In Too Deep (17 page)

For a moment I just gape at him, a haphazard angel with his dark, dishevelled hair, his serious spectacles and a face that seems at once infinitely masculine, infinitely sweet.

Oh shit, I have got it so bad for him.

‘OK. Right. It’s a date or whatever.’

Before I can do something immensely stupid, I give him a lightning peck on the cheek and turn and beat the hastiest of hasty retreats, away amongst the tall bookshelves, heading for the stairs. I carry my Snickers as if it’s the Holy Grail, although I know that I’ll still end up scoffing it. It’s the nicest gift I’ve ever been given, but a girl’s got to eat.

By teatime the Snickers bar is a sweet but distant memory. Sadly for my diet, I’m hungry again and loitering in the upstairs lobby, garnering some curious looks from Tracey, who’s on evening duty on the Enquiry Desk. I’ve deliberately stood beyond the main doors and chatting distance, but it’s drizzling outside so I’d be a fool to wait there, even for Professor Hottie.

What is he playing at? My watch tells me I’ve been stepping from foot to foot, trying to stay calm, for about fifteen minutes. Daniel knows what time I finish when I’m working a normal day, so where the hell is he?

Immediately, I feel guilty and worried in equal parts. Before we demolished it, he was lying on that settee for a reason. Another of his headaches or funny turns or whatever they are, I guess. Maybe he’s down there now, slumped over the work table, wracked by a migraine or whatever it is he suffers from.

I’m just pushing the swinging door to the main Lending Library open when he appears from the door to downstairs, like a genie I’ve summoned from the land of dreams. He’s set to leave, dark raincoat billowing around him as he walks, his laptop backpack slung over his shoulder and his briefcase in his hand. The perfect picture of the mad but sexy professor with his wild black curls, his glinting spectacles and his paraphernalia of academe.

‘Sorry, some emails to deal with at the last minute. Hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.’

His complex smile makes every second of the fifteen minutes worthwhile. There’s genuine penitence there, but also that impish twinkle I’ve come to love so much, the sexy spirit of Nemesis shining through the studious outward personality of Daniel.

How I wish we were back on that sofa again. Even if it is in bits and pieces on the basement floor.

‘Oh shit!’ he growls as we emerge together, followed by the scanning laser stare of Tracey, who was desperately trying to catch my eye as we left. Looks like at least a small portion of my ‘secret’ relationship will be common knowledge within the course of this evening’s shift.

‘I didn’t realise it was raining.’ He glances to and fro along the road. ‘Where’s the nearest place to eat?’

‘Well, there’s the West Side Fisheries …’ The diet, the diet! ‘It’s at the end of the road there.’ I gesture, torn between visions of crisp golden chips and the pointer on my bathroom scales, swinging in the wrong direction. Showing bits of me now and again to an undeniably beautiful man has made me suddenly more aware of my size than I’ve almost ever been in the months since my divorce.

‘Right, the West Side Fisheries it is.’ He grabs me quite forcefully by the arm and hustles me through the teeming rain.

Soon, we’re eating.

‘This is good! We don’t get them like this down south.’ He bites a chip with his sharp white teeth, his face a picture of simple pleasure.

‘Yeah, they’re the best fish and chips in the Borough. But what with this and the Snickers, it really seems like you’re trying to ruin my figure today. Maybe I should have had a salad?’

Daniel pauses, sets down his fork and reaches for his teacup. He takes a sip and gives me a very admonishing, professorial look from under his dark brows. After waiting until the waitress is well out of sight, he says, in a low voice, ‘Your body is magnificent, Gwendolynne. It’s sumptuous. Superb. I love every inch of it. You should be proud of your curves. They drive men mad.’

The words make me quiver. They’re so husky, so intense, so hungry. He sounds as if he wants to eat me with just as much relish as he’s bringing to his cod and chips and mushy peas, and his eyes flash behind his glasses to confirm his fervour.

Is this Nemesis speaking? Or Daniel? There really is very little difference between them, and any gap that there was is rapidly vanishing. He’s just one man, but, like Janus, with two faces. Always tantalising me and never allowing me to know which to expect at any moment.

‘Well, you know how it is … it’s just not fashionable to be a size 16 going on 18 these days.’

‘Pish and tush! All this fashion business is meaningless. Men always have and always will adore women with luscious figures.’ He forks up some chips and munches them in a way that looks vaguely rude. ‘And you, my darling Queen of the Library, are the ultimate in lusciousness.’

