by Jules Wake
Then he lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine and he gave me a smile of such sweetness it completely tugged at my heart strings. I lifted my mouth to his and kissed him, feeling the hitch of his breath as my lips skated over his in gentle exploration, savouring the exquisite sensation of skin on skin. With a gentle exhalation, his fingers on my waist tightened and he pulled me closer, chest to chest, deepening the kiss.
After a while, we both pulled apart. I felt a little dazed.
‘That was quite a kiss, Coffee Girl.’
‘You’re quite a kisser, Ashwin Laghari.’
He laughed and squeezed my waist. ‘No one ever calls me that, you know, but I rather like it when you do. You make me sound like some sexy magician.’
With those beguiling kisses he definitely had a touch of magic about him.
‘Would you like to come back to my place? I promise my sheets are clean.’ He held up a hand. ‘Not because I was hoping to score tonight… I thought you might be too much of a ballbreaker.’
‘Charming. What changed your mind?’
‘Because inside, I think we have a lot more in common than either of us would like to admit. And, just for the record, I always do my laundry on Saturday.’
Chapter Three
‘Claire, can I have a word? It’s urgent. My office in ten.’
My heart sank at Alastair’s words. It was five to eight on Monday morning and I’d literally just walked through the door – in fact, almost walked into the door frame I was so tired and my eyesight was a little blurry. Stay calm, Claire. You got the report done. It’s all cool. I heaved out a sigh, punch drunk with fatigue. I’d pulled an all-nighter to get the damned thing done.
‘Morning, Claire. Good weekend?’ Karen, the HR director, grinned at me as she ducked her head into my office.
‘It was actually.’ I grinned back, suddenly boosted by the memory of waking up in Ash’s bed on Sunday morning.
‘Anything you want to share?’
‘Not just now.’ I gave her a mischievous smile. ‘Maybe over a glass of prosecco, one night.’
‘Just let me know when.’
‘Might not be this week.’ I winced. As she walked off with a cheery wave over her shoulder, I let myself take an indulgent dip into the memories of Saturday night and Sunday morning.
I’d woken late on Sunday. Sadly, the delicious lassitude of my muscles had long since dissipated but thinking about Ash’s body moving over mine, the breathless sighs of both of us and the delicious intimacy we’d shared, warmed me as I sat down at my desk. God, he’d been lovely. A considerate, passionate, thoughtful and, I thought with a sudden naughty smile, very inventive lover. That competitive streak in both of us had pushed us to challenge each other well beyond limits that I suspected normally bound us. I almost groaned out loud at the deliciousness of his shuddering uncontrolled orgasm and the sheer feminine satisfaction that I, Claire, had been able to bring a man to this. Not that he’d been without his own power. I’d never had sex like it and was still a little surprised by my own loss of control and the way I’d begged him, gasping, ‘please, please, please’ over and over again.
Even now I was getting a little hot and bothered at the recollection of the way our bodies had moved together.
I’d woken up on Sunday immediately aware of where I was and smiling at the weight of Ash’s arm draped over my back and the sun streaming in through the window. We’d been in far too much haste to bother with things like closing curtains. That smile vanished quickly when I realised the time. I’d felt a little sick when I saw it was half past nine.
‘I’m sorry, Ash, I’ve got to go.’ I pulled off the sheets but he tugged me back.
‘Not even a good morning kiss,’ he teased, pulling me down onto his warm body. He was impossible to resist but eventually I forced myself to sit up. ‘I really have to go. I have so much to do. I’ve got this big report to hand in on Monday and I’m…’ My stomach had turned over at just how much I had to do and how much time I’d lost helping my sister yesterday. Alice and her bloody hedge. If it weren’t for her, I might have been able to give in to the temptation of slow Sunday-morning sex. I was beginning to recognise the familiar signs of stress creeping through my body.
‘Hey, don’t look so worried. I get it. My laptop’s calling me too.’
