by Cathryn Hein
Afterward, in the shower, when they’d spent a leisurely time soaping and washing each other clean, and Jas was feeling yet again ridiculously turned on, she leaned against the tiles and eyed him saucily. ‘Remember that cunning plan?’
Digby grinned and braced his hands above her head. Water cascaded over his hair and streaked his chest, turning him sleek, defining his muscled leanness. That was another thing she hadn’t expected: the deliciousness of his body. Digby wasn’t heavily built but he was fit, with broad, straight shoulders, sexily configured biceps, narrow hips and long, toned legs. She liked the way the hair spread finely over his body too, forming a loose T from his chest down his belly to a thicker tangle at his groin. Stubble had formed on his jaw overnight, adding to his rakish air.
He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘You mean my cunning-lingus plan?’
Jas teased a finger over his chest. ‘That’s the one.’
‘You really do like sex, don’t you?’
‘You have no idea,’ muttered Jas as he slid his wet mouth over her breasts and crouched to trace his tongue even lower. ‘No idea at all.’
‘Good thing I do too,’ he said, then killed any further conversation by burying his face between her legs.
If it weren’t for the hot water running out, Jas would have been content to linger in the steamy cocoon of pleasure that her shower had become. For several seconds she was too lost in the incredible sensation of Digby thrusting long deliberate strokes in and out of her from behind, hands on her breasts, her own gripping the soap dish, to realise that the water splashing her back was becoming uncomfortably cool. Seconds later it was freezing, forcing them, squealing, from the recess. Too randy and close to fulfilment to make the short trip back to the bedroom, Jas rested her hands on the sink, wiggled her backside and gave Digby a come-on over her shoulder. A few heartbeats and he’d obliged, and the sultry air once more vibrated with the soft sounds of their pleasure.
Half an hour later, Jas found herself sitting fully clothed on her kitchen bench, Digby between her knees, toying with the buttons of her shirt as he snatched farewell kisses. The promised trip back to Camrick to pick up turpentine was being delayed by their reluctance to break the moment. It felt adolescent and silly and sunburstingly brilliant.
‘I should go,’ he murmured for the fifth time.
‘Mmm,’ replied Jas, nuzzling his neck.
‘This isn’t fixing your house.’
‘I know, but it’s fixing me.’
Digby breathed in sharply—and it wasn’t because of the tease of her caresses. He eased back to regard her. ‘I think it’s fixing me too, Jas.’ He breathed out, shaking his head in wonder. ‘I don’t know how. Or why. It’s like …’ He looked up, searching the air, or perhaps questioning God or the sky or the world, for an explanation. Perhaps it was Felicity’s ghost he was asking. ‘I feel different.’ He frowned and met Jasmine’s gaze, the question still simmering.
‘Good different?’
‘Yes.’
Wary of crossing a line, she hesitated before speaking. ‘Free different?’
‘You mean from Felicity?’
The lack of anger in his tone gave her courage. ‘No. I meant more free from hurt. Like maybe there’s still good things to be had from life.’
He considered for a while. ‘Yeah. Maybe it’s something like that.’ Then he smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You’re a pretty good thing.’
‘So are you.’ She wriggled her bum to slide closer, and draped her arms around his neck. ‘A very good thing.’
The kiss that followed lasted for a long time.
‘Jas,’ said Digby when they finally parted. He took a breath, his expression serious. ‘I like you. A lot. But I need you understand—’
‘You still love her.’
He pressed his forehead against hers and held eye contact with worried intensity. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.’
‘I know, Dig.’ She smiled, wanting him to understand. Whatever they were doing, it wasn’t typical, it mightn’t lead anywhere, but in that moment, that juncture of their lives, it was what they both needed. Whatever the past, whatever the future, the relationship they’d developed was good for them now. ‘It’s okay, I promise. We’ll just take this one step at a time.’ She tugged on a lock of his hair. ‘Stop stressing, okay? We’re having great sex. At least I am. And call me insatiable, but I’m more than happy to have more.’ She regarded him from under lowered lashes. ‘Unless you don’t want to?’
