by Paige Toon
‘I love living here,’ I admit.
‘Would you ever want to move to Dorset?’ he asks casually.
I cock my head to one side. ‘I’ve never really thought about it. I’d like to spend more time there, for sure. It would be nice to go there for part of the summer holidays again.’
We went there in the summer half term last year, after he’d returned from Australia. Things hadn’t been brilliant when I’d left him at Easter in the freakishly stunning hands of Michelle Bleech, and then there was that interaction with Lukas at my house, when I had to admit to myself that I still loved him. My next few satellite conversations with Joe had been tense. We agreed to meet in Dorset after he’d finished filming, just for a week to get away from it all. And it had been bliss. Just what we’d needed.
‘So you think Dorset would be a good place for us to get a holiday cottage, then?’ he asks, glancing down at me as he lets the pole slip through his fingers once more and rhythmically pushes away.
I screw up my nose. ‘I think I’d miss our cottage if we bought another one.’
He grins. ‘I hoped you’d say that.’
‘Why?’ I’m confused.
‘I bought our cottage. For you.’
‘What?’ If I were still standing up on the back of the boat, I think I would have fallen into the river. ‘But I thought the owners didn’t want to sell?’ I called them a year ago to ask.
‘They didn’t,’ he replies nonchalantly. ‘But I got my lawyers involved like you suggested, and it appears they could be convinced after all.’
I abruptly close my mouth.
‘Happy Christmas,’ he adds with a grin that warms the cockles of my heart.
‘I really want to hug you right now,’ I say.
‘Come on, then.’ He opens up his arms to me and I get to my feet, gingerly stepping onto the back of the boat. We wobble slightly as we embrace, but it’s the happiest I’ve felt, possibly ever.
‘Do I get a Christmas kiss?’ he asks me with a twinkle in his eye.
‘You’ll get more than that later,’ I promise, tilting my face up to him.
We break apart, slightly out of breath.
‘I love you,’ he murmurs. ‘Thank you for giving me the best Christmas day I could ever have wished for.’
‘I nearly bought you a puppy,’ I tell him with a cheeky grin.
‘No way!’ he cries.
‘I figured it wasn’t the right time, though. A dog is for life and not just for Christmas, and all that.’
His face falls. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘But we’ll get a dog one day. Won’t we?’
He grins again. ‘Absolutely. Maybe once we’re married and have a houseful of kids.’
‘Marriage and kids, hey?’
He frowns. ‘Of course.’
I beam up at him and he kisses me again.
I see them out of the corner of my eye as Joe lets me go, the three teenage girls on the bridge. I freeze, feeling Joe’s confusion as he witnesses my reaction, and then he follows the line of my vision just in time to hear their screams.
‘It IS him! It’s JOSEPH STRIKE!’
‘AAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH! JOSEPH STRIKE!’
‘IT’S JOSEPH STRIKE!’
Joe’s grip on me tightens as he holds me to him. More people appear on the bridge, keen to see if the girls, who are pointing and jumping around like lunatics, are right. The look on their faces when they recognise Joe… It’s almost comical. But then I see some camera phones come out and I can’t help but give Joe a panicked look.
‘It’s okay,’ he says calmly, rubbing my arm. ‘It’s going to be okay.’
I take a deep breath and look up into his eyes, which are somehow smiling now. ‘Are you ready for this?’ he asks with a raised eyebrow.
‘As I’ll ever be.’
And then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me, while camera flashes go off over our heads.
Johnny’s Girl
I probably hear from my readers about Meg and Johnny more than any other characters I’ve created, so it may surprise some of you to know that Johnny Be Good is my lowest-selling adult title. It didn’t make much commercial sense to write the sequel Baby Be Mine, but I’m lucky to have an editor who encourages me to follow my heart, allowing me the creative freedom to really enjoy my career – hopefully, this comes across in my writing.
The idea for my young adult series about fifteen-year-old Jessie sprung from something Meg says in Baby Be Mine: that, considering the number of women Johnny had slept with in the past, it wouldn’t surprise her if he had more children out there that he didn’t know about.
