by Lily Harlem
A Sandra Bullock movie tempted me, and, nibbling on a small bar of my favorite chocolate, I hit PLAY.
I wondered if people would think Gabe and Brent were an item, a couple out having a romantic meal. I huffed. As if! Gabe oozed heterosexual appeal. There was nothing feminine about him at all.
But then…?
There hadn’t been anything feminine about the construction workers on the Tube I’d seen. They were testosterone overdosed, they couldn’t have been more masculine. Yet they were clearly gay.
Would there be a candle on the table between Brent and Gabe? Would Gabe laugh the way he had been yesterday when I’d seen them having lunch together?
I shifted on the seat, screwed up the wrapper from the chocolate then tossed it onto the table.
Damn it. Imagine if a woman, like me, looked at them and thought of them having sex together. She’d picture Gabe and Brent, naked. Gabe doubled up, knees bent like they’d been last night, and taking not my fake dick, but Brent’s real one. Would his expression be the same? No, likely Brent’s cock would be bigger, thicker, longer. He’d probably have to battle some discomfort. But then, would it feel better? A real, hard, hot cock pushing in and out of him rather than my silicone one?
“For crying out loud, Hayley Stone.” I stood, so irritated with the direction of my thoughts that I’d admonished myself. “Where has this come from?”
I needed more wine. I went into the kitchen and topped myself up. I wouldn’t think of Gabe in bed with another woman so why was I thinking of him and Brent getting frisky? It was absurd. It was like nothing I’d ever imagined before.
I’d just sat down again when I heard a key fumbling at the front door.
Good, Gabe was home. That would stop my ridiculous musings.
I glanced at my watch. It was gone eleven-thirty.
After a few moments of him not opening the door, I wandered into the hall and peeked through the eyehole.
Yes, it was him.
His eyes were narrowed and he was concentrating hard on getting the key in the lock, but without much success.
Oh, God, he was drunk.
I pulled open the door.
He staggered forward and I dodged out of the way.
“Hey,” I said, shutting the door and bolting it. “Had fun?”
“Yeah, yeah, it was good.” He grinned and adjusted his balance.
“Nice meal?”
“Really nice. I’ll take you there.” His grin widened.
“I’ve just poured wine, but do you want a glass of water?”
“Nah, do me wine.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Sure?”
He flapped his hand and headed toward the kitchen. “Yeah, wine’s good. Brent ordered a fabulous bottle of Merlot. Was like butter and burnt toast.”
“Mmm, sounds great.” I shook my head and headed back into the living room. Normally, Gabe preferred white wine and I’d never heard him describe the flavor like that. It wasn’t his way.
After banging around in the kitchen, he wandered in then sat next to me.
He reached for my hand, kissed my knuckles then set his drink aside.
“So what did you have? The hottest, spiciest thing on the menu?” I asked.
“Madras, yes. Pretty hot.” He rubbed his sternum as though waiting for heartburn.
“You do it every time,” I said. “I’ve left your tablets out on the side in the kitchen.”
He smiled and leaned close, kissed my cheek. “You’re so good to me.”
I laughed. “I know. And you smell of curry and booze.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you had a good time with your friend.”
“I did. Brent’s fun to be around.”
“So what kind of things did you talk about?” I couldn’t stifle my curiosity.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, what conversations did you have?”
“Oh, just the usual.”
“What’s that? Football, cricket, pensions, women?”
He laughed and put his arm around my shoulder, pulled me into a side hug, the way we often sat together on the sofa. “No, not women...in fact, more the opposite.”
“The opposite?” I frowned and looked up at him. “What, men?”
He shrugged and glanced at the TV screen. “Yeah.”
“What about them?” Now I was intrigued.
“Just…you know.”
“No, I don’t. I chat about men with my girlfriends but we don’t chat about girls.” I shoved my finger onto his belly. “Tell me.”
“Urgh, don’t do that.” He tensed his abdomen.
“So tell.”
“I shouldn’t really. He glanced at the door as if wondering if there was someone there.
“There’s lots of things we shouldn’t do but that doesn’t stop us.” I slid my hand to his chest then up the column of his neck and turned his attention back to me. “Isn’t there?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Indeed there is.”
“So tell me,” I whispered, stroking his stubbled chin. “Why were you discussing men?”
“Because…Brent had an affair with a man.” Gabe pressed his fingers over his lips, almost as if to hold the words in that he shouldn’t have said. He’d spoken fast too, like the sentence had spilled out of him.
“What?” I sat up a bit. “He’s gay?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” He shook his head.
“But he must be, if he’s into blokes.”
“Not all blokes. Just this one at university, years ago.”
“So it was just experimenting, when he was a youth.” I shrugged. “We’ve all done that. Heck, I snogged Fiona Talbot when I was eighteen and I’d had a cider too many.”
Gabe’s face softened a little; his gaze captured mine and his lips twitched. “You never told me that.”
“It was no big deal.”
