The Gift

by Portia Da Costa

  ‘Of course. And, um, I’m sorry too.’ She wasn’t quite sure what for, but somehow she felt guilty. She’d raged at him, and not really given him the chance to explain. Now she probably never would get that chance. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  By unspoken agreement, they were already returning to the bedroom, where the rest of Jay’s clothes were, and his car key, the Aston’s fancifully named Emotional Control Device.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, turning as he entered the room. ‘Just don’t hate me too much.’ He reached for his shirt, shrugged into it. ‘I never meant to be the enemy, and I never wanted to lie to you. I just, well, I just had to have you and there was no other way. I wish there had been.’ He was shoving his feet into his socks and loafers as he spoke, and when he straightened up, he stood staring down at her for a second.

  But just a second. Sandy could feel them all ticking by just as Jay no doubt could. He had to go, and go now. Who knew how serious the older man’s condition was. He might have to drive at breakneck speed again to reach his father’s side before he died.

  He took her mouth again in a swift brutal kiss. It was as hungry and desperate as it was fleeting.

  Kiss it better, thought Sandy over and over again as he put her from him, finished dressing and strode away towards the door to the landing. She made to follow, perhaps to steal a last chance to touch him, but he shook his head, made a chopping gesture. He seemed unable to speak, but she understood him on a deep level she found it impossible to quantify.

  Kiss it better, she thought again, standing exactly where he’d left her as the Aston’s powerful engine roared into life in the yard below.

  We could probably never kiss it better ever again.

  A tear rolled down her cheek as the car-growl faded to nothing, leaving silence.

  Chapter 18

  ‘Galleria? What Galleria?’

  ‘I don’t know. But at least it’s not an all-day coffee fun pub. I suppose we should be grateful for that.’

  Confused by what she was seeing, Sandy glanced at Kat. They were standing outside the rapidly transforming site of the old Bradbury’s supermarket, staring at a billboard that had just gone up. And after what seemed a lifetime of speculation and fretting, the signage had finally confirmed once and for all that the new development wasn’t a fun pub, but a mini mall-type shopping centre called The Galleria, with over a dozen distinct units, all fashioned within the existing shell of the large old store. The Chamber of Commerce jungle drums had hinted as much, but details had been sketchy, hush-hush.

  Now it was all official.

  ‘Well, why the fuck hasn’t your boyfriend told you all about it?’ demanded Kat. ‘After all, it’s his company that’s building the thing.’

  Sandy sighed, suddenly deflated. ‘He’s not my boyfriend. And when we’ve chatted on the phone, we … well, we had an unspoken pact not to talk about developments and pubs and business or anything. Just casual stuff.’

  She frowned, staring at the plan. The names of some businesses were already marked in with whatever they sold or did. But one prime location, right by the entrance, where everyone would pass, was simply marked ‘café’.

  Great, you’re just building another café instead of a pub, you git.

  It was true, they’d spoken only of trivia. Of day-today minutiae. Television, movies, funny incidents over Christmas and at New Year parties. She’d discovered details of Jay’s father’s health progress, which was good, because, even though Forbes Senior was an old bird, he was as tough and bloody stubborn as nails, just as his son was. Sandy didn’t know Jay’s dad and, since the news of the supermarket sale, she’d heaped many a curse on his name. But she was glad to hear he was recovered, if only for Jay’s sake.

  Yes, it had been a strange, almost mannered communication at best that had passed between them, especially after the raw intimacy they’d shared, but to her dismay, she still clung to it like a starving woman scrabbling after stale bread crusts that’d been thrown to the birds, sifting it for stray scraps of possible hope.

  Pathetic. Absolutely pitiful. And this is the end of it. This is a dirty trick too far, you conniving bastard. Just business or no just business. Fuck you.

  The trouble was, she didn’t really feel that way at all, just a little sad, and confused.

  But the next morning, the day after the billboard went up, a letter arrived that only added to her confusion. Sandy stared at it for a long while, as if she needed a Rosetta Stone to decipher it.

  What the hell does it mean ‘lease negotiable’? And why a Sunday afternoon of all times?

