Paper Roses (Confetti Hitched #3)

Chapter 10

ten

. . .

jed

I juggle my bags as I open the front door. The house smells of paint and fresh wood and, after I put down my things and take off my coat, I’m happy to feel the air is toasty warm. It’s a welcome treat after these last few weeks when they’ve struggled to get the boiler working.

The weather has been terrible, so we’ve been gravitating to the bedroom where we can run the heater and cuddle up under the sheets and blankets. We’d then found other ways to generate heat. Desire slides through me like warm honey at the thought.

Since I made the incredibly foolhardy decision to pursue a fuck-buddies sort of relationship with my formerly quiet and shy assistant, I’ve found myself throwing caution to the wind and fully embracing it. We’ve fucked in the office, and all over the house, burning up the sheets at night as we sweat and writhe together.

I’ve been around the block more than a few times, but I don’t think I’ve ever found this combination of sexual compatibility and fascination.

He’s not exactly quiet or shy in the sack. Or out of it anymore. The moments when he’s sassy with me are becoming more frequent, and they only make me want him more, which, in turn, leads to more fucking. Yesterday, we’d been at a hotel to discuss a wedding, and Artie had said something snarky. I’d dragged him to the bathroom and fucked him, putting my hand over his mouth to stifle his cries and biting into the shoulder of his suit jacket to stifle my own. We’d only just avoided getting caught by the client.

I hardly recognise myself nowadays, and yet somehow this doesn’t make me fearful. Instead of withdrawing back into my shell, I want to do more.

Which brings me to tonight. I flush at the thought of what I’ve done. There is truly no fool like a forty-four-year-old idiot.

I hear voices and follow them into the lounge. The room is unrecognisable. The broken fireplace surround has been replaced with light oak with hand-carved animal details. The blue-and-white tiles are from the Netherlands. The walls are painted a warm saffron colour, and new French windows open onto what will soon be a large flagstone patio.

Artie stands talking to Tyler the apprentice. Heat washes over me as I observe my fake husband. He’s wearing faded jeans that cling to his small, round arse and an old blue jumper of mine. It’s far too big, and although he’s rolled up the sleeves, it drowns him. Seeing him in it, I want to beat my chest and shout, “Mine!”

He looks up and his whole face lights in the special smile he seems to only give me. It’s wide and so warm, and I wonder again vaguely if I’m in the middle of a midlife crisis. If so, it feels too good to stop it.

“You’re home. How did the meeting go?” he asks.

“About as well as you’d imagine with Raff involved. I’d do the world of wedding planners a favour if I gagged him on a permanent basis.”

He chuckles and gestures at Tyler. “We have a tiny problem.”

I’m about to point out there is nothing small about the problem that is Tyler, but Artie’s eyes stop me. Their warning twinkle sends a frisson through me, but I’ve learnt lately that there’s nothing about Artie that doesn’t give me a thrill.

“Oh yes?” I finally say.

Tyler shifts nervously, and my eyes narrow in interest.

Artie pats his arm. He’s a foot shorter than Tyler, yet he seems like the grown-up. “I told you he wouldn’t be mad.”

“And I said I was a little bit concerned about your view of the situation.”

“Oh, his bark’s worse than his bite,” Artie says blithely.

“Only if he doesn’t draw blood, Mr Walker.”

“Are you actually talking about me?” I say mildly.

Tyler looks at me, and I bare my teeth at him in a sinister smile out of Artie’s view. His eyes widen. Artie spins around, and I blink innocently. “What’s happened now?”

“Well, there’s been a small accident.”

“Of course there has.”

He shakes his head, his eyes still twinkling. “It’s the en suite in the guest room.”

I open my mouth to ask what guest room but realise just in time that he’s talking about my bedroom. “What about it?” I say warily.

“Well, Tyler misread Eric’s instructions.”

“Where is Eric?” I say, looking around. “Has he emigrated to the Arctic where he can fuck up building work for the polar bears?”

“He’s at the dentist, but he left strict instructions for what Tyler was to do.”

