A Brit Complicated

by Brenda St John Brown

  “And I need to get back to my mum.” Despite no longer having his arms around me, Bradley’s still standing right in front of me, too close for me to move away gracefully. “Thank you again for bringing me up. I appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” Bradley moves and I take the opportunity to scoot away. His fingers catch mine just before I move out of reach. “I’ll look forward to seeing you when you get back, Scarlett.”

  He means it. I can tell by his expression.

  “Thank you. Me, too.” I mean it, too. I just hope my expression is a little more neutral.

  “I’ll line up some Bollywood classics for you.” Bradley tugs me to him. His kiss is quick, almost chaste.

  But the smile that follows is warm enough to make me say, “I look forward to being introduced to the films of your youth.”

  “Hey, they were part of what made me the man I am today.” This time when Bradley kisses me, he lingers. “Where do you think I learned all my best moves?”

  This time, it’s me who laughs. Loud and with my head thrown back. “In that case, I owe a big debt to old Bollywood.” I kiss him one more time, then say, “You need to go. Drive safe, okay?”

  “Always, beautiful.” Bradley gets into the car and puts the window down as he starts the engine. “Take care of your mom, and if you need anything…”

  “Thank you.” I would never call. There are at least three people I’d call before Bradley if I need something while I’m here.

  But as I walk back into the hospital after waving goodbye, I realize the list of people ahead of him is smaller than I thought. Claire, Tara, Tom, Bradley. In that order. Considering a week ago he wasn’t even on the list, it’s a hell of a jump.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The week at Castle Calder alternates between boring as hell because we don’t have many guests in and super stressful because Mum tries to do everything she normally does and acts like a cranky four-year-old when she can’t. No wonder by the time Saturday night dinner service is done, I’m downing a gin and tonic like it’s water as I help Lou finish cleaning up in the kitchen.

  For her part, Lou’s been a saint. And a sanity saver. She shoos Mum out of the kitchen, where she’s been perched on a stool watching us, and I let out a long sigh of relief. “Lou, I’m sorry. I know you’re going to have to deal with her, but I’m afraid if I don’t leave tomorrow I’ll kill her.”

  Lou chuckles. “Your mum’s just not used to not being able to help, so she’s doing what she thinks she needs to do.”

  “She’s interfering in everything is what she’s doing.” I shove a pot in the dishwasher a little harder than I need to. “She’s supposed to be resting.”

  Lou puts a hand on her hip. “Would you be resting? I’m not sure it’s the St Julien way.”

  “It’s not.” I sigh again. “And I know I’m being horrible. I’m just frustrated because I stayed to help, but she’s not making it easy.”

  “Well, I’m sure missing work doesn’t help with all you’ve got on there. Have you heard from your boss?”

  Lou gleaned pretty quickly that the guy standing in the kitchen with me that first morning was my boss. But, in typical Lou fashion, she hasn’t pushed for details, even though she was the one who tidied up the family apartment before we brought Mum home from the hospital. Meaning she knows there was one bed slept in.

  A bed which has seen some action, despite the distance between Bradley and me. The first night he texted me at 11:30 and we traded texts for an hour. It’s gotten longer and later every night. And way steamier.

  I nod to Lou. “He’s been in touch. I’ve been trying to do some work while I’m here.”

  “It sounds like you’re doing well there.” I’ve known Lou long enough to know she’s fishing. She would never in a million years ask directly, but there’s a note of caution in her voice.

  “I think I am. And don’t worry. Please. This thing between Bradley and me isn’t what you think.”

  “No?” Lou raises an eyebrow.

  “It’s just a bit of fun. I know the work situation makes it tricky, but we both have a very clear view of what this is and isn’t.” My voice is firm.

  “Both of you?”

  I’m tempted to ask which one of us she doesn’t think is on board with that plan, but I don’t. Instead, I give one sharp nod. “Yes. Both of us. Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

  Lou lets me drop the subject, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a seed planted in my head. When I flop on the sofa next to Mum in the family apartment an hour later, I’m still stewing about it.

  Mum puts her hand on my knee. “You okay? You seem frustrated.”

  “I’m just thinking about something. How are you? Are you going to promise me you’re not going to overdo it when I leave? Because if you won’t promise me that, I can’t leave.”

  “I’ve kept you long enough.” Mum squeezes my knee. “Not that I haven’t appreciated you being here, but you have a life and a job to get back to. I’m sure your boss is eager to have you back in the office.”

  I listen for any double entendre, but there is none. Still, I don’t want my mother to take silence as an invitation to pry, so I say, “I’ve been keeping up with things from here, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  “Your boss seems nice.” This is the same thing Mum said on Tuesday when I walked back into the hospital room after saying goodbye to Bradley. Then I was rescued by the doctor on rounds, but now there’s no one in sight. Even Dad’s downstairs at the bar.

  “He’s fine. We had a rocky start, but it’s better now.” I keep my tone neutral.

  “It was lovely of him to bring you all this way.” Mum’s tone matches mine.

  “He would have done it for any of his employees, I think.” I believe this. If Len from IT called Bradley in the same scenario, I have no doubt he’d have done the same. Minus sharing a bed and a shower.

