Keeping Secrets Crane

by Cindy Crane

  “No, thank goodness.” He meant thank goodness there were no children to complicate matters, to be passed between two warring parents. ‘You?’

  It just sort of came out. Stupid question—Frankie was far too sensible for that. He was just making civil conversation, trying desperately not to dissolve into the gibbering wreck threatening to burst its way out of its rigid coating called self-preservation. Every muscle taut, coiled like springs. Once sprung, there was no telling what might happen.

  “Yes,” she answered, watching his double-take. He wasn’t expecting that. Then she added pointedly, “Thank goodness.”

  Shit . She thought he’d meant he didn’t care for kids.

  “How many?” he asked. He was still polite, calm, despite the shock she’d just given him.

  “Just the one—Deborah. Debs.”

  So, she’d gotten over him, after all; and he’d been riddled with guilt for so long.

  “How old is she?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Eleven?” He almost choked, his eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling. He’d expected her to say three or four, maybe even seven, but not—eleven.

  Frankie watched his brain go into overdrive, working out the dates; his brow drawing together, trying to do the maths. But they’d always been so careful.

  She put him out of his misery. “Don’t bother with the calculations. She’s not yours.” She met his eyes coolly, as though it was every day you had this sort of conversation with an ex.

  Jake didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

  She’d obviously not missed him at all.

  Frankie glanced away, suddenly conscious of a gnawing desire to explain things too. “After we moved, I went off the rails altogether.” The drink had loosened her tongue, and she was pulling no punches. “Everything my father had worried would happen, happened. Then I found out I was pregnant. I kept it secret for a long time. I knew my father would go ape. I also think I was trying to deny what was happening to me. But as it so happens, it was probably the best thing. And Mum and Dad love Debs to bits.”

  The words just tumbled out of her mouth, surprising her with how easy it was to tell him.

  “What about her father?” he asked tentatively. He wished the knife wasn’t twisting quite so painfully in his chest, but he had to know.

  Frankie took another gulp of wine.

  “He doesn’t even know she exists. In fact, truth is, I don’t know even know who he is.” She lowered her eyes, suddenly unable to meet Jake’s. She was embarrassed at her unexpected revelation, yet still needed to elaborate further. “I told you I went off the rails. I slept around. Only they weren’t as considerate as you. I learned the hard way. I suppose I was lucky I didn’t end up with anything worse than a baby.”

  Jake couldn’t speak, unable to find the words. This was too much for even him to take in. This wasn’t what he’d come to hear. He thought she might have missed him—badly—as he had her. He was ready to accept she still hated him after all the plans they’d made; that she hated him for abandoning her. But this? It seemed like she’d wasted no time at all in moving on.

  So what had the letters been about, then? Had they just been a game to make him feel guilty? Were they about revenge?

  “I learned my lesson, though,” she continued. Her tongue was running away with itself now—too much wine—and now she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “I was a bit more discerning after that. I didn’t get much pleasure out of it—just Debs.”

  She wished he wasn’t looking at her in such dismay, as though she’d just broken his heart. He didn’t have a heart. He’d never answered her calls or her letters because he’d changed his number, moved, never telling her where. So why was he looking so hurt, so puzzled by her confessions? Those dark eyes slightly narrowed; those lovely eyebrows pulled up in pained disbelief; she couldn’t bear it.

  She stretched out a hand and placed her open palm gently against his cheek. The rough stubble grazed her tender skin, a touch so familiar, she wanted to lay it there longer and stroke it. Her voice cracked, her cover finally blown.

  “You were a hard act to follow.”

  Jake’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. Despite the bravado she was displaying, she must have been so hurt. He knew she was. Didn’t her letters tell him so?

  He swallowed down hard on the enormous lump now threatening to choke him. She’d been so young, and him too, unable to fulfil the promises he’d made. He placed his own hand over hers.

  His skin, rough and calloused, brushed against her skin. And the shiver of excitement stalking his body from her touch now busied itself travelling back to hers.

  Frankie’s breath shortened, her pupils dilating, her body a tangle of nerve endings.

  God , after all this time he still excited her.

  She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t fight the turmoil any longer, her body shuddering helplessly at his touch. She reached forward, oblivious to those around her, and placed her mouth on his.

  His lips, soft and malleable, gave against hers for a second before reacting. Then he pressed harder, matching her own urgency, tasting them, opening them as his tongue slipped between her teeth. And as their tongues danced in slow, rhythmic ritual, the music and noise were dispatched to the far reaches of the room.

  Opening his eyes, his gaze burned deep into her.

  Frankie sprang back and gulped in air. What the hell was she playing at? She’d just confessed to behaving like a slag. And now she was throwing herself back at him. After all she’d told herself, she wasn’t over him at all.

  “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” she gasped, grabbing her bag and standing quickly. “Excuse me, I need the loo.”

  Chapter 4

  Frankie locked the cubicle door and sat on the toilet seat. She placed her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands. Her hair fell like a curtain around her face.

  What the hell was she doing?

  She groaned, louder than she intended.

  The girlie chatter outside the cubicle stopped. Someone tapped on the door.

