In His Wildest Dreams

by Marie Treanor

  Well, maybe that wouldn’t have worked. But neither, he realized now, had covering it up. He’d thought he could cope, had tried so hard to make conversation and appreciate the food and her company and Jack’s. And on some deep level, he had. But the trouble was, all his other levels, right to his core, were on edge, screaming out for space and freedom, trying to foist on him intrusive, vile memories of depression and anguish and all those fearful times when the unlocking of the door meant there was even more to deal with than the relocking.

  No one should ever say the prison system in this country was a soft option. There was more to loss of freedom than would ever be comprehended by the opinionated people who’d never experienced it and yet felt qualified to judge the effects.

  But that was another fight. For later, perhaps. For now, all he could really concentrate on was the stunned hurt and disappointment on Izzy’s face as he’d bolted. Although he’d been vaguely aware of it at the time, his own, powerful urge had blinded him to everything but his own need to get out of there.

  Izzy would never forgive him.

  I’ve blown it, he thought, finally as stunned as she’d looked as he’d fought his way out of her flat. Inevitably, even after she let me get this far, I’ve managed to fuck it up.

  The world tilted at the foot of the spiral stairs. In the instant’s warning before he lost consciousness, he’d time to think it was as well this hadn’t hit him at the top.

  And then Izzy was drawing him down on the bed with her. Sunlight from a narrow, open window flooded warmly down on his back, spilled over her beautiful, passionate face, which he cupped between his hands. Big, rough hands like his own, scarred, and yet not scarred like his.

  For the first time, one of these sensual visions which had so dazzled him since before leaving prison took on a subtle nightmare quality. When in the world of the dream, familiar things are just slightly altered so as to be wrong. Izzy was wrong. The texture of her hair was too rough and thick; the lips which reached so eagerly for his were the wrong shape. They felt wrong.

  And when he nuzzled his way to her breast, there was no little mole on her pale skin.

  It wasn’t Izzy. And yet he pushed inside her anyway, making love to the eager female as any man would. But he never had control of his own part in the visions. Although Glenn didn’t want a woman who wasn’t Izzy—he couldn’t hurt her that way, even if another attractive female threw herself at him—he was making love to this one with urgent enthusiasm, quick and fast, the way she liked, the only way, it seemed, they had time for right now.

  There was something wrong with that too. Glenn could do hard and urgent. But despite the familiarity of the physical sensations of lust and the rising sexual pleasure he got from the act, he didn’t move quite like that. He didn’t fuck quite like that. He couldn’t control what he did—not just because it was a dream, but because the man in the dream wasn’t him. He’d suspected that. He was seeing through the man’s eyes, the man’s body, as he brought a woman who wasn’t Izzy to orgasm. A woman who wept at the crucial moment, not just with sexual happiness but with guilt.

  Izzy didn’t go near the attic on Friday. Instead, she gutted and thoroughly cleaned all the rooms on the ground floor, successfully avoiding Glenn, and even Chrissy. In an effort to think, she put earphones on while she worked, and listened to the loudest music she could find on her phone. In that way, like some forceful automaton, she got through the day. Until, finally, it was approaching half past two, and she saw Chrissy run past the dining room toward the kitchen. Taking her chance, Izzy shoved the vacuum cleaner and cloths back in the cleaning cupboard and sprinted for Chrissy’s office.

  She’d got her coat on but hadn’t quite managed the escape before Chrissy breezed back in.

  Damn. “That’s me off, Chrissy,” she said brightly. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Fine,” Chrissy replied from the doorway, where she’d paused, leaning, as if she fancied a chat.

  Damn again.

  “How was your meal last night?” Chrissy asked casually. Her eyes weren’t casual. They never seemed to be when she discussed anything to do with Glenn. And yet Izzy had never detected the tiniest shade of jealousy there. She still couldn’t. But her judgement, as she now knew, was hardly flawless.

  “Not bad,” Izzy managed, and then, spying an opportunity both to keep things humorous and to satisfy at least part of her helpless curiosity, she added, “Why? Did Glenn say he got poisoned?”

