by J P Sayle
The ridiculousness finally hit. Giggles bubbled out. It was just too much. Hysteria gripped. He clutched the door while tears rolled down his face. Stammering past the laughter, he said, “Come on, Princess, you know I am right.” Silence greeted him. “Please yourself. You’ll come begging first.”
Beaming at the thought he’d won, he mimicked his earlier position. Let her stew. He was unsure he’d cope with her against him anyway. His body constantly reminded him of his stupidness. Brad sighed. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Princess
Aggrieved, traumatised, her eyes ached. Why would you do that to yourself? How had she never seen this before? This cruel torture? She wanted to bleach the images out of her mind.
Brad’s howl had frightened the shit out of her. Christ, she was only defending herself from witnessing the unthinkable! Unable to stop the horror, she’d screeched to stop him. Why, why, why would anyone do that to their body?
Embarrassed beyond belief, miffed he’d not prepared her for what was coming. She chuffed her anger. How dare he lock her in? Disbelief brooded. Served him right if he’d hurt himself.
She crossed her paws. She hoped he ached as much as her eyes had. She was flabbergasted, but the reality had satisfaction gleam out. If Brad were willing to torture himself for Martin, that could mean only one thing. Love.
Glowing with pride, she shuddered. She supposed a little trauma would be worth the end goal. Well, as long as she didn’t have to see that again. No, her eyes just wouldn’t be able to cope.
“Stop laughing, mother, it’s so not funny.” Huffing, she rested against her paws. Things were going swimmingly.
Martin
Brad’s evasive and curt responses were delighting Martin. Seeing Brad’s frustration meant his plans were working. The sweet basket he’d sent he felt was ingenious considering Brad’s sweet tooth. He’d even considered postponing dinner with Sarah. But the sulky text responses had changed his mind.
Not explaining his date was with his sister had resulted in jealous texts from Brad. He hoped it would motivate him to the next stage. The fierceness of his need had him aching. He just needed to remember it would be worth it, even if he felt bad for the deception.
Because concentrating past the need was harder than anything he’d done. He rolled his chair back and forth. He was unsure how much longer he could hold out. His fingers fiddled with the phone. He’d been acting like a teenager, mooning over text messages and driving himself to distraction. His phone had become his constant companion.
He felt bereft, aching for more and not just the physical. The joy of watching Brad open up captivated him. He appeared to thrive with every compliment or touch. His radiance touched him in every way, enriching him as nothing else had.
Knots tightened inside him, making the crazy fluttering an ever-present reminder. Fulfilled in ways past relationships hadn’t. Brad both stimulated and challenged him. Lighting the fire inside him the army had extinguished and making the adrenaline pump. This mission was his most important and the most precarious he’d ever had: claiming Brad forever. Now he just needed Brad to see that he was meant to be his.
He felt his sneakiness was justified as he pushed at Brad and waited for the fireworks. The last text hinted they were coming. A foolish grin spread across his face. Martin rubbed his hands in anticipation.
Coffee, then work ran through his mind as he checked his appointments and sighed. He was going to need lots of coffee. At least he’d be occupied.
“Shit.” He raced down the stairs with thundering feet. Martin hated being late. The blaring horn jolted him stopping mid-stride. He waved in apology. Not making eye contact, he jogged to the opposite pavement. He glanced around. Which way was it? Instructions were never Sarah’s strong suit. Confused, he reread the message. Time was mocking him.
He fired off a text. He grinned at the immediate response, knowing the ribbing was inevitable. His meetings today rolled quickly into one another. He was going to have to sack Emma. She’d all but pushed him into it. She couldn’t even plan simple meetings.
Distracted as he entered the restaurant, he scowled at the waiter. His flinch had Martin pasting on a smile. The returning look of appreciation had him dimming it. He was offering an apology, nothing more. He might be cute, lean with a nice lithe body topped with chestnut hair and chocolate eyes, but he wasn’t Brad.
