I HAVE HAD a number of lectures this week and none of them played out like the one with Mr. Stone. The Lecturers have been enthusiastic and insightful, at worst some may have been a little dull, but none had behaved like Mr. Stone. I become more and more irritated after each lesson, because I am unable to bring myself to participate. Even in Mr. Wilson’s seminar, where he positively encouraged me to engage. I really wanted to. I had something to say, but every time I tried, I had this hideous flashback of hundreds of eyes silently staring at me, with pale faces of sympathy and relief. Relief it wasn’t them under the spotlight. My mouth dried, and my throat felt like sandpaper. Mr. Wilson looked with kind eyes and patted my hand at my failed attempt and deftly moved to someone else.
By Thursday evening, I was ready to put an end to my misery. I was ready to fight. Mr. Stones’ second lecture would be very different, for me at least. I had my speech prepared, something along the lines of, ‘How dare he…Did he have any idea how insensitive…’ and something about being a coward and a bully, but I would wait and see how the first part of my tirade played out before I resorted to more insults. It didn’t go unnoticed that, although the theatre was full, I had empty spaces on either side of me this week. My leg bounced nervously as the clock on the wall blinked closer to seven o’clock, my stomach knotted uncomfortably, and my palms were clammy. It felt more like a high noon showdown. The door opened, and I held my breath, only to let it out instantly in disappointment as Mr. Wilson stepped through.
“Mr. Stone is unable to present this evenings’ class, but I do have his notes, so I will take the lecture. I will do my best and hope you are not too disappointed.” He grinned at the room, and there was a little ripple of laughter. I did feel disappointed. Strange that I didn’t feel relief. After all, I don’t do confrontation as a rule, so I should feel relieved, but no, I definitely feel disappointed. There wasn’t going to be a confrontation. No fiery exchange, no burning tension, no heat at all. The next week was worse.
“So spill… you are so out of sorts, Bets, I’m ready to send out a search party for my missing best friend.” Sofia climbs under the covers, wriggling to get comfortable next to me, whilst precariously balancing a steaming mug of hot chocolate in one hand.
“I think I should stop calling her…She just get so upset, and it breaks my heart that I can’t comfort her, you know.” Sofia had caught the tail end of my telephone call with my mum. I had such a terrible day, I just wanted to hear her voice. It was a long shot she’d know who she was speaking to, but sometimes I just need to hear her softly spoken words of nonsense. But it’s selfish of me, and I always feel much worse after.
“I’m sure she appreciates your call. Even if she doesn’t know who you are, it’s still nice talking to someone different for a change, and it’s not like you’re trying to sell her a change of mobile provider.” Sofia slips her arm around my shoulder and pulls me against her in a protective hug.
“I might as well be.” I let out a deep heartfelt sigh. “It’s actually better when she doesn’t know who I am, and we can talk about nothing and everything. It’s when she remembers bits or suddenly recognizes my voice, and I can almost hear her struggle to recall more. That’s when she breaks, and I’m too far away to do anything about it. I know I’d make it better if I could cuddle her. We’d make us both better with a cuddle.” I sniff back the building sadness and allow the comfort of Sofia’s hug to work its own magic. It’s a constant sadness and it’s just bearable most of the time, but today it just got the better of me.
“But that was just one call, and it’s not like you haven’t had many just the same. So, what’s new, and if you tell me you’re just tired, I will just repeat, you’ve been tired before.” She pulls back, and I catch her narrowed, but kind, scowl.
“I don’t exist.” I slowly breathe out my poor explanation.
“Is this a ‘if a tree falls in the woods’ existentialist thing that we mere catering students won’t understand?”
I chuckle. “Not exactly. Today during the Lecture, Mr. Stone…it was like I didn’t exist. No eye contact, no humiliating exchanges, no heated glares, and definitely no erotic embraces.” I’d told Sofia the next day what had happened in my first lecture, and each day she called for an update. I knew he was around, because I had heard other students talk about him, spotting him with Mr. Wilson or just walking across the Quad, but I never saw him.
“You’re upset because he didn’t humiliate you this week? You are so strange.” She barks out a short laugh. “ Tell me…are you more upset that you didn’t get to vent all your pent up irritation, or that you didn’t get to release more of that pent up heat?”
“I’m not upset he didn’t humiliate me, but I am more upset he didn’t acknowledge me at all. Did I imagine it?”
“Did you imagine the hot male grinding against you? Hmm…I doubt it. It’s his loss, honey, but I am happy he’s at least sparked an interest, because, frankly, that’s a first. We just have to tend to that little flame and make sure you don’t stamp it back out.” She plants an aggressive kiss on my head.
