by Evie Hunter
He made himself a big cup of coffee, one of the things he had really missed in the jungle: water that tasted of chemicals didn’t cut it when he needed his caffeine fix. He almost missed the presenter’s voice saying, ‘Sources close to the couple in question reveal that, yes indeed, they did get hot and heavy. Ms Marshall, better known for her reporting skills than romancing the famous, seemed to have difficulty keeping her clothes on when Jack Winter was around.’
They flashed up a stock photograph of Abbie, buttoned-up and professional, interviewing President Obama. Then back to the airport in Miami, where she looked battered and exhausted. Jack liked that look better on her. Unbidden, his memory showed him a look he liked even better: Abbie naked after her swim.
The camera followed him when he broke away from Kev and Zeke to return her rucksack. He shouldn’t have done that. Then he heard it. The sound was muffled, as if it had been amplified and there was a lot of background noise, but his words were clear. ‘I’m Jack Winter. I’ve been sleeping with Abbie for the last four nights.’
Jack groaned. Oh yeah, that would do it.
He wanted to talk to Abbie, but realized he didn’t have her cell phone number. He called Zeke instead. The agent was in a hospital, on drugs and very happy. ‘Hey, did you see that news story about me and Abbie? I need you to call a press conference so we can put that right.’
Bryan chuckled. ‘Buddy, there’s nothing you can say that will change anyone’s mind about that. The more you protest, the guiltier you’ll look. Besides, it’s great publicity. Jungle Heat will sell out, just on this. The hero of the film crashed in the jungle in real life, managed to get everyone out alive and nailed the leading lady. Pure box-office gold.’
‘Zeke, you bastard! It was you! You tipped off the media. That’s why you were so eager to get through to your office when we got to that town.’
His agent laughed.
Jack swore. ‘Come on, Zeke. There has to be some way to take the heat off Abbie. She donated her bra to you. Don’t give her a hard time.’
‘Not as hard as you gave her, I bet.’
Jack growled in warning. ‘Get her out of the headlines, Zeke, or so help me, I won’t go to a single premiere for this movie.’
‘So what? Everyone will just assume you’re holed up with the nubile Ms Marshall, banging her brains out.’
‘Zeke …’
Maybe the drugs were wearing off, or some shred of common sense still lived in Zeke Bryan’s brain. He sobered slightly. ‘OK, Jack, if you are serious about this, the best thing you can do is to avoid Abbie completely. Don’t contact her, don’t mention her and don’t be seen with her. And start dating Kym Kardell.’
Oh fuck. Bryan was right. Kym Kardell, his co-star in Jungle Heat, would eat up the publicity and make sure that no one mentioned Abbie’s name around him. Listening to her talk about manicures would rot his brain but it would be worth it. ‘Sure, sign me up, Zeke. Whatever it takes.’
‘I can’t believe I managed to look that good with only two make-up artists and one hair stylist, can you?’
Kym Kardell never stopped talking. She clutched on to Jack’s arm, smiled at the cameras, struck an instinctive pose, and still kept talking. He had to marvel at the amount of words she could manage without any content whatsoever.
And how come someone who could talk so much had never managed to remember the script? Jack had lost count of the number of ruined scenes because Kym had missed her cue or botched her lines.
They were standing on the red carpet at the New York premiere of Jungle Heat. Kym had mastered the art of posing while talking. ‘Of course, those awful cargo pants would make a snake look fat, but I think I rocked the look, don’t you? You could really see the result of my boot camp workout when I tied up my shirt to show my abs.’ She was still talking, but now she paused as if she expected a reply.
Jack looked down at her. She was short and delicate as a china doll, with long black hair that took hours of styling every day, and which he had never been allowed to touch. The camera loved her huge eyes and pouting mouth, but in real life there was an unnerving lack of mobility to them. Too much Botox, he guessed, and tried not to think of a woman whose face moved naturally and who looked addictively good first thing in the morning, even without a trace of make-up.
He put his arm around her and leaned down as if he were about to kiss her. The crowd cheered and the cameras flashed hysterically. He held the pose for a couple of seconds, then straightened up, trying to look sheepish, as if he had been caught doing something naughty.
Kym smiled up at him, managing an adoring look that she had never managed to produce in front of a film camera.
Jack had promised Zeke that he would go to the premiere with Kym, then take her out dancing afterwards and Zeke would make sure the publicity machine followed them. After a week of this, the public would be convinced Abbie was just a girl he met in the jungle. He hoped.
‘Hey Jack, how’s Abbie?’ a reporter shouted at him.
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I haven’t talked to her since we landed in Miami.’ But he wanted to. The strength of his desire to talk to Abbie scared him. She was the one woman he couldn’t have. He had to forget her, even if it killed him.
‘So, you’re not seeing her?’
Jack managed to look incredulous and bored. ‘Ms Marshall? Of course not.’ He put his arm around Kym. ‘I’m seeing this lovely lady. But keep it under your hat, please.’
It would be all over the media by tomorrow.
He wondered what Abbie would think.
Abbie lifted the empty bottle and stared at it. How could the wine have evaporated so quickly?
