by Heidi Lowe
Through some kind of witchcraft, it seemed, she managed to help me up onto her horse, which she mounted behind me.
We rode back at a leisurely pace. Thankfully we were only ten minutes from the house. She helped me down, then into her apartment, and finally laid me on her couch. Then she yanked off my boot and, after untying her scarf, cut away the leg of my pants.
It wasn't as bad as it looked. Nowhere near as deep as I'd expected. But it hurt like hell.
"I'm going to call a friend. He's a doctor," she said. "How are you feeling? You lost quite a bit of blood." She pressed her palm to my forehead, her face panic-stricken.
"I'm fine," I assured her as she tied the scarf around my exposed thigh once again, to stop the bleeding.
She got on the phone to her doctor friend, didn't play down the urgency of the situation.
As I watched her take control, dabbing my wound with an antiseptic wipe (which hurt so much I swore several times), an awkward, frightening realization came to me:
That was the moment I realized I'd fallen for her. Hard.
TEN
"Thanks for coming, Patrick," Scarlett said as she walked her friend, the doctor, to the door.
I watched them from the couch, where I'd been for over an hour now. Studied the way Dr. Patrick, a guy with a chiseled jawline and a full head of wavy blonde hair, rubbed her arm affectionately, looked at her lovingly. Although he'd done a good job of tending to my wound which, thank the heavens, didn't need stitches, I despised him. Good-looking, charming, and he was a freaking doctor! There had to be something going on between them.
"You know I'd do anything for you," he said. Then, whispering, assuming I wouldn't hear, "Is she...?"
"No," Scarlett said quickly. "Marcus's girlfriend." She laughed nervously, looked back at me, and I pretended to be busy drinking the orange juice she'd poured for me.
"She'll need to change her dressing in the morning. And you can give her a couple more aspirins in three hours if she's still in pain."
He kissed her on the cheek, told her to call him when she was free, then left.
"How are you feeling?" she said, returning to her seat at the end of the couch. My body took up the rest of the space, with my wounded leg stretched out and bare.
"All right, I guess. Sorry you had to destroy your riding pants."
She waved a dismissive hand. "They're easily replaceable."
"Did you get through to Marcus?"
She shook her head. "Went straight to voice-mail. I'll try him again."
"No, don't bother. He's busy. It's not that serious anyway. I could just chill here for a little while...if you don't mind..."
She shrugged, her nonchalance feigned. "Fine."
"So, he's attractive..." I said, once she'd returned from the kitchen with a drink for herself.
"Patrick? Yes, he is." She regarded me curiously. I would have paid money to know what she was thinking.
"I didn't see a ring on his finger..."
"Okay."
"And you guys seem to know each other well..."
She sniffed a laugh, shaking her head. "What are you trying to say, Jenna?"
"Nothing. I just wondered, is all."
"Wondered if there was anything going on between me and Patrick?" Her laugh was sexier now than it ever had been, but then again I'd never looked at her the way I was looking at her now. "Maybe. Maybe not. What business is it of yours?"
I held up my hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just making smalltalk."
"Why does your smalltalk always revolve around trying to find out who I'm presently sleeping with?"
My face and neck heated up. "That's not...I'm not..."
She broke me off. "Why did you come to the stable this afternoon?"
"Because I wanted to ride," I said, frowning at her question. Wasn't it obvious? Why did anyone go to a stable?
"You wanted to ride?" Why did her question sound so...euphemistic? Or was that just my dirty mind hearing something that wasn't there? "So that was it? No other reason?"
I'd all but forgotten the initial reason I'd gone in search of her. "Well, actually, I came to talk to you about what happened at the party." I'd busied myself playing with the torn fabric of my pants, one leg cut so close to my underwear it looked like I was wearing hot pants.
She was silent for a moment, and I continued to avoid looking at her. Until finally she said, "Nothing happened at the party."