“Ah, but this was a big deal for Brent. He had a proper relationship with this bloke, Samuel, and then just before he proposed to Nadia, they met up again, spent an entire week together. They went to the South of France on holiday, as a couple...you know what I mean?”
“Bloody hell.”
“Yeah, that’s proper experimenting. Well, no not experimenting, that’s really trying it out for size,” Gabe said.
“And he told you all of this, tonight?”
“The details, yes. But I had an idea because his wife, or soon-to-be ex-wife, Nadia, has accused him of seeing Samuel throughout their marriage. She’s likely going to be using it as a reason for her affair and trying to sting him for extra cash because of it.”
“And does she have grounds? Has he been seeing this Samuel?”
“No, not at all. After that week in France he decided that it was Nadia he wanted to be with. Even though he and Samuel were close and, from the sound of it, in love, he felt he had to move on and Nadia was his future. He had dreams of a family and a quiet life with a beautiful, sweet woman.”
“So he was always faithful to her?”
“Yes, unlike her, who’d been bed hopping for over a year and making him look a fool.”
“That’s not fun.” I paused. “So I guess he’s bi if he’s not gay.”
“Yes, that’s how he described himself. Say’s it’s the person he’s attracted to, not the gender.” Gabe put his fingers over his mouth and suppressed a hiccup.
“And is this, his sexuality, likely to get hashed out in court?”
“I think we have to prepare for it. We’re going to leave her living a very different life to what she’s used to and she’ll get nasty. She’s like the Wicked Witch of the West. Nothing is sacred, nothing can’t be aired in public.”
“She sounds a real charmer.”
Gabe shook his head. “Makes me wonder what he saw in her. She’s not attractive, she’s mean, false, the furthest thing you can imagine from beautiful and sweet. You’ve gotta wonder.”
“Bet you’re glad you’ve got
me, eh?”
He squeezed me close. “I’m thankful for that every minute of every day and you know it.”
He pulled me up his body for a kiss.
He tasted of wine and smelled of a medley of Indian spices. I loved him even in this tipsy, curried state. Wanted him too.
I shifted and straddled his legs, my knees folded against the outer edges of his thighs and my crotch pressing on his groin.
He still wore his suit, although his tie was gone—likely rolled into his pocket—and his collar had the top button undone.
“So, Mr. Stone,” I said onto his lips.
He ran his hands up my back. “Mmm, what?”
“I’ve told you my secret about kissing Fiona Talbot, you’ve told me Brent’s secret, so now it’s time for you to tell me yours.”
He kissed me lightly. “What do you mean?”
I cupped his face and pulled back. “Did you have any secret kisses with boys when you were growing up?”
He huffed. “No, my youth wasn’t that exciting.”
“So it would be exciting to kiss a boy?”
He stared at me; his eyes were a little glazed but he was really looking, really delving into the depths of my curiosity. He didn’t speak, didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed me.
His woman.
Chapter Six
The next morning I slept late. With no friends to meet, no social occasion to prepare for, I enjoyed the languid state of dozing and letting my body recover from a week of rushing about.
I stretched my right leg across the bed. Gabe wasn’t there and hadn’t been for a while as the sheets were cool.
The need for tea called, so I got up, reached for my robe then headed downstairs.
I put the kettle on, wondering where Gabe was then spotted him outside.
We had a very small garden, barely enough to warrant the title and it didn’t have any grass, just slate paving slabs. But it was big enough for a wooden table and chairs, a deluxe BBQ and several terracotta pots full of flowers. It was more than many Londoners had and I always enjoyed buying little things for it.
Gabe was sitting on one of the chairs with a shard of golden sunshine streaming down on to him. He had his right ankle crossed on his left knee and was pushing his hand through his hair with his face angled at the sky.
He was also on the phone. It was pressed to his ear and he smiled at whatever was being said to him and shut his eyes against the bright light above.
Who was he talking to?
His relaxed pose told me it wasn’t anything to do with work, nor was it his mother or an annoying marketing call. In fact, I’d never seen him chatting like that on the phone, with such casual ease and a carefree posture.
The kettle clicked off and I turned and made tea.
Once I’d poured it, I took a sip then headed out of the back door.
Gabe looked at me and mouthed. “Morning.”
I pressed a kiss to the top of his head and sat next to him.
“Yes,” he was saying. “It sounds like a good plan.” He paused. “I’ll ask her and call you back, but I’m pretty sure we’re free.”
He hung up.
I licked my lips and watched him place his iPhone on the table and reach for his coffee.
“That was Brent,” Gabe said.
“He was ringing early.”
“Nah, I rang him. Just to say thanks for dinner last night.” He took a sip of his drink. “He paid.”
I nodded. “That was kind of him.”
“I don’t think money is one of his problems and I intend for it to stay that way.”
“What, as opposed to being bisexual and having a wife after his blood. They’re problems, aren’t they?”
Gabe frowned. “Shh, I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“But you did. And now I’m wondering if he fancies my husband.” I laughed at my own joke.
“Jesus, that’s ridiculous,” Gabe snapped.
