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‘You listen to me, you daft dog. Stay.’ Becker’s bare feet thump the floor as he makes his way back to the bed, constantly checking behind him to make sure his wayward pet is staying put. I bite my lip, watching Winston follow Becker’s every pace with his droopy eyes, a definite curl of his jowly lip. And I stay still as Becker gets on the bed and inches towards me, keeping a close eye on his dog, worried that he might spring into psychotic mode at any moment. He takes my arm, and Winston lets out a low grumble.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, putting up a little resistance when Becker tugs me towards him, still watching his dog.
‘He needs to learn who you belong to.’
I pull back. ‘Becker, this—’
‘Jesus, princess, don’t fight me. He’ll think I’m attacking you.’
I stop struggling and allow Becker to pull me onto his lap, all under Winston’s close observation. ‘He looks pissed off,’ I say, following Becker’s slow approach as he blindly negotiates my legs around his waist, turning me into him so I’m straddling his lap. I lose my sight of Winston. I’m not cool with that at all, not when he’s so . . . volatile.
Once Becker has me where he wants me, I glance over my shoulder and find Winston hasn’t moved a muscle. ‘Mine,’ Becker declares crisply, skating his palms to my bum and squeezing. ‘All of it, boy. Get used to it.’
Woof!
‘Share?’ He questions. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Woof!
‘I’ll let you cuddle her,’ he goes on, and I smile, totally endeared by the conversation he’s having with his dog. ‘But you will remember who she belongs to.’
Winston whimpers dejectedly, as if completely understanding what Becker is saying.
‘You want a cuddle now?’ he asks, and Winston releases another whimper, this one pleading. ‘Come on then.’ Becker pats the mattress next to us, and it takes Winston no time at all to catapult his heavy body up onto the bed. We jolt as a result of his landing, and I laugh, feeling his wet tongue attack my back.
‘Hey,’ Becker scolds sharply. ‘I said you could cuddle her. I said nothing about kissing.’
I release Becker’s shoulders and give Winston some fuss, scratching at his ears until he caves under the pleasure and collapses to his side beside us. ‘You’re so cute,’ I coo.
‘But not as cute as me, eh?’
Chuckling, I take my spare hand to Becker’s head and muss up his hair before scratching behind his ear. ‘Not as cute as you,’ I confirm, bringing the sweetest smile to his handsome face.
‘I adore you, woman.’ He hauls me forward and demonstrates how much, cuddling me fiercely. ‘I fucking adore you.’
I smile into his shoulder, returning his clinch. ‘Super,’ I breathe, something catching my eye – something glimmering from Winston’s collar. ‘What’s that?’
I sit up and reach forward, turning Winston’s collar on his neck until Becker’s mother’s ring sparkles up at me.
Becker laughs and unfastens the buckle. ‘Who put that there, boy?’ he asks, but Winston just looks up through droopy eyes. I’m sure if dogs could shrug, he would. Becker fingers the ring for a few moments, lost in thought. Then he looks at me as he holds it out. ‘Can I?’ he asks nervously.
I say nothing, just nod and hold out my hand, letting him slide his grandmother’s emerald ring back onto my finger.
Where it should be.
Chapter 31
It’s the day of the annual Andelesea Gala. Things have been quiet around The Haven the past couple of days, the atmosphere heavy, and I’ve lost myself in work in an attempt to hide from it, despite it being Saturday. Gramps is on his feet, but Mrs Potts is keeping close by his side. His walking stick, however, isn’t. One can only assume it’s still hidden in the wall, and I’ve had to force myself to stop thinking about whether Becker knows where that hiding place is. The old man is quietly pensive. Ghosts are clearly back to haunt him. And Becker.
I’ve spent the past few hours in Becker’s apartment, slowly getting ready. The winning dress is like a second skin, and the shoes comfier than the height of the heel would suggest. I glance down and smile at the nude Choos.
‘Fuck . . . me . . .’ A stunned voice hits me from behind, and I whirl around, finding Becker adorned in a black tuxedo, looking like he might have just fallen from Heaven. Good lord, he looks unfathomably handsome. And angelic. My Saint Sinner.
