Breaking Leila (34 page)

“Thanks for
that.” I pretended to study a bottle of shampoo. “Seriously, it’s
not funny. He was trying to get out of the trip last night.”

“I’m not
fucking surprised, you harpy.”

“Really, any
time you want to kick in with the support, that’d be great.”

“Oh, bugger
that.” He laughed. “How upset was he? On a vulnerability scale of
one to ten, one being Nikolai pre-mojito and ten being Nikolai
after seven mojitos.”

“Is there an
eleven? A non-gay eleven.”

“He doesn’t
need to be gay. He could just be unconscious.”

My bank card
grated against the till assistant’s nails. “I think they call that
rape.”

“A
technicality, Lei-Lei. A technicality.” He yawned again. “Do you
want me to give him a ring? He might answer to me.”

I punched in my
pin number, wincing slightly at the amount on the screen. “Not yet.
I’ll let you know in a bit if he’s still not here.”

“Okay. I should
probably do some packing. That involves getting out of bed…meh. Can
you come and do it for me?”

“No.” I
laughed. “Besides, your packing probably consists of a bridle,
Durex and a few poseur vest tops.”

“Don’t forget
the leather trousers,” he chirped. “And the horse
tranquilizers.”

“I’ll see you
on the other side of the world.” I grinned.

“Hell yes,
Lei-Lei. Don’t get too drunk on the flight.”

“As if I
would!”

I picked up
some magazines and bottled water in the next store, then headed
back to the lounge. A great shiver of relief sailed through me as I
spied Matt in one corner, being talked at by a still disgruntled
Yves. Matt’s hair stuck up all over the place and his rugby shirt
was creased, and when he glanced up at me, his whole face darkened
at my weak smile. It seemed instinctive to rush over and hug him,
to soothe it all away. I had to bite my lip and restrain it.

I spent the next half an hour reorganizing my hand luggage
and trying to seem busy. I flicked through
 
The Lawyer
, munched mints, checked the boarding screens every few
minutes. Eventually, my phone began to vibrate with a
text.

Stop looking so
fucking miserable. J

I bit my lip to
keep from laughing. When I looked up, he eyed me from his sofa,
arms folded and legs spread. Predatory and slick. They say all
whores are victims, and that may well be true, but I never thought
of myself like that. Never thought I was prey.

Matt’s razor-edge eyes cut my smile away. Joseph had noticed
him watching us too, and he raised an eyebrow at
Matt.
 
How is
this your business?

I shifted about
and put my phone away.

Mercifully, it was time to board. Sadie walked down the
queue, handing us all copies of various New York newspapers
and
 
Time
 
magazine.

“Good for
making conversation with the clients. I’m sure you’re already up to
date with current affairs.” She paused to smile ruefully. “But you
might find some of these interesting.”

“Cheers.” It
was good to have another excuse to be quiet on the flight–one that
wasn’t alcohol.

She slid
another envelope into my hand. “Those are the details of the
pick-up at the other end. There are a couple of cars. Just have a
read-through in your own time.”

Sadie was
always so harmlessly sweet–but not vapid, so I couldn’t dislike
that about her either. Why I looked to hate other women that
morning, I don’t know. Besides, I needed only to look in the mirror
at Charlotte’s smirking mug.

Poppy grimaced at
 
Time
.
“They ought to rename this
 
Propaganda
. Ugh. You forget about the nutcases they hide in
America…even in parliament.”

The majority of experience I’d had with Americans was as
clients, and they had all been perfectly nice. Of course, we hadn’t
talked much about religion or politics, unless
shouting
 
God!
 
a
lot counted for anything.

Poppy switched her seat with mine in the cabin, leaving her
in the centre pair with Matt and me alone on the left. I felt a
little lonely on my aisle of one, until I noticed Joseph on his at
the other side. He drank me in quite
shamelessly.
 
Not long now
.

So. How does
one fill eight hours without being able to masturbate?

