of course, I think, especially after seeing pictures of her, it’s probably the homemade stuff. You always were a little kinky, though, right?’

‘You’re boring me,’ I reply, straightening my shirt cuffs as I cross my legs.

‘Boring? How about we try it the other way? Maybe I don’t want you to bend over for me,’ she says, her narrow hips swaying closer. Her hand lifts between us, her pink painted fingernails raking through my hair. ‘You used to like it when I bent over for you, as I recall. You liked it when I grabbed my ankles . . . spread myself wide.’

She’s not beyond using our past as a weapon, and the memories flash through my mind, each swiping like a rapier. Rapid and poisonous tipped.

Jumping up, I grab her hand, pulling it from my head and pushing it away. ‘You must be desperate.’ Or delusional. It’s been a while since she’s used sex as a bargaining chip.

‘I’m not desperate. I think in the eyes of any court, you’d be the desperate case. Maybe I’m feeling benevolent. Have you thought of that? You look a little hard up, baby.’ Her hand reaches for the front of my pants, though I catch her wrist before contact. ‘You must be desperate if you’ve resorted to fucking small-time porn stars.’ She tsks, a playful click of teeth and tongue.

‘Funny, I don’t remember fucking you.’ Not in some time, at least. Not since a weak moment when Sorcha was small.

Her expression tells me I’ve hit a raw nerve. Maybe it’s worse than casting couch recordings she’s stared in. I might feel sorry for her . . . if it wasn’t for the fact that she tore out my heart. Not when she left me, but when she abandoned our little girl. We might not have been perfect together, but the little girl we made was that very thing. Pure and innocent and in need of our love and protection. But she left. And I’m the wicked fuck who paid her to.

‘Wait. I know,’ she says. ‘Maybe your deviancies have driven you to fucking cam girls now. Because nice girls don’t like the things you like, Keir. The ropes. The pain. The degradation.’

Her barb is well aimed and hits me hard. I’ve keep my sex life on a tight leash all these years. Tamped down to nothingness. Even the couple of times I tried to date—tried to fuck casually—I held it all back. But with Paisley, I can feel it leaking out. The letter I wrote. The things I want to do with her and to her—it’s all true. I want to see her crawl on her hands and knees to me. See her tied and at my mercy. But I also want more nights falling asleep with my arms around her curves. Wake to her messy hair and goofy smile. But I’m not a deviant, no matter what Gianna suggests, unless a little rope and dominance extends to that. In which case, I guess I’m a deviant to a good portion of the world.

‘That’s strange.’ I fold my arms as though considering something. ‘Because I remember you used to like it when I fucked you like that. But . . . wait.’ I snap my fingers as though remembering some point. ‘I forgot you’re not a nice girl.’

‘I used to be a nice girl,’ she retorts, her eyes flaring as I step towards her. The look she slides me isn’t one of fear but of excitement. And my siren’s call.

I slide both my hands into her hair, grasping tight at the base of her skull to pull her head back. ‘I know a nice girl when I see one, Gianna.’ I drag her name out with disdain, tilting her farther still to examine her face, her flushed neck and chest, her hard breasts pushed up against my chest. Her darkened eyes. ‘And I know I’m not looking at one right now. You’re anything but a nice girl.’

My words are harsh in her ear, though she whispers a rasping, ‘Yes!’

In a fit of confusion and annoyance, I push her down on the bed. It takes me everything in my power not to follow her. To place my knees against the mattress. To slide my hands around her throat. I don’t want to fuck her but maybe fuck her over. Fuck her up. Torture her a little as payback.

‘Want to know why you’re not a nice girl?’ I ask, towering over her.

Her reaction is unexpected as she spreads her long legs, running her hands over her chest. And if her reaction is unexpected, her words are even more so.

‘Because nice girls don’t take it up the ass.’

‘You’re not a nice girl. Not even a nice human, in fact. You haven’t once asked how your daughter is.’

My jaw aches from the tension in it as I pull open my jacket and lift out the bundle of notes I’d taken from the safe in my bedroom before leaving this morning.

‘There’s about twenty grand there,’ I growl, staring down at her shocked face. ‘Don’t even bother coming to look for me. We’ve moved, and the new house has security. You won’t even get past the gates before I call the police.’ I stalk to the edge of the room, then turn before I pull open the door. ‘Your dad said not to bother them, either. Not after last time. You’re on your fucking own.’

I’m not ashamed to say my whole body is shaking as I leave.