My fiancé.
He looks just about as perfect as perfect is possible. Gorgeous. The fact that his bow tie is simply hanging around his neck only adds to his already ridiculous sex appeal. Jesus, I could eat him alive.
Just like that time in the revolving door, he stands, stance wide, hands in his pockets, and accepts the close scrutiny that he’s under. His good looks are dangerous on the best of days. Tonight, in that tux, he’s lethal. I won’t be able to take my eyes off him all night.
Lifting my delighted gaze, I find his face. He still has his scruff, and his hair is a roughed-up mess atop his beautiful head. And his glasses . . .
I sigh happily and fall into a daze, mentally undressing him as I reach up and put my earring in. ‘You look edible,’ I confess, no holding back. My fiancé is plain fucking magnificent.
He says nothing and moseys over, his face straight, his eyes running up and down the blood-red dress. When he reaches me, I finish putting my earring in and let my arms fall to my side, returning the favour and standing quietly while he drinks me in. ‘Are you attached to this dress?’ he asks seriously, reaching forward and drawing a light line from my hip up to my breast.
I clamp my lips together to stop any tell-tale signs of want escaping.
‘Princess?’
‘Yes.’ I push my answer out with some determined effort.
‘Well, later it will be coming off quicker than abra-fucking-cadabra.’
I smile, fond memories of our first time together bombarding me. ‘I look forward to it.’
He grins and reaches for my hand, taking a comfy grip. ‘Ready?’
‘You sure this isn’t too much?’ I indicate down my dress. ‘Won’t they all be in gowns?’
‘You are not they. That’s one of the reasons why I love you.’ He points to my dress. ‘This is you, and it is most definitely me, too.’
‘Because you can access my arse.’
‘Precisely. The fact you look like a savage beauty only makes it all the sweeter.’ He whirls me around, and my back hits his chest with force. I gasp – part in shock, part in anticipation. His strong forearm rests on my belly and constricts, forcing me to him. Then his lips are at my ear. I can feel his mood pressed into my bottom. ‘I feel it’s only right that I tell you what I plan on doing to you later.’ His palm meets the outside of my inner-thigh and starts a torturous climb up, making my whole body begins to pulse.
‘What are you going to do?’ My voice is jagged, broken by a craving that I’m unable to control. It’s standard when his hands are all over me. When he’s whispering in my ear. When he’s simply close by.
‘I’m going to fuck you.’ He makes no bones about it, his hand reaching my knickers and cupping me possessively over the material. My arse pushes into his groin in a futile attempt to escape his touch. ‘So fucking hard, you’ll be seeing stars, princess.’ He slips a finger past the seam of my knickers and releases a hot stream of air into my ear. ‘Jesus, you’re drenched.’
I sigh, eyes closed, body rolling.
He enters me slowly, deliberately, and circles his fingers expertly. I cry out, and he thrusts his groin into me. ‘Who owns you, Eleanor?’
‘No one,’ I gasp, flexing my hips to meet his rotations.
He bites down on my ear, and I can feel him smiling against me. Then his fingers are gone, and it’s all I can do not to scream my devastation. The hem of my dress is lifted quickly and a clean, precise palm col
lides with my arse.
‘Fucking hell, Becker.’ I jolt forward, and he catches me, twirling me around.
‘I thought we agreed no knickers?’ He dips and slowly drags them down my legs as I narrow my eyes on him.
‘I don’t remember agreeing.’
‘Are you protesting?’
‘Yes. It’ll be . . . chilly.’
‘On the contrary, it’ll be very hot.’ He grins as I lift each foot in turn and he casts them aside. Bloody hell, I must remember not to bend, sit, crouch.
He pulls my hem down, satisfied. ‘Let’s go.’ He takes my hand and leads on, leaving me no option but to bury the craving he’s triggered.
‘Did you see your granddad?’ I ask, brushing my hair from my face and patting at my damp cheeks.
‘Yes.’
‘And how is he?’
‘Quiet.’
I glance up at Becker, seeing him focused forward, not a hint of his thoughts evident. I’m not sure whether to be worried or relieved by this. The showdown over the map has unsettled . . . everything.
