Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (21 page)

He’s right. “You made it easy for me
Ayden, you were so patient and so gentle. You made love to me and it
was
the first time.” He wraps his arms around me like a protective shawl.

“It felt that way. You’ve made me realise
what I’ve been missing all these years.”

I want to ease his pensive mood. “Hey,
that’s my line,” I laugh softly. “You’re the playboy and
I’m
the prude,
remember?”

He sniggers at the thought. “There’s
nothing prudish about you Elizabeth Parker!” He kisses my nose, and I feel him
easing out of his melancholy. “But there’s a reason I can’t sleep, and it’s not
jet lag.” He considers his words carefully. “I need to know if this is real.”
He looks down at me with so much helplessness I want to kiss away all his
fears.

“I think it’s real. It’s real for me.” I
look away. “I know I’m not what you’re used to, and I don’t wear the right
clothes or chose the right wine but …”

He lifts me so my body is weighing down on
his. “Why would you say a thing like that? I don’t give a fuck about the
clothes or the wine, but I do give a fuck about you, but I’m ...” He falters.
“… I’m not sure you’ll feel the same about me once we leave these four walls.”

I don’t get it. “What do you mean?”

“I ... I don’t like to lose and there are
things I’ve done that I’m not proud of.”

“Ayden, nothing will change.”

“You don’t know me Beth, not really. Not
the person I’ve become.”

He’s worrying me with his serious face.
“If you’re trying to scare me off, you’re doing a fucking good job?” I sit up
and run my fingers through my dishevelled hair. “I’m not blind Ayden, I know
what you’re like with other people, that’s you Mr. P. Mr. Powerful.” From the
look on his face, I realise what I’ve said means nothing to him. “Just go with
it, it’s a long story…”

I start over. “You’re like a Minstral or a
Smartie, all hard shell on the outside and soft in the middle, I get that: you
have to be tough and unbreakable.  ‘Everyone sees what you appear to be, few
experience what you really are.’ Even your Renaissance man knew that.” He
smiles, surprised I should be quoting Machiavelli. “Your life has made you that
way, but that’s not the person I know. That’s not you.”

I reach up to him, tears welling in my
eyes. “But I’m the lucky one, I don’t have to break through your armour
plating, I get the best of you; the you who’s smart and generous and funny and
sexy. I don’t care about the rest.” I kiss him for all I’m worth and his lips
kiss away my tears.

“How have I got through a single day
without you Beth?” I assume I’m not expected to reply and let him wipe away
what’s left of my glistening tears. “Tonight, we’ll leave these four walls and
I’ll take you somewhere. I want to show you off.”

I manage a happy smile. “You may as well,
you’ve bought the dress.” I remind him, sniggering.

He rolls me over onto my back. “Less of
your cheek missy.”

“I don’t know, what you mean Mr. Stone?”

Brushing my hair back he smiles broadly.
“I think I want Elizabeth back.”

“Don’t you worry about Elizabeth, she’s
around and she’ll get you to fuck her if you don’t behave.” I can’t help but
giggle.

“I think I might enjoy that.” He’s
laughing and pretending to hold me down.

“I might enjoy that too.” I can’t stop
giggling for some reason.

“Something tells me I’ve let this genie
out of the bottle.” His tongue is in my ear.

I’m wriggling and laughing. “Yes you have,
and I’m
never
going back.” With that, the excitement fades and, in a
tangled bundle of arms and legs, we drift into a deep sleep.

***

Sunday morning comes in a blaze of
sunshine, last night’s antics have left me stiff and sore. As usual, I’ve been
abandoned and Ayden is hard at work - or so he’ll tell me. I can hear him
talking, spitting out orders between expletives; sparks flying off consonants.

When I trundle into the lounge, he barely
notices me. He’s focused on his iPad and having a face to face with someone
probably thousands of miles away, but I can’t hear them because he’s using
earphones.

“Do I look happy? Does this look like a
happy face to you? Yeah, Yeah. Fuck that. I’ve heard all the excuses but this
is time sensitive. Get it sorted! Back at you Jake.” He spots me. “Later ...”

He places his iPad down and ushers me
over. “Come over here sleepy head.”

I stumble over to him pushing back messy
hair from my face.

“Look at you with your, ‘I’ve been fucked’
hair.” He smiles broadly and sits me down on his lap, cradling me in his arms.
For a minute I think he might actually rock me.

“What do you want to do today,” I ask,
rubbing my eyelids with the back of my hands.

He laughs and pats my head as if I’m a
sickly child. “Poor sleepy baby. There, there.”

I’m enjoying the attention and nuzzle into
him. “You smell sweaty ...” I sniff his moist chest, noticing he’s wearing a
white vest top and black shorts.

“I went for a run at 8 o’clock.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to. It gave me time to think.”

Our early morning conversation comes
flooding back. “Oh dear, you don’t want to do that.” I try to suppress a yawn.

He lifts my chin so I am facing him. “It’s
how I make my money; thinking and planning, that’s my thing.”

“I know.” Actually, I don’t. “What is it
you do exactly?”

“As little as possible. I make sure smart
people do what they’re supposed to in record time.”

“And that is?”

“Research, develop, market and supply high
tech communication devices around the world, using satellite technology and
...”

I yawn.

“Am I boring you Miss Parker?”

“No, but it is a little technical for 9.30
on a Sunday morning.” I kiss his nose and make my leave.

“Hurry back, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I walk away and raise my hand in acknowledgement.
I love surprises.

***

Twenty minutes later, I emerge, fresh
faced and communicative. “I’m making omelettes, ok?”

“Only the whites.” He calls out from
behind the screen.

“No can do. I’ve only got six eggs. If I
only use the whites, I’ll have to serve it on a saucer.”

“Whatever, surprise me.”

