He put his face in close to hers, so close she could feel his breath on her, musty with the faint smell of cigarettes and coffee, and she struggled to contain her sudden panic, realising with some disdain it was certainly written all over her face. Her heart thumped solidly in her chest, but she was able to meet his eyes and never let hers drop.
Now his smile was a grin, he could see her panic, and she felt sure he was enjoying it, almost getting off on it.
(seventeen years in this dump alone and then in you waltz, trying to challenge him and making out like you know what you’re doing, of course he’s gonna get his kicks with you, you set yourself up for this, Kate)
This whole act, she realised, was deliberate; he was trying to throw her off-kilter, trying and succeeding, enjoying toying with her like a cat with a cornered mouse.
“You’re scared of me,” he said, though hoping somewhere deep inside, it wasn’t true. He knew he had gone too far. Being so close to a woman for the first time in nearly twenty years, feeling her breath on his, her natural female scent fuzzed his brain and overwhelmed his senses.
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No I’m not...” she said, convincing neither him nor herself.
“Yeah you are. I saw you flinch, like a rabbit caught in headlights. Your heart’s going ninety to the dozen; I can practically feel its vibrations through the floor. Your breathing’s changed; it’s faster, more obvious. Your lips have gone dry and you’ve gone well…kinda pale…” he frowned, as though concerned but his expression was of someone mocking, making her angry and frightened at the same time. Who did he think he was to look at her as though she were a frightened child?
“It’s okay,” he appeased, “Most people are, I’m a convicted murderer. Don’t feel bad, plenty to be scared of here, and if you aint you should be. I’m well known for my temper. I stabbed a man over thirty times; I used to beat people up for a living. These days I beat people up for the fun of it or just to make a point. You should be afraid of me, Mrs Marshall…”
(please don’t be)
“…but the trouble is…how do you expect us to speak openly and honestly…if you’re scared of me? How are you gonna ask the questions you really want answers to?”
(step up here, show me what you’re made of, you’re gonna need to be made of stronger stuff)
“I told you…I’m not scared.” She said, now with almost no resolve left at all.
“Well you’re either scared of me…or you fancy me. Which is it then?” He cocked his head to the right just a little in a way she found unbelievably sexy in spite of herself, and the corner of his mouth curled up just a little, in an amused, almost mocking smirk. “Do I turn your stomach, or do I turn you on?”
That threw her, taking the fear from her eyes, replacing it with a look of confusion – she didn’t know how to answer he realised.
“Look, I-” she started, with no idea what the other words were going to be.
He raised a hand, inevitably bringing the other one, tethered to it by little more than four inches of chain up with it, and tucked her hair behind her ear. His fingers touched her cheek for just a split second, sending a jolt of electricity through her body, and she flinched again, couldn’t help it.
(God damn it, Kate)
He winked. “I won’t make you answer that, it’s written all over your face. And I’m flattered, I really am. You don’t want to be attracted to me, but you are. You want to be repulsed, but there’s a part of you wondering what it would be like to kiss me, a part of you that craves a bad boy like me, a part that would like me to just…” he moved in closer still, his lips a matter of millimetres from hers. His eyes darted up to hers, and in that split second of time all she could think was
(kiss me!)
“I wonder what he tastes like…?” he murmured, pretending to echo her thoughts, “I wonder if he’s a good kisser…” he pursed his lips together, narrowing his eyes and let out an ‘mmm…’ that to Kate resonated like a cat purring, the sound seductive and maddeningly arousing and simultaneously chilling. “I wonder if his lips are warm…moist…or as cold as his heart, dead as his soul…”
His voice was now a whisper, and her legs had gone to jelly, barely holding her up, as wholly against her will he tapped into something primal with a skill she had never known in any man, lighting a fire inside her.
She closed her eyes, readying herself for the touch of his mouth on hers, ready to let him do it, let him kiss her, and to hell with anything else.
(God damn she actually wants me to do it)
He contemplated doing it, just slamming his mouth onto hers, imagined the feeling as their lips locked, unleashing seventeen years of repressed emotion and yes, sexual frustration. The repercussions would be monumental; but he was sure, wholly worth it.
At the last moment a picture of Natalie’s face flashed before his eyes, stopping him in his tracks, something he would later be so grateful for. He had come shockingly close to losing control, and throwing away something that would come to be so, so important to him.
He watched her closely, and couldn’t help but smile. She was waiting for him to kiss her, actually readying herself for his lips on hers.
She opened her eyes and realised he had leaned back a little just watching her, grinning again. She frowned, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing, what he thought he was achieving
(he thinks he is getting under your skin, that’s what he wants and guess what, it’s working…he might as well have read your damn mind)
“You’re an arsehole!” she spat angrily, embarrassed by her behaviour and not appreciating being made fun of.
He seemed to think about that and nodded, conceding. “It’s been said many times, can’t really argue.”
With that she slapped him, with a force that surprised him. She was not the timid little mouse she came across as, her fighting spirit was here at last, and the worst thing to him was he was turned on by it. Utterly and completely horny, with a boner that just wouldn’t shift no matter how much he tried to suppress it, no matter how much he tried to think unsexy thoughts. He was getting off on fighting her for control of this situation, getting high on her smell, the challenge she presented and her obvious anger at him. It was all so familiar.
