Husband Stay (Husband #2) (24 page)

Before we left the
bathroom he wrapped me in a big toweling robe to get the worst of the water
off, and did the same himself, then he took my hand and led me out through a
living room with elegant furniture to the bedroom where I stopped just inside
the door, looking at the bed.

“Second thoughts?”
he said, coming in behind me.

I could feel his
erection press into me as I shook my head. “Just catching my breath.”

What I was
actually doing was trying to remember what Louella had said.
If he’s not in
love now, he may be in the future
. My plan of sex and food had seemed easy
when I’d been longing for him and thinking I’d never have the chance to enact
it. Only, now that my body was cooling after the mad tumult of orgasm, I felt
empty inside, aching for an emotional intimacy that may never exist.

“Cinderella,” he
whispered, and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “You forgot your shoes.”

That made me
laugh, despite the dull ache inside. “Do you want me to go back and get them?”

He growled, low
and soft into my neck where he was nuzzling my neck. “I did have a fantasy
about those sexy white heels and watching you walk in them.” He stripped both
our robes off and kissed my nape beneath my falling down hair. I shivered with
the sensations that skittered around, warming me again, so quickly. “But I
think I’m about to go Neanderthal on you again.”

His hand drifted
up from my waist, gliding over my ribs to cup the underside of a breast. “Oh
yeah,” he breathed against my nape as his fingers slid up over the breast,
waking it to tingling life again. “Forget the shoes.”

I turned in his
arms and looked up into his face, momentarily shocked by the stark hunger I saw
there. His banter was at odds with the intensity in his gaze, and his hands,
now on my shoulders, trembled with some self-imposed restraint. Was he worried
that he’d frighten me? “I want to see this Neanderthal,” I said recklessly. “What
would he do if you weren’t controlling him?”

His eyes instantly
darkened and his hands came up to cup my face. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“I trust you,” I
said, gazing up at him and knowing that was true. I’d trusted him with sex, and
now I was trusting him with my heart. There was no hope for us unless I let my
barriers down. So I whispered, “Forget about my pleasure. What does he want?”

“You, in as many
different positions as he can think of.” He nodded to himself, then said,
“Condom,” and pointed to the bedside table where a handful were scattered. “And
before you start thinking this was a planned seduction, it wasn’t.” I turned
away to get one and he kept talking. “In shooting, they trained us to prepare
for success, not failure. I was just…”

I put the condom
into his hand. “You succeeded. Move on.”

He ripped the
packet open and had the condom on in seconds. Far faster than I could have with
one working hand. Then he swept me up into his arms and held me over the bed,
but instead of lowering me carefully, he let me fall the last six inches,
smiling at all the jiggling he’d created.

“
That
brings
out the crazy-lust,” he said, gazing at my breasts.

When my body
stilled, I put both arms above my head. “I’m all yours.”

He nodded, but he
didn’t pounce. “So, forget about your pleasure?”

“I know what you
can do to me,” I said, gazing up at his very dark eyes. “Show me what I don’t
know.”

He reached down
and rolled me onto my stomach, which startled me, then he snapped, “On your
hands and knees.”

“Like this?” I
wriggled up into what Jill called a
doggy
, but with the cast on one
wrist, I could only lean on one hand.

“On your elbows,”
he said when he saw my plight, and that was easier, but my bottom was way up in
the air. “And don’t talk.”

All the bossiness
was turning me on, and I smiled to myself as he climbed onto the bed behind me,
surprised that I wasn’t squirming with embarrassment. I wasn’t used to showing
off that part of my anatomy, and when he pulled my legs apart, it should have
been humiliating. Except…it was beyond sexy to imagine him looking at me so
intimately, and being turned on by that.

He moved in behind
me, and without any warning, I felt prodding in a place I wasn’t expecting it.

I squeaked.
Loudly
.
And he said, “Relax. We’re not going there. Today.”

I swallowed down
alarm, wondering if my ‘free ride’ offer was going to be more than I could
handle. But the next thing I felt was him poking that very hard erection where
it was
meant
to go, where I was slippery and tingling. Then he grabbed
my hips with both hands and…slam! He was deep inside me.

