What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  I nod to Grace and grab her arm this time. She tries different moves, seeing what’s more comfortable for her. After a little while of practicing, I show them another move.

  ‘OK, if the person is close in front of you, you can use the heel of your palm to strike upwards, under his nose. Put the whole of your body weight into the move to maximize the most pain and force him to loosen his grip. If he’s behind you, you can strike his nose with your elbow or the back of your head.’ I show them what to do and they’re off, practicing with a lot of energy and grunts and shouts.

  ‘That’s it, ladies, get loud! Don’t forget to shout and scream and call attention to you,’ I say before Grace tries out what I’ve demonstrated.

  I choreograph some more moves in slow motion for them to try out then get Grace to join another duo of ladies so I can check they’re all doing things right and make any corrections.

  The two-hour class passes in no time, and when it ends, the women are psyched up, ready to do some real damage.

  ‘Right, ladies, that’s it for this week. If you can, practice these moves throughout the week, that would help, and next Sunday, we’ll be getting into some real kick-ass action.’

  ‘Don’t forget the nut-kicking action,’ the same elderly lady says, all red and sweaty in the face. The women nod or clap their hands with approval.

  ‘Wow, you ladies are vicious!’ I chuckle. ‘Don’t worry, there will definitely be some nut-kicking action next week.’

  I get a few excited cheers about that.

  ‘Ladies, these are for you.’ I pick up some information packs from the floor and hand them out. ‘Inside is all the information I cover during the course, including pictures of the defensive moves I show you.’

  As they laugh and chat with each other on the way out, already the confidence in the air is higher than it was when they walked in. I can’t help but be proud inside that I’m teaching them stuff that might one day save their lives.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Grace

  I’m exhausted by the end of the class, but it’s a good kind of tired. As if I’ve just climbed a high mountain and I’m looking out over a view I never knew existed.

  ‘What do you want to do now?’ Ben asks when he’s finished stacking up the mats in the corner of the room.

  My stomach growls with hunger, and I chuckle. ‘Get some food?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. I’ll meet you outside when we’ve showered.’

  We find a bistro that’s bursting at the seams, the tables spilling out onto the pavement with one spare table left. I take a seat as Ben grabs a couple of Sunday papers. ‘Serious paper or tabloid?’ he asks, holding one in each hand.

  ‘Tabloid.’

  He hands it over, and as we wait for our food and drink order, we casually read out bits to each other.

  ‘OK, let’s play a game,’ he says. ‘You have to take one word from different paragraphs on the page and make up a funny headline. The funniest one wins.’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘What do we win, exactly?’

  ‘Loser pays for lunch?’

  ‘OK, you’re on.’

  I busily scan the paper in front of me as Ben picks up his and concentrates on it.

  ‘OK, here’s one,’ he says. ‘More People Are Killed By Donkeys Than Water Melons.’

  ‘Porn Star Sues Over Front-End Collision.’ I laugh and take a sip of my iced latte the waitress has just brought.

  ‘Not bad.’ He reads through his paper. ‘Hari Krishnas Riot In Chocolate Biscuit Factory.’

  ‘Streaker Arrested At Women’s Coleslaw Wrestling Championships.’ I give him a smug smile. ‘That’s got to win. You should’ve picked the tabloid.’

  ‘No way!’ He grabs the paper to check, shrugs, then hands it back. ‘All right, then, David Cameron Names New Species of Ancient Whale “Ancient Whale”.’

  ‘Hmm…’ I turn the pages, flicking through for something funnier. ‘David Beckham Puts Balls In Wrong Place.’

  He shuffles through the paper and takes a mouthful of tea. ‘Woman Finds Cross-Dressing Alien In Tree.’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘Not bad. Kamikaze Goats in Mass Suicide Pact.’

  By the time our deep-filled baguettes arrive, I’m laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes.