And now I have confirmation. Nemesis calls me ‘Queen of the Library’ too. Daniel seems not to have noticed that he’s given himself away. Although perhaps he has …

‘So, what’s the latest from that old perv Nemesis? What’s his latest challenge or forfeit or whatever? Did you have a chat last night?’

I eye him narrowly, but he doesn’t crack one millimetre. His face is sexy and interested, and at the same time totally guileless. Or apparently so. For a moment, I experience a frisson of real fear at the thought of being involved with a man who’s either demonically twisted and devious or the victim of a multiple personality disorder. But then the joy of the game kicks in again, and I wonder just how far I can push him towards giving in and admitting his trickery-freakery.

‘Yeah, we had a chat.’ I pause, pour some more tea, take a bite of buttered white bread, chew it.

Daniel shakes his head ever so slightly, acknowledging my two-can-play gambit. ‘So?’

‘Well, there was some of the usual stuff.’

His tongue slips out from between his lips and sweeps swiftly over the lower one.

‘And then he issued a challenge.’

Daniel’s eyes widen in a way that’s worthy of Sir Laurence Olivier as I describe the forfeit and the call-girl-picking-up-a-john scenario.

‘Are you going to do it? It sounds pretty risky.’

‘Not really. You said you’d help me, right? Well,
you
can be the punter.’

He smiles, and a moment of perfect complicity passes between us. A delicious mutual awareness of the game and its pleasures. No need to speak of it, no need to acknowledge it or question it. In its own way it’s as close as the sex is. All we have to do is play.

‘OK, I’m up for that.’

‘
Really?
’

He laughs. ‘Hell, yes! Really!’

Right in the quick of me, I shudder. What’s going on beneath that innocuous, immaculate red-and-white-checked table-cloth? Is he hard, imagining our next encounter? Has the thought of playing tart-and-punter games given him an erection right here in the West Side Fisheries?

‘OK then, we need to choose a venue, and a night and a time. And then I have to let Nemesis know.’ I’m trying to stay calm, stay organised, but all I can think about is Daniel’s body. Visions of him naked, and of his cock, all hard and rosy, rampage through my brain, screwing with my concentration. ‘I’m not sure if Nemesis wants to be there to spy on me, or just wants me to tell him about it afterwards. He seems to enjoy piling on the uncertainty.’

Daniel’s head comes up and his eyes narrow. ‘In which case, you needn’t do any of it. You can just fabricate the whole thing.’

He’s challenging me, of course.

‘That’s cheating.’

‘But you don’t owe this man anything. He’s just a raving pervert. And he’s manipulating you.’

Yes,
aren’t
you.

‘Actually, I think I do owe him.’ As I say it, it hits me like a
chakabuku
, that swift spiritual kick to the head they talk about in the movies. ‘Without him, I wouldn’t have … have seen the light.’ He tips his head on one side, frowning. ‘I would just have been forever wondering about sex, and the kinky stuff. Slyly reading erotica, daring to watch a video now and again … but I wouldn’t have been
doing
it. And I certainly wouldn’t have had the courage to fool about with
you
! So you owe him too.’

Daniel studies his fork, then glances back up at me. His lashes look a mile long behind his glasses. Then he gives me a smile of such beatific sweetness that I nearly swoon on the spot. It seems to say,
Well done! Now you understand, young Skywalker! The pupil has finally matched the teacher
.

‘You’re right, I do, don’t I?’ He laughs softly. ‘Well, for that, I’d like to shake that man’s hand.’

‘Maybe you’ll get a chance?’ Right now I want to do more than shake his hand. Far more. ‘So, where are we going to set this thing up? What about your hotel, the Waverley? It’s got a lovely bar for the job. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never actually been there.’

‘Then you soon shall, my dear Gwendolynne, you soon shall,’ he says roundly, reaching out to pat my hand as he does so. ‘Now let’s work out the logistics, shall we?’

Later, now, I’m thinking about our plan. Well, a bit. Actually I’m too confused, befuddled and frustrated to really do it justice. I’m also slightly worried, and more than a little miffed.

Daniel’s gone to London.

