by F. C. Clark
He tilts his head, whilst his dark eyes pin me to my seat. I’m not sure if this is the result of my lucid tongue, or because I’m correct and have put him in his place. Nonetheless, he does seem a little shocked by my response.
‘I can finish cleaning my knee. It’s fine – really it is.’ I convey my words with purpose. I would be able to gain some self-control if he wasn’t bloody touching me.
‘When I start a job, Kate Harper, I like to finish it,’ he replies in his authoritative tone, throwing me off balance. His dark eyes meet mine.
Feeling the need to stop arguing with this stranger, I place the used hanky on the coffee table and reach for my coffee.
I wish I had the same impact on him as he does on me.
‘Your outburst in the street was quite amusing, but it’s not so amusing that you have hurt yourself.’ Do I sense remorse in his voice? ‘You said you’re on your way to work?’
‘I have an evening job at a local bar not far from here.’
He seals the plaster across the wound, using his thumb to smooth into place. At last I am able to move my leg, which he has dressed very well. It leads me to wonder how many other damsels in distress he has rescued.
‘Thank you,’ I respond in a low tone.
‘You’re welcome. Now, would you like a towel for your hair, or to use the bathroom?’ He looks genuinely concerned. As ever, I feel the need to question the virtues of a man who looks shit-hot.
‘I think it will take a lot more than a visit to your bathroom.’ Oh, I wish he could have seen me this morning. ‘I have my work clothes to change into.’ I retrieve my rucksack from the floor and rummage through the contents. Damn – I can only find my jeans; no top. ‘It’s official – I have no brain,’ I mutter to myself, aware that my day is continuing to go downhill.
‘There’s a problem?’ He looks at me, wearing a look of sincerity – I think.
‘No, not really. I’ve left my work T-shirt at home. I’ll grab one from the bar.’ Zipping up my bag, I stand and walk around the coffee table. ‘Thank you for the coffee and the plaster.’ I smile, feeling like a child – it’s been a while since I’ve had my knee dressed.
‘You can’t possibly leave like that.’ He gestures towards my body, from head to toe. ‘You’re soaked… from the rain.’ He raises his brows, humorously repeating my previous statement. ‘You’ll catch pneumonia. I fear a death will harm my reputation…’
He smiles and joins me. He is tall, causing me to raise my head and drink in his beauty. I take a deep breath, inhaling his manly scent. Wow – my body reacts, internally contracting. He is dangerously close.
‘I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you or damage your reputation,’ I eventually reply with my usual lack of filter and far too much sarcasm – it must be nerves; nothing to do with my body, which is overheating.
His eyes light up with my quick fire response. He strides towards a door and disappears. ‘White or blue?’
‘Sorry. I’m not sure I follow you.’ I stand, feeling awkward and a little lost.
‘Shirt… What is your colour preference?’
Clarity arrives. ‘No, it’s fine. I really don’t need to borrow a shirt. Besides, I just dropped off your delivery. I’m guessing no high-street shirts are lurking in your closet.’
‘And what is your point?’ It’s clear to me that people rarely question him.
‘Your shirts cost more money than I earn in a week. They really aren’t suitable – that’s my point. If I damaged it—’ I shake my head. ‘Thank you for the offer, but I must go.’
My legs begin to move. When I’m close to the office door, I feel a hand on my arm. My pulse quickens and my face becomes crimson – for the hundredth time today. I shrug my arm free, frustrated that I can feel such strong sexual tension with a stranger. I turn to face the man who is making me deal with far too many emotions.
‘I insist you take this shirt.’ He holds a beautiful blue shirt. ‘Trust me, I don’t do anything I don’t want to.’ His face is stern. This must be how his employees feel: intimidated and slightly frightened at his austere manner. However, it has a very different effect on me, an intense heat building between my thighs.
I roughly take hold of the shirt.
‘Thank you, but it’s a loan. I’ll wash it and return it tomorrow,’ I say firmly.
