Love Is a Four Letter Word (18 page)

‘Well, is it? Not that I've been thinking about it nonstop for two months or anything.'

‘Why? We're not in a rush, are we? Have you a plane to catch?'

‘I don't know why I feel like such a teenager when I'm around you. At school, the tough boys used to say, “Get yer leg over, did yer?” with much nudging and shoving and winking but most of us hadn't a clue.'

‘We had stages called, predictably for then, Close Encounters. Maybe that's a bit of a girlie phenomenon.'

‘Where are we up to?'

‘Really only a Close Encounter of the Second Kind: kissing with tongues.'

‘Mmm, how appetizing. What are the others? Give me the low-down.'

‘Okey-doke:

The First Kind – that's just baby stuff: English kiss (lips, no tongues)

The Second Kind: French kissing (with tongues)

The Third Kind: Touching of upper half (through your top)

The Fourth Kind: Touching of lower half (through clothes) or upper half (under clothes)

The Fifth Kind: The unbelievably grown-up fondling of personal parts (inside pants)

The Sixth Kind: That's when you shag 'em.'

‘We ought to be at least at the Fourth Kind by now.'

‘No we shouldn't. And I hadn't finished: Close Encounters of the Seventh Kind—'

Is that some weirdo schoolgirl thing: doing it on teacher's desk or something?'

‘No. It's oral sex. It seemed unthinkably daring and outrageous at the time. Anyway, we're only on our second date, so …'

‘But I'm thirty-seven. Doesn't that rush me up through the grades a bit faster? It ought to count for something. Besides, I've done your garden and we've had proper, grown-up conversations, so we probably should be at the Fifth Kind by now. We're lagging dangerously behind.' His arms slid around her waist.

‘Third Kind. That's my final offer. No trying to sneak past my vest.'

They kissed and Bella stroked his back, as if she could absorb him through her fingertips. His hands stayed at the sides of her ribcage for a moment, not quite touching the soft rise where her breasts swelled away from her body. Her mouth watered. She drew his bottom lip gently between her teeth, sucked its fullness briefly, opened her mouth to his. His thumb eased across her left breast, circling the nipple. Their hands roamed over each other, exploring, stroking, teasingly avoiding erogenous zones, creating new ones. ‘So much for not rushing,' she thought.

‘You have to wait anyway.'

‘Why? Did you promise your mother you wouldn't frolic with manual workers?'

‘Yes. Plus I've just remembered I'm not wearing my best knickers.'

‘That's OK. You can take them off. I've found it makes sex a whole lot easier.' He gathered her to him in a tight squeeze, then pulled away.

‘You'd better go while I'll still let you. I'm getting too turned-on.' He adjusted his jeans.

‘I daresay you can handle the problem.'

He laughed, pulling her close for another kiss.

‘Don't get me started again.' He removed his lips with a loud smack, as if they had been stuck together. ‘And call me, Gorgeous.'

‘You're gorgeous.'

‘That's comma, Gorgeous – Gorgeous.'

‘I know, Gorgeous.'

‘Thank you and good night.'

She stood on the doorstep.

‘Hang on,' he said. ‘I'll just get my jacket. I'm walking you home. That way we can spin out this goodnight kiss for at least another hour.'

‘Hurry up and go away so I can ring Viv and bore her about you.'

‘God, you're like one of those tourists who can't wait for the holiday to be over so they can get home and develop their photographs.'

Bella kissed him on the nose. ‘Bugger off.'

‘Sleep tight, sweet pea.'

‘And you.'

‘Last chance. You sure you don't want to show me your grotty knickers?'

‘They are NOT grotty, thank you. Just a bit…'

‘I know. Baggy grey drawers with the elastic gone? But they're my favourite.'

‘Good,' she said, propelling him out of the door. ‘I'll wear them next time.'

‘But black lace would do,' he called back through her letter box. ‘Or silky ones.'

She ducked down to blow him a kiss through the slot.

‘Go away. You can't talk about women's underwear through letter boxes. The Neighbourhood Watch will be onto you.'