  “No,” Chrissy said. “I did ask him first thing this morning, because he wasn’t home until really late last night. I said, ‘How was dinner at Izzy’s?’ Now Glenn, as you know, is not one of life’s confiders. He is, at best, a man of few words. So I knew that even if you’d lived in a total palace, served caviar from silver platters and had spectacular sex with him all night, Glenn would never have answered more than, ‘Fine.’ But do you know what he did say?”

  Izzy’s stomach twisted. She shook her head dumbly, waiting patiently for the answer that would annihilate her, possibly beyond redemption.

  “One word.” Chrissy straightened, looking her in the eye. “He said ‘Small’. And walked away.”

  “Small?” Astonished and baffled, Izzy stared at her. “What the hell did he mean by that?” He can’t have been demeaning her dinner, or her home as compared with his. Even allowing for her misreading of his character, such trivia really wasn’t in his nature. She could swear to that. So what the fuck…? Unless…

  “He was locked in a cell for ten years,” Chrissy said quietly. “Barely saw the sky. You’ve seen all the open doors and windows around here, and this is a big house. I’ve only seen the B&B from the outside, but I can’t imagine that top flat in the eaves is anything other than—er—small.”

  “Claustrophobia,” Izzy whispered, stunned all over again, this time to the point of dizziness. She blinked and punched the back of the armchair in fury. “Claustro-fucking-phobia? Why could he not just—”

  “Say?” Chrissy interrupted, moving aside at last. “We’re talking Glenn here.”

  “Nothing to what I’ll be talking,” Izzy said grimly and stormed out.

  “He’s round the back,” Chrissy offered.

  Izzy didn’t even slow down, although she did lift one hand in acknowledgement as she barged toward the back door.

  She saw a cluster of four men around one the outhouses they were renovating into a habitable cottage. Glenn was on the roof. She could tell by his posture the moment he caught sight of her stalking across the yard toward him.

  Then men stopped talking and looked at her. Glenn lowered himself and jumped off the roof like a monkey before turning toward her. His face was a mask, his eyes turbulent, maybe even desperate behind the veiling hardness. She strode right up to him.

  “You,” she raged, “are a great big, stupid—” She paused, dredging for the right word and came up with a Glasgow insult of her childhood. “Tube!” she yelled, and, flinging both arms around his neck, she kissed him hard on the mouth.

  His lips opened in sheer astonishment, she was sure, but she only waited until she was sure of the first stirrings of his response before she let him go, turned on her heel and stormed away again. After all, she was in a hurry to collect Jack.

  “There you are, that’s telling you,” Dougie said in tones of clear amusement.

  Izzy smiled to herself and kept walking. She was halfway down the hill to the village before she remembered to take out her phone and text one word to Chrissy. Thanks.

  “I can fix the floor and that beam easily enough,” Lewis Dunn the joiner told Glenn as he walked warily back toward him around the rotten patches. “For the rest, you’re talking a big job. I’ll need to take on help.”

  Glenn nodded. “I know it’ll cost. Just give me an idea how much and I’ll see if I can go ahead.”

  “Couldn’t start before next month.”

&n
bsp; “Next month will be fine,” Glenn said. “There’s a school holiday week, isn’t there? Maybe your son and his pals could give you a hand too.”

  Dunn blinked, then frowned slightly as if he picked up that Glenn was saying more than his actual words. “Aye,” he said noncommittally.

  “Kids that age need something different sometimes. Something with an outcome and a bit of money. Keep them out of trouble. I should know.”

  “Aye,” Dunn said again. His gaze hadn’t left Glenn’s. He drew in a breath. “I’m away a lot. Too much. Are you telling me the lad’s in trouble?”

  Glenn shook his head. “No. But I’d say he’s looking for it.” Asking a risky stranger like Glenn for cannabis, which was pretty freely available most places if you knew where to look—and teenagers tended to know even if they did nothing about it—was not the behaviour of a contented youth.

