Reversing Over Liberace (8 page)

God, that man was sexy. His body was every bit as stupendous as I had imagined. In fact, it was probably better now than it had been ten years ago, muscled and taut where it had been spare and skinny, a raft of pale hairs drawn between his nipples and down the line of his stomach. As his hand went to his belt, he looked at me quizzically. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes,” I breathed, a phrase I was to repeat quite frequently from then on, with variable punctuation. “Oh,
yes
.”

There was a kind of frenzy about Luke in bed—oh, nothing kinky. You're not getting any tales from
me
about handcuffs or spanking competitions. (Even if it
did
happen I wouldn't tell you. We don't know each other
that
well.) A very
concentrated
approach to sex, as though he was blocking out the whole of the rest of life while he made love to me. It made me feel as if I was the centre of the universe, the most desired, the
hottest
woman in the galaxy, watching the man I'd always wanted giving himself up to me on waves of pleasure and afterwards collapsing in my arms with sweat glazing his body.

“So then.” I lay on my side and traced the outline of his ribs. “How was New York?”

“Busy. Loud. Dirty.” Luke rested on his back with his arms behind his head. “Much as you'd expect. Have you ever been?”

“No.” I waited for him to say “we'll go together”, but he didn't. “What did you get up to over there? Apart from work.”

“Apart from work, nothing. I'd had the heads-up from James about a car, thought I might be interested in it, so I flew out to take a look, had a bit of a poke round some others while I was there, came back. End of story. So. How was your week?”

He turned his head to look at me, his eyes lazily clouded with sex, and I gulped to prevent lunch reappearing. “Um. I…well, I had a good time, actually. I…” I'd been about to mention my legacy but when he looked at me like that my mind went a complete blank. “I…oh
God, Luke
…”

Later, we tried conversation again. This time Luke initiated. “It's a bloody shame I couldn't buy that Caddy over in New York, you know. You would have looked absolutely amazing in it. You do have the most incredible breasts, by the way, did I mention?”

“I think you did say something similar, yes,” I said, rather breathlessly. “Was it not for sale after all?”

Luke began kissing me. “Yeah, but I've got a bit of a cash shortfall at the moment, until I get the business up and running this end. So I had to say ‘no' to it. Pity, but there you go, that's business. Can we just try…?”

The man was insatiable.

Chapter Nine

When Luke dropped me off at home on Sunday, I flopped down on the sofa feeling slightly guilty at how thankful I was to be able to lie down without being leaped upon. Lack of sleep had left me a little bit cranky and six months worth of sex in two days had left me with what Katie would have called “a fanny like a nail file” so when the phone rang I didn't exactly leap to answer it.

“Hello.”

“Oh dear. I thought you were away for the weekend?”

“Cal, if you thought I was away, why did you ring me?”

“I mean, I thought you'd been away and would therefore be all sparkly and rejuvenated.”

“Yeah, I'm sparkly. That's me, sparkly. Like Barbie's party frock.”

“Barbie is an alien invader from the planet Busty. Now, do you want to know why I'm ringing?”

I smiled down the phone, suddenly less tired. “All right. Why are you ringing?”

There was an answering smile in Cal's voice. “Because I'm very bored. Oh, and to tell you that I've fixed your laptop.”

“Well, that's good. Can I still pick it up tomorrow?”

“Of course. I'm looking forward to it. I've descaled the kettle in honour of your visit and built a rather nice little gazebo out of the limey bits.”

“I thought you had to have a garden to have a gazebo.”

“Windowbox gazebos are in this year, you know. So, I'll see you tomorrow?”

“I'll be there.” I was still smiling when I put the phone down. Cal really was the weirdest creature, but he did make me laugh. That was the one thing lacking in Luke, I thought, starting to unpack, wondering whether these expensive clothes could be machine-washed. It would be unfair to say that Luke didn't have a sense of humour, although he was the kind of man who thinks off-the-wall refers to a dado rail. But then—I winced as I sat down too quickly—Luke had many other compensations, some of which more than made up for a lack of chuckles.

The telephone rang again and for some reason I expected it to be Cal. “Hello,” I answered cheerily. “Still bored?”

