Text Me, Tweet Me, Need Me

by Susie Medwell

  * * * *

  She stood, topped up the wine glasses and plopped down beside him on the couch.

  “Come on, I still don’t get why you won’t work with me?”

  “Huh. You knew what he was up to and for all I know you were working with him. Or,” she paused, studying the contents of her glass and then taking a big swig, “or you were involved in getting rid of him. Either way I hate you because you’ve contributed to this mess and,” another swig and she turned to face him full on, “you know what makes it worse? You hid it from me. You’ve got some agenda of your own and you keep lying to me.”

  He looked at the tousled hair, was it really so bad of him to be sat here thinking that all he wanted to do was take her here, on this sofa, right now? Probably.

  “True.” Her eyes widened at his response. “I do have my own agenda and you’re right I’ve being hiding stuff.”

  “Why do men lie so much? They’re shit at hiding things.”

  “I was just trying to keep things straightforward.” She was staring at him now, a mix of trepidation and defiance. Sexy.

  Spit it out Ben, get it over then maybe you can both have a bit of what you are so desperate for.

  “Look, Mike worked for my father really, but he was helping me with establishing the e-publishing side of the business.” Mike had been good, street savvy. He spotted trends like a cat spotted mice. He had been smart, funny, but dangerous. Like Sam. They had established an uneasy friendship, liking each other but not totally understanding each other, wary but fascinated.

  She was waiting for more.

  “He was great in some ways.”

  “And a shit in others.”

  “True. But I liked him. We socialized a bit. He’d got this edge that I liked, courting danger. I’ve always played it sane and sensible I suppose.”

  And I owed him. The words stayed in his head. He’d felt duty bound to help the man, somebody had to.

  “I think he wanted to die.” Her voice was soft, but every word rang out crystal clear.

  “Maybe. He liked to tempt fate, tease. Anyhow, he knew what he was doing, knew what would probably happen and he asked me to look out for you. He felt guilty being so–”

  “Selfish. Men are good at selfish.” She cut him short. Her words were hard but her eyes bright with tears and she was watching his every move.

  “Yeah, maybe.” He took a deep breath. “But he cared about you Sam. He did want someone to look after you if he couldn’t do it himself.” It was good she’d had a few drinks, or she’d be throwing him out.

  “I don’t need looking after.”

  “I knew you’d say that.”

  “Why would he ask you to anyway? And why would you help him?” She swung over on to her knees, and perched there next to him on the couch like a cat, no more like a kitten, about to pounce.

  “I told you, I liked the guy.”

  “Oh piss off, men don’t do stuff just because they like people, there’s always another reason.”

  “That’s a bit harsh.”

  “What are you covering up?”

  “He was like a brother to me.”

  Her eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He closed his eyes. Tried to figure out what to say, what not to say.

  “Don’t tell me any more lies, Ben.”

  Was omission a lie? He opened his eyes again. She looked so young and naïve, she did need looking after, but not by someone like him. She deserved better. She needed someone to follow in her wake tidying up the problems for as long as she had problems. Forever.

  And he didn’t do forever. Or fix other people’s problems.

  “Why did he ask you, Ben?”

  “Shush.” He pulled her down beside him, so he could talk without having her accusing eyes fixed on him. “Okay. So you were told that Simon, your stepfather was Mike’s dad, yes?”

  “Yes.” There was a note of suspicion in her voice.

  “And Liz, his ex-wife who died was Mike’s mum, yes?”

  “What do you mean I was told?” She was wriggling, trying to sit up and face him, but he held her firm.

  “Simon wasn’t Mike’s dad. Simon and Liz got divorced just after Mike was born because he knew that he wasn’t the father, he knew she’d had an affair but he never found out who with.” He took a breath, pulled her tighter to him. “Mike’s father was my Dad.”

  He’d never told anyone. He didn’t know why he was being honest with her now, why it was important. But it was.

  “Dad never had any contact with Mike, wouldn’t acknowledge him, he still won’t. I only found out when Mum was dying, she said I should know that he wasn’t perfect. So I felt I owed Mike.” She was pressed hard against him, her warmth flooding his body.

  His dad had made mistakes, mistakes he’d refused to face, and Ben was doing his best to deal with the consequences. To make good his father’s failings. No son deserved to be treated like Mike had. “I tried to help him but he was as independent and obstinate as you are.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her hair, breathing in the herbal scent and rested his cheek against the silkiness. “You remind me of Mike you know.”

  “I don’t want to be like him, he didn’t care about anyone except himself.”

  “He did. He just didn’t know how to deal with it. He cared about all kinds of things and he never wanted to hurt anyone. He just needed a bit of passion and adventure in his life, like you do.”

  “No I don’t. I just want to be sane and normal.”

  He tipped her head up, dropped a light kiss on her lips. “You only want that because you’re frightened of what might happen if you drop the barriers.”

  “Crap.”

  “I’ve seen you come alive. I’ve seen more passion in you than I’ve ever seen in a woman.”

  She pushed his hand away and pulled free. “That was just crude. Most women aren’t vulgar enough to do that.”

