by Rosie Miller
Then he pulled back. “Justine—I’m so sorry—I shouldn’t have…”
“Don’t be sorry. I wanted you to.”
“You did?” He looked surprised and delighted.
“Of course,” she replied, wondering how he hadn’t noticed her response. “And now I want you to do it again.”
He didn’t need asking twice. This time his desire was obvious and she felt his hips and his manhood pressing against her, grinding into her as he kissed her hard and long and deep. Somehow she’d known he would kiss her like this—the way she had always wanted to be kissed.
Then he pulled away from her and stood looking confused. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I wanted you to,” she said again. How much reassurance did he need?
“No, not—I just meant. I shouldn’t be—I shouldn’t have,” he paused looking wretched. “I mustn’t get involved. I’m sorry.”
Did he mean because of the case? “Look, it doesn’t matter about the work stuff. But if it’s a problem we could put this on hold until it’s over.”
“It will never be over,” he muttered to himself, then looked at her. “I want you Justine, more than, well more than I’ve any right to. But I can’t get involved—I just can’t.”
She nodded, not knowing what else to do.
“I’ll help you find a taxi ma’am,” he said, stepping out into the road and flagging one down.
Why was there always a cab when you didn’t want one?
He opened the door for her and she got in. “I’m sorry,” he said again, but his face was closed and hard now. “I really am. You’re… but I just can’t,” and he shut the door.
The driver caught her eye in the mirror. “What a chump,” he said, looking at Justine appreciatively.
She smiled tightly back at him and gave her address.
The evening had gone so well—perfectly in fact—and then that. Why couldn’t he get involved? She knew the answer. It was the same answer as always – he was already involved with someone else. He had to be.
She was still too shocked to feel like crying. The way he had kissed her – there had been so much passion, so much energy, so much need there. Then he just shut her out and said no he couldn’t or wouldn’t do it.
Was he like Alistair, hiding the fact he was married with a wife and a family who he had no intention of leaving? At least Jackson wasn’t starting an affair knowing it could never go anywhere. Alistair had lied about being married. But after a while it had been obvious he was hiding something. They never went to his house. They didn’t attend any functions together. At first, she thought he was being sensitive to the fact that wasn’t really supposed to date her clients—although people did and mostly it was ignored. But then she realized it was more about him than her—and that she’d never met a single friend, colleague, or relative of his in all the times they’d been out together. With someone as well-connected as Alistair, that could only be deliberate.
f course—if she’d tried—she could have found all about his private life even before their first date. But she hadn’t tried. Had she been too swept off her feet? Or just in denial?
When she did confront him, he admitted it immediately. “I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to lose you.” He stared into her eyes, a puppy-dog look on his face. “You’re just too precious to me.”
They were on their way to yet another out-of- town restaurant, in the back of his big chauffeur driven car.
He told her his marriage was over in all but name. “I’m just looking for the right moment to get her to sign the divorce papers,” he’d said, running his fingers along her inner thigh. “I have to do it at the right time. I can’t be callous about it. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
Then he distracted her, even though they were in the back of his car. “You are so sexy. I can’t keep my hands off you. Open your legs,” he murmured. “Let me touch you.” She’d shifted in her seat and he was stroking her inner thighs, running his hand lazily up and down.
He made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. He reached forward and pulled a cord which drew curtains across the divide between the front of the car and the back. Did the driver know what this meant? Did he know that they would be making out in the back seat?
Alistair looked at her hungrily. “Open wider,” he said and pulled one of her legs over his lap.
She was half-facing him now, with her back against the door of the car.
He reached right up her skirt and his fingertips grazed the thin fabric of her panties. He stroked her through the material for a while and then lifted the silky fabric to one side.
She felt the tingle of arousal, and all her questions about when he would tell his wife seemed irrelevant. “I want you so much. I just can’t resist you,” he murmured.
She knew she was moist and ready down there.
He explored her slowly, his fingertips stroking her lips, playing at her entrance and then sweeping upwards to find her clit. She moaned softly as he touched it. He circled it with his fingers, watching her face, enjoying the way she couldn’t hide her pleasure.
He strummed her lazily as they drove through the dark streets and she knew he was avoiding talking about his wife. She knew she should stop him touching her and make him commit to a definite time-scale—but she couldn’t. The sensation of his fingers was incredible and she wanted him to carry on until she climaxed.
But he stopped before she came. “I want you hot and ready all night,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “I want to know you’re wet and wanting me while we eat. And then afterwards…” He raised his eyebrows at her. “I’ve booked a nice hotel and we’ll carry on from here.”
They didn’t talk about his wife again that night, and whenever she raised the subject Alistair got annoyed and cut her off or did something sweet or sexy to distract her. And the “right moment’ never came—he never did tell his wife, although of course she found out in the end. Yet he was still married and Justine was the one who seemed to have been punished.
