6. Six

Six

I scrabble to answer the door, a blusher brush poised in my hand.

"I've nearly finished my make-up, then I'm done," I assure before Lucy can start moaning. But my friend hasn't seen me and I don't think she's heard me either, as she pushes past and walks into the apartment in a daze, clutching a bottle of Prosecco to her chest.

"Are you kidding me?" she gasps as she totters across the polished floors in her black strappy heels and into the living area. Her black sequined dress sparkles beneath the low lights as she pivots slowly admiring the apartment. "Fuck. King. Hell."

"I still can't quite believe it," I admit. Part of me feels like I'm on holiday and I'll have to go home soon.

"This is amazing," she shrieks, waggling the bottle of bubbly in her hand. "And I've brought just the thing to celebrate. "

"The glasses are in the cupboard," I call over my shoulder and disappear into the bedroom to put the finishing touches to my make-up. Once I'm satisfied, I smooth my straightened hair and tug down the skirt of my black bodycon dress. I step into my black stilettos and walk back into the kitchen to find Lucy perched on one of the black kitchen stools, poring over her phone. Two mugs stand beside her on the counter.

"I couldn't find any glasses so these will have to do." She puts down her phone and picks up her mug with a sly smile. "Here's to your fab new apartment."

I smile and curl my fingers around the Mr Happy mug.

"And to bagging yourself a rich, handsome piece of gorgeousness." Lucy knocks back her drink.

"He's just helping me out." I take a sip of Prosecco, not entirely believing Art's done all this out of the goodness of his heart.

"He definitely wants you, you lucky cow. Have you agreed to go on a date with him yet?"

"No." I realise there's a very real chance he's got tired of me knocking him back. I wouldn't imagine that's something that happens to him very often. Maybe he's bored of waiting and has moved on. He must have a string of women waiting to swoop in and take my place. The thought unsettles me, and I take a fortifying drink of Prosecco.

"Why not?"

"Because he's the sort of guy a woman could really fall for," I admit. "He's got the looks, he's successful. He's saying he's never had a girlfriend because he "hasn't found the right one", but I'm not sure that wasn't just a lie to convince me he isn't a womaniser, which I still think he is."

Lucy's eyes light up, and she picks up her phone. "Hold that thought."

I'd rather not. I take another sip of Prosecco and wince as the dry bubbles hit the back of my throat. My phone buzzes. It's a text from an unknown number. I open it.

Have you settled in okay? Art .

My stomach flips. I wonder how he has my number, then I swiftly remember he found my address from my personnel file, so he'd be able to retrieve my mobile number from there as well. I glance up to find Lucy too engrossed in scrolling through something or other on her phone to pay me any attention.

Yes. Thank you. Please thank your friend for me.

His reply is instantaneous.

Consider him thanked. Are you still going out?

Yes.

Be careful.

He's taken a sudden interest in my safety again.

"Aha!" Lucy exclaims. "Here it is."

I put my phone back down.

"I've done a bit of digging on Mr Italian Stallion," Lucy exclaims proudly.

"You mean you've cyberstalked him."

"Researched him," she corrects, sliding her phone over to me. "Read it for yourself. You won't fucking believe it."

I hesitantly pick up the phone and look at the Forbes Rich List from a few years back. There's a photo of a clean-shaven Art looking ravishing, dressed in a black suit. The caption underneath reads:

Net worth: ￡5 million, Founder of international gym chain Go Fitness, Art Black's year has gone from strength to strength. The Oxford-educated millionaire and self-confessed bachelor's fortune has seen a 15% rise in shares over the past twelve months. If it's your scene, potential wooers might stop by London's ultra-exclusive Savage club, where he is reportedly a regular.

"So? He's had a good education and is worth a few quid." I'm not sure what she's getting so excited about .

Lucy frowns. "Not that part, the part about the club he attends. Savage." She's looking at me like it should mean something, but I'm lost. "Have you ever heard of it?"

