by Jules Wake
‘Wrong, she’s not a nobody,’ hissed Richard, pulling Fabio’s shirt tighter. ‘She’s a somebody. She’s also my niece. But next time you pick up some poor girl, remember that they’re someone, a daughter, a sister, a niece, with people who care, who might come looking for you.’ Richard’s voice trembled with menace. With a blur of movement, he lifted one knee. Fabio went down, clutching his balls, howling in pain.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
He scooped Jade up in his arms.
‘Can walk.’ She said, her eyes moving in opposite directions.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Lemme.’
‘Jade, let me paint you a picture. There’s a fistful of paparazzi out there. They wait every night for a shot they can sell. You’ve got two options, one a candid shot of you staggering out of a nightclub looking like every other drunk teenager, or a picture of you in the arms of a famous film star being taken out of a nightclub after feeling faint.’
Jade snapped her mouth shut with a begrudging glare.
Carrie wasn’t sure whether it was Richard’s chilling tone of voice when he mentioned the underage drinking or the clear indication that Jade was his niece, but the nightclub manager and his staff were remarkably efficient about providing a private area for them to wait until Richard’s car arrived.
Reunited with her very grim mother, Jade remained subdued, keeping her eyes closed and sensibly avoiding any conversation.
The car arrived and Richard carried Jade out to it, a few lights popping and flashing as he handed her into the car. Angela got in next to her daughter.
‘Do you want to go back with them?’ asked Richard.
Angela’s odd, fierce expression stalled her and Carrie hesitated.
‘Y … I … er, no.’
Angela dipped her head in silent, regal approval and closed the door of the car.
Carrie watched as the car slid away, taking in a sharp in-drawn breath at Angela’s very clear, back-off-leave-this- to-me, message.
‘What do you want to do? Go back to the yacht?’ He checked the time on his watch. ‘The party won’t wind up for another half hour.’
‘No.’ She stared at the red tail-lights of the car disappearing down the street, unsettled by the change in family dynamic. They’d always been a unit of three, but if felt like Angela had slammed the door on her and shut her out.
With a shiver, she turned to face Richard.
They exchanged a long message-laden look.
‘Do you want to go back to my hotel?’
The simple, direct question deserved nothing but the truth, one that she couldn’t deny any more.
She was done fighting. Done thinking about tomorrow or the day after that or the one after that.
Holding his gaze, she said, ‘Yes.’
How she managed to appear outwardly calm, she didn’t know, when inside a carnival erupted. Whistles, bells, dancing. Her whole body combusted into joyous celebration as if to say thank fuck for that, we thought you’d never see the light.
CHAPTER THIRTY
‘Nightcap?’ asked Richard as she gratefully slipped off her shoes, letting her poor feet sink into the rich cream carpet. ‘Cointreau? Tia Maria?
‘Cointreau would be nice, thank you,’ she said, looking around at the suite. Of course he had a suite, with its own well-stocked bar and complementary fruit basket. Newspapers and books scattered the surface of the coffee table along with a half-finished crossword.
‘July 5th? You’re not doing very well,’ she teased, picking up the crossword.
‘I’ve been busy. Working. I don’t get that much free time, you know.’
‘How long have you been staying here?’
‘Two months. Filming is due to finish here in the next week, if we get all the scenes done. Then I fly to LA.’
In September she’d be starting a new term. She quashed the thought; that was then, this was now. Until then she was going to live. She walked across to the full-length French window leading out onto a balcony. ‘May I?’
‘Go ahead. I’ll bring your drink out.’
The balmy heat of the night air enveloped her as she stepped out to touch the cool stone of the balustrade of the roomy balcony. The hotel, an oasis of understated elegance after the brash, full-frontal attitude of the jet-set crowd at the harbour front, nestled into the side of the hill a little way out of the town surrounded by windswept cypresses on the cliff edge. The night reverberated with the grating buzz of the cicadas revving up in the short dry grasses in the landscaped grounds of the hotel.