Johnny’s Girl is a short story that bridges the gap between Baby Be Mine and The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson, which is told from Johnny’s daughter’s point of view.
I loved being inside Jessie’s head – it didn’t make any difference to me that she’s a teenager. The only thing I found slightly weird is that, even writing as Jessie, I myself still fancied Johnny. Er, he’s her dad!
But I’m getting ahead of myself. We’re still with Meg for Johnny’s Girl – take it away, Nutmeg…
His kisses start at my ankles and trail all the way up my legs, over my back and up to my neck.
‘Mmm,’ I murmur sleepily, rolling over and coming face to face with him. His green eyes are piercing in the morning sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He kisses me slowly, deeply, and I feel that very familiar and very delicious spark of desire as he settles over me, his tanned, toned arms trapping me and keeping me exactly where he wants me.
Which is exactly where I want to be.
‘I love you,’ he says in a low voice, pulling away and staring at me seriously.
‘The feeling is very much mutual,’ I reply with a smile.
And then he’s kissing me again.
What a lovely, lovely way to wake up.
Johnny is brushing his teeth when I come out of the shower. I dry myself off and he spanks my bum as I join him at the sink.
‘Oi!’ I laugh, wrapping my arms around him from behind and staring at his slightly fogged-up reflection. He rinses his mouth out and turns around to face me, wearing nothing more than a pair of white boxer shorts and his tattoos, which decorate his arms and part of his torso. I glance down at the small one that he had done recently on his left pec, in swirly black writing: Nutmeg.
Nutmeg is the nickname he gave me when we first met.
I run my fingertips across it with amusement.
‘I still can’t believe you did that.’
He strokes his thumb down my jaw, tenderly. ‘You are a part of me,’ he says gently. ‘And now,’ he adds with a grin, spanking my bum again, ‘you will always be a part of me.’
I giggle and slap his stomach, then I go and pull my blue, orange and pink block-coloured maxi dress out of my suitcase. Possibly for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to waste time by unpacking.
‘Do you have to wear that?’ Johnny asks, wandering out of the bathroom.
My face falls. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘I prefer you naked,’ he replies with a twinkle in his eye.
I tut good-naturedly and get dressed. ‘Well, I’m hungry. And sadly, you haven’t brought me to a nudist resort.’
‘Damn. That idea didn’t even occur to me.’
I grab a rolled-up T-shirt out from the suitcase and chuck it to him. He catches it and pulls it over his head, accepting my clothing choice without a second thought.
God, I love being married to this man.
‘What are you smiling about?’ he asks me with a raised eyebrow.
‘I love being married to you,’ I tell him softly.
‘The feeling is very much mutual,’ he repeats my earlier phrase with a smile. ‘Now throw me my jeans, Wife.’
One year and four months ago, I married the love of my life: rock star Johnny Jefferson. I fell for him when I worked for him as his personal assistant. He was a nightmare b
ack then – a proper bad boy: womaniser, drink and drug problems… Urgh, I still hate thinking about it. But, allegedly, he fell for me, too, even though he struggled to show it at times.
Well, that’s a bit of an understatement.
I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life when I fell pregnant. These days I can’t believe I ever regretted it, because we have Barney – our beautiful blond-haired, green-eyed boy.
And of course, now we also have an eight-month-old baby, Phoenix. But he arrived after marriage. Just. I’m pretty damn fertile, as it turns out.
We have left our two gorgeous boys with my parents in a beach house in Malibu for one night – which is the longest Johnny could persuade me to get away. I know they’ll be safe and sound – I miss them, but Johnny and I needed this break together.
I’m back in America for the first time since leaving it two and a half years ago. Johnny has had to come back and forth for work recently, but he’s kept his trips short and sweet. He always asks me to join him, but Phoenix has been so young. That’s the excuse I’ve used, at least, but Johnny knows the real reason. The truth is, I’ve been in no hurry to return to this country after the way I left it. Too many bad memories. They still haunt me.