‘And the boy gets the prize,’ I quipped with a grateful smile. He really did understand.
‘I’m with you, Claire. I completely understand.’
I kissed him smartly on the nose, wishing like crazy I could kiss that lush mouth and go back for round two. It was possibly my biggest regret for a very long time. I hated having to drag myself away.
At the front door, Ash gave me a long, heated kiss that had us both breathing heavily.
‘Who needs exercise? This is definitely pushing up my heart rate,’ said Ash, pushing my hair back over my shoulder.
‘I wish I could stay.’
‘Don’t worry.’
He kissed me again and it was another minute before I came up for air. ‘I really do have to go.’
‘I know.’ He bent and teased my lips again. I felt my resolve weakening but fear raised its ugly head. There was a chance I might not get the report done in time.
‘I’ve got to go.’ I pulled away and put a good metre between us so I wouldn’t be tempted again.
‘I’ll text you tomorrow. Dinner Friday?’
I grinned at him. ‘Or Saturday.’
He raised a cocky eyebrow in response. ‘You don’t need to play hard to get now. I’ve already had you.’
‘Or I had you.’ I tilted my head with a superior smile and turned and walked away, wishing with every step that I could have stayed.
Even now, on Monday morning, I was still rather pleased with that quip and the accompanying smile carried me all the way to Alastair’s office. Just outside, my phone beeped and I paused. Normally I’d have ignored my phone but a slew of distracting texts yesterday had reprogrammed my response to the text alert.
Morning, sexy girl. Hope you slept well. Looking forward to Friday. x
I glanced at Alastair’s closed door.
Morning, Ashwin Laghari. Could have sworn we said Saturday. x
Before I could even put my phone back in my pocket, the message came back.
How about we compromise… and do both. xxx
I smiled and, inside my chest, my heart did a funny little bunny hop of happiness.
‘There you are, Claire.’ Alastair, a man of few words, waved me in. ‘The Ashdown Report—’
‘Don’t worry, it’s all done. I just need to get Ros to print off a dozen copies, bind, and distribute them.’
‘Ah, that’s why I wanted to see you. The client’s had a change of heart. They’ve decided that they’d like to look at a different sector of the construction industry, education rather than retail. I’m afraid we’re going to have to start again.’
That would be the royal we, would it?
‘And I know education isn’t your area of expertise but you’re a quick study and we’ve got all the stats and data on the market.’
Yes we did but they weren’t at one’s finger tips. We would take some time digging them up.
‘Won’t take someone like you that long to get up to speed.’
No, not more than a day or so.
‘Obviously we’ll bill them for your hours to date, so it’s not a problem.’ His smile was optimistic. ‘You know how it is. What the client wants, the client gets.’
I kept a bland smile on my face. Not a problem? No, not for you mate. That flaming report had taken hours and hours. I’d worked all last night, finishing at four and waking at six. I’d had two hours of pretty shitty, restless sleep. Linking my fingers, I twisted them together wondering what he might say if I slammed both hands on the desk and told him what he could do with his ‘what the client wants’ line.
‘They want it by the end of the week. Not going to be a problem, is it?’
Of cours
e, it wasn’t; it never was, but bloody Alastair was already looking at his computer screen. Dismissed, I turned and walked out, every step weary. I’d only walked a few paces when I realised something odd was happening to me. My throat was doing a strange convulsing thing and I couldn’t seem to control the odd hiccoughing in my diaphragm. No! I was not, not, not going to cry.
Oh God, I’m going to cry.
Picking up my pace, I darted to the ladies’ loo, praying there were no other eager beavers in this morning. Slamming one of the doors and fumbling with the lock, I dropped onto the loo seat and sank my head in my hands. The Ashdown report had taken over a week to perfect. Pulling a whole new report together by Friday on top of everything else I needed to do this week… shit. The sob bubbled in my throat and I gasped, trying to fight against it. I did not cry at work. Never. I sucked in a deep breath. Held on to it. Breathed out slowly.
