Scarred by You Read online

  Holding my head in his hands, he slides out. He pulls my legs around his waist and kisses me passionately, deeply, frantically.

  He takes me to the bed and into his lap. I run my tongue around the inside of his lip, tasting myself on him. The blend of us both is a heady cocktail.

  He lifts me, and I slide down onto him with ease. It feels right. Connected in a way we should be, like we were made for this, for each other. He holds me still. “I haven’t covered up.”

  I shake my head, breathless, knowing I can’t stop now, I can’t even wait for him to get something. And I don’t want him to. I don’t want anything between us. I just want him. All of him. “Keep going, please.”

  He closes his eyes and lets me fall deeper. I roll my hips slowly as he takes my weight, and I feel him rubbing the right spot, exactly where I want him.

  “Dayna, you are… Jesus, fuck.”

  I quicken my rhythm until I’m on the precipice again, sweating, desperate to bring him to his peak with me. My breaths are erratic. My head is becoming a blur of bright lights. I lift my hair from my neck as he bites the plump flesh of my breast.

  “Come with me, baby. I need to feel you.”

  I submit to his demand, rotating my hips harder and faster, riding out my orgasm, squeezing his cock until he barks my name.

  I’m not only sated, I’m spent. Mentally, physically, in every way. I fall into him and wrap my arms around him. He rocks us gently, still inside me, taking every last drop of pleasure from us both.

  He carries me to the shower, where he silently washes my body and hair. I do the same to him, enjoying the feel of his skin beneath my soapy fingers. He kisses my brow, scalp, temples, as I clean him. Tears flow from my eyes and mix with the water from the shower. It’s too much. Him. Naked. Me taking care of him. Him taking care of me. The way we’ve laughed and talked tonight. I remember how smart he is, how funny. The way he gets me.

  When we’re done, we climb into bed together, the air heavy between us. He pins me to him, his arm wrapped across my chest, my arm covering his. He nuzzles my neck until his breathing becomes slow and quiet.

  I could panic now. I could start thinking about tomorrow. This was the end of us. It had to be.

  Yet I wish we could stay like this. I wish I could stay in his arms. I wish the sun would never come up.

  A KNOCK ON the door rouses me and I wake with a start. I lick my tender lips and hug the duvet to my sore breasts. My legs are wet and my labia swollen. I close my eyes and lie back, willing away the new day. Wanting to indulge in the memory of last night.

  “Coffee?” Clark asks, carrying a tray of room service into the bedroom and placing it down on a table at the foot of the bed.

  He’s wearing nothing but a towel. I would much rather do something with that sublime body than think and talk about what happens next.

  I sit up, and he hands me a coffee. He knows the inevitable is here, and that’s why he sits in a chair by the table, rather than coming back to bed.

  “How do you feel?” he asks.

  “Sore.”

  He smirks behind his coffee cup. “I meant about the tender.”

  I nod, with a sigh. “I know. I still want the well, Clark. You and I, last night, doesn’t change that.”

  He places his cup back on its saucer. “You never gave me an answer to my offer.”

  Do I want to enter a joint bid with Clark? Be wedded to him in business for the next ten years?

  Last night I was worried he’d played me for an idiot, got me hooked on him again, got close to me so he could coax me into a joint bid. But he’s right, Teddy’s right, Arthur’s right. The chance of making a profit if we increase our bid to beat Persian Fuels, even with SP’s blending capabilities, is slim at best. He really is doing this to protect me. The thought hangs like a heavy burden in my chest, rather than my lifeline. And with it, comes my new concern.

  I’m falling for Clark all over again. I’ve fallen.

  There’s so much history, so many issues that he needs to sort out with his almost-wife, that I don’t know if we would even stand a chance. But the thought that going into business together would mean we couldn’t be together and look out for the best interests of our companies, it kills me. If, or when, we screw things up again, it would mean mess, big mess. It wouldn’t be fair to our companies, our fellow directors.

