Your Room or Mine? Page 9

  With infinite slowness he slid a hand around her waist, pulling her against him as he found her mouth with his. The stroke of her hands through his hair and over his skin thrilled him. Different this time. The usual passion still simmering there, but this time with a new depth that tugged deep in his chest. He kissed his way softly along her jawline, then back to the softness of her mouth, exploring with his tongue, wanting to taste and feel and experience every part of her. Her hands were beneath his shirt, the touch of her fingers on his skin touching his soul. There was physical pleasure and then there was this. A whole new plane, the desire to make her happy, to make her smile and laugh as well as sigh with pleasure. The thought crashed into his mind, sending him into a dizzying mental tailspin.

  This was not just sex.

  For the first time ever it was not just about the physical thrill of it for him. This was making love. He drew exquisite pleasure not just from the physical sensations but from pleasing her and being with her. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, laid her gently down and eased her clothes off, kissing each new patch of skin as he exposed it until she was squirming with desire. Knitting her fingers with his own beside her head, he held her grey-green gaze as he thrust smoothly inside her, watched the close of her eyes and the pleasure on her face with every slow deliberate stroke he made.

  Her legs curled around him, binding him to her like silky ropes, her free hand sliding down from the base of his spine to push him deeper and deeper into her. Her hunger for him thrilled him on a level he had never known. With each stroke he pulled back almost entirely before thrusting back inside her, never wanting it to stop, hearing in the soft hiss of her breath that he was pushing her towards those delicious heights. He could see in the depths of her eyes pure pleasure with a twist of sadness, and knew it was because this would be the last time. How far they’d come from that no-strings night in the hotel.

  He was in total control of this. He could perpetuate it if that was what he wanted. He simply had to find a way that minimised risk.

  Afterwards, he left the room for a moment and returned, glass of water in hand to find her curled up in his bed, honey coloured hair spilling over the pillow, long eyelashes lying against her cheek, sound asleep. He wanted her as much as ever.

  This didn’t need to be the end. He would tell her in the morning.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Izzy grabbed the broom from where it leaned against the side of the house and gave the circular terrace a final once-over. Not that it needed it.

  She had hidden her shock at waking up in his bed by taking a superfast shower and going downstairs to the garden without giving him a moment to speak. Fifteen minutes to finish up and she would be gone from here. Gone from him.

  Only now it was over did she feel the wrench. She knew she was in too deep. Her heart twisted in her chest at the thought of not seeing him again. Had she felt this level of sadness when it had ended with Joe? That somehow seemed so distant to her now. And of course the downside of falling for the other half of your no-strings fling was that you couldn’t state your feelings because that would mean flouting the very rules on which you were together. She’d misread his behaviour last night, she wasn’t about to do it again.

  She’d gone into this with her eyes open, had set the terms out herself at the outset, and reinforced them along the way. Could she really blame him for sticking to that when their arrangement – because that’s what it really was – was over?

  She turned as he stepped through the French windows onto the terrace, no longer overgrown and rubbish-filled now, but an intimate leafy space. To sit here at the wrought-iron table and chairs was to feel completely private, out of reach of the rest of the world. Her cheeks reddened a little as she recalled how the cool air had felt against her bare skin out here and realised privacy was probably the whole point of his design request. No doubt he would be wining and dining his conquests out here in future. He was dressed for work. Ready to go.

  She replaced the broom. It was none of her business.

  ‘I’m done,’ she said, forcing a smile and brushing her hands against her jeans. ‘I’ll just collect up my last few tools and bits and I’ll be out of your hair.’

  He leaned against the wall, watching her, the hazel eyes crinkling lightly at the corners, his smile curling the left side of his mouth in that gorgeous way that she’d stupidly come to think of as hers. Serve her right, she’d known the risks.

  ‘Izzy, I don’t want to quit seeing you,’ he said.

  Her heart leapt.

  ‘Really?’ she whispered, smiling up at him as he took a step closer and slipped an arm around her waist.

  Excitement bubbled up inside her. He felt the same!

  Then he felled her heart with one swift add-on sentence.

  ‘I’ve found you another job.’

  ****

  The joy of moments earlier slipped away, replaced by the breath-shortening crush of disappointment in her chest and a rising burn in her cheeks. Deserved embarrassment at her own stupid pride.

  Last night’s reassurances meant nothing after all, because still all he wanted from her was the fun part, the no strings part. If nothing had been lacking in her he would want more, wouldn’t he? The fact he didn’t made what had seemed so delicious and exciting at the beginning seem suddenly cheap and nasty.

  Not noticing, he carried on outlining his plans.

  ‘You know the big white house at the end of the road, the one with all the overbearing greenery out front?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

  ‘I’ve got you a new contract lined up. I know the owner through work and he mentioned they wanted to overhaul their garden, so I recommended you. His wife came and checked out my garden at the weekend and they can’t wait to meet you and get started on roughing out some designs. They were just blown away with what you did here.’

