Kept (5 page)

My deep blush prompted him to sit down carefully, so as not
to knock my foot, and then, without asking, he planted a delicious, deep kiss
on my lips that swirled me giddy. Not that I would have said no to his kiss; I
had pretty much been rendered speechless by what was been tantalisingly
displayed.

Hel-lo perfection. Could this be love?

Of course I’d been in love before but this had to be
something else as I had stopped believing in love. This could be lust with
Piers, but certainly nothing more.

He groaned as he gently pulled away from the kiss. ‘That was
worth you breaking my fashion heart.’

I smiled. His appalling attire had perks then – my eyes
might have been offended, but my lips were tingling.

‘You don’t know how much I want you,’ he then said, cupping
my chin in his big hands and staring at me longingly.

‘Piers,’ I said gently, removing his hands from my face, ‘I
don’t want to rush this.’

Except maybe to rush out of the door before he could corrupt
my already-broken heart any further with his sweet ways and devastating looks.
If my ankle had been intact I probably would have scampered; then again, if I
hadn’t broken my ankle then I’d never have met Piers and that was an idea I
didn’t like.

‘I understand completely,’ he quickly agreed. ‘And I know
this is all a bit strange but I really feel something with you, Arielle. I feel
dastardly for what I did to you.’

He looked at me so intensely that it threw me and my heart
seemed to race its approval. Strange, because my heart had broken years
previously and had never been fixed, it could
never
be fixed, but I still couldn’t help melting a little at his words
– “dastardly” – he felt
dastardly
!

He was definitely saying all the right things – things I
should have been thrilled to hear – but I was sceptical. I had believed before
in love and it had cost me. I had shut down, become cynical, yet I believed him.
Bones mend; I knew I couldn’t let him have the chance to break my heart.

‘It was a silly accident. Probably my fault more than
yours.’
 

True. I wasn’t looking where I was going, proved by not
noticing a gorgeous guy like Piers walking towards me even in my weakened
Penelope-induced state.

‘No, no. I crashed into you. I was too distracted tapping
away at my BlackBerry. All
my
fault.’

‘Hey!’ I countered, trying to ignore what his forceful tone
was doing to my body. Who didn’t like a man to be a man and take charge? ‘I was
too distracted feeling sorry for myself to look where
I
was going. I’m to blame, OK?’

I suspected that to be true for a lot of things in my life.

‘Equal blame?’ He threw up his hands in mock surrender. ‘But
only because I can tell you’re the sort of girl who would argue all day with
me. One with spirit, but one who can also point out my horrific fashion
mistakes.’ He winked at me.

The only spirit I felt I had in me was of the alcoholic
variety, but I found myself agreeing to “equal blame” with a smile.

‘Excellent!’ He treated me to his perfect smile once again.
‘Now that’s sorted I’d better fill you in on your rehabilitation. That is,’ he
hesitated, ‘if you still want to recuperate here.’

He looked so anxious saying this. His mixture of confidence
and worry was a cocktail that was making me feel I wanted to get to know this
complex, delicious man even more and I wondered if that’s how his charm worked.
How could anyone be confident yet so insecure at the same time? He was like a
little boy trapped in a man’s body. It was endearing, but even more than
endearing, it was sexy as hell. I’d only ever experienced “little boy” or “hot
man” – both appealing in their own right – so combined?
Wow
.

‘I do.’ How could I choose the ’rents’ house with
this
on offer?

This was met with another heart-wrenching grin as he jumped
up off the sofa, still shirtless. I didn’t mind. At all.

‘Hey! Careful you! Girl with the injured ankle, remember?’ I
joked, pleased with his enthusiasm. And the view.

‘Oh crikey. Are you OK? Do you need me to get you anything?
I’m sorry,’ he bumbled on like he’d really hurt me – a look of worry evident on
his perfect features.

‘Piers! I’m teasing!’ I laughed, getting a tiny illicit
thrill from it. I didn’t realise it would be the start of many illicit thrills
to come. ‘Now, go on. Tell me your plans,’ I commanded.

He looked happy at this request. The frown line disappeared
from his forehead as his eyes crinkled in delight – only men can get away with
looking delicious with crinkled eyes. It’s so unfair.
  

‘Well,’ he started excitedly. ‘I’ve put you in the guest
room with the en suite, but I don’t want to pressurise you. You don’t have to
spend time with me. I’d like it if you did,’ he clarified with a hint of colour
popping into his cheeks which amazed me, but also made
my
cheeks colour. ‘But I know how you girls sometimes need your own
space.’

Surprising. I thought guys were the ones who clamoured for
space, but I was definitely glad he told me I was a
guest
. I had been a tad apprehensive about the living arrangements
which is why Mum was to call to make sure I was happy staying there. If I had
felt one niggle of doubt towards him I would have gone back to Hampshire
without a second thought. I did like him, but
that
was far too soon. Even if he did sport the body of a Greek god
that I needed to thoroughly examine at a
later
date. I’d rather
skank
off the ’rents in Dullsville
than whore myself out in “repayment” for a roof over my head. Not that it felt
like that. I trusted him implicitly, but I had thought about agreeing to live
with Piers very carefully that afternoon he’d asked me, once I was on my own
and had had time to consider his words minus him and the dizzy rush he incited
in me.