Kit hiccupped and tossed back her dark cornrow braids. ‘OK, that’s enough drowning our sorrows. You need to tell me what’s really going on with you. And please don’t tell me that you’re broken-hearted about finishing with William.’
‘I am broken-hearted –’
‘Maybe, but not about William. Come on, this is me you’re talking to, not some random woman you met in a coffee shop. That reminds me. I’d better contact the local branch of Husband Hunters and tell them that William is back on the market.’
Abbie threw a cushion at her. ‘See if I care.’
‘Well, that answers that question. Now, I can’t wait for a minute longer. What happened between you and Jack Winter, and please don’t say “no comment”.’
‘It’s hard to say.’
She wasn’t being evasive. Well, no more than usual. But if she could talk to anyone about this mess, it would be Kit. She was her oldest friend, and on those rare occasions when she got the urge to unburden herself Kit was the one she turned to. She had an uncanny instinct for knowing when to shut up and just listen. They had shared and analysed all the milestones – getting high, getting laid, getting launched into their careers – and everything in between. Kit never judged. And yet Abbie suddenly felt awkward, unsure how to explain Jack to her. She wasn’t sure how to explain Jack to anyone.
A wave of heat moved up her neck and over her face.
‘Oh my god, Abbie. Please tell me that you slept with him. No, wait. I need more alcohol first.’
Abbie heard her in the kitchen opening another bottle of wine and a bag of pretzels. They were going to have horrific hangovers in the morning. She didn’t care. She had to talk to someone.
Kit poured two large glasses of Viognier. ‘OK, shoot.’
Abbie swallowed. ‘I didn’t sleep with him, exactly. Well, what I mean to say is that we did sleep together, in a hammock.’
‘And was he – I mean, was there any activity in the horizontal salsa department? Oh come on, Abbie. I’m a visual person, I need details.’
‘Is that a clinical term – “horizontal salsa”?’ Abbie asked. ‘Is that what you ask your clients? “How are things in the horizontal salsa department?” Impressive.’
Now it was Kit’s turn to throw a cushion.
‘Abbie, I didn’t need to become a therapist t
o know when someone is avoiding the issue. Now, for the last time, what happened?’
‘We kissed.’
Kit’s scream could probably be heard two blocks away. ‘Sorry, sorry. Go on. You kissed and …’
‘We fooled around a bit.’
‘What’s a bit? Oh stop being such a puritan. Was he hot?’
She took another sip of wine.
‘Jack Winter was hotter than hell.’
There, it was out. She had said it out loud. She was physically attracted to Jack Winter. Physical attraction was too feeble a term for what she felt – he had ignited something in her that was sheer torture: a glimpse of an unknown side of herself and a craving for more. It was an exquisite form of torment because she couldn’t have more. He was Hollywood and she was New York. There was no point in dreaming. She had to get this out of her system.
‘There’s something else.’
Kit put down her glass and leaned forwards. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, he warned me about burying the fish debris after we ate one night – to avoid attracting predators – and, well, I didn’t and a jaguar showed up. Lucky he frightened it away but he was absolutely furious –’
Abbie placed her glass on the table and paused before deciding to go through with it.
‘He dragged me into a cave and he spanked me.’
Kit’s expression was a mixture of shock and envy. ‘Oh. My. God.’
‘It’s worse than that, Kit. I mean when he started to, you know, hit me I kicked and screamed and called him every name I could think of but … I don’t know how to say this –’
‘I’m a relationship counsellor – nothing that you could say would shock me.’
‘I liked it,’ she said miserably. ‘I had an orgasm.’
‘Oh.’
Kit’s expression turned serious.
‘Yes, “oh”. The most intense O that I’ve ever had. And it’s wrecking my head that someone like him could do that to me.’
‘Oh, Abbie.’ Kit abandoned her glass and enveloped Abbie in a hug. ‘Had you any inclination before now? I mean, have you explored your submissive tendencies in other relationships?’
She pulled away from Kit.
‘What are you talking about, my “submissive tendencies”? I’m not one of your weird clients.’
Kit looked at her with a mixture of affection and exasperation.
‘Abbie, please don’t take this the wrong way, but for a woman of the world, you have some major gaps in your knowledge. What do you think I’m talking about?’
‘I don’t know. S and M, I suppose. The whole idea of it freaks me out completely. I mean, can you imagine me asking William to –’
They looked at each other before bursting into fits of laughter at the thought of William doing anything remotely kinky in the bedroom. Abbie mightn’t have given Kit a blow-by-blow account of their sex life – or non-sex life – but she had told her enough. Sometimes, over a few glasses of wine, Kit had probed gently, asking her if she was sure a future with William was what she really wanted, but Abbie always fobbed her off.
Then Kit sobered up and became serious. ‘Abbie, it’s not about what people do, but who they are sexually.’
Abbie wasn’t sure where Kit was going with this, but she stayed quiet and listened.
‘There are some people who get off on dominance and submission – there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s normal for them. Some people have wild sex lives. And there’s also a whole world of faithful couples out there who got together because one of them is a Dom and the other a sub.
‘Abbie, having submissive tendencies doesn’t mean you’re “weird”, and I’ve noticed that you have some.’