"No."

"Neither have I, so I Googled it. Turns out it's an extremely exclusive S & M club."

My brain flounders around for something to say. My mouth has suddenly dried as my mind conjures images of black PVC outfits and whips. "S & M?"

"Yeah. You know, latex, rubber, tying each other up, whips and chains…"

I need her to shut up. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it." I rub my forehead and take a hefty swig of Prosecco.

"I knew it." There's a little too much glee in Lucy's voice than I'm comfortable with. "When I first saw him, I SAID I bet he's one of those dominant controlling types in bed, didn't I? He's got that strong, silent, brooding thing going on." She drains her PG Tips mug and smirks. "What do you think of that?"

I look over at the kitchen counter and recall yesterday and how he couldn't even bring himself to touch my knees before saying something I still don't quite understand.

"I'm not sure."

The lid has been lifted on the Pandora's Box of all things Art Black-related.

"I bet his arse looks mighty tight in leather," Lucy muses.

I bang my mug down on the counter, desperate to change the conversation. "That information was a few years out of date, so it might not be true anymore."

"I think if you're into kink, you're into kink," she nods resolutely. "Chill, Soph. It might be fun."

There's no need for me to consider whether it will be fun or not because nothing's going to happen between us. Being tied up and letting a guy control me sexually isn't something I want. In my eyes, this is just another good reason for me to stay the hell away from him.

I drain my mug and shoot a look at the empty bottle of Prosecco on the kitchen counter. "Come on, let's go. I need a stiff drink. "

And I need to forget about Art Black.

By the time we stagger into Bar Red, I've definitely forgotten about him, drowning my thoughts about him by drinking my body weight in wine.

The loud thud of bass from some nineties dance number vibrates through my bones as I sway through the crowds, following Lucy up to the bar. My head is cotton woolly and every now and then, the room spins a little and I know I've reached my puke limit.

I prop myself against the bar and giggle as Lucy opens her black sparkly clutch and pulls out her phone with wobbly fingers. Her cheeks are flushed, and I know she's reached her limit too.

"I don't think I want any more drinks. I'm going to call Mark to pick us up." She hiccups and holds the phone to her ear. "Fuck knows how I'm going to manage at work tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Work. Art. And just like that he jumps to the front of my mind again giving me one of his easy smiles. My stomach twists and this time it isn't because of the amount of alcohol in my bloodstream.

I rub a hand across my forehead to try and ease the banging that's started at my temples and manage to retrieve my phone from my bag. Disappointment pokes at me. I've had no more texts from him this evening. Probably at his kinky sex club whipping some woman's arse, I think cynically.

"He'll be five minutes," Lucy slurs, holding up three fingers.

I frown. "Who, Art?"

Lucy laughs and rams her phone back into her bag. "No, Mark."

She pushes herself off the bar and wobbles slightly, grabbing the edge of the bar to steady herself. "I'm popping to the toilet. "

I start to follow her and begin weaving through the customers crowded round the bar when I feel something grip my left wrist tightly, holding me in place. I turn to see a tall guy with slicked blonde hair and sly eyes grinning down at me with his hand around my wrist.

"Piss off!" I hiss and try to yank my hand away, but he keeps his thick fingers clamped in place.

Panic begins to rise in my chest as I frantically search for Lucy, but she's long since disappeared off through the crowds, oblivious to the fact I'm no longer with her. The guy starts dragging me through the crush of people hanging around the bar, all drunk and laughing and enjoying themselves, not noticing what's happening to me. I'm powerless, my body and mind not working together. I want to scream but my lungs aren't working, and my limbs are seizing up with terror. Suddenly he turns, pulling me to him. I push my palms into his chest, using all my strength to try and wriggle free, but his arm is huge in comparison to my small waist, and he's got hold of me in a strong grip.

"Relax, darling." The stench of alcohol hits me and makes me want to gag as he presses his mouth against my cheek. I twist my head away from him.

