Keep Me (Beggar's Choice #3) (28 page)

He nods firmly. “I swear to you. She’s not gone out with him
in any way apart from as friends.” He hesitates. “What happened with the model
because Seth told me that you left the party with her?”

I smile wryly. “Came and got you did he?”

He smiles. “Of course. Luckily Alys had rung so I had a
better idea what was happening. He was just worried that you’d fuck this up
while in a rage.” He raises his eyebrow at me and I shake my head.

“You’d no need to worry.” I sigh, looking down at my checked
Vans. “I did think about it for a second. I thought about it, about taking that
girl and fucking her to get Al out of my head, but I’d dismissed it before I
even got to the door. I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to Matt.” I pause.
“Even if she had shagged him I still don’t think that I’d do it. I might murder
the bloke, but
her
– she’s mine. She’s got me so twisted up over her but
I don’t want to get free. I want to stay there because it’s home.”

He gifts me with one of his wide, warm smiles. “Well you
don’t need to worry about her. She’s golden, Bram. Elen says that all she’s
done for the last couple of months is talk about you or to you, and according
to Elen she spends more time writing than J.K. Rowling.”

I bring my fists up to massage my eyes and groan. “I’m going
mental Matty. I miss her so much and I’m so far away when all I want to do is
touch her and sort this out so that I get to keep her.”

“Well you’ll see her soon,” he soothes. “The tour’s over
tomorrow night anyway. Why didn’t you have her come out if you miss her so
much?”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to be interrupted. You know what
it’s like on tour.” He nods. “I just want it to be her and me on our own so
that I can persuade her to take me on, and I didn’t want any distractions.”

He ruffles my hair. “Have you got a plan? That’ll cheer you
up if you know what you’re doing.”

I sit up prepared to admit that I have no plan other than
convincing her to take a chance on me, which let’s face it is going to take
some doing, and then tumbling her into bed and keeping her there for the next
year. However, my attention is caught by the video playing on MTV. It’s an old
Madonna track ‘Justify My Love’ and my attention is caught mainly by the fact
that she’s dressed in just a trench coat and some stockings and looks a bit
dirty and at her peak slutty best. Those years if you ask any man are the best
Madonna years. It’s when she looked like a really dirty Marilyn Monroe, did the
nude calendar and felt compelled to strip at any opportunity. However, it’s the
lyrics that really catch my attention and my brain whirs. I turn to him. “Matty
I’ve had an idea.”

He sighs heavily. “Well I suppose it is that time of year.”

“Fuck off, I need your help.”

I wake up slowly the next morning with the most blinding
pain in my temples. It appears that emptying your mini bar of every alcoholic
beverage is not actually a good idea unless you favour having an imaginary ice
pick hammering your brain. Rolling over I let out a pitiful groan and then go
up on one elbow at the sight of Matt lying on the settee under a pile of
blankets.

“Oy Matty,” I shout and the body bundle moves, letting out a
piteous groan.

“Why didn’t you sleep in the bed with me?” I ask.

He moans. “I’ve shared a bed with you and I’d rather sleep
on the cold, hard ground for a week than undergo that torture ever again.”

I sit up indignantly, suppressing the urge to grab my hair
and cry like a girl at the pain. “Women would pay to sleep next to this.”

He pushes the covers back looking like a really scruffy
blonde mole. “Yes, and in the middle of the night they’d pay to take out a
contract hit on you.  You snore and fidget and you’re a total bog.”

“Bog?”

“Bog. Bed hog.”

I pshaw. “Whatever.”

He looks at me nervously. “Pip do you remember last night?”

I flutter my eyelashes. “Did you take advantage of my
pretty, drunk ass babe?”

He looks revolted and makes a gagging noise which is frankly
offensive. “No, I meant ‘your idea’.”

“Why are you doing air quotes?”

He sighs. “Because I’m not sure that you’ve quite thought
this through.”

“Matt, when have I ever thought anything through and look at
us all now?”

He sighs again. “Why do you always make some twisted sort of
sense?”

I jump out of bed. “It’s a gift, now get up hotshot and help
me plan my epic wooing.” I grab my temples and moan piteously. “After you get
me some paracetamol.”

