Тилли Бэгшоу – The Bachelor: Racy, pacy and very funny! (страница 6)

He was right. By artfully combining carrot and stick – the dangled chance of promotion and responsibility, along with the constant threat of being replaced – Graydon had managed to tie Flora’s star to his own over the last three years, with a nigh on unbreakable bond.

It wasn’t so much that she had earned the job restoring the magnificent Hanborough Castle (although she certainly had done that). It was more that Graydon knew Flora would hit the ball out of the park, then roll over meekly when he, Graydon, took the lion’s share of the credit for her work. Well, perhaps not meekly. But she’d accept it in the end. There were other advantages too. Flora had been to boarding school in England, and understood the English upper classes and their tastes far better than Graydon. Henry Saxton Brae, Hanborough’s new owner, was closer to Flora’s age. Plus, if Flora was on site at Hanborough, Graydon didn’t need to worry about rushing straight back to New York, a city it pained him to leave as much as it hurt to abandon a lover.

Unquestionably, Flora Fitzwilliam was the best person for the job.

On the other hand, Flora was not able to do the things to his dick that Guillermo was about to.

Decisions, decisions …

Running his hands through the boy’s hair, Graydon murmured, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Then he pulled Guillermo’s head down into his lap, groaning with satisfaction as his young lover got to work.

Mason Parker looked up from his Mac when he heard the key in the lock.

‘Flora? Sweetheart? Is that you?’

‘No. It’s an axe murderer.’ Flora dropped her suitcase in the hallway with a loud thud and walked into the bedroom.

Sprawled on top of the bed in his immaculate bachelor pad on Broadway and Bleecker, wearing a pair of Ralph Lauren boxer shorts and a faded James Perse T-shirt, and with his blond hair still slick from the shower, Mason looked as preppily handsome as ever. He did, however, close his computer hurriedly when Flora walked in.

Flora grinned. ‘Was that a porn slam?’

‘Of course not.’ Mason blushed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You won’t mind if I take a look then,’ Flora said archly.

Before Mason could stop her she’d reached across the bed and grabbed his MacBook Air, flipping it open to reveal a screenshot of some very boring-looking graphs. ‘Bloomberg? Really? Wow. I guess it’s true what they say: While the cat’s away, the mouse will check out bond yield curves.’

‘You sound disappointed.’ Mason looked hurt. ‘Would you rather I were watching porn?’

‘Of course not. I’m only teasing.’

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Flora kissed him on the mouth. He tasted of toothpaste and his skin smelled of soap, the same Roger & Gallet variety he always used.

The truth was, Flora sometimes wished that Mason would watch porn. Or lose his temper, or wear the wrong kind of shirt to an event, or forget to clean his teeth. Something, anything, to make him more normal, more fallible – more like her. Other Wall Street bankers spent their days manipulating the Libor rate or insider trading. Why did Mason always have to be so good?

But of course she was being silly. Flora loved Mason, and she knew how lucky she was to have him. He was smart, handsome and kind, not to mention loaded. Manhattan’s pretty, blonde, gold-digging socialites had always been drawn to him like moths to a flame. But he chose me, Flora reminded herself. The girl with no money, no family, no connections. He loves me.

Mason’s family, the Parkers, were old East Coast money, with estates in Westchester County and an impressive portfolio of real estate in the city. OK, so Mason wasn’t wild and rebellious and unpredictable, like Flora’s beloved father Edmund had been. But Edmund Fitzwilliam had wound up in jail at forty and dead at forty-six. Hardly an example Flora wanted her future husband to emulate.

‘I wasn’t expecting you back till next weekend,’ Mason said, extracting himself from Flora’s embrace and climbing into bed, pulling back the covers for her to slide in next to him. ‘What happened to the Wicked Witch of Nantucket?’

‘Oh, she’s still there. Probably sending out her flying monkeys as we speak,’ said Flora, stripping off her clothes and leaving them all in a pile on the floor, earning herself a disapproving look from Mason, although he quickly cheered up when she climbed naked into bed, coiling her slender legs around him like a snake and pressing her magnificent, soft breasts against his chest.

