Hers For One Night Only?

by Carol Marinelli

  He gave her the same brief nod that he had given Vince, then a very brief smile and very smoothly excused himself.

  ‘Told you!’ Jasmine was over in a flash the minute he was gone. ‘Oh, my God, you were talking for ages.’

  ‘For two minutes.’

  ‘That’s ages for him!’ Jasmine breathed. ‘He hardly says a word to anyone.’

  ‘Jasmine!’ She rolled her eyes at her friend. ‘You can stop this very moment.’ Bridgette let out a small gurgle of laughter. ‘I think I’ve just been assessed as to my suitability for a one-nighter. Honestly, he’s shameless… He asked if I had children and everything. Maybe he’s worried I’ve got stretch marks and a baggy vagina.’

  It was midwife-speak, and as she made Jasmine laugh, she laughed herself. The two women really laughed for the first time in a long, long time, and it was so good for Bridgette to be with her friend before she jetted off, because Jasmine had helped her through this difficult time. She didn’t want to be a misery at her friends’ leaving do, so she kept up the conversation a little. They giggled about lithe, toned bodies and the temptresses who would surely writhe on his white rug in his undoubtedly immaculate city apartment. It was a white rug, they decided, laughing, for a man like Dominic was surely far too tasteful for animal prints. And he’d make you a cocktail on arrival, for this was the first-class lounge of one-night stands, and on and on they went… Yes, it was so good to laugh.

  * * *

  Dominic could hear her laughter as he spoke with a colleague, as again he was offered yet more supposed consolation for a ‘bad day’. He wished that people would just say nothing, wished he could simply forget.

  It had been a… He searched for the expletive to best describe his day, chose it, but knew if he voiced it he might just be asked to leave, which wouldn’t be so bad, but, no, he took a mouthful of vinegar and grimaced as it met the acid in his stomach.

  He hated his job.

  Was great at it.

  Hated it.

  Loved it.

  Did it.

  He played ping-pong in his mind with a ball that broke with every hit.

  He wanted that hard ball tonight, one that bounced back on every smash, one that didn’t crumple if you hammered it.

  He wanted to be the doctor who offered better answers.

  Today he had seen the dominos falling, had scrambled to stop them, had done everything to reset them, but still they’d fallen—click, click, click—racing faster than he could halt them till he’d known absolutely what was coming and had loathed that he’d been the only one who could see it.

  ‘Where there’s life there’s hope’ had been offered several times.

  Actually, no, he wanted to say as he’d stared at another batch of blood results and read off the poisons that had filled this tiny body.

  ‘There is hope, though…’ the parents had begged, and he had refused to flinch at the frantic eyes that had scanned his face as he’d delivered news.

  He loved hope, he craved hope and had searched so hard for it today, but he also knew when hope was gone, said it before others would. Unlike others, he faced the inevitable—because it was either cardiac massage and all lights blazing, or a cuddle without the tubes at the end.

  Yes, it came down to that.

  Yes, it had been a XXXX of a day.

  He had sat with the parents till ten p.m. and then entered a bar that was too bright, stood with company that was too loud and tasted wine that could dissolve an olive, and hated that he missed her. How could you miss a woman you didn’t even like? He hated that she’d ring tonight and that he might be tempted to go back. That in two weeks’ time he’d see her. Shouldn’t he be over Arabella by now? Maybe it was just because he had had a ‘bad day’. Not that he and Arabella had ever really spoken about work—oh, they’d discussed their career paths of course, but never the day-to-day details. They’d never talked about days such as this, Dominic mused.

  Then he had seen her—Bridgette. In a silver dress and with a very wide smile, with gorgeous nails and polished hair, she had drawn his eye. Yet on inspection there was more behind that polished façade than he cared to explore, more than he needed tonight.

  He had been checking for a wedding ring.

  What no one understood was that he preferred to find one.

  Married women were less complicated, knew the rules from the start, for they had so much more to lose than he did.

  Bridgette was complicated.