I grunted in
shock, but in the next breath I was gasping as he pulled back and slammed in
again.

“Oh yeah,” he
breathed. “The big guy loves that.” Then his hands transferred to my breasts as
he leant over me, squeezing them hard and then soft, in time with his rhythm as
he pounded into me, his breaths growing harsher. “This is so
good
,” he
said, then he made a sound that I hadn’t heard before. It was half-a-moan but
deep in his throat, as if he’d dropped monitoring his behavior and was just
experiencing
.

For some reason, I
found that totally wild. And while I desperately wanted to concentrate on what
gave him pleasure, I was spiraling out into some primitive rutting excitement
of my own, with the sensations from my breasts mingling with the weird
sensation of his scrotum slapping against my clitoris with each thrust. Then he
wound an arm under my breasts and pulled me upright, onto my haunches.

“Touch yourself,”
he growled as his hands transferred to my breasts which bounced with each
thrust. Looking down and watching them was even turning me on, and seeing his
large hands closed over them possessively made me feel …
his
. He wasn’t
caressing me because he thought I’d like it. He was foundling me because it
turned him on.

“Angel,” he
grunted, and the urgency in his voice focused me. I slid the fingers of my good
hand through the slipperiness he’d created to stroke my clitoris. And it felt
amazing.

He was still pounding
into me from behind and the dizzying stab of pleasure that accompanied each
slam unraveled my control. It was only seconds later that I came undone again
and he grabbed my breasts harder, holding me against him as I shuddered with
the exquisite bliss while he pounded at me relentlessly.

Then he turned me
far enough in his arms to find my mouth. I’d never been kissed like that
before. Hard, like his cock pounding into me, and then he stopped kissing me
and his fingers bit into my breasts as he groaned, his whole body shuddering,
pulling me closer into him as he ground his pelvis up against me.

There was no
finesse in it, nothing for me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he was aware of my
presence in that moment. He was too deep into his own bliss.

But I didn’t care
about that. I was exhilarated because I’d just discovered the liberation of
fucking, as opposed to
making love
. It was so amazing, I wanted to
laugh. So I did, shaking my head in wonder at what we’d just done.

I’d never imagined
sex could be so selfish, so completely lacking in convention. But it wasn’t
completely uncaring. I knew, even in his basest moment, Jack would never hurt
me. He’d retain that level of consciousness.

But to let himself
go that far, to just embody desire and do…whatever he wanted. I couldn’t help
laughing again. He really was
sexually confident, and I was about to
tell him that when he loosened his grip on my breasts and rolled his thumbs
over my nipples, making me shiver again as shards of pleasure cut through me.

“What are you
laughing at?” His voice was husky against my neck. “And it better not be me.”

“I feel…uninhibited.”

“So you liked
that?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I
loved
that.
And I’m going to fuck
you
that way. Wild and…free.”

He laughed, a soft
rumble against my hair. “Listen to you, Miss Prim, saying
fuck
as if you
know how to swear.”

“I can swear.”

“Cannot.” He
wrestled me onto my back and held my arms above my head. “And don’t lie or I’ll
tie you up next time,” he growled, then he gazed down at me, all sexy,
satisfied male, and I felt my heart stutter in my chest. He was so
gorgeous,
so…Jack. I just wanted to eat him up.

Which reminded me.
“You promised I could taste you.” I pouted and he raised an eyebrow.

“First swearing,
then lying, and now unreasonable demands. Do you think I’m here to pander to
your sexual needs?”

“Yes I do. That’s
exactly why you’re here.”

I’d meant it as a
joke, but I saw his smile falter, only for a second before he said, “Then if
you’ll give me ten minutes to recuperate, I’ll oblige.”

He rolled off the
bed and went into the bathroom—presumably to deal with the condom—then he came
back and pulled me into his arms.

“Six minutes,” I
told him, still bantering.

“
Shhh
.”

