Lacey padded after him, stole the handset and bedded it in its cradle. ‘You have an obligation, a contract to honour. Are you absolutely certain you can conquer this stunt?’ She searched his eyes.
‘Yes,’ he replied, with confidence. There was no pretence with Lacey. She detected a lie based on how he breathed the words, and his acting skills counted for nothing in her presence. ‘I just want to double-check my figures before I go for the practice run.’ He removed a pile of paper from the desk, and hitched a leg over its corner, kicking off his unzipped boots in the process. ‘You know me. I’m a belt and braces kind of chap.’
Lacey edged towards him, straddled his lap, and looped her arms around his neck. ‘I love it when you get all British.’
He pulled her to him until their lips met, and he melted in the warming welcome of her mouth, its familiar softness a pleasure to explore. As they broke apart, he gathered her long, blonde hair in one hand, lifted her chin with his other, and kissed his way to the hollow of her neck. Her response was immediate, and her tiny hums of delight permitted him to continue. Releasing her hair, he reclined a little and ran his hands over her shoulders, curling his fingers until their backs rested an inch above her breasts.
‘Don’t stop,’ she whispered. ‘It’s what I came here for.’
He let his fingers drop beneath the top line of her virginal white dress. Today she had no bra. ‘How do you do that?’
‘What?’
He noted the gentle arching and he slid his hands further, his touch causing her to catch her breath. ‘How do you manage to surprise me every time?’
All those years together and she still caught him off guard, still thrilled him. She’d hunted him down this afternoon with the intention of making love; he’d seen it in her eyes the minute she’d left the ranch house. It was a look that never failed to arouse him.
He removed his hands from her breasts, and aware of her groan of dissatisfaction, altered his posture and traced her collarbone with his tongue. To know the woman’s body so intimately that he could locate every perfect imperfection blind, to be granted license to roam over every curve with his mouth or his hand, and to shiver with anticipation each and every time he touched her, was proof of their love.
Her hot hands clasped his head as she pulled him up and tasted his lips. He never knew what she was going to do. There was nothing staid about their love-life; nothing predictable. No complacency. Some days they would simmer for hours, on others they would boil over in minutes.
He seized her hand as she reached for him. ‘Not yet,’ he whispered, following her line with his free fingers until they found her hips. He shuffled off the desk, taking Lacey with him, easily lifting her slender frame, and locked her to him with a powerful kiss. His grunt exploded in her mouth as she swung her legs around him and gripped tightly. He carried her across the office, and laid her on the cool couch, shaking his padded, leather jacket off and discarding it on the floor. Rearing above her, he took her in with fresh eyes. As a couple, they constantly evolved. It was a complex relationship, built on the most basic foundation of trust.
Chris knelt at Lacey’s side and released her from the thin straps of her flimsy dress. She dipped her shoulders and pulled her elbows through the loops, maintaining constant eye contact. She raised her hips, and he slipped the dress from under her legs, setting it on top of his jacket. She lay, exposed, womanly, and forever his. He wanted for nothing, except …
‘What’s the matter?’ Lacey gently massaged the scarred skin above his brow. ‘Is it the stunt?’
He smiled. ‘No. I’ll have it sorted by tomorrow.’ He flicked his hair down, and then trailed his index finger along her thigh. ‘I wouldn’t die for a stunt, Lacey, you know that. I’d be trapped in Purgatory, forced to watch you love another man.’
‘I couldn’t love another man. Not the way I love you.’
Her sincerity ruptured Chris’s heart. ‘You’re still young, Lacey, and if I died tomorrow, I wouldn’t want you living the rest of your life unloved.’
Lacey propped herself up, her hair tumbling over the arm of the sofa, the blonde contrasting with the dark leather. ‘What you’ve given me will last both lifetimes, this one and the next. But it will be me watching you from the other side. You’ll follow me over.’ She produced a weak smile, concern invading her eyes. ‘And there is a life after this, Chris. You know I believe that.’ She shook her hair free from the couch, laid down, and took a deep breath. ‘Why are we talking about this? You said you were confident you can make the stunt work.’