‘Very well, although I think you’re making this into something it’s not – but you have morals, which I respect.’
‘How accommodating of you.’ My filter button is officially broken. Once again, he looks at me, challenging my tone. Challenge me all you want, you narcissistic shit-hot Adonis.
His dark eyes burn into me.
He moves to the far side of the office, opening another door.
‘Please freshen up in here; use whatever you need.’
I walk towards the door and the man holding it open, then step through and lock the door behind me, resting my back against the wood.
As predicted, I’m in yet another fabulous room – stunning, in fact. I assume the floor-to-ceiling windows are tinted, unless he is into voyeurism. The furniture is white ceramic encased in dark wood, and there are fresh white towels and an array of Jo Malone products. Would it be rude to have a shower and then moisturise?
Looking in the mirror, I assess the damage to my appearance. With no surprise, I see I look bloody dreadful but, given the past hour, I feel my reflection is justified. Removing my wet black blazer, I evaluate my dress. It is transparent, sticking to my body. Before I take it off, I quickly check my underwear. Has it up held to the challenge of not becoming translucent? Overall it has done pretty well; my dignity remains unharmed.
Discarding my wet dress and underwear, I begin to dry myself. I take out my jeans, black court shoes and make-up bag. My underwear is far too wet: I will have to go commando, something I’m not completely comfortable with. But today is proving to be a little testing, on many levels.
First I slip on my jeans and the borrowed blue shirt. I roll the sleeves up and try to do something with the excess fabric, as the shirt is far too large for my small frame. I opt for the 1980s look, tying a knot at my waist. This also has the benefit of covering my breasts and, more importantly, my nipples, which peak at the sound of his sexy voice.
With my hair looking dreadful, my only option is to pull it back into a tight ponytail. I reapply eyeliner and mascara, followed by blusher and lip-gloss. At last I resemble a human being. I slip on my black heels and look in the mirror. I’m pleased to say the shirt looks OK; almost passable. I repack my bag and carry my soaked blazer.
Hesitantly I unlock the bathroom door and re-enter the office. His stare stops me in my tracks. Instantly, the heat begins to rise on my face as my groin pulsates. My nipples automatically harden under his gaze, his dark eyes teasing and manipulating my breasts, causing sensations to wash over me like a burst of cold air. For Christ’s sake. I need to pull myself together.
He replaces the receiver and walks around the front of the desk. With his jacket removed, I can appreciate his physique. He has broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His firm torso is outlined by the taut fabric of his shirt. I can only wonder what he would look like naked.
‘You look much better, not so wet…’ He smiles.
I can’t help but grin. ‘Let’s face it, I couldn’t look any worse – and thanks for the loan.’ I tug at his shirt.
‘You wear it well. I think you should keep it.’ He studies my newly acquired ensemble, particularly the shirt. I lower my head and pray that my nipples aren’t visible.
‘OK…’ I clear my throat. ‘Thank you for your hospitality and the loan.’ Once again, I point to the shirt. ‘I really need to leave.’
‘You are most welcome. I have arranged for my driver to drop you off anywhere you need to be.’ He remains in front of me, his eyes fixed to mine.
‘Th
at’s not necessary; I don’t have far to go.’
‘It may not be necessary, but I insist: after all, I caused your disaster this afternoon.’ He moves towards me, closing the gap between us, his hands in his pockets, looking far too divine.
‘You can insist all you like, but I said I can manage – thank you.’ I move from my position and turn to leave.
‘Are you always intractable, Kate Harper?’ His voice stops me in my tracks. I turn. Clearly, women never refuse his help.
‘Maybe we have something in common. I don’t do what I don’t want to.’ I feel empowered and strong. ‘Besides, you see these things?’ I point to my legs. ‘It’s a miracle – I can move them…’ I chuckle and continue to walk.
‘Kate Harper.’ Once again I turn to look at him. ‘Do I bring out the worst in you?’ He removes his hands from his trouser pockets and folds his arms, leaning back on his desk – evidently waiting for another smart answer from me.