“That man’s na?vety never ceases to astound me.”

“Maybe it would be better if we showed you,” Artie says decisively. “Come along, Tyler.”

Tyler follows him like a puppy, shooting nervous looks back at me. I follow them up the stairs.

Everywhere there are signs of change. A plush carpet runs up the stairs and the walls are papered in a light turquoise patterned paper that Artie happily told me was inspired by the Royal Pavilion.

Artie stops at the door to my bedroom. Not that I need it at the moment. All my nights have been spent in Artie’s bed. I have no desire to move into this room. “You probably need to prepare yourself.”

“Oh god." He smiles and I look over at the apprentice who’s doing his best to appear invisible. “I insist Tyler must go first,” I say silkily.

Tyler’s aggrieved sigh makes my mouth twitch, and he shuffles into the bedroom. It’s a big room with a view over the street, but I prefer the one I share with Artie. I look around. “So, what’s the problem?” I ask.

Artie steps next to me. “Why don’t you open the door to the en suite?”

I move forward and then blink, running my hand over the solid wall. “Where’s the door?”

He nods. “Yes, that is rather the root of the problem.” Artie taps the wall. “It’s actually supposed to be here.”

“Tyler,” I say grimly.

Tyler examines the wall as though the door might mysteriously appear. “Yes, Mr Walker. I’m afraid I read Eric’s instructions wrong. He asked me to block up the old door in the dressing room and get the wall ready for plastering.”

“And?”

He spreads his hands in an aggrieved fashion. “Well, I got the wall wrong, didn’t I? You get dressed in a bathroom too. It was an easy mistake.”

“It’s a good job you didn’t work in a medieval nunnery,” I observe. He blinks in confusion, but Artie chuckles. The sound fills me with warmth, and I smile at him. I make sure it drops when I turn to Tyler. “So where is the bathroom door? Is there one, or should our guests just abseil down from the roof whenever they need a shower?”

“Ah, there is a new door,” he says, brightening. He points at a door that has appeared on the other side of the room. “I did do that.”

“Where does that lead to?”

He sighs. “Into the third bedroom.”

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be super good fun to find dynamite to blow a hole in the wall just to have a bath. How lovely that you’re reconfiguring my house,” I say.

I shift a glance at Artie. He might be irked that I’m claiming ownership of his home. But his expression is unadvisedly thrilled. I certainly shouldn’t be grinning at him like an idiot either.

I begin composing a speech to tell off Tyler, but then I just sigh and wave my hand. “You might as well go home early, Tyler.”

He brightens. “ Really ?”

“Yes. I think we can wait for you to open a cupboard door and bring the whole house down around our ears.”

He smiles because he’s become very adept at ignoring my sarcasm. Then his face clouds. “What about Eric?”

“I’ll tell him,” I say resignedly.

“Thanks, Jed. Bye, Artie.” He’s gone quicker than a cartoon cat chasing after a mouse.

We listen to the clatter of footsteps and then Artie turns to me. “You’re so lovely,” he says with a sigh. He runs his hand up my chest and smiles up at me, admiration in his eyes. It makes me feel ten foot tall.

“Not really.”

“Are you sure? Because you should know I find niceness incredibly erotic.”

“In that case, I am the nicest man in the whole world.”

He laughs and twines his hands behind my head, drawing me down. I go willingly, taking his mouth with a sigh and gathering him into my arms. A locked-tight feeling inside me—one that arose the moment he’d left work earlier—suddenly eases. The kisses lengthen and become more passionate. I’ve just pushed him gently against the wall and I’m fighting with him over who gets to lower my zip when I remember my plans and pull back.

“Where are you going?” His pout is so adorable that I drop a kiss on it. And then another. And another until we’re kissing again.

Finally, I pull away. “Unhand me, you minx.”

He looks far too thrilled at that moniker, and I sigh. I know when I’m fucked.

He smiles at me, his nimble fingers again finding my zipper, behind which is my hard and aching cock.