The line whistled and shrieked like a haunting. “Hello?” said a distant voice, eventually.

“Hi, Clay. What's up?” Clay never rang unless there was a problem.

“I'm coming back, Will. Can I stay with you again?”

A minor twitch of irritation. “I suppose. Why?”

The line wailed as my words twanged off the satellite and bounced back down in China. “Fed up,” I made out, as the reply floated back. “Decided to take time off, find out what”—crackle crackle—“really want to do.”

Sod. So not even a flying visit then. Good job I hadn't bothered changing the sheets from his last visit. And, a large plus, Clay's room was in the attic, with its own bathroom. That put three doors and a well-insulated ceiling between us, should I decide to, ahem,
entertain
. Whilst I hadn't actually been planning nights of noisy debauchery with Luke, I wasn't going to let the presence of an older brother in the house put me off. “Of course, it'll be fine.”

But the line was dead, he'd gone. Whisked back into the world of the merchant bank, which was clearly not all it was cracked up to be. It would be exactly like the old days, brothers hanging out of windows watching my every romantic move. But this was his home as much as it was mine. I could hardly come over all Lady of the Manor and deny my siblings shelter, could I? Bugger it.

 

 

 

Monday morning. Katie and I huddled in my office with a supply of chocolate biscuits, the phone on divert and a sign on the door warning Neil and Clive what happened to the last man to interrupt us.

“So? What did he say about the fifty grand?”

“I didn't get to tell him. Every time I started to say something… Let's just say, we didn't really do much talking this weekend.”

“Was he any good?”

I thought. “Oh, Katie, he was
fabulous
.”

“Lucky cow.
And
you got the Lake District. I only got a Saturday night in Blackpool out of Dan.”

“Could have been worse.” I got up to boil the kettle again. “Could have been Bognor.”

“Yeah, but I came back pregnant with twins.” Katie sighed and stood up. “Better get on with what we laughingly call ‘work' then.” She walked to the door and stopped. “Will, can I be nosy?”

“Why break the habit of a lifetime?”

“No, it's…what
is
it with you and Luke? Is it a casual thing, or something else? Are you falling for him?”

I gave a rather superficial smile. “Why the interest? I've only known the man a couple of weeks.”

“Just wondering whether I should be buying a hat or a huge stack of Kleenex, that's all. Do you want it to be a relationship? Because if you do, then it's about time you did a bit of talking, Will. If he finds out that you've been sitting on all this cash and not saying a word about it, it might give him the wrong impression about you, don't you think?”

After Katie had gone out and I'd put the phone back, I thought about what she'd said. Not about the talking part, talking could wait as far as I was concerned, but the falling-in-love part.
Was
I falling for Luke Fry? Casually, I let the memory of him wash through my mind. An image of him sitting on the grass as we picnicked, head thrown back as he laughed at my impersonation of a duck, shirt slightly untucked, collar open to show golden skin.

Phew. I fanned at my face until the hot blush receded. So there was no doubt I was in lust with the man, but love?
Did
I love him?
Could
I love him? Was I even capable of loving someone? After all, with my little—well, we decided we'd call it my little problem, didn't we?—I'd not had a lot of practice at loving men. I loved my parents, wherever they were, and my siblings—sort of. As long as they didn't interfere, or patronise me, or poke holes in my posters of Duran Duran, the bastards. But falling in love with a man was something else entirely, territory not exactly uncharted, but one with a map drawn on the back of a Mills & Boon cover in purple crayon.

I walked from work to Cal's to pick up the laptop. At last the sky was the pure blue of a boiled sweet. Tulip and daffodil stems were pregnant with blooms and birds were beginning the annual round of gang warfare in the hedges, so my step was jaunty as I bounced my way up to the flat and leaned on the doorbell.

Cal must have been waiting, because the door swung inwards as soon as I rang. “Hey, Willow, good to see you.”

“Hi.” I went in. “Is Ash not here then?”

For a second his face clouded. “No, not at the moment. Come on through. Hungry? I just made a mushroom stroganoff. Yeah, it looks like puke on a plate but, hell, it tastes good.”

