Journey: A Cariad Romance Three Book Bundle (Cariad Collections)

by Grace, K D

  Baross utca was deserted. The smoking man had disappeared from his doorstep and only a couple of people dashed past with umbrellas. Pale light flickered behind blinds and tattered curtains.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  We seemed to be heading deeper into the Nyocker, instead of turning back to the main drag.

  ‘I have my home near here. I take you there to be dry.’

  Five minutes rush through the storm brought us to a front door a little better presented than most of its neighbours. János hustled me into a high-ceilinged echoey hall area and up some ornate stairs to the second floor.

  His flat was a little old-fashioned but clean and well-kept, if you ignored the general man-clutter around the sofa and coffee table – DVDs, a couple of books, a newspaper and some gaming equipment, wires trailing like weeds.

  ‘You have great honour,’ he said, chivvying me through the living area to a small bathroom. ‘I never bring a woman back here before.’

  ‘Really? Never?’

  ‘Uh huh. It was my mother’s. I feel like she will not approve, you know.’

  ‘Didn’t she want you to have girlfriends?’

  ‘Oh yes. But not girls like the ones I see.’

  ‘Oh, right. She’s not alive?’

  ‘No, she die three years ago. Same year I divorce, that’s a great year for me.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing.’ I put a hand on his back, which was bent to turn on the bath taps.

  ‘I came to live here, said to myself, I will not fall in love no more. Just, what you said, shag. Have fun. No danger.’

  ‘I see we have different approaches to curing a broken heart. Mine, shagging nobody. Yours, shagging everyone in sight.’

  He stared into the plunging steaming tap water for a while, then turned his face to me and shrugged.

  ‘My way, nobody gets hurt,’ I pointed out.

  ‘You get hurt. You get lonely.’

  ‘I don’t matter.’

  ‘Ruby.’ He reached for my waterlogged top and began peeling it up my stomach and arms. ‘You don’t say things like that. I don’t permit.’

  ‘You don’t permit?’ I widened my eyes in challenge.

  ‘Not in my house. In my house, you are kind to yourself.’

  The top passed wetly over my face and landed in a heap in the corner. I clutched my arms to my ribs and shivered.

  A crack of thunder made the bathroom shelf rattle.

  I jettisoned the skirt and stood, damp and naked, ready to help János with his impossibly awkward jeans. In the end he had to sit on the side of the tub while I heaved them down his clinging legs and over his feet. Once they were gone, he clamped his legs together either side of me, trapping me inside the bend of his knee, pulling me forward until the angle was right for him to lean and kiss me.

  ‘This was the first time,’ he said softly, reaching out to turn off the tap. ‘Not the last time. Come on.’

  He let himself slide, rather gracefully, into the water, pulling me by the arm so I landed with a colossal splash that formed puddles on the tiled floor.

  I lay back, nestled between his thighs, head resting on his shoulder, looking up at the ornate light fitting and the tangle of old-fashioned pipes on the wall, feeling blissfully warm and contented and wanted. It was a moment to capture and keep.

  Then there was a flash outside the tiny high-set window and the light went off with a tinking sound.

  ‘Ah shit!’

  ‘Power cut!’

  ‘Lucky we get the bath full first, right?’

  Although it was close to midday, the iron grey storm clouds hanging low in the sky gave the impression of dusk and little light filtered through the tiny window.

  ‘Wait.’ János stood, dripping, and got out of the bath, returning swiftly with candles and matches. Soon a flickering glow covered the tiny room, and János rejoined me, pleased with the effect.

  ‘You like candles? Is romantic, yes?’

  ‘Very.’ I rearranged my legs around his and half-pivoted, wanting to kiss him. He was reaching for the shampoo bottle, though, intent on massaging my rain-ruined scalp and hair.

  ‘Here,’ he said, and his hand descended on the top of my head. Strong fingers distributed the shampoo through my tangled hair, awakening gorgeous sensation that trickled from my scalp downwards, making me sigh.

  ‘Mmm, you should be a hairdresser. That feels so nice.’ Blobs of lather slid down my neck and back.

