by J. D. Chase
Wouldn’t that make me a slut?
You can’t have it all ways . . .
She set about pulling the duvet back into place. She frowned when she saw that both pillowcases were creased and crumpled.
I must have had a very restless night. With dreams like that, I suppose that isn’t surprising.
She picked up a pillow to place it correctly and smooth down the Egyptian cotton case. A faint scent caught her attention. Whatever it was, it smelled nice. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. It smelled very masculine, like a heavy aftershave. A little bell rang in the back of her brain as though it was familiar to her but she couldn’t grasp it.
It must be the fabric conditioner that the laundry uses. Odd that I’ve not noticed that before . . . perhaps they’ve changed it recently.
She proceeded to smooth down both cases and checked that everything looked in order.
On her way back out, she decided to straighten the sofa cushions. As she bent to readjust them, she caught a trace of the same fragrance. She bent closer and found that it wasn’t all over the sofa; it was only on the arm. She finished tidying up the cushions but she was perturbed. Something was niggling in her mind but she couldn’t say what exactly. She’d taken two steps towards the door before her mind began to join the dots.
That’s where Dean’s head was lying. Why would that smell like the bed?
Then something else hit her.
Unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s Dean’s aftershave I can smell.
She strode back into the bedroom and picked up the other pillow – the one her head had been resting on when she’d awoken that morning. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils.
Hmm, there’s a faint fragrance but nothing like the masculine one on the other pillow or the sofa.
Reaching across, she snatched up the other one and compared the smell of them. One was totally different from the other.
Oh my God . . . Dean must have been lying in bed next to me. And . . . holy shit . . . I was naked . . .
Those dreamlike images of her and Xander began to swirl around her mind again along with a sensation of feeling frustrated and unsatisfied. Then words from the night security staff’s report jumped into her head. Then, like slow motion video clips, other parts of the puzzle began to slot into place.
A slow, gnawing sensation began in the pit of her stomach, building and spreading until it threatened to overcome her. She stood there, transfixed to the spot with the realisation that they were in fact memories and not dreams that she was experiencing.
‘No . . . no way,’ she muttered as a wave of nausea threatened to overtake her. She dashed into the en suite and thrust her head over the toilet. She retched violently but since she’d eaten so little, nothing came up. She staggered back into the living area and leaned against the wall. She felt weak and her head was fucked.
Fuck. No wonder Dean hasn’t shown up for work. What if he shows up later? Oh crap, this day just gets worse. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Suddenly, she needed to get out of there. She raced to the lift and, as it descended, she plucked the keys to her new car out of her handbag.
What’s the use of buying the thing if I don’t get to drive it? Xander’s not lying in wait any more so it’s safe. A drive with the windows down and some rock music blasting . . . yeah, that’s what I need while I figure out how the fuck I get out of this one.
She dashed through reception, ignoring Belinda and Nadine’s cries. Through the revolving door she went, ignoring Derek’s salutation and Smith’s piercing stare. As she flung the car door open, she heard Jones calling to her urgently. She fired up the ignition, not bothering to strap the seatbelt across her. She saw Jones running towards her as she threw the car backwards. She didn’t have time for him; she needed to escape, take some time where she could put her foot down and experience the thrill of driving her V8 and forget about everything for a while until she could think rationally again.
She heard him banging on the car and shouting to her as she tore out of the entrance and on to the road, ignoring the voice of reason inside her head that told her to take it easy because she didn’t know the car. She headed for the A4, too busy cursing at any vehicles or traffic signals that held her up to notice a nondescript saloon that had pulled off after her and was sitting three cars behind her.
As she left the A4 and joined the start of the M4 motorway, she began to relax. The car was a dream to drive, so much so that she began to understand why Xander had been so attached to it. She clicked through the pre-set radio settings until she found a rock station. The White Stripes’ Seven Nation Army was just starting. She cranked it up, filling the car with the bass-heavy track as she sang along. Next up was a classic Nirvana anthem. Isla began to sing along but then blurted out sarcastically, ‘Yeah right, that’s bollocks; it’s more dangerous with the lights off.’
