by C. J. Duggan
‘Aw, thanks, Nana.’ I hugged her, feeling her recoil from my touch.
‘Yes, well, we’ll have to get the gown taken out of course; I was much thinner than you in my heyday, so naturally the dress won’t fit you.’
The jibe bounced right off. In fact, I didn’t care if she insulted me for the rest of her days, which she probably would. I turned to Jack with a big, goofy grin on my face. He replied with a wink and stood up from the sofa.
‘Thanks, Joy. I promise I’ll look after her.’
‘Well, you better, Jack Baker, the world isn’t what it once was, you know.’
‘Oh, I know, that’s why I need Kate to chaperone me.’
Nana scoffed, waving Jack away.
‘Bye, Joy, Vera.’ He nodded, then caught my eye. I stood and followed him to the front foor, the tension between us palpable. I opened the door and Jack lingered on the edge of the step.
‘A ball, eh?’ I said, trying to look nonplussed.
‘And you don’t even have to try to climb over your balcony in a long dress and heels.’
‘Thank God.’
Jack watched me, studying my face, my smile mirroring his.
‘You could have asked me that day. I would have said yes.’
‘No, this was the right way to do it: no sneaking around, so we can just enjoy the night.’
‘You’re an ideas man, Jack Baker,’ I mused.
He laughed. ‘I try my best,’ he said, beginning to descend the front steps before pausing. ‘Oh, before I go, you might want this.’ He reached around his back, pulling something out from underneath his jumper and handing it to me. It was a book.
There in the palm of my hands sat Shipwrecked Hearts, the book I had read nightly while waiting for Jack, my dirty little secret. I blanched, my eyes darting up to his in horror.
‘I see where you learn all those moves of yours,’ he said with a cheeky grin, bounding down the steps as if afraid I might throw the book at him.
‘Very funny!’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I had to play it cool.
I hadn’t seen Jack since this morning’s surprise visit and, as the evening wore on, I had to seriously resist the urge to climb over to his balcony. There were two weeks until the fundraising ball, and I really didn’t want to come across like I had already chosen the names for our firstborn, though Zoe and Michael were definitely my preferences. I had to just not think right now; I was fully aware of how crazy I was being and I didn’t want to analyse why that might be. But no matter how I tried, everywhere I looked in my bedroom brought back vivid memories from the previous night. I went out onto the balcony, hoping that maybe some fresh air would clear my mind, but seeing the chair that Jack had been sitting in reminded me of all that we had done there, so I couldn’t be out there either.
As a last resort, I walked down to the rose garden, deciding to take in the cooled evening air with my weathered copy of Shipwrecked Hearts, my go-to when serious distraction was needed. I was dying to know if the marriage of convenience between Alessandro and Calypso was going to lead to an explosive honeymoon night.
I read on, hungrily turning each page until being utterly shocked by the plot twist.
‘No way! Alessandro is Lord Ramon’s long-lost brother?’
‘I could have told you that,’ Vera called out from the opened door of the kitchen.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve read this too?’
‘Well, I have to pass the time during Joy’s naps somehow. Seems like it’s been a good time killer for you as well.’
I folded the page at the top corner, thinking there were far more interesting ways to kill my time as another memory surfaced. I could only hope Vera linked my blushing cheeks to the contents of the book. I sighed, chucking the book on the table and making my way to the kitchen, wincing as seldom-used muscles protested after last night’s workout. I had to see him again, to know that last night meant something; sure, he had invited me on a date, but that was an eternity away.
‘Well, I’ve had my free time, best get back to my blog.’
‘See, hot date planned, fresh air with a good book, some blogging: who says you can’t have it all?’
I thought about that for a moment: the way I was feeling and what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Try as I might, I couldn’t fight my smile.
I relented. ‘Life is pretty good.’
Vera paused from her carrot peeling. Leaning her hip against the cabinet, she looked at me expectantly, her own little smirk in place.
‘Well, it’s about to get a lot better,’ she said.