  ‘I open a salon maybe? But I cannot cut. I maybe open salon for hair wash only. You think people pay for that?’

  I chuckled. ‘Maybe not. Oooh. Do it forever. It’s so, so nice.’

  His thumbs drew deep circles on the back of my neck until I thought it might fall backwards, no longer capable of supporting itself. Somewhere around the base of my spine, something was hardening, pushing to assert itself against my pliant flesh.

  He finished rendering me into putty and began rinsing the suds out of my hair, the water streaming down me while I lay against his chest. For a moment, the intimacy of it all overwhelmed me and I had to fight to keep from bursting into tears. After the hard work of putting up defences and keeping my suspicion reflex honed, it felt too strange to be relaxing, enjoying, trusting. Could love really be so simple?

  Soapy hands reached around to cleanse my skin, my belly, my breasts, the touch glidingly light. My nipples peaked again and I wriggled against him, a little coy at the way my burgeoning desires announced themselves.

  His were no less blatant though, my back and the crease of my bottom subject to an increasingly bruising attack from his erection. Could we do it in the bath? And if we did, would I ever be able to break my mental association between water and good sex? Maybe I should save it for dry land.

  He sponged my inner thighs and the outer part of my labia, keeping the stinging soap away from anywhere it might not be welcome. With a confident hand, he grabbed a thigh and pulled it up towards him, washing my captive leg then repeating the process with the other.

  I slipped around like a fish until I faced him, grinning and snatching the sponge from his hand. ‘Now I want to wash you. Do you shampoo your moustache?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you trust me to do it?’

  ‘I’m not so sure.’

  I took the shampoo, fixed on my course, refusing to let him duck away from my foamy finger when I drew it along the bristly bank of hair.

  What happened next was a great boiling mess of giggles and swirling water and splashing and play fighting and yucky soapy kisses and sweet tongues entwined. We had to calm down when a candle fell from the shelf and fizzed out in the water.

  ‘Shit, that could have burnt us!’

  ‘You are a bad girl, Ruby.’ He clicked his tongue at me, fishing out the candle and patting my watery bottom en route.

  ‘Me! That was you, doing all the kicking and thrashing.’

  ‘You know what happen to bad girls?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘They go to my bed.’

  ‘How awful for them.’

  ‘Yes, very awful. So are you a bad girl?’

  ‘Oh, I think so.’

  ‘Then I must get you to the bed immediately.’

  Thunder, more distant this time, mixed with the sound of disturbed water when he stood and reached for the towel.

  ‘No time to waste.’

  He took my hand and pulled me upright, wrapping me in the towel as I stepped out on to the floor with its treacherous slippery pools.

  He rubbed me vigorously, until my skin glowed and my hair was half-dry then he left the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist so he resembled a modern-day gladiator, all rippling muscle and slick damp hair.

  Not for the first time I appreciated his rear view, drinking it in all the way to the bedroom, which was as dark as the bathroom and not just because of the cloud.

  Old-fashioned dark wood furniture, heavy and ornate, dominated the room, which had wall coverings in a doomy crimson hu
e to complete the effect. Shelves of strange figurines and ornaments took up one wall, and all was overlooked by a gigantic crucifix.

  ‘My mother’s taste,’ explained János, noticing my curiosity. ‘I don’t have time or money for change it.’

  He whipped off my towel and guided me to the bed with its dark overstuffed duvet and velvet throw. I don’t know what I’d expected – some kind of disarranged, nearly bare bedstead surrounded by perilous piles of CDs perhaps – but it hadn’t been this. The incongruity added to my feeling of sudden helplessness.

  ‘OK,’ I said, as he advanced upon me. ‘I’m finding this a little weird. Like … were you conceived in this bed?’

  He stared. ‘I don’t know. I suppose.’

  ‘Do you think we could … maybe the living room?’

  He sat down beside me. ‘I really have to decorate. This three years has been bad, you know? I think maybe I get a little depressed. Start things, don’t finish, lose my, ah, my …’

  ‘Will? Interest?’

