Текст книги "This Man Confessed"

Автор книги: Jodi Ellen Malpas

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

Chapter 9

The empty feeling was inevitable. The hollow, desolate, miserable feeling was inevitable. But the overwhelming guilt that has swamped me was not so expected. I fought off twinges here and there, when he was in front of me, looking so defeated, but now I’m consumed by it. And I’m furious for feeling like this. The lack of urgency to chase my scan appointment is also screwing with my mind.

It’s Friday. It’s day number four without Jesse. My week has been a steady torture, and I know it’s never going to get better. My heart is slowly splitting, each day widening the crack until I know I’ll probably cease functioning. I’m close already. What hurts the most is the lack of contact, leaving me wondering if Jesse is drowning in vodka, which also means he’s probably drowning in women. I jump up from my desk and run to the toilets, throwing up immediately, but I don’t think this is morning sickness, or anytime of the day sickness. This is grief.

‘Ava, you really should go home. You’ve not been right all week.’ Sally’s concerned voice comes through the cubicle door. I heave myself up on a sigh and flush the chain before exiting to splash my face and wash my hands.

‘Stupid bug hanging around.’ I mutter. I glance at Sal and admire her grey pencil skirt and black blouse. She really has transformed. The dowdy A-line skirts and high necked shirts are a distant memory. I haven’t asked, but with this consistent new attire, I assume dating is going well. ‘Are you still seeing that internet bloke?’ I ask. I would refer to him by name, but I have no idea what he’s called.

‘Mick?’ She giggles. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘And it’s going well?’ I turn and lean against the sink, watching as she starts brushing down her skirt, then proceeds to smooth her high ponytail.

‘Yes!’ she squeals, making me jump. ‘He really is perfect, Ava.’

I smile. ‘What does he do?’

‘Oh, some sort professional nonsense. I don’t pretend to understand.’

I laugh. ‘Good.’ I was just about to say be yourself, but I think it’s a little too late for that. She certainly isn’t the old Sal anymore. I hear my phone shouting from my new desk. ‘Excuse me, Sal.’ I leave her in the mirror, re-applying her red lipstick.

Approaching my new, L-shaped, hardwood desk, I ignore the deep seated disappointment because I’m not hearing Angel, but I can’t ignore my exasperation when I see the caller is Ruth Quinn, my tiresome but infectiously enthusiastic client, whom I have spent way too much time on this week.

‘Hi, Ruth.’

‘Ava, you still sound terrible.’

I know, and I probably look terrible, too. ‘I’m feeling much better, Ruth.’ That’s because I’ve just emptied my stomach again.

‘Oh good. Can we arrange a meeting?’ She doesn’t sound so concerned for me, anymore.

‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, hoping to God there isn’t. I’m trying to keep this project as smooth as possible because even though Ruth seems pleasant enough, I predict a tricky customer if things don’t go her way.

‘No problem. I just want to clarify a few details.’

‘We can do that over the phone.’ I prompt.

‘I would prefer to see you.’ she informs me. I sag in my chair. Of course she would. She always prefers to see me. Her final invoice is going to be astronomical. One hour here and two hours there. She’ll have spent more money on my time than on the actual works. ‘Today.’ she adds.

I sag further on an audible groan. I am not ending my shitty week with Ruth Quinn. I practically started it with Ruth on Tuesday, and I’ve had a mid-week interlude on Wednesday. Anyway, it’s three in the afternoon. Does she think she’s my only client? I wouldn’t mind, but she spends ten minutes clarifying what has already been clarified, then the next hour feeding me endless cups of tea and trying to convince me to join her for drinks.

‘Ruth, I really can’t do today.’

‘You can’t?’ She sounds irritated.

‘Monday?’ Why did I say that? I’ll be starting my week off with Ruth Quinn again.

‘Monday. Yes. We’ll do Monday. Eleven okay?’

‘I can do eleven.’ I flick through my diary and pencil her in.

‘Lovely.’ She’s back to chirpy Ruth. ‘Have you anything nice planned for the weekend?’

I stop writing, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. I don’t have anything nice planned for the weekend, apart from nursing my breaking heart, but before I can really consider what I’m about to say, I come right out and say it. ‘No, nothing much.’

