Fire After Dark

by Sadie Matthews

  We walk to Hyde Park and as we approach it, I remember looking out at it on my first day in London. That Beth seems like a different person now, I think. Here I am, in a pretty silk dress and a vintage designer straw hat, walking beside an incredibly sexy man, about to be spoiled and entertained. My life has improved so much. And I’ve hardly thought about Adam for days.

  ‘Do you know this park?’ Dominic asks, as we enter by one of the gates.

  I shake my head.

  ‘It has lots of hidden treasures, and I intend to show some of them to you.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  We smile at each other.

  Just concentrate on the moment. Enjoy it. This may never happen again.

  The park is huge and we walk a good way before I see the pale blue glitter of water, and then a boathouse with rows of little green boats with white interiors and blue pedalos in front of it.

  ‘Oh wow,’ I breathe.

  ‘This is the Serpentine Lake, laid out for the pleasure of Queen Caroline. Now we all get to enjoy it.’

  He has everything in hand and within a few minutes, I’m settled in one of the little rowing boats, my back to the prow so that I can face Dominic, who takes the oars, and begins to strike out into the middle of the lake.

  ‘So all this is manmade?’ I look at the great stretch of water, as long as snakelike as its name suggests, and the arched stone bridge spanning it in the distance.

  ‘Yes.’ A smile twitches Dominic’s lips. ‘The most effective pleasures often are. Nature gives us the pattern, and then we learn how to improve on it. And thanks to the whims and foibles of various monarchs, we get to enjoy all this.’

  He pulls easily on the oars, obviously well practised at it, lifting the blades out of water, smoothing them over the surface, then dipping them in with a clean motion and pulling back. We glide across the surface with only the faintest jerk when he puts his weight behind the oars. I put my hand over the side and dip my fingertips into the cold water.

  ‘Do you know much about this place?’

  ‘I always make a point of learning about the places I live,’ he says. ‘And the history of London is particularly fascinating. There’s so much of it, for one thing, the place is drenched in it. It was Charles I who opened this park to the public – up until then it had been reserved strictly for royal use. And lucky he did. Half of London turned up here when the great plagues hit the city. They hoped to escape infection.’

  I look out over the well-kept grassland, rather dry and yellow after the last rainless fortnight, with its beautiful trees and the elegant buildings visible at intervals. People sit outside a nearby cafe enjoying ice creams and cold drinks. I picture a vast crowd of poor seventeenth-century Londoners camping down in their thousands, living in desperate fear of sickness – there are squabbles and chatter, dirt and stenches, children and mob-capped women in grubby aprons trying to cook over open fires while men smoke pipes and plan how to keep their families alive.

  On the sunny shore, there is a family, the mother pushing an expensive buggy with a baby in it, the father trying to anoint his daughter with sun cream while she does her best to break free and escape on her pink micro scooter.

  Different times, different troubles.

  I turn my attention back to the boat. It’s such a pleasure to watch Dominic row. The muscles on his arms bulge as he exerts his strength on the oars and as he leans forward, the white linen shirt falls open a little. I can see a patch of dark hair on his chest. The sight makes my heart quicken. I take a long breath and breathe out slowly. I have to keep control. I don’t want him to know the effect he has on me, so I look away, hoping to hide my involuntary response to his nearness, his magnetic effect on me and the way he churns me up. As I trail my fingers in the cooling water, I become aware that he’s watching me too. I can see from the edge of my vision that behind his sunglasses his eyes are on me. Perhaps he thinks I can’t see that he’s watching. The effect on me is electric; it’s as though his very gaze has a laser-like quality and can burn my skin. The feeling is so incredibly intense, both pleasurable and almost painful at the same time, that I don’t want it to end. For ages he rows on, pulling hard on the oars and we glide over the lake. Then he asks me if I’d like a turn, and the tension breaks.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I say, laughing. ‘I’m not as strong as you.’ I can’t resist looking at him flirtatiously and saying, ‘Do you work out a lot?’

  ‘I keep myself in shape,’ he replies. ‘I don’t like to let myself go. I spend a lot of time sitting at a desk, I need to make sure I stay active too.’

