At the entrance to the garden she stood and stared in exasperation. The plants she’d ordered had been delivered while she was gone, simply left laid out in pallets behind the house. Baby plants were being pelted into squashed submission by the rain, compost waterlogging while she watched. She needed to get the whole lot under cover, ten minutes ago. She’d worn flip-flops in the van and in her rush hadn’t changed into her boots, so her feet soaked and slipped as she fumbled Oliver’s kitchen door key out of her shorts pocket and began to load herself up with plants and deposit them on the gleaming kitchen floor, trekking back and forth again and again. Muddy water soaked across the expensive new ceramic tiles but she’d worry about that later.
At a sound behind her she turned and blinked hard to clear the rain from her eyes. Oliver. Home hours early. Good grief, had someone died? The pelting rain allowed no more than that fleeting thought.
Oliver stared at her, heedless of the torrent of rain soaking his clothes. Her hair was dripping strings, droplets of water clung to her eyelashes and her shirt was transparent, revealing a lacy push-up bra underneath. Just the sight of her like that was enough to get him started.
‘Don’t just bloody well stand there!’ she snapped. ‘Give me a hand!’
Taking in what she was doing, he helped her grab the pallets of plants and stack them in the kitchen, forcing himself to ignore the smears of mud and water that were spreading across his pristine floor. She was picking her way across the planks that crisscrossed the half-finished garden, put there to make working on it easier, grabbing tools that had been left out, when her flip-flops slipped on the wet wood. Even though he was feet away he made an automatic lunge to catch her as she pinwheeled her arms, and when he failed she sat down with an ungainly splattering thump in one of the waterlogged beds. Mud soaked her shorts and splattered across her cheek.
She stared up at him from her sitting position and burst into giggles. Picking his way over to her, feet sliding everywhere, his own clothes dripping, he held out an arm to pull to her feet, and as she drew level with him, face tipped up to look into his, smile still on her face at her own clumsiness, something visceral clutched deep inside him so strongly that it took his breath away. His own laugh faded on his lips. Rain ran down her forehead and cheeks. She was a dirt-covered mess. Had he ever wanted anyone so damn much?
Heedless of the mud that coated her back and now squirted between his fingers, he slid hands beneath her t-shirt, across wet skin, his mouth groping for hers, tasting rainwater on her lips and breathing in the scent of her warm damp skin. Hunger for her swept through him at a rampaging pace that crushed everything else from his consciousness. Tugging her t-shirt over her head, he pushed her bra up roughly and cupped her breasts in his palms, lightly pinching the nipples between his fingers, her gasp arousing him all the more. He wanted her urgently now. The rain, cool and sweet, sluiced over the soaked back of his shirt.
She had loosened his belt and unzipped his trousers, freeing his erection as she sank to her knees in the mud, and then he felt her warm breath on him as she took him into her mouth. The pleasure was so acute he failed to stop a moan, and then she was moving with deliberate tantalising slowness, her tongue sliding over his length as she sucked gently. He tangled his hands in her wet hair, the unfamiliar sensation of outdoor freedom, cool air and rain on his skin mingled with the heat curling through his body, enveloping his mind as she moved her lips in a rhythmic friction that drove him crazy.
With a monumental effort, he tugged her to her feet, wanting her now, right this second. He grabbed her hand and pulled her, stumbling through the mud and water, both of them half-dressed, into the kitchen where he had condoms. As he shrugged out of his wet clothes and readied himself, she peeled off her soaked shorts and panties, then she planted her hand firmly on his chest and pushed him, holding his gaze steadily with her own, backwards until he hit one of the chairs beside the table.
‘Sit down,’ she said, and as he did she climbed into his lap and lowered herself inch by delicious inch onto him. Toes on the floor, she rolled her hips and began to grind against him, her hands cool against his cheek as she held his face and kissed him, responding to his every move as if she had some sixth sense, speeding up and slowing down until she’d teased him to the point of madness. He caressed the curve of her bottom, slid hands over the softness of her back, slightly gritty under his fingers from the drying mud, let her ride him on her terms until he could take no more. Then, standing up and sliding hands beneath her, he walked the few paces to lean her back against the kitchen wall. He screwed her against it, crushing her mouth with his own, her arms around his neck, her long legs crossed behind his waist as he drove into her again and again, waiting for her cry of satisfaction before he let himself release the last tendrils of control.
****
Showered and in his bed, the rain continued to pelt against the high windows, giving the bedroom a cosy feel.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
He propped himself up on one elbow, looked down at her on the pillow, unruly waves of hair pooled around her face.
‘What for?’
‘Helping me out with the plants. Not getting annoyed at the mess in your kitchen. Plenty of clients wouldn’t have been so understanding if I’d walked muddy water into their house.’
‘Is that all I am, a client?’ he said. He watched for her reaction, saw the grey-green eyes soften with laughter.
‘Are you saying you want it to be more?’
He shrugged.
‘We could be friends,’ he said.
‘Friends?’
‘Friends with benefits,’ he said, grinning. ‘Ringing the changes from just benefits.’
