Sexy Beast

by Georgia Le Carre

  Jake meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. He is frowning. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  I shrug. ‘Just curious.’

  ‘Stay away from BJ, Layla,’ he warns in a steely voice.

  I am immediately curious. ‘Why? I thought the feud is over and we are best friends with the Pilkingtons now.’

  ‘We’re not best friends. We’re friends,’ he corrects.

  ‘Ma said he saved your life.’

  ‘Yes, he did and I’ll be forever grateful for that, but I don’t want him anywhere near my sister. He’s a junkyard dog. He’ll fuck anything in a skirt.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Lily says. ‘I think BJ can be tamed. He is a bit of a beast, but a very seductive beast,’ she says and flashes a wink in my direction.

  The car suddenly stops.

  ‘Out of the car, you,’ Jake tells Lily. His voice is deadly quiet.

  She raises her eyebrows at him, then flicks her eyes in my direction, as if asking, You want to do this with you sister here?

  ‘I’m waiting,’ he says.

  ‘Are you serious?’ she asks incredulously.

  I look from one to the other curiously.

  Jake doesn’t reply. Instead he gets out of the car. As I watch totally bemused, he comes around to her side, opens Lily’s door, and takes her hand to pull her out and lead her around the back of the car. For a few moments I don’t turn around to look but then, oh fuck it, I have to know. I glance back, and my mouth drops open.

  Whoa, Jake!

  Lily is being crushed in Jake’s arms. He is kissing the shit out of her. The domination and forcefulness of his embrace is astonishing. I didn’t know he had it in him to be so intensely jealous and possessive. I swivel my head back quickly, not wanting to be caught staring like a half-wit at my brother eating his wife’s face by the roadside. I needn’t have worried though. It’s a good few minutes before he settles Lily back in the passenger seat. Her cheeks are bright red. And no wonder.

  He gets into his seat and turns around to face me.

  ‘You’ve been warned. BJ saved my life. So I owe him big time, but if he hurts even a hair on your head I’ll have to break his fucking legs, and I really don’t want to do that. We’ve just made up with the Pilkingtons after centuries of pointless feuding. If you don’t want to start an all-out war again between our families, stay away from him. Can you do that?’

  I nod slowly.

  ‘Good. He’s not the only man in the world. There are millions of good guys out there for you. You don’t need to pick a drug dealer.’ He pauses. ‘He’s a criminal, Layla. Don’t ever mistake him for anything else. You deserve better than him. Much better.’

  ‘Ok,’ I whisper.

  He turns around and starts the car. We drive the rest of the way in complete silence.

  ‘Thanks for the ride, Jake. Bye, Lily,’ I say, opening the car door.

  ‘No problem. I’ll wait until you get in,’ Jake says.

  ‘You don’t have to, Jake. What can possibly happen to me in broad daylight?’

  ‘Layla,’ he sighs wearily.

  ‘OK, OK,’ I say and, slipping out of the car and shutting the door, I run up the steps to my front door. I love my family to death and all, but sometimes they are so overprotective I feel stifled. I close my front door and I hear Jake’s car drive away. My flat is quiet and still. So much so I jump when my phone rings. It’s Madison.

  ‘Hey, Maddy. How’s it going?’

  ‘Same old, same old,’ she says, sounding bored. ‘How was your party last night?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I kissed … someone.’

  ‘Wait one moment,’ she says and I hear her moving around, doing something. ‘Right. I’m back.’

  ‘What were you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘Getting a tub of ice cream out of the freezer. So … who, what, where, when? Spit it out,’ she demands bossily.

  So I tell her.

  ‘No fucking way!’ she screams so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

  I open the freezer and take out a carton of chocolate-chip ice cream and open it on the granite countertop.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ she asks incredulously.

  ‘Nope,’ I say, getting a spoon out of a drawer and shutting it with my hip.

  ‘But you hate him!’

  I sigh, plonking myself on a stool and stabbing my spoon into the ice cream. ‘I know.’

  ‘What do you mean you know? Is this like some sort of a hate fuck?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m taking it any further than dinner.’

