Nearly Almost Somebody (39 page)

Libby stood helpless, loving the cool wall against her burning cheek. He pushed her hair to one side and scattered tiny kisses up her spine and neck. Shivers flew down her body as one of his hands snuck around her waist, the other to the zip at her side.

‘This dress might look sexy as, but it feels like a cheese grater.’

‘Better take it off them.’

His fingers tugged at the zip. It didn’t budge.

‘What the hell?’ He moved back a little, using two hands to check the fastening.

Libby giggled, turning to face him. ‘It’s vintage. You might have to tug it. Tristan–’

‘I don’t want to hear about Tristan, thank you.’ Patrick scowled before focussing on the zip.

Libby held her arms up, giving him easier access. ‘As sweet as your jealousy is–’

‘I’m not jealous. He’s a wanker who dropped you.’

‘Whatever. Tristan always said I was an idiot to waste eighty pounds on a second-hand dress. But you’re right. He is a wanker. Well?’

The zip hadn’t moved.

Patrick straightened, sucking a nick on his thumb. ‘It’s stuck.’

‘I’m wearing a bloody chastity dress,’ Libby laughed.

He pushed his curls back with both hands, laughing.

‘It’s not funny.’ She tried the zip herself, trying not to giggle. ‘Can’t you just rip it off or something?’

He studied the dress for a moment, then darted out of the room. She leant against the wall, close to the warmth of the fire, listening to him rummaging in drawers. They were going to have sex. Would it be in here, or upstairs? It could be on the bloody dining table for all she cared. She crossed her legs. Hurry up.

What if he found her flat chest a disappointment and her ugly feet repulsive? He’d slept with that beauty queen and Grace. Both had boobs she could only dream of. She straightened her back as he returned with a pair of scissors, but her butterflies worsened when he stopped and looked her over.

‘What?’ she whispered, panicking.

Slowly he walked over, taking his time to put another log on the fire, and she stared down at him, trying to breathe. What? He didn’t look up, but gently stroked her calf and dropped a kiss behind her knee. Tingles shot up her leg.

‘You look... You are incredible,’ he said as he stood up. ‘I don’t want... so we don’t … are you sure?’

That I want to have sex, or I want you to cut my dress off?

She nodded.

After taking a deep breath, he carefully cut down the zip. Sequins rained to the floor, but finally, the eighty pound mini-dress fell to her feet, leaving her standing in her purple silk underwear and heels. Libby nervously glanced up at him.

‘Utterly incredible,’ he whispered, his hands holding her face.

His kiss was deep and slow, lacking urgency this time, but the pulsing between her legs increased. She trailed her hands down, planning to unfasten his belt, but he stopped her, smiling as he shook his head.

They fell onto the sofa and he lay beside her, propped on one elbow, his other hand drawing lazy patterns over her neck, skimming the top of her bra.

‘You do realise this has nearly happened three times before now,’ he said, his hand slipping around her back.

‘It has not.’ She tensed as he deftly removed her bra.
Please, don’t be disappointed.

His eyes softened. ‘Christ, you’re perfect.’

She started to disagree, but his thumb trailed around a nipple and the power of speech left her.

‘The first time was the day we met,’ he went on, ‘after the ride down to the village. I was tempted to talk you into bed that morning. Probably would’ve done if you’d have said yes to help getting into the house.’

‘You couldn’t have talked me into anything.’ The tingling radiating from her breast had her arching her back, desperate for more.

‘Oh come on, an icepack on your ankle, bit of a massage... would you?’

As if, mister.
She shook her head, but he replaced his thumb with his lips, and she closed her eyes, unsure how long she could cope.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ His thumb took over again. ‘But I’m glad that it wasn’t then. The second time was Halloween. You’ve no idea how much I wanted you to stay. I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted to fuck anyone so much in all my life. Aside from now.’

‘You say the sweetest things.’

His hand tailed with agonising slowness down her body. ‘But you were drunk so I’m glad it didn’t happen then.’

Libby couldn’t move, she had no control over her own body, only reactions to Patrick’s touch. Mindlessly she raked her nails through his hair as he dropped gentle kisses on her stomach and slid the bought-for-the-occasion French knickers down her legs.

‘The third time?’ she asked, trying to stay focussed.

His fingers drew ever-decreasing circles, moving up the inside of her thigh and she held her breath, the anticipation of what he’d do next making her squirm.

‘Your garden,’ he said. ‘Things would’ve got out of hand and you know it.’

