It is the first part of a pivotal and disturbing chapter when the dynamic of the entire story changes and we find out what Jon Solomon is really like - in other words, if I post any more, it'd be a spoiler!
Warning: some adult content (it gets a bit saucy!)
If you have enjoyed what you've read so far and want to know what happens next you'll have to buy the book!
The crowdfund to publish the book is still active until 28th July. Pledge now to see Solomon's Secrets in print and find out what happens next.
Paperbacks: £10 (inc P&P)
eBook: £3
Available through the crowdfund only - receive the eBooks of Solomon's Secrets and the prequel, The Bronze Box in a £5 bundle. The only place you can get this is here
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I recommend that you read the previous few posts to get up to speed with the story so far.
Enjoy the final installment...
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| If a millionaire businessman had a home in France, I imagine it would be something like this...(image from: http://www.sjvillas.co.uk/france/south/la-bergerie.jpg_ |
Côte d’Azur, France
“Your little retreat eh? Jon, this place
is beautiful. You are the master of understatement!”
He chuckled softly.
Their feet crunched in the gravel as
Sasha followed him past the two potted Olive trees framing the door and into
the house. She stepped from the warm summer air, thick with pollen and the
smell of cut grass and into the shady interior. Her footsteps echoed on the
rustic tiled floor as they walked through the tall, wide hall. The smell of old
stone suffused the air. No furniture, just a bare coat rack and a shoe
cupboard. A series of over-sized doors punctuated the whitewashed plaster walls.
“Come through,” he said, dropping his
bags at the bottom of the high curved staircase, “Leave your bags there and the
housekeeper will take them up.”
She set her bags down next to his and
followed him into the big country kitchen. Chunky wooden units lined the walls
and the scent of lavender drifted through the air from a basket full of sprigs
on the breakfast table. Her low heals clacked on the terracotta floor and soft
afternoon sunlight spilled in through the French doors.
A middle aged woman with curly silver
hair and a weathered face came in through the doors from the patio. Not
expecting to see a visitor, she looked up and stopped in her tracks. She threw
a severe look at Jon.
“Bonjour Maria,” he said, formal yet
friendly, then turned to Sasha, “This is Maria, my housekeeper.”
Maria offered a curt nod to the guest
then glared at Jon. The two of them exchanged a few angry words in French. Sasha
only knew a little high school French and quickly lost track of what they were
saying. She heard a name though; Cécile.
The exchange ended with Maria storming
off after Jon called her ‘Pétasse’ which Sasha assumed to be an insult.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
A residual anger was still in Jon’s
eyes, but he smiled and dismissed the exchange, “Oh nothing. Sometimes you’d be
forgiven for wondering who works for who!” he laughed mirthlessly, then
lightened his tone, “Coffee?”
“Sure. Where’s the kettle?”
He smiled in response and rolled his
eyes, “Kettle indeed. Honestly Sasha.”
“What?”
He crossed the room and opened a tall
cupboard. Behind it, in contrast to the traditional Provençal kitchen was an
array of shiny gadgets. Including a chrome coffee machine, and grinder.
He rummaged about in the cupboards,
shook some beans into the grinder and set about searching for some cups,
tutting to himself.
“Make yourself at home,” he said,
glancing over his shoulder at her as if she were an afterthought. She got the
sense he was still stewing over his fight with the housekeeper. He was clearly
out of his comfort zone, not even knowing where the coffee cups were kept in
his own kitchen.
Sasha smiled to herself. A millionaire,
owner of a multinational business empire yet he was struggling to make a couple
of drinks.
“Do you need a hand with anything?” she
asked, as he banged open and closed various cupboards.
“No, no. Its fine,” he said, his nerves
sounding frayed.
She strolled over to the glazed doors
and looked out.
“You know what?” he said, she looked
round and he was stood in the middle of the room, proudly holding a bottle of
wine in one hand, the stems of two glasses hooked over the other, “Forget the
coffee. Let’s have wine!”
She laughed, “I’ll never refuse wine,”
she said.
He took a corkscrew from the drawer - he
knew where that was kept - and the bottle opened with an appealing pop.
“Come on, we’ll go through to the
drawing room.” He nodded towards double glass doors, through an archway to an
adjoining room.
“What a lovely room, and wow, what a
view!” she said as she stepped in and was presented with a picture window
overlooking a vast landscape of rolling rocky and wooded hills tumbling down to
the coast. The low sun glittered off the ocean, the silhouette of sailing boats
dotting the horizon.
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| Views over Théoule-sur-Mer (image from:http://www.rentalsystems.com/data/images/78014/balcony%20stellar%20view.jpg) |
“It’s what sold me the house, I never
get tired of watching the ocean. Please.” He gestured to an oversized settee
was set in front of the window, a telescope to one side.
“May I?” ignoring the seat, she went
straight to the telescope, an excited child set loose in a toy shop.
“Of course, here, I’ll show you.”
He set the wine and glasses down on the
coffee table and joined her. He guided her to angle the eyepiece then
positioned himself against her, his body molded against hers. She could feel
his heat, smell his musk, her skin enlivened with his breath on her cheek. He
spoke softly, placing his hands over hers and showing her the delicacy with
which to operate the controls.
“See, you focus with this one and turn
here.” He touched her hip and directed her. Pointing down the shaft he talked
her through the view.
“A little to the right. Do you see? The
red roofs up the hillside?”
“Oh yes, hang on,” she adjusted the
focus, and laughed in delight, “I see, between the trees. Which town is that?”
“That’s Theoule-Sur-Mer and if you move
round a little,” he repositioned her hips with a gentle hand, “On the far
horizon, you can just about see the outer suburbs of Cannes.”
She looked up from the eyepiece, his
face was inches from her, they both blinked away.