  Closing a business deal would close the door on us, forever. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or my worst nightmare.

  “I need to think about it, Clark.” I need to get my head straight.

  “Dayna, you know it makes sense. You want the well. I know you’re not going to back down. But I am begging you not to get into business with Bahrain. It’s dangerous. If you beat Caspar he might not let it lie. I want to be in that fight with you, every step of the way. If anything happened to you…”

  I put down my coffee and take the sheet with me as I head to the bathroom, suddenly uncomfortable being naked around him.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “And us?”

  “I think we both have a lot of mess to sort out, Clark. Fucked-up probably aptly describes us both.”

  I shut the bathroom door, close the lid of the toilet and sit down on it, rubbing my temples.

  Fuck.

  HAVING ONLY HAD brunch on the flight back to England and nothing else by four thirty in the afternoon, my stomach is rumbling like a bass drum as a receptionist leads me along the corridors of London Cap bank to Sophia Falicino’s office.

  “Dayna, hello. A pleasure to see you.” Sophia, SP’s bank manager, stands to greet me on legs that are longer than my entire body, accentuated by her black pencil skirt and sinfully high heels.

  I take her hand. “Thank you for seeing me on relatively short notice, Sophia. I appreciate it.”

  She wafts a hand casually as she retakes her position behind her desk, unbuttoning her cream blazer. Sophia is that woman. The one who could intimidate the most beautiful and most successful women. I’m neither and don’t mind admitting how inadequate I feel around her.

  “Let me pull up your proposal here.” She pouts her lips, her cheekbones perfectly contoured in the light of the desktop screen.

  “I have a hard copy if that’s helpful,” I tell her, sliding the rush-job funding request towards her. It’s far from my finest work, but in the circumstances of this tender’s timeline, it really was the best I could do.

  “That’s perfect, thank you.” She licks her index finger and thumb and flicks quickly to the page containing projections for ROI — return on investment.

  I tell her about the well as she peruses the figures. I’ve never been this anxious asking for capital investment, which is surprising given that I’ve asked for larger sums when SP had been in a worse financial state. It’s not at all surprising given the risk I know I’m asking London Cap to take. And it’s certainly not helped by my overwhelming need to take revenge on Caspar Kahn. “With the fall in oil prices the government can’t realise a profit itself so it’s looking to sell.”

  Sophia sits up, interlaces her fingers and presses her palms to the desk in front of her. “You hit the nail on the head, Dayna. Oil prices are painfully low and continuing to fall.”

  “I know. I’m not hiding the weakness, Sophia, but I am telling you that SP can turn a profit.” I run my finger down one bar of a graph. “You see, here, this is the figure a typical company could expect to achieve. This one here is what SP can achieve with its blending expertise.”

  She hums as if she’s mulling it over. I hope she’s mulling it over.

  “I’m not saying I could realise the kind of profit I could have eighteen months ago, but there’s potential here. If we got some big export contracts.”

  “If.”

  I fake a smile. “You know it’s an if, Sophia; we’ve done enough deals together. Look, I know I can make this work, and it’s a solid foot in the Middle East again. It’s an entry step and it will be far from a windfall
, but once the industry stabilises SP will be left with a quietly profitable well and an increasing network in the Middle East, something which is crucial to the long-term success of the company.”

  Sophia leans back in her chair and brings her hands to rest on her stomach. “Dayna, you know I like working with you, and we’ve done some good business in the past.”

  Here’s the inevitable “but”.

  “But I just don’t think I can endorse this one. There’s a very small margin for error here. The profitability is low, at best. We don’t know what the effects of the lifting of sanctions on Iran will be. There’s a good chance prices could continue to fall and possibly plummet.”

  “I’ve factored in margin.”

  “A small amount. There are some serious players finding themselves insolvent, and SP isn’t as big as some of those names. My advice to you as your bank manager is to sit tight, ride the storm, and look for opportunities to invest when you have a clearer picture of how the industry and SP are going to fare.”