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Shazam!

  The key code worked and the gated entrance to the Galleria site sprang open. Sandy consulted the plan, still surprised she’d been supplied with access codes to what amounted to a building site. The letter had said that she could look around the proposed café, sticking only to that area for safety reasons, in order to assess the facilities. With a view to purchasing the lease.

  I can’t afford this. It’ll cost a fortune. He’s probably doing this as a courtesy, out of guilt or something.

  Oh, but the café unit was fabulous though. Perfect accessibility. Perfect position. Perfect ergonomic design. It would be a pleasure to work here. And the ‘soul’ of the Little Teapot could happily dwell and thrive in a new home like this. Sandy did a rapid review of all the possible sources of finance she had access to, and wondered and wondered if there was any way at all she could swing it.

  The kitchen to the rear of the serving area was gorgeous too. Small, but efficiently laid out, with a professional range already installed and a big central unit for prep.

  A short passage to the right led to a cloakroom. Bigger than the one in the Teapot, fully fitted out for accessibility. Everything perfect. She turned the tap. The water was already on.

  The mirror above the sink made her shudder as memories rose up. Her own face in a mirror as Jay worked her from behind, his own face harsh, scarred, but still beautiful to her.

  He hadn’t meant to jeopardise her precious café. It was business, just business. Like The Godfather, but without the guns, the horse’s heads and the cold-blooded murder. He’d been the wrong man at the right time. Or the right man at the wrong time. Or just the wrong man at the wrong time. She’d probably never see him again and the calls and texts would peter out sooner rather than later.

  Her phone chimed, announcing a text.

  How do you like it? Good bathroom?

  She pressed the key to reply, started tapping in a ‘y’, then an ‘e’ – then she stopped and cancelled the message. How the hell did he know she was in the bathroom?

  Sandy stormed out of the loo and ducked back into the kitchen.

  Jay was leaning on the main prep counter, waiting and watchful like some dark predatory beast. He gave her a quirk of a smile, but didn’t speak straight away, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to say – which well he might not be, given this latest stunt: luring her to a deserted half-finished mini mall on a Sunday afternoon.

  In the few seconds before she found her own words, Sandy drank in the sight of him, devoured it, feasted upon it.

  Hell, he looked good!

  Black suited him, and he wore it now, head to foot. Boots, jeans, shirt, one of his very good, very expensive casual jackets. He appeared just as she’d last seen him, but somehow very different. His hair, for one thing. The semi-shaven crop had grown out over their couple of months apart, and his hair was thick and very dark and brushed straight back from his face in a hawkish sort of way that really suited him. He was still clean-shaven, which she realised she liked better than the beard, but he had a bit of a down-and-dirty stubble thing going on which made her blood race. Or race even more than it already was. Even his scars looked a little faded, a little mellowed. She wondered momentarily how he was doing with the pain.

  ‘So, I suppose it’s no coincidence you’re here,’ she said cautiously. There was no point raging at him. What would she be raging
about? He’d made no promises when he’d left, and their communications had been friendly but strictly non-committal. Seeing him today was a bonus, and she supposed she should view it that way.

  ‘No, it’s no coincidence. I wanted to meet you here. I set it up.’ He had the grace to look uncomfortable.

  ‘Then why hide behind the signature of one of your flunkies?’

  Jay shrugged and made an elegant gesture of befuddlement with his long scarred hands.

  ‘God knows. I can’t seem to think straight when it’s anything to do with you,’ he said, straightening up. ‘I suppose that’s why I had to stay strictly away all these weeks. There was some serious stuff that needed to be sorted out for, and with, my father, and I knew if I allowed myself the luxury of visiting you, and trying to explain myself, I wouldn’t want to go back.’

  ‘I’m touched.’ It came out sarcastically, but that was because she was the befuddled one now. Contrived as they sounded, his words did make sense to her. And it was a sense that thrilled and excited her and made all the silly insane dreams that she’d unequivocally squashed down, or thought she’d squashed down, flare up again like a wildfire. ‘But why here? Why the cloak and dagger?’