“Would you join me for a drink?”
She nodded, stepped down from the
telescope and he showed her to the settee.
He reached for the bottle and poured
“This is a delightful Bordeaux,” he
said, handing her a bulbous glass.
“So you know about wine as well as
silks?” she said, chinking her glass against his and settling on the settee
beside him.
“I couldn’t get away with living on the
Côte d Azur without knowing about wine.”
“I guess not.” She laughed softly and
sipped at the wine.
“This is a beautiful house,” she said,
making polite conversation.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it. It’s
peaceful here. Quiet. I can be myself here.” He flashed her a broad smile. It
seemed loaded somehow, she was intrigued and gazed back at him with an
enquiring smile.
“I’m glad you’re here. I wanted you to
see this place, and enjoy it with me.” A sadness clouded his expression.
“It’s been a long time since I felt
comfortable enough around anyone to let them in,” he laughed at himself,
something rueful in it, “I’m sorry. That sounds crazy. If it even makes sense.”
“No, no. Not all,” she rested a hand on
his arm, feeling a deep empathy for him. She knew exactly what he meant, even
though the words were inadequate, “Thank you.”
He glanced away and sipped at his wine.
She couldn’t help but smile. She felt
close to him. There was an unspoken intimacy between them. It was comfortable,
sensuous somehow. A desire to act on the intimacy grew.
“It’s funny,” he spoke softly, a distant
look in his eye, “I can have anything money can buy except the only thing I
really want.”
“What’s that?” she chirped.
“To belong with someone. To share myself
with someone.”
He shifted around to look at her. His
eyes slowly blinking, his face set with an easy smile.
She put her glass down and brushed a
hand around his cheek. His face was warm and soft, she leaned closer, her eyes
taking in every contour and crease of his handsome face. She stroked her hand over
the curve of his head, his hair dancing between her fingers. His breathing
changed, shallower. He twitched.
“You’re a sweet man Jon Solomon. I’m
very fond of you,” she said.
“Is that a compliment?”
“Sorry,” she smiled back, “I didn’t mean
to sound patronising. I’m not very good at giving or receiving compliments.” She
ran her fingers through his hair and he let out a long, satisfied breath.
He moved closer, a hand resting on her
thigh. With his breath on her face, her skin came alive, she wanted to taste
him. He brushed a stray hair from her eye and leaned in for a kiss, parting her
lips with his. She reciprocated, enjoying his moist mouth against hers. She
pulled him in harder, the kiss intensifying. He formed his hand around the shape
of her cheek and slid the other along the small of her back and up her spine,
pulling her against his warm, strong body. She thought back to the evening in
the apartment when he had massaged her legs and they’d come to so close to
taking it further. It didn’t feel right then, it had been too soon. It had only
been a couple of weeks, but in the time, when they had been apart, her thoughts
had been preoccupied with him. She’d missed him. The more time they spent
together, the closer she felt to him. She enjoyed his company. She enjoyed the
taste, the smell, the feel of him.
His hands were rippling the cotton of
her shirt, he’d untucked it from the back of her jeans. His fingers slid along
the beltline and traveled up her spine. The kiss was absorbing her, becoming
more passionate, his hands comfortable and reassuring on her skin.
He had money, he was attractive, he was
clearly fond of her, but it still wasn’t quite right. He felt good, she was
becoming more aroused as they kissed. Her own hands were exploring the contours
of his chest, his shoulders, smoothing over his shirt. A hunger was mounting, a
need, a carnal urge to allow this to go further. But something stopped her. The
kiss was delicious, his hands sensuous and receptive to her shifting in his
arms. It felt good, but it also felt strange.
'Stop overthinking it and enjoy it,' she
told herself.
“Hang on,” he said, breaking away for a
moment. She was stunned. What sort of timing was that? Mid kiss? So much for
indulging her desires. Despite her inexplicable doubts seconds earlier, they
were soon replaced with the sting of irritation.
He leaned across to the wine bottle. She
rearranged herself on the couch, straightening her shirt and was distracted by
the view. The sun was low and a warm buttery light filtered across the
landscape. While Jon topped up their wine she gazed out over the ocean, feeling
contented and a little tipsy.
“Here!” he handed her a glass.
“Cheers!” she said, they clinked glasses
and he watched her with a relaxed smile as she drank.
“What? Why are you looking at me like
that?” she said, her cheeks flushing. The intensity was intimidating.
“Nothing. I was just thinking how
beautiful you are and how much I want to please you.”
“Jon?” she laughed.
“Come here,” he opened up his arms and
waved her closer. She hesitated, not sure where this would lead. Or where she
wanted it to lead. All she knew was she wanted to feel his arms around her. She
leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder. Her head spinning. It was
strange, sure, she’d not eaten much but to feel this drunk so quickly, she was
puzzled. She shook it away and settled into his warm arms.
“Whoah. I think I’ve drunk too much,” she
moved to sit up but he pulled her in closer, planted a kiss on the top of her
head and held her against him.
“Relax, it’ll pass,” he said softly.
She settled into the embrace, felt her
eye lids growing heavy.
*
Her eyes blinked open. Slowly they focused.
She was in a different room. Jon was gone along with the couch and the wine.
She must have nodded off, but this room was unfamiliar.
Was she still in the house?
Her memory was fuzzy, her temples being
squeezed in a fist of red wine. She was on her back, looking up at a high
ceiling. She was on a soft, warm bed, silk sheets against bare flesh. Then she
felt the ache. No pain, she was comfortable but restricted, spread eagled.
Panic, terror, shame, tumbled onto her,
crushing her...
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| Kate Winslet as Sasha Blake (image from: http://wallalay.com) |
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| Tom Hiddleston as Jon Solomon (image from: http://31.media.tumblr.com) |
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