19. Good girl
Good girl
Vicky
Mike’s van wouldn’t start. Twice now, he’d turned the key in the ignition, and the engine had spluttered then died. His Land Rover, whilst ancient and mud-splattered, did seem to be somewhat reliable, but the van he used for his deliveries was another matter.
“You need a new vehicle,” I told him.
“Aware of that, love,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Your furniture,” I started, my voice rising as I felt so strongly about this. “All of it, every single piece, is a work of art. You should have appropriate transportation for it.”
Mike froze, then he turned to look at me, his expression intense. His hand left the steering wheel to reach up to my face, pausing so I had time to nod my agreement.
He swept the hair that had escaped my tight bun and fallen in my eyes behind my ear, cupped my jaw, and then gave me a brief, hard kiss before turning back to his task.
“Third time’s the charm,” he said through a grin as the old van roared to life.
“It shouldn’t take three attempts for the van to start,” I told him. “I am not a mechanic, but I do have a basic understanding of?—”
“I’ll replace the old girl when I have the money,” he interrupted. “I’ve just expanded the workshop. Had to sink all the capital into that for the moment.”
“I could?—”
“No,” he cut me off very decisively.
“Is this a male pride thing?”
“Partly, but also, didn’t I just hear you tell one of your best friends that you thought the only reason she spent time with you was because of what you did for her? Do you think I want you believing that about me , even for a second?”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say to that. In my experience, if I offered money, it was accepted.
I’d funded my mother and my half-sister for years, and they didn’t even pretend to like me. I’d never had someone decline my money in case it made me doubt their motives.
I was still going over what had happened tonight. As I ran Lottie’s words over and over in my head I felt something start to unfurl in my chest that I hadn’t really even realised was twisted before.
“I wish we could go to the cabin,” I said as we pulled up outside my house. My voice sounded about as dejected as I felt about the prospect of going into my empty London home. “I don’t suppose we have reached the magic number yet, have we?” I asked Mike hopefully.
He chuckled. “Come on, you. I’ll walk you in.”
He jumped out of the van and jogged around to my side to open my door for me.
I was noticing this about Mike. He might think he was rough, but as far as actions were concerned, he struck me as more of a gentleman than most of the men in the upper classes I knew.
It was little things like opening doors, keeping me on the inside of the pavement, pulling out my chair, putting his hand on the small of my back to guide me through crowded places.
The hand on the back thing was my favourite. I wasn’t sure that Mike was always fully aware he was doing it, as usually he was very careful to ask consent before he touched me—but the hand on the back seemed to be instinctual. It made me feel safe.
I didn’t always feel safe in strange environments, but with the heat of Mike’s large hand on the small of my back, I simply knew that everything was going to be okay.
I knew that he wouldn’t let anything hurt me.
I mean, it’s totally illogical—a grown woman does not need guiding through any space, and I usually disliked illogical scenarios like this.
But, however illogical, that hand on my back made me feel safer and more valued than I had ever felt before.
Mike stopped dead in the hallway when confronted by the coffee table he’d made, which was still in the same position he’d left it.
“Why’s it still here?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Ollie was here after…” I trailed off. I did not want Mike to know what happened after that delivery. “After you brought it round. And he offered to move it, but I wanted to keep it there.
“Slap, bang in the way?” he asked in confusion.
“It was a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
I sighed. “A reminder to leave you alone. I’d come home, see the coffee table, and I’d remember what happened. It was to stop me slipping into hyperfocus mode again when it came to you.”
His head tilted to the side as he looked at me. There was an intensity in his eyes now, like some sort of storm was brewing.
“Vicky, Ollie said something earlier about you. He mentioned that something happened with you two weeks before the gala. I… well, I know that was when I delivered the table; you told me it was a stressful interaction for you, and I just…”
“I had a meltdown,” I said.
There was no point lying. Mike needed to know exactly what he was getting into, even if admitting to my level of dysfunction caused heat to rise up my face, and my stomach to twist.
“Ollie and Lottie found me under the table. It wasn’t like the gala. No screaming and such. But they had to let themselves into the house, because I went missing, and I wouldn’t speak or move when they found me. Ollie had to drag me out and hug me until I calmed down.”
