“What’s she smiling at?” the angel asked. “First babbling and now smiling.”
A quiet voice answered, but I was drifting, dreaming of Finn swimming with me in warm chocolate fondue, then making love with it smeared all over our bodies, licking and sucking and fucking and it was so delectable in so many ways, my tongue tingled as if my taste buds had orgasmed and I was feeling the delicious afterglow.
“Mmm honey,” I whispered, but it ran together and sounded like money.
“Is she awake?” The angel spoke again. Then I felt a touch on my shoulder. “I’ve got it covered, Jillian. You just rest. Your stomach’s been pumped.”
Stomach. What? Cold reality intruded on my dream and I finally focused in on the voice. “Ange.” I sounded so husky.
“Not Angela. It’s Louella,” she said, right beside my ear.
Missy Lou. Okay, not my first choice, but it felt damned good to have a friend beside me. I listened as she went on, “Fritha rang me. It’s okay. They’ll discharge you when you wake up properly.”
“I’ve got a hotel…in Newcastle.” I told her the name of it, hoping she’d let them know I was still coming. I didn’t want to lose my booking.
“You can’t be on your own for the first twenty-four hours.”
“Then?” I struggled to open my eyes and she came into view—shiny blond hair swept back into a wavy bob, sunset orange lipstick, box dress and pearls. She would have looked like an adorable sixties astronaut’s wife if it wasn’t for the cold brown eyes and disapproving mouth.
“I’m stuck with you until tomorrow,” she said. “We can leave in four hours. Try not to vomit in my new Bentley on the way.”
I shut my eyes, suddenly too tired to argue.
Someone said something quietly by her side and Missy Lou snapped back, “Well she vomited in my car the last time she was drunk.”
“That was twenty years ago.” I kept my eyes shut. “And for your information… the last time I was drunk was a fortnight ago.”
Nobody said anything else and I drifted back to sleep. Sometime later, I woke to a disgusting taste in my mouth and the feeling that I was completely back in my body. The room was empty so I took my time looking around it. I’d been in hospital rooms before, but nothing as swanky as this. It was all plush carpet and gleaming stainless steel with tasteful olive curtains drawn back from a view across parkland.
There was a door open across the room and I saw white tiles inside. An en suite? I levered myself up and slid off the bed, almost slumping to the floor. My legs were seriously wobbly but my bladder was about to burst, so that motivated me to keep moving, ignoring the cold air on my ass as the back of my hospital gown swayed open. Indecency was the least of my worries. I was too busy grabbing furniture to hold myself up, but finally I made it inside, pulled the door shut and used the solid steel handrail beside the toilet to slide down onto it.
Then blessed relief.
Really. Is there anything better than a long, hot pee when you’re busting? I sighed so loudly I was sure they’d hear me at reception, wherever that was.
Eventually my bliss was over and I was dabbing myself dry, flushing and furniture-walking over to the sink which held me up long enough for a thorough hand-washing. Goodness only knew where those hands had been. With luck I’d get to eat sometime soon, and I didn’t want to be worried about possible bacteria.
The mirror above the sink wasn’t kind. I had dark circles under my eyes and my face was pale. My hair had fallen out of its ponytail and looked suspiciously sticky. Sure enough, it was stiff, so before I could start speculating if I’d vomited in it—Ew!—I leant down and gave the front of it a good rinse with hand wash. There was no comb, so I finger-combed it back off my face and re-tied the ponytail. If anything, I looked even more tragic, but at least I wouldn’t smell like spew.
That done, I pulled open the bathroom door, feeling marginally more sure-footed, but before I could step back out into my hospital room, Finn said, “Babe, are you alright?” and something soft and warm loosened behind my ribs.
I just stared at him, standing by my bed in black cargo pants and a sexy black singlet under an open black shirt. The dark colors made his freshly-tanned skin, caramel dreads and warm green eyes all the more striking, and his anxious smile made my defensive heart melt, despite itself.
