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‘Yeah.’ He takes my elbow and pushes me on. I don’t protest. In fact, if I could click my fingers and magic us away, then I would. Then I wouldn’t have to tolerate the daggers currently stabbing into my back as we escape, and in a stupid fit of possessiveness, I slide my hand onto his arse, for the benefit of Alexa.
‘See you at Andelesea!’ she sings. I’m halfway to turning around, a little confused, when I remember . . .
The gala at Countryscape. ‘She’s going to be there?’ I blurt out, dropping his arse like it’s white hot, turning my stunned face up to him. His attention is centred firmly forward, his flawless profile and perfect nose in perfect view.
‘Sounds like it.’ He speaks on a slight mutter, keeping up his pace.
‘Great.’ I don’t trust Alexa. Not one little bit.
‘Princess?’ Becker’s concerned voice snatches me from my unpleasant thoughts, and I look up at him, seeing the concern in his eyes, too. ‘You okay?’
‘Fine. When’s the gala?’ I walk on in determined strides, planning every evil thing I will do to Alexa if she so much as sniffs Becker.
‘Saturday. You got my tux sorted, didn’t you?’ he asks, his footsteps close behind.
Shit, shit, shit. I need to get his tux dry-cleaned. ‘Yes, all done.’ I cringe, then proceed to mentally drop-kick myself across Bond Street. Not just because I’ve fucked up, but because she is going to be at the Andelesea Gala, and Becker’s going to be in a tux.
‘What are they showcasing at Andelesea, anyway?’ I ask. The most famous annual gala in the art world is renowned for boasting exclusive exhibits.
‘Heart of Hell.’
My steps falter. ‘The gigantic ruby?’
‘That’s the one.’
I’m not so irritated now, more envious. I’d love to see the elusive gem that’s been the talk of precious-stone experts for decades. It’s been kept from public view by its discoverer and private owner, J.P. Randel, since it was unearthed in 1939. Everyone was beginning to think it was a myth. ‘So it does exist?’ I ask, keeping my pace as Becker follows me, but then I remember something in the NDA, and I skid to a stop. ‘Wait, am I coming with you?’ I ask the open space in front of me.
I catch sight of Becker out the corner of my eye, then he’s standing before me, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Of course.’
‘Oh good.’ I smile brightly at him. ‘That’ll please Alexa.’
‘Eleanor, don’t let her bother you. She’s a leech.’
‘She’s not bothering me.’
He rolls his eyes and cocks his arm out for me to take. ‘I need to pick a dress for you.’
He does? ‘Do I have consultation rights?’ I ask, letting him lead me down the road.
He ponders my question for a few moments, then looks down at me with a conniving grin. ‘I have only a few rules that you must adhere to. Other than that, I’m pretty flexible.’
‘And what are the rules?’ I’m wary, and I get a strange feeling that I need to be.
‘Legs out and high heels.’ He reels off his demands wistfully, a delighted smile on his face. He’s already thought about this. Those rules came too quick and easily. So I’ll be wearing a cocktail dress? I nod agreeably to myself. ‘And no knickers,’ he tags on the end.
‘No knickers?’ I blurt out, throwing him a horrified look. ‘A short dress and no knickers? At Countryscape?’
‘You’re a clever girl, princess.’ He stops and takes the tops of my arms, bringing his face close to mine. ‘High heels, short dress, no knickers,’ he whispers, his eyes scanning my face while he holds me in place. I’m not stupid. I know why he’s insisting on me wearing a short dress and no knickers. Not only will he relish in the thought of my arse bare beneath, but he’s also making allowances for a spanking session should the urge come over him. And I don’t doubt it will.
‘That could be awkward when I drop-kick Alexa.’ I say thoughtfully, and Becker laughs loudly.
‘Fucking hell, I love you.’
Warmth. God, it’s the best feeling. ‘I’m not going to give you any reason to spank me.’
He grins and plants a forceful kiss on my lips, sucking me further into his debasing world. ‘I don’t need a reason to indulge in what’s mine, princess.’
‘When are you going to accept it, Mr Hunt?’ I ask around his kiss. ‘You do not own me.’
‘Keep telling yourself that.’
‘I will.’
He grabs my hand, checking for traffic, before we cross the road towards the side street where Becker parked his pretty red Ferrari. ‘Did you get hold of the Andy Warhol exhibition catalogue?’ he asks as he opens the door and I slide in.
‘They’ve reserved one for you. It’ll be mailed this week.’
‘Super.’ He shuts the door and rounds the car, sliding in and switching his specs for shades before he starts the car and pulls off. I go to my phone to check my emails, seeing one has just landed from Sotheby’s.
