Thrive

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “There’s no point having the chicken and the egg argument,” he uttered, not looking at me, but lifting his hand to rest it on my leg.

  It was some comfort and I took it, confused by his response.

  “What does that mean?”

  He sighed, his fingers flexing against my leg. The butterflies moved into my stomach, a frenzy of uncertainty.

  “What comes first? The chicken or the egg? The drink or the bigamy?” he dragged his other hand through his hair, settling it on the back of his neck. “He was married to Lois before you were born.”

  “Lois?” I asked, stumped. “Your aunt’s name is Lois?”

  He nodded, offering no words.

  “Curtis,” I sat up, my body suddenly alert with a fraction of fight. “He has another wife.”

  He dropped his head and covered his face with his hands.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head, one leg bobbing up and down as he kept whatever emotion that was fighting to burst out contained.

  “Who is she?” he asked, his voice muffled and full of hurt. Then he shot to his feet before I could answer and turned his back on me.

  He moved to his bag in the corner and rummaged through it, tossing a pair of sweats and new t-shirt on the bed. I watched him cross the room, the tension that had marginally eased last night returning in full force. He entered the bathroom and moments later I heard the shower running. He returned to the bedroom, still refusing to look at me and rested his hand on the door handle.

  “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Take a shower.”

  I sat up and climbed warily out of bed. “Will you join me?”

  I waited as he bowed his head and banged it on the door. I was naked, embarrassed, but willing him to look at my body, to find the connection we’d once had that had disappeared over the years and been replaced by a strange chemistry that was neither passionate nor extinguished. It was dangerously electric. I lifted my hands to my hips, knowing it had always had an effect on him, but he refused to look at me.

  “No.”

  He opened the door, left the room and took the warmth with him, leaving me with nothing but the humiliation and rejection I should have expected from him.

  I stepped into the shower, the water burning my sensitive skin as it pounded against the marks left after last night. There were small thumbprints on my hips from where Curtis had squeezed me and pulled my body onto his, reaching depths that made me come around him and beg for more. As I squeezed shower gel onto my hands and lathered it over my body, the Curtis-scented steam enveloped me and the warmth returned. The wild heat that left me feeling empty without his touch. Last night I wanted angry, to release my frustration without thinking, and I got it. I could think of nothing else with Curtis dominating every one of my senses. Today I wanted gentle, loving, healing. I felt raw, like every amount of pain I’d ever felt was on display for all to see. I wanted to be taken care of. I wanted to be told everything would be okay. I wanted to be told I was brave, that I could do this – whatever this was. I knew I wouldn’t get it from Curtis. He had me shut out, and I couldn’t see a way in. He was keeping me here out of duty, because he blamed himself; his own guilt told him he owed me answers. Answers he didn’t have.

  I didn’t want his pity. I didn’t want to be trapped on his guilt ride and treated like the little child who needed shielding from the truth. Screw that. I could fight my own battles, I didn’t need Curtis holding me captive, physically close, but emotionally shut off.

  Fuck that.

  I turned the water off and, once again, tried to detach myself from the situation; to shut off the feeling that I was lost, and alone and afraid. I rubbed myself dry as quickly as I could, pulled on the clothes Curtis set out for me and left the bathroom. He was still gone, out torturing himself no doubt, refusing to let in the one person who could understand his torment. I pulled on my shoes, refusing to care about how I looked, shoved my dress under my arm, located my watch under the bed and swung the hotel room door open.

  The hallway was quiet and lit only by the strip lights on the ceiling, the rest of the guests on the ground floor still sleeping. I tiptoed along the carpet towards the exit. Turning the corner, nearing the reception where I could make my escape, I collided with a wall of concrete. The chest of Curtis. I stumbled back and felt my cheeks flush because I’d been caught.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, and I looked up to see him carrying a cup holder and paper bag from Starbucks.

  “You left,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “So I left.”

  “I went to get you coffee and breakfast.” His voice was softer, his face still passive, but there was a renewed energy in his eyes.

  “Thanks, but I have to go.”

  “Skye, don’t start this again.”

  “Why?” I took a step away from him. “Because you can't fuck me into silence in a hallway?”

  “I’ll fuck you wherever the hell I want.”

  Another step back. “You can't speak to me like that.”

  He sighed. His fingers twitched against the bag and I felt a smile ghost the corner of my mouth – he wanted to tug on his hair and he couldn’t. He knew he’d crossed a line and I finally saw some emotion on his face. Worry. I wouldn’t tell him that my mouth said one thing, but inside, sparks flew.

  “Go back to the room.”

  “Fine.” I huffed, turning back in the direction I came from. “But only because I want coffee and food.”

  Curtis followed closely behind me; I could hear his heavy footsteps and feel the relief emanating from him.

  “Were you really going to run away dressed like that?” he asked, an easy humour in his voice. It relaxed me.

  “I don’t do humour until there’s coffee in my veins.”

  He chuckled quietly and we stopped at the door of his room. He cleared his throat which caught my attention and I turned to look at him. His eyebrows rose and an expectant look, glowing with playfulness, moved in.

