‘Do you think Noah had a good break?’ Mum asks. ‘We missed him around here. He’s so delightful—like a ray of sunshine.’
Noah had a great break, and almost as many orgasms as me, before my husband showed up and ruined it all.
‘I think so. He seemed pretty switched off from work. And he was great with the kids.’
At that precise moment there’s a soft rap on the open door, and Mum comes to life as if someone’s stuck an epi-pen in her.
‘Noah!’
My head spins around. Noah stands in the door frame, one arm up against the frame in the same sexy stance he adopted when Ally and I first came for our recce. He shoots me a panty-melting grin.
‘Ladies. I hope I’m not interrupting. Just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing, Stephanie.’
Mum wipes a strand of hair off her face and smiles coquettishly. Dear Lord. Is no one immune to this man’s charms?
‘We were just talking about you, dear. Honor was showing me some photos of your holiday. Did you have fun? Come in! Come in.’
He sticks his hands in his pockets and saunters into the room. I hope naked lust is not written all over my face.
‘It was very special, thank you.’ A fleeting, but smoking, glance at me. ‘It’s a wonderful part of the world.’
‘And your parents are incredibly generous hosts.’ I smooth my dress over my thighs.
‘They do a good job; I’ll give them that. Though sitting on a few hectares of grapes helps. But are you being well looked after, Stephanie? You haven’t drunk us dry, I hope, while I’ve been away?’
He stands next to me as he chats through things with Mum. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body. He laughs, and banters, and reassures, and I drink it all in. I have to get this man to myself within minutes.
When he’s excused himself and headed back downstairs, Mum turns to me, mouth pursed.
‘You should have married someone like him.’
I sigh. ‘Tell me about it.’
NOAH
Payingmy respects to Stephanie was a pathetic ruse to see Honor. I’ve been knocked sideways since she came in. I was winding up a tour of the facility with some private equity guys when she walked through that door and took the breath out of everyone’s lungs. I knew exactly what she was doing with that casual smile and that fucking incredible dress, and boy was I there for it.
When she’d sashayed upstairs after giving me (and everyone else) the full benefit of her easy-access rear zip, the finance guys turned back to me.
‘Holy fuck,’ one of them said. ‘That’s Honor fucking Chapman.’
‘It is.’ My tone was stiff. They’d better not say anything disrespectful about her here, on my turf, while she’s here to visit her mother.
‘She issmoking. Jesus! God, she gets better with age. Did you say her mum was here?’
‘I can’t discuss our guests, I’m afraid. Now, let me send the prospectus over to you by email and you can shoot back any questions you may have.’
‘The zip on that dress,’ another one grits out. ‘Asking for trouble.’
I get them the hell out of there and retreat to my office, sinking deeply into my chair. I put my head in my hands. Jesus Christ. I’d spent less than twenty-four hours with Honor before the reminders that I was playing with fire started to shoot like bullets.
Her famous husband arriving. Not just famous, but A-list famous and in possession of one of the most infamous and desired (by men and women) bodies on the planet. Jackson’s a regular on the cover ofMen’s HealthandGQ, for God’s sake. He’s a sex symbol, and I’ve had the balls to move in on his wife.
And then came the airport shenanigans. If I was under any delusion I could embark on an affair with one of the most photographed women in the world, the James family’s welcome at Heathrow Terminal Five was a rude awakening. Honor and Jackson couldn’t even sit on a plane without their security having to bat away unwanted attention and surreptitious photo attempts from fellow passengers.
The paparazzi were another level of intrusion, though. I’ve seen them often enough on TV, but I’ve never been close to them, never seen someone I care about as the target of their relentless, crass, and obtrusive attention.
This couple is watched. The Heathrow photos are splashed across every front page today. They live their lives in a bloody goldfish bowl. They’ve made sacrifices and taken decisions to achieve this level of fame that I can’t compute. I should be running for the hills. Whatever fucked-up marriage Honor and Jackson have created for themselves, I should want no part in it.
