‘Slavedriver.’ He heaved an exaggerated sigh, but then grinned and dropped a kiss on her hair before throwing off the shirt he’d worn over a charcoal-grey T-shirt, ready to begin.
While they worked, they talked about the party and the show, Georgine melting chocolate and butter together, Joe placing what he’d washed and dried within her reach on the counter. Whenever she glanced his way his eyes seemed to be on her. Despite their mundane tasks and idle chatter, she felt as if she could reach out and touch the tension.
The flexing of Joe’s soapy arms kept capturing her attention. The edges of the tattoo she’d noticed in the past peeped from beneath a sleeve. She imagined something tribal, or a snake or eagle’s wings. Maybe when the last batch of brownies were baked she’d ask him to show her …
She must have made her distraction obvious because suddenly she realised that he’d stopped speaking. Stopped working. She lifted her eyes to find his intent gaze trained on her face. Slowly, he stepped closer, hands dripping soap suds on the floor. He tilted his head to press hot lips to her neck, tasting her skin with the tip of his tongue.
Her eyes closed.
Ting! Ting! Ting!
‘The second batch of brownies is ready,’ she breathed.
He laughed against her skin. ‘Georgine, I swear, the universe conspires against us.’
But he stepped back and they returned to baking, cutting into rectangles each slab of moist brownie. The short daylight hours of winter had passed already and it was dark outside now. She felt cosy and warm in the kitchen with him.
It was when she’d just poured the final batch of mixture into the baking tins that the lights of the kitchen flickered once, twice, and went out. She squeaked in alarm, looking at where she thought the kitchen window would be. There were no lights from nearby houses or the street lights she could usually see peeping between roofs. ‘Power cut. I hope it doesn’t last long.’
Carefully feeling her way along the counter, she giggled. ‘I’m disorientated already. Where’s the sink? I want to wash this cake mixture off my hands before I get it everywhere.’
A warm, bare arm brushed hers. Then a hand found hers and carried it to his mouth. ‘Oh!’ she breathed at the incredible sensation of him nibbling and licking the cake mix from her skin as the darkness pressed in on them.
‘You were already driving me mad,’ he murmured. ‘And now you taste of chocolate. I’m not sure I can stand much more.’
She laughed, then sighed as his tongue found the sensitive webbing between her fingers and sent a dart of pleasure through her.
‘With any luck, this power outage will last for hours.’ He searched for her other hand and began licking the cake mix from that too. ‘Because I would like to spend those hours—’
‘Yes,’ she gasped, closing whatever small distance remained between them. Proximity made the darkness unimportant as their mouths found each other, sweet with the cake mixture he’d sucked from her fingers.
She wasn’t sure if any remained on her hands but he’d certainly need a change of clothes if so, she thought, as she stroked over his chest, his shoulders, his arms, the bare skin making her shiver as her fingers sneaked up the sleeves of his T-shirt to enjoy the most powerful part of his arms.
He made a deep noise in his throat.
Then common sense asserted itself. ‘Blair might come home. Maybe we should go—’
‘Upstairs,’ he finished for her. ‘Oh, yeah.’
Taking his hand, she felt her way to the kitchen door and out into the hall, letting out an ‘ouch!’ as she tripped over what she thought was probably one of Blair’s shoes. Up the stairs, using the bannister for guidance, then she pulled him into her bedroom and closed the door.
‘Pitch darkness isn’t what I’d anticipated for our first time,’ he murmured. ‘But it’s kind of hot.’ He began to pull her top slowly up, the fabric shivering over her skin. It caught on her ponytail and she untangled it, pulling the elastic from her hair. Opportunistically, he unfastened her bra while she was occupied with that, and soon her top half was naked, her hair slithering over her shoulders.
She pulled at his T-shirt and he helped her drag it off. When her breasts came into contact with his skin they both drew breath as if air was in short supply. Each touch, each sensation felt magnified by the absence of sight. Georgine’s skin almost burned as he unpeeled her from her clothes, lingering to explore along the way.
When she felt as if her legs wouldn’t support her much longer she murmured, ‘There’s a bed around here somewhere …’
His low chuckle seemed to surround her like the darkness as she located the edge of the mattress, drawing him along.
