Rules are Made to be Broken Ch. 10

'It's 11am on a Monday morning and I have sold precisely one book. That's slow, even by our standards.' Bob Anderson, my boss and the owner of the book shop, declares.

He's in his sixties, but he's one of those older men who you can tell was attractive in his younger years. Bright white teeth and hair, both of which are still all his own as he'd remind me from time to time; and he's genuinely kind and big hearted too.

'I know Bob, but there's still time for it to pick up. Why don't you go out for a while, get some fresh air, cheer yourself up a bit? Maybe treat your favourite employee to a latte', I add with a wink.

'You're a good girl Jessica, always full of bright ideas.' He smiles warmly. 'I'll be back in an hour, and then you can head off for lunch.'

'No worries; have fun!' I reply, waving him off.

Truth be told, I'm relieved for the time alone. Once again, my head is full of images of the last man who called me a "good girl". Of course, it had an entirely different meaning from the lips of Sam Byron. My mind wanders back to his indecent proposal last night and I feel my dreamy smile become a frown of annoyance. I try not to dwell on it, I suppose having more money than sense and more arrogance than either is just part of the Byron package -- but if we're going to be friends, we'll definitely need some ground rules.

I look up as I hear the door chime, looking forward to a customer to distract me, and instead, see the delivery man who brought my gift from Sam on Saturday.

'Morning Miss Hardy' he smiles, I'm swiftly even more grateful that Bob's not around -- not sure how I'd have talked my way out of that.

'Morning', I smile

'Another package for you to sign for', he holds up a small packet in his hand.

Excitedly, I scribble my fake signature, hoping it's vaguely similar to last time, and send him on his way.

'What have you done this time Byron?' I wonder out loud.

I rip open the package and pull out another tissue wrapped gift and a card in his beautiful sweeping handwriting. It reads:

'My Beautiful Amber,

Thank you so much for your help last night, it was appreciated and exceptional.

Harvey will pick you up from home at 6pm tonight. No Arguments!

S x'

Oh, hello again Mr Control Freak. I consider calling him to insist there's no need to send Harvey when I can book a taxi, but decide it's not worth it -- his intentions are good, if a little overbearing.

I rip open the tissue paper and find a brand new, canary yellow, leather-bound journal inside. Once again, I'm blown away by the thoughtfulness behind his generosity. I open it and on the first page, he's inscribed a message

'New pages to fill with the next big thing. S x'

I grab my phone and compose a quick text:

My Dear Mr Byron, thank you for another very kind (though unnecessary) gift. As ever, you are as thoughtful as you are generous, I love it. Can't wait to see you later. A x

Almost immediately I receive a reply:

Making a beautiful girl feel cherished is always a necessity. You're very welcome; although you can thank me properly in person tonight x

I can't ignore the wave of excitement that flutters through me as I reply:

Make that thoughtful, generous AND presumptuous Mr Byron!...I am visiting a FRIEND tonight, remember?!

His response makes the flutter of excitement take residence unashamedly between my legs.

I have no idea what you are implying? I simply meant that I'm looking forward to seeing my FRIEND in the FLESH, the old-fashioned way, as opposed to reading her sassy text messages.

Make that beautiful, cherished AND impertinent, Miss Amber.

How is he able to turn me on in the space of two text messages? Perhaps it's because I'm picturing him naked from the waist up and saying those words in person while I'm bound to his bed.

Impertinent, Sassy & currently trying to be a diligent employee, Mr Byron! Perhaps we should discuss your distracting nature as well as your presumptuousness tonight! A x

As I hit send, my phone rings, startling me out of my reverie, flashing 'Red Velvet' on the display. My heart leaps.

'Hello, Jessica Blake,' I answer, a little too eagerly

'Good morning, Miss Blake, this is Amelia for Katherine DeVere at Red Velvet Publishing.' Secretary Barbie chirps cheerfully down the line.

'Good morning, Amelia, what can I do for you?' I reply, trying to sound more casual

'Ms DeVere would like to meet with you at 1pm tomorrow if that's a good time for you?' she continues

'Absolutely, yes.' I try again to tone down my enthusiasm, '1pm looks clear in my diary, yes. Please tell Ms DeVere I'll see her then. Thank you.'

I want to hug myself with excitement. Then I have a small panic -- I'm supposed to take another three chapters to the meeting. Technically, I have triple that written, but only two that are properly polished. I wonder if I should cancel meeting Sam later.

