Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy (37 page)

“I’m so sorry, Blake,” Elizabeth said gently. “I should’ve known not to mention him. How insensitive of me. I forget how much that must have hurt you …”

“Excuse me,” he interrupted, turning purposefully away from us, his brow furrowing in anger, as he strode off across the restaurant.

Wow - okay, so Elizabeth upset you.

But even so, Blake, that’s a pretty rude way to behave …

And once more, watching him act like that, I realized just how different we must be. Blake’s life was obviously one of privilege — he’d grown up a spoilt brat, allowed to do whatever he chose, behave however he wanted, and at moments like this it was obvious that he still believed he could treat people however he wanted.

“Poor Blake,” Elizabeth said to me, quietly. “They were best friends, you know. Inseparable. Do you know what, Jessica? I think it might be good for him to go back there with you, for him to forget about the past and hey, perhaps even create some new memories …”

I smiled shyly, knowing just what she was getting at — hinting, gently but firmly, just as Blake had done, that there was something more than just business between us. I looked away for a moment, across the teeming restaurant floor, but what I saw then caused me to actually gasp.

Because standing there, talking face to face with Blake, was Alex Wiltshire.

Seeing him again, his horrible leering mouth, his slick wet chin, his outdated shiny suit, brought back all the memories of that night — memories I’d buried deep down inside myself. I could feel his hot breath on my skin once again, his rough insistent hand snaking between my legs, and the sickening stench of cigar smoke clinging to him like a horrible black cloud.

I watched closely, realizing with relief that Blake was shaking his head in barely concealed anger, obviously keeping as composed as he could, but it was clear he was telling Alex – in the sternest way possible – to get the hell out of here.

Alex, meanwhile, was swaying around drunkenly, leaning in to Blake, trying to clap a conspiratorial hand on his shoulder. But to my relief, Blake had none of it. He brushed Alex’s hand off him, then took him firmly by the arm and marched him towards the exit.

Thank God.

And as Alex was ejected onto the street, Elizabeth leaned in to me and whispered in my ear, “I’m glad someone finally told that creep where to go. He’s been getting away with far too much for far too long.”

Elizabeth shuddered, and I realized that maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d suffered unwanted advances from that disgusting creep Wiltshire.

I’d just about composed myself again by the time Blake rejoined us, and when I saw his smiling face, I realized with embarrassment that of course it had been the sight of
Alex —
not Elizabeth’s mention of his past — that had caused him to storm off in the first place.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he said to both of us. “Where were we? Oh, that’s right, Elizabeth, we were getting Jessica up to speed on all the scandalous things that have happened over the years, weren’t we? Have you told her about the time old Charlie Cross got the wrong room and ended up sleeping with his own
wife
for once …”

And as we laughed and joked, Blake entertaining us with stories from his past, I felt myself falling once more beneath his spell.

“It’s certainly … unique,” Blake said, stifling a smirk.

“I’ve really got my work cut out for me, haven’t I?” I replied, taking in the decor of Elizabeth’s summerhouse in the Hamptons.

The whole place was an insane mish-mash of styles and time periods: Roman columns sat next to leopard print rugs, camp hot-pink walls next to swirling marble floors, and to top it all off, the centerpiece was a corny sunken living room — something that wouldn’t look out of place as a set from a cheesy 70’s soap opera. If there was one overarching theme, it was that the whole place was
tacky
.

I would have to completely start again from scratch. It would be a huge job, taking months, and not just of
my
time; I’d definitely need to hire an assistant if I was to take on a job this big. And I shuddered at the thought of how much it might cost to redesign a place like this from the ground up. But from what Blake had told me about Elizabeth, she could more than afford it.

“So?” Blake asked. “Think you’ll do it?”

“She’s not actually
asked
me yet,” I reminded him gently, unsure whether or not Elizabeth had other potential designers in mind, too. It was a big job; I’m sure she’d want me to submit an official proposal.