“I’m fine,” I lied, completely thrown by his presence. Was he stalking me? “Just a bit of food poisoning—”
“If alcohol was food,” he cut in, his frown deepening. “But it’s not. Were you trying to hurt yourself?”
His last comment had come out almost accusingly, and the marshmallow center I’d been worried about suddenly developed a hard shell. I immediately thought, And what fucking business is it of yours? Oh yes, anger was much easier to deal with. “I was celebrating, if you must know. It just got out of hand.” And now he would think I couldn’t look after myself.
Not that it should matter what he thought, but clearly it did, or I wouldn’t be stressing about it. I tried to purge that by snapping at him. “And what are you doing here anyway?”
“Your friend Louella rang me.”
What the hell? I just stood blinking at him. “Why would she do that?”
“Apparently you told her to.”
“No way.”
“Way. I heard it when she rang me. You were babbling about—” He cut himself off and after a second he glanced down at my bare feet. I thought I saw him swallow. “You said you were in love with me and that you wanted me here.”
He kept on staring at my feet with their cracked pink nail polish and I just shook my head, with no idea what to say. I didn’t think he was lying. It was quite likely that I’d babbled about loving him, because, I did—love him. The churning emotions I was struggling to suppress were evidence enough of that. But why would Missy Lou listen to me and act on it?
I shook my head. “How did she get your number?”
He managed to meet my eyes. “You were bragging about me sending you that text, about…oral sex.”
If my eyes could have gone any wider, they would have. Me, talk sex with Missy Lou—Miss Missionary Position as Frith and I used to call her? “No shit?”
“No shit. She looked me up in your phone and told me to get here. She thinks I’m your boyfriend.”
A sudden cold feeling swept over me. “You didn’t tell her you were married, did you?” She’d never speak to me again.
He shook his head and my shoulders slumped in relief, but still I said, “Don’t. Don’t ever.” My knees went weak again and it was all I could do to stumble to the bed and flop onto it.
Finn tried to fuss with the sheet but I pulled it away from him.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” I hissed. “I’m not your girlfriend, so there’s no need to pretend. I’m sorry she dragged you to Sydney—”
“I was here.”
I stared at him, surprised all over again, but he simply continued to stare at me, with something firm about his gaze now. I shouldn’t care, but I had to ask, “Why?”
I expected him to say he was here for work, or a shopping trip with the Kat monster, but instead he said, “I came to be near you.”
The door flew open before I could think of…anything really. Of a scathing reply. Of a gushy reply. Of any reply. I was in mid-romantic angst and Missy Lou simply marched in, oblivious, and dropped her Louis Vuitton handbag on the table at the end of my bed.
She frowned at me and added a downturned mouth. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
“That’s my fault,” Finn cut in, and Missy Lou glanced at my hospital gown and then raised a perfectly sculpted brow at him before he hurried on. “We were talking and I forgot to tell her you were waiting.”
“I see.”
It had always impressed me the way Missy Lou could intimidate people when she was only as old as me. But on this occasion, it pissed me off.
“It’s not his fault,” I snapped. “I was in the toilet when he arrived and I�
��ve only just got back to bed.”
“Have you finished vomiting?”
“I’ve finished peeing,” I shot back. “And thank you for your concern about my welfare.”
“You overdosed on alcohol,” she said calmly. “That requires pity, not concern.”
I’d had enough of this. “The first drink was a triple, admittedly, but after that they were single shots.”
Both her eyebrows came up this time. “Then how do you explain the equivalent of a bottle of scotch in your system?”
I blinked at her. Was that possible? I was only in the nightclub for a little over two hours. For some reason Finn put a hand on my shoulder and I was too confused to shake it off. Could the waiter have misunderstood and made every drink a triple? I’d guzzled them so fast…Fuck. That meant I’d drunk the equivalent of twelve shots in quick succession. No wonder I’d crashed!