He meant it light-heartedly but as she smiled up at him his heart turned over softly.
‘Stay,’ he said then, before he could stop himself. Already desire was coursing through him again. He had expected her to be a longer-term extension to his usual one-night-stands. He certainly hadn’t counted on this thing with her being such a laugh. Hadn’t counted on looking forward to seeing her the way he did. When had he last finished work earlier than six? Bumped work for something, anything else? He’d taken his eye off the ball with her and that was dangerous, he should be distancing himself, but then he would be soon enough. The end of the garden contract loomed ahead of them and he insisted to himself that he was simply making the most of the situation until then. This thing between them would come to a natural end then.
‘For dinner?’ She looked up at him from the pillow.
‘For dinner, then the night. Stay over.’
A pause. Just a momentary one, yet still a pause. She hadn’t automatically dismissed it.
Maybe this was worse, because now she dismissed it after consideration. And of course she was right to.
‘I can’t.’ She looked up at him with a smile and then threw the covers back and crossed the room, stepped into old jeans, pulled a work t-shirt over her head. No bra. She’d left a spare set of clothes here, a spare pair of shoes. But no toothbrush, no cosmetics. Nothing that could be construed as anything more than work convenience.
‘Can’t or won’t?’
She looked across at him, a smile playing about her lips.
‘Both,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my own place. And it doesn’t fit the ground rules.’
He sat up in bed.
‘Sod the ground rules,’ he said.
She was into her shoes now, an old scuffed pair of Converse. She leaned against the bedroom door jamb.
‘I can’t sod the ground rules, Oliver,’ she said. ‘I can be friends but I can’t do that.’ She blew a kiss across the room. ‘See you tomorrow.’
She left the room before he could say anything else to persuade her, he listened to her clattering down the stairs and slamming the back door. That sensation he’d felt back at the hotel, waking up to find she’d gone, flooded back. The feeling of being short-changed, of losing control.
Izzy sat in the van for a few mo
ments, fighting the desire to go back inside. The end was coming into sight. She mentally calculated, wondering what start date she should give to the clients for her next job. A couple more days? A week?
There would be no reason soon for contact with Oliver. She shoved away the strange feeling of emptiness that thought provoked. The whole delicious situation had given her a feeling of power that was like nectar after Joe’s betrayal, of course it was that she didn’t want to give up. It had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with any misplaced feelings for him. OK maybe they’d become friends, just by talking over the last few weeks they’d got to know each other, but that didn’t change a thing. No strings stood.
She would put the finishing touches to the garden in the next few days and walk away without looking back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘All done,’ she said, leading the way back up the garden. Where the piles of rubble and rubbish had been there was now a softly shaped lawn, bordered with flowers and shrubs designed to give greenery all year round. The trees had been cut back, but not enough to remove the privacy that was so important to him. Next to the house was a circular flagstone terrace with a wrought-iron table.
‘I hope you’re pleased with the end result,’ she said, to fill the silence.
‘I love it,’ he said. ‘I can hardly believe it’s the same space as it was a few weeks ago. You’re good. Definitely worthy of recommendation.’
Even in her sadness that this was coming to an end, she felt a flush of pride the way she always did when someone praised her work. Reputation was everything.
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll have the payment wired to you first thing tomorrow.’
‘I just need to round up my tools and stack them in the van and then I’ll be out of your hair.’ For good, she nearly added, but didn’t.
He shook his head, dismissive.
‘Do that after dinner.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
She’d tried hard to mentally distance herself since he’d come home early two days ago. Friends with benefits was harder to walk away from than benefits, but she meant to do it.
‘One last night,’ he said, looking at her steadily, his hazel eyes holding her gaze.
She nodded.
‘Let’s go out,’ he said.
She stared at him, hardly believing her ears.
‘Out?’
‘For a drink.’
He stepped briefly into the kitchen to grab his keys, then locked the door and led the way to his car. She followed him in her jeans and converse. He’d never taken her anywhere. Since the hotel they’d only ever been together at this house. What did this mean? Did he want to take things to the next level? The thought made her stomach flutter with excitement that she couldn’t acknowledge. She glanced down at herself as she climbed into the pristine Maserati. At least she wasn’t in her steel toe-caps. She shook away the self-consciousness.
It was just a drink. It meant nothing.
****
‘Order whatever you like,’ he said, taking her right back to that first night in the hotel restaurant.
‘What’s this about, Oliver,’ she said. ‘You didn’t need to do this, you know. I don’t need a steak dinner to say thank you, it was a business transaction.’
‘It’s our last night,’ he said, putting into words what they both knew.
‘And you wanted to signify that in some way?’ She took a sip of her drink. Had she really thought this might mean something? Why did she even want it to? She forked up some fries and swallowed them quickly to stop the stupid churning in her stomach. This was playing out exactly as it was meant to. As they’d both meant it to from the start.
‘I thought it might be nice.’ His face was inscrutable, his tone stilted.