“Hey, I’m messing with you.” I rested my hand on his arm. “But I wouldn’t blame him. You’re quite a catch.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Just as well I was caught by you, eh.”
“Indeed.”
We were quiet for a moment.
“So what do you have to ring him back about?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. He’s invited us to Henley for the weekend.”
“That’s nice. When?”
“Now. This weekend.”
“What?”
Gabe placed his cup down. “Don’t look so shocked at a spontaneous plan, Hayley.”
“But—”
“We used to always be spontaneous.”
“We still are, plenty.”
He shook his head. “I’m not talking about the bedroom. I’m talking about our social plans. It can happen even if it’s not in your diary, you know.”
“Yes, I get that.” I put my tea down, folded my arms. “But there’s nothing wrong with being organized.”
“Of course not, and I love you for organizing our lives, I’d be hopeless on my own, but…”
“But?”
“But let’s do this. Brent has to go to the house in Oxford—”
“How many does he have? Houses, that is.”
“Three that he uses for himself. The apartment in Chelsea, the Oxford house and the small-holding in Essex that he shared with Nadia.”
“Quite the property guru.”
“He’s hoping to sell the one in Essex, use that profit for any divorce settlements and then just have his pad in the city and a country escape.” Gabe reached over and took my hand. “Come on, let’s go. It’s bound to be a fabulous place. The sun is out and the country air will do us good after all this heat and smog.”
“Well…”
“Go on…” he said in a whiney, persuasive voice.
I laughed. “Oh, okay, we’ll go. I can’t exactly let you go on your own, can I? Not after the state you came back in last night.”
“What state?” he asked huffing.
“Pissed.” I rolled my eyes.
“I wasn’t.”
“Mr. Stone, you’re guilty as charged and you know it.”
His face cracked into a smile. “I am on my third cup of coffee, so yes, you’re probably right, but it didn’t stop me having a good time with Mrs. Stone.”
* * * *
The trip to Oxford started off slow as we wound through City traffic, but once out on the motorway, hills soon dominated the landscape and we picked up speed.
I put some classical music on and was happy to relax back and let Gabe drive.
Driving had never been my cup of tea. I contented myself with the fact I was good at many things, but not getting behind a wheel.
We left the high-speed roads and navigated down smaller ones to Henley. Another glorious day had brought locals and tourists out in their summer finest, and as we went through small towns, ladies in pretty dresses browsed quaint shops, kids in shorts ate ice cream, and when we went over an old stone bridge, a regatta was being held on the river below.
Gabe slowed in the line of traffic and I admired the well-dressed audience lining the bank, the long skinny boats packed with scantily dressed rowers, and the officials in red-and-white-striped jackets and straw boater hats who were marching around full of self-importance.
“Looks like they’re having fun,” Gabe said. “I didn’t realize it was regatta weekend, no wonder the roads have been busy these last few miles.”
“It’s not been too bad. I think it’s just about to start.”
“Brent said his garden backs on to the Thames, so we’re likely to see rowers whizzing past all day.”
“Best seat in the house, eh.”
“Indeed.”
Gabe pulled off and we left the regatta and the town. But it was only a couple of minutes later that the Satnav informed us that we’d reached our destination.
Hardon Manor.
Gabe turned right onto a gravel driveway. We passed through large wooden ga
tes with brass furniture then onto a long, slim stretch of tarmac lined with silver birches.
In the distance I could see the house. Even from this far away I could tell it was the largest for miles around. It was of mansion proportions.
“Phew,” I said. “You weren’t kidding when you said money wasn’t an issue for Brent Dawson.”
“He didn’t buy this,” Gabe said. “It’s the family home, it’s where he grew up and it’s protected by a pre-nup his father insisted upon on his death bed.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“I guess he could see his son’s new wife for what she was, even when ill.”
“And Brent’s mother? Does she live here?”
“No, she died not long after he and Nadia split. So he’s had a lot to cope with. Said that his mother had never been the same without his father and that although diagnosed with cancer she’d actually died of a broken heart.”
“That’s sad.”
“I guess they couldn’t live without each other.” Gabe reached over and touched my knee, only briefly, then took the steering wheel again.
We drove from the shadows of the birch trees and stopped beside a stone roundabout complete with cherub holding a horn, from which water spilled down.
“This is stunning,” I said, removing my shades.
A huge set of steps ran up to a pillared front door. Several windows stretched out on either side and above them a long balcony hugged the house.
Precisely trimmed topiary trees dotted the balcony and almost touched the start of the roof which held neatly spaced dormer windows, and at either end, massive chimney stacks.
“Glad you came now?” Gabe asked.
“Well, it’s a bit shoddy,” I managed. “But I suppose I’ll cope.”
He grinned and got out of the car. He whizzed around the front then opened my door.
I took his offered hand and stepped out. My heels sank into the gravel and instantly the sun heated my arms that were cool from the air-conditioning.
“Hey, you made it.”
I turned to see Brent walking down the stone steps. He wore pale cream chinos, brown deck shoes and a navy Ralph Lauren shirt. His hair looked a little damp, like he was fresh from the shower.
