Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy (26 page)

I returned home to the apartment and set my bag down with a sigh of relief. As always, there was Gina on the couch, painting her toenails. It actually felt kind of
good
to come home to someone, to be able to talk about my day. And the truth was, while we might not ever be
best
friends, Gina and I were getting on surprisingly well. It turned out we were both addicted to Chinese food, for instance, not to mention
Grey’s Anatomy
.

“So how did it go?” she asked, looking up at me with a hopeful smile.

“Pretty good, actually,” I said, thinking the meeting with Max and Andy over once again. “Yeah, pretty good. I don’t suppose you fancy celebrating with me? We could send out for chow mein?”

“I’d love to, sweetie,” she said, “but I’m out on a hot date tonight. Julius. One of Madonna’s ex backing dancers, if you can believe that. I bumped into him at Provocateur last week. I used to know him, back in the day, and boy, he’s still got it. Body like a god, and a cock to match …”

“Wow, that’s great,” I said, trying to mask not only my disappointment at the idea of a night in alone, but also my blushes at Gina’s frank talk. While I might have
done
a lot of new things recently, I still didn’t know how to talk about sex without getting embarrassed.

It wasn’t that I’d ever thought sex was dirty, it’s just that me and my girlfriends back in Glenbrook Falls had never really talked about it. Nice girls don’t, I suppose. And if it ever came up in conversation, we always skirted around the issue. People ‘went all the way’ or ‘slept together’ or ‘spent the night together’. They certainly didn’t
fuck
.

I don’t think any of my girlfriends had ever said the word ‘cock’ out-loud. And even Fallon, though she was no prude, spoke more in hints: hints toward what she wanted and what she’d been doing. Gina was just so brash in comparison. She called a spade a spade ... Or a cock a cock, I suppose.

Did she do that with Blake, too?

Is that what he likes?

I tried to imagine myself talking dirty to him. Saying all those things out-loud that I knew we both wanted. But I couldn’t quite imagine myself doing it. It just didn’t seem like
me
. There still seemed to be this weird difference between what you
did,
and what came out of your mouth. But then again, there were lots of things I could never have imagined myself doing until just a few short weeks ago ...

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Gina said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You got a telegram earlier, Miss Popular. I had to sign for it.”

“A
telegram
?” I replied, confused, wondering just who in the world would send a
telegram
in this day and age.

“I put it on your bed. You’ve got class, girl. The most
I’ve
ever got from a guy was a late-night text message, and that can only ever mean one thing, not that I’m complaining ...”

I left Gina and I headed down the corridor to my room, still puzzling over who it could be from, wondering if perhaps Max and Andy had sent it, or Alex Wiltshire, or …

Blake.

Of course it was him.

I knew it the moment I picked it up off the bed and read the first line:

PACK OVERNIGHT BAG. BE READY BY 6. I’LL SEND MY DRIVER. BRING YOUR PASSPORT. YOU’LL LIKE THIS.

I looked at the clock on my phone, panicked. It was just after five already.

I had to admit, I was equal parts excited and annoyed. Excited because, obviously, I was about to be taken away somewhere really special — no doubt wined and dined at the finest restaurants imaginable and
abroad
too (I’d not been out of this country
ever
). But annoyed, because once again here was Blake exerting his control over me: calling all the shots, taking charge as usual.

Whatever our relationship was, I wanted it to be equal. I’d been working out how to play Blake at his own game, more than just hoping to blow him off one night, and tell him, ‘Sorry, I’m washing my hair,’ making him wait for me. I’d been thinking that it was perhaps
his
turn to receive a mysterious invitation.

Problem was, I just didn’t know exactly what that invitation would be. I didn’t have half of New York’s hotels at my disposal, did I? I was gonna have to get a little more creative, and I’d been hoping to be able to do so before he beckoned me once more.

What would he do if I just said no to this?

What if
this
is the night I’m washing my hair?

I imagined myself telling him I wasn’t coming. Telling him that I was busy tonight. That would send the message, surely? But then, I wouldn’t get to go away with him either, would I?

Bring your passport
.

It might be a red herring, but the thought of actually going abroad for the first time in my life was just too exciting. My head whirled with possible destinations: Rome? Amsterdam? Paris? There were
so
many beautiful places in the world, places that Blake had told me about, places I’d studied at college, and read about longingly in my design books. Living in New York was exciting, of course it was. But as the rent was so expensive, I’d always thought that I was never going to be able to save up for a trip to Europe. To blow this opportunity, just to get even further into a silly cat-and-mouse game with Blake, was a crazy idea.

I was going. There were no two ways about it.

I looked again at the clock: it was now a quarter after five. I’d wasted a whole ten minutes just thinking about not going, when I knew deep down that I was always at Blake’s beck and call.

Now I only had forty five minutes remaining to pack. Damn. I’d better get a move on ...

Since I’d been shopping for clothes to fit my new lifestyle, packing wasn’t quite as hard as I’d always found it in the past. I just chose a couple of my favorite new outfits. And of course, my best Agent Provocateur underwear. I grabbed my overnight bag and I was done.

The problem was, the stylish new Jessica didn’t have a stylish new overnight bag to match, did she? There was no getting around it: without any proper warning from Blake, I was going to have to meet him at the airport carrying my Hello Kitty hold-all.

Great.

How am I supposed to look sophisticated like this?

