All That Mullarkey (2 page)

‘His call,’ Rochelle growled, bolstering up the contents of her bra under her thin lace top.

Spiky arrived through the throng with a dazzling smile. ‘Evening, ladies.’

‘I’m Angie!’

‘Rochelle!’

Cleo sank into the background, content to be the audience for Angie and Rochelle’s forthcoming boob-thrusting assault. But suddenly she found herself under the brown-golden gaze and it was like being fixed by the eyes of a leopard. His mouth curved. ‘I’m Justin.’

Through her astonishment, Cleo heard dual sighs of disappointment.

‘This is Cleo,’ Angie snapped, turning away.

‘Her husband’s run off,’ added Rochelle, meanly.

Cleo gazed uncertainly at Justin. His hair was cropped tightly at the sides, sharpening his features, and his smile seemed to poise him on the point of laughter. Somehow her eyes kept sliding down to his mouth – perhaps because he kept looking at hers.

Justin smiled. Centrefold material. ‘Sorry to hear about the husband.’ Cleo had never seen anyone look less sorry about anything. He cocked his head. ‘So, what did you do?’

Cleo’s stomach twisted on fresh indignation. ‘He left
in case
I did something.’

Slowly, he grinned, teeth white and narrow. ‘That’s … unreasonable. So. Option A or Option B?’

She blinked. ‘Sorry?’

He edged nearer as people tried to push past him to the bar, dropping his head close to hers so that she could hear him over the clamouring music. Warm. He smelled of aftershave and beer. ‘Option A is where I leave you to brood about your gitty husband. Option B is where I take you to dance to forget your gitty husband.’ His eyes laughed, inviting her to join in.

‘Gav isn’t gitty,’ she objected. Then added, honestly, ‘Or not normally.’ But she thought of
THIS MARRIAGE IS OVER. Love Gav
. Maybe he was gitty. A bit. A bit she hadn’t noticed before.

Which was why she was there, on her own. Anger adrenaline combined headily with special brew, making her feel suddenly reckless. And free. Her head buzzed and she felt that delicious first slide into drunkenness, quarantining all common sense behind closed doors in the back of her mind. She drew in a deep breath. ‘Option B!’

She might not be dressed to pull in a pelmet skirt and see-through top like Angie and Rochelle but, man, she was pissed off enough to dance with a stranger.

The dance floor was hot and crowded. Cleo was tingling-
aware of Justin’s hand in hers as he led her into the heart of it, alive and giddy with drink and naughtiness. This would show Gav. Mistrustful bastard. She’d give him something to mistrust.

She would treat herself to this naughty little step out of time, a wicked moment where there was no one to sit in judgement of her. Heedless and unbounded, she felt disconnected from her normal – married – self. No husband to guard her; no sister to make her feel safe. Cleo raised her arms and let her hair swish over her face and the beat move her, the flashing lights bathe her, the hot bodies around her give her their rhythm.

She did keep an eye out for Liza. But Liza never came.

Unbelievably, the music was winding down into the slow stuff already. She looked at her watch. One thirty!

Couples were drifting into each other’s arms and the lights had become slow and purple. Angie and Rochelle were long gone.

The passing hours and several special brews had been softening the details of the row with Gav, but now it flooded back. Like a punch in the stomach. Cleo felt freshly adrift.

Justin took her hand. ‘All right?’ His smile faded at her silence. ‘Or are you ready to select Option A?’

Her heart shrank. She’d drunk five times too much to drive home and she didn’t want to face lonely, empty home anyway. When the club closed she’d get a taxi to – where? Back to Liza’s to sleep in the car in the hope that, sooner or later, she’d turn up?

She shuddered, forcing a smile. ‘Still Option B.’ On the crowded dance floor he scooped her into his arms and she allowed herself to enjoy the delicious heat of him. She heard his breath catch, felt his hands move to the small of her back to press her closer.

His head dipped, lips close to hers, waiting. Her heart galloped.

She shouldn’t.

She absolutely shouldn’t.

