Your Room or Mine? (8 page)

He dismissed her with a shake of his head.

‘By the time he died they'd been apart for a few years, but she stuck it out for a long time while me and my kid brother were growing up.' He glanced up at her. ‘Bit like your mum by the sound of it – I think she thought throwing the towel in would mean she was a failure.'

Her mother flashed into her mind. Keeper of appearances. Avoider of gossip. Her heart softened towards Oliver a little in spite of her guard.

‘What was your father like then?' she asked tentatively. ‘Since he wasn't a lawyer.'

‘He was a waste of space. He never held a job down for longer than five minutes. He had no drive, no ambition. My mother worked two jobs to keep a roof over our heads, sometimes three, and he never seemed to feel an ounce of guilt about that. He had no qualms about taking the household money to the pub. Then he'd sit there with his cronies moaning about his misfortune. He thought the world owed him a living.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said again. Stock response again, as if it would help or matter. How unnatural it felt to have been with this man on such a deep physical level and yet to be picking her way over the eggshells of conversation for fear of offending him.

Oliver pushed his plate to one side and the subject of his father along with it. If they had to talk, make it about her.

‘So all this effort you've poured in – what's it all aimed at?' he said, topping up her glass of wine.

‘Building up my business of course. I've worked hard on my client list, managed to whittle down a list of subcontractors I can rely on. Weeded out the cowboys.'

‘I mean longer-term. What do you aim at?'

She looked down at her meal, put her cutlery together on the plate and pushed it aside.

‘Same thing as everyone I supposed. Family and kids one day. My own house in a place where there isn't too much concrete about.' She leaned towards him with a small smile and he caught the soft vanilla scent of soap from the shower. ‘A big garden,' she said.

‘And is that what you were planning for with your ex?'

Sudden tension in her shoulders and the tilt of her jaw as she held his gaze. Then she relaxed slightly. He could almost see the click as she decided to confide in him and it touched him somehow. Touched him deep in his chest where mutual trust was an unknown, untested entity. Trust meant mutual reliance and Oliver Forbes let no one depend on him. It was the only way to be sure of never letting anyone down.

‘
I
was,' she said. ‘Turned out it wasn't quite so important to him.'

She toyed with her wine glass.

‘We were saving up for a deposit for a house,' she said. ‘I rent a tiny little studio flat at the moment.' She gave him a wry smile. ‘No garden.'

He nodded acknowledgement.

‘But it doesn't matter much because I get to spend all day in lovely gardens like yours, or at least like yours will be. I was looking forward to having one of my own though, I've got a massive folder full of ideas and design plans. We agreed we'd both work really hard for a couple of years, save like crazy and then get on the housing ladder.'

So it had been pretty serious then. He saw now why a short-term fling might have its appeal after the demise of something like that.

‘And it didn't work out,' he prompted.

She sighed and shook her head.

‘A couple of months ago I picked up his mobile phone when it rang – he was out of the room.' She uttered a laugh that was a bit too small to really pull off. ‘I don't know who was more shocked, me or the girl on the other end. She had no idea I even existed. Turned out his nights away weren't all work and no play, if you get my drift. And she wasn't a one-off. When I finally got him to come clean he admitted one-night-stands were par for the course.'

‘I'm sorry,' he said, wanting to say that the guy was a moron, but painted into a hypocritical corner by the fact he'd taken her to bed without knowing her last name and with no follow-up plans.

He stood up and took their plates to the counter.

‘It really was about revenge after all then, that night at the hotel with me,' he said, with his back to her.

‘Revenge would imply that I gave a damn about him,' she said. ‘That I felt I had a point to prove.'

‘And you didn't. You don't?'

‘No.' As he turned she looked up and gave a small smile. ‘Maybe a little bit at the hotel. I can't say it wasn't nice to feel reckless for once. And when someone cheats on you, there's this automatic conclusion that it's because of something that's lacking in
you
. Doesn't matter how hard you try and keep the moral high ground, all the time there's this feeling that if you'd been everything he wanted he never would have strayed.' She toyed with her wine glass. ‘That night was about that more than anything. About feeling like I was desirable instead of disappointing.'

