A Little Band of Red (The Red Series Book 1)

  Copyright © 2016 Lily Freeman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, including photocopying, recording, or any other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published by: Lily Freeman: www.lilyfreeman.com

  Cover Design and internal graphics: www.mkgraphicsolutions.com

  Images in manuscript from: www.istockphoto.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Auckland International Airport

  November 7th

  “—Twenty five million dollars!”

  Twenty five million … what?

  An agonizing blast of pain shot through Polly Jayne Lester’s head, right behind her eyes. She flinched but it did nothing to stop the big black dots zooming in and out of her vision as she tried to concentrate on the computer screen in front of her.

  From above or behind she heard a boarding call, the flight number vaguely familiar yet it wasn’t the number she needed to concentrate on right now.

  “I’m sorry, what—what did you … say?” Glancing up, PJ met the sparkling green eyes of the shop assistant in front of her. Christ, her head was going to explode it was pounding so hard, and the need to throw up was building again.

  “You’ve just won the jackpot!”

  “Oh … great.”

  Somehow that statement felt like a joke, a bit like the business trip her asshole of a boss was sending her on. The thought of spending three weeks in rural China terrified PJ. She didn’t speak the language, had no understanding of the culture and the targets Derrick had set her were insane. Panicking about it wasn’t going to change the facts though; she just needed to survive the next twenty-two days.

  Dragging her attention back from that truly dismal thought, PJ glanced around the airport, searching for her departure gate before she turned back to the counter.

  “Can you please … say that … again?”

  Sally, according to her nametag, grinned and it was so big and so genuine that PJ felt her own lips curling in response.

  “You, my Dear, just won twenty five million dollars!”

  “… What?” The fuck!

  As the last four words of that sentence started to finally sink in, PJ began to tremble. She’d honestly never won anything. Up until this moment her life had been monotonous, soul destroying, no more than average, no less.

  “Well, it’s your ticket isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” It was her ticket, the one and only lottery ticket she’d ever bought. How could she possibly forget that morning? Leaving for work, forgetting her phone, returning home to find Sam, her fiancé, fucking Becky, her best friend, less than ten minutes after he’d wrapped her in his arms and told her that he loved her. The only reason she’d pulled into the petrol station was because she’d barely been able to breathe through the shock. Buying the ticket had been a bit of a blur, much like now.

  “Then you’ve won, and it’s only you. That makes you the biggest lottery winner in New Zealand history!”

  Beside her, people started to gather, their mounting excitement buzzing around like an electrical storm. Grabbing the packet of aspirin she’d yet to pay for, PJ popped two into her mouth, attempting to drum up enough saliva to swallow them. But it was hopeless because she couldn’t work past the odd, giddy sensation that was nipping at her toes, and moving higher. It wasn’t excitement, she knew that feeling, had felt it when she’d first met Sam and again, when she’d bought her house. But this was something else, something bigger—better. She wanted to call it hope, but hope could be crushed, shattered with a comment or a gesture. PJ had never felt as vulnerable as she had in the last two days when everything she loved and trusted had just fallen apart. She honestly didn’t know if she could survive another blow.

  “Really, you’re not … joking?”

  “No, Dear, I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

  People clapped, patting PJ on the back, then someone kissed her cheek, someone else shook her hand, yet all she could hear was the ringing in her ears and the loud monotone drawl coming over the intercom announcing that gate 13 was open for all passengers on Chang’an Airlines flight 654, destined for China. It was PJ’s flight and her panic must have shown.

  “Is that you, are you going to China?”

  Yes … no, could she … would he … what if? And the dots were back, weaving in front of her eyes like shooting stars, drawing her closer and closer to the one line of numbers that could very well change PJ’s life. If she was brave, just for a moment, if she could find the woman she used to be before all the people she loved had let her down, she could start again and all it would take was one little word. In her head, PJ said it over and over. No to Derrick with his workplace bullying, and no to Sam with his pathetic half-hearted apology. No to Becky, her ex best friend whose betrayal had hurt more than anything and finally, no to her parents who hadn’t even bothered to ring and say goodbye yet would still somehow manage to make that her fault.

  When PJ looked up, she smiled. It felt so huge she had to cover it with her hand.

  “No. My flight’s been cancelled.” A giggle escaped before she wedged a finger in her mouth, biting down hard to stop the hysteria that was threatening, but it didn’t stop anything. As the crowd surrounding PJ started to disperse, she just stood staring at the Lotto counter in the international departure lounge at six-forty something in the morning, laughing, because for the first time ever she could imagine what it felt like to be free, free to just walk away and start again. All she had to do was take that first step.