When we arrive at my apartment block to pick up Lucy and Mark, I can’t help but stare up at my window, lost in thought. I came to London a single woman and planned on keeping it that way. This apartment was my new home. In less than three months, I’m engaged and this place isn’t my home any more. It’s burning my brain trying to figure out how my life has turned around so quickly, and how I’ve lost my conscience, morals and sanity along the way. ‘Still no idea on who broke into my apartment?’
Becker, too, looks up at the window. ‘Whoever it was covered their tracks very well. Someone was looking for something.’
‘Like what?’
He shrugs. ‘Inside information on the Hunt Corporation, I guess. Everyone knows getting into The Haven is impossible.’
‘I’m just glad they can’t break into my mind.’
‘People will try. Never forget that.’
I inwardly laugh. As if I could. ‘It’s got to be Wilson, hasn’t it?’
‘I would have guessed that, yes. But he’s not smart enough to cover his tracks. He’s sloppy.’
‘Not smart enough? He stole an O’Keeffe in broad daylight.’
Becker looks at me out the corner of his eye, humming his agreement, as Lucy and Mark hop in, all excited. Our conversation is brought to an abrupt halt. ‘Evening,’ Lucy sings, getting comfy in the back.
I turn in my seat, finding my friend dressed in a lovely pink cocktail dress, with thin straps and a high neckline. ‘Went for legs tonight, then?’
She glances down on a smile. ‘I googled Andelesea. I’m guessing tits and legs wouldn’t go down well. Though judging by the length of that red number, I shouldn’t have worried.’
Becker laughs as I reach for my dress and wriggle it down my thighs.
‘I wouldn’t have complained,’ Mark pipes in, grinning. He looks dapper in a black tux, too, though his bow tie is fastened neatly, and he’s shaved, unlike Becker. He’s also styled his hair, unlike Becker.
‘You both look great,’ I say, turning back in my seat as Becker slams the car into gear and shoots off down the road.
He looks up at the rear-view mirror. ‘Are you going to behave tonight?’ he asks Lucy.
‘Hand on my heart.’ She grins, and I turn into Becker.
‘Are you?’ I ask.
He chucks me a roguish smile. ‘Why, princess. I’m a saint.’
Chapter 32
The huge elaborate mansion set in the middle of nowhere has the same effect on me it did the last time I was here, except it seems more foreboding in the dark, all lit up by floodlights. I shiver and peek up at all of the cherubs keeping watch as we roll slowly up the gravel driveway.
After a few noises of awe from the back passengers, we all get out, and Mark and Lucy gaze around in wonder. ‘Wow,’ Lucy breathes. ‘This is some posh shit.’
I roll my eyes and accept Becker’s hand, and he leads us up the endless steps, Lucy and Mark following. When we breach the grand entrance hall of Countryscape, I feel a very different atmosphere to the last time we were here. It’s bursting at the seams with toffee-nosed aristocracy, all draped in ball gowns and tuxedos, sipping from cut-crystal champagne glasses. A woman in the corner is strumming a giant harp, providing soft, rhythmic music, and a waiter is hovering on the threshold of the doors, a tray resting on one palm, his spare arm folded neatly behind his back. I take a glass when he offers the tray, but Becker ignores him, strolling straight through the crowds. I check behind me for Lucy and Mark. Both have helped themselves to a glass of champagne, both gawping around the mansion with wonder in their eyes. I flick my head in indication for them to follow, stalling when Becker is intercepted by an old woman. Her royal blue gown is elaborate but stunning and her multi-coloured beaded purse a total colour-clash, but actually quite quirky. She looks familiar. Her harsh black bob, her feline features that suggest way too much sur—
I physically recoil. Oh my Lord, it’s Lady Winchester!
‘Becker.’ Her eyes light up like diamonds.
‘Lady Winchester.’ Becker confirms my fear and slaps a smile on his face, greeting her politely. He takes her hand and kisses each of her taut cheeks. ‘You look as ravishing as ever.’
She chuckles and gives him a playful knock of his arm. ‘Nonsense. I look like my face has been run over by a bus.’
