by Lucy King
And then amidst the suffocating darkness he felt a hand on his face. Two. One on each cheek. Pressure on his mouth. On his skin.
Mercy.
Kissing him. Sliding her hands over him. Pulling him back from the brink of despair and sending the images and the memories reeling away.
He kissed her back until his heart was pounding for an altogether different reason and the thing that was clawing away inside him had morphed into need.
He made a move to twist round and face her but she pushed him back. Her hands slipped beneath the waistband of his pants and pulled them down and then she was circling him with fingers, stroking and squeezing and then holding him steady as she bent her head.
“What are you doing?” he said, his voice harsh, every nerve ending in his body taut.
“Immersion therapy, I think they call it.”
“I don’t need therapy.” But he did, didn’t he, because while the existence of his wine cellar just about bordered on the OK, owning cars he daren’t drive wasn’t normal. It was a problem. One which Mercy seemed to want to solve. Maybe he should let her. He wasn’t doing all that well on his own. So if she thought she could help him by –
Christ.
Her mouth closed over him and took him into her wet velvety warmth and Seb shut his eyes as he struggled for breath, for sanity.
– By wrapping her fingers around him and taking him in her mouth then maybe he should let her.
God, he should definitely let her, he thought, all rational thought obliterated by her mouth, her tongue, her lips and her hands. Why hadn’t she done this before? Why had he always stopped her when she’d tried? Had he gone truly mad? He was in Heaven. He was in Hell. He didn’t know where he was.
“God, have mercy,” he mumbled as he felt the heady, powerful rush of imminent orgasm and wondered vaguely how he could stop it.
“You’re about to,” she said, lifting her head and deftly rolling a condom onto him, which just about did him in. “In a Mercedes no less. How cute is that?”
She was cute. She was amazing. And she shifted herself so that she sat astride him and sank onto him, absolutely, literally, breathtaking.
He fought for control, for some kind of grip on her but she held his arms down. And then she began to move, up and down, undulating against him, tossing her head back and groaning with pleasure and he tried to hold on, but it was impossible. He couldn’t. It was all just too much. His body, his mind, his senses couldn’t take the assault any longer.
He felt Mercy tense, shake, heard her cry out as she dropped her head to his shoulder and released her grip on him, and then he was pushing her down, holding her fast as he thrust up, and coming harder than he ever had in the most incredible ‘just sex’ of his life.
Chapter Nine
‡
“So how are things going with Seb?” Faith asked Mercy at the table in their booth at Sully’s on the second Thursday in December. “Not all that great by the gloomy, contemplative looks of you. Is everything OK?”
Mercy sighed. Now there was a question. Everything, she had the horrible sinking feeling, was very much not OK. “Not exactly,” she said, staring down into her half pint.
“What’s happened?” said Dawn.
Sunday morning had happened. That was what had happened, although after several days of thinking about it she knew now that she’d been well on her way to disaster before that. “Our ‘just sex’ arrangement is no longer working,” she said, looking up first at Dawn, then at Faith. “Not for me, anyway.”
“Oh,” said Dawn, her face falling.
“How come?” said Faith.
Dios, where to start…? “Well, firstly,” she said, “there’s my checklist.”
“What checklist?” said Faith.
“I thought that as our arrangement was supposed to be casual it might be sensible to have something against which I could gauge how things were going. In case I was getting more involved that I intended to.”
“Very sensible,” said Dawn approvingly.
“What’s on it?” asked Faith.
“Different scenarios,” said Mercy. “With multiple choice options. Like the ones in those magazines I used to smuggle into St. J’s. Such as – you have to go back to Mendoza tomorrow and you’re never going to see Seb again. Do you feel a) nothing b) mildly disappointed but you’ll get over it c) devastated? That kind of thing.”
“Clever,” said Dawn.
Yes, well, not really proof against anything as it turned out. “As long as my responses were either ‘nothings or ‘mildly disappointeds I figured I’d be fine.”
