“What do you want? How do you know where I live? Did she tell you? Ask you to come and beat the crap out of me?”
“I know where you live because I’m careful. I follow all my clients because I need to know who and what I’m dealing with, though I respect their anonymity. Ash did tell me where you lived, but only to prove she’d not been completely out of it when she went home with you. She has no idea I’ve come to see you. No idea I already know you.”
Ronan walked toward him. “I’m not here as your Dom—not that I’m under any illusion you consider me as such—I’m here as Ash’s friend. She said you didn’t hurt her last night, but you did. You hurt her feelings. Why the hell would you fuck her and then accuse her of only getting in your bed because she felt sorry for you? Can’t you read people at all? She doesn’t have a cruel bone in her body. If she has a fault, it’s that she’s too kind. You hurt her and I’m pissed off.”
Noah’s mouth was devoid of moisture. Speaking was impossible.
“If you want to fuck up your life, that’s up to you, but don’t mess around with my friend. She has her own demons to contend with. Don’t give her yours as well. Understand?”
Oh Christ.
“Want me to make you understand?”
“I c-can’t…” Noah’s heart raced so fast he could see black shapes floating in his vision. “The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone,” he blurted. “I know it’s not an excuse, but I just couldn’t stop myself.”
“Try harder,” Ronan snapped. “Think of other people instead of yourself.”
I was, just not Ash. Someone else.
“You think she’d see me again?”
Ronan laughed. He stood in front of Noah and planted his palms on the wall either side of Noah’s head.
“I just read you the riot act, warn you off her, and you want to see her again?”
Noah stood straighter. “Yeah, I do.” His heartbeat slowed. “Maybe it’s her I need, not you.”
Ronan smiled. “Maybe it is, but she’s not your crutch. If you hurt her again, I’ll hurt you, and no safe word will save you. Understand? Got big enough balls to come back and see me on Friday?”
“I told you—”
“So you did.” Ronan turned and headed for the door.
“Where does…where do you live?”
The Dom shook his head. “I’m not going to make it easy for you. If you want her, find her.”
* * * * *
Dalton phoned Kay as soon as he left the flat.
“I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes,” she whispered. “I’m at work.”
He headed for the Carphone Warehouse. The third phone Dalton had replaced. He wondered if Noah had lost this one accidentally or on purpose. Outbursts of temper weren’t unusual for someone with PTSD, but Noah didn’t seem to be getting any better.
Five minutes later, Dalton’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out.
“I’m on a catering job,” Kay said. “Lunch for a load of wanker bankers. What’s up?”
“Did you see Ash this morning?”
“Nope. Didn’t she spend the night with Noah?”
“No. We need to bring them together again.”
He could almost hear the annoyance at the other end of the phone.
“Maybe he doesn’t fancy her.”
“Didn’t you see them dancing? They were glued together.”
Kay huffed. “If you want him to get off with someone, how about me?”
Dalton tightened his hold on the phone. He didn’t want Noah in the grips of a woman like Kay. “It’s her he wants. We need to engineer another meeting.”
“I don’t want to help you anymore.”
“Three hundred quid to get them in the same place at the same time,” he blurted.
The pause told Dalton he had her.
“How?” she asked.
“We don’t want to be too obvious. How about you ask Ash to meet you somewhere and I make sure Noah walks past.”
Kay raised her eyebrows. “And that’s not obvious?”
Dalton literally bit his tongue.
“And you’ll pay me?” she asked.
“Of course.” Mercenary bitch. But then he was a mercenary bastard.
* * * * *
Noah remembered Ash telling him she had two jobs. One was some sort of gardening thing and the other was for a tour company. An online search eventually gave him a name that rang a bell—London Then And Now—and a phone number. At which point he came to a grinding halt. They wouldn’t confirm Ash worked for them, let alone give him her number. He didn’t even know if she was working for them today.
“It’s really important that I find Ash,” he said.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you.” The third time the woman had said that.