‘I could lie like this stroking you for hours. Days.' Will's finger paused in the dip above her collarbone. ‘On the other hand …'

‘Mmm-mm?' She spoke as in a dream.

‘… I also want to shag you senseless, so get your knickers off.'

‘I could tell you were a hopeless old romantic.'

Bella reached for the top button of his shirt. Their arms bumped together as they raced to unbutton each other, stopping to kiss, to whisper.

‘Stop kissing me. Can't concentrate,' she murmured. ‘Too many buttons.'

‘All part of my cunning plan to have you naked first.'

‘Ha! I'm winning, I'm winning.'

She removed his shirt. Her top came open and he peeled it off, traced the curve of her breasts through her silky camisole and lace bra. He raised her arms above her head and the camisole poured off her like cream.

‘Slow down a sec, will you?'

‘Sorry. Am I rushing?'

‘No, but – new underwear – appreciate it, damn you.'

‘You went and got new underwear? Just for me?'

She tried to backtrack – not really, she needed some
anyway, she hadn't got round to doing her laundry.

‘Uh-huh. I believe you, really I do. So, in fact, you were planning to get me into bed all along? Jury, please note.'

He bent to kiss her breasts above their frame of lace, reaching round her back to unhook her. His voice was low, deep in his throat, murmuring. They pressed close together. His chest felt warm and hard, solid against the soft swell of her breasts.

‘God, you make me so nervous,' he said. ‘Look at my hands.'

‘Me too.'

‘Me three.'

His fingers moved over her leg, stroking upwards, then exploring, teasing her through the lace. He traced the boundary along her thigh. Pushed aside the fabric, questing for her. She inhaled sharply and pushed against him. Fumbling for his belt buckle, she had to pull away from his kiss to see, to concentrate; her fingers lagged behind her mind.

‘Here, here. Let me.' He moved back, hopping across the floor to tug off his socks, shake off his trousers.

‘What,' asked Bella, pointing, ‘are those?'

Will looked down at his black and white striped boxer shorts.

‘These are my best pants. I thought they were rather chic.'

‘You look like an Everton mint – come here.'

He shuffled over, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

She shook her head.

‘So predictable. That wasn't meant to give you ideas.' She tugged down his shorts. ‘I just want to take them off. Oh, hello, you've got a head start.'

‘Have you noticed how they never use condoms in movies?'

‘Or books. Can't think why.' Bella peered over Will's
shoulder as he sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Maybe they think it interrupts the action too much. You can't cut straight from all that panting and drooling and closeups of beads of perspiration to “Er, hang on a minute.” It doesn't have quite the same dramatic … thrust.' She nuzzled his neck. ‘Having fun there?'

‘Oh, bollocks. It's inside out. I see my suave Casanova image is fast going out the window.'

Bella tried to tear open another foil packet.

‘I'm so glad these are made of industrial-strength aluminium. So this is what they mean by safe sex. Here, you have a go.'

Will charged around the room wrestling with it as if it were a savage beast.

‘Success! These things must be designed by anti-sex campaigners. I'm too knackered now.'

‘Nonsense. I was promised sex. It says right here in the brochure. I know my rights.'

He crawled back onto the bed.

‘You'll have to do all the work then. Take me, take me.'

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘That was a shambles. A bloody disaster.'

‘No.' Bella snuggled against his chest. ‘A disaster would be if a tornado had plucked up the house and redeposited us on the fast lane of the M25. It's no big deal.'

‘It is for me. That hasn't happened to me for ages.'

‘So it's my fault? Thanks.'

‘No, silly. I think it was just because I was so nervous. I wanted – want you so much. I don't want you to go off me just because you think I'm crap in bed.'

‘Good grief. What kind of women have you been seeing? Do you really think I'd go off you because of that?' She saw his expression. ‘Not that you are crap in bed anyway. I love the way you touch me. This just gives
us an extra excuse to get in lots of practice.'

‘You are nice, aren't you?'

‘Ssh, it's a well-kept secret.'

‘No, seriously.' He pulled her closer and stroked her nose softly. ‘You know what I thought when I first saw you?'

‘'s lovely,' she sighed as he stroked rhythmically. ‘No, what?'

