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"Ms. Young, what’s the use of having a phone if you don’t answer it?" His hard voice sets off little tingles that slither straight to my core. I will not be turned on by the velvety depth of his tone, or that clipped British accent of his which brings to mind frosty mornings, and dewdrops on grass, and the clopping of horses on paved stone.Lay off the historical romance books, Mira. This is Edward, your boss, the rudest man you’ve ever met.
"Oh, sorry, uh… I had the phone in my bag… Which wasn’t near me. I find holding a phone in my hand is so distracting, especially when I am with my friends and want to concentrate on them instead of on my device. It’s such a shame people prefer to sit at the same table and focus on their phones instead of on the person opposite them, don’t you think? It’s alienating, instead of bringing people together. You should know. You were a priest, so you must have seen how people are finding themselves even more alone, despite all the ways technology has enabled us to keep in touch. Imagine if they came to you for counsel and you happened to be on your phone instead of guiding them and...” I swallow down the rest of my sentence then squeeze my eyes shut. "I’m sorry I was prattling on, wasn’t I?"
The silence on the phone could be the kind you face when you walk into a haunted house at an amusement park, right before the creepy crawlies reveal themselves in the light. I swallow. The silence stretches.
"Um… You there, Mr. Chase?"
"You done, Ms. Young?"
I open my mouth to reply, then don’t dare let any words emerge from my lips because I might not be able to stop myself from another word vomit. I don’t normally let my sentences get the better of me. Not really. It’s this man whose presence and absence both disturb me in equal measure. I content myself with a nod, not that he can see it, but he must sense it, because he says in that stern tone of his, "I’m picking you up in thirty minutes."
9
Mira
"Some advance notice would have been appreciated." I scowl at the man in the driver’s seat. Of course he’d drive his own car. He’s too controlling to put his life in someone else’s hands. A reluctant admiration fills me. He truly is the master of his life. A position I’d give anything to be in. Right now, I’m at his beck and call though.
When I complained, he reminded me that I signed away my life when I agreed to work for him. I’m sure he’s doing this to test me, too. I might look weak, but I have more mettle than he imagines. Doesn’t mean I’m going to take his springing this trip on me without making my displeasure known. Not that my questions have brought forward an answer from him. He focuses on the road in front of us. I glance out the window and notice we’re on King’s Road. At this time of the night, the high-end boutiques and yummy-mummy cafes are closed. He turns off the main street, and I notice the sign for Chelsea Pier.
"Are we taking a boat?"
He doesn’t answer. I risk another glance at his profile, then wish I hadn’t. Illuminated by the lights from the dials on the dash, the gold in his eyes glints like that of a predator. A beast at the top of the food chain, who is the master of all he surveys. His hooked nose and square jaw, once again, bring home how much his profile resembles that of the regency heroes I’m so fond of. Only, he’s wearing a fresh three-piece suit with a new tie. This one is a dull gold, and the color lends a burnished glow to his skin. His well-cut jacket accentuates his biceps, and when he turns the wheel into the parking bay in front of the dock, I can’t help but notice his thick fingers, the blunt fingernails, the capable way he steers the vehicle. He was born to rule, to command.
I can’t imagine any woman turning this man down. How was he before he had his heart broken? Before he walked away from the priesthood? How was he with his flock? Was he good at giving advice? Is that why he prefers not to talk much now? Or is it only because I don’t know him too well? Is he different with his friends? Although, from what Summer mentioned earlier, he hasn’t been socializing much with them, either. The man’s an enigma, a mystery which intrigues me, but which I doubt I’m going to be able to solve anytime soon.
Moonlight glints off the water of the Thames and he pulls to a stop in front of a jetty. He switches off the engine, and except for the ticking of the engine cooling, it’s silent. The lights of the jetty illuminate the wooden boards, and at the far end, I notice a motorboat.
"A little late to be cruising on the Thames, isn’t it?"
"I need to remind you that you signed an NDA, Ms. Young."
"An NDA?"
"A non-disclosure-agreement." His tone carries a touch of boredom, which rubs me the wrong way.
"I know what an NDA is."
"But you didn’t read it before you signed it."
"Of course, I did."
He slowly turns his face in my direction. "Are you lying, Ms. Young?"
"Of course, not."
He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a sheaf of papers. "I suggest you read it properly before we leave."
I shoot him a curious look, then take the papers from him. He flips on the interior light, and I take in the letters on the sheets. He’s helpfully highlighted some of the passages, and when I read them—for the first time, I admit—my jaw drops.
"D-d-does…it say a-anal?"
"Not only."
I race my gaze across the page.Ball gag, fellatio, edging, whipping, choking,dominant, submissive."Double penetration?" I squeak.
"Could be with two dicks or with one real dick and a vibrator."
"Vibrator.” I swallow around the word.