Noah sighed. “How many tours do you have operating?”
“Ten.”
Christ. “I’d like to buy a place on each.”
“But half of them have already started.”
“I don’t mind. If you give me the itineraries, I’ll catch up.”
“They’re full.”
He heard the suspicion in her voice and blurted, “I’ll pay double.”
The woman gave a heavy sigh. “And you’re going to spend the day trekking all over London, checking out each tour to find Ash.”
Tacit confirmation she did work for them and more important, was working for them today. “I really need to speak to her. I lost my phone so I don’t have her number.” Only half a lie.
“I don’t want to send a real life Jack the Ripper after her. She’s a lovely girl. How do I know you’re someone she wants to see? I’ll tell her you called. Give me your name and number and if she wants to see you, I’m sure she’ll get in touch.”
It had to be face-to-face not on the phone, and now Noah had a clue as to which tour.
“No, it’s okay. You’re right. Maybe she wouldn’t want to see me. Thanks, anyway.”
The Ripper had operated in a fairly small area of Whitechapel. Noah downloaded a few pages of information on Ripper tours, grabbed his camera and went hunting.
* * * * *
Ash gathered her group of twenty tourists around her to listen to an actor read out a few Ripper letters. Using actors to reenact the murders put London Then And Nowahead of its competition. Though their tours were more expensive, they’d won several awards. Ash rarely did the night walks which, though more atmospheric, had the problem of the old photographs being more difficult to see. Plus it was scary enough in the daytime.
She discussed the validity of the letters with the group, no one asked a question she couldn’t answer and then they moved on to Commercial Street, the site of the last murder.
“At two in the morning, on the ninth of November 1888, twenty-five-year-old Mary Kelly met George Hutchinson,” Ash said.
“Only cost you sixpence,” said the actress playing Mary, decked out in the thick layers of clothing worn at that time.
“I wish I had it.” George gave her a filthy leer that always made Ash want to snigger.
“Mary met another man at the junction with Thrawl Street.” Ash walked on and stumbled to a halt as she tripped over her stomach. Noah stood in a doorway with his camera.
“Lift my skirts for sixpence?” Mary asked the actor playing Jack.
“Got a place we can go, sweetheart?” he growled.
Ash tried to get her mind back in gear. “Hmm—Hutchinson saw the pair walk into Dorset Street and enter Mary’s room in Miller’s Court. He left the area after about forty-five minutes. No one had emerged during that time. At around four in the morning there was a cry of—”
“Murder,” Mary shouted from out of sight, and a couple within the group squeaked in surprise.
“Her neighbors ignored her cry,” Ash said. Noah continued to stare at her, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. “It wasn’t until Thomas Boyer came to collect the rent at around ten forty-five that Mary was discovered lying on
her bed.” Ash passed out the photographs. “Don’t look if you’re squeamish. Don’t listen if you are either.” Noah lifted his camera and took a picture. Ash flinched.
“The surface of her stomach and thighs had been removed and the contents of her abdomen extracted. Her breasts had been cut off, her arms and face slashed.” She continued giving the gory details as the actor playing Jack quietly got into position.
Ash faced her group. “This was Jack the Ripper’s last murder, but the legend was only just beginning.”
Jack walked through the group, making a couple of women squeal. He turned and smiled, tipped his hat and then strolled off around the corner.
Ash was plied with questions on the way back to Aldgate East tube station. She glanced back and saw Noah following. As the tourists thanked her and dispersed, he came forward.
For a few moments they stood looking at each other without saying anything. Ash’s organs were busy doing some complicated dance routine while her brain fired out thoughts. He came looking for me. How the hell did he find me? He’s still interested. What should I say?
“Lift my skirts for sixpence?” she blurted.
Noah laughed. “You’re wearing pants.”
“Nine pence then. Or maybe less because it’s harder work.”
