Bitter Memories: The Billionaire's Revenge: Bonds of Desire, #1

Chapter One

Jake

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Mr. Hunter?

My new assistant James is shit scared of me.  His voice is tremulous, and the papers in his hands shake slightly, betraying his agitation.

Yes James, I snap.  ‘What is it?" 

His unease is irritating.  I have never had any patience with nervous employees. They annoy me.  I make a mental note to keep an eye on his progress.

James swallows drily.  He’s finding hard to meet my eyes, which irks me even more.

Y... your offer Mr. Hunter.  For the Edgewood Corporation estate ...  Belle Maison ... 

‘Well?"  My jaw tightens and I can feel a clench in my gut.  But I regain the icy control that I’ve honed throughout the last twelve years and keep my voice even. 

She turned it down Sir.  He clears his throat.

She?  For a moment I’m a little confused.  Is Mr. Edgewood no longer the CEO of the Corporation? 

No sir.  He passed away.  Over a year ago.  Heart attack.

Interesting. Apart from my interest in the property, Belle Maison, I hadn’t bothered to keep tabs on my previous employer Daniel Edgewood.  He is, was, an overbearing pompous ass, with a gargantuan ego and a temper to match. I hated his guts almost as much as he obviously hated mine.  And now he was gone.

So who,  I ask coldly, although my insides are churning, has taken over the company?

There is a faint sheen of perspiration on James’ brow.  A Ms. Grace Edgewood.  Sir.

Well, well, well.  I raise my eyebrows a smidgen, and tap the desk rhythmically with my Mont Blanc, mind working overtime.

His daughter?

James nods quickly, then sidles forward and places a file on my desk.  We’ve collated some information on her, he says. There isn’t much.  But.  You might find it helpful. Sir.  He retreats quickly to his original place, a few feet away and his eyes drop respectfully to the floor.

I ignore the file with distain.

What do I care about Grace’s perfect life? What the hell, by now she’s probably fulfilled her destiny and is happily married to a perfect man of equal wealth and status, with a couple of beautiful kids and a luxurious mansion in the best part of London. As her father always wanted.

And I’ve ruthlessly expunged her from my life.

Ever since the night she discarded me without a second thought, like a paper cup tossed into the nearest trash bin.  Ever since the night I realised that she was just a cold-hearted bitch, who had fed me nothing but deceit and lies all along.

She means nothing to me now.

But I am extremely interested in the estate.

I drum my fingers on the table.

Do we know what Ms. Edgewood is planning to do with Belle Maison?   I ask softly.

Oh yes Sir.  James swallows again and shuffles his feet. She’s planning to auction it off at the Edgewood’s annual charity ball.  Along with other donated items from various members of the community.  It’s in aid of the UK Heart Foundation.

My smile is tight.  "Wonderful.  Where’s it being held? 

In the Edgewood country house Sir.  Henley upon Thames.

‘When?"

James clears his throat.  In three weeks, Sir. June 14th. Saturday. 

Not much time.

Good work James.  I raise my eyebrows. So. You need to get me an invitation. Damn fast.

James’ forehead is almost dripping with sweat.  Sir, it’s a private event. I’ve checked.

Really?

Mr. Hunter - I honestly don’t think I can.  His face has noticeably paled and I see him take a rather painful swallow.

I lean forward and lower the temperature of my voice by ten degrees.

" You have twenty four hours.  Otherwise you’re fired.

***

It is three weeks later. The day of the auction.

My car pulls up outside the Edgewood estate entrance in Henley upon Thames and turns into the graveled driveway, drawing to a halt outside the mansion. I inhale deeply and stare for a long moment out of the tinted window of my limousine.

The house is just as impressive as I remember.  Its imposing mock Tudor façade and all four stories of red rustic brick and beams stand magnificently amid the beautiful, well-tended grounds.

Although the last time I set foot in the place seems a lifetime ago, the memories suddenly come flooding back and I mutter a curse under my breath.

Shit

My life has changed beyond all my wildest dreams since then. But the house is still the same.  Timeless.  An enduring symbol of wealth, power and sumptuous country living.

I smile inwardly. I’m so, so looking forward to this. It’s been twelve long years since she betrayed me, and tonight I’m going to get my revenge.

My lips twitch as I imagine how she’s going to feel, what she’s going to think when she sees me. Especially when she realises that the young boy she deceived so many years ago is now successful beyond belief, despite the evil machinations of her late father.

I am now a ‘somebody’. 

Hell - I could buy the Edgewood holdings fifty times over and it would hardly make a dent in my fortune. So tonight’s purchase promises to be worth every hard earned penny.  And I can’t wait to prove that I’m equal to her - in every way.

As my driver opens the door, I straighten my tie and step out of the limousine.  The high oaken front door of the house is flung open wide, and as I enter the huge, brightly lit up foyer I see people, sipping champagne and mingling with each other.

A mix of excitement and anticipation expands thickly in my chest and I scan the crowd eagerly.  They are made up of a congregation of London’s richest and most influential people, politicians, business magnates, philanthropists; all dressed up to the nines in tuxedos and designer dresses.

But where is she?

I skim the faces for a sign of Grace’s creamy skin and glossy dark hair, but unfortunately I am forced to make polite conversation with some nondescript women, all seeming awed at the sight of me. They surround me in a claustrophobic knot, checking my Rolex, my designer suit, my Kurt Geiger shoes.  Who are you? What business are you in?  Hey - I recognise your face from the ‘Sunday Times’ magazine.  A collective intake of breath hits my ears.  Dewy eyed, they regard each other and then me.  Jake Hunter - no less.  Featured entrepreneur at number four in the Sunday Times Rich List.  Wow!

