Freeing Alex by Sarah Elizabeth Ashley Page A

security guy.
    Roger repeats himself to James about the additional budget
for the Premier League Footballers bash. The budget is agreed and Roger is left
to contact whoever he usually uses to sort out temporary staff. After he’s gone
I start to make James a drink. I haven’t asked if he wanted one but I make it
anyway.
    “I was worried about you last night… staying on a sofa!” I
say quietly as I make his drink: coffee, black, no sugar.
    He stands in the middle of his office, hands in pockets.
“Oh!  You shouldn’t have, don’t worry, I was fine. I’ve called a few letting
agents this morning, they’re going to send some details through to me.”
    “Good, but the offer’s still there.” I smile. “Seriously, if
ever you get stuck.”
    “Thanks, but I’m sure it’ll all be okay – you’ll see!” he
mutters.
    Walking around to his side of his desk, he starts flicking
through supplier delivery notes. I turn around and pass him his mug. As he
takes it from me, his hand brushes mine. I freeze. His very touch sends little
exquisite shocks through my whole body, the feeling is divine. I can’t help it.
I place my hand on his and look into his dark eyes, I must just stare at him. I
mentally shake myself. “Sorry,” I mumble, looking down. I turn away back
towards the kitchen unit.
    “No,” James says, his voice deep and sensual, “don’t be
sorry, don’t. I feel it too.”
    He stands and walks over to me and places his palm on my
back.
    “Please don’t be sorry, Alex. It’s all right, it really is.”
He pulls me close into a hug. My head tucks neatly into his shoulder and for a
moment I am overwhelmed. I’m finally free from years and years of neglect, it
feels like reality has just whacked me in the face. Tears prick my eyes and
before I know what’s hit me, I’m sobbing into his shoulders. I don’t know
what’s come over me? Years of pent-up tension and finally the realisation that
I’m free of that bastard, free of the hurt and pain.
    “Sssh,” he says softly. “Please don’t cry, please. Alex,
don’t cry, please tell me what’s wrong, you know you can talk to me.” His voice
is so tender, so comforting.
    “I’m… I… I just feel l… like the world has been lifted from
my shoulders,” I stammer through the sobs. “I f-f-feel free,” I whimper. I
can’t look at him. I keep my head down, the weight of the world, of the abuse
that I’ve carried around for what feels like forever, seemingly gone.
    James rubs my back slowly. What am I doing, letting him get
so close ? Isn’t this what I wanted? I ask myself. Yes, of course it is.
But what about all the women he services ?
    “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.” His voice is so soothing.
    He guides me to that leather chair in front of his
desk and sits me down. He kneels in front of me and pulls me close again, still
maintaining that electrifying contact, not letting go. For a split second I
have the feeling that I’m just another conquest, not that he needs them,
apparently they come to him.
    He places his gentle fingers under my chin, lifting my face
towards him. “Tell me. Tell me, Alex, what he did to you. What made you feel
like this?” His voice is soft and husky, almost like he’s willing me to tell
him.
    I shake my head. “I can’t!”
    “Why can’t you, what’s so bad that you can’t tell me? There
really is nothing that shocks me!” He laughs. “Well, not much anyway!”
    I bet , I think, whilst trying my hardest to pull
myself together. “I’m hideous,” I mumble.
    He laughs again. “ You are anything but hideous.
You’ve got an amazing figure, you’re very attractive, you’re kind and caring
and you’ve bucket loads of compassion and I think you’re fabulously wealthy –
why are you hideous?” His tone, questioning, intrigued by my statement.
    I pull myself away from James, shaking my head. My face must
look horrendous, all screwed up, mascara running down my cheeks. I reach for my
handbag