“No,” I say reluctantly, stopping his hand.

His smile turns sympathetic. “Are you too tired?”

“What? No ,” I say in revulsion. “I’m never too tired for sex with you.”

His whole face seems to glow, and I almost end up kissing him again. It’s like he possesses his own sexual tractor beam.

“You’re so lethal you should come with a warning label,” I say.

He chuckles. “What’s up?”

I tug at my collar, feeling hot and constricted. “I’ve done something,” I confess.

His eyes narrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before. This must be very interesting. What is it?”

“You might not like it. But I went ahead and booked it even though that might make me an idiot. But in my defence I think you’ll love it, and I love your smile, so I’ll be happy too.” I stop abruptly, horrified at the word salad that just spewed out of my mouth.

His face softens and he rises and kisses me so gently it’s like a butterfly landing on my lips. “If you’ve done something for me, for that reason, I will never not like it.”

I cough. “Well, don’t speak too soon.”

“So?” he prompts after a moment of silence. “What is it?”

“I’m taking you to a ballroom dancing class,” I blurt.

“What?” His eyes widen.

“A ballroom dancing class. It’s LGBT,” I add quickly. “I went a few times when my brother and Mei got married, and they wanted us all to know how to dance. It’s a great group and I loved it.” I shift awkwardly. “You said how much you like Strictly, so I thought we could do this together.” I’m horrified to see that his eyes are glistening. “Oh shit. You don’t have to do it— Ouf! ”

My words are cut off when he flings himself into my arms. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Then you must get out more,” I say gruffly. I hate these careless references he makes to a childhood that sounds so affection- and care-deprived. It makes my heart hurt to think of him like that. I bet he was such a sweet little boy—eager to please and so kind.

He hugs me, and I tug him closer. My grasp is far too tight, but he doesn’t complain. Instead, he just snuggles in, and I rest my head on his, smelling the fragrance of his shampoo. It’s fresh and clean like him. Sometimes it feels like he’s this cool breeze that’s blown through my life, getting rid of all the fog of old hurts and guilt.

He pulls back to look up at me. “What should I wear?” he asks eagerly.

I smile, delighted he likes the idea of the class. “Jeans and a T-shirt will be fine. Something comfortable.”

“What about shoes?”

“Trainers will do for now.” I shrug. “If you like it, we can buy you some proper shoes.”

His smile is wide and excited. “We can go again ?”

“Of course,” I say gruffly.

“I’ll go and get ready.”

My arms don’t seem ready to let him go, but I drop them and watch him race out of the bedroom. Then I walk into the hallway to find the entrance to my bathroom.

The lessons are held in a dance company’s suite of rooms above an Italian restaurant. We’re treated to the smell of onion and garlic as we climb the stairs. As if on cue, Artie’s stomach rumbles. He sends me a laughing glance, and I pull him close, dropping a kiss into his hair.

“I’ll feed you afterwards. I can recommend the lasagne.”

“Really? We’re not going home afterwards?” His smile is comet bright, but I pause on the stairs in sudden doubt.

“Not unless you want to. Are you tired? Would you rather not?—”

I stop talking because he’s put his hand over my mouth. I raise my eyebrow, but he just offers me a crooked smile which is so charming I want to poke myself in the eye.

“I want to stay out,” he says earnestly. “I love spending time with you. I just thought you were doing this to please me, and I didn’t want to encroach on your time.”

I pull his hand away from my mouth and drop a kiss on his long fingers. There’s a smudge of ink on one which is peculiarly endearing. “I like to please you,” I say steadily. It’s actually alarming how much that statement is true. “If you’re happy, it makes me happy.”

“I don’t want you to look on it as a full-time job and end up resenting me.”

My eyes widen. “Is that what your ex did?”

“Ben?” He stares at me for a second and then bursts into laughter. He takes a breath and says, “Good god, no. That would be far from the reality.”

“Why?”

I’m both fearful and curious to find out more about Artie’s ex. The thought of his hands on Artie makes my stomach clench, but I’d like to know what happened to Artie, so I can help him, if need be.

