by Orla Bailey
He tears himself away, moving to the door where he flips the lock then turns and looks at me standing, flushed, with my robe hanging open. “You’re exquisite.”
I feel very wicked being locked in here with him like this, knowing Amanda is waiting outside. It heightens the excitement I feel. Is that why he’s doing this? For the illicit thrill of the game? CEOs live life dangerously. They’re risk-takers. He’s too hard to resist when he’s like this. I swear Jack could convince me to do almost anything.
He crosses the room to me and his gentle hands strengthen my arousal as his tongue does wicked things to the skin beneath my ear. My limbs grow tighter with need as I soften and swell inside. All these warring tensions grow until I have to fight to suppress the volume of my moans.
My traitorous imagination suddenly imagines me outside the locked door and him in here with Amanda. I know I can’t do this. It’s only a stimulating power game to him. I struggle backwards when he grinds his hips into mine and close my robe. “I can’t. Not with everyone outside. Listening.”
He freezes, dragging in a harsh breath. “Christ, Tabitha. You’re killing me.” His features are tight with lust. Haunted.
“Sorry, Jack. It’s just not right.” I need to make things right first. “Don’t be mad at me.”
He releases a tense laugh. “You’d better get dressed then. If you’re accessible like that I’m going to forget I’m a gentleman and to hell with whoever’s outside. Listening.” He points me towards the walk-in and I slip inside, sliding the door behind me.
I can’t believe he’s so callous about Amanda’s feelings, he would have gone ahead if I’d let him. Yet it gives me hope. Perhaps her hold on him is not as strong as she thinks it is. Perhaps that’s why she has to be so sly and manipulative. She’s no more secure about keeping him than I am.
Maybe we’re more equal in the field than I imagined. I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror. Amanda always looks so perfect. I can’t believe she’s ever let him see her in this state with a shapeless wrap, bare feet, scrubbed shiny face and soggy hair. Yet Jack still wanted me. I sift through the racks of clothes with new heart. I’ll need a battle dress if I’m going to war.
I know it the instant I see it.
A simple, classic shift dress in white linen. The low, square neckline and tapered waist accent my curves and the little capped sleeves above a low cut armhole look both sweet and sexy at the same time. It’s quite short but I’m young and with great heels it will make me look fresh yet innocently seductive. It’s perfect.
I apply make-up that enhances my sexy youthfulness. It’s exciting, with subtle colours that accent the dark allure of my eyes. My heated tongs put a few curls through my long hair to give it bounce and movement which is as different from Amanda’s rigidly sprayed platinum blonde bob as it’s possible to be.
I stare back in the mirror again. I’m not in advertising for nothing. If Jack desires me looking like a half-drowned kitten in a damp bathrobe, he’ll die if he can’t touch me now I look this tempting. It’ll put Amanda on her guard. Make her feel staid and lacklustre in comparison, for once.
I walk with a spring in my step. This is what a woman in love looks like. Jack won’t be able to fault me for that. I halt at the door and rush back for the ring. He’d never forgive me and I want to see Amanda’s face when she sees me wearing what she’s clearly after herself. The smile doesn’t need to be fixed on my face. It’s there naturally.
Jack is talking to a handful of reporters as I emerge. He glances up when he sees me and stops, mid-sentence, to stare. His face reflects everything I hoped for as he reaches out his hand to me and I take it.
Without shame he leans in and whispers. “You look stunning. I’m sorry we’re not alone right now. I want to take that lot off again.”
I give him my sexiest smile. “Can’t we get rid of them?” Yet there’s only one person I truly want gone.
“Soon.” I get his familiar promise.
It does all sorts of funny things to my insides. I’m reacting to his word like Pavlov’s bitch. On heat. And by his expression he acknowledges his understanding. He’s such a clever man.
I catch the strangled look on Amanda’s face too, which boosts my confidence, no end. She’s not the only one who can play games and now it’s my turn to deal the cards.