  ‘Liar,’ she accuses.

  I slide the spoon into my mouth and let the ice cream melt on my tongue. Maddy is right. In my heart of hearts I know I’m not walking away.

  ‘So what are you going to wear tomorrow then?’ she asks.

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Wear your red dress.’

  ‘No way. That’s a summer dress.’

  ‘You won’t be wearing it for long, anyway.’

  ‘Even if I do decide to go further, I’m not planning on sleeping with him tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course, you’re not. You’re just practically salivating through the phone and into my ear,’ she says with her mouth full.

  I scoop more ice cream. ‘Want to bet I don’t sleep with him tomorrow?’

  ‘To be really frank, I’d sleep with him.’

  The spoon halts mid-way. ‘What?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be the saddest day of my life.’

  I lick the spoon. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, he has badditude and that intense, laser stare going on.’

  I grin. Badditude and a laser stare. That’s one description for BJ.

  ‘I like the way he fills out his jeans from the back too,’ she adds.

  I laugh outright.

  ‘Oh! And I suspect he’ll be very good in bed. He looks like he gets laid often.’

  That observation shouldn’t have troubled me, but it does. Which is strange because after Jake’s warning I am of the mind that even if I do sleep with him it will only be the once or twice.

  ‘So come on, what are you going to wear?’

  ‘Something subtle. Maybe a white shirt and my dark green trousers.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you were planning to wear for your job interview?’

  ‘No, I was going to wear my black trousers to the interview. I just don’t want to give the impression that I’m a slut.’

  She laughs. ‘You? A slut? Pleeeease. You’ve got ‘Don’t Touch’ written across your forehead.’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘All right, I’m wrong. You’ve got Don’t Fucking Touch Or I’ll Call The Police blazing from your forehead.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Maddie.’ I sigh. ‘Actually, I’m a bit confused.’

  ‘About what?’ she demands.

  ‘I think I’m torn between excitement and panic,’ I reveal.

  ‘I get the excitement bit, but why the panic?’

  ‘Because I know it’s a bad idea.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well to start with, Jake has threatened me off in no uncertain terms. Absolutely don’t go there stuff. Forbidden in capital letters. Huge family feud stuff. Jake actually called him a drug dealer and criminal. And he didn’t say it just for effect. He really believes BJ is a massive gangster.’

  ‘Ooook. You said to start with. What are the other reasons?’

  ‘I sometimes get the uneasy feeling that I am standing at the edge of a cliff and about to jump in when I’m with BJ. There’s this feeling of doing something deliciously destructive, but there is also the prospect of oblivion forever.’

  ‘Man, only you can make a simple fuck sound so dramatic.’

  FIFTEEN

  Layla

  If a girl will walk stark-naked by the light of the full moon round a field or a house, and cast behind her at every step a handful of salt, she will get the lover whom she desires.

  Old Gypsy Magic
>
  The moment Ria called to ask if I wanted to go to dinner with her at Pigeon’s Pie I knew. I was always going to say yes. So I did. Ria and I agreed to meet at a wine bar in Waterloo first for one drink and then take a taxi to Pidgeon’s Pie.

  I arrive first. Nervously I order a glass of white wine and find us a table. Ria is dressed in a skin-tight leopard print crop top and leather trousers. She looks sexy and carefree. Suddenly I wish I had taken Maddy’s advice, and not dressed so stuffily. We drink a glass of wine and chat about the people we know, then Ria looks at her wristwatch.

  ‘We should go. We don’t want to be late for dinner,’ she says with a smile.

  ‘No, we don’t want to be late,’ I agree nervously.

  The taxi drops us across the road from Pigeon’s Pie. From outside it looks like an old fashioned pub; a place with fruit machines, patterned carpets, dark wood furniture, and horrible pub food.

  ‘You okay?’ Ria asks.

  ‘Totally,’ I reply and follow her through the double doors. Inside it is exactly as I had envisioned. Only it is surprisingly full of elegantly dressed, well-heeled people.