  ‘Yes. Too much drink, too much party, too much sex with girls I don’t remember their name. My work goes bad, I don’t finish any project.’

  I linked an arm through his and laid my head on his shoulder.

  ‘It’s funny, you seem so full of the joys of life.’

  ‘I have to keep the look of happiness, you know. Very common in my country, suicide of young men. I fight depression, not with pills, with my own energy. At least, I try.’

  ‘You’re very strong,’ I whispered. ‘But you know, there’s no shame in asking for help.’

  ‘I have help. You make me see things different. I want to work hard now, to make success.’

  ‘Have I really helped you?’ I contemplated this with pleasurable disbelief. What had I done to deserve this “life-changer” accolade?

  His forehead touched mine, his nose following suit. ‘Yes.’

  There was so much I wanted to say back to him – that he had helped me, and how, and why, and was this it? Or is there a future for us? And if so, what can it possibly be? But he shut off all the questioning with a kiss, a sincere if slightly soapy snog. I breathed it all in, as if it might be my last. It might be, for all that.

  Once we were flat on the bed, all my concerns about the bedroom décor melted into the larger reality of my desires. Who can be distracted by an antique lamp when a handsome man looms over you, erection in full proud glory? The dusty wine-coloured velvet drapes were irrelevant beside the lips, the eyes, the sighs, the sights and sounds and scent of my beloved.

  I gave in, too avid for more of him to care about anything else. I didn’t need lightning for his touch to ignite me from nipples to clit, didn’t need thunder to wrap myself around him and press into his hard cock. There was no rain, but it didn’t stop us devouring each other like famished creatures while the bedsprings creaked and groaned.

  ‘I want you,’ he said, over and again. ‘I want you.’

  The words didn’t sound glib or practised. They sounded as if they came from a place inside him, hidden behind the insouciant playboy façade, only coming out under the stress of fervent emotion.

  When he held me down, his eyes were sad, a little bit stunned. I ducked my head up to kiss him and spread wide my legs. You want me, you can have me. This was the message, loud and clear.

  He read it, donning the condom and entering me with a rhythmic slowness, quite different from the frantic coupling in the ruin. He watched me as he slid in, eyes pinning me. I could almost hear his heart, or was it mine? Hammering with goading speed.

  He ignored its rush and steadied himself, braced with his palms flat either side of my shoulder, his hair curling down and brushing my forehead, his body merging with mine.

  Once I had him inside me, I exhaled and let my lips find the approximation of a smile. He still looked awed and scared, but he tried to mirror it, succeeding after a minute or two. I put my arms around his neck.

  ‘I want you,’ I said.

  We gave each other, slowly and deliberately, making sure the pleasure was maximised. We made sure each stroke was accompanied with kisses and caresses and nudges and rubs. We moved together in the darkness, each knowing what the other needed instinctively.

  When my body’s responses meshed to form the beginnings of climax, he lifted my thighs just enough to speed the process, making his thrusts correspondingly deeper, though keeping them tightly controlled.

  My pleasure, when it came, was so primal and yet so delicate. Sounds I didn’t recognise as my own voice came from my throat, I felt myself unlocked, unleashed, and also possessed. I had the lover I was meant to have, at last.

  His gift to me came soon afterwards – a growly, manly orgasm that nonetheless had at its core a piercing vulnerability.

  I cradled him and we rocked together on the gentle waves of afterglow while the rain gushed steadily outside.

  Why had I had to come here to give my heart? Why had this had to happen?

  We slept for hours, awoken only by the jarring bleep of my mobile phone. I had to go to the bathroom to find it, flashing away amidst a pile of still-wet clothes. Naked and shivering, I picked it up, registering the time – after five – and that the caller was Jodie.

  ‘Jo?’

  ‘Ah, you’re still alive then.’

  ‘Of course. What’s up?’

  ‘I think you should come back to the flat.’

  ‘Do you? Why?’

  ‘Please, just come back. And …’ She lowered her voice to a stage-whisper, ‘Probably best if you come alone, yeah?’