  He’d read her, because he read women well. He could see the hurt behind those grey eyes, could see the effort that went into her bright smile. She was complicated and he didn’t need it. But, on the way down to her ring finger, he’d noticed very pale skin and a tapestry of freckles, and he’d wondered where the freckles stopped, had wondered far too many things.

  He didn’t need an ounce of emotion tonight, not one more piece, which was why he had excused himself and walked away. But perhaps he’d left gut instinct in his car tonight, the radar warning that had told him to keep his distance dimmed a fraction as he looked over to where she stood, laughing with her friend.

  ‘Hey, Dominic…’ He heard a low, seductive voice and turned to the pretty blonde who stood before him, a nurse who worked in Theatre and one whose husband seemed to be perpetually away. ‘So brilliant to see you tonight.’ He looked into eyes that were blue and glittered with open invitation, saw the ring on her finger and the spray tan on her arm on the way down. ‘I just finished a late shift. Wasn’t sure I’d make it.’

  ‘Are you on tomorrow?’ someone asked.

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘And I’ve got the weekend to myself. Geoff’s away.’ Her eyes flicked to his and Dominic met her gaze, went to take another sip of his drink and then, remembering how it tasted, changed his mind, and he changed his mind about something else too—he couldn’t stomach the taste of fake tan tonight.

  Then he heard Bridgette laughing, looked over and ignored his inner radar, managed to convince himself that he had read her wrong.

  He knew now what Bridgette’s middle name was.

  Escape.

  * * *

  ‘People are talking about going for something to eat…’ Vince came over and snaked his arm around Jasmine, and they shared a kiss as Bridgette stood, pretending not to feel awkward—actually, not so awkward now that she and Jasmine had had such a laugh. She wasn’t going out to dinner, or to a club, but at least she and Jasmine had had some fun—but then the waitress came over and handed her a glass.

  ‘For me?’ Bridgette frowned.

  ‘He said to be discreet.’ The waitress

  nodded her head in Dominic’s direction. ‘I’ll get rid of your other glass.’

  Double yikes!

  She glanced over to black eyes that were waiting to meet hers.

  Wrong girl, she wanted to semaphore back—so very, very wrong for you, Dominic, she wanted to signal. It took me weeks to have sex with Paul, I mean weeks, and you’re only here for two. And I don’t think I’m very good at it anyway. At least he hinted at that when we broke up. But Bridgette didn’t have any flags handy and wouldn’t know what to do if she had them anyway, so she couldn’t spell it out; she only had her eyes and they held his.

  She lifted the glass of temptation he offered and the wine slipped onto her tongue and down her throat. It tasted delicious—cold and expensive and not at all what she was used to.

  She felt her cheeks burn as she dragged her eyes from him and back to her friend and tried to focus on what Jasmine was saying—something about Mexican, and a night that would never end. She sipped her champagne that was far too nice, far too moreish, and Bridgette knew she had to get out of there. ‘Not for me,’ she said to Jasmine, feeling the scald of his eyes on her shoulder as she spoke. ‘Honestly, Jasmine…’ She didn’t need to make excuses wi
th her friend.

  ‘I know.’ Jasmine smiled. ‘It really is great that you came out.’

  It had been. Bridgette was relieved that she’d made it this far for her friend and also rather relieved to escape from the very suave Dominic—he was so out of her league and she also knew they were flirting. Dominic had the completely wrong impression of her—he thought she worked agency for the money and flexibility, so that she could choose her shifts at whim and party hard on a Saturday night.

  If only he knew the truth.

  Still, he was terribly nice.

  Not nice, she corrected. Not nice nice, more toe-curlingly sexy and a dangerous nice. Still, no one was leaving. Instead he had made his way over, the music seemed to thud low in her stomach and for a bizarre moment as he joined them she thought he was about to lean over and kiss her.

  Just like that, in front of everyone.

  And just like that, in front of everyone, she had the ridiculous feeling that she’d comply.

  It was safer to leave, to thank him for the drink, to say she wasn’t hungry, to hitch up her bag and get the hell out of there, to ignore the dangerous dance in her mind.

