Of course, Brad, Kayla and I had also hung around at Conall's place after they'd moved into the unused cottage. And then Kayla, Alex and I hung out in London a lot. But this was the first time all five of us sat back, chilled, sipped coffee, rubbed our hands and started forming a history together. A history I wanted to keep going. These were my friends, my closest friends. My life was with them.
Conall told Brad they'd catch up on business later. Brad sat quietly, his burly arm around wild-haired Kayla. She'd dyed her shaved-on-one-side hair orange for our trip "because the Swiss like orange." (She knew very well that was the Dutch, but she would just fight me on it if I mentioned it, so I kept quiet.)
The champagne came and we popped it open, toasted to my nights and days of 'deflowering,' although Kay was kind enough to toast to friendship aloud, but I knew what she was really toasting to. At the end of it Conall told us he had meetings all day and I, whoopee, had another day of skiing instruction planned.
Alex looked about as excited as me about it and we only had a few days left here so we decided to face the facts—we were never going to win the Snow Olympics Ski Jumping event—and opted to have our money stolen by all the overpriced tourist stores in the area instead. I kissed Conall goodbye—it felt so good to be able to do that with someone—and Alex and I headed off to Swarovski and other over-priced gems in the tourist shopping street.
Being May, the air was crisp but the sky clear. Flowers were popping up in some spots, the grass showing where slush had melted, but snow still covered the shaded areas. We took a stroll along the gushing Matter Vispa River, got creeped out by the Climbers' Cemetery (a lot of people died climbing that damned mountain!) and finally chilled out for drinks in the mid-afternoon when we couldn't walk anymore.
Alex looked better, happier, calmer.
We sat at a coffee place called Matt's. Inside. The place smelled of cake and was full of tourists, even at this time of year.
"I met someone," said Alex. She smiled, her face glowing so much that the scar on the side of it almost disappeared.
"Really?"
She nodded, looked around shyly like she was fifteen. "And he's hot!" Her eyes bulged.
"Who?"
"We met about a week ago. He works at the hotel. Bartender. I got a lot of free drinks by the way. Really hot. Anyway, I found myself gravitating there every night after Chillout. We chatted a lot, regularly. And we also didn't chat." She raised a knowing eyebrow. "Then, with you and Conall being, um, you know, busy, and Kayla and Brad being together up that damned mountain all the time, well, I took some time off for myself. Pedro noticed and took some days off himself and spent them with me."
"Pedro?"
She grinned, saw my interest. "He's Portuguese. Dark. Dimpled smile." She chuckled. "Anyway, at my age, that's all bullshit anyway. And I've been through so much crap in my life that I don't just need some sexy boy to keep me happy. But it's a bonus. He's more than that, so much more. He listens, talks to me, seems really interested in who I am..."
She looked outside, wistful, taken away by the romance of the mountains surrounding us, the conifers, the log cabins.
"Damn, you look smitten."
Her cheeks rouged. She shrugged. "I might stay here for a bit after you guys leave. He can't leave because of work. I'm not even sure if I'll ever go back to the UK."
My stomach sank. "You like it here?"
"Who wouldn't?" She blew down on her hot Gluehwein. My cappuccino had also arrived. "So, he's got like that permanently tanned look of someone who's lived his entire life under the sun."
"Tall?"
"I said he's Portuguese, not Norwegian!"
I chuckled. "Who'd have thought you'd meet a Portuguese guy up here of all places?"
"Girl, half this fucking town is Portuguese! It's like the second-largest community up here. They're the ones speaking that language that sounds like a mix between Italian and Russian."
"Ahh!"
I felt a sudden pang of loss in my chest. I put my hand on hers, smiled. She could see the fear in my eyes. "Thank you," she said.
I frowned, confused, then I understood. I remembered the day she'd collapsed in her hotel room in London, the ensuing night we'd spent together. "And thank you," I told her. She'd returned the favor to me many times over since then.
"You've become like a younger sister to me, Leora. Although, I think you're far more mature than I am! But at least age-wise, you're my little sister. We'll never lose touch. I promise."