The circles hit the spot and lightning bolts shot through her body. Instinctively, Libby tried to press her legs together, but his knee blocked hers. He was in control and his lazy smile confirmed it.

‘If I hadn’t stopped kissing you,’ he said, ‘it would’ve happened then.’

She couldn’t believe what was happening. Her body was on fire and Patrick was making it happen. Oh god, this had to go a lot further, a lot quicker.

‘No, it wouldn’t.’ She rolled over, ending his torturous games. ‘And I stopped kissing you.’

His smile soon vanished when she pressed her naked body against his. She kissed and teased him until he was as breathless as he’d made her, then set to work removing the rest of his clothes, scattering kisses all over his fabulous body. She knelt over him as he fished a condom from his trouser pocket, but when she tried to take it, he shook his head.

‘If you do it, this’ll be over in no time,’ he explained, grinning, and the second it was on, he flipped her onto her back.

‘Control freak?’

‘For now.’ His leg encouraged hers apart. ‘You know you’ll have to update the A to Z. A vet should definitely outrank a voice coach.’

‘There was no voice coach. I wrote it in so you didn’t get any ideas.’

He stroked her fringe out of the way, smiling. ‘With the amount of jobs you’ve had, you could fill my entire list.’

‘Wow, does that mean I outrank everyone?’ Her pleased giggle turned to a sharp breath as he officially took his place on her A-Z list.

He is my Somebody.

What he liked about Libby was… pretty much everything. In the last hour, she’d made him re-evaluate every other woman he’d fucked.
Fucked
. Certainly for the last two years that’s all he’d done. With Libby it had been a whole different experience. They’d gazed into each other’s eyes, for Christ’s sake. He’d not done that before. He also quite liked that she’d kept the heels on. How he’d lasted as long as he did was a complete mystery.

But what he really liked about Libby was they’d spent the last twenty minutes, lying on the rug in front of the fire, talking about anything and everything, but she didn’t feel the need to discuss them or what would happen next. And for that he couldn’t be more grateful, because no matter how fantastic she was, he had no idea what would happen in the morning.

He ought to be going to bed, to get some sleep since he was on call in the morning, but instead, he lay beside her, scattering kisses up her spine and neck, unable to believe how flawless she was. She wasn’t asleep, but she had her eyes closed, her head resting on her folded arms, giving him the opportunity to study every inch of her. He pushed her fringe to the side. It was the little things he liked, how her eyes weren’t ostentatiously blue and her lips weren’t a bee-stung pout. She was just ordinary, but ordinary worked on her. Christ, she was pretty.

His erratic heart rate was back. When she’d first kissed him in the kitchen, he seriously worried for his health. His heart had beat way faster than could ever be natural. He’d put it down to nerves. He’d not been nervous before shagging a girl since he was about twenty, but then again, she’d been to bed with Rob and Jack. He’d heard some tales about those two. Now, after the event, he had no doubt he knew his way around this girl better than either of them, so why was his heart beating overtime again? Maybe he did have some kind of arrhythmia. He kissed a freckle on her shoulder. No, he was nervous.

Breathing in the scent of roses and sweet peas, he tried to relax. This was Libby, the girl whose garden he’d sat in, talked with, drank with, laughed with. She’d ridden down a hill for him, she’d been there when he needed her and she’d cooked him a perfect steak. Was that why he was nervous, because she was perfect and maybe she’d find a reason to hate him?

‘Is there any part of you that isn’t perfect?’

‘I have no boobs.’

He rolled her over, stroking one small but flawless breast. ‘Have to disagree. Perfect.’

‘And… my feet are awful. Ballet dancers have fugly feet.’

He shifted to sit by her feet, running his hand down her calf, laughing when she tried to pull away. ‘Relax.’

‘Please don’t.’

The rosy firelight only amplified her blushes, but he didn’t let her escape, instead he began massaging his thumbs into her sole. ‘So that’s why you kept the shoes on.’

‘To stop you running away in horror.’

‘Idiot.’ He lifted her foot, looking her in the eye as he kissed her big toe.

‘I hate them. When I was in the Company, it was fine. Everyone had battered feet, but when I left, the world seemed full of girls in flip flops with perfect toes. This is as good as they get after years of remedial pedicures.’ Her resistance to his hands lessened and she closed her eyes, sighing. ‘God, that’s nice. Paolo used to call them hobbit feet.’

‘Paolo’s an idiot too. Your feet are like battle scars and show your dedication to dancing.’ He smiled at her doubtful frown. ‘Besides, I’ll take your squashed up toes, and raise you…’ He lifted his right foot.