  “You okay in there?” a voice she didn’t recognise called out.

  Frankie sucked in her lips, catching them between her teeth, stifling the fresh groan about to erupt from the pained expression crumpling her face.

  “Yes,” she lied. “Dodgy curry.” Her voice still sounded like a moan.

  Someone outside sniggered. “Too much alcohol,” they snorted.

  If they only knew— too many rampaging sex hormones, more like.

  She waited till they’d gone, then made her exit. Washing her hands, she tried to get a fix on the wobbly face staring back at her from the mirror. She splashed cold water on her burning cheeks and dragged her fingers back through her hair and off her face.

  God! She was off her face all right—well and truly pissed.

  She had to be. Why else would she be throwing herself at her ex like that? How many times had she mutilated him in her mind for how he’d treated her? She was disgusted with herself. At this rate she’d be shagging him next.

  Her eyes, now whirling round her eye sockets, landed on the condom machine.

  No! Don’t even go there.

  Retain some dignity.

  She’d get a taxi and go back to the hotel. She knew she shouldn’t have come. He’d ruined her life once before. She wasn’t going to let him do it again.

  The dance floor was heaving. She fought her way through the gyrating bodies, her feet plaiting as she wobbled on her heels. She’d get her coat and say goodnight. It wouldn’t take much betting that tomorrow she’d be saying, “Never again.” Nothing like a good binge to make you take leave of your senses.

  And she’d certainly done that—mega big. Her brain was in total turmoil.

  Jake had turned away from the table to watch the dancing, relaxing lazily back in his seat, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. Frankie’s tongue flicked over her lips, leaving them wet and shiny.

  Bo
y, did he look good.

  And Frankie’s eyes couldn’t help themselves. They travelled to the bulge where his trouser legs met, reliving the pleasure its contents used to give her. Her own groin grew heavy and needy with the memory.

  She quickly snatched up her jacket before her hands were tempted to stray. Her body was already taking on a mind of its own, and she needed to get back in control before she did something really stupid.

  “I’m going now,” she said, trying hard not to slur her words. “I’m going downstairs to ring for a taxi. It’s too noisy here.”

  She tried to slip on her jacket, forgetting how alcohol played havoc with multi-tasking. Standing, finding the sleeves, thinking about using the phone, she staggered a little, almost falling into him as he stood. Jake laughed and caught her.

  His touch was electrifying. The heaviness in her groin swelled and, as he held her close, her breath shortened again, his cologne tickling her senses, exploding in sherbet fizz all over her body. She was in serious danger of losing it altogether.

  He helped her with her jacket, his fingers lingering a moment as he fastened the buttons, brushing gently against the soft mounds of her breasts. She could barely breathe as she stared hypnotically into his eyes. Hers momentarily stopped whirling, developing instead a semi-permanent glaze. Along with the partially opened mouth, anyone less lovely would be saddled with the adjective gormless.

  “I don’t think you’re in any fit state to get back on your own. I’ll give you a lift,” he said.

  His offer was just what was needed to stir her back to life. With the electrifying effect he was having on her senses, sitting up close to Jake in his motor was the last thing she needed.

  “No. No. I can’t put you to any trouble,” she protested. It was the wrong choice of words.

  “It’s no trouble,” he answered firmly, his decision made. With Frankie gone, there’d be no reason to hang around anyway. And he caught her elbow determinedly, ready to manoeuvre her across the dance floor, wishing he’d not bought her that last drink. He hadn’t realised she’d already had a skinful before he arrived. He hoped it wasn’t the thought of seeing him that had driven her to the demon drink. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

  He turned her, hands on her waist, propelling her in front of him, through the bodies, keeping her upright and steady. She giggled and stalled a little, finding her balance as his hands pressed harder, squeezing her slender waist and fighting the urge to sneak their way under the hem of her top and invade the soft, bare flesh. It was taking every ounce of his resolve and control not to respond to her outrageously sexy, swaying rear as it was.

  The music was intoxicating. And Frankie had always loved dancing with Jake; rubbing their bodies against one another, tantalising and squirming, keeping the sensuous rhythm going while teasing each other in anticipation of what was to come. She altered her step, swinging her hips to the beat.

  The intimate touch of his hands on her body through the thin fabric of her top was as electrifyingly sensual as if he were touching her naked skin, so she slowed their movements until they matched the rhythm of the sound. It was intense, primeval, deliberately wicked. Much like she was feeling herself.

  She backed into him, helping his arms to fold around her as his body too encompassed the rhythm. Her bottom gyrated against his pelvis and she felt his hardness grow against her. And tipping her head to look over one shoulder at him, she tantalised him from beneath long lashes, her lips curling into a flirtatious little smile, full of temptation.

  It was Jake’s turn to groan. Frankie didn’t so much hear it as feel it, rumbling up from his belly, through his chest and into his throat. His folded arms squeezed her harder to him as he rubbed himself against the luscious round cheeks of her behind; her flirtatious smile growing sexier as she ran the tip of her tongue across her top lip and rotated her hips against his growing erection.

