Coming Around Again (17 page)

“What’s going on?” Stella demanded, stepping over the twins’ weekend
bags scattered in her living room to face her ex-husband. The smug plonker was
stretched out on her sofa—a sofa she was still paying for—with a boy on each
side.

“Dad fancied staying,” Danny answered, barely turning his head to
acknowledge her.

His brother piped up. “He said he wouldn’t mind if you had to go out.”

Presumptuous…
“That’s the point of him having you over the weekend so I didn’t have
to worry about that,” she retorted.

Niels barely rippled his shoulders in a shrug, squashing their children
into his body. “You don’t have a date, do you? You’d have told me.”

Of course she would have! To rub it in his overtly attractive face.
Instead, she’d had plans to meet up with her friends for a speed dating event.
The risk with that plan was that her ex-husband would have free reign in her
house.

Nope. Couldn’t be done
. “Can I talk to you?” she suggested, with a grin so false, it cracked
her cheeks. “Outside?”

Will looked at her. “Are you and Dad going to have a fight? Because…you
know you said you wouldn’t anymore? Remember?”

Pressing her fingers to a pulse in her eyeball, Stella turned into the
corridor, leaving the door open for Niels to follow. He sent her an infuriating
smile before he sealed the living room from what needed to be a full-on barney.

“This is what we spent two years in court fighting about,” Stella began.
“Boundaries,” she enunciated the word, drawing a line between their bodies.
“You’re not respecting mine. Again.”

Niels watched her with an indulgent look on his face. “What are you more
worried about? That you’re not out tonight, or that I know you’re not out?”

She’d paid a lot of money to be told not to use her fists to put her
point across when it came to the man she’d so blindly married. “I’m worried
about you putting ideas in their head—” she thrust a hand in the twins’
direction, “—that we’re getting back together!”

He nodded slowly, mouth twisting in thought. “Ah. That idea. The one you
started by using me for sex last weekend.”

She slapped her hands over her eyes and turned away. Massively unfair!
“It was a mistake! I was feeling weak and vulnerable and you…you came over with
that sodding bottle of Malbec for no reason than to…to…”

He interrupted her spluttering. “To reminisce about the good days,
post-three or four orgasms?”

Stella pointed to the kitchen and with the smuggest of smiles, he led
the way. As soon as they were inside, Stella closed the door. “Now listen
here…”

Niels pressed her to the wood and kissed every single letter of argument
from her lips.
Bad. Bad man
. He still
tasted every bit as forbidden and addictive and delicious as he always had. Her
downfall was nostalgia. All of her firsts happened with the terrible man and he
was still the best kisser to have nibbled on her top lip while palming her
bottom. “I miss you,” he growled against her mouth.

“You divorced me, you numpty!” She heaved, pushing him away with shaking
hands. “You split us up. You fought me on everything. And you, you utter
wanker, you started seeing other people.”

Rage flickered in Niels’ face. “Hey, I only did that after Daniel told
me about some fuck-face being here every other night.”

Okay, granted, she’d tried to move on first; but even after she accepted
her marriage was over, nothing, including the vaginal tear from naturally
delivering her two boys, nothing hurt as badly as seeing Niels with another
woman. She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. It really was her own fault
for sleeping with him last weekend. All it did was make her wish for the old
days.

“You know why our divorce took so long?” Niels said into the quiet. “I
wanted you to change your mind. I dragged it out at every opportunity so you
had to keep talking to me.”

What?
“You’ve figured this
out now?”

“My therapist told me.”

“You? Your what?” Niels didn’t do new age, touchy-feely stuff. Maybe if
they had…

No, no. It was all too late. It had no meaning with a framed decree
absolute and a shared care order.

He sighed heavily. “Therapy for what happened between you and me. It was
that or pills, and you know me and pills don’t agree. I didn’t want to be off
my face when the boys were with me.”

She stared at him in amazement. “You never said.”

He sent her an arch look. “Well, the last time I tried to talk to you,
you were far more interested in getting my mouth in other places.”

Oops.
God, he confused her
completely.

“But I’m practically over you.”

“Liar. I’ve got text messages to prove it.”
Urgh, maybe not
. “I remember them off the top of my head:
No one can make you harder than I can
…”

“Niels...” The warning didn’t make him cease the falsetto in his quotes.

“
Remember that anniversary when we
finally did anal? You really think you’d ever convince another woman to let you
do that with that monster dick of yours?
”

“What is wrong with you?” she yelled.

“Oh, and my personal favourite:
I
miss you so much sometimes. That’s a lie. I miss you all the time.
Sent
just before I came over last week.”