‘Oh? Me either.’ She’s going to do it again, I know it. ‘We should do drinks!’

My forehead hits the desk. She either can’t, or simply won’t, take a hint. I pull my heavy head up. ‘Actually, Ruth. I said nothing much, but I’m visiting my parents in Cornwall. It’s not much really, not fun, anyway.’

She laughs. ‘Don’t let your parents hear you say that!’

I force myself to laugh along with her. ‘I won’t.’

‘Well, have a nice weekend doing nothing much with your parents, and I’ll see you on Monday.’

‘Thanks, Ruth.’ I hang up and glance at the clock. Another hour and I can escape.

* * *

I drag my exhausted body up the stairs to Kate’s flat and head straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and being immediately confronted with a bottle of wine. I just stare at it. I don’t know how long for, but my eyes are fixed on the damn thing. It takes the sound of a very familiar voice to pull my eyes away, and I turn, seeing Kate, but hers wasn’t the familiar voice that caught my attention. Dan walks in. They both look as guilty as sin.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask, slamming the fridge door. Kate flinches, but remains quiet. My brother doesn’t, though.

‘None of your business.’ he snipes, slipping his hand around Kate’s waist from behind, and then kissing her cheek. This is the first time I’ve seen or spoken to him since my wedding, and it’s not playing out to be a happy reunion, either. He frowns at me. ‘Maybe I should ask you what’s going on. Why are you here?’

I freeze in position and flick wide eyes to Kate, catching her very faint head shake. She’s not told him. ‘Just swinging by after work.’ I return my eyes to Dan. ‘When are you going back to Australia?’

‘Dunno.’ He shrugs, brushing my question off rapidly. ‘I’m off.’

‘Bye.’ I spit, turning and re-opening the fridge to grab that bottle of wine. It shouldn’t be happening, given my own current state of affairs, but I can’t help interfering on this. Kate is asking for trouble, and I’m liking my brother less and less by the day. I never thought I’d be glad to see the back of him. I ignore the exchange of goodbyes going on behind me and focus my attention on pouring a big glass of wine.

By the time I’ve sipped half, I hear footsteps going down the stairs, and I turn to face my stupid, red head friend. ‘Are you fucking mad?’ I wave my wine glass at her.

‘Probably,’ she grumbles, sitting herself down on a chair and signalling for some wine. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine!’ I grab another glass and pour some, passing it over the table to her. ‘You really are getting yourself in a mess.’

She scoffs and takes a quick slurp. ‘Ava, shall we re-evaluate the situation here? You’re the one who’s been married for less than a week, has left your husband and is knocked up.’

I recoil at her harshness as she eyes up the glass I’m clenching. I’m instantly on the defence. ‘I’m a few weeks. Some women don’t find out until they’re three months.’ I’m trying to dampen down the burning guilt that’s simmering in my gut.

She gets up, climbs onto the worktop and lights a cigarette. ‘A few drinks won’t hurt you, not that it matters.’ she says, opening the kitchen window and draping her arm over the ledge.

‘Not that what matters?’ I frown, and take a more reluctant sip.

‘Well, you’re getting rid of it, aren’t you?’ She raises her pale brows at me.

The insensitive words spike at my conscience, but it doesn’t stop me slurping more wine. I think I’m more in denial now than I ever was. ‘Yes.’ I mutter, sinking onto a chair, my thoughts wandering off somewhere.

‘Right!’ Kate’s assertive tone snaps me from my reverie. ‘We’re going out.’

‘Are we?’ I blurt. That’s the last thing I want to do.

‘Yes, I’m not letting you mope around any longer. Has he called?’ She takes a drag of her fag and looks at me expectantly.

I wish I could say yes. ‘No,’

Her lips purse, and I know she’s thinking it’s strange, too. ‘Get showered. We’re going for a quiet drink, not too much, though.’ she looks at my glass. ‘Not that it matters, I suppose.

