She nodded, searching for some bright spot. ‘But he did have money on Wednesday, Fletch. He’s got a job of some sort.’
Fletch scowled. ‘That’s supposed to make me feel better?’ He shook his head slowly, if I’d had to say one thing about Jem, I’d have said he was honest.’ He shrugged, smiled lopsidedly. ‘Well, he’s surprising me in all kinds of way this year, so ...’ He shook his head again, angrily, trying to shake off that thought. His eyes returned to her face with a moody, dark look that took her in feature by feature, that lingered on her lips, plunged into her hair like an angry, possessive hand—as if she were something he owned, needed and didn’t quite like. ‘Want to dance?’ he asked abruptly, jerking his chin towards the music in the next room.
Jolian shivered in spite of herself—that almost made him smile—and shook her head. In his present mood, she would have rather danced with a mugger. She could imagine his arms flexing with tension and frustration, pulling her too close, and closer yet, the hammer of his heart beating against her breasts, the pulse of the music, his quickening breath in her ear, perhaps his lips on her face, his hands ... She shivered again. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Scaredy-cat!’ he taunted softly.
She put on a saucy, defiant smile, her chin up. ‘Or perhaps I just don’t want to dance with you, Mr. McKay!’ she teased.
His half smile faded as his eyes darkened, travelled over her in a slow burn of a look. ‘I want to dance with you tonight, silky ... Horizontally not vertically.’ He stood up, towering above her. ‘Let’s go.’
Her knees might not support her; they felt as melted as the rest of her after that look. She should not get up, should not go with him, should catch a taxi home. Had she brought enough money?
‘Let’s go, Jolian,’ Fletch repeated, one eyebrow lifting.
‘You promised,’ she reminded him desperately, her head thrown back to see his face.
The corners of that hard, beautifully-defined mouth deepened and lifted a little. Something seemed to amuse him. ‘So I did.’ He touched the hollow of her throat with one finger, traced a warm, slow line up to her lifted chin and chucked it gently. ‘So I did. Stop worrying and let’s go.’
In the car, Fletch’s mood had changed again. He went back to his son. ‘And Jem said nothing else about anything Liz might have said, beyond what you’ve told me already?’
In the flicker of passing lights, Jolian studied his tensed eyebrows, the swell of clenched muscles at the back of his jaw. What was he expecting, that Liz had turned Jem against him somehow? ‘No, Fletch, I think I’ve told you everything.’ She frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember.
‘And why did he say he’d run away?’
‘He said you didn’t need him,’ she repeated obediently.
‘Need...’ He mouthed the word carefully, as if he hadn’t heard it before, and didn’t much like it. ‘... need him ... Dammit, Jolian, I love the kid, want what’s best for him, but need?’ He glanced over his shoulder and changed into the other lane. ‘I don’t need anybody,’ he murmured absently. His frown deepened in puzzlement and he shrugged.
She shivered violently, and hugged herself, leaning back against the seat, her widened eyes fixed on the path of the headlights, the pavement rushing forward to meet them.
Fletch reached out, brushed her cheek with his knuckles. ‘Cold? I can put the heater on.’
‘No, that’s okay,’ she murmured. She was careful to control the shudder this time, tensing her shoulders to contain it. I don’t need anybody. No car heater would touch this chill ... no heater would melt the ice in his heart either. I don’t need—
His hand curled around the back of her neck, fingered the tight muscles there. ‘What’s the matter, cat?’ His fingers rubbed her slowly, the hard, slow gentleness of that touch loosening the tension in spite of her resistance. ‘Mmm?’
Jolian closed her eyes and tried to think, but thoughts seemed to melt into sensations, treacherous body. She frowned, thought harder. ‘So you don’t need anyone, Fletch...’ She arched her neck back against his hand and sighed softly. It felt so good. She frowned again. ‘But how do you feel right now? Jem’s supporting himself, seems reasonably happy, doesn’t really seem to ... need you...’ She felt his fingers jerk and turned to look at him, but his face was a mask. ‘How do you feel about that, Fletch?’
He scowled at the road suddenly. ‘Have I gone past the turn-off?’
‘Half a mile more,’ she assured him, careful not to smile. She reached up, caught his wrist, pulled his hand around to her cheek and rubbed against it slowly. ‘Feels pretty rotten, doesn’t it?’ she said softly.