  ‘At the gym?’

  He fixes me with an impenetrable look, those dark eyes looking almost black again. ‘Wherever I can,’ he says in a low voice, and the meaning he injects into it sends a delicious shiver down my spine. For the first time I begin to blossom under his gaze. Something about today is different. This isn’t just a man taking a girl out as a gesture of friendship. I feel like a woman he desires and realise with a thrill of pleasure that this day already has a kind of tension to it, the kind that keeps everything buzzing and alive.

  ‘I’m bushed,’ Dominic says. A line of tiny sweat beads have broken out across his forehead and nose. I want to wipe them away with my fingertip but I resist the urge. Instead he takes off his sunglasses and wipes them away himself. Then he puts the oars straight in their rowlocks, and lets us drift for a while in the blazing sunshine. We sit in companionable silence and then he says, ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up quite an appetite. Lunch?’

  ‘That sounds fantastic.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s get back.’ He set the oars to the water again and pulls for the shore. It takes all his effort and he doesn’t speak, allowing me the luxury of watching him at work. His rhythmic movements are setting off a memory inside me. Adam appears in my mind. His image, once so sharp and agonising in its clarity, is now strangely faded. It’s as though I can hardly remember him. I recall that I used to feel something for him, but that all seems like a very long time ago. What I can’t remember is him ever making me feel one fraction of this incredible desire. Our lovemaking was sweet and sincere and romantic, but it was never as tremblingly exciting as simply watching Dominic row. What would it be like if he actually touched me? It’s an overwhelming thought that makes my groin heat and throb. I shift almost uncomfortably.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I nod and say nothing, and Dominic, his dark eyes resting thoughtfully on me, says nothing more. Fortunately I manage to get control of myself as we reach the shore and return the little boat. The man at the kiosk says to Dominic: ‘Your delivery arrived, sir. It’s been laid out according to your instructions.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Dominic turns to me with a smile. ‘Shall we?’

  He leads me across the grass to a huge oak tree with spreading branches providing a circle of cool shade. Beneath it, on a pale plaid rug, has been laid out a fabulous picnic. A waiter stands protectively next to it, evidently waiting for our arrival.

  ‘Dominic!’ I turn to him with shining eyes. ‘This is wonderful!’

  As we approach, I can make out what awaits us: poached salmon, fabulous salads flecked with the jewel-bright colours of tomatoes, peppers and pomegranate seeds, pink tiger prawns in their shell, small speckled quails’ eggs, a dish of glistening yellow mayonnaise, slices of rare roast beef, a melting brie and fresh baguettes. There are elegant dessert glasses full of something fruity and creamy. An ice bucket contains a bottle of what looks like champagne. It is all picture perfect.

  The waiter bows to Dominic as he approaches. ‘Everything is ready, sir.’

  ‘It looks excellent. That will be all, thank you.’ With a deft and discreet movement, he tips the waiter, who bows again and makes a subtle exit. We are left alone with the feast.

  ‘I hope you’re hungry,’ he says to me, smiling warmly.

  ‘Ravenous,’ I reply happily, and sit down on the rug.

  ‘G
ood. I like to see you eat. You’ve got a good appetite, I like that.’ He pulls the bottle from the ice bucket. It is Dom Pérignon Rosé, which I know is a famous make of champagne. He pops the cork quickly and easily, and pours the foaming liquid into two waiting glasses.

  He passes one to me, then lifts his own and says, ‘To an English summer’s day. And to the beautiful girl I’m spending it with.’

  I turn red but I laugh, lifting my glass to his and meeting his eyes, and we both sip the fizzing liquid.

  Could anything be more perfect than this?

  We eat our fill of the delicious picnic and afterwards, sated and rather drunk on the fine pink champagne, we stretch out on the rug, and talk quietly. Dominic has picked up a piece of grass and is chewing it thoughtfully. I watch him through half-closed eyelids. My whole body is alive to his nearness, but something is struggling to the surface of my consciousness, something I don’t want to think about but which I can’t stop invading my mind.