  ‘I’ll see you on Monday,’ she said to Jasmine.

  ‘You can help me pack!’

  The group sort of moved out of the bar as she did and walked towards the Mexican restaurant. There had been a burst of summer rain but it hadn’t cleared the air. Instead it was muggy, the damp night air clinging to her cheeks, to her legs and arms as her eyes scanned the street for a taxi.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?’ Dominic asked.

  And she should say no—she really should walk away now, Bridgette told herself. She didn’t even like Mexican food, but he was gorgeous and it had been ages since there had been even a hint of a flirt. And she was twenty-six and maybe just a bit flattered that someone as sophisticated as he was was paying her attention. Her wounded ego could certainly use the massage and she’d just checked her phone and things seemed fine, so Bridgette took a deep breath and forced back that smile.

  ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘Good,’ he replied, except she was confused, because he then said goodbye to Vince and Jasmine as Bridgette stood on the pavement, blinking as the group all bundled into a restaurant and just the two of them remained. Then he turned and smiled. ‘Let’s get something to eat, then.’

  ‘I thought…’ She didn’t finish her sentence, because he aimed his keys at a car, a very nice car, which lit up in response, and she glanced at her phone again and there wasn’t a single message.

  Her chariot awaited.

  She climbed in the car and sank into the leather and held her breath as Dominic walked around to the driver’s side.

  She didn’t do things like this.

  Ever.

  But there was a part of her that didn’t want to say goodnight.

  A part of her that didn’t want to go back to an empty flat and worry about Harry.

  They drove though the city; he blasted on the air-conditioner and it was bliss to feel the cool air on her cheeks. They drove in silence until his phone rang and she glanced to the dashboard where it sat in its little charger and the name ‘Arabella’ flashed up on his screen. Instead of making an excuse, he turned for a brief second and rolled his eyes. ‘Here we go.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The maudlin Saturday night phone call,’ Dominic said, grinding the gears. ‘How much she misses me, how she didn’t mean it like that…’

  The phone went black.

  ‘Your ex?’

  ‘Yep.’ He glanced over to her. ‘You can answer it if she rings again.’ He flashed her a smile, a devilish smile that had her stomach flip. ‘Tell her we’re in bed—that might just silence her.’

  ‘Er, no!’ She grinned. ‘I don’t do things like that.’

  On both counts.

  ‘Were you serious?’ she asked, because she couldn’t really imagine him serious about anyone. Mind you, Jasmine had said they’d been engaged.

  ‘Engaged,’ he said. ‘For a whole four weeks.’

  And he pulled his foot back from the accelerator because he realised he was driving too fast, but he hated the phone calls, hated that sometimes he was tempted to answer, to slip back into life as he once had known it.

  And end up like his parents, Dominic reminded himself.

  He’d lived through their hellish divorce as a teenager, had seen their perfect life crumble, and had no intention of emulating it. With Arabella he had taken his time. They had been together for two years and he thought he had chosen well—gorgeous, career-minded and she didn’t want children. In fact, it had turned out, she didn’t want anything that was less than perfect.

  ‘You’re driving too fast.’ Her voice broke into his thoughts. ‘I don’t make a very good passenger.’ She smiled. ‘I think I’m a bit of a control freak.’

  He slowed down, the car swishing through the damp city streets, and then they turned into the Arts Centre car park. Walking through it, she could hear her heels ringing on the cement, and even though it was her town, it was Dominic who knew where he was going—it had been ages since she had been in the heart of the city. She didn’t feel out of place in her silver dress. The theatres were spilling out and there were people everywhere dressed to the nines and heading for a late dinner.

  She found herself by a river—looking out on it from behind glass. She was at a table, with candles and silver and huge purple menus and a man she was quite sure she couldn’t handle. He’d been joking in the car about telling his ex they were in bed, she knew it, but not really—she knew that too.

  ‘What do you want to eat?’

  Bridgette wasn’t that hungry—she felt a little bit sick, in fact—but she looked through the menu and tried to make up her mind.

