Everything You Want: Everything For You Trilogy 2

by Orla Bailey

  “I hate you.” For making me love you.

  “No you don’t.” He presses a swift, hard kiss to my lips and withdraws again. I hiss an intake of breath, still standing far too close to the wired-to the-mains boundary fence.

  He pulls my wilting body upright and guides me onto trembling legs. I can’t imagine being able to hold back if he tries to take me again. It’s simply not humanly possible. I need him now with a fury of blind passion. Is this what he’s trying to get from me?

  He carries me through to the sitting room, understanding we’ll never make it if I have to walk. If he means to test me in every room in the chateau, I am a dead woman.

  He stands me before the huge open stone fireplace and picks up my violin case. I start. No-one ever touches my instrument but me. He places it on the sofa, opens the case and lifts it out carefully. I don’t utter a word. It seems I will allow this man anything. Everything.

  “What can you play?” He hands me the bow.

  “Anything.” My limbs quake from the stone bench and the kitchen table. My voice quavers. I’m totally taut and entirely liquid all at the same time.

  “Play me what you feel inside.” He eases onto the sofa next to the violin case, beautiful and unashamed in his glistening nakedness. I want him so badly it’s hard to think about anything else but I place the violin between my chin and collar bone. It feels smooth and firm and matches perfectly everything I am as I stand naked before him physically and emotionally. I begin to bow without considering what music to play. It comes instantly and naturally.

  This is part of me and I am part of it. We are haunting and melodic. The music stirs in me and I enlighten it. We slowly build inside each other and I find myself weeping as I play. This has been me without Jack and Jack without me. I will never let that happen. She can’t have him.

  “That’s it,” Jack shouts leaning forward. He yanks me from my trance. “That note. Play it again.”

  I return my conscious mind to the room and turn my attention to him. “What?”

  “That note. The high one that you held.”

  I go back a few bars as far as I remember and play through the music in my head.

  “That one. Again.”

  I play the long, high, reaching note he selects as he shuts his eyes and listens. “What do you hear?” I ask him. I’m puzzled.

  “That’s the note you sing to me when you come.”

  He notices everything.

  I prop the violin and bow on an adjacent chair and throw myself onto Jack’s naked body shoving the violin case out of my way with my foot.

  “Make me come, Jack. Let me sing your note.” I don’t care how desperate I sound. I want to orgasm with him inside me. I want him to pleasure me the way only he is able.

  He flips me over until I lie beneath him and crushes his lips to mine. His weight bears down on me as I sink into the feather filled cushions. I don’t need to breathe, I only need to come for Jack. To sing out for him.

  Ready again he presses himself slowly and deeply all the way inside me. He holds his body up on straightened arms and measures the way he pleasures me. His two recent orgasms afford him the leisure to take his own sweet time. But it’s much too slow for me. I try to force the speed to match my craving desire.

  “If you do that again I’ll stop.”

  “Don’t stop,” I plead, panting. I understand. He wants to play me at his own tempo. I am his instrument. He wants to coax and guide and make me resonate with all the gentle notes he chooses. I open myself to him. He is so beautiful and sexy in command of me, I want him fiercely.

  He plays my body slowly while I rise up and climb until he is willing to let me soar. I arch up under him, unable to resist, meeting each bowing of his body with my own response.

  “Come for me, kitten. Sing out.”

  I have read his music well and fracture and fragment instantaneously in an orgasm so pure, so powerful, so wild and free I sing his note, high and long. Atoms fly apart and crash together again in my body in an impact so potent I am changed. He has changed me. I know it.

  I score my nails through the flesh of his back deep enough for him to hiss in agony. My internal walls crush his hard maleness to me grasping and grabbing, squeezing rhythmically in an age old female harmony which refuses to end.

  When he stops thrusting to study me, deeply penetrated, the concentration on his face as he minutely experiences every moment is a wonder.