Breathe, Claire. Breathe.
Even with the slow, careful breathing, it took a whole ten minutes before I felt as if I could even stand up. It was just extreme tiredness. Two hours of sleep did that to a body. I had this. I could do the report. It would just take a lot of hours.
I finally emerged from the ladies, fifteen long, panicky minutes later and strode to my office, rolling up my metaphorical sleeves as I went. I could do this.
When I finally allowed myself the treat of checking my messages at half past six, hoping there might be a few texts from Ash, my spirits nose-dived when I realised there hadn’t been anything since the first ones this morning. I read them again, a little sunshine dancing in my heart. He’d obviously had as busy a day as me. The thought gave me a sense of solidarity. Me and Ash hard at work, both bossing it. We were so similar above and below the surface.
There was a text from my mother.
Hi darling, can we change the time tomorrow? Could you make it 6pm instead of 7.30? See you soon xxx
I closed my eyes. Damn, I’d completely forgotten. Reluctantly, I picked up the phone.
‘Hi Mum, it’s Claire.’
‘Hi, darling. Did you get my text?’
‘Yes, that’s why I’m ringing. I’m not going to be able—’
‘Claire, don’t you dare say you’re not coming.’
‘Mum, I can’t. I’ve just been given—’
‘But darling, it’s the last time we’ll see you before we go.’
‘I know, Mum—’
‘We’ll be gone for four months.’
To be fair, with Mum and Dad’s imminent departure on a four-month cruise, tomorrow’s date had been reserved for two weeks. It was a measure of my state of mind that I’d forgotten. I normally kept a pretty good handle on my diary.
‘Okay, Mum. But let’s stick to seven-thirty.’ That would allow a couple of additional hours in the office.
‘But then it’s late for the girls and Alice wants to leave at a reasonable hour because she has a yoga class in the morning.’
Alice had a yoga class! I rubbed at my forehead trying to ease the tightening bands of headache gathering there. Bully for bloody, bendy Alice.
‘Well, she should have thought about that, earlier. We said seven-thirty two weeks ago.’
‘Claire, please,’ sighed my mother in her familiar referee voice. ‘Your Dad and I really want to see you before we go. And you work far too hard, darling. Take a night off.’
If it weren’t for the fact that this really was the only chance I’d see them for four months, I might have stood my ground.
‘I’ll see you at six, then,’ I said with finality and hung up, annoyed at myself for being annoyed at Alice for derailing the evening.
That was her default. Derailing things. At sixteen she announced she was pregnant, on the morning of my first A-level exam. You try concentrating after that bombshell. Conscious that she was missing the best years of her life, my parents became surrogate parents themselves rather than grandparents. A huge mistake, in my opinion. Somehow Alice managed to get pregnant a second time with Ava, just four years after Poppy.
In recent years, my parents had bought her a small terraced house in Churchstone. It was pure chance I’d moved to the same small market town six months ago. The gorgeous perfection of the house more than made up for its proximity to my sister.
Amazingly, on first viewing, it had ticked every box on my extremely detailed – I overhead the estate agent use the word ‘demanding’ – list and instantly I knew it was my Instagram perfect I’ve-made-it home. Or rather, it would be when I got round to finding the right workmen to do the renovations and chose some decent furniture. Bizarrely, it had been the one and only time I’d gone with my gut and it had been the biggest purchase of my life.
I winced and woke up my computer. The last thing I had time for right now was daydreaming how my house might look one day. If I didn’t get this blasted report done, I could kiss goodbye to a partnership and then buying the house would have been a complete waste of time.
But I did have one thing to do. I picked up my phone, smiling again at Ash’s earlier text and sent one back.
I have been known to compromise but don’t get used to it. x
Chapter Four
I checked my emails and my palms turned clammy. Twelve already and it was only ten past nine. I studied the busy receptionist and prayed that the doctor was running to time. I was going to be an hour late into work. If the festering wound on my arm from trimming Alice’s hedge hadn’t started leaking greenish stuff I probably would have cancelled today’s appointment.
