At No Man's Command Page 12

  The streets were slippery and icy from melting snow and a breeze that felt as if it had icicles attached sharpened the air. She put her head down against the cold and walked at a brisk pace to get warm. Paris was beautiful, no matter what the season, but with the Eiffel Tower and every building and bridge and cathedral spire painted white with snow it was particularly picturesque, giving it an old-world, timeless feel.

  Aiesha walked along the banks of the Seine, where conical pines stood like powdered sentries along the whitened pathway. The park benches lined along the walk were encrusted with virgin snow, for no one had sat down and lingered there to take in the view due to the bitter cold.

  She walked for over an hour and then began to retrace her steps and was only a few blocks from the hotel when she saw it happen. A man wearing a thick dark coat was dragging a small dog behind him on a lead. The little mutt didn’t seem too happy on being pulled along and was wriggling and shaking its head from side to side to try and escape. The man said something foul in French and dragged the dog into a nearby alley.

  Aiesha’s blood ran as cold as the ice beneath her feet. Her heart started to thump so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Her stomach churned and, in spite of the freezing conditions, sweat broke out on her brow. Her legs felt as if they were stuck in the pavement, her ankles held there by steel vices.

  But then she heard the little dog yelp and she was galvanised like a sprinter leaping off the block when the starter gun was fired. ‘No!’ She ran screaming into the alley, slipping and sliding all over the place like a newborn foal on ice skates. She fell painfully to her knees and scrambled back up, her heart beating so frantically she could barely speak. ‘No, please don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him.’

  The man looked at her as if she were a crazed idiot. Even the little dog took one look at her and cowered behind its owner’s legs. ‘You are crazy, oui?’ the man said.

  Aiesha put her hand out for the dog’s lead. ‘Give me the dog.’

  The man scooped the dog up and held it underneath his right arm, glaring at her. ‘Get away from me.’

  She took out her purse with hands that were shaking so badly several coins fell out as she opened it. ‘Look, I’ll pay you. Here, take this. It’s all I’ve got on me. Let me have the dog. Please, let me have the dog.’

  The man screwed up his face. ‘You are mad. It is not even a pedigree dog. It’s twelve years old and has teeth missing.’

  Aiesha was shivering and sick and her head was pounding so badly she felt spaced out and light-headed. It was as if she were looking down at herself from above. It was someone else down in the alleyway begging and pleading with the man to hand over his dog.

  But then another person appeared in the alley, his voice so familiar as he called out her name she stumbled towards him, sobbing hysterically. ‘James, quick. You have to do something.’

  ‘What on earth’s going on?’ James gathered her in his arms, opening his coat to wrap her inside it against the strong wall of his chest. ‘Hush now. It’s all right. I’m here.’

  ‘He’s going to hurt it.’ She clutched at his shirt lapels in desperation. ‘You have to stop him. He’s going to kill it.’

  ‘That lady is crazy!’ the man said. ‘She tried to steal my wife’s dog, then she tried to buy it off me.’

  James kept one hand on the back of Aiesha’s head while he spoke to the man in French. ‘My fiancée seems concerned you were going to harm the dog.’

  ‘It’s my wife’s dog,’ the man said. ‘She’s sick in bed so I offered to take the dog out. He doesn’t like walking on the lead. But if I let him off he runs away from me and then I will be the one killed, oui?’

  Aiesha looked up at James. ‘What’s he saying?’

  ‘I’ll explain later.’ He turned to the man. ‘I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I hope your wife gets better soon.’

  The man shifted his bulky body inside his coat like a bantam rooster after a fight with a rival who had outmatched him. He patted the dog, who subsequently licked his hand and looked up at him with bright button eyes. ‘Come on, Babou,’ the man said. ‘Didn’t I always tell you the English are mad?’

  Aiesha bit her lip as she watched the man open a door further down the alley leading to a block of flats. ‘I guess that’s where he lives...’

