by JC Harroway
Her wobbly smile slides from her face and I feel like I’ve physically struck her. I grip her hand, my fingers curling around hers, which are cool to the touch.
If Sam were still here, I wouldn’t be. I wouldn’t be in Kenzie’s bed. Wouldn’t be touching her. Wouldn’t be having this conversation—the most intimate one we’ve shared.
He’d rip my head off for touching his woman. For even thinking about her... I’ve always chastised myself for wanting Kenzie.
‘Me too,’ she says. ‘I think the hardest part is not idolising him in my memories—he wasn’t perfect. But he’s not here for me to find irritating or argue with.’
A creep of apprehension crawls up my back. Does she know about his affair? Sam and I only talked about it one time. He confessed his indiscretion and I slated him, making him promise that he would come clean to his wife during his next leave.
But then he died, leaving me to juggle the slippery, leaden burdens of his secret and my own. My skin writhes, raising every tiny hair—I’m no angel. I’ve just shit on my dead friend’s memory, broken my promise to him by being with this woman, and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
‘No. None of us is perfect.’ Especially me, although she’s pretty fucking close. I swallow bile and search her face for a sign she’s figured out Sam’s infidelity, certain the confirmation will scour the inside of my skull like acid.
I’m torn.
If I tell her he cheated, I’ll always be the bastard who tainted his memory. If I keep the knowledge to myself, I’m complicit. As good as a liar.
I’m fucked either way, as I deserve.
‘Do you remember his coin?’ Her eyes shine when she returns them to mine and I’m trapped anew.
I nod, my neck so brittle it could snap. ‘Of course. I lost many a bet to him with it.’
I lost the possibility of you. I lost him.
Sam’s lucky fucking coin is the reason he’s not here and I am. The reason she’s his and not mine.
‘Yeah, me too.’ She smiles and I’m certain the crackers will make a reappearance. ‘He carried it everywhere—bloody drove me crazy.’
I swallow past the brick trapped in my throat and nod. I force my breathing to slow, force myself to stay and listen even though I want to pierce my own eardrums rather than hear fond memories of the man she loves. But this is the price of sampling nirvana. Atonement for acting on my attraction.
‘Tea or coffee—a coin toss.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Movie or pub—a coin toss. Spain or France—a coin toss.’ A sad twitch of her beautiful mouth.
My free hand, under the duvet, makes a tight fist so my nails bite my palm. I’ve been a selfish prick by staying away. I was his friend—his best friend. With the exception of this woman, I knew him better than anyone. She clearly needed to talk about Sam before today and who better than the man who’d always been by his side? The man there at the end?
As if she’s read my tortured mind, she says, ‘Do you think you could...?’ She looks away and then looks back. ‘I’d like to hear about it...some time.’
My blood freezes in my veins. My face must reflect the horror I feel.
Her hand squeezes mine. ‘Not now. Just some time...when you’re ready. If you want to.’
I swallow, my throat on fire, and tug my hand from hers. ‘I should go. It’s late.’ I look away from the pain still glimmering in her eyes—pain for the loss of another man, pain I put there, pain I share because, despite his shortcomings, I miss him, too, and it’s my fault he’s gone.
I slide from under the duvet and reach for my boxers with wooden movements.
‘You don’t want to stay?’
Her voice catches, with a vulnerability that gives me a second’s pause.
My heart thuds against my ribs. I can’t. Not when I feel like I’ve just survived the best night of my life, and one of the worst, all wrapped up together in a sickening swirl of doubt and remorse. Not when waking up with her in my arms tomorrow would be like Christmas morning, until it hits me with the force of a sledgehammer that this particular gift isn’t mine to keep. Not when I need to grapple this thing between us back under control.
I turn, cup her face, press a soft kiss to her mouth, one I hope softens my rejection. This isn’t her fault. It’s about me. The shitty choices I made and have to live with. ‘I should go.’
