by Carrie Elks
He pulled his phone from his pocket – turning it on for the first time since he’d arrived in Miami. Almost immediately her message flashed across the screen.
I missed you tonight. Hope everything’s okay. Lucy x
When was the last time anybody had told him they missed him? She’d been the only person to notice he wasn’t around. A few simple words, but they ignited a need in him that was impossible to ignore.
He pressed on her name, and then the green call button next to it, aware that it was either too early or too late to call. And yet he found himself lifting the phone to his ear, willing her to pick up, desperate to hear her voice.
He was as far away from professional as he’d ever been, but right then he couldn’t give a damn.
‘Hello?’ Her voice was thick with sleep as she answered the call, her eyelids barely unsticking from each other. She could feel her heart racing – a side effect of the adrenalin rush that started with the shrill ring of her phone. She hadn’t even bothered to check the caller ID – knowing it had to be about her dad.
‘Lucy?’
She recognised his voice straight away. Deep, masculine, with the accent that made her body react even when half-asleep. ‘Lachlan, is that you? Is everything okay?’ She reached across to switch on her bedside light. ‘What time is it there?’
There was a pause. She imagined him checking his expensive Rolex, the gold watch glistening against his skin. ‘It’s almost two a.m.’
‘And you’re still awake?’ She sat up, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Shafts of light were invading her bedroom through the gaps in the curtains, though they were muted enough for her to tell it was early in the morning. She glanced at the clock beside her bed.
Six-forty a.m.
‘I got your message,’ he said. He sounded strange – as though his voice was echoing around the room. ‘I’m sorry I missed our call last night. I had to catch a plane to Miami.’
‘Is that where you are now? At the airport?’
‘I’m at the hospital.’
Well, that woke her up. ‘Why? Are you hurt?’ A dozen different scenarios worked their way through her brain. And it was stupid, but she was starting to panic. The idea of something happening to him made her feel sick.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s my mom.’
Her heart dropped. She knew that feeling well. She’d sat in too many hospitals too many times not to sympathise. ‘Oh no. I’m sorry to hear that.’ She paused for a moment, catching her breath. ‘Has something happened to her?’
‘She’s been sick for a while. She has COPD.’ His voice was soft, uncertain. It brought out every caring instinct she had.
‘COPD?’ she repeated. ‘What’s that?’
‘Lung disease,’ he told her. ‘It’s not cancer, but it’s related to smoking. She’s had it for years.’
‘Can they cure it?’ she asked. ‘Will she get better?’ All she could think about was that videoconference, when he’d talked her down from her panic about her father. She should have guessed then that they had this in common too. That he knew exactly what it was like to have a sick parent.
‘It’s a chronic condition.’ He kept his voice low. ‘There’s no cure. But it’s not a killer either, at least not by itself. It just deprives your body of oxygen, makes you more susceptible to infections and heart failure. She has pneumonia right now.’
Lucy leaned back on the padded headrest, closing her eyes. She’d do anything to take away the pain – she knew how much it hurt. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s hard to find an appropriate reply to that, isn’t it? I find that with my dad. People tell me they’re sorry but I never know what to say to them. So you should be? I’m not sure that works.’
For the first time he laughed. ‘It’s one way of shutting people up.’
‘It’s a horrible thing, watching your parents go through something like this. When my mum died, well it was fast. Dreadful, but quick. But when they start to waste away, it’s excruciating. You feel so useless.’
‘I imagine either way is pretty horrible.’ He breathed deeply down the line. ‘How’s your dad?’
She shuffled in the bed. ‘He’s doing okay. No more incidents that I’m aware of. But he won’t talk to me on the phone any more, says he doesn’t like it.’ She shook her head. ‘It sucks, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah, it does. I’m really sorry about your dad, Lucy.’
‘So you should be.’
He laughed and it was like the sun coming out. She smiled, too, enjoying the lighter moment. She twisted beneath the bedcovers, stretching her legs out in front of her.
‘Where are you right now?’ she asked him. ‘Are you allowed to make calls in the hospital? Doesn’t it interfere with the equipment or something?’
‘I’m in the café,’ he said. ‘The only equipment I’m going to interfere with is the coffee machine. And from the taste of this americano, that would be a blessing.’
She coughed out a chuckle.
‘Where are you?’ he asked. ‘It must be morning there. Have you made it to the office yet?’
She considered lying to him. But somehow she found herself telling him the truth. ‘I’m in bed,’ she admitted softly.
Another pause. ‘Alone?’ His voice changed, and the thickness in it took her breath away.
‘Yes.’ Her heart was racing, and not from adrenalin this time.
‘Describe what you’re wearing.’
‘What?’
‘What are you wearing?’ he asked again. ‘Humour me, my mom’s sick.’
