by JF Holland
“Who’s Moby?” Leonard asked, confused, thinking it was a weird name for her father, uncle or brother, because surely this much heartbreak couldn’t be felt over just an acquaintance. She ugly cried as if her world had ended, and he felt a twinge of jealousy over her strong feelings towards another male.
“My goldfish,” Jill hiccupped.
“Excuse me?” Leonard asked, thinking he’d misheard.
“Moby was my goldfish, and he’s…” she burst into tears again and Leonard blinked.
All this over a fucking fish, seriously?
Was she mentally unstable?
Had he missed something, maybe that was the reason for the temper tantrum in the restaurant last night?
Maybe she’d not ticked a box on that dating site, sign up form?
Because, seriously, a fish was causing all this snot and tears?
He couldn’t believe she’d blown him off for a fucking fish.
He was stunned.
“I seem to be missing something here. You are heartbroken over a… fish,” He angrily stumbled over his words, incredulity in his tone.
“Moby wasn’t just a fish, he was my goldfish,” Jill hissed, snarling at him.
“My apologies. You’re heartbroken over a goldfish, seriously?” he clarified, mockingly questioning her.
“Not just any goldfish, he was mine. My best friend,” she wailed. Then glaring at him, she crawled off his lap like a scalded cat and huddled in the corner of her sofa, in a ball of misery.
Eyes closing, he leaned his head back and prayed for strength and understanding. He still had to take her on 3 more dates yet, and without sex as an incentive. He had his work cut out here because she was fucking mental, and just now he wasn’t sure gaining back Luc’s friendship was worth the torture.
“I think you should leave,” Jill whispered, around yet another sob, and one eye opening, Leonard looked to her and sighed.
Crap, she looked so lost and miserable.
Did it matter that it had only been a goldfish?
It had obviously been important to her. Sitting forward, he leaned over, elbows resting on his knees as he turned to her.
“Where is he?”
“Still in his bowl in the kitchen. I… I can’t bring myself to… bury him,” she sobbed.
Eyes closing once again, he sighed, dropped his head down and took a breath. Then lifting his head, he pushed up the sleeves of his jumper to his elbows and stood.
“Where are you going?” Jill asked him suspiciously, but with vulnerability showing in her meek tone. He couldn’t resist, he turned and dropped to the floor on his haunches before her, and placed his hands either side of her hips. She blinked at him, then wiped her eyes and blew her nose on the tissue she still held in her hand.
“I’ll bury him for you,” he told her, and she gazed at him. Her eyes were still puffy and nose still red, but instead of looking rough to him, she now just looked kind of lost, and his chest ached for her.
What was that about?
He frowned at the thought, trying to figure it out. She was a human, her lifespan just a blip, why had her feelings begun to matter to him? Like last night, he hated that he’d hurt her, even inadvertently.
“Thank you Leo,” she gave him a slight smile, her bottom lip wobbling. Then, whether he understood his feelings where she was concerned or not, he leaned in, touching his lips to hers. A mistake, they were no longer in the street or a packed restaurant. Now, they were in the privacy of her home, with a bedroom a bed, and no prying eyes. The kiss was just a light brush, but at the feel and now familiarity of her, his breath froze in his lungs. Lilac eyes held hers captive with his mouth against hers. He didn’t move, just watched her as their lips touched, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing and why he wasn’t running for the hills.
Jill flung her arms around Leonards’ neck, breaking the light caress of his mouth as she buried her face in his throat. Her cheek was still wet with tears, chilling his skin as she sighed against him. Sighing himself, he leaned against the sofa with his knees, wrapped his arms around her and held her to him again. Chin resting on her head, he let out a breath and on his next inhalation her scent swamped him, her sorrow burning his sinuses. The scent overlaid with her own natural scent of honeysuckle and clean rain. He’d noticed it about her before, she didn’t go in for expensive perfumes, he’d not liked the artificial stuff she’d worn on their first disastrous date. Being him, obviously, he’d told her, and since then she’d not worn it, for which he was grateful. But he was growing rather addictive to her own natural smell.