  It’s no worse than I expected. It’s exactly what I expected. But with the private equity house turning me down earlier today, Sophia saying no would leave me no option but to submit an alternative bid. No option but to team up with Hassan Deeb or Clark.

  “Please, Sophia. If you want me to beg, I will. This is a good opportunity for SP. I’ve never let you down before.”

  Her smile is laced with pity. “Dayna, it’s business. I just can’t support this. I’m sorry. Maybe the next one.”

  She’s right. I know it. Clark knows it. This well is potentially a bottomless pit ready to absorb money for no return. But I want it. I want to take something Caspar Kahn wants, just like he took something I wanted, needed, loved. Just like he took my father.

  I FORCE MYSELF to smile at my staff as I make a beeline for my office. “Is Arthur around, Rach?” I ask when I round her desk.

  She pulls up his calendar on her desktop. “Just coming out of a meeting with Jeff Potter.”

  I check my watch; it’s coming up to six. “Could you try to grab him before he heads home and let him know I’d like to speak with him?”

  “Sure. I’m guessing from the look on your face the meeting with Sophia didn’t go to plan?”

  I take off my coat and hang it across my arm. “It went exactly as I expected. She won’t invest.”

  “And King’s Private Equity?”

  I shake my head, suddenly feeling drained. I can’t blame Sophia or King’s. In their shoes, I’d probably do the same.

  “So where does that leave you?”

  I sigh. “That’s what I want to discuss with Arthur.”

  “Okay. I’ll get him.”

  I head into my office, drop my coat then turn around and head back to Rachel’s desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be dismissive just then. I know you’re trying to be nice. I’m just tired.”

  She smiles. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t get all those numbers anyway.”

  I don’t sit behind my desk. Looking at my email, letting the business know I’m around, might just finish me off today. Instead, I pour myself a glass of sparkling water from my fridge and sit onto the leather sofa, looking out at Tower Bridge.

  “The bank and PE are both out,” I say, watching Arthur’s reflection in the window as he moves into the room and takes up a seat in a chair next to the sofa.

  “I can’t blame them, Dayna. With the sanctions news and prices continuing to fall faster than anyone thought, this isn’t a risk SP should be taking.”

  “Arthur, you’re the one person I can rely on, the one person who understands how much I need this.” I turn to face him. “He was your best friend.”

  He crosses his legs and rubs a hand across his chin. “He was. And if anything ever happened to me, he would have looked after Teddy, guided him, in business and in life. I owe your father that too. I need to do the best by you, Dayna. Pull out of the bid. This is not the right way to get back at Kahn. When it was a straight bid that was one thing. I didn’t like it, but I was willing to support you. I won’t, can’t, watch you do a deal with Bahrain. You’re not trying to outbid Kahn anymore, you’re provoking him. If your plan worked, when he found out…” He doesn’t finish, he simply shakes his head. The look in his eyes chills me to the core.

  “He knows.”

  Arthur drags a breath through his teeth. “How do you know?”

  I move to the window. “He broke into my hotel room and threatened me at knifepoint.”

  “Jesus Christ, Dayna. That man is dangerous. How can I protect you from that?”

  I turn sharply. “I’m not asking for your protection, Arthur. What is it with everyone trying to fucking protect me?”

  Arthur all but jumps to his feet. “I owe it to your father. Pull out of this tender.” His face is burning red. His black eyes make my body tense reflexively. This is just about as angry as I’ve ever seen him.

  “What if there were another option? I get the well and stay away from Hassan?”

  “You’ve already pissed off Kahn. He’ll be gunning for you no matter how you win this well.”

  “Could you at least hear me out?” I’m shouting back at him, my frustration boiling over into anger.

  He paces the room, hands on his hips.

  I fight against the part of me that doesn’t want to tell him because that would make the offer a real prospect and no longer something I have to consider alone. “Layton Oil.”