  “Oh baby. You’re so amazing. I can’t. Hold. Back. FUCK!” He shoots a hot gush deep inside me, his neck first arching, corded and tensioned, then his head hanging limply between powerfully muscled shoulders.

  He has fed me and fought me, erotically denied me and fulfilled me. I have angered him, amused him, frustrated him and satisfied him. I am everything and nothing and I know I love him more than life itself.

  But he does not love me.

  So I cry.

  “Hey. What’s this?” He sweeps the tears from my cheek with his thumb. He puts them to his mouth and consumes them.

  He will consume me too if I let him. I must conquer this need for him. “Relief. You’re cruel to me.”

  “Power play is only a game, kitten.” He withdraws slowly and shifts his weight off me.

  But he doesn’t deny my accusation. And I cannot allow myself to think about the power of my impending grief when the game ends. I search beyond my need for him, for something to make us happy.

  “Do you want to go swimming in the lake?”

  “There’s a lake?” His eyebrow lifts as we continue to breathe violently after our exertions.

  “Don’t you inspect real estate before you buy it?”

  “Only when I plan to keep it.” The intensity of his stare disturbs me. “It was always meant to be a temporary deal.”

  His words crucify me. I know he’s not talking about the chateau but me.

  “So where is this lake?”

  “Down past the meadow.” I will think only of the here and now.

  He relaxes and grins at me. “Skinny dipping?”

  “Unless you thought to bring swim shorts.” Harry would have some but I’m not telling him that.

  “I packed in rather a hurry.” The look he throws my way says that is my fault too.

  “How did you know where to find me?” It’s worth another try.

  “I’ll always know where to find you, kitten.” He sweeps my hair to one side and nuzzles my neck.

  I roll my eyes. “Have you got me electronically tagged or something?”

  “Something like that.” He gives me the Look and I wonder what he means by it. He’s as cryptic as ever.

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Just know there’s no point running. Because I’ll find you anyway.”

  “I gave you my word didn’t I?”

  “Did you?”

  Will I ever understand Jack Keogh?

  Chapter Six

  We spend the afternoon swimming, drowsing in the shade and making unhurried love in the meadow down by the lake. At least I’m making love. Jack may be an accomplished lover who knows only too well how to make my body sing the way he wants it to but I know for him, this is all about the sex. And the power. He uses both to manage the woman who dared run from him. To establish who is boss.

  Despite that I wish we could always be this way. No CaidCo. No Zee-Com. Definitely no Amanda Devereaux to come between us. Whatever happens, I’ll always have this memory which is more than I had last time he disappeared from my life.

  I won’t even allow myself to consider that that might make the parting harder.

  Catch-up sleep and lots of sex put Jack in a very good mood which I benefit from thoroughly.

  “Are you dry yet, kitten? I should give you another coating of protection.” Jack’s hand sweeps across my bare belly making me shiver. He wants to guard me from everything, including the sun but I’ve learned rapidly this is his cue for wanting more sex. He’s insatiable and I’m exhausted but happy. />
  He convinces me the most sensible way to shield us both quickly against sunburn is if he massages oil all over my naked skin then transfers it by rubbing himself all over me. It’s a perfect excuse to explore my entire body any way he wants and the friction and contact ends in mind-blowing orgasms every single time. But he’s a complete con-artist because an hour later he insists it would improve productivity if we were to reverse the procedure. I don’t care a jot. Either works for me.

  “You’re turning quite brown,” I tell him, trailing fingers over his burnished skin as I take my turn.

  He squirms beneath my ticklish caress. “That’s the wild gipsy in me.”

  “Wild,” I repeat, laughing at our word. I can almost believe it when I see how untamed this civilised captain of industry becomes in the throes of sexual abandon. I’m losing all inhibitions under the heat of a foreign sky as well. So much so I forget to filter a thought, blurting it out. “Is sex part of our weekend deal?”

  Jack ratchets up onto one elbow and squints down at me. “I can’t believe you’d even think that.” He sits upright abruptly and starts dragging on his shorts and t-shirt. “Christ, Tabitha.” He tosses my clothes across with a scowl. “It’s time we were heading back.”