‘No, Luke. I’m merely stating the facts, and the fact is that I can manage by myself. That doesn’t make me stubborn. I think you’ll find it makes me independent.’ I deliver my best poker face, hoping to appear stronger than I am. ‘As I said, thank you for your help, even though you did have some part to play in my misfortune.’
The sound of his mobile phone ringing gives me the perfect opportunity to leave. I turn on my heels and head towards the door. I hear his abrupt response to the call, followed by his raised voice, that swiftly turns into shouting.
‘Kate,’ he says loudly.
I turn my head just before reaching the door.
‘Bye.’
‘Kate – wait.’
I stop once more.
‘I’ll drop your shirt off tomorrow.’
‘Until tomorrow.’ He looks through me, unnerving me once again. However, my answer seems to satisfy him.
2
Frantically I press the button for the ground floor, checking around me, ensuring the Adonis remains in his lair. My foot taps impatiently as I watch the digital display slowly climb to the fortieth floor. The lift arrives and I move to the far corner, recollecting my brief encounter with the most fuckable man I have ever met.
At last I reach the ground floor. Returning my security pass to the reception desk, I move swiftly towards the revolving doors. Thankfully, the rain has stopped, leaving a refreshing blanket of cool air to calm my overwrought body. With no choice – due to my heels – I flag down a passing black cab and slump into the rear seat, gazing at the passing buildings. Finally, I relax.
Within ten minutes the cab draws up at Pete’s. I stand on the pavement, allowing the air to hit me again, diffusing the heat that is still raging through me both physically and mentally.
I walk through the door and meet Pete cleaning tables.
‘Hi, Pete.’
‘Kate.’
‘Where’s Fiona?’ Fiona is Pete’s Russian wife.
‘She’s just gone to the shops.’ He stops and assesses me, realising I look a little off-colour. ‘You all right? You look a bit…’
‘You wouldn’t believe the afternoon I’ve had.’ I sit on a barstool, knowing my usual calm demeanour has left me.
‘You look harassed.’ He walks around to the other side of the bar and pours a coffee, placing it in front me. ‘Here, this might help.’
‘Thanks, but I’m not sure coffee is strong enough.’ I laugh at my pathetic state of mind.
I sit for a moment, feeling unsettled. This man, a stranger, has unearthed something in me I can’t explain.
‘Penny for your thoughts.’
I turn to see my sister Harriet – or Harry, as we all call her. ‘Hi, how was your day?’
‘The usual…’ Harry takes the stool next to me, placing her bag on the counter.
‘You’re not going to believe what happened to me this afternoon.’ I sip my coffee, hoping caffeine will provide me with some much-needed mental clarity. ‘You know I’m partial to a little humiliation.’
‘You do like a bit of drama, I can’t deny it.’
‘Trust me, this was, well… definitely not one of my finer moments.’ I raise my eyebrows. Harry knows that unfavourable situations follow me, and my fleeting moment with that delicious creature was no exception.
‘Hey, ladies.’ Harry and I look round, to see Kiki making her usual grand entrance. She’s like a human hurricane. You know when she arrives, leaving devastation in her wake.
‘Pete, where’s the tequila? I feel like a few shots, followed by a curry… Who wants to join me?’
Pete places a bottle of tequila and some shot glasses on the bar, aware that Kiki, true to her word, is here for the long haul.
‘Kate, Harry, do you want to join me for a party? I know it’s only Thursday, but let’s start the weekend early.’ Kiki plants herself on a stool next to me, filling glasses with tequila, disregarding our response.
‘Kate’s had the afternoon from hell, apparently, but don’t let us rain on your parade…’
Kiki downs her first shot. ‘It can’t be that bad.’
‘Oh, Kiki, you know me. I’m telling the truth; I have nothing to hide.’
Collecting my bag from the floor, I rummage for my phone, pulling everything out – I packed quickly trying to get away from his office. Something – or some things – are missing. Shit… double shit… Oh fuck, where is my underwear? I bang my forehead on the counter.
