Chapter Two

Cassandra

 

“Thank goodness.” There was no one there, but I said the words to myself after I fell onto the sofa and removed my heels. With London prices, the space around me was what might be known as compact and bijou. Still, I made the most of the four rooms at my disposal.

I allowed myself fifteen minutes. “Can’t stay here all night.” I changed out of my clothes into cozy pajamas. Clothes were my one indulgence and, even then, most of them came from charity shops. If a person knew where to go, there were bargains to be found. Still, executive personal assistant to the CEO of a company paid well enough for me to manage to indulge myself occasionally, and I’d built up a fair investment portfolio over my years in the US. This had remained largely untouched for the rainy day that might come. Life had taught me to expect sudden downpours.

Since I’d returned to the UK from the States, I hadn’t indulged much in other activities—just the odd one-off evening, as much for my own pleasure as theirs. I kidded myself I was on the look-out, once again, for something or someone, who had needs I could cater for on a more regular basis. If I could only get past my memories of her.

I thought of the dress hanging on my wardrobe door and the red-soled heels I intended to wear with it for the function tomorrow. One of the benefits of working for someone who preferred horses to people was I often got to represent her. In the past, on these occasions, I’d find someone to amuse myself, who might lead to more—the richer and more powerful, the better. I’d never allowed any of them to matter to me except one, and much to my disappointment after our reunion last week, she hadn’t called. So much for hope. Maybe I wasn’t the expert in judging people I’d always thought I was.

Veronica Smith—the one who’d got away. She hadn’t been handed her money on a plate or achieved her position through nepotism. She wasn’t one of these people who never laughed, fearing a wrinkle, or ate, fearing an ounce of fat might form. Not Ronnie. We’d met in Manhattan, at a management conference for women. I’d been employed to take the minutes for meetings, while she was one of the speakers, proudly explaining how she, as a woman, had worked her way up in her organization. I’d been hooked from that first moment, though I’d never have revealed my infatuation.

The first thing I’d noticed was her smile. I’d loved how she’d removed her shoes and rubbed her feet during her talk. I’d switched the place settings at the dinner and sat next to her, finding my gaydar in full working order. We’d spent the night together. I’d proceeded with care, but a few occasions later, I’d discovered how she loved to relinquish control, and how much I loved to tell her what to do. Okay, yes, it was a cliché that someone in control at work wanted to abandon it elsewhere, but I had proof of how often it happened. Ronnie and I had had four glorious months in New York before she disappeared, and I’d had no idea where or why.

But business news always leaked, and it soon became general knowledge there had been some trouble at the company she’d worked for. People had left without explanation amid questions asked, but few details had been officially released. Ronnie had gone. I shouldn’t have missed her—after all, what we’d had wasn’t serious—but I did. I’d broken my cardinal rule and begun to fuck with my heart, begun to need, begun to daydream, begun to think… No, don’t say it.

Now, here we were, both back in Britain. I could have asked her why she’d left, but desire had overridden curiosity. If she hadn’t called me, at least I knew where she worked. I laughed at the irony of the situation. So much for being in control.

That night, I fell asleep thinking about how I could make her mine again. Touching myself, I thought of her face, imagined her fingers, and came so hard I screamed into the darkness. The need to be near her possessed me as much as a desire for her touch. But life had to go on.

A couple of days later, I made my entrance in another posh hotel, took a glass of champagne and glanced around the large room. People gathered in groups, some standing and some already at their tables. After dinner, there would be the awards and a charity auction. Many of the great and good were here. Business people, pop stars, actors, sports stars and journalists mixed with politicians, all eager to get their pictures in the papers for winning an award from whatever magazine was giving them away. Melanie had sent me. I hadn’t even bothered to look at what the occasion was for.

For me, these evenings were usually about connecting, finding someone who might please me. If I gained from the arrangement, so much the better, but taking power from the powerful was often enough in itself. People could judge me if they wanted, but everyone had needs. Through no fault of my own, I’d been denied the opportunities my ability deserved—no university for me.

I’d gone into an office, grabbed chances with both hands and become an excellent judge, or so I thought, of people and their needs. At night I’d checked out certain clubs with clients who wanted discreet ‘help’ and offered the sort of therapy some people desired. It was cheaper for them than paying by the hour to tell someone how much they hated their parents. I might have been an employee, but control came in different forms.

