Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
RORY
I wake up with Jane in my arms, sunlight streaming through the windows, her blonde hair splayed over my chest. She’s completely and gorgeously naked, her soft body draped over mine in a way that provokes an immediate response.
Even after a night of exploring each other, I’m ready to go again.
She’s turned me back into a horny teenager, it seems.
I smile at the thought, and glory in the sight of her.
Her plump lips moving slightly as she sleeps, her breasts pressed against me, her fingers spread over my belly.
She’s bigger than she was back in the day, more plentiful.
More decadent somehow. I love this new version of her, with its curves and valleys, the little extras that I enjoyed so much last night.
I knew she was self-conscious, which made it even more magnificent when she finally let go – when all those inhibitions were shed.
Once that happened, there was no controlling it.
She was a wild thing, and so was I. Even though so many years have passed, even though we have both changed physically and emotionally, it felt like our bodies were trying to make up for all that lost time.
She was my sweet, sensual Juliet all over again – older, better, even more spectacular. Familiar, but also brand new.
I vaguely need to go and use the loo – I’ve definitely aged in some respects – but I don’t want to disturb her.
I don’t want to break the spell. What if she wakes up and regrets it?
What if she takes one look at me, at where she is, and backs off?
If she retreats into that polite shell of hers, it will hurt.
I know why she does it, I know she feels she needs to protect herself from the potential pain of this whole thing, but I also hate it.
I’ve had my own shell for years, and I’ve had enough of living in it.
Enough of my shallow flings, my half-arsed relationships, my empty encounters.
What I have right here in my arms is real.
It’s raw and imperfect and it makes me vulnerable in ways I’ve never allowed myself to be since everything went wrong between us.
I don’t care. I’ll take the risk, I decide, gazing at the way her thigh is hooked over me. I’ve found her again after all these years, and I don’t want to lose her.
Should I tell her all of this? I wonder.
Should I confess, come clean, tell her I’m all in?
Or will that scare her away? I might need to tread gently, to give her time and space, even though I want nothing more than to hold on tight.
I sense that she’s not as ready as I am, that she feels she has more to lose.
She made it clear last night that she couldn’t promise me forever.
She was honest about that, and I accepted what she offered.
Now, in the light of day, how does that make me feel? Exhilarated. Thrilled. Altogether entirely bloody terrified.
She murmurs slightly, and her eyes start to flutter open.
She wakes in amusing stages, eventually lifting one lid and then the other, peeking out at me.
I see the process taking place – the physical and the mental – as she remembers it all.
I have no clue how she will react, but I’m delighted when she laughs.
She presses her face against my chest, pulls the duvet up over her head, and laughs – long and hard.
‘A less confident man might find that upsetting,’ I say. ‘You with your head beneath the sheets, laughing it up.’
She giggles, lets her hand drift down my body. Jesus. Definitely ready to go again.
‘Nothing to be ashamed of down here,’ she replies, shuffling down further. ‘But I’d better double check everything’s still working…’
She takes me into her mouth, her tongue exploring, her lips closing around me.
I groan, and before long I have to pull her away, avoiding a very early conclusion to our morning fun.
She emerges from the covers with both a blush on her cheeks and a wanton expression in her eyes, and it’s a powerful combination.
She straddles me, and I see the moment she falters – the moment she starts to feel uncertain.
Her hands go to her belly, and she seems to shrink in on herself, as though she’s suddenly holding her breath.
I reach up with one hand, stroke her breast. My fingers play with her nipple, and she sighs, the pleasure clearing her mind. ‘Beautiful,’ I say simply. ‘Beautiful back then. Beautiful last night. Even more so right now…’
She smiles, slow and sweet, and I can tell she finally believes it, finally trusts at least this aspect of our relationship.
I make the most of her distracted state to sit up, grab hold of her, and switch our positions.
She laughs again as I pin her to the bed with my thighs, wriggling around and pretending she wants to get loose.
It makes her whole body jiggle in the most interesting of ways.
I grab a condom from the cabinet, bite it open.