Then he's dragged off me.

It takes me a few seconds to realise what the fuck is going on because the guy's sprawled out on the floor and there's a set of broad muscular shoulders encased in a black jumper in front of me. The other customers are stepping backwards, creating space around the guy, who's holding his nose as blood trickles down his hand. He's slurring and mumbling incoherently. On cue, two hefty-looking bouncers dressed head to toe in black appear and grapple the guy to his feet. The figure in black turns to face me and I'm hit with an overwhelming feeling of relief when I recognise Art. The crease line in his forehead is deep, and he's looking all kinds of worried and angry as he looks me up and down.

"Did he hurt you? "

I shake my head. My brain and mouth aren't working together, which is probably for the best because I want to fling my arms around him. I fold them instead, fighting it.

"Fucking hell." Lucy appears at my side, her eyes widening as she watches the bouncers drag the guy off towards the exit. "What did I miss?"

"You're both leaving," Art snaps, scanning the club. "Now."

The cold night air envelops me as I step outside onto the pavement and the full extent of my drunken state smacks me like a hammer between the eyes. He seems to have a sixth sense for it and loops an arm around my waist, keeping me upright. I lean my head against his broad chest and breathe in his fresh scent and immediately feel safe.

Lucy points over to the other side of the road. "Mark's just parked up over there."

"I'm taking Sophie home," Art announces in a way which suggests the decision has already been made.

I don't even try to raise my head from his chest because it will take too much effort but notice Lucy looking at me to check I'm fine with him doing that.

"It's okay," I mumble.

"Okay. See you in the morning." Lucy flashes her eyes at me and gives us a drunken wave as she crosses the road.

Art guides me over to his car and bundles me into the passenger seat. I lean my head against the side of the chair, my eyelids growing heavy as the vibration of the engine lulls my alcohol addled brain to sleep.

All I can think about is how I'm so glad he's here. I know I shouldn't feel this way about him. My gut is still telling me he's dangerous and if I let him in he's going to hurt me.

"Why are you here tonight?"

"I was in the area," he replies evasively and, in my drunken state, I don't have the energy to push him.

I close my eyes. "Are you my guardian angel?"

"If you want me to be. "

I sigh. "It's too bad I have to stay away from you."

"Why do you have to stay away from me?"

"Because you're dangerous."

"You're drunk." His reply is curt, as if he's run out of patience.

I am drunk. I'm very drunk.

I must drift off to sleep because the next thing I know we've stopped moving and the passenger door is open and the cold night air is rushing in.

"We're home," he says softly. He closes his large hands around mine and lifts me out of the car onto the pavement, propping me up against the warm, hard length of his body as he closes the car door. He scoops me up in his arms like a rag doll and carries me over the threshold and it feels so right. My eyelids become heavy again and my head rests against the curve of his collarbone as if it were made to fit. I hear the thud of his heart in his chest. I relax into him, curling my hand around the back of his neck, feeling safe and protected. I close my eyes. I hear the hum of the lift as we travel upwards and the slide of the doors as they open, then the click of the key in the lock and the sound of the door closing behind me. He must have grabbed my keys out of my bag. I open my eyes slightly as I'm lowered onto the bed, then his arms slide out from beneath me and I want to cry out in protest, but the softness of the pillow beneath my head has me snuggling into it.

My right foot is gently lifted, and my shoe slipped off, then the same happens to my left and when I manage to open my eyes again his dark silhouette is knelt in front of me. He's not taking advantage of me. He's looking after me. He's being kind and caring, not stern or dominant or anything like I'd expect someone who is into kinky sex to be.

"Are you into S & M?" I blurt.

"I'll get you some water," he says as if I haven't asked the question and strokes his fingertips over my cheekbone causing my eyes to flutter closed.

"Sleep." I feel a brush of lips against my forehead and then I drift off to sleep.