Confused, he pulled back, giving her a tight smile. Then pushing up, he stood, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets.
“Where would you like me to put him, for you?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“I have a wall border in the back garden, could you place him in there, please?”
“Sure, show me the way,” he told her, removing his hands from his trouser pockets, and holding one out, to help her up. He tried to ignore the feel of her soft hand in his own as he threaded his fingers with hers and walked with her through the kitchen. He’d also began to enjoy when she held his hand, the way they fit so well, their fingers entwined and palms touching. He pulled her into his side; making it so that she couldn’t see the fish bowl, which was covered on the breakfast bar in the tiny room.
Blowing out a breath, Jill slipped her hand out of Leonard’s and opened the back door. She still couldn’t face him after the whole ‘Harry met Sally’ scene in the posh restaurant, but she was glad he was here now. She led him into her small courtyard back garden, the sensor light coming on as soon as they stepped onto the flagged patio. They passed the bistro table and chairs in the corner, stopping at the thigh-high border wall she’d had added by the back wall. It was on the left-hand side of the garden. It got the sun in the afternoon and her rose bushes seemed to like it there, they bloomed continually for her in the warmer weather. She examined the wall, looking for the exact spot that she wanted Moby to be laid to rest. Her eyes once again filled with tears and crossing her arms, she rubbed to ward off the chill and comfort herself. Just as she began to wallow again in self-pity, she felt Leonard’s heat behind her. He pulled her into him, his arms going around her waist and his chin resting on the top of her head.
“Is this the spot?” he asked, nodding towards the large, peach, blooming rose bush, the flowers as big as saucers, the scent delicate and sweet.
“Yes, it’s quiet, I like to sit out here when it’s warm and eat my meals.
“Somehow, the UK and warm are not synonymous,” he told her dryly, squeezing her waist. Then pulling back, he untangled her hands from around her waist, threading the fingers of one hand through hers, he pulled her around and back into the house. “Do you have something I can use to dig, and I need to know how deep I need to go?” Clearing his throat, he shoved other ramifications of that sentence away, so not appropriate just now.
“I have a trowel in the lock up,” Jill told him, disentangling her hand from his and stopping by the small waist height, plastic shed under her back window.
“Is there anything else I’m going to need? Only burying pets isn’t something I’m used to,” he told her.
“Did you not have pets?” Jill asked, her head in the shed as she rooted for what he’d need.
“No, there was the odd cat that lived in the outbuildings and the horses, but I wouldn’t class them as pets,” he shrugged.
“Outbuildings?”
“Yes, stables, garage, workshop. That sort of thing,” he waved away her query.
“Wow, you must have lived on a big property, a farm?” she asked, head now out of the little shed with trowel in hand.
“God, no, my parents wouldn’t get their hands dirty working the land, they had help for that sort of thing. My mother liked to give direction though, she’s sit in a recliner with a martini and point to where she wanted her plants,” he grinned. “So, I suppose you could say
she’s good at delegating, and of course, she enjoys her lady’s lunches and charity events.”
“Where were you brought up?”
“Herefordshire, but they had estates in several counties, both here and abroad,” Leonard told her and Jill blinked.
“Estates?”
“Yes, my father is the 3rd-Duke of Herefordshire, some relation to the royal family, a distant cousin I think,” he waved it away and held out a hand for the trowel.
Jill stood there, mouth open, and tutting, Leonard used a long finger to close it as he took the trowel from her hand.
“Come on, you make drinks and I’ll sort out your pet,” he told her. Then he ushered her into the house, leaving the trowel on the bistro table for when he came out again.
“Leonard?” she asked, and frowning he turned to her.
“Leonard, you’ve been calling me Leo for the last few days, why the change?”