His head jerked down in just the slightest, tightest of nods. His arm flexed as if he wanted to pull his hand away. She rubbed her lips slowly across it, her eyes on his profile. ‘So, how do you think Jem’s felt, all these years, not being needed?’
As he yanked his hand free, his mouth twisted in what looked like a smile and was not. His eyes squeezed shut for an instant and then opened all the wider to stare at the road ahead. ‘Will you shut—’ the words trembled to a halt and he swallowed. ‘Will you lay off, lady?’ He flashed her a savage look. ‘Will you?’
She nodded rapidly, gave a tentative flip of her hand as her corner came into view. They were moving too fast. Fletch had to step on the brakes to make the turn, tyres squealing. He swore, the words all the more vicious for their quietness. Neither of them spoke again until the car was parked. Fletch leaned back in his seat, stared up at the ceiling, let his breath out in a long, shaking hiss.
Wishing she could touch him, not daring to, Jolian waited. She shivered again, this time with the cold.
The corner of his mouth jerked, breaking the mask for a second. ‘You are cold.’
‘A little.’
Slowly, he sighed again. ‘Go inside. I’ll be up in a minute.’
She stared at him doubtfully. She hadn’t meant to let him back in tonight, but now ... now she was almost afraid to leave him like this.
‘Go.’ For all its quietness, it was a command. She went.
Coffee, that was what he needed. Coffee and talk. Talk to break this ice-jam of emotions ... Talk—if he would just talk! With cat tiptoeing at her heels with plaintive cries, Jolian put the kettle on to boil, set out the cups and saucers, then stood frowning down at them. She had got close to him tonight, closer than she’d ever been before, so close it had hurt him ... Brandy. Perhaps a glass of brandy on the side, to loosen his tongue?
Yaffa darted across the kitchen and under the table, ears laid back. Jolian heard a step, but his arms wrapped round her waist before she could turn and Fletch buried his face against the back of her neck. She shuddered and leaned back against him, her eyes shut. He warmed her skin with a deep, slow sigh as his arms tightened, making it even harder to breathe. She reached up to cup his cheek with her palm and he turned his lips into it and kissed it. She sighed happily. ‘I’ll have some coffee for us in a minute, Fletch.’
She felt his laugh. His lips came back to her nape, nuzzled her slowly there as he shook his head. ‘Don’t want any coffee,’ he murmured against her skin.
Fool! She should have expected this. What better way to shut her out, to change the subject, than sex? The best defence was a good offence, after all. Jolian swallowed hard as his fingers spread across her rib cage and began slowly, so slowly, to climb. ‘Fletch, we’ve got to talk. How about some brandy?’ she gasped.
He brushed her nape again, moved his lips to the top of her shoulder, bit her gently there. ‘I’m drunk on you already, silky cat.’ His hands closed lightly, warmly round her breasts, and he laughed softly as she shuddered and arched her back.
‘Fletch, you promised!’ she breathed. ‘You said you wouldn’t—’ Her voice feathered into a shaking gulp for more air as his fingertips teased her taut and throbbing nipples. Squeezing her eyes shut, she arched her neck back against his shoulder. ‘Please...’
‘What time is it?’ His voice was a laughin
g, husky whisper in her ear. ‘Mmm?’
‘No ... ahhhh ... idea ...’
‘So open your eyes and see,’ he teased. He was stroking both her breasts with his right hand now, the thumb and fingers stretched wide.
Jolian opened her eyes, tried to focus them on the wrist floating before her face. Fascinated, she stared at it. So much more powerful, so much larger than her own, the hair dark and curling around the gold links of the wrist-watch...
‘What time is it?’ Fletch reminded her, rubbing his lips slowly along the side of her face.
‘Ten after twelve,’ she murmured dizzily, ‘why ... oh!’ She stiffened with outrage, her eyes widening. ‘You—’ His arms loosened and she spun around within his hold. He was laughing. ‘You—’
‘Promises turn to pumpkins at midnight, Cinderella.’ His hands stroked slowly down to her hips, cupped them gently and pulled her up on tiptoe against him. ‘It’s a new day.’
‘You planned this!’ she stormed. She caught at his shoulders as he leaned forward, arching her back. ‘Fletch!’