‘Oh yeah, I want to.’ A grin broke. ‘That insatiable thing?’
‘Mmm?’ she said, reaching for the button of his jeans.
‘I don’t mind that at all. Not …’ His eyes closed as she lowered his zipper. ‘One …’ Jasmine’s fingers began to stroke. ‘Bit.’
CHAPTER
12
Digby was thirty-two years old. Having his mother freak out because he’d spent the night away from home was galling, to say the least.
He’d barely braked in front of the stables and she was rushing towards him. She hovered beside the car door, shifting from foot to foot, wringing her hands as tears pooled in her eyes. Adrienne Wallace-Jones was a woman renowned for her elegance and poise, but this morning she’d unravelled. Her eyes were streaked with smears of mascara, her hair dull and dishevelled. She wore grey trousers and a white cotton shirt that had come untucked on one side. But the greatest sign of her distress were the lines of fear and exhaustion around her trembling mouth. Digby hadn’t seen her like this since the inquest, when they’d all suffered private hells of grief and guilt.
‘Mum,’ he said, pushing the door open.
He hadn’t even straightened when she launched, sobbing as she hurled arms around him and buried her face into his chest. Digby blinked and stared across her shoulder to where Samuel stood on the path. Granny B was at the back door, observing the scene with interest.
Digby held his palms out in a question. Samuel’s expression was grim, and more than a little disapproving. With that look, Digby’s good mood turned to stone. He glanced at his grandmother but she’d crossed into the garden and was flicking a lighter at the tip of one of her disgusting cigars.
‘Mum,’ he said on a sigh, trying to untangle her from his body.
‘We were worried sick!’
‘What for?’
‘What for?’ She shoved his chest. ‘What for? You didn’t come home last night, that’s what for!’
‘No,’ he answered coldly, furious now. ‘I didn’t. Not that it’s any of your business.’
Adrienne’s mouth opened and closed in shock. Then she burst into noisy sobs, which had Samuel striding across the gravel to envelop her in his arms.
The glower Samuel shot Digby was thick with condemnation. ‘You could have phoned.’
The words ‘fuck you’ formed in Digby’s head. The first scrap of happiness he’d found in a year and it was being spoiled by this shit. ‘This is my house. I’ll come and go as I please.’
Realising he might have pushed a little too hard, Samuel softened his tone. ‘Your mother was worried, that’s all. No one knew where you were.’ He lowered his voice further. ‘She nearly called the police.’
‘As you can see, I’m fine.’ He turned his glacial gaze onto his mum. This wasn’t the first time she’d panicked. He’d had the humiliating experience of being picked up by the local police one night when a desperate escape from the apartment turned into a lonely ramble that had lasted hours. He understood that she was worried, but they’d been through this. Digby wasn’t depressed—he was grieving and lonely. The difference was significant but she refused to see it. ‘You have to stop this. I’m handling things. What I do with my life, where I go, is no one’s business but my own.’
‘I know but—’
‘No buts, Mum.’ He held eye contact long enough for her to see that he was serious, then shifted focus to Samuel. The man clearly had more to say but Digby’s rigid expression kept him silent.
<
br /> ‘Come on, Adrienne,’ said Samuel, steering her away. ‘Digby wants his space and you need a rest.’
The way he said ‘wants his space’ shot Digby’s hackles up. Samuel made it sound as if Digby was the selfish one for wanting to live his own life. He glared at the other man’s back as he led his mother into the house. Samuel liked to play father figure, mostly for Adrienne’s sake, Digby suspected, but he didn’t need a father. What he needed was a bit of faith and to be left alone to sort himself out.
Granny B, who’d been strolling around the formal front garden dead-heading roses as she smoked, paused to study him. Digby met her gaze and to his astonishment she nodded as if to say ‘well done’. Approval from his grandmother? Digby blinked, unsure he’d interpreted correctly. But there was no missing that small smile or the spark of pride glittering in those all-seeing eyes.
Shaking his head in amazement, he strode to the stables, pushed inside, and leaped up the stairs two at a time.