  Dunn nodded curtly. “Thanks.” He paused, then added bluntly. “And they’ll not find it up here?”

  “Trouble? No.” Glenn never intended to apologise for being here, for doing what he and the others were doing. But Izzy’s perspective as a parent had given him more understanding as well as tolerance. So he added a brief explanation, without resentment or apology. “Apart from Chrissy—and Izzy Ross who works here sometimes—we’re all ex-cons actively avoiding trouble. We’re all pretty busy on our own stuff.”

  Dunn nodded as if he took from that, as he was meant to, that he and his lads wouldn’t need to have much contact with the residents unless Dunn chose. “Okay, I’ll drop you over two estimates on Monday. One for the repairs and one for the conversion.”

  Glenn nodded back and led the way down from the attic.

  Jack was in bed when the knock came at the door. Excitement that was at least partly relief caused Izzy to leap off the sofa and all but run to open the door. She already had her hand on the key before all her old instincts kicked in.

  This didn’t have to be Glenn. Or Louise. It was when she let down her guard, even just once, that Jack could be hurt. So she paused, slipped the chain across and used the unobtrusive spy hole she’d installed herself when she’d first moved in.

  Glenn stood on her doorstep.

  She released the chain, unlocked the door and opened it. Her heart drummed. She might not have fixed it, as she’d been so smugly sure. He might have decided a relationship with her was just too difficult. He might— Why didn’t he bloody speak?

  He was just looking at her. Almost like the first time they’d met, his gaze seemed riveted to her face, drinking her in, with no idea what to say or what to do next. Big, strong, hard as nails…and, surely, totally vulnerable. There was a warmth, a softness in his eyes that he didn’t even try to hide. Then his lips tugged upward into a rueful, oddly attractive smile that made her fast-beating heart skip.

  “Sorry.”

  “No,” she said. “It was my fault. I should have seen what was going on. I should have understood. I was just…angry that I’d made you suffer when I’d wanted the complete opposite.”

  “I know. I didn’t realize it would happen until you locked the door, and then I thought I could deal with it, that it would ease off.” His lips twisted. “I’m a bit messed up. On top of everything else. Just wanted to say.”

  “It’s all right. I won’t ask you in.”

  “Come for a walk tomorrow, if you like. I can show Jack how to use his fishing rod.”

  She smiled. “All right.”

  He kicked the step, but didn’t make any move to leave. At last he said, “The curtains are twitching up and down the street, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t know,” Izzy said. She’d only been looking at Glenn, and now she made another discovery. “I don’t care.”

  Glenn smiled and took her in his arms. She lifted her face, lips parted, and at the first touch of his mouth, she melted.

  It was a long and thorough kiss. Not the kind that could be mistaken for friendship. The bulge in his jeans grew and hardened against her, but he did no more than hold her and kiss her. And when their lips finally broke apart, he kissed her again, a softer, quicker one.

  “Good night,” he said huskily.

  She gave him one back. “Good night.”

  He released her, turned and leapt down the steps much as he’d done last night. This time as he strode up the road, she could have sworn he was whistling.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The warmth of that embrace and everything it implied about “going public”, about the possibilities of a future together, stayed with Izzy on Saturday, even as she sat on the riverbank in the drizzle, watching Glenn teach Jack how to cast his line and hold the rod.

  “We are allowed to fish here, aren’t we?” she said idly as the idea of poaching entered her head for no obvious reason.

  “We are,” Glenn said wryly. “This part of the river is actually part of the Ardknocken estate. Most of the land was sold off, but we still have a few acres.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Got someone looking at that. It’s not brilliant farmland, but we could be at least a bit more self-sufficient if we knew what we were doing. Something else we’re going to start in the New Year. Might do limited fishing trips too. Rab says the fishing’s quite good.”

  Izzy blinked. “What, tourists staying at the big house?”

  “No way,” Glenn said fervently. “I was thinking we could tie it in to the B&B, but I haven’t spoken to your pal about it yet.”

