Not What You Think

by Melissa Hill

Then, of course, there was the other option – an option that Helen could rarely resist. Grafton St was there to be conquered, so how better to spend an idle afternoon than shopping? She needed to get an outfit for Laura’s wedding, Kerry’s tantrums having ruined her last opportunity, so why not? She already had something in mind, maybe a racy little Julien McDonald or Jenny Packham number, something to get them all talking in Glengarrah.

  Helen checked her watch. She could be in town by three, and still have plenty of time before she needed to pick up Kerry. And even if she was a tiny bit late, Jo wouldn’t mind.

  She finished her soda water, and glanced idly up at the television before leaving. Then Helen stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes widened as she watched the sports bulletin. On screen, one of her favourite footballers was pictured smiling at the camera, and holding a rival team jersey against his chest.

  “I don’t believe it!” she said to the barman. “Can you turn up the volume, please?”

  The barman looked amused, and reached for the remote. “Bit of a shock, wasn’t it?” he said indicating the news story. “He’ll get some reception when he goes back to his home ground.”

  “But he’s been with them since he was fourteen years of age!” Helen stood rooted to the spot, amazed. “I can’t believe he’s signed for a rival team.”

  “Well, that’s what forty-five million quid will do for you.” The barman shrugged and went to serve another customer.

  Helen sat back down to watch to the remainder of the bulletin, her head still shaking in amazement.

  “Someone you know?” a male voice piped up from her left.

  “Sorry?” she asked, looking at him through dark eyelashes. It was almost second nature to Helen to flirt with any male who spoke to her, let alone one who looked like this. He was tall, lean and almost painfully good-looking, his tanned high cheekbones and slate grey eyes staring directly into Helen’s dark ones.

  “That guy,” he indicated the television. “Is he a friend of yours or something?”

  Helen laughed. “Oh no,” she said, feeling little ripples of anticipation flood through her at the sight of his solid physique. “He’s a footballer.”

  “Oh right.” Mr Perfect looked confused. “It’s just –”

  “It’s OK,” she interjected, waving him away with a grin. “I get a little excited sometimes, that’s all.”

  “I’d like to be around when you get really excited, then.”

  He gave her a meaningful glance and Helen almost blushed. Almost.

  “Paul Conroy,” he said, extending a hand, and flashing a set of perfect teeth.

  “Helen Jackson.” She gave him her most flirtatious smile.

  “So, are you waiting for someone, Helen, or is this just my lucky day?”

  It was a line if ever there was one, but Helen didn’t care. Right then he could have asked her if she came here often and it would be the sexiest thing Helen had ever heard. And those eyes – it was as if he could see right through her. Just then Helen wouldn’t have minded if he did.

  “Well, I was waiting for someone but he appears to have let me down.” She sighed.

  It was lame to be fishing for compliments, but Helen didn’t care. Anyway, it worked.

  “Silly, silly guy.” Paul shook his head and put a hand under his chin.

  The way he was looking at her sent an involuntary shiver of excitement down her spine. The dark, downy hairs sneaking over his sleeve sent her imagination sprinting, and she began to imagine running her fingers along his undoubtedly hairy chest. She let the sensations work their way from her mind down along the rest of her body. God, if she touched him now, she wouldn’t trust the light bulbs to stay in one piece, such was the electrical charge between them.

  God, it had been ages . . .

  “So what are you going to do?” Paul asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “Well, are you going to join me for a drink, or do you have somewhere else to go?”

  Helen smiled and sexily crossed her legs. Jenny and Julien would have to wait.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, Helen was writhing uncontrollably beneath Paul on the bed, his lean sculptured body fulfilling every one of her earlier expectations.

  It had probably been the most intense flirtation she had ever experienced. Every word they said to one another had been heavy with meaning, and Helen had enjoyed every second of it.

  It wasn’t just the alcohol either, she decided – it was as if her mind had been taken over by some weird sensual drug. The man absolutely emanated sex, and Helen had felt unbelievably horny just sitting beside him.