  “What?”

  “Key.” A crooked smile flashed my way. He was sexy when he was playful. “Pocket.”

  I swallowed hard and squeezed my hands together before reaching for the cup holder. He raised both his hands above his head, our breakfast out of my reach.

  “It’s okay.” He winked. “The serpent is sleeping.”

  I snorted a laugh and shook my head, “I guess he’s worn out after last night.”

  I dropped my gaze, recognising a new, more desperate ache between my legs joining the reminder of last night.

  “He’s well trained,” Curtis said and I smiled at his response. I couldn’t help it. Our eyes locked and that connection I thought was no more crackled between us. “The coffee is getting cold.”

  I stepped forward and slipped my hand into the pocket of his pants. I grabbed the keys, the backs of my fingers catching him unexpectedly. Even soft, he was impressive, virile, designed to please women, and my heart skipped a beat. My body ached for him as I withdrew my hand from his pocket and jingled the keys between us.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask how it’s hanging.”

  He laughed, a throaty laugh that had my toes curling in my sandals. I smiled as I inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. I felt Curtis’ eyes burning into me as we stepped into the room and he kicked the door shut behind us.

  “Take your shoes off,” he ordered, setting our breakfast on the dresser.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want you breaking an ankle.”

  A protective edge laced his voice and I knew something so simple, something he had no control over, had stolen his thoughts. I had to keep the mood light.

  “I’m a woman. Surviving these things is wired into our genes.”

  I knew he wanted to smile. I couldn’t see if he did, but I was hopeful.

  “Just take them off.” He tore sugar sachets open with his teeth and poured them into our coffees. “Take them off and sit on the bed,”

 
; I did as he asked, slipping out of my heels and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Curtis was stirring a coffee with a little wooden stick when there was knock on the door. I gasped and my skin prickled. Who knew we were here? Why did I feel like we were on the run? Curtis crossed the room fluidly and opened the door. He accepted a large brown paper bag from the member of hotel staff on the other side. A little early to have them running errands, was it not? He shut the door, placed the bag next to me and collected up our coffee and breakfast. He stopped at the foot of the bed and frowned when he looked at my legs.

  “You sit on your butt and fold one leg under the other.” I grinned.

  “It looks unnatural.” He winced and tried not to smile, but it broke through and darted across his lips. It was a stunning smile, and one I hadn’t seen enough of.

  He handed me our coffees and laid across the bed, his head propped up on one end and his long, muscular legs dangled over the other. He swapped the paper bag for his coffee and I set our breakfast out; toast, butter and two little glass jars of strawberry jam.

  “I knew they’d do that.” He threw the jars across the room and reached into his pocket to replace them with two sachets of Nutella.

  “You don’t like-?” I halted, remembering the story he told me all those years ago. He was thinking of his parents, his mother. That tiny act of disregard told me part of what haunted him.

  “No,” he answered my unfinished question and began buttering toast with a little plastic knife.

  “I thought we only had fifteen minutes?” I swiped a slice of buttery, hazelnut and chocolatey toast and sunk my teeth into it.

  My stomach growled in satisfaction and a similar sound hummed in my throat. I was starving.

  “It’s still early…we have some time.”

  He bit into his slice, making the same sound of reunion between food, mouth and stomach as I had.

  I leaned over and reached towards him, wiping my thumb over his lips to catch the crumbs and popping it into my mouth. Curtis groaned again, but not because of the food.

  “Look in the bag,” he said by means of distraction and took a mouthful of his coffee.

  The mix of scents – Curtis, coffee and Nutella – made the warmth in my blood return. My senses were jacked. So jacked. I still had no idea what was going on; I wanted him, but I didn’t want to. I needed him and I didn’t know why.

  I brushed my hands clean and reached into the bag, pulling out a pair of dark jeans and a crisp white t-shirt. A grey jacket came out next, along with a pair of ballet pumps of the same shade, and underwear; a pair of French shorts and a bra, in silver-grey.

  “Curtis-”

  “I didn’t look. I told my secretary your sizes and she arranged it.”

  “At five thirty in the morning?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “I live in the city, Skye. Anything and everything can be arranged by picking up a phone.”

  “And you sent your secretary on a dawn mission to dress me?”

  “No. I text her while you were sleeping last night. What’s with the attitude? You can't go to the hotel dressed like that.” He took a mouthful of coffee. “You needed clothes, I arranged them.”

  Why did he not understand having his secretary order clothes from the city on a Saturday night and have them delivered to Hampshire, seven hours later, was a big deal? He shrugged it off and continued eating.

  I really had no idea who Curtis was any more, and I daren’t ask how he got coffee from Starbucks so early in the morning.

  “There’s a place across the road. Open twenty-four hours…for lorry drivers, I guess,” he mumbled, answering my unasked question without even looking at me.

  “Why are we going to the hotel?”

  “To get your stuff and check you out. Eat up.”

