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Rick released his hand and began to caress her bottom instead, slow gentle strokes of his hand until her tears ceased.
After a few minutes, she lifted her head up and rose so her legs straddled his body. She cocked her head to one side. “This isn’t easy for me,” she said. “I don’t want to say good-bye.”
“Then we shan’t,” said Rick. “Let’s just say you’re going on a trip and nothing else.”
“Tomorrow. You have the tickets?”
“I bought them today. I know you have a valid passport—you were going skiing with your mother, remember?”
“You’ve thought this through?”
“I’ve been busy today. You have to pack. Just essentials.”
“My job—”
“Deal with that later. You can ring from Italy. Leave a message for the housekeeper, explaining you’ve taken a holiday, nothing else for now.”
Leah’s face crumpled as she considered all the things she had to do in the coming days and weeks. Her life was about to be turned upside down yet again.
“I’m sorry,” said Rick. “So sorry.”
Leah pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t ever regret coming back here. I don’t.” She removed her finger. “Do something for me.”
“What?”
“Spank me.”
“Why?” Rick said, surprised.
“Not a naughty spanking. I’m coiled tight. Anxious. When you spank me, it all flies away. I can’t describe it.”
She lay across his lap, just as he had envisaged earlier. However, there was no force involved, no lecturing her, and certainly no hard smacks. Instead, Rick slapped her cheeks methodically and slowly, and between smacks he rubbed and caressed, watching her face carefully. Occasionally there was a grimace, but mostly she lay blissful, eyes shut and lips slightly parted. Nothing was said. What could he say to her to make it better? Her body flopped down, her muscles unclenched, and her hands let go of their grip on the sofa cushion.
“There,” he said finally, giving her behind a gentle pat.
* * *
Very little was said between the couple throughout the evening. He watched her pack, choose her clothes and personal possessions, a few items of jewellery, and a photograph of her father. Following a long hot bath after having picked at her evening meal and having drunk a few glasses of wine, she was soon tucked up in bed, and he sat by the bedroom window, peering behind the curtains and watching. He had no idea if his adversaries knew where they lived; he couldn’t take any chances.
Owls hooted and a fox barked—the only sounds heard as midnight passed by and the night crept on. Rick’s eyelids drooped; he couldn’t resist sleep much longer. With a yawn, his battle to stay awake was lost.
Chapter Twelve
“Blast,” cursed Rick. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel.
“What’s wrong?” Leah leaned forward from the rear seat.
“Feels like a flat tyre. Car’s steering all over the place. I’ll have to pull over somewhere.”
Rick turned the car off the busy highway, down a side street into the dock area. Leah had begged him to drive to Speke Airport via the city centre, so she could have one last look at her home city.
Slowing down, he pulled the car onto a small area of wasteland, the remains of a demolished building and its foundations clearly visible—piles of bricks and rubble formed a wall around the space.
Rick went to investigate the front wheel. “Stay in the car,” he told Leah.
She slumped back in her seat in frustration.
“There is a nail causing a slow puncture. It’s pretty flat now. I’ll have to change it,” he said through the window.