  My anxiety has ruined the moment but he doesn’t know I’m already party to his motives. He thinks the state of affairs between him and Amanda remains a secret from me. And I’m certain he’s not telling her about what we’re doing together. I may not like to think about it but he’s two-timing her with me and me with her. I feel a tragedy unfolding.

  Any awkward silence is broken as we wander back to the house in the early evening warmth. It’s hard to stay mad at each other.

  “How long were you planning on holing up here anyway?” he asks me.

  Until Earth stopped spinning. “Dunno.”

  “We need to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” But I’m so not ready to hear about him returning to London and his real life with Amanda. I wonder if he’d let me stay on here for a bit now he owns the place.

  “We’ll be flying back Monday morning.”

  “We?” I’m not sure if I’m saying yes or no to that.

  It’s a bit of a shock to be honest. And he’s not asking, he’s telling. He’s never truly stopped being the Boss despite what any of this looks like. The further we walk out of the meadow, the more I feel it. My brief moment in the sun with my Jack is almost over.

  “A CEO can’t run away from their responsibilities. Not me and not you.”

  “I know that.” I just didn’t care at the time. Having Jack here with me makes me care even less.

  “I need to explain some other stuff too. Better you hear it from me first.”

  Oh God. This is it. He’s going to admit he’s with Amanda and that he’s grown tired of making me pay for being an interloper; an upstart. That I’ve been some dalliance for old time’s sake or because he can’t commit to a marriage to her always wondering what it might be like to screw that silly young bitch who had the hots for him when she was a kid. To get me out of his system.

  I sink to my knees in full hyperventilation mode. Don’t tell me, Jack. Don’t say those words out loud. Let me pretend a while longer. The balmy, still, surrounding air refuses to enter my lungs as the noisy cicadas serenade my awakening.

  Jack turns as soon as he senses I’m not in step behind him.

  “Tabby?” He wheels back and kneels in the long grass beside me. “Breathe. I shouldn’t have left you in the sun so long.

  “No. You shouldn’t,” I gasp.

  “Breathe in... three, four, five. Hold, two. Out... two, one. Again.” One hand stretches lightly across my diaphragm and moves back and forth as I force oxygen in and push it out. He knows the breathing routine as well as I do.

  I close my eyes allowing the tilting world around me to vanish. I have to let him go again but I can’t bear it. Not so soon. Not today. I struggle to my feet with his hand at my elbow. What is the point of fighting for Jack, when he doesn’t want me?

  “Let’s get you indoors. You need water. Probably still dehydrated.” He considers all possible reasons for my collapse but the right one.

  “I’m fine.” I pull myself under control. Enough to make a joke of it. “I can’t possibly need water. I swallowed half a lake when you ducked me.”

  “Do you want me to carry you back?” Lines of concern etch his forehead.

  I wave him off. “Walking will get my lungs working.”

  Jack relaxes at my quick recovery but shortens his pace so I don’t have to move so fast to keep up. Why can he be so lovely sometimes but so incredibly insensitive others? How could he not know how I feel? At least he doesn’t launch into his confession so I have a stay of execution. But I can’t pretend any longer that he’s mine.

  Jack and I take a hot soapy shower together to wash all the sun oil and grass stains off each other’s bodies. I don’t think he wants to let me out of his sight until he’s certain he won’t have a dead body on his hands to explain away to Amanda. Yet I’m glad he lets me share the shower with him unlike this morning. I want to create as many happy memories as I can while I have the chance, even knowing that they’re what will destroy me in the end.

  He towels his dark hair vigorously. “I have to go online for a bit. Is that going to be a problem?” He steels himself for the explosion.

  We both know what happened last night but he’ll never let me get in the way of his business. And he must want to assuage the guilt of all this… personal time with me by doing some sweet-talking to Amanda. I’m just a temporary diversion, after all.