Affronted by the unwelcome reminder of her own stupidity the night before, she stabbed her finger on the pre-set channel control until she found another decent station. She settled into The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Snow and relaxed into her driving once more, flicking stations whenever there was a commercial break.
Once she’d cleared Reading, she had a practically open road. Singing her heart out to Guns N’ Roses’ Sweet Child O’ Mine, she soon had the powerful V8 eating up the miles as her muscles relaxed. She’d not driven for months and was enjoying every single second. Swindon passed in a blur and, before she knew it, she was nearing Bristol.
Argh! I didn’t intend to go as far as Wales. But I’m having so much fun and I’m not done yet.
She turned on to the M5 motorway instead, heading north but as she neared Gloucester, the traffic thickened and she couldn’t just floor the accelerator. Upon impulse, she turned off and chose a random road, having no clue where she was or where she was going. She just wanted to keep driving and, now that she’d got to grips with the car’s handling, she felt that some country roads were in order. Following signs for Leominster (wherever that was, but it sounded rural enough) she put her foot down and flung the car effortlessly around the twisting, rural road. That was, until she got caught behind a particularly slow-moving tractor.
‘Argh,’ she muttered, frustrated that every time the road opened out enough to overtake it, something came the other way, thwarting her intentions. ‘The evils of country roads. Come on Farmer Joe, turn off into a field or something.’
But no, the farmer didn’t comply. She followed it on to the A49 towards Leominster, convinced that she’d be able to get past it on a major road but, as she crawled behind it into the town and saw it was continuing straight on, she turned left upon impulse. She just wanted to put her foot down and test herself with driving at speed so that her mind would be too occupied with keeping the car on the road to be able to drift on to other matters that she wished she could forget.
A tractor-free, open road lay ahead of her and she put her foot down, testing her reflexes as she pushed the car onwards. Singing along to Golden Earring’s Radar Love, she was in her element . . . until the fuel light lit up.
‘Bollocks!’
She glanced at the clock, widening her eyes when she saw that it was mid-afternoon.
I suppose I’d better find somewhere to fill up and get back before I get stuck in rush hour traffic. That’s if I can find a petrol station in the middle of nowhere.
Obeying the reduced speed limit as she entered the next village, she saw a sign for a petrol station and sighed with relief. She remembered that the delivery guy had said the car needed premium unleaded fuel but she couldn’t remember which side she should fill up from or how to open the flap. She pulled up on the access road on the approach to the Texaco garage so that she could figure it out without embarrassing herself on the forecourt.
Men are only too willing to laugh at the incompetence of women in all motoring matters. Well, I’m not going to give any man the satisfaction of belittling me. I’m no airheaded bimbo. I can figure it out for myself.
She was too entrenched in her thoughts to notice that a black saloon had stopped a few hundred metres behind her. As soon as she got out of the car to check which side the petrol filling cap was located, the other car pulled off at speed and shot up right behind hers. Isla flicked her eyes away from the rear wing of her car in surprise at the sound of tyres skidding.
What the—
She gasped when she saw the intimidating figure climbing out of it.
Xander! What the fuck’s he doing here?
She dashed back to the driver’s door, her mind whirling as she snatched at the handle. She’d been determined not to speak to him anyway but, from the menacing expression on his face, there was no way in hell that she wanted a confrontation. She slid into her seat and yanked the door. Just before it closed, a hand appeared. With a sickening thud, the door struck it, making Xander curse vehemently. Impulsively, Isla let go of the door grip with a shriek.