‘You’re the sick one.’ There was a smile in her voice. The abrupt change in the tone of their conversation had made her breathless. And yet she could sense how much he needed it, this brevity. And she wanted to give it to him.
She wanted to make him feel better.
‘Touché. Now tell me what you’ve got on.’ She could hear the smile in his tone, too. It sounded so much better than the sadness.
‘Nothing.’
She heard a splutter, like he was choking on his coffee. ‘Say what?’
‘I’m lying naked in bed. I like to sleep with the heating cranked up, but last night it got crazy hot. I couldn’t be bothered to get up and turn the thermostat down, so I stripped off.’ Way, way too much information. ‘So my pyjamas are in a pool on the floor, and I’m still under the covers.’
‘Naked.’ He said it as if it was a word of wonder. ‘Do you talk naked with all your clients?’
‘Only the ones that call me at stupid times of the day.’
‘How many is that?’
‘Just you, Lachlan.’
He gave a low whistle. Of appreciation? ‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I guess I should go,’ she said, somehow unwilling to hang up on him. ‘I need to get dressed and get to the office.’
‘I should, too,’ Lachlan replied, sounding as reluctant as she was.
‘I’ll be thinking of you and your mum. Let me know how she’s getting on, okay?’
‘Yeah, of course. Now go, get some clothes on before somebody sees you.’
‘I’m hot, not an exhibitionist,’ she pointed out.
‘Yes you are.’
‘An exhibitionist?’
‘No, hot.’
‘That sounds like a good way to end the call.’
‘Goodbye, Lucy. I’ll call you tonight.’
She was still smiling when she climbed out of bed and padded across the carpeted floor to her en suite bathroom. She could see herself in the large mirror opposite, her hair sticking out in strange directions, her face pale apart from the red spot on her cheek where she’d been resting on the pillow. And her pink and blue fleecy pyjamas, covered with images of sleeping sheep – a joke present from Cesca. She had a thing for cheesy nightwear.
It was only a white lie, wasn’t it? He needed a distraction and she gave him one, even if he
r pyjamas were still fully fastened on her body, rather than in heap on her carpet.
The biggest problem was, she was getting distracted too.
22
Young men’s love then lies not truly in
their hearts, but in their eyes
– Romeo and Juliet
‘What?’ Grant frowned, shaking his head as he looked at Lachlan. ‘Are you serious? I’ve only just finished rearranging all your meetings after Miami, and now you want me to do it all over again? You’re crazy.’
Lachlan’s smile was wry. He couldn’t blame Grant for looking at him the way he was. Because yes, he was definitely crazy, but he couldn’t help it. He was like an addict, desperate for his next fix. And as much as he enjoyed his phone calls with Lucy, the need to see her in person was consuming him.
‘It’s only one day’s worth of meetings you need to change,’ Lachlan told him, trying to ignore the way Grant was shaking his head. ‘Just clear my diary for Friday. I’ll fly out in the morning, and I’ll be back by Sunday night. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.’
He’d never seen Grant pout before, but damn if he wasn’t pushing his lips out and frowning. It would have been funny if Lachlan wasn’t serious about this. Grant gave a loud sigh, then clicked on his laptop. ‘All right, I’ll rearrange your Friday meetings but you need to start giving me more notice, okay? I’m trying to run a business here.’
‘My business,’ Lachlan reminded him.
Grant looked up from his laptop, taking a deep breath of air. ‘You’re right. Sorry, man. It’s your call, of course it is.’ He tapped his fingers on the keyboard, glancing back at the screen. ‘I can get you on the first flight to London, then straight on a connection to Edinburgh. You should be there by Friday evening.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘You gonna tell me what this is all about?’ Grant asked. ‘Is it something to do with your inheritance?’
‘Something like that.’
Lachlan wasn’t ready to tell him the truth, no matter how close they were. What was there to tell, anyway? That he’d had sex with this woman a couple of times, and now he was calling her every night like a lovesick teenager, with no idea of how she felt about him? Grant would think he was even crazier than he already did.
‘Okay, it’s all booked,’ Grant said. ‘And I’ve changed the meeting times to next week. You’re all set.’
‘Thank you.’
Grant glanced at him warily. ‘You’re the boss. If you want to fly halfway around the world for some reason you’re not telling me, then it’s your call.’ He pressed his lips together for a moment, as though trying to find the right words. ‘But as your friend, and not your assistant, I have to tell you you’re scaring the crap out of me. I’m worried about you, man.’
Lucy opened her refrigerator, feeling the breeze of cold air wash over her as she stared blankly at the contents. Salad, ready meals and two bottles of white wine were lining the shelves, but nothing took her fancy at all. She pushed it shut, running a hand over her tied-back hair, then walked back to the sofa and picked up her laptop, placing it on her crossed legs.
