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“Alright. We have a deal then.” He said, his voice colder than he had intended it.
“And I’ll stick to it.” She tried to smile, but it came out as a grimacy line of her teeth.
That night Mark didn’t sleep well. When sleep did catch him, weird dreams surfaced. Erotic, molten dreams of them together, entwined arms, legs, sweat bodies, groans. He awoke in a start, hard and ready. He panted in total helplessness.
The worst part was that he hadn’t told her everything about her father’s death. As her guardian he had come into information that he didn’t share with her. If he had, things would have been very different.
Amy tossed and turned in her bed as she tried to find the oblivion of sleep, which she had been denied almost all night. She languished in the sheets and steamy images deceived all censorship and popped up in her mind in vivid colours, even though she had no experience at all. Her body assailed by reactions and sensations unknown to her. Her colleagues at school had dramatic crushes on teachers. Other girls were already dating their male classmates and discovering sensuality. But Amy was so focused on her studies that she had little time for such things. Now she had a future and an aim to pursue, no way she’d fill her mind with foolish delusions.
The whole incident was forgotten as Amy prepared for the prom. She was very excited about it. The next few weeks she was all around rehearsals, dresses and invitations. One of her classmates approached her to ask her to be his date for the party, which got her bubbling in cheerfulness.
That evening Amy entered the Georgian mansion and ran up the stairs to her en-suite in such a blissful state that she fell back down on her flowery bed-spread sighing, open-armed. Hers had become a real girlie room with ribbon-tied curtains, pink shaded wall paper, brass-boarded bed and even a doll-chair. She had been given freedom to choose everything she liked during the refurbishing. She heard Mark arrive, so she sprang down again to meet him.
“Mark!” She stormed in the sitting room, where he was pouring himself some whiskey. “Guess what?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “Andrew Taylor invited me to be his date for the prom! Isn’t this marvellous?”
Mark still had his back to her, facing the bar; he froze, his drink mid-way to his thin sensuous lips. Cold evil claws squeezed his heart so tight he thought he’d stop breathing. All colour drained from his face and his knuckles white around the glass. He forced himself to swallow its entire content as silence lengthened away. Slowly, plastering a false smile on his face, he turned to her. “Why, this is good news, Amy.”
Of course he knew this Taylor boy. He and Amy had been rather close this last school year and the boy had been around a couple of times. Certainly, as her guardian, he tried to check on her acquaintances to keep her from bad influences. And, once more, of course this horrid feeling wasn’t jealousy! He should be appallingly ashamed of winnowing such a thought about a girl half his age.
Amy nodded gladly, her silky curls dancing around her face. Her remarkable translucent honey eyes smiled wide. But then she made the mistake of looking at his deep set eyes. They sparkled with something she could not identify precisely and diametrically different from the smile on his devilishly sensuous mouth. They,
his eyes, kept her captive by sheer magnetic force. She registered him tilting his head slowly, angling his stare in a manner she was starting to recognise as menacing. Her legs moved backing away on their own accord and found the back of the sofa. If they hadn’t, the instincts governing her body would rather lie on it in blunt suggestion. Her hands at her back grabbed the edge to hold herself still and composed. If only her heart didn’t pound so outrageously, for god’s sake!
Mrs. Smith appeared at the threshold to say that dinner was ready. The awkward moment dispersed like clouds in the wind.
Mark begun to see Greta more often. The top-model was obviously very interested in him and he decided to wine and dine her so many times as his work allowed. He had no complaints, since both had healthy sexual desires. Well, he had no complaints as far as sex went, there was no further satisfaction there for him. But he dreaded closing his eyes during the whole thing for his mind took to this hellish habit to drift elsewhere; or should he say ‘else-who’?
For good measure, he also transformed one of his backrooms in a gym. He was probably getting too sedentary, lowering the quality of his sleep. All the best gym equipment was installed and he built a dry heat bath and a Jacuzzi. Top-luxury the lot it, of course.
Amy was intrigued. Mark was staying less at home. He came late at night several times a week and spent most weekends away. Maybe he was involved with one more of his numerous mistress and she couldn’t imagine why it caused this discomfort she felt innerly. It wasn’t rare for her to lay awake in the night waiting to hear he come home. And since his gym room was ready, he had been using it intensively as well.