  Chapter 1

  Ten days later

  November 17th

  One train ride that should have taken fifteen minutes from start to finish had taken PJ an hour. But now as she stood outside the gorgeous little stone pub that she’d first entered eight days ago, she was quietly thrilled with her orienteering skills because they’d led her home.

  Looking across the courtyard towards the Thames, her riverside warehouse looked abandoned, half of it in a state of total disrepair, and it was. Her section of the building had been uninhabited for the last forty years, left to the mercy of rising damp and wood rot.

  Heart-stopping, dizzy excitement surged through her, just like it had every minute since her life had been turned upside down. There was simply no way to describe how she was feeling, not that she had anyone to describe it to, because on a half-pissed whim she’d walked away from her old life and told no one.

  She could barely remember the decision to return to the airport after her
meeting with the Lottery Commission, but the moment when she requested the next available seat on the next available flight—to anywhere? Well, that feeling would be with her forever.

  Twenty-four hours later, PJ had arrived in London wearing nothing but a flimsy summer dress and a smile. It had been three degrees outside with an Arctic wind chill factor of minus six.

  For the first two days, she’d explored and shopped, accompanied by authentic Eastender, Rusty, her hired cab driver. It was he who had shown her all the trendy spots: Mayfair, Knightsbridge, Regents Park. However it was an accident that had led them to Southwark, literally. Neither of them witnessed the collision between the double-decker bus and the Lamborghini, but when the traffic backed up, they’d decided to grab a park and find some lunch. Rusty had led her down a winding staircase then along a cobbled street. There’d been a church; a spectacular stone cathedral shimmering in the crisp morning sunlight, yet it was the massive brick archway around the next corner that had taken her breath away. Millions of tiny fairy lights had sparkled above, drawing them deeper and deeper through a maze of bustling side streets packed with restaurants and bars and on into a courtyard.

  On that day, like now, she’d fallen in love with the quaint little pub nestled beside the river, with its hanging baskets overflowing with pink and white flowers and its tiny lattice windows glowing with a soft golden light that could only have come from an open fire. She’d expected lunch, a pint of beer and some more charming conversation from Rusty. What she hadn’t expected was to find the ‘For Sale’ sign in the window of the building across the way. For a long time she’d simply stood, staring, trying to visualize how one might convert a building like that. Someone must have managed it though because the other half of the massive brick warehouse was clearly inhabited, with its new windows and high tech security system.

  Within two hours, all her questions had been answered. Half the building was indeed for sale, but the owners, who currently occupied the renovated side, weren’t overly keen to sell. The asking price was exorbitant considering it was three thousand square feet of drafty windows, crumbling brickwork and two hundred year old timber supports, it was also listed. Even the real estate agent had warned PJ to back away, forget she’d ever seen it, but she couldn’t. The pull she felt towards it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

  A day later, she and Rusty returned to the pub to meet one of the owners.

  Mika de la Croze had left her speechless. He was without fail, the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Tall, dark and Italian with thick brown hair that curled ever so slightly at the ends and eyes that she could get lost in, the most exquisite shade of topaz. She’d instantly become a blithering idiot when he’d questioned her, and with her lack of personal details, she sounded like a criminal on the run.

  Did she have family? — No.

  A partner? — Definitely not.

  Pets? — No, although she’d always wanted one.

  Did she play a musical instrument? — No, she was completely tone deaf.

  Was she a recovering alcoholic? — No! Who asked that sort of thing?

  Was she a current alcoholic? Not yet, but if these questions didn’t stop soon, it was a possibility.

  Did she smoke drugs? — Really? Maybe after the alcohol stopped numbing her pain.

  Did she have a job? — Oh, now she sounded like a loser … No. She did have twenty-five million dollars and that had done the trick. She’d signed a temporary contract that afternoon and then she’d read the fine print.

  Over the last week, PJ had spent every waking hour sitting at the bar in the pub studying designs, consents and documents filled with so much legal jargon that her head hurt, but she simply had no other choice. Seven years ago, according to her lawyer, plans to restore the building had been submitted and approved. Like all consents on a listed building, they came with strict conditions and deadlines. Even though the previous sale had fallen through, the covenants had never been terminated, which meant PJ had five weeks to pull off something that most people wouldn’t attempt within as many months. Her new neighbors, Mika and his partner who she was yet to meet, had kindly volunteered to leave, giving her total access to the building, night and day if she could get it done. So in an absolute moment of madness, she’d agreed and signed the final binding document. If PJ couldn’t do it or if they ran out of time, she could very well be the owner of a three million pound eyesore that couldn’t be lived in and couldn’t be sold. So she’d done what anyone with a ridiculous bank balance would do, she’d thrown money at it, offering Rodger, her new foreman/project manager bonuses if he could meet her targets.