“And were they?”
“Yes. To begin with at least. As and Bs every time. More As, in fact.”
“But then?”
Mercy sighed, deep and long. “They changed. And now they’re all Cs.” ‘Devastateds.
“Oh,” said Faith after a moment’s silence.
“Quite,” said Mercy, dolefully staring down into her drink.
When it had happened she couldn’t really say. All she knew was that as the weeks passed and she got to know the real man rather than the schoolgirl fantasy her feelings towards him had changed. She’d realized what was happening, but she certainly hadn’t taken heed. She hadn’t really attached all that much importance to it. Certainly not enough to do anything proper about it.
But on Sunday night, as she’d sat in her apartment thinking about what had happened in his garage, she hadn’t been able to deny it any longer. This wasn’t just sex anymore. She didn’t know exactly what it was. But she did know that her heart had turned over to see him in such distress. She did know that every muscle she had had burned with the desire to make him feel better. She did know that she cared about him. A lot.
“Is this bad?” asked Faith, yanking her out of her thoughts.
“It’s very bad,” said Mercy. “I think about him all the time. I can’t stop thinking about him. And I want things.”
“What sort of things?” asked Dawn.
“Things I very definitely shouldn’t. I want to know what he’s thinking. I want to talk to him forever. I want to spend Christmas with him. I want everything.” She stopped, shook her head and frowned. “I just can’t understand it. I mean, what changed? What happened?”
“Do you really not know?” asked Dawn, looking at her with a shrewdness that for some reason made her heart beat faster.
“I really don’t know.”
“For someone supposedly good at reading people you’re not very good at reading yourself, are you? You’re in love with him.”
As Dawn’s words hit her brain Mercy froze. No. She wasn’t in love with him. She couldn’t be. It wasn’t part of the deal.
But.
It would explain a lot.
Such as the pride and admiration she’d felt when she’d heard that he’d reconciled with Zel. Such as the tugging of her heartstrings when she’d caught glimpses of the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. The deep wrenching ache she felt whenever she thought about what he’d been through. The jealousy that had shot though her when they’d been talking about his past lovers. She’d actually wanted to tear the eyes out of women she didn’t even know, especially the one who’d taught him how to say that phrase in Spanish. The way she’d worried about him spending Thanksgiving alone, wishing they could have spent it together.
Those, she thought now, panic beginning to flutter through her, hadn’t been the responses of an indifferent woman. They’d been the responses of a woman who cared very much about him, who just wanted him to be OK, who loved him.
Oh shit, she thought, her head pounding and her heart racing. Oh God, oh God, oh God. She was in love with him. How could she not be? The man had his own rose garden that was a sort of tribute to his mother, for heaven’s sake. He was strong and brave and difficult, and now she doubted she’d ever not been in love with him.
“I think you’re right, Dawn,” said Mercy, her voice sounding distant and woolly as her world imploded. �
��I think I am in love with him.”
“Of course you are,” said Dawn.
“I think I’m nuts about him. I think I probably always have been. Only now it’s not a crush. It’s the real thing, and, oh God, it’s a mess.”
“A mess?” said Faith frowning in bewilderment.
Mercy sank her head in her hands. “I’m doomed, I tell you, doomed.”
“And possibly being just the teensiest bit melodramatic?” said Dawn.
“It’s a New Word of the Day,” said Mercy, everything in her sinking to the floor. “But it fits. Because this is never going to end happily. I think I want everything with him – love, children, a future – and he wants just sex.”
“But what if he doesn’t?” said Faith. “What if it’s changed for him too?”
Oh, if only…
But that wasn’t the case, and she knew it wasn’t because he’d been quiet after the ride in the Mercedes. Withdrawn. Clearly not happy. And she thought she knew why. She’d pushed him too far with all that talk of healing. She’d asked too much of him. And he’d backed off. She hadn’t seen him again once they’d gone upstairs and she’d taken a quick shower. She didn’t know where he’d gone. She’d just waited a while, then as day had dawned, had gotten dressed and left, feeling sick.
