by Mia Madison
“Your kinky date with Sandra. I forgot. When is the happy day?”
“September second.”
“So, you won your bet.”
“I did.”
“So you're a betting girl. What if I bet you something?”
“It depends what you're offering.”
“One night, no questions asked.”
She gulps. “I thought you were going to behave yourself.”
“You didn't really think that, did you?”
“No.”
“But the thing is, you still agreed to a date with me. That means…”
“I had an incentive. You know that.”
“Is that really the only reason you agreed?”
“Maybe I wanted to impress you with my ice skating.” She smiles. “But that was when I thought you wouldn't be able to skate as well as me.”
“I was still impressed. You have some great moves on the ice. And I can't wait to see your moves in other places.”
I assumed she'd take my teasing as the joke it is. But her face drops.
“Hey, what did I say? I'm sorry. I want you to stay with me tonight; I can't say I don't. But I don't expect you to.”
“It's okay,” she says. But I can tell it's not.
I change the subject. Anything to bring a smile back to her face. We talk about her favorite bands, and the Awards, and a trip she's just back from with Sandra to Barcelona. But then I can't resist probing to find out what's going on here.
“Are you dating anyone else right now?”
“No,” she says. “No one.”
“So how come I'm not having to fend off all your suitors to take you out tonight?”
“The guys lining up with the camels outside my door, you mean.”
“Yes, those. I bet they make a right mess of your dad's lawn.”
“No.” She laughs and then that cute little frown comes over her face again. Cute but worried.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“No, not really.”
“That sounds like a yes.”
“Let’s just say Yes and No.”
“You don't strike me as the nervous type, more the giving a guy a hard time type.”
“Things are not always as they seem. A girl has her secrets.”
“I'm all ears.”
She opens her mouth as if to explain but then she clams up again.
“Let's get out of here.” I summon the waiter to pay. Who knows what's going on with Amy? I hope she'll tell me when we're alone.
CHAPTER 10
Amy
It's dark outside now, but overcast, with not a star in sight. Ronan opens the car door for me, gets in and starts the car. “I'll take you home.”
I messed up. I'm so used to saying no to guys and fending off their advances all these years, I don't know how to say yes. If I say what I'm really afraid of, Ronan will think I'm a complete nutcase.
Even Sandra thinks I'm making too much of what happened in high school, that I talk myself out of getting close to any guy because I've said no for so long and that I should just sleep with someone, anyone who seems nice enough, to get it over with, but I don't know. It feels like a big step.
I like Ronan. Too much, if anything. He's the last person I want to laugh at me. That would just kill me.
We were chatting away in the restaurant earlier, but now he's not saying anything much. He asks me if I'm warm enough. I tell him I'm fine. He's taking me home, and I know that's the last I'll see of him.
“I'm sorry,” I say. I'm not sure why. It just comes out. A miserable end to a date with a guy I like, a guy I might have fallen for if the circumstances were different.
“What are you sorry for?”
I don't know what to say to that. Sorry for being me? Sorry for being such a hopeless date? Sorry for not being like other girls?
He stops the car at the side of the road. “Hey,” he says. “Don't cry.”
I was hoping he hadn't noticed the tear that had started running down my cheek. He rubs it away with his thumb and kisses me gently on the mouth. It’s so fast, but it catches my breath. I want him to kiss me again.
“No need to be sorry. I had a great time. Well, I did until now and you cried on me.”
“Take me home with you.”
“Not unless you tell me what's wrong. Is it something I've done?”
“No, not you.”
“Someone else then?”
“It's just me being stupid.”
“It's the last thing I thought you were.”
He clicks open my seat belt, and his own, and pulls me to him, holding me against his hard body. My heart is pounding. I'm sure he must be able to feel it.
He pulls me away from him a moment and looks me in the eye. “What do you really want?”
“I want to go home with you.”
“Are you sure that's what you want?”
I nod.
The air between us is thick with unspoken desire.
“Show me you mean it, then,” he says and his mouth meets mine.
The kiss is zero to sixty in two seconds—our mouths veer from delicate first touch to hot and savage dueling in no time, as if it's impossible to get close enough to each other.
I detect the faint taste of coffee and bitter dark mint chocolate from the restaurant, the pressure of his lips on mine, the slight rasp of his regrowth against my skin. I take in the man scent of him—cologne, soap, cotton—but the rest is pure intoxicating Ronan.
Our tongues twirl and wrestle, impossible to say where my mouth ends and his begins, and excitement and an aching hungry need for him build in me, the kind I've never felt. I want this. I want him.
“Okay. I believe you,” he says, softly, when we finally part to catch our breath, and he looks at me, his pupils so large his eyes look black in the darkness of the car.
CHAPTER 11
Ronan
What the fuck is going on with me? I don't do complicated or get involved. I run a mile when women cry, especially if I might be the cause of her tears. Women are great company. They love to talk themselves into my bed and I love sex. Doesn't every guy? But I stay resolutely out of anything that smacks of a long-term relationship.
