Trudy shuddered. Daryl’s attempts at matchmaking were fast becoming a problem. She stumbled into the kitchen, relieved to have escaped the sound of ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ and the clatter of shouted conversations.
The kitchens were all but empty, manned by a solitary plongeur wiping down surfaces. He nodded a polite greeting to her. Trudy said hello as she walked towards the office in the centre of the kitchen. She was hoping to find Imogen so she could give her a quick hug and tell her how splendid she had looked as maid of honour. Stepping into the office she saw Imogen was just resting her baby on the couch.
‘Trudy,’ Imogen said carefully. ‘I thought I saw you earlier.’
She didn’t smile. Her behaviour seemed a little stilted. Her eyes were wide and she was staring unhappily. At first Trudy thought she’d done something to upset her friend. It was only when she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her that she realised Imogen was staring unhappily at a figure in a shadowy corner of the room.
Trudy didn’t dare follow the line of the woman’s gaze. In truth, she didn’t need to. She already knew who would be standing there.
‘Trudy?’
She recognised his voice immediately.
He looked resplendent. His jacket was currently wrapped around his grandson, Imogen’s baby, but its absence only made him look more dashing. He wore a silver waistcoat over a crisp white shirt and it hugged his broad physique. His hair, the colour of polished steel, shone almost as brightly as the glint in his diamond-blue eyes. When his gaze met hers a smile faltered uncertainly on his lips.
Don’t you dare smile at me, she thought bitterly. Don’t you dare smile.
It made sense that he would have been spending five minutes chatting with his daughter in his own office. She didn’t know why the sound of his voice was so shocking but she supposed it was because she hadn’t wanted to talk with him today. At the back of her mind she had figured a meeting would be inevitable but she had hoped the encounter would be somewhere busy, made unimportant by a crowd of acquaintances, in a location that was sterile, without any personal associations.
This was a room where they’d had sex half a dozen times.
This was a room where they’d spent countless working nights discussing business and passions and unrealised futures. And this was a room from which it looked like Imogen was trying to make a discreet exit.
‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ Imogen began.
‘No need,’ Trudy said stiffly. She turned to Bill and said, ‘Congratulations.’
‘I didn’t –’ he began.
She didn’t let him finish but held up a hand, cutting him off, and turned to Imogen. ‘I’m just about to head home with Daryl and Beatrice. They’ve organised a date for me this evening. I just wanted to say that I thought you looked beautiful today.’
Imogen’s smile was genuine and broad. She started to say a thank-you but Bill was speaking over her.
‘You’re going on a date with Daryl and that model? Have you turned gay?’
She turned to face him. ‘I’m going on a date,’ she told him. ‘Straight or gay, what business is it of yours, Bill?’
His shoulders slumped. He nodded defeat and turned away. As soon as he stepped out of the office Imogen was speaking in his defence. ‘There were circumstances,’ she explained. ‘If you knew why he married her –’
‘Are you still working at Finlay’s shop in the morning?’ Trudy asked.
Imogen said she was.
‘I’ll probably see you there tomorrow. He’s organising a consignment of spices for a new product I’ll be working on. We can talk more then.’
‘Aren’t you staying for the evening celebrations?’
Trudy shook her head. The question was asked with such obvious concern she didn’t dare say another word for fear of bursting into tears.
‘Are you OK?’ Imogen asked.
Even though she’d practised her response until the words should have been automatic, Trudy wasn’t going to attempt them this time. She nodded, turned abruptly and rushed out of the office and into the kitchen.
At first she thought her body was trembling with the threat of tears. It was only as an afterthought that she realised her mobile was vibrating to alert her to the fact that she’d received a text message. She’d put the phone on silent as a courtesy for the wedding ceremony. Reading as she walked, anxious to get away from Boui-Boui and the rest of the guests who might come and ask her if she was fine, or OK, or bearing up, she inwardly cursed when she saw the message had come from Donny.
I hear your sugar-grandpa just married one his former wives. LOL.