She drifted back to the present. Jackson couldn’t be more different to Alistair, but they both held out on her. They were both keeping something back. Whatever she thought she had with Jackson, it was a non-starter.
But those kisses… surely they meant something? She had known how much he’d wanted her—but was that all it was—just lust?
She closed her eyes and willed the taxi to go faster to get her home. It was all hopeless. She felt like giving up and never speaking to another man again. They were just so damn complicated.
Chapter Three
Complicated or not—she couldn’t avoid Jackson. She had a lot to arrange, including a fact-finding trip. Somehow, she had to do it all without Colin realizing she’d already had dinner with Jackson.
But that was going to be harder than she thought. When she got into the office, Colin was standing by her desk—holding bouquet of flowers.
Her heart sank. Surely this was going too far even for Colin. Was he completely incapable of getting a hint? She was going to have to tell him straight she just wasn’t interested. This was going to be embarrassing.
She approached him—but he looked angry rather than like a man about to make a grand romantic gesture. He shoved the bouquet at her.
“Disgusting. Cut flowers—hot-house probably. An environmental disaster. I wish you could talk to your admirers and make them send you something a little more eco-friendly.” He raised his eyebrows at her, like she’d been thoughtless and stupid.
“I’m guessing the flowers aren’t from you?”
He glared at her. “As if.”
Did he mean because of the flowers or because of her? She couldn’t feel offended either way.
Colin watched her take off her coat and switch on her computer.
“There’s a card with them,” he said helpfully, lingering like the bad smell he was.
“Yes, I know.”
“It’s there.” He pointed it out.
“Right.” She still didn’t touch it although she was dying to know who the flowers were from as much as he was. But she’d put it off all day rather than open it with him peering over her shoulder.
The bouquet was beautiful—a big bunch of wild, cottagey looking blooms.
Alistair used to send her red roses and exotic blooms—usually when he’d had to blow her off at the last minute. At first, he’d always claimed it was work commitments, but she’d gradually realized it was his wife—of course. When Mrs. Alistair called, he went running. And he seemed to think an expensive bunch of flowers was enough to make up for it.
She stroked the delicate petals. Why had she put up with him for so long? She should have dumped him the first time he’d mysteriously canceled their date at the last minute. And she should definitely have dumped him the minute she’d found out he was married. But she didn’t. Naively, she’d believed everything he said about him wanting to leave his wife. And when he still hadn’t—months later—she’d believed all his excuses. She thought that he really did love her, like he said he did. But he didn’t.
She buried her head in the bouquet in front of her. It smelt, sweet, fragrant, uncomplicated. She tore off the card and slipped it into her pocket and went to the bathroom.
She locked the door. She knew that after last time and his near concussion, Colin wouldn’t dare come after her.
Her hand was shaking slightly as she opened the enveloped. Get a grip she told herself sternly. So what if it was from Jackson—and so what if it wasn’t? Why did he have this effect on her? She wasn’t a love-struck teenager anymore. And after Alistair she really needed to harden up and start playing men like they seemed to play her.
It was simple card with flowers on the front and a message on the back. ‘Sorry about my bad behavior last night. I hope you can forgive me. Jackson.’
She stared at it—delighted that it was from Jackson. But was his bad behavior kissing her, or afterwards when he said he couldn’t do it anymore? Was he sorry for starting something or stopping it? What did it mean?
She returned to her desk and set about putting the flowers in water. The office had no vases so she improvised with a large water glass. The flowers looked a bit top-heavy in there, but they were still so pretty and—whatever Colin said—they really brightened up the office.
“So who’s the admirer?”
Colin was by her side again. How did he manage to sneak up like that?
“I don’t know. It didn’t say,” she lied.
“So what was on the card?”
“Nothing, just to Justine.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
She raised her eyebrows at him refusing to answer his question. “I better get on with some work. After all, that’s what I’m here for.”
He returned to his own desk reluctantly.
She knew he would be going on about the flowers all day—like a dog with a bone—or a hamster with some lettuce. But she wouldn’t let him know who they were from. It was none of his business.
She fired off an email to Jackson, not wanting to call him from the office with Colin listening and watching her every move.
‘Thanks for the flowers’ she wrote. ‘But there was no need. What bad behavior?’ She hoped this would make him clarify what he meant.
An hour later she had a reply. ‘Glad you liked them. Looking forward to working with you.’
That told her absolutely nothing. She couldn’t ask again—not without looking like some crazy obsessive. Did he mean he wanted to work—and just work—with her? Or that he was looking forward to seeing her again? She sighed. Well, she’d focus on work for now anyway.
She started researching—trying to find something unique about the area—something that she could build a case for protected status on. The trouble was, it was all about his hometown—and images of his face kept intruding in her thoughts.
However hard she tried, her mind kept returning to the same questions—why had he kissed her like that? And why had he closed down afterwards? And so far, she had only come up with one answer—he was married. And there was no way she was going to get involved with a married man again—especially one who was a client. Whichever way she looked at it, Jackson was off the menu.
