Page 29 of Arrogant Heir

After a week of lusting over him and my fictional hero who have merged into one, I’m in desperate need of relief. Reaching over to one of my bags, I extract my vibrator and some lube from the side pocket, where I keep it out of sight. All I need is the Greystone staff gossiping about the sex-starved writer in the cottage. My cheeks burn at the thought.

The lube is cold, but I shiver with delight as the vibrator buzzes over my clit. I know I shouldn’t, but I allow myself free rein to fantasise about being with him. The image in my mind is an erotic blend of Damian Rochester and the actor who played Mr Rochester in my favourite adaptation of Jane Eyre.

It’s not long before the ecstasy of orgasm crashes over me and carries me away. It’s Damian I see as I imagine him fucking me hard over his desk and losing all control. He’s off-limits in real life, but fantasy is allowed.

My heart flutters at the thought of spending the entire day in London with him. I’ll have to be careful to keep my guilty secret hidden away and be all about the book. I can just imagine how arrogant he’d be if he knew I’d been masturbating over him.

I’m determined not to make a fool of myself, no matter how much I’m into him. It’ll soon pass. It’s just a phase. When the time is right, I’ll get back with Simon and probably never see Damian again.

But as I drift off into a contented sleep, I realise there’s nothing more erotic to me than the thought of Damian Rochester losing control. Over me.

CHAPTER20

Jamie

I’m up early trying to work out what to wear. Do I go for the casual or the London business look? Damian will wear a suit, so after trying on several casual outfits, I decide I’d better dress the part to spend the day with a Rochester billionaire.

Putting the final touches to mybarely-theremakeup (that I would notice if it wasn’t there), I smooth my wild red waves over my shoulders and grab my bag. Time is ticking and I race out the door but slow down in my heels when I hit the gravel.

By now I’m used to not locking the door to the cottage and wonder how I’ll ever go back to London life. This living on a grand estate suits me. I rarely think about buying coffee from a coffee shop and brew a big pot of Lavazza in the sophisticated machine just before I write each day. Who needs to go into the city when they can work on a luxury private estate with every convenience?

Occasionally Sebastian surprises me with a coffee first thing. Damian remarked that his brother is coming home more than usual, and I suspect he thinks it’s because he has the hots for me. But Seb confided in me he worries about his mother and likes to check in on her when she’s home. It’s been five years since their father died, and he says she’s never been the same.

I let Damian think what he wants, but Seb and I are just friends. There’s an easy camaraderie between us, which I definitely can’t say of me and Damian, but there’s zero chemistry, no matter how gorgeous he is. He’s a sweetheart and we laugh a lot, which I guess makes Damian think we’re into each other.

Seb mentioned Damian warned him off me. He hinted Damian is jealous, which I can’t imagine is true, but caused a surge of heat and a flicker of hope in my chest. After all the upset with Simon, it’s fun to have a man to chat with. And I figure it can’t hurt to have a billionaire business contact, but Seb is so chilled I forget he’s second in line to the Rochester throne, as he laughingly calls it.

‘I’ve been the spare all my life,’ he said, one morning over coffee.

‘That must be weird. Do you mind?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘Not really. Sometimes when Damian is a dick, it pisses me off, but it is what it is. He seems to feel the sibling rivalry more than me, but underneath, he has a heart of gold. When he was painted a playboy in the press and went down a dark road, Grandfather threatened to bump me up to his position as primary heir, and ever since, there’s been friction between us. My mother said it was naughty of him to play us off one against the other. We’d always been best buds until then, as we’re closest in age and grew up together.’

I told him I couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to have so much riding on your future just because of the year you were born.

I’ve gathered tons of great nuggets about the family from Seb during our coffee chats, and don’t need to interview him officially. He’s helped me form a picture of how the family runs and who’s who. He’s like a sunny morning in contrast to Damian’s dark cloud.

I asked how come their uncle isn’t ‘first in line’ for Greystone and the British companies, and he explained that when his grandfather funded his other son to set up in the US, the agreement was that the two divisions would be separate to keep things simpler. The keys to the castle and various assets will be distributed to his children in the same way as in the UK. ‘Less of a dog fight,’ he said, rolling his blue-grey eyes.

I arrive early to compensate for my tardiness yesterday and wait on the circular drive at the front of the great house, shivering slightly in my just above the knee fitted skirt and jacket. I’m wearing one of the outfits I bought during my recent trips into Winchester. The spring sun is warm, but there’s still a chill in the wind. Just as well, I’m wearing stockings to cover my pale winter legs, not that I tan well, being a redhead.

Damian strides out from the side of the house and my breath hitches in my chest. The energy changes wherever he is. He commands attention. Or is it only my attention? I can’t be sure, but I’ll see him in action today at the store. He wears navy suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, and holds his suit jacket nonchalantly in one hand, looking every bit the suave billionaire. A shiny black Range Rover swings into view and stands humming on the gravel as he approaches me. Looks like we’re going in style. I’m not sure what I expected, but my pulse revs and I beam at him.

‘You all fit to go, Jackson?’ He asks me in his usual brusk manner.

‘Morning,’ I say. ‘Yes, absolutely.’

The driver emerges from the car and opens my door. ‘This is John,’ Damian says, and his driver greets me with a smile and bows his head slightly, like I’m royalty. ‘Ms.’

I’ve never had a private driver before. Simon makes big bucks, but he has nothing on Damian. He walks or tubes it everywhere in the city—it’s quicker than driving—or we take a cab. On the rare occasion we leave London, we take his sports car, which he keeps more for show than usage.

Wetook.

Sometimes I forget it’s over between us after being together for so long. He messaged this morning, but I didn’t reply yet. I’m not so fast to reply to him these days—I suppose a part of me wants to punish him for screwing up my life.

We settle into the leather seats in the back, and I fidget with my bag. The silence hangs between us without our usual agenda and opposite-the-desk scenario. It feels strange, as though we’ve been let out of the office, but don’t quite know what to do with ourselves.

‘Okay?’ he asks.