Chapter Twelve

Chelsea

Andrew returned carrying a tray of tea and toast. “Here.” He set it down then placed a pale-blue dress on the table. “And get dressed.”

“Why? Where are we going? You said I had to be naked.” I stood from the bed.

He licked his lips, and his attention dropped down my body. “I’d like you to be naked for the rest of our lives, but that would require me not wanting to kick the fucking shit out of anyone who looked at you, which isn’t going to happen. So eat up and get dressed. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“We have? Where?”

“Just do it, I’ll be back in ten.”

“Can’t you stay?”

“No.” He frowned. “You’re too distracting, and I can’t let my dick get in the way of this.”

I smiled and bit my toast.

He glanced at the crumbs that had tumbled onto my tits then turned and left the room.

An hour later, we were at a place called Memorial Park. There was hardly anyone about, just a distant dog walker in a yellow hoody. It was early, six o’clock, and dew sparkled on the grass.

I stood between Andrew and Cillian. The big guy was back, Phil, and Jamie, the posh one, was in the Merc that had driven us here, presumably waiting as a getaway driver once they had the money and had given me back to Dad.

They all had their masks drawn up. They all wore exclusively black. And they were all carrying—I’d seen that with my own eyes when we’d left Rose Cottage. It spoke volumes about them meaning business, about their professionalism and their determination to see this through.

I shivered in the cool morning air and stared in the direction everyone seemed to be focused on.

A huge black Range Rover came around the corner. It was one I recognized.

Dad.

As I spotted his outline behind the wheel, a sense of dread churned my stomach. Everything Vince had told me came rushing back. There was no way I couldn’t have a conversation with him about Mum and where he was on the night of her death. I’d know in his eyes if he were lying, I knew him too well.

“That him?” Andrew asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But…don’t hurt him. Please.”

Andrew’s hand on my upper arm tightened. “Stay cool. Don’t say anything. Let us do the talking.”

I nodded.

My father parked up, got out, and began to walk toward us. Even at this early time he was dressed impeccably in a navy suit and dark burgundy tie. His arms swung stiffly; he wasn’t happy, not one bit.

“Sweetheart,” he called when he was close enough. “Are you hurt?”

“Tell him you’re not,” Andrew muttered.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Tell him to pay the money.”

“Dad, please, just pay up. I want to come home, please.”

He took his phone out. “Let her walk to me, I’ll transfer the money when she’s halfway between us.”

“Fuck, is he really going to be such a pushover?” Jamie muttered.

“He loves his daughter,” Andrew said, then held up his hand. “Four million, we’ll be watching the account.” He released my arm. “Go.”

“But?” I turned to him. “But what if I don’t want to.”

“You’ve got to.”

“But I want to stay with you. My dad, he…I…”

“You can’t stay with me, now go, get a move on.”

My throat tightened, and my knees felt a little weak. I took several steps toward my father, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Send it! Now!” Andrew called from behind his mask.

My father’s lips were an angry flat line as he tapped his iPhone.

“It’s there,” Cillian’s voice. “He’s coughed up the dough.”

“Great, let’s get out of here.” Andrew slipped my bag into my hand. “Here, this is yours.”

“No?” I turned to see the three masked men running at speed. “But…?”

“Chelsea, get over here!” My father shouted. “Now, away from those thugs.”

My heart was breaking. How could he just leave me like this? Was I really just a paycheck to him?”

The next thing I was aware of were stamping feet, loud shouting, and a blur of men piling in behind me. Once again I turned. My father was being surround by red-faced policemen and women with stern expressions. They knocked him to the ground, dragged his arms to the small of his back, and snapped on a pair of cuffs.

“Dad!” I rushed toward him.

A uniformed officer stepped in front of me. “Miss Chelsea Taylor?”

“Yes, yes, let go of my father, what are you doing? Let him up. Now. What are you doing to him?”

My father’s chubby face was pressed into the damp grass, and he was grimacing.

“You’ll have to come with us as well, Miss.”

“What?” My mind was a riot of questions. Had the police learned of the kidnap and blackmail? No. If that were the case they’d be chasing after Andrew and his strange gang. If that were the case my father wouldn’t be having his rights read.

The police officer tugged me toward my father.

“What is he charged with? Let him go!” I demanded.

“He is charged with perverting the course of justice, claiming a false alibi, and on suspicion of murdering his wife, Francesca Taylor.”

“Murder! What? No! Dad!”

He couldn’t catch my gaze. He was staring at the ground as he was hauled to his feet.

“Tell me that’s not true! Tell me you had nothing to do with Mum’s death.”

He didn’t answer me and was briskly carted into the back of a police van.

“Get off me. What have I got to do with this?” I glared at a female officer who seemed to be in charge.

“We need to speak to you about the night your mother died.”

“What? I wasn’t home. I was on holiday. I only know what I’ve been told.”

“New evidence has come to light. All investigation avenues must be explored, and that includes your account of events. We’ve already had Vince Taylor’s.”

My eyes pricked with tears. Was this really happening? Was the grief and trauma of a year ago about to be picked apart all over again?

The next two hours of my life were awful. I was seated in a cool bare room with peeling lime-green walls. The chairs and table were bolted to the floor.

The same female officer I’d met in the park had questioned me about my father, my mother, my brother, and the events leading up to her death. I was of no use to them, I’d been in Ibiza, yachting the azure waters and dining on fresh sea bass washed down with champagne.

“Ted.” I pressed my phone to my ear. “Can you come get me?”

“Of course, where are you, Miss Chelsea?”

“At the police station.”

He was quiet for a beat, then, “You okay?”

“No, but I will be. Please, be quick.”