‘Oh my god, you only have four toes. Where’s the little one?’

‘Never ride a bike barefoot. A lesson I learned age seven. Sam’s fault.’

‘Your brother?’ Her leg relaxed completely.

‘He bet me I couldn’t beat him down to the river. I could and I did, but I crashed, completely out of control, into the rocks.’ He settled down to give her the best foot rub ever. ‘They’re just feet.’

After ten minutes, she lay with a stupid smile on her face and he finally put her second foot down. Christ, when she looked at him like that, with those pretty grey eyes gazing up at him, he couldn’t breathe and her familiar perfume wasn’t working this time.
Do I love her?
Oh fuck. Was that why he was nervous?

‘Who’ve you been shagging?’ she asked.

‘Jesus, where did that come from?’

‘I’m just curious.’

‘What makes you think I’ve been shagging anyone?’ He tipped his head, amused to hear her answer.

‘I can’t imagine you not. I bet you’ve got some bored housewife who’s very discreet.’

He laughed. ‘I don’t, but nice idea. I should get one.’

Libby nipped his leg.

‘Ow.’ He lay next to her, toying with the ends of her hair, wrapping a lock around his finger. ‘Honestly? No one.’

She raised her eyebrows.

‘I’m as shocked as you.’ He kissed her, gently biting her bottom lip. ‘But I fully intend to make up for it. What are you doing tomorrow?’

She shrugged. ‘Zoë couldn’t decide if she’d be here or not, so there’s a compromise chicken in the fridge. Rob and Van invited me to theirs, but then I got uninvited after Xander’s birthday. Are you going to your parents?’

‘Supposed to be, but I’m on call and I’d much rather spend the day with you.’

‘Making up for the last six months?’

He nodded.

‘Then we’d better pray no cows need urgently castrating.’

He was on call from seven. It’d be just his luck to be called out at five past. He really needed to get some sleep. ‘Come on, bedtime.’

Nodding, she stood up, pulling on his shirt which swamped her tiny frame. Cute as. He stayed on the rug, propped up on his elbows, smiling at her. The fringe didn’t matter and he no longer noticed the black crap. This was Libby, as classy and beautiful as a girl could be.

‘What?’ she asked, blushing again.

He stood up, not answering her, but took her hand, leading her into the hallway. The hallway? Unable to resist the joke, he pushed her up against the wall, slipping his leg between hers. To his surprise, her eyes glinted as she pulled him closer.

‘You’re insatiable,’ he said, pushing open the shirt.

She shrugged and wound her arms around his neck. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Halloween was two months ago. Insatiable.’

‘We didn’t actually…’

‘Too much coke?’

She nodded, turning six shades redder.

‘He’s such a loser.’ Christ, he loved her arms around his neck. ‘Just so I don’t get my hopes up, only to end up disappointed, you do still have that Alice in Wonderland outfit, don’t you?’

He hoped to God she did.

She nodded and like a magician produced a condom from behind his ear. Where the hell had she hidden that? Patrick sent a smile of thanks to the Big Man.

* * *

It was Christmas Day. It was Christmas Day and she was in bed with Patrick. Libby stayed absolutely still, not daring to ruin the moment. Patrick was still asleep, face down, but his arm lay across her. She’d woken a few times in the scant hours they’d been asleep, but each time, he’d have an arm wrapped around her and once, his whole body.

Clearly he liked her and more than clearly, she liked him. The sex alone would keep her addicted to him for decades – the sofa, the hallway, the bed. God, the hallway. When Jack suggested it, it’d been hot because it was bad, but with Patrick it’d been hot because they’d shared the joke. Initially they’d giggled; eventually, she’d been unable to talk.

But now what? Hot or Cold? After the sofa, they’d settled side-by-side on the rug, chatting about nonsense – her work, his work, anything, everything, but nothing about them. It was as if neither of them dared. Ninety percent of her head said,
This Is It
. She’d teach at the ballet studio and she’d go out with Patrick. They’d go on dates, she’d meet his parents, he’d tell her he loved her.

Then there was the other ten percent of her.

It said,
But What If
? What if she could dance again? She really was tougher now. If she could dance professionally, would she really want to settle for the tumbledown farmhouse? Could she have both? They had cows in Surrey. Would he come with her?

But those weren’t questions for Christmas Day.

‘Happy Christmas,’ she said, toying with his curls.