“Did you ever watch Cinderella ?”

I blink at the change of subject. “My nephew Grant was very attached to the film when he was little.” I grimace. “We had to wear tiaras and have a tea party whenever we watched it. He was more demanding with the tea service than a customer at The Ritz.”

His eyes flare with approval and humour. “It will be my eternal regret that I didn’t see that.”

“I’m sure my mother has a photo,” I say darkly. “She has one for every occasion and most of them are on the wall in the hall so casual strangers can peruse them.”

His eyes brighten.

“No,” I say. “Just no, please. You know she’ll do anything for you.”

“I made no promises to use my powers for good.”

I start to laugh.

He grins at me and says, “I know we’re supposed to see the prince as the happy ending, but when I watched Cinderella as an adult, the prince just looked tiring.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Cinderella would have existed as an extension of him—always seeking to please him just like everyone else in his life. His happiness would have been her career. That’s how it would have been with me and Ben. I’d have spent my life trying to make sure he was happy.”

I draw him to me. He comes easily, his hands resting on my chest and his eyes bright with affection. I swallow hard at the sight. “Someone else’s happiness isn’t your job.”

“But what if it’s your partner? Surely I’d want to make him happy?”

“But that should never be a job or an onerous task, and the other person should do the same for you. You’d be a team. Not a boss and his employee. You are treated the way you allow someone to treat you,” I say steadily. “If you value yourself so low, other people will do the same. You should never value yourself low because you deserve everything , Artie,” I finish a little too fervently for my taste. He cocks his head, looking at me, and I shift uncomfortably.

At that moment the door at the top of the stairs opens and breaks the moment. “Come on,” I say with relief. “Let’s go and learn a dance.”

He looks around with interest as we enter the reception. It’s bright, the walls painted with primary colours, and the warm scent of vanilla fills the air. Voices sound from the door leading to the studio, and I nudge him towards it. “In there.” When he hesitates, I ask, “You okay?”

He bites his lip for a second and then says, “I just don’t want to embarrass you. I’m probably going to be terrible at this.”

Affection flares in me so powerfully it steals my breath for a second. I take his hand and pull him to one side. “No one’s going to be judging you, and there are all ranges of ability in the group, from beginners to advanced.” I clasp his square chin so I can look into his pale blue eyes. “You will never embarrass me,” I say steadily. “ Never .”

He considers me for a second and then smiles. “What if I’m no good and fall over my feet?”

I shrug. “I’ll just pick you up and we’ll laugh.”

His smile widens. “That sounds like a euphemism for life.”

“God, I hope not. That would mean I’m becoming tediously wise.”

I tug him into the studio. It’s brightly lit, the lights chasing away the autumn darkness at the windows, and the wooden floor is honey gold. Several couples are already here, and I feel Artie relax as he looks around. There are all ages and different relationships represented, and the atmosphere is inclusive and fun with excited chatter.

“How long did you take classes?” Artie asks.

I guide him round a group of people, my hand at the small of his back. My hand had been in the exact same place last night when I’d held him down in bed. Artie is beautiful when he’s naked and his back has an arch to it that makes my mouth water.

His eyebrow cocks as he watches me, like he’s reading my mind.

I roll my eyes, and he chuckles. “I did some lessons for the wedding and then came back a few times afterwards.”

“With Mick?”

“God, no. He liked grinding on a dancefloor. This type of dancing was completely out of his comfort zone. He said I was an eighty-year-old stuck in a hot, thirty-something body.” The comment had stung at the time, but now it just makes me want to laugh, particularly when I recall his face when I’d suggested the lessons.

“Jed.” The instructor comes over. He’s in his thirties, and he’s slim and dark-haired. “Well, hello, tall, dark, and handsome stranger.”

I grin at him and shake the hand he holds out. “Hello, Bernie.”

“I haven’t seen you in ages, gorgeous.”

“I’ve been busy.” I draw Artie forward. “This is my husband, Artie.”

