Sexy as Hell Box Set (43 page)

“So,” Ollie said. “What’s this meeting in aid of?” He took a sip of brandy and winced.

I wondered whether that had been from the burn of the alcohol or that his face was giving him gyp. “Um, well, I know you’re going to laugh it up, say you’ve told me so, but I need some advice again. In the bedroom department.”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you’re asking me to…to do anything with you, because that would just be fucking sick.”

He laughed, as though he’d only been making a joke, but there was something in his eyes that told me he wasn’t totally sure. Like he’d been thrown off-kilter somewhere along the line and the dynamics of his sex life had changed. I didn’t know where the hell that idea had come from other than he was exhibiting the kind of jittery behaviour I’d undoubtedly shown when I’d been with Zara. No, he was self-assured. Nothing could get to him. No woman could rattle him.

“Don’t be so grotesque,” I said. “I need some of your worldly wise advice. To do with Catherine.”

“What’s up with her? Like I even need to ask…” He took another hefty swig of his drink.

What had he meant by that? “She’s…” I sighed. Thought I may as well be honest. “She’s not Zara, and I’m having a terrible time trying not to compare the two. Don’t get me wrong, she’s perfect in every other way—good wife material, if you catch my drift—but…”

“But she’s shit in bed?” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.

“To be as blunt as you, yes.” What a blessed relief that Ollie and I had always been able to talk about this kind of stuff. It meant I didn’t have to keep it locked up inside, where it would nibble away at me.

“Oh, fuck. Zara gave you a taste of what it could be like and now Catherine’s not up to it, am I right?” He nodded. “I’m right. I could tell she’d be insipid in the sack as soon as I saw her. She’d have suited you before…well, before Zara had got her hands on you. Don’t think you’d have had any troubles if you’d met Catherine a few months ago. Wouldn’t have known any different, would you, what with Helen being so boring in bed as well.”

He had a point, although that point stung. It shouldn’t have, really. Helen was in the past, but she’d been my first real love, and the circumstances of our parting still rankled a tad. But now that was only because she’d lied, not that she’d gone. Clearly we weren’t meant to be.

“Right,” I said. “So how do you know these things? Why can’t I spot them?”

“Because you’re not looking for those little signs.”

“Which are?”

He rolled his eyes. “See? You don’t even know what they are. Fuck me, you’re in serious trouble.” He paused, sighed. “The way they look at you in a certain way, as if they want to rip your clothes off. The way they lick their lips, knowing you’re watching. Like Zara. Think of the way she looked at you. Her body movements, her gestures, her eyes, mouth. Catherine shows none of that. Didn’t you learn anything during your time with that Mistress of yours? I’d have thought, what with the way Zara is, you’d…” His cheeks flushed, the redness streaking up to merge with the nasty bruise beneath his eye. The alcohol must be getting to him today. Perhaps he’d taken pain-killers that weren’t mixing well.

“I’d what?” I frowned.

“For God’s sake, man. That you’d have recognised that she’s an absolute sex siren who wants what she wants and doesn’t stop until she gets it. Her whole demeanour is geared towards seduction, to getting you off. Catherine doesn’t come anywhere close to that. I mean—and no offence—look at her. She’d be well at home pushing a trolley around Sainsbury’s with a screaming brat sitting in the baby seat and another kid grabbling at her legs. You see her in a skirt suit and you see secretary or some woman going to a wedding. You see Zara in one and you see…”

“See what?” He was talking far too much about Zara for my liking. “What do you see?”

“Someone who’s got kinky-as-fuck underwear on beneath it. Tell me you don’t agree. Catherine? Cotton granny pants and a sports bra. Not even an underwire in sight. Right?”

“Shit.
Shit
.”

“Indeed. You didn’t read the signs. You let Mary bulldoze you into meeting her niece because—and you may well have a go at me about this, but before you do, hear me out—because Zara had freaked you the fuck out and you wanted ‘normal’ again, for want of a better word. Except normal isn’t any good now, is it?”

“No.” I lifted my glass and took a sip. “No. But she’s so…nice. So right in other ways.”

