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Over on the bedside cabinet, she heard a barely audible buzz from her handbag, where she’d stashed her mobile phone.
Steve. He’d got the photographs. Thank God!
She removed her towel and hung it carefully over the top of the cupboard’s mirrored door so it was completely covered. Steve would have to get his kicks somewhere else from now on.
That was it: no more camera, no more honey trap. Just a man and a woman in a hotel room. If she wanted to make her excuses and leave, then now was the time to do it.
But clearly that wasn’t going to happen.
Reaching up, she took Seb’s face in both hands for a deep kiss, thirsty to taste him again.
He drew her body towards his until she felt their bare flesh meet. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her thong and slid it over her hips. Wiggling, she shimmied it to the floor.
‘Come on.’ His breathing was husky now, almost a growl. Taking her hand, he led her to the steaming, fragrant bath, its clear water dappled with soapy bubbles. His erection sprang towards his stomach in silent tribute to the milky curve of her buttocks as she sank into the water.
She could feel the water’s embracing warmth cleaving to her body, holding it tight. Seb turned off the still-running taps and lowered himself in to face her. He took her hips in his hands and eased her towards him in one smooth movement, the water buoying her up until she came to rest between his knees. She felt almost drunk, her thoughts hardly audible through the intoxicating cloud of desire.
He drew her face to him between both his hands and locked his lips into hers. The heat between them almost crackled with raw, unleashed energy while he searched her mouth. She could feel his fingers burrowing into her hair, pressing the back of her skull with an animal intensity. Oh, God, it felt good… She twined herself sinuously around his flesh, gliding her body against his; pressing, wanting.
Finally drawing back from the scorching intensity of the kiss, breathless and flushed, he guided her back into a reclining position against the side of the tub.
He seemed to be everywhere, raining down a flurry of fevered kisses on her neck and shoulders, caressing the contours of her hips and waist with his fingertips, one palm making ripples on the water as it moved along her inner thigh. But he was still in control, teasing her, never quite touching her where she longed to be touched.
His lips found their way to the inviting plumpness of her breasts, unable to resist the way they rose and fell rapidly as her breathing became a harsh pant. She could feel the buzz of his stubble while he nuzzled and sucked a hard nipple and she gave a low, longing moan, drawing an answering moan from him.
He moved below the waterline, kissing the white skin around her belly button, planting wet, lingering kisses along the bones of her hips. He looked up at her, his tawny eyes half closed and glazed with desire.
Move up, the eyes seemed to telegraph, and obediently she eased her hips higher up the curved porcelain at her back, lifting her upper body above the water.
Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his head move down between her thighs. Just like her fantasy in the bar, she looked down at his unruly mop of curls while he flicked his tongue across the soft flesh between her legs and up to where she was waiting, wet and ready for him, crying out for his touch.
She let out a shuddering groan as he lapped his tongue against her, moving its tip in a circular motion, a slow and languorous massage at first, then faster, more urgent. As he heard her pants quicken, he began broad, muffled sweeps up and down, sucking, nuzzling, dipping into her. She reached down and grabbed the hand stroking her thigh, gripped it hard until her knuckles turned white, incapable of letting go until his actions arrived at their now-inevitable conclusion. He brought his other hand up to caress one firm breast, his tongue fluttering faster as she moved her body to the rhythm he set.
‘Ah! Oh… God, Seb!’ Angel felt her body convulse as she surrendered, her orgasm rippling, pulsing, melting through her nerves. She bucked and cried out while the euphoria claimed her, finally sinking limp and spent back into the water.
She heaved a sigh of satisfaction, throwing back her head to savour the soft numbness of afterglow. Her vice-like grip on Seb’s hand loosened and he flexed some feeling back into the fingers while he rested his head against her for a moment, breathless and triumphant.
Goosepimples stood out on her flesh, both from the now-cooled water and the still-fresh sensation of consuming ecstasy. She pulled Seb up into a kiss, tasted herself on his lips, kissed deeper in her gratitude for the pleasure he’d just given her that she longed to return.
‘Over here.’ Taking his hand, she rose from the water and led him over to the bed, where virginal white sheets begged to be violated.