For the next couple of days, and over the weekend, he’ll be back in the metropolis, far, far away from the Borough and this librarian so sex-mad and lovelorn. And he’d never said a thing about it, not until we’d finished our meal and I was deep into the breathless ‘will he, won’t he want to see me tonight?’ phase of our encounter. Upon which he told me he was going
straight
to the railway station. He’s got an appointment, of some unspecified kind but one that made him frown, and he’s visiting his parents, which also made him frown.

We parted with an exchange of phone numbers and his promise to call me. Does this mean
he’ll
call me? Or will he call as Nemesis? And truly out himself?

For the moment, I don’t really care. There was something off about our parting. As if he was hiding far, far more than his secret sexual peccadilloes.

I didn’t push. Hell, I barely know the guy yet, even though I’ve had all sorts of sex with him.

Which is the root of my unease, I suppose. Like any kind of junkie, I’m craving my drug when it’s not available to me. I keep clicking my ‘check mail’ button. I keep checking to see that my mobile is switched on. I keep wondering if I should have dashed back to the library before it closed to see if there was anything in the suggestion box for me.

But there’s nothing for me anywhere tonight. Except for a bottle of cheapo Lambrini I bought on a whim at the supermarket a few weeks ago.

Snickers, fish and chips and now another night on the booze – my healthy eating plans are shot to hell today, so I might as well just pig out on everything. I’ll live on Slimfast for the next few days while Daniel is away. It won’t offset the over-indulgence, but it might salve my conscience a little bit. A notion that makes me smile for the first time since he disappeared in the direction of the station. Who the hell am I kidding? I’ll be comfort eating for Britain until he shows up again.

The wine is easy and sweet, and it doesn’t take long until I’m mildly buzzed. I’m on late shift tomorrow at the library, so I’ll have a few extra hours in the morning to recover.

I drift into a floating erotic fug, curled under the covers, still in my bra and pants like a total slut. I should get up, take a
shower
and sort myself out properly for bed, but I can’t be bothered to summon the energy. And I don’t want to wash away the faint essence of Daniel that lingers on my skin. It’s a comfort, but also an odour of impropriety. A silken film covering my skin, lying thick between my legs and at my breasts and my throat, reminding me of him.

Bastard! Take what you want and bugger off, will you? I’ll get my own back. One of these days, I’ll make you crawl, Professor Hottie, I’ll make you grovel and beg for just a sniff of me.

Once summoned, this idea gets a grip. I reach for my glass and knock down another belt of Lambrini. Not much left now, but I don’t need it any more. The fantasies in my mind are far more intoxicating.

We’re in a hotel room. It’s quiet and luxurious, perfumed with potpourri. The décor is old-fashioned and chintzy. It’s the Waverley, I suppose, the image culled from my notions of what it might be like and one or two pictures I saw in a brochure in our Tourist Information section.

I’m reclining on the traditionally patterned duvet in a sexy little red satin number, camisole and French knickers. I’m ten or even fifteen pounds lighter. Now
there’s
a fantasy!

Daniel’s kneeling before me, wearing just black jeans. His feet are bare and the lamplight makes his skin gleam like poured cream. His hair is wild and a bit mad as if he’s been running his fingers through it. Or maybe I have? He isn’t wearing his glasses, but I can’t see his eyes because his head is respectfully bowed.

‘Strip,’ I command him, and he rises to his feet. As his fingers go to the button on his jeans, he looks up for an instant. He’s either got his contacts in or he can see normally anyway in this dream, but his eyes are a furious blaze of defiance, even though he dutifully obeys me and unzips. As
he
shimmies out of the black denim, his cock bounds up and bounces meatily against his belly. He’s hugely erect, his glans weeping fluid, the little eye so distended it appears to wink at me.

‘Touch yourself,’ I tell him as he steps out of his jeans.

He does as he’s told, but his body is tense and his muscles are unyielding even as he gasps softly. His arousal must be hair trigger and I see him bite that sweet red lower lip of his as he fights to master a harrowing urge to pump and shoot immediately.

As he starts to weave his hips, and gets into a rhythm he’s obviously enjoying, despite everything, I gesture imperiously.

‘Never mind that. Time to service me.’ I lounge back on the bed and nod downwards. ‘Chop chop! Jump to it!’

He’s livid with indignation and rampant desire, but his grace is faultless as he climbs on to the bed, kneels next to me and peels off my fragrant French knickers. I know they’re fragrant because here in the real world of frowsty bed land I’ve got my hand between my legs and I’m playing in a puddle between my legs. And it
is
fragrant.