I crack open the eggs and throw in some
grated cheese and pieces of ham. Not sure if that counts as a surprise, but
it’s the best I can do. Whilst it cooks, I open the French doors, allowing the
light to flood in and lay the breakfast table: it’s the beginning of another new
day with my special guest.

Ayden sits himself down and makes small
talk: I know he’s purposely making me wait to hear about my surprise. In a
battle of wills, I feign disinterest for a long, drawn out fifteen minutes.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” He enquires
with an arched brow. “You know you want to.”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” I
occupy myself with the clearing of plates.

He gives an exasperated tut. “OK, I’m
ready. I thought we’d have a picnic in Hyde Park today, the weather forecast is
good and tonight I have to attend a Book Launch for an author one of my PR
companies is handling. I thought we might go together.”

I smile broadly, showing my pleasure at
his thoughtfulness. “You have been busy haven’t you? We’ll have to go and buy
provisions though. I hadn’t planned on a picnic.” My synapses are firing at the
speed of light: where the hell will I get picnic food from?

“No worries, I’ve got it covered.” He
looks very pleased with himself. “Lester will be here in a just over an hour
with a blanket and a hamper from Fortnum & Mason.”

“Great. I won’t be defrosting any cocktail
sausages then?”

There’s a trace of a smile. “Not today.”

Sunday morning dawn patrol gets underway at 0600hrs.
Dan is itching to get started and welcomes the day with a restored sense of
purpose: the gloves are off and he’s found himself a new sparring partner.

From the way Stone was manhandling his girl, he is in
no doubt that he’ll find him at her apartment: that’s where he’ll be, or maybe
he’s taken her back to his place in Belgravia. Either way, he’ll find them. It’s
just a matter of good recognisance.

He tosses the large flask of tea and the two breakfast
baguettes he bought from the supermarket yesterday into his rucksack and hits
the road.  He puts his foot down and takes the exit onto A10. He makes good
time and is sat hunched down in his car watching and waiting by 0900hrs.

There is little sign of life, except for the dark
haired runner approaching wearing black shorts and a white vest top; he seems
to be sprinting towards one of the apartments. Knowing more about male
physiology than most, Dan assesses his physique. He’s reminded of the man he
used to be before
she
entered his life: she changed everything, not
least of all, his gruelling, fitness regime. He used to run ten miles a day in
his prime.

Through his rear view mirror Dan watches the runner as
he approaches and comes into focus. “Hey! I know this guy: it’s Stone.”

For no more than three seconds, he contemplates
swinging open his door, ‘That’ll put a dint in that perfect fucking face of
yours,’ he muses, wrestling with his need to inflict actual bodily harm. He
slides his hand onto the door handle. ‘I could take you out right here, right
now and that would be the end of you pretty boy, but no.” His fingers return to
his thigh and stay there until the runner has passed, looking hot and sweating
like he’s run a marathon.

‘No, that would be too easy, a sucker punch; you
wouldn’t even see me coming and that’s not my style. I’m going to get up close
and personal, close enough to see the whites of your eyes and then I’m going to
launch a killer blow that’ll leave you gasping for air.’ Just the thought of it
causes a current of sexual fervour to surge through him; he licks his lips to
catch the escaping saliva.

The security door of apartment 53 clicks open and he
watches Stone disappear inside. His arousal has morphed into something much
more primitive: it’s hot, smouldering rage. His heavy hands contort into white
knuckled fists and, falling back on his boxer training, he has to take deep,
energising breaths to centre himself.

Recalling something his former group commander used to
say to him, he tells himself. “Stand down, Danny boy, discretion is the better
part of valour.”

With a twist of his wrist, his car roars into life and
he pulls out into the empty road, gazing up at the third floor apartment which
will be his new, temporary residence as from tomorrow. The radio hisses and
finds its station. Before he is even a mile down the road, he’s smiling and
whistling along to rock music, allowing its throbbing beat to reverberate
around the car; feeling more self-satisfied than he has for a very, long time.

It’s 12.20, I’m laying out a blanket on a
patch of green in Hyde Park and Ayden Stone is opening up a picnic basket full
of chilled delicacies. 

Someone pinch me.

It feels good to be out of the apartment,
out in the real world and, from where I’m sitting, it looks pretty civilised:
family members throwing balls to each other, couples walking dogs and Sunday
strollers. It’s very calming.

Thirty minutes later, having consumed the
contents of the picnic basket, Ayden positions himself across my lap; he has
his iPad to hold his attention, but keeps breaking off to caress my face or
squeeze my hand. When I catch his eye, I swear he looks at least five years
younger: he’s truly at ease, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate on my
Kindle, words are mingling and I’m having to reread line after line.

I put down his iPad and his returning
smile is so soft it touches my heart. No man has ever looked at me that way,
with so much tenderness. I bend down and slot my lips onto his: we’re a perfect
fit.

“This was a great idea Ayden.” My voice is
a breathless whisper, there are people nearby and what I have to say is not for
their ears. Through hot breath I confess, “I love being around you Ayden
Stone.”

“I love that you love being around me Beth
Parker.” He pulls me onto his mouth and deepens his kiss and I slide my fingers
into his hair.

“This is the best surprise.” I touch the
platinum kiss at my throat. “And I’ll treasure this.” In that outstanding
moment of intimacy we are inextricably linked: nothing else exists, time stands
still.

Out of the blue, he asks, “Does this count
as a Titanic moment?”

I’m moved to tears. “Only if you want it
to,” I whisper, circling my right hand around his handsome face. He spots the
glistening wetness.

“Then that’s what we’ll call it - our
Titanic moment.”

When I cannot bear to look a moment longer
into those penetrating orbs of light that have become turquoise in the autumn
sunshine, I blink and look into the distance.