  “You should. What?” she added. It seemed she could spot his silent buts now.

  He glanced at her. “Some of the locals come up here and poach. I don’t care. They’re used to it, and they never come near the house. But they’d have to fish further down the river whenever we had paying trips.”

  “A discreet schedule on the library notice board might work. And the post office, if Mrs. Campbell will tolerate it. Did you see she took down her petition?”

  “Well, I answered it,” Glenn admitted.

  Izzy laughed. “I know. Louise told me. She thought it was rather cool.”

  “There’s no fish in this river,” Jack pronounced.

  “Yes, there are. They just haven’t found your bait yet. You have to be patient.”

  “You mean I have to hold it all the time?” He sounded appalled, but then four-year-olds were not famously patient beings.

  “No, look, you can do this.” Glenn took the rod and propped it up on the bank. “Then you can run about for ten minutes and go back to it.”

  “Hmm—what if a fish bites while I’m not there?”

  “Well, that would be bad luck,” Glenn said gravely. “But I’ll keep my eye on it and shout if anything happens.”

  Jack grinned his approval of this plan and bounded farther along the bank to where a gnarled piece of wood had caught his attention. Screw bounded after him.

  “Don’t fall in,” Izzy warned; then to Glenn, “Where did you learn to fish?”

  He shrugged. “One of my uncles showed me on a holiday when I was a kid. And Archie and Rab know all about fishing. It’s kind of…peaceful. And damp,” he added apologetically.

  Izzy smiled and shook her head, causing the rain to splash off her hood. She kept one eye on Jack as he and Screw together hauled the interesting wood from the river, soaking both of them.

  “Waterproof trousers,” she said, thinking aloud. “Maybe before the boots. After all, he’s got wellies.”

  Glenn moved the rod slightly. Perhaps he’d felt a nibble. “Can’t be easy on your own. Money-wise. Whatever he’s done, his father should help with his keep.”

  “I don’t want Ray anywhere near him,” Izzy said, surprising herself with her own calmness. She felt his gaze on her face but felt the need to keep watching Jack.

  “Because you’re angry?” he asked. “Or because you’re frightened?
”

  She swallowed. “Frightened. That is, I was. But it’s been three years, and he hasn’t found us. I don’t seem to be frightened anymore.”

  “But you still lock the door. And use the chain and the spy hole.”

  She lifted her backpack onto her knee and rummaged until she found the pepper spray. “And I still carry this. Although I’d be hard-pushed to get to it in an emergency.”

  She risked a glance at him. He lifted his gaze from the pepper spray back to her face. “You mean he’d snatch Jack. But do you really think he’d risk an investigation by hurting you to do it? Wouldn’t he just trash your reputation in a custody battle?”

  Her lips curled of their own accord. “You sure you haven’t met Ray? You’re right to a degree. If he wanted custody of Jack, that’s what he’d do. But he doesn’t. He wants power over me.”

  “Why?”

  Izzy licked her dry lips, drew in a breath. “Because I know he as good as killed his first wife. Because I know what he does. And way before he’s Ray’s son, Jack’s a tool to be used against me.”

  Jack was pushing the gnarled wood into the muddy bank. It looked like a very small, ugly tree.

  “Did you always know?” Glenn asked. There was no accusation in his voice. No one understood better than him that people did bad things for all sorts of reasons. Including keeping the truth to oneself.

  She shook her head. “You might say I was swept off my feet. In fact, looking back, I think I was just flattered. He was cultured, intelligent, handsome—oozed that kind of effortless power that got him served first in restaurants. And he paid me a lot of attention. I didn’t know why.”

  “You’re all those things you thought he was, and more.”

  She flushed. “I’d had my romantic ups and downs. I knew I wasn’t unattractive to a lot of men, but with Ray… I suppose I just couldn’t believe my luck, and when opportunity knocked, I grabbed with both hands. I thought I was in love with him. But I didn’t actually know him. I only loved some ideal I’d made up from a few wrong clues.”