‘Not joining in?’
She looked up to see Max holding two glasses of wine, his handsome, craggy features accentuated by the dim tawny light from the bonfire. She had known he would come. When they had sat next to one another at lunch, the chemistry between them had been instant although she hoped not obvious; it wasn’t exactly good form to be seen openly flirting with the groom-to-be. However, she had taken particular attention with her appearance at the party and studiously avoided Max to see if he would come and look for her. Some men are so predictable, she thought, smiling to herself.
‘I don’t dance,’ said Cassandra.
‘Oh, I’m sure you do,’ smiled Max. ‘Although I suspect the do-si-do isn’t quite your thing.’
‘Not yours either?’ she said, looking into his deep blue eyes.
‘Hey, I’m only the groom,’ he said. ‘I don’t have anything to do with actually planning the wedding, all I have to do is turn up.’
‘Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be with your fiancée?’
‘Actually, no,’ he said with a small smile. ‘In fact I’m not supposed to see her at all.’
‘Ah yes, that’s right. Whatever happened to having the stag do the night before the wedding?’
Max laughed. It was throaty and deep and Cassandra felt it in her stomach.
‘It’s a safety net, isn’t it? Now if your bollocks get shaved, you have time to grow them back again in time for your wedding night. We went to a gun club in Prague, firing ex-Commie Kalashnikovs: every young boy’s dream.’
Cassandra shivered. There was a rough edge to him; he hid it well underneath the Savile Row suits, but there was something raw about Max Carlton, something that had her off-balance. Cassandra was used to going home with the most powerful or the most handsome in the room. In a party full of multi-millionaires, landed gentry and male models, Max Carlton was neither. And yet, she had a desire for him she hadn’t felt in years.
‘Well, here’s to the dying hours of freedom,’ said Max, raising his glass.
‘You’d better make them count.’
‘Got any suggestions that don’t include cowboys and nachos?’
Their eyes locked and he moved a little closer to her, his arm brushing hers. If either of them thought about the morality of what they were about to do on the eve of Max and Laura’s wedding, they didn’t voice it.
‘I have some Cristal in my room,’ said Cassandra quietly. ‘I’m in the gardener’s cottage.’
‘It’s the best offer I’ve had all day,’ he replied with a grin.
‘I’ll meet you there in a few minutes?’
Cassandra nodded and walked away from the party.
The cottage was five hundred metres from the main party and hidden by a wing of the house. There was no one to see Cassandra slipping in through the front door and slowly closing the curtains, shutting out the lights of the bonfire. Picking up a beautifully wrapped oblong box, a wedding gift from the Rive office to Laura, she ripped off the paper. She could replace it. No one bothered to look at their wedding presents until after they got back from honeymoon anyway.
A few moments later there was a knock. She opened the box and took out the Cristal, tearing off the yellow Cellophane as she walked to the door.
‘Now this is much more civilized,’ smiled Max, taking the bottle from her.
‘What’s the bet there are no champagne flutes,’ said Cassandra walking into the tiny farmhouse kitchen. As she reached up to open a cupboard, she felt him behind her, the whole length of his body pressing against hers. At first he kissed her so lightly on the nape of her neck, she could feel his breath on her skin, then she turned her head until his lips were on hers.
‘Max, we shouldn’t,’ she whispered, not meaning a word of it.
‘Why not? This is my stag night, remember,’ he mumbled as his lips brushed along her neck.
‘Well, I don’t want to disappoint you,’ she whispered, her skin starting to prickle with need. She felt his hands grip her hips and turn her around.
‘I’ve been thinking about you since the second I saw you,’ he growled, lifting a finger up to her cheek.
‘And what have you been thinking?’ she asked with a wicked look on her face.
‘I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to taste your cunt.’