I needed to get out of there. I needed to be at home. Shower. I was glad Dad wasn’t going to be there. I couldn’t face him, not yet, not until I’d scratched through my thoughts.

I headed outside and breathed deep. It was going to be another hot day in the city.

Mercifully, Ted was quick, and I dropped into the back of the car and closed my eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ted asked.

“I’d rather not?” I paused. “Is Vince at the house?”

“No, Miss Chelsea. No one is at the house, and your father sent Tina home yesterday. Told her to take a few days off.”

“He did?”

“Yes, I do not know why.”

Because he’d wanted privacy while dealing with kidnappers.

I hated that he’d been in that situation because of me, that he’d been so worried about me, because he would have been, terribly. I knew he loved me.

But could I still love him if what Vince had told me turned out to be true? The police must believe it, too.

I let out a sigh then worked on controlling my breathing until I arrived back at the house.

Ted dropped me off and then took the car around to the garages. He lived in an apartment above them.

I let myself in, kicked off my shoes, then climbed the stairs, stripping the blue dress off by the time I’d reached the top. Within seconds I was under a stream of hot water, face held up to it and the scent of lavender shampoo circling me. Andrew’s face flashed before me—the expression as he’d come inside me, that exquisite moment of absolute bliss and relief.

I’d wanted for so long to see him like that, and now I had. Now I didn’t have to fantasize anymore. God, I missed him. When would I see him again? Would he be at university on Monday, lecturing as though nothing had happened? Acting for all the world like he wasn’t a violent gang member, kidnapper, blackmailer, and dominant passionate lover?

A shiver went over my skin despite the hot water. My body craved his. I longed to be with him—to be naked with him and sharing sex-sweat. There was no way I could act as if nothing had happened between us.

Impossible.

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

“You’ll be needing this!”

I cried out in shock. What the…? “Andrew? How did you…what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stay away.” He wrapped the huge soft towel around my shoulders. “Mitch called and said they were done with questioning you. I came straight here.”

“Did Ted let you in?” I frowned up at his handsome face.

“Who is Ted?” He shook his head and rubbed his hands up and down my arms, over the towel. “And no, I let myself in.” He chuckled. “I guess studying criminology for years, a few things have rubbed off.”

“Like breaking and entering.”

“Yeah, that…you complaining?”

I smiled. “No, I was just thinking of you.”

“You were?” He raised his eyebrows.”

“Yes, I was wondering when I was going to see you again.”

“You didn’t have to wonder for long.” He steered me from my en suite. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Very.” I stopped beside my dressing table and picked up a brush, ran it through my wet hair. The towel slipped half off, exposing my right breast.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said and gestured behind himself.

“Go ahead.” I let the towel fall completely, the sunlight hitting my skin and dancing in the tiny hairs that grew on my flesh.

“Fuck,” he muttered and turned.

The shower came on, and I rubbed in face cream, applied deodorant, and then removed my earrings.

In the reflection of the mirror, I saw him come back into my bedroom, naked and shower-wet, scrubbing his hair with a hand towel.

My heart did a strange little stutter. I’d dreamed of a moment like this for so long—of having the professor in my bedroom. I’d created all kinds of scenarios for it to happen…but even my vivid imagination could never have dreamed up this one.

“On your knees.” His expression was stern, and he nodded at the floor.

A fizz of excitement went through me. He obviously hadn’t visited just to talk.

“Now!”

Hurriedly, I folded to the soft carpet and watched as he took his meaty erection into his fist.

“You gonna be a good girl and do as you’re told?” he asked gruffly and stepped up close. He ran his hand into my wet hair and gripped it the way he seemed fond of doing.

“Yes, Sir.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “I always want to be a good girl for you.”

His jaw tensed, his abdomen bricked, and his chest expanded. He hooked his palm under my chin. “Open up.”

Again, I did as he’d asked. My mouth was watering to taste him, to learn his shape with my tongue.

“Take it all,” he ordered. “Take all of me, just the way you do in my wet dreams.”

Wet dreams? He’d had them about me? Fuck, that was hot.

But I couldn’t question him about them because his cock was there, sliding into my mouth and filling my cheeks. He held my head firm and rode to the back of my mouth, just touching my throat, not enough to make me gag.

“Ah yeah…” he moaned. “So good.”

He withdrew and rode in again, canting his hips.

I gripped his left ass cheek and with my free hand I found his balls, cupped the soft sacs and rolled them gently.

He let out a string of expletives and unholy praises to the Lord. His fingers tightened in my hair, and his cock expanded.

When he hit the back of my mouth again, I sucked, tugging the end of his glans.

“Chelsea…fuck…I’m gonna…”

He was close, so close. I’d got him to the edge as quickly as he’d taken me to the edge. That knowledge was thrilling, empowering, and my pussy quivered and dampened in response.

“Nearly there, good girl…” He drove in and out of me. “Keep doing that…fuck…that’s it…suck me.”

Pre-cum leaked onto my tongue. I was struggling to take his length now he was so swollen, so ready to explode. But I did. I forgot about breathing, this was all about his pleasure.

And then it was there; he roared through his release, rocking me on and off his cock, filling my mouth with cum that leaked onto my chin and dripped to my breast. His cock throbbed, and his balls retracted into his body.

Suddenly he withdrew, folding to his knees in front of me and smashing his mouth onto mine. It was a desperate, urgent kiss that had small pulses of pleasure gripping my clit.

“It was never…that good…in my dreams,” he managed breathlessly. “Fuck, you’re talented at that.”

“I aim to please.” I grinned.

“Oh, you pleased, little girl, you pleased a lot.”