He hung back for an instant. ‘Hang on … need my jeans.’
‘Now?’
‘Wallet in jeans; condom in wallet,’ he explained breathlessly. ‘Though where the hell to stow the condom until the right moment in a dark room I’ve never been in before is going to be an initiative test.’
Her laughter was cut off as his mouth found hers again and desire blasted through her, making her hot and heavy as they slowed the pace, investigating each other’s bodies with hands and mouths. And when ‘the right moment’ arrived, Georgine shook with laughter while Joe swore his way through locating, opening and rolling on the condom in pitch darkness.
Then the laughter stopped as he pulled her hungrily against his flesh and slid slooooooowly inside her. She made a noise that sounded like ‘unghf’. He groaned. Groaned louder as he began to move inside her and she felt as if she’d never been wanted, needed, desired so much by any man.
Ever.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Georgine woke to a hand caressing the nape of her neck. Her alarm clock was flashing 00:00 but light showed around the edges of her door.
Joe’s voice murmured in her ear. ‘The power’s back on and it’s past seven. There’s someone in your bathroom, so I’m assuming it’s your sister. I don’t know if you have a boyfriend policy, but it seems a good time for me to leave. I need to get home and shower anyway.’
Realisation flooding in, Georgine rolled over and sat up. ‘Past seven? And I never finished making the brownies.’
Fully dressed, he was sitting on the edge of her bed, needing a shave. He smothered a laugh. ‘That’s the first thing in your head this morning? Good to be able to see you, by the way, however dimly.’
She blushed as she realised the duvet had fallen away and his gaze was on her breasts. He dropped a kiss on her temple and one on her right breast before easing away, with regretful sigh. ‘See you later.’
She listened to the slight sounds he made treading downstairs and leaving. It was nice of him to consider whether she’d be embarrassed if Blair knew she had a man in her room and nicer still that he hadn’t rushed off without waking her and saying a proper goodbye.
What he’d said about it being past seven o’clock clanged suddenly to the forefront of her mind. She leapt out of bed and into her dressing gown almost in one movement and went to knock on the bathroom door. ‘Blair? Don’t be too long. I’ve overslept.’
The door swung open and Blair stood there, ready for work, one eyebrow raised. ‘Is this Monday morning in an alternative universe? All the clocks are flashing, the kitchen looks like a bomb in a bakery and I saw a man’s coat and shirt downstairs.’
‘Power cut while I was making brownies,’ Georgine breezed, trying to wriggle past Blair into the bathroom.
‘So you passed the time with a man in your bedroom? Enterprising.’ Blair laughed as Georgine shut the door on her. ‘Am I allowed to know who he was?’
Georgine shoved her hair up into a scrunchie, threw her dressing gown off and jumped into the shower, debating whether to reply. But, you never knew, Joe might be around for a while and Blair lived here. ‘Joe Blackthorn,’ she called out. It gave her an odd feeling – but nice-odd – to hear his name ringing on the air.
‘Not all that shocked,’ Blair called as her voice moved away from t
he door. ‘At least he’s not likely to draw you into bad financial crap if he owns Acting Instrumental. See you later!’
Georgine switched off the shower and hurriedly dried herself, humming happily as she replayed last night in her mind like a cross between Great British Bake Off and 91⁄2 Weeks.
Success! Georgine made it to work at eight thirty by the skin of her teeth, speeding along to her room as she unfastened her coat. She’d had to bundle everything she’d left out in the kitchen last night into either the fridge, the sink or the dishwasher and promise herself that she’d finish the brownie baking tonight.
In half an hour she needed to be in the studio theatre. Errol was leading act one, scene three – Kerry Christmas agonising over whether to inform the authorities that her uncle was a gangster. It came just before the interval and everyone agreed it needed to be punchier.
The light was already on in her room so she wasn’t shocked to find Joe there, studying something on his laptop. He glanced up as she dashed in. ‘Mawnin’, Mizz Jaw-Jean.’
The warmth in his gaze made her want to fan herself. Or maybe it was the warmth in her cheeks. She’d shared her bed with this man. Her tummy did a cartwheel. Though they’d made love in total darkness it had been so intimate that she felt as if she’d shown him every part of herself.