He smoothed a hand
over my hair and I snuggled into his chest, counting seconds, matching them to
the rhythm of his comforting heartbeat. But before I reached two hundred, I could
hear his even breathing and it sounded like sleep.

Minutes later, I
was sure he’d succumbed, but I wasn’t tired. I was anxious. I’d let him think I
was only there for sex, and that might suit his short-term goal for us, but I
wanted more. I wanted what Louella had suggested. Dating. A relationship.
Marriage.
Children
. So should I have clarified that I wanted more from
him? Or was it okay to be ‘in the moment’ with sex?

And why had he
blanched when I’d said that? It was almost as if I’d reminded him of something.

I shook my head,
completely unable to work it out, and maybe I was tired. It had to be well
after midnight. So sleep would be good. There was always the morning. Or at
least that’s what I was thinking when I drifted off, only to be woken by the sound
of Jack’s voice.

“Of course I can
come now.” He was walking into the bedroom in jeans and no shirt. “Ring
Caitlin. She’ll get flights. Tell her to email them to me.” I sat up in bed,
watching him by the light drifting in from the next room, but he completely
ignored me to continue with his call as he walked to the wardrobe. Sick
premonition clawed at my gut.

Remember
Louella. Try and stay in the game.

“I know. I’m sorry,”
he said. “I should have checked in. But I’m on my way now. I’ll be there soon.”
He pulled shoes out of the wardrobe and pushed his feet into them. “In a couple
of hours—” He listened for a moment. “We’re not there yet. Let’s just deal with
what’s in front of us.” More listening, then, “Okay. Bye.”

He dropped his
phone onto the end of the bed and pulled a shirt out of the wardrobe. “I have
to leave.” He didn’t turn, didn’t look at me. “Stay if you want. The room’s
paid for till eleven.”

I felt myself go
still
.
“Jack?”

He simply
continued to button up his shirt with his back to me, so I asked the obvious
question.

“What’s wrong?”
Had he missed a meeting or something?

“I ordered a room
service breakfast for nine. You’re welcome to it.” He sounded exactly like
Jack. Calm. Matter-of-fact. As if we’d organized this. As if I wasn’t wondering
what the hell was going on.

“Jack.”

He pulled out his
suitcase and put it on the bed, then he started to pack it.

I walked around to
stand beside him naked. “Are you angry with me? What’s going on?”

“I have to go,” he
repeated, still not looking at me, still packing.

If I was as pushy
as Jill, I would have grabbed him and wrenched him around to look at me.
Make
him answer. But I wasn’t Jill. I was me, feeling gutted and hopelessly
unsure how to deal with this. I pressed my fingertips against my lips to quell
the upsurge of nausea that seemed to come out of nowhere lately.

I should have more
control over my emotions. That was obvious. I should also do what I could to
salvage the situation. “What I said before, about just wanting sex…”

He closed his
suitcase and zipped it shut.

“…I want more than
that.”

Finally, he looked
at me. “I have to go.” His expression was frighteningly blank. “I’ll ring you
next time I’m in town.” He made no effort to sound convincing, and I was so
shocked, I couldn’t speak. He stared at me for several long seconds, maybe
waiting to hear my response. But I had nothing. So he picked up his suitcase
and walked out of my life.

I didn’t cry.

I could have.

I went back to bed
and curled into a ball of misery. But some self-protection program kicked in and
I fell into a deep, numbing sleep. When room service knocked on the door at
nine, I was groggy and disoriented, as if I had a hangover. And it was of sorts—an
emotional hangover. Goodness only knows what they thought of me bumbling to the
door in a bathrobe, bleary-eyed and hair all over the place.

I didn’t have the
energy to say
Go away
, so I let them bring in Jack’s breakfast.
Unfortunately, the smell of bacon and eggs curdled my stomach, so I escaped
into the bathroom and had a shower, stripping off the last of my makeup. Which
I really should have thought about beforehand. But I was distracted by
not
thinking
about Jack, not wondering what that phone call had been about, or why it had
changed him from a playful lover into a stone-cold bastard.  

