Tasmina Perry 3-Book Collection: Daddy’s Girls, Gold Diggers, Original Sin

‘A little bit like its owner?’ asked Jack.

She studiously ignored him. ‘The place has charm and I want to work with that.’

‘Jonathon! I didn’t expect you to call.’ Venetia felt rattled as she picked up the phone in her hotel bedroom, while simultaneously trying to apply a slick of gloss across her lips.

‘Am I now not allowed to call my wife?’ He was trying to chide her, but she could hear his displeasure.

‘Of course.’

‘What are you doing? Off on the town?’

She laughed nervously. ‘It’s hardly Soho around here.’ She looked at her watch, anxiously realizing she should have met Jack in the lobby more than twenty minutes ago.

‘Anyway, Nina and I were just going out to get some dinner.’

Instantly she felt blood rush to her cheeks. What if he had popped into the office or seen Nina on the street?

‘What I was actually ringing to tell you was that it looks as if I’m going to be in Geneva this weekend,’ said Jonathon. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘But we’re booked into Babington House.’

‘Your little spa fix will have to wait,’ he said coolly. ‘I have to work too, you know.’

There was a knock at the door. She ignored it but it persisted. ‘Look, I’m going to have to go …’

‘Nina?’

Was he mocking her? she thought anxiously, the stab of paranoia returning.

‘Yes,’ she mumbled quietly into the receiver. ‘I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow by the time you get home for dinner.’

Jack was standing in the frame of the doorway when she opened it. He had changed into a pair of cream trousers and a black T-shirt and, although they had only seen a couple of hours of sun that day, she could see a smattering of latte-coloured freckles across his nose. She was embarrassed to feel a stir in her groin.

‘Thought you’d blown me out,’ said Jack, ‘now come on. You can’t come to this part of the world and not have a real Andalusian night out.’

They got into the four-by-four, which Jack drove higher and higher into the hills. As the sky turned dark and the night closed in, Venetia felt a strange rush of freedom. She was having a good time; a really good time. Jack was great company; banter swelled between them, and she found herself laughing, making jokes. Conversation with Jonathon was so sombre she often doubted whether she had a sense of humour at all. But tonight she felt clever, funny and interesting; she felt worth listening to. Tonight she felt the centre of attention. She wondered if this was how Serena felt every moment of her life.

Glancing over at Jack’s handsome profile as he concentrated on the twists and turns of the road, she caught herself thinking why she was not feeling a stronger sense of guilt. It was as if the deeper they went into rural Spain, the more detached she felt from her life in London. She felt free.

Finally they stopped outside a compact stone building, wrapped in the darkness of the hillside. Coloured bulbs hung in strings at the windows and at least forty cars – beaten-up trucks, old jalopies, even a tractor – were parked on a patch of land alongside it.

‘Where are we?’

‘The best place to see flamenco in about a hundred miles.’

Jack guided her inside confidently, his nods and smiles showing that he already knew half the locals, who were knocking back beers at the bar. They sat at a table near a small raised stage, where plates of tapas were placed in front of them: chorizo in hot pepper sauce, mushrooms swimming in garlic oil, frittatas oozing with red and green peppers.

They were just washing it all down with a big jug of Sangria when a slender man in tight trousers took to the stage with a guitar. His short black hair shone like a crown of patent leather as he watched an exotic, tawny-skinned young woman weave through the crowd towards the stage. She had thick raven hair, her ripe, wasp-waisted body was poured into a black and scarlet satin dress and she walked like a tiger. The music started slowly at first, just long, clear plucks of the guitar strings; the dancer swayed her hips to the slow, sensual beat.

‘This woman is fantastic,’ whispered Jack, touching the top of Venetia’s knee. As the sound swelled around the room, the flamenco dancer’s body began moving more dramatically – at once balletic and graceful but almost animal-like in its power. The music was frenzied now, the dancer, as if hypnotized, gliding across the wooden floor of the stage, the curves and lines of her body captivating the entire audience.