Matt spent
most of it with his iPod, to the point where I wondered if it would
require surgical extraction. Poppy juggled Post-Its in about six
different colours while simultaneously poking me every twenty
minutes to ask about something in one of the newspapers. Why
couldn’t she just be quiet? Why?

Joseph tapped
away on his laptop for an hour and spent the rest of the journey
asleep, which made me wonder what he’d been doing all Saturday
night, and Yves…well. Yves got pissed. Sadie finally ordered him a
brandy and it knocked him out cold.

I hid a Jilly
Cooper novel beneath the FT. From behind the pink paper, I could
safely glance at Matt without him noticing, and appear
conscientious at the same time. Bonus. I stared at the seat Poppy
occupied, wondering what it might have been like to fly out as his
girlfriend still–the things I could’ve done to him under a blanket,
the anticipation at finally getting to our hotel room and closing
the door.

Awful reasons
to consider staying with someone. I knew this. They lingered,
though. It was hard to banish them beneath the guilt over his drawn
expression–he looked so very weary.

The room I would be going to was Joseph’s–a suite, no less.
I’d even get into his car. Matt and I would be separated as soon as
we hit the ground. What would
 
that
 
have been like, if we were
still together? He’d have been a mess by the end of the week and
I…well. I wouldn’t have been half as miserable as he’d have
liked.

When we landed,
it was three o’clock on New York time and eight back in stuffy
England. I buzzed with nervous energy that could not be attributed
to the sex scenes in my novel, horse whips and all. Our luggage
arrived swiftly and yet it felt like hours; I stamped from foot to
foot, unable to keep still. The strange, lilting accents that shot
around filled my ears and unsettled me.

Then the moment
I’d been gearing up for–we split into three pairs as we went to
find our cars. Sadie and Yves, Poppy and Matt…Joseph and me. I
could feel the stares branding my skull as we slid into the sleek
Merc. It was downright unprofessional of Joseph to be showing a
preference for a trainee when we were all competing. Matt was
right; he was being incredibly brazen.

The car door
slammed shut and the chauffeur introduced himself, asked if we’d
like him to explain the landmarks along the way. Joseph declined.
Then we were just two people framed by the busy streets that flew
past through the windows, the static buzz of this vaguely familiar
city and the low hum of the engine.

I sat in
nettles. The atmosphere popped and pricked.

Finally, he
reached over and laid a hand on my bare knee. I watched as his long
fingers curled around and pressed into my skin, how the muscles in
his forearm flexed. His touch was so warm after hours in the
draining plane cabin that I wanted to sigh out loud.

I could feel
him watching me.

Slowly, his hand drifted upward where he kneaded at my thigh.
I gave in after a few minutes and let him stroke the inside, his
caress turning light and teasing. I resisted the urge to sink back
in my seat and spread my legs for him. Not even whores are meant to
be
 
that
 
easy, right?

Well.

Our hotel was just a few blocks from Wall Street, which would
probably have Poppy creaming her pants, and stood imposingly in
sandy stone. Inside, the lobby made Heathrow look like a shoebox,
the ceiling span all the way to heaven on a spiral staircase
thread. Everyone was busy, everything zipped past in dashes of
colour and noise. When I had last stayed in New York on a somewhat
smaller budget, four of us had shared a room at a little boutique
place–which is a nice way of saying
 
small
. We only had one luxury–the view–but all that mattered then
was proximity to Bloomingdales.

Much to my
relief, we were the first to arrive at the check-in desk. Joseph
pressed a hand against the small of my back, and a wad of notes
into my palm.

“You go up
now,” he said smoothly. “I need to sort a few things–I’ll be with
you in ten.”

A bellboy with
shaggy caramel hair led me to the lift. I closed my eyes as the
floors clicked past. Nine, ten, eleven…how far up was the junior
suite? When we arrived, steel curtains flew back to reveal a cool
corridor lined with pale wood doors.

“Thank you,
ma’am,” he murmured, beaming at me as he left.

Ma’am…I kept
forgetting I wasn’t in England anymore and my brain still resembled
a knife block after the numbing eight hours of flight.