So at 10 am I was
confronting two dilemmas: the only thing I had to wear was my gown from the
previous night, plus I had no makeup with me except for touchup powder and lipstick.

If the paparazzi
were still lurking, hoping to catch celebs behaving badly, I might get
inadvertently snapped looking like something the cat dragged in. Not that I was
important enough to warrant their attention, but I had been photographed with Noah
Steele. That might be enough to interest them in splashing an embarrassing
‘morning after’ shot across a women’s magazine. There would be no mending my
relationship with my mother if she saw something like that.

So I needed help
to escape, before housekeeping turned up to oust me, but my options were
limited.

I couldn’t bring
myself to phone Rosie and ask for help. She’d seen enough of my dramas. Fritha
would drop everything and come to me, but I wanted her with Jill, making sure
she didn’t run off on her wedding because I wasn’t due there until tomorrow.

That left Louella…

“
Very nice
dress,
” she said when she answered the phone. “
You look good on Noah
Steele’s arm.
”

“Thank you. But
I’m currently stuck in a hotel room at the casino with nothing to wear but last
night’s dress, and no makeup. With possible paparazzi waiting below,” I added,
just to clarify the situation. Then I looked at the bedside clock. “And I have
forty minutes to exit the room.”

“
So that
conversation we had about who was most likely to be indiscreet—”

“I know.” I wanted
to sigh. Louella always had to be right. “But I was with Jack. I was trying…”

“
And now he’s
gone and you’re left to sort out your own escape?”

I made her wait,
then sighed. “Yes.”

I didn’t need a
relationship with my mother. I could call Louella anytime I wanted disapproval.

“
You can phone
reception and ask to book the room for the night…”

I hadn’t thought
of that, but looking around, I couldn’t imagine how much it would cost.
Thousands? I might not be able to afford it.

“
…or you could
phone one of the boutiques downstairs, say your suitcase hasn’t arrived yet,
and ask them to deliver some clothing to your room.”

I would
never
have
thought of that.

“
I suggest you
offer them fifty dollars to deliver it within ten minutes. I’m sure they’ll
oblige.”

“Louella, you’re
amazing.”

“
Just a
moment.”
I waited, wondering what she was doing. The phone was muted so I
couldn’t hear anything and I was in a hurry now. But she came back quickly. “
Nicholas
will be out the front in my Bentley at 11am. You don’t need to see reception.
Jack will have paid for the room. Just lock the door as you leave.”

She’d thought of
everything. Thank you wasn’t nearly enough, but I said it anyway. Then I
scurried to ring reception and have them put me through to a boutique who
happily took my credit card details and delivered a sundress and sunglasses,
underwear and a makeup pack in under ten minutes!

By eleven I was
strolling through the foyer of the casino with my belongings in a trendy
plastic satchel the boutique had kindly provided, trying to pretend I was a
hotel patron heading out for a day’s shopping. I had my hair scraped back into
a ponytail, and with oversize sunglasses on, I doubted anyone would recognize
me.

Except…Nick did.

I’d taken two
steps outside the hotel’s big sliding glass doors when I saw Louella’s Bentley
and Nick opening the door. Unfortunately, I was in such a rush to get to him I
almost tripped over my stupid high heels. Somehow I managed to thrust out my
good arm and caught Nick’s shoulder, just in the moment a flash went off. Then
another, and before I could use Nick’s strength to pull myself upright I heard
voices behind me.

“Angel! Is this
your boyfriend? Did you stay overnight—”

Nick helped me into
the back of the car and closed the door, facing the photographer who was trying
to shoot me through the window.

“I’m Ms Lata’s
driver,” Nick said evenly, although I wasn’t sure if they’d believe that when
he was wearing jeans and a black vest again, with his biceps tattoo clearly
visible. But I was distracted from that by the loud click of car doors locking
around me. A second later I was startled again by a thump from behind as a
different photographer tried to get my attention.

