“That’s ridiculous. I can’t, I’d feel a complete prat.”
“So be a prat,” she said stiffly. “It’s all I can think of.”
“There you go, being nice to me again.”
“I’m not. I’m being practical.” A pause, then she said cautiously, “D’you, er, want me to come home with you?”
He unfolded his arms, brought one hand to catch hers where it pressed his upper arm. Now he looked at her, and the cold fire in his eyes changed, turning hot and intense. The look was more demonic than tender. “There’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
“I only meant . . .”
“I know, love. No, I don’t need to you hold my hand. But thanks. You’re certainly helping to take my mind off it.”
The burning pressure of his eyes melted into her. She felt herself rise to meet it, aware of the danger yet unafraid—not able to resist, either. That was all it took, the unbreakable gaze. It dissolved the world. She was inclining towards him so it only took the slightest shift and she was leaning into him, her body pressed along his. Too easy. Let’s carry on where we left off. His hands slipped around her, warm on the small of her back. Hers slid under his coat and shirt, onto the heated skin beneath and that was unambiguous, you didn’t delve under someone’s clothes and caress their naked back unless you were thinking Gods, yes, I want you now . . .
Rosie became someone else in the dark. No ties, no conscience. No more words.
Sam’s hand enfolded the nape of her neck. She stood on tiptoe as he leaned towards her and the kiss began, hot and sweet as honeyed opium. She opened her mouth to him. Pulses of golden electricity shot through her.
For a long time they only kissed. It was too delicious to stop. After a time, it grew deeper and hungrier. The feeling was hot and dark, flooding her from head to toe. Slow at first . . . then a deluge. They were drowning in it. This time she would not push him away, couldn’t. Sam groaned. As their eyes met, he seemed as astonished as she was.
She’d wondered how it would be a second time, oh gods, yes, thought about it all the time, and now she was starving to find out, so aroused from imagining it and now from his hardness and the heat of his mouth, the urge was uncontrollable. Dimly she was aware that they were reeling along the wall, clutching at each other, devouring.
Sam dragged her into a doorway behind a shop. He braced himself across it, leaning back, pulling her over him to straddle his hips even as they fought with clothing. It was that urgent, that crude. She was already sliding onto him, couldn’t wait. He pulled her hard against him and the sensations were beyond heaven, so delicate yet so extreme. The roughness of fabric against her thighs contrasted astonishingly with the delicious fire where their bodies were joined.
Some confounded part of her mind wondered what she was doing with a creature who hung about drinking whiskey in alleys, who was haunted by the corpse of someone he’d killed, who reduced her life to wretched chaos . . .
Who was now turning her inside out with the most intense orgasm she’d ever experienced. It sucked all the breath out of her. As she came back down, Sam moved slowly, minimally under her. He looked straight into her eyes as he came, didn’t even blink, only caught and held her soul with his gaze.
Enveloped by the velvety darkness she felt safe. No one could see them . . . unless they had Aetherial eyesight. Her legs were shaking so hard she couldn’t stand, let alone climb off. She became aware of bare bricks, the door with its chipped paint and grime. How sordid this was. Utterly, unredeemably sordid.
Then it started to rain.
Sam held her up. His face was radiant with a faint smile of disbelief and, perhaps, a hint of smugness. “You’re incredible,” he breathed. He slipped one hand under her jacket to stroke her waist. “Rosie . . .”
“This was not meant to happen,” she said helplessly.
“No, really? There I was thinking it was part of my rehabilitation.”
“Don’t. It’s not funny. It’s awful.”
“I know. Never tried it in a doorway before. I think I’m stuck. What if they find us like this in the morning?”
“Yes, that would be hilarious,” she said.
That’s it, we’ve crossed the line, she thought. Once might be written off as a forgivable mistake. Twice, and it’s deliberate. I don’t know how to put the barriers back between us. The barriers are gone, like a bridge washed away in a flood, and I’m lost.
“Gods,” she groaned, dropping her head. He pushed back her hair.