“She really likes you, I can tell,” he replied. “This job is yours if you want it.”

“That would be great,” I smiled, “but I’m not sure the world works like that.”

But then I remembered: all it had taken for Blake to hire
me
was a single outburst in a boardroom ... People in
this
world obviously made their own rules.

“Let’s see if this old thing still works,” Blake said, crouching down next to the large ornate fireplace. “It’s absolutely freezing in here.”

He was right; it was bone-chillingly cold. Whenever I’d dreamt about visiting the Hamptons, I’d always pictured it in a kind of perpetual summer. But the truth was, here in in Southampton it was still the depths of winter — the icy cold slowly creeping into this large un-lived-in house.

“There!” Blake said, delighted, as he got a couple of small pieces of firewood to catch flame.

It was nice to watch him, crouched like a boy scout by the fire, and again I found myself wondering once more about his past — about the kind of boy he’d been back then. I wandered over to join him by the fire, taking a seat on the large white tacky sheepskin rug, there in front of the glowing, flickering warmth.

“So how did Elizabeth end up with
this place
?” I asked, once again looking around the crazy, mismatched living room in disbelief.

“I’ve known her since I was a kid,” Blake explained. “But back then, she spent her summers in a much smaller house, just a little ways down the road. That was her family place. The O’Connors have had it for generations. They still own it and rent it out, I think. The family’s always been well off — blueblood through and through — but man! In the last few years, Elizabeth’s hedge fund
really
took off. Hence buying this property. I advised her on the investment, in fact. She got a really good deal. I knew the couple who used to own it before her, too. Well, kind of. He made his money in steel ... and his wife?”

He whistled and shook his head.

“Let’s just say that all the boys in the neighborhood hoped for glimpses of
her
sunbathing in her bikini.”

“Shame she didn’t have any taste when it came to interior design,” I added.

“No, she didn’t. But she also got a really good deal. He gave her this place in the divorce settlement. But soon enough she got bored and sold up to move to LA, to try and make it in the movies. Last I heard, she was paying some poor schmuck producer to write a star vehicle for her.”

“So how about you?” I asked. “Where was your family’s summerhouse?”

I could feel my heart quickening as I spoke, partly from his steely grey eyes, which I suddenly realized were fixed intently on me, and partly because I knew I was delving deeper into his past than perhaps I ever had before.

“Oh, my family didn’t actually own property here,” he shrugged. “I always came with Brett, you see.” And as he mentioned his friend, a strange expression flashed across his face, the exact same one I saw back at Mermaids, when Elizabeth brought Brett up.

What actually happened with Brett?

And so badly I wanted to just
ask
him — to find out what it was about his friend that had obviously wounded him so. All I knew was that there was an ‘accident’ of some sort.

I shuffled up a little closer to him, and he reciprocated, throwing his arm around me, the comforting, familiar musk of his cologne sending my head into a whirl the way it always did. I snuggled into him, partly for warmth and partly because … Well, partly just because I wanted to.

There was no getting away from it: even surrounded by possibly the tackiest décor on the planet, here in front of this open fire, it was actually kind of
romantic
.

“You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?” I whispered softly, running my fingers through his thick dark hair, hoping my gentle tone might prompt him to divulge a little more information about Brett.

He turned his face towards mine, his eyes flashing in the flickering firelight as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face then cupped my chin in his hand, turning my face up to his.

“I know,” he murmured, moments before he kissed me.

I kissed him back with an intensity that surprised even me, climbing eagerly on top of him. He fell back onto the floor below me, letting me have my wicked way with him, his hands moving quickly to my buttocks as I began to softly ride him, grinding myself backwards and forwards against him, working him up through his chinos, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing against me through the soft cotton of his pants.

I pulled my skirt around my waist, wanting him inside me as quick as humanly possible.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, positioning himself up on his elbows to nuzzle my chest, his kisses dancing tantalizingly against my stiffening nipples through the flimsy silk of my blouse and the soft cups of my bra.