I straightened. ‘Alessandro and Calypso live happily ever after?’
Vera burst out laughing. ‘Well, that’s not what I was referring to but yes, they do.’
‘Oh, then what?’
Was bingo cancelled with Nana?
Vera turned her attention back to the sink. ‘You better go check your room,’ she said cryptically. I peeled away from the kitchen and legged it up the stairs. All I could think about was whether I had managed to clean up everything from last night’s antics. I had disposed of condoms and emptied my rubbish bin, washed up and put away the water glass Jack had used, straightened my sheets and even opened my windows in case the smell of sex still hung in the air. I’d been so thorough, it was like I was cleaning a crime scene, but had I missed something? Why was Vera telling me to check my room? I opened my door, fearing the worst, when I came to a complete standstill.
There, laid out on my bed, was a beautiful midnight-blue gown, with silver heels, an ivory white clutch, and a mother-of-pearl-and-diamond hair comb.
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed.
I knew this dress, all right. It was a Pierre Balmain couture, a dress that I had looked at longingly on more than one occasion. My hand traced over the satin of the dress. The Parisian designer, along with a few select others, was responsible for reigniting French fashion after the Second World War. His sumptuous ball gowns and luxurious wedding dresses seduced the most glamorous of Hollywood’s queens, so it was little wonder that his pieces attracted the likes of Nana Joy. And she had chosen this for me. I felt a lump in my throat. I held myself together for the most part when it came to Nana Joy, but as my hands skimmed over the silken layers of the dress, I could not control my feelings. Without thinking, I ran from my room and down the stairs, bursting through the parlour in a loud, clumsy commotion to throw my arms around Nana Joy, jolting her out of her sleep.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered, pulling back and looking into her blue eyes, wanting her to see how much her gesture meant to me. ‘I love them.’
Nana was annoyed, squirming at my words and looking like she wished she was anywhere else. ‘Well, like I said, you probably won’t fit into it – you’re far too hippy, like your mother.’
I would live on water and crackers and wear four pairs of Spanx if it meant fitting into that dress. Where there was a will, there was a way.
‘You are the best!’ I beamed. No such words had ever left my mouth in reference to Nana, but in that moment
I saw her in a new light; somewhere under the harsh, weathered exterior of this bitter woman, deep down – okay, so deep, deep, deep down – there was something good.
Nana winced, as if my words physically pained her. ‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Katherine, really.’
Some small part of me might have hoped for a ‘you’re welcome’, but nothing could bring me down. I was on cloud nine, having finally found a happiness that I didn’t think possible in this house, in this city.
I took the seat next to Nana, fighting against my instinct to run back upstairs and swan around with my stunning new gown and elegant accessories; instead, I took in a deep breath, smiled and addressed Nana.
‘So, what are we doing tomorrow?’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I closed my laptop screen and sat there, not daring to believe what I was thinking.
Kate, you can’t.
I unravelled my
hair from its bun, delighting in the feeling of running my fingers over my scalp as I lost myself in thought.
Seriously, don’t even think about it.
I edged off my bed, stretching my arms to the ceiling and placing my hands on my hips, twisting from side to side, glancing at the terrace doors.
The sun had long gone down and my room was lit with the usual golden lamp light, a cosy refuge from the hustle and bustle of the world and all that lay beyond the doors I walked toward. I skimmed my hands along the lace curtain material. It had been a long day; having just pressed publish on my new post, a sick feeling clawed at my insides. What if people hated it? What if people thought that I was just a pretentious, materialistic twat? I glanced at the beautiful strapless Balmain gown hanging on my door, biting my thumbnail, too wired to sleep, anxiously wearing a track on my rug. I needed a distraction and I knew the very best person to provide me with one.
Kate, NO!
Sorry, inner voice, there is no winning me over right now.