 “Move away from
the car,” Nick said loudly. “Or I’ll call the police. Malicious damage is a
criminal offence.” I watched him take out his phone and photograph each of the
paparazzi clustered around us. “Bentleys aren’t cheap, gentlemen. A scratch
might cost you thousands. I doubt you’ll get that much for the photograph of a
little-known singer going shopping.”

“She’s Noah Steele’s
friend!” one said.

Nick merely stared
at him while I cowered in the car. But miraculously, over the next few minutes,
the chatter around us ceased. To my astonishment, Nick waved his arms at them as
if he was shooing away flies, and even more astonishing, they left.

When he was
installed in the drivers’ seat and had buckled on his seatbelt, he said, “Your
apartment in Pyrmont?”

As if none of that
had happened. I wanted to cry in gratitude and relief. Instead, I said, “Thank
you. Yes.”

I seemed to be
saying that a lot. Which meant—I reminded myself—that I was lucky. I had
friends. Help. I wasn’t defined by the one thing that was going wrong in my
life. And if I could work out a way to think of that one thing as something
other than heartbreak…

Or maybe don’t
think about it at all. Just focus on friends, fun. There was a wedding tomorrow
and nothing I could do about Jack this weekend. If at all. So I had to let it
go. I had to turn my attention to Jill, and make sure she married the love of
her life.

She owed Finn
that. He’d been through a lot for her.

I planned to
remind her of that if she looked the slightest bit skittish.

So I thanked Nick
profusely for the rescue when he dropped me home, and then discovered that I’d
see him at the wedding. Louella was clearly taking her security issues
seriously. Or…there was something going on between them.

Either way, it
wasn’t my business. So I packed a suitcase, tried to eat, sang mournful songs
and cried, then I lay in bed not sleeping, wondering where Jack was, what he
was doing, and when I’d ever stop thinking about him.

By eleven the next
morning I was on a flight to Jill, telling myself that I was doing okay. Life
was okay. A sleepless night wasn’t the end of the world. But two things were
bothering me.

Every
love gone
wrong
song in my memory-banks was on replay, and the teenage boy seated next
to me at the back of the plane could use a deodorant.

Plus,
he
wasn’t Jack.

I stared out the
window resolutely, keeping my nose as far away from Mister Armpits as I could
get it. Fifty minutes seemed to take forever, and then the plane was down and I
was out and running across the tarmac to Fritha who broke past security and
pulled me into a hug so tight I felt like a tie-dyed grasshopper had caught me.

I’m not sure when
I started crying—before or after I reached her—but my sobs and her
Poor baby
went on for eternity, until security reminded her that she
shouldn’t
have
gone outside the gate, and we were escorted back inside the terminal.

“You’ve got panda
eyes,” she said when we reached the arrivals lounge. She was grinning that
gap-tooth grin of hers that felt like home. Wild red curls fell over her thin
shoulders and her yellow and green harem pants and tunic get-up made her look
like she’d just stepped out of an Ashram. “Why are you crying?” she asked,
belatedly.

“Weddings.” I shrugged,
hoping to throw her off the scent as I ratted through my bag for a tissue.

“Come with me.”
She grabbed my hand and dragged me into the ladies’ toilets. Then she left me
at the mirror to stare at the wreck of my face while she went into a cubicle
and came back with a handful of toilet paper. “Here.” She handed it over and
went back to pee.

I wet the wad at
the basin and cleaned myself up as well as I could.

“Should have worn
waterproof mascara,” Fritha said through the opened door. Thankfully, no one
else was in the ladies’. “I’ll loan you mine so you don’t look tragic tonight,
because we’re all going to cry. That’s a given.”

“Thanks.”
Personally, I wondered how many more tears I had in me. I felt hollow and my
throat was scratchy, but with my emotions so close to the surface, anything was
possible.

The toilet flushed
and Fritha came out to wash her hands. “So why
were
you crying?” she
asked again. “And don’t tell me any bullshit about Danny. You’re over him or
you wouldn’t be fucking Jack.”

She turned away to
use the noisy air dryer on her hands and I stopped dabbing my cheeks to stare
at her back.