"I know, but–"
"No, Jenna, you don't know. Look at me." Her voice had taken on a hardness. When I did look at her, I saw that her eyes, too, had that hardness to them. "Nothing happened. And nothing ever will. So whatever you think was about to happen, you're mistaken."
"Okay."
"So that's cleared up. I'm going to try my brother again." She got up, and as she walked past me, I grabbed her wrist. "Jenna, what are you–"
In spite of the pain that shot through my leg, I got to my feet. Even though I was no longer clutching onto her, she remained in place, fear in her eyes. She must have known what was about to happen, what should have happened that afternoon of the party. Now there was no Marcus to interrupt us.
Her eyes reflected my own desire back to me; she couldn't have walked away even if she'd tried. I took her head in my hands and brought my lips to hers. A choir of angels sang around us. It was as though I'd waited my whole life for a kiss like that.
Before long the tongue battle commenced, the pain in my thigh now a distant memory. In fact everything became a distant memory. Where I was, who I was, the thing that had brought us together in the first place. None of that mattered at that moment. Eventually it would again, but for now, this was the most important thing.
My heart sank when she plucked her lips from mine, then faltered back a few steps, as though my kiss had given her Ebola.
"Please leave," she said, turning her back to me.
"Scarlett, I–"
"Go!" she screamed, and I heard the tears choked up in her throat.
She'd come to her senses, and oh fuck, so had I. What had I done?
Although my leg throbbed with every step, I got the hell out of there as fast as I could.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here and that I missed Scarlett's calls. There was no reception where we were. Stupid network." Marcus was all over me like a rash when he got home and saw that I'd been injured. Kisses, cuddles, soothing words, the lot. My guilty heart wanted nothing more than for him to hold me and erase the last couple of hours from my history. The universe had given me a break the first time around, when he'd interrupted us. That should have been a warning to me that nothing but pain and anguish lay ahead if I continued down that forbidden route. But no, I'd ignored the sign, tempted fate, and now I'd done something despicable. It didn't matter that we'd never progressed further than the kiss, she was his sister, for God's sake! The most important person in his life. The woman who'd practically raised him.
I felt like crap!
"It's not that bad. A doctor came by, did his thing, and I'll be fine. Back on my feet in no time. I managed to get upstairs, didn't I?"
"Why couldn't you have just stayed downstairs with Scarlett? You said she brought you there."
I looked away guiltily. "I wanted to be in our bed, you know."
"You must think I'm a useless bastard for being away while this was happening."
I stroked his face. "Of course not. How could you have known this idiot right here was going to forget that she's crap at horse-riding and go out and get herself hurt?"
He laughed. "No more horse-riding for you."
"That's right. I'm not going near another horse again, or a stable. And I hate squirrels now, too."
He frowned, then I explained what happened, how a squirrel freaked Paddington out, prompting him to toss me from his back.
"Who was the doctor that came around?" he asked a little later.
"Patrick he said his name was."
"Blond guy? Really tall, looks like he could be a basketball player?"
"Yeah, you know him?" Curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I wanted to fish for the scoop on Dr. Patrick and his relation to Scarlett. I couldn't help myself.
"Scarlett's friend. Cool guy. Rides cars in his spare time. There are roads in Germany that have no speed limit. He goes there a lot."
None of that interested me. I just wanted to know who he was to her. Trying for casual, I said, "They looked kinda close. You think they're...?"
He shrugged. "No idea. But they'd make cute kids. Wouldn't mind him as a brother-in-law."
Nausea swelled in my stomach, but I smiled weakly and said nothing.
ELEVEN
It wasn't so much that she avoided me, because to say that wouldn't have been accurate. She didn't avoid me, not really. At breakfast and sometimes dinner, the whole family dined together, like one big, happy family. As though nothing had ever happened. Yet, I was being ignored, that much was clear. If we were seated opposite each other, she barely looked in my direction, as though nothing but empty space occupied my seat.