  She couldn’t speak. Her mouth felt like it was filled with sand.

  His smile faltered a little at her silence.

  ‘Are you not listening? I’ve got you a new contract two seconds down the road. We can have dinner together, hang out, you can stay over when you want to. What do you think?’

  Had she actually believed for a moment there that he might feel the same way as her? She’d assumed that staying overnight had made the difference, that he’d seen it as some kind of tentative commitment between them. It had meant nothing, just an extension of the agreement they’d had before.The feeling of sudden isolation dragged her spiralling downwards, she’d presumed to know his mind. She of all people who knew in spades that you could never really know anyone. To think you did was to set yourself up for a kick in the teeth.

  Her father. Joe. And now Oliver. Did she have some kind of blind spot?

  The goalposts hadn’t moved an inch for him after all. The tenderness, the closeness she thought she felt were illusions, a mistake. He thought she still wanted nothing more than no-strings sex. And she’d read more into it because he’d cooked her a few meals, encouraged her to stay the night, talked her up over Joe and her parents.

  He’d basically found a way of prolonging their affair that required no further commitment whatsoever. Nice and safe and arms-length. What would happen when this contract was up and she’d built the white house couple a lovely new garden? Would she be presented with yet another neighbour with a yard full of weeds so that Oliver could keep his precious independence and yet still have the part of her he wanted – the physical part? Emotions need not apply.

  She shook her head and withdrew her arms from his neck. Stepped back into her personal space.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she said.

  She moved to start packing the last of the garden items away, concentrated on stacking some seed trays. She felt his eyes on her and glanced up. The crushed look in his eyes tugged at her heart but she knew it for what it was – disappointment that his supply of no-strings sex was being turned off. Nothing more. She suppo
sed he was bemused as to why she hadn’t just bitten his arm off and could she really blame him for that? This was what she’d said she wanted all along, after all. A no-strings fling. All he’d done was find a way to prolong it, with another nice gardening contract thrown in.

  It was no longer enough.

  ‘Why not?’

  She carried on packing up her stuff, knowing what this meant and fighting the cold tendrils of disappointment that snaked their way through her. This was the end.

  He touched her arm softly.

  ‘I don’t understand. I thought you’d be made up. What’s wrong?’ He took the pile of seed trays out of her hands and tugged her across to the wall, sat down and pulled her down next to him.

  ‘We’re going nowhere, Oliver,’ she said. ‘It’s run its course.’

  He tensed.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like that.’

  ‘Yes it does. It’s time to go our separate ways. It was great while it lasted but it’s become a distraction and let’s be honest, it’s never going to step up to the next stage, is it?’

  An answer wasn’t required. She finished putting her things together and carried them through the side gate to stash them in her van. She glanced up as she closed the van door at the beautiful leafy frontage of the house. Finished now. Perfect. A garden to match the high spec of the house. And there was the problem right there.

  In his eyes she would never be good enough to live somewhere so gorgeous. She was good enough to park her van outside, good enough to stop over, share his bed and be peripheral to his real life, but she would never be any more than that.

  He trailed in her wake. A few of her belongings were inside his house, some clothes, a spare pair of shoes. She mentally threw them away. Position made clear, dignity wouldn’t allow her to go back now. She opened the driver’s door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he said, an undertone of disbelief tinging his voice.

  ‘I’m seeing my friends tonight and then I need to put some time into planning my next job,’ she said, not looking at him. She climbed into the van.

  ‘What about the white house job?’

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of sourcing my own business,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a number of people waiting on start dates.’

  Truth be told, she’d been less than her usual obsessive self about lining up work this last month. Letting standards slip, eye off the ball. Maybe this was for the best, a wake-up call she needed to quit a diversion that could never go anywhere.

  He put himself between the open door and the van to stop her slamming it.

  ‘I never said you weren’t capable,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘Thing is, Oliver, I’ve been neglecting the business a bit these past few weeks. Best now if we call it a day.’ She took a fortifying breath. ‘It was just a bit of fun after all.’

  She turned the key in the ignition and started the engine.

  ‘You’re saying you don’t want to see me again?’

  For a lawyer he was slow on the uptake.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. It was fun while it lasted.’

  ‘I thought we had something pretty good.’

  She stared out through the windscreen, her throat burning with the effort of swallowing tears. She shook her head and allowed herself one last glance up at him.

  ‘Actually it was something pretty shallow,’ she said, putting the van in gear. ‘And now it’s something that’s over with.’

  She drove away without looking back.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Izzy shifted from foot to foot, waiting on the delivery of a load of gravel to rake over the newly-laid paving.

  So it turned out Shauna had been right all along. A no-strings fling could only work if it was anonymous.