‘I am.’ He flattened his palm, worked it along her leg, and onto her abdomen, pausing to toy with the smiling white line that ran across it; her badge of honour and the boys’ entrance to the world. ‘A scar for a scar,’ he muttered, before kissing a trail along it.
When he and Lacey first got together, it was clear they both wanted to raise a family. They agonised long and hard over the risks of her becoming pregnant, with the awful possibility of the virus passing to the baby foremost in their minds. Adoption seemed the way forward, until Lacey read a real-life story in a magazine; an HIV positive woman, receiving IVF and the correct prenatal treatment, had given birth to a healthy girl. It was all Lacey needed to push ahead. That, and a discreet, but expensive clinic that guaranteed the Framptons’ anonymity.
‘Do you remember how tiny the boys were when they were born? Wouldn’t believe it to see them now.’ Chris smiled, almost able to feel their baby weight in his arms.
‘I remember they didn’t like the taste of the medicine the clinic prescribed,’ Lacey said. ‘And I remember how we celebrated when we received their final negative result.’
A warmth spread through Chris as he recalled the moment. ‘It was a good day.’
His hand continued its journey north along Lacey’s front and came to rest in the valley of her chest. ‘I’ll leave the bike till tomorrow.’ He saw the questioning look on Lacey’s face. ‘I wouldn’t risk what we have. I love you too much.’
‘Can you love me too much now?’
That was his cue to help Lacey move beyond the emotion of their conversation and find a place to set her senses free. The heated passion of a few moments ago had cooled into a deep-rooted desire to connect, and the earlier glint of fire in Lacey’s eyes had fanned to a smoulder. A smoky, sexy smoulder. Instinctively, Chris’s body reacted. He kneeled tall, pulled off his black Genesis T-shirt, and added it to the growing pile of clothes.
When he glanced at Lacey, she was grinning. ‘What?’ he asked, leaning over her, blowing his balmy breath onto her body. ‘Are you laughing at my vintage shirt?’ He moved closer.
With her eyes closed, she nodded her reply, Chris stealing her voice by tending her breasts, his hands caressing each in turn, his mouth hovering above their centre. He quietly hummed, knowing the vibrations would heighten Lacey’s arousal, but stopped as her fingers reached below the level of the sofa. She freed him from the tight restraints of his leathers. He pushed them down to his knees, stood up and pulled each trouser leg off, his socks going with them. He took a moment to appreciate the peace that had settled within.
His tranquillity was broken by Lacey clearing her throat. He looked at her and instantly knew what she required of him. He nodded, sauntered back to his desk, and rummaged through the drawer. He didn’t love her any less for it, but to go with the flow, take her naturally and make love without conditions was something he longed for; something they both longed for, but Lacey had written the rider way before Chris came along. Or rather, the unscrupulous agent and the diseased actor had. Chris and Lacey’s complicated life together was about trust and compromise, and hiding the truth of her HIV from the world, which included their twin boys and their best friend, Tommy Stone.
Chris pulled a square pack from his desk and returned to his wife. He sat on the edge of the sofa and studied Lacey’s face. ‘I
t’s all right,’ he said. ‘And I understand. We’ve both taken risks in our line of work.’ Lacey more so. He kissed her furrowed forehead. ‘This is an important piece of safety equipment.’ He waved the packet in front of her. ‘It’s like my bike leathers. I wish they rolled on and off as easily.’ There, he’d made her smile. Almost.
She sat up, took the packet from him and tore at the corner. ‘I wish I’d met you before all of this.’ She discarded the foil wrapper and inspected the condom. She nodded, Chris understanding the tiny gesture as an indication she was satisfied with its integrity, and he, in turn, offered himself up. Proficient in her handling of it, she slipped the rubber over him. She sighed. ‘I want to give you all of me. I always have.’