  “It’s fine,” I reassure him offhandedly. “I do understand the concept of feeling guilty.” I can’t help throwing in my accusation for good measure.

  He narrows his eyes at my choice of words as well he might, which only confirms my suspicions.

  “Guilty enough to do anything reckless?” The uncertainty of how I will react, despite the fact I gave him my word not to run again, oozes from every pore which seems ridiculous considering the levels of his own deception, now I think about it. Although that’s a two-timing man’s conscience for you.

  “Yes. That guilty.” I’m proud to say anger toughens me up.

  His face adopts a stunned expression. “Tabitha, if you even think for one second –”

  “Of doing the devil’s work?”

  “What are you saying?” He grabs me by the forearms, yanking me in front of him, his eyes boring into mine.

  “Oh I can be every bit as scheming as you can, Jack Keogh.” I pause to assess the mixture of emotions that flood his features. “I’m planning the unthinkable.” I pause. “To betray our famous Breton cuisine by doing a speciality of Nice for dinner instead. Just for the illicit thrill of it. And I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” Innuendo loads the words I speak with double meaning.

  He expels a breath, his muscles loosen and the tightness round his eyes and mouth eases, although some of his famous frown remains. “I’m never sure what you mean half the time.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  He gives me an adulterously drugging kiss before disappearing into Harry’s study.

  Jack’s study now. I wonder if he plans on bringing Amanda to Lassec now it belongs to him. Will he walk her through my meadow? Swim with her in my lake? Oil her body and make slow, easy love to her under the warm sun? Then she’ll finally have everything that is special to me. Everything. The invisible knife twists in my heart.

  I determine not to go anywhere near Jack while he works. I can’t bear to hear him talk to her. Especially about his little problem: me. I occupy myself concentrating on reproducing a Salade Niçoise to Madame’s exacting standards but it is not enough to push out the insecurities eating away at my brain.

  I throw a handful of French beans into a pan of hot water and wash some crispy lettuce. Turning on the radio to drown out the screaming silence of knowing he’s upstairs sharing affection with her, I get my viol
in and join in a Celtic folk song. Somehow the long, high orgasm note gets incorporated and I play it over and over at the open door hoping they’ll both hear me. I can be so childish sometimes.

  But rebellion is the only thing that stops me dying inside.

  When the cooked beans come out to cool, eggs are dropped in to boil and I crush tons of wild garlic and chop herbs for a dressing. Whenever Jack eats wild garlic from now on, I’m determined his conscience will be pricked remembering this night and me.

  I rinse meaty little anchovies of their coarse salt preservative, chop tomatoes and red onion and assemble the whole bowlful. Everything is liberally tossed in dressing. It looks and tastes great. I chuck on a couple of handfuls of fat purple Provence olives and a spoonful of capers and throw a clean tablecloth over the lot to keep off insects attracted to the piquancy of the food.

  Because of Jack’s fondness for fresh bread I crisp up the country loaf in the oven.

  Ignoring the dining room for a more informal setting, I fix the kitchen table with an everyday tablecloth, lavender scented candles, and paper napkins. I want this night to be ordinary like me. Simple and uncomplicated the way we should have been together, before he shattered all my dreams.

  I pace impatiently, tormenting myself with just how much time he seems to want to spend with her. To stop myself going crazy or doing something I may regret, I wander outside. Handfuls of wildflowers picked from the uncut edges of the back lawn are propped in a floral milk jug and placed on the table. Jack can see that not everything has to be as hyper-designed and flawless as Amanda to be perfect. Nothing about me or tonight will remind him of her and this looks simple and beautiful.

  At the last minute I dash upstairs and change into a pretty pale blue summer dress, still carefully avoiding the part of the house where Jack is working. On the very edge of doing something reckless, I finally see him coming downstairs. I watch him from the kitchen doorway where he catches me out waiting for him, chewing at my bottom lip.

  Missing nothing, his eyes swiftly take in my change of clothing and I see his somewhat restless manner ease. When he glances in at the kitchen table he gets a gleam in his eye.