by Eve Langlais
He cleared his throat. ‘They said it would be about twenty minutes.’
Hattie looked up at him. A slow smile curved her lips upward. She knew. ‘Fine.’
‘The food here has a good reputation.’ What the hell was he supposed to say, when all he could think was how quickly could he get her back to the house and up to his bed. Sod the bed, the sofas were nearer.
‘You said that earlier. Quantity as well as quality.’ She was laughing at him and he didn’t care. Twenty minutes was plenty of time. He could drag her into the ladies loos. Or out to the car. She’d be ready and willing.
‘So, what on earth will we do to pass the time?’ Her lips pouted suggestively.
Tom pushed his chair back and dragged his mind away from the vision of Hattie squirming naked beneath him. Or on top. Or anywhere she damned well pleased.
‘Talk,’ he managed. Talking was good. Talking was not ravishing a woman in a public place.
‘Excellent. You said it hadn’t gone well when you’d had relationships with your models before. Several models, or one in particular?’
She had him well and truly cornered. He didn’t have enough control of his mind left to divert her. And he couldn’t jump her in the middle of a pub. At least, not before their meals had arrived.
‘One. Just one.’
‘What happened?’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice, giving him some semblance of privacy.
Tom reached for his glass and wished it contained something stronger than ginger ale. ‘It didn’t work out.’
‘Okay. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work with someone else.’
He took a deep breath. ‘It wasn’t like that. It was my fault.’
She took hold of his hand. ‘Do you always blame yourself?’
‘Only when it’s my fault.’ He pulled his hand away and took another drink.
‘So, what did you do to her that was so awful?’
He closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch while she heard him. ‘I killed her.’
He heard the intake of breath. Felt her move away. Knew he’d done the right thing, no matter what it had cost him to say it.
‘What happened?’ The same soft voice, but without the trust he’d come to expect from her.
‘She died.’ He could still see Lianne’s body. So frail that he’d hardly dared breathe near her, for fear of breaking her. ‘She died and I couldn’t stop her.’
‘What did she die of?’
What did it matter? Why did she keep asking? Why hadn’t she run away already? ‘She had anorexia. She starved herself to death.’
A long pause. ‘Oh, Tom.’ Hattie’s hand took hold of his again, with a firmer grip.
‘I didn’t even know. I should have seen. Should have stopped her.’
‘It’s an illness, Tom. You couldn’t have stopped her.’
He opened his eyes and looked into Hattie’s blue ones. ‘Oh, but I could.’
‘Tell me.’
It was years since he’d talked to anyone about Lianne. Even then, the only person he’d confessed the whole, horrible truth to was his counsellor. She’d nodded and listened and all the while the guilt had carried on congealing into a hard, dark mess within him.
‘She was just starting out. I took some photos for a teen magazine. She was cute. Full of ambition.’ Beautiful. Slim, but curved. The kind of perky breasts that only teenagers had. He’d fallen for her straight away.
‘What was her name?’
‘Lianne. Lianne Price.’
‘Was she successful?’
He sighed. ‘Not at first. She did catalogue shoots. A few magazines, but nothing spectacular. She wanted runway work but they never booked her. And one day she asked me if I knew why.’
Hattie didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hand gently.
‘I told her. They wanted the Kate Moss look. Hollow-cheeked, bones showing.’
‘Oh, Tom.’
‘I thought she was still growing up. She was only eighteen. Of course, her body was changing. A couple of months later she got booked for Paris Fashion Week. She was so excited. I was excited for her. It was what she’d always wanted.’
A waiter brought two plates of food. Hattie let go of his hand and he bit his lip to stop himself asking for it back. She picked up a chip and ate it with her fingers.
‘Go on,’ she said.
He stuck his fork into the pie he’d ordered and pretended to concentrate on that.
‘She was away a lot after that. New York, Paris, Milan, fashion shoots all over the place. My career was just taking off and I travelled a fair bit, too. We didn’t get to see each other very often.’
‘I see.’
‘I should have made more of an effort. Worked my schedule to fit in with hers. Been there, so I could have noticed. Helped. Done something.’
‘When did you notice?’
‘After she collapsed in the middle of the runway at London Fashion Week and was rushed to hospital. I’d been on a shoot in Egypt and, by the time I got back, she was conscious but still hooked up to a dozen drips and machines. She looked like a skeleton in the middle of it all.’
‘Poor girl.’
He took a mouthful of food. Chew. Swallow. Try not to remember how it felt when Lianne had smiled at him.
‘She was proud.’
‘Proud?’ Hattie paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘Proud of what?’
‘That she’d lost so much weight. The designers had all been happy to book her because she fitted into their smallest samples.’ He laid his fork down. He hadn’t any appetite for food. ‘I took her home. Tried to feed her. Tried to tell her she would be more beautiful if she weren’t so skinny.’
‘It’s a disease, Tom. She wasn’t thinking rationally. There’s nothing you could have said.’
He shook his head. No. He’d loved Lianne. She’d loved him. He should have been able to make her understand. ‘A month later, I found her unconscious in the bathroom. She’d eaten the dinner I made for her, then gone upstairs to vomit.’