  ‘Yes, with his wife.’ James looked down at her with a concerned expression. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re shaking.’

  ‘Can we go back to the hotel?’ She gave a long shuddery sigh. ‘I’m cold and wet and...and I need a drink.’

  He took her hand and led her out of the alley. ‘I think I could do with one, too.’

  * * *

  James kept his arm around her on the way back to their hotel. She was still shivering and shaking but he wanted to get her warm and safe before he pressed her about the incident with the dog. He had thought her little tantrum the other night was bad but this was so much worse. He had never seen her so hysterical. So emotionally undone. At first he’d thought she was in danger. Seeing her in that alleyway confronting an angry-looking man had given him a visceral blow to his heart. The thought of her being attacked or harmed in any way had been like a knockout punch to his solar plexus. He tried to convince himself he would be just as concerned for a stranger but he knew it wasn’t true. It physically hurt to see her in danger. His chest still felt tight, restricted. Painful.

  He wondered what was behind her reaction. She didn’t even like dogs...or so she said. What was she doing trying to rescue one that didn’t even need rescuing? Did it have something to do with her past? Would she tell him if he asked or would she give him that hard, steely look and tell him to mind his own business? He could only push her so far. He had learnt that the hard way. When would she finally let him in? He wanted to know what put those dark shadows in her eyes. He wanted to know what gave her that sharp tongue and don’t-mess-with-me air. He wanted to know what had made her so prickly and defensive that she pushed away anyone who showed the least bit of care for her.

  ‘How did you know where I was?’ she asked when they got back to their suite.

  James took her coat off her. ‘I was in a cab on my way back to the hotel and I saw you run into the alley. At first I thought you were trying to hide from me. I paid off the cab and got to you just as you were about to floor that poor man. What was that all about? I thought you didn’t like dogs?’

  She peeled off her scarf without meeting his gaze. ‘I don’t like seeing dogs mistreated. I thought he was being unkind to it. I overreacted. I’m sorry. My mistake. Can we forget about it now?’

  ‘No, Aiesha,’ he said. ‘I want to know why you were so upset. Talk to me. Tell me why you got so hysterical.’

  At first he thought she was going to refuse. She was rolling her scarf around one of her hands, the action mechanical, automated as if her mind was elsewhere. But then he saw the moment the screen came down. It was like watching a suit of armour being removed piece by piece. It started with her eyes, moved down to her mouth, her neck, and her shoulders—her whole body finally losing its tightly held stance.

  ‘I should’ve known...’ she said in a voice that vibrated with self-recrimination. ‘I should’ve known he would kill Archie to get back at me.’

  James’s stomach plummeted and his heart lurched as if someone had shoved it. He swallowed thickly. ‘Who was Archie?’

  The sadness in her grey eyes was overwhelming. ‘My dog.’

  He was connecting the dots but it was a horrible picture that was forming in his mind. A ghastly scenario that he could see reflected in her pain-filled gaze. ‘Your stepfather?’

  ‘Yes...’

  James gathered her close, his head resting on the top of her head as he tried to absorb some of her pain. ‘Oh, you poor little
baby,’ he said in a shocked whisper.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against him as if he was the only thing she could rely on to keep her upright. She spoke in a muffled tone against his chest, telling him things he wished he didn’t have to hear, but he knew how cathartic this moment was for her. She was finally letting him in. Revealing everything about her past. About her pain. Why she was the way she was. He thought of her as that terrified young teenager, traumatised beyond belief and yet hiding it behind a mask of come-close-to-me-at-your-peril. His mother had seen through it eventually, but it shamed him that it had taken him so long.

  He continued to stroke her silky head, letting her speak of the unspeakable, letting her release the pent-up anger and rage that had festered inside her for so long.

  Then there was silence.