I fumbled with his pants, finally freeing him, once more feeling that hot thickness in my fingers, his shaft already slick and wet — almost as wet as
I
was getting. I didn’t even bother taking off my panties, just tugged them hurriedly to the side and then guided him inside me, relishing the feel of his hands on my buttocks, parting me wide as he drove himself deeper inside me with a final shivery grunt, his cock stretching me right open, filling me, his fingertips brushing gently against my asshole as I began to ride him, leaning forward to kiss him, too, driving my tongue so deep into his mouth as I ground out my pleasure on top of him, feeling the early waves of my orgasm fast approaching.

“I want to worship you, Jessica,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re so fucking special to me …”

But right now, all I wanted was to feel him deep inside me, fucking me hard and fast. I was only out for my own pleasure at that moment and I ground myself even
harder
against him, moaning, my mouth pressed tightly against his, our hot breath mingling as our fucking became even faster, even more intense.

I felt his middle finger slip ever so gently just a little ways into my ass, tipping me over the edge in just the way I needed, my pussy spasming tightly around his thick cock as I came so hard, my tongue thrust deep into his mouth ...

My eyes opened and I smiled, just like I always did when I found myself waking up next to Blake. But as my vision adjusted to the bright early morning light, and the fuzziness of my surroundings finally sharpened into focus, I remembered where we were. And I remembered just how insanely awful the décor was.

Lying there in that enormous four-poster bed, I began to feel oppressed by the heavy brocade furnishings, the many pieces of useless white veneer furniture, and all the gilt – absolutely
everything
seemed edged in gold.

I sat up and gently laughed at finding myself somewhere so ridiculous.

“Hey,” murmured the sleepy, slumbering form beside me, and I felt his playful hand snake around my waist, trying to tug me back down beside me. “Come back to sleep, you ...”

“I’ve got a better idea,” I replied. “Please just get me out of here!”

“Okay, okay,” mumbled Blake. “I know a great little place for breakfast.”

“Perfect,” I replied, jumping out of bed and padding across the room in the direction of the en-suite bathroom.

But just then, something in the corner of the room caught my eye.

“Blake?” I said, unable to believe what I was seeing. “Is that a five foot tall ceramic
unicorn
standing there in the corner?!”

§

That morning, bright and early, Blake took me on a walk along the seafront, to a little diner he knew. And as we walked, I found myself soaking in the atmosphere – enjoying the feel of the cold wind against my skin, so glad to be out in the fresh air, free from that crazy, oppressive house. It was so strange seeing everywhere practically deserted, too — the beaches that I’d imagined crammed full of sun-kissed bodies in the summertime, now dramatic and windswept, totally empty.

Like a real gentleman, Blake held the door for me, and I was glad to step into the comforting warmth of the diner, choosing a cozy little booth by the window, eagerly looking forward to a hearty breakfast and a nice hot cup of coffee.

And I have to admit, I was enjoying how
wholesome
our morning had been so far, too. Out here, it wasn’t quite like the stifling small-town atmosphere of Glenbrook Falls, but it wasn’t like being in the non-stop hustle and bustle of Manhattan either. No, Blake was right: a weekend away, just the two of us, was exactly what we needed.

“I’m glad you came with me,” I said, smiling across at him, sat there happily in the booth seat opposite, dressed in a rugged navy fisherman’s sweater and cream slacks, his tanned skin glowing with health and vigor, his hair mussed and shining, a dusky two-day stubble flecking his chiseled jaw, grey eyes glinting back at me.

And I hoped that I, too, looked the part. I knew that women around here spent a fortune, even on their casual ware, the kind of stuff that’s supposed to look beat-up and old. I couldn’t quite bring myself to spend that
kind of money on clothes just intended for a windswept walk along the beach, but luckily I still had plenty of
real
old beat-up clothes. Over a vintage daisy print dress and thick grey woolen tights, I too was wearing a navy sweater.

