I hear the sound of the camera on his smartphone clicking, and I want to open my eyes and see what he’s done.
“Open,” he breathes, his voice low, his breathing shallow.
He’s dressed me in what I think he called ‘PPE’ the day I was in his office – a hard hat and visivest. With a tool belt hanging around my hips.
“This is your fantasy?” I ask.
He nods, “Almost.”
I nod, urging him to continue, but he just snaps another picture. I smile for the next, and blow him a kiss for the fourth, and then he steps next to me and kisses me firmly on the lips for another. He puts his phone in his pocket, links his fingers with mine and we continue down the aisle.
“You’re leaving me like this?”
“Yep, you can be the shopping basket, I’m buying it.”
“Why?”
“Once your mine, I want you in my office wearing nothing but what I just put on you.”
My step falters and I stop breathing. That’s his fantasy? It’s hot; I squirm thinking about it. And Deac is looking at me in that way again – if this place didn’t have cameras I’d have to do something about the heat coursing through me.
“I know that look.” He says, pulling my hand behind me back and stopping so I’m flush against him. He cups my face, lowers his head and presses his lips, agonisingly gently to mine.
“Boss?”
Deacon stands up straight and curses, turning around to greet whoever just spoke to him.
“Mike, I didn’t think you’d be in here on your day off.”
He talks to the man of the couple approaching us. He’s tall and dark and it’s obvious he’s earned his body from manual labour. The woman is a small redhead, overdressed for a walk around this warehouse; she’s wearing tight jeans and a cleavage-revealing pastel blouse. Her spiky leather knee-highs are hot, but they’ll go to waste in here.
“We’re shopping for a new kitchen.” Mike rolls his eyes and looks at me, “Who’s this?”
“Sorry, this is Jenna. Jen, this is Mike, one of the site managers.”
“You’re Jenna?” Mike sounds shocked, how many people has Deacon told about me?
“I was last time I checked,” I smile and shake his outstretched hand, “nice to meet you.”
“You’re engaged!” Mike’s wife shrieks, “Deacon, why didn’t you say something!”
Oh shit. I let go of Mike’s hand and hold both hands behind my back, looking to Deac to take control of the situation.
“Uh,” he stutters, “yeah.”
What?
“Congratulations!” The woman hugs me, and pulls me to the side. I look to Deacon as he shrugs apologetically.
“I’m so happy for both of you. I’m Shelley.” She shakes my hand rapidly and scrutinises my ring, “You must come to dinner. Tomorrow.”
I nod, overwhelmed by this intense woman, and wonder why I’m nodding. I can't celebrate an imaginary engagement. I should have taken the ring off, but I forgot I was wearing it.
Deacon agrees with Mike that we’ll go to their house for dinner tomorrow night, ignoring the subtle shakes of my head. I know he sees me; the frustrating sexy smirk betrays him.
When we leave, Deacon has most of the materials he needs for the refurb ordered and I’ve picked out my worktops, flooring and paint.
We’ve been quiet since being bombarded by Mike and his wife, and I know Deacon knows he shouldn’t have played along with the whole engagement thing.
“You can tell them whatever you want.” I say, winding up my window as more rain falls.
“Tell who?”
“The people at the yard. Tell them you called off the engagement because I’m terrible in bed, and way too needy. Or that I cheated. Or that all I would go on about is the plastic surgery I expected you to pay for.”
“If you touch one inch of your skin with anything surgical there will be trouble.”
“I’m serious.” Why is plastic surgery the only thing he picked up on?
“So am I. I’m not telling them anything.”
“Why? I don't want you embarrassed.”
“Because at some point,” he reaches over and holds my hand, pulling it over onto his lap, “it’ll be the truth.”
Chapter 25
Deacon
Jenna is on the phone when I walk in the shop Friday morning with breakfast. I do the one thing I shouldn’t do – I stay as quiet as possible and listen to every word she says, trying to acquire bionic hearing to see who she’s talking to.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She asks, flailing her arms in the air, balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear while she reaches up to the shelf for a bag of flour, “Why can you not see there is so much wrong with what you did?”
Who the hell is she talking to? She’s quiet for a long time, and I can hear the raised voice on the other line. Jenna stops measuring out her stuff and I step back as she turns around, bending over the counter and squeezes her temples.
“Saturday, as in tomorrow Saturday? Fine. But you’ve got to stop springing stuff on me, Kip.”
She says nothing else, just listens to what the idiot has to say and then ends the call, slamming her phone on the counter.
“What’s he done?” I ask, stepping into the kitchen. I can't watch her for another second without being close to her. Crazy, fucked-up, incredible woman.
She jumps and turns around with her hand on her chest. I smile and look at where her hand is settled, over the plump cleavage exposed from her vest.
“You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me. You’ll give me a heart attack.”
Without another thought, she walks around the counter and straight into my arms. I squeeze her, making the most of being in her good books, before something comes along and fucks it all up for us. Again.