A tear spilled down her cheek and sliced through her mascara.
2
There were flowers waiting on the doorstep of Eldorado when she returned. Beatrice grabbed them and exclaimed over their beauty. A bouquet of a dozen long-stemmed red roses, in a nest of lush green fern and vibrant white Baby’s Breath. They reminded Trudy of the last bouquet of flowers she had received. Those had been a bad omen.
‘These are beautiful,’ Beatrice called. She read the card and passed them to Daryl. ‘It says they’re for Trudy.’
Daryl passed the flowers to Trudy.
Trudy put the bouquet in the recycling bin.
Beatrice exclaimed in shock but Daryl placed a hand on her arm. Whatever questions Beatrice had been about to raise were silenced by the way Daryl firmly shook her head.
Trudy unlocked the door and they all stepped inside.
The walls were a mixture of magnolias, oatmeals and beige colours that made the open-plan arrangement of the downstairs appear spacious. The floors were polished wood. The furniture was light-coloured leather. Only the TV and the kitchen fittings, shiny and silver, gave any suggestion of a break in the bland colour scheme.
Trudy had to admit that living back at Eldorado had not been the hardship she expected. When she lived there as a student, sharing the house with Charlotte and Donny, and Donny’s visiting harem of pliant female admirers, Trudy had had a single room on the upper floor and a shared responsibility for the communal living area of the lounge-cum-kitchen. Now, although Charlotte still kept some belongings in her room, she spent most of her nights with Harvey in the apartment he’d acquired in the town centre. Daryl had taken over Donny’s use of the basement and, because Daryl didn’t spend much time in the communal areas, there were some days when Trudy felt as though she had Eldorado to herself.
‘Would either of you care for a bite to eat?’ Trudy asked, heading to the kitchen. She was trying to remember what remained in the fridge and whether it could serve the three of them.
‘No time to eat,’ Daryl reminded her. ‘You’re going out on a date.’
Trudy groaned. She had been trying to forget about that.
‘Do I have to?’
She thought of pointing out that she’d had enough romance for one day by watching Bill and Aliceon’s wedding. Looking at the steely resolve on Daryl’s face, Trudy could see there would be no point in attempting such an argument. They had already had this conversation several times. Daryl insisted she needed to return to dating as quickly as possible. She’d used phrases like ‘getting back on the horse’ and ‘clearing out cobwebs’, which had made Trudy worried about what she was expected to do on a date. More practically, Daryl had advised that Trudy needed to date again both for her own confidence and to show anyone interested in her life that she hadn’t been troubled by Bill’s marriage to Aliceon.
‘He’ll be here in half an hour,’ Daryl promised.
Trudy’s shoulders slumped and she nodded defeat.
‘Go get yourself ready,’ said Daryl. ‘Your mascara’s smudged.’
Trudy paused at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name is Mark. I used to go out with him. He’s a doctor at the local A&E department.’
‘When did you go out with someone called Mark?’ Beatrice asked.
‘We dated on and off for a couple of mo
nths last year,’ Daryl said. ‘Why?’
‘You never mentioned him.’
‘There are lots of things I’ve never mentioned to you, sweetie,’ Daryl purred.
She pushed her face close and kissed the frown from Beatrice’s lips. Beatrice responded with a widening smile and a tight embrace.
Trudy started up the stairs, relieved that she would be going out so she didn’t have to spend the evening in the house as an unwanted witness to Daryl and Beatrice’s obvious and intimate affection. It wasn’t that she minded the couple being together. She simply didn’t feel in the mood to watch other people being so blithely happy in a relationship.
In the bathroom she removed her mascara and most of her make-up. She’d worn an LBD from Coco Chanel for the wedding and it struck her as adequate for a blind date. The hem was short enough to show off that she had good legs whilst the high neckline suggested she wasn’t yet making herself available to anyone.