‘I don’t think so,’ I shake my head, her further blasé words eating me up inside. She sighs and flicks her cigarette butt from the window before closing it and lowering herself down. ‘Come on, Ava. We’ve not been out together for weeks. Just a sensible glass, and a chat, not about Jesse or Sam or Dan, just us two like old times, before all of these men got between us.’ By old times, she means post-Matt and pre-Jesse. We did have some laughs in those four weeks, before The Lord of the Sex Manor turned my life upside down.

‘Okay,’ I get up from the table. ‘You’re right. I’ll get ready.’

‘Fab!’

‘Thank you for not telling Dan why I’m here.’

She smiles and we leave the kitchen together to get ready for a quiet drink and a chat.

* * *

He’s constantly on my mind, and I’m trying my hardest to put him to the back, but when we walk into Baroque and the first person I see is Jay, the doorman, I give in. He frowns at me as I walk past, dropping all conversation with a fellow guard, but I proceed to the bar without a word to the obviously curious skinhead.

‘Wine?’ Kate asks, as she muscles in at the bar.

‘Please,’ I cast my eyes around our preferred watering hole and immediately spot Tom and Victoria. I don’t even feel bad for being disappointed that they’re here. I tap Kate on the shoulder and she turns her head slightly. ‘Did you know they would be here?’ I ask.

‘Who?’

I nod in the direction of my gay friend and sassy, sometimes a bit dim, work colleague who are dancing over. They have no idea what’s happening in my life. ‘Barbie and Ken.’ I quip dryly. I can tell by Kate’s eye roll that she didn’t.

‘Love the dress!’ Tom croons, stroking my midriff.

I look down at the tight, black jersey dress that I borrowed from Kate. ‘Thanks,’ I take the glass being handed over Kate’s shoulder. ‘You okay?’ I ask Victoria.

She fluffs her hair and sweeps it over her shoulder. ‘Amazing.’

Oh? Not good or great, but amazing? ‘That good?’ I ask, wishing she could transfer some of that amazing over to me.

‘Yes, that good.’ She giggles.

‘She’s in love again.’ Tom nudges Victoria in the side, spiking a heavy scowl from the pretty blonde.

‘I’m not, and that’s rich, coming from the man-whore here!’

Tom looks genuinely shocked, and for the first time in days, I laugh. It feels good. Kate joins us, and with a lack of free tables, we just stand near the bar, chatting. He’s still floating around in my mind, of course, but my cunning best friend is doing a great job of distracting me for a while.

That is until I look up and see him.

My heart doesn’t speed up… it stops. I’ve not seen him since Monday, and if it’s even possible, he looks more devastating than ever. I know immediately that Jay has called him, and I also know I’m probably going to be dragged from the bar, but that doesn’t stop my eyes from slowly dragging up his jean clad legs, onto his white shirt, up his neck and finally onto his face—the one that sends my eyes delirious with pleasure, even when I’m mad with him. He doesn’t look mad and he doesn’t look like he’s been drinking. He looks fresh, healthy and as spectacular as ever. And every other woman in the bar thinks so, too. They have noticed this breath-taking male, who’s striding across the bar, some even following him. His sparkling greens land on me briefly and my heart resumes beating… very very fast. His face is expressionless as he stares at me for a few seconds before he slowly pulling his gaze away without so much as an acknowledgment to my presence. Then he continues to the bar with a flurry of women in tow.

I’m crushed, my racing mind thinking up all sorts of explanations for his quiet absence over the last four days—where he’s been, what he’s been doing. He’s clearly not mourning his loss. He looks arrogant, confident and sickeningly handsome—just like he did on the day I met him. They are all familiar traits to me, but right now, they are all enhanced. He knows the effect he’s having on me and all of the other women dribbling at his heels.

Uncertainty and raging jealously are strangling me, and I’m still staring at him, watching as he assaults the women surrounding him with that fucking face, making them disintegrate on the spot.

Oh yes, there he is, my husband, looking like he’s just landed from planet fucking perfect. My eyes narrow as I watch a black haired, red dress woman stroke his arm, and I literally hold myself back from physically removing her. But I left him, although he’s clearly not that bothered. I laugh to myself. He needs me? It certainly doesn’t look like it.