‘Spill, Harper, what’s happened?’ Kiki asks in her up-front caring manner.
‘Well, it’s safe to say it has just got a little worse. You’d better give me that drink. Fill it up, Kiki Marlow, all the way to the top.’ I lay my arms on the bar and bury my face in them, allowing my embarrassment to fade away, if only for a few minutes.
‘Your wish is my command.’ As ever, her pouring skills are perfect when tequila is involved.
Pete leans across the bar towards me. ‘Are you actually working tonight?’
‘I think she’s multitasking,’ Harry protectively responds, defending my honour.
Pete shakes his head.
I sit up, take a deep breath, and down a shot of tequila, providing me with the Dutch courage I need to retell my story.
‘OK… I’ve just had a run-in with the most handsome, fuckable man I have ever met, and I mean he’s seriously hot.’
I retell the events blow by blow. By the time I finish explaining the sheer gorgeousness of him, our other friend Molly and Fiona, Pete’s wife, have also arrived at the bar. As the story unfolds, I go into too much detail – of a sexual nature. The girls can’t help but laugh when I mention my need to purchase a vibrator, at which point Pete walks off.
‘You girls are worse than men.’ He shakes his head disapprovingly, and continues to work at the other end of the bar.
‘It gets better, I can assure you… So, I said I got changed, hence the loan of the shirt.’ I tug at the borrowed item in question, acting out my story. ‘I’ve just looked in my bag for my phone and realised that I’ve left my bra and knickers in his bathroom! Oh, I hear you ask, was it your sexy lingerie? No – bloody nude M&S basic range… You know the kind, hot and sexy.’ At my admission, the girls fall about laughing. ‘I’m glad to provide you with entertainment.’ I curtsey. ‘I aim to please… and let’s not forget that I still have to drop off the bloody shirt tomorrow. Great, another peachy day for me.’
‘Who is he?’ Harry appears to be lost in the story of a possible romance, with no thought of my humiliation.
‘Oh – Luke… he said Luke in the lift. He must have a good job: Mr Jones makes his shirts and his office was huge, and I mean bloody huge.’
‘Ask Mr Jones tomorrow, or Google him.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘This man is way out of my league – loaded and arrogant. Shit-hot to look at, but that’s where it stops. Besides, Mr Jones’s list
of clients is private.’
With a strong desire to end the discussion, I get up and move to the other side of the bar. Work will provide the best cure, and stop me thinking about him any more.
‘Hey, Kate, you know what you are?’ Kiki shouts at the top of her voice, which is extremely loud, loud enough that the entire bar becomes privy to my life. ‘You’re a modern-day Cinderella.’
Shrieks of laughter ripple from the girls. Once again, I have the lead role within the story.
‘I would rather have left my bloody Converse than my underwear. I don’t think he’s going to hunt me down to see if they fit.’ I have to join in with the laughter.
‘Oh my God, I bet he’s in the bathroom picking them up. Maybe he’ll keep them – do you think he’s kinky?’ Kiki asks, only one thought on her mind: sex.
‘Only you would want a kinky Prince Charming,’ Harry responds, exasperated at our highly sexually charged friend.
‘I like a man to thrill me, in more ways than one. I make no excuses for my sexual needs…’ Kiki does have a point; after all, she’s the most sexually confident person I know.
‘No, your need is sex,’ Molly pipes up, ribbing our demanding friend.
‘I’m a born slut, and proud of it.’ Kiki never falters when providing affirmation regarding her erotic appetite.
The girls huddle around the bar for the remainder of the evening, chatting, gossiping and laughing whilst I work. Thursdays are not usually busy. This is unfortunate: being busy is exactly what I need this evening.
* * *
Home is my favourite place in the world, where I feel safe and secure. Harry and I have lived together for four years. The house is in the next road along from our childhood home. I head upstairs to remove my borrowed shirt, slip on a vest and return to the kitchen, placing the shirt in the washing machine on a hand-wash cycle.