Talking Trouble

by Barbara Elsborg

  “You really think I could let you go? You have no future. This is all you have. Don’t waste it pleading with me. Plead with your God.” She pushed the little circle back and played that part again.

  “You really think…” said the Flint on the screen.

  “I could let you go?” said the Flint next to her. “You have no… This is all you have. Don’t waste…with me. Plead with your God.”

  For a long moment, he sat frozen in shock then he gasped and clasped Mollie’s hand. She grinned and started the piece from the beginning. This time, he was word perfect all the way through.

  “Yay!” She leaned forward and kissed him.

  She hadn’t thought before she did it, but as she pulled away, realizing what an idiot she’d been, how fan-girly and silly and… He slipped his hand to the back of her neck and stopped her. He held her in front of him, and stared into her eyes without blinking.

  “You really think I could let you go…Moll…ee?”

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. She knew it was just words from the film but her stomach lurched. He kept his hand on the back of her neck and edged closer until their lips were almost touching. She could feel him breathing, taste the pear he’d just eaten.

  “Moll…ee,” he whispered.

  His fingers tightened in her hair and he swept his other hand to her cheek. When he dragged his thumb over her lower lip, she whimpered. Oh hell, where did that noise come from? Desire rushed in torrents along her veins and pooled low in her belly, but the same questions kept repeating in her head. What am I doing? How can this work? Flint was a celebrity. He couldn’t be interested in her. This just had to be because she was helping him when he was at his most vulnerable. He was clinging to her because he knew that she cared, because he thought she was stopping him from drowning.

  So why am I clinging to him? She had her palm pressed against his cheek and couldn’t let go. When their lips finally touched, Mollie felt as if every cell in her body collapsed. She melted against him, flowed into him, lost part of herself, and even as she told herself not to fall for him, she began to slide. He slanted his mouth and his tongue touched hers so tentatively, she thought her heart would break with longing. He explored her mouth with slow, sensual sweeps, his low groans undermining her resolve, washing it away until ‘don’t stop’ was all she could hear.

  Mollie licked his mouth, trailed her tongue over his teeth and nibbled his lip, doing some groaning of her own. Their tongues tangled, kisses shifting from slow and soft to fast and hard until they were necking with the desperation of teenagers and the skill of adults, finding every way their mouths could fit together. With their fingers threaded in each other’s hair, they kissed and kissed and kissed.

  She was on fire, her nipples tight and painful, her panties damp with arousal. The muscles of her sex were clenching in a rhythm that warned her she was going to come—from a kiss?—and she struggled to pull herself under control. He lifted her so that she straddled his lap and when she felt the hardness of his cock against her belly, she shuddered. Oh God. She should stop this. Flint Klavan could have anyone he wanted, had probably had everyone he wanted. She wasn’t easy. But sense was a lone voice amid a clamor of others wanting more. She rocked against him, and he slipped a hand around her back and pulled her closer, lifting his hips to bring their bodies together.

  No, no, no, I can’t come, I can’t.

  He broke for air and muttered, “Moll…ee.”

  She’d never been kissed like this, had never kissed anyone like this, yet even as she fell deeper and raced toward orgasm, the awareness that this could only end in heartbreak pulled her back. They lived in different worlds. He mixed with film stars, models, glamorous people. She didn’t want to be needed for the wrong reasons, just because she was there, because she offered him hope, because, at that moment, he had no one else. But even as common sense pounded its way into her head, he stroked her cheek, changed the angle of his mouth, held her tight and she went under again.

  The kiss turned hard and forceful, and they panted into each other’s mouth, unable to stop kissing, unable to stop writhing against each other. Mollie rubbed the junction of her legs against the hard ridge of his cock and the prospect of coming undone headed beyond likely into inevitable. Think, Mollie girl, think. Where can this go? That she was on the point of not caring scared her into action. You have to stop. She flung herself off him, landed on the floor with a thump and the need to come vanished in a flood of pain.