  It’s the image of the man lying prone on that strange seat in his apartment while Vanessa, bold and strong, thrashes him with a leather belt, letting the ends thwack over his buttocks, hitting the flesh over and over until it’s red and raw . . .

  ‘Beth . . .’

  I jump slightly. ‘Uh huh?’ I turn to look at him. He’s rolled on his side and is now very close to me. I can smell a sweet citrusy cologne on the warmth of his skin. My stomach swoops with excitement and my fingers begin to tremble.

  He stares deeply into my eyes, as though searching out my soul. ‘That night . . . that night I found you crying in the street because you were lost. I’ve been thinking about it. Was that all you were crying about? Because you were lost?’

  My mouth drops open and then I can’t hold his gaze. I look down at the pale checks of the rug. ‘Not exactly,’ I say in a low voice. ‘I’d just tried to go into a bar. A strange place called The Asylum.’

  When I look up, his eyes have gone cold. God, why did I say that? It’s crazy to mention that place – and now look what’s happened . . .!

  ‘Why did you go in there?’ he asks sharply.

  ‘I . . . don’t know . . . I saw some people go down there, so I followed . . .’ It’s not a lie, I tell myself firmly. It’s what happened. ‘But the doorman was furious with me. He told me it was a private members’ club and that I had to get out.’

  ‘I see.’ Dominic frowns at the slender stalk of grass that he’s rubbing between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘We don’t have many private members’ clubs where I come from,’ I say, trying to sound jokey, ‘so it never occurred to me I couldn’t go in.’

  ‘And . . . what did you see there?’

  I take a deep breath and shake my head. ‘Nothing. People drinking and talking. I was only there for a moment.’ I want to tell him what I really saw and ask him what it meant, but I daren’t. The shutters have already come down, and I desperately want them back up again. I want the warm, sexy atmosphere to be restored, the delicious anticipation that something might happen at any moment.

  ‘Good,’ he says in a low murmur. ‘I don’t know if it’s a place for a girl like you. You’re so sweet. So incredibly sweet.’

  He reaches out and then, to my amazement, he puts his hand over mine and strokes his thumb over my skin, making me burn with his touch. He stares into my eyes and I can see a conflict going on there. ‘I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ I whisper.

  ‘You’re too . . .’ He sighs. ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘Young?’

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head. I wish I could run my fingers through that dark hair. ‘Age has nothing to do with it. I’ve met teenagers wise beyond their years, and forty-year-olds as naive as Snow White. It’s not that.’

  ‘Then what?’ My whole voice is saturated with longing.

  He threads his fingers through mine. The touch is almost unbearable. I can hardly fight the impulse to reach for his face and bring it to mine.

  His voice drops even lower and his eyes can’t meet my gaze. My heart is racing as he speaks. ‘I don’t let myself go very often, Beth. But there’s something about you – something so fresh and wonderful, impetuous and inspiring. You make me feel alive.’

  Everything in me is responding to his words. I can hardly breathe.

  ‘I haven’t felt like this in a long time,’ he says even more quietly. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is – and you’ve done that to me. But . . .’

  Of course there’s a but. Why is nothing ever simple? You just said I make you feel alive. But I daren’t speak in case I break a spell.

  ‘But . . .’ He looks agonised.

  ‘Are you worried I’ll get hurt?’ I say at last.

  He shoots me a look that’s impossible to read; then laughs with something like bitterness in his voice.

  ‘I won’t,’ I say. ‘I promise. I’m not here for long. Not long enough to get involved.’

  Dominic lifts my hand to his mouth and presses it to his lips. The sensation is blissful, the most exciting kiss I’ve ever had – and he hasn’t even touched my mouth. He lifts his mouth away and turns his gaze to mine. ‘Oh, we’ve got long enough, Beth. Believe me.’