I really don't want to though; I don't want to upset him, and frankly I'm really looking forward to seeing him. It shouldn't take me long to get the third chapter where it needs to be...

Just then, Mr Anderson returns and announces we may as well shut up for the day -- there's a massive book fair on at the shopping centre down the road, which explains our lack of footfall.

'Take the rest of the day off Jessica, no point both of us sitting here doing nothing.' He adds with a smile.

Perfect! I can get home, prepare for my meeting, and still go to see Sam as planned. All is right with the world and I practically skip out the door, feeling utterly smug.

As I pass the vintage junk shop a few doors down, something catches my eye and makes me smile. A quick detour and I'm on my way home.

* * * * *

As I press print, I breathe a sigh of relief. Three new chapters, fully proofed and polished, ready to hand to Ms DeVere tomorrow, and still two hours until Harvey picks me up. Now; what to wear?

It feels odd to not be dressing up, not playing a character, but it also feels very right. Technically, I'm still Amber, but I get to make her more Jessica. It's sort of liberating.

Well, I know he likes it when I don't wear a bra, I muse to myself; and it's pretty warm out, so... perfect. I find my favourite denim bandeau dress. It's fitted at the top, so easy to go braless, even with my ample bosom, and then flared at the skirt. It'll do nicely, dressed down with the cowboy boots he liked so much.

I remind myself for the hundredth time that I'm not on the clock, and it's definitely not a date, so it really doesn't matter, but still...

I jump in the shower first, denying myself the temptation for a quick bit of indulgence with my vibrator. When I'm dry, I smother myself in body lotion and survey my naked reflection. I quickly tidy up a few stray hairs around my neatly waxed mound. Not that it matters, I remind myself, this isn't a booking, Jessica. I banish the thoughts from my mind and get dressed, leaving my hair in tousled ringlets falling over my bare shoulders. I add perfume, a few colourful bangles and some sheer lip gloss. Not bad Blake, not bad at all, I tell my reflection.

I hear a knock at the door. Shit -- it's 6 already? I grab my bag and head for the door.

* * * * *

There's no denying the flutter of butterflies in my belly as I spot Sam outside his building waiting for me to arrive. He's dressed casually in faded jeans and a white cotton shirt and he looks delicious. I mentally tell myself off. This is not a date; it's not even a booking! Pull yourself together Jessica!

As Harvey parks the Mercedes, Sam opens my door and helps me out.

'Ever the gentleman Mr Byron!' I smile, and kiss him on the cheek.

'Always.' He replies, pulling me into him and mimicking my chaste embrace on both cheeks; though landing his lips much closer to my ears, adding 'You look incredible.' in a lower, sultry tone.

'Well thank you.' I blush, unable to break away from the searing gaze he has me locked in. 'since I'm not working, you know, just visiting a friend,' I continue deliberately, trying to regain some control 'you get the real me again.'

'Lucky me.' He smiles wolfishly.

He walks me inside with his arm snugly around my waist. Briefly, I think about protesting, but to be honest, I like it, so I keep quiet. We move across the ground floor to the glass elevator. As we step in, he says,

'You got me so distracted last night I didn't even get to show you the best bit of the renovation.'

'Really?' I ask in mock shock.

'Alright, the second-best bit', he concedes, grinning. He pushes the button for the top floor and we glide upwards.

As we step out, the view takes my breath away.

Like the ground level, the whole floor appears to have been knocked into one immense room. There's a well-stocked bar area with a dark wood counter and vintage looking stools, a massive sofa in front of what I guess is a real fireplace, a full-size American pool table and a round wooden dining table which looks like it could comfortably seat at least 12 people. What's so breath-taking though is that the walls are almost entirely glass, offering incredible panoramic views across the city.

'Wow.' I breathe, 'This is beautiful Sam!'

'And it gets better.' He grins, gesturing to his right and the only non-glass wall, instead it's all gorgeous exposed brickwork with a large pair of wooden doors at the centre. Excitedly, he leads me across to them and turns the handles.

I hesitate.

'You do know we're four floors up, right?'

'I'm aware, yes. Do you trust me?'

It strikes me that I absolutely do. I nod and as I step through the door with him, I gasp in awe.

Part of the top floor has been converted into a massive under cover balcony, strung with thousands of fairy lights and colourful paper lanterns; carpeted with plush rugs and cushions in all the colours of the rainbow. Solar heaters disguised by lush green foliage make it wonderfully warm out here, and in the distance, the sun is just starting to set.