‘Morning.’ Her voice emerged halfway between a breath and a squeak as she tried to make the mental leap from lover to colleague.
His eyes laughed, and then he returned to his task, the model of professional discretion.
Despite her initial jumpiness, she became absorbed in allocating performance night tasks to parent volunteers. When her phone alerted her to the fact that rehearsal began in ten minutes she saved her work and snapped her laptop shut. ‘Can you work your way through the “own clothes” students and create a list of those who don’t mind having sequins glued to them? Then we can start looking for opportunities to do the gluing. If we get too tight for time I know a couple of parents I could ask to help.’
‘Sure thing.’ He closed his laptop and tucked it under his arm, letting her precede him out of the room.
‘Things are really coming together,’ she said as they strode up to the foyer.
Then she heard Fern’s voice say, ‘There he is! Joe? Visitor for you.’
Joe turned to look across to the front desk, where a tall woman was gazing at him with an uncertain smile, and stopped suddenly.
Georgine had turned too. Pleasure flooded through her as she saw who the visitor was. She opened her mouth to say, ‘Chrissy, you’ve finally turned up!’ Then decided she was not a very important person at this meeting of ex-nearly-stepsiblings.
‘Chrissy?’ Joe’s voice was tight with emotion.
‘Hello, Johnjoe,’ Chrissy said shyly.
Joe strode towards her, Chrissy opened her arms and they met in the middle of the foyer, laughing, hugging, launching questions at each other.
‘So you did get Georgine’s Facebook message?’
‘I did, but only just. We’ve been away on a trip. Now we’re here in the UK till after Christmas.’
‘Georgine said you’re married,’ Joe said.
‘That’s right. My husband, Polo, is in the US Air Force. He’s based at Rammstein.’ Chrissy stopped to wipe tears from her eyes. ‘We have two daughters, so I have a whole family now. Polo loves living in Europe. He drives us all over the place in our SUV. But how about you? What are you doing here? I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw Georgine’s message.’
Georgine checked her watch and cleared her throat. ‘Hi, Chrissy!’ she beamed, when they noticed her. ‘I have to get to something but maybe we could say hello properly over lunch?’ She turned to Joe. ‘You stay with Chrissy.’
His eyes were brimming with emotion but he looked torn. ‘Sure?’
‘Positive! Have a lovely morning together.’ She hurried away to the rehearsal feeling so happy for Joe that she found herself singing snatches of ‘Everyone Loves Uncle Jones’ as she skipped along. Soon she was in the studio theatre, putting her head together with Maddie and Errol to decide how best the dancers could do the ‘oohs and ahhs’ as backing while Kerry Christmas sang out her turmoil at the front of the stage.
For once the morning seemed to drag. Georgine caught herself checking her watch, willing the hands around to noon, mind constantly returning to how Chrissy and Joe were getting on. Joe’s face had looked like a kid’s on Christmas morning. One who actually had some presents.
Although she intended to make a speedy exit at the end of rehearsal, she got caught up in a discussion about the student playing Casper Christmas, who’d been off all week with flu. As a result, Georgine found herself on the tail end of the lunch queue. She helped herself to Moroccan lamb tagine with salad and bread. Joe waved so she could see he’d bagged one end of a long table with Chrissy. As soon as she could, she headed over to join them.
Joe looked happy but shell-shocked. Chrissy was popping with excitement. ‘I’ve seen all around this wonderful facility! Isn’t it amazing? Puts Bettsbrough Comp to shame. Thank you for putting us in touch, Georgine. I never knew before whether Johnjoe would want to hear from me.’
‘Why on earth wouldn’t I?’ Joe returned indignantly, twisting off the top of a bottle of fruit juice.
She shrugged. ‘Because we never heard from you again once your rich uncle came and spirited you away?’
His face fell. ‘I’m so sorry, Chrissy. I was so young and so glad to get—’
‘Away, I know.’ Chrissy managed a tremulous smile. ‘I might have done the same in your shoes but it was hard for me. Then Dad had us out of that house in case your uncle turned up and asked for his money back, and I had to face the fact it didn’t matter whether you came back or not because you wouldn’t find us.’ She gazed at him for a moment, while he gazed wordlessly back.
