by Dee Palmer
Ten minutes later:
I’m not a bad cook. It’s been a while since I did a proper meal but I won’t poison you…probably ;)
You think it’s a bad idea don’t you?
Actually don’t worry…forget it, it is probably way too domesticated for people who just fuck.
That message pisses me off more than I care to admit. Five minutes ago.
I’m sorry if I have made you feel awkward. I didn’t mean anything by the offer. You’re freaking out now aren’t you? Shall I pack?
I hit the dial button; the traffic is moving again and I hate to think how her line of thinking is going to deteriorate further given any more time to fester.
“Ethan, I’m in the library…Look I’m sorry–” Her attempts at a whisper are ridiculous, and I laugh out loud.
“You might want to take this outside then because you are doing a piss poor job of whispering.” I hear a chair scrape, a door close, and the distant screech of a seagull confirming she has left the building. She draws in a breath but I interrupt.
“Ada, stop…just stop. I am driving that’s why I haven’t answered your text. I think it’s a really sweet offer. I don’t get to have home cooking very often, so there is no way you are backing out now. And I won’t dignify the other messages with an answer.” My tone is stern to prevent any back tracking. She is quiet and I wish I could see her face, the little wrinkle between her brow when she’s thinking, the way she worries her lip holding back, always holding something back.
“Okay…what would you like?” I get a warm surge in my chest because her soft voice is tinged with a secret smile that I put there.
“You’ve seen what I eat; do I come across as a fussy eater?” She scoffs and snorts a little.
“No, Ethan, you are most definitely not a fussy eater. More a ‘if it stands still long enough it’s getting eaten…don’t bother to cook it. I’ll even take the horns ’, kind of eater.” She giggles and I think maybe I should bring her with me next time then I wouldn’t have to do this crap over the phone. I want to stroke her cheek when she laughs like that. I want her to melt into my touch, which she does like it’s the only thing to do.
“But if I had to pick a favourite I would say roast. It doesn’t much matter what type as long as it’s not a Nut Roast. I need my meat.”
“As do I,” she purrs and I harden painfully in the cramped seated position.
“Fuck, Ada, can you not do that when there is fuck all I can do about it?” I growl and try to tug some comfort in my groin area.
“Oh, I am so not sorry after how you left me this morning.” She snickers and I can’t argue with that. “Okay, well my budget will stretch to chicken so prepare to be underwhelmed.”
“Chicken is my favourite, actually. My Mum used to cook it a lot, it is my Dad’s favourite too.” She is silent. I am more than happy to talk about my past, my life; she knows why I do it but it still won’t get her to reciprocate.
“Chicken it is then. So Sunday roast but call me if you get stuck in traffic. I don’t want my first meal to be cremated because of roadwork delays.”
“Make that a Wednesday roast.” It’s Monday now, that will give me nearly two full days to work with Daniel’s head of security. I suggested working together on this in person, but now whatever we can’t find out, we will work out with Skype calls and emails.
“It is odd, Patrick didn’t find any family. She can’t have come from nowhere?” Daniel pours the last of the red wine and we go over what I have found out while Bethany is settling Luca back to sleep.
“She has come from somewhere special too…privileged I mean. Her mannerisms, the way she carries herself. I know she must have taken some debilitating hits to want to hide like she does, but underneath the layers of camouflage she is pure class. Besides I can sniff out a product of a private education a mile away, school at the weekends is a dead giveaway. She doesn’t hide what she is just who she is.”
“So, what do you know?” Daniel nods toward the lounge and we take our drinks and sit in the corner near the fireplace. Me in the arm chair, Daniel sprawled on the corner sofa, no doubt waiting for Bethany to take up the extra space.
“Her last name isn’t Burrows and she’s not related to Dr. Burrows, the lady whose house she lives in throughout the winter. That connection seems to be our strongest lead but I know the good doctor has disappeared or changed her name. It’s possible she is overseas; Patrick is checking on that and he is going to do a history search to try and identify where they might have met and why. It just gets really difficult if Ada was a patient. I have to say I’ve got alarm bells ringing like Big Ben after we found out the doctor’s specialty was in Psychoanalysis.” I sip my drink and hate the unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Daniel, the last thing I need is another crazy–”
“Ethan.” Daniel warns and his eyes flick to the shadow behind me. Bethany walks past and slaps the back of my head.
