“Of course I did. Let’s not pretend that either of us thinks I am above that.”
“Fair point.”
“Now help me read this map so I can figure out how to get to Marks & Spencer. Oh, look,” she exclaimed. “They have a Next too. That is me sorted.”
“You can’t come to Dubai and buy things you could find on Princes Street.”
“I think you will find I can,” she said as she started off in the wrong direction.
“It is over here.”
She scrutinised the map. “I knew that. I was testing you and you passed. And they have a Top Shop. I feel a bargain blouse coming my way.”
“I am taking you to a proper store to get you some summer clothes.”
“I don’t have money for that, Liam.”
“I don’t know if you heard, but I run twenty billion pounds and I finished the year eight per cent ahead of the market.”
She shook her head. “I am not going to let you buy me clothes. That is so Pretty Woman. You know I hate that film. At work I have met more than my share of real prostitutes, and none of them look like Julia Roberts and none of them are stupid enough to think a punter is going to come along and rescue them.” Her eyes widened as she realised what she had said. “God, Liam. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I can be a real ass.”
A glacier formed in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged. “It’s another life.”
Sarah nodded and smiled but it did not reach her eyes. She reached out and tried to touch his arm but he pulled away before she could. She was looking at him with the same pity and embarrassment the social worker did when he was a kid. “Don’t look at me like that, Sarah. The past is the past. It is over. That’s not me.”
“I’m sorry, Liam,” she said again and this time he did let her touch him. Her fingers gently caressed one of the scars from an old burn. He did not speak for a few minutes.
“I don’t like that you know things that are not in my official bio.”
“I know. I will never bring it up again. Not even in passing or a joke. It was really stupid of me. I just wasn’t thinking.”
“The problem isn’t you talking about it. The problem is you knowing about it. You know everything. I don’t like that. I don’t like the way you look at me when you remember.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Stop apologising. And stop looking at me like that.”
“I don’t know how I am looking at you.”
“Like I am the scabby, lice-ridden six-year-old kid the social-work department dropped off at the scheme.”
“That is not how I see you, Liam.”
“That is how you look at me sometimes. Like you want to fix me but I am not broken. How much money do I need to make before you stop seeing me as that kid? I thought once we were at uni you would stop—that is what I told myself. But even now, you still look at me like you feel sorry for me. I mean, I have a fucking yacht and a private plane. I don’t need your pity.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“I am sorry,” she said softly.
“Just stop bloody apologizing. I get it. For the last ten years I have been pissed that you threw away what we had. But there was never anything to throw away. You were never going to see me as anything more than the kid from the scheme. So you were right—Sam did do us a favour.”
Sarah turned away so he could not see her. It wasn’t pity she was trying to hide now, it was pain. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he had punched her in the gut. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. They never would have worked. It was true, so why did it still hurt? She cleared her throat before turning back to him; she fixed a smile to her face she did not feel. “You’re right, Liam. We know too much about each other. But, like it or not, I am here for the next six days. So we can either have a shit time or we can draw a line under everything.”
“If only it were that easy.”
“It is that easy. Let’s pretend we don’t know each other. I am a potential client. I am guessing you are very charming with clients. And I am here to invest my imaginary saving. Since this is make believe, I have a lot of saving. My yacht could eat your yacht for breakfast. And don’t get me started on my plane, my fleet of planes,” she amended.
“Why would you need more than one plane?” he asked sceptically.
“My question would be, why does anyone need a private plane, but I digress. I don’t know why I have several planes. Maybe they are a good investment?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not unless you are an airline, and even then the forecast is not good.”
She pulled his arm in beside hers, needing to know the fragile connection they had was not gone. “See, this is why I need you. Clearly I have not invested my trillions wisely.”
“Clearly,” he said. His smile had re-emerged. “But I am very impressed with your trillions. Are you a small country in this scenario?”
She thought about it for a second. “No, that would not be terribly fun, would it?”
“So how did you make your money, then?” he asked.
She thought for a minute and then shook her head and laughed. “How pathetic am I? I have no idea how anyone could make a fortune. I still amaze myself when I manage to have something left over after my mortgage. I am guessing you would not waste your time investing my pension. I don’t want to brag but we are talking low quadruple figures.”
“That much?” he said, pretending to be impressed.
God, she loved that he still would indulge in hypothetical conversations with her. She enjoyed pontificating about the infinite number of possibilities of any given situation. The only time he had refused to play the game was when she asked what would happen if she did not go to Cambridge. There were never any acceptable variations in that scenario.
“Fine, then. Let’s not pretend I am a rich potential client. Let’s just pretend we are meeting for the first time. And you are going to be charming because it is good practice for work. And I am going to be charming because that is the way I was born.” She smiled and reached out her hand to shake his. “I am Sarah Campbell. Pleasure to meet you, Mr McPherson.”