  Shit. He needed to get them both out of here so they could sort themselves out before they did something they might both regret. Much as he was enjoying her attention and the way her body was performing so hungrily against his, she was well pissed. With all inhibitions gone, he was sure she wouldn’t be acting the same way if she were sober.

  Chapter 5

  Frankie was still giggling as she rummaged through the tiny purse for her hotel key. She recalled Carly’s shrewd comment as they’d left, and her own caustic response that she was amazed she actually knew the meaning of déjà vu.

  Jake apologised for both of them—their early departure and Frankie’s inebriated state and rudeness.

  “Oh my God, the keyhole keeps moving.” She giggled afresh as the key scraped across the woodwork for the umpteenth time.

  Jake took it off her. The sooner she slept this off, the better. Then maybe they could spend a bit of time together tomorrow before she went home. He knew he shouldn’t even be thinking about seeing her, but he couldn’t help himself.

  He was a grown man now, he kept reminding himself, not a nineteen-year-old kid, scared shitless by the threat of what the future might hold.

  Frankie stumbled through the doorway, throwing her purse in the direction of the bed. It missed, landing just short, spilling its contents across the floor.

  “Ooops!” she hiccupped, spinning round to face Jake again. He was still standing in the doorway.

  She staggered back a step before steadying herself. Toes angled towards each other, her head tilting forwards with her chin stuck out, she was trying desperately to find a stabilising position. Yet at the same time, she gave him such a smouldering look, Jake would have instantly combusted if he hadn’t known it was just the alcohol working overtime.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” she purred.

  “I think it’s probably best if I don’t,” he replied softly.

  “Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” she protested, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him inside, slamming the door shut with one foot and almost falling arse over tit on the other. Jake grabbed an elbow before she nose-dived onto the carpet.

  She straightened, still giggling, placing both hands on his chest and pushing him hard against the wall. She followed through with her own body until she was pressed seductively against him. Pinning him against the hard surface, every curve fitted perfectly against his taught muscles. She caught his face in her hands and kissed him hard and long.

  Jake let out a long, low moan. This shouldn’t be happening—not now, not like this. And he had to fight the overwhelming urge to fold her into his arms and reciprocate fully. He must be mad, but she’d thank him in the morning.

  Instead, he raised his arms to shoulder height and lay them flat against the wall, well away from any contact with her gorgeous body.

  Frankie pulled away, her eyes heavy, licking her lips and savouring every drop of sweetness Jake had left there for her. It was so blatantly sexual, it took every ounce of Jake’s resolve not to pounce and ravish her there on the spot.

  “What’s wrong, Jay?” she whispered. Her voice was thick, hot with temptation.

  Jay. His heart was going into total meltdown. No one had ever called him that but Frankie. And it sounded so good to hear her say it again. And he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her lovely face, puzzled by his reluctance to go further than the kiss. Her lips slightly parted, wet, beckoning.

  “I never take advantage of inebriated ladies,” he murmured thickly, almost wishing he didn’t have standards after all.

  She looked at his outstretched arms and smiled knowingly—a sly, sexy, indulgent smile.

  “Ah. You want to play submissive. And let me take advantage of you,” she teased.

  She stretched out her own arms, tracing a path with her fingers along the insides of his, smiling salaciously at the way he tried to control his squirming. Her fingers entwined with his and she pressed her aching breasts against his hard chest.

  She kissed him again, her tongue teasing and tempting, savouring the heat as it curled inside the warm cavity of his m
outh. Jake groaned. She was making this so difficult.

  She licked her lips again, indulging her raging libido, knowing it was driving him to distraction. Her eyes locked on his as she drew her fingers back along the insides of his arms; tiny shocks of electricity sizzling along every nerve ending he possessed, until she reached his chest; then, turning her hands, she drew their backs down towards his abdomen and the waistband of his jeans.

  “Well, I’m game if you are,” she breathed seductively.

  Jake could barely breathe. All earlier un-coordination disappearing, she was unfastening the metal stud and slowly sliding down his zipper with incredible dexterity, determination and purpose, while at the same time, holding his gaze so wantonly.

  His willpower was draining by the second. And as she slid her hand inside, feeling the heat, the hardness, he was powerless to protest. His bodily needs, the intense ache, overrode his head and any sense he might have left nestling there.

  Frankie loosened the waistband, pushing his jeans from his hips. He gasped. Her fingers were like hot irons, burning his skin, as she released his swollen shaft. Taking its length in one hand, she cupped her palm around the head.

  Jake closed his eyes, barely breathing, his bones melting as she stroked her fingers lightly along his engorged manhood until she was cradling his balls, caressing them and kneading them. She was driving him to distraction with her torment.

  Frankie had imagined cutting them off so many times; frying them in hot oil and feeding them back to him piece by piece. But all she wanted to do now was make them ache—ache with the thought of possessing her, ache with screwing her. Because she was aching too—aching with need and desire, her whole body tense with electricity. She wanted to feel him inside her, moving and thrusting, bringing her to that wonderful point of ecstasy, when she could do nothing more than writhe, buck and groan with sheer unadulterated pleasure.