Martin balked when fingers caressed his hand as he handed over his jacket. He thrust his hands into his trousers, keeping them out of harm’s way. The chocolatey-brown eyes warmed as they roamed over his body. Interrupting his perusal, Martin tried to ignore the obvious offer in the man’s eyes.
“Sarah Clegg, table for two?” Disappointment etched into the waiter’s expression as he led him to their table. Unconcerned, he shuddered. His skin crawled. He most definitely was not Brad.
Eyes the same as his mocked him with sparking mischief.
He sighed in defeat. “Hello, baby girl. Go on. Say it. You know you want to.” His put-upon tone seemed to enhance her delight.
“Now, why would I remind you that you are late, hmm? Several years of constant reminders to always be on time spring to mind. So, it’s my turn to harangue.” Sarah’s voice was full of merriment. Ignoring her giggles, he bent to kiss her on the lips. Surprise filtered before she cast a quick glance sideways. Understanding gleamed along with a devilish glint.
Fuck!
“Hello, sweetie, how was your day?” Her hands caressed his arms, pulling him towards her. Her lips puckered. “Do you call that a kiss? Didn’t you miss me, honey?” Sarcasm dripped from every word.
Fear gripped him. She wouldn’t? He yanked his face away quickly, just in case. Her sparkling smile hit its mark. He’d kill her. Sitting, he ignored her and took his menu. Wine, he needed lots of wine. As he was lost in his perusal, it took a minute. “What?”
Sarah’s infectious laughter bubbled up when she saw him hiding. “Come on, you know I was only messing with you. Stop sulking behind your menu.”
He huffed. He wasn’t sulking! He wasn’t. Okay maybe a bit, but she was going to kiss him, and that was just plain sick.
“The waiter was all but drooling over you. In the past, you would have jumped all over that. You barely tolerated his touch. What gives, baby brother?”
Martin’s teeth ground at the “baby brother” comment.
How to respond? Would she understand his feelings? He was unsure how much to share, but words pushed past his uncertainty. “I have met someone special. Hold your horses.” Martin halted her, knowing he needed to get it out all at once.
Sarah’s smile of understanding helped him to keep going.
“He is very special. Long story short. You know the opposite house to mine that looks deserted?” Sarah frowned but nodded. “Well, he lives in there. The outside is such a contradiction to the inside.” Oblivious, Martin messed the carefully styled hair as his fingers racked through it in frustration. “Anyway, his cat visited me. The previous owner had one it seems. It appears Princess was missing her. Anyway, I opened the door thinking it would be Ms Stevens.”
Her sympathetic look had him nodding. He had discussed how bad she was getting.
“It wasn’t her, but Brad. I was positive the world just stopped moving. There is something about him that pulls at me deep inside. I can’t explain.” His hands jerked. The knife fell, unseen. “He completes me.” The whispered words infused with love seeped out against his will.
Tears glistened in Sarah’s eyes as she held his hand. The acceptance he saw there made it difficult to swallow. He blinked. The waiter broke the moment as he picked up a fallen knife. Was that his? He glanced down. Pink suffused his neck.
“Come on, we need wine. Lots of wine.” Desperation had him grabbing the menu, hiding his emotions behind it. He was relieved when the conversation turned to the meal. He ordered lamb shank in a rich balsamic red wine and mint demi-glacé, with creamy potato and petit pois. Martin’s mouth water
ed in anticipation. Sarah picked the Isola fish and seafood “Cioppino.” As she had been several times before, she knew it was exquisite. Not a great fish lover, he’d take her word for it.
He accepted that she had let him divert the conversation. For now. He knew it wouldn’t last.
“So fill me on the business. We haven’t caught up on how things are going.”
Martin found himself distracted by her armology. Her arms tended to never stop moving as she talked.
He remembered his earlier questions for her. “I wanted to run something by you. I was thinking about an office manager equivalent to Ann. Business locally would warrant it, along with the amount of travelling to London.” Filling her in, he left out the part about leaving Brad for now. “I don’t want to be away every other week.” Glancing under his eyelashes, he watched as a smirk lit her face.
“Oh, you’re too much, giving me all this ammunition for when I get to meet wonder boy.”