  Flint stared down at her, his blue eyes wide, his lips slick from the kiss they’d just shared. Then he clenched his fists, closed his eyes and dropped his head. He looked at her again and said, “I don’t know the answer.” Then he said something else that made no sense at all and he groaned.

  She moved back onto the couch, took his hand and he opened his eyes. She wanted to tell him she was scared, that her heart was too fragile, that he didn’t know what he was doing, but she wasn’t sure she could have explained even if he’d been able to understand. Pointing to herself, she shook her head, drew an imaginary zipper across her lips and drew a cross on her heart before she laid her hand on it. I won’t tell anyone about you, I promise.

  He nodded but looked as bewildered as she felt. She lifted the device the therapist had left, pulled up a clock, showed him six thirty the next day, found a picture on Google images of the dam that ran between their houses and pointed to the middle. He smiled and a lump grew in her throat. She hadn’t thought he’d let her go, but he did.

  Flint wasn’t sure how he managed to let her go. He didn’t want to, but he’d scared her. He’d scared himself. Too intense, too soon. He’d only ever felt as frantic and choked as that once before in his life and it had been over a guy. Mollie wasn’t even his type. So why are you hard, dickhead? He wished he could quiz her about those bruises. He had a horrible suspicion someone had hit her. He needed to find a way to ask. Could he mime it? Probably not without freaking her out.

  Beat came to get the plates and Flint crossed his legs to hide his semi-erect cock. She talked to him, signed to him, pointing at herself then at him, then gestured toward the door and shook her head. He could guess what she was telling him. No more Mollie. Fuck that. He fled upstairs, slammed his bedroom door, dragged off his clothes on the way to the shower, and wrapped a hand around his dick. One thought of Mollie and he was fully hard again. If she hadn’t leaped off his lap, he’d have come in his pants.

  He stepped under the hot flow, closed his eyes and tipped his head up to the water as he jerked off. Mollie was his miracle. She’d thought of playing a clip from one of his films and he’d spoken properly. If he’d done it once, he could do it again. He knew it was a myth humans only use ten percent of their brain but he was sure he’d read somewhere that you could rewire your brain to take over the function of damaged parts. Speaking, reading and writing had to be relearned from scratch but he could do it. He had to do it. She’d help him. He knew Beat and Ham didn’t trust her but he did. He wanted Mollie to give up her job. He’d pay her to help him. How can I tell her that?

  He moved his hand faster and faster and his balls tingled. He wished Mollie was with him. He imagined her on her knees, her lips on the tip of his cock, her hand wrapped around the base while she slid her tongue back and forth over his slit, into his slit. Pushed her finger in his arse. Oh fuck. He sucked in a breath, sucked in water at the same time and launched into a coughing fit. Damn. Can’t I even do this right? He pressed down on his balls with the heel of his palm to stave off the inevitable as he twisted his fingers around his shaft. Electrifying tension built at the base of his brain and crept along his neural pathways.

  “Moll…ee.”

  Saying her name catapulted him to meltdown. He shifted his hand faster and as lights flashed behind his eyes, he came hard and fast, erupting in long, creamy jets, pleasure humming along his veins.

  When his heart stopped pounding at warp speed, he opened his eyes and grabbed the shower gel. He wished he could have reassu
red her, told her how much he fancied her, said something…kind. What must she have thought? That he was a guy who took what he wanted, when he wanted it? Well, he was, wasn’t he? It wasn’t so long ago he’d had a complete stranger sucking him off and one who was little more than a stranger cracking a whip against his butt. He hadn’t suddenly turned into Mr. Nice Guy, just into Mr. Helpless Guy.

  As he dried himself, he started to hum, then sing If The Rain Must Fall, a James Morrison song. He was three lines into it before he realized what he was doing and froze. Oh my God. He tried again and sang the whole song from start to finish. He was desperate to show Mollie.

  He dragged on his clothes and rushed down the stairs. Ham was in the hall.

  “Ecan wing sall…” Flint pressed his lips together. Shit. Not cured then.