  “I’m sure I remember you calling him some less-than-flattering names.”

  I dare to glance at Mum and there’s a hint of a smile on her face. I have to smile, too. “I feel a give-everyone-a-fair-chance lecture coming on.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of be careful with your heart.” There’s no smile now.

  My own smile vanishes, too. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s obviously a spark between you, but workplace relationships can be complicated.”

  I’m not sure what to respond to first. “Bradley and I don’t have a relationship.”

  “Flirtation. Dalliance. Whatever word you want to use. I wasn’t born yesterday, Scarlett.” Mum gives me ‘the look.’ She claims it’s something all women develop the minute they become mothers, but Jaz always says our mum is a Jedi master. He’s so right.

  And I am a mere apprentice with shoddy resistance. Still, I give it my all. “I think if you want to ask me a question, Mum, you should just ask.”

  Challenge accepted. “Are you involved with your boss?”

  I know better than to delay based on semantics, even though I really, really want to ask what she means by ‘involved.’ Instead I make myself look her in the eye and say, “Yes.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  I haven’t thought about it in those terms. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing you don’t.”

  “I’m just wondering what you think will happen when it runs its course and you still have to work together.”

  “I think we’re both adults and one need not impact the other.” I shrug. “It’s pretty casual, Mum.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Another look from Mum. “I know you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You like him. And you respect him. He’s not your normal type.”

  Well, no. My normal type is artistic, creative, bohemian. Pretty much the anti-Bradley.

  “You don’t usually think much of my type.” I raise my eyebrows. “Have you had a change of heart, or is it that Bradley’s more respectable t
han my usual dates?”

  “I want you to be happy, Scarlett. That’s always been the case, regardless of whom you choose to date.” Mum squeezes my knee. “But I’m wondering if maybe you’re the one who’s had a change of heart.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think you’re happy with him and that’s new.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug. “But don’t get your heart set on him, Mum. Like I said, it’s casual.”

  Mom makes a noise in the back of her throat like she doesn’t quite believe me, but lets it slide. Which is a good thing. Because I’m not sure I quite believe me either right now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I text Bradley as the train pulls into the station. Arriving in Euston.

  His reply is immediate: I’ve got Bollywood ready and waiting.

  I smile at my phone. Apologies in advance if we don’t watch the film.

  Him: No apologies necessary. I’m counting on it.

  Me too. So much that I splurge and take a taxi, even though the tube stops three blocks away from his flat. I tell myself I’m not impatient to see him as much as I’m impatient for an orgasm. Because even though I’ve taken matters into my own hands – both with and without Bradley on the other end of the phone – it’s not the same as giving over to his hands.

  Or his tongue.

  Or his cock.

  By the time I ring the bell, my knickers are damp with anticipation, despite telling myself I’m being a bit ridiculous. It’s not like I haven’t had sex before. It’s not even like I’ve gone without sex before. I have, and for much longer than a week. But I’ve never had a week of long-distance foreplay and now I’m more than ready for the real thing.

  Bradley buzzes me up and I take the lift so I don’t have to manage my case on the flight of stairs. I don’t even knock on his door before he opens it. And I freeze, my right hand raised, fingers curled into a fist.

  The force of him, in person here in front of me, hits me like a runaway train and my first thought is – FaceTime doesn’t do him justice at all. He’s had a haircut since I last saw him in person, but his stubble game is strong. His gray T-shirt hugs his chest and he wears blue nylon basketball shorts, which do nothing to hide his reaction to seeing me.

  I widen my eyes. “Hi there. It’s nice to see you.”

  He holds out his hand for mine and pulls me into his flat, slamming the door behind me with his bare foot and tugging me against his chest. “Nice isn’t the word I would use.”

  I weave my fingers through his hair. “No? What word would you prefer?”

  “No words at all.”

  Then his lips are on mine and he kisses me so hard I’ll be surprised if my lips aren’t bruised tomorrow. But I moan into his mouth and urge him on because it’s not enough. Even when the buttons fly off my shirt as he tries to get it off me, it’s not enough. I scratch at his back as I lift his T-shirt over his head, and being skin-to-skin makes me crazy with need.

  “I want you right now,” I gasp. The door is behind us and that will work just fine.

  Bradley’s fingers slip open the button on my jeans and tug my zipper down, pushing my jeans down my legs until I step out of them. His finger slides down until he touches my wet center and he inhales sharply. “My self-control isn’t at an all-time high right now.”

  I push his shorts down. He’s not wearing underwear and his cock springs free and I wrap my fingers around it. “I’ve been wanting you for a week. Who’s asking for self-control?”

  “Jesus Christ, Scarlett.” Bradley lifts my hips and I wrap my legs around his waist. I’m a tall girl and being lifted off the ground doesn’t happen very often, but Bradley’s more than up to the task. He backs me against the door and reaches for a condom in the bowl with the keys. I see at least two more.

  I can’t help grinning. “Wow, you’re prepared.”

  “I wasn’t even sure we’d make it into my apartment.” Bradley grins back at me and rolls the condom on, teasing at my entrance with the tip of his cock.

  “Technically, we’re in.”