I’d also spent a lot of time thinking how amazing it was
that men like him existed. They’d all been womanising man whores only
interested in one thing befitting to their name before I met Piers. Needless to
say, that one interest was not me. I could tell though that Piers was nothing
like that kind of despicable man so why hadn’t he been snapped up? I couldn’t
understand it. No doubt I would discover his fatal flaw if I was to be living
with him. There
had
to be a fatal
flaw, other than the clothes.

‘Sounds fabulous so far,’ I reassured him. ‘What else?’

‘I have to go back to work next week, I’m afraid, but a
friend of mine will come round to keep you company so you don’t have to trouble
yourself.’

‘Piers! You don’t need to get someone round to look after
me,’ I protested. ‘I can look after myself. I wouldn’t want to put anyone out
of their way and that includes you.
You
can pretend I’m not here if you want.’

‘Arielle, it’s no trouble! I mean what if you fell whilst
cooking and burnt the place down? Or, if you suddenly have a craving for ice
cream and we have none in. How will you fulfil your craving in your condition?’
He added this very seriously like he understood the sacred love between women
and their cravings for their favourite ice cream.

Ah, so obviously he was scared I was going to burn down his
show home or maybe even wipe him out, leaving him to return home to find the
place empty. But then he surprised me. It was like he read my mind and he
genuinely wanted someone here for the reasons stated.

‘Your life is worth far more to me than a bunch of silly
possessions. I care about you, not them, and I’m racked with guilt as it is.
I’d be devastated if anything happened to you in my home knowing I could have
prevented it,’ he softly explained, absent-mindedly stroking his chest.
 

I felt all tingly at that one. At the words, not his chest.
‘That’s the nicest thing a man had said to me, Piers Bramley.’

‘Well then, I’d better make up for these past months...
years,’ he corrected as I shook my head; years really was more accurate. ‘You,
Arielle Lockley, are the most beautiful girl I have ever met. Not only the most
beautiful, but the most feisty and independent. You are something else
entirely.’

I blushed with pleasure as he leaned down and kissed me on
the forehead. This man was a top-class charmer, although I didn’t believe I
could be
the
most beautiful girl he
had ever met. I’m sure he must have hung out with models given he looked like
one but I felt I could believe him quite quickly. He had the magic ability to
choose the words he knew would please me the most. He was good; apparently he
thought I was great.

It’s funny though, because four years later on that very
same sofa, he screamed I was dull and grabby, no longer the feisty, independent
girl he had painted me to be that morning, but he never let me be independent
after that morning. He was more than happy to look after me, to take control.

It seems I unknowingly agreed to a lot more than his
rehabilitation care that day; I agreed to a sentence – one, whether I like it
or not, I’m free of now.

‘Are you sure you’re OK, dear?’ Mum asked, for what seemed
the millionth time.

‘I’m fine,’ I replied but she looked at me incredulously.
‘Honestly! I am! I’m having a lovely time with Piers, and Lydia’s a perfect
love.’

Lydia was Piers’ best friend’s girlfriend, the person asked
to keep me company so I didn’t cause myself a misdemeanour and Piers more
guilt. Petite with wild black curls, she really was a perfect love so I wasn’t
just saying that. We may have looked like polar opposites but we shared a love
for fashion that enabled us to spend hours dissecting pictures and discussing
how we would set out the photo shoots in the spreads we poured over.

‘Oh no, Lydia,’ I’d said that morning, very firmly. ‘How
could you possibly team
those
Christian
Louboutin’s with
that
Missoni
skirt when...’ I picked up the latest edition of
Vogue,
opening it up to reveal the most
gorgeous pair of boots ever created by Gucci, possibly even all mankind. ‘… you
could team it with
these
?’

She gasped, grabbing the magazine out of my hands for closer
inspection. ‘They’re
beautiful
.’

They truly were. Pointy toed with a soft sash over the foot
and a subtle double G monogram, they exquisitely laced up in a Mod way that
screamed on trend yet were something completely original with a chunky cowgirl
step-heel. We’d spent the rest of the morning eating up the rest of the edition
like two half-starved women deprived of snacks because of the onset of bikini
season.

I couldn’t recall when I’d had such fun and I didn’t even
feel jealous when Lydia told me she was going to swing by Gucci and get the
boots in
two
different colours
. If they didn’t have them in the Sloane Street
store she announced, she’d jet to Milan for them. Good for her, I thought, but
also good grief, thinking of my crazy spending spree in Milan and the
subsequent debt I’d racked up and still hadn’t dealt with.