  James was loath to break it but he could feel her shivering from cold and reaction. He eased back to look at her face, ravaged by grief and anger and tears that had taken a decade to spill from her eyes. He was so glad she had chosen to tell him. So relieved. So honoured. It made him feel as if she finally saw him as someone she could trust. Not someone who would exploit her or betray her. It was a nice feeling. A good feeling. He blotted her wet cheeks with the pad of his thumb. ‘Let’s get you into a nice hot bath. I’ll tell the jeweller to push back our appointment an hour.’

  She put her hand over his and held it to her cheek. ‘James...’

  He looked into her tear-washed grey eyes. ‘Yes?’

  She chewed at her lip, looking so young and vulnerable his chest cramped. ‘I’ve never told anyone that... Not even your mother.’

  He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead with a gentle hand. ‘I wish I’d known ten years ago. I would’ve tried to help you.’

  She trained her gaze on his shirt button. ‘I’m sorry about that thing with your father... I never intended to do anything other than show your mother what a jerk he was. I didn’t realise how much it would impact you.’

  James tipped up her face to look into her eyes. ‘I knew my parents were unhappy. If you hadn’t brought things to a head, my mother might have struggled on in silence for God knows how long. I guess you can tell she’s not the type to give up easily.’

  She gave a long sigh. ‘I owe her a lot. And how do I repay her? By stuffing up your engagement to Phoebe what’s-her-name.’

  James was a little shocked to realise he hadn’t thought about Phoebe for days. He struggled to think of what he had liked about her. Liked? Wasn’t he supposed to have loved her? Had he loved her? He had liked that Phoebe fitted in with his lifestyle, that she was poised and well spoken, well read and cultured. That she understood the demands of his career and was content to stay in the background and support him.

  But there were things he hadn’t liked, annoying little things he had chosen to ignore. Phoebe was not adventurous or playful, in bed or out of it. She was even more staid and formal than he was. She had no interest in people outside her social circle. She didn’t stop to talk to the housekeeper or the gardener.

  And she would definitely not run screaming down a Paris alley putting her own life in danger to rescue a little dog....

  He gave himself a mental shake. ‘Phoebe is probably dating her childhood sweetheart, Daniel Barnwell, as we speak.’

  Aiesha frowned. ‘Doesn’t that upset you? That she moved on so quickly?’

  James was pleasantly surprised it didn’t upset him. Not as much as it should have. ‘They’d been dating for years. They’d only broken up a couple of months before I came on the scene.’

  She gave him a wry look. ‘Seems I did you a big, fat favour then.’

  He searched her features for a beat, wondering if she felt anything of the confusion he was currently feeling. Their relationship was a complex mix of reality and pretence. It felt real when he held her, kissed her, made love to her.

  She was a complex mix of reality and pretence.

  For years she had been the enemy. She seemed to relish the role, maximising any opportunity to score points against him. She mocked him, laughed at him and goaded him. How much of that was real and how much of it was a defence mechanism? Was she hiding a sweet and sensitive soul behind that brash in-your-face attitude? Or was she too damaged and hardened from the past? What did she think of him, really think of him? Did she care anything for him or was she using him like she used everyone else?

  ‘What will you do when our relationship comes to an end?’ he asked.

  She gave a little shrug of one shoulder. ‘Find a new job. Not in Vegas. Maybe on a cruise ship or something. I might meet someone filthy rich who’ll set me up for life. An old guy who’ll cark it after a few months and leave me all his money.’ She gave him a slanted smile. ‘How cool would that be?’

  James locked his jaw. She was at it again. Deliberately pressing his buttons. Game playing. Making him believe she was something she wasn’t. He could see through it now. It was all an act. A charade. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  She walked towards the bathroom with her hip-swinging gait. ‘Sure I do.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘You want everyone to think the worst of you because deep down you believe you deserve it. But that’s not who you are, Aiesha. You’re not the bad girl everyone thinks you are. My mother saw through it. I can see through it. Don’t insult me by pretending to be something you’re not.’