I typed a couple of quick responses to my emails, although it was like a game of whack-a-mole. No sooner had I answered five, another six had popped up.
With a heavy sigh, out of habit rather than any real hope, I checked my text messages.
Nothing. The familiar lump in my throat rose. Not one text from Ashwin Laghari in over two weeks.
Whatever had happened with him had burned fast and furious and like a firework. It had clearly been a one-time-only deal but it still left this odd, hollow pain in my chest.
I reread, for what must have been the hundred millionth time, the last text he’d sent. What had made him change his mind?
Hadn’t that brief, sizzling connection meant anything to him? I’d shared with him a glimpse of my fears because I’d thought he understood. The rejection hit hard. I’d even cried again at work one day but that had probably had as much to do with realising I was going to miss the Ashdown report deadline. It was the one and only deadline I’d ever missed and it felt like a huge great blot on my career. And the more I worried about it, the more I struggled to meet the next deadline and the one after that. It was as if I was caught upside down in some whirlwind and I couldn’t right myself.
‘Let’s have a look then,’ said Dr Boulter with a kind smile.
I rolled up my sleeve to show him the gash – thanks, Alice’s hedge – which had not healed properly and had been looking decidedly manky for weeks and this morning had reached a whole new level of manky. Around the wound my skin was red and inflamed and had acquired a furnace-level heat. My whole forearm was now tender to the touch.
‘Ouch.’ With gentle gloved fingers he prodded my arm and a glistening gob of greenish yellow pus welled up and oozed from the jagged edges. I flinched.
‘This is nasty. How long has it been like that?’
‘Er… a couple of weeks,’ I admitted, shamefaced.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why haven’t you been to see me before now? You’ve got a nasty infection. This needs antibiotics.’
For some stupid reason, tears filled my eyes and I had to swallow back the lump that had, if I was honest, taken up permanent residence in my throat.
‘Claire?’
That was the problem when your GP was an old golf buddy of your dad’s and had known you from when you were in ankle socks. No, I certainly didn’t come to see him about women’s things, instead opting for one of the female doctors in the practice, but I did come for minor things like stupid, flipping scr
atches that refused to heal.
Ashwin Laghari – bugger his gorgeous, indifferent soul – had probably been right about the Savlon but in that glorious immediate-post-date haze I’d completely forgotten about applying antibiotic cream. Yeah, I was holding him personally responsible for my infected arm. The bastard.
‘Claire?’ Dr Boulter’s voice broke into my thoughts. Damn, he was being kind. I didn’t want kind. I wanted brusque and curt.
‘Claire?’ he asked again gently as I struggled to stem the rising flood of tears. Shit, this was embarrassing. But it was no good. They were on a roll, and I knew I’d lost it when the sob burst free.
Suddenly I was in floods of tears and I had no idea why, and he was handing over tissues from the box on his desk. Snuffly and snotty, I grabbed them like a life belt but as fast as I mopped up, a fresh burst of sobs thrust their way out
Finally I was able to stutter, ‘Oh God, I’m… I don’t know w-what’s w-wrong with m-me.’
He gave me a kind but stern look. ‘Want to tell me what’s going on?’
‘It’s… nothing. Just… ev-everything. Just a lot on at work. It’s quite full-on at the moment.’ I found myself taking the step off the cliff. ‘I’ve got this horrible feeling that something bad is going to happen all the time and I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘Last night?’
I pulled a face as I acknowledged the truth. ‘Well, actually, I haven’t slept properly for weeks. I’m just so tired.’ Since missing my deadline, my confidence seemed to have crumbled. My anxiety levels were through the roof and I didn’t seem to be able to get them under control. Making the slightest decision at work suddenly had me tied up in knots. It terrified me. I’d always known what to do.