Alys

I let myself into the house wearily, dropping my shopping
bags and slamming the door before leaning back against it for a tired second.
There are no sounds coming from anywhere and I remember Elen saying this
morning that the three of them were going out to the pictures today. I smile at
the thought of that little family and just for effect I shout out, “Honey I’m
home,” and then jump with a little scream as a lean, instantly recognisable
figure emerges from the lounge and leans against the door smiling at me with
his lopsided grin.

“About time
a stòr
. I’ve been waiting for forever.”

“Bram!” I inhale. I’d worried about this moment thinking
that I would feel awkward and shy around him caught as we are between our
pasts, those extraordinarily intimate emails that he’d sent me and I’d read
hundreds of times, and the unfortunate misunderstanding the other night.
However, there’s no time for shyness. Instead joy races through me like a
tsunami and I launch myself at him laughing as he catches me, swinging me up in
the air in his strong arms before folding me into a tight hug and burying his
face in my hair.

“Jesus Christ I missed you,” he mutters into my good ear.
“You feel so fucking good.”

So does he I realise as all my senses come alive at the
smell of him and the feel of his warm, hard muscles against me, and before I
know what I’m doing I sway against him with a throaty murmur. He goes rigid for
a second and I feel the thrust of his hard cock for one brief second as he
moans deep in his throat, but then he pushes me back gently holding me at arm’s
length and looking at me wryly.

“
A stòr
I’m not that sort of boy. One hug and you’re
trying to grope me,” he teases and I blush.

“I’m sorry,” I falter and instantly he becomes serious
backing me against the wall and letting me feel all of him against me. His hips
thrust against me almost as if against his will but then he shoves back panting
and canting a shaking hand through his hair.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re like my own personal napalm. One
touch and I’m obliterated.”

I smile charmed beyond belief and he grins back at me
looking glad and tanned and everything to me. Then he shakes his finger
warningly. “Enough of this dilly dallying babe we’re on a time restriction.”

“What?” I manage before he pulls me into the lounge, pushes
me onto the settee and thrusts my iPad at me. “Look at this,” he insists
bossily, throwing himself next to me and immediately curling close, his hand on
my thigh. I look down. It’s cued to YouTube and when he presses play a black
and white film starts playing along with some heavy breathing, and then Madonna
appears and I realise that I’m watching her ‘Justify My Love’ video.

I waggle the tablet at him. “Why am I watching this?”

“Ssh. Concentrate,” he hisses. So I sit for the next five
minutes as a man with very long fingernails keeps dancing around groups of
people in light bondage gear who are simulating sex, and Madonna strips down to
her stockings and underwear. Finally it finishes and he looks at me
expectantly. “Well?”

“Erm,” I falter. “Well it’s tamer than I remember. Didn’t it
get banned? I suppose her underwear is very nice and she has a banging body.” I
stammer to a close and shrug helplessly as he looks at me pityingly and shakes
his head.

“Oh Alys you’re very slow but that’s okay because I’m fast
enough for both of us.”

I laugh, hopelessly charmed by him. “I wouldn’t advertise
that much speed on your resume.”

He looks at me smugly something dark moving in his expression.
“Oh, I think we both know that I’m not one for speed in vital areas of my
life.” I gulp because I do remember how much he likes to take his time. He
edges forward his heavy lidded gaze fixed on my lips before he starts and pulls
himself back giving me a chiding look. “Alys this isn’t just a song to us. It’s
our bullet point to do list.”

I’m completely flummoxed and a little nervous. I point at
the tablet. “You want me to have group sex?”

“
What
?” he rears back affronted. “No of course I
don’t fucking want that.” I slump in relief and he glares at me. “I don’t
ever
want anyone to see you when we’re in bed together.”

I ignore the present tense in that sentence in favour of
another question. “But you’ve done that?” I ask softly and against my will.

He nods reluctantly and then seems to steel himself. “Al,
I’ve done a lot of things, most of which I’m okay with because it was always
with the full consent of the person concerned, but you, you’re different.”

“How?” I whisper.