The self-doubt in her voice tugged at his heart and before he could check himself he had discarded the plates. He was back across the kitchen in a couple of swift paces, acting on impulse, kneeling down in front of her so his eyes were level with hers.

‘How can you imagine yourself anything but desirable?'

She only looked at him, and he lifted a hand to stroke her hair back from her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her.

His lips against hers, he pulled her gently to her feet. Sparks tingled through Izzy right down to her toes as she felt him tug at the tie-belt of the robe, then his hands were beneath it, stroking tantalisingly across her bare skin. She let her fingers sink into the thickness of his hair, moved the other hand to open the buttons of his shirt then pull at his belt.

As her robe fell to the floor he kicked her chair to one side and leaned around her. She heard the tinkle of china and clatter of cutlery as he swept the table settings randomly aside, then his hands were sliding back around her, firm beneath her thighs as he lifted her, easing her up to sit on the edge of the table. Her legs were splayed either side of him, the glass of the table smoothly cold against the back of her thighs.

He slid his lips downwards to the hollow of her neck, tantalisingly lower through the hollow between her breasts. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, every sense tuned into him in anticipation of his next move, she waited, breath held as he took a sideways detour with his mouth, tracing kisses over her breast until he closed his lips softly over her nipple. She tensed for a moment then breathed out in a soft moan as he sucked gently and slid his tongue back and forth across its hard tip, sending hot sparks down her body to simmer between her thighs.

She clutched agonisingly, deliciously at his hair as he continued his slow, deliberate course downwards, tracing her skin with lips and fingers. Eyes closed, her head tipped back to the ceiling, she soaked up every drop of sensation. She vaguely sensed him stretching to reach behind her for something on the table, and he parted her thighs with one hand. She yielded, so swept up in the sensations he invoked that she could do nothing else. Then her eyes widened and she let out an audible gasp as he suddenly pressed the cold back of a spoon against her exposed core. Its icy smoothness against her hot sensitive skin intensified every delicious sensation and as she writhed against it he replaced the coldness with his own mouth, the contrast of his warm breath sending her arousal spinning to impossible heights. Had she ever wanted anyone or anything so much?

He circled the nub of her slowly with his tongue, as his fingers stroked their way lower still, teasing her, building the ache for him deep inside her.

Her breath quickened as her climax approached. She could feel herself teetering deliciously on the brink of it, locked fingers in his thick hair to try and keep his tongue in that sweet spot long enough to tip her over. Yet with some sixth sense, in tune to her every response, he then retreated softly, again and again until she heard herself cry out for him.

Instantly he was on his feet. A moment to catch her breath as he freed himself and ripped open a condom and then in one quick movement he replaced his fingers with his erection, pressing forward into her in a smooth thrust right to her very core, filling her up and rushing her senses at the same time.

His lips found hers again and he kissed her greedily. She could smell the musky scent of his aftershave on hot skin as she let her hands slide down his back over rigid muscle, drinking in the scent, the taste, the feel of him, it seemed her every sense had room for nothing but him. They moved now together as one, her hands sliding down to push him as deeply into her as she could, long slow strokes which drove her spinning back and then dizzyingly, deliciously forward. As it tore through her she cried her ecstasy into his mouth and felt him tense against her as he let himself tip over the edge beside her.

It seemed that even the most impromptu unplanned physical encounters were just like everything else in life. If they took place more than a few times elements of routine began to seep in. She'd been with Oliver three times now since that hot night on the kitchen table, each time punctuated by the same events. He would return home from work early evening, would cook something and ask her to join him, and afterwards things would go further.

Like the garden, things between them were gradually becoming more defined, more detailed.Maybe routine was just inevitable. It didn't mean she was getting sucked in and losing her heart. Yes she thought about him a lot, but that was natural – right? She was working on his bloody garden. And a routine might be slipping in but it was still one that fitted around everything else. It was clear that Oliver's priorities hadn't changed. He was still working all hours, gone before she arrived in the morning and never back until the light was fading at the end of the day. Still putting work first. Maybe he was incapable of doing anything else. She certainly wasn't important enough to make him deviate from that.