Lucy squawks loudly, nearly spraying the old lady with her champagne, and I give her a jab in the side with my elbow. ‘Sorry,’ she blurts.
‘Don’t be, lovely.’ Lady Winchester brushes Lucy’s rude gesture aside with ease. ‘My endeavour to retain my youth has backfired on me.’ She points to her chin, which I notice now is particularly hooked. ‘My cheeks are stuffed with sacks of liquid, and I’ve had more stitches in my face than it would take to sew a leg on.’
Lucy and Mark laugh loudly, while I study Becker, trying to read the situation and his persona. He looks entirely comfortable.
‘So, who are these fine young people?’ she asks him, waving a bent finger at us.
Forced into pleasantries, Becker makes the introductions. ‘This is Mark, Lucy, and Eleanor.’ He waves a hand casually to each of us as he pulls his mobile from his inside pocket and frowns down at the screen. ‘Excuse me a moment, Lady Winchester.’ He strides off, answering the call, without another word or a second look at me, so he can’t see my stunned expression. Who’s that, and where is he going?
Lady Winchester gives all of us the once over with her sparkling eyes. ‘Into threesomes?’
It’s me coughing over my champagne this time. Did I hear her right?
‘Don’t look so shocked, kids,’ she says off-hand. ‘I might look like a train wreck, but I’ve still got the moves.’ She winks, and Lucy and Mark fall apart, along with Lady Winchester, while I stare at her, shocked. ‘Come, let me lavish you with tales of London in the sixties. I was a sex siren.’ She beckons them into her personal space, and both of them go, fascinated.
I take their distraction as an opportunity to hunt down Becker, taking off in the direction in which he headed, and I soon find myself in the huge room where the auction was held, but instead of the rows and rows of chairs facing a rostrum, there are now round tables edged with chairs that have huge black silk bows fastened to the back. Each table is covered in blood-red organza, with black orchids arranged elaborately in tall glass vases, and the tableware – plates, bowls and napkins— are all black. Black and red. It’s harsh but forgiving. It’s sexy but tasteful. It’s miles away from the originality of the mansion, but very much in keeping with the Heart of Hell, the giant ruby that’s being showcased this evening. People are milling around, some already seated. I spot Becker at the bar.
‘Haig,’ he mutters to the barman as I join him. ‘On the rocks.’
I place my glass down beside him. ‘That
woman. It’s the Lady Winchester, isn’t it? The one from the file at The Haven.’
‘Yes,’ he answers shortly, keeping his attention away from me. It’s no wonder Becker made a sharp exit from her company. I’ll be sure to steer clear of her for the rest of the evening. We can’t be associated with people under investigation for forged art. Because, of course, my Becker is as straight-laced as they come.
The barman hands Becker his drink, and it’s knocked back in one. He slams his glass down and holds onto it, his fingers white from his harsh grip. I eye him, seeing his breathing increasing, like he’s getting more and more worked up. Something’s not right. Who called him? What did they say?
‘Tell me what’s going on,’ I demand, feeling a bit fretful.
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ He looks at me, pure disdain tarnishing his angel eyes. His lips twist, and he leans in as he reaches into his inside pocket. ‘Why are you making calls to your ex?’
His question is a bolt out of the blue, and I am less than prepared for it. Fuck. ‘It’s not what you think. I was simp—’ I stop abruptly. Wait a minute. ‘How do you even know?’
He looks at me out the corner of his eye, and realisation slams into me.
‘You’ve got my bloody phone bugged, haven’t you?’ I’m flummoxed. ‘That was Percy on the phone giving you details of my recent calls.’ What the fuck is he playing at?
‘If you don’t get the message across,’ Becker ignores my accusation, his tone menacing, ‘then I’m not opposed to doing it myself. I doubt I’ll be as diplomatic as you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Do you still think of him?’
‘Seriously?’ I blurt, outraged. ‘No, I don’t.’ What’s the matter with him? ‘I asked him to return the keys for my father’s shop. That’s all. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning it because—’
‘Because what?’
‘This!’ I snap, boring holes into Becker’s profile with an angry gaze as he stares ahead. ‘But it seems I didn’t need to mention it, since you’re fucking spying on me.’