Chapter 7 #2
I shake my head, his apology ringing in my ears. ‘I’m not pregnant. I’ve been on the pill for years. And, just so you know, I did all the sensible tests they recommend after unprotected sex, so I know there are no other issues we need to deal with either.’
‘Good to know,’ he says with a relieved smile. ‘And, in the spirit of sharing, I did them too and got the same results.’
I suddenly realise I’ve reduced my bread roll into crumbs as he’s talked, and I pick up my napkin and wipe my fingers to give myself a chance to look away from him for a second.
His confessions have knocked me for six and the tension that’s slowly been mounting in my chest since this morning has grown and grown until my heart feels like it wants to explode.
The problem is, I’ve used his anger and cruelty towards me as a shield from my real feelings for him for so long – even though I’ve never allowed myself fully to admit it – and now I’ve finally heard an apology for the way he treated me I don’t know how to protect myself any more.
It’s as if he’s peeled back a shell I’ve been relying on and now I’m raw and vulnerable to his charm.
I’m reminded of my longing for what we used to have.
A feeling that’s never really gone away.
It’s bubbled there, under the surface, permeating my every thought, my every action.
He’s like a dangerous drug. Addictive and sanity-threatening.
‘So, come on, since I’ve been so honest with you, don’t you think it’s time you were honest with me too?’ he says with a provocative smile, picking up his spoon again.
My chest gives a throb of panic. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean are you ever going to tell me why you really dumped me back then?’
I clear my throat, then clear it again, playing for time until his penetrating gaze becomes too much for me.
‘I told you at the time why it wouldn’t have worked between us long-term,’ I say, my voice sharp with nerves.
‘Our lives were going in different directions, and I had to look after my father and sisters after my mother died. My father went completely to pieces. The whole family was in turmoil. I had nothing left for you. For us.’
He leans forward, his expression insistent now. ‘I don’t believe you. I think there was more to it than that.’
My heart thumps harder. Even though we’re outdoors I suddenly feel trapped and claustrophobic, as though a cage has unexpectedly fallen down around me.
‘You can believe what you want. You always did think you were right, no matter what,’ I bite out.
He knows I’m lying. I can sense it. I can see it in his eyes, and it frightens me.
His gaze remains fixed on mine for what feels like eternity, neither of us saying a word, locked in a battle of wills with neither of us willing to lose. So much passes between us in that silence, so much pain, hurt and regret.
But I can’t back down. I can’t tell him what he wants to know. It would destroy the safety of the world I’ve built around me since that terrible time.
I jump as Jamie suddenly lets out a low growl of frustration and flings his spoon into his bowl of soup where it makes a great splash, sending droplets of brightly coloured pureed vegetables flying through the air which land on the front of my white suit in a shower of splatters.
I stare down in horror at the mess he’s made of me. My beautiful power suit. He’s ruined it. Just as he ruined my dress. He seems determined to destroy every beautiful thing I own.
‘Shit!’ he says, springing up from his chair. Before I can say anything, he grabs a napkin and starts rubbing at the stains, smearing the bright-red soup further over my front and only making things worse.
I sit there, shaking my head in disbelief. Then I knock his hand away from my chest, stick my fingers into my own bowl of soup and take great pleasure in running them down his white T-shirt, marvelling at the elegantly swirled pattern I make.
He freezes and stares down at what I’ve done, one eyebrow raised.
‘There you go, now we’re even,’ I say.
Without a word he leans over, picks up my bowl of soup and proceeds to pour it from a great height down into my lap. I give a shriek as the cold liquid trickles between my thighs.
‘No, now we’re even,’ he says with relish.
‘Right!’ Jumping up from my chair, I make a grab for his bowl and manage to get my fingers onto the rim before he can reach over and stop me. I throw the soup towards him, managing to catch him a little on the face as well as all down his neck and chest.
‘Fuck!’ he shouts as soup drips from his chin and soaks into his clothes.
He’s a mess too.
Such a mess.
Tension hovers in the air between us. At this point it could go either way: tip towards anger or laughter. And we both know it needs to go somewhere.
I start to laugh. I can’t help it. It comes from deep in my belly, radiating upward through my chest and out of my throat in great gusts.
And, now I’ve started, I can’t stop. It pours out of me, making me bend at the middle from the force of it, my whole body shaking, my eyes watering.
I can barely breathe, and I know my face must be as red as the soup I’m covered in, but for once in my life I don’t care.
Because he’s laughing too.
This moment is perfect in its madness. And it’s the ideal antidote to the tension humming between us.
Finally, my hysteria starts to subside and I straighten up, smoothing my hands down my soup-stained suit, suddenly not caring whether it’s ruined. It was worth it just to feel like that again.
Happy, carefree and alive.
If only for a few minutes.
When I look at Jamie, he’s not laughing any more. Instead, he’s gazing at me with a puzzled but gratified sort of frown, as if he’s seeing me again for the first time in a long time.
‘There you are,’ he whispers fiercely, reaching up to slide his hand against my jaw, his eyes dancing with delight. And something else – lust. Longing. ‘I knew you were in there somewhere,’ he murmurs before bringing his mouth down hard onto mine.
The last of my laughter dies in my throat as I open my mouth to kiss him back, my heart thundering against my ribs.
And this kiss feels different. It’s no longer a quest for dominance or a battle of wills; it’s a meeting of minds.
I know it’s the most dangerous thing in the world at this point, but I can’t bring myself to stop it. Because I want this so much. This connection. This elation I’m feeling.
The kiss goes on and on and we press ourselves closer, deeper, tighter, till I can feel the beat of his heart against my chest and the insistent press of his erection against my stomach.
And, oh, God, I ache to feel him moving inside me. It’s all I can think about.
I’m suddenly aware of him stooping down a little and in one fluid movement he scoops me into his arms, his hands holding me firmly behind my knees, his other arm pressing me against his chest.
‘Let’s take this inside, shall we?’ he says, though it’s not a question, it’s a statement of intent.
He strides through the open bi-fold doors and into the living room where he drops me onto the large leather couch. I watch in rapt fascination while he strips the soup-stained clothes from his body until he’s standing naked in front of me. His cock is hard and clearly very ready for action.
My whole body zings with a mixture of excitement and apprehension and blood rushes straight to my pussy, the pressure of my need making me crazy. I sit up and begin to strip off my own clothes as fast as I can, the movement of my fingers clumsy with eagerness.
I’m so afraid he’s going to stop this at the crunch point, just to tease me, I can barely stand the tension. I think I’ll go completely crazy if he does. I’ll lose my goddamned mind.
But it doesn’t seem as though that’s his intention this time because as soon as I’ve stripped off the last of my clothes, he lets out a growl of approval and grabs my hands to pull me off the sofa and down onto rug with him.
The moment I’m down on the floor he rolls on top of me, his arms braced on either side of my head, pinning me under him.
I’m his prisoner through and through.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he demands, moving down my body to kiss my neck, my breasts, my belly.
I feel his lips hot on my skin, his tongue damp and insistent on my nipple, his teeth gently biting my shoulder, sending small currents of ecstasy all the way through me.
But he doesn’t touch the part of me that needs his attention the most. He’s nowhere near sating the hot ache between my thighs.
‘I want… inside me,’ I say, my voice a whisper of desire.
‘What’s that?’ he teases, moving his mouth over my ribcage, his breath leaving trails of burning sensation in its wake.
‘I want something. Inside me…’