“Was it…?” he looked to the side, then swallowed before he met my eyes and spoke again. “Was it because of what I said? Because of how ugly I was to you?”
My chest felt tight as I shifted and looked away from his piercing gaze. I very much wished in that moment that I was able to lie successfully.
“You have to understand,” I told him. “I was very focused on you, and I really really wanted to make a good impression. I even found a pair of jeans I could wear—but to be honest, that was a mistake. No jeans are soft enough for me to tolerate. So, yes, I reacted badly.”
He groaned and moved to me. His hands came up to frame my face, but before they made contact, he whispered, “Is this okay?”
I nodded, and his fingers slid from my jawline into my hair as he looked down at me, his eyes burning with intensity.
“Vicky, I know I’ve said it before, but you’ll never understand how sorry I am for what I said to you that day. Please tell me you know now that it was all bollocks, right?”
“You don’t have to apologise to me again,” I said in a small voice. “Honestly, anyone normal would have…”
“Stop saying that. Don’t you dare put yourself down like that,” he said in a firm voice with just a hint of growl to it.
I snapped my mouth shut.
“God,” he muttered as he pulled me into him for a hug. “I’m a lucky shit that you’re giving me a chance.”
I snorted into his soft shirt, loving the feel of his firm body against mine. “I’m the lucky shit in this scenario.”
His arms gave me a squeeze as he shook his head and muttered, “You have no idea how amazing you are, do you? How is that even possible?”
I didn’t think any further argument was productive, so I just buried further into his chest.
After a few moments, he pulled back, and his stormy eyes moved from me to the coffee table.
“Right, well I’m getting rid of this now. No more reminders of how much of a wanker I was. I’ll take it out to the van.”
“No,” I said, moving to stand between him and the table. “I love this table.”
“I can make you a new one, love,” he said softly.
“No.” My tone was firm now. “I want this one.”
He sighed. “Right, well I’ll move it to a proper place. Where do you want it to go?”
He took his flannel shirt off and tied it around his waist so that he was only in a tight thermal, which showed off his muscles. Then he reached down and plucked the enormous coffee table off the floor as if it weighed nothing. “Vicky?”
I was frozen in place, lost in the sight of him. The only sign of strain was the way all the muscles of his chest and arms were flexed.
“Baby,” Mike said through a chuckle. “If you’ve finished checking me out, you might want to tell me where to put this bloody great thing.”
My cheeks burned as I pointed in the direction of my living room.
Words seemed to be beyond me at that moment.
I felt hot and cold at the same time. An aching sensation had overcome my whole body.
Like I had flu. As if there was a fever, and my body knew the only way to help it was to be closer to Mike.
“Okay, I’ll just put it here,” Mike said when it became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to speak once we were in the living room.
He put the table down and then straightened up, going into a stretch as he put his hand on his neck, moving his head from side to side to work out the crick there.
I moved towards him, my body on complete autopilot.
That fever in my blood taking over my actions.
My hands landed flat on his glorious chest and started moving over the hard muscle there, but it wasn’t enough.
I needed to feel him , not his thermal. So I reached down under his top and onto the ridges of his abs, which flexed under my touch.
“Christ, Vicky,” Mike said in a strangled voice. “Baby, I?—”
“I just need to be close to you,” I said, my voice edging towards the desperation I could feel building. “Please, Mike.”
It was the please that flipped the switch.
Mike’s arm shot around me, pulling me into his body, his other hand going into my hair as he kissed me.
I moaned into his mouth and pushed my hands up the back of his thermal to feel the hot skin over the hard muscles of his back. I felt lightheaded. Everything was blurry. The fever was worse now than before.
And Mike had too many clothes on.
One of my hands went between us to attack his belt, and it was his turn to groan.
He broke the kiss to rest his forehead on mine.
“Vicky, what are you doing? Let’s… uh, bloody hell…” he broke off as I leaned into him and started kissing his neck, then, acting on an instinct I wouldn’t have thought I had in me, I went up on my tiptoes to take the bottom of his ear lightly in my teeth.
I had no idea what I was doing. Was it weird to bite someone’s ear?
Before Mike, the idea would have completely bemused me, but after hearing the noises he made when I did it, I didn’t think he found it weird.
“Can you take your top off?” I asked.