Hattie looked down at her plate, then set her knife and fork neatly together.
‘I took her to a clinic. She agreed to the treatment. But...’
‘It was too late?’
He nodded. ‘Two weeks later, she died. She weighed four and a half stone.’ He drew in a shuddering breath. ‘So you see, I killed her.’
‘The disease killed her.’
‘I told her she needed to be hollow-cheeked to get her dream job.’
‘You weren’t the one booking skeletally-thin girls, were you? Did you make the tiny samples they had to squeeze into? Maybe you gave her the ambition to do something she didn’t have the figure for? No, I didn’t think so.’
‘I didn’t notice when she was putting herself at risk. I could have stopped her earlier.’
‘She was an adult, Tom. She made her own choices. You didn’t take food away from her.’
‘I loved her and I didn’t protect her.’ And he’d lived with that knowledge ever since. He hadn’t known how to grieve for Lianne, hadn’t even been sure he had the right to grieve. Not when he could have prevented her death. He should have found a way, should have held onto her harder, shouldn’t have let her go.
Hattie slid out of her chair and came to kneel in front of him. She laid one hand on his knee and the other cupped his cheek. ‘You did everything you could. It was not your fault.’
He wished he could believe her.
‘You were her lover, Tom, not her doctor. Not even her parent. Or her agent. What the hell were they doing while this was going on?’
He shrugged. He’d never thought about it much.
‘A lot of people had a duty of care to Lianne. A whole industry had a duty of care to a generation of vulnerable girls. She was a victim, Tom, but it wasn’t your fault, do you hear me?’
Tears slid down his cheeks but he shook his head again. ‘I can’t risk it, Hattie. You’ve already been hurt because of me. I daren’t
let it happen again.’
Her eyebrows rose.
‘You think I’m going to starve myself because of you?’
‘I think you’re more vulnerable than you realise, Hattie.’ He’d thought that from the beginning and he’d been proved right. He should have protected her and he hadn’t.
She stood up and glared down at him. ‘That is the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me. I can take care of myself, Tom Metcalfe. And don’t you think you can hurt me because, I promise you, I’m stronger than you think.’
He was silent throughout the journey back to the house. Hattie slid a sideways glance at him. Mouth tight, shoulders tense, eyes cold. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. He had years of misplaced guilt to get rid of and this was as good a way as any to kickstart the process.
The car skidded to a halt in the gravel driveway. Tom slammed the car door shut and was halfway to the house while Hattie was still picking up her handbag. She slid out of the car and followed him. He pointed the remote backwards, without so much as a glance over his shoulder. But he had to pause to unlock the heavy door and Hattie caught up with him as he stalked into the grand entrance hall. Since the rest of the crew had left, the house was even colder and utterly silent. She automatically stayed close to Tom as he walked towards the staircase.
‘I’m going to bed,’ he said, without bothering to look at her.
‘Me too.’
‘Huh.’
She paused at the top of the stairs to let him get a headstart down the corridor towards his room. Her bedroom was in a different wing from Tom’s, so hopefully he’d think she’d given up. Not a chance. Counting to a hundred, she waited until the footsteps had died down, then trod softly after him.
She didn’t knock. She wasn’t giving him the chance to shut her out. Hattie simply turned the handle and went in. Tom was standing by the window, gazing out into the impenetrable blackness of the night. He turned at the click of the door when she pushed it shut.
‘Is there something wrong? Do you need help with your shoulder?’
She smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m fine. Look.’ She began to undo the buttons on her blouse.
‘Hattie,’ he said in a warning tone.
‘No, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.’ The front of her blouse flapped open and she slipped it off carefully. She reached behind for the fastening of her bra, but pain lanced through her shoulder. Better leave that till later, then. Jeans were easier. And stripping down to her underwear would be an equally clear sign of intent.
She kicked off her shoes and pushed the denim down. If she’d been able to choose, she’d have picked sexier lingerie, but she’d been limited by what was in the bag Tom had brought her in hospital. Still, at least the black bra was trimmed with pretty lace, and it almost matched the black and pink silk knickers he’d packed.
‘You should go back to your bedroom.’ He’d turned away again, but she could see his hands clenched into fists. He wanted this every bit as much as she did. He needed it, too, she thought. Maybe she could help him see that not every woman was Lianne. That he didn’t have to be so terrified of responsibility. At the very least, she’d absolve him of any guilt about her own accident.
‘Can’t,’ she replied. ‘I need you to help.’
He let out an audible breath. ‘What sort of help?’
‘I can’t undo my bra.’
‘You...’ He bit off his words. ‘I thought you said you were fine.’
‘Fine for most things,’ she clarified. ‘But not reaching behind my back to undo my bra.’
‘Right.’
‘You’ll have to come over here.’ She leaned against the door and tilted her head up. Tom stalked towards her and stopped at arm’s length.
‘Hattie, you can’t still want me.’ Her heart ached for the despair in his voice.
‘Why not?’
He gestured vaguely. ‘I told you before. About Lianne.’
‘I’m so sorry about Lianne,’ she said, reaching out to put her hand on his cheek, encouraged when he leaned into her touch. ‘But Tom, that doesn’t stop me wanting you. I’ve wanted you since that first day I walked into your studio.’
