“Nope, my teddy bear. ‘Night. Sleep tight.”
“I wish I were Plato.”
Her laughter kept him upbeat as he showered and got into bed. He would listen to her show, send in some emails and get ready to welcome her home.
* * * *
The thought of hearing her voice for two hours late at night haunted his thoughts all day. In a good way. He had surprised Alberto with both his thanks for holding the fort so often and his immediate pay rise. His own surprise was the amount of work they were able to get through. Both of them were inspired. By four o’clock he felt justified in calling it a day.
“That’s enough for today, Berto. You must be sick of the sight of me. Shall I start looking for something to keep me out of the office?”
His P.A. laughed and shook his head. “No, don’t do that. I’m happy to have you here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to keep things ticking over when you’re away, but you’re the one who makes things move. The more moving you do, the more money you make, the more bonus I get. QED—glad to have you back.”
“Hope you still think that in a few weeks. Right, see you tomorrow. I’ve a meeting first thing, so won’t be in until about twelve and will need to leave by four, I would think.” That would give him time to listen to Vairi, hopefully speak to her after her show, get some sleep, and still be capable of meeting Kenny for their final tidy up. Before then picking Vairi up, eating and settling down for the start of the rest of his—and hopefully their—life. “A nice shoe-in before I’m up and running.”
Alberto looked at him and laughed. “There’s never a time when you are not up and running. Believe me, I know. I’m the one always trying to catch you.”
Nice sentiments, but the only running he felt like doing had nothing to do with work. By the time he sat in his lounge, curtains and windows open to enjoy the last evening light with a whisky—a fine Highland Park eighteen-year-old single malt this time—in his hand, he wasn’t so sure. He swirled the amber liquid and smiled to himself as he remembered a heated argument with an American friend over the difference between Bourbon whiskey with an ‘E’ in the word, and Scotch Whisky—no ‘E’. Why on earth people thought they were the same drink, he had no idea. They were about the same as rum and gin. Alcohol, and there the similarity ended. It had been a very drunken evening as both whisky and whiskey had been drunk in copious amounts to assure themselves of the differences.
Raig shook his head in amusement at his memories, finished his whisky and headed indoors to turn on the radio and listen. His phone beeped with an incoming message.
Don’t forget to switch on to me.
No chance of that. His fingers flew over the keyboard.
My new, hard, and fast rule.
Ohh, hard and slow, please.
Your words are my command.
Good. Gotta go. Look forward to trying out your new rule later.
Now what exactly did she mean by that? There was no time to find out. The opening music began, and he found himself leaning forward in his seat, as if he would be able to hear better and remembered the last time he did exactly the same action.
“Good evening, listeners. Midweek Midnight with Cracking Carry C. A brilliant show for you tonight. Somewhat different than usual, in that there are no email invites. So let’s have some music, then I’ll tell you all about it.” Her voice faded, and the melodious tones of Paul Simon singing Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover took over.
Oh ho, that didn’t sound too good. He poured himself another whisky without his customary addition of the same amount of water and settled to wait for the end of the song. His palms were sweaty and his pulse irregular. Shit, for years he hadn’t known what sweaty palms were, not even in the stickiest of situations, and now twice in a few days. Calm down, Raig, he told himself. Wait to see what she has to say. Surely she wouldn’t be so cruel as to give him his marching orders over the airwaves? No, she wasn’t like that. If it was over, she would tell him face-to-face. If he gave her the chance.
“Now, peeps. Tonight is different. A lot different actually. I’m talking about trust again. Not yours, mine. Or rather, my lack of it. My stupidity. How I almost lost my lover. Without using any of those fifty ways we’ve just heard about, but because I didn’t have trust. I expected it, got very shirty when I felt I didn’t get it. But did I give it in return? Oh no, not me. Cracking Carry C kept a great big bit of her life to herself. My lover found out about my program by chance and recognized my voice. Still he wanted me, to be with me and to be part of my life. Me? I was a moron. So here’s the next bit of music. Ignore all the words, just listen to the title, and substitute my name.”