Late afternoon, nearly four weeks into the project and the garden had turned a corner from looking worse to better. The air was hot and damply heavy with the threat of rain as she arrived there after having sorted out a lawn treatment for one of her regular clients. She was anxious to get back before the threatening rain kicked in, to make sure it would cause as little disruption as possible to the work still needed. As she got out of the van and slammed the driver's door the first fat drops began to fall, warm not cold, the summer sky pushed out by the scurrying dark clouds. Summer storms, her enemy. They could hold up a project for days, turn beds ready for planting into bogs, unseat flagstones that were waiting to be sealed, warp untreated wood. As she ran for the narrow wrought iron gate at the side of the house, her vest and shorts began to soak through.

At the entrance to the garden she stood and stared in exasperation. The plants she'd ordered had been delivered while she was gone, simply left laid out in pallets behind the house. Baby plants were being pelted into squashed submission by the rain, compost waterlogging while she watched. She needed to get the whole lot under cover, ten minutes ago. She'd worn flip-flops in the van and in her rush hadn't changed into her boots, so her feet soaked and slipped as she fumbled Oliver's kitchen door key out of her shorts pocket and began to load herself up with plants and deposit them on the gleaming kitchen floor, trekking back and forth again and again. Muddy water soaked across the expensive new ceramic tiles but she'd worry about that later.

At a sound behind her she turned and blinked hard to clear the rain from her eyes. Oliver. Home hours early. Good grief, had someone died? The pelting rain allowed no more than that fleeting thought.

Oliver stared at her, heedless of the torrent of rain soaking his clothes. Her hair was dripping strings, droplets of water clung to her eyelashes and her shirt was transparent, revealing a lacy push-up bra underneath. Just the sight of her like that was enough to get him started.

‘Don't just bloody well stand there!' she snapped. ‘Give me a hand!'

Taking in what she was doing, he helped her grab the pallets of plants and stack them in the kitchen, forcing himself to ignore the smears of mud and water that were spreading across his pristine floor. She was picking her way across the planks that crisscrossed the half-finished garden, put there to make working on it easier, grabbing tools that had been left out, when her flip-flops slipped on the wet wood. Even though he was feet away he made an automatic lunge to catch her as she pinwheeled her arms, and when he failed she sat down with an ungainly splattering thump in one of the waterlogged beds. Mud soaked her shorts and splattered across her cheek.

She stared up at him from her sitting position and burst into giggles. Picking his way over to her, feet sliding everywhere, his own clothes dripping, he held out an arm to pull to her feet, and as she drew level with him, face tipped up to look into his, smile still on her face at her own clumsiness, something visceral clutched deep inside him so strongly that it took his breath away. His own laugh faded on his lips. Rain ran down her forehead and cheeks. She was a dirt-covered mess. Had he ever wanted anyone so damn much?

Heedless of the mud that coated her back and now squirted between his fingers, he slid hands beneath her t-shirt, across wet skin, his mouth groping for hers, tasting rainwater on her lips and breathing in the scent of her warm damp skin. Hunger for her swept through him at a rampaging pace that crushed everything else from his consciousness. Tugging her t-shirt over her head, he pushed her bra up roughly and cupped her breasts in his palms, lightly pinching the nipples between his fingers, her gasp arousing him all the more. He wanted her urgently now. The rain, cool and sweet, sluiced over the soaked back of his shirt.

She had loosened his belt and unzipped his trousers, freeing his erection as she sank to her knees in the mud, and then he felt her warm breath on him as she took him into her mouth. The pleasure was so acute he failed to stop a moan, and then she was moving with deliberate tantalising slowness, her tongue sliding over his length as she sucked gently. He tangled his hands in her wet hair, the unfamiliar sensation of outdoor freedom, cool air and rain on his skin mingled with the heat curling through his body, enveloping his mind as she moved her lips in a rhythmic friction that drove him crazy.

With a monumental effort, he tugged her to her feet, wanting her now, right this second. He grabbed her hand and pulled her, stumbling through the mud and water, both of them half-dressed, into the kitchen where he had condoms. As he shrugged out of his wet clothes and readied himself, she peeled off her soaked shorts and panties, then she planted her hand firmly on his chest and pushed him, holding his gaze steadily with her own, backwards until he hit one of the chairs beside the table.