  He turned away from Ham, went into the drawing room, closed the door and leaned against it.

  “You have no future,” Flint said. “This is all you have.” Then he sang the next few lines.

  So he could still spout the script, and sing the song, just not speak like a normal human being. He dropped onto the vile-colored couch and sighed. If he could snatch sentences from all the scripts he’d ever learned, weed lines from songs he could remember, maybe he could strike up a conversation, except he’d sound like a dick and he wouldn’t be able to understand what anyone said in reply. But that he could say something was more than he’d expected.

  He picked up the tablet and swept his fingers over the screen. A few buttons later, and by chance rather than design, he had the program going. A is for apple. B is for banana. C is for carrot. He listened and repeated time after time after time.

  * * * *

  Mollie walked back across the dam with her head hurting, her mind racing. That kiss… She drew in a steadying breath and exhaled an unsteady one. Now she knew what had happened to Flint, she felt desperately sorry for him. She could hardly imagine what it must be like to be trapped in a world of your own. He wanted her to help him and she would, but that kiss…

  She let herself into the house and headed for her room. Yet again, she was waylaid by Lysander. Had he been waiting for her?

  “I need to take more photos,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He looked shocked that she’d challenge him. “I told you how I work.”

  “But you’ve already taken loads.”

  “I cocked up with the last lot. I had the camera on the wrong setting. Come up now.”

  She thought he was lying. “I need to shower.”

  “Shower later.”

  She sighed and followed him.

  As he walked around her taking pictures Mollie had the uncomfortable feeling that he was more interested in the marks on her body than he should be.

  “Why do you want photos of my bruises and grazes?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “The color change is fascinating.”

  “Have you started to paint me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Not yet. I’m working on different concepts that I’ll eventually pull together. I’d rather you waited.” He stood in front of her and lowered the camera. “You’re very beautiful.”

  No, I’m not.

  “This afternoon,” he said. “Three o’clock. My bed.”

  Fuck you. “Why? What’s happening? Need a hand changing the sheets?”

  “Probably.” He smiled.

  She didn’t smile back.

  “I really want to fuck you,” he said.

  Mollie’s knees shook. “I really don’t want to fuck you.”

  The bastard laughed. “You’re not going to deny there’s something between us.”

  “What? Apart from your ego?” She stepped to the side and bent to pick up her shorts and T-shirt.

  As she stood, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers. Mollie was so incensed at his nerve that she pushed him away, but she found herself breathing heavily, both attracted and repulsed.

  “You don’t know me,” she whispered. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know I’m desperate to fuck you.”

  Muscles clenched between her legs at the crude language. How could such a conceited shit turn her on? “You are such a jerk.”

  “I can’t help it. You’re driving me crazy.”

  She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Tough,” she said and walked out.

  He laughed. “I can wait.”

  “Good, because you’re going to have to.”

  Shit. She had a problem. Two problems. Lysander was a conceited git, the ultimate bad boy who only wanted her because she said no. He was horny and didn’t even try to pretend it was anything but sex he was after. She was an idiot, but she still fancied him. Flint was so damaged it made her heart ache. He wanted her because he was lonely, and she fancied him too. But his attraction to her was based on need and she’d just walked away from Lewin who needed her too much.

  Neither Flint nor Lysander was interested in her for the right reason. They didn’t know her—Lysander hadn’t tried to get to know her and Flint had no way of trying. They had no idea she was afraid of the sea but not of swimming pools, that she liked peanut butter but not dark chocolate, that she loved teaching more than anything she’d ever done, that she didn’t talk about her childhood—ever, and that all she had in the world was with her because the rest had to stay lost including her past.

  She spent the afternoon working on the garden and the evening cutting scrap paper into strips and writing words in perfectly shaped letters using a black marker. While it was still light, she went out with masking tape and drawing pins and left a word trail part way around the reservoir.

  When she walked back into the house, Lysander appeared in the hall.