Gently she manoeuvred Seb’s broad, dripping bulk into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She wrapped her legs around him, kissing him deeply, then guided him down on to the mattress so she was straddling the toned, taut muscles of his stomach. As she looked down at him, his dilated pupils made those overpowering eyes seem almost black. She pushed a few damp chestnut curls away from his face and leaned down to kiss his muscular neck, one hand sliding along the broad expanse of his chest and massaging a nipple tenderly.
Her eyes flickered to the cabinet by the bed, wishing she’d thought to bring some condoms so she could feel him inside her, their bodies moving together to the same rhythm. It hadn’t occurred to her to come prepared. She’d never expected it to go this far.
Seb’s gaze followed hers. ‘You have some?’
She gave her head a regretful shake. ‘There’s the bar toilets. I could –’
‘No. Don’t go. I can’t wait any more, Angel,’ he panted into her ear, his breath harsh and rasping. ‘Please.’
She understood. Reaching down, she took his full, swollen length in her hand. He moaned, blinking hard, as she lightly moved her hand up and down in a smooth, fluid motion, caressing the hot tip with her thumb. Moving his hand to the back of her head, he pulled her lips on to his for a kiss that startled her with its intensity, it was so raw and wildcat savage. It told her he needed this release, at least as much as she had.
She moved her mouth downward on a journey across his wet, shining torso, peppering hot and heavy kisses in her wake. She dragged a groan from his lips, tracing one nipple with the tip of her tongue and half kissing, half sucking at its hard peak. Continuing her journey down, she reached her target.
She felt him shiver as she took him into her. She could feel him, every inch of him, sliding back and forth in the snug, wet grip of her willing mouth while she moved her tongue in a circular motion around his ridge. With the flat of her nails she brushed his inner thigh, matching her speed to the buck of his hips.
The sheet tightened under her body as he knotted the cotton in a fist. It felt like his whole broad frame was ready to pop, needing her to unleash the primal energy pent up inside.
‘Don’t stop… ah! For Christ’s sake, Angel, please don’t stop now,’ he pleaded, choked with delicious agony.
His moans became louder, more ragged, more vital, and his back arched as she pushed him past the point of no return. She felt his whole body convulse and he let out a groan that seemed to contain his life’s essence as he fell into the oblivion of climax.
She paused a moment, then slid panting back up his body to where he lay, breathless and satisfied, on the pillow. He tilted his head to kiss her, the lips soft, tender, the bestial intensity of before now banished.
‘Oh God… that was incredible. You were incredible,’ he whispered, wrapping her in powerful arms.
‘Not so bad yourself.’ She planted a small kiss on the end of his nose. He smiled at her in the dim light and returned her kiss sleepily.
She snuggled into him, exhausted, satiated and happier than she’d been in an age. Silencing the nagging voice of conscience, she dismissed all thoughts of Steve, work, Carole Beaumont and the honey trap, letting herself fall into dreamless sleep in Seb’s reassuring embrace.
Chapter 4 (#ucffe615e-83a6-56bd-b0fd-a7b96be15c9d)
Angel woke with the taste of Seb still on her lips. The bed was warm, but he wasn’t there.
Had he gone into the other room? She called his name. No answer.
She rolled over on to her back and examined the carved white cornice around the ceiling as she took stock of herself. She had some idea she should feel guilty after the complete obliteration of her inhibitions last night, yet the thing had seemed so natural, somehow.
The whole experience felt dreamlike, looking back. Surreal. The second man she’d ever slept with and under such bizarre circumstances…
She’d known Leo for over a year before they’d started going out and it was months again until they’d started sleeping together. Yet last night she’d given herself to a stranger, another woman’s husband, who’d made her feel her needs completely synchronised with his. It had felt almost empathic, the way he’d touched her and anticipated everything she wanted from him. She hugged herself, thinking back to his touch on her skin, a dream now in her memory. And it seemed the dream and its subject had dissolved into nothing.
She snapped back to reality. What time was it? She pushed herself over on to her side and reached for her handbag to check her mobile. 10.15, shit! Checkout was at 11.00.
Swiping across the touchscreen, she read the text from Steve that had been waiting in her inbox since last night:
Done. And nice arse by the way.
Angel felt a sickening jolt as she remembered what was coming. It was Saturday today. Steve had told her the story would break in the Monday edition.
She thought of Seb’s electrifying touch, the comforting warmth of his body as he held her while she drifted into sleep, and of the pain he’d feel when he saw himself on the front page of the Investigator – how he’d despise her. She blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears she felt welling at the thought of the touch she’d never feel again and the man she was about to destroy.