  ‘Come on,’ Ria says and leads me to a back room. She opens the door to a wood paneled room, and—oh my God!—It’s like I have been transported into an old gangster movie. This is the proverbial backroom where shady deals get struck. It even has another door, presumably a quick, back way escape door. BJ is sitting at a wooden table and there is a half-drunk pint of Guinness in front of him.

  BJ

  Forswear it sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till tonight.

  -William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

  Oh Layla. Look at you. Dressed as if you’re going to a job interview at a bank. A pink and white striped shirt, a tailored, almost masculine black jacket, and the unsexiest article of clothing I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across: a below the knee, wrap around skirt in gunmetal grey.

  Still, it’s shocking how relieved I am to see her. Some part of my brain can’t believe she came. Of her own free will. I rise to my feet.

  ‘Hey BJ,’ Ria calls out with a big, friendly smile.

  ‘Hey Wild Cat,’ I reply easily.

  She pouts prettily and lifts her face up to kiss me on the cheek. While her lips are stuck to my face, I shift my gaze to Layla. Her teeth are sunk into her bottom lip. Fuck! What a great mouth. And there’s another inch in my pants. Ria dislodges herself with a wet sound.

  ‘Layla.’ My eyes take a lazy trip down her body. Jesus! I am crazy-lusting after her.

  Color creeps up her cheeks, but her voice is cool. ‘BJ.’

  ‘Have a seat,’ I invite. ‘What do you girls want to drink?’

  A waitress has already entered the room and is hovering nervously in the background.

  ‘Champagne,’ Ria says, perching delicately at the end of the chair opposite me.

  I raise an eyebrow at Layla. ‘The same?’

  She shrugs. ‘OK,’ she agrees and slips into the chair next to Ria.

  ‘Bring us a Bollinger,’ I tell the waitress.

  She nods and scurries away as if I bite. I sit down and lean back, curling my hand loosely around my pint glass.

  ‘Do you still have Bertie?’ Ria asks.

  ‘Of course. She’s a dead woman if she leaves me.’

  Layla’s eyes open wide.

  Ria laughs. ‘Yeah right. You’re dead if she leaves you, you mean.’

  Ria turns to Layla. ‘Bertie was a housecleaner in Florida and came here to visit her niece who was going out with BJ. The niece invited BJ to their home, Bertie cooked him a meal, and the rest is history. She’s amazing. She takes American comfort food and fuses it with European, Mexican, and Asian recipes. You won’t believe how good they come out. Hard to imagine, but all those posh people out there, they could go to the best restaurants in London, instead they come here for Bertie the housecleaner’s food.’

  ‘Wow.’

  She turns to me. ‘But you prefer the plain comfort food though, don’t ya?’

  ‘Give me a plate of fried chicken and I’m a happy man,’ I say lightly.

  Ria laughs. ‘I love coming here.’

  The champagne arrives, gets poured, and the girls take their polite little sips.

  There is the sound of birds tweeting. It has Ria reaching into her purse for her phone. She looks at the screen, frowns, and says, ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’

  ‘Of course,’ Layla says.

  I gaze at her expressionlessly.

  ‘Oh no,’ she exclaims dramatically. ‘Noooo. Really? Do you want me to come over?’

  I turn my attention to Layla. She is staring at Ria worriedly.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take a cab. I’ll be with you in 20 minutes at the most. No, no, of course not. No, they won’t mind.’

  She ends the call and looks at me then Layla. ‘I’m so sorry, but a friend of mine has just gotten some bad news. I’ve got to go and be with her. I hope you guys don’t mind.’

  I shake my head.

  Layla says nothing. Just stares at Ria.

  Ria turns to me. ‘You will give Layla a ride back home, won’t you?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll give Layla a ride,’ I say.

  SIXTEEN

  Layla

  One corner of his mouth crooks up. I love his mouth. The way he says ride is slow and sexy. I bet he can give me a ride. Silently, I watch Ria glug her champagne down as fast as is humanely possible. Her eyes drift longingly to the bottle, but she stands and comes towards me. I allow her to hurriedly air peck both my cheeks and watch while she does the same to BJ. Then she is gone.

  And I meet his eyes. ‘There’s no emergency is there?’