  As we eat and chat, I’m completely relaxed, which I never really was with Theo looking back. There was always something not good enough for him. My clothes didn’t look right, my hair was messy, my job wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t thin enough, pretty enough, funny enough, trendy enough. And the more I tried to please him, the pickier he seemed to get. I began to doubt myself all the time.

  If we went out to eat, the food was bad, the drinks were too expensive, children nearby were making too much noise. Always something to berate, moan, or complain about. Nothing and no one could ever live up to his standards. He thought he was better than everyone else, more intelligent, more good-looking, stronger, a better lawyer, a better rugby player.

  One minute he was up and the next down, and trying to read his moods was a full-time job. I was just an accessory. A little toy he could manipulate who would do what he said, wear what he said, go where he said. I was inexperienced in relationships, and I thought it was all normal. And inside, I just had this urge to please, because all I ever wanted since Mum died was to feel that someone loved me.

  But with Ben, it’s not like that. At all. He’s so laid-back, it’s just easy to be with him. It’s not forced or hurried. I can be myself with him, utterly and completely. I don’t need to hide, and he doesn’t judge me. Every moment we spend with each other my attraction towards him gets deeper and stronger. So strong it’s almost tactile.

  He pushes his empty plate away. ‘I’m so full.’

  ‘Me, too.’ I rub my stomach as the waitress takes our plates away. ‘So, what now?’ I’m not ready for the day to end yet. I’m having fun, more fun than I’ve had in a long, long time.

  ‘Do you want to see a film? There’s a new romantic comedy on at the cinema.’

  ‘A romantic comedy?’ I’m unable to hide the amazement in my voice.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ His mouth twitches in a smile.

  ‘I thought men hated watching chick-flicks. I thought they preferred action films.’

  ‘Well, not this man. I’ve seen enough action doing MMA.’

  ‘Wow, a martial arts champion who’s trained to beat people up, but loves helping people, drinks Earl Grey tea, actually likes romantic comedies, and is a self-confessed nerd. I’d never have guessed by looking at you.’

  ‘And what would you have thought by looking at me?’

  My gaze sweeps across his dark good looks, his large hands with scars across the knuckles, the crook in his nose where it’s been broken, the small chip in his front tooth, his well-muscled body. A body trained to fight, to hurt, not heal. ‘A bad boy. Mean and moody. Arrogant. Selfish. Dangerous. A man’s man. One of the lads.’ Which describes Theo perfectly, except Ben’s nothing like him at all.

  ‘I’m glad to disappoint you, then.’ His smile gets bigger.

  ‘So am I,’ I say, swimming in his warm, chocolate brown gaze.

  You don’t know just how much.

  ‘Anyway, I may have an ulterior motive for wanting to watch a romantic comedy with you.’ He tilts his head.

  ‘Oh, and what’s that?’

  ‘I just want to hear your laugh again.’

  He takes my hand in his, and a little piece of me melts inside. He’s nothing like any guy I’ve ever met before. He’s strong, powerful, and rugged, but at the same time gentle, kind, and compassionate. A gentle giant. How did I ever get lucky enough to meet him?

  I lean over and kiss him, running my hands through his thick hair. A rush of excitement surges through me, and for a while, I completely lose track of where I am and what day it is.

  The only thing that exists is us.

  His soft, warm lips glide against mine before his tongue plunges in to
taste me. My body heats instantly. My legs tingle.

  Slowly, the noise of the bistro filters back through my ears again and I jerk back, embarrassed by my brazenness and the fact that people can see us. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I just don’t do this kind of thing.

  He smiles, and God, that smile sets me on fire. It does so many things to me I don’t understand.

  I cross my legs to try to stop the ache inside. ‘So, did we work out who’s paying for lunch?’ I blurt out, trying to avert attention from what I’ve just done.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ He snatches up the bill and stands. ‘Even though my headlines were far superior to yours.’

  ‘Were not.’ I smirk.