“You… you…” she blew out a frustrated breath. I mean, how did she explain that now she realised that he didn’t just have a posh accent, but actually came from royalty, it made her uncomfortable being around him. “But… you…”
“I’m still the same person I was ten-minutes ago Jill,” Leonard interrupted. “Surely money and title doesn’t change whom a person is?”
Frowning, she stared at him, silently. Then shrugging, no idea of what to say, she turned and went into the house.
“Okay, what do you want to drink?” she asked, her eyes kept returning to the covered fish bowl, he stepped around her and lifted it off the side. Carefully, he carried it outside and put it on the bistro table beside the trowel before going back into the kitchen.
“Thank you,” she smiled, her bottom lip wobbling again.
“Are you going to tell me the story behind your goldfish and why you are so attached?”
“I won him at the fairground when I was 12-years-old.” She told him with a sigh, turning and leaning back against the work surface, her hands clasped before her.
“Wow, how old are you?”
“I’m 28-years-old.”
“He was 16-years-old,” he whistled. “No wonder you were attached, you’ve had him a long time.”
“Yes…” she cleared her throat. “He was the last thing my father got for me before he left.”
“Oh, no, he died?”
“No, he ran off with his secretary,” she snorted and turned back around, filling the kettle up and flicking the switch to boil it. “Tea or coffee?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Tea, please, what about your mother?”
“Mum is in Australia, she moved there about 3-years-ago with husband number 3,” she rolled her eyes.
“Oh,” was all he had.
“Yes, oh. How about your parents, are they still together and alive?”
“Yes, they are still in Herefordshire, no it’s July, so they’ll be in their villa in Italy.”
“Nice,” she smiled, pulling cups out of the cupboard above the kettle and dropping tea bags into them. “Sugar?”
“2, please.”
“So Italy?”
“Yes, my mother enjoys attending opera in its country of birth.”
“I’ve never been to the opera,” she told him with a shrug, stirring the hot water, then leaving it to steep.
“It has its merits, it’s a love or hate kind of performance,” Leonard informed her.
“Do you have a favourite?” she asked, arms folded as she waited for their drinks.
“I remember the first performance in 1598, Daphne, I believe. My parents took me to the home of Jacopo Corsi, while vacationing in Florence. Obviously, back then, it was nowhere near as popular as it is today.”
“I’m sure you mean, 1998,” Jill smiled. “Unless of course you’ve found the fountain of youth?” her brow rose, smile spreading, reaching her eyes, then they dropped down his body. “Obviously, if you really did mean 1598, then of course I’d need the tip, because you look pretty damn good for very old man,” she winked.
Leonard, blinked at the look in her eyes as they travelled over his body. Then, realising what he’d said, gave her a tight smile, a false chuckle followed at his apparent faux pas. Man, he’d gotten so comfortable talking to her, he’d spoken without thinking, again. One of the other reasons he’d rather not be around humans, too hard trying to remember. Plus, they also only survived for such a short time, nothing more than the blink of an eye.
“How about I sort out your pet, while you finish our drinks?” Her playful smile vanished at the reminder, and he could have kicked himself. For a moment, his slip had made her forget, and he hated to see sorrow once again cloud her beautiful velvet, chocolate brown eyes.
“Thank you, I have a box somewhere,” she told him, frowning, as she searched around the galley kitchen.
“Have you lost something?”
“Apart from my mind, which I most definitely have. I put a box down earlier. I came across it and decided that it would make an excellent burial box for Moby,” she frowned. Just then Leonard spotted a gold gift box on top of the tall fridge freezer, to her right.
“This?” he asked, moving over and pulling it down. “Isn’t this a little big for a goldfish?” he queried, turning the box over in his hand. It was at least 10-inches long and about 6-inches, wide and deep. Far too big for a goldfish, if memory served him right.
“Moby wasn’t a little fish.”
“Really?”
“Fish tend to adapt to the environment that they live in. Up until recently, Moby was in a large 6-foot tank, but it cracked. The bowl was merely temporary accommodation for him. I had made plans to have a nice pond put in the garden for him,” she swallowed, dropping her gaze as her eyes once again filled with tears.
