Arthur released my hand holding the ice pack and smudged his thumb over my cheek, dragging my skin downwards. The feel of his hand on my face caused my temperature to spike to ungodly degrees. “So innocent,” he said, his warm breath ghosting across my cheek. “A true little princess in an ivory tower.”
I licked my lips. Arthur’s attention snapped to the movement. His addictive scent surrounded me, drowning me, pulling me down to whatever level of hell he resided in. I grew hot, Arthur’s clothes suddenly feeling like a blanket of fire.
My gaze dropped to Arthur’s body, to the skyline of the gothic London Town tattooed across his chest and abdominals. I lifted my hand to his chest; his nose flared as my fingers brushed over his hard pecs. He put his gin down on the floor beside us and placed his hands on either side of me on the sofa.
He was here, before me, cocooning me with his tall, muscled body, a cage of flesh and bone. I trailed my hand off his pecs and down to his abs. Arthur was as calm as he had been in the alley. I had never known anyone be able to mask their responses and feelings as well as he could. No reaction. Nothing seemed to shake him.
I wanted to see him crack.
I wanted to be the one to mine through whatever invisible shield he wore around him.
“Arthur,” I whispered, my hand dipping lower, toward his narrow hips. I saw him harden under his pyjamas. I felt him pressing against my inner thigh as he leaned in even closer. I fought to steady my breathing, wanting to feel every part of him without clothes. Wanting to feel him pushing inside me, his chest pressing against mine as he made me fall apart …
Then my phone rang, breaking the tension pulsing between us. When it was on its fifth ring, Arthur stood and took my phone from my bag. His eyes flared at the screen, and he handed it to me.
I looked at the screen. Ollie. Ollie Lawson was calling. “Ollie?” I said when I answered. A dark storm broke out over Arthur’s features.
It was the first crack in his armour I had witnessed.
“Freya said you’re at your yacht,” he said. “I’m coming over.”
“No!” I turned my head away from Arthur. “I’m already in bed. I’m going to sleep. I have a headache. I’ll … I’ll just see you tomorrow or something.”
Ollie paused for so long I thought he’d disconnected. Then he said, “But you’re okay? You just left the club without telling anyone. I searched for you. I thought you must have gone outside, but the alley was deserted.” I turned to Arthur, who was looking out of the glass doors at the marina, a cigarette in his hand.
The alley was already clear? Arthur’s men worked fast.
“Ollie. I’m fine. Please, just enjoy your night.”
“But you’re not hurt? Nothing happened?” A slither of unease sild along my skin at his persistent questions.
“No. Why? Why would you think I’m hurt?”
I heard someone speak to Ollie in the background but couldn’t make out the words. “Then fucking check again,” he snapped to whoever he was conversing with.
Shaking my head in frustration, I said, “I’ve got to go, Ollie.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said after a long, stretched-out pause. His words sounded more of a threat than a caring promise. I hung up and walked to Arthur, confused about Ollie’s strange behaviour.
My stomach was still sore as I took steady steps, but the initial pain was easing some after my shower and the pain meds that the doctor had given me.
“You know Ollie Lawson?” Arthur asked casually when I stopped beside him. He kept his eyes on the glittering lights of the marina.
“Yes.” I studied Arthur for another reaction. I didn’t know why I bothered. I was learning that Arthur gave absolutely nothing away unless he wanted to—I imagined that was almost never. “From school.” I felt a sudden chill in the room, so I wrapped my arms around me. “I went to an all-girls boarding school. Private, of course. Hugo was at the boys’ side of the school. Ollie went there for sixth form as a day student. I’ve only known him a couple of years. We have mutual friends.”
“Hugo,” Arthur said. “Hugo Harrington. Your boyfriend.”
I hated hearing the word “boyfriend” from Arthur’s lips in relation to Hugo.
“Yes,” I said. Arthur drank the rest of his gin in one go. He stubbed his cigarette out on an ashtray and immediately lit up another one.
“Let’s get you home, princess,” he said, and my stomach fell to the floor. I had bought us some more time with my friends. I wanted to stay with Arthur a while longer. But mostly, I didn’t want to go home. I’d been attacked. I wasn’t safe on my own. I knew I’d be safe with him.
“What if they find me again tonight?” I said, my frayed nerves seeping into my words.
“I’ve already got men watching your yacht. They’ve been on board and done a search. No one is there, and no one is getting to you. I can guarantee you that.”
I blinked in surprise. “Thank you,” I said, taken aback by his generosity.
Arthur walked back to the sofa and picked up my clutch, then passed me and opened the doors that led to the back deck.
Disappointment accompanying my every step, I followed Arthur off the boat and to mine. I turned to face him. “Thank you, again,” I said. He handed me back my clutch.
A cloud of tobacco washed over my face as Arthur exhaled. “Night, princess.” He walked back to his yacht without another glance. I jumped on seeing a couple of men in black suits move close by. My heart kicked into a heady, nervous beat, until they nodded at me in greeting and I realised they were Arthur’s men who he had ordered to protect me.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I climbed onto my boat and made my way to my bedroom. As I curled up on my bed, I smelled Arthur’s aftershave on my borrowed clothes and closed my eyes, letting it wrap around me. My stomach rolled when I thought back over the events of the night, at the attackers, but more at Arthur killing them so efficiently, so coldly, so brutally.
I didn’t know what kind of person it made me, but as I replayed the scene over and over in my head, all I could think was that he’d saved me. He’d killed to save me, not a single ounce of remorse in his dark soul.
I stared down at my hands, the hands that had run over his pecs, his abs and his hips. Despite knowing it was fucked up and wrong, I wanted to feel him like that again. Only this time I didn’t want him to hold back. I didn’t want him to keep his distance. I wanted him smothering me and making me forget my name. Maybe then I could shake myself of this obsession with him once and for all.
Maybe.
The music sailed through the yacht’s speakers, and the few glasses of sangria I’d had made me feel loose and free. My eyes travelled to the people dancing on the sun deck, the sun setting on the horizon casting a warm, orange glow. Arabella and Freya came over to me as I leaned against the rail of the yacht.
“Are you feeling okay?” Arabella asked.
I touched my face, letting my fingers graze down my neck. The swelling had reduced a little, but the bruising left an ugly shadow of purple on my cheek and red finger marks around my throat. My foundation and concealer covered them well enough that people couldn’t tell. I’d told Arabella and Freya that I had taken a bad fall in my room. I wasn’t sure if they believed me, but neither of them had questioned me further. In our circles, lots of questions remained unasked. No one wanted to taint our seemingly perfect lives with a trivial thing like the truth.