Her gaze fell on a sheet of hotel notepaper next to her bag and she unfolded the note he’d left her:
Sorry had to shoot off, didn’t want to wake you. Loved spending time with you last night. Give me a call some time. Seb x. PS Make it soon.
And then a mobile number she knew she could never dial.
Get a grip, Angel. He’s married, for Christ’s sake. Just another cheating scumbag who can’t control himself. Now put it behind you and move on.
It was true; she knew it was. And yet she gave in and sobbed convulsively, pushing her face into his still-warm pillow until it was soaked through with her tears.
***
‘Hello?’ Angel called out, pushing open the door of the cheap-for-London two-bed flat she shared with Emily. She’d managed to shove everything into her overnight bag and check out of the hotel with minutes to spare, closing the door on the suite she’d come to both love and hate. She’d shot off a quick report to Steve from her mobile on the train home, a few observations on Seb’s mannerisms and behaviour, trying to keep it as brief and free from sordid detail as possible.
Her flatmate popped her head out of the kitchen and smirked, before pursing her lips into an expression of mock disapproval.
‘Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. And in the same clothes as she was wearing last night, no less. Just where do you think you’ve been, dirty stopout? I’ve a good mind to send you straight to your room.’
But her face fell as Angel burst into tears and flung herself forward into a hug.
‘God, Ange, what happened? Are you okay? Did he do something to you? Did Steve –’
Angel let out a bitter snort through her sobs. ‘Not them. It’s – it’s me. I’ve ruined everything.’
Emily made soft shushing sounds to her and stroked the back of her hair. Angel managed to choke back the sobs as her friend guided her to the black-leather sofa and sat down beside her, one arm around her shoulders.
‘Okay, drama queen, tell me the worst. How have you ruined everything?’
Angel sniffed and blew her nose into the tissue Emily passed her from a box on the coffee table. ‘God, it was the weirdest evening. I… slept with him, Em.’
‘Yeah, I’d kind of got that far on my own, sweetie. Not with that sleazoid Steve watching, though, I hope?’
‘No, I covered the camera after I got his text. Jesus, Em, it was unbelievable. It’s never been like that before, not even before me and Leo started having all the problems.’
‘That’s my girl.’ Emily gave the auburn head a fond pat. ‘Don’t you think you deserve a night of hot slutty sexifying after your gajillion years of being a born-again virgin? Why beat yourself up about it? You had a great night, you got your end away, minds were blown, the end. Put it behind you and get on with the rest of your life.’
Angel gave the pretty, hazel-eyed girl an envious glance. Ever since Emily’s marriage had broken up three years ago, it seemed like she’d decided life was too short for insecurities and done just exactly what she liked.
‘It’s not that, Em. It’s him. Seb. He was so… oh, I don’t know. It’s like there was this connection, or he could read my mind or something. And on Monday it’ll be all over the bloody Investigator and he’ll hate me forever. God, it’s a horrible idea, him thinking I was just some call girl sent to set him up.’
‘God, is that all?’ Emily gave her ash-blonde curls a disapproving shake. ‘You’re being too sentimental, sweetie. That’s what comes of swearing off men for two years. As soon as you finally let yourself have a bit of fun, it has to be bloody true love or something. Look, who cares what he thinks? Okay, so he’s earth-moving in bed, hung like a stallion, buttocks like two boiled eggs in a hanky, can push your every button, whatever. That doesn’t change the fact he cheated on his wife. Nice guys don’t do that: trust me, I should know. Just be grateful he won’t be in any position to break your heart, unlike that poor cow he’s married to.’
‘I guess… I mean, I know you’re right, but…’
Emily took Angel’s face in her hands and looked straight into her face. ‘Listen, Ange. You’re too good for creeps like that. And no offence, but you’re not tough enough for them. Look what happened with Leo. He was a nice guy, issues aside, but you spent so many years trying to ‘save’ him you nearly ruined your own life. I can’t see that happen again. Not to my best friend. Just chalk it up to experience and move on.’
Angel managed a watery smile. She could always trust Emily to give her better advice than she gave herself.
‘What do you mean, not tough enough? Bet I could kick your arse.’
‘Yeah, and don’t I know it? Look, here’s Groucho come to cheer you up.’