“Ouch…” he muttered, and then carried on as though nothing had happened. “You’ve got pretty eyes you know,” he said, not really thinking about what he was saying, ignoring the look of disgust on her face, “green eyes, they’re rare. Nice though. They remind me of…” he stopped short of saying her name, it would have been the first time he had said it aloud in a very, very long time, and would have been so wrong in this context, while he was flirting with another woman.
“Who?” she asked, flustered, losing track of the conversation and trying to regain her equilibrium. Her palm stung furiously and she could not believe she had hit him. She had never slapped anyone in her life. “They remind you of who?”
He moved back a bit, finally seeming perturbed to her, as though he had said more than he meant to. He shook his head. “No one…”
“Your wife..?”
He raised both eyebrows this time and looked at her, impressed. “See, I didn’t think you’d have the guts to say that.”
“Maybe you’ve underestimated me,” she said, doubting that he had.
He nodded, thinking that was a very real possibility. “Maybe I have Kate. Maybe there’s more to you than I’m giving you credit for. Maybe you could handle this after all. You’d need to be a lot more open minded though. You think you know it all already, but you’re wrong.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like you…”
He rolled his eyes in return and smiled again. “Oh come on…sure you do. You don’t want to, but you do…”
“Why would I like you? You’re a rude, arrogant murderer who doesn’t care one bit that your wife is dead and it’s your fault, you did it!”
“I never said I didn’t care,” he countered and she
frowned again.
“It doesn’t seem like you do. You almost look…proud.”
He scoffed. “One thing I am not, Kate Marshall, is proud. In fact-”
The door opened and the guard from before stuck his head round the door. “Danny, sit.”
He rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath. Damn this stupid, egotistical idiot and his lousy attempts at authority. “I aint a Labrador, shall I roll over too?”
Kate almost smiled, but held it in. Danny noticed, but pretended not to.
McDonald obviously didn’t share the joke. “Sit down, Danny. No second chance, you disobey me again, and you’re down the block. And you know you don’t wanna go back there.”
“Actually I like the peace and quiet.” He replied sarcastically.
“Would you like it if we woke ya every morning at four to mop all the floors on A-wing and clean out the toilets? You seem to be forgetting what I said about manners. Get out of her face, get your backside in the seat and stay in the damn seat or I promise you will regret it. Do not test me, Edwards. Are you okay, Miss Marshall?”
She swallowed, composing herself. “Um…yeah…”
“Sit Danny, there’s a good boy. Now.”
Danny put on a fake serious face and nodded. “Yes sir, boss. Whatever you say, boss.”
He left again and Danny sat down. He gestured for her to sit on the other seat.
“You heard him, best sit down. I don’t want another beating like the one I got last week.” He winked. “I’m kidding; take a look at him, and a look at me. Like to see him try. He has the upper hand in a lot of ways but physically aint one of them, hence the smart mouth. It’s all he’s got to make himself look good. Sad really. Have a seat.” She hesitated and he gestured to the seat again. “Come on; don’t pretend you don’t want to. We both know you do.”
She groaned and sat down, lighting herself a cigarette, never feeling the need for a smoke more in her life. She offered him one and he took it and put it behind his ear.
“Cheers darling. So where were we? Ah yes, you hate me. Get in line, Mrs Marshall that’s nothing new to me. I’m an arsehole. You’re not the first to call me that. I’m rude. Yes I am, but I prefer the term blunt. Arrogant?” he pretended to mull that over, “Mmm yeah, okay I’ll give you that one. Though again I prefer…self-assured. I know who and what I am and I have made my peace with it. I am what I am and I aint likely to change, I am too damn old and too damn tired. And yes, I’m a murderer, who does care but doesn’t show half of what goes on in here-” he tapped his chest, next to his heart, “-or in here-” a tap to his left temple, “-on here…” He gestured to his face and his blank expression. “But you know, if I repulse you so much…there’s the door, you don’t have to stay. You didn’t even have to come in the first place, I didn’t invite you.”
“You know…I was surprised you even agreed to see me. I understand you’ve had no visitors.”
He shook his head, pleased she had side-stepped all that, and secretly glad that for now she seemed to have decided to stick it out with him.
“Nope, I haven’t, not in all these years. Most of my mates were mates with Nat too, so her death didn’t exactly make me Mr Popular. When something like this happens you find out who your mates are. And it turns out I got none. Fuckers. As for Ma…well, would you want your mother coming into this shithole?”
“Suppose not…” She conceded.
“She writes regular, though. Or she did, until she got the message. I cut all links quickly, thought it best.”
(a decision I have regretted every day since)
She didn’t know what to say to that so she simply nodded. “Um…I brought you two hundred ciggies in. They said you’d get ‘em when you go back to your cell. Or so many each day, or something like that.”
“Are you trying to bribe me, Kate Marshall?”
“No, they’re a thank you, for agreeing to see me. Why did you?’
