Mr. Insatiable (9 page)

Enya went back into her room and hobbled over to the bed. Lowering herself, she sat there for a moment, unable to stop her mind filling with images from the night before, of Kit moving slowly between her legs, leaning over her and watching her with his dark blue eyes.

“Oh God.”

She put her head in her hands. What had she done? How could she have let this happen? It was a terrible, terrible mistake.

Not because he was best mates with her brother, although she knew he was worried about that.

Nor because the outcome of their encounter had been completely the opposite of what she’d been so concerned about. To think she’d been worried about being so nervous that she’d have to fake an orgasm for him.

“Hah!” She flopped back onto the bed, cheeks scorching as she thought of the way she’d unraveled under his expert touch, and stared up at the ceiling. No, the problem was that, having experienced the infamous Romeo himself in bed, now she wanted more.

She put her hands over her face. If Tristan hadn’t knocked on the door, they’d be having sex right now. Hot, passionate, incredibly erotic, mind-blowing sex. Possibly with her on top. Almost certainly culminating in another amazing orgasm. Cursing her brother with all the names she could think of, she knew she should be thanking him instead.

He’s not for you.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. It was sad–especially now she knew how good he was in bed–but Kit’s path and hers didn’t lie together. He wanted hearth and home, a family to call his own, and she couldn’t provide that for him, even if he wanted her to. Which was by no means certain, she reminded herself. Just because they’d had sex, it didn’t mean he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Kit liked sex. He was pretty good at it, and he’d wanted to help out an old friend. And he had, hadn’t he? He’d shown her that she wasn’t faulty. He’d shown her that first, she had to get to know Mr. Right as a friend, and then once she felt relaxed and comfortable with him, everything else would follow.

Okay, perhaps he should have explained this to her, and she should have sat there and listened and nodded. He shouldn’t have felt the need to demonstrate his advice, and she shouldn’t have accepted his offer. But it was pointless to worry about that now. They’d slept together, and it had been wonderful, but it was time to put it behind her and get on with her life. She loved him, and she had to be grateful for the piece of him she’d been given and accept that whoever managed to eventually lasso him was a lucky woman.

She bit her lip and pushed herself up from the bed. She was not going to cry over Kit Fawkes. Not now, not ever. Shower, she told herself firmly. Then breakfast, acting as if nothing had happened. China was going to be difficult, but she’d remain friendly and professional, and everything would be fine.

She hopped into the bathroom, trying not to think about the way his eyes had glittered with satisfaction as she came in his arms.

Keep telling yourself that and you might begin to believe it.

By the time she was dressed and had limped down to breakfast, everyone had gathered and they were tucking into their cereal and croissants while the delicious smell of bacon and eggs drifted over from the hotplates. Andy and Julie sat together at a table further down the hall, but for the first time she really didn’t care.

“Enya.” Her mother stood and came over to help her as she limped toward the table. “How’s the ankle?”

“Sore.” They’d left a place for her next to Lisette and Sasha, and she slid in beside them, glancing at Kit, who watched her across the table while eating a humungous bowl of cereal.

“Couldn’t you fit any more Weet-Bix in the bowl?” she asked him sweetly, unable to resist the tease.

“I appear to have a large appetite this morning.” He took a mouthful of the cereal and studied her, eyes gleaming. “No idea why.”

She studied the toast rack, trying not to laugh as Tristan started talking about what time to leave for the airport, amidst squeals from Lisette about going to Fiji.

“I’m so excited,” Lisette said breathlessly.

“I’d never have guessed,” John Fawkes said with a smile.

“You want us to pick you up when you get back?” Patrick O’Donnell asked.

“Nah.” Tristan buttered a piece of toast and ladled Vegemite onto it. “Niall said he’d do it.” He gave his brother an apologetic glance. “She should have worn herself out by then, don’t worry.”

Lisette stuck her tongue out at them. “I’m going on holiday,” she sang.

“What
did
you put in her tea this morning?”

Tristan crunched his toast and winked at his wife. “Not enough vodka, obviously.”

“Ha ha.” Lisette was in too good a mood to let anyone wind her up. “You’re just jealous.”

“You could be right.” Enya reached for the jug of orange juice–at exactly the same time as Kit. Their hands bumped, and she snatched hers away, cheeks burning.

Kit met her gaze and grinned, gesturing at the jug. “After you, Celt.” He held her gaze for a moment, and she was unable to stop her thoughts from dwelling on the moment he’d stripped off in her room to stand before her, magnificent in his nakedness. He raised an eyebrow, and she dropped her gaze and picked up the jug, pouring herself a glass. Would she ever be able to look at him again without thinking of how wonderful he was in bed?

She poured her juice then returned the jug to the middle of the table. Glancing up, she caught John Fawkes’ eye. He looked from her to Kit and back again, frowning, and suddenly she had the terrible thought that he knew exactly what they’d gotten up to the previous night. She dropped her gaze and concentrated on her toast, and didn’t say much for the rest of the meal.

John disapproved of her in some way, she sensed it. What had she done to upset him? Was it because he’d seen Kit kiss her on the balcony? She felt strangely hurt by his disapproval. They’d always got on well, and she tended to think of him as an uncle. Both he and Cate had been incredibly supportive when she’d had the trouble in her teens, and she’d thought he had a soft spot for her. But she was obviously wrong.

Once again, she cursed herself for kissing Kit back. She shouldn’t have been so weak and given in to her lustful urges. Well, never again, she swore to herself firmly. That was the last time she let her heart rule over her head. Well, maybe not her heart. Her hormones. She wasn’t going to let them have free reign again.

“Are you okay?” Lisette leaned toward her while the others were talking, and squeezed her arm.

