The Accidental Call Girl Page 27
But he’d complied. He’d left quietly and without fuss. Just one quick, very hard kiss, and a promise to stay in touch.
And then, to her astonishment, emails had begun to arrive. Not daily epistles swearing undying love, or anything like that, but a few times a week, easy, almost chatty communications arrived, jokes even. Contact from a friend, which was somehow far sweeter, and yet also more painful, than total silence would have been.
He offered thoughts about his business, and his travels, and once, revealingly, asked her opinion about his rift with his family. He was somewhat scant with the background, and as Lizzie had resolutely resisted morbid web searches about John, after the fact, she only knew the little she’d gleaned about him weeks ago. But still she gave her opinion; she’d nothing to lose now. She’d decided that, from now on, she’d keep in better contact with her own parents, and she urged him to do the same. In fact, everybody seemed to be doing it . . . Brent had reached out to his family as well, since his suicide attempt, and fences were being mended there too.
And John had sent gifts as well. In another life, she might have resisted them, told him not to, and sent them back. But he was crafty. He’d didn’t lavish her with ostentatious billionaire consumer goods. He beguiled her with small, fun things. Books. DVDs. Tickets to a local costume exhibition, one that she’d never have expected him to even know about. Often the gifts were things she could share with Brent and Shelley. Computer games. Boxes of chocolates. Gourmet tea.
They were drinking some of that now. A lovely afternoon blend, made in a cute, kitsch teapot in the style of a country cottage. Another jokey gift from John. Lizzie finished the pocket on Brent’s shirt, snipped off the thread, then took a sip of tea.
‘What are you up to? You’ve been typing for fifteen minutes now. Proper typing, not just playing games or tweeting.’
Her friend abandoned his laptop, turning to her. He was looking so much better now, with more colour in his cheeks, and a bit more weight. His suicide attempt had been a catalyst for him, she sensed. Shown him what he had to live for. She’d never seen him so calm in all the time she’d known him. He wasn’t even on any medication any more, and his sessions with his counsellor seemed to be doing him a power of good.
He sighed now, though. ‘It’s a letter to my mother.’ He paused, drew in a breath. ‘I’m going home to visit them for a bit. We might all end up arguing again, but I’m going to try to mend fences as best I can. And . . . well, I never really told them the full story of my . . . um . . . incident, so I thought it was kinder to do it face to face.’ He paused, and gave her a cock-eyed grin, ‘I feel guilty about sodding off, though . . . you’ve been so great. Both of you.’ He smiled across at Shelley who’d returned with her jeans and jacket.
Lizzie crossed the room quickly and gave Brent a hug. Another brilliant sign. He was so much stronger now, and facing up to things. Just as she had to. John’s emails would dry up eventually . . . He’d be reduced to a beautiful memory, a golden dream. But she’d cope.
‘That’s wonderful news! And it’s right for you. Don’t worry about us.’ She nodded at Shelley, who was smiling encouragingly. ‘Stay as long as you need to . . . and don’t worry about the rent. I’ve . . . um . . . still got a bit of money in hand from you know what, so don’t worry about the bills.’ She gave him a quick kiss. ‘In fact, I might nip to my folks for a weekend too, now we’re better friends again.’ Ruffling his hair, she went and resumed her seat. ‘Looks like everybody is reconciling with their families. John’s thinking about a rapprochement too.’
‘I know,’ said Brent.
She looked at her friend sharply. ‘How? How do you know?’ She swung her gaze to Shelley.
‘Don’t look at me . . . I don’t know anything.’ The other girl shrugged, visibly shuffling forward in her chair, curious.
‘He left me his contact details. Just in case we needed anything . . . or anything happened to you.’
It was just a sign of friendship, she told her rampaging heart. He was just a benefactor now, someone who would always have her best interests at heart, even after the days of fine fabulous passion and kink they’d shared were long forgotten.
Three days later, Lizzie stood on the platform of the local railway station, waving to Brent as his train pulled away.
Shelley had said her goodbyes earlier, as she had a job that morning, and without her cheerful, settling influence the parting on the platform had been emotional. Brent had cried, and Lizzie had cried, even though he insisted his parental visit wouldn’t last all that long. Lizzie had made a concerted effort to buck herself up and give him a grin, and a big bear hug . . . but it was difficult.
It reminded her so much of the last time she’d said goodbye to a man. And on that occasion it had been farewell for good.
There’d been no emails for several days either, and the weight of silence weighed on her, even though she’d begun bracing herself in readiness for it.
It’s better this way. Dragging it out any longer would only make things harder. He knows that. He’s actually being kind, ending it now.
With no particular commitments for the rest of the day, Lizzie felt gripped by lethargy. A sort of numbness. Staring across the tracks at a small municipal park on the other side, she decided to cross over the footbridge and go and sit there for a while. Then she’d go and buy a dozen cupcakes from her favourite shop in town, make her way home, and get on with her sewing whilst eating most of them.
