Chapter Eight

Chelsea

After the lecture, I told Ness I’d try and make it for drinks at Sixty-Nine’s, but she could see in my eyes that I wouldn’t. I’d used the excuse of going to the library for a long session on my thesis, but really I wanted to think of a reason to visit the professor’s office again.

She wouldn’t be worried if I was a no-show. And besides, she was going with Edward and a group of other folk. No one would miss me.

The uni corridors were quiet—a few cleaners, the odd lingering student—and I made my way to see Andrew with purpose in my step and desire tugging at my pelvis.

When I reached his door, I knocked twice. My nipples were already hard and my inner thighs tense. Just the thought of him turned me into a hot mess.

God, I hoped he was still here.

The door opened, and he stepped out, briefcase in his hand and jacket on. His shoulders were shoved up, stiff with worry, and his jaw was tight.

“Oh,” he said, as though surprised to see me. “Chelsea, what can I do for you?”

I moved backward to avoid him bashing into me at speed. “I just…I just needed to speak to you.”

“Speak and walk, I’m in a rush.”

I hurried alongside him, my cheeks flushing. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Somewhere.” He frowned.

“Got a date?” A pang of jealousy stabbed at my heart.

“What? No.” He stopped.

“Good.” I chewed on my bottom lip.

“Good?”

“Yeah, I don’t want you to have a date.” I let the right side of my mouth tip into what I hoped was a sexy come-get-me smile.

“And why would that be?” His gaze was intense and seemed to burrow right into my soul—right past my smile.

“No reason.” I half shrugged. Surely he could guess it was because I wanted him. I wanted to scream that. Shout it from the fucking Oxford rooftops.

He nodded slowly and swallowed.

I couldn’t read his body language. He seemed to have tension rolling off him. But tension because of what? Me?

“Chelsea Taylor,” he said in such a low voice it was almost a growl. “We deal in truth, we’ve already established that.”

“Yes,” I said breathily and suddenly seeing where this was going.

“Tell me why you don’t want me to be going on a date.”

Goddamn it, I was so turned on. “Because…” I stepped closer to him, so close I could smell his faded aftershave. It was time to make my move. “I want to discuss the fact that as I’m no longer an undergraduate student, we could have an entirely different relationship.”

“Entirely different relationship?” He cocked his eyebrows at me.

“Yeah.” I pushed boldly on and moved so close my breasts grazed his chest through our clothing. “We could have a sexual relationship, raw fucking, hard fucking, whatever you want to do to me, sir. I’d be yours, at your mercy.”

His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched, and his briefcase fell to the floor with a bang. “Fuck it, I can’t stand this any longer.” He suddenly grabbed my upper arms and pushed my back against the wall.

I gasped as my shoulders hit, air rushing from my lungs.

He kept on going, pressing his body to mine and staring down at me. “You need to be careful what you wish for, Chelsea.”

“I don’t want to be careful. I like danger.” I tipped my chin defiantly.

“You couldn’t handle me.” He was breathing fast now.

So was I.

“I can handle you, I know I can.” I studied his eyes, trying to work out if he knew he’d fucked me already. I couldn’t tell.

And then his mouth was on mine. A heated, sexy-as-hell kiss, that was a wet and urgent mating of our tongues.

I groaned and hung on to the collar of his soft cotton jacket. Need rushed through me, a craving for more that I’d never experienced in my life. He tasted of everything I’d ever needed.

He pulled back and caught my face in a pincer grip, squeezing my cheeks. “Later.”

“What?”

“Later, meet me.” It wasn’t a question, more of an order.

I nodded a little. “Where?”

“Do you know Dean Court?”

“No, but I could.” It was difficult to speak with him holding my face so tight.

“There’s a bus, twenty-two—”

“I’ll use my driver.”

“No!” He frowned. “Don’t do that, we have to be secretive.” He glanced left and right. “Get the twenty-two. When you see the Waitrose in Dean Court, get off. I’ll meet you at the pub just behind it. The Sticky Vicar.”

“The Sticky Vicar?”

He kind of grinned. “You can’t miss it. Eight o’clock, okay. Alone. You gotta be alone, Chelsea. We…” He stepped back and flicked his finger between our bodies. “We need it that way.”