  “Where’ve you been?” he snapped.

  “Out, Dad.”

  He winced. “We’re having a drink in the drawing room. Want to join us?”

  “Okay.”

  Music was softly playing when she went in. Aden and Jean-Paul slouched on a sofa, Jean-Paul’s legs over Aden’s lap, while Nikki sat on the floor with her back resting against a different couch.

  “Hi,” Mollie said.

  The guys returned the greeting, Nikki didn’t. Lysander handed Mollie a glass of red wine and she sat on one of the chairs. Mollie didn’t miss the look on Nikki’s face when Lysander sat nearer her than Nikki. Was this a committee meeting to tell her she had to go because she’d turned Lysander down? No one spoke and she grew more and more uncomfortable.

  She turned to Lysander. “Do you want me to leave?”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “No.”

  “Can we vote on it?” Nikki mumbled.

  “Like us to vote on whether you stay or go?” Lysander snapped.

  Nikki’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Why don’t we play truth or dare? It’ll help us get to know Mollie.”

  Jean-Paul straightened. “That’s a great idea.”

  Mollie wasn’t so sure.

  “We should each have a chance to ask a question everyone has to answer,” Nikki said.

  “Or go for the dare,” Aden reminded her.

  “Be sensible,” Jean-Paul said. “We don’t want any accidents.”

  “Who goes first?” Nikki asked.

  “Mollie.” Lysander stretched out his legs and stared straight at her.

  She thought carefully. Maybe there was a way of forestalling the question about her bruises she suspected one of them would ask. She looked at Aden. “What was the last lie you told?”

  He cringed. “That it wasn’t me who stained Jean-Paul’s blue tie.”

  Jean-Paul reared up. “You bastard. You told me I dribbled on it.” But he was laughing and Mollie felt herself relax.

  “Right,” said Jean-Paul. “I told you my steak was perfect tonight and it was tough and too bloody.”

  Aden chuckled. “I already know that. I was waiting for you to say something.”

  Jean-Paul
grabbed Aden around the neck and rubbed his knuckles into his hair.

  “Ouch. Get off.”

  The two guys began tussling.

  “Do I have to throw water over the pair of you?” Lysander asked.

  They broke apart, laughing.

  “My last lie was telling Mollie I liked her shirt,” Nikki said.

  “Good thing I didn’t say anything about your shorts,” Mollie flung back.

  “Wasn’t the last lie about the bulb in your room that didn’t need changing but screwing in?” Lysander asked.

  Nikki pouted. “But you’re so good at screwing.”

  They all laughed apart from Mollie.

  “What about your last lie, Mollie?” Lysander asked.

  “That’s not the way the game’s played,” Mollie said.

  “It is in this house.” He sipped his drink.

  She sighed. “Dragon eggs. I know how difficult it will be to hear this, but dragons give birth to live young.”

  Nikki rolled her eyes. “That’s cheating.”

  “Okay.” Mollie’s mind went blank of everything but the big lie she’d told about falling down the steps of a bus.

  “The longer you spend thinking, the more it will seem like a lie,” Aden said.

  “I don’t lie.” Mollie twisted her hair in her fingers. “Oh I know. I told my class I’d see them in September but I knew I wouldn’t.”

  Nikki tsked and Mollie wanted to throw her drink in her face.

  “What about you, Lysander?” Jean-Paul asked.

  “I told someone I could wait and I can’t. I’m too impatient.”

  Mollie couldn’t look at him.

  “My turn,” said Jean-Paul. “Have you ever been unfaithful to a boyfriend or girlfriend? You first, Aden.”

  “I’ve never done anything behind any partner’s back.” He shared a look with Jean-Paul that Mollie didn’t understand.

  “Same for me,” Jean-Paul said and brushed his thumb over Aden’s lips.

  “I’ve never cheated,” Mollie added.

  “I have,” Lysander said quietly.

  “Me too.” Nikki grinned.

  “My go,” Aden said. “When did you last masturbate?”