  Paul must have seen something in her eyes because at one stage he gave her an intense searching look and signalled almost imperceptibly towards reception.

  Understanding immediately, Helen nodded instantly, before she changed her mind.

  “Hold that thought,” he said, before walking purposefully toward reception. Again she forced herself to ignore the cliché. Who cared?

  It didn’t matter that she didn’t know him, or anything about him – all that mattered was that she was more turned on than she had ever been in her entire life. She clung to his damp body like her life depended on it. She was an experienced and confident lover, but soon discovered that she was no match for Paul. He had her in ways she never thought possible, ways that had her cry out with ecstasy and pain in equal measures. It was as though she was in some kind of sexual dream, one that she didn’t want to end.

  After what seemed like hours, Paul collapsed heavily on the pillow beside Helen, the hair around his forehead damp with sweat, and his tanned skin glistening in the afternoon light. She slung an arm across his chest.

  Paul turned to look at her, his pupils still dilated with lust. “So, what was your name again?” he teased.

  Helen kicked him in the leg. “Names were about as far as we did get before . . . this,” she smiled slyly.

  “Well, this, as you call it, this was fucking fantastic.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “What?” Paul’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  There was a slight twang in his voice that Helen hadn’t noticed before. She laughed. “Of course, it was fantastic.”

  “Well, now we should at least get to know one another, don’t you think?” Paul began running a finger along Helen’s ribcage, and she felt herself respond almost instantly to his touch.

  “Yes.”

  “So, tell me all about yourself, Helen Jackson,” He traced his tongue around one of her nipples.

  Helen breathing began to quicken once more. “I’m thirty, I work in sales, I’m not married . . .”

  “No,” he whispered, putting a finger to her lips. “Tell me about yourself – for instance . . . tell me how you’re feeling now, how this feels.” He moved his hands lower along her body and Helen struggled to speak.

  “Is this a getting-to-know-you exercise?” she asked him huskily, wrapping herself around him again.

  Afterwards, they lay together in, Helen thought, a very comfortable silence. “So, what about you?” she asked eventually.

  Paul sat up. “What about me?”

  “Well, I know you’re a businessman –”

  “Pensions,” he interjected.

  “Pensions?”

  “And investments,” he finished. “Not what you imagined, huh?”

  Helen smiled. “No, not exactly.” She had thought him a partner in some high-powered corporation, not quite a pensions salesman.

  “Does it matter?” he asked, kissing the nape of her neck.

  “Of course not,” Helen moved his head upwards, and kissed him sensually on the lips.

  “So what do you think?” he asked with a daring smile.

  “About what?” Helen felt a tingle of anticipation. She knew where this was going. He wanted to see her again.

  “About dinner on Saturday night?” Paul confirmed her expectations.

  “I’d love t
o,” she said coyly, pulling him close to her, “but I think I need to know that little bit more about you first.”

  Paul willingly complied.

  Chapter 15

  NICOLA CLOSED THE Accounts program on her PC, unable to concentrate on the figures. She heard a soft knock on the door of her office, and seconds later Jack’s head appeared around the door.

  “Nicola, one of Murphy-Ryan kids has had an accident in the swimming-pool again. I’ve had a word with the mother, but she’s getting antsy.”

  She made a face. Oh, no – not again! “Have you taken care of it yet, Jack?”

  “Not yet, remember you said before that the next time it happened – with the Murphy-Ryans in particular – that we should leave it as ‘evidence’.” He gave a slight grin.

  Nicola groaned. “Where is it?”

  “Near the exit on the left-hand side.”

  “OK, Jack, can you call the lift? I’ll be down in a minute. And thanks for letting me know.”

  Nicola ran a hand through her hair and buttoned the top button of her shirt. Mrs Bloody Murphy-Ryan again! Who did she think she was? Double-barrelled surname or not, this time Nicola was going to give this particular client a piece of her mind.

