Wounded Beast (Gypsy Heroes Book 2) (10 page)

‘Fan-fucking-tastic,’ I say with a large grin.

S
he opens the door and my eyes widen.

I told my secretary, ‘A red dress with a slit at the back.’

‘How much do you want to spend?’ she asked.

‘Get her something spectacular that I’ll enjoy taking off,’ I said, and I never gave it a second thought after that. Until now!

Spectacular would be an understatement. She looks fucking unreal!

An innocent, but almost secret smile slips onto her face, and suddenly, for just a sliver of time, the past becomes the present. It is as if I have known her forever. Something in my gut catches, and I grab the tax investigator’s hand and yank her hard. She tumbles into my arms in a delectable rush of soft flesh, blonde curls, and rising perfume.

Our bodies touching from chest to thigh, I curl my fingers into her silky hair and crush her mouth under mine. It parts. She tastes of chocolate. I plunder, I brand, I claim. Mine. This one’s mine. Blood pounds into my dick. I want to walk her backwards into her flat, push her up against the wall, and shove my hard, hungry cock into her like on that first night.

I pull my mouth away, furious with my own lack of control. 

She blinks up at me, dazed, panting, her spine tense. ‘What’s the matter?’ she whispers.

I say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘You taste of chocolate.’

‘And that’s a … bad thing?’

‘Ella …’ I begin, but there’s nothing to say. I can’t promise her anything. Give her anything. There is nothing for sweet Ella. Just these crazy moments until they, too, are gone. I shake my head. ‘We’ll be late. Let’s go.’

She backs away from me. Her eyes are confused and hurt. ‘Where are we going?’ Her voice is pseudo breezy.

‘My mate Justin is having a party.’ My voice is distant. I hate the way it sounds, but it’s too late to take it back.

She nods. ‘That’ll be nice.’

‘You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she says sadly.

I’m fucking lame, I am.

I don’t allow that strange ‘episode’ to spoil my night. I’ve always known that something is wrong, but I also know that it is neither of our faults. I’ll just live for the moment, and let the future take care of itself.

The party is already in full swing when we arrive. Dom parks the car, and we walk toward the house. He doesn’t hold my hand, or anything like that, but he keeps my body close to his so that it
’
s clear to anybody looking that I’m with him.

The smell of a barbecue is coming from the garden, and Justin’s living room has been turned into a giant disco with flashing lights. As we enter the room the DJ spins ‘Feel This Moment
’
by Pitbull and Christina Aguilera, and it
’
s as if they
’
re singing to me.

‘Ask for money and get advice,’ Pitbull raps.

I turn toward Dom. ‘I love Pitbull.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. You wanna dance?’ I ask.

He looks down at me and suddenly grins. ‘Why the fuck not?’

He pulls me to the middle of the floor, and, man, can he jive. I look into his sexy eyes and just for that moment I
’
m the luckiest girl alive. I laugh, feeling so happy. Oh, if only this moment could last and last …

Justin is wearing a thick gold chain with a medallion and his shirt open down to his waist, and a couple of gangsta type gold rings, but he’s cool. He raises his eyebrow at me. ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’ he says. ‘Wanna reduce your tax bill? Just get yourself a hot tax collector girlfriend!’

I just smile. This is a thin ice lake he
’
s trying to get me to skate on.

‘So, how much of a rebate are you givin’ him?’

I shrug. ‘Nothing.’

‘Why not?’

‘Tax cheats annoy her,’ Dom says dryly.

‘No kidding? Why?’

I shrug casually. ‘I don’t know. I guess it started when I was a kid. Some of the women on the estate sold Avon cosmetics in their spare time and never bothered to declare their earnings, so they always had extra to spend on nice things, and my mum and dad had everything taxed at source so we never, ever had enough.’

‘Shouldn’t that have made you decide to become an Avon lady?’ Justin asks with a humorless laugh.

I search desperately for some kind of argument that will justify my views, but I can’t find one, because within Justin’s little joke gleams the real truth. A thing that has been polished by years of denial. My views about taxes have been shaped almost entirely by resentment and jealousy. I was jealous because my friends
’ mothers
could afford better things for their families, and my mum couldn
’
t.

Now, when I think about it, I realize, ‘Good luck to them.
’
It wasn
’
t as though they walked away with millions. They were just trying to make their families
’
lives a little better. If the government can afford a trillion to bail out banks, the little amounts they ferreted away couldn’t have made any difference at all.

