Number Three, at least seemed convinced, laughing loudly, he got up to get another drink. "Well done, love! Quite a backbone, who knew?"
The head of Jaguar Holdings, unfortunately, was not willing to let the moment pass. "How fortunate," he sneered. "Because there's so much more at stake than just you, or even your father, isn't there, dear?"
At that moment, Lauren understood exactly why Thomas pushed her to move away from any close connections in the orchestra, here in London. Anywhere, really. She wanted to scream. She wanted to claw at Kingston's face. But instead, she shakily took another drink of his insanely expensive scotch and forced herself to smile. "I'm sure you can express your concerns to my husband,Ben," spitefully popping the "B," she forced herself to not look away from his cruel, nasty face. "I listen to every single thing he says. He's so good at this..." Lauren floundered, wondering what anyone would call "this," her current, bizarre universe. "This." She finished the thought and her drink at the same time.
"Ah. There you are, darling."
Lauren had never been so happy to hear the cool, resonant tone of her husband, currently speaking in her ear, hovering just over her right shoulder. "Hi, honey," she batted her eyelashes again, looking up, "we've just been waiting for you to finish up. How was your meeting?"
Thomas chuckled insincerely, she was a little surprised that she could tell, that she could "read" her mysterious spouse. "Just fine, darling. Gentlemen-" he fixed a steely gaze at his partners, "thank you for taking such good care of my wife." The threat behind his tone was clear. With shaky legs, Lauren rose with help from his offered hand and quickly escorted from the office.
After thanking Chuck in low tones, Thomas sent him away, pulling her into his office, placing her on the couch before shutting and locking the door.
"Are you all right?" He was in front of her again, running his long fingers over her face, tilting up her chin so he could force the girl to look at him.
Lauren made her lips shape into a smile. "Of course. Believe it or not, I've has creepier conversations than that one. Not by much, but..."
Effortlessly hitching his trousers, her husband knelt in front of her. "What did he say?"
"Number One?" Lauren asked, gazing longingly at his bar set across the room.Did every big executive have a full bar these days?she thought vaguely,Is that the new symbol of a crime boss, instead of like, a live tiger or an alligator?Looking back at Thomas, she watched him sigh and rise to pour her a glass of wine from a bottle in his small fridge. Noting that it was her favorite Riesling, she felt unaccountably warmed that he'd noticed, taking a grateful sip. "He uh, was warning me, I guess." She chuckled suddenly, "Like he could scare me worse than you di- Um..." rapidly changing course at her husband's chilly expression, she amended, "like, telling me to keep my mouth shut, don't be reckless, the usual." Suddenly, her jaw clenched and Lauren felt unaccountably furious. "He told me that there was more at stake than just me and Frank." Looking up, she nearly quailed at the expression of ice-cold fury on Thomas's beautiful face, but for the first time, she realized it wasforher, notather.
"I am sorry, darling," her husband sounded remarkably sincere, "I should have been there to meet you." Noticing her glass was already empty, Thomas raised a dark brow but rose and poured her another one. "And Michael?" he asked, handing her the new drink.
Lauren was feeling much, much better after the application of two tumblers of scotch and now moving on to her second glass of Riesling. "He was a dick," she answered bluntly, "totally like a frat boy drunk and hanging out with his buddies. He's a different guy with Clara, huh?"
Thomas shifted to sit beside her, pulling his wife on to his lap and feeling the alien notion of... not guilt, certainly, but a certain... discomfort that Michael was luring the sweet Clara into this world with no understanding of what she was getting into. "Hmmm," he mused, turning his attention back Lauren, who really did look rather fetching in this sweet schoolgirlish outfit. "I'm sure you will be a great help to her, darling." Lifting her lightly and turning the girl to face him, straddling his lap, he gave her his most delicious, carnal smile. "I fear this ugly encounter has ruined my plans for this evening."
After four drinks on a relatively empty stomach, Lauren was feeling pleasantly buzzed and a little daring. Leaning into his neck, she breathed in the scent of this beautiful man, the feel of his arms surrounding her, hands stroking up her tights-clad thighs. "What did you have in mind, Sir?" She felt his hands briefly still at the use of his title, then squeeze and smooth along her legs again.
"Oh, my good girl..." Thomas purred, "I'd thought of perching you on my desk..." he bent to kiss along her throat, moving her hair out of the way. "Then... putting your heels pressed to the edge, spreading your knees..." he felt her gulp, no doubt trying to hold back the whimper trying to escape her. God, he loved those little noises from her. "Then, tearing a hole in those tights, pulling your knickers aside and…” This time, the groan escaped her before Lauren could choke it back, and she felt his chest jolt as he chuckled into her neck. He pulled her into his body tightly, putting one hand on the bottom of her spine to push his sweet wife's center rather harshly into his already swollen crotch. After feeling her hips move against him a bit, Thomas cruelly moved back, sighing ostentatiously. "But, of course, darling, if that unpleasant encounter has put you out of the mood..."
Lauren hated him when he was like this, her beautiful, manipulative Sir. He knew damn good and well that anything short of a grenade launching right down her cleavage couldn't put her out of the mood when he talked to her like this, rubbing that lovely, thick part of him against her. Damn him. Clearing her throat, she managed, "Well we haven't tried 'throwing everything off your expensive fancy desk and putting me on top of it' sex yet, so... um..."
Thomas looked up at her, his eyes clear and honest as he laughed. "So, just in the interests of a thorough examination of all the sexual basics?"
Her heart twisted painfully. Lauren couldn't remember a moment when her husband had looked at her, so unguarded and delighted. "Precisely, Professor Williams."
The bit of humor evaporated from his face and she suddenly found herself flat on her back on the polished expanse of his desk and legs yanked up and into the position he'd described.
They were driving home - much later - in the dark when Lauren suddenly remembered something he'd said that day in the pergola in Kensington Gardens. Before he nearly made her pass out from coming so hard. "Thomas?"
"Hmmm?" His profile was beautiful as always, lit by the Jaguar's dashboard as he focused on the road.
"Remember when you said that you should have kept me home that night when we had to, uh, do it at Mogilevich's strip club?" Lauren watched him nod slowly, a frown creasing his forehead. "But you said that night you had to have sex with someone for his creepy brand of hospitality?" She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "So, if I wasn't there, would you have had done it with one of the club girls?"
Thomas slowed the car as the light ahead of them turned red, then looked at her. "No." he answered, "I would have made my excuses and left."
"Even if it offended him and threatened your deal with the Brat-" she remembered the night he'd terrified her for saying the word out loud. Lauren realized she'd not spoken it since. "With the Bratva?"
Looking back to the road as the light turned green, Thomas answered shortly, "I would have found a way to smooth over the insult."
"Oh." Her voice was smaller this time, but Lauren persisted. "Thomas?"
He sighed heavily. "Yes?"
"When you came home that night from your business meeting and stinking of perfume, did you sleep... Did you sleep with one of the girls at the- uh, do you call it a brothel or is that old-fashioned?" Lauren cringed to see him bite back a grin.
"The Corporation brothel. No."