  Jack reappeared at reception, having located a pair of rubber gloves. He grabbed the ‘fishing net’ (which, in this case, doubled as a pooper-scooper) and Nicola followed him out towards the swimming-pool. The offending item was indeed floating near the surface of the water, not far from Mrs Murphy-Ryan and her toddler twins. Ugh!

  Nicola affected her most menacing expression and approached the woman.

  “Mrs Murphy-Ryan, I’ve told you before that your children must wear the appropriate swimming pants when you take them into the pool,” she said curtly.

  “Pardon?” the woman’s eyes widened as she trod water. “What on earth are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. The fact is that one of your boys has soiled himself and our pool.” Nicola’s voice rose an octave. She couldn’t believe the cheek of this woman. “You need to follow the rules, Mrs Murphy-Ryan. It’s very unfair not only to the rest of our clients, but also to the staff. We’re the ones that have to clean it up.”

  “How dare you!” the other woman exclaimed. “How dare you suggest that one of my children would do such a thing?”

  Nicola gave her a solid stare. “Mrs Murphy-Ryan, as you can see for yourself, there are no other children here this morning.”

  “But that doesn’t mean . . .” Realising she was beaten, the other woman trailed off and muttered something under her breath, while Jack scooped the floating object out of the swimming-pool.

  Nicola grimaced. Poor old Jack.

  As she left the room, she noticed that some of the other swimmers had already made their way back to the changing-rooms, the idea of a morning swim no longer appealing. Oh, dear. But then, who could blame them?

  Blast the woman! This was the third and – if Nicola had her way – the last time Mrs Murphy-Ryan would do such a thing. She’d have to ask Ken to speak to her, because so far the woman hadn’t taken the blindest bit of notice of her, and if anything had treated her with downright contempt. Nicola knew some people felt uncomfortable to see someone like herself running a leisure centre. Some people felt uncomfortable with her, full stop. And she hated getting Ken involved because it looked as though she couldn’t manage the situation on her own.

  Nicola went to increase the pool chlorine level and, through the window of the control room, she saw Mrs Murphy-Ryan still brazenly lazing around in the water with her boys, obviously unperturbed by the incident. Still, she supposed she couldn’t blame the kids. It wasn’t the boys’ fault that they had incompetent parents.

  She heard Sally call her from reception. “Nicola, telephone – line three!”

  “I’ll take it from upstairs, Sally, thanks!” Nicola dried her hands and called the lift Back in her office, she pressed the blinking extension light.

  “Nicola Peters speaking.”

  A slight throat-clear at the other end. “Hello, Nicola, Dan here.”

  It was as though she could feel every cell in her body constrict with tension but amazingly, her voice when she spoke sounded casual, almost ordinary.

  “Dan, how are you – it’s been a while.”

  He cleared his throat again. “Um, welcome back . . . um . . . I mean, I didn’t realise you were back in Ireland and . . .”

  Welcome back? Was that it?

  “What do you want, Dan?” she asked, sitting forward in her seat.

  He hesitated. “I just wondered if we could meet up – for coffee, or something.”

  Silence.

  “Please, Nicola. I’d really like to talk to you.”

  Nicola bit her lip. She wanted to see him too but she didn’t know if she could stand it. How could she look into those eyes again, those ice-blue eyes that would undoubtedly remind her of what they had lost? She had battled too long and too hard for that. Anyway, she was fine now, she had Ken, and she loved him and . . .

  “I’m not sure, Dan. We’re very busy here at the moment”

  “The leisure centre, yes. I’m pleased for you.” She knew by the sound of his voice that he was smiling.

  “Yes.”

  Then he sighed. “Nicola, I don’t know if Laura told you . . .”

  “About the wedding? Yes, she did.” She wasn’t going to tell him that she had actually seen the wedding invitations.

  “Well, I’m sorry you had to find out like that. I would have told you, but I had no way of contacting you, and I didn’t know you were back. I’m sorry. I hope that –”

  “Dan – forget it. It’s not a problem,” she interjected breezily. “If it’s the reason you’re phoning, or if you’re worrying about it, then don’t. You didn’t have to tell me anything. We’re divorced now, remember?”