  Her look was all glittering defiance and her tilted smile all worldly mockery as she stood framed by the bathroom door. ‘You’re a fine one to talk. I might have sent the first tweet but you’re the one who took it a step further by setting up this pretend engagement. At least I have the honesty to call it by its real name. It’s a dirty little fling. A smutty little hook-up.’ Her eyes glinted some more. ‘And you’re loving every filthy minute of it.’

  James flinched as she closed the bathroom door with a resounding click.

  She was right. God help him.

  He was.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN AIESHA CAME out of the bathroom there was no sign of James. But laid out on the king-size bed was a collection of clothes—a midnight-blue velvet cocktail dress and a gorgeous evening gown in black satin with spaghetti-thin straps and long black gloves with a white, fluffy stole. There were shoes and an evening purse and a velvet-lined jewellery tray with a collection of diamond rings. She chose the simplest one, a princess-cut diamond that winked at her as she slipped it on her finger.

  A sharp little pain gripped her deep inside her chest. This was another part of the charade. The fancy props that turned her into Cinderella for the ball. She dressed in the velvet cocktail dress, swept her hair up on her head, did her make-up, put on the shoes. Turned in front of the mirror to see how the dress showed off her long legs and trim figure. She wasn’t vain but she knew she looked good. Glamorous and elegant. Polished.

  But underneath all the finery she was still a girl from the wrong suburb. With the wrong accent. With the wrong relatives.

  She was wrong.

  The door of the suite opened and James stood there dressed in a dark grey suit with a white shirt and red and silver tie. Her breath caught. Her heart jumped. Had he ever looked more magnificent? So tall. So sophisticated. So breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly handsome.

  ‘You look—’ he seemed momentarily lost for words ‘—absolutely gorgeous.’

  Aiesha smoothed her hands over her hips. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to eat anything. And you’d better hope and pray I don’t cough or sneeze because I don’t think this zip will be up to it.’

  ‘Did you choose a ring?’

  She held her left hand out for him to inspect. ‘Yep.’

  He glanced at the ring before his eyes met hers. Penetrated hers. ‘You didn’t like the others?’

  ‘Nope.’

 
‘But it’s the cheapest one.’

  Aiesha held it up to the light, watching as the facets of the diamond glittered. ‘Doesn’t look cheap to me.’

  ‘It’s not, but—’

  ‘Don’t worry, James.’ She flashed him a quick little smile. ‘I’ll give it back when this is over. You can give it to your real bride.’

  He stood looking down at her for a long moment, his brow creased in a frown.

  ‘Have I got lipstick on my teeth or something?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why are you looking at me like that?’

  He moved his thumb over the back of her hand in a rhythmic motion, his eyes still holding hers. ‘I thought we could go somewhere for a quiet drink. I know a cosy little bar where the music doesn’t thrash your ears. You can actually have a conversation without having to shout or mime.’

  He wanted to talk to her? That could be dangerous. She had said enough. She had already told him too much. He knew too much. ‘Won’t I look a little overdressed?’

  ‘This is Paris,’ he said. ‘It’s impossible to be overdressed.’

  * * *

  The bar he took her to was in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, where a pianist was playing blues and jazz. The atmosphere was warm and intimate and, although the drinks were crazily overpriced, Aiesha indulged in a brightly coloured cocktail that made her head spin after two sips. Or maybe it was being in James’s company. He wasn’t so stiff and formal and brooding now. He was watching her fiddle with her straw with an indulgent smile kicking up one side of his mouth as if he had solved a difficult puzzle and was feeling rather pleased with himself.

  She could only assume she was the puzzle.

  He had been patient; she had to give him that. Waiting for her to drop her guard. Not pushing her too hard. And yet he had stood his ground with her on occasion, not letting her get away with manipulating him. ‘Game playing’ he called it. He was right. She did play games. It was her way of keeping people at a safe distance.

  But she hadn’t been able to keep him away from her secrets. He had discovered almost everything about her and yet he didn’t push her away...or at least not until the end of the month when they would go their separate ways.