I’m aware of the silence in our group, so I drag my eyes away from my bastard of a husband and see Kate watching me closely, Tom dribbling along with the other hussies and Victoria scuffing her ridiculous heels on the bar floor in an awkward silence. I shake my head on a little laugh and take a massive swig of the wine I’ve been carefully sipping, flicking my eyes briefly over in his direction. He knows I’m watching. If he wants to play games, then I’m willing, and I don’t plan of settling for anything less than gold.

‘Let’s dance.’ I down the rest of my wine and slam the glass on the bar before pushing my way through the small crowds until I find myself on the dance floor. When I turn around, I find my three loyal friends have all joined me.

Kate looks nervous. I make a snatch for her wine, but she swipes it away. ‘Don’t be stupid, Ava.’ she warns seriously. ‘I know you’re still pregnant.’

I’m trying to piece together something to strike back with, but nothing is coming to me, so in an act of complete stupidity, I turn and stomp over to the bar. I know he’s watching me, and I know Kate is, too, but it doesn’t stop me from ordering and then downing a fresh glass in one foul swoop before returning to the floor.

‘What are you trying to prove?’ Kate yells at me. ‘Because if it’s that you’re a fucking twat, then you’re succeeding.’ Her words would probably hit a nerve if the alcohol wasn’t getting in the way. I don’t care.

I’m distracted from my pissed off friend by Tom’s squeal, his eyes lighting up when the DJ launches Rob D Clubbed to death. He pounces on me. ‘Get me a whistle, shove me in some hot pants and put me on that podium! Ibiza!’

I shut my mind down, cancelling out all thoughts of my infuriating man, and let the music take me, my body falling into sync with the track, my arms rising above my head and my eyes closing. I’m in a world of my own. My only awareness is of the loud music and me at the centre of it.

I’m lost.

Numb.

Silently devastated.

But he’s near.

I can sense him. I can smell his fresh water scent closing in, and then there’s his touch. My arms slowly fall as I feel his palm slide across my stomach, his groin pressing into my lower back, his hot breath in my ear. I’m surrounded by him, and even though I should be pushing him away, I can’t. My blank mind remains blank, and I start moving with him as he kisses my neck, his hard cock pushing into my back. I’m powerless to stop my head from falling slightly to the side, giving him better access. My throat’s taut, making me hyper-sensitive to his firm tongue, which is trailing straight up my vein until he’s at me ear, breathing heavy, hot, controlled breaths. I can’t help it. I moan and push myself back, further into him.

The music seems to get louder, his handling of me more severe and before I can open my eyes, I’m being dragged from the dance floor. I could try to stop him, but I don’t. I follow his lead until I’m being pulled through the corridor towards the toilets, everything around me seeming slow and slurred as I focus only on his broad back in front of me. As we approach the end of the passageway, I glance back and see Jay watching us, then Jesse turns and gives him the nod before opening the door to a disabled toilet and pushing me inside. The door is swiftly shut, the lock flipped and within a second, I’m pushed up against the wall by his body. The music is louder, and I look up, seeing integrated speakers in the ceiling, but my face is soon yanked back down. Our eyes meet. His greens are dark, completely smoked out and his lips are slightly parted. I’m panting as he takes my wrists and pulls them up, pinning them on either side of my head before he leans in and takes my bottom lips between his teeth and bites down, then pulls away, dragging it between his grip. I’ve lost all control of my bodily reactions. My belly is turning, shifting the thump that’s hammering away inside of me straight down to my core. I’m desperate for him, but the placing of my hands and his hard body compressed to mine is preventing me from moving anything but my head, so I reach forward with my lips, but he ducks my aim. This is going to be on his terms. His lips hover over mine, only millimetres from my reach. His hot, minty breath heats my face, but then he pulls away. He’s teasing me. I’m waiting for him to ask if I want him, and I’m more than ready to blurt my answer.

My husky voice breaks. ‘Kiss me,’ I’m begging, I’m aware of it, but I don’t care. I want and need him all over me.

His face is completely impassive as he flexes his grip on my wrists and increases the pressure of his body against mine. He slowly moves his face forward, his green orbs penetrating me completely, and tickles my lips with his. I moan and try to capture them, but he pulls away again, still poker-faced, still completely controlled. Not me, though. I’m about to go crazy with desperation.

‘Kiss me,’ I demand harshly.