Doing my job–the other job–I’d visited a lot of hotels. Some
suites had been far more indulgent than this one, but still
stunning in its minimal opulence, it was a little like Joseph in
that fashion. A large bathroom played host to a double bath and
shower. Convenient, hmm? A split-level living area with velvet
sofas and a glass wall that lead out to a terrace. A mirrored
chandelier teetered from the high ceiling in the bedroom, and
everything was in startling black and cream except for the bowls of
suede-petalled red roses dotted about the place. I would
expect
 
boutique
 
to look like this.

I stood in the
living room for a while, surveying the view: the reams of straight
roads and microcosms they boxed in, the towering glory of 40 Wall
Street. I’d always expected a thick shadow of smog to lick at the
tips of skyscrapers, yet the sky here looked as cobalt blue as any,
and the sun made me squint as it bounced off the glass. It was all
beautiful in the way only cities could be, the promise that writhed
through cracks in concrete and stone.

I was fiddling
with the door lock for the terrace when Joseph came in. He appeared
behind me–he had an annoying habit of doing that–and wound his arm
firmly about my waist.

“Do you like
it?” he asked.

“It’s nice,” I
began, “although I can’t find my room.”

He chuckled to
himself, nuzzling at my loose hair. “Funny, that.”

My eyes fell
shut as he caressed me. I ached for him as always, like it was
stitched into my genes and the thread tied in a blunt knot.

Something
wasn’t right.

He turned me
and I toyed with the hem of his sweater, my hand trembling slightly
with nerves. He tightened a fist in my hair, eased my head back,
and claimed the mouth he'd paid for. The kiss befitted our
surroundings; slow and thorough, it shoved me back against the
glass, and I didn’t have to calculate my response. I melted against
him, my teeth closing around his bottom lip.

His low groan made the scene snap and my stomach lurch. His
light stubble turned to Matt’s, and I tasted Coke on his lips
instead of earthy heat. A voice murmured
,
I don’t care how knackered we are on Sunday–I’m going to make love
to you if it kills me
 
and then I was in another
hotel room where Matt stood beside the bed. He unpacked slowly,
solemnly. Dark circles ringed his eyes. He had not expected to be
doing this alone.

I pulled away
from Joseph without quite realizing, and he tightened his fingers
against my scalp.

“Don’t tease
me,” he muttered, “not now. Not after that flight.”

I jerked my
head to the side, avoiding his mouth. I needed a few minutes to
collect my thoughts, but I wouldn’t be allowed the luxury. “I’m
not.”

“Is there a
problem?”

“Could
we…um…could we maybe not do this tonight? Just tonight,” I added
quickly. “Tomorrow’s good, tomorrow’s fine.”

In a slow
tease, he drew a finger over the nipple that stood stiffly beneath
my shirt. “You want this as much as I do.”

“Yes, but…”

He cupped my
breast and I had to fight the urge to arch my back, to push it
further against him. “I was meant to be with Matt tonight.” I
lowered my eyes. “I’d feel awkward and he’s really upset.”

Did he suppress
a smile or a glare?

“Do you think
he’ll be any less upset tomorrow? Do you think a few hours will
make a difference to how you feel?” He still touched me, his hand
shamefully hot, and I felt small beneath his bulk and his
words.

“Probably
not…but I feel like I owe him this.”

“Technically, you owe
 
me
,
what with our little arrangement.”

I wanted to
weep at the absurdity of it, the hired girl trying to wriggle out
of her obligation. The reason men paid in the first place was to
avoid this type of emotional crap–I don’t know why I expected it to
be any different with him.

“You can say
no, of course. Just thought I’d ask,” I mumbled.

He released me
and I was suddenly very cold.

“No, no…you do
what you please, Leila. I hardly want someone unwilling.” He
touched my wrist, my pulse soaring to meet him. “Though I don’t
think you are.”

“Thank you.
Tomorrow, then.”

He cocked an
eyebrow at me as he walked to the bedroom. “Perhaps.”