Everything You Are: Everything For You Trilogy 3

by Orla Bailey

  “Ask the janitor to store them. Buy plants. This has been dead space long enough.”

  “What about an office kitten?” she jokes.

  “I’m the office kitten round here.”

  The title saddens me. Jack’s unlikely to use the term of endearment for a long time. If ever.

  * * *

  While Libby whizzes off home to research office design, I lock up and set the alarms just as the Bentley is pulling up outside. I’m not planning on keeping Jack waiting a second longer than necessary. I have enough to put right.

  “Good evening, Miss Caid.”

  “Mr Blackstock.” There’s no acknowledgment from either of us about his earlier social call. I suspect he knows the mood his boss is in as easily as I can sense it from here.

  Jack lowers the Financial Times with a scowl on his face, watches me get in and settle beside him. Enclosed in close proximity, the amazing smell of him drives me crazy.

  “Hi, Jack.”

  He glares without replying.

  “What? You can’t even speak to me now?”

  He does. “Are you wearing that hideous grey suit on purpose?”

  “It’s not to get at you, if that’s what you’re implying. You didn’t used to care what I wore.” I exhale like a workhorse to head off my temper. He’s clearly determined to maintain an emotional distance. It’s only been forty-eight hours since Jack had every illusion he ever held of me, shattered in that hotel room so I can’t expect miracles. “I needed to wear something that felt familiar. Clothes that are mine.” And definitely not something Amanda would wear.

  Tension pulses between us as Jack stares straight ahead. “Do you consider me so petty I’d resent you wearing the clothes I bought? They’re yours too.”

  I file that little fact away to use later, when I tell him I’ve given some of them away to Libby. I’m becoming more like Jack every day.

  He stares like I’m something he found in a garbage can that he can’t work out what to do with, until I can’t contain my temper any longer. “Perhaps you’d like me to bleach my hair platinum blonde while I’m at it? And cut it into a neat little bob.”

  Jack exhales, closes his newspaper and rolls it into an unnecessarily tight cylinder. For a minute I think he’s going to swat me like some irksome insect. I watch the way he taps it, in irritation, into his upturned palm and my eyes fly with horror to his.

  He reads my thoughts. “For God’s sake, Tabitha.” He tosses it onto the seat on the far side.

  I blow out a breath of relief until he leans across and whispers. “If I thought it might make me feel better, it’d be my hand on your backside, not some rolled up newspaper.”

  “Yes, Jack,” I say. Call me a weird freak but I think it’s a good sign.

  The rest of the way to Belvedere we travel in awkward silence. Lenuta is leaving for the evening just as we arrive.

  “Goodnight, Mr Keogh. I have not prepared the dinner for you, as you instructed.”

  I smile, despite my subdued mood, at her awkward grammar, extrapolating what she probably meant.

  “Goodnight Lenuta.”

  She cups my cheek affectionately as she passes on her way to the elevator and offers me a sympathetic smile. Jack narrows his eyes in disapproval at the pair of us before stalking off to his bedroom.

  “See you tomorrow,” I call after her. I lower my voice to barely more than a hushed whisper. “If I survive the night.”

  She raises her chin with the backs of her fingers, modelling that I should do the same. I nod as the elevator doors close.

  Alone with Jack I’m more nervous than the first time I came to Belvedere. I stare at his bedroom door firmly closed between us before heading to the guest bedroom. It was part of our deal, after all. I discover my things have already been transferred back and reckon Lenuta must be heartily sick and tired of our little war games.

  I wonder why Jack asked her not to prepare dinner. Perhaps he’d rather we go out to eat, along the lines of it being safer to talk in a public place. I change out of my grey suit and head for the shower; not before stuffing the stupid thing in the bin, once and for all.