He swallows hard. “Because you mean something.” Silence
falls and he stirs. “That sounds really douchey like I didn’t give a shit about
the women that I’ve been with, but they were so fleeting. Come today, gone
tomorrow. You mean more than that and you always will.”

I’m unsure what this means and afraid to ask, and as if he
senses this he switches back to the tablet which he shakes at me. “This is the
key to my wooing babe.”

I try to hold back a laugh but a giggle still escapes me. “
Wooing
?”

He nods firmly. “Yes, wooing. I’m going to woo the fuck out
of you O’Neill. You’re going to be the most wooed woman in the world.”

“Nice alliteration.”

He smirks. “I try. I’m good with that like I’m good with
lascivious, lewd lust.”

I laugh. “But why are you wooing me?”

He shoots me a look. “Don’t you know?” His voice is suddenly
serious and I gulp unable to take this conversation any further at the moment
because I’m so confused.

Suddenly giving in and all humour gone I turn to him. “What
is this Bram? What do you want from me?”

He stares at me intently. “I don’t think that you’re ready
for that conversation yet love.” For all his flippancy he is one of the most
astute people that I’ve ever met, able to seemingly pluck people’s feelings out
of the air like a magician.

Nethertheless, I look at him intently and nervously voice my
fears. “I don’t think that I can trust you again Bram, not with my feelings. I
can’t trust that you can do serious and I’m sorry but I can’t trust you with
me.”

He flinches and then seems to stiffen with some new resolve
and looks at me with the most seriousness that I’ve ever seen. “Angel that’s my
fault. The way that I’ve always behaved and the fact that I don’t let people in
easily, it’s not surprising that you see me like this, but please give me this
chance. Please give me the chance to show you the way it could be.”

I open my mouth to say I don’t know what because a part of
me still sees this as just pretty words. He’s never wanted or tried to get
more, and he’s run scared every little step along the way. I fear so much him
breaking my heart because if he goes back on his word after raising my hopes I
think it will break something in me irreparably. However, another part of me is
greedy. It wants to be just me and him again so much and has missed him so
desperately, and it’s this side in the end that speaks strongest to me and
makes up my mind.

He reads my decision instantly, of course he does, and a
jolt of what looks like relief runs through his body and I realise to my shock
that he’s trembling, a deep tremor running through his body. “You’ll see,” he
says enigmatically and then with a lightening change of topic he jumps up
extending a hand to help me up. “Well babe it’s time to get changed because
we’ve got plans.” He smiles. “Well
I’ve
got plans.”

“What plans?” I ask suspiciously.

“We’re going away together,” he says simply, grabbing his
navy Gant jacket from the sofa and throwing it on. I stand staring at him and
he huffs and clicks his fingers. “Come on, chop chop babe. Private planes don’t
wait around for anyone. Well they might for me.” He stares into space for a
second and nods. “Yeah they’d definitely wait for me.”

“Hold on Forgetful Jones. Where exactly are we going and how
long for?

“A month,” he grins. “But the
where
is a secret.”

“A month!” I shriek and he winces.

“Yeah about that. The universities are on holiday now aren’t
they?”

“And if they’re not?”

He looks flabbergasted for a second and then snorts. “Fuck
off, you nearly had me then.” He pauses and then shoots me a look. “Are you
mad?” he asks worriedly and I stare at him for a second making him shift on his
feet, but then I let go and smile widely at him.

“I can’t think of anything better than being somewhere with
you.”

He stares at me and then steps forward, his long fingers
tracing my lips leaving tiny trails of fire. “There’s that smile I love,” he
says softly. “There’s my girl again, finally.”

I stare at him transfixed by his expression but then he
steps back and another worry surfaces. “Oh my God I haven’t packed and I’m not
sure that I’ve got anything suitable to wear anyway. Are we going to a hot or a
cold place, or are we staying in England because then I’ll just need a
raincoat?”

He holds up his hand to stay my flow of chatter. “Babe it’s
sorted. You’re packed and ready to go.”

