All That Mullarkey (29 page)

And with Brad’s oversized hands cupping Cleo’s round buttocks and all that stupid long hair sweeping down to brush her face, people were beginning to look.

Worse, some of them were then looking at him. And smirking.

He sighed and began to push towards the oblivious couple, dumping his jacket and tie en route. Bloody woman; bloody overgrown, oversexed man.

Threading between the dancers, he made a point of greeting people, hoping Cleo would hear and come up for air. Sure enough, her startled dark eyes soon met his. He ignored Brad. ‘I thought I might have a couple of dances with my guest?’

Cleo nodded slowly. ‘OK.’ She smiled apologetically at Brad. ‘Catch up with you later?’

Then it was Brad’s turn to look very pissed off. Shame.

Justin slid his hands onto Cleo’s waist, light, friendly, dancing – not getting-it-on. ‘Sorry I upset you with the house thing. You know what it’s like when you’re convinced how great an idea is – you don’t want to accept others might not see it the same way.’

Her hands, casual as his, rested on his shoulders. ‘Forget it.’

Blithely, he prepared to upset her again. ‘You and Brad are getting affectionate.’

Her eyes, nearly black in the low lights, moved to his face. ‘So?’

They jogged in a gentle rhythm. Back, forward. Forward, back. As the music slowed down the crowds jostled them more closely together. He let his hands slide round to the small of her back and link up. ‘It looked like an instant improvement in your love life.’ He studied her expression. ‘I’d imagine Brad thinks he’ll get you into bed tonight.’

Her nod was slow and thoughtful. ‘Probably he does.’ Then she beamed suddenly, conspiratorially, eyes lighting up with mischief. And his heart sank. The madwoman was emerging.

A couple trying to push past jarred against her. He pulled her closer to speak into her ear. ‘But you’re not going to?’

‘Why not?’

He swore under his breath. She was going to bonk Brad. He could imagine Brad fetching her jacket and they’d leave together, exchanging significant smiles, holding hands.

He made his voice testy. ‘Chrissake, Cleo, how’s it going to make me look if
my guest
leaves with Brad? I mean – Brad, testosterone man! I’m not sure I could survive it.’

For a second her eyes blazed in fury. Then her features stilled, became blank, and relaxed into acceptance. The swaying that had passed for dancing, halted. ‘Right. You’re right. I hadn’t thought of you. It’s not on.’

Another track began. They started to dance again, in silence. He gazed over her head and felt like eight kinds of git. She’d made it no secret that she was, bluntly, not getting any. The idea of two years –
two years
! – of celibacy was unimaginable. And Justin had scotched her chances with stupid macho pride, hating the way Brad had sniffed out the opportunity like the wolf he was.

‘Justin!’ The whisper whisked him from his thoughts. ‘I’m not a complete sex-starved tart, but could you stop the up-for-it act? You’re making me … uncomfortable.’

Her meaning struck him like a slap.

As the crowds had pressed he’d pulled her closer and, wrestling with the tricky Brad situation, his arms had tightened in aggravation. Just look at them – his leg between hers and hers between his; wrapped around each other so tightly that he could feel her heartbeat.

Fantastic. As well as a selfish git he was an insensitive bastard. For an instant he was super-aware of her flesh pressed to his flesh, her perfume warmed by the heat of her.

‘If you intend to have sex tonight, isn’t it better the devil you know?’ They gazed at each other, the shock he felt at having voiced the thought mirrored on her face.

But she didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Her reply came on a gurgle of incredulous laughter. ‘But you’ve been pretty clear that the time for us to have anything between us has long gone!’

‘And would there be “anything between” you and Brad? Or are we talking about just sex?’

Still now. Dead still in the circle of his arms, her brows straight thoughtful lines, eyes fixed on his. After a moment, she shrugged. ‘Just sex, I suppose.’

‘Well,’ he drawled. ‘I could certainly rise to the occasion.’ He must be crazy even to think about this.