‘It’s not Christmas for another five hours sleep.’ He didn’t open his eyes.

‘Not a morning person then?’ She wriggled next to him, stroking his neck. ‘Hot or Cold?’

‘Warm, but getting hotter if you keep doing that. Time is it?’

‘Ten past nine. Shall I make tea?’

‘No, it’s too early. Go back to sleep.’

She kissed his neck.

‘Okay,’ he said, fighting a smile, ‘but tea’s pointless. I’d prefer coffee.’

‘I’d prefer tea.’

‘Let Isla into the garden?’

‘Will do. You can have ten minutes more sleep.’

Grabbing his shirt from the floor, loving the fact that it still smelled of him, she pottered off to the bathroom, admiring his taste. The black and white tiles, perfectly suited the bachelor pad, but the clever lighting and rich green feature wall, created a cosy haven. Sadly, the lighting wasn’t cosy enough to hide how appalling she looked.

Her hair resembled a bird’s nest, her fringe stuck out at varying angles and the bags under her eyes weren’t helped by smudged mascara. She made do with plaiting her hair and wiping away half her make-up with a wet tissue, but in her rush managed to leave black marks on one of his thick white towels. Arse. She flipped the towel over, hoping he wouldn’t notice, and ran downstairs.

Oddly, their discarded clothes sat in a neat pile on the bottom stair. Patrick tidying up during the night seemed highly unlikely, so how–

A drawer banged shut in the kitchen. That couldn’t be Isla. As the kitchen door opened and Patrick’s mother appeared, Libby quickly fastened a couple of buttons on the shirt. She stared, mortified, but Elizabeth gave a pleasant smile, beckoning her into the kitchen.

‘Please don’t be embarrassed. I’ve found much worse in the living room than clothes before now. Two boys, nothing shocks me. Merry Christmas, by the way.’

Libby hovered in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. She was naked bar Patrick’s shirt, and his mother was chatting as if she did this every day. Maybe she did.

‘Merry Christmas.’

Elizabeth put the kettle on. ‘Coffee?’

‘Tea, if that’s okay.’

‘I’m sorry for being here. He’s almost thirty. You’d think I’d learn to let go, but he’s my baby son and I can’t help looking after him. Patrick has a nasty habit of going a little wild at black tie events. I like to make sure he’s still alive the next day.’

‘He is.’ Libby crouched down as Isla came scampering in, loving the distraction. ‘And he didn’t go wild. I think he only had three glasses of wine at dinner.’

‘I loved your dress. Very classic. Did you have a nice time?’ Elizabeth asked, rummaging in the cupboards.

I’ve spent the night with your son, what do you think? Nice doesn’t cover it.
‘Yes, thank you. The food was incredible. Did you?’

Elizabeth nodded, holding a red spotted tea pot. ‘It’s funny. I feel like I’ve known you since November. You’ve been hanging in my dining room for a month.’

‘Excuse me?’ Libby frowned, ready to run away.

‘I have your painting,’ Elizabeth explained hastily. ‘Patrick bought it from the charity shop. He thought you’d regret giving it away.’

‘Oh.’

Patrick had bought
the Broken Ballerina
and he’d given it to his mother. Was that just a bit odd, or way beyond odd? Libby hadn’t a clue how to react, but Elizabeth busied herself making tea and putting toast on. She dug out butter, marmalade and jam, arranging them on a tray.

‘Well, I’ll get out of your hair,’ Elizabeth said. ‘The toast will be ready in a minute. Will you ask him to let me know if he’s still coming to dinner?’

Libby nodded, hoping he still planned not to be. Or ideally he’d invite her to go too. She could meet his brother, Sam, and Charlotte, the wannabe psychoanalyst.

Elizabeth paused as she put on her coat. ‘My grandfather used to call me Libby.’

‘My middle name’s Elizabeth and my little brother couldn’t pronounce Livvy for years. Libby just took over. Thank you for making breakfast.’

‘Look, you seem a nice girl. Jane has nothing but praise for you and Patrick adores you, but... Well, let’s just hope Michael Wray doesn’t find out. Have a lovely day.’

‘Happy Christmas.’

Elizabeth left.

Utterly nonplussed, Libby popped the toast onto the tray and dashed back up to Patrick, desperate for his reassurance. Happily, the bizarre conversation with his mother faded from her head as Libby took in the sexiest thing she’d ever seen on Christmas Day. Lying on his side, propped up on one elbow with only his bottom half covered by the duvet, Patrick looked her over, his smile growing.