We looked quite the couple.

“What can I get you, honey?” the elderly waitress asked as she arrived at our booth and beaming down at me, her eyes wrinkled at the edges from decades of smiling.

“The pancakes, bacon and maple syrup sounds delicious,” I said, smiling back up at her. “And coffee and OJ, too, please.”

But then something really strange happened when she turned to Blake. I watched the smile completely drop from her face, her eyes becoming glassy and cold.

“Hello, Sally,” Blake said, nodding up at her.

“Blake,” she replied curtly, nodding back, her eyes narrowing. “What can I get you?”

“Just coffee for me,” he said, fixing his eyes on the menu, his concentration so fixed, it seemed like he might burn a hole straight through it.

Sally, the waitress, turned and bustled off in the direction of the kitchens.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Blake said, quietly still gazing at the menu.

I guess Blake’s charm doesn’t work on
everyone
, after all ...

I leaned in across the booth and said in a whisper, “What was all
that
about? She looked like she wanted to stab you with her pencil. Do you know her?”

At this, his eyes flicked up from the menu, piercing me.

“She thinks she knows me. And she’s not the only one. Let’s just say that some people around here don’t take too kindly to me,” he said quietly, now turning his attention to a loose thread on the cuff of his sweater. “There was a lot of bad feeling towards me after, you know ... after Brett’s accident. I’ve not been back here for years. I thought everyone might have forgotten about all that by now, but turns out that some people have
very
long memories.”

He paused, turning to gaze out through the diner window for a moment at the dramatic, windswept beach before training his eyes back on mine. And I realized with surprise that they were brimming with hurt and anger.

“That said, they didn’t like me much before the accident either.”

§

I was worried that the frosty reception from the waitress might ruin our breakfast entirely, but luckily Blake seemed able to shrug it off, even taking a playful bite or two of my pancakes — his appetite obviously returning.

But even though Blake had started to relax, I was glad to settle the bill and get out of there, taking another walk along the seafront, this time huddling into him for warmth, my arm slipping easily into his as we slowly made our way back towards Elizabeth’s house, taking our time and enjoying the stroll.

“You know, not all my memories here are bad,” Blake offered. “I had some good times, too. It was a pretty great place to explore as a kid. And Brett and I, well, we had some really fun times. I should try to remember those.”

He shook his head, as if trying to shake off something dark, then turned his attention back to me.

“So how about you?” he asked. “What were
your
childhood holidays like?”

At this, I laughed and shook my head. “Nothing as glamorous as the Hamptons, I’m afraid. The most exotic place
I
ever went as a kid was my Aunt’s farm in Georgia. It was totally remote, nothing around for miles. But you know, she had this one room there, tucked away at the back of the farmhouse, which she called the ‘Reading Room,’ and it was just the most
fantastic
library, packed with all kinds of books, everything you could ever imagine. I’d spend hours in there, nestled away, getting lost in fantasy worlds, reading about all kinds of things, just enjoying spending time in such a peaceful place. It was really magical. And I’ve always thought, well, if I ever had kids, I’d want them to have a room like that, too — a place where they could just escape and read quietly.”

“You will,” Blake said.

At first, I thought he was talking about the
room
, but from the way he stopped and turned to look at me, his steely eyes burning, I realized that no, he was referring to my
kids
.

“And they’ll be just as beautiful as you, Jessica, I know it,” he said quietly.

I laughed and shook my head, trying to cover my embarrassment, unsure what to say in reply to something so heartfelt — so
direct
. I looked out at the grey shoreline, the water sparkling in the winter air, then back into his eyes.

“Thank you,” I said.

And the thing was: despite myself, I’d found myself imagining
our
children: kissing Blake Junior goodbye in his smart school uniform on his first day at Dalton, taking little Jessica out for afternoon tea at Lady Mendl’s; our perfect little New York family ...

