The British are Coming Box Set

by Nancy Warren

  “Do you have one yourself?”

  Deb was momentarily thrown. “Do I have what?”

  “A healthy relationship, as you call it.”

  “Yes, of course, I—” Suddenly, the headache that she’d barely kept at bay with analgesics bounced into painful, throbbing life. She saw, with the clarity that had been eluding her for months, that in fact her relationship was far from healthy. In fact, it was barely on life support.

  How had she not noticed? She and Jordan hadn’t had any true intimacy in months. They barely spoke outside of work. With the publication of the book, and their growing workloads—also courtesy of the book—they rarely saw each other outside of the long hours they spent at the office.

  She supposed she’d fooled herself into believing that they were spending most of their time together, but in truth they were colleagues in business, not partners in life.

  “That’s not really the issue here,” she managed to say.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been to university for twelve years.” Chloe laughed lightly. “I didn’t make it through the first twelve months, but I have had a lot of relationships. Most of them rotten. And I’ve been involved in a lot of them with my friends. I think if one person’s unhappy enough to end the relationship, then it needs to end. What do you think?”

  “I think I really need a painkiller. I’ve got a bad headache.”

  “Just a sec. I’ll see what I can find.” Chloe dropped a hand on her shoulder as she went by. “Drink up your tea.”

  She did as she was told. It was nice for a change to have somebody else looking after her. For so long she’d been the one dispensing advice and comfort, tissues and support.

  Chloe returned with a bottle and shook out two pills.

  “Thank you,” Deb said.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Lord, it’s like Paddington Station around here today,” Chloe said, and went back to the front of the house. Deb tried to gather her wits and wondered vaguely what she’d hoped to accomplish by coming here, when she heard a very familiar voice from the doorway. “Is Dr. Beaumont here?”

  “Yes. In the kitchen. This way.”

  Jordan’s voice was so dear to her, she realized as she waited for him to come and get her. How had she let herself become so distant? What must he think of her after her horrid outburst?

  She saw him coming toward her with concern written all over his face. He was dear, and sweet, and the one who was always there. But she couldn’t pretend anymore, not for him, not for her patients, and most certainly not for herself.

  “Oh, Jordan,” she cried. “I’m such a mess.”

  He folded her in his arms. “No, you’re not.”

  She nodded, emphatically. “I am. I made a horrible fool of myself at the office. In front of clients. I’ll never be able to show my face again.”

  “Sure you will. You’re human.”

  She lifted her head so that she could see his face. He was smiling down at her with more intimacy than they’d shared in months. “You’re not angry?”

  “Frankly, I’m delighted. It makes the rest of us feel better when you show yourself to be less than perfect once in a while.”

  She hugged him. Hard. Like she’d never let him go. “I need to get back. I have patients.”

  “No. Carly canceled them all.”

  “Oh, good. But you—”

  “She canceled mine too. Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  “My car—”

  “Rafe will drive it back for you,” Chloe chimed in. “It’s the least he can do.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. Please tell him the braking system can be a little touchy, and—”

  “Go!” she was commanded.

  She went.

  Chapter 20

  “Now what?” Chloe said aloud as the doorbell chimed again. She opened the door. “I rather thought you’d show up,” she said to Rafe.

  “I thought I should come by in case anybody needed CPR.”

  She held the door open so he could enter. “You didn’t exactly rush over here, did you?”

  “I had some other things I had to do.” He looked at her from under his brows, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I feel like an asshole. I used your business card as a bookmark. That’s how Deborah made the connection.”

  “One can only hope that the rest of your undercover work is more… what is the word I’m looking for?”

  “Less likely to get me killed?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I screwed up. I owe you. So, if you want me to do another one of these gigs, I’ll do it.”

  She laughed. “You really are a very sweet man, you know.” Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek. “Oddly enough, I think the slip-up was the best thing that could have happened.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The colleague/boyfriend/whatever she calls him rushed to her side and I rather think the fact that for once she was the one falling apart and in a mess made him see her as someone who needs him. A lot of men like that, you know.”

  He scowled at her, and when he scowled, it was like a black cloud blocking the sun, so she stepped back. “Anyway, all’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare says. At least, I hope it’s Shakespeare. Stephanie will correct me if I got it wrong.”

  The thundercloud over Rafe’s head seemed to darken when she mentioned Stephanie’s name, and then it hit her that Deborah had seen them together earlier today. Presumably the business he had to take care of had involved Stephanie, and, based on the dark cloud above him, it hadn’t gone well.

  “I shan’t need you for any more breakups, but I do have a final task for you if you’d be so good. I need you to help me return Deborah’s car to her. She left her keys and the address. Jordan drove her home.”

  “Least I can do,” he said.

  Since she thought the same thing, she didn’t argue. “I’ll drive the car and you can follow me, then drop me back on your bike.”

  “I didn’t bring a second helmet. Don’t worry about it. I can grab a cab back.”

  Since she suspected a miserable Stephanie would be the next person through her door, she sent Rafe off alone and went back to the kitchen to put the kettle back on.