“Hey,” he said. Then he began to kiss her, all over her lips, cheeks, temples, neck, the kisses so delicate and tender she came close to dissolving.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She meant the tenderness, not the sex.
“Why are you letting me?”
She couldn’t answer.
“You’re a mystery, love. You give your heart to my brother and the rest of yourself to Mr. Safe. I’m like a stray dog that came within an inch of being put down. What are you doing with me?”
“This is just sex.”
“Is that all it is?” he asked, very soft.
“It can’t be anything else. You know that.”
“Well, I’m not complaining. If that’s the case . . . When am I going to see you naked, Rosie?”
“Never. No way. That is definitely not going to happen.”
At last she found the strength to climb off him, without much grace. He tried for a moment to keep her there, then let her go with a sigh. She smoothed her skirt, Sam zipped his jeans. Then it was as if nothing had happened. Again.
“Why not? Have you got a terrifying birthmark? Goat legs? A giant tattoo of Shrek? I don’t care, love.”
“It’s not happening,” she repeated.
“Right,” he said. “Because if we only do it fully clothed, it doesn’t count?”
Rosie said nothing, only looked at the falling rain. Sam put his arm around her shoulders. “Can we go for a drink?” he asked, without much hope in his voice.
“I should be getting back.”
“Let me walk you home, at least.”
“My car’s only . . . Two sips of whiskey won’t put me over the limit, will it?” They walked in silence, getting wet. As they reached the car, she said formally, “D’you want me to drive you to Stonegate?”
“Only if you’re going to stay there with me.”
“You know I can’t.”
He nodded, resigned. “No, I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.”
“I can’t argue with that,” she said, with a glimmer of a smile. She looked into his eyes. “Promise me you’ll go home, Sam.”
“I promise.”
It was something he had to do alone, he knew.
The last thing Sam wanted was to return to Stonegate, but because he’d promised Rosie, he went. And to drag it out, he walked. Only six miles, a good hour and a half to think about her.
Sam had done his best to keep away from her, even though it had almost killed him. She was always in his mind; her hair moving like glass on satin, the chestnut strands lit with sparks of red and gold . . . expressive rosy lips, silver-grey eyes shining from plum and kohl shadow. Her face, shining across table four: the light of his world. Even angry, she was so luscious. Her eyelashes, fluttering and falling as she gasped against him, and the heat of her body through her wedding dress . . .
Rosie working in her garden, her petite body all taut curves. Sweaty and earthy, she looked better than all his fantasies put together. Who could see those beads of sweat on her throat and not want to lick them away?
Rosie working in her garden, her petite body all taut curves. Sweaty and earthy, she looked better than all his fantasies put together. Who could see those beads of sweat on her throat and not want to lick them away?
Of course, they’d been bound to meet again. Only a question of where and when. Taken him by surprise, though, how hard she made his heart beat. How hard she made everything, in fact . . . And tonight, floating out of nowhere, autumn-brown and ra
gged like a wood nymph. Her mouth tried to say no, but her eyes said yes . . .
Why am I treating her like this? he wondered. I’m supposed to love her. I should be sending flowers and love letters from afar, I should respect her wishes and keep away. I should not be screwing her in alleyways. Does she get love from me? No, she gets insults, sarcasm and filthy rough sex up against walls. No wonder she despises me. Why am I doing it?
Because it might be all of her I’m ever going to get.
He was home. He looked up at Stonegate’s forbidding frontage and his soul failed. With a sigh he fumbled for his key and let himself in as quietly as possible so the creaking of the door would not wake his father and Sapphire.
The apparition was there as he’d left it, spread-eagled on its back in the great hall. He saw it clearly in a faint wash of moonlight. Reaching it, Sam stared down at the bloated limbs, the luminous pallor of the skin. The hands were flung outwards, fingers fat and softly curved. The eyes were half-open, watching him.
“Look, Gary,” said Sam. “I’m sorry I knifed you through the gut. Just get over it, okay? Oh, this is fucking ridiculous.”