Unexpectedly, Dom comes to my rescue. He slips his hand around my waist. ‘Ella couldn’t be an Avon lady because she embodies a life of simple dignity, sacrifice and service.’

I stare at him, surprised.

Dom’s cheeks slowly start to expand with a warm, radiant smile.

And I let out a long, inward sigh. He understands me.

Afterwards, we drink lots of cocktails, dance, and watch a fire-eater perform while we eat grilled jumbo prawns with a lime and garlic dressing. It
’
s late when a fantastically handsome guy turns up. The photos I
’
ve seen of him on the net haven
’
t done him a shred of justice. He
’
s obviously very popular with the girls, because immediately there
’s
a bevy of them around him. He looks over to us, catches my gaze, and a strange expression crosses his eyes. It passes in a flash. He comes up to us.

‘When did the Inland Revenue start hiring ex-beauty queens to collect their taxes for them?’ he asks with an irresistible sparkle in his laughing blue eyes.

Dom sighs heavily. ‘Ella, meet my brother, Shane. Shane, Ella Savage.’

I hold out my hand, but he grabs it, and, pulling me toward him, envelops me in a bear hug. I
’
m so startled by his infectious warmth that I burst out laughing. He holds me around my waist and whispers into my ear, ‘Has my brother managed to bring you over to the dark side?’

I giggle.

‘We have chocolates,’ he whispers darkly.

Dom reaches out, catches my wrist and tugs me firmly toward him. ‘Haven’t you got a bit of skirt you have to chase?’ he asks his brother.

‘Nope,’ Shane says, and helps himself to a prawn from my plate. I realize I really like him. He must be the life of every party. He
’
s such fun. As if on cue, a tanned blonde in a tight, hot-pink dress and seven-inch heels comes up to us.

‘Hey, Dom,’ she greets politely, smiles at me uninterestedly, and then bats her eyelashes at Shane. ‘You said I could have the first dance.’

‘And I meant it,’ he says, and, taking her hand, leads her towards the music. A few steps away he stops and turns back to me. ‘You should come for lunch tomorrow. My ma makes a wicked Sunday lunch.’ Then he
’
s pulled away by the blonde. His departure leaves the air around us tense.

I sneak a look at Dom, and he
’
s staring at me, his eyes wiped of all expression. ‘Yeah, maybe you
should
come. Meet the rest of the family.’

‘Maybe it’s too early,’ I say, giving him a chance to back out.

His eyes twinkle. ‘We
’
re gypsies, Ella. We’re not subtle, and we don’t do tact. We say what we mean, and we do what we say.’

I chew on my lip. ‘Maybe we should wait until after Monday. Your family might hate me after my meeting with your accountant.’

‘I don’t care what happens on Monday. I could be dead by Monday,’ he says flatly.

Before I can answer, there
’
s the sound of a loud crash. Both of us turn to look. From where we
’
re standing, I see Justin pointing his finger and arguing loudly with someone whose body language is just as aggressive. Beside him, on the patio floor, is an overturned chair.

‘Shit, the Barberry brothers,’ Dom says, jumping to his feet. ‘Come on,’ he urges and we walk quickly toward the brewing quarrel. The men are arguing bitterly, their aggression quickly filling the air with tension. I can’t properly make out what they are fighting about with all the onlookers shouting at the same time. As we arrive, it transpires that one of the Barberry brothers has insulted one of Justin’s mates.

‘I’ll fucking kill you,’ Justin is shouting to the Barberry brother who
’
s supposed to have thrown the insult. There are four of them, and they all look as though they
’
re spoiling for a fight.

Dom looks at me. ‘Stay here,’ he orders, and he strides toward the men.

I can see that the situation is quickly getting out of hand. And sure enough, seconds later someone throws a punch, and then it
’
s a free-for-all. Everyone
’
s swinging punches, chairs are being smashed, and more men are joining the melee. I stare at them in disbelief. I
’
ve never been to a party that
’
s erupted into a steaming fight before. And it
’
s a proper brawl, as well.

From the corner of my eye I see Shane wading in, coming to his brother’s rescue. Not that Dom seems to be needing any help. He
’
s roaring and going for it like a mad man. It
’
s incredible how this party has disintegrated into this mess in the space of just a few seconds.

To my surprise, the other partygoers aren
’
t trying to intervene and stop the fight, but are either watching it as though it
’
s part of the entertainment, or clapping and cheering on Justin and the Eden brothers against the Barberrys. There are four Barberry brothers against three, which seems unfair to me.