17. Chapter 17
Her breath was sweet and spicy with whisky. Her lips, pressing against his, were opening, urgent, her tongue sliding into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, crushing her body into him as she tipped her hips into his. He could feel the fullness of her breasts crushed against his chest, the arch of her hips into his, her hands in his hair, pulling his head down to hers. He groaned and pushed her back, his left hand roaming over her hips and waist, his right hand holding hers, pinned against the wall.
She moaned softly into his mouth, and he kissed her again, more deeply, his tongue searching for hers. Lucy’s free hand slipped around behind him, slid over the small of his back, pulled at him. He eased back from kissing her for a moment, both breathing heavily, and gazed deep into her eyes. They were dark pools, her cheeks were flushed, her hair tousled around her face, her lips swollen and wet from kissing.
Into her mouth, he whispered, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes,’ came the reply, on an out breath. ‘Don’t stop.’
He dropped her hand, and her fingers were in his hair again, urging his lips to meet hers. His hands slipped behind her hips, cupping her bottom, pressing himself against her, his lips slipping down her throat, kissing her neck. His teeth grazed over the rise of her breasts above the fabric of her dress, and Lucy let out a gasp. Jack wished he could tear the silky fabric from her where she stood.
His hand skimmed her hip, her waist and cupped her breast, his thumb skimming lightly over her nipple through the thin fabric, feeling it harden in response to his touch. Lucy moaned, and he covered her mouth with his, feeling her urgency merge with his.
Jack barely registered the sound, then he heard it again. A cough like a squeak.
He tore his gaze away from Lucy for a second and glanced down the corridor. There, a few feet away, was the shy young waiter with the train track braces. His face was beet red, and he was staring at the floor, clearly wishing it would open up and swallow him into a fiery hell pit. He cough-squeaked again and raised his hand, showing a key. He lifted his head slightly, but his eyes landed anywhere but Jack and Lucy.
‘Sorry,’ he squeaked, and cleared his throat. ‘I have to get into the cupboard.’
Jack pulled back from Lucy and looked at where the boy was gesturing. They were directly in front of a door with a sign that read, Cleaning Stores.
Jack straightened and turned his back to the boy to hide his arousal. He cleared his throat.
‘Sure, sorry, go ahead, sorry…we didn’t realise anyone….’ Jack flipped his hand.
Lucy, her face flushed, was frozen to the spot as if she thought no one would see her if she didn’t move, least of all the boy standing six feet from her. Her eyes were on the shoes that she had dropped to the floor, and her fingers were fumbling to slide her dress straps back over her shoulders.
‘Lucy.’
Jack slipped his hand into hers to pull her away, but she snatched her hand back. She looked mortified.
‘Sorry’, Jack mumbled, stepping back. ‘We need to go.’
The boy stood, staring at the floor, clutching his key. Lucy stumbled slightly as she peeled herself away from the wall and lurched forward to grab her shoes. Without looking at Jack or the boy, she started barefoot unsteadily down the corridor, narrowly missing a replica suit of armour as she went. Jack gazed at her departing figure, her tousled hair falling down her back. The boy, his face still aflame, shuffled anxiously on the spot and half-heartedly flapped the keys. Jack nodded at him and took off after Lucy.
Lucy had picked up speed and Jack followed her as she hurried past the restaurant and function rooms, across the lobby and out into the gardens. She slowed down once her bare feet hit the gravel driveway and Jack caught up with her as she hopped from foot to foot, trying to avoid the spikiest bits of gravel.
‘Ow! Ouch! Shit, ow! Bugger!’ Lucy was hurrying towards the relief of the lawns at the side of the drive, arms flapping, shoes still in hand. ‘Oof!’ She reached the lawn, dropped her shoes and padded her feet on the soft grass. As Jack crunched his way across the gravel drive behind her, she turned to face him. She seemed unsure, her face unreadable. She didn’t smile as he approached, but she didn’t seem annoyed or upset.
Jack went with the only thing he could think to say.
‘I’m sorry.’
Lucy adjusted her dress, still a little askew. He felt a surge of desire as he watched her smooth the fabric over her hips, where his hands had been only moments before. Swallowing, he turned his gaze to a particularly grotesque gargoyle squatted on an old stone wall. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and ran a hand over his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I think this pretending to be your boyfriend thing, and the drinks…and then––’ He let out a ragged breath. ‘You were upset and I…I tried to be a good friend…or,’ he gave a gruff laugh, ‘fake boyfriend….and I…’
He ran out of steam.
‘It’s okay,’ Lucy said, running her fingers through her tangled hair. ‘I think we just got….’ she shrugged, ‘a bit muddled.’
Her eyes met his. They were bright and shining, and her expression had an open artlessness that pulled at something deep inside him.
They were quiet for a moment, standing awkwardly opposite one another, no distance seeming like the right one. The noise from the other guests filtered down to them, music and chatter rising and falling as people went in and out of the doors. Someone passed right by the doors yelling, ‘Margot? Margot! Where’s my suitcase?’
The shout broke their silent pause, and suddenly, Lucy started laughing.
‘That poor boy!’ she cried. ‘His face!’ She clutched at her side.
And then Jack found that he was laughing too.
‘When he held the key up.’
He mimicked the waiter holding up the storeroom key and bent double.
Lucy wiped at her eyes.
‘Oh God, you know he’ll be telling this story to all his mates—’
‘Oh no.’ Jack shook his head. ‘That poor lad hasn’t got lots of mates.’
‘And we’ll be known as the perverts of the wedding, getting it on next to the,’ Lucy pulled a face, ‘cleaning storage cupboard.’
She gasped and doubled over with laughter again.
Jack wiped his eyes.
‘I just hope he saw something useful,’ he managed.
Lucy snorted and leaned on a nearby tree stump, trying to catch her breath. Jack continued, ‘Those moves of mine—he can use those when he’s old enough.’
‘Those were moves?’ Lucy straightened up and cackled. ‘I thought you had lost something and were frisking me.’
Jack rolled his eyes at her.
‘At least, if your family hears about it, they won’t be in any doubt that this is the real thing.’
‘Oh my god! My mother would be horrified!’ Lucy covered her eyes. ‘Oh, the thought of her daughter getting,’ she whispered, ‘felt up in public like that.’ She shuddered. ‘Pray god that boy was too busy staring at the floor to identify us properly.’
Jack grinned at Lucy’s stricken expression. ‘I don’t think he seems the type to go bragging about what he saw.’
He took a breath and watched her expression as he spoke. ‘So we forget about it, agreed? I mean, these sorts of things happen at weddings, don’t they? Drunken, emotional make outs.’
He couldn’t tell what she was thinking as she took in his words. Her expression was neutral as she twisted her hair onto her head.
‘Yes, sure,’ she said. ‘Just a bit of wedding madness.’ She smiled at him and picked up her shoes. Often in her hand, rarely on her feet, he thought. ‘We’ll put it behind us.’
They stood for a moment, the companionable laughter giving way to something less sure and certain. Jack felt the energy crackle between them. The kiss might have happened because they had had a few drinks, and emotions were running high, but he felt sure there was something running underneath all that.
‘Well…’ Lucy said and took a step towards the hotel. ‘We should head back in.’
‘Sure,’ he nodded. ‘You go. I’ll be there in a moment. Just going to get a bit more fresh air.’
She nodded and carried on, but he could see the question in her eyes.
As he watched her step gingerly across the gravel back into the hotel, his world suddenly seemed much quieter and smaller.
There would be no Lucy in New York.