I looked down, felt my eyes prickle. I felt more for Alex than I had for anyone in New York. The only two people I'd missed after leaving the states had been Kayla and my nanny, Maria. And Kayla was now here with me!
It amazed he how I'd formed friendships in only a few months on this side of the pond that seemed stronger and more powerful than anything I'd ever felt in the states in all my eighteen years that I'd lived there.
"I don't think I would've gotten through these last few weeks without you," I told her.
"Oh, bullshit."
"It's true. Kayla's always been a sister to me. But now you, too. And also how you've known Conall and helped me understand him... All of it."
She rubbed the back of my hand in acknowledgment. "Speaking of Conall, I'll have to introduce him to Pedro." She sighed heavily, looked at the cake-stand.
"Why?"
"If you're like my sister, he's the mean brother, ready to beat up all my boyfriends."
I started laughing.
"Anyway, the more I think about it, the more I see mine and Conall's relationship as having always been just that. You know, siblings. I was never interested in him. It was weird. And it wasn't because I was into all my shit—you know, the drugs and stuff. I just... At one stage I thought maybe I was even gay—"
"He also thought that," I said, not even thinking. "Oh, sorry."
"No, it's fine. That's funny! Yeah, I mean, he's hot. So hot. And rich. And even though he makes his own money now, you know, he was rich already when I knew him. But there was never anything there for me. I guess what I'm saying is: I've always wanted to believe in that shit, you know, 'the one.' I always thought it was a load of crap. But it's the only thing that makes sense to me now. At least now it does... I'm rambling, sorry, whatever." She waved her hand.
I noticed my mouth was slightly agape. "You. Are. So. In Love!"
She shook her head, put her hand to her forehead. "Fuck it. I'm screwed."
"So, this Pedro, you think he's 'the one'?"
She paused, thought. "Well, that's what I'm not sure of. Maybe he is. Maybe he isn't. I mean, he's sweet. And he makes me feel cared for. He's also really good in—" She stopped abruptly, smiled embarrassedly. "I don't know. But I just feel like I'm getting somewhere now. Maybe he's the one, maybe not. But he makes me happy. I need happy. I need to get my feet wet again. Try and live a 'normal' life. And this is a good place to do it.
"I haven't been happy in so long."
Her brown eyes gleamed with hope, bright and wide and liquid fresh. Her dirty-blonde hair look suddenly golden.
"I invited him to Chillout tonight," she said.
-2-
Chillout was Kayla's favorite Après Ski. I'd never heard of that shit before Switzerland. Après Ski is just a friggin fancy word that ski-freaks like to use for nightlife! We'd all hung out there after skiing most nights—or not skiing, as the case may be. It had style, real style. Some of it was typical club, some of it not: Loud, thumping music; muscled waiters in bow-ties; tall waitresses in bikinis—also with bow-ties. The place was a furnace from all the body-heat. Rainbow strobe-lighting cut the dance-floor and lit up faces and sweating skin.
We were standing at a table—Brad, Kayla, me and Conall—when Alex sashayed in, donned in a glittering dress, Pedro's arm looped around her waist. Yes, he was dark—including dark eyes and dark hair—and absolutely handsome. He was taller than me. Everyone's taller than me. But he was a little shorter than Alex, just a little.
Alex
did the intros and I could see after some time that Conall liked him. That was important.
Kayla was pissing it up and urging Brad to go on and dance with her. But Brad looked concerned. He whispered in Conall's ear and Conall made a barely noticeable nod, then gestured ever-so-casually with his eyes for them to stroll on over to the bar and talk shop.
Because of course they'd be talking shop, what else would it be?
Kayla took her long drink under the strobe lights of the dance floor and partied it up. Pedro nuzzled Alex's neck and teased her with his dimpled smile. Smoke from the smoke machines scratched at my nose.
And Conall and Brad continued to speak at the bar.
Conall stood with drink in hand, looking deadly in a black trench coat he hadn't taken off despite the heat. His mind was elsewhere.
