Chapter 5 #2
Claire had moved into the room ahead of him and pulled the curtains. ‘There’s an electric blanket on the bed, if you want to use it,’ she said, turning to face him, her hands clasped together tightly.
Luca dropped his bag inside the door and moved towards her stealthily, determined to make this easy for her.
‘And there are extra blankets in the wardrobe, if you’re cold—’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’m going to need those,’ he said, smiling into her eyes.
‘Am I?’ Then he bent his head and kissed her, one hand cupping her face, his thumb stroking her jaw encouragingly, while he slid his other arm around her to pull her close.
He felt her body go rigid, but he kept kissing her softly, coaxingly, trying to relax her.
He slid a hand up under her jumper and cupped her breast gently over the material of her dress.
She yelped and jerked away from him. ‘What— what are you doing?’ she gasped, an outraged look on her face.
‘Singing for my supper.’ He bent to kiss her again, but she turned her face away. ‘Come on, isn’t that what we’re here for?’
‘Wh-what? You think I—’
‘Hey, it’s cool,’ he said. ‘It’s okay to ask for what you want.’ He put a hand on the side of her face to make her look at him. ‘And it’s okay to want this.’ He leant in again.
‘No!’ She stepped back, putting distance between them, one hand raised. She looked as if she wanted to hit him but couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Oh, Christ! Luca froze. One look at her shocked face, the panic and upset in her eyes, and he knew he had read the situation all wrong.
She really was just being kind when she’d brought him home with her.
She had taken pity on him, fed him and offered him a bed for the night, and he had repaid her by groping her and insinuating that she had only brought him there because she wanted a fuck.
He wished she would hit him. He deserved it, and it might make him feel better.
‘Sorry,’ he said, trying to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t look at him.
Fuck! Now she’d throw him out and he’d have to spend another night being cold, wet and miserable, when he could have slept in that soft, warm bed if only he wasn’t such a monumental fuck-up.
Maybe at least his boots would have dried out a bit by now.
Hopefully she would let him retrieve them before throwing him out on the street.
‘Hey, I’m really sorry,’ he said, instinctively moving towards her, but she cringed away from him. He stopped in his tracks, sighing helplessly and holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. It was a bit late for that. The damage was already done.
‘I’m so sorry. I would never have – I thought you—’ He gave a defeated sigh. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make things worse.
Claire surreptitiously brushed away a tear and sidled past him to the door. ‘I’m going to bed now,’ she mumbled. ‘I have to get up early for work in the morning.’
She darted away before he could say anything more, leaving him standing dumbfounded in the middle of the room.
He heard the door across the hall slam. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t kicked him out.
She should have kicked him out, he thought, indignant on her behalf.
He had abused her hospitality, insulted and offended her, and made her uncomfortable in her own home.
And he had made her cry. She was probably sobbing herself to sleep across the landing right now, thanks to him – all because he couldn’t recognise a simple act of unselfish kindness.
He wished he could go back and replay the whole night, do it differently this time.
He could see she was lonely and a bit sad, and he could have been company for her, maybe lightened her load a little.
Instead he had made her feel lonelier and sadder.
If he had any decency he would leave. He could stay with Joseph and his wife – he knew they wouldn’t mind. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But he clearly didn’t have any decency because, even as he thought it, he was sitting on the bed, automatically pulling off his socks.
The lure of the soft mattress and those downy pillows overcame his guilt.
He got under the covers, and his conscience had only a few seconds to bother him before he fell into a deep sleep.
Claire was not so lucky. She tossed and turned, her mind spinning.
She should have slapped him. She should have told him to get out of her house.
It was so unfair. Why could she only think of the right thing to say when the moment had passed?
She replayed the scene over and over in her head, only this time she didn’t cry.
She didn’t cower and cringe as if she had done something wrong.
This time she kicked him out into the rain, and she didn’t even let him collect his boots first.
She hadn’t wanted to bring him home, she thought, tears of rage burning her eyes.
The last thing she’d wanted after the bar was a stranger in the house.
But she’d felt sorry for him, so she had sacrificed a night of her precious solitude.
And he’d thought she had brought him here for sex!
He’d actually thought she expected it in return for dinner and a bed.
Jesus! What an arsehole. She punched her pillow in fury.
Still, as her rage calmed, she couldn’t help remembering how nice his lips had felt.
How he had smelt of her shower gel as he pulled her closer.
How hard and warm his body had been in the instant before she’d pulled away.
It was such a long time since anyone had kissed her. Then the tears started again.