Wine splattered as Martin choked on her last statement. He was horrified when the waiter rushed forward patting his back. Martin was unable to look at Sarah as the waiter molested him. He tried his best to disengage himself as quickly as possible. His steel-cold eyes sliced mercilessly, making hands halt mid-rub.
“Thank you, I’m fine.”
Sarah fidgeted as she covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook with mirth. Martin shook his head at her antics. The bitch bag was laughing at him. He was seething. “At this rate, you won’t get to meet ‘wonder boy’.” His jaw ached as he clenched his teeth, trying to hold his tongue in check. He thanked the waiter for the food.
The silence stretched. Women knew how to use it as a weapon. He sighed in defeat. “Okay, I will ask him if he wants to go to dinner with us next week.” Sarah’s serene smile had him stabbing his food. He glared at her obvious tactics.
Martin changed the subject. “So what do you think about me employing another Ann? I have worked through the logistics, and it’s feasible. As yet, Ann hasn’t come back to me. But as you have the recruitment business, I wondered if you have any talent that might fit. I can send you Ann’s job description.”
Waiting, he tasted his food. The tart sweetness burst over his tongue. He moaned in delight as creamy met delectable. The tender meat melted in his mouth.
“Is everything all right with your meal tonight?”
What he assumed was the owner hovered.
“Beautiful. The food is wonderful.” The waiter might have annoyed Martin, but the food was fabulous and deserved his honesty. Agreeing, Sarah beamed up, causing a baffled, flustered blush.
Martin whispered so they wouldn’t be heard. “Do you know him?” He noticed her heated smile, so the answer was just about what he expected from her.
“Nope, but I sure would like to. I think he’s married, but hope lives.”
He smirked at her antics. Her last boyfriend, a total loser, spent more time lazing around than working. He was grateful her common sense had returned. Her “he’s a great fuck” hadn’t helped matters. Especially when it had turned out, he had been fucking everything that moved. Sarah was convinced she had a sign that read “all dickheads welcome” tattooed on her forehead. It was the only feasible explanation for picking such losers.
Looking at her now, he couldn’t understand her ability to pick total losers. Her beauty shone like a diamond. Her dark hair gleamed, flowing down her back; her skin was flawless. Ocean blue eyes often twinkled with mischief. Her typical hourglass figure allowed for clothes to fit in all the right places. The red dress was a true testament to that. It highlighted every lush curve. People sometimes overlooked her sharp, shrewd business brain, although she had built her own business single-handedly. Others found her intimidating, or they underestimated her. Martin reasoned this may be why she picked losers. He couldn’t remember if she’d ever dated anyone he’d liked. Protective by nature, he’d been encouraged by his parents to look out for her.
The damage caused by the army had taken time to repair. But they’d got there. Her teasing was testament to the return of the status quo between them. Her love was vital to him. He hoped she would love Brad as much as him. He wouldn’t consider any other option.
“Earth to Martin. Come in, Martin.” Her tiny hands waved in front of his face. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” She huffed at his blank expression. “I said I have a new person on my books that might be perfect for you. He is new to the island. I will pull out his file and see if he matches the job description when you send it to me.” The deliberate tone as if she was speaking to a naughty two-year-old got his back up, and he glared back at her.
Sarah’s unflinching stare had him backing down.
“Cool. I’ll send it over.” With work talk over, they gossiped about friends while finishing their meal. Martin glanced at the now empty bottle of wine, and he realised he’d need a taxi home. He beckoned the waiter to ask for him to book one.
“Oh no, you don’t. You promised me a night out.” Sarah pointed her finger at him. “You are not going home now. It’s barely nine o’clock. The night is young, and work is over. It’s the weekend, so that won’t wash either.” Martin resigned himself when she wriggled in her seat in anticipation.
“Okay, but we are not getting drunk. I have too much to do this weekend.” The smile escaped before he could stop it.
Sarah leaned forward. Grabbing his tie, she yanked. “I know what that smile means. Naked sexy time’s afoot.”
Brows arched at her hushed words. The heat he felt reminded him it had been far too long since having sexy naked time.