Brad leaned forward on the counter with both elbows. He looked over at Kayla once, then at me. My straw was stuck to my mouth, paying little attention to what I was drinking and complete attention to what it might be that the boys were talking about. A bartender asked Brad what he wanted to drink, Brad didn't even hear him. The bartender walked away to serve a frizzy red-head with a skirt so high I thought it was gonna strangle her.
Brad looked again at me, chewed on a matchstick, then nodded at Conall.
It was like watching a meeting between Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci in Casino!
They returned.
"Everything OK?" I asked Conall once he was back at my side.
"Of course, love." He smiled, and there was all manner of deception in that smile. By now I knew one thing clearly about Conall. I could trust him with all my soul. I could do what he said with no questions regarding his loyalty. But I also knew that, if he did lie to me, it would be because of some idea he had that he needed to protect me, or to protect someone else he cared for.
I didn't want to be shut out of that world anymore. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted him to tell me and involve me. What good is love if you don't risk things together?
I laced my fingers in his and put my head on his shoulder, swung his arm back and forth. "Sit," I whispered in his ear, moving a stool over to him. He barely noticed it when I got it under him.
I slid his coat off, watched him as his eyes lingered on another side of the club, but actually on nothing at all.
Brad picked up his beer from earlier and raised it up, "To Switzerland!" he shouted.
Kayla heard him. "Come over here, sexy baby!" she cried, spilling her drink as she held it up to the side and swung her half-shaved head around like someone going nuts in a mosh-pit. Brad joined her and they danced. They ground their pelvises together just as they had done on the night they'd first met. The night when I'd called them during their, um, 'activity.'
But Conall, Conall brooded further. Conall didn't cry out, didn't shout, didn't touch his Martini. Certainly didn't dance.
I kissed him on the ear, and squeezed his hand. "Let's go home," I whispered.
He smiled at me, stood. "Pedro, it was a pleasure meeting you." Conall extended his hand, shook Pedro's firmly. Kissed Alex once on the cheek and rubbed her arm warmly. Then he snuck me under his shoulder, and we walked back to the chalet. Briskly.
CHAPTER FIVE
-1-
He was in outer-space when we got there, his mind so engrossed by whatever it was that Brad had told him that my own skin had begun to chill, fears of the earlier weeks starting to appear again. Like rats flushed out by sudden light, or bats swarming out of a filthy cave.
I put it aside, decided to be strong, to build on what we had and not focus on the negative.
"Wine?" I asked, and Conall said yes.
He sat on the couch, eased his legs up on the glass table, flipped on some easy jazz. Norah Jones, one of his favorites. He squeezed his temples between his thumb and forefinger. I eased down over the side of the couch toward him, kissed him once on the forehead.
"Wanna talk about it?" I asked.
He suddenly stopped, shook his head, smiled as if caught doing something wrong by a schoolteacher. "Bugger, I didn't even realize I was so far away."
"I know you didn't." I got on my knees on the floor, rested my elbows on the couch's arm-rest, put my chin on my hands. Looked at him. Waited.
Conall turned to me and smiled, put his thumb and forefinger under my chin, lifted it and eased his head down to mine.
His lips were warm chocolate, dripping over me and weakening my resolve to get this information out of him. My skin warmed, my eyes closed. "I need you to talk to me," I said, barely getting the words out.
"This is talking for me." He kissed my forehead. I heard his lips smack gently, felt the tickle of his tongue as it made its way around my right eye, my lashes, down to my cheekbone. Across to my ear.
"Promise me you'll talk to me after."
His rhythmic kisses skipped a beat as I'd said it, then he continued.
"Conall, promise me. Please."
He sighed, put his hand on the back of my head, pressed his forehead to mine. "I promise."
We started off slowly, on the couch.
But it was only slow in the beginning.
I took my pants off, undid his buckle, pulled down his slacks and boxers. He was hard already. I straddled him as he sat on the couch, my underwear still on, rubbed him so I could feel his shaft pulse and scrape right on my sweet spot.