He reached out and touched her hand. “Sorry.” He sighed. “I seem to spend my life saying sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It cheapened what we did and I apologize.” He pinned her with his dark, puppy-dog gaze. “I let issues that are fucking me up interfere in something special. I wanted to make you happy. There was nothing wrong in your wanting to make me smile. I really am sorry. Give me another chance?”
Ash curled her fingers around his. “I could have stayed, tried to reason with you.”
“Don’t try to take a molecule of blame in this. It was all my fault.” Noah tugged her closer. “We have something, don’t we? Some connection? You make… I want…”
“What?”
“I want to be happy,” he whispered. “You’ve no idea how much I want it.”
Ash smiled. “That’s the first step on the road to recovery.”
“Is the second red-hot sex with a gorgeous woman?”
“No. The second is eating.”
“Then red-hot sex?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you’re very lucky.”
Except Ash thought she was the one who was lucky. Noah made her heart race and her pulse jump. Much as she wanted to help him, this time she’d found someone who could help her. He made her feel wanted, he made her feel beautiful. He made her feel she could do anything. She tried to push back the niggling worry that the higher she soared, the harder she’d fall.
Chapter Ten
They ate in an Italian restaurant in Greenwich, sitting at a table in a cramped, dark corner, their legs entwined, gazes locked on each other. This time he’d made sure she had his mobile number stored in her phone and he’d written hers on a scrap of paper. Noah hardly noticed what he ate or drank. They both knew where the evening would end, with her naked on top of him, under him, next to him. The sexual tension was thick enough to taste. His need for her grew by the moment. Literally.
He adjusted his pants under cover of the table.
“Are you working tomorrow?” he asked. Please say no.
“Yes, aren’t you?”
“No.”
Ash stared at him over her wineglass. “Is that by choice? What do you usually do?”
“Lie in bed half-awake all night.” Have a wank. “Fall asleep as I should be waking up. Get up at noon.” Have another wank. “Slump in front of the TV or computer until it’s time for bed.” And wank.
“I meant what work do you do?”
Noah bit back his smile. “That is work. You’ve no idea how hard it is to maintain that energetic schedule.” He was surprised he didn’t have repetitive strain injury.
“And you want to fit in red-hot sex with a gorgeous woman? It sounds too much for you.” She sighed dramatically, and Noah smiled.
His fingers crept across the tablecloth to rest on her hand. “I’m a freelance photographer. I work when I want to. At the moment I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
When he tried to draw back his hand, Ash kept hold of his fingers and carried on eating one-handed.
“What do you like to photograph?” she asked.
“Not weddings, fashion or babies.” Or war.
She frowned. “I asked you what you like to photograph. Maybe I should have asked what do you like to be paid to photograph.”
“I… I…” He didn’t know what to say.
Ash put down her fork. “Unusual-looking vegetables? Porn? Libraries of the United Kingdom? Porn involving unusual-looking vegetables in libraries of the United Kingdom?”
Noah almost choked on his wine. “Not recently.”
“Damn.” Ash pouted.
“Don’t look so disappointed.”
“I have this thing about unusual-looking vegetables. Not porn of course.”
He laughed. He knew what she was doing, circling the elephant, poking it, trying to get him to open up to her. He didn’t have to tell her everything, but he wanted to tell her something.
“Until seven months ago, I was a war photographer. I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“Why did you want to do it in the first place?” she asked.
“Because I thought I could make a difference. I thought I could make people think about war, show them the cost, the damage to lives, to people’s worlds.”
And instead, he’d added to the cost, damaged lives and destroyed worlds. The lump in his throat made it impossible to swallow, almost impossible to speak.
Ash gripped his hand tighter. “That sounds very noble. But not easy.”
“No, not easy. People don’t understand why we’re in Afghanistan. The TV reports the death of yet another soldier and people don’t even know whether what we’re doing is right or wrong, whether we’re making any fucking difference. I hoped to put a human face to the abstract and make people aware of what a tough job our soldiers have, what a shit life many of the Afghani people have. I wanted to be their witness.”