Artie directs a sparkling glance at me, and Bernie leans forward to give him a hug. He steps back and winks at me. “Busy? I get you, darling. Well, lucky old you, that’s all I have to say.”

“You lie. That is never all you have to say.” I grin at Artie. “Bernie has a word for every occasion.”

Artie chuckles, and Bernie puts a dramatic hand to his chest. “Just the one? You wound me.” He pats my arm affectionately. “I thought we’d lost our spare. Men went into mourning and beat their chests in despair.”

I shake my head. “I’m very sure they coped.”

“You could have heard the wailing from Japan.”

“Spare?” Artie asks.

“Oh, not in the Prince Harry sense, darling,” Bernie declares. “Jed danced with anyone.”

“That makes me sound like a ho.”

“I speak as I find, you naughty boy.” He turns to Artie who’s observing us with laughing eyes. “He danced with anyone who was lacking a partner.”

“I’m pretty sure he did that in private too.”

“ Artie ,” I gasp, and the two men chuckle merrily.

“You little strumpet, Jed,” Bernie declares, turning admiring eyes on me. I shift awkwardly. They look at each other and laugh again.

“How wonderful that I’ve brought Artie to a place that has reinforced his desire to take the piss out of me,” I say, sending them into more paroxysms. I smile at them.

Bernie steps back. “It’s lovely to meet you, Artie.” He looks at me. “Waltz?”

“That’s Artie’s favourite dance in Strictly. ”

Bernie leaves us, and I feel Artie’s hand slide into mine. I shoot him an affectionate look and get lost in itemising the navy-blue flecks in his pale eyes.

“Okay, people,” Bernie says, clapping his hands and snapping me out of my reverie. “It’s a waltz tonight. Grab your person and let’s get our groove on.”

I whisper to Artie, “He’s permanently stuck in the seventies. If they offered him a time machine, he’d have his bell bottoms on before they could blink.” People move around us, walking to the spots on the floor where Bernie has taped box shapes. Artie stares at them, unmoving. “You okay?” I ask.

He takes a breath. “Did you sleep with him?”

“With Bernie ?”

He nods and I wonder if I’m imagining that hint of jealousy.

“No. Good grief, no.”

He immediately relaxes. “Why not? He’s very beautiful.”

“He may be, but his husband is bigger than me and very possessive. I like my assignations to come with an orgasm. Not traction.”

He laughs, and a few people smile at the merry sound. I steer him over to the side of the room where he’ll be more comfortable out of everyone’s immediate gazes.

“Okay. The first thing you need to decide is who is leading,” Bernie announces.

There’s a clamour of voices, and I look at Artie in question. He gives me a heated glance. “I happen to like it when you take the lead. It makes me feel so good,” he whispers.

I cough, resisting the urge to adjust myself. “Thank you so much,” I mutter. His air of excitement is irresistible.

Bernie has us perform a simple box step, and we follow the taped lines while he walks around the room, calling out encouragement and making jokes. Artie stumbles occasionally to the beat of the music. He’s as graceful as a hippo skating on butter, but he’s never looked more beautiful to me, and I’m glad to see the hesitation has gone. He’s fully in the moment, and he takes my breath away.

“Time to get into hold,” Bernie calls. “Face each other and stand tall and straight as if you’re being crowned like the kings and queens you are.”

Artie moves into position, staring up at me. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to kiss the smile off his face. I’m not used to being so distracted, but Artie keeps making me feel brand-new things.

Bernie continues, “You should be looking over each other’s shoulders, concentrating as if Austin Butler has just walked into the room. But don’t get too excited, folks. That man is mine .” Everyone laughs, and he steps to the front of the room. “And now we hold each other. The lead’s left hand to their partner’s right.”

Artie looks confused but he steps closer, raising his hand. I slide mine over his and the contact is a sweet relief. How has that happened? I went years never touching him and now being five minutes without contact makes me act like a fool.