She stalked past him and uncorked a bottle of wine. “What’s your point?
I say silly things. And I know those first two texts were sent in the early bit
of our divorce. Because I remember adding to the end of the second one how I
ruined my arse because of you, so you owe me the sodding house.”

“Our children ruined your arse,” he argued, bracing his arms on either
side of her waist, kissing the back of her neck. The heat of his breath sent
shivers all over her skin. No, she couldn’t get caught up in physicality. Sex
hadn’t been their problem. Communication had been.

“Back up,” she warned, pushing him away with her bottom, only to find
herself locked against his groin.

“No,” he murmured, his hand stroking from her waistband to cup her
breast. “Let me stay. We’ll talk.”

So tempting…
“We won’t talk. You’ll try to get on top of me. Or in me. Or both.”

“Naturally, but Stella…we’ve been fooling ourselves for long enough.
Last week was the first step to us being honest. There’s no reason we can’t
carry on.”

His mouth trailed persuasively over her jaw to her lips. Breathlessly, she
turned to give in to the kiss when Danny burst in.

“Dad, you promised pizza when Muma got home, and why are you being
mushy-face with each other?”

Stella heard Will call from the living room, “I want stuffed crust!”

Niels pressed his lips to her cheek, his hand roving over her buttocks
in an act of such dominance she nearly went on her knees. “Leave your Muma
alone for a bit. We’ll order from the living room, okay? Dad’s not going
anywhere.”

With a look of certainty, he shut the door behind them, leaving Stella
gripping the wine bottle for dear life.

Well, damn it to hell on a breadstick.

Shit. Just. Got. Real
.

“Don’t!” Stella pushed him away firmly by the shoulders, turning her
head to avoid his kiss. The boys were tucked up in bed and Niels stalked her
back downstairs.

Stella tried everything to avoid being alone with him. She dragged out
dinner. She suggested the director’s cut of
The Hobbit
until the boys
cried exhaustion. Even then, Stella took it upon herself to read with her
children, a Kindle on her lap and impersonating the characters from the
Stormbreaker
series. Lamenting their
mother’s attempts and through long and hard yawns, they told her to stop and
quite frankly to do one.

“Mother,” Danny begged, “go and talk to Dad. Please. We can read.”

“Flipping cheek,” she muttered, kissing them both goodnight and
side-stepping Niels as he did the same.

“I’ll be up in ten minutes to turn the lights off,” he warned them.

Before she had even reached the final step, Niels caught her by the arm
and drew her into his body, pressing her between his torso and the wall. His
mouth lowering inescapably toward her own sent waves of panic and lust through
her limbs, forcing her to pull away.

“Seriously. No.”

He lifted his head slightly, his face still unnervingly close to her own
as he lowered his gaze to her waist. Spanning it with his hands, he asked,
“I’ve outstayed my sexual welcome?”

“Yes,” she spat, feeling like a cornered and ill-tempered stray cat.
“Don’t come and confuse me with your man meat.”

One of his thumbs careened over her navel, plucking carelessly at her
piercing. “Oh, that was my fault?”

“Absolutely.”

He smiled, deviousness shadowing his features. “Clarity of thought is
unnecessary.”

“Where you’re concerned, it’s more important than air.”

“Ah, Stella,” he murmured, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “You and I
have always relied on instinct. Tell me what it’s saying to you now.”

Submit, submit, get under him!
“That we’re confusing things.
Everything we went through… Are we really going to just fall back into this?”

“Doesn’t it feel right?” His question disappeared under the power of his
lips and the sensuality of the persuasion he unleashed. Like riding a bike…
Until he discarded her once more.

“No, Niels,” she gasped, tearing her mouth away. “I can’t let you do it
again. You can’t break me again.”

“I barely bent you.” His voice seemed empty of any real amusement. He
stepped back and gestured toward the living room. “All right. No more of your
hanky-panky. In there and we can talk.”

Stella took a nervous seat on the closest sofa. Niels sat practically on
top of her. He laughed at the dirty look she sent him and sat on a chair
opposite instead.
Better
, she
thought.

“Well?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

“I know exactly what I want. The question is, why are you getting in the
way of that?”

“Not a masochist,” she said with a shrug. “Don’t like standing at the
top of a hill knowing if I get pushed, I’m going to break every bone in my
body. Don’t. Want. To. Do. It.”

He rested his chin between a forefinger and thumb. “None of this is
about pain. Expected or otherwise.”

“You don’t think you’re going to hurt me? Because all you want to do is
share your dick with me?”