Unable to stand the look of sorrow that crossed her face, he put the box down and went over, pulling her into him and again stroking her back.
She leaned into him, rubbing her cheek against the softness of his woollen jumper. Sighing, as she relaxed and put her arms around his waist, taking comfort from his presence. Just then her stomach rumbled, and she felt the rumble of laughter beneath her ear.
“Okay, how about I feed you?”
“I’m not in the mood to go out.”
“How about take-out?”
“Pizza?” she queried, pushing back and looking up at him, hope on her face.
“You like pizza?”
“Oh god yes. There’s this little place around the corner and their pizzas are divine. I’ve never tasted anything like it, my dial an orgasm,” she told him blushing, then cleared her throat. “I could order?” she offered, hopefully, leaning back in his arms.
“Okay, but nothing fancy. Please, no pineapple,” he shuddered.
“Deal,” she laughed, and he kissed the tip of her nose and stepped back, giving her waist a last squeeze.
“I won’t be a moment,” he told her, lifting the box from the table again and heading into the back garden.
Time to lay her goldfish to rest, maybe once it was done she’d begin to feel a little better.
Chapter Nineteen
L eonard, sat on the sofa, Jill on the floor between his knees, eating another slice of what she called ‘dial an orgasm.’ Shaking his head at her, he reached into the flat box and took out a slice, sniffing at the tangy tomato, and rich mature cheese. It was just a plain margarita pizza, no extra toppings, a nice firm crust, with a generous coating. Deciding it smelt okay, he finally lifted the slice he held to his mouth and took a small, experimental bite.
“Oh, my god, this is sublime,” he groaned after swallowing. He then enthusiastically took another larger bite, chewing on the gooey goodness, savouring the tastes coating his tongue and mouth. Just the right amount of herbs, the sauce rich and tangy the cheese not too strong, but with a bit of a kick, and extremely stretchy.
“See, I told you,” Jill told him over her shoulder with a grin as she took another bite of her own. A satisfied moan leaving her throat as her taste buds sung, t
he stringy cheese snapping as she pulled the pizza away. She chewed, her finger scooping the stray cheese strands from her chin and popping it into her mouth. Watching her eat, Leonard’s head changed gear. The sounds of her enjoyment vibrating through him as she ate. God, it sounded like sex, and if she made that much noise eating, what would she sound like if he pushed her back and buried himself inside her. Eyes closing, he tried to block out the sounds and visual that went with it as he took another bite of his own, trying to stem one hunger with another. Jill didn’t make it easy though, not with the sounds she made. Then, there was the way her tongue kept sneaking out and running over her bottom lip. He had to bite back a whimper at one point as she began to suck sauce and cheese off her fingers. He was rock hard watching the way her cheeks hollowed out as she sucked on her index finger. Unable to tear his gaze away, he watched how she pulled it slowly back out of her mouth. However, it got worse because her tongue appeared, lapping at the digit before wrapping around it and sucking it back into her mouth on a moan.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Jill asked, wiping her fingers on a paper napkin.
“Yes, please,” he croaked, clearing his throat and trying to think about anything but the way she’d looked. “Why don’t I get it, if you just tell me where you keep it.” She pushed up until she was on her feet, then turned to him and nodded, waiting for him, only he had a problem. In his rush to leave after reading her text earlier, he’d not put on any underwear. If he stood up now, she’d know exactly how hard he was, because without form fitting boxers his crotch would bulge at the front. He presently looked like a pointer dog, he was so hard. Leading the way with his dick instead of his nose, as the material of his soft jeans hid absolutely nothing. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something that would help him deflate. The problem was, she chose that moment to bend over as her dirty napkin fell to the floor. Now, his erection was throbbing, practically trying to push its way through the material holding it captive and away from the prize it sought. His eyes ran over the cheeks of her arse, easily visible in the black leggings she wore. They looked like plump globes, dissected with a scrap of cloth, practically begging to be slapped or bitten.