“Put your hand on my shoulder,” I say. The music weaves a sweet, refined beat around us. I swallow as his long fingers clasp me, playing with the seam on my shirt. I slide my hand around him, cupping his sharp shoulder blade, my fingers flexing as I fight the urge to pull him closer.

Bernie starts to call out the beat, and Artie steps forward. I grunt as he immediately stamps on my foot.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re supposed to be leading.”

“I’m not surprised you’re struggling with that concept out of the bedroom,” I whisper just to see the blush on his cheeks. Then I wink at him. “It’s a fact that you’re in the lead everywhere else.”

“ Am I?” he says, astonishment and titillation at the idea written all over his pretty face.

“You could make me do anything you want.”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Then you don’t know how important you are to me. I would walk miles barefoot just to see you smile.” I stop talking abruptly, unable to believe I just said that.

I shift awkwardly and then he smiles with his usual charm. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’d be walking next to you, telling you to put your shoes on.”

The image makes me smile, and I tune back into Bernie.

“Ready?” I ask, brandishing our joined hands dramatically.

“Always,” he says quietly, and I pull him closer as we start to move.

I’ve danced the waltz with many partners during my time spent here, and I have to say most of them were a lot more graceful than Artie. He steps all over my feet and nearly strangles me with his grip on my shirt collar. But no one has ever danced as joyfully. He follows me, his body warm against me, and Bernie’s instructions fade away as we smile at each other.

His eyes are full of glee, and I know he thinks I was exaggerating about my desire to see him happy. But every word I spoke was the truth. And that’s the scariest thing of all.

We walk into the house laughing, full of wine and good food.

“Oh my god, I’m so stuffed ,” Artie moans. “That was the best lasagne I’ve ever tasted.”

“Told you.”

I take his coat and mine and put them in the cupboard before smiling at him. “Did you have a good night?” I’m pretty sure of his answer because happiness beams off him like rays of sunshine. This is only reinforced when he shoves me back against the wall, crowding against me. I automatically spread my legs, feeling my cock start to harden. I lick my lips. “Well?”

“I had the best time. The absolute best . Can we go again?”

I smile at him. “We can go as many times as you like.”

He rises as I bend down, and our lips meet in the middle in a lush kiss. I immediately pull him closer. I can’t kiss him without needing full body contact. Try as I might to keep our connection light-hearted, our kisses never feel that way. They feel like home. I shove that thought away, but it remains there, a niggle of disquiet under the feel of his mouth. Our tongues tangle, and I start to pull up his T-shirt.

“In the hallway ?” he asks, pulling back and trying unsuccessfully to look scandalised.

I smirk. “I think it might be the only place we haven’t fucked so far.”

“Apart from the coal shed.”

“I can work with that. I love a challenge.”

He laughs and I drag him nearer. We both jump when there’s a knock at the door.

I make a disgruntled sound as he pulls away, but he grins up at me, his eyes sparkling. “Stay just like that,” he whispers.

I wink. “Anything for you.”

His smile widens. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is and then I’m going to hold you to that.” He taps my chest. “ All night. I have big plans for you, Mr Walker.”

“I’m entirely at your disposal, Mr Walker.”

He hesitates, grinning at me with approval all over his pretty face. Then he races to the door and flings it open. He goes entirely still, his hand tightening on the door. “ You ,” he gasps.

I scramble to fasten my jeans as adrenaline pours into me. In two steps I’m at his side, nudging slightly in front of him, so I can see what’s alarmed him.

A man is at the door. He’s about Artie’s age and very good-looking, with sleek blond hair and very blue eyes. I glance at Artie for an explanation, but he’s staring at the stranger as if he’s Marley’s ghost.

The man shifts on the step. “Hello, Artie,” he says softly. “Long time no see.”

Artie shakes his head as if disbelieving his eyes. “ Ben ,” he breathes.

Recognition tugs at me. He’d mentioned that name tonight. Then my eyes widen, and I turn back to the stranger.

This is Artie’s ex. Their relationship was serious enough that his family took Artie in. This is the man who left Artie behind and broke his heart.