She applied lipstick and a touch of eyeliner and decided that was as much as she needed to do to make her face presentable. If her date Mark was expecting more from her then he was going to be disappointed. She supposed, in some ways, that it would be a kindness to introduce a date to disappointment so early on in a relationship. It saved making them wait until the word ‘love’ had been bandied around before teaching them that disappointment could have the power to crush a person’s heart or tear it, still beating, from their chest.
She shook her head, tousling the loose curls into shape, before heading down the stairs. Daryl and Beatrice had already retired to the basement so Trudy busied herself with working on an article about carrot cakes. She was just beginning to enjoy the writing when a polite fist knocked on the door.
She saved the document, closed the laptop and went out to greet him.
Mark turned out to be attractive and fun. He had dark hair and blue eyes and a rugby player’s nose. He recognised Trudy from a picture that Daryl had shared. Although it was obvious Daryl had mentioned Trudy’s role as a judge on Master Baker it was clear that he had never seen the show. Over dinner, at an unassuming town centre bistro called the Chekov, he asked her briefly about the programme and her investment in cookery. But mainly he talked about his work. He made her laugh with stories about some of the funnier things that had occurred in the A&E ward where he was currently stationed and Trudy felt a surge of gratitude to Daryl for organising such a perfect date.
The bistro was a clean family-run establishment. The shabby-chic furnishings were a mixture of tired aquamarine colours and weary woodwork that could have looked scruffy but somehow looked charming. Studying Mark’s jeans and jacket combination, as well as his polished smile and his untidy hair, Trudy thought she could say the same for him: scruffy but somehow charming.
Trudy ordered a stroganoff and she was pleased with its delightful blend of soured cream and beefiness that worked with the mushrooms and onions. When they were eating desserts, she sampled a portion of his sirniki, which had been served with blueberries and fresh cream. The pancake was golden and crisp on the outside but fluffy and deceptively insubstantial inside.
Trudy vowed to visit the Chekov again.
The only thing that cast a shadow on the evening was when she caught an unwanted glimpse of Donny. They had a window seat that overlooked the night. Trudy was staring out into the darkness of the rain-slicked roads and the neon colour of the passing traffic. Mark had left her alone for a moment whilst he visited the men’s room and Trudy was entertaining herself by looking at the animated movement of the night.
At first she didn’t notice the tall, handsome figure staring in at her.
When she finally registered the brooding intensity of his frown she recoiled.
It was Donny, glaring at her. He glowered through the window. His upper lip was curled with contempt. He shook his head as though unable to believe what he was seeing. She tried to tear her gaze away but he seemed to be holding her under some sort of mesmerism.
She’d heard people talk about rabbits being caught in the stare of oncoming headlights. Trudy had never appreciated what that meant before but now she thought she did.
When Mark returned, Donny stepped back into the shadows and then disappeared into the night. Mark asked if she was OK and said she looked pale. Trudy shook her head and pushed Donny from her thoughts. She’d had enough of him spoiling things that were good in her life. She was damned if she would let the coincidence of him walking past the Chekov be another reason to spoil something she was enjoying.
‘You’re sure you’re OK?’ he pressed.
She promised that she was and then declined the invitation to share a bottle of wine. It was enough to be in the company of someone who was attractive and attentive. She didn’t want to run the risk of drinking herself into another mistake so soon after the last one.
Once they’d talked about their shared interpretations of university experiences the conversation moved on to tastes in music, books and films. He was a rock aficionado and suggested a handful of tracks she could use to extend the musical accompaniment she had for her morning workout routine. Trudy downloaded the tracks and added them to her playlist whilst they sat in the bistro.
The tears came out of nowhere.
They were walking back to Eldorado through the town centre. They had just passed Melville’s and the radio station, when a wave of sadness rippled through her. It struck her that Mark would be an easy man to fall in love with. He was good, handsome and seemed kind. He was interesting and witty and considerate and…
…and he wasn’t Bill.