“Come on. I’ll pay the bill, and you, Sarah, can buy the wine.”
The devilish light flashed warnings he wouldn’t escape her torment it would seem. He dragged behind “Trouble” with a capital T. He considered if he should get her a shirt with it on, a warning to others. He recalled “let’s not get drunk” episodes with blinding clarity: pole dancing at Beyond in London, stripping at the Nags Head after drinking cocktails off a very naked man. Images burned into his memory banks burst forth. Uninhibited, alcohol mixed with Sarah was his enemy; mindfulness the key to survival.
He followed, feeling like an animal being led to the slaughter. Relief was short lived as they entered the wine bar. Two bottles later memories blurred. But Brad had been at the forefront of their conversations.
Going to the bathroom, he splashed water to cool his heated skin. He glanced up. Why were there two of him? His legs wobbled as he headed to the nightclub under the wine bar. He was dragged up to dance. His mind was swimming, Sarah laughed at his uncoordinated movements, but the dizziness wouldn’t abate.
Martin wandered the street, struggling to remember what he was looking for. Brad, yes that’s it. Now he remembered. He grinned like a loon. Home. Now he needed just to get there. Blurry eyes searched for his car. Where was it?
A car stopped at his side. The vague voice called out to him, making him turn.
“You need a taxi?”
Clutching those words like a lifeline, he staggered to the taxi and crawled in the back. “Yes.” Confusion swam in alcohol as he sat, waiting.
The voice penetrated the haze. “Where do you live, mate?”
He grinned. He knew the answer to that. He gave his address and settled back. He’d just go and find his Brad.
“What did you say, mate?”
Peering through his blurry eyes, he answered, “Nothing. Didn’t say nothing.” Slurring, he slumped back, and his eyelids lost the battle to stay open. Roused from sleep, Martin could feel hands shake him. Was he on a boat? The waves must be bad if it was rocking like this. His confused mind registered the laughter as hands guided him.
“You’re not on a boat, but you are in my taxi. Come on.”
He was dumped unceremoniously on his doorstep. He gave what he had in his pocket. The key was snatched from his hand, making him rock backwards. Flailing Martin’s hands grabbed for the moving door.
“Ch
rist sake, we’ll be here all night at this rate!”
Words floated through the mist of alcohol. He just needed a minute. That was all. He was pushed through the now open door, but he never heard it shut. The clatter of his keys hitting the floor didn’t even register as he stripped his clothes. He threw them haphazardly in the bedroom. He just needed a few minutes, and then he would find Brad. The thought remained unfinished. The alcohol finally won the battle as he face-planted on the bed. He was asleep before his head hit the mattress.
Moaning, Martin pushed his head harder under the pillow in order to seek refuge from whatever was making the racket.
His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed back the nausea. The sharp swamp-like taste registered as he swallowed. Moving his hands over his ears, he groaned. Who the hell had put the sledgehammer in his head? Convinced his eyes must be bleeding, he rolled over and retched as the sudden movement punched into his gut.
Relief was short lived when the pounding resumed. Hands clutched when the decisive banging took hold of his brain, smashing it to death. Tears leaked. Trying not to move, he willed it to stop.
Reality crept in, along with the hangover. Sarah! He’d fucking kill her! Feet hit the floor as the front door rattled as though hit by a battering ram.
“Shit, the bed.” Bellowing in anguish, he grabbed his head before it fell off. Martin staggered to the stairs. He was going to commit murder. He was going to murder whoever was inflicting this torture right now.
Princess
Princess tracked Brad. His agitation was evident in every step. Unable to contain her enjoyment, she sat with sparkling eyes. Who knew this could be so much fun to watch? Sparks flew as she watched Brad’s eyes burn through the door. Hell, if he kept that up, she was convinced it would catch fire any minute.
The amount of time Brad had spent watching the house opposite was downright pathetic. Traffic was not that common at night, but every slight noise had him up and moving. She was convinced she’d have a crick in her neck this morning. She moved it. Well, not yet, but it was early days.