Flashbacks aside, we had spent hours having girly fun until
Mum arrived with the rest of my belongings. Dad was away at another conference;
he was still working full-time at this point. Now Lydia could head off to get
her boots, no doubt picking up a few more bits and pieces along the way
including some Ksubi for Richard
Nicoll
sunglasses
she’d almost passed out upon seeing. I was discovering my taste to be more
conservative than hers since I found them hideous, with their neon yellow
plastic frames and oval shape but maybe that was the point.

‘It’s just that–’ Mum interrupted my dreams of wearing those
Gucci boots, when my ankle healed of course… I’d have to have a job and no debt
to afford them, which, let’s face it, would mean that those boots would be
three seasons out of date. ‘– we wouldn’t want you to impose on Piers.’

‘I know, but being in London means I can still look for jobs
for when I get better. Plus,’ I added, ‘it gives me the chance to soak up the
ambiance and settle into city life at my own pace.’

It also meant I wouldn’t be fussed over approximately every
ten minutes. I had known this would be coming from Mum so Lydia and I had
paused from fashion to rehearse my lines. She’d found it hilarious that I was
excusing myself to my parents until she learnt that I was only twenty-one. I
was practically a child, Lydia declared. She was twenty-five.

‘If you’re sure?’ She sounded unconvinced. ‘And you’re OK
for money?’

‘I am,’ I lied. ‘But thank you for offering and for bringing
my things.’

I’d definitely have been dragged home if she knew the state
of my finances, not to mention how long I’d really known Piers.

‘Ah yes,’ she said, turning even more mother-like. ‘Where
does it all need to go?’

‘My room’s that one.’ I pointed to my door.

‘And Piers?’ The
real
issue.

‘That one.’

She went in for the kill. ‘So he’s not your secret boyfriend
then?’ She rushed on before I could answer. ‘Only Daddy and I were wondering.
We can’t recall you ever mentioning a Piers, and then when I met him... he is a
little
older than you Arielle.’

Six years to be exact, putting him at twenty-seven. Not too
scandalous an age difference but I could detect concern in her voice.

I’d loosely implied Piers was a friend of a friend who I had
luckily spotted in the crowd when I fell through clumsiness. With him being
such a gentleman and recognising me he had offered to help me get back on my
feet... It was a weak story – it’s a one in seven million chance to spot
someone in London – but it was a story I hoped wouldn’t be questioned. If it
was though I could excuse the finer details by claiming a woozy memory from the
pain.

Not that I had felt pain. Once I had stopped pretending that
I
wasn’t
lying on a cold pavement
flashing my knickers to art junkies, I’d been too distracted by Piers to feel
anything apart from the occasional useful twinge that only seemed to occur
whenever the topic of Piers was raised by Mum. It was guaranteed to divert her
attention as a
different
type of
motherly concern took over.

‘He’s a friend of–’ I racked my brain quickly to think of a
mother-appropriate friend, ‘Noah’s,’ I supplied, flinching at his name.
Fortunately, she didn’t notice my distress.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ she simpered, all concerns now gone. ‘Does
that mean you’ve seen him recently? I must tell his mother. He never visits
her, you know?’

‘I know,’ I replied through gritted teeth. ‘But no, I’ve not
seen him. In fact,’ I quickly fabricated, ‘Noah and Piers don’t talk anymore.’

‘
Oh?
Why’s that?’

Ever the gossip, who cared why? But I knew it was my duty to
make up another fib to placate her, one that would make her never mention Noah
to Piers given he didn’t actually know the man and I really didn’t want to have
to explain to Piers who he was.

‘Noah stole Piers’ girlfriend from him so whatever you do,
don’t mention him.’

That should cover it. Hopefully she wouldn’t calculate the
impossibility of my fabrication; I would have to have met Piers aged sixteen or
younger for that story to be true and I knew I looked nothing like my teenage
self. I barely recognised myself at times.
  

‘What a dreadful thing for Noah to do,’ she pondered, to my
irritation. ‘He always seemed so polite, a well-mannered and handsome boy if
you recall?’

‘Can we drop this please?’ I snapped. I could feel my teeth
grinding down some more at the mere mention of Noah’s
loveliness
. What did she
really
know? She only knew the version of truth that was acceptable in dull
Parent-land. She’d have a fit if she knew how
lovely
Noah had been to me.
  

‘Of course, dear.’ She studied my face carefully. ‘Is
everything OK?’

Back to the ankle lie.
‘My ankle is hurting, that’s all.’ I offered her a weak smile. ‘Could you
please pass me my painkillers? Oh, and maybe fetch me a nice cup of tea to take
them with?’

‘Of course,’ she answered, getting up to head into Piers’
rather scary-looking equipped kitchen that she clearly coveted.

The truth was though, it wasn’t my ankle that was in pain,
it was my heart. But, there aren’t any medicinal procedures out there to fix
broken hearts, let alone a painkiller to ease the agony. Not unless you count
copious amounts of vodka which, let’s face it, is only ever a temporary
measure.