  She heard him breathe deeply – with relief, she thought Good old Dan and his guilt. Not that his guilt had stopped him before. Back then guilt was the last thing on Dan’s mind . . .

  “I know, but I just thought –”

  “Dan, I’m sorry, but I really have to go. It’s very busy,” she interjected quickly. “I wish you well with the wedding, and I hope you’ll be very happy.”

  “Do you really mean that, Nic?” he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

  Nicola felt her heart sink to her stomach. Did she mean it – after everything? But surely she should be happy for Dan – happy that he had found someone else to love, as she had with Ken.

  But had she moved on, really? Lately, Nicola wasn’t sure. Sure, everything was going fantastically for her now, and she had absolutely no regrets about coming home to Ireland, and no regrets about the divorce. And, of course, falling in love with Ken was the best thing that could possibly have happened to her.

  But yet, news of Dan seemed to have stirred up old feelings – feelings Nicola thought she had successfully buried a long time ago. Why couldn’t Dan have just got on with his life, and she with hers, without any interference? Why, out of all people, did Laura’s wedding invites have to get mixed up with her ex-husband’s? Why drag it all up again?

  But then again, Nicola thought, maybe this was it. She hadn’t seen Dan in almost four years since . . . well, since everything. Maybe, if she met with him now, and didn’t feel anything, then she would be free to move on for good.

  So maybe that’s what she should do.

  Nicola took a deep breath. “You’re right, Dan. We should meet up for coffee, sometime. I’d love to hear all about the new Mrs Hunt.” She injected some warmth into her voice.

  “That would be really great, Nic. I’d love to see you.” He sounded pleased, but Nicola thought, also a little surprised.

  “Well, I’ll give you a call then.”

  “Where are you living at the moment?” Dan asked, and she sensed that he didn’t want the conversation to end just yet.

  “Stepaside, at the moment,” she said, not giving him
too much information.

  “Oh – nice area. What’s the house like?”

  “I’d prefer that we didn’t meet at my place, Dan.”

  “Of course.” Dan sounded as though he had temporarily forgotten himself.

  “Well, as I said, I’ll give you a call.”

  “You have the number?”

  “I think so.” The number of O’Leary Hunt Chartered Accountants was etched somewhere in her brain, even after all this time.

  “OK, well, nice to talk to you again, Nic. Oh, by the way, I saw the magazine article. You looked great.”

  “Oh!” Nicola was surprised by this. “Thank you.”

  “I’d better go – talk to you soon then.”

  “Yes.”

  She replaced the receiver, and stared unseeingly at the phone for what seemed like ages, trying to decide whether or not she had made the right decision.

  * * *

  Nicola drove home afterwards, her thoughts going a mile a minute. It was so strange, speaking to Dan again after all this time. And the conversation had been almost . . . well, almost casual, considering.

  And he had seen the article in Mode, too. She wondered if Dan realised that Motiv8 was Ken’s enterprise, as he hadn’t actually been mentioned by name in the article. What would Ken think of all this, she wondered. She’d certainly tell him about Dan’s phone call anyway, and that they had arranged a meeting. He wouldn’t be too pleased, but she was certain he would understand that she had to see Dan and more importantly, why she had to see him. He had always known there was a possibility that Dan would re-emerge in Nicola’s life at some stage, so why not now?

  She wished she could tell him immediately, but he was over at his dad’s tonight Nicola smiled. The Harrises were a close family, and Ken was an extremely dutiful son. She had met Pat and Clodagh Harris many times over the last few months. They were fantastic people who had taken to her immediately, and thankfully, Nicola thought, had absolutely no reservations about her relationship with their son. She had been a little concerned at the beginning that they might have a problem with her being a divorcee and all that, but she needn’t have worried.

  Still, she thought, turning into her driveway, she couldn’t be blamed for worrying – after all she had to put up with from the Hunts.