She was in a funk, plain and simple. Maybe it was the fact it was a Friday night and she had nothing to do. She’d come home, jumped in the shower, then tied her wet hair back, dressing herself in a pair of old pyjamas. And now it was eight o’clock, there was nothing on the television, and all she had to entertain her was work.
She really knew how to live it up, didn’t she?
Twenty minutes later she was neck deep in writing up a deposition when her phone buzzed next to her. The sound almost made her jump out of her skin. A big smile broke out across her face when she saw who the caller was.
‘Hi, Lachlan, you’re early. It must be the middle of the afternoon there.’ Not that she was complaining. In the past two weeks their phone calls had been the bright spot to her day. The one thing she looked forward to when she came home from work.
‘Nope, it’s definitely evening.’
She frowned, looking at her watch again. ‘It’s half past eight here, which makes it half past three where you are.’ She heard the sound of a horn – though she couldn’t quite place whether it was coming down the phone line or from outside her window. She moved her laptop onto the coffee table in front of her, straightening up her notes. A telephone call with Lachlan was worth ignoring her work for.
‘It’s half past eight here, too.’
‘You’re not in New York?’ The strangest sensation came over her. ‘Where are you?’ But she knew the answer already. She got up from the sofa and looked out of the large Georgian window to the street outside. It had been raining earlier, and though it was dry now, the puddles remained, the orange glow from the street lamps making them look strangely ethereal. But it wasn’t the beauty of the light that drew her eye, it was the man standing at the front door to her townhouse, a small suitcase next to him, and a large takeout bag in his hand.
‘Oh my God, you’re there.’ She put a hand to her chest to try to calm herself, but the thump of her heart was incessant. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘That’s not quite the welcome I was hoping for.’ He sounded amused rather than annoyed at her response.
‘I’m…’ She had to take a breath to try to centre herself. ‘I wasn’t expecting company. I’m a mess. The apartment’s a mess. Give me five minutes.’ The thought of him seeing her like this, so unpolished and out of control, made her panic even more. Even in Paris – when they were both naked – she’d looked more sophisticated and elegant than this.
‘You could never be a mess. And no need to tidy on my account. I’ve come to see you, not your apartment. I’m just glad you’re home. I thought I might have to spend the night sitting on your doorstep, waiting for you to come back from a night out.’
‘And how do you know I don’t have a hot date up here with me?’ She kept her voice light, flirting with him. Interested to hear his response.
‘Because you weren’t expecting company,’ he said. And she thought she could see his grin from her window. ‘Isn’t that what you just told me?’
A car turned into the road, splashing water from the rain-soaked surface as it drove along. She could see a ghost of herself in the reflection of the glass. And yeah, she was a mess, but she was an excited mess.
‘Don’t go anywhere,’ she said, letting the curtain fall closed. ‘I’ll just put something nicer on and I’ll let you in.’
‘I wanna see you messy,’ he said. ‘Don’t make me wait. I’ve spent the past ten hours flying over to see you.’
Oh, to hell with it. She practically ran to the button by her door, pressing the buzzer to release the lock at the entrance way. Then she heard footsteps, and the banging of a case as it was being dragged up the flight of stairs. The next moment he was knocking at her door, and she was snatching it open, her grin wide, her mussed-up hair and pyjamas forgotten. Because he was there, on her front doorstep, and nothing else mattered.
She wasn’t sure who closed the gap between them, but one moment they were looking at each other, the next he was running his hand down her neck, angling her head until his lips touched hers. Then she was kissing him back like crazy, weeks’ worth of pent-up flirtation making her throw her arms around him, and meld her body to his without a single millimetre between them. She’d forgotten how well he could kiss, with that warm, demanding mouth, and those lips that made her whole body sing. She’d forgotten how he felt, his body thick and strong, his shoulders powerful enough to lift her up and carry her inside her apartment, as he kicked the door closed behind him.
And as it happened, it really didn’t matter what she was wearing, because within five minutes their clothes were scattered over her living-room floor, in a trail of destruction that led to her bedroom.
He lay her on the bed, brushing kisses across her neck, her chest, her stomach, murmuring how much he’d missed her, how he’d been dreaming about her, how he needed to be inside her right then. When he f
inally slid inside, her thighs wrapped around his demanding hips, his arms cradling her as though she was something precious, all thoughts of being a mess had disappeared completely.
All she could think about was him. Right then, nothing else mattered.
They spent the weekend holed up in her bed, only emerging to make the odd cup of tea, or to head to the bathroom to freshen up. The first time they actually left her flat was on Sunday morning, when her milk had finally run out, and their mutual need for a coffee had overridden their need to stay naked and entwined. So they walked up to the Royal Mile, buying coffee-to-go from a small bakery on the corner, then carrying their Styrofoam cups up to the castle. The sun had come out in full force – as though she’d heard Lachlan was visiting and wanted to show him what she could do – and the blue sky did wonders for the city. It made Lucy smile so much her cheeks ached.