  His eyes widen further and his features set. “What about Layton Oil?” he growls. I’ve never felt it before around him, but I’m apprehensive. Arthur has never behaved like this. I wonder if I’m catching a glimpse of the businessman he used to be, my father’s right-hand man.

  “Clark has put an offer on the table. He and I would go in together, Layton Oil and SP. He’d add capital so we could increase our bid.”

  “And he’d get SP’s blending know-how?”

  “Right. There’d be a limit to how much we could increase the bid, but we should still be able to turn a profit if we—”

  “No! Absolutely not. I forbid you to work with a Layton!” His words are almost a roar.

  I front up to him physically for the first time ever. “Excuse me?”

  “You will not work with a Layton.”

  “Who the hell are you to decide that?”

  “If your father were here he’d say the same thing.”

  My hands tremble with rage. “He never told me not to date Clark, so why in God’s name would he have a problem with me working with him to get us, SP, what we want? To get him revenge?”

  “Your father never had to separate you and Clark, Dayna, because Harold was always going to do that. Even if you think you could go ahead with this, Harold will never allow it.” We’re so close I can feel Arthur’s words on my face.

  “Harold Layton doesn’t head up Layton Oil anymore, Clark does.”

  He laughs, hollow and sinister. This is a side to Arthur I don’t like. “Harold Layton controls Layton Oil, he controls that board and he controls his son. The answer from my side is no. I would see you lose the well over making a deal with that man.”

  “What are you talking about? First Caspar’s the devil, then Hassan, then Clark. Why don’t you want this? Why don’t you want us to fight for what my father lost?”

  He points his finger in my face. “You’re on dangerous ground. Very dangerous ground. You need to walk away.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but he turns and storms out of my office. I replay the last two minutes in my head. My eyes sting. Arthur is like a second father to me. I didn’t know he could be like that.

  I’m still standing on the same spot, dumbfounded, when Rachel comes into my office with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “From the Friday afternoon office stash.”

  “I thought you’d have gone home by now.”

  “I kind of got the feeling my friend might need a shoulder and a glass of wine.”

  Arthur wants me to back out. Am
I risking too much for revenge? He wants me to stay away from the government. After Caspar’s reaction, I understand why. But Arthur’s reaction to Clark and Layton Oil… what the fuck?

  “Make it a large, please.”

  “You got it.”

  I STUMBLE THROUGH the door to my apartment. I only had half a bottle with Rachel, but my empty stomach and absolutely screwed-up state of mind have left me feeling the wine more than I ordinarily would.

  So much has happened in the last week. Am I being irrational to think it all started with this godforsaken well? Why won’t anyone fight with me?

  I kick off my shoes, dump my coat and bag, and pour myself a glass of Côtes du Rhône. I take it outside to the balcony and lean over the railing, not feeling the cold despite my short-sleeved black dress. I’m in this fight by myself. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but something is making it hurt more than usual.

  I think about Clark, being back in his arms after all this time. It seems like the only place I can block out everything else, the only place I can be myself. The only place I don’t feel alone.

  If I took his offer, we couldn’t be together; it wouldn’t work. We couldn’t make decisions in the best interests of our companies and come home to each other. Does it even matter? He could come to his senses and go back to Constance anytime. Even if he didn’t, there’s every chance he’d leave me—that’s Clark. That’s what he does.

  But I can’t ignore the part of me that doesn’t want to take that deal and close the door on any chance we might have.

  I push those thoughts aside. This well, my father — they’re bigger than Clark, me, us. I have to fight for Roger Cross, for the truth. He never did anything but compete in a market Caspar Kahn wants to himself. My father didn’t deserve to die.

  The sound of my intercom cuts off my thoughts.

  “Hello?”

  “Dayna, it’s Teddy, buzz me in.”

  I look at my watch. Teddy? At this time?

  I roughly tie my hair in a knot and rub day-old mascara smudges from under my eyes. Then Teddy knocks on the door.