He shrugged. “I dunno. I said no to start with, and then…something inside me told me to say yes, I don’t know why. I suppose…curiosity. Does your husband know you’re here?”
She almost asked how he knew she was married, then she realised he was looking at her wedding ring, still on her finger for the one simple reason that it was a beautiful ring.
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Why, because he’d disapprove?”
“No. Although he would disapprove,” she smirked, “but no, he doesn’t know because at this precise moment in time he’s living in New York with his other woman, has been for…ooh…four years now.”
“Oh…apologies,” he said and she couldn’t tell if he meant it or was just saying it for the sake of saying something. He was a complicated man alright, and he gave nothing away on his face, just continued to watch her as though she were an insect in a glass box.
He didn’t mean it, not one bit. The absence of a husband made all this so much easier for him.
“No big deal, the marriage was over anyway. It’s just me and my daughter now.”
“You have a daughter?”
“Yeah, her name is Holly. I was always the stay at home mum, while my husband had the career. Now he’s gone and Holly is getting older…I thought it was time I did something for me. Criminal psychology seemed to appeal, I’m not sure why. It’s a bit more interesting than cookery, or basket weaving. It fascinates me.”
“You realise it’s a slightly morbid fascination, don’t you?”
“‘Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Does your daughter know you’re here, in a high security prison, visiting a dangerous, volatile inmate such as myself? Category A is for the worst offenders, you know. A-wing is the toilet of the prison, housing the lowest of the low. Murderers, rapists, child molesters - that sort of thing, you know? It’s the highest level of security, saved for high risk offenders, those who are the most danger to the public, should they escape. I’m here purely on the basis of the length of my sentence, and that I was convicted of two murders. I guess you saw the level of security when you came in. It was the same for me, with a few delightful extras. I doubt you’ve told anyone you’re here, right?”
“No, my daughter doesn’t know I’m here. You’re right, no one does.”
He smiled knowingly, and took the cigarette from behind his ear. She lit it for him, and he took a long drag.
“Very wise, no doubt you’d have been warned off. Bet you’re a great mum. You have that look about you. That look of a woman who was just born to be someone’s mum. Nat was a good mum, or would have been given the chance. She weren’t a natural by any stretch of the imagination, but she wanted to love her, and she did her best.”
There was an awkward silence, which she desperately wanted to fill with something, but it was clear he had something important to say, and she wanted him to come out and say it.
It had suddenly occurred to him that if she had been reading about him, she might have the answer to a question that had tortured him for seventeen years. The only question was, did he want to ask her and show a little vulnerability?
Eventually he came to a decision and nodded to himself.
“Um…listen. I don’t know a thing about the outside world, but since you’ve been doing all this research on me…I don’t suppose you know what happened to Emma, my – Natalie’s - daughter, do you?”
Kate smiled knowingly
(so he does have a weakness then, that’s good to know)
and nodded. “She was adopted as a baby. She wasn’t in care at all, fostered and then adopted. I’m sure she’s just fine.”
He nodded, relieved and unable to hide it, and for a fleeting second she saw something else in him, something other than arrogance and attitude – she saw love pure and simple. It was a revelation. So he was not the monster he claimed to be after all, but an actor playing a part, covering up something that ran far deeper than the façade he put on for show.
“Good, that’s good. I often wonder what she’s like now, she was a
beautiful baby.”
“You must miss her.”
For one horrible instant he thought he might burst into tears, but he sucked it back in. The momentary drop in his guard was not lost on her however, he saw in her eyes she knew how close he had got.
“Yeah well, I hardly knew her, did I? She was just a few weeks old when I…you know. She wasn’t mine to miss…” he stood up, deciding to leave it there, “time’s up, Kate Marshall.”
She stood up too. “Are you going to help me?”
“You sure you wanna come back?” He asked, surprised and yes, he realised, glad too.
She nodded and risked a small, awkward smile. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Then alright, we’ll talk. You won’t like what you hear though. Still this was worth it, for a look at you. Got plenty to think about tonight now, don’t I? Pretty eyes, lovely smile, great figure, fantastic boo…” he grinned. “Boots, I was gonna say boots, honest.” He winked and she felt herself blush, ridiculously crimson, like a silly school girl.
He stopped at the door, hesitated and turned back to her.
“Listen…Kate Marshall. Apologies for before, if I made you feel uncomfortable, or frightened you. I’d say it weren’t intentional, but it was. What can I say, seventeen years I aint seen no one, especially not a…well, a woman. Um…I was…bored,” he frowned, aware of what a terrible excuse that was, “mischievous, or just being a dickhead, call it what you will. My social skills aint up to much, aint really needed ‘em these last seventeen years. Manners don’t get you far in prison. I got my defences, you know? Anyway…I was just testing the water, just kidding, didn’t mean no offence.”
It was her turn to attempt nonchalance and she shrugged. “None taken, Danny.”
“Good. I like you, Kate Marshall. You’re honest, direct. That’s good. I’ll do the same for you. I’ll see ya then.”
“Yeah, you will. Two weeks, Danny.”
Guilty Page 3