“Honestly, Ethan, I am done pussy footing around you about my sister. Yes, Kit was all the things you think she was, more than a little crazy, and she lied to you. She was all kinds of messed up.” Oh shit, this is not good, Daniel is rigid next to his wife. His face is pure rage and I wonder how she ever manages to calm that storm. She places her soft hand on his leg and it helps. His jaw is still ticking, but he doesn’t look like he needs to kill someone–me I mean, for bringing this subject up. Bethany continues, “But she did love you. People don’t always start a relationship in a conventional way, but that doesn’t make it any less real or unsustainable. Kit was mean to me my whole life, but she had her reasons. If we’d have talked at all maybe she would have been more like a sister and less like an arch nemesis. I truly believe she had real feelings for you. So what if Ada has seen a psychoanalyst? You obviously care about her enough to be here; you need to stop looking for reasons to keep your distance and step up. Anything worth having is worth the risk, Ethan.” She turns to look at Daniel and that look is exactly what made me try something more with Kit in the first place. To have someone, devoted, totally and utterly in love with you. Who wouldn’t want that? I want that, dammit. “Besides you do know the meaning of the word Psychoanalysis is ‘liberate the butterfly’, maybe Ada just needed to let hers fly and the good doctor helped.” Daniel scoops Bethany onto his lap and I begin to feel like the third wheel.
“Ethan, you need to get her to talk to you.” Daniel adds. “Disclose some personal shit and I bet she will do the same.”
“Tried that and nada. Even tried the reciprocal question thing but she just stopped asking questions. I mean we talk but it’s all surface shit: favourite ice cream, drink, position.” I wiggle my brows and Bethany giggles and squirms in Daniels lap. Yep, I’m done here. I neck the last of the wine and go to stand. “But anything remotely personal and she is tighter than a clam in a kitchen.”
“Hmmm, I know someone like that but I also know an extremely effective way to get her to both ask and answer questions.” Oh, Christ, could this get any more awkward?
“I could try drink. I’ve never actually gotten her drunk.” I muse. “Hmm, that could work. Would that work, Bets?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I–”
“My way of extracting information didn’t require alcohol and was one hundred percent effective.” Daniels voice is low and ominous.
“Yeah, I’m outta here.” I grab my jacket from the back of the dining chair and wave my goodbyes. I see myself out and don’t risk a glance back. It’s rude to leave mid performance and from the sudden rise in room temperature that show was just beginning.
The smells that assault me when I open my front door are more than delicious; they evoke nostalgic images of my childhood that hit me like an iron hard punch to the chest. It’s not just the aroma of the roast cooking, but the soft folksy tunes filtering in from the balcony. My earliest memories are of Mum cooking, Dad reading the paper in the kitchen just to keep her company or he maybe would be peeling some veg by her side. I would
be playing on the floor by her feet driving my trucks in the grooves of the cold slate floor, and her soft voice singing or humming a tune I don’t recall. I don’t recognise the music this is playing, it must be one of Ada’s playlists she made on my Spotify account. I glance around the living room, I hardly recognise this space. Ada has put new throws and cushions on the sofas. I know I bought them when I decorated the place but they have remained packed away since. There are numerous vases dotted around, some with delicate flowers that look like those found on the coastal path, and some more traditional blooms from the florist. The soft light filters in through the wooden blinds and muslin curtains, and with the home cooked smell of my favourite meal, this feels very much like home. It feels very good indeed.
The door to the balcony is ajar and I can see that Ada is stretched out on the lounger in the fading sun. Her long legs soaking up the last of the rays. She is wearing a short white peasant skirt and a black halter neck bikini top. Her hair is scraped high but loose in a floppy bun and one hand is shading her eyes from the glare of the page she is focused on. She is so distracted by the book she is reading, she hasn’t heard me approach. I crouch down beside her and peek over her shoulder.
