Mark watched as he said something that made her smile. Her fingers played suggestively around the rim of her fruit juice glass. She tipped her head to one side as she listened to his words.
The wave started in his stomach and rose swiftly upwards, building into a tsunami until the feeling slapped his face. His mind screamed ‘Get away from her, you bastard!’ He wanted to charge across the room and kick the man’s perfect teeth down his throat. ‘You’re not good enough for her,’ a voice inside him cried at the pillock who only wanted what had been taken from her too many times already. Couldn’t she see what was going on, that the man was trying to pick her up; that he just wanted a quick fuck? That he wouldn’t hold her, caress her and treasure her.
Mark wanted to punish her. Insane jealousy raged around his body. He couldn’t think straight. A surging avalanche had now flattened all logical thought balanced precariously at the top of the mountain in his mind. Blood thundered through his ears as he stormed towards the table, making him oblivious to the complaints as he pushed past the other diners. He grabbed her arm roughly. She turned in surprise. He didn’t dare look at her companion.
‘We’re leaving,’ he ordered, his grip on her upper arm tightening.
‘But—’
‘I said we’re leaving.’ He leaned over and retrieved her handbag from the table and thrust it towards her.
‘The lady doesn’t want to leave,’ said her companion.
Mark looked once into the eyes already unfocused through alcohol. He moved as if to walk away, then turned back quickly, smashing his right fist into the man’s jaw. The drunken face hesitated for just a second before the eyes closed and he folded to the floor.
He’d have been all right if he just hadn’t opened his mouth, Mark thought, rubbing his knuckles.
‘For God’s sake, Mark—’
‘Shut up for once!’ he barked.
He dragged her into a narrow alley that separated the restaurant from a nightclub and pushed her harshly against the rough surface of the brick wall, anger and jealousy the only things that occupied his mind.
‘What now, caveman, are you going to club me?’ she taunted as her chest rose and fell.
‘If I thought it would do any fucking good, yes.’
Their eyes met in the darkness. Fire leapt between them, both oblivious to the anonymous crowds that surged past, unseen, some thirty feet away.
He grabbed her shoulders roughly. ‘No more, Kit, I’m not apologising for being a man any longer. I’ve treated you gently but I’m not one of the men that used you.’
Her eyes sparkled in the darkness. She attempted to move but his arms were fixed either side of her head. She tried to duck down but he only lowered his arm.
He looked into her eyes and knew she wanted exactly the same as him. He was shocked at the hunger he saw there. ‘I’ve watched you change and I’ve held it in. I’ve stifled it and ignored it.’ Her unblinking gaze dared him to act. ‘But not any more. You should have looked like this for me, Kit, not some bastard who will never know you properly.’
Mark felt the shiver of anticipation that ran through her body. The breeze from the water whipped past them.
Her body gave an involuntary shudder. ‘Let me go,’ she murmured weakly.
‘Not on your life!’ His gaze didn’t waver. ‘I want you, Kit, every inch of you. I want to own you…’ He looked down the length of her body. ‘…And I will.’
She licked her dry, shaking lips.
With his body pushed against hers they were locked in a world where nothing else existed. The Saturday night crowds that passed the dark alleyway were oblivious to the heat burning inside. Outside the world continued but in that dark, tight alley his world had stopped.
The movement of her tongue flicking lightly over the sensuous lips tore away Mark’s last taut strand of control. Nothing else mattered, all he saw was her. All he felt was her; all he dreamt was her. His mind had been taken over by images of her. He couldn’t take the madness any longer.
He looked hard into the eyes that dared him to take her, then and now. The eyes of a caged animal – excited, frightened, wary, but alive and waiting.
He grabbed her shoulders roughly and pulled her forward so that her face was closer. Without tenderness he ground his lips against hers, punishing her for the effect she had on him. He prised them open with the force of his own and felt her resistance melt. He used his lips, his teeth and his tongue to take possession of her responding mouth. He licked, she licked; he bit, she bit harder. He was losing control, his mind now in a place where fireworks exploded in his head and his body responded and acted without direction from him. He wanted to brand her, forever his own.