  To appease Jack and lift my sombre mood I choose something he bought me to wear, putting on an emerald-green satin skater skirt with an almost transparent, white sleeveless blouse. I deliberately omit wearing a bra beneath, deciding to use every weapon at my disposal. I slip my feet into wedge sandals, noting my legs look tanned and smooth, glowing with moisturiser. My rather sketchy aim is to make it impossible for Jack to keep his hands off me. But in a good way. I haven’t forgotten the veiled threat of a spanking I received in the car and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t either. Whatever he says, he’s in the perfect frame of mind to do it.

  My plan is to turn any exchange between us as quickly as possible into a session of hot sex to remind him he can’t live without me. And I’m pretty horny. I never imagined how much I would miss Jack’s excessive physical demands. And if he’s not getting any from me…

  I squash the thought process, not liking where it heads. But he’s always needed to reclaim his territory before now and that’s what worries me.

  Back in the sitting room I wander about impatiently, restlessly picking things up and putting them down again. I’d rather go find him but know he won’t appreciate being pushed before he’s ready. At least not until sex is back on the agenda.

  I need to wipe out any bad memories he has of me naked, with vastly improved ones.

  As the Sirocco blasts through me, I turn. My heart leaps. Jack looks incredibly sexy standing there, his hair slightly damp from the shower. Dressed to die for, with his black suit jacket still unbuttoned, he’s tucking a white shirt into well-pressed trousers and wearing high-shine shoes. I watch as he pulls cuff-links out of his pocket, shoots his cuffs and slides them into place. They’re not the eternal knot ones I gave him and I know immediately that’s deliberate. My heart sinks.

  I know I don’t need to dress myself up smartly either. Wherever he’s going, I’m not invited. He’s not done punishing me. Or himself. This is not a relationship. It’s a deal. His own words.

  He stares at me as thick silence compounds our misery. His expression is so grimly resolute, I wonder if I’m mistaken about the brief flicker of indecision I detect in his eyes. But I’ll bear whatever he demands because he’s hurting and I know beneath all this madness he still cares.

  He’ll remember that too, in the end.

  “What are you wearing?” Jack’s voice is accusatory as his eyes travel slowly down my body until my skin burns, my breasts tighten against the flimsy blouse and a teasing sensation flutters across my thighs.

  “It’s to please you.”

  His eyes stall on my bra-less breasts. “Seduction?”

  “No.” Totally.

  “Is that how you get what you want?”

  I’m not rising to that bait. “We want the same thing.” I’m practically begging here just like I did four years ago. “Each other.” Don’t we?

  He stands, hard as nails, so I move close enough for his delicious fresh smell to send a shiver of anticipation up my spine. I step in until we’re all but touching. A whisper apart. His eyes explore mine searching for… what? He lifts a lock of my hair bringing it up to his nose and inhaling the scent of my shampoo, before letting it slide out through his fingers.

  I swallow hard. In my mind I’m naked beneath him. And growing crazy with lust. He wants me too, I know it. But when he doesn’t make a move, I hesitate. If I take the final step will he reject me?

  All I know is if I don’t try, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

  Slowly I ease my body against his and hear the slow intake of his breath. His hand slips around my neck as he tilts my head backwards and pulls me closer, leaning over me, dominating me totally. My breasts press against the warmth soaking through his shirt from those hard chest muscles and beating heart.

  As I breathe, lips parted, I wait for his mouth to descend on mine, my
eyelids half closed and ready to submit totally to his taking. A whisker away, they hover.

  But never quite touch.

  “It would just be sex,” he growls, rolling his hips decidedly against mine so I’m in no doubt he’s hard. “You want me to fuck you before I go out on my date?”

  My eyes flare as I stare up at him. Feeling such a fool I flatten my palms against him and push but he releases me only when he’s demonstrated he’s good and ready.

  “That sexy little skirt reminds me of what you wore when you went to meet that bastard. You get off on being a tease?”

  I’m appalled at his thought process. “It’s nothing like it.”

  “So you remember what you changed into for him,” he snarls. “Do your sexy clothes arouse him as quickly as they do me?”

  “You can be such a jerk.”

  “Isn’t that why you’re all dressed up? To turn me on? Well me too. Do you like what I’m wearing to please another woman?” He holds his arms out displaying how attractive he is to the opposite sex in his hand-tailored suit.

