Chapter Thirteen
She was awoken by something hard pressing into her back. She’d rolled onto her side, her shackled wrist lying along her thigh; Joel was spooned against her and she had no idea whether he was asleep or awake. Part of him was most certainly awake.
He stirred, and groaned.
‘Move,’ she hissed, wriggling until she was lying on her back. ‘Get that thing away from me.’
He lifted his free hand across her, stroked it down her arm and mumbled, ‘Sorry. You’re too sexy. All warm and cuddly.’
Cute Joel was back, it seemed.
‘Don’t start,’ she said. ‘We’re done with all that now.’
‘Are we?’ he said into her shoulder, his mouth hot on her skin. ‘Would you want me if I hadn’t unloaded on you? All my fuck-uppery, I mean, not just the vomit.’
She couldn’t help a smile. ‘I hate what you told me. I think you’re doing totally the wrong thing.’ She looked down at him. ‘Joel, listen to me.’
He grunted. ‘Do I have to?’
‘I have learned that calling off a wedding at the last minute pisses off an awful lot of people, wastes quite a bit of money and can break a heart. But self-sacrifice purely for the purpose of preventing an arranged marriage and pacifying a psycho brother is not justified. Not when there’s a law against that sort of thing, and people to help make sure it doesn’t happen.’
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Those were very well-thought-out words for this hour of the day. Or night. What even is the time?’
‘The only clock’s in the kitchen so I don’t know. My guess would be six, six-thirty?’
‘Chloe,’ he said, nuzzling her neck. ‘Can we rewind? To the part where you wanted me inside you?’
She went quiet. Things felt different. They were no longer in some magical, suspended-in-time moment. Joel had real issues going on, and she knew the truth of him now. He was full of grief and self-blame, as well as anger and bitterness towards his family. Very mixed up.
He opened his eyes and fixed them on hers. Oof. Fuck’s sake. How could anyone’s eyes be so beautiful after a day and a night like that? Alcohol, lack of sleep … crying. His tousled fair hair only added to the whole little-boy-lost look.
‘Can we?’
‘Joel …’
‘Okay – can we rewind but also erase the part where I was a complete dick? I took all those bad feelings out on you. Shouldn’t have done that. Sorry.’
She searched his eyes, mostly to find out whether his words were genuine, but also because of the way it made her feel each time she stared into them.
Her heart squeezed at the sudden vulnerability in their depths.
He meant it.
Her resistance crumbled and the longing returned in a rush; it had only been paused, after all.
‘I can’t believe I’m saying this,’ she whispered, touching his face, ‘but I think I’d like that. We need to talk some more after, though.’
‘Whoop,’ he said, with a gut-melting smile. ‘That’s the best news. Pass the thing.’ He nodded at the bedside drawer. And after a quick rip with his teeth and some dextrous manoeuvring beneath the duvet – not that tired then – he rolled on top of her. ‘Good morning, my lovely angel,’ he murmured, gently brushing her hair back from her face, then he kissed her deeply, gripping her shackled hand with his.
‘No preliminaries necessary,’ she breathed, wanting him probably more than she’d ever wanted anything, as he nudged her legs apart with his knee. But he moved his other hand down anyway, before laughing quietly and saying, ‘So I see,’ and then slipping – very easily – inside her.
‘Oh god,’ she gasped. ‘Joel …’
He brought his hand back up and held himself above her, moving slowly, gently, then harder, quickly speeding up. She stretched her free arm over her head, gripping the bedhead, arching herself towards him, and was soon at the point at which he’d left her, however many hours ago.
She wrapped her legs around him and let out a moan, wanting him deeper, wishing it would never stop.
‘Christ, Chloe,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I can …’
Pausing for a moment, he shifted so his weight was on hers, and slipped his free hand between her legs, and his finger tripped the detonator that finally set off the bomb. She sucked in a breath and came in a scorching, mind-blowing rush. The explosion reached into every cell; into every corner of her body and soul.
He gave one final thrust, holding himself deep inside her, and then let go with a loud groan.
They lay still and quiet, and she loved the feeling of his warm body on hers as their hearts slowed. After a while he lifted his head from her shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and kissed her gently. ‘Thank you for all of it.’
‘An absolute pleasure,’ she said, running her fingers through his hair. Then more seriously, ‘You’ve made me feel things I’ve never felt before.’
‘Maybe that’s down to Monsieur Noir.’