Jack turns his head back to the reporters. “My fiancée’s very talented. She plays the violin, you know.” He sounds proud but I suspect it is part of a strategy to distract them from more probing questions.
“Will you play something for us, Tabitha?” a female reporter asks. “It would make a nice photograph.”
I’m immediately reticent which is not an act. I’ve haven’t played a public performance in years and only then, as part of an orchestra. The last person I played for was Jack. The orgasm note. I squirm.
He whispers, disguised as a quick kiss to the temple. “CEOs sometimes have to do things they don’t want to do. And this will show people you’re cultured and talented as well as beautiful.”
Rather than the little trollop at the ball who couldn’t make up her mind which man to seduce, I suppose. I sigh and nod my agreement to the inevitable.
He turns to another onlooker. “Amanda, would you –?”
Her face clouds like thunder.
“–It’s alright,” I interrupt. I see her hard-faced relief that she’s not going to have to run another errand for me. “I’ll get it. It’s in our bedroom.” I purr my last remark, smiling up at him, which serves its dual purpose in making her bristle and giving Jack’s twenty-first century world what it expects of an engaged couple. But the simple fact is I wouldn’t trust her with it.
Jack raises a brow to salute my quick mind and makes a golden remark of his own as I go off. “She treats that instrument like a baby.”
I cringe as I think he’s just given the reporters an opening for a particularly intrusive question; then I wonder. It’s not like him. He’s an expert in PR. More world-building, I suppose.
“Are you planning a family immediately, Mr Keogh?”
I strain to hear his answer before I go through the door.
“Naturally we want time together first, just the two of us. And you’ll have to ask Tabitha about her plans for children. I want what makes her happy.” The reporter’s question is well fielded by Jack. He’s definitely a pro when it comes to handling and charming the press.
I see the reporter smile dreamily. Amanda looks like she’s about to combust with rage. Her face has reddened which is not a pretty look for her. The cool blonde mask is slipping. I can’t help thinking she deserves everything she gets as I’m still convinced this was her bright idea in the first place to try to alienate me from Jack. The trouble for her is she never thought it through to its logical conclusion.
If that is an example of Advance’s expertise, I realise I’m in with a good chance at the presentation for Zee-Com’s account.
I return with the violin already out of its case. All eyes turn and I feel my devil rising when Amanda’s vicious ones land on me. I spend a few seconds tuning up and everyone gradually ignores me until I segue seamlessly into a few bars of Hips Don’t Lie.
Surprised eyes flash in my direction as I wriggle side to side staring seductively at Jack all the while I do it. All those childhood years of classical ballet lessons and meticulous isolations have ironically made me a passably raunchy belly-dancer. Jack’s features turn to stone in a caution I find highly amusing. He can’t believe me sometimes. For a shy girl, I can’t believe myself.
The largely young reporters seem delighted at my antics whilst Amanda looks aghast. But the spirit of competition brings out the best and the worst in me. Jack knows I’m a high achiever and I know there’s more than one way to rise to the top. It’s enough Amanda can’t second guess me and now knows I won’t be a complete push-over. Her eyes bug.
Jack strides over, wrapping an arm around my wayward hips, pulling them hard against his to stop the g
yrations. I drag the bow across the strings in a final note of release; the one he claims is the sound I sing to him when I orgasm. I see from his stunned expression he recognises both it and the genie that’s escaped the bottle.
“My girl has a wicked sense of humour.” He laughs artificially for the crowd and pats my rump hard enough for me to know I’m being warned. He whispers against my temple so only I can hear. “I’m trying to rescue your reputation, not confirm it.” He’s smiling at everybody all the time he speaks so they think his whispered threats are endearments.
I’m delighted with myself but chastened at the same time. Any man that would have sex with me with his girlfriend and a host of reporters on the other side of a door might not hesitate to paddle my behind under the same conditions. I’d rather avoid that with Amanda looking on, I think, although there is still enough of the mischievous sprite in me to wonder if it might be fun to try.