“Okay.”

In a flash, he’d picked up his briefcase and was heading out of the door at the end of the corridor.

I let my legs give up and I slid to the floor, knees folded, slumped. What the hell had just happened? It hadn’t been my plan, none of that. But I wasn’t complaining even though I now had to wait a few hours until we fucked.

And fuck we would. I knew that with absolute certainty. The professor was going to use my body to his heart’s content, and I’d adore every minute of it.

“Later.” I smiled at the word and touched my lips, remembering his passionate kiss. Later couldn’t come soon enough.

I’d never been on a bus in my life and so I was surprised that the twenty-two actually did take me to Dean Court. I sat near the front, my eyes peeled for the green Waitrose sign and clutching the strap of my small handbag. When I saw my stop, I rang the bell as I’d seen other passengers do to halt the bus, then I hopped off.

It was still light, though the sun was slipping behind the buildings. People were going about their business, heading home from a day’s work or rushing out to meet friends. A few cyclists whizzed by, and I had to step out of their way.

Andrew had told me The Sticky Vicar was just behind Waitrose, which made sense because the small supermarket was on a corner. I headed that way, leaving the flow of pedestrians behind.

The pub was easy to spot. Its huge sign, hanging high on the side of the old stone building, was a picture of a grinning vicar holding a pot of dripping golden honey. Beautiful baskets of fuchsias waterfalled along the front, and two wide steps took me up to the door that was propped open.

It was busy, crowded even, and I searched through the throng of people for the man my body yearned for.

“Damn it,” I muttered. Being only five feet four was a hindrance at moments like this.

But I had no doubt he’d be there. I’d seen the desire in his eyes, felt the way he was harnessing his self-control to not fuck me there and then in the university corridor.

Pushing through the drinkers, I circumnavigated the room. The lights were low, and I had to peer into every booth and then into another drinking room at the back. No luck. And then I turned around.

There he was.

I’d know him anywhere.

But he was heading out of the pub. He’d obviously given up trying to find me. I should have stayed in one place, by the entrance.

“Andrew!” I elbowed past a group of guys. One spilled some of his beer. “Sorry, sorry.” I threw him an apologetic smile and rushed on.

Where the heck was he?

I reached the door and practically fell out on the street, my heart racing. I looked left and right. There he was, to my right, heading farther into the long row of big Victorian houses.

“Andrew!” I called again and broke into a run.

But he didn’t hear. I couldn’t understand it. He must have headphones in.

And then he crossed the street and went toward a large Tudor-style house that was set back from the others.

I, too, crossed. He’d gone from view behind a glossy green laurel hedge. But he wouldn’t get far. I’d catch him. I’d knock on his door and find him and fuck him.

A cat darted in front of me. I stumbled but held my footing. Going onto the property, I saw him again, just turning around the rear.

Relief washed through me.

And then everything went black.

Tightness wrapped around me, thick arms, and I was slammed against a hard body.

I went to scream, but a hand slapped over whatever had been shoved onto my head and a big palm pressed over my mouth.

Panic surged. I wriggled violently. Threw my head back in a reverse butt that hit only empty air.

My feet were off the ground. I was being carried. Hot, heavy breaths blasted into my ear.

I tried to call for Andrew to save me. To come get me and fight the brute attacking me. Andrew had muscles, fine ones, I was sure he’d come off best.

Still I struggled. The fight instinct was alive and strong.

“Bring her through here?” a deep male voice with an Irish accent snapped.

“Mmpfh!”

“And don’t fucking hurt her, he’ll go insane. One bruise and he’ll break your goddamn legs.”

“I ain’t hurting her. Slippery little thing, though.” The arms around me tightened.

I struggled more and tried to kick his shins. I hit home with my heel, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“You saw nothing, okay.” Another male voice.

“No, I saw nothing,” a female said, “I’ll leave you guys to your own agenda. Nowt to do with me.”

There was a woman here! She had to help me. I tried to plead with her, but the words were trapped inside my mouth.

Still I was being half dragged, half carried. I sensed the coolness of an indoor room. A door shut with a slam. The presence of men was acute to all of my senses.