That was a slightly awkward moment last night, having the grown-up conversation in the middle of us acting like teenagers – but neither of us is past the stage where pregnancy could be a thing, and that would be one complication too many.
Not the worst thing in the world, I think, sliding myself inside her and relishing the sight of her throat as she throws her head back, the little moan that escapes her lips as I move.
Not the worst thing… but not something to be done by accident.
She reaches up and tugs me down, her hands on my shoulders.
Her legs wrap around me, heels against my backside, urging me on.
I nuzzle her neck, kissing the soft skin beneath her ears, making her sigh.
God in heaven, she is perfect in every possible way, I think, the sheer joy of being with her chasing away conscious thoughts…
before long I’m not considering anything other than how to make her come, to make her cry my name, to take us both to our ultimate high.
Afterwards, we lie together limp and sweaty and spent. She laughs again, wiping her forehead and looking at me. ‘This is mad, isn’t it?’ she says, her brown eyes sparkling.
‘Totally mad,’ I reply. ‘But also totally excellent. Now, I hate to ruin the moment, but I really need to pee…’
She grins. ‘Old man! But hurry up, because I need to go too…’
‘Old woman,’ I retort, kissing her on the forehead and jumping out of the bed. I stop in the doorway and wriggle my naked arse for her, wondering if she’s even looking. Her laughter tells me she is, and I can’t keep the daft smile off my face as I do my business.
When I get back to the room, she’s up, and wearing my T-shirt.
It covers her bare essentials, but does nothing to hide her curves.
She looks way better in it than I do. She is wandering around my room, her blonde bob all messed up, her eyes taking it all in.
I can imagine how curious she must feel – I would be exactly the same if I was in her territory.
Is that something that will ever happen?
I wonder. Will she invite me to visit her?
Will we even see each other again once she leaves Bonnie Bay?
This could well be something casual to her – closure, like she once said.
Closure, and then back to her real life.
I hate the whole concept, so I ignore it. She pauses in front of one of the framed sketches on the wall, stares intently at it. When she turns around to look at me, there are tears in her eyes.
‘This is… this is me?’ she asks, voice low with emotion.
‘It is, Jane, yeah. Remember that day we spent a whole afternoon down by the river bank in the park, drawing? The trees, the water, each other…’
She nods, bites her lip, stays silent. She looks overwhelmed again.
‘Of course I do,’ she says eventually. ‘I guess I’m just surprised that you kept this, after everything that happened. Didn’t it hurt too much to see it every day?’
I shrug, not sure how honest I can be here.
The truth is that I never forgot her, never let go of her.
But I was also bitter, cynical, and in some ways that framed picture was also a reminder to me to never let myself love like that again – a visual aid to help me avoid making the same mistake twice.
I don’t want to tell her any of that, it’s too dark, too deep.
‘Couldn’t ever bring myself to throw it away,’ I reply simply. There’s a big difference, of course, between not throwing something away and displaying it on your bedroom wall, but she doesn’t press the point.
‘My parents chucked all of my stuff,’ she replies. ‘I kept it all in a keepsake box, and when we got back from France, it was gone…’
A shadow crosses her face, and I see her make an effort to tuck herself back in, to regain control. ‘Anyway. Off to the loo, like a proper old woman! Do we… do we need to talk about this, Rory?’
‘Maybe,’ I answer. ‘We can walk to the village if you like, give us the chance to chat while we’re not naked and so easily distracted.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she says, heading to the door. She lifts the T-shirt up as she leaves, and waggles her bum at me just like I did. I chase her down the hallway, both of us laughing, her eventually slamming the bathroom door in my face and giggling at my yells.
I’m still smiling about it later, when we’ve done our ablutions, had toast and coffee, and are walking down the hillside towards the bookshop.
I have work to do today – I’ve agreed an initial design with my client in Yorkshire, and now I need to start going through my materials, or scrap pile as some might call it, and source what will work best. I know I should be doing that, but I find myself not wanting to.
It’s going to be a warm day for such a task, and I’d far rather be here – walking towards the water with Jane, hoping to finally persuade her to help me with the bookshop murals.