I found my way to my table. The food, at least, was excellent, even if the company was yawn-inducing. Most of the conversation was dominated by a reality show pair I’d never heard of. Still, I didn’t envy their fifteen minutes of fame. No one interested me. I wanted out as soon as possible. It wasn’t until the auction started that I noticed her easing her way between tables and out of the room. How had I missed her before?

Excusing myself, I followed Ronnie, expecting she’d headed for the ladies’ restroom. The palatial room was empty, with only one of the four toilet doors closed. Musak played into the area and I hummed along while checking my makeup. When the toilet flushed, I hurriedly entered one of the other stalls. I wouldn’t be able to catch her by surprise when I emerged, because of the mirrors, but keeping my face down, I opened the door, moved behind her then looked up. Our gazes met and she jumped, splashing water over the sink and herself.

“Cass! What the hell?”

“You didn’t call,” I said, fixing a sad expression on my face. I stroked my fingers down her bare arm, loving the goosepimples that followed my touch. When she leaned back, I relaxed and placed a string of tiny kisses on the nape of her neck.

“I wasn’t sure,” she said. Her breathing had increased. “There are reasons.”

“You didn’t call to say goodbye two years ago either—just left me hanging, imagining all sorts. I thought we had something. I thought we’d gone beyond…” Damn. I’ve said too much. Keep control. Ronnie tried to turn, but I wrapped my arms around her, stopping her from moving, then rested my head on her shoulder and breathed in her perfume. Say something. Don’t let her go without telling her.

“Did you know I’d be here?” she said. “Are you here for me?”

I wanted to tell her I was, but I shook my head. “Melanie sends me to these things. I’m supposed to be buying something to represent the company.”

“She must trust you.”

I smiled. “You know me. I can make myself indispensable in all sorts of ways.” I slipped a strap of her dress over her shoulder and pressed several kisses to her skin.

“Someone could come in,” she said, glancing at the door.

“But isn’t that part of the fun?” I covered her breast with my palm. Under the material, her nipple responded. “I love your new hair color. Red doesn’t suit everyone, but it does you with those blue eyes of yours. Open your legs.” Yes, I was pushing her, but I wanted her too.

“What?”

“You heard me, pet. Open your legs. I want to touch you.”

“We can’t.” She clutched at the sink to steady herself.

“Do it.” I knew what tone worked with her. If I’d gone too far, she’d tell me. “I want to touch you, Ronnie. I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you? Let me. I want to see your face in the mirror when you orgasm.”

She moved and I moved close behind her, lifting her dress, placing my hand between her thighs, reaching up until I could push a finger past her panties and inside the warmth and wetness. She groaned. I’d deny it, but the sound went straight to my pussy. Ignoring my own needs, I pressed and rubbed her clit.

“Oh God, Cass.” Her eyes darkened. I kissed the back of her neck again and she moved her hips. “Harder, please. Don’t stop.” I didn’t. Her body tightened. She stood with her head back and mouth open, then came, breathing my name over and over, mumbling how much she’d missed me, until it all became too much.

“No more. Too sensitive.”

I withdrew my hand, reached around her and washed it under the tap while she leaned over the sink, head down. A noise at the door alerted me to someone outside and I quickly moved to the dryer, giving us distance, then, when the person came in, hurried out of the door with no more words. I wiped away tears. My heart thumped as my panic surged. I waited for my fear to subside. Ever since I’d been young, I’d only valued people by what they could do for me, but Ronnie had somehow got under my skin and I wanted more than these fleeting moments of pleasure. In control once more, I didn’t see Ronnie re-enter the main room when I returned to my boring companions. Perhaps she’d cut and run.

A little while later, after I’d bought supplies for a children’s charity with the company money, a waiter brought a card to the table. Written on the back was a message.

 

If you want more than this.

 

The words were followed by a date, a place and a time, two weeks from today along with the instruction—pack for a weekend. I was intrigued. Did she want more? She’d underlined than, rather than writing of. We’d have a whole weekend together, not just hours or minutes. Okay, the sex is great, but a relationship? I’d never, but I couldn’t deny feeling lonely or missing her. I knew the hotel. It was right on the seafront and had five stars. A weekend by the sea with Ronnie. I had two long weeks to argue with myself.