“Sit.” I was pushed down, and my bum hit a chair.

The second the arms left me I went to stand, but they were too quick, and within moments my arms were behind my back and my wrists bound. More rope attached my ankles to the chair legs, spreading my thighs apart beneath my yellow cotton skirt.

I tried to look around, but the blackness was dense, barely any light filtered through the material covering my face. “Who are you? Let me go.” I yanked at my binds. It was no good. I was held secure.

“That her? That the right girl?”

“I really fucking hope so.” That was the guy who’d grabbed me, I was sure of it.

Oh, where was Andrew? He couldn’t be far away. I’d seen him heading toward this very house. Or at least I presumed I was in that house. Maybe I’d been carried much farther than I thought.

“You really reckon she’s worth that much?” The Irish voice again.

“Yes, she is most definitely worth that much. Her family have hit all the rich lists in the past.”

I turned to this new softly spoken man. He was very upper class, not your usual kidnapper.

Oh fuck! I’d been kidnapped. That’s why they were talking about money and my worth. “Let me fucking go. My father will kill you all for this!”

“Your father will pay us for your release, love.” The Irishman again.

“Take this off, let me go!” I demanded. “Now! This instant.”

“I think you can safely presume that’s not going to happen.” Another voice.

Fuck. How many were there?

“You’ll all go to prison for this, for a long time.” I bucked against the chair. It was no good. I was stuck to it. “You’re a bunch of fucking assholes.”

“You’d better check it is her?” The posh guy again, he was close, taking off the handbag I’d had over my head. “You’re the only one who knows her.”

I flicked my head from side to side, trying to shake the hood off, trying to stop him taking my bag that held my iPhone.

And then suddenly the hood was gone. I blinked and took in the room. It was large and shadowy, with a bay window and big table. But the most notable point were the five masked men standing staring at me. They were a mixture of sizes and wearing a mixture of fashion styles, but what they all had in common were Union Jack bandanas over their faces.

All I could see were their eyes.

“Is it her?” The beefy guy said. He was the one who’d grabbed me.

They all turned to one broad-shouldered man who was standing further back, in the shadows. He wore a baseball cap pulled low, a black t-shirt, and dark jeans.

I stared at him.

Stared some more.

He nodded.

“Thank the good Lord for that,” Irish Guy said, “we’ll put the demand in. You coming, Mitch?”

“Don’t use my fucking name, moron.” The guy at his side shoved him.

“Ah sorry, mate, forgot.”

“Smooth!” I snapped. “I’m guessing it’s your first time kidnapping, eh Mitch?”

He turned to me and waggled his finger. “Shut the fuck up, little Miss Rich Girl.”

Suddenly the man from the shadows emerged and clasped Mitch’s shoulder in a firm grip. “Watch how you speak to her,” he growled.

Mitch shrugged, and a frown drew his dark eyebrows together. “You wanna handle her, you’re welcome, this ain’t my comfort zone.”

“Yeah, I wanna handle her, so get out, all of you. Now!”

I froze. I swore all the blood in my veins turned to ice, glacial ice.

What the hell?

The men trooped out, a shuffle of feet then the slam of the door.

Bossman, or at least he appeared to be in charge, came toward me, eyes flashing and mask giving nothing away.

I stared at him. Stared even though my vision was blurring, closing in, and my pulse beat so loud I could hardly hear my thoughts. Crazy thoughts—this-couldn’t-be-happening thoughts.

I-knew-who-he-was thoughts.

He walked behind me and set his hands gently on my shoulders.

“You have to let me go,” I said with a shake in my voice.

“No.” He leaned closer, his cheek near my temple, pressing on my riotous hair. “We can’t do that. There’s too much at stake.”

His name caught in my throat. His voice. His cologne, the way he touched me…

I’d been kidnapped by my goddamn professor.

“No one is going to hurt you, Chelsea Taylor. I’ll make that promise to you. No one will hurt even a hair on your head.” He swept my mass of hair over my shoulder. “So no fucking screaming, okay.”

I swallowed and held in a sob. “Professor Andrew Deacon,” I managed. “You tricked me, you betrayed me, you lured me here, so how can I possibly believe a word that comes out of your lying fucking mouth?”