‘It crossed my mind a few times,’ he admitted, laughing down at her, his fingers kneading her hips with a slow, fierce pleasure. ‘Helped me to be patient when you were teasing.’ His lips found her throat and the sound he made as he kissed her was more growl than groan.
‘Fletch ... ’ She had breath for a whisper, no more. ‘Fletch, I told you—’
His mouth caught the words, forced them back into her, showed her a better use for lips and breath. Jolian clung to him blindly, shuddering with desire. She gasped for air as he freed her at last, gasped again as his arms shifted and he swung her off the floor. ‘Fletch, I—’
‘I know what you told me, silky.’ His arms tightened, hugging her closer, and his lips brushed her ear. The room spun or he turned—with her eyes shut, she wasn’t sure which. ‘But your words say “Don’t touch me” and those blue eyes say “Come”, and tonight, the eyes have it.’
Fletch was moving so gently, so slowly that she could have been floating. They passed the stove and she could hear the kettle simmering. The pot will boil dry, a sane, tiny voice remarked in her brain. Let it! cried another as Fletch stopped to kiss her again, Burn the whole house down! Her hand twisted into his hair as she opened her mouth to him.
They were falling, now, slowly, so gently, a slow-motion, tumbling free-fall, then landing on clouds, Fletch on top. Her body arched to meet his weight as they sank into the cushions of the sofa. ‘Fletch!’ she begged.
But he mistook it for protest and rolled off her, pulling her with him so that they lay on their sides, nose touching nose. Inhaling hungrily, as if the air they shared was not enough for them both, they lay still, eyes locked. His hands slid slowly upward to hold her face, his thumbs brushing the tips of her lashes. ‘Don’t try to deny it,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘You want me.’
And captive of his hands and his eyes, she shook her head. No, there was no denying this.
Eyes blazing with triumph, Fletch kissed her again, a hot, hungry, driving kiss that left her moaning against his lips, arching herself against him from mouth to knees. ‘Then say it!’ he growled. ‘Say you want me!’ His arms wrapped around her waist, crushing the breath from her.
‘I want you!’ she gasped against his throat. With more air she would have laughed her joy, a joy that was pain, anger and jubilant, rushing blood—the fierce, mad need to hold him closer and still closer. ‘I want you for ever, Fletch!’
A slap in the face would have had the same effect. His head jerked back, the green-gold eyes widening, and then he was still, except for his deep, painful breathing. ‘We’re ...’ He swallowed and tried again. ‘We’re not ... talking about for ever, silky, we’re talking about tonight.’ His faint half-smile was almost pleading as he searched her eyes.
Jolian shook her head against the cushions, her nose brushing his as she did so. ‘I love—’
He stopped her words, his fingers rough in their quickness. She kissed them defiantly, her eyes beginning to blaze with tears and rage. The fool! The stupid, stupid, stupid fool! And she more fool yet for loving him!
‘Don’t. Don’t spoil it,’ he whispered urgently. His fingertip caught the first tear and brushed it away. Another trickled after it. ‘Don’t cry for the moon, cat, when we’ve got the whole earth tonight. Don’t.’
She shook her head savagely. ‘I want the moon. I want it all. I love you!’
Fletch shut his eyes, shook his head slowly, frowning as if it hurt. Rolling away from her on to his back, he lay still, taking the deep, careful breaths of a diver about to make the plunge. ‘Hell,’ he breathed finally. Slowly, he found a smile, a cool, blind smile that seemed to mock them both. ‘Hell.’ He took another deep breath and sat up.
‘Where are you going?’ But she knew already. Half blinded by tears, she could still read the answer in those squared shoulders.
Fletch sighed softly, then turned to look down at her. His hand came up, slowly; as if of its own accord it reached out to smooth her tears away. More fell and his smile was suddenly tender. He wiped her cheeks again. ‘If you can’t follow the rules, I can’t play with you, silky,’ he murmured ruefully.
‘I’m not playing.’ She shook her head against his fingers, tried to smile, failed miserably.
‘I know it. That’s why I’ve got to go.’ His fingers lingered on her cheek and he sighed again. ‘Would have been fun ...’
Fun! She winced, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘Go to hell, you coward!’ she whispered.