There were thirty-seven missed calls on his mobile. After phoning Jas the night before he’d dumped it on the couch and headed straight out, ignorant of the drama that would cause. Most were from Camrick, while a couple were from Em’s home number and another was from Josh’s mobile. Digby turned the phone to speaker and listened to the messages as he wandered into his bedroom and hunted for work clothes.
His mother’s voice echoed, each message more frantic than the last. Shame tightened his gut. Digby hated upsetting her. He’d already put her through so much, but he also needed his freedom. Em’s messages were calm, simply asking him to call Adrienne when he had a minute, to put their mum’s mind at ease. He deleted them all with a sigh.
Finally Josh came on the line.
‘Hey, Dig. It’s Josh. You’ve probably gathered by now that Adrienne’s freaking out. I’ve told her you’re fine but you know what she’s like. Anyway, if you get a chance, call her. Otherwise, whatever you’re up to, enjoy it and don’t worry about anyone else.’ There was a pause. ‘I trust you, mate.’ Then another beat before Josh laughed and said, ‘Christ, I hope you’re getting laid.’ A shout sounded in the background followed by a half-muffled ‘What?’ from Josh before the call was cut off.
Digby grinned, then he sobered as he realised that he’d probably have to admit to Josh where he’d been.
The thing was, he didn’t want to share what had happened between him and Jas. Digby didn’t kid himself that Josh could withhold the news from Em, not something involving both her brother and her best friend. Which meant he couldn’t tell him. Once word was out he and Jas would be under constant scrutiny and Digby didn’t want that. Not for her, not for himself.
Digby deleted the remaining messages without listening to them. Hearing his mother’s almost hysterical sobs was getting him down and he didn’t want to return to Jas feeling guilty for what they’d done.
Dressed in clean work clothes, Digby contemplated his wardrobe. A leather overnight bag sat in one corner. Would it be presumptuous to take another change of clothes? Probably, but it’d also be smart. He’d be bound to get splashed with turps and Jas wouldn’t appreciate him hanging around stinking. And he wanted to hang around. Now he’d had sex he wanted more of it. A whole lot more.
Although it wasn’t just sex. It was the connection, being touched. The intimacy of being with another human. One who craved the closeness as much as he did.
It helped that Jas was sensational in bed. He should have realised she would be. Jas did everything with gusto. When she cried it was loud and messy. When she laughed it was hearty. She ate with appetite, drank with enjoyment, kissed with passion and made love with unbound pleasure, delighting in the joy of his body as well as her own. No strings, no manipulation. Simply amazing, enthusiastic, unconstrained sex.
Felicity had loved him deeply—for all they’d endured Digby had never doubted that—but making love with her had been very different to other women he’d been with, and almost the polar opposite to Jas. Sex with Felicity always had a strange intensity, approached with seriousness and a great deal of care on Digby’s part. From the beginning Felicity had admitted her difficult upbringing and the ordeals she’d suffered, but he suspected there was much she still kept hidden. Terrible things that had shaped her attitude towards sex. For her, lovemaking seemed to have little to do with her own satisfaction and a lot to do with pleasing him. Or manipulating him.
There were times when Digby had wondered if Felicity even liked sex. No matter how gentle he was, how loving he tried to be, he could sense a detachment within her. On the rare occasion when he’d tried to broach the subject she’d become so upset he’d let it drop, leaving him determined to be even more caring. He didn’t mind. Digby would have shot the moon down if it had made her happy. But it meant sex lost a lot of its fun.
Jas, on the other hand, was like a happy puppy, bouncing around with her mesmerising full breasts, luscious womanly curves, saucy looks and occasional dirty talk. The difference, the lack of pressure, was a massive turn on.
Digby couldn’t help smiling. Even thinking about it had made him stiffen.
To hell with presumption. He packed the bag.
Jas was in the garage when Digby arrived back, tins of paint and some ratty bristled paintbrushes lined up on the concrete. The way she grinned on seeing him killed any lingering trace of the bad mood brought on by the scene with his mother at Camrick. Jas was sexy, exciting and real. His blood, so long sluggish and viscous with sorrow, surged life once more through his veins.