Chris rose to his feet and tenderly brought Lacey with him so they stood toe to toe. She hooked her fingers behind his neck, and the static arced between them. ‘You give me everything,’ he said, drawing one of her legs on to his hip. ‘And I love you for that.’ He spread his weight between his feet, and with one hand clutching her bottom, he pulled Lacey’s other leg up. ‘You’ve given me two incredible boys,’ he said, as he walked towards a section of wall by the door, encouraging her to rest her back upon it. He watched her intently, giving her time to adjust to the chilled surface and then with a kiss to her neck and a bite to her ear, he hitched her higher, before easing her down upon him.
He searched her face for signs of discomfort, but she had already closed her eyes and was beginning to moan in time with his movements. She was glass in his hands; fragile, delicate. Transparent. Today, she carried the guilt of her past, punishing herself with thoughts of her misguided youth, fighting for liberation from them. Yesterday, she was wild with destructive energy. Tomorrow … Tomorrow, she might be as free as a bird.
He altered his position and increased the pace, Lacey staying with him. He kissed her neck again, attracted to the silken skin, and she responded with a tighter squeeze inside. He whispered words of love and messages of reassurance, taking her gently, understanding her needs and reading the signs she displayed for him. Today she needed to know it was okay to let go. That’s why she had come to him. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to me,’ he whispered. ‘I’m safe.’ With those words, he felt her contract. They climaxed seconds apart, Chris following Lacey, and they collapsed against the wall, their bodies pressed together.
Chris set her down, and wiped a trickle of sweat from her lip. ‘I love you, Mrs Frampton.’
He was about to kiss her when he was caught by the sound of gravel footsteps crunching at speed in their direction. He held his finger to his mouth. He wasn’t ready to become Dad or Chris Frampton, actor. He was still the lover, the husband. The alpha male. He jumped when someone thumped the door.
‘Dad! Dad! You gotta come!’
‘It’s Rick.’ Chris pointed to his naked form. ‘Okay, bud, give me a minute.’ He scrambled across to the sofa, and searched for his leathers.
‘Dad? Mom? Is Mom there? Mom?’ Rick’s voice raised a tone as he continued calling. ‘You’ve gotta come to the arena.’
‘I’ll go.’ Lacey ran over to her dress, picked it up and slipped it on. ‘See you outside.’
By the time Chris thrust himself into his trousers and stumbled outside, all that was left of Lacey and Rick was two pairs of footprints and the kick-dust swirling above the ground.
Bootless, Chris followed Lacey’s steps, running over stones and dirt without flinching. He was desperate to reach the arena. A second before he caught up with Rick, who was standing at the entrance, he was stunned by an ear-bleeding roar of an explosion. And then darkness.
‘Did you hear me?’
Chris snapped back to the present and jumped to his feet. His head was swimming and the room was swirling; an eddy of condoms and pencils. He moored himself to the desk before looking up. Tommy, with an overstuffed rucksack, filled the space between the doorjambs.
‘I said I can’t face Rick and I don’t want to lie to him. I need to work out what I’m going to do, and I can’t do that here.’
With Tommy’s words registering, Chris tried one last time to ram his point home. ‘This is Lacey’s secret, Tommy. If you loved her, you wouldn’t betray her.’
With a final shake of his head, Tommy turned and walked away. ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ he said.
Chapter Eight
With all the will in the world, Victoria knew her relationship with Seth would only grow if it was what they both desired. Regardless of the recent success, Seth made it clear he wanted little to do with Victoria. He’d spent the early part of the evening with Frank, playing with his old, wooden train track on the floor of the living room in the bungalow, then after tea, when Victoria suggested she took Seth for his bath, he’d run screaming along the hallway, and shut himself in the spare room.
Victoria stood by the children’s bedroom and fingered the five nameplates fixed to the door. Her dad said he’d made them during an over-sixties woodworking course he’d attended last year. The quality was as good as any Victoria had seen at craft fairs. Not that she’d been to many. Juliette had dragged her round one, suggesting it was an excellent afternoon out for the children. It wasn’t. Still, Victoria admired and appreciated her father’s skill.