Enya looked up at her, surprised. “The ankle’s a bit sore but it’s not too bad.”

“I didn’t mean your ankle.” Lisette nodded toward Andy and Julie sitting on the other table. “I’m guessing you two have split up?”

Enya stared at her, wishing she could deny it, but knowing it was too obvious due to the fact that they hadn’t sat together either that morning or the day before. “Yes,” she confessed eventually. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to spoil your big day.”

Lisette gave her a sympathetic smile. “What happened?”

Enya sighed. “I walked in on them in bed.”

“No...! Having sex?”

“I think so, unless she was auditioning for the bedroom Olympics.” She sat back, depressed. “He didn’t even apologize. Do you know what he said? ‘Hi Enya. I’m kinda busy. Can you close the door on your way out?’”

Lisette stared at her. “The jerk! I’m sorry to tell you this, sweetie, but I never liked him.”

“Don’t be sorry. That makes me feel better.”

“And as for Julie. What a bitch.”

Enya glanced at her brother, currently laughing at something Kit had said. “Don’t tell Tris.”

“I won’t. He’ll want to strangle him.”

“I know. I’m sorry–I didn’t want to tell you on your wedding day.”

“It’s not my wedding day,” Lisette pointed out. “And I wouldn’t care if it was–I’d always want you to tell me if you’re unhappy.” She picked up Enya’s hand and squeezed her fingers gently. “There’s someone out there for you, sweetie. And when he arrives, you’ll know it’s meant to be. You’re such a wonderful person–you deserve to be loved. I tell you, when Mr. Right turns up, he’s going to knock your socks off.”

Tristan nudged Lisette, waiting to ask her a question, and she turned to face him, leaving Enya pondering her toast thoughtfully.

Up until now, she’d not given a huge amount of thought to the fact that she couldn’t have children. When the doctors had first told her it was unlikely because she’d contracted an STD after the rape, she’d been upset, but determined she wasn’t going to let any part of the assault play a negative part in her life. It was how she’d dealt with it–by convincing herself it didn’t define her, and it wasn’t going to affect the rest of her life.

And it had worked. In ninety-five percent of her daily life, it didn’t even register on her scale of Things That Mattered. She’d continued doing well at school, had gone to university to study food technology, and with her father’s help had opened up her own tea shop, determined even at the age of twenty-one to work for herself and make it a success. And she was incredibly good at it. In the current boom of coffee shops,
Tea & Biscuits
had proved an intriguing alternative, and had been a resounding success. She was beginning to think it wouldn’t be long before she’d be able to open another shop somewhere.

But when it came to her personal life, a piece of her remained tarnished by what she’d endured, like a discolored patch on a silver necklace that wouldn’t brighten no matter how much she polished it. At twenty-one, she didn’t particularly want children–she had her business, her social life, and plenty of things she wanted to do and see before she thought of settling down. But she was aware that one day she might want to consider having a family.

When she’d found out about her probable infertility, her parents had used the Fawkes family as an example of how successful adoption could be, and had convinced her that it was still possible for her to have children and a family life. But what they’d failed to tell her was what would happen if she met someone who wanted children of his own.

She wasn’t thinking of Kit in particular. Although everyone talked about men as being generally anti-commitment, Enya knew there were plenty who were content to settle down and have families once they reached a certain age. And how many would happily choose adoption as a choice, even if they weren’t adopted themselves? So far, she’d kept it quiet, not wanting to bring it up at the beginning of a relationship. But she knew she was going to have to start mentioning it before she got too heavily involved with a guy. What was the point of getting to the heartbreaking stage only then to find out he couldn’t entertain thoughts of adopting? Better to get it out in the open earlier on. And hopefully there would be a man, one day, who’d be prepared to sacrifice having his own children because he wanted to be with her.

Tears pricked Enya’s eyes, and she bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry at the breakfast table, surrounded by her friends and family. She really wasn’t.

She looked up–straight into Kit’s eyes. He’d been watching her, she realized, and he wasn’t smiling.

Standing, she turned and limped over to the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup slowly, taking her time topping it with milk. As she stirred it, she felt a pressure at her elbow and turned as Kit leaned forward to collect a cup.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“Fine, thank you.” She tapped the spoon on the side of the cup and left it on the saucer, turning back to the table.

“Enya...”

“You’re not my boyfriend,” she said sharply–sharper than she’d meant.

“I know,” he said easily. “But I am your friend, aren’t I?”

She couldn’t take his sympathy now. For some reason it stung, like a beautiful flower that, when picked, brought you out in a rash. Saying nothing, she limped back to the table. They’d slept together, they were friends, but they weren’t confidants, and he didn’t have to know everything about her.

Chapter

8

Kit pushed open the door to
Tea & Biscuits
and entered the warm interior. The tearoom was attached to a second-hand bookshop, and customers were encouraged to browse the books while they tried out the different teas and the heavenly smelling biscuits displayed in the glass cabinet. It wasn’t a large tearoom, but it was bright and clean, with circular white tables and comfortable chairs with blue and yellow checkered cushions. Enya was serving at the counter, and she glanced over at him and stared for a moment before turning back to her customer with a bright smile.

It was a week since the wedding, and the first time he’d seen her since they’d slept together. After her sharpness at breakfast the following morning, he’d decided it would be best to give her some space, although he had continued to text her the way he’d always done, once or twice a day. All week, her texts had been stilted, like a stranger asking politely about the weather, and it had started to bother him. Had he ruined their friendship? They were supposed to be off to China in two days–it was going to be extremely awkward if she was going to give him the cold shoulder for four days, and he couldn’t bear to think that she might never talk to him properly again.