It was the kind of thing that seemed to happen all the time with me. I thought back to turning up to dinner that night in a ratty old band t-shirt of Fallon’s. I’m sure the kind of girls Blake was used to dating never got caught out like this. They probably had exquisite Louis Vuitton hold-alls filled with tiny scraps of lingerie and fancy evening gowns, just packed ready and waiting for a guy like Blake Matthews to whisk them away for the weekend.

Well, he was just going to have to get used to it. I wasn’t like those kinds of girls. And if he didn’t know that by now, then he wasn’t the perceptive guy I thought he was.

And maybe he even liked it.

Maybe he was sick of those perfect model girls.

I was gonna walk out of here with my head held high, Hello Kitty luggage and all.

Just then I heard the sound of a car horn outside, and my heart leapt.

“You have fun now, sweetie,” Gina called after me as I ran through the apartment. She didn’t need to add ‘while it lasts’ even though we both knew that was what she was thinking.

“Hey, you too! Enjoy Julius,” I replied, giving her a quick kiss and a squeeze before dashing out the door.

There parked in front of the building, shining and sleek, was Blake’s jet black Bentley, the engine softly purring. But Blake wasn’t inside it. The car was empty, save for Nathaniel, the handsome blonde driver I’d met a couple of times before, and who I guessed was probably around the same age as me.

“Mr Matthews has asked me to explain that he’ll be meeting you at the airport,” he said in a soft, courteous tone, quickly and smoothly getting out of the car and taking my case, placing it carefully in the trunk before opening the door for me.

“Thank you,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling as I slid elegantly into the plush leather interior within.

Mr Matthews will be meeting you at the airport …

I smiled to myself and shook my head.

If Mom and Pop could see me now!

Actually, on second thoughts, they’d probably think I was being abducted and call the police. No, I’d better keep this one to myself.

§

“Blake, this is absolutely incredible!” I gasped, still unable to quite believe my eyes.

We were in a private booth on the London Eye, a kind of enormous ferris wheel right on the River Thames. It moved gracefully and slowly, and as it rose we could see out across the whole of London.

And it was just as beautiful as I’d imagined it.

Of all the places in the world he could have taken me, this was perfect. I’d not even mentioned my long-running love affair with England (or at least the
idea
of it), but once again it was as if he had read my mind. Or at least, he’d noticed my passion for proper English tea.

From up in our little swaying carriage I could see all the sights I’d read about in so many novels and seen in so many movies: Tower Bridge, Big Ben, St. Paul’s Cathedral and of course the Thames, its water shimmering majestically in the early evening darkness.

I gazed out at the view, as captivated as a child seeing her very first Christmas tree. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Blake said, flashing me a warm smile.

He’d flown us here in a private jet; I’d found him waiting for me inside it, complete with a chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot. A few months ago, I’d barely tasted champagne, but now I was actually able to taste the subtle differences between bottles, and this was definitely fast becoming my favorite vintage. Blake had obviously paid attention to the small things, and wanted to make me happy. All of my worries about his business trips melted away. Because if a guy as busy as Blake could take the time to notice a small thing like my favorite champagne, then I
must
mean something to him, right?

And he’d booked us into the most
gorgeous
suite at Claridges. This too was done just to please me. Because remember, Blake owned more than one hotel in London already.

But in one of our many conversations about design, I’d enthused about the sumptuous classic Art Deco style at Claridges, and Blake had agreed. It was beautiful, he’d said, but he knew it was a hotel he could never own, and that made him envious. But still, he’d booked us in just to please me.

I guess lust trumped envy after all?

Blake was here in London for another short business trip, too, to survey another of his hotel expansions, but this time he’d decided to take me along for the ride. So, tomorrow, while he was tied up in a meeting with clients, I was totally free to explore the city, to shop and sightsee to my heart’s content, then spend a second night together, before we flew back early the following morning.

It was all just
too
perfect and I shook my head, smiling to myself, unable to believe that one of my biggest childhood fantasies – exploring London – was finally coming true.

“What’s so funny?” Blake asked.

“Nothing. I’m just having such an awesome time,” I replied. “Thank you.”

“Next to New York, of course, London is the greatest city in the world,” he said. “Nothing beats it for culture. Not just the National Gallery and the British Museum. They obviously have world class collections. But there are hundreds of other small museums. I’ll make sure my driver takes you to the Wallace Collection tomorrow. I know you’ll love it. And best of all? It’s just behind Selfridges. So you can sample some British style along with your culture.”

Wow, he really
has
thought this through, hasn’t he?

“I first came here after I finished my undergraduate degree at Harvard,” he continued, looking out at the beautiful city below us. “I had no money, just about enough for a plane ticket, but I was desperate to travel the world. I stayed in a rat-infested hostel, and lived off cheese and bread. I didn’t even have the money to take the tube, but that didn’t matter. I just walked everywhere, soaking up the city. In many ways, it was the best holiday I’ve ever had.”

I thought about just how much that visit must have meant to him, if living off cheese and bread beat sunning himself on a private island in Mustique ...

I did have one nagging thought, though: What was the privileged Blake Matthews doing without any money?

He’d probably upset his parents, and they’d withdrawn his trust fund or something, I figured.

I didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere by asking, so I let it go, instead leaning in to kiss him, feeling him respond eagerly. And as our kissing became even more passionate, I began to wonder just
how
tinted the glass of our private carriage on this ferris wheel was — my mind fogging as I was overcome with the sudden but definite urge to take things a little further.