Which was fine by me. As far as I was concerned, she could ignore me for the rest of my stay in the UK, and we'd never have to talk about my breaking of the cardinal rules: don't shit where you eat; do not covet (and definitely not kiss) thy boyfriend's sister. Yada yada yada.
We went on like that for over a week, and I was safe in the knowledge that whatever had led me to force myself on her, to steal a kiss she didn't ask for, had passed.
I told myself everything I needed to hear. Convinced myself that my desire for her that afternoon had stemmed from my gratitude for her taking care of me after my accident. Yeah, that had to be it, because women weren't my thing! I was sure of that. I hadn't fallen for her, of course not...
"Sorry, I forgot my purse. I'll be right back," I said, letting go of Marcus's hand and hurrying back up the stairs, as he and his parents waited by the front entrance, all dressed to the nines – tuxedos and elegant evening gown to boot. The perfect attire for an evening at the opera.
"I think she just means her handbag," I heard Norman explaining to his wife. "That's what they call it sometimes. Those barmy Americans."
Pot calling the kettle black, I thought, shaking my head and laughing to myself. I'd been listening to comments like that since I got there, and all I could do was laugh it off. They were so oblivious to the fact that their words could have caused offense to someone more sensitive than me.
By the time I'd retrieved my purse from my room and rejoined the others, Scarlett had arrived. But she wasn't alone.
Norman was shaking Dr. Patrick's hand when I returned. Dr. Patrick, the blond Adonis who sported a black tuxedo that looked tailor-made, like he was trying to give James Bond a run for his money.
"You obviously know my girlfriend, Jenna," Marcus said, grabbing my hand and kissing me on the cheek.
"Of course," Patrick said, offering his winning smile. I hated him. "How's the leg?"
"Fine," I said, and prayed it didn't come off as venomous as I felt. "Thanks," I added quickly.
That was when I caught Scarlett's stare through the corner of my eye. Perhaps the others hadn't caught my acrid tone, but her look said she had, and she wanted me to cut it out.
Norman glanced at his watch. "Shall we make a move?"
"So what do you think of the first half?" Fiona said, eyes bright, big and eager as we claimed an unoccupied table, once we'd bought our drinks.
Marcus and Norman had gotten lost in the crowd coming out at the interval, and I couldn't spot them anywhere. Too bad Scarlett and her date hadn't been the ones to get lost. That would have spared me the puke-fest I was currently being subjected to.
As Fiona blabbered on about the intricacies of the love story, and fired off a list of the reasons why she'd seen that particular opera, Madam Butterfly, over two dozen times, my eyes had wandered behind her to the touchy-feely lovebirds. With every flirtatious giggle Scarlett let off each time Patrick whispered something intimate into her ear – lingering far too long to mean anything innocent by it – my blood simmered. I despised the way he held his palm to her back, as though she was all his and always had been. Despised the way she didn't stop him.
I loathed them both, but her more than him. Her because, if this was really what she wanted, she never should have let me kiss her.
I looked away quickly, just as she turned in my direction. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain. Not that she would have cared. She'd moved on to the next man. Eric was a distant memory. Our kiss, too, no doubt.
"You're not drinking your wine," Fiona pointed out, sounding and looking concerned. "Did you want something else instead?"
"No, I'm fine. It's fine."
Scarlett, holding hands with Patrick like school kids, joined us, smiling like the cat that got the cream. Hers mirrored Patrick's. Marcus's comment came to mind then. "They'll make cute kids." Fuck them! They would make the cutest kids. And they would have rosy cheeks, probably look like Prince George and Princess Charlotte.
"We're going to head off early," Scarlett announced. "And, Mum, please don't give me a lecture about leaving halfway through. I've seen it already."
"I wasn't going to say anything," Fiona said, with the pout of someone who was about to say something.
She kissed her mother on one cheek, Patrick kissed Fiona on the other. Scarlett didn't even say goodbye to me. Maybe because she caught sight of the glare I shot her way.
