Sexy Beast Read online

  SEXY BEAST

  GEORGIA LE CARRE

  ALSO BY GEORGIA

  The Billionaire Banker Series

  Owned

  42 Days

  Besotted

  Seduce Me

  Love’s Sacrifice

  Masquerade

  Pretty Wicked

  (Novella)

  Disfigured Love

  Crystal Jake

  (The EDEN Series)

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  Sexy Beast

  Published by Georgia Le Carre

  Copyright © 2015 by Georgia Le Carre

  The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN:978-1-910575-13-0

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  The Mouse On The Bar Room Floor

  Some Guinness was spilt on the bar room floor

  When the pub was shut for the night.

  Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse

  And, in the pale moonlight,

  He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor,

  Then back on his haunches he sat.

  And all night long you could hear him roar,

  ‘Bring on the goddamn cat!’

  —An Irish Tall Tale

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  ONE

  Layla

  Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.

  —Karl, Age 5

  ‘What are you standing there for? Go use the upstairs bathroom,’ Ria says when she spots me at the end of the queue for the downstairs bathroom.

  She is right. The queue is long. ‘I’ll just use the portaloo outside,’ I reply.

  ‘Don’t be so silly. There’s a humongous queue there, too.’

  I bite my lip. Ria is BJ Pilkington’s second cousin and we are in his house, Silver Lee, a cavernous mansion built in the art deco style with massive windows that wrapped all the way around the front and sides. BJ threw this party for my brother, Jake, and his new wife, Lily. And while I like and socialize with Ria, BJ and I share a stinging mutual dislike for each other.

  In fact, I hadn’t even wanted to come, but my mother forced me to. ‘It’s in your brother’s honor,’ she said in that displeased tone I knew not to disobey. ‘It’d be ignorant not to, and God help me, I didn’t bring you up to be ignorant.’

  ‘Are you really sure it’ll be OK?’ I ask, looking doubtfully up the long, curving, dark wood staircase. Nobody else seemed to be going up it. It is understood that the party is restricted to the four reception rooms downstairs.

  ‘Of course,’ she insists confidently.

  I give it one last attempt. ‘I don’t even know where it is, and I don’t really want to go wandering around by myself.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she says and, taking my hand, makes for the stairs.

  ‘Thanks, Ria,’ I concede, following her meekly. I do need the bathroom rather badly. At the top of the stairs I look down and see all the beautiful people dressed in their absolute finest. That’s the thing about us travelers. We love our color. Peacocks, all of us. There isn’t a plain black gown in sight. Ria takes me down a corridor and half-opens a door to a blue and white bathroom.

  ‘See you downstairs,’ she calls cheerfully and walks away.

  I use the toilet, then wash my hands and stand in front of the mirror. My deep auburn hair comes down to the tips of my breasts. My eyebrows are straight and my eyes are dark blue. My nose is narrow, my lips are generous, and my jaw is well defined.

  I am wearing a duck egg blue taffeta dress that I designed and sewed myself. It has a tight bodice and a wide bow at the base of my spine, the ends of which trail lower than the hem of my mid-thigh, Honey Boo Boo-style skirt. Underneath are layers upon layers of gathered electric blue tulle and lace petticoats. Crinolines, my grandma used to call them.

  I fluff them up. I love petticoats. In my opinion, life is way too short not to wear petticoats that stick out from under your skirt. I reapply my lipstick, press my lips, and leave the bathroom.

  The corridor outside is deserted. Faint sounds of the party downstairs float up. As I walk down the carpeted passage I am suddenly and very strangely overcome by an irresistible curiosity. I want to open a door, just one, and see how BJ lives. I don’t know why, since I think him an arrogant beast. But just for those seconds, I want to see more than what everyone downstairs will see.

  Oh! What the hell, just a quick look.

  I open a door. The interior is plain; it’s obviously just a spare bedroom. I close it and open another. It, too, has an unlived-in appearance. Again, very plain. I try another door. It is locked. Okay, one last door and I’m out of here. I stop before another door handle and turn it.

  Whoa!

  BJ!

  I take a step forward, close the door behind me, and lean against it. And fuckin’ stare. Two rooms must have been merged into one to make such a massive space. The walls are black and the words ‘No Fear’ are painted in white using a large calligraphy font. They glow in the light from a real fire roaring in the fireplace. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen real logs.

  A large chandelier hangs from an iron hook in the ceiling; it looks more like a meat hook than a decorative accent. The bed is a huge, wrought iron four-poster, obviously custom, with deep red fleur-de-lis patterned brocade curtains that have been gathered and held together by thick gold and black ties. On the bedside tables that flank it are elaborate candelabras with real candles that have dripped wax onto the gilt handles.

  Wow! So this is what lies inside BJ. His cold, cold eyes hide the soul of a sevent
eenth-century lord. It is dark and dangerous but I am strangely drawn to it. With some shock I realize that there is something irresistibly seductive about my discovery. It’s like walking into BJ’s private world or looking into his soul.