He laughed softly and she felt him bend above her. Warm, gentle lips brushed her eyelids. ‘You’ll live, silky cat,’ he breathed. His mouth found the top of her breast, moved slowly and hungrily there. She arched up against his lips, moaning a wordless plea. ‘You’ll live, if you can still hiss,’ he whispered against her skin. ‘I’ll be in touch in a few days ... about Jem.’ The sofa rebounded as he stood up.
Jolian lay rigid, her face turned away from his eyes. Don’t move. Don’t think.
Soft, slow footsteps ... the door opening, ‘I’m ... sorry, kitten.’ Sound of the door closing, the knob rattling as he checked to see that the lock had caught ... Light, descending ... retreating footsteps.
She lay still. Don’t move yet. Don’t try to think.
A soft thump on the sofa near her feet. Gentle vibration of padding velvet paws; the cool tickle of whiskers against her cheek. ‘Oh, God, Yaff!’ Blindly, she reached out, hooked an arm around the cat, pressed her mouth into the soft fur. Oh, God.
CHAPTER SEVEN
You can’t miss what you’ve never had. Jolian had never had Fletch’s love, not for a minute, so how could she miss him so?
You can’t miss what you’ve never—The phrase had a dogged beat, it became a refrain of muted, stubborn, numbed endurance to match her thoughts and her dragging footsteps as she slogged through that week.
You can’t miss what you’ve—always wanted. Always. Didn’t know exactly what till I saw him, but always ...
You can’t miss what—What if they had made love? What if she’d—? What if he’d—? What if...?
You can’t miss—him. Ha. Just Watch me!
You can’t—go on like this ... Can you?
You—fool. Oh, Fletch, you fool...
‘You—’ Jolian swallowed hard and leaned back against her kitchen counter, squeezing her eyes shut. She should not have answered the phone. ‘What do you want, Fletch?’ Her voice didn’t sound quite right—rather hoarse. She swallowed again.
‘That’s a stupid question, Jolian. You know what I want.’ The long-distance connection was not too good; his low voice had all its bite, but none of its usual smoothness.
‘I haven’t heard from Jem since you—since I saw you last,’ she said quickly. There, her voice was working now, if she could only stop shaking. Got to end this, get back to her numbness. One word and he’d wrecked half a week’s worth of forgetting. With her eyes shut, she could see those strange eyes, that tough, tender
mouth ... ‘Good—’
‘Wait. ’ It was a whipcrack of a word. Her hand stopped automatically. ‘That wasn’t the question. Not the first one, anyway.’ His breath hissed slowly in her ear and her body responded with a slow, convulsive shudder.
Her fingers were hurting. Opening her eyes, Jolian stared down at her bloodless knuckles wrapped around the receiver. Got to end this. ‘What—’
‘Where did you sleep last night?’ Fletch’s half-whisper rasped across her question. ‘And where have you been tonight? It’s past eleven, your time, and I’ve been trying to reach you since—’
The gentle click of the receiver dropping back into its cradle cut him off. So simple, really, just hang up. Shut him out of her life, since he didn’t want to come into it. Still shaking, Jolian stared down at the phone. Where had she slept last—oh, yes, of course. She hadn’t slept; no wonder she was so woozy. She’d taken a night shift at the Hotline for—the ring of the phone sliced across her thoughts, a brutal, demanding sound—for Katy, she thought absently, her eyes fixed on the phone. Katy whose love-life was—she flinched as it rang again—was going too well to leave her time for—‘Oh, shut up!’ she gasped as the phone shrilled again. ‘Shut ... up!’ She didn’t have to take this! She could cut its damn cord, drown it in the sink—‘Shut up!’—oh yes ... She could unplug it. Fingers shaking, she snatched at the cord where it snapped into the wall socket. The demanding, maddening racket failed in mid-ring. ‘Ahh ...’ Jolian slumped down slowly on the linoleum, still clutching the cord, staring up at the phone on the counter, half expecting Fletch’s magic could make it ring again.
It stayed silent. Slowly she drew a deep breath. ‘And tonight,’ she told him softly, ‘I taught a class how to set their first stones ... a bezel setting ... you should have seen their faces.’ Yaffa rubbed against her arm and she stroked her absently, her brimming eyes on the telephone. And now she would not sleep tonight either ... ‘Oh, damn you!’ she whispered.
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