“Likewise,” he said as he took her hand.
“Is that an English accent I detect?” She could not help having a dig.
“I don’t sound English, Sarah.”
“So informal already? Wow, you move fast, Mr McPherson. And you really do sound English.” They began walking towards the escalators.
“I only sound English because you sound like you were an extra in Trainspotting. Irvine Welsh would struggle to understand you. You should come with subtitles.”
“Oy! What is wrong with my accent?”
“Nothing, unless you want to be understood. Sometimes when you speak quickly I think you must be speaking Gaelic because it is certainly not English sounds coming out of your mouth.”
“Oy!” She punched him in the stomach, but, thanks to his hard abs, only her hand was hurt.
“Scottish accent and a Scottish temperament.” He grinned.
“Right, well, this Scottish lassie is gonna give ya a wee Glasgow kiss if you don’t shut yer mooth.” She put on her broadest accent.
“I would not put it past you to headbutt me,” he said, referring to the Glasgow kiss.
“You don’t even know me,” Sarah reminded him. “But too right I would.”
After buying two summer dresses, a pair of flip-flops, and some underwear Sarah decided it was time to eat. She was more excited than she should be to have Liam with her to explore the city. She was perfectly capable of travelling alone but it was nice to have him by her side. She always had more fun with him.
Liam had been adamant about paying, but Sarah refused. Surprisingly, it had not been as expensive as she feared. Either that, or she was wrong about the exchange rate, but she was not going to worry.
She went into the bathroom and changed into a new yellow dress. “I could pretend to read this map but we both know
I will take us in the wrong direction, so please point me in the direction of cheesecake.”
A Filipina waitress seated them in front of a glass wall that overlooked the indoor ski slope. Nothing screamed over-the-top opulence like skiing in the middle of a mall in the desert. Hundreds of children and their parents were wrapped up for their faux Alpine adventure, everyone wearing matching blue and maroon snow suits.
By the time the waitress had given them menus, Sarah knew that the woman had lived in Dubai for five years and she had two children living back home with her mother.
“Do you always have to get the life story of everyone you meet?” Liam asked after the waitress was out of earshot.
“I was just chatting. It is nice to talk. It is what people do.”
“I know people make small talk. But you always seem to actually care about people’s lives.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Of course I care about people’s lives.”
“Why?” he asked with genuine interest.
“Because they are people.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, there are seven billion people kicking about on this earth and each one has an amazing story, because they are the only person that will ever live their life.”
“You can’t possibly hear everyone’s story.”
“Of course not,” she said before taking a sip of her ice water. “That would really cut into my cheesecake-eating time. Now what are you going to order? And don’t even think about trying to share my cheesecake. I have a fork, and I will use it to defend my dessert.” She held her cutlery like the weapon she had just described.
“Don’t you want to order some proper food first?” he asked after the waitress had taken their order.
“You say that like cheesecake is not proper food,” she said incredulously.
“It would not kill you to eat meals at their assigned times.”
“Who assigned these times? Because I want to have a word with them. Why should I have to eat dinner first? If I want dessert, there is no reason to eat a meal just to get to the good part. It is like some sort of culinary foreplay and sometimes you don’t want all the kissing and fumbling, you just want the sex. And I just want the dessert.”
Liam’s brow shot up in question. “But dinner is good for you. And I seem to remember the kissing and fumbling being your favourite part. The vast majority of orgasms we had together were from kissing and fumbling.”
The things Liam could do with his mouth and hands could never be called fumbling. They had discovered their bodies together, what felt good, what would take them to the edge and bring them back before diving over. Their last year in school had consisted of studying for exams and hours of foreplay. The one good thing about Liam wanting to wait to have sex until they got to university was how good he got at everything that led up to sex. But that was a long time ago. She wished her body would remember just how long it had been.
She shifted in her seat. “I’ve changed. I discovered that you only need the sex bit for the orgasm, so I have streamlined the process. No foreplay for me any more. A lot of things have changed since you left,” she said, hoping she hadn’t revealed too much of herself. After he left she stopped enjoying the intimacy of foreplay. She shouldn’t be telling him this but she had brought it up and she was not embarrassed of the woman she had become.
“But the other stuff makes it more fun,” he pressed.
Sarah shook her head. “Sex is fun. It doesn’t need to be made more fun.”
He sighed. “Fair enough. Eat dessert first and skip foreplay.”
“I will. And I do.”
“Did Jonathan and Richard appreciate that about you?” he asked.
Her back stiffened at the mention of her exes. It was more than a little off-putting that Liam knew about her personal life and all she knew was what she had gleaned from Internet searches. Sadly, there was no mention of his sexual history anywhere. And she had looked.
“What? That I now hold quickies in high regard, or that I eat my dessert first?”
“Both.”