  Deborah hadn’t felt like this in years. It was as though an alien had taken over her body. Needs and primal forces were coursing through her. Emotions she’d controlled for years seemed to have slipped their leashes.

  Jordan drove carefully, as he always did. She watched his hands on the wheel, perfectly positioned at ten to two. They were such nice hands. As steady and reliable as he was himself. He hadn’t asked her where she wanted to go; he seemed to assume she wanted to go home. He didn’t talk much. He appeared completely preoccupied with his thoughts. But when she reached over and touched his hand, he turned his over and gripped hers.

  “I have to tell you something,” she whispered in a voice she didn’t even recognize as hers.

  “I have to tell you something too.” He glanced at her. Always the gentleman, he said, “You go first.”

  She licked her lips. “I am so horny I think I’m going to explode.”

  The car jerked as though his foot had spasmed on the accelerator. “I beg your pardon?”

  She felt smug and female. “You heard me.” Of course, two therapists couldn’t even get horny without some sort of analysis, so she said, “I think it’s all the emotion racing around in my body. It needs an outlet.” Just talking about her needs made them more immediate. She shifted her body, feeling the heavy pull of desire.

  “What do you want me to do about this little problem?” He might be surprised at her behavior—almost as surprised as she was herself—but he seemed quite happy about her admission.

  “I’m not going to be ladylike,” she said, easing her legs apart.

  “You’re not?”

  “No.”

  He slid a hand up her thigh and her skin was so sensitive there she almost moaned. When he touched her, she actually did
moan. Then she pushed herself against his hand in the most obvious display of need she’d ever shown in her life.

  “I need to tell you something else,” she said.

  “What?” His voice was as husky as a growl.

  “I won’t make it home. You need to pull over somewhere.”

  “Where? There’s nothing around here but a convenience store, a beer parlor, and the No-tell Motel.”

  “Perfect,” she said.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No. The motel. Hurry.”

  The atmosphere in the car was electric. Her skin was so sensitive she could feel the leather of the seats against her arms and the backs of her legs. She heard the traffic all around them as a low-level hum, like a sexual purr. At this time of day, businesspeople were off to meetings, parents ferried kids around, workers headed off to fix furnaces and install carpets. But inside Jordan’s gray Volvo, it was all about sex.

  He had to take his hand away from her in order to turn the steering wheel, and the loss of his hand only emphasized her need.

  They turned into a bumpy asphalt parking lot that the motel shared with a convenience store offering great prices on a six-pack of Bud.

  She thought he might ask her if she was sure about this, but he didn’t. “Wait here,” he said and she knew then that he was as desperate as she was. He was in and out of the office in no time, hopped back into the car, and drove them to their unit.

  As they walked in, she yanked together enough sanity to check that there was a basic level of cleanliness, which, based on the smell of industrial cleansers, there was. A quick glance into the bathroom showed shiny white, if chipped, fixtures, and under the polyester flowered spread, the sheets were clean.

  It was all she needed to know. There was something so thrilling about being in a place like this, a place she’d never normally go, for sex. Because she and her lover were too hot for each other to make it all the way home.

  While she was checking for hygiene, Jordan went to the window and pulled the drapes shut. The clattering sound of the curtains being drawn sent a shiver through her. With the drapes shut, the light in the room was muted. He snapped on the light on the closest imitation wood bedside table.

  He came up behind her and ran his hand all the way down the front of her body, from her neck, over her tingling breasts, her belly, just brushing her crotch, so she wanted to moan, and then he was tugging at the skirt of her dress, pulling it up and over her hips. Oh, yes.

  He reached around her, yanked the bedspread and top sheet down, so that she was looking at the bare white sheet on top of the mattress.

  He slipped her panties down and she stepped out of them. She could hear harsh breathing and knew it was hers. So much for restrained behavior.

  “Get on the bed on your hands and knees,” he said into her ear. He never ordered her around, but he seemed to understand that she wanted something raw and frank. No manners required.

  “What about my dress?”

  “Leave it.” Heat was pulsing through her, pooling as excitement built. He was ordering her around. And she was loving it. Maybe after all these years of fierce control, it was good to let the lid off for a while. She’d been like the tectonic plates, holding up the earth from under the sea, but pressure was building, building, and one day those plates had to shift and blow. With seismic results.

  A step closer to the bed, she said, “Shoes?”

  “Leave them.”

  She climbed up on to the bed, fully dressed but for her panties, facing away from him.

  “Now, pull your skirt up. All the way up, and flip it over your back. Let me see what you’ve got for me.”

  She made a funny noise in the back of her throat. Part cry, part moan. Her hands were shaking as she grasped the hem of her skirt. She found that in order for it to stay up and over her hips, she had to thrust her hips up in the air and lower her front half until she was resting on her forearms.

  She heard rustling and the metallic sound of his belt being unfastened. Oh, hurry, drummed over and over in her head. Her most private parts, and only those, were on display for him. She knew he was looking at her there, felt his gaze like a spotlight, warming her, revealing her.

