“Oh God, you…” He growled something, not at Georgia. Not even at me. Just something he had to say at the instant he came.
Panting, face flushed and glistening with perspiration, he dipped his head to kiss the top of Georgia’s. A pause and he lifted his head again. He shifted his weight and looked directly at me with more focus in his gaze than I’d have expected from a man who’d just had an orgasm, one which likely still rippled down his spine.
The deep, shuddering breath told me he was more concerned about coming down than bothered about my presence.
The way his eyebrows lifted told me he’d
known
I’d return and stop, wait in the doorway as if I encroached on
his
territory. Not aloof. Not even territorial. Closer to
Ah, there you are. I’ve been expecting you.
But there was so much more unsaid in the way he maintained eye contact even as he ran his fingers through Georgia’s hair.
And that smirk, the way the corners of his mouth merely
threatened
to curve told me my presence didn’t unsettle him. It wasn’t unwelcome. It was expected. And it was exactly what he wanted.
Chapter Six
A few days later, through a combination of texts exchanged while we were both at our respective workplaces, Georgia and I arranged to meet up and eat out that evening. Our schedules had clashed somewhat after the latest threesome, leaving little opportunity for an autopsy, and we’d barely had any time together.
Neither of us could be bothered cooking, and I got the feeling from the tone of Georgia’s messages that she wanted this to be one of our “look what we’ve done; aren’t we daring” evenings out to mark another step taken along the path of depravity.
It didn’t take us long to choose a Chinese restaurant in the city center; we’d been there before, knew the staff by name, enjoyed the food and the atmosphere. None of that was important though. What mattered was the near certainty we’d snag a secluded booth at the back of the room, claim it for our own, and use the resultant privacy to discuss what we hadn’t articulated in any of our texts.
“How was work?” I asked, slipping an arm round her waist, giving it a squeeze. She’d got there before me but not gone in; the two of us liked to make an entrance. And it was polite to wait for the other to arrive.
We liked to do
everything
together.
“Boring.” She wrinkled her nose, the scowl disappearing when I kissed her. Briefly. Any more than that and we might be tempted to allow ourselves to carry on, and in public that wouldn’t do.
We were always ready for each other, physical health permitting, but with the underlying tension there, buzzing like an electrical cable to the rhythm of
Cross, Cross, Cross
, there was more danger than usual we’d forget where we were.
Hardly glancing at the menus, familiar with what was available already through regular patronage, we placed our orders and made flirtatious small talk until our mushroom soup arrived. Or at least that was what I planned to do. Georgia, however, bit the bullet.
“Have you spoken to him?” Both forearms on the table on either side of her place setting, she leaned in, eyes shining.
“Him?” I gave her nothing but a light smile and a restrained mirroring of her posture.
“Yeah, you know.” Dropping her voice still further, she added, “
Daniel
.”
“Should I have?” I lifted my brows, trying not to smile at the childish expectation illuminating her face. Certainly I wouldn’t appear as diabolical as Daniel when I looked at her that way, but my hair was dirty blond to his dark, my eyes blue to his brown. And there was something naturally devilish in him anyway.
I may have indulged in threesomes on more than one occasion, but unlike Daniel Cross, I at least had the advantage of
looking
innocent.
“Not necessarily.” She shrugged, her shoulders far more nonchalant than her tone of voice. “Just wondered.”
“Couple of text messages, that’s all.”
“He hasn’t said anything?”
“Well, there was that one e-mail he sent.” I frowned as I considered how to phrase my next sentence.
“What was it about?”
“There was an attachment. Something he’d mocked up in Photoshop. Ah!” I clicked my fingers, grinning as if suddenly enlightened. “He sent me your sexual report card; that was it.”
“Bastard.” She tried to kick me under the table but merely skimmed my leg with the toe of her shoe.
“Texts, passing the time of day, that was it.” Truthfully I’d been glad of that. A little something to maintain the lines of communication until I worked out how I felt about what had happened. To establish
okay, we’re still cool with each other
. This was the most awkward stage after bringing in a new third. Making sure nothing had changed while acknowledging that, of course, everything had.
“But he was okay?”