The room itself was cosy enough. The bottom bunk had a Thomas The Tank Engine duvet cover, there was a green toy box full of jigsaws and bears at the foot of the bed, and adjacent, was a set of five blue drawers, one assigned to each grandchild.
Yesterday, Seth had gone to bed without fuss, but that was with his Pops tucking him in. Tonight it was a different story. With Frank going out, it was down to Victoria to get Seth to bed, and he was not happy with the situation.
Victoria moved away from Seth’s room and knocked on her father’s door.
‘I’m not doing it.’
‘I haven’t asked yet.’ She swore under her breath.
The door opened and her father, dressed in a pink shirt and pale blue trousers, entered the hallway. ‘If I put Seth to bed it will become his routine, and I’ll be stuck doing it until you move out.’
Astonished at her father’s choice of words, Victoria gawked at him. ‘Stuck doing it?’
‘It’s one of the privileges of being a grandparent. All the fun and none of the responsibility.’ Frank smiled.
‘Tonight, Dad. Once. That’s all. Please.’ She tugged on his shirtsleeve, reminiscent of when she was a child. It was the one way she knew of getting round him. The prospect of facing a stroppy boy, bathing him and tucking him into bed panicked her; Seth didn’t want her near him. ‘Was I that difficult?’
Frank grinned. ‘I learned to call it by a different name. You were independent.’
Victoria digested the comment. ‘So I was difficult?’ She tutted and shook her head. ‘And at what age did I become easy?’
Frank failed to stifle a laugh. ‘Victoria, my lovely, logical daughter, you have never been easy, in any sense of the word.’ He tapped his nose and pirouetted along the corridor. ‘I’m off out. Olivia and I are hitting the arcades. Don’t wait up.’
Victoria huffed and then narrowed her eyes. Seth had to go to bed and she had to put him there. Unsure as to how she was to achieve the impossible, she entered her father’s room and sat on the end of his bed.
Her hardest ordeal to date was being pregnant. How was getting a four-year-old to co-operate worse?
She cringed at the sound of the front door closing. It was her and Seth now. It was time to sink or swim. Perhaps she’d tread water until her child liked her.
Rising up, she straightened the duvet and, feeling like a condemned woman, walked the Green Mile to Seth’s bedroom.
‘It’s a bath, followed by a bedtime story,’ she muttered, pushing open his door. She geared herself up for one more battle, and then saw Seth. He was fast asleep, with the duvet tucked lightly around hi
m. His clothes were in a pile on the toy box, and his pyjama top was all skew-whiff, twisted around his chest.
It should have been a moment of wonder for Victoria, but all she could think was that her son was so against her putting him to bed, he’d struggled to do it himself.
She tidied his clothes, switched off the lamp, and left the bedroom. She’d bathe him in the morning.
Swallowing the cocktail of sadness and relief, Victoria made her way to the kitchen. Like the rest of the property it was compact, but it had every convenience her father required; a fridge-freezer, an electric oven, and a kettle. Victoria rooted through the eye-level cupboards in search of a jar of decent coffee – she tolerated instant, so long as it was granules. She found a new jar of Kenco, which received a nod of approval.
Usually at this point on a weekend, with a mug of strong coffee for company, she would dismiss the nanny and settle at the computer, catching up on a lost day’s work. Every minute of her waking hours was utilised to the maximum. Inactivity was abnormal.
She perused the kitchen wondering how to fill a few seconds while waiting for the kettle to boil. There was a disorderly pile of cookbooks shoved against the side of the fridge-freezer, with extracts of recipes escaping over the top of an ancient Hamlyn’s All Colour Cookbook. A vegetarian version of the same stood open on the iron bookstand. That explained tonight’s nut roast, which, alarmingly, Seth ate with gusto.
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