So what the hell am I doing, breaking my own rules and not taking Amy straight back home to her parents when she cried? I must be out of my mind.
She's looking nervous again. I tilt her chin up and kiss her again. I can't stop kissing her. Her soft lips on mine, the apple shampoo clean scent of her, feel so good I don't want to wait. Every part of me wants to take her, obliterate every doubt and make her mine right here in the car. I want her now. Fuck taking her back to my bed.
We're on the edge of the forest. The road is quiet but not empty. Not here, then. But I have to touch her. That can't wait.
I kiss her again, my hands beneath her open coat holding her by the waist and then beneath her pink sweater, her skin soft and warm and dry.
She gasps when my fingertips touch the bare skin of her back and the lights of a car going past illuminate the front of her sweater highlighting her hardening nipples through the thin wool fabric. I reach out and tease them to tight points.
She sucks in a breath, but doesn't pull away. I look into her eyes, watching for any sign she objects as I pull up her sweater, exposing her flimsy lace bra and the tops of her breasts to the night air. And then I bend my head and take a lace-covered tip into my mouth and suck hard.
Amy bends her head back, thrusting her chest forward and she gives out a soft, sweet murmur of pleasure that is music to my ears. I release her plump nipple from my mouth and move to the other tip, this time pulling the fabric of her bra aside to take her into my mouth and taste her naked flesh.
I feel as giddy as a school boy with his first touch of a real woman, and I'm going to come like a teenager too if I'm not careful. I need to take her back to my bed right now. I'm not usually so out of control. She has me all over the fucking place.
I kiss her on the
mouth, fumbling with her bra cup to get it over her hard, wet nipple, and pull her sweater back into place, just as a car pulls up alongside us; a police car.
My heart sinks, and then sinks even more when I wind down the window and see Jeff Baines getting out. We've crossed paths a few times before, both at school and since that time four or five times professionally. There's no love lost.
He's one of those people who lets power go to their head and he likes to get in my face. If I hadn't known him at school I'd have thought he was having a hard time at home with his wife and resented me being free and single, but he's always been a pain in the ass.
“Thought it was your car, Ronan, up to your old tricks, are you? Are you okay, Miss?”
Amy says, “Yes, everything's fine.” But I can tell she's mortified at being found with me on the side of the road. It was lucky that Jeff and whoever he's partnering with these days didn't come along a few minutes earlier.
“So, has your car broken down?” Jeff says to me.
“No, it's working fine.”
“Just thought I'd better check,” he says. “Unusual for cars to be parked here at night. Best get home then.”
“Thanks for your concern,” I say, livid. “See you around.” I wind up the window. The police car waits for us to get going.
“Asshole!” I say. I look at Amy. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I think I'd like to go home now.”
I start the car.
Fuck!
CHAPTER 12
Amy
We don't say much in the car going home. I don't know what to say. I felt so good with Ronan before the police car turned up but then it was terrible. I'm shaking with how close that policeman came to seeing Ronan sucking at my nipples, my breasts bare.
What was I thinking? The truth was I wasn't thinking at all. I can't seem to think straight with him around. And I need to think straight, because losing my head like that could lead to all kinds of crap. I'm better off keeping well away from men. They only spell trouble.
Ronan walks me to my door and kisses me when we arrive home, but my heart isn't in it. I say good night and slip inside before he has a chance to make up any excuses. He probably thinks I'm a freak for crying in his car and then changing my mind about going back to his place, even though that policeman saw nothing really.
But less than five minutes after I go inside, Ronan texts me.
“Missing you already. Sorry about all that. R”
And my heart melts just a little bit. Then another message comes in ten seconds later, with a whole heap of emojis attached. And then a third one, “I'll call you,” and I hope he means it.
But I can still hear that policeman talking about Ronan “up to his old tricks.” Chances are, he'll amuse himself with me and break my heart. I can do without that.
So when he calls next day straight after work, I want to be cool with him, even cold. I can't think of any other way to protect myself from him, other than by not taking his calls. Somehow, I can't do that. I can't shut him out completely.
“You called,” I blurt out without thinking.
“Yes. Did you think I wouldn't? What does ‘I'll call you’ mean, according to your friend Sandra?”
“I never asked her, but I expect she'd say sometimes it means I'll call you and sometimes it means I won't.”
“I always mean it when I say it,” he says. Maybe he doesn't say it very often. “Let me take you out again tonight.”
“I don't know.” Every part of me other than my head wants to say yes.
“I want to make up for what happened last night. I'll take you anywhere you like. But please don't say you used to be into ballet and you miss it or something. I don't look good in a tutu.”
I can't help laughing at the thought of him in a tutu. “So we're going ice skating again?”
“If you like, though ice skating was the last thing on my mind for tonight. If you want to play with ice… that can be arranged.”