I couldn't enjoy the rest of the show. I was too busy driving myself crazy thinking about Scarlett and Patrick doing the nasty. He would get a lot further than I ever could, and that thought made me sick to the stomach.
Nobody else seemed to notice that Patrick's car was still parked in the driveway when we got back home at a quarter to midnight. Or that a light was on in Scarlett's living room. So he was still there.
"Hey, are you okay?" Marcus asked me as we changed for bed. "You seem more quiet than usual. Subdued."
He climbed into bed beside me, and tried to pull me into a kiss.
"I'm tired, Marcus," I said, pushing him away gently. "Can you turn out the lights?"
He gave me a weird look, like he didn't understand me, then sighed, climbed out of bed and switched off the light.
"Goodnight," he mumbled.
"Goodnight."
I waited until I heard his steady snoring, and long enough for his parents to fall asleep, before I crept out of bed and went in search of my cigarettes. I needed one, maybe two, after the night I'd had.
From the window at the top of the stairs, I saw that Patrick's car hadn't moved. Was he seriously going to spend the night here? The whole fucking night? Did he care nothing about common decency?
Outside, I lit up a cigarette, my eyes pinned to the annexe apartment across the drive. Every puff was taken angrily; furiously. My stomach tightened, twisted into a knot. The green-eyed monster had struck, and he wasn't going easy on me.
It was as if the universe answered my prayers to get the good doctor out of her apartment, because the next thing I knew, her door opened, and out he stepped. Tux jacket slung over his shoulder, he leaned in to kiss her, but I saw her offer him her cheek instead. What was that about?
She waved goodbye to him on her doorstep, and then she saw me. For a moment we just stared across at each other, before she turned, went inside and closed the door behind her.
Temper now officially lost, I tossed my cigarette away, then stormed over to her apartment.
"Go away, Jenna," she said when I started knocking.
"No. I need to talk to you."
"You don't."
I knocked and knocked until finally the door flew open. Startled by actually getting her to open it, I just stood there like a clueless idiot.
"Go back to bed, to my brother," she said.
Her hair was tousled. She wore a silky nightgown, a short number, beneath which her nipples had hardened. Never before had my mouth watered for something that wasn't food!
&
nbsp; I barged past her and into her apartment. "Is this what you do? Lure people in, screw them, then toss them away like trash?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" She closed the door quickly.
"First Susan, then that Eric guy, and now Patrick. You fuck anything that moves!" The words were out before I could curtail them.
A fire burned in her eyes. She brought herself so close to me I could see the murderous intent in her pupils. "Don't you ever speak to me like that again. Just who do you think you are? What I do – who I fuck – is none of your business!"
"Why don't you just charge for it, huh? You could really clean up the way you get through guys...and women."
I thought for sure she was going to slap me. I deserved it. I couldn't believe these words were coming from my own mouth.
She let out a breath, her eyes searching mine for something. Then she said in the calmest voice, "Did you come all the way down here to insult me, to call me a whore?"
"No!" I shouted, unable to control my emotions. I knew what was happening, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. "I came here to..."
"What?" she demanded.
"I don't know. All I could think about was you down here with him, and I just...I just..." I threw up my hands in despair.
And then she seized both of my wrists, moved in and smashed her lips to mine. Her tongue slithered skilfully into my mouth, and I gave it free reign to do so. It felt right at home there.
When she broke away, I feared she would never come back, so I pulled her into another kiss. And when that was over, she spun me round, pressed me to the nearest wall.
She hitched my nightie up, wrestled my panties down. I felt her fingers enter me moments later, moist, like she'd just put them into her mouth. She pounded and pounded away non-stop, causing me to moan and cry. She kept whispering for me to keep my voice down while she drove herself in and out of me.
A million different emotions rushed over me, a million different feelings as I inched close to an orgasm. She was hitting a spot inside me no one had ever hit or reached, and the shock of the stimulation mixed with my feeling of being screwed like a cheap whore against a wall made the orgasm a thousand times more intense.