Nice? The easy banter they’d developed was missing, presumed dead. And didn’t that make sense? Easy banter and drinks in pubs didn’t sit well between them because those things belonged to people in proper full relationships. Weeks on and they were basically still living that one-night-stand. Their relationship began with sex, and that was how it was going to end. Apparently there was no room for anything more than that between them.
She realised with a flash of clarity what this whole encounter had really been about for her.
‘Maybe it’s a good thing that this is ending,’ she ventured. ‘I’ve got my head straight now. All this time I’ve been thinking this thing between us has been about Joe. Maybe I felt like I was owed some fun, maybe I wanted to be the one playing the game for a change. But these last few weeks I’ve been thinking more and more about my parents too and that’s unusual for me because we’re not close.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe this whole fling has had more to do with them than with Joe.’
He watched her as she toyed with her wine glass. Fidgeting. Uncomfortable. Oliver Forbes didn’t do shoulders to cry on or sympathetic ears. He should be making a swift exit right now before he got sucked into anyone else’s problems. What the hell had he been thinking, taking her out for a drink, moving the goalposts? He couldn’t do full-on relationships, already the ease of their company was unravelling. If he let this go further, let them get closer beyond that physical connection, how long would it be before he walked away and hurt her?
‘How do you mean?’
‘Joe wasn’t right for me,’ she said. I think I even knew that before his cheating smacked me between the eyes. I wanted that relationship to work, Oliver, I wanted to be part of a couple where both of us gave everything to the partnership, where we were a team. My father had a string of affairs and my mum turned a blind eye. One of them even turned up at the house once, when I was about ten. She had blonde curly hair and she wore a lot of make-up. And do you know what my mother did?’
He shook his head, thinking how confusing that must have been for a kid.
‘She invited her in and made tea.’ She uttered a strangled little laugh that tugged at his heart and before he could think about it he reached out and squeezed her hand.
‘When I found out about Joe I threw him out of my flat. I grabbed as much of his stuff as I could and lobbed it into the street after him. The last thing I gave a damn about was what people might think. But she didn’t want the neighbours to gossip.’
‘Perhaps she was staying put for you,’ he said. ‘Trying to give you a stable home life.’
She shook her head dismissively.
‘She’s still with him, years after I left home. It’s never mentioned. She was, and still is, a doormat, Oliver. I swore I would never be that, but look at how I ended up. Joe did exactly the same to me, it had been going on for months. Months. I’d been holding it together at home, saving, planning our future. You’d think I of all people would be able to see through him, see what he was doing, but I didn’t have a clue.’
She sighed.
‘I’ve never understood my mother’s behaviour, why she would put up with that. Maybe this whole thing has been about trying to work that out. Maybe there was a bit of me wanting to be the other woman for once, wanting to be on that fun side of the fence just to see if it was any better. That’s what this fling has been about. You have no idea how out of character this has been for me.’
She ran a hand distractedly through her hair.
‘You have nothing to prove, Izzy,’ he said.
She looked down at her hand, still enclosed in his.
‘You’re not to blame for Joe’s behaviour.’ He paused, then added, ‘Or your father’s. It’s not because of anything lacking in you.’
She pulled her hand away immediately, her cheeks burning because he’d somehow managed to see inside her mind.
‘Let’s go home,’ he said.
****
Up in his bedroom the knowledge that this was the last time hung over them like a cloud. As he took his jacket off she could stand it no longer.
‘Maybe I should just go, Oliver. Maybe we just call it quits while we’re ahead. The garden’s done.’ She gave him a sm
all smile. ‘We’re done too.’
He shook his head, walked towards her.
‘It doesn’t have to be like that.’
‘I think maybe it does. Maybe this whole thing has been a mistake. This has been me putting myself out there trying to prove I’m good enough, sexy enough to be the other woman, to be some cheap fling. Maybe I should have stayed home, like the good little wife. Like my mother. After all, Joe always came back to me in the end.’
She made a move for the door. In two quick strides he’d grabbed her from behind and enveloped her in his arms. He ignored her angry struggles and spoke into her hair.
‘That’s exactly where you’re wrong, Izzy. You’re too good to put down, too good to leave.’
He turned her gently in his arms and lifted a hand to her cheek, stroked a tendril of hair back and watched as she covered his hand with her own and turned her face into his fingers, eyes closed, as if to soak up his every touch. His heart turned over softly. He wanted to stroke every ounce of self-doubt out of her.
In a rush of sudden comprehension Oliver saw that this was no longer about having the best time with the least investment. Yes, it had started out as exactly that, but somewhere along the way when he’d turned his back it had become much more. It was no longer about jumping through hoops to get to the physical, the job, the dinners a means to an end. He’d begun to enjoy the damn hoops just as much as the culmination of their evenings together.
Sex with her was different. The anonymity was long gone. It had become about pleasing her, sharing an experience, taking her to a level she’d never been to, wanting to better that and keep on bettering it. Benefits was long gone. Friends with benefits didn’t really cover it. Somehow he’d taken his eye off the ball and found himself wanting even more. And although it scared the living daylights out of him he was powerless to stop it.
Your Room or Mine? Page 8