He paced up and down. He was cold, heartsick and close to unraveling. He thought of Rosie. After a while, he forced himself to calm down and try again.
He lit five candles around the body; one each at feet, hands and head. He sat cross-legged at the feet, watching the eerie play of light on cyanosed skin. It was the first time he’d simply sat with the corpse instead of cursing it and running away. After a time he began to speak.
“I call on the powers of Elysion, Sibeyla, Naamon, Melusiel and Asru to protect this space. I call on the powers of Aether to bear witness.” He paused, realizing that however foolish he felt, it didn’t matter. “Look, mate. I truly am sorry. You took a risk and you came off worst; it could have gone the other way. You know that, don’t you? Yeah, you probably didn’t deserve to die. Wrong place, wrong time. But I’ll tell you something, I am never going down this road again. I don’t want to be a killer. You taught me that, if nothing else.” Sam settled there, ready to keep a long vigil. “Right, I’m just going to sit here with you now. You’re not alone anymore. I’m not going until you do. We’ll see which one of us can last the night, shall we?”
Rosie tried several times to phone Sam over the next week. The first time, to her dismay, it was Sapphire on the other end. “I’m afraid Sam’s not in, dear,” Sapphire answered, sweetly smooth, a world of speculation in her tone.
“Has he got a mobile?”
“If he has, I don’t know the number. Is it about Jon?” Her voice became too interested. “You can tell me.”
Rosie hesitated, cursing the fact that Sapphire had proved a false friend. She wouldn’t trust her with the weather forecast. “No. Jon’s fine,” she said, switching to icy briskness. “If you see Sam, would you ask him to call me at work?”
“Of course,” came the bright answer, but Sam never called. She only wanted to make sure he was okay. That was all.
Now she sat at her computer, aimlessly moving digital trees around a ground plan to look busy. She couldn’t concentrate. The background murmur of the office seemed far away. How ridiculous to worry about Sam, when it was Faith who needed her; yet she couldn’t stop. Matthew and Alastair were on the far side of the room, talking to a group of colleagues. Their chatter washed in and out of her awareness.
Then someone breathed on the back of her neck. “Hey, you.”
Rosie jumped, shocked out of her reverie. Sam was standing behind her, grinning. She swiveled her chair to face him. Relief flashed through her, followed by the usual thrill of panic.
“God, what are you doing here?”
“It worked, Rosie. It worked!” He was pale with tiredness but his eyes sparkled and she saw the teasing white gleam of his smile. The sleeves of his black denim jacket were rolled back and he held a folded newspaper under one arm. “I did what you said. Five nights I sat up with that bloody corpse. Sixth dawn, he faded and vanished. I waited a couple of days to be sure, but—you know how when you’re certain of something, you feel it right in here?” He put a fist to his chest. “It’s over.”
She became aware that his arrival had caused a mild stir. All her female coworkers—not to mention a couple of the men—had stopped work to check him out. She saw the general exchange of glances and suggestive smiles between them.
“I’m so glad to hear it, but Sam—”
He rested on the edge of her desk, face alight with pleasure. “I had to come and tell you. Thanks so much, Rosie. I know I sneered, but you were right. I can’t thank you enough.”
“It’s okay,” she said, leaning towards him. “But—”
“I think it was a—a sort of Aetheric balancing. Not a haunting, not guilt, but something . . . higher. Like a trial. I had to face up to what happened until he was ready to go. And I got through it, because of you.”
“And I want to hear all about it—but not here.” She scanned the office. Matthew was staring, to her dismay. “I meant you to phone me, not actually turn up.”
He looked puzzled. “How d’you mean, phone?”
“You know, the plastic device with the buttons? Didn’t Sapphire tell you I called?”
He frowned. “No, she didn’t.”
“Bitch,” said Rosie. “I might have known!”
“You phoned me?” he said, face lighting up. “You phoned me?”