“Ah, you are a romantic after all.” She jumps a little but she was expecting me. She tilts her head away and exposes her smooth, silk-soft skin on her neck, giving me better access. My lips are eager to claim that delicacy with a million kisses, covering every inch of her neck and collar bone. She draws in a deep breath and slowly exhales a sensual sound that is erotically languid. A tiny groan escapes her lips when I stop. She closes the book and shuffles her body up the lounger to sit crossed legged. I throw my own leg over and straddle the lounger to face her. I pull both her feet toward me and start to massage the arches with my thumb. She lets out an appreciative sigh.
“I used to think Wuthering Heights was the most romantic story ever. It was my favourite in school. I loved the dark tortured intensity of Heathcliff.” Her voice is quiet and she places her hand on the cover staring at more than the exterior of the book.
“And now?” I ask.
“Now…It’s a tragedy but also I think Heathcliff was a complete bastard.” Her tone is clipped and certain. I laugh.
“And Cathy was blameless in their demise?” I challenge.
“No, they were both culpable. I just think he was more of a bastard than the hero I romanticised about when I was in school.” She is quiet for a while. Her eyes glaze with water and she is lost looking out toward the ocean and setting sun. “But I guess I am older now and the world is uglier. The story hasn’t changed; I am changed.” I apply extra firm pressure under the ball of her feet and it works effectively to bring her back from her wayward thoughts. I don’t know where she goes when she drifts like that, but that is what tonight is about. “You know that is a first edition you are fondling? My mother collected them. You could’ve cleaned out my bookcase and had enough to live quite nicely.” I have several first editions.
“I noticed.” She smiles wryly. “But you must have a pretty low opinion of me if you think I would steal from you.” Her arms cross in her defence at the presumed character attack.
“Not a low opinion of you, Ada, but those books are worth a small fortune. A similar one to the one in your hand recently sold for six figures, and life isn’t always so cut and dried. A precious book in exchange for a safe place to live, food on the table…In my experience some people wouldn’t think that such a difficult choice.”
“Maybe so, but I could never sell something like this… It’s more than its price.” She carefully places the book on the table on a shelf out of the sun.
“So, not a romantic?” I quip lifting just one foot to work on, my fingers squeeze along the tendons between the tiny bones and I tug at her toes, releasing the pockets of air with a click.
“Hmm, let me think…I agree to a ‘fuck only’ deal with Mr. Hot and Handsome. I can’t see Ms. Austin. or Ms. Bronte writing about that romantic scenario–hardly swoon worthy. Not sure how Miss Bennett would’ve responded to I’m sticking this plug in your arse because I want in and I’m too big for your first time.” She snickers.
“I would challenge your literary assumption there, Ada. Mr. Darcy was a gentleman, he most definitely would’ve used anal training toys before he fucked Elizabeth in the arse.” I raise my brow and she must feel me harden against her other foot resting between my legs. She barks out a rough laugh and an unladylike snort.
“I apologise, Mr. Cates, if I have offended you and questioned your gentlemanly intentions. You are clearly a true gentleman and I appreciate the care and attention you have invested in my training. ” She is all sass and cheek.
“Apology accepted.” My voice is gravelly and her face heats when I shift a little forward so her other foot is now digging into my rock solid erection. She wiggles her toes when I try to pull the foot I am holding to my lips. “No, oooo…super ticklish. Don’t do that, Ethan! I mean it!” She squeals. “I’m likely to kick you in the face.” The tension in her leg is impressive, as she tries to pry her foot from my grasp. I twist round so my back is to her and I have one of her legs wedged under my arm and the other trapped under one thigh. I keep her leg bent and despite her feral flailing behind me she is completely at my mercy. Both her legs trapped tight around my waist and her front to my back. My lips just hovering over her big toe.