Noah closed his eyes. And he had been their witness for a while. His photos had been used by The Times and The Independent among others. They’d bought pictures from the charity Noah worked for. All Our Heroeshad used his work to gain support and patronage. His photos were all over their brochures. He’d done the job he’d been paid for. They’d been grateful, and Noah wished he’d never fucking heard of them. He clenched his fists.
“What went wrong?” Ash tugged at his fingers.
His eyes flashed open. Don’t blurt it all out. “We were ambushed in Helmand province by a radical faction called the Behnam. They’re a band of convicts from an Afghan prison, freed after the jail was hit by a bomb. The guys with me were outgunned and we were captured, taken to one of the Behnam camps. There was a…there was a r-rescue attempt and one guy died, the other was badly injured and I…I wished to fuck I’d never gone.” Noah could feel his control slipping. “If I hadn’t gone, one man would still be alive, the other wouldn’t have been so badly injured. It’s my f-fault and I have to live with that. I have to live with that. I have to live—”
“Stop it,” Ash said gently, and put her finger on his mouth.
Noah pressed his lips together. Keep it together. Don’t freak her out. Don’t fuck this up. He took a deep breath.
“Yes, you’re right,” Ash said. “You do have to live with that, but don’t say it’s your fault. If you hadn’t gone, someone else would have. Maybe more guys would have died and the photographer too. Shit happens. Some people get all the luck. Others get none. That’s just the way things are. But if you let this ruin your life, that’s an insult to the guy who died trying to save you and an insult to the one who was injured.”
But you don’t know it all and I can’t tell you. If I do, you won’t sleep with me and I want you to hol
d me. I want to forget.
“Have you been to see the soldier who was injured?” she asked.
Guilt surged back and the ache in his chest increased. “Once, when Dave was in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham. He…he lost both his legs.” He was unconscious. Noah couldn’t have faced him otherwise. Dave’s family had thanked him, and Noah had rushed out and thrown up in the bathroom.
She paled. “That’s very sad.”
“And all I have are a couple of scars.” Noah signaled for the check.
“And post-traumatic stress disorder.” Ash whispered.
He should have known she’d guess. “Maybe I’m just a fucking wimp who’s scared of fireworks.”
Ash leaned across and kissed him. “I can’t believe I found someone who’s more fucked up than me.”
Noah gaped at her and then laughed.
Ash tried to take the check, but Noah grabbed it and put cash on the table. He shouldered his backpack, waited until Ash picked up her bag and then pulled her outside.
“Explain,” he said.
She shook her head. “Not now. One day, but not now.”
“I’ve just opened my heart to you and you won’t do the same?” Anger simmered inside his chest.
“But you haven’t opened your heart,” she whispered.
The gasp burst from his lips. How did she know? Everything Noah had just eaten threatened to make an exit. He could feel the telltale signs of one of his episodes. His heart pounded, his breathing quickened, but when he’d have let her hand go, she held it tighter. When his feet couldn’t move, she stepped in front of him and pressed her lips to his. Her hand slid to the back of his head and pulled him close, and Noah felt his body climb down, his anxiety creeping away like a sullen drunk.
By the time Ash lifted her mouth from his, his brain had stopped working. Probably because all the blood in his body had gone looking for fun in his cock. Thank fuck for long jackets. They still held hands, and Noah looked down, watching the way her thumb stroked his wrist, imagining his hands on her breasts.
“We need to move,” she whispered.
He let Ash tug him down the road, leading him like a boy who’d gotten lost.
“Did you know the bumblebee bat is the world’s smallest mammal?” she asked. “Not much bigger than the insect it’s named for and it weighs less than a penny. Whereas the giant flying fox fruit bat of Indonesia has a wingspan of more than six feet. Wouldn’t want to meet one of those on a dark night. Not unless my wings were bigger.”
An Ordinary Girl Page 11