“Trust me, I’m happy to stamp it out,” I snort.
“So you wouldn’t want a repeat? You’d be happy if he just acknowledged you with a nod or a handshake?” Her tone is mocking, but I think seriously about her question. My body is too quick to respond to the idea of a repeat, but I shake my head and the accompanying visual away.
“It’s for the best.”
The next evening after Uni, I change into my work uniform, which is a simple black skirt, matching tight-fitted blouse, which I pair with my sneaky black timberland boots for comfort. Anthony, Jr. is a little more forgiving than his father, who insists his waitresses wear proper shoes with at least a small heel. I can barely walk after a night out in heels, let alone shift after shift. I skip downstairs and enter the kitchen, the rich aromas of tonight’s specials hit me with the same intensity as the heat from the cookers. It smells wonderful, I think I’ve had a smoothie since breakfast, but that could easily have been yesterday. My tummy rumbles, and I realize I’m starving. Still my shift officially started ten minutes ago, and we will be fully booked tonight. Fridays are always hectic, so I doubt I will have the chance to grab anything to eat until we close.
“Mmmm… that smells so good, Joe.” I grab my pad and tie my apron twice round my waist. “What’s the special?”
Joe is Sofia’s uncle and the head chef. He sets the menus for the restaurants and is the most amazing talent in the kitchen.
“Take a seat, Bets, and I’ll set you up a plate.” He winks at me and points to the stool at the end of the workstation.
“You trying to get me fired?” I turn to make my way into the restaurant and squeal as I am lifted clear of the door and plopped roughly on the stool.
“You will eat! Don’t want you losing any of those curves, and I’ll have Anthony’s bollocks if he says a word.” He grins and casually waves a very large shiny knife.
I laugh but try to get up again. “They’re probably swamped already, save me some for later.”
“It’s no use,” he growls angrily. “I’ll force feed you if I have to, girl, and that’ll hurt you more than it will me.” He tilts his head and, with a pleading tone to his voice, he says. “Come on, Bets, you’re hurting my feelings, I’ve never had to force anyone to eat my food. Don’t make me start now!” He places a large warm bowl of fresh ravioli stuffed with ricotta and spinach in a simple sage butter in front of me. It’s not the special, but it is my favourite and judging by the smug grin fixed to Joes’ face, he knows he’s got me. I cut the first piece and can’t help an exaggerated moan escaping my lips.
“Heaven on a plate, Joe, as always.” There is no way I can manage to finish this huge portion, but I tuck in as he explains the specials. There is a seafood: Frutti Di Mare Gratinati, which is baked shellfish, topped with seasoned breadcrumbs and baked until golden, served with fresh bread and lemon wedges. A Costoline Di Agnello Ripiene, which is lamb cutlets stuffed with Gruyere cheese, Parma ham, and sage, which are breaded, then fried, and served with a green bean salad. “Yum.” I smile. “Not going to having any trouble selling those tonight.” I push my plate away as Joe raises a brow.
“I’m not going to fight you on this, Joe. That was delicious, but I can’t eat another bite.” I blow him a kiss and dash for the safety of the restaurant. I was right, it’s heaving, all the tables are full, and the bar is starting to fill with people waiting to be seated.
The main rush of the evening has ebbed and I am starting to do a final clear of the tables. My section has a few tables left to clear, and Lilly is the only other waitress who has a few tables tucked away in the booths, which edge the back and side wall. Customers linger, enjoying their after dinner drinks and who seem a little reluctant to leave. The front door opens, and I inwardly groan. It’s late, but it’s not unheard of that customers might still want to take a table at this time. I sag in relief when I see Sofia’s face. She goes to grab my arm and lead me away.
“Hey, you might not be working but I have to finish here!” I reprimand her lightly.
“No, no, no, I got your message, but I want more than a text with a winky face. You must tell me all about Mr. Demanding; sorry Mr. Hot, Sexy and Demanding. I want more,” she giggles.
“Oh, My God, Sofs, volume! I sent that text yesterday. We’ve already discussed Mr. Stone. I’ve got to finish, and I promised Lilly I’d finish her section, so she could shoot off for the babysitter.” I continue to gather the salt and pepper mills to refill in the morning.
“Now, why would you do that, you don’t have enough on? Oh while I think if it, you free next Friday? There’s a private do the club is catering for and needs bodies, so I put you down.” She helps clear the tables with me.
I’m grinning. “What was that about me not having enough on?”
“This is different, and you know it. It’s way better pay, and Anthony doesn’t mind, as long as he has notice. Besides, you’ll be working with me!” She gives me a hug because she knows I won’t refuse, can’t refuse, and she’s is not wrong about the money.
