The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Three (8 page)

“What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you?” she asked, finally lifting her eyes and glaring at him.

“Doesn’t matter to me one way or the other,” he shrugged, “but if you want to get noticed, it’s a good place to start. See you over breakfast.”

Placing the milk on her bedside table, he stood up and walked slowly from the room, closing the door behind him.

Lucinda shut down her laptop, placed it on the floor alongside her bed, and switched out the light. She didn’t want the milk, she didn’t want anything, except for the gorgeous ex-marine to walk back into her room and utterly devour her.

D
arren Hardcastle had discovered the gullibility of others at an early age. Being raised by a single mother who struggled to make ends meet, he would pool resources with his friends to buy candy, and one afternoon he decided he wanted a chocolate bar. The purchase was made, splitting the cost with another boy, and when it came time to break it in half Darren did the honors. One side ended up longer than the other, and the rogue-to-be had a brainstorm; biting off the long end, he held up the equal halves triumphantly.

“There, now it’s even,” he proclaimed.

To his great surprise and delight, his friend bought the con. Darren had found his career and had been biting the long end off the candy bar ever since.

It was his habit to eat breakfast in the conservatory overlooking the lush, landscaped gardens at the back of his house. Having grown up in a small flat with no yard, even on the dreary winter days he enjoyed viewing the fruits of his labor and would eat his breakfast while leisurely reading the morning papers. Being a creature of habit, every day had a schedule, and Wednesday he would work out at a high-end gym in the West End, then lunch at The Ivy, an exclusive restaurant known for its fine food and celebrity clientele.

As he settled into his chair and sipped his freshly squeezed orange juice, he picked up the first of three tabloids, staring at the headline, and the stunning blonde girl who graced the front page.

LUCINDA SOMERS TO STAY AT SINCLAIR MANSION

The story outlined how the young rising star had flown to London in the Sinclair Holdings jet, and was staying with the wealthy business tycoon. Joseph Cardinelli was in the photograph, though not mentioned in the article, but the image of the handsome man was clear. Darren, who considered himself the ultimate playboy, wondered if the dashing figure was her boyfriend or just a handler, and scanning the other papers he found his answer.

‘Pictured with Lucinda Somers, her American bodyguard, Joseph Cardinelli.’

He had a number of high-profile contacts in the show business crowd, and decided to call around and see if the young beauty would be attending a party anywhere. She was one good-looking woman, and if she wasn’t traveling with anyone he’d throw his hat in the ring to show her the sights.

Having breakfast in the intimate dining room at Simon’s house, Lucinda was a very happy young woman. Her slight hangover was playing second fiddle to her excitement over the press coverage, though she didn’t understand why she had received such attention. In Los Angeles and New York it was expected, but she had no idea her fame had spread across the Atlantic.

“This is so cool,” she exclaimed between bites of toast. “I’m in every paper.”

“Does that mean you’re coming to the Ivy?” Joseph grinned. “The paparazzi is camped outside the entrance every day.”

“Yes, I’m going, but for that reason, and that reason alone. I’m still mad at you,” she huffed.

“What happened last night was entirely your fault, and you know it,” he scolded.

His cell phone chimed, and pulling it from his pocket he saw it was Simon.

“Good morning, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Good morning, Joseph, are you alone?”

“I will be in a moment,” he replied, standing up and heading for the hallway. Lucinda didn’t even glance his way, the newspaper accounts of her visit holding her captive.

“Okay, I can talk now,” Joseph continued, closing the dining room door behind him. “We’re all set for the Ivy, and I’ll be sure to get there at 11:45. We’ll be sitting at the bar when Hardcastle arrives at his usual time.”

“Remember, let him start the conversation,” Simon reminded him.

“I will, though I’m sure it will be Lucinda he’ll be talking to,” Joseph replied.

“No doubt. You won’t have to worry about the seating, it’s all taken care of. You’ll be at the table right next to his. The reporter will interrupt you after your entree and before your dessert. That should give you plenty of time to plant the seeds.”

“I’ll call you when I can, Mr. Sinclair,” Joseph assured him.

“Joseph, it’s fine for you to call me Simon.”