  Bradley enters me in one smooth motion and I gasp. “No, now we’re in. Touch yourself, Scarlett. I want you fast and hard.”

  Your wish is my command. I put my hand between us and move my fingers over my clit as Bradley starts to move inside of me. I’m so primed, so close, I’m already writhing after a minute, looking for release. Bradley’s so hard and deep inside of me that I know I won’t last long, and I let my head fall back against the door, my eyes closed.

  “Open your eyes and look at me.” Bradley’s voice is a low growl and I do it. “I want to see you when you come. All of you.”

  I don’t know if it’s the command in his voice or a combination of the way my hand and his cock are moving together, but that’s all it takes and I shatter. He pumps into me and his release comes twenty seconds later.

  He holds my gaze the whole time.

  It’s erotic. And sensual. And intimate. So intimate I want to look away, but I don’t, even as he puts my feet back on the floor.

  He leans down and kisses me. “Now it’s nice to see you. Come on in.”

  I glance at our clothes strewn around the foyer. “Should I get dressed first?”

  “Absolutely not.” He leads me by the hand into the living room.

  The shades are drawn and there are small bowls and plates on the low coffee table, although I can’t tell what’s on them. The big TV is on, but the sound is off. I turn to Bradley. “What’s this?”

  “I got delivery from Bhaati. I figured it would go well with your Bollywood education.”

  “Really?” I squeeze his fingers. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “I thought we might work up an appetite.” Bradley lets go of my hand and draws me close again. “Plus, you can’t watch a good Bollywood film without food.”

  “How about a bad Bollywood film?”

  “As if.” He rolls his eyes and gestures to the couch. “Sit. I’ll get the food.”

  “I can help,” I start.

  He points to the couch. “I know you can, but I insist.”

  Okay. In my experience, when a guy insists on doing all the work, you let him. I sit on the couch and pull a soft velvety throw over my legs. It’s not cold, but I have a strong urge to snuggle.

  One that grows as the night goes on. Bradley and I eat the Indian appetizers he’s ordered and then tangle up under the blanket to watch the film. Midway through, we start kissing and miss most of the rest of the movie, but somehow we manage to turn our attention back to the TV in time for the end. As expected, the end is a lot of dancing and water and smiles directed right at the camera, and I can’t help noticing Bradley’s smiling, too, as the credits roll.

  “You love this, don’t you?”

  He doesn’t even look embarrassed as he says, “I told you. It was such a big part of my youth, I can’t help it. You have to admit, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be.”

  “The film?” I give him a pretend scowl. “I never said I had anything against Bollywood.”

  “You still haven’t said you liked it,” he notes.

  Well, no. Truthfully, I could take or leave the film. It’s the rest I liked. The fact that Bradley had the forethought to order food in. The snuggling up. The feeling of his bare legs tangled with mine. The sex in the middle.

  “Okay, fine. I did like it.” I’m not talking about the film and I half-wonder if Bradley knows it. “Happy now?”

  “Very.” He leans down to kiss the tip of my nose and I can’t help thinking he’s not talking about the film either.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I walk into work on Monday morning eagle-eyed for Tara or Tom, but the first person I see is Bradley. Who looks super stressed as he approaches.

  “I have a problem.” His voice is tight and I stand up straighter in response. “Can you come into my office, please?”

  Crap. Does he have a problem or do we have a problem?

  My mind races as I f
ollow him across the floor to the glass castle. Did someone find out about us? Or has he decided that this thing between us is completely inappropriate? But it would be a pretty dramatic change from last night.

  He closes the door behind me and pinches the bridge of his nose. My pulse kicks up another notch because it looks like he’s bracing himself for something. I open my mouth to speak, but I’ll never know what I was about to say because he says, “I need your help.” He pauses. “Please.”

  Okay, not what I was expecting. “Um, sure. What?”

  “It’s awkward and I apologize in advance.” He looks so uncomfortable, my pulse rises again. If it keeps up like this, I’m going to need a damn defibrillator.

  “Okay?”

  “The pipe under my kitchen sink broke this morning.”

  Bradley pauses long enough for me to say, “I’m sorry?”

  “I’ve called the plumber and they can be there at ten. Unfortunately, the building manager isn’t returning my calls and I have a meeting scheduled with Westfield at ten.”

  “The people who design shopping malls?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Bradley nods once and I feel his frustration at my question, but kudos to him, he keeps a lid on it. “But the problem is there’s no one at my apartment to let the plumber in, and I’m wondering if you could do me a favor and work from my place this morning to be there for them?”

  “You want me to let the plumber in?” I’m sure I sound daft, but this is so far from what I was imagining, I’m having a hard time processing it.

  “I had to turn off the water to the whole apartment. There’s a valve under the sink, right near where the water was spraying out, which I found this morning when the water was spraying out.” Bradley almost smiles. “I might be able to turn the water back on and not use the kitchen sink, but I’m not positive.”

  “And the management company isn’t responding to your calls.” I get it. I do. But one question. “Why me?”

  “Because I trust you.” Bradley’s tone is just short of well, duh, but it changes. “I’m not asking you because you’re a woman or because we have a personal relationship.”