“Seemed so. Didn’t want to push it. He was the same Daniel as ever. Joking. Talking about his work. Just like”—I paused when the waiter bought our starters over, let the conversation wait until we were able to once more take possession of our privacy—“nothing had happened.” I lifted my spoon, tapped it lightly against the side of my bowl as if the faint
tinkle
would help me find the right words. “No, no, that’s not the right way to put it. More like”—I took a deep breath—“we’re both making an effort to prove how normal everything is after our distinctly
un
normal evening.”
“Hmm.” Georgia’s brow furrowed, and she contemplated the soup before her, not yet partaking. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“Definitely,” I said before taking my first mouthful.
God, I needed that
. “He’s making an effort to get things back on track. Carry on as normal.”
Every time either of us slept with someone else, things changed. Sometimes an inordinate amount of effort put in to proving how “okay” someone was afterward proved the exact opposite was true.
But it was inevitable. We’d look at each other differently. That’s if Daniel and I looked at each other at all in future. Our dynamic had changed. Pinning it down, articulating it, adjusting—all of that would come in time, hopefully.
“At least if it all goes tits up now, it’s not too big a disaster,” Georgia commented. “It’s not as if we ran the risk of screwing up a friendship of long standing. Pass me another chunk of bread, would you? Thanks. Anyway. What I mean is, you knew Daniel well enough to introduce him. He was game. Good. But it’s not like either of us has known him for years and years, or we have any established relationship parameters with him. We’re not breaking any rules with him because there
are
no rules. We can’t go by the book in this instance. No one’s
written
the damn thing.”
“I guess.” Sometimes she surprised me with her pragmatism. And I always fell into the trap of thinking someone as adventurous as Georgia couldn’t surprise me anymore.
“You know”—she jabbed her finger in midair—“you should call him.”
“Pardon?” The beer I’d ordered did little to cool me down.
“Yeah. Do something blokey. Take him down the pub.”
“Aw, like a playdate, you mean?” I cocked my head, fluttering my eyelashes in a parody of gentility.
“Fuckwit.”
“Bitch. I’ll put you over my knee.”
“Promises, promises.” Georgia winked before turning her attention back to her starter. “Nothing like a bromance. Just hang out. Establish where things stand. You know.”
The look in Daniel’s eyes after he’d fucked Georgia that first time told me no way was he embarrassed, touchy, sensitive about this. Quite what it said, I wasn’t sure. But not embarrassed. Not that. Never that.
“Course, when you call him…” Georgia’s voice was a playful singsong, not pleading but leading up to something.
“
When
?”
“Yes, when.”
The thought of seeing Daniel again in a social “Hey, aren’t we normal?” setting made my blood spark with nerves. Or anticipation. Or excitement.
“Georgia Lawrence is always up to something when she gets that look on her face. And don’t ask what I mean. That smile. You’re thinking something.”
“I am not.”
“Lawrence. Don’t make me hurt you.”
“All right, all right. I was just thinking, when you give Daniel a call…”
“When, yes.” I nodded, waited for her to continue. She had that “plotting” look on her face. A stirring in the pit of my stomach and somewhere farther south told me I’d like it.
“Maybe you could suggest, purely as a way of reestablishing the mature, adult relationship dynamic between the three of us…”
“Yes?”
Georgia winked. “You could suggest a rematch.”
* * *
There was a mere sliver of something out of the ordinary about our slow walk to the row of taxis. Georgia had an early start, and no matter how horny I was, she needed a cab ride home—alone. And sleep. I needed—judging from the state of me—a cold shower. This time, this evening, I filtered my perception of the world through fear-tinted spectacles.
Lord knew why I was so nervous. It wasn’t as if we could see much more of each other than we already had. But the thought of asking him to…of telling him Georgia wanted…of admitting
I
was intrigued by the idea of…
Nervousness colored my behavior, from the way my hands trembled as I zipped up my jacket to the way I walked out onto the street with my head down, determined not to make eye contact with anyone. Even Georgia.
My mobile phone, an anorexic sliver of technology, doubled in mass. Tripled. Quadrupled. Radiated mockery. Lurked in my inside pocket, threatening to explode unless I did something with it.
