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I’M GOING TO kill him. Actually. Not just a half-baked attempt. I’m going to kick his arse for this. It’s one thing that Teddy and I joke around and prank each other, but this… This is not funny. I want Dayna back, I know that now, and after the dinner the other night, when she made it clear she wouldn’t be my rebound, I know it’s going to be a long road. Pissing her off by gatecrashing her birthday is going nowhere towards where I want to be.
He waited until we were through security, the knobhead. Then he casually dropped it in to conversation, and even then, only when I asked who else was coming. I should have left then. Turned around and walked out of the airport. But the screwed-up thing is there was a small, tiny part of me that thought this might be a good idea. Idiot.
I flag a flight attendant and order a Bloody Mary, then I sit back in my seat. It really is tough shit now. I’m in this whether I like it or not. And, hey, if I feel like it’s all going pear-shaped, I’ll just ski and drink. I’ll be polite and avoid her, and hopefully I won’t do any irreparable damage to my cause.
I flick through the selection of programmes on my TV and select a Bear Grylls series, trying to keep my eyes forward and ignore my body’s reaction to sitting just feet away from the only woman in the world who really gets my blood pumping. I’m just about to hit play when I hear a sound. A whimper, or hum, maybe a groan. I recognise it immediately. There’s a good chance I imagined it. But I turn my head and look over at Dayna across the empty seat between us. She’s licking her lips, a sight that makes my cock half stiff. I lean back so I can see her screen and catch a glimpse of the movie she’s viewing. She’s watching a couple get down to business. I didn’t imagine that sound at all.
The flight attendant leans over me to offer her a snack, and I snap my head forwards, hoping neither woman noticed the colour in my heated cheeks. I take out the duty-free mag to hide my semi-on. Sitting so close to my greatest temptation, knowing what she’s doing… it’s too much. I jump up and head for the toilet.
I don’t even need to take a leak, but I do need to get a handle on my fucking testosterone. I brace my palms on the sink and stare at my reflection. So maybe I use this weekend to convince her I’m not Satan’s protégé, which arguably, I am. It’s a mountainous task. Somehow I just don’t think, Hey, Dayna, sorry I crashed your thirtieth and sorry I broke your heart. Can we be together now? is going to cut it.
What am I doing here? This is insane. That face, that body, the sound of her fucking erotic moan. My breathing thickens. I move my hand to my hardening dick and close my eyes to see the plump flesh of her red lips. The smooth skin of her breasts. Her small, tight nipples. I rub my crotch, remembering moving into her, remembering the feel of my cock moving through her wet cunt.
There’s an exaggerated, impatient cough outside the door. Shit. Now I kind of do need a piss, but there’s not a hope in hell of going unless I’m keen to redecorate the place. I think of anything. Everything. My sister. Fuck, that’s wrong. My brother. Better. My mother. That’s sick. Harold Layton.
Yep, that’ll kill a hard-on.
I flush, give it twenty seconds, then head out.
“Sorry, cleaning my teeth,” I tell the suited man who stands outside the door, with his arms folded across his chest.
WHAT I’VE LEARNED in the last two hours is that Dayna Cross and me in a confined space equals a disaster. Correction: a painful disaster. My cock feels like it’s been grated with heavy sandpaper from being fucking rock-solid against my fly.
We wait by the conveyor in Geneva Airport’s baggage reclaim. Spencer is talking to me about the latest documentary he’s making for the BBC, but all I can think about is getting out of these goddamned jeans.
I shoot Teddy daggers across the belt — we’ll be having words — and jump to action when I see my ski bag coming out. When the others have their luggage we head into arrivals. We’re greeted by a sign saying Layton, which is held by Hans, a six-feet-five-inches, hairy man who’s been the family’s chalet and ski manager for as long as I can remember.
“Guten tag, Clark, Spencer.”
“Hello, Hans.”
“Are you ready, sir?”
I nod, and we follow him out to three four-wheel drives. “How’s the ski, Hans?” I ask once I’m seated in one of the cars with Spencer, and Tim and Matty, who seem like decent guys.
“Gut, sir. A lot of snowfall last night. Are you heading straight out?”
“Too right we are,” Spencer chirps from the backseat. He’s wedged between Tim and Matty, who are much broader and squeezing him into the middle seat. I banter with them at Spencer’s expense as we head out towards the mountains.
God, this feels nice. Laughing with my brother. Guy time. No work. No women. Easy.
We pull up at the chalet. The two other drivers start taking our kit bags inside as Hans gives me the keys and tells me a few things about the chalet, mostly bigging up his management skills. I don’t need to know it, but I shake his hand and drop him a twenty regardless.
My iPhone bleeps from the back pocket of my jeans to tell me I have an email. “All set,” I tell the others as I retrieve the phone.
I see the subject heading on my screen and stop still — Round One: Results. I’m typing in my passcode when, from the corner of my eye, I see Dayna fumbling eagerly in her bag for her phone.
So she did bid.
We both stand at the bottom of the path as the others head up to the house.
My email takes a second to load, which makes me ratty and gives me another chance to glance at Dayna. Her eyes flick up to me. My guess is she’s loading too.
I scan the email. Instructions. Five bidders have been marked. The top three go through to the second round, where they’ll be given a chance to improve their bids or put forward an alternative bid. I click the spreadsheet attachment to the email and wait for it to open.
Dayna meets my eye again. She’s nervous. She should be. Everyone knows she’s done well to get SP back on its feet, but it’s also highly unlikely she has enough money to win a dogfight with the companies that have been invited to bid against her.
It loads.