‘I thought that you were gorgeous …'

‘Nah, you never.' She shoved him.

‘Certainly did. And that you looked a bit scary. Formidable even.'

‘Me? Not now you know me though, hmm?'

‘I'm much more scared now. I think someone could know you for a long, long time and not really know you at all. Sometimes, it's like looking through frosted glass – I can see an outline of you but it's all fuzzy and elusive and I think if I were to reach for you, you'd dissolve and slip through my grasp like a, a Disprin or something. I want to know you properly, get inside your head.'

‘Oh, you don't want to rummage around in there. Horrible mess. Full of old recipes, humdrum neuroses and slightly used jokes.'

They lay with just a sheet over them, blowing cool puffs of breath on each other.

‘Come here, you,' Will said.

‘Are you sure? I am
so
sticky.' She fanned the sheet up and down to let in more air.

‘Good. Come and stick to me.' He pulled her close. ‘Please, please tell me that was better than last time.'

She sucked in her breath and shook her head, like a builder appraising poor workmanship.

‘Actually, I'm not quite sure. We probably ought to – you know, just to check that we're on the right track.'
He started nibbling her shoulder. He whispered how he loved her smell, her taste. He wanted to inhale her, absorb her. Kisses traced a circuitous course down her body. He nuzzled at her belly, gently pinched her flesh between his lips, ran his tongue over her curves.

‘You know I'm going to have to make you come again? You look so amazing.'

‘Not possible. No energy left.' She lifted her head from the pillow. ‘Still, you're welcome to try if you insist.'

‘I insist.'

His mouth found her and her breathing quickened and grew thick.

A line of light squeezed through the gap in the curtains, slanting across the bed. Bella lay on her front, half-asleep. Will leant towards her and blew the ghost of a breeze on her lashes. Her eyebrows dipped and furrowed in the centre, puzzled, then she peered at him through half-open lids. She smiled, a cat gorged on cream.

‘Hello.' Her voice soft with sex and sleep.

‘Hello, you.' Will brushed her lips in a morning kiss. ‘Do you have a permit to look so sexy in the morning? Shall I make some coffee or do you want to take advantage of me again first?' He flopped back on the pillow. ‘I'm completely defenceless.'

Her lips curved again.

‘Mmm. Coffee.'

‘I can see I'm not going to get much intellectual discourse out of you at this hour. Or unbridled passion. Coffee it is.'

He got up and tucked the duvet carefully around her shoulders.

She nipped to the loo and brushed her teeth. Glanced in the mirror. Oh terrific: mascara smudges under her eyes. She hopped back into bed as Will
reappeared with a tray: coffee, toast, apricot jam. He was wearing her crimson kimono, which reached only to his shins. Its soft fabric looked unlikely on his body, the silken V framing the curling dark hairs of his chest.

‘Make yourself at home, why don't you?' Bella nodded at the kimono.

‘These sleeves are impossible. I'm afraid I may have dipped them in the coffee. How on earth do you manage with them?'

‘I have slaves who come in to do my every bidding.'

‘Ah-ha. So that's the secret. Need any more?'

‘Yes, but you will be expected to perform certain
personal
favours.'

‘Well, if I must, I must,' he said, reaching for her.

‘Such as pouring me some coffee. Thank you.'

Will went through to the bathroom to shave and shower – ‘Feel free to come in and lather my personals at any point.' Bella lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She let herself relive last night, savouring the best moments again and again: Will moving towards her, the feel of his hands, his touch surprisingly tender; his eyes, shining with silent words; the small scar on his eyebrow, that tiny difference in texture beneath her fingertip. A world away from that fiasco with Julian. What the hell was all that about? she wondered. Why couldn't she have been more patient? Waited for … for. The long-banished phrase
The One
stubbornly resisted eviction from her head.
Don't be so stupid,
she told herself.
Don't be such a pathetic, fairy-tale-fantasizing girlie. There's no such thing.
Still, at least this time there had been no group orgy with Patrick roped into the proceedings.

She regretted the thought as soon as it had popped into her head, knowing at once that she couldn't
banish it now that it was there. And now he was there, conjured up like a genie in a bottle, waiting for her.