“Sounds great. Yes, I'd love some, thanks, Cal.” I hadn't intended to stay. I was going to grab the laptop, maybe have a cup of tea and rush off home for an early night to try to refill some of the bags under my eyes. But there was something about the combination of the sun slanting in through the long windows, the creamy smell of cooking and the general air of stillness in the flat that made me think “sod it”. “Ash has been a bit weird lately. Did you and he have a tiff or something?”

Cal paused, mid-stride. “You'll have to ask Ash, okay?”

“If you say so. I usually avoid asking Ash anything.” I looked out of the window, for some reason struggling for something to say. “It's a beautiful evening.”

“Thank you.” Cal gave me a mischievous half-smile. “Do you have any idea how hard it is winching the sun into that particular spot in the sky? I was at it all morning.”

“What with that and the gazebo I'm surprised you found time to cook.” We were standing in the kitchen area now, a bare-floored room with exposed brick walls and a surprisingly large and professional-looking stainless steel cooker on one wall. Seating consisted of a big sofa with a low table in front, angled by one of the tall windows.

“Yeah, I had to invite a tiny vicar to tea, to justify building it. Anyway, he fell off the window box, and it's two storeys down. We haven't found him yet.” Cal gave me another grin. “Do you like red wine?”

“Um, yes.”

He took two glasses from a shelf and put them on the table, then grabbed a bottle and corkscrew. “Do the honours then.”

I set to opening the bottle as Cal competently moved from stove to fridge and back, adding, stirring, his limp hardly noticeable in this confined space. I wondered exactly what my feral brother had in common with this gentle, domesticated man. But then attraction, I guess, moves in mysterious ways. I mean, look at Luke and me. I knew precisely what I saw in him, but what did he see in me? Apart from my more obvious charms, which I stared at, then jiggled.

“What on earth are you doing?” I looked up and saw Cal watching me, a newly poured glass of wine in each hand.

“Only, um, looking at my breasts.”

“Puberty caught up with you, did it? Nasty that. I once got an attack of adolescence, but I just drank until it went away. Cheers.” He handed me my glass and drank from his own. There was a bit of a pause.

“So.” I sat with my glass perched awkwardly on my knee. “How did you meet Ash?” In
loco parentis
interviewing mode, even though Iain and Sophie had never shown the least inclination to interview our prospective partners and were, I always felt, slightly disappointed that only one of us had turned out gay.

“Does it matter? Llama racing, reading the news, over the frozen turkeys in Tesco—what's the difference?” Cal put two plates down on the table and handed me a fork. “Eat up. Thousands of innocent mycelium were dragged screaming to their deaths to bring you this dish. The least you can do is enjoy it.”

Side-by-side we ate and drank red wine, until the plates were empty and the glasses wore only a tidemark. “Where did you learn to cook like that?” I sat back, replete, and tried to burp genteelly. “That was stupendous.”

“Ancient Rome. All that philosophy and art, and they were buggers for a well-cooked bacon sandwich.” Cal leaned over and turned on a lamp, the room was quite dark now.

“Do you ever answer a question seriously?”

For a moment, in the half-shadow, he looked almost scary, eerily lit from one side, which highlighted his cheekbones and eyes. “That depends,” he said, and the words were heavy as though a weight of sadness lay upon them, “on who's asking.”

“Me.” The wine had made me brave.

“Oh, well, in that case, no.” He stood up, clearing the plates away into what looked like a cupboard but turned out to be a concealed dishwasher. “Would you like coffee? Tea? Rosewater poured from the brows of virgins?”

Feeling rebuffed I said, “I'd better get home. Thanks for fixing the laptop, send your invoice to the office, will you? Oh, and thanks for the food. It was lovely. Really.”

Cal stopped stacking dishes and straightened up at the work surface with his back to me. “I won't charge you,” he said softly.

“Oh, but—”

“And it's cerebral palsy. My leg. It affects my arm too, but only slightly. I was born too early, you see.”

“Cal—”

“Right, now you'd better be off. I don't want my reputation ruined by the presence of a woman after dark. Besides, you don't know what I turn into when the moon gets up, so you ought to hurry.” Brisk now, no nonsense, he turned back around, no sign on his face that he'd been anything other than joking. Unless, if I looked closely there were lines of strain around his eyes that hadn't been there a few minutes ago.