Her teeth plunder her lip and her eyes dart to the floor. ‘Did...did I guilt you...into...that?’ Even now she’s thinking about me, when I’m the fraud.
She thinks she coerced me into the best sex of my life? She thinks I’m that loyal to Sam, that it was little more than a pity fuck...? I wince, her misconception the polar opposite of the truth. But I lock down my inner feelings, which are only succeeding in tying me in knots.
She loves Sam. Whether she knows he cheated or not.
How would she feel to hear the man she just slept with, the first man she trusted with her body since him, was so caught up in his own cravings, he gave not a second’s thought to his best friend...? That the same man is the reason her husband, perfect or not, isn’t here?
Nothing’s changed.
‘Absolutely not.’ I slide my boxers up my thighs and cup her face once more. ‘I had a great time.’ Understatement of the century.
‘So did I.’ But doubt lingers in her eyes.
I kiss her because if I say more I’ll likely say everything. When I pull back the storm behind her eyes has settled.
‘I’d like to take you to breakfast tomorrow, or lunch,’ I say. ‘Catch up properly.’
In a public place, with all our clothes on, so I stand half a chance of being a fucking gentleman.
She nods, her smile like sunshine. Then frowns. ‘Shit, I can’t. I forgot—I have to help Tilly put flat-pack furniture together.’ She pulls her hair back from her face and secures it with a hairband from her wrist. ‘I promised, and if we don’t do it tomorrow she’ll get anxious. And after that I’m on the late shift at the restaurant.’
I tug on my trousers, a boulder expanding in my chest. She’s been through so much. Her life thrown into upheaval so many times. But here she soldiers on, caring, independent and uncomplaining. She’s so amazing. She’ll soon heal her massive heart and want more than sex, to be in a relationship again.
Will I be able to stand by and watch for a second time...?
‘I can help put furniture together.’ I make a show of finding my shirt rather than look at her, cursing the stupid impulse offer and the protective urges she inspires. If she’s done with me, doesn’t want my help or my company, I don’t want to see it on her face—that kind of shit stays with you, eats you alive...
‘You can?’ She’s risen from the bed and is holding out my tie and jacket.
I shrug. ‘Sure. And then we’ll do brunch. I have a place in mind, although I doubt their food will be up to your standard.’
She laughs and I scoop my arm around her waist and drag her up to my kiss. I can’t help myself.
Just one more taste.
Kissing her occupies my mouth before it can run away with itself any further, but gives me another problem.
I walk the five minutes back to my car with a dwindling hard-on, the delicious scent of her all over me and a swarm of guilt and regret buzzing through my head like the throb of toothache.
CHAPTER SIX
Kenzie
THE RAP AT my door signalling Drake’s arrival sends my pulse into overdrive. I’d offered to meet him at Tilly’s place, but he insisted on us travelling together. My hand hovers on the doorknob while I try to settle on one of the myriad emotions giving me nausea.
I clutch my stomach. Last night I blurred the lines. Demanded the amazing sex, so desperate to feel wanted, needed, safe in the knowledge Drake would treat me with respect and care, I didn’t stop to think beyond the orgasms.
I didn
’t anticipate feelings. His or mine.
As soon as I’d come back down to earth, I sensed his withdrawal, his regret. Oh, he made all the right noises for my sake—he’s that kind of man—but his poker face isn’t as good as he thinks.
I just hope mine is better.
I rest my forehead against the door, my hand on the catch, debating opening it at all. I shouldn’t have pried when he clearly wanted to escape. I thought talking about Sam would give him peace of mind, show him that, just because we’d given in to chemistry, things could return to normal.
I scrunch my eyes closed, blocking out the guilt—did he feel used?
He knocks again.
I suck in a breath. I asked him for sex. Time to make this right. Not awkward as hell. Drake is one of very few people I know in London—it would be good to have a friend. A friend with incredible benefits...
I plaster a friendly smile on my face, one that hopefully hides the heat in my face, and open the door. The sight of him in jeans and a sweater that looks soft enough to snuggle against mocks every single vow of restraint I’ve made since waking up alone, recalling the fight he put up before I coerced him and the cagey look on his face the second it was over.