Maybe she’d think a bit too, in the park, and later, while she waited for Shelley to get home. She had plans and decisions to make. John had casually assumed at one stage that she was a designer. Why not go for it, for real? Not big time, but there might be decent jobs she could get in the clothing business if she had some proper qualifications.
And at least it would be something challenging to do, a goal that would stretch her.
Her body seemed to weigh a ton as she wandered along the platform. At the end there was the footbridge to the park . . . or she just go home to the empty house? On the spur of the moment, she decided house, not park. She’d do some online research, get started, not shilly-shally about. And anyway, eating a dozen cupcakes would only make her feel sick.
As she left the concourse, she spotted a man, sitting on a bench at the other side of the car park. Sunlight glinted on his blond hair . . . and Lizzie’s knees almost, but not quite, buckled beneath her.
Not John? Surely not John . . .
But as he strode towards her, pausing only to let a car speed by, she realised, to her shock and joy, that it was him. Her feet were frozen in place as he approached her, his legs long and lean in strategically faded denim. She noted the lovely soft blue of his V-neck sweater. The devil, she could swear he always chose those colours to highlight his eyes.
‘I didn’t know you were up here again. You never said,’ she accused him. It was hard to think straight when faced with John in the flesh again. How was it possible that he seemed to be affecting her even more than ever before? She couldn’t get enough of the sight of him. His blond curls, a bit longer and more tousled now, and his wicked, gleaming smile that made her melt and suddenly feel absurdly horny, despite the fact that she was cross as hell with him for springing himself on her.
‘And it’s lovely to see you too,’ he observed with a teasing smirk. It seemed like yesterday since she’d watched him leave. An hour ago since she’d been in bed with him, or across his knee, being spanked.
‘I’m sorry . . . it was just a bit of a shock. It is lovely to see you. Although I’m not sure quite why you’re here.’
It’s unfair, John. It’s cruel. You can’t just drop in now and again. It’s not like I really am a call girl you can just pay and then forget, no harm done.
‘Brent said I should come. In fact he insisted. He said that he and your friend Shelley were worried about you.’
Worried? Well, it was sweet . . . but she’d been so sure she’d hidden her sorrow from the pair of them.
‘Well, I’m sure they mean well, but I haven’t the faintest idea why they’re worried about me. I’m fine. I’m better than fine. I’m doing great!’ She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to look a bit fierce, so he wouldn’t realise how she was nearly swooning at the sight of him, and struggling to keep from hurling herself bodily at him. ‘And how come you’re here right now? Did he tell you the time of his train or something?’
‘Yes, that’s pretty much it. He thought you might fancy a lunch, seeing as you’re on your own today.’ Without warning, John reached for her hand, grabbing it and squeezing it fiercely. It was an odd, uncoordinated, almost boyish gesture, and his handsome face was suddenly a mask of confusion, almost shyness. The change was so unexpected, so unlike the suave, confident man she’d been used to that she actually gasped.
‘John, why are you here?’ she repeated, befuddled by his eyes, and the strange fire in them, of yearning and hope and apprehension. His grip on her hand bordered on pain but she barely felt it. ‘I mean . . . a man like you just doesn’t pop up from wherever it is you . . . pop up from. Not just to take a casual acquaintance out for lunch because she’s on her own for a day.’
‘You’re not a casual acquaintance. You never were . . . except perhaps that first evening.’ He was so intent, his handsome face full of stress, but still a wonder to behold.
Lizzie tried to pull away her hand. She was the one confused now. Confused, and fighting a stupid, bubbling sensation. A feeling of hope and happiness and disbelief. ‘But we were only “temporary sex friends” . . . nothing more than that. That was what you said you liked.’
He wouldn’t release her hand, but the hold gentled somehow, became almost caressing, the sensation so sweet that Lizzie stopped fighting.
‘I fancy myself as a clever guy, a sharp operator who always knows the score . . . but I’m a complete fucking idiot sometimes too.’ He pulled her close to him, loosed the grip on her hand, and then flung his arms around her, hugging her against him. ‘How could I ever think I could walk away from you? I must have been off my head. And a pathetic wimp too . . . Even if I thought you still cared for Brent that way, I should still have fought for you. The way I’m prepared to fight now . . .’
Oh, he felt so good. He smelt so good. It was as if something that had been wrong for a month was suddenly right. Mad, but right.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. She suddenly had a mad urge to do what Mulder did, rub her face against him in ecstasy. Mark him . . . as her possession. ‘I told you . . . several times . . . that Brent’s just a friend. A very good friend, and I care for him, but nothing like the way I f—’
‘Ah hah! You do care about me a bit, don’t you?’ A change seemed to surge through John’s body. She could feel his confidence and his happiness rise. And not just that . . .
‘Of course I care about you, you imbecile. And you’re right. For a supposedly super astute businessman and a captain of industry, you can be a bit dense. I thought you’d figured out that I was totally dotty about you, and that was why you walked away! Because you weren’t into relationships and whatnot.’