  Jay laughed, a delicious sound. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and a slow honeyed surge roll low in her pelvis. She hadn’t stopped wanting him one second during all the time he’d been away, regardless of what had happened, and she’d made much use of some of his sexy box of tricks in his absence. A blush rose to her face at the thought of some of those sessions. Crying out his name as she’d climaxed, and then feeling cross with herself for clinging on and not letting go of his influence upon her.

  ‘I said, I don’t know. I wanted to make a dramatic entrance or something, a bit of theatre.’ He walked towards her, and a delicate wave of his spicy cologne met her before he did, overwhelming the vaguely plastery odour of the still unfinished walls. ‘We first met in dramatic circumstances. And we got together again in dramatic circumstances … sort of.’ A little touch of blush flowed into his face now, high on his perfectly reconstructed cheekbones. She knew he was thinking of the garden at the Waverley, so much heat in the cold. She certainly was. ‘And I wanted our reunion to match it.’

  ‘Reunion?’

  ‘Well, yes. With my dad pretty much back on top form again now, he doesn’t need me at his side all the time, and he bloody well doesn’t want me there either.’ He was in front of her now, looking down, his grey eyes steady and dark. ‘So I’m free to pursue my own projects. We’ve got a lot going on in this region so I thought I’d relocate up here, to be on hand. And pursue other things too.’

  Sandy could feel herself trembling. It was him, his presence, his body and his fragrance and his eyes and his low rough voice. She knew she should quiz him about the café and the lease and all that practical stuff. But she couldn’t. It was like having Christmas all over again and all she wanted was to touch him. Be with him. Come to know him in the real world as well as she’d known – and loved – him in her dreams for fifteen long years.

  They stared at each other, just inches apart. Who would be the first to succumb?

  Sandy gave in. She reached up and touched Jay’s face, drawing her fingers over his ever so slightly stubbled cheeks, loving the rough texture. It was like him, a bit rough, a bit edgy, but irresistibly attractive and wonderful. Jay turned his face into the caress and kissed her palm.

  Rational sense tried to reassert itself. ‘Why should I just let you back into my life like this?’ she demanded, even while she was finding it difficult to breathe. His lips were soft yet demanding, still exploring her palm, and his tongue darted out, reminding her of other dartings in other more intimate places. Oh God, he was so good at that and she’d missed it like the very devil.

  ‘Because we’ve known each other fifteen years. We should be together,’ he insisted, the breath of the words a caress in itself. She felt his hand close over hers, and his other hand slide beneath her jacket to settle lightly against her waist. It felt hot through the black camisole she was wearing under her cardigan. The cami had come from that first gift of his, the cache of lingerie, and the cardigan, pure cashmere, had arrived at Christmas, also from Jay.

  How had she known to wear them today? How could she have not worn them? Accepting fate, and embracing it, loving it …

  ‘Jay,’ she gasped, feeling the fight for control and resistance dissipating, dissolving, burnt off by the heat in his eyes and in his skin, ‘we’ve barely actually spent more than fifteen hours together all told. What kind of basis is that for being together?’

  ‘It’s a good start,’ he said, more crisply now. She could tell that, as always, he’d decided what he wanted and was determined to get it. A voice inside that should have had her telling him to hold his horses and not get ahead of himself was in fact making her melt, urging her to rub herself crazily against him, prior to demanding that he fuck her. ‘And all the more reason why we should do everything we can to make up for lost time,’ he finished triumphantly, not pausing for her reply but just sliding his hand around the back of her head and propelling her face towards his, for a kiss at last.

  How could it be that everything in the world could be right, just because one pair of lips met another? It wasn’t sensible. It wasn’t logical. But it was true.

  Jay’s touch had felt right, in innocence, fifteen years ago. And it felt just as right now, informed by a wealth of shared sensual desire and exploration. The innocent connection was still there, but so was sex, wild and immediate and impossible to resist.

  They were in the middle of an instant conflagration. No slow sweeping of arms around each other, just hungry, almost angry grabbing and searching and touching and owning. Jay’s tongue was in her mouth, and she didn’t care about anything to do with cafés and business and owing or being owed or whatever. She just wanted him.