Richard stepped out behind her, the ice chinking in the fine-cut crystal glass he offered her. She took a sip of the cold oily liquid, the alcohol hitting the back of her throat with a pleasant punch.
He stood next to her, his shoulder brushing her arm and together they leant against the balcony’s balustrade overlooking the starlit view of the sea and the sky. The distant lights shimmered and danced, reflected in the ripples of water lapping the shoreline. ‘Thank you for helping with Jade. Leaving your own party.’
‘She’s still family.’
With a shake of her head, Carrie said, ‘That’s not true. She’s never been family. Not really. We weren’t married long enough.’
‘We’re still married.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t. We got married. It might have been a register office, but we made vows. A commitment. To look after each other, to support each other and to love each other. I’m sure that extends to the people we love.’ He turned her to face him. ‘I still think of us as married. I … he paused. The sounds of the night around them intruded, as his words hung with loaded portent in the air. ‘It nearly killed me when you asked for a divorce.’
She stiffened, watching the lights of a boat wink as it slid across the horizon. ‘That’s not how I remember it. You said the timing didn’t suit you.’
Gently he turned her to face him, taking both her hands, his eyes searching her face. ‘What the hell was I supposed to do?’
The quiet question rocked her with its sincerity, demanding honesty.
It took a moment to frame the words, drag them out from the crevices in which the truth had been hidden, but she couldn’t completely lay herself bare.
‘I-I couldn’t do it any more.’ She teased out the soft admission, flinching. ‘I … missed you,’ her voice faltered. ‘So much. It hurt … so damn much.’ A flare of anger tinged her words. ‘I didn’t want a divorce.’ Her jaw clenched and she threw her head up, tossing her hair over her shoulder, ‘But I had to do something.’
With defiant entreaty, she met his watchful eyes. ‘A do or die last-chance attempt.’ She let out a mirthless laugh. ‘Except you called my bluff and suggested a separation.’
‘Shit,’ he let out a long slow breath and leaned his forehead against hers. ‘And I lashed out.’ Shaking his head, his thumb ran over her wrist. ‘I thought you didn’t care any more. That you wanted a divorce.’ His chin lifted, revealing the strong column of his throat, tempting her to lay a kiss on his skin. ‘When I said it would damage my career, it was hurt pride talking.’ He winced and lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across the soft skin on the inside of her wrist in silent apology.
‘I left the next morning, to go on location. Three months in the desert filming. When I came back you wouldn’t answer my calls.’
A twist of pain circled her heart. Three months. She remembered them well. ‘I didn’t know you were away. I thought … it was what you wanted.’
‘‘Never, not then.’ His voice dropped. ‘And not now. I …
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the emotion threatening to rise up and swamp her.
‘… still love you, Carrie.’
Knowing that almost hurt more. It didn’t help.
She reached up and traced his lips with her fingers, wanting to shush him, wind the clock back, wishing the words could be unsaid.
A spark flared betwe
en them and he dipped his mouth to hers. Together they sank into the kiss, a lazy exploration of each other’s mouths, slow and languorous, heat flickering around the edges which began to build. His hand slid down her neck, touching bare skin, skirting the side of her breast, skimming around her waist, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer to him. The kiss deepened, urgency rising.
Carrie savoured each gentle foray, basking in the recognition of his touch. They’d kissed a thousand times before and the memories came flooding back, crashing wave after wave after wave. Goodbye kisses. Hello kisses. Sexy kisses. Horny kisses. Desperate, passionate, can’t-get-enough-of-you kisses. Languorous all-the-time-in-the-world kisses.
In one hot flashing burst, which burned from the inside out, desire rushed, it’s molten heat threatening to consume her. Pushed by driving need, to take and taste, she pulled his head down and kissed him hard, her body demanding to know his again. Without finesse she pushed down his jacket, pulling his shirt from his trousers and slid her hands up his warm back, pulling him into her.
