Chapter Twenty-Six #2
He sighed. ‘I just thought, if everyone’s talking about us anyway, why bother denying it? I don’t want to hide you away, Imogen. I don’t mind if the whole of Mistingham knows we’re spending time together, and I don’t care if they’re speculating about what we’re doing with it.’
‘Apart from when they’re annoyed that we’re not rehearsing.’
‘We’ll get there. Nobody needs to know whether we were wearing clothes while we perfected our lines.’
Imogen’s spoon slipped as she went for another scoop of cream. ‘That’s very true.’
‘And I’ve spoken to Lucy about us, and that’s all that matters.’
Imogen put her bowl down carefully. ‘What did you tell her?’
Dexter put his bowl down too, then reached across the island to take her hand.
‘I told her I liked you a lot, I was sure you liked me, and that we were enjoying spending time together. But I stressed to her that you don’t live here, that you’ll be going back to London sooner rather than later, and that there was no guarantee of any sort of future.
’ He took a breath, his eyes staying on hers, and Imogen hoped he couldn’t see how his words were affecting her.
‘I said that you can enjoy something meaningful even if you know it’s not going to be for ever, and that we shouldn’t put pressure on you to change your plans.
I asked her what she thought, what she wanted, and—’
‘What did she say?’ Imogen couldn’t help cutting in, even though that was what he was about to tell her.
‘Lucy said she loved hanging out with you; she was glad if you made me happy, but that sometimes things could be just for Christmas, if that was how they had to be. Although she reminded me that Artichoke was for life.’ He grinned, and Imogen forced herself to laugh.
‘That’s … great. The last thing I want to do is hurt her – or you.’
‘It’s OK. No pressure, remember? We’re having fun.’
‘We are.’ She should be relieved that Lucy cared more about the longevity of her relationship with her dog, than with her.
And it made perfect sense. The first time they’d met her, she was in a wedding dress, running away from her future.
Of course they weren’t going to think that she wanted anything long term; of course they didn’t want something long term, either.
Dexter had been passionate in bed, attentive and thorough, with a lot of communication and a lot of laughter, and Imogen had tied herself up thinking that meant he really cared about her.
But that was just who he was. He would be thoughtful and considerate with anyone he was intimate with.
She shouldn’t have read so much into it, shouldn’t have got caught up in silly dreams. Sometimes, you had the very best sex of your life with someone you only spent a little bit of time with.
She’d been too cautious up until now, so she hadn’t been aware of that.
No, this was for the best. She could enjoy her time with Dexter and Lucy, have a meaningful Christmas with her grandmother, then go back to London and start again; find a new, more inspiring job, and a new flat.
She could work her way towards being the daughter her parents expected her to be.
‘Hey.’ Dexter tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
‘I didn’t mean to get so deep, but I wanted to reassure you – what we’re doing isn’t going to hurt Lucy, and it’s not going to end in heartbreak for either of us.
We’re letting ourselves do what we want to do, being selfish, having a good time.
And by good,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I mean pretty fucking amazing.’
All Imogen’s nerve endings fired to life, and she licked her lips.
Dexter noticed, his gaze zeroing in on the movement.
‘Very fucking amazing,’ she corrected, because it had been, and it was, and so what if he wanted her for an amazing time but not a long time?
She could be selfish, just like he’d said, and then they could both move on.
She slipped off her stool and came around to his side of the island, and he spread his jean-clad legs so she could stand between them.
‘Dexter.’ She cupped his stubbled jaw and kissed him, her body as close to his as she could get it.
‘Yeah?’ His voice was ragged when they broke apart, and triumph surged through her, knowing that, even if it was temporary, she could affect him like this.
‘I would like you to take me upstairs now.’ She trailed her mouth along his jaw, down to his throat. Dexter tightened his hold on her, and she wondered if they would even make it upstairs.
‘Your wish is my command.’ He was breathing hard as he slid off the stool and grabbed her hand. He led her through the dark living room, past the soft twinkle of the Christmas tree, to the stairs.
He paused on the bottom step, let her go ahead of him and then caught her hips, turning her around.
He lifted her jumper and his lips found the soft skin of her stomach.
As Imogen tipped her head back and closed her eyes while Dexter gripped her waist, keeping her in place, she wondered if this was what people did with their lives, if this was another rule she had to follow: finding something that was so fucking amazing, a person who was life-alteringly wonderful, then letting them go simply because it wasn’t sensible, because you’d met them at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and they weren’t a part of the plan.
Was this another expectation she was supposed to meet?
Because if so, she wanted to take every single expectation everyone had ever had of her and throw them all into the North Sea, then watch them sink, thoroughly and irretrievably, to the bottom.