  Throw yourself into work, Izzy, that’s right. Always worked before. Parents a nightmare? Chuck yourself into work, the more hours the better. Boyfriend is a serial one-night-stander when he’s supposedly working towards your future? No worries, take on some extra contracts. See if you can’t work seven days a week. Oops, your own no-strings fling starts to corrupt your work ethic? No problem, get back to work and keep your eye on the prize.

  Once she’d worked out what the prize was now, of course. Not a deposit on a house and a family with Joe. Not anymore. And not to have as good and inhibited a time as you can with Oliver.

  Just what the hell did she want?

  She didn’t know. All she knew was she was totally and consumingly miserable. And for the first time ever, work simply wasn’t cutting the mustard as a distraction.

  ****

  Oliver stared at his laptop screen, rereading the same email for the fifth time without taking a word of it in.

  First had come incredulity. Had she really knocked him back?

  Hot on its heels had come defensiveness.

  There had never been any more to it than just a fling for her, then. Used to making a swift exit from his casual dates, letting girls down swiftly and efficiently, the way she’d simply dispensed with him rankled. Vaguely insulted, he told himself he’d had a lucky escape, he didn’t need to end it on his terms, that was stupid self-indulgence. That it was ended was enough.

  For a day or two that approach worked. Iron stubbornness held out as he threw himself with renewed vigor into work, taking on new cases, building his workload back up to breaking point, just as he’d cut it back these last few weeks as he told himself he needed a bit of breathing space, in reality because he wanted to spend more time with Izzy. He could see now that this thing between them had started seeping into his life, encroaching on his work focus. He’d been denying it to himself, believing that he was keeping things separate.

  Work was one thing. Home was another. Every time he looked out into the perfect garden he missed her even more. He’d fallen short of what she wanted, what she needed. He was his father’s son after all.

  Izzy was the one who’d had the lucky escape, not him.

  That she refused to remain in a situation that wasn’t working for her made her somehow all the more appealing. With a childhood spent watching his mother hold everything together, letting her life slip by while his father did whatever he liked, the last thing he found attractive in a woman was a doormat. Someone who danced to his tune made him run for the hills. Yet they always had until now.

  Wasn’t that what had hooked him from the outset? Her initial detachment that first night came back to him. Her crazy ground rules. He’d only found her again after that night by chance. And he knew she wouldn’t change her mind now – she’d proved that the first time they met when she’d blown him away just by walking away. To be pursued by a woman was an instant turnoff, to the point where any interest shown by her made him run a mile in the opposite direction. Yet that had always happened. Until her.

  For the first time he acknowledged to himself that he wanted more, and it scared the hell out of him.

  He glanced around his sitting room. Everything in its place, showhome-perfect. So quiet he could hear the clock on the high mantelpiece ticking. Material reassuring evidence that he’d made it, that he was safe, was everywhere he looked. Just having it had always been enough, but now what was the point of any of it without her to share it?

  He stood up and grabbed his keys. He wanted, needed to see her again and leaving it to Izzy or to chance would be pointless. Neither was going to act on his behalf anytime soon. If he wanted her back he’d have to take control of the situation himself.

  ****

  The beginning of a new project.

  Usually Izzy’s favourite part of the job, outdone only by the end result when she could hand back a finished garden to its owners and let go. A bigger project this time than the courtyard garden she’d designed for Oliver. Less intimate, more showy, with less of her own personal taste influencing it. Oliver had pretty much given her free creative rein and…

  She slapped him out of her mind by forcing her eyes to focus on
the agreed spec diagram in front of her. Left unchecked he filtered back into her thoughts in seconds. She was determined that would soon cease with time and a bit of willpower. She turned a page of her plans and moved down the garden. Water feature was going to be about halfway down, to the left. She ran through the work in her mind.

  A sound behind her. Clearly not the occupants of the house. Both were at work, having entrusted her a key. She’d left the side gate open, waiting for the couple of student labourers she used on an ad hoc basis, perfect for the hard graft needed to clear and prepare the site at the outset.

  She turned, ready to tell them to get started at the end of the garden where a decrepit old rotting shed needed dismantling and throwing in the skip out front, and her mouth closed with a snap.

  How the hell was she supposed to stop him filtering his way into her thoughts when he didn’t even have the decency to steer clear of her physically?

  She sighed.

  ‘Oliver. You can’t just turn up here. This is private property.’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  His voice. The voice she loved that kept her awake at night. She deliberately didn’t look into the hazel eyes, afraid it would remind her of the times she’d looked there before, their bodies entwined, his mouth against hers. She needed to forget what was past. What was gone.

  ‘I’m busy,’ she said.

  Keep it professional, Izzy. Work tones.

  ‘I’m starting this job this morning. I’m in the middle of setting up. I don’t have time for small talk.’

  ‘It’s important.’

  She rounded on him then. Important now, was it? Not something to be fitted around more significant parts of his life? Not an afterthought?

  Let him be fitted in for once.

  She made a point of flipping through a couple of pages of her neatly-written plans, glancing down the garden as if totally preoccupied with her work.