  “Sam.” She glanced up at his tone, tears bright in her eyes, nervously biting at her bottom lip. “That wasn’t crude. Whoever told you that was talking bullshit.” He pulled her closer. “That was the type of passion people spend a life time hoping to find. Promise me you’ll never let anyone kill that side of you.” Her soft body relaxed slightly against him, and he tightened his grip around her, letting his hand slip down to her waist. It felt so good, so right.

  “Thanks.” Her voice was low, muffled.

  “What for?”

  “Being honest.” She wriggled closer. “I wish we were somewhere else right now.” She wrapped her arms round him, and it was easy, natural to pull her on to his lap.

  “Where would you most like to be?”

  “By the sea. I love the sound of the sea, it’s always there.”

  He dipped his head, his lips meeting hers, and then he would have moved away. But she moved a hand up, a tentative finger tracing the outline of his mouth. A soft gossamer touch that parted his lips, he held her hand still, sucking the finger. Watching as her eyes closed, the soft moan escaping her was one of need, of surrender.

  “Would here do for now?” Then her hands were tangled in his hair and she was pulling him closer.

  * * * *

  Sam sat up; he was sprawled out beside her. His hair mussed up, begging to be touched, satin skin moulded over perfectly defined muscles that gently invited her to trace over them, to feel the heat, the carefully controlled strength. His lips were parted, his chest gently rising and falling with each soft breath.

  Nobody deserved to look that good. When she was asleep she probably had her dribbling mouth open, her legs sprawled akimbo, and her hair sticking out every which way like some mad untidy mop.

  “Quit staring at me and come back here.” She kept on looking. Studying the hair on his chest, the way it led down over his stomach, wanting to follow its path with her hand.

  “How can you tell I’m staring, you’ve got your eyes shut.’

  “I can feel it.” He opened his eyes a crack until s
he could just see a hint of brown. “What’s going on in that head of yours now?”

  Men weren’t supposed to question, they just rolled over. Fell asleep after sex like that. He reached out a hand but she ignored it. Stayed where she was, knees up to her chest huddled against the wall.

  “You probably should go.” She rested her chin on her knees.

  But I’d rather you stayed. But it was better if he went, it wouldn’t be good if he stayed. He didn’t do women, he did sex. And this time he was doing sex just because he’d promised Mike. “I don’t need looking after.”

  Or using.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He ran a hand through his hair, fully awake now. Propped himself up on one elbow so his broad chest filled her vision.

  “I don’t think Mike expected you to go this far on his behalf.”

  “Mike is beginning to be a complete pain in the ass. You’re obsessed with Mike, what Mike did, what Mike didn’t bloody do. He’s screwing up your life, let go and move on. How the hell can what we just did have anything to do with Mike?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No, I bloody don’t so explain to me.”

  “You don’t have to sleep with me because you feel you have to.”

  “Whoa there.” He held a hand up. “I don’t sleep with women by order you know.”

  “And I don’t want a job because you feel sorry for me.” Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She actually thought she’d won a job on merit, was keeping it on merit.

  How wrong could you get?

  “For heaven’s sake.” He reached out to touch her but she pulled further back.

  “Don’t touch me.” If he touched her now she’d change her mind. If he touched her now she’d take the easy route. Go along with the charity. And be no better off than when she was with Andy.

  A nerve twitched in his cheek, the frustration obvious in his expression.

  “Count your promise as kept. You’ve looked out for me, you don’t owe anyone anything.”

  He stood up, pulled his jeans on. “For your information I gave you that contract because I know you are bloody good at your job. Prove it.” She met his gaze. “And let’s face it, who is going to take you on next if you don’t?”

  The door clicked shut behind him and she rested her head on her knees and let the tears fall. Slowly at first, salty tears that she could taste as they ran down her face. Then a whole lot of pain welled up in her body, racing through like some unstoppable force, forming in sobs of pain that she couldn’t fight anymore. That she didn’t want to fight anymore.

  * * * *

  The can ricocheted off Ben’s foot, hitting the low wall, bouncing off onto the verge. Shit, he didn’t want to just leave her. He’d wanted that soft body curled up in his arms, nestled perfectly against his own. If a woman walked before breakfast he usually gave a sigh of relief. No awkward get to know you chats, no flirting over the coffee, no massive question mark hanging in the air, waiting for the invite for the next date. But he’d wanted her to be there. He’d wanted lazy morning sex, a quickie to wake up with. He’d wanted to watch her as she woke up and to watch her over his coffee cup.

  This wasn’t about his promise to Mike. He could keep that easily enough. Have his men watch her. Keep her out of trouble. This was about having her. For himself.

  She’d turn up for work. She had to. After all, she had to pay the bills didn’t she?

  Didn’t she?

  He wouldn’t put it past her to ditch everything and find a totally different career, she was so bloody obstinate. Except she loved this one, he was certain of that. Just as he was certain she distrusted him.

  With anyone else his plan would have worked, but oh no, not with her. Sam, who was determined to stick to her guns and not accept help from anyone, Sam who had been lied to and controlled by so many men, she had erected an early warning bullshit detector. Sam who didn’t want anything, but needed everything. Everything he couldn’t give her. Sam, a girl he just couldn’t stay away from.