I lifted myself up, pushed my crotch against his chest, let him lift my shirt and kiss my belly button with the same warm lips that had danced on my face like ballerina's feet a moment ago. Each caress of his tongue sent shivers over my skin, sent me into a blissful daze of swimming in an ocean far too big for me, for him, for us.
His firm hands clutched my butt and he moved his nose to the top of my underwear. He inhaled loudly and it sent gushing warmth out of me. He bit the left strap of my panties, started pulling them down with his teeth, then followed with his hands, slowly, to my thighs, my knees.
He blew on my center. It made my legs quiver and I fell against him, pressing his head against the back of the couch. He slid his body lower and his tongue made its way onto my clit. He licked it once.
It burned like hot razors, fired up my skin so that my bottom lip shook. I heaved out a hot breath. My muscles screamed for him.
I felt my pelvis move, grinding into him as his gentle tongue slid in and out of his mouth, just touching, touching my clit, licking it up once, then down with the back of it. Up.
Down.
He pushed against my ass with his hands, pressed my nub against his nose and lips so that my pelvis trembled, tightened. I took my shirt off, suddenly too hot. I unclasped my bra and threw it away next to me.
I held his head, ruffled his hair with my fingers as I felt the burgeoning love and adoration in me for this lovely man, this man who'd suffered so much, and who could love even more.
Deliberately, he grazed his teeth down my pubis, just barely scraping the nub, licking me once more so lustfully that my body responded by releasing the lubricant which yearned and called out loud for his manhood.
He licked again.
I looked down, saw my panties at my knees, didn't want to get up off him to take them off. "Rip them off," I said.
He did. Both hands. Quick.
I slid down onto him, closed my eyes as I felt the length of his wide shaft rest just between my slit, enwrapping him.
I rode over it once, gasped out as he pulsed against me. Then I rode down it again. I was brimming with moisture, the smell of sex making me almost high with intoxication for him.
My eyes closed, unable to open, I felt Conall's hand below, moving around. He pressed his finger once and then twice into me, pushing me up.
I lifted.
And then, before I knew it, he was inside me.
Conall thrust up into me. I held his neck and felt my own go limp, saw my hair fall about my eyes and mouth while he fucked me, up and down, his hands wrapped around my waist and his throat calling out my name and other things.
Not words, sounds, sounds of pleasure and unity and togetherness. And I called out his name. Called it out and groaned it and murmured until the walls trembled in response.
He slammed into me.
My grip tensed on his shoulders. I lifted my skirt and looked down at his magnificent cock entering and exiting me, tried to hold myself up so he had space to move.
We were almost there, it was happening, not only in him but in me, faster, please, "Conall, faster, baby, faster, fast—"
I shook him, pulled him violently from the back of the seat as the waves took over me. They flowed down my head and back and spine like icy water and then climbed up me again as if they were suddenly hot erupting lava.
I clenched his cock, felt myself pulse and contract as torrents of pressurized blood rushed inside me and returned to my legs and feet and arms and chest. My toes curled. Conall was coming as well, spearing into me, pushing up so far and so high that I had to lift myself.
In the end, we gave a mutual yelp.
We kissed each other, softly, wetly, still riding slowly, settled into a gentle rocking motion. I swayed, in, out, squeezing his pleasure out of him, making him groan just a little more.
I kissed his neck, swayed still, felt the final twinges of it in myself as well.
I smiled, cupped his head in my hands. "I think we can talk now," I said.
He smiled in return.
I kissed him on the lips, then let him hold me a bit, my breasts to his cheeks, just for a bit.
-2-
"One of my guys is dead," Conall told me.
"Your 'guys'?"
"Yeah, one of the PIs, the one who discovered Alex was still alive. He was found murdered, body floating in the Rhine river in Germany. That's where his latest lead had sent him."
I put the wine down and stared at the fire, the flames hypnotizing me as my mind drifted to the decay, the death, my own living nightmare of not too long ago.
West-End Boys (Naïve Mistakes) Page 4