His hands held tight the taut skin that covered her shoulders. The only thing that mattered was his quest to the very soul of the creature before him, who had the power to make him lose his mind. He tasted blood on his tongue. He wasn’t sure whose it was, but as he felt her arms snake around his neck and her body arch provocatively towards him, he didn’t really care.
They scratched and bit like two wild animals feeding off each other. Skin bruised and fabric tore but as he lifted her legs and wrapped them around his back and entered her with neither concern nor care, both cried out like drowning souls.
Kit woke with a warmth pervading her body that did not come from the blankets. She stretched lazily; aware of her body as though it were a new toy she was excited to own. In one night Mark had erased the men that had used her. She felt new, unspoilt. And he had made love to her as if she were more precious than life. She felt like a freshly deflowered virgin but she realised, in effect, last night had been her first time.
She turned on to her back, allowing herself the luxury of recollection of the heated, frenzied passion they’d shared in the dark alley, where his touch on her bare arms had burned through her skin to the bone. Where she’d stood, helpless, like a ragdoll, aware of her body’s betrayal against the fabric of her dress. The passion she’d seen in his eyes mirrored her own. And then later, here in this bed, his hands had stroked every inch of her body. He’d used his lips tenderly to refresh the bruised flesh before turning her on to her stomach to place delicate, cleansing whisper-kisses along the scarred flesh of her buttocks. Then he’d entered her slowly, kissing away her tears while building her arousal to a peak of torture and desperation before her body spiralled rapturously down from the highest peak of Kilimanjaro, where he’d caught her, kissed her, and tenderly held her until she slept.
The hardening of her nipples convinced Kit it was time to get out of bed. Her body was sensitive to the fabric of her satin dressing gown.
Her mind wandered off to the Planet Stupid. She searched for a little common sense. A ridiculous picture had formed last night as she’d hovered in that surreal, magical place that preceded sleep. A place of impossible dreams that in the cold light of day diminish in logic. It was the vision of a house and Mark and someone’s kid playing in the garden. She forced the scene out of her mind. They’d only had sex, for God’s sake. It wasn’t as though he was now committed to marrying her. He was probably regretting his actions already.
She expected to find him in the living room. It was empty except for a used mug on the coffee table. She was disappointed. Where had he gone? Her mind started to race: she was right, it had been a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened and now he was out trying to think how to break it to her. Within seconds that was the absolute, unbreakable truth. After all, Mark knew everything there was to know about her; he’d seen everything, heard anything. There was nothing she’d hidden from him. There was no way he’d get involved with an ex-prostitute with her track record and quite honestly she didn’t blame him. No, she didn’t blame him at all. When she saw him again, if she saw him again, she’d do him a favour and pretend nothing had ever happened.
The door opened, startling her. Mark walked in with a smile and two carrier bags full of supplies. ‘Checked your cupboards this morning…’
He sa
w the expression on her face. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’
She shrugged him off roughly. ‘Nothing.’
He smiled as he moved behind her and circled her waist. She tried to break free but he held her close. ‘I had a meeting with my boss. Remember the text message last night? I didn’t exactly have a chance to tell you, did I?’
She turned to face him. ‘But what is this, Mark? Yesterday we were only friends and then last night we…’
‘Remind me,’ he said, pulling her closer.
She placed her hands on his chest to keep a little distance between them. ‘Is this a fling, Mark, are we just having fun with each other? I have to know.’
The laughter left his eyes. His hand stroked her face softly. She felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes; she brushed them away. His tenderness had done this to her the previous night.
‘I can only speak for myself, Kit. With your permission I will not let you go for the rest of our lives… actually, forget the permission bit, it’s not optional.’