“What are you thinking?” he asked, so softly, so sincerely.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to say it, to let him in on my fantasy. After the way — no
ways
— he’d stung me in the past, every time I’d tried to talk to him about ‘us’, I’d learnt my lesson by now.

I know what you’re probably thinking: I’m an idiot, right? After all, didn’t Blake
offer
to give up his weekend to take me here? Here, where he could show me the important places of his youth. And wasn’t he, right now, on this beautiful windswept beach, telling me just how beautiful my children would be?

Maybe I
am
an idiot, but I’m also realistic.

I knew Blake by now: the most beautiful romantic gesture one moment, only to tell me he was sleeping around the next. No. I wasn’t going to let myself fall for that one again, no matter
how
idyllic this all might seem. I had to keep reminding myself how perfect and romantic our trip to London had been, and look what had happened there ...

“Oh, nothing,” I said, shrugging and grabbing his arm. “Come on, let’s get back. I’ve got some more work to do. This isn’t all fun and games, you know …”

§

As I took a final look around Elizabeth’s place, taking photos, making sketches and scribbling down copious notes and ideas, Blake remained in the kitchen, cooking. That’s right, you heard me correctly.
Cooking:
another secret skill I never knew he had.

He’d insisted on dropping into a cute little farmers’ market on the walk back and picking up some local produce for lunch – organic vegetables and freshly-caught seafood. And from the delicious smells that I caught wafting through the house occasionally, I seemed to be in for quite the culinary treat …

Once my work was done, I strolled back into the kitchen to find that he’d even laid the large wooden kitchen table for us. And if you ignored the over-the-top-ness of the huge black candelabra dangling above and the brain-meltingly tacky zebra print cutlery that we were expected to eat with, then this actually looked like a pretty delicious meal.

I sat down and we smiled at each other across the table, clinking our water glasses. Blake wasn’t drinking, as he was driving us back to Manhattan later that afternoon, and I didn’t feel like getting drunk on my own. And as we tucked into our lunch — which was absolutely delicious, I might add — I again had to push from my head all kinds of silly domestic fantasies, about Blake cooking up hearty family dinners for that cute little boy and girl we were gonna raise together …

Don’t get carried away, Jessica.

It’s just lunch – it’s not a marriage proposal!

The voice of reason sounded uncannily like Fallon’s, and I felt a guilty twinge at just how little I’d been in touch with her since tour. I’d got so caught up with the Mermaid’s launch, it had been almost a fortnight since we’d last checked in, and I resolved to change that the moment I arrived back at my apartment that evening.

“This is divine, Blake,” I said, nodding down at my plate. “I didn’t know you were such a top-class chef!”

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, surprisingly humbly.

“So,” I continued, wanting to draw even more secrets and mysteries out of him, “what else don’t I know about the secretive Blake Matthews? What
else
are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he replied, smiling back at me.

But it was happening again; I could feel her — that strong, confident woman inside me, once more taking control.

I put down my fork, folded my hands in front of me and fixed him sternly in my gaze.

“Tell me, Blake,” I began, “what exactly happened to Brett.”

“Do we have to do this right now?” he sighed pleadingly, the smile dropping from his face.

“I’m promise I’m not gonna judge you,” I continued, feeling my heart begin to pound, worried I might have made a mistake, worried I might have pushed things too far but desperate to show him that I understood. “We’ve all been there. You were young. You were a teenager, and teenagers do some really dumb stuff. It’s okay, you can tell me what happened.”

“It was just an accident, Jessica,” he snapped, dropping his knife and fork on the table so loudly it made me jump. “That’s all there is to it.”

He pushed himself out of his chair and got to his feet, most of the food still left on his plate.

“For the second time today, I appear to have lost my appetite,” he said. “I’ll see you in the car whenever you’re ready to leave.”

And with that he was gone, striding out of the kitchen, down the hall, then slamming the large front doors behind him, leaving me rooted in shock at the kitchen table, my head spinning.

What the hell just happened?