'Oh Sam, it's stunning!' I say, noticing he's grinning from ear to ear. I'm touched that he's pleased I love it.

'I thought we could eat out here if you like -- picnic style' he adds with a half-smile.

'Sounds perfect.' I grin back at him, 'So what are you feeding me Byron? I'm famished.'

He gestures for me to sit on a plush yellow floor cushion and pulls up a similar red one for himself. I notice there's a table and chairs out here, but I'm happy to embrace the floor picnic again. He gleefully produces a huge wicker picnic basket, he's clearly proud of his efforts and he's utterly adorable with it. I find myself wondering if this can really be the same man who dominates me via text message and likes to thrash me with a flogger.

He opens the basket and pulls out a bottle of Champagne and two glasses to pour us each a drink.

'I hope you're in the mood for Tapas?' he asks, as he starts to unload lots of little dishes from the basket.

'Always!' I smile back.

'Good, because there's plenty to choose from.' He says as he finishes laying out our picnic feast.

'Wow. Rich, good looking and he cooks. You really are the full package Mr Byron.' I tease playfully,

'Well not exactly' he replies sheepishly, 'I ordered in from the place round the corner from your shop. There's one of everything - figured I couldn't go wrong.' I can't help smiling; he really has made an effort. 'Actually,' he continues, 'I tried to find out your favourites from the red headed waitress in there, but she said she'd never heard of an Amber.'

My heart sinks a little.

'Strange though, she certainly seemed to know you when I saw you in there with your brother.' He regards me impassively, but I can tell he's waiting for an explanation. I take a deep breath.

'That's probably because Amber's not my real name.' I admit guiltily, fidgeting with one of my bangles to avoid making eye contact with him.

'Oh.' For a moment he looks shocked, and a little hurt. I feel terrible.

'Crystal -- the owner of the agency -- it's one of her rules. She insists that each of her 'precious jewels' uses an alias. It's all part of her security measures.' I explain, not feeling any better about it.

'That makes total sense.' He answers, overly casually, 'It hadn't even occurred to me, but of course you wouldn't use your real name. I'm glad to hear the agency takes your safety so seriously.' he says, trying to act like it's no big deal.

'Right.' I answer quietly. Shit. Do I want to tell him my name? I'm not sure. No. Too soon. Unprofessional. Too complicated. Change the subject.

'Anyway!' I chirp brightly, 'Shall we eat? It all looks amazing.'

He smiles and nods.

'Tuck in. Amber.' He accentuates each syllable a little too much.

We eat in almost complete awkward silence. It's unnerving; he's so quiet. One of things I loved about spending time with him at his hotel was how easily the conversation flowed. In a flash of inspiration, I remember the gift I picked up for him and grab my bag. He watches me, puzzled as I produce the small brown gift box tied with a red ribbon.

'For you, Mr Byron; house warming gift.' I smile, handing it over. In a moment, that hurt look is gone and replaced with twinkly excitement and intrigue in those gorgeous blue eyes.

He holds the box to his ear and gives it a little shake; and I giggle at his enthusiasm. Finally, he tugs at the bow, opens the box and produces the Babycham deer figurine I spotted on my way home from work.

The smile that spreads across his face makes it look more like I've given him the keys to a top of the range sports car.

'This is amazing, thank you.' He says at last, 'Am-ber.' I notice a very slight pout before he leans over to plant a very chaste kiss on my lips.

'I'm glad you like it.' I reply, disappointed that the break in the tension seems to have been short lived.

When the silence falls back between us like a brick wall, I decide to go with what I know best -- it's completely unprofessional, and dangerous ground, but if it lifts the atmosphere, it's worth it. I move in closer to him so that we're sitting side by side, both propped against the balcony wall. I stretch my legs out on the blanket underneath us, crossing them at the ankle to let my dress ride up a little and my thigh press against his. He eyes me suspiciously, still fingering the little plastic deer.

'Amber, are you deliberately trying to distract me?' he asks, over-emphasising the syllables of the word Amber again.

'I'm just enjoying the company of my friend.' I purr, nudging myself into him a little more.

'Your friend is already using all of his self-control not to bend you over and fuck you senseless right here Amber, and you're not making it an easy task.' His words are dripping with intent but his tone is measured and only slightly threatening.

I appear to have an angry tiger by the tail, but it's so exhilarating I'm not ready to let go.

I'm relieved when he softens a touch, and gives in to stroking my thigh which sends waves of pleasure rippling through me. I reach across him to grab the champagne bottle, letting his wandering hand fall between my closed thighs.