  ‘I…’ She didn’t have the energy to sit through a meal. Really, she ought to tell him now, that the night would not be ending as he was undoubtedly expecting. ‘I’m not very hungry…’

  ‘We can get dessert and coffee if you want.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind the cheese platter.’

  ‘Start at the end.’ He gave her a smile and placed the order—water for him and cognac for her, he suggested, and, heaven help her, the waiter asked if she wanted it warmed.

  ‘Dominic…’ She took a deep breath as their platter arrived, a gorgeous platter of rich cheeses and fruits. ‘I think—’

  ‘I think we just ought to enjoy,’ he interrupted.

  ‘No.’ Bridgette gulped. ‘I mean…’ She watched as he smeared cheese on a cracker and offered it to her.

  ‘I don’t like blue cheese.’

  ‘Then you haven’t had a good one.’

  He wasn’t wrong there!

  He took a bite instead and her hand shook as she reached for the knife, tasted something she was quite sure she didn’t like and found out it was, in fact, amazing.

  ‘Told you.’

  ‘You did.’ She looked at the platter, at the grapes and dates, like some lush oil painting, and she knew the dance that was being played and the flirting and the seduction that was to come, and it terrified her. ‘I don’t think I should be here…’ She scrabbled in her bag, would pay the bill, knew that she must end this.

  ‘Bridgette.’ He wasn’t a bastard—he

  really wasn’t. Yes, he’d been playing the field since his engagement had ended, and, yes, he had every intention of continuing to do so, but he only played with those who were happy with the rules, and he knew now for sure that she wasn’t. ‘It’s cheese.’

  She lifted troubled eyes to his.

  ‘No, it isn’t—it’s the ride home after.’

  He liked her. He hadn’t wanted emotion tonight, and yet she made him smile as a tear washed away the last of her foundatio
n and he could see freckles on her nose. ‘Bridgette, it’s cheese and conversation.’ He took her hand, and she started to tell him he didn’t want just cheese and conversation, oh, no, she knew it very well. She told him she wasn’t the girl in the silver dress who partied and he held her hand as she babbled about zebra-print rugs, no white ones, and cocktails. ‘Bridgette.’ He was incredibly close to adoring her, to leaning over and kissing her right now. ‘It’s cheese and conversation and then I’ll take you home.’ He looked at her mouth and he was honest. ‘Maybe just one kiss goodnight.’

  Oh, but she wanted her kiss.

  Just one.

  ‘That leads nowhere,’ she said.

  ‘That leads nowhere,’ he assured her.

  ‘We’re not suited,’ she said, and was incredibly grateful that he nodded.

  ‘We’re completely incompatible,’ Dominic

  agreed.

  ‘And I’m sorry if I’ve misled you…’

  ‘You didn’t.’ He was very magnanimous, smearing more cheese and this time handing it to her, no, wait, feeding her, and it wasn’t so much seductive as nice. ‘I let myself be misled,’ he said, and he handed her her cognac. ‘I knew from the start you were nice.’ He gave her a smile. ‘And you are, Bridgette.’

  ‘So are you.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he assured her. ‘I’m not.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT FELT so good to feel so good and it was as if they both knew that they didn’t have long. It was terribly hard to explain it, but now that there wasn’t sex on the menu, now they’d cleared that out of the way, they could relax and just be.

  For a little while.

  She took a sip of cognac and it burnt all the way down, a delicious burn.

  ‘Nice?’ Dominic asked.

  ‘Too nice,’ she admitted.

  And he hadn’t wanted conversation, or emotion, but he was laughing, talking, sharing, and that XXXX of a day melted away with her smile.

  So they worked the menu backwards and ordered dessert, chocolate soufflé for Bridgette and watermelon and mint sorbet for him. As he sampled his dish, Bridgette wanted a taste—not a spoonful, more a taste of his cool, watermelon-and-mint-flavoured tongue—and she flushed a little as he offered her the spoon. ‘Want some?’ Dominic said.