‘Me too,’ he admitted.
‘And every time you’ve pulled away, it’s hurt. But it hasn’t made me stop wanting.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.’
She laid a finger over his lips. ‘No more apologies. It’s in the past. Tonight is about the present. Here. Now. And the only question is whether you want me and I want you.’
‘I want you,’ he echoed.
‘Then kiss me,’ she invited.
And this time his kiss was everything. No holding back, no pulling away, no doubts, no fears. Just pure, unadulterated need and Hattie gladly gave herself up to it. She welcomed him into her arms, letting him take comfort in her body and draw strength from her solidity. He clung to her, pressing hot, feverish kisses against any part of her he could reach.
‘Christ, Hattie,’ he breathed.
‘It’s okay,’ she murmured. ‘Whatever you need, it’s okay.’
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, in a shaky voice, he told her to turn around. Hattie did as she was instructed, without stepping away, so that her body brushed against his as she turned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could smell the tang of ginger from his drink earlier.
His fingers fumbled down to her bra strap, feeling for the clasp in the dark space between them. Her breasts fell as he undid the fastening, then pulled the garment away, but his hands were swiftly there to take up the weight. She sighed with pleasure as he began to rub circles into her sensitive skin, testing, searching for the spots which gave her the deepest sensations. He let one breast go, so that his fingers could trace delicate lines down her body, along the top of her knickers, into every crevice and curve.
She’d posed naked for him just a few days ago. He’d looked at her through a camera lens hundreds of times. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know how she looked. But this was different. There was no camera to hide behind now – for him, or for her. He wasn’t watching her like a photographer examining his model to check the angle of the lighting or the line of her limbs. He had his hands on her and he was seeing her through his fingers. Seeing everything.
His thumb was caressing her hip bone in soft, rhythmical movements that sent her pulse flying. Her jaw slackened, her mouth parted, her eyes lost focus, and she couldn’t bear any more of it. But, just as she was about to beg, he moved on to discover the next unexpectedly sensitive point on her body. His hand skimmed the bruises at her shoulder, so gently she could feel the hairs rise to his touch.
‘Does it hurt?’ he whispered.
‘Not there.’
He breathed against her skin, warm and soft. ‘Here?’
She shivered. ‘A little.’
The lightest of kisses, so brief she wondered if she had imagined it.
‘Here?’
‘N... not now.’ He had her stammering now? What was this woman doing to him?
He curled his hand around her arm. ‘What about these scratches?’
‘What scratches?’
Tom laughed. ‘Indomitable Hattie Bell. You should have been on the Titanic.’
‘The unsinkable Molly Brown?’
‘You’d knock her out of the water.’ He nuzzled into her neck, on the good side. ‘You are the sexiest woman I have ever known.’
She grinned. ‘I know.’
He pinched her bum. ‘You are also the least modest woman I’ve ever known.’
‘I’ve never seen the point of being modest. Isn’t it just another way to make women keep their talents hidden?’
‘Your talents...’ He pinched one of her nipples lightly, ‘are wonderfully on display.’
She didn’t want him to stop, but she couldn’t let that go. ‘Tom.’
He paused. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘
I have more talents than just a pair of, admittedly fantastic, breasts.’
He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. ‘I know that, Hattie. You’re my muse, remember?’
‘So long as we’re clear on that.’
‘Crystal. Come here.’ He’d let his hand drop to take hold of hers and he led her over to the bed. Hattie climbed up and let him arrange the pillows behind her to support her shoulder.
‘You’re sure this isn’t too painful?’
‘I’m high on co-codamine. That stuff is amazing.’
‘Promise to tell me if I hurt you?’ His grey eyes were steely dark and she knew he needed to trust her on this.
‘I promise.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Okay, then.’
Christ, she was glorious. He sat beside her on the bed, slid his hand into her fiery orange hair and held her in place while he teased the corners of her luscious lips with kisses that were never designed to satisfy. There was tension in her jaw and softness in her cheeks and the juxtaposition was intoxicating. She was panting and whimpering and he was tempted to see how far he could push her. Except his own need was mounting and her mouth was just there. There was only so much temptation a man could resist. And he’d been resisting Hattie for far too long.
Her lips opened beneath his and she pulled him firmly down to lie against her. She kissed him as urgently as if she were breathing. He kissed her back as though he could give her all the oxygen she needed. Together, they could go on forever, holding, touching, kissing, loving. With Hattie in his arms and her lips against his, there was nothing more in the world to desire.
She slid her hand down to his arse and pulled him closer. He shifted slightly so that he could touch her breast without breaking the kiss. Soft, wonderful breasts that filled his hand and spilled over. He stroked and caressed and finally brushed his thumb across her nipple. The gasp she gave was the sweetest thing he could remember. He couldn’t help but reach across to tweak the other nipple. This time Hattie moaned.
Eventually, she pulled away from him. Just a few inches, but too far. He pulled her back but she managed to hold him off long enough to speak.
‘Clothes,’ she panted.
‘Huh?’ He had his lips on her neck, licking until he found the spot that made her tremble.