'Top up?' I ask innocently. He holds his glass out in reply, watching me closely. I top us both up, emptying the bottle, trying to focus on anything besides the finger that's tracing tiny circles on my bare flesh. God, it feels good.

'Let's play a game.' he says out of nowhere, setting my gift down by the empty picnic basket.

'Well, this is empty,' I reply, holding the champagne bottle, 'but I think spin the bottle might get a little predictable.' He smirks at me, a vague smile twitching in the corner of his beautiful mouth.

'How about "Never Have I Ever"?' he continues.

'As in you'd say "Never have I ever slept with someone for money" and I'd have to drink because I have?' He nods. 'Okay, I'm up for that. You go first.' He thinks for a moment then says,

'Never have I ever worked in a strip club.' My glass stays in my hand.

'Seriously? That's how you think I wound up being a call girl?' I arch my brow at him. He shrugs apologetically. 'No, Mr Byron; I have never worked in a strip club. My turn. Never have I ever whipped someone until they passed out.' He feigns a look of anguish and keeps his drink in his hand.

'I'll have you know, Miss Amber I'm a very responsible Dom. I'm all for pushing limits; but I'm also very skilled in reading how far a submissive can and wants to go.' His response makes me breathe in awkwardly and I'm relieved when he smiles and says 'Never have I ever dressed in PVC.' I take a long sip of my drink. 'Really?' he asks, 'I'd like to see that outfit sometime.' I scowl at him a little then reply

'Never have I ever paid for sex', he drinks.

'Easy hit, beautiful! Never have I ever been paddled', he smirks, I drink

'Never have I ever used my wealth to impress the opposite sex', I tease, he shrugs guiltily and drinks

'Never have I ever been stripped naked outdoors', he says suggestively; I keep my drink in my hand and with a smirk he adds, 'Noted.' I roll my eyes at him and say,

'Never have I ever received oral sex in a public place', he licks his lips lasciviously then drinks and whispers:

'We should definitely do something about that.'

Before I can comment he continues

'Never have I ever been collared.' I run my fingertip around the rim of my glass, not drinking and he raises his brow in surprise. Trying to move us along and quell my urge to launch myself at him I say

'Never have I ever punched anyone in the face', he drinks, emptying his glass. 'Really?' I ask, 'Wilderness years?' He shakes his head,

'Just before then; the dick who was supposed to be my best friend.'

'Oh.' I reply quietly, regretting the question.

'We need a new bottle' he continues.

'How about a new game?' I propose, 'This one's going to get me way too drunk, way too fast.'

I'm already starting to feel the effects of the bubbles. He opens a second bottle with an effortless twist of his wrist and says,

'Alright, how about truth or dare?' I raise an eyebrow at him.

'Really though? Are we fourteen?' I reply, scornfully,

'Okay fine, if you're too chicken we won't. It was just an idea.' Oh, he certainly knows how to press my buttons, that's for sure.

'Alright then Mr Byron, challenge accepted. Truth or dare?'

'Truth.' He replies. And he's smiling again, so I decide it's worth indulging him.

'Okay. If you were stranded on a desert island, what three things would you take?' He cocks his head to one side before replying,

'Depends, are you with me?' I smile and shake my head and he pouts, taking a resigned deep breath. 'Well, in that case, I'd have to keep myself busy, so I guess a sketchbook, my guitar and a really good bottle of tequila.'

'You play guitar?' He nods,

'Since I was 5 or 6, my dad taught me -- it used to be his way of unwinding.' He gets a bit wistful for a moment but thankfully seems to shake it off just as quickly.

'Truth or dare beautiful.' He smiles brightly. God his moods are hard to keep up with.

'Truth.' I reply firmly.

'How long have you been a call girl?' he asks plainly,

'Oh, why don't you cut straight to the chase Mr Byron!' I tease lightly and he shrugs with a lopsided half smile. 'Three years.' I answer honestly.

'Were you submissive before then?' I shake my head, taking another long sip of Champagne.

'Nope. Crystal said she saw a natural submissive in me straight away, but I'd never indulged her before I started at the agency. I didn't even know she was there. She was right though, Crystal, I mean, as soon as I started exploring it, everything just sort of, fell into place.' I trail off, feeling like I've shared too much. 'Anyway, technically, that was two questions Mr Byron.' I pout.

'Fair point Miss Amber, have two of your own - even the score.' He leans back, arms spread, daring me to take my best shot as he smiles that lopsided grin again. He really is ridiculously handsome.