He laughed so hard he spilled his drink as Jilted John and Gordon is a Moron came across loud and clear. She really had trawled the archives for those songs.
“Yes, well”—her voice was wry—“that was me, folks. The moron. I wasn’t jilted, but boy, was I stupid. The most wonderful man omitted to tell me something so immaterial, and I took a hissy fit.”
Raig wasn’t sure he really was hearing that. Immaterial? Wonderful? What next? What next was better. Much better.
“He loves me, really loves me. I love him and wouldn’t admit it. Too up my own you-know-what, I know best and all that rubbish, and spat the dummy out. I felt something should be really important and got snotty when he didn’t. Why should I be right and him wrong? Oh, idiot or what? All he asked was for me to trust him, and he would tell me everything as soon as he could. You’ve got it, I was noncommittal. Letting my past mess up my future. Then I had the lightbulb moment.”
Blinded by the Light by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band blasted his eardrums.
Raig itched to text or email, but he kept his hands firmly wrapped around his glass. He wondered what would happen next.
“As I said, lightbulb moment. I wasn’t blinded by the light. I was blinded by lack of trust, but I couldn’t find a track saying that. So I guess this is my way of groveling. Hoping it’s not too late to say I trust you, I believe in you and I love you. You don’t have to tell me things you shouldn’t.”
The James Bond theme came next. Raig was hopeful. Very hopeful. Full of love and admiration for his love. She had told the world how she felt, and he was humbled.
His phone beeped for an incoming text.
Forgive me? I didn’t know how else to show you how I love and trust you. I don’t need to wait until tomorrow to be with you. Any chance of a lift home? To your home?
There was an easy answer to that.
My pleasure. To our home?
To our home.
He was so glad he’d spilled his second whisky and not drank it. A single malt from the highlands shouldn’t be wasted but this was one occasion he didn’t mind.
As he grabbed shoes and a jacket, he still listened to the radio to see what else she might say.
Her voice was light, happy-sounding, full of laughter. “Please, peeps, don’t get the idea he is a spy, nothing further from the truth.”
Ouch.
“He’s loyal, kind, true and part of me. And I love him. So this is for you, my love. Elton John and Your Song. From me with love.”
Sheesh. There was a facer.
He grabbed the car keys, locked up the house, got into his car and drove, listening to her love and trust in words and music. Hoped and prayed it would sustain and stay strong and true after the following night. The last thing he wanted to do was break this new, precious, fragile link they had forged. He was horribly afraid that he might do so.
Chapter Fifteen
He didn’t go into the station, because he didn’t want to meet Stevie or anyone else. Just Vairi. He sat outside for the last few minutes of her show, enjoying the music, reveling in the sound of her voice. As the end music faded and her voice finished talking, he sent a text to tell her he was parked at the door.
Ten minutes.
It was less. He saw her leave the building, Stevie with her, and got out of the car. The air was still, the night ca
lm with that hint of earthiness that comes with the midnight of summer. Somewhere close he could smell roses and knew he would forever associate their scent with the memory of that moment, as he watched Vairi walk to him, all the love and trust she had spoken about showing on her face for him to see.
He leaned in to her and held her tight, hardly registering Stevie leaving. He was surrounded by her presence, drowning willingly in it, oblivious to all else as he handed her into the car, walked rapidly around to the driver’s side and got in. She leaned across the space between them and half slid on top of him. His cock registered her rapidly and dramatically, making her wriggle against him eagerly.
“Mmm, that’s nice to feel how pleased you are to see me, touch me. Ouch, damn gearstick. How dare it think it can take the place of you?” She moved to kiss him and purred deep in her throat. “God, Raig, I have so missed you. If nothing else, my stupidity had done one thing—made me accept how much I need you. Take me home. Your home.”
