Bad Boys of London(7)

‘Are you satisfied now, you sick bastard?’ she spits. She is so furious her voice shakes.

‘Fix your clothes and return to the party,’ I tell her callously.

Using her palms to lever herself up, she springs to her feet and pulls her multi-layered skirts down over her stinging skin so roughly it makes her wince. She glares at me.

‘I hate you,’ she whispers.

‘Join the queue.’

‘I know now why they call you the bat. You’re a fucking vampire, living in this ridiculous black dungeon.’

I shrug and look at her without expression. Sticks and stones maybe. Words? Forget it.

‘I hope I never lay eyes on you again,’ she hurls bitterly at me.

I watch her snatch her purse from the floor, and start walking towards the door.

‘Layla.’ My voice is a like whip. Even in her state she didn’t dare disobey it.

She turns around and stares defiantly at me.

‘My tiepin.’

She is so furious she very nearly breaks the clasp of her purse as she wrenches it open. She digs around, finds my tiepin, and violently flings it at my face.

I catch it easily in one hand. ‘Enjoy the party,’ I advise calmly.

‘Pervert,’ she snarls and slams the door shut on my mocking laughter. Sure, I get it: hers is the tale of the Princess and the Pea in reverse. She didn’t enjoy being confronted with the animal inside her. Me, I am irredeemably base and animalistic, making me beyond excited to be acquainted with a newly created creature in my bedroom.





FIVE





Layla


The sounds of the party float up to me as I stand shocked and frozen in the hallway. Then it hits me: any moment now he could open the door and come out. With a panicked sob, I turn left and run for the bathroom. I lock the door with shaking fingers, and lean back against it, panting hard.

Why, oh why, did I ever go into his bedroom? Now everything is messed up. I look in the mirror. A red-faced stranger with smeared make-up, a gaping mouth, and crazy eyes stares back. Anger and hate sparkle in my eyes, but there is something else too. Something more primal.

I drop my gaze hurriedly and turn on the tap, splashing cold water on my face. I feel hot, confused, angry, and ashamed. My bum is stinging like mad, but … God, I feel alive, in a way I have never felt. And … I am wet. So wet.

The primal look in my eyes is pure arousal.

Sexual excitement.

Jesus! Oh sweet Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? I cannot understand why I am aroused. I hate that son of a bitch. I’ve always hated him. He is a callous, uncouth man-whore. A sleazy, bag of shit who regularly sleeps with strippers and makes his money running sex clubs. He’s practically a criminal. I abhor men like him. Even through the tears that had filled my eyes, I had seen the satisfaction and gloating triumph on his face.

I should be livid.

I am livid. The memory of his large palm, full of calluses landing on my bare buttocks fills my head. With that last strike he had deliberately slapped my, my unmentionables. He had allowed his dirty fingers to touch my sex! How dare he? Bastard!

I turn around, lift my skirt, and look back at my throbbing bottom in the mirror. It is lobster red. I feel the fury bubbling in my veins, but another sensation more powerful than anger intrudes. I don’t want to examine or address it. Taking deep, calming breaths, I repair my make-up with trembling hands, then open the door and stick my head outside.

The hallway is deserted.

I start walking down it, but as I pass his bedroom door I start running. At the top of the stairs I stop and walk down the steps slowly. No one has missed me or seen anything. Everything is exactly as I left it and yet I’m entirely different. My hands won’t stop trembling and there is a tight knot of tension in my stomach. All I want to do is run away. I will die if I have to see him again in the state I am in. I walk quickly towards the main room, my eyes darting around fearfully. Fortunately I spot my brother, Jake, standing head and shoulders above the crowd. The sight of him makes me want to start bawling. Squaring my shoulders I push through the crowd and go to him. He is looking down at Lily with a lovesick expression on his face.

‘Jake,’ I call, my voice tremulous.

His head whips around, his body is immediately tense and his eyes narrow dangerously. ‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘I don’t feel well. I want to go home. Can you call me a taxi?’

He takes a step towards me, his body relaxing with relief. He is over-protective I can’t even begin to imagine what utter havoc would ensue if he knew what BJ has done to me.

He puts an arm around my shoulder lovingly. ‘What’s wrong, little bear?’

I want to throw my arms around him and cry my eyes out, but I don’t. I bite back my tears and lean against his strong, warm body. ‘I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me. I’ve just been sick in the toilet,’ I lie miserably.