CHAPTER 13
Ronan
She falls silent at that. Damn! Why don't I just shut the fuck up. But I can't help my mind running through the possibilities of a naked Amy and a glass of ice, my mouth running cold cubes over her nipples back and forth, between her folds, driving her insane. I'm starting to need an ice-cold shower, just from a quick phone call.
“What would you like to do?” she asks.
“I'd like to cook for you.”
“You can cook? I'd like that.”
I offer to pick her up, but she says she'll see me at my place. I hope she shows up.
*
But she arrives at my door and hands me a bottle of pinot noir just five minutes late. I kiss her cheek. “Thank you. Does that mean you've forgiven me?”
“I think so. It all depends.”
“On what?”
“On how good a cook you are.” And she laughs. Her cheeks are pink, flushed. I hope it's because she's excited to see me, to finally come back to my place, to continue where we left off in the car last night, well away from prying eyes.
“Beautiful dress,” I say and she flushes again, as if she wore her dress to have exactly the effect of me she's having—making me hard for her. It's not that the dress is overtly sexy—it's a casual, pale green cotton dress with buttons up the front—but it looks stunning on Amy. It skims over her curves and I'm already thinking of my fingers undoing those buttons one by one and finding her plump nipples, hard and needy beneath the cotton.
“Nice place,” she says. “I wasn't expecting this.”
I hand her a glass of wine. “What were you expecting?”
“I don't know. Something between a hovel and a lair, I think, given your single status. Not a top floor apartment with books and plants and real artwork on the walls, anyway.”
I'm proud of my place. I bought it years ago before the restaurants, wine bars, and art galleries moved into the area, and I've done a lot of work on it bit by bit to get it looking like it does now.
I grin at her. “Take a look around, if you like, while I finish cooking.”
She doesn't need to be offered twice. She puts down her glass and goes into the hall from the open plan living room, kitchen and dining area.
Just then I remember. “I tidied up. Just don't open the hall clo…”
Crap. Too late. There's a crash as all the stuff tumbles out onto the wooden floor. “Sorry,” she says. “I thought it was the door to a room.”
I peer out into the hall and laugh. There's all kinds of stuff lying there in a heap—my cricket bat, tattered jeans and T-shirts covered in paint, tools, games, DVDs and a mountain of ironing. “Now you know all my secrets. How I keep the place tidy. What I did just before you arrived to remove everything hovel or lair like.”
“Your secret fetish for… what's this? Scrabble.”
“I threw everything in there last minute. Keep meaning to clean it out.”
She starts piling everything back inside.
“Don't worry,” I say. “Just leave it and finish your tour while you can. The mess will only escape into its natural habitat eventually. Dinner's just about ready.”
She giggles. “Are all the other doors safe?”
“Completely safe.”
CHAPTER 14
Amy
I'm not so sure about that. I might be safe from piles of ironing and Scrabble landing at my feet, but when I open the door to what must be his bedroom, my heart pounds. The bed is huge, covered in pristine white linen. The modern furniture is dark wood, the carpeting soft and the lighting subtle. I gulp. What the hell was I doing coming here? Yet I knew what I was getting into. And I still showed up. Nothing would keep me away.
I peek quickly at the bathroom and spare room, and go back to the main room trying to forget about that huge bed. He's just bringing dishes from the kitchen area and serving up at the small dining table in one corner overlooking the park. The whole apartment is lovely—Victorian-style high ceilings and big windows with comfortable twe
nty-first century furniture, mainly in shades of cream and coffee with dark wood. I love it. He's so lucky to have a place like this. I guess firefighters get paid a lot better than nurses, even though I'm lucky to work in a private hospital with better pay.
Tonight is one of those times I regret still living with Dad and Grace. Sandra wants us to get a place together, but I can't really afford it on my nurse's salary. It would be nice to have a space like this, though, high above the street away from the noise and bustle, but right at the heart of things.
Living at home, I had to tell them I might be late tonight and not to wait up. Of course, they were curious where I was going and who with. It was like being a teenager again. I didn't want to lie to them, so I just told them I was going on a date with Ronan again and hoped they would leave it there. I left quickly in case they started giving out warnings about staying safe.
“Did you like what you saw?” Ronan asks.
“I love it.”
“I love what I'm seeing too,” he says, looking at me. “Not just your dress. You look beautiful.”
And I'm pleased all the extra effort I made after work with my hair and clothes and makeup paid off. If he looked at my bedroom right now, he might think a herd of stampeding buffaloes had just run through.
*
The food is good. It's more than good. I feel like I'm being treated to a feast of delicacies, not just a dinner.
“Wow! Where did you learn to cook like that?” I say when I taste the little Thai appetizers.
“I had to cook at home because dad worked long hours. So, I taught myself. My first efforts were terrible. Solid macaroni cheese. Lumpy mashed potatoes. Raw chicken.”
“It's a wonder you survived.”
“I had to learn fast, for sure. Dad ate it all. He never complained. Well, maybe he drew the line at raw chicken. We had to call out for pizza that night.”