He responded to her fire, nuzzling the underside of her chin with a groan, setting the sensitive skin of her throat alight with sensation. When his hand strayed to the top of her zip, toying with the nape of her neck, in teasing circles, her insides turned liquid. She hauled him closer, impatient and greedy.
The slow dance of seduction done, she wanted to dive right in and race towards to the finishing line. Whoever said good things come to those who wait, had been talking about a different sort of good thing. And she didn’t want good, she wanted wild and wicked. She wanted him now.
Working her hands over his belt, she un-notched it, sliding her hands over his crotch, caressing him through the wool trousers and smiling with siren satisfaction at his sudden gasp.
He pulled back, a question in his eyes.
‘I was trying,’ he took in a ragged breath, ‘to be gentlemanly about this.’
‘Bugger that.’ She opened his shirt buttons and smoothed her hands across his chest, toying with the flat nipples.
He pulled down her zip with a pleasing slash of movement that had her squirming against him, welcoming the thrust of his hands inside the dress, which dipped to cup her bottom. She sighed, letting the pent-up pressure hiss from her lungs, welcoming the touch of his cool hands massaging her bottom with firm, proprietary strokes, hauling up against his erection.
Yes,’ she breathed, the single word a siren call of invitation. Almost limp with relief, she gave a whimper of pleasure when his mouth descended, taking her lips, kissing her as if he might never get enough of her.
Passion ignited. They moved urgently now, kissing and fighting with each other’s clothes. Richard pressed her back through the French doors towards the bedroom on the other side of the suite. Still lip to lip they stumbled, she walking backwards, trying to wriggle out of her dress while pulling his shirt off.
Her calves hit the back of the bed and she tumbled back, taking Richard with her, both of them moving in sinuous rhythm, trying to get closer to each other.
Frantic and breathless, both of them hell-bent on driving to the end, their love making took on a fast and furious pace, desperate rather than tender, as if they’d wasted too much time and needed to know each other again, now, this minute.
When Richard collapsed on top of her, with a drawn-out groan, she could barely think straight, conscious of her own keening cries. Pure sensation leaving her mind hazy and her body limp and boneless.
Afterwards, they stirred against each other and with her heart-rate still pumping hard, she shifted to lay back her arm across her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Next to her Richard panted, one arm tucked under her waist.
‘Wow, I think you might have killed me.’
The moment turned light as if they’d burned through the weighted emotion that had erupted between them.
‘Damn, does that mean that’s it for tonight? You’re not the man you used to be. I was hoping you might come back for round two.’
Being with Richard like this brought back feelings, the element of fun and inhibition, that had been tightly sealed away. A lock had been popped open and there she was, that abandoned twenty-year-old again. Confident, sure of her sexuality and not afraid to take every last bite of pleasure and passion. When had she lost that?
Richard propped his head on his elbow and twisted to lean down and look at her.
‘Not the man I used to be. Is that a challenge, Mrs Maddox?’
She gave him a cat-like grin and stretched, pushing her breasts upwards towards him, fondling one with slow, supremely female, invitation. ‘Too right it is.’
He skimmed a hand down her sternum, sliding past her waist to part her legs.
‘Are you feeling neglected?’
‘Not neglected,’ she gave him an arch look. ‘Just nicely revved. Ready for the main course.’
When had sex last been this suggestive, this joyous and about her having a good time?
‘I think you needed a little intercourse digestive.’
He kissed his way from the vee of her chest with slow deliberation, his chin scratching her skin, teasing the tender skin. His tongue circled her belly button and she squirmed, instinctively starting to close her legs.
‘Oh no, you don’t.’ He slid down between them, pushing them further apart with both hands before lifting her hips. Wicked promise danced in his eyes.
She took in a strangled breath and stared back, panting slightly now, her body burning for that intimate touch. He grinned and dipped his head, his tongue flicking with sure, firm strokes, over and over, making her clutch the bed sheets, whimpering in desperate need.
When he stopped she groaned a guttural, incoherent plea, her hips lifting and writhing with sheer want, until he surged up the length of her body and thankfully sank home.