She sauntered towards him in a pair of well-fitting faded jeans and a purple polo shirt that was either ancient or had shrunk in the wash. The hem skimmed the waistband of her jeans, revealing a tiny sliver of pale skin with each sway of her hips. The neck gaped from the strain over her breasts. Eyes on his, Jas stopped right in front of him and placed her hand over his heart, before standing on tiptoe to kiss him.
A kiss that had him dumping the plastic bags he was carrying to lean her against the rear of her car and shove his hands up her shirt.
‘We’re never going to get anything done,’ she said as he rucked her top up. Her bra was pink, sheer and with a low lacy edge. He tongued her nipple through the fabric. The nub was satisfyingly turgid.
‘Do you mind?’
‘God, no. Although if you’re going to do what I think we’d better at least move out of sight of the road.’
‘Not into exhibitionism?’
She flicked the top button of his trousers, released the zipper and stroked his straining trunks in a way that had him closing his eyes and groaning. ‘Are you?’
‘Right now I couldn’t care less.’ Despite his words, he dug an arm beneath Jasmine’s bum, hauled her up against his hips and shuffled further into the garage’s concealing shadows to prop her on the car’s bonnet. They weren’t completely out of sight but it was close enough. The way he was feeling this wasn’t going to last long anyway.
It didn’t, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t as intoxicating as every other time. Jas had come fast and noisily, with shudders, gasping breaths and loud ecstatic cries of ‘Oh god, oh god, oh god,’ that had driven his own climax to even greater heights.
‘Sorry,’ she said, panting and laughing.
‘For what?’
‘Being a bit overexcited.’
‘You don’t have to apologise for that.’
Pouting her bottom lip, she blew air upwards over her flushed face. There were tiny speckles of sweat under her eyes and over her brow. ‘You’ve made me all hot.’
‘You were already hot. That tight shirt …’ Digby made an appreciative noise.
That only made her laugh again. ‘So are you, lover boy. All I’ve been able to think about since you left was sex.’
They’d been so eager that Jas hadn’t fully removed her jeans. One leg was on, the other dangling. Her knickers the same.
‘I had the same problem,’ he said, helping her back into them.
‘Really? You took so long I was st
arting to worry I’d frightened you off.’
Digby lifted her off the car and pulled down her polo shirt before fixing his own clothes. They’d left sweaty streaks and handprints on the bonnet. ‘No chance of that.’ Zipped and buttoned, he hunted for a rag and polished off the evidence of their exuberance. ‘I had a bit of a problem at Camrick.’
‘Oh, Dig. What happened?’
‘Mum.’
‘Ah. So she noticed you didn’t come home last night.’
‘Yeah.’
Jas crossed her arms and chewed her lip.
‘I didn’t tell them where I was, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘It wouldn’t matter if you did.’ She sounded confident, except her body language said otherwise.
Digby placed his arms on her shoulders. ‘Wouldn’t it?’
Jas let out a breath and rubbed fingers across her brow. ‘I don’t know. I’d like to keep it private, but they’re bound to find out. I think your grandmother’s already guessed there’s something between us. She saw us talking yesterday and got that look. You know, the one where you can see her brain whirring.’
Digby was all too familiar with it. ‘She gave me a look this morning too.’
Jas winced at the news. ‘Not good.’
‘Don’t be so sure about that. I have a feeling she approves. Like Josh, she probably thinks getting laid will do me good.’
‘Which it is.’
‘You bet.’ Smiling, he kissed her. ‘Come on, let’s sort this house. Then you and I can spend the rest of the day in bed if we want.’
‘Oh, I want.’
‘Nympho.’
‘Speak for yourself, Eveready.’
It gave Digby some solace that they shared a moment of playfulness in the face of what was coming. The words sprayed on her walls were cruel and mean-hearted, sentiments far beyond deserving. The red paint was like a slash across their day, and he worried Jas would shrink back into the bleakness of last night. She sobered a little when the sacking was ripped down but then set to work with determination, mouth set in defiance.