  I try to imagine the room with the candelabras lit. The candlelight dancing off the walls. My eyes move to the bed and I see me naked and crushed under BJ’s large, powerful body, the light making his muscles gleam. The image is so erotic; it is at once thrilling and disturbing. I feel a flutter in my tummy.

  I frown. I hate the man. And that is putting it politely.

  And yet, here I am in his bedroom. A place I should never be. But, still unwilling to leave, I walk to the middle of the room, my petticoats rustling, the heels of my shoes loud and echoing on the hardwood floor. The fire crackles. It feels as if I am in a different world. Like Alice in her wonderland.

  As if pulled by invisible hands, I head toward an antique, dark oak dresser. In a trance I stroke the metal handle. It is cool, smooth, full of all the events it has seen for hundreds of years, the squabbles, the trysts. A frisson of strange excitement runs over my skin. I pull at the metal handle. The drawer glides open with a whisper, smoothly, like it is on roller blades.

  I stare wide-eyed at the contents.

  Velvet boxes. Piled on top of one another. So many secrets. BJ’s secrets. I take one and open it. A tiepin with a blue stone glitters up at me. I open another. A tiepin with a black panther, obviously old. I open another box and freeze. A gold tiepin that reads ‘Layla’ in cursive writing lays there. It ends with a small diamond at the end of it. I lift my head and look at the mirror above the dresser. I look different, strange, shocked. I shouldn’t be here. This is wrong. I look into my eyes.

  What the fuck are you doing, Layla?

  But I don’t turn away and run out of the room like any sane person would. Instead, I do a truly strange thing. Something I have never done before. I feel the blood pounding in my ears. So loud I cannot hear the logs crackling anymore. I take the tiepin out of its box, open my purse, and… oops… it falls in. Freaking strange that! I am a good girl, brought up as a proper Catholic. I don’t take what’s not mine. But my fingers snap my purse shut. The sound is loud and makes me jump. I can hear other sounds now, the merry fire and, faintly, the sounds of the party downstairs.

  Slowly, almost afraid of what I will see, I raise my head and look at my reflection again. What I see there is far more frightening than a thief. My reflection is no longer alone in the mirror. BJ is standing in the doorway. His huge, muscular body fills it entirely.

  Oh God!

  TWO

  Layla

  Cold fear races down my spine. My pulse accelerates wildly while my mind jerks into overdrive. Maybe he didn’t see me lift his tiepin. Perhaps I could just slip past him. I could pretend I am lost and that I didn’t realize I was in his bedroom. Maybe. Just maybe. Very deliberately, I place my forefinger on the edge of the drawer, shunt it closed, and turn around to face him. Some men have looks, others have charm. BJ has presence. An edgy, almost menacing presence. The moment he appears in a room he owns it. He changes the atmosphere the way a grizzly coming into a room does.

  He is wearing a silver hoop in his right ear, a black T-shirt, army surplus camouflage trousers, and combat boots. He is half-pirate, half-smuggler. He remains perfectly still. Danger and power ooze out of him. My heart starts to hammer inside my chest. I can do this, I think defiantly. I’m not scared of you. I’m an Eden. Edens eat Pilkingtons for breakfast. Straightening my back and keeping my expression cool, I begin to walk toward him. I pray he cannot see my legs wobbling.

  When I am five feet away I see his eyes. They are pools of gleaming black tar. No light there. They are flat and utterly impenetrable. For a fraction of a second I have the strangest impression of sexual tension. But of course, that is a trick of my overwhelmed emotions. His mouth is set in a forbidding line. I have seen it stretched in laughter, but never full on. Always from afar, by accident, and only from the corners of my eyes.

  A foot away from his looming form I stop. He really is so damn huge. The scar on the top of his left cheek appears alive in the firelight. I swear no man has ever looked more inhospitable, or made me feel more intimidated.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say tightly. ‘I got lost and wandered in here by mistake. I guess I better get back to the party.’

  He does not step aside to let me through. He is so big, so meaty. He is like a predatory animal.

  I clench my handbag tensely. ‘Will you please move?’

  ‘You want to pass? Squeeze past,’ he suggests mildly, his face devoid of any expression.

  ‘How dare you? I’ll call my brother,’ I threaten. Attack is always the best form of defense.

  Something flashes in his eyes. I know then that I’ve made a mistake. I should have been more humble. It would have made my escape easier. He slips his large hand into his trouser pocket and produces a phone.

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ His voice is silky with warning. ‘Call him. Last time I looked he was with his pregnant wife. I believe your mother was sitting nearby, too. They can all rush up here to my bedroom and save their precious little princess.’

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ I ask contemptuously.

  His eyebrows rise. ‘What the hell is wrong with me? You’re a thief, Layla Eden.’