  His fingers touched her sex, slippery with excitement, rubbing lightly. “Is this for me?” he asked from behind her.

  “Yes.” She’d never felt more sexual. Never.

  He climbed up behind her and the bed rocked, then he rubbed his cock against her, back and forth, until she pushed back against him, begging to be filled. He pushed inside hard, with no warning at all. Jordan, who was usually so careful with foreplay, always asking if she was ready before penetrating her.

  The sudden shock of him filling her was fantastic. “Oh,” she cried.

  Then, taking a firm hold of her hips, he began to thrust into her in a completely fierce, unrestrained rhythm. She caught fire, combusted, pushing back, meeting his thrusts with frenzied passion.

  Outside she could hear the muted rumble of traffic. A car door slammed in the parking lot. And in this cheap and tawdry room, she heard mingled signs and moans, and the soft slap of his flesh against hers.

  She was climbing, climbing. He reached around and touched that needy, aching place, rubbing lightly. It was too much and with a loud cry, she slipped over the top, pulling him along with her.

  He slumped on top of her, still inside her body, and kissed the back of her neck. For the oddest moment she felt emotion prick her eyelids. She knew there was a great deal they had to say, to talk about and resolve, but for once in her life she didn’t want to talk about feelings. She wanted to shut up and experience them. She reached for his hand and they stayed like that for a while, deeply connected and at rest.

  Her heart was banging, her breath uneven, and she didn’t even want to think about what shape her dress was in. She chuckled.

  “What’s so funny? And please tell me it’s not my technique.”

  She turned her head, found his mouth, and gave him a quick kiss. “Your technique was outstanding. I’m laughing because my headache disappeared.”

  “Sometimes, good sex helps heal a lot of things,” he said reflectively, and she suspected he was talking about more than her aching head.

  He kissed her fully, taking his time, and her undersexed body roared back to life. This time, he undressed her, kissing and toying with every part of her he uncovered. She took off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and eased it off. He pulled off his pants and she toed off her sandals so that they fell to the floor with twin thuds. He kissed her breasts, teasing her nipples in the way he knew she liked. They played with each other, arousing and reconnecting, until they were once again panting with need. She opened for him and he filled her. When he entered her, it was a moment she’d never forget. His eyes were so serious as they stared into hers, his body so familiar and precious to her. They moved slowly, tenderly.

  “I love you,” he said to her.

  It had been such a long time since they’d been this intimate that she’d almost forgotten how wonderful it could be. “I love you too,” she whispered. Then they started to move, creating heat and friction and finally a shared cry.

  Afterward, they lay wrapped around each other with her head on his chest. She could hear the thud of his heart. “I’ve missed this,” she said.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  And so, in that cheesy motel with the noise of the highway in their ears and the faint smell of disinfectant in the air, they finally talked about things she realized they should have been talking about months ago.

  “We’re like the cobbler’s children who have no shoes,” she said with a chuckle when she realized how badly they had grown apart. “I’m so glad we’re back on track.”

  He rolled off her and padded to the bathroom. She smiled, realizing he was still wearing his socks. How had she let herself get so distracted that she hadn’t given her own relationship the time and attention it deserved?

  She jumped out of bed feelin
g energized. “You know what I can’t figure out?”

  “What?” he said from the bathroom.

  “I can’t figure out why that woman who calls herself The Breakup Artist sent somebody to me. I thought at first she was some awful person who got off on destroying people’s lives, but she actually seemed pretty decent when we got to talking.”

  There was silence from inside the bathroom. Jordan came out and she took her turn. When she emerged, thinking another round was in order, she found him fully dressed, sitting on the bed. He looked funny. Confused. Guilty.

  Without realizing she did it, she put a hand to her heart. “Jordan? What is it?”

  “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Okay.” She went to sit beside him on the bed. For some reason, she felt she needed to get dressed, probably since he was. She dragged her clothes back on and then settled beside him.

  “This isn’t easy.” He was looking down at his clasped hands.

  “Okay,” she said. Remaining quiet until he was ready, trying not to let her heart rate get out of control. Touching him gently on the arm, she waited. Usually he was so verbal, so well expressed that to see him like this, tongue-tied and unsure where to begin, gave her a very bad feeling in her belly.

  When she couldn’t stand the silence another second, she cried, “Jordan, please. You’re scaring me.”

  He let out a great sigh. “I hired Chloe Flynt to break up our relationship.”

  She’d been trained. For twelve years she’d studied human behavior patterns, interactive communication, and therapy of all sorts. There were a variety of models she could call on for her response. What she did was in no behavior model, textbook, or counselor’s manual. It came right out of her childhood.

  She screamed, “You did what?”

  “I’m sorry. I realize what I did was wrong—”

  “But I don’t understand. Why would you go to her?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to upset our working relationship.”

  She waved her hand as though batting away a fly. “No, not that. I mean, why did you want to break up?”