“The fact is she can play anything.”
I turn to the reporters sweetly. “Any requests?”
They ponder, clearly out of their depth when it comes to violin music.
“How about Paganini’s Caprice Number Nine?” I suggest, to help them out. I play five minutes of it for them and everyone smiles and applauds. “Or Sibelius’ Concerto for Violin, Movement One?” I move instantly to that and play on. These are pieces I know well.
Jack looks on with pride. I think I have fulfilled remit number two, to show them I can be refined, despite former appearances. I smirk at him in triumph.
I move into a third piece; a composition of my own. Everyone listens intently until I become virtually lost in the powerful sadness of the music. When I finish there’s silence in the room. I lower my violin, returning slowly back to conscious awareness.
“What was that one called?” one reporter asks.
I pause for a second. “Jack’s Melody,” I murmur. We stare at one another. I’ve never told him about my composition before. He looks stunned.
We’re being recorded but I notice a couple of the reporters scratching notes on pads.
Amanda moves into my line of sight and interrupts with a cool request. “What about Don’t Hold Your Breath?”
She and I both understand the significance of her choice but I meet her skirmish steadily. The violin is a friend who gives me confidence. “Nicole Scherzinger?”
“That’s the one.”
Neither of us betray the deadly emotion beneath our exchange. I raise the violin below my chin and play. I’ve mastered my instrument over long, lonely years and I really can play anything. I can tell from Jack’s quizzical expression he knows something is going down between Amanda and me but in this moment I know I will not back down from the fight.
We glare at each other throughout, raising the tension in the entire room. The next thing I know Jack steps behind me, wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me back into his body. I stop playing abruptly. Everyone, but the three of us in this unpleasant little triangle, applauds.
“I hate to break up the concert, you play so well, darling,” Jack intervenes. “But we both have businesses to run and we have an interview and photographs to complete before we can return to them.” He’s telling me to quit whatever it is I’m doing.
I smile affectionately over my shoulder at him and he drops a kiss at the corner of my mouth before releasing me. Amanda seethes quietly. She knows it’s more than her life is worth to say or do anything to spoil this public performance. Besides that’s not her style.
I know I’ve won only a temporary victory but I’m hanging on to it and Jack for dear life. I keep hold of his hand as we sit on the sofa for our interview. Photographers snap away, repeatedly.
The female reporter eventually returns to her earlier topic. “What is your position on having a family, Tabitha?”
“I love the idea of a big family, one day. I missed that, growing up. All I needed was to wait for the right husband and father.” I gaze with sweet adoration at Jack as I say it.
Jack smiles and kisses the backs of my fingers as if acknowledging he’s the one for me. He thinks he’s giving me the courage to lie but it’s only the truth as I see it.
“So you want a large family?”
“At least another Jack.”
“Would you like another Tabitha?” the reporter asks Jack.
“There’ll never be another Tabitha,” he replies, looking steadfastly at me. “I only want this one. But daughters? Yes, I want lots of pretty daughters who look just like their beautiful mother.”
That would be platinum haired and perfectly flawless then. I sigh.
The reporter sighs for an entirely different reason. I stare at Jack’s deception until he winks at me. How easy it is for Jack to fascinate women with his Irish charm and striking good looks. He exudes sex with every nuance. I know I’m not the only female in the room to feel that. I even understand why Amanda would want him so badly. But she can’t have him.
“Didn’t you two know each other way back?”
I slide my eyes to the young male who interrogates us like an aspiring investigative journalist, probably resenting the social diary type assignment that he thinks is beneath him. He’s obviously done his homework if he’s probing that far off remit. I defer to Jack with a sweet smile. He set this interview up. Let him answer to the charges. I’m as keen to know what Jack will say as the rest of them.
“I got an early break when Tabitha’s brilliant advertising company, CaidCo, agreed to manage Zee-Com’s advertising account.” Jack gives me a wide-eyed look that says I’ll need to be extremely grateful later on for his nationwide plug of my business. He doesn’t seem the least bit worried by the line of questioning and I laugh at his nerve. But I’m not so sure the enquiry is as innocent as it looks. “Of course, it was her uncle, Harry Caid, who ran her company back then.