It was difficult not to just keep hugging and hugging him, to convince herself that he was real, he was here, and yes . . . that he did have a hard-on for her. Even in the middle of an emotional muddle, she loved that about him. It was simple and true and good.
But she pulled back a little and looked up into his blue remembered eyes. So full of heat. So full of joy. A joy she’d never dared hope for; the joy of seeing her again.
‘I . . . I don’t know what I’m into, Lizzie. I’ve screwed up relationships for so long, and let them screw me up . . . But now, I know one true thing, my darling, and that thing is that I have to be with you. I have to have you in my life somehow.’ He inclined forward, and pressed his lips to hers in a soft, sweet breath of a kiss. It was tentative, but it hinted at burning depth beneath; a troubled depth too, not straightforward. ‘God, I know you’ve got the guts to take me on, love, I knew that the moment I first set eyes on you. But I’m probably not being fair to you, you know that, don’t you?’
She could feel turmoil in him, like an energy of conflict. She gripped his arm, trying to calm the furore with a touch.
‘I can’t do the full-on hearts and flowers thing, Lizzie, the way a special woman like you deserves. I’m . . . I’m not even fit for the “arrangement” kind of marriage I had before, and you’re worth so much more than that.’ He drew in a deep breath, the muscles of his arm tense beneath her fingertips. ‘And there’s stuff in my past too . . . shit that I want, and need, to draw a line under, and never revisit. And that means not telling you the whole of what I am.’
Lizzie opened her mouth to tell him it didn’t matter, but then thought again. Did it matter? Perhaps she’d need to know those hidden things some day? But she sensed they were at delicate threshold now. He was trying to be as honest as he could be, and for the moment she just had to let him. She tightened her fingers on his arm, caressing, encouraging.
‘Hell, that’s what makes me feel so selfish.’ He snagged his lower lip in his teeth for a moment, not playfully now, just perplexed. ‘And yet I can’t not want you, and not want to be with you. It’s just impossible.’
He looked away from her for a moment, and when he met her gaze again there were shadows in his eyes. Anguish. The ghosts of those secrets it would be so painful to divulge . . .
Lizzie reached up and touched his lip, where he’d worried it, compelling him to relax, and to smile.
Could she take him on? It wouldn’t be easy; their lives were so different, in so many ways, and he wasn’t the straightforward man she’d always expected to end up with. But the more cowardly thing would be to walk away, and be a wimp, and she was done with backing down, giving up, living a half-life.
Besides all that, she loved him. She loved him with all her heart, regardless of his secrets. And regardless of whether he loved her, or was even capable of the kind of love she felt. He’d be a challenge, but nothing worthwhile in life was ever easy.
She smiled at him, and retrieved that slow, confident-looking, seductive smile she’d favoured him with in the Lawns bar.
‘Look, Mr John Smith, I’m OK with all that. I’m not so needy I can’t respect boundaries . . . but, by the same token, you’ve got to respect that I’m me, and sometimes I might knock up against those boundaries, and even bounce quite hard against them. You know what I mean?’
He nodded, and then drew her fingers to his lips again, shaping the mouth that she’d touched into a kiss, a pledge.
‘Do we have a deal?’ Lizzie fixed her eyes on his, compelling the words to confirm the action.
‘We do. It’s a deal.’ The sunshine smile returned.
Before he could react further, Lizzie reached up, dug her fingers into his thick golden curls and drew him to her, assertively claiming his lips. She felt him still smiling against her mouth, but she subdued him, pressing with her tongue for entrance . . . and receiving it.
He hugged her hard, and she hugged him as they kissed like devils, devouring each other with all the hunger banked up in a month apart. Lizzie was vaguely aware that they were being watched, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t until they broke apart, both gasping that she caught sight of a woman who’d paused in the act of putting shopping into her car boot and was simply staring at them. Lizzie grinned at her, then tucked her hand beneath John’s arm.
‘Where to, boss?’ she enquired. He was staring at her almost with almost as much astonishment as the shopping woman, but his fond smile was a wonder to behold.
‘You’re priceless, Lizzie. I haven’t a clue what I’ve done to deserve you . . . but I’m glad you’ll have me,’ he said with a soft, husky laugh. ‘I’m staying at the Waverley, and I need to get you back there as soon as possible. For lunch . . . or something.’ He winked and, putting his hand over hers, he started walking, with Lizzie falling naturally into
step beside him. ‘And when we’ve eaten . . . and whatever . . . we can make some plans.’
Ah, the plans. The negotiations. Not as escort and client this time, but as whatever they were going to be from now on. Almost wanting to skip along at his side, she didn’t fear the prospect.
Whatever their new journey was, it wouldn’t be a simple path, and she had a shrewd idea that it would have more than its share of bumps. But whatever they were, and however big, she’d deal with them. They’d deal with them.
And all the time she’d be beside the man she loved.
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First published in 2013 by Black Lace, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
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Copyright © Portia Da Costa 2013
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