  Utterly unperturbed he grins. ‘Of course not.’

  I stand up.

  He looks up at me. His eyes are no longer lazy, and tame. They are unblinking and burning with a fire-like intensity. ‘You’re all grown up now, Layla. You don’t really need a chaperone, do you?’

  ‘No, but I don’t appreciate being manipulated.’

  ‘Would you have come on your own?’

  I pause. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Do you want me to call Ria back?’ he asks gently.

  My shoulders sag. Of course I don’t. I know what I’m here for. My anger is totally irrational, a result of nervous energy.

  ‘Sit down,’ he says softly. ‘I promise it’ll be the best fried chicken you’ll ever eat.’

  I take a deep breath and reoccupy the chair I’d vacated. He smiles.

  There is something about this man …. Even when he was 15 and I had convinced myself that I thoroughly disliked him, he was still that tough insouciant who stared at me. Now that he’s all grown up and forbidden to me, his magnetism whispers and beckons irresistibly. I want him. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything else in my life. I want him so much it’s an ache somewhere deep inside me.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asks casually, the tone totally at odds with what I see in his eyes.

  The reptilian brain lurking inside my head is not in the mood for pillow talk or cuddles or food. It wants what it wants. And what it wants is a fuck. A mindless fuck of epic proportions.

  I shake my head and stare at his sexy mouth hungrily.

  He lifts his eyebrows. ‘You’re radiating sex right now.’

  My breath comes faster. ‘Oh yeah?’

  His nostrils flare. ‘Yeah. You’re giving me a raging hard-on.’

  God that was delivered deep and sexy. Strange, my family made me believe I was made of sugar and spice and everything nice, and I have turned out to be made of an inner itching that makes me lewd and lusting.

  I stand up and walk over to the door to turn the lock.

  He stands up. ‘Come and show me how wet you are.’

  I walk towards him. When I am about three feet away, I leap up on him, loop my arms around his neck, and curl my legs around his hips, making sure to rub my damp panties against the hard bulge in his jeans.

  His large ha
nds curl around my thighs. ‘Now you’re talking, Princess.’

  I lick my lower lip slowly.

  He groans. ‘Holy shit, Layla.’

  I lean closer to his ear, my breath hot. ‘What about the fried chicken?’

  ‘Fuck the fried chicken.’

  I look up at him from under my lashes. ‘How about that ride then?’

  ‘Time you were in my bed, young lady,’ he growls and carries me with my wet pussy stuck to the fierce erection in his jeans. We go through a second door in the room that leads to a dim, narrow corridor lit only by an emergency light. I clasp my fingers tightly around his neck and feel like a tick hanging on to the neck of a huge beast.

  His skin is warm and he smells wild, like the sea when it is stormy or the forest at night. And ale, I get a whiff of that too. I lay my cheek on his chest and hear his heart beating fast and loud under his clothes. The corridor leads to another emergency door that opens out to the cold night.

  Snowflakes fall on his cheeks. I reach up and lick one. His skin feels hot. He leans imperceptibly closer. There is naked need in his eyes. I stare up at him and watch as his breath frosts before it reaches my face.

  ‘When I find something I want to keep, I never let go,’ he says quietly.

  I smile.

  He lifts my shirt and puts his fingertips on my belly.

  I shudder. ‘Cold.’ But I don’t jerk away. I don’t want him to take his hand away.

  He stops in front of a massive, souped up four-wheel drive. More lorry than car. He opens the passenger door and deposits me inside as if I weigh no more than a child. He closes the door, gets into the driver’s seat, turns on the noisy engine, and we hurtle through the cold streets of London.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  He glances at me before returning his eyes to the road. ‘Do you really care?’

  He’s right. I don’t. We don’t say a word after that. Sometimes I look sideways at him, but he has his head turned towards the traffic and his profile is stern, his jaw clenched tight. When he briefly looks at me his eyes are glittering and as cold as that of a serpent.

  I wonder what he is thinking. I don’t ask. It feels like this is what we were meant to do. Always. The dislike was a temporary cover for this volcano of passion and lust.