“Thank you,” Joseph replied, “I, uh, appreciate that.”

“How are things going with Lucinda?”

Joseph paused, then decided to tell Simon everything that had happened.

“There was an episode last night. One of your replacement trinkets landed against a wall and I took matters into my own hands, if you get my drift. I believe a lesson was learned, at least I hope so,” Joseph said diplomatically.

“Indeed?” Simon remarked. “Well done.”

“Thank you. I must admit, it was very gratifying.”

“I’m sure. Well, on that happy note, I’ll be eagerly awaiting your call after your lunch.”

“Speak to you then,” Joseph promised, and clicking off the line, returned to the dining room to finish his breakfast.

“Everything good?” Belle asked as Simon hung up the phone.

They had just finished their morning meal, and Belle was sipping the last of her coffee.

“Appears so,” Simon smiled, thinking about the bratty Lucinda getting her bottom smacked.

“You have a wicked smile on your face, Simon Sinclair,” she grinned.

“I think Lucinda may have received her first spanking last night.”

“You’re kidding. Seriously?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“It appears so,” Simon nodded.

“Good for Joseph,” Belle beamed.

“Speaking of such things,” Simon smiled, walking across and pulling her to her feet, “I have made a decision.”

“About?”

“Every Friday night at 8 p.m, I’m going to spank you. It will be as regular as clockwork and nothing will be permitted to interfere.”

The butterflies sprang to life, and Belle gazed up at him as questions buzzed around her head.

“Why? What if we’re out somewhere. We have such a-”

“Stop,” he said firmly. “If we are out I will find a place, even if that place is the back of the car, or bathroom. If you recall, I whipped your bottom in a dressing room once.”

“Yes, I remember,” she whispered, feeling the familiar heat wash through her.

“I still have that little stick, and if we have a commitment, you’ll be required to carry it in your handbag and alert me when it’s 7:55.”

“And the why?”

“It’s part of the journey I talked about, you and I going further together,” Simon smiled. “More specifically, I have chosen Friday because a hot bottom is an excellent way to begin the weekend, and because all week you’ll be thinking about it, won’t you, Belle?”

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed, leaning against him.

“If I put my hand between your legs right now, what will I find?” he murmured.

“Oh, Simon,” she moaned.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“I’d be…I mean…I’m wet.”

“Does that also answer your question?” he smiled.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sit down,” he ordered. “I’m going to lock the elevator.”

Gratefully dropping back in her chair, she watched him move across the dining room into the foyer, and closing her eyes she squeezed her thighs together, anxious for his return. She thought it was taking a while, until she saw him returning carrying the stick he’d been talking about.

“Lay on the table,” he said sternly.

She knew not to question, so quickly moved their plates and the various breakfast dishes out of the way, then heart pounding, carefully crawled across the white tablecloth and settled on her back. Standing over her, Simon ran his fingertips down her body before sliding her dress to her waist, revealing her red lace panties.

“Pretty,” he mumbled, moving his hand over the front panel before slipping his fingers inside the gusset. “Knees up.”

Softly moaning, Belle closed her eyes and raised her knees, wriggling against his probing hand.

“You are wet, very,” he agreed.

Withdrawing his hand, he picked up a sharp, serrated-edged knife, and carefully slipped it under the delicate material.

“Stay completely still,” he warned, and a moment later, sliced the knife through the lace, and yanking the fabric away, exposed her glossy, sable fur.

“Now then,” he sighed, sitting down, “play with yourself.”

Belle was lost in her heat, and dropping her fingers where his hand had just traveled, she circled and rubbed her clit. She knew he was seated between her legs, watching every lewd move, and when she felt his soft palm caress the inside of her thigh, she groaned and rubbed harder, spurred on by his touch.

“Hmmm, very nice,” he purred, but a moment later his hand slapped down, eliciting a shocked cry.

“Such a beautiful palm print,” he remarked, tracing the image with his finger.

“Sir…”

“Yes, Belle?”

“You’re driving me mad,” she whimpered.

“Is that a complaint?”

“No, Sir, I love it.”

