Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes #3)(118)

He lies down beside me. For a while there is only the sound of our breathing.

‘I’m here for you,’ I whisper. And the odd thing is I mean it.

He turns his head to look at me. Our gazes meet and hold. The look in his eyes is so intoxicating I can’t look away.

‘Thank you,’ he says, and his voice is strangely breathless.





TEN


Lily

Jake’s house in Ibiza is a triumph of cubist modernist architecture. Set into the clifftop it is held up by an impressive framework of poured concrete, steel columns and beams. A concealed garage opens remotely.

‘Wow,’ I exclaim.

‘That’s what I said when I saw the artist impression of the design.’

At the entrance, a suspended steel framed cube hovers in mid-air while the frameless pivot door welcomes us into a stunningly minimalist entrance hall. It opens out to a space into which natural light pours through floating roofs. Sliding doors and the extensive use of glass make the threshold between the open plan interior and exterior convincingly invisible.

Jake slides open the glass doors and we are standing outside facing a swimming pool. Beyond it is the blue-green sea. It is so beautiful my breath catches. Now I know why he wanted to come here to think. This place is so modern and yet so wild and natural. It’s taken me some time but I am slowly starting to understand him a little better. He is a sensuous man who needs wildness, nature. They are almost a part of him. That is why he rides horses bareback.

For a while we are both silent, drinking in the salty sea breeze. Then he looks down at me, tousled, but somehow refreshed already.

‘Come, I’ll show you the rest of the house.’

Natural light floods even the deepest parts of the house and there is always that sense of space that comes from vast expanses of glass. There are two receptions, three bedrooms all facing the sea, a kitchen, a dining room, and a cellar. We don’t go down into it.

He opens the freezer and takes out a bag. ‘I’m going for a swim in the sea,’ he says. ‘Wanna come?’

‘How will you get to the sea? We are so high up.’

‘I’ll show you,’ he says, and takes me to the bottom of the garden where there are steep steps that go down to a small private beach inaccessible by any other means.

‘What’s in the bag?’ I ask, as I carefully follow his lead.

‘Breadcrumbs for the fish.’

‘We’re going to feed the fish?’

‘Yup.’

He leads the way and at the end of our descent we are standing on a strip of yellow sand that is totally enclosed by rocky cliffs and sea.

He pulls me toward his body and puts a finger under my chin. ‘I’m going for a long swim. Can you amuse yourself until I come back?’

‘Why can’t I come?’

He frowns, instantly worried. ‘It will be too far out for you.’

‘OK, I’ll swim for a bit, and then I’ll lie on the beach and wait for you.’

He bends his head and lightly brushes his lips against mine. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

I shake my head. ‘And leave this paradise?’

He puts the bag into my hand.

‘What do I do with the crumbs?’

‘Go into the water until you are waist deep and throw a handful.’

‘OK.’

He smiles and starts shedding his clothes. He is so fast it is as if he can’t wait to get into the water. He takes everything off, and, naked, strides into the waves as I stare at him, bronzed, strong and so perfectly beautiful. When he gets to hip level he raises his hand in a wave and plunges in.

I step in myself. It is so clear it practically compels you to dive into it. When I get waist deep I start throwing handfuls of frozen breadcrumbs. It is a shock to me to see the sudden burst of activity. In seconds all the crumbs are gone. Fascinated I throw another handful and this time I submerge my head to look at them. They are small and silver with black patterns, and utterly beautiful. When all the crumbs are gone I swim for a bit and then I go to lie in the sand. I can see Jake is still swimming out.

I close my eyes and let the sun dry my skin. But after a while I find I am unable to relax. I sit up and I can no longer see him. In a panic I rush to the water’s edge. I can just about make him out. My eyes become riveted to his powerful arms as he goes farther and farther out to sea. When he is just a dot on the horizon my throat constricts with fear. What if a really strong current sweeps him away?




Jake

With every stroke my mind becomes clearer and clearer until it sparkles like crystal. All kinds of scenarios play in my mind. I am sitting at the back of a white transit van, wiping blood from a baseball bat. I am sitting in the dark in someone’s apartment and when he comes in and puts on the light he nearly has a heart attack to see me there. And me smiling at him as if he is a long lost friend. That’s the thing you learn as a debt collector. People are f*ckers—they will cry poverty, until they are threatened with physical violence. Yeah, he paid.

Images of Billy Joe Pilkington come into my mind. His cold, empty eyes. Billy’s a legend on his turf. His reputation is one of fearlessness and ruthlessness. His name usually only comes up as a whisper when there is talk of violence and mayhem on the streets, in certain parts of London.

They call him the bat, the bat that came straight out of hell. Nobody has ever dared to cross him. Nobody has dared defy him and lived to tell their story. Nobody except for me. But that was a long time ago when I had nothing to lose.