  He took a deep breath, petrol fumes hit his empty stomach and set it churning. He needed the gym, smog-free exercise to clear his head. A workout to clear his body of the morning after urge for sex, then he’d try a new tactic.

  Chapter 6

  “What’s this supposed to be?” She twirled the thick, embossed card around in her fingers before letting it fall to the desk.

  “You’re accompanying me to the launch party.”

  “To hell with that, I’m writing about you, you can’t make me do anything else.”

  “I’m asking, not telling. At the moment.”

  “You’ve not bought me mind, body and soul you know. Just a profile.” She glared at him, trying to keep her dignity. The distance she promised herself she would. No temper tantrums, no shouting, and no emotion. Just work. Reluctantly.

  “I’d love to have you, mind, body and,” his lip was curled and there was a hint of a crinkle at the corner of his eyes, “soul.”

  If he laughed at her she’d hit him. To hell with being professional.

  “I think the mind bit might be dangerous though, and I might have to work on the soul bit, but as for the body…” He leaned forward slightly, broad forearms resting on the desk.

  “Not yours, mate.” She snapped out the words to stop him adding anything more. “And no launch party.”

  “I thought you needed to see the real me, the personal side? I thought it was a crucial part of your writing? You get an exclusive. Can you turn that down? If you don’t accompany me, you don’t get in.” He was staring at her. Waiting.

  “What are you launching?” Her voice was stiff, reluctant.

  “A new publishing arm, online and download only. No printing, no subscription. Just click and go.”

  “So what’s so original about that?”

  “Oh you’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Not very helpful for my profile.”

  “Not meant to be. You want the facts you’ll have to work for them. I’m only spoon- feeding you so far.”

  “I don’t need spoon-feeding; it was your idea to provide that file when I arrived.”

  “I know. Call it a starter pack, but you can’t just shadow me at a function, it would look silly. And people wouldn’t talk to you.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll kit you out with something.”

  “What?”

  “A party dress?”

  “No way.” Now he was being stupid, she dressed herself. “I’m not arm candy, I’m a journalist.”

  “It’s for your benefit not mine.” She sensed he was suppressing a smile. Fighting a losing battle.

  “Anything the matter?”

  “Only you could say something like arm candy and make it sound like a nasty disease.”

  “Maybe it is. I’ve got a dress, thanks, and I don’t do party dresses.”

  “Sam, everyone will be glammed up, seriously glammed up. If you want to blend in you’re going to have to trust me, even though you think it might kill you. Sophie will sort you out, she’s good like that.”

  “Oh, dresses a lot of women for you, does she?” She couldn’t help the retort, though something told her she was digging a hole, and any second now she’d be reaching hell. He ignored her, and she wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or disappointed. Or just felt childish.

  “Right, now we’ve got that sorted. Sit down.” He pointed at the chair as though he was expecting an argument. “I want to go over what you’ve done so far, and I presume you’ve sketched out the series?”

  She nodded, relief flooding through her as she pulled out her laptop. Work she could cope with. “I’ve fleshed out the info you gave me, tried to add a bit of why and when, people want to know your motivations, why you started and why you’re still doing it, not just the facts and dates.” She pulled up a file, opened the first document. “They want to think it’s something they could achieve if they knew your secrets.” She smiled, relaxed now her att
ention was on what she loved. “I’ve tried to flesh the image out, make you real, and make you attainable I suppose.”

  “Am I attainable?” There was a quirk to his eyebrow, a look that was half question and half concern. He obviously didn’t like the idea that anyone would ever know anything more about him than he was happy to hand out in a press release.

  “Only the top layer.”

  “Oh I’m layered?”

  “I’d say right now, if you were a lasagne, you’d only want me to get as far as the béchamel. The pasta, maybe one day at a push. The real meat…?”

  Yeah all she’d got was béchamel, smooth shiny, perfectly edible but no substance. Nothing memorable. Once you’d eaten up you realised you weren’t satisfied, you really hadn’t had anything at all.

  “I’m not sure I like being a lasagne.”

  “Don’t worry I won’t call you a lasagne in the profile.” She fought to keep her tone light, her heart thudding as he walked round to her side of the desk and leaned in closer so he could read the document. Any second now she’d have to move her chair. If he touched her she’d be out of here. But then he straightened up abruptly and she let go of the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

  “Looks okay from a quick skim, email it to me and I’ll check over it properly.” He half turned away from the screen and leaned against the desk. “Is the outline for the rest on there or do you want to talk me through it?”

  “I’ll talk.” Her voice croaked out, and she swallowed, suddenly aware of a too dry mouth and a shiver that sent goose bumps down her arms. “I talk better on my feet.” Normally it didn’t matter, but she needed distance, so she couldn’t smell him, was out of touching range. An office width away was fine. Just.

  “Sam.” His soft voice stopped her in her tracks just as she reached out for the door handle. She stopped. Nothing. She hated herself for it, but she needed to turn round, see if the gentle tone was reflected in his face.