Then he swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated eventually. ‘It wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you.’
Chrissy sighed. ‘Dad was a shit to you. Worse than to me, even.’ She took a big breath before adding in a rush, ‘But that was why when I saw you in the music press I didn’t try to get in touch. And then your band gigged in Kaiserslautern, near our base. K-Town’s jam-packed with US military so Polo and me, we went along. It was amazing. You were amazing.’
Georgine felt her eyebrows shoot up. Drum techs got in the music press? And how did Chrissy know which band Joe was with?
Joe stared at Chrissy. ‘You recognised me? Why the hell didn’t you send a message backstage?’
‘Of course I recognised you. I wouldn’t know where to begin in sending a message backstage—’
They were interrupted by a commotion in the corridor. A young excited male voice shouted, ‘It is! It’s them! And they’re asking for Joe. Oggie’s sent me to get him.’
Expression arrested, Joe turned in the direction of the door. A tall, red-faced student flew through it, his gaze searching out Joe. ‘Oggie said to get you. The Hungries are here! Here in our foyer. Man, how do you know them? C’mon!’ He beckoned energetically.
Students jumped from their seats as if there had been a fire alarm, shoving to get through the doorway. ‘The Hungry Years? Seriously?’
More slowly, Joe climbed to his feet. ‘That’s … unexpected,’ he said, almost to himself.
Georgine glanced at him, bewildered. ‘Is The Hungry Years the band you worked for? They’re pretty big!’
‘Pretty big,’ he agreed briefly.
Chrissy looked at Georgine and laughed. ‘You don’t know?’ Then, not waiting for a reply, she abandoned the remains of her meal and hurried to join Joe in the tide of bodies quitting the room.
After a surprised moment, Georgine leapt up and followed too, battling through an excited crowd of students. It was all she could do to make her ‘excuse mes’ loud and authoritative enough to persuade the excited teens to make way for her. Eventually, she got into a position where she could see Oggie with a group of men who all se
emed to be giving Joe hugs and backslaps. Joe’s grin looked bemused but he returned the affection, demanding, ‘What are you guys doing here?’
The very blond one wearing thick black shades boomed, ‘We wanted to see what was taking up all your time. See this place you’re so proud of, JJ.’
‘It is!’ a girl next to Georgine squealed. ‘Joe’s JJ Blacker! I think I’m going to faint. JJ Blacker’s been here for weeks.’
‘I kept thinking I recognised him behind those glasses,’ her companion began. ‘But without his red hair—’
‘Bullshit,’ retorted the first. ‘If you thought he was JJ Blacker you would have been on him like a suntan.’
Excitement buffeted Georgine from all sides. Raised voices, pushing and shoving. She felt numb. Anyone who was even halfway interested in music knew of The Hungry Years, the British rock band. And here they were, currently being introduced to a beaming Chrissy. Fingers shaking, Georgine took out her phone and found her way to a picture of the band, glancing from it to the laughing men clustered around Joe. Liam Willson with the geeky specs; Nathan O’Brien wearing guyliner that ended with tiny circles beside his eyes; Rafal Radkov sporting so much hair gel you could turn him upside down and use him to scrape frost from your windscreen; Billy Langridge, the platinum-blond front man.
And JJ Blacker. Shorn of his wild red hair, shaved of the trademark pointed sideburns, the self-possessed man she now knew as Joe Blackthorn. Shot after shot of him, drumsticks a blur, a huge tattoo circling one shoulder. He looked so different as part of the band, buying into the group image.
Joe was JJ Blacker. The floor seemed to rock beneath her feet.
‘Yeah, do it, JJ!’ a girl shouted, and Georgine wrenched her attention back to what was happening.
The rest of the band was teasing Joe, stealing his glasses while shouting, ‘Fake specs!’ and calling to the kids, ‘We know you love him, but we don’t want him to leave the band. He said he’s going to decide after Christmas but, tell you what, if you get him to stay we’ll do you a free gig!’
A Christmas Gift Page 23