“Deal.” I kiss the top of her head and slide my hands over the cheeks of her incredible behind, which currently has denim practically painted on them, “But what is it you ordered London-Boy to stop doing?”
“He has a name,” she smirks, looking up at me with the big brown eyes I’m dying to get lost in, “and it’s a long story.”
“Yeah, but saying it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” I kiss hers quickly and watch the tension leave her, “I’ve got all day, Jen.”
I let go of her and switch the kettle on, feeling her eyes follow my every move as I make us coffee. When I turn to face her, she’s sitting on the counter, with her legs dangling and has the ‘Jenna look’ in her eyes. Jenna eyes: a look no one else has, that says she wants my body, heart and soul. She has them; all we need is Kip out of the picture. I place our cups either side of her legs and settle in between them, where I’d me more than happy to spend every minute of my life.
“You remember I was upset yesterday?” She asks, stroking her hands up and down my forearms.
“I wondered when you’d tell me.”
“Kip had someone come round to the house,” she closes her eyes and sighs, “a wedding planner. He told her I wanted my hair back blonde in time to be married by Christmas.”
“What?!”
“I know,” She nods, but keeps her eyes closed. I don't know if it’s because she doesn’t want to talk about the wedding, or because she thinks I don't want to hear it. I don't, “and Miss April Matthews basically said I won't fit into a wedding dress.”
“What?”
“Even if I was a bit big I’d want a tailor-made dress. She had no right to make me feel as shit as she did.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I bite, knowing I think she’s stunning, but not being able to articulate it, “who came to your house?”
“A wedding planner. I think Kip sent her from London.” She frowns when I stare at her, waiting for her to hear the name I’m hoping didn’t come from her mouth, “April. Matthews.”
“Fuck.”
I can’t get further away from her then; April is something that will mess everything up, and things couldn’t be be
tter. Apart from the whole fiancée thing, but she’ll be begging for a quick wedding in a minute.
“What?” She frowns as I scrape my hands through my hair and lean against the counter opposite her.
“Don’t let her in your house again. Or plan your wedding. I don’t want you having anything to do with her.”
“What are you talking about? How do you know a London wedding planner?”
“She’s from Ashton.”
“She’s a-”
“Don’t say it.”
There’s that look she gives me every time we have to talk about one of the ‘trait girls’. It’s a look that wonders if bumping into exes will ever end. Technically they’re not exes, but it’s an argument I won’t win with her.
“I told you there were three.”
“I know.” She says, her eyes wide, “I remember her from the pub now. How many more are there?”
“April is the third.”
“Before that.” I shrug, “It doesn’t even matter.”
“What?” I snap my head back from where I was inspecting every crumb on the floor and waiting for a battle.
“It doesn’t matter,” she slides off the counter, walks towards me and reaches into her bag for her purse. I curiously look down and notice how empty her purse is; apart from a few coins and a business card she pulls out, “she’s in the past. What excuse did you tell Mike and his wife for why we can’t go tonight?”
“Uh...”
~
I watch out of the kitchen window like a nervous boy on prom night as the little red car pulls up on the drive and the firecracker that is Jenna steps out of it. She notices me watching and waves at me. I want to wave back, but it’s taking my new found sensitivity and connection with my emotions too far. So I settle for leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, waiting for her to come in. She swings the door open and I love that she looks for me straight away. She’s wearing the jeans she had on earlier and my surf club jumper and, yet again, she couldn't look hotter, or cuter, or more beautiful.
“Hey,” She smiles, walking through the living room like she lives here. I love that too.
“You can't go for dinner dressed like that.”
“And you can't go like that.” she nods towards my lack of clothes. I’d been working out in the garden until I realised she would be here any minute. Instead of using those long minutes to get dressed, I stood by the window.
“Touche.” She ambles over to me, and kisses me. It’s unexpected, passionate and it catches me off guard, “Have a bath with me.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
She smiles and exits the kitchen, leaving a trail of clothes leading up the stairs and to the bathroom.
“Nothing smells better than you and bubble bath.” Jenna says, playing with the bubbles on top of the bath and looking up at me.
She’s sitting in front of me, between my legs and lying back on my chest; I’m glad I put in a bath big enough for both of us.
“I can think of something better.” She raises her eyebrows for me to continue and I lean down and kiss her on the nose, “You and bubble bath.”
I slide my hands up her legs, wet and slick from the bath oil. She takes hold of my wrists and wraps my arms around her stomach.
“No sex,” she says winking at me, linking her fingers with mine.
“Why?”
“I think if we can get through this dinner as a normal-fake couple without thinking about having sex a few hours before, we’ll get through anything. Besides,” she kisses me quickly on the lips and leans forward for the soap, “think about how good it’ll be when we get home.”
She frowns, no doubt at calling my house ‘home’, but it’s something else I love.
“You’re staying?”
“I’m staying. Want me to wash you?”
Jenna looks incredible. She’s in a short skin tight black dress with a red jacket and the sexiest red heels I’ve ever seen. Images of her feet in little white plimsolls around my neck are hot; but these shoes... she’ll be leaving them on when we get back. I wait for her to get out of the truck, purely to watch her – there’s no view like the back of Jenna.