Abbie felt as if her head were about to explode.
‘Look, you’re not my client. I’m saying this as a friend. You may be able to jump on a plane and follow a story to hell, but when you’re at home you’re a wuss.’
‘I am so not a wuss.’ Abbie threw the cushion back at Kit. It bounced harmlessly off the arm of the couch and landed on the rug.
‘Oh yes, you are. Think about it. Who does everyone in your family dump on?’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Yes, it is. Who gave up her holidays to look after the twins?’
‘But Miffy was sick –’
Kit stared at her. ‘Abbie, the woman had flu. She has a husband and a staff of twelve. And what about those awful charity events you go to? Why can’t you just say no?’
Ignoring the question, Abbie picked up a handful of pretzels. She could say no. She just didn’t want to. It wasn’t as if she had been railroaded into agreeing to marry William. She’d had a choice, hadn’t she? And she loved Miffy and the girls.
Kit poured another glass of wine. ‘I can see those little wheels turning inside your head. All I’m saying is that you’ve just broken up with William but you’re not broken up about it. In fact, I’d go as far as to say you’re relieved.’
She wasn’t like that. She couldn’t be so shallow as to break up with someone and not be broken-hearted.
‘That is a terrible thing to say.’
‘So throw another cushion at me. Look, Jack Winter has rocked your world and maybe that isn’t a bad thing. Perhaps the Abbie who isn’t running around trying to save the world should take a little time out for herself. If you like, I can put you in touch with someone. Just in case you want to find out more. I’ll say no more. It’s up to you.’
Abbie nodded. It might make Kit happy, but she had no intention of letting her submissive side out to play ever again.
Never again. I can’t do this. I will strangle that woman if I ever have to spend another hour with her. Jack slammed the door of his apartment shut and contemplated locking himself in for the rest of his stay in New York. He could not spend any more time with Kym Kardell.
It was impossible that any woman could be that stupid. Abbie had more brains in her little finger than Kym had in her whole body.
Bad idea. Stop thinking about Abbie.
No matter whom he measured Kym against, she came up looking like a plastic doll. Even Sarah O’Brien-Willis had brains to burn. Now that he considered it, all the women he had ever been involved with had been intelligent. So that was his hard limit, an IQ in three digits. It shouldn’t be that hard to find one in New York.
Jack tore off the tux and had a quick shower, just to get rid of the cloying smell of Kym’s perfume lingering all over him. He didn’t care how expensive it was, that stuff smelled nasty. Then, comfortable in sweats and a T-shirt, he settled in front of his laptop.
There were over forty e-mails waiting for him. He skimmed through them quickly. Some from fans. He cut-and-pasted a nice reply and tried to add something personal to each one. Two from children in the new school in Honduras, painstakingly written in basic English. He smiled and sent them a long reply. A short, stilted e-mail from his mother promising to write to him, and a long chatty one from his sister, bringing him up to date on everything that was happening in her life, and making him homesick for Dublin.
He sent her one back, telling her about the reality of life in the jungle. Not about what happened with Abbie in that cave, though. As he knew to his cost, there were some things his family couldn’t face. Someday he would face the dark memories and go back. He had no intention of allowing his past to rule his life. But not yet. Give it another few years and maybe he would be ready.
A handful of business e-mails, some junk that had snuck past his spam filter, and finally he could open the messages he was really looking forward to. The FetLife e-mails. Jack was determined to reward himself for coping with plastic Barbie all night: he was going to hook up with someone who shared his kinks, have a great time and forget Abbie Marshall. This was New York, there had to be someone he could play with.
He opened his account and clicked into new messages. ‘Dear Disciplinarian, I’m a naughty girl who needs a good spanking. Care to oblige me?’ Jack checked her profile before replying. He had
a firm rule about not getting involved with married women. But this one was completely blank. No friends, no fetishes, no groups, not even a single wall post.
He grimaced. He was willing to bet that was a reporter. No matter how hard he tried to keep his private life secret, sometimes rumours leaked out and journalists came sniffing. If they investigated a bit further, they’d know that he never got involved with someone who wasn’t introduced through a friend. The risks were too high.
Just look at the debacle with Abbie.
No, he slammed the door on that thought. Enough obsessing about her. He clicked on a couple of other messages, chatted with friends, wrote birthday wishes on a friend’s wall, noted that an old friend of his had a new Dom. Jack didn’t know him, so he checked his profile to see what he was into and who he had been involved with in the past. Nothing suspicious there, he could relax knowing she had made a good choice.
His chat box popped open. It was Paloma, a former sub of his, the only one he’d had a long-term contract with. He had met her during his early days in New York, when they were both working off-Broadway. After what happened in Dublin, he had been frightened to have anything but vanilla sex. But Paloma had sensed something in him and she had freed him. He would always think of her warmly, though they were rarely in contact any more. He hadn’t heard from her for over a year.
He replied immediately.
He waited for her to say more, but there was silence, so he prompted her.
He grinned. He remembered the way just saying those words would settle Paloma.
This time the answer came quickly.
T was her current Dom. The last Jack heard they were very happy together.
There was a pause.