“Look I’m helping you finish, now spill, we talked …but nowhere near enough.” She grabs a cloth, and I fill her in again, as we work together to clean my section before we move over to Lily’s.
“So, I’m still not sure I see what the big deal is?” She has slowed considerably as she ponders my predicament.
“Really?” I shake my head. “I guess it isn’t a big deal, it’s just that I felt”--I shake my head because it feels muddled--“I don’t know. He just seems to see right through me. He’s intense, and he affects me.” My words are more reflective, as my body appears to all too easily recall its response.
“Go on?” She steps closer.
“Look, I can’t think straight when he is there, I mean, when he is right there, Sofs!” I place hand right to my nose to emphasize the lack of personal space. “He had his huge cock rammed tight against my arse, right in the lecture theatre! I’ve just never, you know, never…felt so hot. And then nothing, the next week a no show, which he never does, apparently, and then when he does turn up this week, nothing. Absolutely nothing, like it was all in my head.” My face is heating, and Sofs takes pity on me and swallows me in her arms.
She laughs and presses a kind kiss into my hair. “Huge, eh?” She laughs again as I pull back. “Bets, you’re just feeling horny, that’s all. Get some perspective. Some rich, good looking guy – How old?” She cuts herself off with her own question.
“Late twenties, I think?”
“Ok, this sexy, young, successful business man wants to fuck you. I’m struggling to see the downside here, Bets.” Her eyes crease with amusement and shamelessness.
“Christ, Sofs! I didn’t say he wants to fuck me. He doesn’t. Whatever, look it’s not that, I have never had this reaction to a man, ever. I was worried he knew about the age thing, you know after that first meeting. So I guess it’s good he’s ignoring me now. I can’t risk losing everything, no matter how hot he made me feel--” There is a loud crash from one of the booths, and I look to the floor and notice a vase with dried chillies has smashed, which have exploded onto the floor. Lily had balanced several vases on a ledge above the booths that was clearly too near the coats. I rush over onto my knees and start to gather the mess into my scooped up apron.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I’ll clean this up. Did any of the glass catch you at all?” I look up into the dark blue intensity of Daniel Stones eyes.
“Sir?” I mouth, but with no volume.
“You know, Miss Thorne, I will never get tired of you calling me that.” His rich voice is smooth and tempting. I feel a flash of prickles cover my skin and despite the instant heat in my core, my nipples peak hard and tight, and my breasts ache. Fuck! What is wrong with me? My heartbeat is hammering, not just the raw reaction he induces in me, but also the panic at realizing he has been here the whole time.
“Sir, Mr. Stone, what are you doing here?” I was trying for a calm tone, but manage to sound angry.
“Not sure that’s very polite, Miss Thorne.” His eyes are piercing me, and I’m thankful the ambient lighting is helping to hide the deep colour of my cheeks.
“Sorry, Sir, you’re right, it’s just creepy.” Shit, I can’t believe I said that out loud; now that was impolite. He grins and raises a brow. “Sorry, Sir, it is a surprise to see you here.”
“Not really, I live close by, and I have been here from time to time.” He maintains this intense stare and not knowing what to say and feeling an increasing awkwardness, I revert to default waitress mode.
“Of course, Sir, if you would excuse me, I’ll just get this cleared away. Is there anything I can do for you--get you--is there anything else I can get you, or would you like the bill?” I know I’m flustered, because I sound like I’m rambling.
“You know there is.” His lips quirk. “But the bill will work, for now.” His deep tone resonates with smooth sensuality.
I flash a quick tight smile and rush to sweep the remainder of the debris on the floor into my apron. I manage to slice my thumb on a small shard of glass.
“Fuck!” I curse in a whisper and quickly stick my thumb in my mouth to stop the blood flow. I glance back up to Daniel when I hear him take a sharp breath, or it might have been a moan. I scrabble to my feet and practically sprint for the kitchen. I stick my hand under the cold running tap and wince at the delayed sting, which makes my thumb throb.
“I can seal that cut for you, Bets.” Joe flashes the flame on the cooker.
“No, I’m good, Joe.” Burning cuts sealed is not my idea of good first aid, even if it does work. Sofia is right beside me.
“You okay?” Her nose is wrinkled as she watches the water change from clear to dark red.
“You can add ‘eavesdropper’ to that description you’ve got for Daniel Stone. He’s sitting in the booth at the end!” I nod toward the restaurant.
“No way!” She gasps, but also can’t hold back a face-splitting grin.
“Yes, way! I can’t go back out there. You’re going to have to take his bill over.” I plead.