An alien sense of loneliness crept around her heart. She hadn’t felt like this since her father passed away. She shivered at the memory. She remembered the hollow helpless feeling she had after the funeral. All alone in the world, no one to turn to. When Mark agreed to receive her, she felt like a monumental weight had been lifted from her shoulders. He didn’t have much time for her, it’s true, but he made her feel welcome there. The weeks that followed her arrival at the Georgian mansion were full of sadness. Thoughts of her father, her step-mother and her mother, of whom she little had recollections, had haunted her. Her pillow would muffle her sobs many a night.
A couple of weeks after her arrival, Mark had had her things come from Cardiff and the precious memories from her past were carefully kept in her bedroom. But the mourning faded and she was able to move on. She still felt a tug of discomfort around talking about this period of her life, even to Mrs. Smith, who she considered her closest friend.
Chapter II
Mark was sitting on the sofa in the sitting room in impeccable tuxedo, waiting for Amy. She had invited him to her prom. Even though he knew the ‘oldies’ weren’t supposed to attend, he couldn’t resist the temptation. He dismissed Andrew’s notion of taking her, as protocol demanded.
He heard stilettos descending the steps and rose from the sofa. When she came into the room Mark swallowed dryly. She looked stunning in a long coral dress falling perfectly over her feminine curves, matching her honey eyes and cinnamon hair dazzlingly. The thin straps on her shoulder led the eyes foolishly to her full breasts under the well-tailored bodice and its simple cut evidenced her round hips and long legs. Her silky curls were held up, with many of them surrounding her heart-shaped face.
Mark tried to give his face a blasé air, but his sparkling eyes were hypnotised, his breath arrested in his rib-cage. “You look very beautiful, Amy.” His voice came cold, as if to cap a boiling pan.
Amy thought that he was no less handsome, the tuxedo making him seem even taller, its black fabric darkening his eyes and lending his dark, straight hair a special shade.
“Thanks. You too.” She said calmly, but there was a storm unfolding in her stomach, coming from heaven knew where.
The party reached its peak and Amy was radiant with her success among her peers. Andrew kept her on the dance-floor, proud of dating the most beautiful girl to be seen there. She had felt Mark’s feline eyes on her most of the time, making her feel funny.
At last Andrew conducted her out of the dance-floor, giving Mark the opportunity to ask her. He was blind to the fact that he was surrounded by teenagers, as he bitterly endured Andrew monopolising his ex-charge.
Amy held Mark’s arm as she was led back to the dance-floor. He reposed a light warm hand on her waist, keeping her at arm’s length. The physical contact with him, his musky scent wired a shiver through her and she kept her eyes low so as to focus on the music and not falter.
He wondered why the devil he’d asked her to dance. Even at arm’s length, she was too close for comfort. He could smell her suave flowery perfume, feel the silky touch of her dress and have a vision of the cleavage the dress allowed. It felt mesmerizing; he was engulfed in the foggy presence of her. His mind produced the most ruthless images. He saw himself lowering his head so that his parted lips could touch the creamy silk of the base of her neck. Maybe for the first time. His parted lips would track down to her bosom, inhaling her flowery scent. How would it feel if his fingers went down from her shoulder to hook delicately the top of her dress cupping her swelled femininity? What if his mouth followed? He sucked in the air harshly, censoring the train of his indecent thoughts. He kept her as far as he could, desperate to disguise the unlawfulness of his body state, pressing unbearable weight on his conscience.
Amy was proud to be doing well with the dance-steps, but the heat of his body was picking on her. A feeling of laxity cut through her. Her limbs were slow. Her lashes seemed heavy, her head nearly giving way, her lips dry and parted. A drunk couple bumped on them and she was thrown against his body. He held her instinctively. She registered that something was not normal. Her beautiful eyes darted up to him as her body responded frantically to his.
Bloody hell, swore Mark silently. But then she lifted her huge, surprised eyes to him and he definitely bordered insanity, as his piercing eyes merged in hers. The electricity in this exchange cooked high and he was at a loss at how to cool it down. In a legitimate way. Their eyes stared for long seconds in a universe of wordless communication, their bodies moving automatically in an unknown rhythm, still closely touching. For those brief seconds he was taken off to paradise. A paradise of unsurpassed delights.