I mask my boredom with polite conversation, although, to me, they all seem identical; over made up with immaculate hair and perfect smiles.

I am tired of these types of women.

A platinum blonde with scarlet lipstick and a dress to match drapes her arm through mine and invites me to a private masked ball at her penthouse apartment in Kensington the following week. Her perfume is sickly and I feel slightly nauseous. 

With practiced charm and an artificial smile, I extricate myself from their clutches, and make my way across the hall and into the beautifully decorated drawing room, which has been set out with cream linen tablecloths and silver cutlery.  At the centre of each table is a red rose in a narrow crystal vase, chandeliers shimmer from the ceiling and the double doors at the far end of the room are flung wide open to the terrace beyond.  Classical music plays quietly in the background, adding to the ambiance. 

A space has been cleared in front of the tables for an artificial rostrum, upon which sits an antique wooden table, a pile of papers, a gavel and a block.

No sign of the auctioneer, although I understand that Grace has hired one of the best in the business. 

My eyes wander to the mobile phone placed next to the papers and I allow myself small tight smile. Back in my office, James has been given detailed instructions and no bidding limit.  An anonymous bidder for the estate will heighten the tension of course, and make the event quite dramatic.

And naturally, it will keep Grace guessing.  She will not know the true identity of the winning bidder.  Until I choose to reveal myself.

I imagine the expression on her face when I do, and a warm feeling of triumph spreads along my skin. The first part of my revenge.

Quickly, I thread my way between the tables and find my place, right at the back of the room, marked with a name card.  I slide quickly into my seat, where I can observe the stage from the shadows, out of sight of the auctioneer.

Luckily James had managed to pull a few strings after I had threatened him with the sack.  At the last minute he’d come up with the goods. 

I smile grimly. In my experience, fear usually gets results.  Even though I’d had to sell some shares at a knockdown price to a fellow competitor to cement the deal, it had been worth every penny.  And James, of course, has had his instructions about this evening’s bidding.  He had better not let me down.

Ahhh. Belle Maison.  I yearn to get my hands on that property.  I don’t care how much it costs; I’ll pay double what it’s worth if I have to.  It’s part of my plan, which will finally allow me to pay the Edgewood family back for all the hurt and humiliation I suffered at their hands so many years ago.

I grit my teeth and feel my fists clenching underneath the table.  And though the old man is dead, the thought of purchasing the estate from Grace Edgewood herself seems even more appealing. 

Seated amongst the shadows, I search the room again, looking for Grace. 

Apparently she had arranged the event herself and was supposed to be making a speech before the auction.  But maybe her plans have changed, as I can catch no sight of her tall slim figure or glossy dark hair.

I swallow drily and pour myself a glass of water from the jug on the table. Not that I care about her of course. My only obsession is to own that house.  And then I can dispose of it ....in whatever way I so wish.

My eyes sweep left, then right, and suddenly my gut spasms in recognition and an unexpected quiver of emotion jolts my senses.

There she is.  Grace.

She is engrossed in an animated conversation with a Conservative MP; his balding head is dangerously close to her peachy skin and his hand grazes the small of her back.

Slimmer than I remember; draped in an off the shoulder cream dress, her exposed skin gleams like velvet and her chocolate coloured hair is caught up in a loose chignon. Diamonds sparkle at her ears and throat, and I catch my breath as she throws back her head and laughs at something he says. His greedy expression reveals his desire for her and my fists clench so hard that I can feel my nails digging into my palms.

I try to drag my eyes away, but I cannot. She looks even better than I remember, far more sweet, alluring and sexy than I have ever imagined in my wildest, most lucid dreams. Her beauty, refinement and grace are a magnet to every male eye in the room. 

Once I had been amongst those men, admiring her from a distance, dreaming and fantasising about her love, craving her attention. I’d learned to love her, and she vowed that she loved me too.  But I learned too late that it had all been a lie; a cruel joke, a wicked deception. 

Now I know the real Grace and the coldness that lies beneath her deceptive sweetness and radiant beauty.

Abruptly a realisation slams into my chest, so hard that I almost flinch.  It’s been twelve long years since we parted; yet nothing has changed. 

Of course, I still desire the property, always had.  And I intend to get it.  But Grace? 

I can feel a surge of lust uncoil deep in my belly and my throat goes dry as I suddenly remember how we were together. How perfectly we fitted. How passionately we loved.

And, it hits me, like an arrow in my gut, what I really want.

To possess her again. Physically.  To have her for myself, alone. 

And keep her for as long as I want.

Chapter Two

Grace

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My hands feel damp and a swarm of butterflies are performing a wild tango in my stomach. Oh Lord. I am so, so nervous.  It’s the first time I’ve been expected to organise the company’s annual charity dinner and I’m petrified that I’m going to make a pig’s ear of it.  Ever since Daddy died, and I was forced to take his place; it’s all been some sort of ongoing nightmare.  Swept into his office almost overnight and expected to run his huge array of companies - oh my - even the thought of it at the beginning made me tremble all over. 

I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve yearned to offload all this responsibility on to someone else - anyone - and then hide myself away.  Somewhere.  Anywhere.  Like Belle Maison. A vivid image of my childhood home springs instantly into my mind, as if it’s been waiting for the right cue, and my heart swells.  It’s the only place where I’ve ever felt really, really happy.  Where Jake and I once thought we had some kind of