‘Why don’t we have breakfast here?’ Johnny asks suddenly.
‘Oh, I didn’t think of that.’ I just assumed we’d walk to the restaurant. ‘Do you think it’s too late?’
‘I’ll call them,’ he replies casually, wandering over to the desk phone.
Silly me. This is Johnny Jefferson we’re talking about. He always gets what he wants.
In the end.
Yep, he got me too, eventually. But I made him work for it.
I slide the glass door open and step out onto the private deck, which is suspended over the grass-carpeted cliffs below. The ocean stretches out before me, cool and deep blue underneath a pale-blue, cloudless sky. I sit down on a sun-lounger and pull up the hem of my dress, letting the warm morning sun soak into my legs. It’s been a bitterly cold winter back in England. It feels like it’s gone on and on and on. It was pouring with rain when we left – absolutely bloody miserable.
I take a deep breath of the cool spring air and slowly exhale. We’re in Big Sur at my favourite resort of all time, the Post Ranch Inn. I came here for the first time with Johnny when I had only recently started as his PA. I stayed in a Tree House then, with views of trees and the Santa Lucia mountains beyond, while Johnny stayed in an Ocean House. Now we’re in a Cliff House, with a secluded terrace and our own private spa tub. I glance at it now and smirk as I remember how… er… hot, we got in there last night.
We flew here by helicopter yesterday morning. Johnny usually prefers to drive the mountain roads, but he doesn’t have any of his supercars in America anymore, and anyway, we didn’t want to use up our time travelling when we’re only here for such a short stay.
My parents have been wanting to come to America for years, so they jumped at the chance when Johnny offered to fly them over from the South of France for a three-week holiday in return for babysitting the kids for a couple of days. We had to put it to them like that, otherwise they would have felt as though they were taking advantage of his generosity. They still offered to pay for their own flights, but Johnny wouldn’t hear of it.
‘Drop in the ocean, Nutmeg, drop in the ocean.’
He teases me with this catchphrase anytime I think twice about buying anything.
‘All sorted,’ Johnny says as he steps out onto the deck behind me.
‘Cool, well done,’ I reply.
He touches my cheek and then comes to sit on the sunlounger next to me. Raking his hand through his dirty-blond hair, he looks out through the glass surrounding the deck at the water beyond.
I smile at him. ‘Nice, eh?’
He keeps his eyes on the view. ‘Not bad.’
‘You alright?’ I ask, sensing his thoughtful mood.
He glances across at me and narrows his eyes. ‘Don’t you miss it?’
‘What? Big Sur?’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah. LA. America. The weather.’
‘No…’ I reply hesitantly. ‘I mean, I love this…’ I indicate our surroundings and the sunshine. ‘But, I don’t know…’ My lips turn down. ‘It has been nice coming back,’ I say carefully. ‘It’s been better.’ I flash him a small smile and he looks momentarily pained, but then he leans across and presses a kiss to my temple.
‘I love you,’ he says, staring into my brown eyes.
‘I know,’ I reply with a wry grin.
‘Come here.’ He tugs on my arm and pulls me on top of him. He pushes my light-blonde hair off my face and cups my face with his rough fingers, which are calloused from years of playing his guitar. ‘Happy anniversary,’ he murmurs.
‘Happy anniversary,’ I reply with a smile.
We couldn’t get away for our actual anniversary because Phoenix was still so small. This is our belated celebration, and it was worth waiting for.
‘You make me so happy,’ he says. My insides swell with happiness and contentment and I slide down a little so I can lay my face against his chest. His strong arms encircle me and I bask in his warmth.
The feeling, as we keep saying, is very much mutual.
After breakfast, we go for a wander through a forest of enormous redwood pines soaring over our heads. The last time I was in this forest, I gave myself a hot flush imagining Johnny and I together. I come clean to him about this now.
