Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
JANE
I’m nervous as I get out of the car, my chest fluttering, my pulse pounding.
He’s arrived ahead of me, left the front door open.
What am I doing? Why did I agree to this?
I could have just kept on driving, made my escape – it’s not like he’s kidnapped me.
No, I’ve come willingly enough. I just don’t really know why.
Am I really so deeply English that a plea for us to be pleasant and civilised has changed my mind?
Or is it something more basic than that – something darker, more delicious.
Like the way he looked, sitting on that bike.
Striding towards me in his leathers, hair wild and eyes even wilder.
It tapped into something, there’s no use denying it.
Something primal, feral, a caged animal trying to claw its way to freedom.
It’s not too late to change my mind. I could still leave.
Head for safety. For the dull monotonous security of my real life.
I blink the image away – my home, my work, all of it washed out in shades of beige.
Living the rainbow, that’s what Moira’s card promised.
And is there anything brighter in the whole history of my world than the way I feel about Rory Callaghan?
I get out of the car, walk hesitantly towards the door.
As soon as my feet cross the threshold he appears.
The leather is gone, which means I now get to see the lean curve of his biceps popping beneath his T-shirt, the firm outline of his chest. The dangerous glint in his green eyes as he stalks towards me.
I let out a tiny yelp as I retreat, and my back hits the door I closed behind me.
He places a palm either side of my head, so close I can feel his breath, but still not touching me. A few inches between us.
‘I know I said I was going to be civilised,’ he murmurs, his eyes running all over my face.
‘But I think maybe I over-promised. I don’t want you to go, Jane.
I know this is all kinds of messed up, and I know we’re both still carrying our scars – but don’t go.
Stay here. With me. We’ve already lost so much time. ’
I gaze up into his eyes, want nothing more than to close that infuriating gap between us. To press my lips to his and silence him.
‘I know,’ I say, my hand drifting up to his chest, fingers splaying flat against him – whether to encourage him or keep him away I’m not sure.
‘But this is… this isn’t a play, Rory, and we’re not kids any more.
I have Beth. I have responsibilities. I can’t promise you anything, and the last thing I would ever want is to hurt you again… ’
It’s true, I realise. I am scared of being hurt myself, but I also care deeply about this man, and know that he has suffered too. I can’t lie to him and say that this is going to have a happy ending.
He takes my hand in his. He turns it upwards, and kisses the sensitive skin of my palm. It’s the tiniest of touches, the briefest of contacts, but my heart rate soars and I sigh out loud. Who am I trying to kid? Rory could always undo me, and it seems that nothing has changed.
‘I understand that,’ he says, edging closer, his hips and thighs connecting with my body, his voice a ragged whisper. ‘And I’m not expecting forever, Jane. We can… we can start with tonight, and take it from there? I want you so much…’
My hands go to his shoulders, to his neck, twining into the thick strands of his hair.
He groans out loud, and presses himself even harder against me.
I flush as I feel the truth of how much he wants me, flooded with a sense of exhilaration.
I might be older, and heavier, and altogether duller – but he still wants me.
He leans down, nuzzles the side of my neck, drops gentle kisses beneath my ear.
My knees start to buckle, and I hold on to him for dear life.
He works his way to my lips, and as soon as they meet I know I’m helpless to say no.
That every single sensible thought I ever had in my head was wrong – because this is it.
This is everything. This is living the rainbow, and every cell in my body wants more.
He pulls away, his eyes asking a question, his hands around my waist, holding me tight to him.
‘Yes,’ I manage, ‘yes, I’ll stay…’
He smiles, slow and soft and sensational, and leads me by the hand. Up the stairs, along the landing, through to the room I’ve never seen – his. I vaguely register dark blue walls, framed paintings, books, a desk scattered with sketches and pencils. Mainly, I register the bed.
He edges me towards it, kissing me and stroking me and touching me, driving me wild.
He utters sweet words in that heartbreakingly familiar way of his, and it feels like we have never been apart.
My hands slide beneath his top, tugging it up and off, my fingers caressing his body.
Bigger now, more muscular, but still with the soft velvety skin that I always loved.
He murmurs my name, and starts to unbutton my blouse.
I freeze, suddenly struck with nerves. I have not been naked in front of any man for over five years, since my last uninspired foray into the world of dating.
Before that, it was Peter, who cheated on me with such regularity that I became convinced it was my fault.
And before that? Before that, it was him – it was Rory.
He was my first, and in some ways my last. Everything I’ve felt about sex since then has been a pale imitation.
But I was eighteen… I was perfect. I was physically very different than I am now. I am in my forties, and I have had a child. I have eaten too much cake, and never done enough Pilates, and my boobs have a mind of their own when you take away their scaffolding, and…
‘You’re beautiful,’ he says, staring into my eyes. He opens the buttons very slowly, one by one, and with each inch of exposed flesh, he dips his head and kisses my feverish skin. ‘You’re still beautiful, Jane. Don’t be nervous. Don’t think. Just feel…’
He finishes his slow and sensual exploration, and pulls my blouse away from me, followed by my bra. By this point it is easy to do as he said. To just feel. He kisses my breasts, worships my nipples, demolishing me with every touch of his tongue, his lips, his fingers.
‘Oh Rory… oh God, what are you doing to me…’ I hear myself mumble, as he guides me to the edge of the bed. He pushes me down, lays me back, and straddles me. He grins, the devil in his eyes as he slides his hand up under my skirt, stroking the willing flesh of my thighs.
‘I’m doing to you what we’ve both wanted to do since we laid eyes on each other, woman. And I’m going to be doing it all night long…’