“Not a problem. Can’t wait to see who’s got you so distracted, you’re slicing body parts.” She is practically hopping on the spot with excitement.
I’m about to head upstairs as my thumb won’t stop bleeding. It’s throbbing like it’s been hit with a cartoon anvil, and I know I won’t be much of a help finishing up, when Sofia returns.
“He wants to take you home. I said I was taking you, but he was really insistent.” She has the grace to look uncomfortable.
“Oh absolutely.” I bark out an incredulous laugh. “I am going to get into his car. I don’t know anything about him, Sofs – What did you say?”
“I said I’d get you?” She mumbles and won’t raise her eyes to meet my scowl.
“Where would I get him to take me, Sofs? I live here. I can’t believe this!” Joe stands beside me as I peek a look through the kitchen door into the restaurant and see Daniel leaning at the bar. He is wearing low slung jeans, a fitted black shirt, which skims the defined muscles on his arms and sculpts his abdomen. He is carrying his black leather jacket in the crook of his arm. His hair flops over his eyes, hiding his intense brow, and he sips his drink as he carefully takes in the quiet of the restaurant. In a suit he is stunning, but dressed as casual bad boy he is lethal, and he looks like he has no intention of moving any time soon.
“That’s Danny. You’ll be all right with him, Bets.” Joe smiles at me, and then he shrugs like I’m making a big old fuss over nothing.
“Well, I don’t really have a choice now, do I?” I‘m exasperated. “He seems to know enough about me already. He doesn’t need to know where I actually live as well.” I am not sure what he does know, exactly, but I need to find out, so a lift home might be an opportunity to get some information and do some damage control.
“Right. Is Marco at his place tonight?” I ask Sofia
“Yes, why?” She frowns at my change of topic, clearly not following this simple situation she has just made complex.
“Because I do actually have to go somewhere, and his place isn’t far, so it won’t take me too long to get back here.” Sofia looks disappointed. “I would go to yours, Sofs, but I still have stuff to do tonight.” I feel exhausted, my defenses are low, and it’s not an ideal time to be putting myself in close confines with Daniel Stone.
“Mr. Stone.” I’m going to try and steer clear of the ‘Sir’ thing that seems way too natural for me when talking with Mr. Stone and only contributes to this strange need I feel to comply with his demands, which for the life of me I can’t understand. He raises a brow.
“Miss Thorne.” He steps closer and smiles. His lips look soft, and I feel mine part with a small intake of breath. My throat is dry, and there is no way I’m going to survive a car ride feeling like this. “Shall we?” He places his hand in the small of my back; my body jolts and tingles. He gently drapes his jacket over my shoulders against the chill outside. His fingers lightly hold my shoulders, and I’m trembling once more at the slightest contact. We walk in silence, and as we reach his car, I stop as he opens the door.
“Why are you doing this?” My question surprises him, though it shouldn’t. His smile borders on wicked, and I shiver, but not from the chill in the air.
“Well, Miss Thorne, I think you have some concerns I’d like to address. You have secrets I’d like to know, and you have drawn some incorrect conclusions about my intentions.” The calm recitation of his list doesn’t help to enlighten me one bit.
I slide into the car; it’s an F-type Jaguar Coupe. I know this because Marco loves cars, I know nothing else other than it’s pretty, dark green, sleek and shiny, with a pristine, soft cream leather interior. I look at my poorly bandaged thumb and see it’s started to seep already. I wince as I grip it tightly to try and stop the flow. The pain will help me focus on the burn of the cut rather than the liquid pool of heat building between my legs.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is filled with genuine concern.
“Nothing, just trying not to bleed all over your very clean and very cream interior.” I smile waving my injured hand. “Number twelve Guard Gardens, it’s about two miles from here and won’t take five minutes in this thing.”
“Thing? Thing,” he repeats, clearly affronted. “This is an F-type R, five liter V8, 550 PS super charged engine with 680Nm of torque, nought to sixty in four seconds with a top speed of over one eighty.”
“Very useful in a city with a top speed of thirty miles per hour.” I snort. It’s not very ladylike, but it can’t be helped. “Sorry, it’s a car, you know A to B.”
“You don’t drive?” He faces me for a moment, but even that short moment has my senses on high alert.
“I know how to, but I don’t. I love to walk.” The remaining journey is in silence. The tension is palpable. He pulls up outside Marco’s flat.
“You didn’t address any concerns?” I question the silence now that I start to undo my seatbelt.
“Your home?” He asks ignoring my question.
“Yep, that’s right! Thank you, Mr. Stone.” I go to open the door. He reaches across and holds my hand against the handle. My breath hitches.
