Chapter 4: Resisting temptation
The tension between Erika and Alistair had been palpable throughout the flight. Thomas had tried to ignore it, but Sally's constant nudges in his ribs and her darting eyes in their direction made that impossible. Even the taxi ride to the Belfast City Hall had been awkward, so much so it had been a relief when Alistair and Erika separated to attend to individual matters that somehow had mysteriously appeared from nowhere.
"What the hell is all that about?" Thomas asked, as he tugged Sally's arm, pulling her to one side.
"They've had an argument," the redhead confided. "That meeting he had with Brian Sterling yesterday? He's arranged a follow up for early afternoon."
"What? He can't! Why?"
Sally shrugged her shoulders. "I've no idea. It took me some manoeuvring to get him on a return flight, I can tell you. It means he'll miss the press lunch afterwards."
"You're kidding?"
Sally raised her eyebrows. "Unfortunately not this time. He wants you and I to handle it."
"He hasn't told me."
"No, well, with Erika being so pissed with him, he probably didn't want to mention it again in front of her."
Thomas nodded, glancing around at the rapidly filling hall. He and Sally wouldn't have their privacy for much longer. "Erika's not returning with him?"
"Apparently not. She wanted to, but he asked her to 'take care' of things here, as if you and I couldn't do that."
"Interesting," mused Thomas, pulling her further into the corner so they couldn't be overheard. "D'you think this has something to do with their swinging lifestyle?"
"Get you!" Sally joked, poking him in the ribs with her elbows. "Been thinking about that, have we?"
Despite himself, Thomas found himself blushing. "Don't be silly."
"Silly?" she asked, those big eyes flashing at him. There was something really sexy about his innocence. God, the stories she could tell him about a swinging lifestyle. If he was blushing now...
She temporarily dismissed the thought and returned to the subject. "Listen, Thomas, I've done a little digging..."
"And?"
"This Brian Sterling. He's a psychiatrist."
The two stood in silence, staring at one another. Sally raised her eyebrows.
"What?" Thomas eventually asked, the look in his eyes betraying his bemusement. "You think the Leader of the Conservative Party is seeing a psychiatrist?"
The redhead burst out laughing. "Got ya! No, you fool. Why the hell would he need a shrink? This Sterling guy is the Senior Partner in the leading practice in London. I'd say we're talking about a pretty big donation, wouldn't you?"
"Maybe," Thomas mused. "But that still doesn't explain why he doesn't want Erika to accompany him."
***
What was it that Erika had suggested before she left?
Wear a dress. Men like women in dresses—something short, but not too short. And show off that fabulous cleavage of yours.
It would work. She knew that from the way Guus Kessen had looked at her during the odd function she'd attended with Thomas. If the lecherous old bastard hadn't been so important to Thomas, she would have told him where to go. In the circumstances, that would have been disastrous!
Especially as her boyfriend had told her he'd secured the businessman's support for Alistair Brinkley-Jones. What a coincidence that Erika knew him, too. Or perhaps that was how the blonde woman had met him? It didn't really matter. What was important was that Erika had somehow secured his interest as a potential backer and she had to make the most of that.
With Kessen's roving eye, that shouldn't be too difficult, should it?
She hated men who made their lustful intentions so obvious. Especially when they did so openly, and in front of her boyfriend, too. Thomas had laughed when she'd complained.
He's harmless enough.
Well, harmless he may be, but she'd found the way his eyes undressed her to be unforgivable. Wasn't it ironic that she'd now use her sexuality to get what she wanted? Disguise her dislike for the overweight businessman. Flirt with him a little. Laugh at his jokes. Men liked that, didn't they? They were such uncomplicated creatures, so easy to read.
Erika had been right. A dress was required. Her red sundress, in fact. It was short enough to show off her long, dark brown legs to perfection. And low cut enough to have him drooling over her tits. He'd be putty in her hands!
Dropping her thin robe to the floor, she surveyed her naked body in the full-length bedroom mirror. Her hands cupped her tits, a surge of excitement consuming her.
Here you are, Mr. Kessen,
she laughed to herself,
want to suck on these and then give me thirty thousand pounds?
Her nipples grew hard. Could she really be on the verge of clinching a deal for her dream? She knew she could make the business work, make it profitable. She'd make Kessen see that, too. It was such a shame that Thomas was in Belfast. He could have told her the best way to handle the Dutchman.
She let out a delicious little giggle as she pulled on the skimpy red thong and reached for her dress. If the business plan didn't convince the millionaire, her outfit would! A flagrant display of sexuality had always worked at home in Brazil. It had snared her many a man in her teenage days, most of them married, too. They were always the best.
They knew how to make love; how to treat a woman.
Those days were behind her, of course. She was a faithful girl now. Thomas was her true love. But she still knew how to manipulate a man...
Slipping into the little red number, she checked herself in the mirror again. Her breasts were practically exploding over the top. Thank goodness she didn't need a bra. God, she was so aroused at the thought of what she was about to do, she might even let the old bastard suck her tits, just as a thank you. Her nipples nudged the material at the thought.
She smoothed her sundress across her body, loving the way her long legs flowed out of the thigh high skirt. The Dutchman's eyes would pop out!
Wish me luck, she murmured to her reflection.
***
With the general public crowding into the stately Belfast hall, surrounded by the lobby of reporters to their left, and TV cameras to the right, it was almost impossible to fit anyone else into the impressive room.
The three politicians exchanged small talk with one another on the large stage, all smiles for the benefit of anyone who was watching. But Alistair could see the look of nervous excitement in Collinson and Blair's eyes. He could feel the tension, too, as the claustrophobic atmosphere built.
The idol of Northern Ireland introduced himself to the three men moments before the debate was due to start. Ronan P. O'Mara was a silver haired fifty-year-old, sporting what was now his trademark perfectly groomed handlebar moustache. If it wasn't for the colourful bow tie adorned with small Mickey Mouse figures, Alistair might have made the mistake of taking him seriously.