“Hold still, this is supposed to be erotic.” I growl but she can’t hear me above her over the top wailing. I suck her toe between my lips and sweep my tongue over the pad and nail. I have done this before and all I have heard in return is deep sensual sighs. Ada sounds like I am flaying her alive. “Relax!” I say in my sternest tone. She is gasping and screaming, and I keep waiting for her to succumb. She is manically bucking behind me, shaking the lounger and scaring the wildlife. I try again, gentle sucking with my lips and licks of my tongue. More assertive grazing of my teeth but she is wound so tight, her face bright red with rage I think she might haemorrhage any moment, so I stop. I have to bite back a shit eating grin at her comical state of distress. Her hair has come loose, her skirt is screwed up around her waist and he bikini top is barely hanging on to the soft round flesh of her breasts. She roughly pulls her foot free when she feels my hold lighten.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again!” She snaps.
“Hard limit?” I joke and laugh at her narrow eyes and fiery glare.
“Hard fucking limit; put that right up there with the moulded latex fist you have in your toy chest…never…gonna…happen!” She bites back, fury flushing her cheeks an adorable pink hue.
“I thought you told Sheila, ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it’?” I raise a brow and shrug at her incredulous expression. Yeah, it’s a small town.
Once I feel it’s safe to do so I slide up alongside her and scoop her into my lap. “So, about our ‘fuck only’ deal. We need to revise the parameters.” I turn my head when she tips hers to face me. My tone is serious enough but maybe she thinks I am joking and she wants to check the sincerity on my face. Her eyes crinkle with caution and she starts to worry her lip.
“We do?” Her tone is tinged with hope and I fucking love that. She has all these barriers but deep down, she yearns for the same thing I do. We just have to get over this next hurdle. This fucking enormous obstacle that she is standing guard to, with a shield, armour, and an AK47.
“I want more and I fucking know you do too; but, with so many secrets you and I both know this will never work.” I kiss the tip of her nose when she closes her eyes at my truth. My voice is softer, “I want this to work, Ada.” I run my hand through my hair and hold it out of my eyes. I don’t want anything to interfere with the look in her eyes reflecting mine. So much uncertainty, so much passion, desire and lust, hope and fire, longing and life. An endless ocean of tempered love just waiting…waiting for this…waiting for us. “I’ve been burnt really fucking badly too, but I’m willing to take that risk once more… for you.” I am g
lad I have her in my arms for this because she sags back into my hold and her eyes pool with liquid. “But I won’t do it unless you open up. I can’t blindly walk into a relationship again. Someone nearly died last time I did that. Someone I love and I’m not being dramatic here, Ada. Bethany was kidnapped because I let her sister, Kit, into my life without knowing the truth. I won’t risk that again. Especially when I know you are hiding shit.” I draw in a steadying breath. She is a ball of tension in my arms, and I can feel her fear and anxiety rolling off her in waves.
“Ethan, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you…I…I just can’t.” She looks devastated and I trace her hairline with my fingers, down her cheek along her jaw, and tip her chin so I can look deep into her eyes. She needs to see me.
“I didn’t say it was going to be easy, Ada, but aren’t the best things in life worth a bit of pain. You can do this–you will do this–and I know exactly how to help.” I flash her my most wicked grin. She giggles and relaxes.
“Oh, good, I don’t mind trying that game again. I love it when I win.” She mocks me and pinches my nipple to punctuate her point.
“When I let you win, you mean…But no, I am not going to extort information out of you through sexual means. We are going to do this old school.” I stand and walk into the living area. I hear her feet pad quietly on the floor behind me–little lamb to the slaughter. I turn and grin at the roll of her eyes.
“Tequila?” She purses her lips but a flash of worry skims her face. Oh, yes, this is going to work a treat.
“Tequila.” I confirm, flipping the bottle high in a spin, and catching it in a flurry. Buddy is not the only one who can mix a killer cocktail.
“OKAY…SO MAYBE this wasn’t such a great idea?” Ethan takes the shot glass out of my reach and I slip from my perched position on the edge of the sofa to the floor in a fit of giggles. “You are such a lightweight, Ada.” He is starting to clear the salt and limes too, and I wave my objection frantically.