The big black cat leapt into Angel’s lap with a plaintive mawk of greeting. He must be the only cat in the world who mawked instead of mewed. Angel tickled him behind one ear and he purred happily, pawing her with his claws in a way that was not doing her now very much worse-for-wear dress any favours.
‘And I hereby declare this Saturday night to be girls’ night, with enough wine and chocolate to drown all woes,’ Emily said, brandishing her box of tissues like a snotty Statue of Liberty. ‘No boys allowed except for you, Groucho, and maybe a Hemsworth brother or two if they care to beat down our door.’
‘Don’t you have a date with Danny the tattooed love god?’
‘Oh, forget him, I’ll ring up and cancel. You know the rules: sisters before misters. Tell you what, I’ll even let you watch one of your soppy old films.’
‘The Apartment?’
‘Alright, alright, if the last 500 times weren’t enough for you to have learnt all the words off by heart. We’ll get the duvet from your room, get into our PJs and “chillax”, as I believe all the cool kids are saying nowadays. You go run yourself a bath. Give me a few hours to finish what I’m working on, then I’ll phone the pizza guy and we can crack open the booze.’
Thank God for Emily. Angel had no idea how she’d cope without her, but she knew it wouldn’t be pretty.
***
Groucho’s mournful wails the next morning created a throb of searing white light in Angel’s brain. She clutched her temples and groaned.
‘Alright, mawky, just give me a second.’ She reached blearily for the packet of cat biscuits on top of the fridge and spilled a load into and around his food bowl. ‘You have to be gentle with Mummy today. Nasty Aunty Emily’s given her the mother of all hangovers.’
The black cat showed what he thought of this state of affairs by fixing her with an intent stare for a second before turning around and starting to wash his crotch.
‘Disgusting moggy,’ she muttered, tickling his neck as she pushed past him into the sitting room and plonked herself down on the sofa.
Empty wine glasses and pizza boxes littered the pine coffee table in front of her. She groaned and pushed away the stray slice of half-eaten pepperoni offending her tender morning-after nostrils. Bleurghh. It felt like a woolly mammoth had crawled into her mouth a couple of millennia ago and gone extinct.
Emily had popped round the corner to the newsagents to get a couple of cans of Coke and some Alka-Seltzer, tripping off brightly into the sunshine while her friend flung four-letter curses at her and her sodding alcohol tolerance.
The buzz of Angel’s mobile sounded from somewhere and she flung away the detritus on the table until she found where it was hidden under an empty Maltesers packet. Emily. Probably ringing to tell her there was no Alka-Seltzer. That would be just about par for the course this weekend.
‘Ange, it’s in!’ She sounded panicked.
‘In? What do you mean, in?’ Then realisation dawned. ‘God, already? But the story wasn’t supposed to break until tomorrow! Steve must have rushed it through last night for the Sunday edition.’ She let out a heavy groan. ‘Break it to me gently, Em: how bad is it?’
‘Um, I think you’d better see for yourself. I’ll be back in five… my flame-haired temptress.’ Angel could almost hear her friend smirking down the phone. She frowned. Flame-haired temptress? What details exactly did this exclusive include?
Emily burst breathless through the door a few minutes later and chucked her over a copy of the Investigator. ‘Sorry, Ange, I know it’s probably the last thing you want to see in your delicate state. At least your face is hidden in the photos though. Not even your best friend would know it was you, present company excepted.’ She grinned wickedly. ‘Looks like you had one helluva night…’
Angel’s heart pumped in her throat as she scanned the front page.
Not one of Steve’s best headline efforts. He’d gone with ‘Unreal Titty’ – a pun on the name of Wilchester’s first film, Unreal City – emblazoned across a woman’s naked back. Hers. She winced deeply. A sub-head read ‘EXCLUSIVE: married director in steamy romp with mystery girl’.
You could see Seb’s face, contorted with passion, over her shoulder as she straddled him on the bed. She felt a zing through her body, remembering the thrill of sitting astride him and guiding him down into the crisp white sheets, panting and wet after their bath together –
Hang on.
‘Shit! Shit shit shit!’
‘Oh come on, it’s not as bad as all that –’ Emily began.
‘No, you don’t get it!’ Angel groaned. ‘That shot – how did he get that? I hung a towel over the mirror! It must have fallen – that perve!’
Emily’s eyes widened as she caught on.