Xander threw the door back with his other hand before leaning in. His expression was now murderous but he didn’t say anything. Isla willed herself to press the ignition and pull off but she was powerless. She’d forgotten the intensity of that stare that was pinning her to the seat, not to mention the ‘Defy me at your peril’ presence that he could switch on whenever it suited him. And, although she hated him with a passion, the knowledge that he could still affect her in that way only served to make her despise him more.
‘Well, well, well,’ he muttered. He sounded calm but there was a definite undertone. ‘We meet at last.’
Isla jutted out her chin just a little and stared back at him with a belligerent expression.
‘I hope you enjoyed your little sojourn in my car because, believe me, it was your last.’ His voice was low and threatening.
‘Actually, it’s my car now. You sold it. I bought it.’ She tried hard to deliver her retort in the same tone as his but it was hard to rein in her naturally feisty manner.
One eyebrow jumped. ‘We’ll see about that, Red. I can assure you that I’ll be driving it back to London and if you’re a good girl, I might even give you a lift.’
Her lip raised into a snarl but she bit back her instinctive retort. She was no pushover but she was no fool either. Xander radiated a contained fury that she guessed wouldn’t take much provocation before it found release.
‘Key. Now,’ he growled.
‘Fuck off,’ she retorted and then kicked herself.
So much for not antagonising the beast. Oh well, in for a penny . . .
She continued, ‘You are no longer my lover, my boss or even my acquaintance. You lost that right as soon as I found out that you were married. You’re no better than all the other cheating fuckers out there. Despite you knowing what Jamie had done to me, you continued to seduce me into your web. Like a lamb to the slaughter, I didn’t even think to suspect you. Not once did it cross my mind that you were living a double life. So yes, I put my hands up and accept that I didn’t see the signs and that I blindly and naively went along with everything you said. Because I didn’t see any reason to doubt you. I thought you were different; I was wrong.’ Her voice became increasingly croaky as she spoke, as she fought hard to hold back the emotions that were surging to the surface.
She kept her eyes on his and she could feel them probing hers relentlessly. Once more, she felt naked under his gaze but she would not look away. She had nothing to hide.
Fleetingly, she saw his eyes soften and felt herself unpinned from his powerful aura. She knew she should take advantage of it and start the engine but his eyes had lost their hardness; they looked sad, mournful even, and she just couldn’t tear hers away.
Eventually he spoke. His voice was raw, conveying his own torment. ‘If that’s what you really think then there’s no point in me trying to explain the situation. I’m no angel but I told you no lies. I may have kept a few things back that I didn’t want to burden you with but I never once told you that I wasn’t married and you never once asked. Don’t tell me that you didn’t question why, when there was nothing I wanted more than to spend every night with you, that I didn’t. Don’t tell me that you never once wondered where I was and what I was doing.’
‘I trusted you,’ Isla whispered, as her eyes filled with tears.
‘If you’d asked, I’d have told you. The marriage was over. It was infected. Rancid. Done.’
‘But she’s pregnant for fuck’s sake. You, of all people, should know what it’s like to grow up outside the loving confines of a happy family. It’s bad enough that you were willing to walk out on your wife but what of that unborn child? Weren’t you willing to keep your dick in your pants and try to sort out the problems in your marriage for its sake? And how do I know there aren’t others like me? For all I know, you’re on first name terms with the receptionist of the local clap clinic.’
The hardness returned to his eyes, halting her speech. She braced herself for his vitriolic reply but it never came.
Instead, he simply shrugged. Isla drew in a deep breath and prepared to berate him for his callous disregard for his unborn child but he left her speechless when he said simply, ‘The poor little bastard isn’t mine.’
Chapter Seven
Isla stared at him open-mouthed, but he just awaited her response.
‘Not yours?’ she managed. ‘But how . . . I mean, what?’
He sighed, heavily. ‘Not here. It’s a long story and I’m not going into it now, not standing here in the middle of nowhere. If you want to hear the whole torrid tale, you’ll have to come with me, somewhere more suitable – a café perhaps, although God knows I could really do with a drink so a bar would be much more preferable.’