But she needed to talk to him about the case and clarify a few details. She reached for the phone, then saw Colin watching her. She withdrew her hand. It could wait until tomorrow or even the next day. She didn’t want Colin listening—and it would do Jackson good to stew for a while. She was going to play it cool—ice cold in fact.
Colin left for his mid-morning ingestion of whatever the latest craze was. He’d tried to get her to drink seaweed juice, extract of Himalayan berries and a kind of fermented porridge so far. None were unpleasant but coffee was what she needed.
She was alone in the office. She stared at the desk phone. She wasn’t going to ring Jackson. She was the cool, calm, uninterested ice-maiden. She lasted three minutes before she was on the phone.
“Jackson,” she said, trying to keep her voice business-like and unemotional, but not able to hide the smile.
“Justine,” he replied—and she could tell he was smiling too.
“Do you have time to discuss some issues with your case?”
“Sure.”
“Would you rather meet up or do it over the phone?”
He paused, for a fraction too long.
“The phone is fine,” she said quickly, before he could speak. “We can go through the issues now if that’s convenient?”
“Yes. That would be best.” His voice seemed colder—he wasn’t smiling now.
She ran through her queries quickly. She was annoyed that he didn’t want to see her. She was even more annoyed that she’d let him know she wanted to see him.
“That’s about it” she concluded. “But I can call you if there’s anything else?”
“Not for a few days. I’m going out of town tomorrow.”
“Don’t they have a phone signal where you’re going?” Her voice was light, teasing.
“No,” he said flatly.
“So when will you be back?” She didn’t want to sound needy, but it was important she knew, for work—and only for work.
“I’ll be back in three or four days. I’ll call you then, see how it’s going.”
“Sure, no problem. You have a good time.”
He ended the call.
She stared at the phone. Who had that tight-lipped, unfriendly person been? It wasn’t the Jackson she’d had dinner with—or the man who’d kissed her with such intensity—or the man who had sent her flowers.
Why was he being like this? But deep down she thought she knew. He was probably going to spend the next few days with his wife and kids and was trying to pretend he’d never strayed off the path.
She sighed. It was all too familiar. After Alistair, she should have known. Clients were poisonous. She needed to meet someone the old fashioned way—by wearing her sexiest clothes, going out somewhere ridiculously expensive and loud, getting hopelessly drunk, and picking up a stranger.
She called Bethany and arranged an emergency girls’ night out.
Chapter Four
It was good to catch up. They talked about work. Bethany filled her in on all the office gossip—who had fallen out at the photocopier—who had made unsupportive comments in the meeting—who had deliberately lost someone’s memo—all the shifting alliances and desktop warfare of the office.
“And,” Bethany said, after their second cocktail, “I’ve got a promotion.” She smiled at Justine but then her eyes slid away and she looked a bit embarrassed.
“To what?” Justine asked, feeling a bit tense.
“Assistant Head of the Legal Department. Great isn’t?”
“Yes, great—really, really great.” She kept a big smile on her face, but they both knew that should have been Justine’s job.
Justin
e had been training for it—penciled in for it—about to get it when the whole Alistair thing blew up in her face. And then of course she left—partly on Bethany’s advice—and now Bethany had the job.
“Tell me all about it. How did that happen? When did you find out?” Justine tried to sound pleased for her friend—but it was hard.
Bethany told her how all her projects had been going well. She’d been working with some big money clients and had more work than she could handle.
Justine kept smiling. She tried not to think about her own office with its peeling posters on the wall and succession of cashless good causes.
“And then Peter called me into his office—out of the blue, really—and said how well I’d been doing and just offered me the job. I couldn’t say no.” She smiled broadly at Justine.
But Justine knew things were never that simple. Peter—the Head of the Department—didn’t give promotions away like candy bars. She knew there was something else—something more—that Bethany wasn’t saying. And it could only be one thing.
“So, what about Alistair. He’s still a client, right?” Justine hadn’t had any contact with him. She assumed he was still with the firm. After all, he was still with his wife. Nothing seemed to have changed for him. The only person who had got punished because of the affair was Justine.
“Of course. Yes. And how about you? Have you met anyone else?”
But Justine wouldn’t let her change the subject just yet. “So,” she said again, “Alistair’s still a client. Obviously.” She smiled. Why should he leave? He wasn’t expendable like she was. “Who’s taking care of him now?” She looked at Bethany and was pleased to see a tiny blush on her cheeks. At least she had the grace to look embarrassed.
“I am,” she admitted. “I had to. I didn’t have a choice.”
Justine just raised her eyebrows. Bethany was pretty too, of course. It wasn’t like her old firm hired anyone who didn’t look good. “My job, my boyfriend… is there anything else you want? How about my apartment—you want that too?”