She chuckled. ‘No, Joel. It’s down to you. You’re … amazing. And I don’t just mean … you know. You’re amazing in what you’re doing for Zara, even though I still think it’s a mistake. And you’ve made me smile and laugh again; you’ve brought me back to life. I feel like the future could be okay – better than okay – if I just go out and grab it.’
‘You will.’ He kissed the tip of her nose, then his gaze moved out of the window, where dawn was beginning to wash the sky with pink. ‘Look – it’s tomorrow.’ He sighed. ‘What a fucking shame.’
‘That’s very sad,’ she said, forcing her mind back to the real world. ‘I have to be at the flower shop in a few hours.’
‘A blooming shame.’
She snorted and glanced at their wrists. ‘How’s that going to work?’
He thought for a moment. ‘We could take an early morning walk? I reckon my hotel could organise a bolt-cutter. A good hotel concierge can get you anything, right? And it would be less embarrassing than a gendarmerie?’
‘Might be a plan.’
‘How far are we from the river?’
‘About half an hour.’
‘So we could walk there along the Seine. Then once the chain’s off, I’ll organise a taxi to take you to your shop. Okay?’
‘Um …’
‘Just be quiet about it,’ said Chloe, as Joel squeezed his tall form into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet.
She stood in the doorway and hummed ‘Everybody wants to be a Cat’, loudly, watching Patapouf munching the biscuits she’d poured into his bowl. Usually he meowed in her ear at around six thirty. Now, it was just gone seven and His Parisian- ness was not amused at the delay in his breakfast. He’d thrown Chloe and Joel a look of utter contempt when they emerged from the bedroom.
‘Finished!’ said Joel in a little-boy voice.
Chloe giggled.
‘Your turn,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to hum too?’
‘Yes please,’ she said, as they swapped places.
He began to hum that song from Love Actually . “ I feel it in my fingers …”
Then he switched up from humming to singing, and … oh . He had the most beautiful voice! She listened, open mouthed. And when he got to the part about lying on the bed, thinking of all the things you said , he squeezed her hand and turned to her with a smile, and she didn’t care that she was sitting on the toilet.
‘Now wash hands,’ she said, filling the cereal-bowl sink with warm water. ‘And any sticky bits.’ She picked up her flannel, dipped it in and began wiping herself down. ‘Joel – you have such a great voice!’
‘I love to sing. Me and Monty used to sing together. He wrote songs too; I played guitar, he played keyboards. We liked different things – he was into musicals; The Sound of Music was his favourite. And maybe Mamma Mia . Big Abba fan. I’m more your rocker, but we had a lot of fun.’
She passed the flannel over and after he’d given himself a quick wipe, she dried them both then gave him a hug. ‘Take it up again. Join a band. Those things you love that you’re supposed to save for your spare time? You could do that.’
He smiled. ‘Maybe I will. But for now I’m just wondering what to do about clothes.’
They retrieved their jeans and underwear from the living room floor.
‘Needs must,’ Joel said, wrinkling his nose as she helped him with his day-old underpants.
‘I could find you a pair of–’
‘Thank you, Chloe, but no.’
His jeans were soon on and done up. They were getting good at this now. She picked up his discarded T-shirt with its shredded arm. ‘It’s fine, it just looks a bit punky.’
‘Kind of matches the shackles,’ he said, as they pulled it over his head and manoeuvred his arms into the sleeves. The left arm hung open.
‘I like the look; it’s very avant-garde. My turn,’ she said, leading them back to the bedroom. She found knickers, a short stretchy skirt with no buttons or zips, and a strapless top. ‘Pashmina,’ she said, and pulled out a soft grey wool wrap which they draped round her shoulders. With his help, she put on socks then a pair of flat boots. ‘And we’re almost done!’ she announced. ‘Can you pass me my hairbrush?’
‘Can I brush your hair? Did I mention I love your hair?’
She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation as he ran the brush from scalp to tip. Dan had never done this; she’d never before had a man (other than David at Huddersfield Hairport) brush her hair.
Back in the living area the food was still on the table where they’d left it last night. ‘Would you like that bread, cheese and tea now?’ she said. She was hungry; he must be even more so. ‘When did you last eat? Um … apart from cake.’ She felt her cheeks burning.
He smiled. ‘What time do the cafés open?’
‘Probably eight, mostly.’ The clock on the oven showed seven-thirty.
‘Let’s eat out,’ he said. ‘Coffee and croissants.’
‘You’re on.’
‘I’ll–’
‘– pay me back. I know.’
These little references to future events she knew would never happen made Chloe sad. Only an hour or two, maybe three if she was lucky, to go, then she’d never see Joel again.