“It hasn’t,” she said despondently. “It really hasn’t.”
“Do you know for that sure?” said the ever optimistic Faith. “Because, you know, if he wanted it and you wanted it, it could work. I know you’re piled high with your studies, but I can’t imagine Seb would be the type to rush into cohabitation or anything either. He’s been on his own, emotionally and physically, for years. That kind of thing takes some adjusting, I’d have thought, and you have time.”
“She’s right,” said Dawn.
Faith nodded. “You could muddle your way through it.”
Mercy shook her head and stamped down hard on the flicker of hope that flared inside her because that kind of thinking would only lead to disappointment. “He’s not going to change, Faith. Really he isn’t. He even warned me against thinking he might.”
There was a contemplative silence following that. “Well, on the upside,” said Faith eventually, “he’s not a brother of mine, which can only be good.”
“He’s Zel’s, though.” Mercy groaned as the truth of that hit her on top of everything else. “She’s going to hate me.”
“Of course she isn’t,” said Faith. “She’s loving the changes she’s seeing in him. Why would she hate you when those changes are largely down to you?”
“Because it’s going to ruin everything.”
“Why?” said Dawn.
“I don’t know, but it is.”
“Has anyone heard from her?” said Faith.
“I had a text,” said Dawn. “She’s fine. Enjoying it. And Ty arrived yesterday to surprise her.” She turned to Faith. “Did you have any idea he was going to do that?”
“Nope. Turns out he’s quite the romantic.”
Mercy sighed at the thought of how happy Zel was, how well everything was going for her. “You have no idea how envious of you and Zel I am right now, Dawn.”
“It wasn’t exactly easy for either of us.”
“No. But you got your happy endings and now look where you are. Finn’s moved in with you and Zel’s in St. Petersburg, no doubt being romanced with rides in troikas to The Summer Palace or wherever. That’s not going to happen here.”
“Look, why don’t you just tell Seb how you feel and see what he says?”
As all her blood rushed to her feet, Mercy stared at Dawn, aghast. “What? No. No. Way. Are you insane? He’d run a mile.”
“Zel says he’s chilling out.”
“Maybe he is with her,” she said, her pulse suddenly racing, “but he isn’t with me. And he very definitely wouldn’t be chilled about my being in love with him. It’s not the deal. I should know the parameters – I sort of set them. So I can’t go changing them.”
Dawn looked at her over the rim of her glass. “I’d have thought if you set them then that’s exactly what you can do.”
“Stop it. You always put ideas into my head.”
“The last one was a good one, wasn’t it?”
Mercy blinked. “Yes. No. Dios, I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Have another drink while you think about it,” suggested Faith.
“Good idea,” she said because if ever there was a time for alcohol this was surely it.
“Orange juice?”
“Sure,” she said, with a nod and a silent prayer of thanks that tomorrow she had no classes. “Thank you. And I’ll have a shot of vodka to go with it, if you don’t mind. What?” she added, catching the look of alarm that passed between her friends.
“Are you sure?” asked Faith, looking concerned.
“About the vodka? Actually, no.”
“Phew.”
“You’d better make it a double.”
*
Two hours and three delicious double vodka and oranges later Mercy, who had an unfamiliar but lovely buzz going on, had come to a decision.
She’d thought about it long and hard, back and forth, up and down, diagonally, upside down and inside out but the next time she saw Seb she was going to tell him exactly how she felt about him. She hadn’t pushed him too far. Of course she hadn’t. She’d helped him. She knew she had, and he’d be pleased she had once he’d gotten over it. So to hell with pamareters. To the devil with the conshequences. She was no shrinking rose. She was no feak and weeble chiquita. She was a woman in lurve. And she was going to tell him.
But, whoops, maybe she’d better get up off the floor first.