‘Hi.’ He has a scarf wrapped around his neck, his hair dishevelled as if lifted by the wind. Scrummy.
‘Morning,’ I say, the pitch of my voice evidence I still want him.
He presses a kiss to my cheek, his devilish smile kicking up, and I remember the same mouth on me, greedily eating me out with such devastating proficiency that I forgot how to breathe.
I clear my throat and look away, the brush of his lips reminding how right our connection felt—better than chemistry alone, because I was free to explore what, for the previous three years, seemed like an alien act. But then came crushing guilt. I tried to sound out where Drake’s head was, but he retreated, illustrating how little I really know him, despite the way we seemed to slot together.
I’m clearly confusing amazing sex with something more.
‘I’m almost ready.’ I busy myself with a search for my keys, my phone, my bag—anything to keep my hands from Drake. Because now I’ve broken my dry spell it’s as if I’m addicted, craving, ravenous.
‘It’s cold out.’ Drake takes my bag while I hunt for a scarf, that flutter his caring side ignites back in my belly.
He’s so honourable, last night—indulging my sexual request—must have cost him dearly. Sam was his friend, and I asked him to set that aside.
He tried to hide it, but I saw how his conflict mirrored mine—I’ve spent the last three years grappling loneliness, inadequacy, but above all discord. I loved Sam and he cheated. I never had a chance to ask myself what I’d have done, because he died before the inevitable confrontation. Two blows in quick succession, each shoving me in opposite directions and providing no answers.
And now a new question—did Drake know? Is that the explanation for his wariness? I hide the pain in my chest by rummaging through a drawer.
Sex with Drake has complicated everything. Things I thought I’d reconciled years ago have sprung up, roadblocks.
I can at least right one wrong—I can clear the air, apologise and promise I won’t put him in a compromising position again.
I suck in a breath that feels too big for my lungs. ‘Look. I’ve been thinking...about last night. Despite what you said—I feel...bad. I feel like I...coerced you.’
He frowns and presses one cold finger to my lips. ‘You didn’t, understand?’ I nod, his finger bumping over my lips. ‘We’re on the same page.’
Instead of the relief at his reassurance, I collapse a little inside, as if my entire skeleton has dissolved in a puff of smoke. But this is what I wanted, isn’t it? To move past last night?
I breathe. Wait under his dark stare.
His finger slips down my chin.
Was that the same one he pushed inside me last night? The same one he used to torture my clit as he made me come the first time...? I catch my breath as he takes away his touch and mentally slap myself. Thinking of Drake and sex has to stop. I’ve had my moment in the sun.
Time to focus on my fresh start and Tilly.
‘Great.’ I cover the disappointment I’m sure is all over my face by shrugging into my coat. At last I locate my scarf, exactly where it should be on the coat hook. ‘Let’s go.’
On the street we fall into distant and silent step. Not only does this leave me to wallow in the new-found awkwardness I’ve created, it also allows my mind to wander back to last night.
How sexy, alive and feminine I felt. How Drake made something potentially embarrassing, amazing. Three years of doubt and soul-searching, feeling unloved and second-rate, silenced in the first heartbeat of his kiss.
Until doubt roared back to life at Drake’s obvious regret the minute the sweat dried.
I look down, a fresh wave of heat burning my throat. No matter how good the sex, how badly I wanted it, the taste of betrayal lingers, tied up in the complexities of my feelings for Sam, this man beside me and their deep, lasting friendship.
A silent scream builds in my head at the growing enormity of my actions.
I fucked Sam’s best friend.
Did I do it to get back at Sam in some twisted way, therefore betraying Drake, too? My eyes burn—I selfishly loved every second, giving not a thought to how Drake might feel, how his integrity and loyalty to Sam might tear him up, how his own demons might surface...