He guided her to the sofa and then sat down beside her, stroking her hair. ‘From the first moment we met I’ve felt something for you that wasn’t in my job description. I’ve buried it, hidden it and ignored it because it wasn’t appropriate. When you came to me you were like a broken spitfire. You were an alcoholic with enough anger and hatred inside to eat you alive.’ He kissed her gently on the lips. ‘You were like a tortoise. Anything you didn’t like, you just curled right back into your hardened shell, knowing it would protect you, but inside was a young woman who wanted to be normal. Not spectacular, just ordinary. You fought with your claws to keep me out of your hurt, but underneath you wanted help.’
‘So, all that time…’ Her words trailed off. So he’d felt like that all this time and hidden it for her own good.
He nodded. ‘I don’t expect anything from you, Kit. We’ll take this at your pace, but you have to know that I love you and I will never hurt you.’
‘Mark,’ she whispered his name with a voice full of emotion. ‘Take me back to bed.’
Two hours later, with a hunger that forced them out of the bedroom, Kit set about making a snack. Mark inspected the compact bookcase, to the right of the small TV, which was packed with tired-looking books of all descriptions. Others littered the room. He took a closer look and smiled at some of the titles.
‘What are these?’ he asked as Kit entered with fresh coffee.
‘Umm, they’re called books, new concept.’
He pulled one out. ‘Falconry?’
‘The second-hand bookshop on Bond Street closed down. On the last day they were more or less giving them away, so I brought back as many as I could carry.’
He pulled out another. ‘Anna Karenina, a woman spiralling into the depths of madness, this just for laughs, then?’ he joked. ‘What’s this one?’
Kit knelt on the floor beside him. ‘Chinese astrology.’
‘Umm… interesting. Yin, yang, male and female…’ he murmured, leafing through it.
‘Actually no,’ she stated knowledgeably. ‘Most people think yin and yang are male and female but they’re not. They’re opposing forces like night and day, good and bad, positive and negative.’ She smiled wryly at him. ‘That’s us for starters, you’re positive and I’m decidedly negative.’
‘What got you interested in this?’
‘Dunno really. I look at that one small book and the knowledge it contains and I just want to eat it. The first page hooked me. It’s based on an old myth that Buddha invited all the animals to visit him but only twelve turned up so he gave each animal a year that would be dedicated to them throughout history. The years were allocated in the order that the animals arrived.’ Kit closed her eyes and counted on her fingers. ‘That’s Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, Pig…’ She opened her eyes, pleased she could remember. ‘Sometimes you can tell what animal a person is by just looking at them.’
He closed the book. ‘What am I?’
She pretended to study him for a moment. ‘A Monkey.’
‘Cheers!’ he laughed, raising an eyebrow.
‘Yes, definitely a Monkey! Characteristics are generous, tolerant, sensitive but also very opinionated. Typical Monkey occupations are theologian, bus driver, counsellor and therapist.’
‘You’ve checked.’ He grabbed the book from her hands. ‘Bet I can guess what you are.’ He read through characteristics applicable to each of the twelve animals. ‘Tiger! You have to be a Tiger.’
‘Give me that.’ She tried to snatch the book away from him. He avoided her grabbing hands.
‘Now, let me see… loyal, wise, daring, disobedient—’
‘That makes me sound like a German Shepherd,’ she interrupted.
‘…Arrogant, impatient, domineering, aggressive, demanding, stubborn, quarrelsome.’ He looked over the top of the book. ‘I think I’ll just get my coat.’
She slapped him playfully. He read it again. ‘Did they interview you for this book?’
‘I’m not that bad!’ she cried. Her second attempt to grab the book was judged perfectly. ‘It tells you how different animals get along.’
‘What about us?’
She pretended to read; she didn’t need to. She’d checked the day she’d bought the book. ‘Umm, it’s not good…’ She shook her head with warning.
‘What does it say?’
‘Basically, we shouldn’t be on the same planet.’