‘Actually, Lisa’s all right,’ Flora said, while Mason pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing a taut, athlete’s body. ‘She saw sense on the pool in the end, and she let me go early because there’s really nothing for me to do on site right now, other than keep her company.’

‘Hmmm,’ Mason murmured, burying his face in Flora’s ample cleavage. He’d missed having her around these last few weeks, and he really didn’t care about her Nantucket client, or anything other than getting inside her.

This time next year they would be husband and wife, and Flora would be too busy with babies and running a household to worry about her so-called ‘career’. Fannying about with cushions and paint swatches was all very well as a hobby, but Mason struggled to take Flora’s ambitions as an interior designer seriously. If she wanted an outlet for her artistic, feminine side, she could redecorate their Hamptons beach house to her heart’s content.

‘The poor woman’s terribly lonely,’ Flora went on. ‘Her husband did such a number on her. I think she’s lost all her confidence since the divorce. It’s sad.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Mason murmured, slipping an eager hand between Flora’s thighs. ‘She knew what she was getting into. No one marries a guy like Steve Kent for love.’

This was probably true, but it still made Flora wince to hear Mason say it.

‘That’s a bit cynical, isn’t it?’

Mason looked up from her breasts. ‘Flora?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please stop talking.’

Swinging his leg across Flora’s tiny body, Mason positioned himself above her, propped up on his elbows. Then, with no further foreplay, he eased himself inside her, closing his eyes and thrusting his hips in the familiar rhythm. Flora closed her eyes too and tried to return his excitement. Mason wasn’t a bad lover. And she had missed him, a lot. But for some reason she was finding it hard to get into the mood. Probably because Graydon had called earlier and left her a cryptic message. Something about ‘shifting priorities’. Flora couldn’t say why, exactly, but his voicemail had left her with a sinking feeling. Despite her position as Graydon James’s protégée, insecurity dogged her constantly, gnawing away at her happiness like a persistent rat chewing its way through an elevator cable. One day, Flora feared, the rat would triumph, the cable would break, and she would fall from the dizzy heights of her present position and plummet back into utter oblivion. Where you belong, a voice in her head added spitefully.

‘You OK, honey?’ Mason murmured, flushed from a climax that Flora hadn’t even noticed.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes. Of course.’ She kissed him. ‘Wonderful.’

She would be tough with Graydon this time. She wasn’t going to let him dick her around. After dumping her on Nantucket for the last month, he damn well owed her, and he knew it, ‘shifting priorities’ or not.

‘No way, Graydon. No fucking way!’

Graydon watched Flora Fitzwilliam pace in front of his desk like a caged lion, her oversized breasts heaving up and down with indignation as she stalked back and forth. With her elegantly coiffed blonde hair, bright red lipstick and killer heels, Flora had made an effort to look businesslike this morning. She’s trying to project confidence, Graydon thought, almost pityingly. To appear in control. It was a touching effort, but quite doomed, and deep down they both knew it. There would only ever be one captain of this ship, and it wasn’t Flora.

‘You promised me Hanborough Castle,’ she seethed. ‘You promised.’

‘I know I did, my dear,’ Graydon conceded. ‘But this is a business. And in business one must be pragmatic. Lisa Kent simply adores your work. She’s hinted at multiple future commissions, but only if you’re at the helm.’

‘I’ll talk to Lisa,’ Flora protested. ‘She’ll be fine.’

Graydon’s face hardened. ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort. For heaven’s sake, Flora, you should be flattered.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ Flora hissed. ‘I’m not flattered and I’m not stupid either, Graydon. This is a total stitch-up. It has nothing to do with business.’

‘What on earth do you mean by that?’

‘Who’s doing the Hanborough job?’ Flora demanded accusingly.

‘I don’t see what that’s—’

‘Who have you given it to, behind my back?’

‘I’ll be working on Hanborough myself,’ Graydon muttered. ‘At least to start with.’

‘Oh! To start with. And after that?’

Graydon James glanced out of the window at the New York skyline. He did at least have the decency to look sheepish when he answered Flora’s question.

‘After that Guillermo’s going to be keeping an eye on things.’

Flora looked as if her head might be about to fly off her body.

‘Guillermo? That would be Guillermo with no experience, not to mention no bloody talent, would it? Guillermo who you just happen to be sleeping with?’