“Our home,” he corrected gently with a mental prayer—I hope.
She slung a shoulder bag the size of a small suitcase onto the backseat. He looked at it, then her, a question in his eyes.
She must have read and interpreted it correctly. “I hoped,” she said simply.
What had he done to deserve all this? To deserve her? F-all, that’s what, he thought morosely. F-bloody-all. So much was riding on the following evening. Before that, they had the rest of this night—well, day, he corrected himself as he looked at the clock on the dashboard. Oh shit, hell, and other epithets he could think of. No, they didn’t.
“Love, I need to work tomorrow. Tie up some loose ends and things like that. Will you be fine?”
She squeezed his thigh, sending his cock on high alert. “I’m a big girl. I can entertain myself, although I do prefer you to do it. For goodness’ sake, love, I’ve got a book and my knitting. Think I’ll knit a willy warmer for you.” She laughed and rolled her eyes, probably at the look of horror he knew he had on his face. “Stop worrying. Everything will be fine. I told you, hell, I told however many thousand listeners, I love you and trust you. Whatever you want to say tomorrow—no, tonight—there is no need. Unless you are an ax murderer, of course. Then I do want to know. Make sure there are no axes about.”
“No, Vairi My Queen, not that.” Maybe worse? “It will be all explained tonight, I promise.”
“You don’t have to, Raig. I mean what I say. I. Trust. You. I. Love. You. Okay?”
“Okay, but we’ll still wait until tonight for you to decide if I am really who you want to be with.” Through the windscreen, he watched the Tarmac stretching into the distance, moonlight shining down on its seeming smoothness, showing all its imperfections. A bit like me, he thought. Nothing wrong showing up until you shine a spotlight. Pinning your hopes and dreams on something so big. That’s the price to pay.
She shifted in her seat to look at him. “What exactly do you mean by that?” The tone had danger running through it loud and clear. “We have the rest of this night. Do we not?”
Ah, crunch time again. “Not. Not until you know all about me.”
“What?” The screech could have shattered glass at twenty-five paces. Thank God for reinforced windscreens.
“I’m not making love to you until you know the real me,” he said, stubborn to the last. “I’m going to do the right thing for once.”
“Stop the car.”
“What?”
“Stop the bloody car. Now.” She thumped his thigh as she spoke.
With a quick look in the rearview mirror, he indicated and pulled into the curb.
“Right. What the fuck is going on? And stop bloody thumping me.” He grabbed her hands and held them firm. “Right, why the freak out? I’m being the good guy here. Not taking advantage of you.”
“Argh. No.” She shook her head. “I want you to take advantage of me. I want you naked in me, making me scream your name. You, you…”
Obviously, he thought, bemused, she can’t find a word bad enough.
“You twerp. What’s the point of going all noble now?” She pulled their hands down together to rest on the hard, pulsing ridge under his zip. “I want you, you want me. Where’s the problem?”
“No, not until you know me. Then I will make love to you, not before.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, you’re saying you won’t make love to me until after this great, big this-is-me thing goes down?”
He nodded, wary.
She smiled, a deep, sultry, sensuous, suspicious smile. “No problem, then. Carry on driving.”
He started the car. And nearly ran into the ditch.
“I’ll make love to you. You can lie back and grin and bear it. Mind the tree.”
Mind the tree. After a statement like that, she was lucky they weren’t out of the car and against the tree. He concentrated on the road ahead. Not on his cock, agreeing with everything she said, or on her soft breath. Definitely not on her hand resting on his thigh, her fingers occasionally brushing his jeans over where said cock pulsed. Never had thirty miles seemed so long. Even his drive, which, with its satisfying crunch of gravel, gave him a feeling of coming home when he drove over it, seemed four miles, not one.