  Tears flood my eyes as I understand what he’s saying but I won’t let him see me cry. I blink them back into oblivion despite the sharp pain it causes in the centre of my forehead for refusing to allow them to fall. He’s arranged to go on a date with someone else tonight and he looks so hot and desirable, what woman wouldn’t want him? No wonder he wouldn’t let his guard down in the car and reply to my friendly greeting. Being a deliberate bastard doesn’t come naturally to him.

  I storm off towards the guest bedroom. “It doesn’t matter how many ways you try to make me confess, you won’t do it because what you want to prove, never happened.” I slam the door behind me and throw myself face down onto the bed.

  The door punches opens swiftly behind me. I know he’s staring even though my back is turned towards him.

  “Look at me.” His voice is wasted, broken. He waits.

  I stem my tears, wiping my eyes on the sheets and sit up hugging the covers close.

  “Look at me!”

  I raise my eyes to his. There’s no triumph there. He hates what’s happening between us as much as I do.

  “This cruelty is exactly why I didn’t want to come back. Now do you understand?”

  I nod. I do. I really do. Every time he sees me he’s stabbed in the gut with a reminder of the gross betrayal he believes he may have witnessed. And despite all his meanness I understand he’s trying to protect me from the unrestrained, dark emotions coursing at will through his soul. The fact he’s rendered so vulnerable, feels such deep disquiet, makes me want him even more. I can’t hate him for any of this. He’s a man who needs to deal with emotions in his own way.

  He grips the door jamb, hard. “Time apart would be a wiser choice.”

  That makes me want to cry again. “Why are you so ready to believe Amanda is innocent if that makes me guilty?”

  “Am I?”

  “One of us must be a liar,” I challenge. “Why can’t you trust me? I thought –”

  “What? That we were close? That I’d want you so much I’d accept anything you told me?” His voice cuts up again, full of bitterness.

  “Don’t say it like that. We were close. Are.” Has that changed for ever?

  “Amanda and I were close too.”

  My breath stops. “Close?” What is he telling me? Close like him and me? I won’t listen. It’s a lie. He’s still wounding me because he’s hurting.

  Yet he kissed her at the Commerce Ball. They touched each other at Belvedere before I ran away to Lassec. And they found themselves a secret corner, away from reporters’ eyes, to intimately embrace when we went through that sham public engagement. It confirms everything I’ve suspected and all makes sense now.

  “Close.” He emphasises the word. “So close we planned to marry. That. Fucking. Close.”

  He’s killing me. Telling me I derailed their plans. No wonder she hates me. Perhaps everything she ever said about him toying with me is true. I just didn’t want to believe it.

  If Jack was going to marry her, he must have loved her. But in that hotel room, he said he loved me. When I pushed myself back into his boardroom and his life, did I confuse him? Make him question who he had the real feelings for? Is that why she fought me? Fought me off maliciously to keep him? Did I fall straight into a trap so she could remind him she’s the one he truly loves?

  I try to block out the agony but I have to know. “Have you come back just to reject me again?”

  He doesn’t answer but the mix of suffering and bitter anger on his face blisters me.

  He walks towards the bed and I hear his staccato breath as he fights for self-control. He unbuckles his Patek Philippe wrist watch and drapes it on the bed beside me. I stare at it, wondering what the gesture means, as he strides back to the door.

  “Eat. But no damn alcohol. Is that clear?”

  “Clear.” I hardly know what I’m agreeing to.

  “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow night when we both have better perspective. And don’t leave the apartment. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand.” None of it. Does he need to sleep with another woman again to achieve perspective? To balance the scales. Outwardly he’s so cold but I’m the one who shivers.

  “Blackstock will drive you to work in the morning and if you can do everything I ask, without question, we will continue to talk.”

  He’s leaving me on an ultimatum. Jack is spending the night with someone else to repay me for what he thinks I did to him. Does he really think putting things on an equal footing can give him clearer focus? He stares at me as if waiting for me to ask him but I won’t do it.