“Well?” A smiling, laughing Georgia linked one arm through mine. “Are you going to?”
“What, now?”
“No time like the present.”
“But we only have a couple of minutes’ walk to the taxi stand, and I don’t want to waste time with
you
on calling Daniel.”
“Ooh.” She sucked in a breath through pursed lips. “Slick, Hutton, very slick. You could almost persuade me.”
“Could I?”
“No. No, best not. Christ, I want to, but a night with you and I’ll be knackered. Why I agreed to an early shift, I don’t know.”
“You need the money?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged, linked her arm through mine. “It all comes down to that.”
“I almost wish we hadn’t had this evening out,” I said as we turned the street corner. She frowned, waiting for me to explain, and I winked. “Reminding me of what I can’t have.”
“You’ll just have to go home, have a cold shower, or take care of things yourself, won’t you?”
“You, Lawrence, are the classiest chick I’ve ever dated.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t, Hutton. That’s why God gave you a right hand. I know I sure make use of mine often enough.”
“You’re a cruel woman, putting images like that in my mind just as you head home.” I slid an arm round her waist, pulled her close for a good night kiss. Better to get this done now than when she was halfway into a taxi. Sure, we had an audience at times, but the cab driver would be inappropriate. Invited thirds were okay. Complete strangers, not. “If you wanted, you could send a video to my mobile phone. You know, just to entertain me.”
She swatted my arm away, laughing, and pulled open the door of the cab at the head of the queue. “Pervert.”
“That’s me.” I took a step back, edging away to make the good-byes easier. She had a nasty habit of teasing me so badly I often
did
go home to “take care of business.”
“And call him.”
My eyebrows lifted.
“Daniel.” Georgia winked. “Tonight. Go on. Set something up. If you can.” Code for
I want you both. Again
. Given the presence of her driver, she couldn’t go into too much detail, but I knew what she meant.
And I couldn’t help but picture it as she rode off into the sunset under a blanket of fantasies, me under orders.
Though nervous, I had no way of explaining my nerves to myself, or at least didn’t want to face up to the cold, hard truth, so I pulled my phone out into the open. Oxygen made it shrink to normal size and mass, not at all threatening. I slid open the casing, scrolled through my phone book, and stared at
DanX
on the list, my gait slowing to a stroll not half as leisurely as it must have looked. People walked past, not impeded by my slowness, like torrents rushing by a pebble in a river.
I tapped Call a few times with my thumb, each drumbeat exerting a little more pressure than the last until it built up enough momentum to click the button.
“Hey.”
“Daniel?”
“No one else.”
“You busy?”
“Nothing important. Just writing a sex scene between two men, a donkey, and a bucket of custard.”
“What?”
He chuckled. I imagined the breath tickling my ear, and looked around me as if passersby all knew what I was thinking.
“Not really. Honestly. What kind of man do you think I am? Don’t answer that.” Again he laughed. “What’s up? Unless you were just calling for the pleasure of hearing my voice.”
I imagined him sitting back in his seat, maybe with a thumb hooked into the waistband of his jeans—
My imagination colored in the outline of him for a split second before my conscience nudged me back into the present. “Am I interrupting you?”
“You’re always welcome to interrupt me. After all, we’ve sort of bonded now.” He paused. “Don’t you think?”
I exhaled. Slowly. Wanting to listen to him but not wanting to give myself away with a gasp or any signal of surprise, embarrassment, or fascination.
“Anyway.” His single word punctuated the conversation, moved it from playful and borderline flirtatious to businesslike. The Daniel of my imagination sat up straight, gripping the arm of the chair, and his smirk vanished. “What can I do you for?”
Gulping, I looked around as if trying
not
to see Daniel. “Can we talk?”
Daniel cleared his throat. “That’s what we are doing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Not here though.”
Jesus. Why did I say that?
“You want to get together?”
Get to the point, why don’t you, Daniel
? “Uh…”
Damn it, you’re hemming and hawing too much. Speak like you’re not a total fucking retard, Hutton
. “Yes. If that’s all right with you.”