  Then it happens. He pulls me close to him and in an instant I’m in his arms, pressed against the warmth of his chest, surrounded by his delicious smell and the strength of his arms. One hand is pressed to my shoulder, the other circles my lower back, as his lips meet mine. There’s no question that I can do anything other than open my mouth to him. His lips are as delicious as I’d hoped but the kiss itself is more than I could have imagined: warm, deep, and all encompassing, so that I feel as though I’m drowning in the sensation of his tongue exploring my mouth. My body takes over, I have no conscious choice about what to do. My tongue meets his in the most exquisite touch. I know right away that I’ve never been kissed till now. This is the most perfect feeling of complete rightness, as though our mouths were meant to fit together.

  My eyes are closed and I’m lost in darkness, aware only of the depth of our kiss, which is growing in intensity with every moment, and the way his hands are press on my arms and back. As he kisses me, his hand moves down from the small of my back and over the curve of my bottom. He groans slightly as he touches me there.

  At last, we pull apart. My breathing is coming fast and I know my eyes are shining. Dominic looks at me, his gaze burning with the intensity of what we’ve just shared.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to do that since we first met,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Since I dropped my ice cream?’

  ‘Yes, then. I couldn’t help noticing you. But it was afterwards as you lay on that rug in the garden – that’s when I realised just how lovely you are.’

  I feel awkward, embarrassed. ‘Lovely? Me?’

  ‘Of course.’ He nods. I can hardly believe that someone as gorgeous as he is would think me lovely. ‘It’s been hard to hold back, if I’m honest. And when I found you crying in the street, it was all I could do not to kiss you then and there.’

  ‘I thought you were angry with me!’ I say, laughing.

  ‘No,’ he says. He puts his hand under my chin and tips my face to his. ‘My God, I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have kiss you again.’

  He sinks his mouth on mine and once again the stars whirl in my head as I give myself over to the delicious sensation of his tongue caressing mine, the honeyed taste of his mouth and the sense of being utterly completed. We press against one another, pulling our embrace as tight as we can, and I can feel his hardness against my stomach. The manifestation of his desire is intensely exciting and my own desire floods my belly, making me throb and ache.

  When we pull away this time, he says, ‘I had some exciting activities planned for this afternoon, but I don’t know how the hell I’m going to be able to do anything else but this.’

  ‘Then let’s just do this. Who says we can’t?’

  ‘We can’t stay here all afte
rnoon.’ He clasps my hand again and stares hard at me. ‘We could always go home . . . if you like . . .’

  If I like? I can’t think of anything I could possibly like more!

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say softly, the wanting clear in my voice.

  We can read the desire in one another’s faces and we leap to our feet. I gather up my hat and lace shawl. ‘What about the picnic? Can we just leave it here?’

  Dominic taps his phone briefly. ‘They’ll be here in about two minutes to take it away.’

  ‘It was wonderful,’ I say, hoping he’s not reading my eagerness to be off as rejection of his day.

  ‘Not as wonderful as what comes next,’ he says, and my stomach clenches with that pleasurable pain that I’ve come to know so well lately.

  I don’t know how we get home so quickly, but in no time at all, we are in the lift on the way to Dominic’s apartment. We kiss again, hot and passionate. I glimpse our reflections in the mirror: the way our bodies are entwined, our mouths pressed hungrily together – and it sends shivers of arousal shooting all over me. I want him desperately, my body screaming out for him, craving his touch.

  My dazed mind wonders how far this is going to go, but I don’t see how we can stop ourselves. The hunger that’s possessing me seems to be even stronger in Dominic. He kisses me all over my neck, his dark stubble brushing against the soft skin, making me gasp at the sensation, before returning to my mouth. The lift doors are open for several seconds before we even notice.

  ‘Come on,’ he growls, pulling me through them and leading me towards the door of his flat. A moment later we are inside, the door shut behind us. At last we’re absolutely private. My body is trembling all over with desire as we stumble towards the bedroom, unable to keep our hands off each other long enough to walk sensibly.

  The bedroom is shadowed despite the bright sunshine outside. Dominic’s bed is enormous, Emperor-sized, with a padded velvet headboard, immaculate white pillows and linen in a muted blue. A grey cashmere throw covers the foot.

  Now that we’re inside, he turns to me, his black gaze burning into me. I can read desire all over his face and it’s unbearably exciting. I’ve never been looked at like that in my life.