Chapter 11 #2
“Very much so.” Eyes on me, he traced my jaw, one finger trailing the rise of my top lip.
The messy not quite-right bit in the middle where they stitched the skin together when I was a baby.
Mam always said nobody could tell, but she was lying.
I could tell. Simon could tell, or he wouldn’t be hovered right there being so fucking tender it burnt.
I bit him. Again.
The subtle rise of his fingerprint rasped acid against the flicker of my tongue tip. He jutted his chin, laughing like he liked it. I’d worship him, head to toe if he gave me a chance. The flattered little gleam in his eyes told me he knew it, too.
And what the ever-loving hell did I think I was doing?
This was circumstantial. Nothing real. Friction on his side, pent up frustration on mine, way too much cool silk between us.
Breathing stiffly, I rammed one foot down onto the antique rug, in case I fell off the sofa, every muscle in me bone-snapping tight. Simon leaned back.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
The rest of the world blurred out behind him.
“Hundred percent.” Miraculously, my voice came through clear and steady, but Simon blinked at me like he didn’t buy the act.
Well played, Cooper. He’d never try to ravage me ever again now. No more thinking.
I rolled us, scrabbling onto my knees, colliding with the couch cushions. Simon full-on undulated under me, shunting himself down the length of the seat, hands on my back, my arms, thighs. Everywhere. No more questions. Just my mouth on his. God yes, lips and tongue and hands and—
Simon laughed, pushing back against my arms. “Easy.”
I spluttered to a halt, searching his face. It didn’t feel like stop. Didn’t feel like no. Just space and pause from the breathless too-much, right-now-yes of it.
He tugged me down, kissing me so slow I thought I’d die.
All those fireworks from the rooftop where I thought he’d meant it sparked back to life.
And he hummed and he shifted, body pulling tight against mine, hands scruffed into my hair like he needed anchoring.
I gripped at him. Rubbed in against him, he held me up like the curved arches of a river bridge spanned under the train tracks. Exactly what I needed.
I did it again. Kissed him. Soft and dry and haltingly slow, my teeth rough-soft over the spill of his lower lip, close and warm and – oh.
This didn’t feel like faking it.
Blinking down at him – looking at him looking at me, all pupil-blown, eyelash close, his grin rolling mellow like I’d made his day – this didn’t feel like faking it at all.
And then the room went black.
All the lights strobed on for a jolting second, and flicked right back off. “What the—?”
Over by the doorway, Richard Whittaker gave a pointed cough. The plug for the extension-lead to the lighting rig dangled from Sev’s hand.
“For fucksake!” I ripped away from Simon, scrabbling for something to shove into my lap. Oh déjà bloody vous. Except, there were no handy pillows lying about this time.
Looming in the doorway, Richard snapped the lightswitch again, fully fixated on Simon. Who’d barely moved.
“Oh do stop pratting about with the lights.” Simon levered up onto his elbows with a short sigh, peacock bell tent not exactly de-pitched. Heat prickled up the back of my neck. Wasn’t he even a little bit embarrassed?
“I’ll give you pratting about. Go get a cup of tea Sev. We’ll have a break, Sev.” Rolling her eyes Sev stomped back over to her camera. “You better not have dragged me all the way out here because you’ve got a secret filming fetish Simon.”
“He doesn’t.” The ex-rugby-player folded his bulging arms across his chest.
Certainty. That’s what that sounded like. Richard would know.
Standing up, Simon reached for his discarded shirt. “You really don’t need to be in here.”
“I can bloody well see that.” Richard scoffed. “Absolutely had to do a full-blown reenactment with him, did you?”
Simon raised a cool eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with how I’m handling this?”
From behind her camera, Sev’s eyes ping-ponged between them, then settled on me. Everything in her expression tinged with told-you-so. My gut dropped like a lift with a cut cable. Goosepimples rose on my forearms.
“This is ridiculous,” Richard continued. “No one’s going to buy it.”
“Why not?” Simon had his arms crossed too.
“Oh come on.” Richard glanced at me, stalling himself halfway to a full on laugh. “You’re deaf, not blind!”
Silence rang with the clang of that.
Round my ankles the hair had rubbed off my legs where the cuffs of my sports socks were too tight. Richard’s carpet had a stain on it. Sinking my eyes shut, I got a flash of grabbing the goggle-eyed horse off the wall and smashing it down over the pair of them.
Richard was right. We all bloody knew it. No way Simon hadn’t been playing. Nothing about him being attracted to me made sense.
“I’m only your PR advisor.” Simon’s voice cut coolly through the quiet, words clipped tight with precision, tone dangerous enough to make the air crackle. “But you might want to evaluate the statement you’ve just made and try again. A little more PC this time would be far better for your image.”
Richard stared at him, stunned. The entire room warped at the edges of my vision. Tension thrummed thick as a thundercloud.
“Right! That’s it. I’ve had enough of this wank-fest. Count me out.” Sev cut across the disaster. Clips snapped, legs de-telescoped, shutters clicked, zips zipped. “You can have your little domestic without an audience, alright?”
“Sev!” Simon started towards her. “What about the footage?”
“Oh it’s absolutely flawless, babes. Can’t tell one arsehole from the other.” Blinding us with her painted-on smile – all full of fuck-yous – Sev shouldered her camera bag. “Camera was still rolling. I’ll find something I can use.”
The slam of the front door echoed through the house. I almost bundled up my clothes and legged it after her. Through the ancient single-glazing, her footsteps scrunched across the gravel. And then Sev’s Polo thrashed itself to life like a jet plane warming up on the runway.
Our lift – the only way home – popped and banged, throwing out flames from the exhaust. Imagined G-force crushed my naked chest.
Five things worse than being sandwiched between Simon and his blueblood ex in the middle of a pissing contest? My brain blanked. There weren’t any.
Stones sprayed up against the window from her wheel spin.
The car lurched, zooming up the drive.
Oh shit. Sev was tail lights blinking in the distance, wouldn’t wanna be ya, I’m alright Jack, full-on stranding us.
Slow motion, Richard curled his lips in on themselves.
“Sorry, Si.”
Simon shook his head. “Try again. You’re apologising to the wrong person.”