He watched her eyes crinkle up in a silent laugh. She was seriously attractive when she did that. ‘You’ll regret it.’

He felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards in reply. ‘That’ll be my problem.’

‘You’ll feel awkward tomorrow.’

‘As if! We’re grown-ups.’

She shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t even consider it. It’s madness, it’s asking for trouble.’ He felt a very slight shudder run through her. ‘But, if you’re sure ...’

No, but how could he resist her laughing eyes and her hot body pressed gently against his? ‘I’ll get our jackets.’ His heart bounced.

The flat was dark but for a glow of amber lamplight from the street. The smell of fresh paint reminded her that there had been a fire. The flat was too hot, or she was, and her heart hammered so hard that she thought it might be visible in a pounding heart-shaped lump, like in
Tom and Jerry
.

Justin’s hands settled on her shoulders. Light. Comforting. Friendly. His voice was low, vibrating with tension. ‘Sure about this?’

Hers was ragged and squeaky. ‘If you are.’

And then his hands were moving, sliding her jacket down her arms and to the floor. He captured her as they drifted up the hall, easing down her zip, hands stroking through the fabric, breasts, stomach, buttocks, making every part of her crackle. Moving faster, breathing unevenly, Justin shrugging off his jacket as they cannoned gently into the bedroom, Cleo’s fingers trembling over his shirt buttons. Cool air as he slipped her dress from her shoulders.

Sudden urgency as he yanked her against him, his mouth on hers. Stripping himself rapidly and pulling her onto the bed. Her small yelp of shock as her hot flesh touched the coolness of the sheet.

And then it was all about her and what Justin could do for her.

She should be … But she couldn’t co-ordinate, he was stroking, kissing, licking, nipping, his flesh sliding across hers, hands caressing, mouth exciting. Bringing her, in a shamefully short time, to a pitch where she was actually whimpering, ‘Quickly, quickly!’

But he slowed, his tongue making moist trails across her breasts to cool and pucker into tingling goosebumps, his hand slipping between her legs.

And who groaned loudest when he touched her? She was getting pretty loud, maybe she’d sweep him along with her – but, no, he only chuckled when she half shouted, ‘Come
on
!’ Desperate, she was desperate to reach the end of the ride, even though the trip itself was so exciting and particularly sweet.

When he finally slid inside her he refused to rush, holding on, building her up to bring her properly in on the crest of the biggest wave. She closed her teeth gently on his neck and tasted the salt of his skin. Or maybe her tears.

Afterwards, it felt as if there was only them, cut off from the rest of the world in a rainbow-strewn bubble of contentment. Delicious. Damp bodies stuck together, the sheet clinging around their legs.

‘Fuck it.’

Cleo lifted her head with an effort, blowing hair out of her eyes. ‘What?’

‘It’s broken.’

Her heart lurched. ‘Not the condom?’

‘’Fraid so.’

Cleo let her head fall back to the pillow and groaned.

It was bright daylight when she thought about it again and decided that, leaving that little disaster aside, her favourite had definitely been the first time – when she lost sight of everything except satisfying herself and he’d been so brilliant, expecting nothing and giving everything.

Or maybe the second time, when it had been more leisurely, exploring each other in an exchange of information and remembering.

Then again … she stretched and sighed. This morning had been pretty sensational as well, waking up to the realisation that this was no erotic dream but real hands were cupping her breasts and a real erection was hot against her back.

‘I may be out of practice,’ she murmured, rotating her
bottom gently in his lap. ‘But that was outrageously good sex.’

He trailed an idle fingertip in and out of her belly button. ‘Mmmm. The best.’

A fresh rash of goosebumps fled across her. ‘And however special celibacy is meant to be, I find it vastly overrated.’

He laughed, his breath brushing her shoulder. ‘Maybe it suits some better than others.’

It certainly didn’t suit her. Being sex-starved had its advantages because whenever he’d touched her she’d felt the earth move, seen flames and fireworks. Next time she read in a magazine that women deprived of sex ceased to want it, she’d write and complain.