  My cheeks flame, but I am not giving up so easily. ‘I’m not,’ I cry hotly.

  ‘Then you have nothing to fear. Call your brother,’ he invites.

  I bite my lip. ‘Look. I’m sorry I was in your bedroom. I’ll just go downstairs and we won’t spoil anybody else’s night, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  My mouth drops open at my effortless victory. I close it shut. ‘Thank you,’ I say softly and add a smile of gratitude.

  ‘After you admit that you stole and … I’ve punished you.’

  A bark of incredulity explodes out of my mouth. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s only fair. You make a mistake, you pay for it.’

  My eyes narrow suspiciously. I knew it. I’ve always known it. He is no friend of our family. This is the proof I have been looking for—that he is just low, low, low. He has always been low and he will always be low. Enough even to blackmail me! Perhaps he wants me to reveal some of Jake’s business secrets. ‘What kind of punishment are you talking about?’

  ‘You should have what you’ve never had … a spanking.’ His tone is terrifyingly pleasant.

  I stare at him in disbelief. The idea is too ridiculous to contemplate. I laugh.

  He doesn’t. ‘I fail to see the comedy.’

  The laugh dies in my throat. ‘You can’t seriously mean to spank me?’ I ask incredulously. I feel a chill invade my body.

  He raises a challenging eyebrow.

  ‘You seriously mean to spank me.’ I repeat stupidly.

  ‘The problem with you, Layla Eden, is that you were spoiled when you were young. Your Da and Jake were much too much in love with you to exercise any kind of discipline over you. As a consequence, you’ve grown up an unruly weed,’ he explains patiently.

  ‘How dare you—?’ I begin.

  But he interrupts me coldly. ‘This is getting boring. The choice is simple: you apologize and submit to a spanking or we call your brother—or, if you prefer, your mother.’

  Jake? My mother? My pseudo fury drains out of me like water from a sink plug. I worry my bottom lip and imagine my mother’s eyes dimming with humiliation, Jake staring at me without comprehension. He has given me the best of everything. When we were young and poor, my mother says Jake would always forgo his share of something if I wanted it.

  My actions are inexcusable. I have thoroughly disgraced and dishonored my family. I walked into a Pilkington’s bedroom and stole something from it like a common thief. Worse of all, I have no idea why I did it. I’ve never done anything like this before. It is the stupidest, maddest thing I have ever done.

  My gaze slides to his hands. They
are as large as spades! My eyes jerk up to his tanned face. ‘Why do you want to do this?’

  He shrugs, nonchalantly, his face giving nothing away.

  ‘There’s nothing in it for you,’ I insist desperately.

  He smiles, an action devoid of any amusement. ‘How do you know what’s in it for me?’

  My stomach sinks. I look at the space between his legs. It would be undignified, but I could try diving through it. I think I could make it, but it is almost certain that he will catch me, and that would be worse.

  ‘Look,’ I try to reason. ‘I’m really, really sorry I came in here. It was wrong of me to intrude on your privacy, but if you let me go now I promise I won’t tell a soul about any of this.’ I wave my hand at the room. ‘It’ll be our secret.’

  ‘That’s a very kind offer, but I’m afraid there are only two ways you’re leaving this room. With a spanking or,’ he holds out his mobile phone in the middle of a baseball-mitt sized palm, ‘or in your brother’s company.’

  I stare at the plain black phone. Physical punishment for me, or mental anguish for both Ma and Jake. Not much of a choice. I swallow hard and meet his eyes. ‘I’ll,’ I whisper, ‘take the … punishment.’

  ‘Great,’ he says softly, slipping his mobile into his trouser pocket and taking a step forward. Suddenly the room seems so much smaller. Instinctively, I take a corresponding step backwards. He kicks the door shut with his heel.

  ‘How do we do this?’ My voice is clear and matter-of-fact. I have to assert some sort of control.

  ‘I’ll sit on the bed and you will position yourself on my lap. I will raise your skirt and spank you. Eight times.’

  Raise my skirt! My eyes stray to his right hand. God! I feel heat creep over my body. Oh, the shame of it. And yet, to my absolute horror, there is something else sizzling in my core, something dark and hot. Something I’d never dreamed would happen to me. How could I be turned on by such a depraved, dreadful prospect? I look into his eyes. They are blank mirrors. There is nothing to see, only what I am. A thief.

  But as I stare into his eyes, I see a flash of something old.

  And suddenly I know. This humiliation is not punishment because I came into his bedroom and stole his tiepin. It is because of what happened when I was thirteen years old, when I tripped over a tree root and fell down. My skirt flew up and my panties showed. I can remember them even now, white cotton with red polka dots. All the other kids and BJ saw them. I hated everyone seeing them. I wanted to jump up, but I was too winded to move. Utterly humiliated and ashamed, I remained sprawled on the ground, an object of ridicule.