Chapter Ten
‡
The Friday night after the Sunday before, having made considerable progress through a bottle of whisky that had lain untouched for years, Seb realized that he had to put a stop to this thing with Mercy. It just couldn’t go on. He had to get out.
With hindsight, he thought grimly, staring into the fire that roared in his grate, his fingers tightening around his again empty glass, he should have gotten out weeks ago. With even clearer hindsight he should never have gotten in, but it was too late to regret that. All he could do was prevent any future regret, and that was what he intended to do.
That he didn’t want to do it was just tough. Sunday morning in his garage had been a game changer, he’d come to realize. He’d lost control. He’d completely lost control. Beneath the onslaught of memory, lust, pain and sheer edginess he just couldn’t explain, he’d buckled, his defences shattering and leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
Mercy had bulldozed her way right on through the rubble, had reached into his very soul where his deepest fears lay and yanked them out. And he’d let her. He’d put up no resistance. No argument. He’d gone to the gallows willingly.
And now, after days of contemplation, it seemed to him that it had been inevitable because the truth was that his defences had weakened long before Sunday morning. Maybe he hadn’t realized it. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to. But the signs had all been there.
The sharp arrow of pleased relief he’d experienced when she’d come knocking on his door, for example. The inability to send her packing when his peace of mind depended on it. The heady anticipation with which he greeted every weekend. The insatiable desire he had to know more about her. The ache that had taken up inside him when she hadn’t visited him that weekend and the irrational impulse that had him going to that dinner. The white hot jealousy over that Aussie guy with whom she’d had a five minute phone call and then the heart-thumping gut-churning suspicion that maybe he’d wanted her to see his cellar and his garage.
As if all that wasn’t enough, a month ago he’d bought a pair of Victorian silver gilt grape scissors and what those were all about he didn’t like to think. He’d seen them in the window of an antique shop on Madison Avenue he’d been passing. Useful, he’d told himself. He liked grapes. Ate a lot of them. And they would be
useful if they were actually in his cutlery drawer instead of burning a hole in the top right hand drawer of his desk in his office.
All signs. And in his stupid, arrogant hubris, in his misguided belief that his self-control was all conquerable, all ignored.
Somehow, without him even noticing, Mercy had snuck through his impenetrable shield and embedded herself in him with her wry humor, her quick intelligence, her smiles, her warmth and her touch.
Every time she even so much as looked at him the foundations of everything he believed in rocked. Every time she touched one of his scars he felt another drop of guilt evaporate. Every time they said goodbye he wanted to renegotiate the conditions of their deal.
How he had ever thought she didn’t have a hold over him he didn’t know. She held him in a stranglehold. She had him doubting himself for the first time in years. She had him thinking things he didn’t deserve to think, wanting things he didn’t deserve to want. She’d reduced him to a weak, vulnerable, exposed wreck of a man.
He’d been kidding himself by telling himself he’d been in control of this, he knew now. He’d hadn’t been in control since she’d stormed into his apartment the night of Zel’s slumber party. And without it, what was he? Dangerous. A loose cannon. Someone who destroyed others. Something he wasn’t willing to be or could ever be.
So he had to get out, he thought, refilling his glass then picking up his phone and scrolling down to her details, his fingers shaking in a way he didn’t understand. For his sake, and hers. Before he saw her tomorrow for their regular weekend hookup and he lost his mind all over again. However hard, however unappealing, whatever it took he’d do it. Because he had to get out now.
*
Mercy was in the bath thinking about Seb, about what she was going to say to him tomorrow and how she was going to approach it when her phone rang.
This morning, she thought languidly, lifting her arm from the lovely warm water to feel around on the floor for the thing, the ring tone would have hammered into her head like a pneumatic drill, so bad had her hangover been. But now, twenty-four hours after her night out with the girls, during which she’d consumed her bodyweight in carbs and water and napped on and off, everything was just great.