A lazy grin lifted his features. “Sharing is caring. You and I will keep
falling into the same patterns. When we’re annoyed, or happy, or sad… We look
for each other. Now. We can both keep doing that, and most likely drag other
people into our marital mess, or… We can sort it out.”

She slammed her balled fists into the sofa cushions. “I don’t want to
feel like this about you anymore! I am bored! I don’t want to keep doing this.
Over and over again. You coming here…”

“Because you called me…”

“…and doing what you want!”

“Because you asked me. Or rather begged me to.” He sighed and looked up
at the ceiling. “Shall we pretend to be wiser than our years for a few
minutes?”

“Pointless, but go on…”

“I’ve laid out my cards to you. I’ve said I miss you and I’m ready to be
honest with you. Show me your hand.”

She couldn’t speak. Every step seemed fraught with danger to her poor,
battered, still-divorced heart.

Niels again took a heavy breath. “Do you miss me?”

“Sometimes.”

“Stella…”

“All right. I miss you. A lot. Regularly. If not on
an hourly basis. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I need to hear.”

No triumph lingered in his face. Only relief. He
got to his feet and sat next to her, tugging her into his lap. With his arms
around her, and his face scratchy and warm against her neck, he whispered,
“Let’s go away.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Why do we have
to be in another country to have a conversation?”

“Because I know you,” he explained patiently. “You
will make any excuse to avoid talking. Look how much effort you put in even
vocalising your feelings tonight.”

“Yes, well…” He had a point, but what she attempted
to avoid centred on what Niels swung between his legs.

“Come away with me. One week.”

What harm would it do? They kept ending up in bed together.
Nothing about it was healthy. Especially for a legally separated couple. Maybe
at least without the children guilting her, she’d be able to admit how she
felt.

“All right. Okay then,” she agreed. “You book it.”

“As if I would let you do anything else.”

“And you call my mum and tell her what we’re
doing.”

He frowned at her. “Are you sure you don’t want
to?”

“Course I don’t. I know you speak to her every
week. She likes you more than me.”

“I’ve reason to be nice to her,” he said through a
chuckle. “Getting favours. Stella, don’t…”

The tears came from nowhere she understood. Once
again, her emotions were in the care of someone she felt completely uncertain
of. “I am trusting you. This once I am putting myself in your hands.”

“Safe hands. Promise.”

He brushed a tear away with his thumb and pulled
her in for a lingering kiss. “Good. You stay where you are…”

“Quite comfy, your lap. When you’re not trying to
poke me with your stick.”

“I’ll leave the poking to another day.”

***

Niels had always admired how well Stella travelled. She didn’t complain,
she never tutted at staff and always finished her requests with a please and
thank-you. The nine hour journey from London to Cancun was met with a shrug and
“Okay. I gave you twelve years. I can deal with nine hours on a plane.”

Every time she sighed or shifted in her seat, he wondered if she were
thinking about how to get home. Upper Class allowed her to make a call to her
mother and the boys, to make sure they were good. Happy. If not happy, then
settled on staying with their grandmother for just over a week.

Niels lived most of his work on a gamble. A risk that had always worked
out, bar one terrible time that led to his current situation. Sitting next to
Stella, as she watched episode after episode of
Breaking Bad
on the flight, he wondered if he’d gambled too high.
Stella on holiday was a million miles from Stella at home. If she chose him,
them, their family, then there were nine-odd hours for her to talk herself out
of it on the route back to London.

Briefly, he told himself to man up. They hadn’t even arrived at their
hotel and he already doubted himself. Stella wouldn’t have agreed if their
marriage had died a death with no chance of a biblical resurrection. The last
weekend told him so. She asked him why he loved her. Why he bothered to pursue
her when she’d disappointed him so bitterly he’d seen no other option but to
divorce her.

He laughed to think about it. He
loved
Stella. With every single
cell in his body. Divorce became little more than a symbol, a barrier to be
knocked down, when he finally understood that his move for petitioning was
grounded in nothing but a desperate attempt to force her to show him she still
loved him.

She made him suffer. She cut him the deepest at every available opportunity
and yet the moment she softened, slipped with a “darling” or an “I can’t be
your friend”, that hope flared back into an inferno. He didn’t want to start
over again with her just because they knew they could ‘work’, but because it
would never work with anyone else but her.

Niels picked up her hand, braced on the seat as they began to descend
into Cancun and kissed it. She frowned at him and he peeled up her index finger
to point the digit in the space between them. “We can do this.”

Rather than see a hint of scepticism in her eyes, he leaned forward to
kiss her.

No doubts allowed.