This time, they made love with languorous indolence, a slow exploration of each other’s bodies, kissing and nipping, stroking and teasing as they revisited old trails, unearthing secret paths, remembering that he was sensitive just there and that she liked to be touched right here. They explored each other, contour by contour, familiar and yet unfamiliar, satisfying and exciting, like coming home but to a home you’d forgotten how much you’d missed.
It made her want to cry when she realised how much she’d held back in recent years. How much of herself she’d subsumed. Had she done Alan a disservice by doing that or was it because of him? And what the hell was she doing thinking about him when she was in bed with Richard? She closed her eyes and shut him out.
When they sank into each other for a second time, their fevered cries swallowed by kisses, she held him close, skin to skin, as he stroked her hair. Heart to heart, the rapid beats in tandem, she closed her eyes and wished she could wrap up the moment, binding it in place for ever. Richard’s eyes were already drifting shut but when she started to edge away, he tightened his hold on her.
‘Please don’t go. Stay,’ he muttered, pulling back into his arms.
‘I should go. I ought to get back.’ The earlier events of the evening intruded with unwelcome persistence. Angela and Jade might need her.
He blinked at her, but understanding sharpened the planes of his face.
‘They’ll be asleep by now, won’t they? I have to be on set at six. I can arrange a car to take you home at the same time.’
He kissed the top of her head and pulled her to his side. ‘Sleep now.’
To her amazement, he dropped off almost immediately and she lay there smiling in the dark, listening to his deep, even breathing. Although tired, euphoria danced through her as if she’d conquered a mountain and reached a major landmark. For so many years, she’d blamed him for leaving her behind, allowing bitter regret to burrow its way in. Accepting that she’d been at fault didn’t make the past any easier but it released a burden that had held her down, freeing her to make the absolute most of this brief interlude. Excitement fizzed through her. A summer holiday romance bursting with possibilities with someon
e who knew the real her and could let her be Carrie again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
She ought to turn over and ask Angela to put some more sun cream on her back, before she dozed off in the sun and deep-fried her skin. Lifting her head, she looked around and both Jade and Angela were in the pool, each of them splashing about by themselves, barely talking to each other. With a groan she dropped her head back down. A sloth monster had taken over her body, leaving her too lethargic and heavy-limbed to do anything, while her mind had taken over at a thousand miles an hour, determined to relive and savour every last damn minute of the night with Richard, leaving parts of her tingling with remembered sensation.
Angela padded up to the sunbed beside her, dripping water and leaving a trail of fast-drying footprints that winked out a step later.
‘What time did you get back?’
Carrie shrugged. ‘Not sure?’ It could have been 7.05, 7.06 or 7.07.
She’d slunk in sometime after seven and might have attempted to pretend otherwise to Angela, except she’d crossed paths with Phil as she arrived and he left. With sheepish smiles, they’d nodded and, without a word, scurried off in opposite directions.
No doubt Phil would spill the beans at some point but she had ammunition of her own.
‘So, is Jade okay?’
‘She’s fine.’ Angela perched on the edge of the sun lounger. ‘Although I think she’s got one heck of a hangover. Or at least I hope she does.’ Angela winced and touched her own temples as she reached for one of her flesh-coloured splints, fastening the velcro straps around her wrist. ‘But she’s learned a good lesson. Fabio refusing to bring her home when she’d had too much to drink was a real wake- up call. It’s the first time, in her nice sheltered life, she’s been in that sort of situation, where things are completely out of her control.’
‘And I hope the last for a while. Despite the pretty face, Fabio’s a pretty selfish excuse for a man.’
‘She was very lucky.’ Angela closed her eyes, shaking her head. ‘Fifteen is far too young to go to a place like that. I saw some of the goings-on.’ Her mouth firmed as she lifted her head. ‘No harm done.’ Angela let out a wry laugh. ‘She might even understand now that I’m not always the killjoy she thinks I am.’