I looked up at Finn and he just frowned down at me, as if I was some sort of loser who needed looking after. I did shake his hand off my shoulder then, and despite sticky hair, a hospital gown, no underwear and a freshly-pumped stomach, I drew myself up on the bed as if I was planning to address the nation.
“Thank you for paying my bills,” I said to Missy Lou. “And for your offer of hospitality, which I gratefully accept.” The last thing I wanted was Finn offering, or her thinking I should go with him. “If I could have ten minutes to say goodbye to Finn and then dress, I’ll be ready to go.”
“Very well,” she replied, just as stiffly. “And for the record, your boyfriend insisted on paying your bills. So you should thank him.” She nodded at the door. “I’ll be outside at the nurses’ station.”
I swallowed down humiliation to smile blandly, but as soon as she was gone, I turned on Finn. “Why would you even do that?”
“I feel responsible.”
Wrong answer. “What do you think I am? Some charity case who needs—”
“Not like that.”
“I’ll have you know I earned twenty grand for my last fortnight’s work. I can pay my own bills.” For some crazy reason, I could feel myself getting angry and excited at the same time. There was something about fighting with Finn that really got me hot and bothered, and damn it, I wanted him to admit that he cared about me.
He visibly blanched. “Twenty grand…for the young guy?”
Don’t do it. Don’t tell him!
Twit that I am, I couldn’t help myself. I’d rather him think I was a complete slut than a loser. “He fucked me seventy times while I was there. Five times a night. That’s what I was celebrating.” And because I was on a roll, I couldn’t help adding, “A job well done.”
I wanted to also add, At least someone appreciates my services but I didn’t. I let the silence that followed my declaration hang between us.
In the end, he just shook his head as if he was totally confused. “Why did you say you loved me?”
“Why did you come to Sydney?”
He breathed through his open mouth a few times before his shoulders hunched slightly and he snapped, “Not to be close to a woman who fucks guys for a living, that’s for sure.” He sounded as if he was getting angry himself now. “Why would you even—”
“Because it felt good,” I snapped back. “Don’t you ever do things just because they feel good?”
“And not care about the consequences?”
“The consequence of my job,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “Is that one day I’ll be able to afford a home of my own.” Falling back on my cover story with Fritha. “I won’t need to rely on some crappy guy who can pull it all out from under me…when I’m…” I hiccupped a breath and my insides contracted, then suddenly I couldn’t go on because for some insane reason I was crying.
And then I started sobbing.
I had no idea where it came from, but big heaving sobs were wrenching in my chest and all I could do was pull my knees up and cover my face with my hands. Finn moved in beside me and put both arms around me but I just blubbed on and on. At some point, I heard Missy Lou come in the room.
“What’s going on?”
“She’s crying about some crappy guy who pulled the rug out from under her. A house I think.”
I keep sobbing, more quietly now, and Missy Lou said, “Her father left when she was nine and they lost their house. Her mother was sick and they couldn’t afford rent. It was ugly for a while. Our parents all helped out, but nobody wants to be the charity case. Eventually Jill’s grandmother moved to town to look after Jill and her sister, and soon after that, Jill’s mother died.”
“Fuck,” he said softly.
That made me cry harder. I loved hearing him swear. I wasn’t sure why. But even though I was embarrassed to have my sordid past revealed, I loved being in his arms. I knew it would end. No decent guy wants to be with a girl who gets paid to fuck seventy times in a fortnight. But something about the two of us together was right, and I was just grateful that I could enjoy the comfort of his presence while it lasted. Not much longer now, I suspected.
Missy Lou opened the door. “We have to leave soon.”
“Okay. I’ll get her dressed.”
“Thank you.”
The door closed behind her and I shuddered a breath to halt the flow. Then I wiped my cheeks with my white hospital gown, getting mascara smears all over it. “I’m fine,” I said.
“You’re such a bad liar.”
“Fine enough.” I couldn’t look at him as he straightened and dropped his hands to his sides.
“Where are your clothes?”