  ‘Were.’ He gives me a playful grin and drapes his arm round my shoulder as we walk to the cinema.

  We watch the film together, his arm around the back of my chair, fingertips lightly stroking my arm or the back of my neck as I lean into his shoulder. I say ‘watch,’ but I don’t actually see anything on the screen. Couldn’t tell you what the film was even about. Because all I can see, feel, hear, is Ben.

  It’s getting dark when he walks me back to my flat. It’s been a perfect day, and I want to invite him in, but I don’t think I can.

  Yet.

  ‘I’ve had fun,’ I say, standing there awkwardly.

  ‘Me, too. And as a counsellor, I’d also recommend you should do something fun for yourself every day, too.’

  ‘Are you my counsellor or my friend?’ I raise a questioning eyebrow.

  He cups my chin in his hand, his thumb rubbing across my lower lip. ‘I don’t want to be either.’ He replaces his thumb with his mouth, gently sucking my bottom lip in between his.

  And I do what I’ve thought about doing for a long time. I can’t fight it any longer, so I run my hands along his back and slide them up his shirt, wanting his skin and the hardness of his muscles against my fingertips.

  He groans, the sound vibrating through me, sending pulses of heat shooting through every nerve in my body. His tongue gently makes love to my mouth. Swirling, probing, teasing, exploring every inch with delicate ease. It’s a kiss that lets me know in no uncertain terms that I am pretty enough, funny enough, exciting enough, good enough. It makes me forget the Grace I’ve turned into, and ignites the possibility of a new Grace who is loveable. Who does deserve to be happy.

  I can feel his excitement through his jeans, but instead of making me freak, it gives me a high thinking I did this to him. And it arouses me so much that a blazing current shoots down between my thighs.

  In that moment, we cross an invisible line from friendship to something more.

  His hands run through my hair, and he holds me close but not too firmly. Any closer and we’d be melting into each other. My breasts press against his chest, my nipples alert to the static running between us.

  He ends the kiss abruptly, leaving me breathless and aching for more.

  ‘Is this OK?’ His eyes are half closed, his voice low, husky.

  ‘Yes.’ I grip the back of his neck and pull him back to me. How can it be wrong when it feels so overwhelmingly good? Why should I feel guilty for wanting him to kiss me?

  When he draws back the second time, I’m about to tell him it’s OK again, but he strokes my cheek with the back of his hand and says, ‘I should go. You’re driving me too crazy for my own good.’ He kisses my wrist. ‘Thank you for a perfect day.’

  I watch him leave, trying to ignore the fire exploding through me.

  I take a cold shower and slip under the covers, reaching for my journal. I want to record how the first kisses since it happened make me feel. How I never thought they’d ever happen again. How they light me up from the inside and make me realize that for the first time since the rape, I don’t regret being a woman.

  I do the relaxation deep breathing Ben taught me as I lie in bed, but this time I’m not trying to calm down from a panic attack.

  I’m trying to quell the aching need for Ben.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Ben

  ‘Good luck with the interview,’ Grace says as I take my apron off on Wednesday lunchtime and hang it on the hook in the kitchen. ‘You’ll be great. I know you will.’

  My arms slide around her waist as I kiss her. The sweetest lips I’ve ever tasted. She makes me feel as if I can do anything in the world. She gives me purpose. A reason for being. Validates me.

  We’ve spent a lot of time kissing since that first time. For me, they’re stolen precious moments at the beginning or end of the day when the shop’s closed, but it hasn’t gone any further yet.

  ‘How about I cook you dinner tonight?’ I say.

  She bites her lip, thinking about it. It makes me want to suck on it, but I’m going to be late.

  ‘At your place?’ she asks.

  She’s never been to my flat yet, which is probably a good thing. Money’s tight until I get a new job. I’ve never been inside her flat, either, and that will be a big step for her.