But, slowly, tentatively, shoving the thought of Gav away because he deserved it, she did. She lifted her face to Justin’s and their lips brushed, soft as angel’s wings. Cleo felt lust shiver up the back of her neck as he fleeted kisses along her jawbone, each a tiny starburst of heat.

Then he slid his hand under her hair and kissed her mouth.

Their dancing halted and her fingers clutched his shoulders. When he finally released her, the floor felt spongy under her feet.

‘Wow!’ he breathed.

She nodded as her heart drummed the air out of her lungs. Wow.

Outside, the night air was fresh enough to make the head spin, particularly when you’d drunk as much special as she had. Clinging to Justin’s arm, she tried to marshal her thoughts through the after-loud-music ringing in her ears.

Justin kissed her temple. ‘There are still some taxis.’ He paused. ‘Where …?’

Abortively, she checked her mobile for messages from Liza, then heaved a mega-sigh as she fought the alcohol fumes for a half-sensible idea. ‘I suppose I’d better go to my sister’s and see if she turns up.’

He ducked his head to see into her face. ‘Not home?’

THIS MARRIAGE IS OVER. Love Gav
. ‘Taxis won’t go right out there at this time – I live in Middledip village. My car’s at my sister’s in Bretton. If she doesn’t come home I’ll sleep in it.’ In the dark. In a cold inhospitable car.

Breath whistled between Justin’s teeth and he slowly shook his head. Then, more rapidly, ‘You can’t do that. That’s not safe.’ He traced the side of her neck with his thumb. ‘You’d better come home with me.’

Oh crap, she mustn’t do that! That would be a desperate, awful thing, hurling her rather drunken self over a line that must not be crossed at any cost. She was married. Possibly. Probably.

He smiled, a huge, frank, sexy smile. ‘Don’t look so freaked, there’s a spare room. OK?’

‘Even so, I don’t think that –’ She was interrupted by the
dee-di-dee-dee
of her phone announcing a text message and scrabbled thankfully in her bag. ‘Maybe this is my sister.’

But the name on the screen wasn’t
Liza
. It was
Gav.
Cleo’s shoulders sagged with relief. He’d be worried about her, apologising, offering to drive into Peterborough and pick her up –

The writings on the wall
, the text said. She froze. He was reminding her!
THIS MARRIAGE IS OVER.
Fresh rage bubbled up inside her.

She snapped the phone shut and turned back to Justin. ‘It does sound better than sleeping in the car.’

In the back of the taxi, Cleo closed her eyes and let Justin kiss her again, his hand on her waist. She ought to stop him. This wasn’t fair to anybody. Ought to …

His flat was just like him, laid back and unfussy. Sexy dark greys, drab blues, one huge black sofa, a wiiiiide-screen TV, a big computer monitor beside an impressive stereo. He made her coffee and poured clear liquid from a chilled bottle into two shot glasses.

She watched him. ‘What’s that? Vodka?’

He took a sip, rolled it round his mouth. ‘Aquavit. It’s like medicine. Couple of nightcaps and no hangover tomorrow.’

She alternated the odd, stinging liquid with sips of coffee, a mixture that totally failed to sober her up.

Justin flung his down his throat in one, then watched her over the rim of his coffee mug. ‘You’re lovely,’ he said.

She grinned. ‘You’re on the make.’

He shifted on the squashy sofa until his breath was gentle on the side of her face. She turned and regarded his lips, a finely chiselled bow. The night, at first so hideous, had become a kind of dream. And in dreams all kinds of weirdness went on. Giddily, she let the lips touch hers. He gave a long
mmm
of pleasure as his hand trickled behind her knees and hooked her legs over his.

His touch almost burned. As her breathing rate increased he planted hot kisses across her face, her neck, along her collarbone until it disappeared under the fabric of her top. And all she let herself think about was how good it felt.

His voice was husky. ‘There is a spare bed. I promised you could have the spare bed if you wanted it … You don’t, do you?’

Justin’s bedroom held a king-sized bed and a row of wardrobes. He fished out his mobile phone. ‘Let’s turn these off.’