  Four hours later after another marathon session in the pub, PJ had finally met all of Rodger’s specifications: one kitchen, two bathrooms, flooring, tiles, fittings and fixtures. It had taken all week, but as she sent off her last email, everything on his list was covered.

  Deciding she deserved a reward or at least a break, PJ reached into her bag and grabbed her book. It wasn’t really suitable reading material for such a public venue, but now that she’d wedged her chair into the corner, no one could see her. Still, she glanced around, instantly spotting a gorgeous blonde woman staring right at her.

  Jim, the elderly landlord appeared, drink in hand.

  “Here you are, Missy, I’ve found you a friend. PJ Lester, favorite new tenant of mine meet India Ross, favorite new customer of mine.”

  Little dimples appeared on each side of the woman’s lips as she smiled.

  “Hey, nice to meet you, India.” Accepting the beautifully manicured hand being offered, PJ also smiled then noticed the complete chaos around her.

  “You too. So you’re staying with Jim?”

  “I will be, as of tomorrow.” The decision to move down to the docks had been easy. PJ may now officially be a millionaire, but she didn’t feel like one. Her short stay at the Dorchester had been an eye opener, throwing her head first into the world of the rich and famous. It really hadn’t been for her. “I’m renovating,” on speed, “hence all of this.” Swiping the screwed up balls of paper off the bar, PJ made room for India to sit down.

  “Oh my God, I have that.”

  “Have what?”

  “That.” With a grin that was all kinds of trouble, India nudged the book on PJ’s lap.

  “I was only leaning on it, I swear.”

  Throaty, sexy laughter filled the gap between them. “I don’t think so, I know how hard that book is to get. I had to wait for months.” Shuffling her barstool closer, India leaned in. “So, Miss Lester, are you in the scene?”

  ‘In the scene.’ PJ had only just discovered what the term meant, literally, she’d read one chapter on the plane. While there was no point denying that she’d always been a little curious about bondage and submission, it was something she kept to herself. PJ wasn’t a prude, but her lack of sexual experience had made her cautious, physically anyway. Figuratively she’d done it all. Still, being busted in public with an exclusive guide to the world’s top ten bondage clubs was mortifying.

  “Hell no, honestly I got given it when I was buying a—” A new boyfriend, one that runs on batteries and is guaranteed not to lie, cheat or steal. “Some stuff. What about you?” As PJ attempted to close the book, India stopped her, flicking it open again. A photo of a naked woman bound in rope appeared; her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, glowing the same scarlet red as her nipples, which were clamped. India’s excited gasp had PJ glancing back up.

  “That’ll be me soon. I’ve recently been accepted into a training program. I’m so fucking excited. Petrified, but definitely excited. The man of my dreams is waiting there, I just know it.”

  PJ studied her new acquaintance. Immaculately groomed glossy blonde bob, a perfect combination of big blue eyes, long black lashes and bright red lipstick, she was every man’s wet dream. She could have anyone, so the fact she was going down this road truly intrigued PJ.

  “Why a club? Couldn’t you just meet someone
in a bar or—”

  “Look around you, PJ, we’re at least twenty-five years younger than most of the men in this room and I want to know who I’m meeting. I want to know my needs will be met by someone who understands them. There are some psycho bastards out there and as soon as you mention bedroom games with heat, well, let’s just say I’d rather know up front.”

  There was no denying the appeal of that concept after what PJ had recently been through. The blatant honesty, the opportunity to actually ask for what she wanted. It sounded like the answer to her prayers. Then she turned the page to find an image right out of her own sexual fantasy. One woman trapped between two men, her wrists cuffed, her back bowed as one of them thrust up from below, the other looming over her from behind. Her face was an exquisite mix of agony and ecstasy, her eyes huge, her lips swollen. Every detail of her surrender was captured perfectly in the shadowy light. Before PJ could stop them, the questions were out. “So what will you learn? How does it work?”

  A coy little smirk tugged at India’s lips. “Curious, huh? Got your heart racing, got your blood pumping faster?”

  Oh, PJ liked this woman, she liked the easy way she smiled, and the way she laughed in a room full of people like no one else could hear, and PJ was laughing too. “Maybe, just a little.”

  “So do you have a partner, someone to tie you up, strap you down?”

  For the first time all week, PJ’s heart didn’t ache as she thought of Sam, of what she’d lost. “No, I’m very much single.”

  “How can that be? You’re gorgeous with your sexy tiger eyes and your pouty lips.”

  It was the same comment PJ always received about her eyes. They were unusual, such a light brown with large golden flecks. Between that and her abundance of long unruly tawny blonde curls, she did stand out from the crowd, not that she ever tried to.