He pushed still closer. She sighed, drowsily.

He lifted his head from the pillow. ‘That’s not your mobile ringing, is it?’

‘This early?’ Cleo dragged herself up onto wobbly legs and over to where she’d abandoned her bag halfway up the hall to extract her phone. And the bubble burst.

She hurtled back into the bedroom to where he still lay curled in the duvet. ‘Have you seen the
time
? Liza’s going bananas, she’s supposed to be with Adam’s family for Sunday dinner. And I haven’t even given Shona a thought. Where’s my dress?’ Into the bathroom to clean her teeth with his toothpaste and her finger, then she raced back out. ‘Can you zip me up?’ She halted. Justin looked … tense.

After a struggle she managed the zip herself. ‘Um, I’ve left my car at my sister’s flat …’

He lay perfectly still for several moments before unfolding himself with a sigh of resignation. ‘Cleo, this gives me the most fucking appalling feeling of déjà vu.’

He pulled up behind Cleo’s car, outside her sister’s flat. She’d been clock-watching all the way, jiggling in her seat, worrying aloud that Liza would be frantically furious and Shona would feel abandoned, and scrabbled for the door handle the instant they arrived.

Brilliant.

But then she paused and turned, clasping his forearm with both her hands. She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Thanks. Thanks for taking me out.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘Thanks for the sackful of sex.’ Her smile faded. ‘And don’t worry, I do know the score.’

He lifted his eyebrows.

Holding his gaze she said, carefully, ‘Like you said, it was just sex. I’m not expecting anything. Nothing’s altered since you said all that stuff – you don’t trust me, you think I behaved unforgivably. Don’t feel you have to go through some charade of “cooling it” with me now. We’re adults. You don’t have to wish you hadn’t done it. It was just once.’ She brushed his lips with hers and touched his cheek with her fingertips.

Then she was gone.

He drove home in a black cloud. One-night stands were a bad idea, sometimes. Full of misunderstandings and crap. And crap. Crap!

He slammed into his flat.

If that was ‘just’ sex, he’d never had sex before. And if it
was
just sex, it was just the best sex. It should’ve been on the ten o’clock news. Eleven out of ten, six gold stars, top of the premier league.

It had to be more than sex.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind; her warmth, her, um, active participation – OK, she’d been as horny as a cat – and … just everything.

The phone rang, and he snatched it up. ‘Hello?’ But the caller replaced the receiver without speaking. ‘Oh piss off, you saddo.’ He got really tired of this nuisance campaign.

Adam had whisked away a Liza in a whirl of self-righteous indignation that she hadn’t been the unreliable, unpunctual one for a change. Shona was already down for her post-lunch nap.

Cleo flopped into her chair with an icy beer and the end of the
EastEnders
omnibus.

She was beginning to realise she shouldn’t have done it.

Bad, bad idea. B-a-d. Why had Justin made such a preposterous suggestion and why, why,
why
had she agreed?

And why did it have to be so great? She closed her eyes against a heavily significant conversation across the bar of The Queen Vic and remembered Justin’s mouth. His hands. His body. She shuddered. Must be chemistry. Or sorcery.

Chapter Thirty-Five

‘If you’re pregnant this time, we get married!’ Justin paced over the quarry-tiled floor.

Cleo kept calm, because one of them had to. ‘For all the wrong reasons?’

‘You wouldn’t know the right reasons if they sprang up and bit your behind.’

Cleo counted to ten as she sliced the crusts off Shona’s sandwich. An hour, one poxy, measly, tiny hour since Liza had leapt into Adam’s car – and now Justin was here shouting the odds, making her regret over the night deepen with every step he took around the kitchen.

‘We’d better talk about that condom, Cleo.’

Slowly, she shut her eyes.

He slapped his hands on the table. ‘You would’ve thought we’d learnt our lesson. Neither of us is safe to be let out!’