  Her hands were beneath his jacket, pulling at his shirt, searching for bare contact with his hot skin and his muscles and his scars. His hands were on her too, beneath the soft cardigan and pushing up the camisole, sliding over her back and her ribcage, one coming around the front to cup her breast and strum her nipple in a rough stroke of possession. The black silky top was shaped, and she didn’t need a bra with it. More fate, she supposed, dressing for sex because some sixth sense had told her that she’d get some.

  She laughed into his mouth, and he pulled away, pressing his lips to her ear, demanding, ‘What?’ while his fingers still worked on her teat.

  ‘I don’t know. Really, I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he observed pithily, angling her head with his hand so he could kiss her again, hard, and with total authority.

  Sandy’s hips started moving of their own accord, circling and pressing her belly against his crotch. He was rock-hard and he growled, grinding back at her, while she dropped her hands to his buttocks and grabbed them, two hard muscular rounds, and squeezed hard.

  God, you have such a fabulous arse, Mr Forbes! I could forgive you just about anything for this!

  Jay’s mouth roved over her face in little nibbling tasting kisses that somehow managed to be totally possessive and aggressive at the same time. He abandoned her breast and paused to shrug out of his good jacket and drop it on the dusty floor. Then he applied himself to her jeans, unfastening the button, sliding down the zip, and working them down to her hips so he could wiggle one hand down into the front of her knickers, and one down the back, beneath the elastic.

  ‘Oh God!’ Sandy gasped, as he started to finger her, fore and aft, roughly yet artfully.

  It was no time to grope his bottom now. She had to throw her arms around his neck and cling on for dear life. Her own hungry body was betraying her, wriggling and jerking as she rubbed herself against his fingers, just as they rubbed themselves against her.

  ‘You like that, don’t you, Princess?’ he murmured in the most disgustingly smug macho voice.

  Sand
y could have smacked him if she hadn’t been too thoroughly otherwise occupied. But it made her laugh too, in the small part of her mind that wasn’t completely blown by the way he was circling and slicking around her clit and probing at her bottom, all wicked and rude.

  ‘Admit it!’ he growled, redoubling his efforts. The sweet mock ferocity in his voice made her sex pulsate, and the low sound of approval he made told her he’d felt it.

  She bit her lip, even if she couldn’t stop her body gyrating like a houri in blatant lust.

  ‘Stubborn little bitch! I’ll make you come for that. I’ll make you speak!’

  Still probing and rubbing in the groove of her bottom, he pinched her clitoris between finger and thumb, tugging delicately.

  Sandy yelled, her orgasm soaring like a skyrocket. She was helpless against his moves, his knowing, knowing touch. Kicking and shaking she hung onto him like a limpet, locking her hands at the back of his neck instinctively. If she hadn’t she would have bucked and wriggled her way clean out of his grip, and ended up in a moaning, spasming heap at his booted feet.

  ‘Oh my Princess, my Princess,’ he crowed more gently, still working her as she arched and gasped and clung to him, ‘I love to feel you come like that. I can’t get enough of it.’

  Sandy slumped, played out completely for the moment as he gently released her. She was so overheated and sated that she imagined she could actually hear her pussy sizzling. Gulping in air, she tried to remember when she’d last taken a proper breath, and she could feel sex-sweat trickling down between her breasts, her camisole sticking to her.

  With her head against his shoulder and her body draped against him, she could feel Jay’s heart pounding in time to hers, and his deep chest lifting and falling. He was breathing hard and, when she moved uneasily against his pelvis, his cock seemed to jump inside his jeans. And she wanted some of that! Oh how she wanted it!

  Energised by his hardness, his unhidden desire for her, she came back to life again. Finding her feet, she cupped his cock in her fingers and squeezed. Not hard or roughly, but assertively, looking up into his eyes, challenging him now. The grey depths glinted like brilliant sunshine bouncing off the polished surface of the Aston, and he smiled his fierce, tough smile, accepting the challenge. Sandy reached up and brushed fingers through his hair. It was thick and soft and smelled really good.