  “You must want to know where I’m going. With whom?”

  I nod. But I know the awful truth already. He’s showing me I will never control him. He’s given me the wrist watch so I can count every agonising second he’ll be unfaithful to me. With her. Knowing exactly what they’ll be doing together. His preferences. The positions he likes to take a woman in. The way he crushes her body beneath his. Dominates her. Allows her to understand who remains completely in control of her responses. How hard he likes to…

  “I’m taking Amanda to dinner and you’ll be left to think about it. The way you left me at the weekend.” He doesn’t take his eyes from mine as he speaks and I can’t hold back the sob that erupts from my throat when he speaks her name. “I’ve booked a hotel suite where Amanda and I will spend the night.”

  The pain is too much to bear. My hand covers my heart like I might stop it from shattering but only if I hold it inside me tight enough. He wants me to feel every agonising shard he feels and I do. Every surgical slice through my twisting gut. He planned to marry her once and I’m nothing to him anymore. I can’t fight this. My vision glazes over. I’m in free-fall. I simply can’t bear this raw anguish.

  “Don’t you want to know why?”

  My eyes sweep back to his. Even through the haze of tears I still love him. I still want him. “Yes,” I sniff.

  “You want me to trust you, despite what I’ve seen with my own eyes.”

  It’s exactly what I’m asking him to do. Despite the damning evidence that suggests my absolute guilt, I profess my innocence and want him to believe in me.

  “Then you must trust me too.” He turns on his heel and walks straight to the elevator. He doesn’t look back before he’s gone.

  My heart jumps erratically until I’m completely giddy and sick. I take the beautiful, expensive watch in my hand and stare at it. It carries the residual warmth from his body. I can almost feel Jack’s pulse point, beating with life at his wrist. How I can expect his trust, if I can’t give mine? Perhaps the watch is a token of his return, not of his betrayal but I’m so confused; so blinded with jealousy, I don’t understand what’s happening at all.

  Does he need me to experience that same level of torment he did before I can understand? Is it unreasonable to expect my blind faith when I’m demanding his? Do I trust Jack�
�s honour and faithfulness? I know I should. Yet he could hardly bring himself to touch me and he’s spending the night with the one woman who will do anything to have him. A woman who he was ready to marry once, by his own admission.

  Amanda is treachery personified. Tonight she has her claws firmly into Jack while I must remain steadfast to prove my love. This torture of jealousy, knowing he wanted to marry her, undoes me. He’s left me to discover if he still feels the same way.

  To choose between us.

  Chapter Six

  Hour after bitter hour, this is the bleakest night I’ve ever endured.

  Nothing compares to it. I sit down, stand up, wander aimlessly from room to room, finding no comfort in anything. Haunted by memories of our beautiful day on the river – two lovers in absolute harmony, now riven apart – one woman standing between us.

  It’s a struggle to stop dwelling on the two of them together. Kissing. Touching. Reminiscing. A shared history. One broken reel loops mercilessly round in my head: two twisted paramours reconnoitring each other’s bodies in untamed carnal lust until, lost, he forces her beneath him. He can’t get enough of her. Each scoring of his skin by her manicured talons as she hangs on to him so tight, or tracing over her perfect alabaster skin with strong questing fingers, cracks me wide open in jealous despair.

  But it’s the way I picture Jack looking at her that is my total undoing. Blue Arctic eyes appear every time I close my eyes.

  They floor me.

  The beauty of an ocean pierces my heart knowing he’s fixing his hungered gaze on her perfect, naked body, instead of mine.

  I love him more than she ever could. Her love is calculating. As false as the façade of perfection she presents to the world.

  Jack will never have to help her, when she’s drunk and incapable, on and off the toilet for a pee. He’ll never guard her jealously from a French farmer who is more brother than boyfriend. Or run to fetch her water when she faints. Never in this world. Amanda is simply too flawless to need him. She does not require him to teach her, to save her or to forgive her. It’s me that needs him.

  Have I lost already?