‘You’re driving,’ she muttered absent-mindedly.
‘So are you,’ he retorted. ‘But I hope that, if you’re willing to hear me out, when you’ve heard all that I have to say – and I promise I won’t keep anything from you and I’ll answer any questions you have fully and frankly – that you’ll agree to stay overnight here. By the time I’ve finished it will be getting late.’
She shook her head but even as she did so, she knew it was without conviction.
He’s not the father. So does that mean it was an artificial insemination? Is she a surrogate for someone else? What the fuck is going on?
It doesn’t matter . . . he’s married and . . .
Xander’s voice interrupted her thoughts but she didn’t hear what he said.
‘Hmm?’
‘Please,’ he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.
Swallowing, she found herself unable to speak. There were too many thoughts racing around her head. She had more answers than questions and was tying herself up in knots.
Oh God, what a fucking mess. He’s right – we shouldn’t be doing this here. It’s far too complicated and I too need a drink. I’m hung-over and I’m tired. Emotionally drained. Driving in this state is probably not the best idea in the world, especially since I’d have to cope with rush hour traffic. I suppose I could stay overnight. A few drinks – hair of the dog – and a nice, comfortable bed . . . that sounds good. If it all goes tits up and different rooms just won’t cut it, I could stay in another hotel. Rouge Passion can cope without me for a few more hours. I’m in no mood for dealing with anyone right now.
She gave a small nod. Her stomach flipped when she saw relief flood though him. His whole body relaxed and that he sagged visibly.
That’s not fake. Nobody can fake an emotion like that. I’m doing the right thing hearing him out. What harm can that do? If I don’t like what I hear, I can just walk away and battle lines can be drawn afresh. Jamie had no answers for me. He couldn’t tell me why he’d cheated on me and that almost drove me insane. I blamed myself. I tortured myself. If nothing else, hopefully I’ll have a better understanding of how I came to be ‘the other woman’ and that’ll help me to move on.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered before recovering himself. ‘Now move over, I was serious about that being the first and last ti
me you drove my car.’
Isla opened her mouth to protest but decided against it. His sudden reversion back to his usual arrogant self was more than her fragile nerves could stand. Arguing with Xander, even when he was on the back foot, took more energy than she had so she slid over to the passenger seat.
He looked surprised. ‘Well, that was easier than I thought.’
She fixed him with a pointed stare. ‘It’s still mine legally. I’ll allow you to borrow it, just this once since I’m here with you. I just hope you’re insured. What about your car?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean? This is my car.’
Isla smiled wanly. ‘We’ll see about that. Now just drive. I need a drink.’
He chuckled, started the car and pulled on to the petrol station forecourt. As he filled up the tank, Isla wondered about the return of his cocky nature. She knew he was reverting to his natural persona but she was worried that she’d just given him the impression that he was holding the winning hand. That he could play her at will. But as she watched him walk into the building and back to the car, she picked up subtle differences in his demeanour.
He’s not relaxed. Not at all. Now is that because of all the crap that he’s been dealing with at home or is that because he’s not confident of winning me over? Something’s bothering him. Is it the thought of losing me or is he anxious about getting his car and hotel back? Well, bring it on . . . I’m not handing everything back on a plate, Xander Rhodes. I’ll hear you out but I’m making no rash decisions. If you’re a practised schemer, I’ll suss you out. You’ve deceived me once but this time I’m ready for you.
As Xander toyed with the satnav screen, Isla continued her musings. As he drove into the village, both were silent; the atmosphere was fraught with tension. Isla barely noticed the name of the place until she realised how close she’d come to the Welsh border. When he pulled up outside The Burton Hotel, a former coaching inn in the little village of Kington, she felt the butterflies in her stomach morph into a pit of snakes. Whether Xander felt it, she couldn’t say but when he cut the engine, he sat motionless for several seconds. When he spoke, he was staring straight ahead.