‘Shit,’ Mark gasped when he saw she was crying. He had an arm around her waist and a hand on her shoulder. ‘Is this something I’ve said or done? Or are you just overwhelmed by how wonderful I am?’
The words surprised a laugh from her throat. Combined with the tears she figured the noise would be horrific enough to give most people nightmares.
‘Not only am I good-looking and fun to be with but also, did I mention, I’m a doctor?’
She nodded and laughed again. This time her amusement sounded softer.
‘I think you did mention that once or twice.’
When he touched her elbow she thought his concern seemed genuine and sympathetic.
‘Let’s get you home,’ he suggested. ‘You’ve clearly had a long day and you need some rest.’
She wanted to protest but he spoke with commanding authority. He hailed a passing taxi, took her to the front door of Eldorado and then kissed her chastely on the cheek.
‘Will you call me when you feel a little less vulnerable?’
‘I don’t have your number,’ she told him.
‘Daryl has my number,’ he reminded her. ‘Now get yourself off to bed and get rested and call me if you fancy doing something like this again.’
She thanked him and promised him she would call.
Daryl and Beatrice either had gone out or were asleep in their basement room. Trudy took another sullen stab at the article she was writing about carrot cake but her enthusiasm for the subject had declined after the embarrassment of crying in front of Mark. She was in the process of pouring herself a warm milky drink when her mobile received a text message. She could see it came from Donny. She opened it knowing it would not be pleasant.
You’re dating another bloke already? Fuck me, Gertrude. You seem to be collecting more DNA samples than a CSI team.
3
An hour later she was back in his arms.
There was no sensation to compare with the thrill of naked skin touching naked skin. When she stood in his embrace, she felt the perfect balance of being protected and being vulnerable.
Her breasts were pressed against his chest. The stiffness of her nipples jutted hard against his pectoral muscles. His strong hands, the fingers as sensitive as a surgeon’s, the palms callused and hard, held her tight against him.
Because he was taller she could feel the stirring of his arousal against her belly. He was long to begin with.
As excitement flooded through him, the warm flesh pressing on her bare stomach grew longer.
She had wanted him before.
Now, she needed him.
Their kiss was a sweet exchange of exploration and excitement. He made no demands on her flesh. He didn’t tease her lips with his teeth. He didn’t plunder her mouth with his tongue. It was one of those intimacies she had experienced so rarely. It was a kiss of gentle affection.
Her heartbeat raced.
The muscles inside her sex thrilled with a liquid rush of delight. In that moment she knew, whatever he asked of her, she would be happy to endure.
He broke the kiss to guide her on to the bed.
The room was nothing special. It was a fairly anonymous motel close to the motorway. If she had closed her eyes and concentrated, Trudy knew she would have heard the drone of swift traffic. But there were more important things occurring in the room that demanded her attention and no time to listen to sounds outside.
She stared up at a dimly lit ceiling, luxuriated in the firm mattress and savoured the sensation of his kisses at her feet.
He stroked his hands along one leg, whilst his mouth worked slowly up from her foot to her knee on the other. The scratch of his razor stubble was briefly too much when he went higher and neared her inner thigh. But Trudy figured she had suffered much worse in the name of intimacy and she wasn’t going to call a halt to events just because of a scratchy kiss.
When his kisses slipped to the tops of her legs, landing lightly upon the lips of her sex, Trudy did moan. She grabbed fistfuls of the linen on which she lay and wrenched at the sheets.
He laughed between her legs.
She savoured his mirth and heard herself giggling lightheadedly as his lips lingered on the centre of her sex. Her heartbeat was pounding faster. She could hear the throbbing pulse in her temples. The delicious sensations of excitement began to swell in her stomach and she knew he would take her to a peak of satisfaction.
‘You taste divine,’ he told her.
She writhed against the sheets, not sure whether the compliment was embarrassing or enthralling. Before she had a chance to make up her mind his mouth had again returned to her sex and his tongue was parting her inner lips.
Just Desserts (Sweet Temptation, Book 3) Page 2