“How old were you when you first met Jack Keogh, Tabitha?”
That young man is clearly digging in the dirt. I glance briefly at Amanda. She’s looking more gratified than she has for the past half hour. Has she provided a direction for these enquiries or am I simply growing more paranoid by the minute? I’m not about to be the person who gives the press any further muck to rake over, however.
“Mr?”
“Yannis.”
I smile demurely at his unyielding face. “Mr Yannis. I can’t even remember Jack Keogh back then but my uncle did have rather a lot of clients. And they all looked the same to me. Boring businessmen.” It was my first real lie. “I was eighteen, at university and interning for CaidCo when I first actually worked with Jack. I think I saw his filing more than I did him though. Oh but I did make him coffee once or twice. Milk, no sugar.”
The group of reporters laugh. Jack’s hand squeezes mine.
“I still won’t drink it any other way,” he tells them. “Even though it was supposed to be sugar, no milk.”
The laughter increases but Mr Yannis isn’t giving up so easily. “So when did the two of you form such a close attachment? We’ve read plenty about Jack Keogh in the press and none of it has included you, Tabitha, until the night of the Commerce Ball.”
I raise a brow towards Jack. That particular ball is firmly in his court.
“Call it a whirlwind romance, Yannis,” Jack says. “We met again recently and things developed from there. We’re both decisive people who know our own minds. We knew we were meant to be together.”
I wonder if Jack is adopting his own good advice and sticking to the truth as closely as possible.
“Does she know about your past relationships?” Even the other reporters turn and stare, at Mr Yannis, askance.
Jack doesn’t appear fazed although I detect pressure building. The Sirocco. The Boss has entered the building. “Tabitha would be the first to tell you I’m no saint. She knows me better than anyone. Of course I had a life before I met her again but there’s only one woman I want now.”
And she’s staring straight at both of us.
I feel certain A
manda’s bursting to say his life both before and now is with her but she holds her silence. Jack would make an excellent poker player, I think. There are no tells in his game. He betrays no trace of his trickery.
Yannis’ eyes flit towards Amanda’s briefly and I know in that second she’s behind this probing. Her returning glare tells Yannis very clearly, not to dare bring her name into it. On a sudden I realise she uses men to do her dirty work. First Ben Gunn, now Yannis. They fall for her because she’s beautiful and they can’t resist. But she’s as deadly as a funnel-web spider.
I decide this is the moment I must speak up. “I love all of Jack and that means his past as well as his future. I’m not scared by anything or anyone he’s been involved with in the past. Because they’re history now.” I look steadfastly into Amanda’s cold eyes as I speak. “His history.” We both know my speech is more for her benefit than for any news readership. “I’m Jack’s present and I intend to be his future. I’m secure in my love. How could anything that’s over and done with, frighten me when I have all that?”
I already know what Yannis’ next move will be. It’s like playing a slow motion game of chess. He does not disappoint me. But I steel myself knowing that a predictable player is a beatable one.
“What can you tell us about the rather bizarre events, at the Commerce Ball?”
“Come on, Yannis,” Jack says. “Don’t you read your own newspapers? Are they that poorly written and researched?”
The reporters from Yannis’ rival press snigger and murmur in amusement. Yannis looks pretty angry and uncomfortable but it’s nothing to the silent wrath emanating from Jack on the sofa beside me.
“The ball was the night I agreed to marry Jack,” I interrupt. I don’t want things to get ugly and I know how tough Jack can be when he’s crossed. He won’t care that he has an audience of reporters if he decides to throw Yannis out on his rear end.
“And the other man you… er, kissed.”
I feel Jack’s muscles react so quickly, I place my hand on his to calm him. I weave my fingers through his and he yields to me. Although he’s rigid with rage, he stays put.