I let my adrenaline push open the balcony doors and stepped out into the night air. I climbed over the edge. Holy shit, do not look down, Kate! The edge of the terrace felt grimy and flaky under my hands. I gripped the window ledge desperately, my feet slowly side-shuffling over to Jack’s side. It was only now, halfway across with the night air whipping my hair into my eyes, that I started to really doubt what I was doing. I tried to remember to breathe and move, breathe and move. Don’t look down, you are almost there! But Jack’s ledge felt a mile away and there was nothing to do but glance down.
Big mistake.
I froze, paralysed and angry at my stupidity; seriously, what was I doing? But then came a memory of Jack’s burning eyes, and the way his mouth felt against my skin, and I was moving once more, a new determination slowly overriding the fear. I hooked my right leg over, anchoring myself to Jack’s balcony before summoning the courage to throw my arm over, followed by my left leg in a ghastly dismount. I was grateful that Jack wasn’t around to see my inelegant display, rolling and falling to the floor with a yelp. I clapped the dust from my hands and rubbed at the small graze I had gained on my knee for my efforts. How Jack made it look so effortless was beyond me.
I stole a moment to catch my breath and take in my surrounds. So this was what life looked like from Jack’s world – oddly similar in aspect, if not in actuality. Making my way to the door, I summoned enough courage to tap lightly on the glass, while fighting the urge to head back over the balcony to my own bedroom. I remembered Jack joking that his door was always open. I tested that theory by twisting the handle and gently pushing it—
Oh God, it was open.
I pushed a little more and stepped inside.
I didn’t know exactly what I expected of Jack’s flat, but it certainly wasn’t this: neat, sparse and tasteful, and, unlike my first impression of the home’s occupant, nothing obnoxious. After seeing his beautifully tailored suits, square-tipped leather shoes, expensive watch and James Bond-esque car, I’d expected something … flashier. There was no doubt, however, that Jack Baker’s flat was impressive, just like the man himself, who was currently in front of me, asleep, or at least I thought he was. He sat on the couch, arms crossed, head tilted back with his headphones on. The light of his ridiculously huge flatscreen highlighted the beautiful angles of his face, so peaceful in repose, like a little angel, which was fairly ironic given his performance in my bedroom. My eyes skimmed the walls for any tell-tale clues about Jack’s life. A framed doctorate, or law degree maybe? Something that would hint at his chosen career, the one that had him in suits all week, that paid for the V8 engine that revved down the streets early in the morning and returned late in the night.
Charcoal and light greys accented the stark white of the glossy, modern kitchen and white leather sofas in the lounge room of the open living-style apartment, so clean and sleek, it made my room look like it belonged to Angela Lansbury, with its scalloped curtains and herringbone flooring. An organised selection of books and DVDs ran the length of the far wall and there was even a potted plant in the corner, looking healthy and cared for; could he be into Feng Shui?
You are full of surprises, Jack Baker.
Having finished my snooping for now, I looked back at Jack. Was he asleep or listening to music? I crept forward and gently lifted the edge of his headphones up, peeling them off. Jack stirred from his recline, sitting up and blinking in surprise.
‘Hey,’ he said, rubbing his eyes and seemingly getting his bearings. He looked tired, but I was pretty certain I knew how to wake him up. Running on the dregs of my adrenaline and shutting down the voice of reason, I pulled off my T-shirt then took off my bra, throwing it in Jack’s lap. His eyes moved from the bra up to my breasts, which were only partially covered by my long hair. He swallowed hard; he was wide awake now.
‘Am I dreaming?’ he asked.
I giggled, shaking my head and edging his legs apart with mine, before straddling him on the couch, making fast work of his belt and reaching for his zipper.
Jack shook his head. ‘You’re a bad woman, Katherine Brown.’
I lowered my mouth against his. ‘A bad woman who can do very good things.’
Jack laughed, the warmth of his breath burning my sensitive lips before he kissed me, his hands on my hips, holding me in place. He looked up at me, his eyes ticking over my face. ‘It’s that book, isn’t it?’
I burst out laughing, linking my hands around the back of his neck. ‘It’s definitely a page-turner.’
Jack moved his hands to undo the buttons of my jeans, one pop at a time, but never once moving his gaze from mine.
‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ he said, his mouth pressing against mine, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts.
How had I ever thought that seducing him was a bad idea? Or was he seducing me? The way his hot, wicked mouth kissed a path down to my breast, sucking it into his mouth, eyes looking up at me as I arched into him, grabbing and pulling at his shirt, I wasn’t sure who was seducing who.
‘I want to feel you against me.’ My words were breathless, desperate; the barrier between us, however thin, was too much – I needed to feel him, all of him.
Jack took his mouth from me and grabbed the back of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. He brought my mouth to his once more, filling, tasting and teasing me with his tongue, then biting softly on my bottom lip. I moved back from him, smiling, and trailed my fingers down his chest, watching him intently as I went lower, and lower. Jack looked at me with interest, as if curious to see where I would stop, but I had no intention of stopping.
‘Fuck!’ He sat back, watching me take the long, hard length of him in my hand.
‘I want to taste you like before,’ I whispered against his mouth. Jack’s hips bucked against me, caught between pleasure and pain as I pumped him in long, agonising strokes.
Jack shook his head. ‘On your knees.’ His voice was hoarse, like it had taken an incredible amount of effort to speak. I bit my lip, ready to slide down his body and take him in my mouth, but Jack had other ideas, slipping out from underneath me and pushing me forward onto the couch. My palms were splayed on the soft leather, my breath hitching in my mouth as I felt Jack behind me, edging my legs apart with his knees, pulling my shorts down, inch by agonising inch.
Oh God.
I felt the couch shift and the heat from my back was gone; I went to protest but then saw Jack’s reflection in the hall mirror, rolling a condom down his long, hard length and returning to his position behind me. I gripped the couch, anchoring myself to the edge, anticipating what was to come. Last night Jack had gone hard and deep, so when he took me slowly, filling me gently and sliding his hand along my spine, my eyes lifted to the mirror to watch him watching me, our eyes locked with each thrust. There was something about the connection that changed us in that moment; reading my face as I saw the need in him, Jack quickened his pace. Digging his fingers into my hips, he drew me against him wit
h a new urgency, pounding into me so hard the legs of the couch scraped along the floorboards. Never before had it seemed so real, the way we watched each other come, lit by the muted TV screen, colours dancing across our naked skin. Jack pulled me up against his chest, cupping his palm over the most intimate part of me, pumping into me. I came so loudly it was enough for Jack to lose his mind, his teeth grazing my shoulder, cursing and groaning into my skin. But it wasn’t enough, it was never enough, and until we climbed and fell and came so completely unravelled – then and only then did we stop. Jack’s body slumped over mine, pinning me to the couch, our sweaty skin sticking to the leather. But we were too spent to care; for now, breathing was all that mattered. In, out, in, out. It was all I could focus on, simply bringing myself back into my body.
Jack rolled onto his side, his eyes closed, his chest expanding. ‘Is that a book club book?’ he asked.
I pulled myself up onto my elbow, giggling. ‘No, it’s not.’
Jack swallowed, shaking his head, still fighting for breath. ‘Well, it bloody should be.’
Chapter Thirty
I stirred under my cover, the soft cashmere cosy and warm against my skin, my very naked skin. I blinked, disorientated by the light streaming in through the window into my eyes. I put my hand up against the sun and—
‘Oh shit.’
Sun? Sun meant daytime. Daytime meant—
‘OH SHIT!’ I sat bolt upright, wrapping the throw rug around me, the leather groaning against my every move as I searched for my clothes. They were nowhere to be seen, despite my increasingly frantic scrabbling under cushions and, a little desperately, the couch.
Laughter echoed in the kitchen and I sat up, brushing my dishevelled hair out of my face to see Jack clinking a teaspoon against his cup.
‘Morning,’ he said, bring the steaming tea to his mouth.
‘Why didn’t you wake me!’ I said, attempting to stand and walk while wrapped in the rug without falling flat on my face. Panic spiked in me as I looked at the clock: ten past nine.