“Well, they are men so of course they appreciated that I was always up for a quickie. But neither of them knew about my dessert-first and dinner-for-breakfast policy.”
“Why not? You were with that Jonathan guy for three years. And Richard for two, was it?”
“See, that is just weird that you know that.” And weird that it didn’t bother him. Sarah felt an intense desire to sharpen her claws on any woman who looked at Liam.
“No, what is weird is that you were with them a total of five years and they did not know that about you.”
“No, you knowing their names is definitely weirder. How do you know all of that?”
Sarah smiled as the waitress put their order down on the table—chicken breast and grilled vegetables for Liam, and peanut-butter cheesecake for Sarah.
“Thank you,” she said as she deliberated the merits of using a spoon versus a fork.
“I also know their ages and professions. Your granny is a blether. Don’t look at me like that. You were bound to come up. You are our common denominator. You were wise breaking it off with the teacher—you wouldn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.”
His tone was too casual, too in control, and he had used a properly Scottish word. He could have said her Granny had a big mouth but he called her a blether. He cared more than he was letting on. She had to suppress a smile at the realisation.
“And what about Richard?” she asked, wanting to know exactly how much he knew. Granny might very well be a blether but no one had forced Liam to phone her and listen.
“The consultant paediatrician? Nice flat in the New Town—by all reports, he seems legit. Think you would still be together if he hadn’t proposed,” he said nonchalantly as he pierced an asparagus spear with his fork.
By all reports, he seems legit. What in the hell did that mean? She was going to ban her granny from using the phone. There was no excuse for her discussing Sarah’s personal life with Liam. “He was, no, is legit, but it didn’t work out. It happens.”
“Just like it stopped working when the teacher proposed? Again, Sarah, you dodged a bullet with him.”
“Liam, come a little bit closer. I am going to give you that Glasgow kiss you have coming.”
“Relationships seem to stop working for you when you are pressed for a commitment. You broke it off with me when it was time to leave for uni, and Jonny and Rich got the axe when they tried to put a ring on it.”
“You are ruining my enjoyment of my cheesecake.” She stabbed a piece of peanut-butter cup.
“Well, at least you can commit to that,” he said.
She gave him a swift kick under the table.
“Let’s talk about your sex life now.” There was nothing she wanted to hear about less, but turnaround was fair play. “How many woman have you shagged since I last saw you?”
“I haven’t managed to shag a single one since you saw me last night, or technically it was this morning. Either way, I am still striking out.”
“You know what I mean. How many women have you slept with since you left Edinburgh?”
“Christ, Dr Campbell, that is forward, even for you.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” she scoffed. “We were just discussing my dating history in detail. You really are going to get that Glasgow kiss. Once I am finished with my cheesecake.”
“I never asked you anything about your sexual history. I asked about your relationships. Christ knows those are two very different things.”
“Well, how many?” she asked again when he did not offer a number.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how many I slept with. I haven’t counted. But there has not been anyone serious.”
“Nothing serious is shorthand for, ‘I sleep with them but I don’t return their calls’. I remember having a relationship like that once,” she said pointedly.
“I never tell anyone I
am going to call.”
“So that makes it OK?”
“No, both parties being consenting adults and the fact I always use a condom is what makes it OK.”
“So how many consenting adults are we talking?” She didn’t know if she really wanted to hear the number.
“I don’t know. Do you want me to count?”
“Just a ball-park figure.” Please be in the single digits.
He sat for a moment, his eyes raised as he thought. “More than an amateur, less than a professional,” he said with a cheeky smile, a subtle reference to prostitution, but this time there was no bitterness.
There was a strange tug on her heart, one she had not felt in a long time. How could he ever think she viewed him with pity? He was no more the six-year-old covered in cigarette burns than she was the girl with the pigtails and a hand-me-down school uniform that was two sizes too big. They were not children any more, and her feelings for him were anything but childlike. Knowing his past only made her admire him more.
She stared at him, taking in every one of his features: his light blue eyes, the same shade as a cloudless day, and his sun-bleached sandy hair, his razor-sharp jaw line, even the scars on his arms and chest; she wanted to remember everything. Once she went back to Scotland, she wouldn’t see him again. They both knew that. This week was an anomaly. Once Sam was safely on his way to the UK, she would leave too. Even if she could invent another reason to come to Dubai and see Liam again, she could not afford it. She wished she could experience what it felt like to be his just once more. This time she would know it was the last time and she would try harder to form a memory that could carry her through. She had never been happier or felt more fulfilled than when they were together.
She reached across the table and tentatively touched his hand, giving it the lightest squeeze. She wanted to remember what he felt like too. Pressure began to build behind her eyes. The calm sweetness of the moment would be gone soon enough; she did not need to ruin it by crying.
“I always worry when you are quiet,” Liam said.
“I was just wondering about my granny,” she lied.
Twice in a Lifetime (Carina) Page 7