‘Good idea.’ No more horrible texts from Gav. She located the off button and placed her phone neatly next to his on a chest of drawers. Her heart hammered. She was about to do something incredibly bad. Last chance to select Option A. Last chance to retreat to the spare room. Last chance to behave well, or at least no worse than she had already. She tried to summon up Gav and their marriage.

But, somehow, the image broke up because the desire in Justin’s eyes went straight to her knees. And his hands sliding delicately up her back made her body jelly. And his tongue tip flicking across her earlobe shot spangles down her back.

Last chance, last chance … She slid her hand inside his shirt, skimmed the hot flesh across his ribs and felt him shiver. Desire welled and she knew she was going to do it.

His hands shook as he tackled the five big buttons at the front of her top. She arched her back to help him slide it off, tipping back her head to offer him her throat as he slid her bra straps from her shoulders and struggled to extricate her from her jeans.

And she gave herself up to his tingling hands, trailing fingertips, scalding kisses.

When he entered her in one aching movement, she bit his arm, making him gasp, swear, and leap deeper inside her. ‘Cleo!’

Cleo drifted towards sleep.

Justin was already dozing. She shifted, peeling her back from his chest, the back of her legs from the front of his and he roused, pulling the quilt over them. His voice was already gravelly with sleep. ‘I didn’t ask you. Was it all right without?’

Her head was beginning to spin, making her feel queasy. She tried to concentrate. ‘Without?’

‘Without a condom.’ He pulled her back against him.

Cleo’s heart fell out of her chest. Shit.
Shit
! Appalled, her hand flew to her mouth. She shook her head.

‘Not on the pill?’

‘I’ve just changed to the diaphragm. But it’s at home.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘It’s not all right.’

Chapter Two

He didn’t feel that bad.

Not considering the excesses of the night before. Justin opened his eyes cautiously and let them ache gently in the light filtering into his bedroom.

He turned to look at the woman he’d pulled last night. Cleo, sleep tossing her dark hair across her face.

Funny, half-sad, half-angry Cleo, who’d looked frankly astounded when he’d turned away from her more obvious companions to her and her dark eyes. Cleo, who’d seemed grittily determined to act as if she were having a good time.

He eased onto his side to study her. Interesting face. High cheekbones, eyes that turned down at the corners, a wide, sexy mouth. A great body. He felt himself twitch.

She’d been lovely in bed; grave and thoughtful, seeming to enjoy him undressing her and exploring her body. Had made love with concentration, with sighs and gasps, arching towards him, enveloping him. He’d felt ready to explode.

He lifted his right arm and examined the purple mark where she’d bitten him. Really bitten! It had sent him crashing white-hot into the final fast and furious act when she’d yanked his head down to hers and they’d bruised each other’s mouths. Lovely.

Cleo. She was … catchy. Like a tune. Growing on him. He’d only anticipated a one-nighter, but she really could be fun.

Cleo woke to the smell of coffee and toast, pushing her hair from her eyes and focusing with difficulty on a man wearing only a pair of South Park boxers and sliding a tray onto the chest at the foot of the bed.

He looked up and smiled. ‘Feeling human enough for coffee?’

Her thoughts circled, seeking sense, familiarity. The night before rushed back at her. She’d slept with this guy, Justin. She was in his bedroom. Bed. Because – unreal, this bit – Gav had left her. Left! Had bellowed and roared and left that raw, hateful message on the bedroom wall.

So she’d gone out, got drunk and got laid. Oh shit.

Automatically, she responded, ‘Thanks. No sugar.’

Why was she so calm?

Where was the debilitating guilt, why wasn’t she clutching her sides and weeping that she’d been unfaithful to Gav?

Because the powerful anger simmering on her back burner reminded her that he didn’t deserve it.
THIS MARRIAGE IS OVER …

‘Oops!’ She almost spilt her coffee as Justin climbed back into bed.

Under the quilt his leg rested hairily on hers. ‘Sleep OK? You looked as if you did.’