‘Sit down,' she said, and as he did she climbed into his lap and lowered herself inch by delicious inch onto him. Toes on the floor, she rolled her hips and began to grind against him, her hands cool against his cheek as she held his face and kissed him, responding to his every move as if she had some sixth sense, speeding up and slowing down until she'd teased him to the point of madness. He caressed the curve of her bottom, slid hands over the softness of her back, slightly gritty under his fingers from the drying mud, let her ride him on her terms until he could take no more. Then, standing up and sliding hands beneath her, he walked the few paces to lean her back against the kitchen wall. He screwed her against it, crushing her mouth with his own, her arms around his neck, her long legs crossed behind his waist as he drove into her again and again, waiting for her cry of satisfaction before he let himself release the last tendrils of control.

****

Showered and in his bed, the rain continued to pelt against the high windows, giving the bedroom a cosy feel.

‘Thanks,' she said.

He propped himself up on one elbow, looked down at her on the pillow, unruly waves of hair pooled around her face.

‘What for?'

‘Helping me out with the plants. Not getting annoyed at the mess in your kitchen. Plenty of clients wouldn't have been so understanding if I'd walked muddy water into their house.'

‘Is that all I am, a client?' he said. He watched for her reaction, saw the grey-green eyes soften with laughter.

‘Are you saying you want it to be more?'

He shrugged.

‘We could be friends,' he said.

‘Friends?'

‘Friends with benefits,' he said, grinning. ‘Ringing the changes from just benefits.'

He meant it light-heartedly but as she smiled up at him his heart turned over softly.

‘Stay,' he said then, before he could stop himself. Already desire was coursing through him again. He had expected her to be a longer-term extension to his usual one-night-stands. He certainly hadn't counted on this thing with her being such a laugh. Hadn't counted on looking forward to seeing her the way he did. When had he last finished work earlier than six? Bumped work for something, anything else? He'd taken his eye off the ball with her and that was dangerous, he should be distancing himself, but then he would be soon enough. The end of the garden contract loomed ahead of them and he insisted to himself that he was simply making the most of the situation until then. This thing between them would come to a natural end then.

‘For dinner?' She looked up at him from the pillow.

‘For dinner, then the night. Stay over.'

A pause. Just a momentary one, yet still a pause. She hadn't automatically dismissed it.

Maybe this was worse, because now she dismissed it after consideration. And of course she was right to.

‘I can't.' She looked up at him with a smile and then threw the covers back and crossed the room, stepped into old jeans, pulled a work t-shirt over her head. No bra. She'd left a spare set of clothes here, a spare pair of shoes. But no toothbrush, no cosmetics. Nothing that could be construed as anything more than work convenience.

‘Can't or won't?'

She looked across at him, a smile playing about her lips.

‘Both,' she said. ‘I've got my own place. And it doesn't fit the ground rules.'

He sat up in bed.

‘Sod the ground rules,' he said.

She was into her shoes now, an old scuffed pair of Converse. She leaned against the bedroom door jamb.

‘I can't sod the ground rules, Oliver,' she said. ‘I can be friends but I can't do that.' She blew a kiss across the room. ‘See you tomorrow.'

She left the room before he could say anything else to persuade her, he listened to her clattering down the stairs and slamming the back door. That sensation he'd felt back at the hotel, waking up to find she'd gone, flooded back. The feeling of being short-changed, of losing control.

Izzy sat in the van for a few moments, fighting the desire to go back inside. The end was coming into sight. She mentally calculated, wondering what start date she should give to the clients for her next job. A couple more days? A week?

There would be no reason soon for contact with Oliver. She shoved away the strange feeling of emptiness that thought provoked. The whole delicious situation had given her a feeling of power that was like nectar after Joe's betrayal, of course it was that she didn't want to give up. It had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with any misplaced feelings for him. OK maybe they'd become friends, just by talking over the last few weeks they'd got to know each other, but that didn't change a thing. No strings stood.

She would put the finishing touches to the garden in the next few days and walk away without looking back.