By the time he’d activated the garage door and driven inside, he was hard pressed not to put her seat back and dive inside her warmth. Two things stopped him—the fact he was determined not to make love to her before she heard everything, and if he was honest, the realization he was excited and aroused by the thoughts of how she might make love to him. To say nothing of the fact he was too damn old to negotiate a gearstick that wasn’t part of him!
Instead, he carefully, painfully walked around the car to open her door and help her out. Chivalry darned well wasn’t dead, even if she only laughed and used his hand to lever herself against him. Automatically he moved against her.
She slapped his butt, none too gently.
“Uh-uh, you’re not going to make love to me, remember? Everything that happens will be instigated and activated by me. Only me. You, my love, will lie back and suffer.”
She took hold of both his hands. He could, if he had chosen, easily moved them, but he didn’t choose to.
“Or enjoy,” she said conversationally, before continuing in the same tone. “Is there anyone in the house waiting for us?”
He shook his head. “Nope. My housekeeper doesn’t live in. She has that cottage at the bottom of the drive. Why?”
“I just wondered. No, I’ll get it,” she told him as he reached for her bag. “Lead on.”
She had something in mind, he’d bet on it. His own mind began to race over possibilities as he opened the door from the garage to the house and turned off the alarm. Kitchen table? The stairs? The Jacuzzi—no, he discarded that since Vairi didn’t know about it. Wait and see, Raig.
Or…not see!
He found a soft, silken cover blocking out his sight. Registered the door latched behind him and the sound of a key turning.
“Stand there.” Her voice was soft and hesitant. Not so self-assured then. He nodded and waited, listening. He could hear doors opening and closing, the sound of footsteps on the stairs. It was a strange feeling, to be vulnerable, to be able to listen and not see. He mentally gave thanks for the gift of sight.
He was so immersed in his thoughts he almost missed her return. It was that all-important prickle of awareness that had him turning in her direction before he heard the footsteps. At least he thought it was her. Nothing else sent messages through his cock and balls like her presence.
Smooth hands remove his jacket. Raig shivered as soft breaths whispered over his skin and gentle breathing, sounded in his ear. Still in his dark world, his other senses were on high alert. Somehow he knew she was standing in front of him and just looking at him. His hands stretched out of their own volition. The air around him was displaced by a swirl of movement. Something soft was firmly attached to his left wrist. He tugged and caught her laugh.
“I told you I was a Girl Guide. I passed all my knot badges.” His hand was moved behind his back and tied to the other one before he stopped her. Not that he had any intention of doing so, this assault on his senses was bloody arousing.
“Now, you trust me not to let you bump into anything or fall over?” Her voice was full of humor. “First though.” His mouth was assaulted in the best way possible as she moved her tongue over his teeth, demanded entrance then danced around inside, meshing and teasing. His fingers found his nipples—he had no idea when his shirt had been opened and his chest laid bare for her to touch and explore.
“I’m leading you now,” she said finally as her mouth slowly left his. He felt them move to the left. Not upstairs then? Maybe the kitchen was right. Suddenly he found himself being twirled around in a circle. By the time he was steadied again, he had no idea which direction he was facing and said so.
“That’s the idea. Otherwise, where’s the element of surprise? Now I can keep you guessing.” Once again, a hand on his shoulder was guiding him, he thought, across the hallway. What next? He didn’t have a clue and was excited by the notion.
“Stand there a sec.” He heard a noise as if a chair was being moved, then the sound and feel of his zip being lowered followed by the scrape of denim moving down his legs and cool, refreshing air caressing his skin. Going commando sometimes paid off, even when the only reason you had done it was to get out of the house in a hurry.
“Right, just behind you. Sit down slowly.” He complied and almost yelped as a cold, hard seat met his overheated body.
“Fuck, that’s cold,” he muttered as he perched gingerly on the chilly surface. “Is this to deflate me?”
“Oh hell, sorry.” She doesn’t sound all that sorry, he thought wryly as his body adjusted to the temperature cocooning his ass. She sounded gleeful. “I want you to be easily accessible.”
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