  ‘What? What’s happening?’

  But she had ended the call.

  While I was frowning at the phone, a sleepy János materialised behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, ducking down to examine the screen for clues.

  ‘Everything is OK?’

  ‘I’m not sure. That was Jodie, sounding very mysterious. She wants me to go back to the flat right away.’

  ‘She don’t say why?’

  ‘No. But she said I should go alone.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He held on to me for just long enough for my stomach to give a spectacular rumble. ‘This is a long thunderstorm,’ he joked. I elbowed him in the ribs.

  ‘No, but you must eat first. You are hungry. Come to the kitchen.’

  He made me pancakes – or palacsinta, as he called them – while my feeling of uneasiness over the phone call grew and grew.

  ‘I wish Jodie had told me what the rush was. I think I’m going to call her back.’

  ‘You want I come with you?’ János slid a plate of crepes filled with cream and walnuts in front of me.

  ‘I don’t understand why it would be so important that I was alone. I’m definitely going to call her.’

  ‘Eat first.’

  He had a point. Yapping on the phone and eating rich food at the same time probably wouldn’t help my digestion. Obediently, I downed the delicious pancakes while János sat opposite me, wiping stray drops of cream from my lips with a considerate finger.

  I felt so relaxed with him. I had never felt this relaxed with a man before. We ate our palacsinta with stupid blissful grins on our faces. If I wasn’t one of the lovey-dovey gooey-eyed people involved in the scene, I might have felt a bit sick.

  ‘OK. I’m calling her.’ I punched in Jodie’s number, my stomach lurching a little, and not just because of all the cream and sugar in it.

  She didn’t pick up. She didn’t pick up the next time I dialled either. My text message remained unanswered.

  ‘OK, so now I’m freaking out,’ I muttered.

  János took my hand. ‘I come with you. I don’t let you walk through the Nyocker alone besides.’

  ‘Anyway,’ I corrected without thinking, my mind on a variety of dark and hideous scenarios. ‘Thanks. Thanks for coming with me.’

  ‘No thanking. Of course I come with you.’

  The rain had stopped but my clothes were still uncomfortably damp, so over my skirt I wore a dry shirt
from the wardrobe, buttoning it loosely over my braless body. Whatever was going on at Jodie’s flat, I hoped my lack of underwear wouldn’t be noticed. If only we hadn’t been so focused on each other – maybe we would have thought to put the clothes out to dry. That was unrestrained passion for you, though.

  People were back in the crumbling streets of the Eighth district. We passed the derelict site of János’ potential romkocsma, but it didn’t have the same romantic cast I’d given it in my mind. It looked like a death trap.

  Everywhere János was hailed by shuffling elderly people and swaggering youths alike as they passed us by, most of them shooting me a curious look while they gabbled in Hungarian. The glad-handing didn’t stop until we were well on our way up the main drag towards Jodie’s apartment.

  ‘You seem popular,’ I commented, aiming to calm the riot in my stomach by indulging in some light conversation.

  ‘I know these people a long time. I have plans to give jobs to young people without jobs – they will work in my bar, or help to build, you know? It’s important. I want to help my local people.’

  ‘I really hope it works out for you.’

  What I’d wanted to say was I really hope I can help you with that.

  But how could I? I couldn’t stay in Budapest. I had a job and parents and student loans and rental agreements all waiting for me back in England. Not to mention … a past. This might be a fairy tale romance, but it was unlikely to end with me living happily ever after.

  At the corner of Jodie’s street, I found myself saying, with explosive spontaneity, ‘God, I really do like you a lot. I really do, you know.’

  He stopped walking, laughed, took me in his arms. ‘Of course I do too,’ he said. ‘You are my ruby, my little red jewel.’

  ‘Not really red.’

  ‘Not really red,’ he conceded. ‘But beautiful.’

  Nobody had ever called me that. ‘Don’t be daft. I’m not beautiful.’

  He tutted, tapped my nose with an admonitory finger. ‘You don’t say bad about yourself.’