He considered her words. ‘Yep, sounds about right.’
She kissed him lovingly before she went to get dressed.
12
Fran
Fran felt that the situation was going from bad to worse. She’d just had her second meeting with George Harris, the police officer who had done a complete turnaround and decided to fight the case.
During their first meeting she had outlined the dangers of fighting as opposed to plea-bargaining.
‘So you’re saying it’s unwinnable?’ he’d asked.
‘Mr Harris, no case is unwinnable but as your solicitor I am obliged to present the facts and they are that you could walk away from this without a job, or you could walk away from this with a debt hanging over you for the rest of your life, a “For Sale” sign on your lawn, and possibly still lose your job.’
‘But this is a civil action. They can’t sack me.’
‘Come on, Mr Harris,’ she had smiled realistically. ‘Whether it’s a civil action or not, your employers are not going to want you on their payroll if you’re found guilty, are they?’
That was when he’d broken down and admitted to her that he had caused the injuries to the youth. He explained that during the internal inquiry he had, at every possible opportunity, tried to explain that the pressures of the job caused him to finally crack, but no one had wanted to listen.
After weighing up the options that Fran outlined, Mr Harris had agreed to resign. His marriage was under enough strain without having to tell his wife they could lose the house in which they’d lived for twenty-seven years.
As soon as he’d left the office Fran had spoken to Keith Milton, who had assured her that his clients would not take the matter any further. The following day she had received a call from the Chief Inspector informing her that Mr Harris would be allowed to take early retirement on the understanding that he at no time spoke to the press. Case closed, or so she’d thought until twenty minutes ago when Mr Harris had barged into her office claiming aggressively that he was not going to take this like a twat.
He had visited his doctor, been placed on sick leave and was using words like ‘counter-sue’. Fran wondered who the hell he’d been talking to.
‘Come on, Mr Harris, you’re aware of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act and you’ve already admitted that you broke just about every code of practice listed,’ she’d reasoned.
‘And you must be aware that PACE is a standing joke in the force. Be serious, Miss Thornton, police officers have more to do than ensu
re that a police cell is heated to the proper temperature, that two light meals and one main meal is served each day. We have to give them refreshment breaks every two hours and we can’t question at meal times. How the hell are we supposed to get a result? Half of these kids don’t ever want to go home.’
‘Whether or not you agree with the rules is irrelevant. What matters is that they can prove you totally disregarded the procedure to the extent of physical injury and it doesn’t matter if every other officer ignores that code of practice, you do not have the weight of the force behind you in a civil action.’
Fran knew she was showing her impatience but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t like this man who sat before her with one foot resting on his right knee. The sole of his shoe faced her, forcing her to wonder just how much force he’d used to leave such a mark on the boy’s forehead.
The handkerchief he’d used constantly to dry his sweaty palms during their first meeting was nowhere to be seen. His mouth seemed thinner than before or maybe that was because it was set in a superior grimace that was half smile and half sneer.
‘Miss Thornton, as my solicitor I believe it is your brief to act upon my instructions.’
‘That is correct,’ she’d said coldly. There weren’t too many clients that she did like, it was just getting harder to conceal.
‘Then I would like to fight this case,’ he’d said pleasantly as he licked his middle finger and traced it across his right eyebrow.
Fran had merely nodded while clutching the desk in an effort to busy hands that wanted to slap reason into him. She could only wonder at the complete change in his attitude.
‘So, what happened next?’ asked Fran on the edge of her seat. She was listening attentively while Kit reiterated what had happened with Mark.
Kit lazily stretched her legs and placed her feet on Fran’s Regency coffee table. A coaster with nine-carat gold trim fell to the ground. ‘Umm… I don’t really think I should tell you any more. It might offend you. You know, with you being anti-men and all that.’
The Forgotten Woman: A gripping, emotional rollercoaster read you’ll devour in one sitting Page 18