She saw Matthew and Alastair heading back towards their workstations. Smart trousers, shirt sleeves, all easy confidence. Surely they must be able to hear what Sam was saying. She tensed like a bird about to take flight, no idea what to say or do. “Yes,” she whispered. “I was worried.”
“Bloody hell. I didn’t know you cared. I would’ve called straight away if I’d known, but I had to tell you face-to-face.”
“Not here, you shouldn’t be here,” she said through her teeth.
“Why not? If you’ve got a guilty conscience, no one knows it but you.” He lifted one eyebrow, half-teasing and half-sinister. He leaned closer. “I’ve got a perfectly legitimate reason for being here.”
“You have?”
“So stop acting as if there’s a big screen over your head replaying your naughty secrets.”
“Samuel!” Matthew called cheerfully, “How the devil are you?”
“I’m great, thanks.” Sam settled more firmly on the edge of her desk and folded his arms.
“How’s life on the outside?” Matthew’s voice was pitched to carry. The hum of the office faded as everyone pretended not to listen. “I’ll bet you miss the old institutional lifestyle. Must admit, you’re looking fit on prison food; they obviously fed you too well in there.”
“Oh, you know. Had to keep myself in trim,” Sam said quietly, eyes narrow. “Survival of the fittest.”
“Well, it’s great to see you. Alastair, you remember Sam, don’t you?”
“Oh, aye, we’ve met quite recently.” Alastair stood next to Matthew, sharing the same belligerent stance—feet apart, hands resting loose and low on the hips—and the same mocking smile.
“Which reminds me,” said Matt, “any chance of you removing your scrounging brother from Rosie’s house?”
“That’s Rosie’s decision.”
“She’s too softhearted,” said Alastair. “Wouldn’t mind if Jon would do an honest day’s work and pay his way.”
“Ah, well, that runs in the family,” Matt said jovially. “Neither of them have done an honest day’s work in their lives, that I can remember. Correct me if I’m wrong, Sam. Jon’s a dropout. Only university Sam made was Her Majesty’s university of hard labor.”
Sam simply looked at him. Aggression hung so heavy in the air, Rosie was tempted to make a remark about bottling and selling it. When had Alastair become Matthew’s henchman? He couldn’t match Matthew’s effete venom, but his attack was more subtle, a quiet goading and smirking.
“As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here,” said Sam. He
unfolded the newspaper he’d brought. “Situations vacant. ‘Gardener to assist busy landscaping arm of the East Midlands’ premier house builder, Fox Homes. Experience not necessary as full training will be given.’ Broke plenty of rocks on the chain gang, didn’t I? Well . . . dug the prison garden, anyway.”
“You’ve got to be joking.” Matt looked stunned. “Christ, man, you must be desperate.”
“Oh, I am,” Sam said grimly. “You try finding employment after you’ve been jailed for murder.”
The office went absolutely silent.
“Manslaughter, I thought it was,” blundered Alastair.
Sam shrugged. “Whatever.”
“You’re seriously here begging Rosie for a job?” Matthew threw his head back and laughed. “That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s how desperate I am.” Sam smiled thinly. He gave both men an icy look. Matthew went on smirking, but Rosie saw sweat break out on his forehead.
“Well, I wish you all the best,” he said. “However, surely she’s explained that you need to fill in an application form, and ripping it up would give us all a damn good laugh.”
“No, it’s all right,” Rosie said, standing up. She was so angry with Matt and Alastair she could hardly speak. “Are you serious, Sam?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking startled. “I want to work.”
She knew she was taking a huge risk, that it was crazy to make a split-second decision based on anger, but their attitude deserved no less than a sharp, cold slap. “All right, I’ll give you a trial.”
“What?” said all three men together.
“I’m giving him a chance,” she hissed. “I’m taking him to the site right now. And you two ought to be bloody well ashamed of yourselves.”
_________
“This is it,” she said, jumping out of the truck. “Five-bedroom show home, the star attraction. It has to sell the dream lifestyle, inside and out. When the viewers look out of the back windows, they’ll see a perfect little fairy glen, fall in love and never want to leave.”
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