  ‘Wherever you feel more comfortable,’ I say when she hesitates. ‘Or you could forget I asked. I don’t want to push this until you’re ready.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ She shakes her head firmly.

  I knew this would be a long road, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, but I smile at her anyway. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have suggested it.’

  ‘No, I mean, I don’t want to forget you asked me. I want to cook for you instead. You can cook next time. Do you want to come to my place?’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  She hesitates for just a fraction of a second. ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Great. I’ll be over about seven.’

  She splays her hands across my chest. I put my hand over hers, wondering if she can feel what she does to me. Feel how my heart beats faster whenever she’s close.

  I go home and change into black trousers and jacket, a white shirt, and a burgundy tie. I wore the suit to court, the only suit I own, and the memories of those three years inside bubble to the surface. I have to tell Grace what happened before it’s too late. But the knowledge that she won’t feel the same about me afterwards just about kills me, so I push it to the back of my mind and walk to the interview.

  I arrive at The Clover Project fifteen minutes early. A woman in her late forties with black wavy hair sits behind the reception booth. Her head’s bent over the desk as she fills out paperwork. One side of the glass screen is open, and I stand there and wait for her to look up.

  ‘Hi.’ She smiles. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Hi. My name’s Ben Hardy. I’m here for an interview.’ I smile back.

  The smile slips from her face, and I immediately know something’s wrong. By the frown she gives as she looks me up and down, I think I know what.

  ‘Didn’t they phone you and cancel it?’ she asks.

  This opportunity is slipping away from me. I wanted this job so badly. I wanted to be someone who could give these women back their lives, but it’s not going to happen now. I can tell from the look in her eyes.

  I swallow hard. My mouth’s just lost all its moisture. ‘No. No one’s called me.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but they should have done. The letter we sent inviting you for an interview was a mistake. We overlooked something on the application form, and it wasn’t picked up straight away.’

  ‘Right.’ What else can I say? I know she’s talking about my criminal history.

  ‘I’m sorry they didn’t call and you’ve had a wasted trip.’ But she doesn’t look sorry. She looks relieved as I turn to leave.

  Wasted. Yeah.

  Just like my life.

  I can’t keep the wolf from my door. He’s chasing after me, nipping at my heels, breathing down my neck. Waiting to rip a bite out of me when I think I’m just out of reach. Letting me know exactly what sort of a man I am.

  Except I’ll never be out of reach.

  I take some deep breaths as anger and disappointmen
t rip through me like a tidal wave.

  As soon as I’m home, I strip off down to my boxers and lay into the punch bag in my bedroom until I can’t physically lift my arms and legs anymore. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I sink to the floor, hot tears splashing down my cheeks and mingling with my sweat.

  I can never outrun my past.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Grace

  I light candles in the lounge and put on some soft background music as the spaghetti sauce simmers on the hob. After everything he’s done for me, I want to make my first dinner for him special.

  This is big.

  It’s huge.

  It’s the first time I’ve had a man in my flat in over a year, and I know what it means.

  I’m healing. I’m growing. I’m living again.

  I want him. I want to do more than kiss him, but I’m scared shitless. What if I freak out when things move further? What if I have a panic attack, or scream, or freeze?

  I try to push the fears away. Take some calming breaths.

  As I hear a knock at the door, my hands begin to shake. As soon as I swing open the door and see his face, all my fears vanish, because the only thing I can think about is how devastated he looks. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair’s messed up like he’s been running his hands through it. His usually perfect posture is slouched and defeated.

  He stands there for a moment, looking into my eyes with such anguish and hurt that I can’t speak.

  ‘I really need to kiss you right now,’ he says.

  I just nod, giving him my permission, because I want to take away that awful, haunted look etched on his face.

  He steps through the door and kicks it shut behind him. Before I know what’s happening, his hands are framing my face and his lips are on mine. But it’s not a gentle kiss like all the times before. It’s urgent, passionate, and raw, sending shockwaves crashing through me.