When it was over, Venetia felt her whole body pulsate with raw energy. ‘I think I need some fresh air after that,’ she laughed.

Just then, an old man with a bushy white moustache approached their table to greet Jack. Not wanting to interrupt, Venetia made her way out of the smoky room. The silence of the outside air almost made her head rattle, and she walked away from the bar until she was at the outer perimeter of cars. She looked up into the sky. She had never seen it look so dark, like the pure black of printers’ ink. She tried to make patterns with the constellations: a dog, a bear, Jack’s face …

‘Venetia!’

She turned round quickly just in time to see Jack jumping forward and grabbing the sleeve of her dress.

‘Be careful,’ he said softly. ‘Watch you don’t step off the edge of the cliff. I’d hate to lose you.’

Even in the dark she could see his eyes glisten. Sangria and the beat of the music still filling her head, she allowed herself to move close to him. She tried to tell herself she was just very drunk, but the sensation of her nipples ripening told her she was experiencing the very unfamiliar sensation of pure lust.

‘I’ll be careful.’

‘Are you OK? I turned my back for a second and you were gone.’

She smiled. ‘Don’t panic. I’m still here.’

Her eyes looked out into the pitch-black valley as Jack moved closer to her side. ‘Listen. Can you hear it?’ she said. ‘The silence.’

‘I love the fact you can hear silence,’ smiled Jack.

‘It would just be fantastic to live somewhere like this. No noise, no problems. Oh dear,’ she smiled. ‘Listen to me rambling. I’m a bit drunk.’

‘A beautifully mannered drunk,’ replied Jack.

Despite the calm, she began to feel restless, disturbed by Jack’s presence at her shoulder.

‘I think we should go home,’ said Venetia huskily.

He stared her straight in the eye. ‘If that’s what you really want.’

Her inner voice was warning her she was being charmed. The guy was an adman! A professional seducer. Get the interior designer out to your Spanish retreat and get all the added services thrown in for free. He took a step towards her and rested two fingers underneath her chin. ‘Is this what you want?’ he whispered.

But her resistance weakened to practically nothing. The air was so charged she felt sure it would light up the whole of the valley. Her eyelids instinctively closed as his lips moved towards her.

‘No, I don’t want to go home,’ she whispered.

Jack grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her in closer, his hands weaving through her hair.

‘Don’t stop,’ she pleaded, feeling every sexual instinct in her body being activated from its dormant state. Jack manoeuvred her gently against the bumper of a battered truck, unknowing or uncaring whether its owner was anywhere nearby. His hands slid higher and higher up her leg, under her dress, until his fingertips reached the inside of her thigh. Hearing her gasp, his thumbs flipped inside her panties, pulling at the soft cotton until they slid over her hips towards the ground.

Still vaguely aware that she should stop, Venetia nevertheless felt powerless to make herself do anything but pull him towards her. She unzipped him and, totally aroused, guided his throbbing cock towards her. Jack licked the top of his fingers before they went to stroke the soft folds inside her, but she needed no help in getting wet. After months of Jonathon’s coldness, and endless sessions of perfunctory sex in the name of conception which had left her feeling empty and worthless, she finally felt like a ripe, sexual woman ready to explode.

‘Please, now,’ she moaned into the curve of his neck, and Jack cupped her buttocks in his firm hands and lifted her onto the bonnet of the truck. She felt a cool breeze on her exposed pubic hair as she straddled her legs, resting her feet on the bumper.

Jack relaxed the full weight of his body on top of her, inching his shaft into her warmth, so slowly, so sweetly, she had to bite her lip to stop herself screaming out. They moved together, slowly, intensely. Venetia felt the bonnet of the car creak gently under the rhythmic thrust of their bodies. She felt the beginnings of spasms deep inside her as Jack quickened his pace. Every sensation was heightened: her stomach knotted, her skin prickled, her clitoris felt so swelled with pleasure, she thought she’d pass out.