“More lies, Miss Thorne?” He is leaning into the small space between us and his rich aroma is intoxicating. My fingers twitch to run through his hair, maybe touch his face. Unfortunately, his question is more like a statement and diminishes any rising temptation as I tense with renewed panic.
“I live here.” I try to sound convincing.
“Mmmm, perhaps this will help.” He is still leaning into me, still holding my hand on top of the handle of the car door, and, God, he still smells so fucking good. “Firstly, your concerns: I have no interest in your degree, I know who you are because I was introduced to you, and I am thorough in gathering information about people in my life, but you have secrets and as thorough as I am, I would like you to tell me yourself.”
“You questioned my commitment to my course. No. You didn’t question it, you attacked it, and picked on me in the process… but regardless, I would still attend your lecture program, I’d be an idiot not to.” I drop my head and sigh. “Forgive me if I assumed you had an interest in my degree. I was clearly wrong.” I mutter and added even more quietly “On every count.” I push against the handle and he releases his hold. The door opens, and I get out.
“Yes, Miss Thorne, you were wrong. Your friend however, was spot on. I do want to fuck you.” His voice is like silk, sensual, sinful silk. “To clarify, the comments I made, however forcefully, were said to make a point. You have a sound business proposition, but you won’t secure the necessary investment to develop your idea further with your current ‘hope to’ attitude…and Miss Thorne…I didn’t pick on you. I picked you.” I can’t bring myself to look into his eyes. A tiny moan escapes the back of my throat and is captured, silenced in my mouth. I open the door and walk away visibly shaking, then ring the bell on Marco’s door and wait. I’m in shock.
A sleepy Marco comes to the door. and I push past his confused state.
“Sorry to wake you, Marco, but don’t ask.” I peek through the glass in the door frame. “I’ll be five minutes, then I’m gone.” Marco presses his nose against the glass beside me.
“What are we looking for, Bets?” His eyes are squinting, and his yawn is exaggerated.
“That.” I point to Daniel’s car as it pulls from the curb, and the red lights disappear down the road. I turn to give Marco a quick kiss on the cheek and leave him a little stunned as I close the door behind me and begin my walk home, to my real home. I set a brisk pace along the main road. It’s not ideal walking late at night, but it’s a pretty safe area. I’ll grab a cab if I see one, but it won’t take me long if I don’t. I would normally be nervous at the speed the car was approaching, but my heart is racing for an entirely different reason as I recognize the growl of the heavy engine of a super-fast sports car. It stops abruptly just in front of me, and a very stern Daniel Stone exits, slams his door and storms up to me. His face is dark, scowling and fiercely handsome.
“Get in the car!” His voice is deadly quiet and I take a step back. He moves to match my retreat.
“I don’t give a fuck about your secrets, Bethany, but you are not walking in the dark alone!” He tries for a more gentle tone. His face softens, and his anger is replaced with obvious concern. “Now, please get in the car.” I pause, but only for a moment before I do as he says. I remain quiet as he starts the car and pulls away.
“Shall we try this again? Where to, Miss Thorne?” His tone is calm and commanding.
“The restaurant, I live above the restaurant.” I reply quietly.
“There. That wasn’t so hard,, was it?” I know he must feel it, but he doesn’t have to sound so fucking smug.
“No.” I mumble my reply with irritation and petulance.
“No?” His voice is deep, coaxing, and laden with promise, and I shiver when I suddenly understand his intent.
“No, Sir.” He smiles.
Less than five minutes later, he is pulling up outside the rear of the restaurant. “I don’t think it is very polite to lie. We are going to need to work on those secrets, aren’t we, Miss Thorne?” He is tapping his steering wheel, I’m still in shock from his earlier declaration and he thinks I’m being rude.
“I didn’t ask for a lift home. If I’m being rude, it’s a result of your behaviour and not a reflection of mine.”
“Well, my behaviour just saved you a three mile walk in the dark, and I don’t think it would be too much to ask for some gratitude.” He leans closer, and my senses are filled with his rich exotic smell.
“What?” I’m almost speechless. “I wouldn’t, I didn’t even need… you… you…” I can’t construct a full sentence, because I am utterly astonished at his arrogance.
“Me? Yes, what about me?” He is holding my gaze with searing intensity, and his mouth curls in a deeply sensual smile. So despite his arrogance, I need to get out before I grab his face, claw my fingers tight into his hair, and consume those soft, full lips. I lick my lips at the very thought of their taste. The small movement is enough to draw his eyes to my mouth. His jaw twitches.
“Thank you for the lift… Sir!” I slam the car door and without looking back, make my way into the darkened restaurant, locking the bolts behind me. If I wasn’t so exhausted, I think I would be taking one of those cold showers right about now.