“One day.” She says, turning back around and catching my attention as I grab the handle, “I want you to fuck me in the back of this truck.”
She shuts the door and I can't move for a minute. I’m about to have dinner with an employee and his wife, while their kids are sleeping upstairs; and I’ll be thinking about all the ways I can make Jenna come apart in the bed of my pick-up.
Two can play that game. She’s waiting for me on the pavement, leaning against her door and she watches as I approach her. She steps away from the car, but I use my forearm to push her back against it. Keeping my arm on her stomach I take a fistful of her hair and pull her head to the side, exposing her neck to me. I kiss it lightly and feel the shiver run through her.
“I’ll do more than fuck you in my car,” I growl into her ear “I’ll fuck you so hard I’ll have you screaming my name, trembling from the inside out as I pound you, and coming harder than you’ve ever come in your life.”
When I hear the gasp escape her, I smile, satisfied and let go, walking a few paces in front of her as she smoothes her hair back down and hurries to catch up with me.
“Your mine, Jen,” I look down at her and take her hand as we wait at the door, “don't ever think you’re the only one who gets to fulfil fantasies.”
She swallows hard and nods, and I stroke the back of her hand softly.
“So how did you and Jenna meet?” Shelley asks, and apparently she can't cook either because she’s made beef stew. She's called it some posh French name, but I know the secret.
"Our parents are best friends. We've known each other forever." Jenna answers, taking a sip of her red wine and licking her lips.
"That's so romantic!" Shelley coos and I want to spew.
She's weird in a come-to-dinner-and-be-my-best-friend kind of way, but I'm guessing she's lonely. They've got ten kids. Or four, but they might as well have ten if they've got four. The girls seem to get on well. When we were younger, Jenna found it hard getting on with girls; she was always more comfortable with me and the boys.
All these years, I've been waiting for the girl on the beach to come back, but I don't think she's there anymore. That Jenna would never have the confidence to do what we're doing, and I don't think we were mature enough five years ago to work on a relationship that would have gone all the way. But she's talking animatedly and comfortably with Shelley, and she's turned into this goddess in the bedroom. As much as it pained me to listen to it when we were away studying together, I know she was a missionary-only kind of girl, and I never thought she could be so brazen, so comfortable in her body; she always hated that she wasn't stick-thin.
Maybe being apart was what we needed. I wish it had been on better circumstances, but I instantly think of my dad. I've never been religious or spiritual, but maybe he is somewhere, watching. Maybe he knew we wouldn't make it at the time. Maybe we both needed to go away, write a few chapters by ourselves and reunite in time to write the ending together.
"Couldn't you have got her a better ring?" Mike makes me jump and launches himself across the table to grab Jenna's hand.
"It's temporary. Until she picks out the one she wants."
"And what about the honeymoon?" Shelley asks, clearing our empty plates.
"We haven't got that far in the planning yet." Jenna looks at me, silently telling not to take it any further.
"I'm going to take her travelling," I answer, looking at Shelley and ignoring the kick in the ankle I just got from Jen, "I wanted to take her when we finished uni; we were studying in London together. But then we lost each other."
Shelley stops clearing the table mid-air and they're all staring at me, Jenna with a shocked expression on her face.
"Jenna can take her time with every other decision involving our future, but I'm taking her away for a while. I lost her once
, but I won't lose her again."
Jenna grabs my hand and when I turn to look at her she kisses me. I hold her face in my hands. It's a quick kiss, but for those few seconds her lips are on mine we're not in Mike's house, we're on our own, in our own world of confusion and ecstasy that works for us. Her kiss tells me she understands. Going travelling was always my plan, but it always involved Jenna; I should have told her that night on the beach when she asked, but I wanted to wait until we were free from studying and could be together as adults.
"God, you two are so in love." Shelley says hugging Jenna, "Jenna, I applaud you. We've been waiting for a girl to keep Mr. Reid's attention. You've got him wrapped around your little finger."
"And he has me." Jenna answers and holds my hand under the table. I know she hopes as much as I do that dessert is something we can eat one handed.
I don't know what we have for dessert; Jenna moves her hand away from mine and settles it on the inside of my thigh, running one finger up and down in a rhythm that finds me in the lounge drinking filter coffee, and I don't remember what I ate, what we spoke about, or how I got to the sofa, with Jenna so close to me I can smell her flowery vanilla perfume and the bath oil from earlier. She's holding my hand and talking to Shelley about her kids. Mike isn't in the room but I snap back to reality in time to see him walking in with two glasses of whiskey.
"I can't," I decline the drink, "I've got to drive home."
"One won't hurt."
I shake my head and raise my hand to decline the drink again. My dad was stone cold sober and couldn't react in time to control his car as it skidded on some black ice, propelled over a bank and crashed into a tree. There's no way any strong alcohol will go into my body if I have to drive, especially with Jenna in the car.
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