Smiling, he stood up and unfolded his small stick, snapping the two ends together, then slid it along the warm, pink mark.

“I’m going to tap you, Belle, with my little rod, and continue tapping you until you come.”

“Oooh, yes, Sir,” she groaned.

Lightly flicking the small stick against her skin, he watched her writhe and moan as the tingling bites marked her flesh. Keeping the miniature rod on her inner thigh, he alternated legs, moving in an upward then downward pattern, making sure not to smack the same spot twice. The red blotches created a tapestry of hot pain, and as her cries of pleasure escalated, so too did the sting of his tiny cane, until at last she wailed, the intense orgasm streaming through her sex, causing her back to arch and her legs to close tightly across her hand.

Simon’s cock, still tucked away in his trousers, was at its bursting point, and dropping the stick he quickly unzipped and pulled it out, rubbing urgently, releasing his hot cream and spilling it over her reddened thighs, then closing his eyes, he succumbed to the warm sweetness that engulfed him.

Dropping into a chair he took a few moments to catch his breath before reaching for a clean napkin. Wiping himself, then Belle, he moved to the top of the table, leaned over, and languidly moved his lips against hers, the long, warm, loving kiss, the cherry on top of the delicious cake.

“You are exquisite,” he murmured.

“Simon, that was amazing,” she sighed, lifting her arms and placing them around his neck. “I wish you didn’t have to leave. I want to go back to bed and lay in your arms all day.”

“Mmmm, that sounds divine,” he smiled, “but…”

“I know,” she lamented, “duty calls.”

“What will you be doing to stay out of mischief?” he smiled, extricating himself from her hold.

“I still have some things to organize around here,” she replied, “and I have a germ of an idea percolating, but I don’t want to tell you about it yet.”

“Sounds interesting,” he remarked, “now I must get out of here. I’ll call you later.”

Pecking her on the lips, once, then again, he smiled and winked before heading off to grab his suit coat from his closet, and his briefcase from the study. By the time he returned, Belle had straightened up the table, and after stuffing her torn knickers into a plastic bag, had discarded them in the trash.

“Have a wonderful day, wonderful man,” she smiled, hugging him.

“You too,” he replied.

Holding his hand she walked him to the elevator, and watched as he disappeared behind the closing doors.

J
oseph was driving a Lexus that Simon had borrowed from his office car pool, and as he maneuvered it through the heavy London traffic, Lucinda spent her time constantly checking her makeup and hair. As the restaurant came into view, Joseph spied the photographers gathered around the entrance.

“The press are here to greet you,” he remarked. “Time to put away all that goo.”

“It’s not goo,” Lucinda retorted.

“You’re gorgeous. You don’t need any of that war paint,” he commented, shaking his head.

“Shows what you know. Flash bulbs and daylight totally change your appearance. This goo, as you call it, is for the camera.”

“I stand corrected,” Joseph chuckled, respecting her savvy, and as he pulled the car into the curb, he turned and smiled. “Goo or no goo, you’re still Lucinda Somers, so go wow ‘em.”

“You can’t charm me, Joseph Cardinelli, I’m still mad at you.”

“Your public awaits, young lady,” he replied, refusing to rise to the bait, and pushing the button on his armrest, released the locks.

A valet who had been standing ready immediately opened the door, and when she stepped out in her fishnet-stockinged legs and red stilettos, Joseph heard the cheers and whistles. The short black skirt and red and black blouse with a black faux fur vest was glamorous and eye-catching, and she was instantly peppered with questions as the flash bulbs popped.

Joseph darted around the car and took her by the elbow, but Lucinda had no intention of rushing anywhere, ambling past the press sporting a radiant smile, complimenting them on their marvelous city.

Joseph stepped back to watch, and as she struck pose after pose for the insatiable appetite of the various cameras, he couldn’t help but admire her; she was in her element, and she was loving every minute. Finally joining her, he leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“Always leave them wanting more.”

She flashed him a look of acknowledgement, and let him guide her inside the door.

“Wow, that’s how to enter a restaurant,” she grinned.

“Let’s check in with the hostess, then have a drink at the bar before we eat,” Joseph suggested.