Was I over
Danny?

I searched my
feelings and realized I hadn’t given him a thought for days. My every waking
moment had been consumed by Jack, and singing had just been a way to express
the angst I felt about our relationship—or lack of.

“I
am
over
Danny,” I said and she turned back to me smiling.

“Are you still
fucking Jack?”

“I did yesterday.”
Conversations with Fritha were so uncomplicated.

She led the way
out of the ladies’ and said over her shoulder, “Did he make you come three
times again?”

An elderly couple
standing just outside the door both turned to look at us, and I caught up with
Fritha who was marching ahead. “Can we not discuss my sex life in public?” I
said softly.

She shrugged.
“Sure.” and led the way to the baggage claim. But when we arrived there, she
put an arm around my waist and said, “I’m so glad we’ll be sleeping together
tonight. It will be just like old times.”

I patted her
shoulder with my good hand and tried to smile while we waited for the carousel
to be loaded with luggage. What she’d meant was
I’m
glad we’ll be
sharing a room at the resort
. Not sharing a bed. But Mister Armpits and the
young couple behind him didn’t know that, so the three of them looked up and
smirked.

“How’s Jill?” I
tactfully disengaged myself on the pretense of getting mints out of my bag and
offered her one but she shook her head.

“Twitchy.” Fritha said
and frowned. “I thought she’d be more chill. I mean, she loves Finn.”

“Just nerves, I
guess.”

Clearly, Jill
hadn’t told Fritha about Finn’s secret sperm donation, or we’d be discussing
that. And Lizzie didn’t want the child to know who its biological father was,
so it made sense not to spread the story. Instead, I asked Fritha about
Bohemian
Brew
and that sparked her excitement about the new line of spiritual books
she was selling, along with crystal teapot stands and Himalayan Alpaca tea
cozies.

By the time we’d
retrieved my case and tracked down Fritha’s bright orange Combie Van in the
airport carpark, we’d moved on to discussing Louella and her impending divorce.
I was careful not to mention Nick, in case Fritha didn’t know about him.

Louella was a private
person, so I didn’t want her thinking I was blabbing her news. But thankfully,
as we drove to the resort in Byron Bay where we’d be staying, Fritha was happy
to hear about kitchen makeovers and landscaping plans and a catalogue of the
latest shoes I’d seen Louella wearing.

Finally, we pulled
into a neatly paved driveway that led down into what looked like an acreage
estate. I hadn’t expected that. I’d imagined we’d be at a posh coastal resort.
But this lovely rural homestead overlooked the rolling hills surrounding Byron
Bay, and as we drove down the rambling road Fritha pointed out the
Big House
where the wedding would be—a Balinese style building with lots of bamboo
and water features out the front—as well as several smaller villas in a similar
style dotted about.

Most of the guests
had taken up residence—some several days ago—so I was feeling like I was
running late when we arrived at our villa. But Frith assured me we had hours to
prepare. Still, it felt like barely an hour later that we were meeting the
other bridesmaids in a private reception room at the back of the Big House, an
hour before the ceremony would begin.

Fritha was fussing
with my hair, telling me for the fifth time that the hairdresser had put too
much spray in it for a ‘down do’, but as we stepped into the room where Louella
and Brittany—Jill’s horrible little sister—waited, it felt like walking into a
wall of tension. Then Fritha almost bumped into me because I’d stalled.

It took several
seconds for me to get my mouth organized to speak. “Louella,” I said carefully.
I hadn’t seen any of the other bridesmaid gowns, and Fritha’s rainbow chiffon
fairy outfit was to be expected. But Louella wore something I could never have
imagined on her: a silver gown with slinky skirt that featured a thigh-high split.
I hadn’t seen Louella’s thighs since we were teenagers at the public swimming
pool, so that was startling even before I took in the top which was a tight,
see-through gauze with spider-webs of silver showcasing a very nice set of
breasts in a low cut bra. The top of the gown was long-sleeved, and one sleeve
was solid silver to match the skirt.