I walk on autopilot, half tempted to fake a stomach ache and rush back home. But I can’t let Tilly down. I throw out a mindless question. ‘Where did you park?’ Anything to break the stilted silence.
Drake looks my way then sidesteps an oncoming mother with a pushchair. The move shunts him into my side and he puts his hand in the small of my back, steadying me as our bodies accidentally collide.
‘I didn’t drive.’ His voice is low, close enough that his breath ruffles through my hair, leaving a warm patch on my scalp. ‘I thought it would be quicker, easier, to take the Tube.’
My pulse, reeling from his touch and proximity, throbs between my legs. Conflicted about last night and gutted that he accepted my apology and suggestion we steer this backwards so readily—this last nugget scrambles my mind completely.
‘You take the Tube?’
He grins, shrugs.
It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. ‘You, Drake Faulkner, CEO, hotel-chain owner, use the Underground?’
He rubs his eyebrow, his mouth twisted in that sexy way that makes me aware I’m a woman with a reawakened sex drive. ‘There’s plenty about me that might surprise you.’
I flush. Yep—his phenomenal orgasm-delivering skills, his belief in my culinary skills and the fact he’s helping Tilly and me lug furniture around today, when he could have told me to piss off and never see me again after my proposition.
My belly ignites with curiosity to learn more about Drake. ‘I’m sure. Perhaps we should rectify that.’
‘Perhaps.’ He smiles but then his face shutters and he looks away, creating another slice of distance that reminds me there’ll be no more orgasms. Not with Drake. And, it seems, no more surprising facts.
‘So what are we making today?’ he says.
‘One of Tilly’s flatmates moved out and took some of the furniture,’ I say. ‘She’s bought a replacement bookcase but asked for my help with the construction. It shouldn’t take long.’ I glance at my watch.
‘Are we late?’ asks Drake, taking my elbow to guide me through the Saturday morning throng.
‘No. But time is important to Tilly. A routine, knowing when things will happen—it helps to reduce her anxiety.’
‘Well, let’s get a move-on, then.’ He smiles and quickens his pace.
We arrive at the Tube station and I pause to allow him to lead the way. ‘I bow to your superior kno
wledge of the Underground. I still get lost on a semi-regular basis.’
We laugh—friendly, uncomplicated laughter—and something inside me settles, a hidden splinter working free. We’re going to be okay—I feel it. Yes, from now on things will be strictly platonic.
A gust of wind from the labyrinth of underground tunnels beneath London wafts a hint of his cologne my way and my internal muscles clench as I recall falling asleep last night, alone, but with his Drake scent all over me and my pillow.
Platonic...? Good luck with that.
Tilly’s in a great mood when we arrive, because Drake navigates the London Underground like he uses it every day, meaning we’re on time.
As I reacquaint Tilly with Drake—they’ve only met once before when Drake spent a rare Christmas with us—I feel a flutter of apprehension in my chest. I’m overprotective of Tilly, and I haven’t had a chance to explain the exact nature of my relationship to Drake. Probably because, beyond temporary, I have no idea how to label it. My doubts settle at the genuine warmth in my sister’s smile and the way Drake treats her like he does everyone.
‘Right. Let’s get started,’ he says, taking the bag of tools. I offer to make tea while Drake carries the first box into the living room. Their soft murmuring conversation and occasional laughter reaches me from the other room. Hearing his laugh, I remember his roguish smile. I press my thighs together, recalling Drake’s face between my legs and above me as he pounded us both to oblivion.
Can I really forgo a repeat?
I snap my eyes open and pour boiled water into the pot. Only ten hours after two spectacular orgasms and a mere hour since I made a vow to stop thinking about him that way and I’m craving him still. How could I survive three years? But somehow, three more hours seems like eternity.
No. It can’t happen again. This way is better. A friendly face for Tilly and me in our new city. And maybe Drake needs a friend, too, one who knew Sam. He clearly has unresolved issues over his death. He said Sam was one reason he left the army. I swallow, trying to imagine the horror of watching your friend die.