I shrugged, then waited while he looked in the ensuite, then in the wardrobe beside my bed. I saw a flash of pink—side of sight—then looked away as he put the dress on the end of my bed and something else on the floor. He went into the ensuite so I slid to the edge of the bed and pulled my hospital gown off, then hurriedly pulled the dress over my head and was poking my hands into cardigan arm holes when he came back with a towel. One edge was wet.
“Head up,” he said, and when I obeyed, he held my chin gently while he wiped the rest of my smeared mascara off, then dabbed my face dry. At last, he looked into my eyes, his own big and green and God help me, suspiciously dewy. That made my chest ache even more. “I watched you sleeping before. You’re beautiful when you’re not telling me off.”
“Was I dribbling?”
His smile was slow to come. “Yeah.”
“Damn.”
“I wiped it up for you.”
“Thanks.” I found a smile then. This was goodbye. I suddenly wanted it to be nice. “I am in love with you,” I said, and he went very still, as if he’d caught his breath. “But you know, sometimes shit happens. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
He tilted his head forward, as if he was listening intently. “Loving me is shit happening?”
I nodded. “It doesn’t work…for me.”
“Because I’m married?”
“There’s that as well.”
“If I was single…?”
My heart pattered faster then, in ridiculous hope. But, “You’d tell me to stop husband sitting.”
Five agonizingly slow seconds ticked over before he said, “I don’t even know why you’re doing it.”
I swallowed down recklessness and reminded myself that my loyalty lay with Brittany. I’d promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone. If I ever wanted to have a decent relationship with her, I had to be reliable, because she sure as hell wasn’t. So I came back to the original sticking point. “Are you single?”
He took even more time answering. “No.”
Disappointment spiraled through me like barbed wire, cutting away all the stupid hope I’d let in, and it hurt. I turned away to hide my face and stepped into my sandals which Finn had put on the floor beside the bed, along with my handbag.
When I couldn’t delay any longer, I looked up to find him watching me with an expression that twisted the knife. He expected to be kicked in the guts. I could see it in his frown, in the emptiness behin
d his eyes. This was going to make me cry, but not here. Not now. I deliberately pushed my shoulders back. “I’ll pay my own hospital bill. They can give you a refund.”
“I can afford it. I want to.”
“I’m not your mistress.” I stared him down and finally added, “No is no.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Can I at least kiss you goodbye?”
I should have said no to that as well, but some desperate part of me wanted a last happy memory from Finn. Something to hold on to because he was as close to perfect as I’d found in my life, unfaithful though he was. I swallowed down misgivings and nodded. “Sure.”
“Because this is goodbye, isn’t it?”
I don’t want it to be. I desperately wanted to keep him coming into my life, letting me feel the incredible warmth and security of having him close. I wanted the aliveness of imagining how great it would be to have those very sexy eyes look at me over the dinner table every night, knowing we were both thinking about what would happen later when the lights went out.
But that was a fantasy. He was a married man who wanted me as his bit on the side. There was nothing perfect about that, so I said, “Some things are not meant to be.”
He didn’t argue, he just stepped up and pulled me into his arms and, despite my misgivings, I flowed into them like a fish sliding into the water. His lips met mine, warm and soft, and the taste of him pushed me past excited into aroused. I couldn’t help myself crushing my breasts against his chest, running my hands across his shoulders and kissing him back, making it count, making myself crazy, trying to ignore the bittersweet ache that was telling me the tears weren’t done with. We kissed for so long, when he pulled back I could barely think for the throbbing sensations he’d ignited.
“Your friend is waiting,” he whispered and rested his forehead against mine.
I forced myself to pull back and look into his eyes. I’d told him I loved him. And I’d told him that didn’t matter. The big things had already been discussed. I didn’t want to pick over the details. An emotional hangover was coming and I really just wanted to sleep through it. “Thanks for coming when I called,” I said, sincerely. “I’ve appreciated that.”
Husband Sit (Husband #1) Page 15