He ignores me and shifts one of my arms across to meet the other, then takes both of my wrists in one grasp. With his other hand, he reaches down and places his fingertip on my knee, and slowly, lightly, he starts a painfully tormenting trail up my thigh, over my hip, across my ribs, my breast and up, up, up, until he has my neck completely encased by his palm, his thumb resting on the hollow of my throat, his fingers splayed at my nape. My pulse has accelerated, my heart is bucking wildly in my chest and my knees could give at any moment. And all of the time, he is burning holes through me with his addictive eyes. I could scream with frustration, which is no doubt his plan. I lean forward again, but he dodges my lips stealthily and homes straight in on my chest, nudging my dress down with his chin and latching onto my breast. He’s freshening up his mark.

My head falls back against the wall and my eyes close in hopelessness. The continuous buzzing between my thighs is excruciating, and I fear he’s going to leave me like this. He’s done it more than once. He’s trampling me. He has no right to, but I’m not putting the stoppers on this. I’m craving this touch, and now it has started, I never want it to stop.

With the music pumping loudly around us, you would think all other sounds would be drowned out, but they’re not. My feverish breaths are thick and piercing. Jesse’s breathing, though, is slow, shallow and controlled. He is in complete control and calm in his tactics. He knows what he’s doing.

I’m about to shout in frustration, but I’m spun around and pushed back into the wall, my body crashing harshly against the tiles. I turn my face and rest my hot cheek on the coldness, and his knee comes up, separating my thighs. He takes my hands and places them, palms flat, against the shiny surface. He doesn’t need to verbally tell me to keep them there. His firm placing and the slow removal of his grip tells me what’s expected of me. That and his lips pushed to my ear. When his palms rest on the outside of my thighs and clench the hem of my dress, my breathing hitches further, and I begin to physically shake. He slowly pulls it up to my waist, and then I hear the fly of his jeans being pulled down. Impatient, I push my arse out invitingly, only to have his hand collide with my cheek, the instant sting on my bareness spiking a scream.

‘Fuck!’ I pant, earning myself another swift slap. ‘Jesse!’ I turn my face towards the wall, resting my forehead against the tiles, my scorching breath steaming up the black, shiny surface. How long is he going to do this? How long will he make me suffer? But then my hips are pulled back, my knickers yanked to the side and he slams into me. I yell at the shock, fast invasion, but he is silent, not even panting, not even shaking. He slowly pulls back, holding himself steady for a few moments, before he powers forward again. My stomach twists, my head is whirling and my forehead is rolling from side to side across the tiles. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m struck again, hard and fast, and I scream, but the music drowns me out. Slowly, he pulls out, and I feel a hand leave my hip, sliding up my body until he’s holding the back of my neck. His grip twists, prompting my head to turn out to the side, and then his lips are on mine. I moan, accepting his hard mouth and delighting in the familiarity. I don’t get nearly enough, just a little teaser of what I’ve been missing out on, before he leaves me craving so much more.

Keeping deadly still for a few seconds, he then shifts his feet and rears back before really letting go of his control. I’m yanked back to meet him over and over again, each forceful, punishing blow assisting me in achieving my main aim:ultimate detonation. And just when I think I’m there, he pulls out and spins me around, lifting me up to straddle him. He slips straight back in, my arms fall around his neck and he charges forward, quickly re-capturing my bubbling orgasm. My head falls back and the warmness of his mouth is straight on my throat, biting, sucking and licking. I start trembling as the pulses riddling my entire body all collect together and find their way to the tip of my clitoris. I’m screaming before I’ve even climaxed, but then the rush of pressure soars and flings me into an abyss of intoxicating pleasure and I shatter, screaming louder, and I know he’s come too, even though he remains silent. My head drops, finding a sweat covered face, glazed greens and still a straight, unemotional, unaffected face. It completely baffles me. I shift my hands to his hair and pull him forward, but he resists, instead moving his hands to my legs and pushing them down from his body. I find my feet, keeping myself relatively stable by leaning against the wall while I watch him. He slides his hand into my knickers, collecting the wetness, and runs his palm all over my chest before he wipes his brow, re-fastens his trousers, turns and walks out.