‘Did you?’ he asks with a flirtatiously raised eyebrow, pausing for a moment and leaning back against a huge tree trunk. It’s dark and quiet in here, the only noise coming from birds singing in the high tree tops. He takes my hands and pulls me closer.
‘I remember you going for that walk, actually. I thought about coming to find you.’
‘You didn’t?’
He nods, seriously. ‘I did. After that night in the hot tub…’ His voice is deep and sexy. ‘I wanted you.’
Even now, even after all this time, I blush at his intonation.
‘You should have come to get me,’ I tell him.
‘I thought you were into Christian,’ he replies, and it surprises me to see a flicker of pain cross his features. It still bothers him, still hurts him, to remember that I got together with his best friend after I fled LA – and him – the first time.
I place my hands on his chest and then I slip them up and under his T-shirt, wanting to touch his taut stomach. He breathes in sharply and smiles a small smile down at me.
‘It was always you. You know it was always you,’ I say quietly, looking up into his eyes, which are darker in this subdued light. ‘This is what I wanted to do,’ I tell him, sliding my hands around his waist.
‘Is that all?’ he asks with amusement.
‘What did you want to do with me?’ I respond with mock outrage.
‘You really want to know?’ He gives me a look and it sends a shiver rocketing up and down my spine.
I nod slowly. He takes my wrists and spins me around, pinning me up against the tree trunk. He presses his body hard up against me from behind and kisses my neck.
I gasp. ‘You’re so naughty.’
He stills. ‘This is not me being naughty.’
I smirk and turn back around to face him. ‘You know we can’t, right? Someone might see us.’
‘Live dangerously, Nutmeg.’ He kisses me and then nips my bottom lip with his teeth. I know how much he wants me. It’s, well, obvious.
I put my hands on his chest and gently, but firmly keep him at bay. ‘You’ve done enough living dangerously for the both of us,’ I say, and the look on his face makes me giggle. ‘Do you think you’ve shagged me more in the last couple of years—’
‘Not two years yet,’ he interrupts.
I roll my eyes. ‘Okay, Mr Pedantic.’ I continue. ‘Do you think you’ve shagged me more in the last “not quite two years” than you shagged individual groupies?’
‘Jesus, Meg!’ He looks h
orrified as he takes a step away from me.
I laugh. ‘I want to know!’
‘How to lose a guy his hard on,’ he exclaims, looking down at his crotch. This only makes me snort, but he’s not finding it as funny as I am.
In truth, I don’t find it funny at all. I’m only laughing in this context. I still haven’t come to terms with how many women Johnny would’ve slept with when he was in Fence, the rock group that made him famous, and later when he went solo and his career soared to the highest of heights. Okay, we have sex all the bloody time, even now with two kids, but I still don’t know if I’ve broken his record. And, yes, however bad it sounds, I do want to.
‘In our first proper month together I’d been with you more than I had with any other woman,’ he tells me seriously.
‘Yeah, but I want to know about your total number of women.’
‘I don’t know my total,’ he mutters.
‘Am I close?’
He frowns, looking away from me with frustration. He glances back at me. ‘You really want to know?’
Actually, I’m not sure that I do. I feel a bit sick now. ‘Yes,’ I tell him.
‘Bloody hell. Okay. So we’ve been together, what… We got together at the end of June? July, August, September…’ He counts on his fingers, finishing one year and many months later at the end of March, which is where we are now. ‘Twenty-one months,’ he says eventually, while I look on, amused, despite the underlying nausea in my stomach. ‘We have sex three times a day occasionally. Sometimes more.’
‘Not straight after Phoenix was born,’ I correct him. ‘And not when you’re away.’
‘Phone sex doesn’t count?’ he asks hopefully.
‘No,’ I tell him firmly. ‘Let’s call it once a day on average.’
‘That’s being extremely cautious.’ He stares back at his fingers, then looks back up at me with confusion. ‘I’m not good at maths.’
I laugh out loud.
‘Bollocks,’ he mutters.
‘We must’ve had sex well over seven hundred times,’ I chip in, waiting for his response.