  I took a sip of coffee and my eyes rolled back as the warm morning juice slid down my throat. It was exactly how I liked it. I took another eager sip, and another. God, it was good, and brought a sense of vitality with it.

  “What are we doing after we’re checked out?”

  I didn’t tell him that my caffeine-stimulated mind had conjured up an escape plan. I didn’t want to leave him, but I had a feeling my sanity was riding on this and for the sake of saving it, I had to get away.

  Curtis lifted his cup to his mouth and peered at me as he drank it. He knew.

  He lowered the cup and licked his full lips.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Four

  I should have let her go – we all know that – but I couldn’t. I’d spent my entire life searching for Skye and now that she was in my grasp, I was keeping her there. Was she in trouble? Yes. We both were. But we couldn’t be separated now; I wouldn’t allow it.

  And her body…God, her body was made for me. There was nothing I wanted more than to lose myself in her until the rest of the world faded into the distance. Screwed up uncle/fathers, messed up criminal girlfriends, secrets we couldn’t even anticipate the impact of; families torn apart that were about to be reduced to scraps of people with nothing but the same last name…and yet all that mattered was her. Us. Being together and keeping each other safe.

  It was on the tip of my tongue every time she asked a question that would reveal everything if I answered it, to just tie her down, make her listen and reel off every bad thing I’d ever done, to drag her into the darkness with me so I wouldn’t have to be paranoid anymore.

  Still think I’m the hero? Still think I’m worth saving?

  I bet you’re not so sure now.

  ~Curtis~

  The car crunched over the gravel as Curtis pulled up and parked the car. The ride here had been quiet; I was paranoid, convinced he knew what I was thinking. He’d always had the ability to figure me out, and I guessed that hadn’t changed during our separation. He always knew what I was thinking, often before I was.

  We got out of the car and Curtis placed his hand on the bottom of my back as we walked towards the entrance of the hotel. We stopped at the desk in reception and were greeted by the receptionist.

  “Do you have a reservation?” she asked with a tight professional smile on her lips, but a Curtis-induced gleam in her eyes.

  She was checking him out, blatantly, and I tried to ignore the pang of jealousy, of possessiveness, that hit me. He looked gorgeous; I didn’t blame her for staring. In jeans the same colour as mine and a black shirt that gave him a magnetic yet untouchable edge, he looked completely irresistible. The ink on his arms was showcased by rolled up sleeves; a shimmering silver watch and hand-tousled hair added to the look – he was a dark, powerfully seductive god.

  “No,” he replied, earning a sway from the receptionist. “We have two separate rooms and we need to collect our things and check out.”

  “Okay, go ahead and clear your rooms, and we’ll check you out when you’re done.”

  Curtis nodded, thanked her for her assistance – no doubt initiating thoughts in the pretty brunette’s head of other ways she could assist him, and he steered me towards the lifts. A car arrived almost immediately and we stepped inside.

  “Wouldn’t it be quicker if I went and got my things while you get yours?” I asked, sensing my chance slipping away from me.

  “No.” His fingers flexed against my back. It sent a spark rippling up my spine and resulted in a sigh escaping my lips. “I’m not risking it.”

  “Risking what?” My voice was shaky, unable to conceal the fear that I’d been caught.

  “Phil.”

  One word. One name. The reminder of why we were here, in this situation, and why I had to get out.

  We stepped out of the lift and crossed the hallway to Curtis’ suite. He swiped the keycard in the lock and we entered the room. I kept my back to the closed door and tried to hatch a plan while I watched Curtis gather up his few belongings and shove them into a bag already set out on the bed.

  ***

  I moved around the room, hyperaware of Curtis’ eyes on me as I collected
up my clothes and folded them up before placing them in my suitcase slowly, to buy me some time.

  “Where is everyone?” He asked, scanning the lodge.

  “Beth arranged a day of clay pigeon shooting before she and Jack leave for their honeymoon.” I closed the case and pinched the zip. “Can you go into the living area and grab my jacket, please?”

  He backed out of the room with a nod. “What does it look like?”

  “Black leather. It’s on the stand in the corner by the TV.”

  He turned on his heels and when I heard his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, I made a run for it. I grabbed my bunny from under my pillow, slung my bag over my shoulder and pulled my case behind me as I ran from the room. I threw myself out the front door, dragging my case along the lawn and ran as fast as I could.

  A strong arm snaked around my waist as I made it to the threshold of the garden, and pulled me to an abrupt stop. I hadn’t heard him chasing after me, but I felt Curtis’ warm breath against my neck as he pulled my body roughly back into his and spoke gruffly in my ear.

  “Why are you running, Skye?”

  His other arm reached out in front of me and he dropped my jacket to the floor by my feet. His arm closed around me, caging me in. I felt my pulse racing, but the roaring in my ears, of fear and arousal, couldn’t block out his voice.

  “I’m trying really hard to be gentle with you.” He spoke softly, but his chest was tense, rising and falling heavily against my back; his face was set like stone, his teeth grazing my ear. “Why are you running away, Skillet?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I growled. “I don’t want to stay with you. You can't hold me against my will.”