He gestures to a couple of what look suspiciously like
Mulberry suitcases, some garment bags and a vanity case in the corner of the
lounge. I hadn’t noticed them before and they’re standing next to a battered
case and holdall which are obviously his. “How?” I start and then recognition
dawns. “Elen. But how did she manage to pack my clothes without my noticing,
and hang on, they’re not my suitcases. I only own one for a start.”

He smiles. “Yes about that. The suitcases are new. I got her
to buy them for you. And the reason that you didn’t notice your clothing was
gone is because everything in there is new.”

“
What
?” I ask ominously and he holds his hand up
looking firm.

“We haven’t got time for one of your utterly charming
independence homilies, and how you will never succumb to the wicked lure of me
buying you things. We are on a time restriction.” He smirks. “Just so you know
though Elen went out for me with my credit card under strict instructions to
buy you everything that you’ll need for a month, from expensive lingerie and
sexy nighties to hideously expensive designer gear. My only stipulation was
that everything had to cost a fucking
fortune
and that she had to cut
the labels off and lose the receipts.” He stops, looking absurdly pleased with
himself. “Your move oh thrifty one.”

I put my hands on my hips ready to launch into a lecture but
he steps close, turns me round and smacks my arse, ignoring my horrified or
attempted horrified squawk because all I really want to do is laugh. Unfortunately
this is my default position with him no matter how irritating he’s being.
“Enough talking, go and change and don’t bother packing toiletries. She’s
bought
very
expensive luxury make up, perfume and toiletries for you as
well.”

I turn to face him. “This is a lot of effort for a month of
wooing based on a slutty song.”

“You’re worth it and it’s not a slutty song. It is, repeat
after me. Our Bullet Point To Do List.”

I dart up the stairs with his laughter ringing behind me
wondering where the hell this song is going to take us.

***

Ten hours later I know as I stand outside the imposing
structure of the Sacre Couer Basilica at midnight. It towers over us in all its
white brick byzantine glory lit softly by low lights. “It’s beautiful,” I
breathe craning my neck to see the huge windows, and Bram smiles, gently
grabbing my shoulders and turning me 180 degrees. “Oh my
goodness
,” I
sigh. The Basilica is the highest point of Montmartre and down below us Paris
is spread out like a patchwork quilt lit by fairy lights.

“It’s the best view isn’t it?” he murmurs, throwing his arm
around me. “I try to come here every time that I’m in Paris.”

I look up at him as a breeze ruffles the brown gold of his
hair and I catalogue the stubbled chin, the sharp cheekbones and the sludgy
depths of his eyes. Catching me off guard he looks sharply down at me, but
instead of one of his usual flippant remarks he just smiles and pulls me closer
giving a low murmur of contentment.

“It’s been a lovely night,” I offer and it has. We’d spent
the evening eating hearty Boeuf Bourguignon, drinking red wine and laughing
together at his tour stories at a little restaurant in Montmartre that was low
lit and redolent with the scent of garlic and herbs. When we’d eaten he’d
grabbed my hand and we’d wandered the little cobbled streets enjoying the
warmth and watching portrait artists ply their trade in the square. We’d then
ducked into a little bistro and enjoyed piping hot French coffees with brandy
and heavy whipped cream. Then he’d taken my hand again and we’d climbed the
steep steps to here.

He smiles down at me catching a stray strand of my hair
which the wind is playing with and tucking it back into my updo. “It’s not over
yet,” he says and steers me over to the steps leading up to the Basilica.
There’s hardly anyone around at the moment apart from a few couples standing
staring at the skyline as we’d done. “Did I mention how beautiful you look
tonight?” he asks and I smile.

“You may have mentioned it a few times.”

“Well you do.”

“Well you and Elen can take the credit for that.”

I’m wearing a sculpted, Donna Karan, red sheath dress with
nude, Christian Louboutin, Mary Jane heels and I’ve pulled my hair back in a
braided updo. The sheer potential cost of the outfit had made my head swim when
I put it on, but Bram’s reaction when he saw me made up for it. I do feel
beautiful but I actually think that’s less to do with the clothes than with him
and the way that he looks at me.

He huffs. “Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear babe.
I can guarantee that dress only looks good because it’s on you.”