“So, are you saying you’re going to be happy with her for the rest of your natural just because she’s a good fit for your professional and personal life—not including the bedroom—and that she ‘looks’ right and is who other people would expect you to be with? That even though you’ve had some kind of sexual awakening, you’re prepared to hide it forever and get banal sex because Joe
Bloggs prefers you to have a woman on your arm who looks like she enjoys knitting and drinking Ovaltine before bed?” He shook his head. “It isn’t going to work, mate. Really, you need to get out now, before it goes too far.”

Knitting?
Ovaltine? The sad thing was, I could well see Catherine going for that. “I can’t. She thinks…she thinks we’re solid. Even down to arranging a holiday for us in Tuscany.”

He laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh, fuck. You’re telling me you haven’t got the balls to call it off? Why? Afraid of what Mary will do?”

I didn’t mean to nod. “No. It’s not that, it’s just…”

“What you need is a good woman who ticks all your boxes. Go and find her. There has
got
to be some out there. Join a bloody dating agency or something.”

“What I need is a mixture of the two. Catherine in my day-to-day life, Zara in bed.”

“Not going to happen. Catherine doesn’t sound like she’ll grow into her sexuality—has she even got
anything
about her like that, by the way?—and Zara can’t be tamed, so you may as well scrub her off your list. She’s a free spirit, not into the relationship game. Asking her to act ‘normally’ is like asking a monkey not to throw shit. It just isn’t going to work.”

“Tell me,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “How come you know so much about Zara? I mean, you only met her the once in the coffee shop that time, when she’d told you she was seeing someone else, and…” Then I remembered. “Fuck, I told you a load of stuff, didn’t I. Forgot about that.”

“You did, so it isn’t difficult for me to imagine what she’s like.” He grimaced again. Looked in horrible, horrible pain.

Sod it. I had to ask. “What happened?” I bobbed my head, gestured to his face.

He shook his head a bit, as though the memories of how he’d got such a bruise was giving him as much pain as the bruise itself. “Trust me, you don’t want to fucking know.”

“I do, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. You know if you’re in any kind of trouble you can tell me, don’t you?” My mind went through several scenarios and settled on the last one. “You haven’t taken up gambling or anything like that, have you?” I could imagine him doing that, chasing the money, loving the thrill of winning.

“Hell no.”

He laughed, the sound of it making me think he was unsure. Or that he’d just lied. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Not the type of gambling you’d think, anyway,” he muttered, face going a deeper shade of red.

“What do you mean by that? Is this where I’m meant to read between the lines, read your body language? This one of your little lessons to teach me how to assess people? Women?”

“No.”

I’d expected him to laugh again, to brush off what I’d said, but he sat stony faced, really not like himself at all. He frowned, staring at the desk, and I’d bet he wasn’t even seeing that desk but something else. A memory.

“Ollie, what the devil is going on?” He was worrying me.

“I’ve…I’ve been seeing someone.”

Ah. “Right. And? The husband not pleased about it?”

“No, nothing like that. She did this.”

“What?” I sat more upright, leant forward, elbows on my desk, hands in my hair. “She hit you? What the hell did you do for her to do that?” I thought of Zara and how she’d struck me out of the blue, when she’d felt I’d needed it. I hadn’t, but…well, Zara was Zara, and what she’d wanted she’d got.

“It was an accident.”

“Oh, that line of bullshit. Has she got such a grip on you you’re prepared to lie? That isn’t the Ollie I know.”

“No, it
was
an accident. She kicked me. Knee-jerk reaction to something I’d done. It was my fault.”

That was more like it. Ollie pushing the boundaries, the woman taking offence. Still, kicking him in the face was a bit much, wasn’t it? What
wasn’t
more like it was Ollie admitting he’d been the one in the wrong.

“Has her kick sent you doolally?” I asked.

“What?” He looked up, frowned at me.

“Well, you just said it was your fault. You don’t usually—”

“Yeah well, we all have to grow up sometime and admit our mistakes. That was one of them. I won’t be repeating it again.” He chucked down the rest of his drink then held the glass up on a tilt, silently asking for another.

“Help yourself,” I said.

“You want more?”

“No, too much work to do this afternoon. Need a clear head.”

He got up, walked over to my sideboard and began pouring a second shot. His shoulders were hunched, as if he had a huge burden he was carrying, and although he came off as an arsehole to most, that he might deserve to have troubles, I felt sorry for him. He was a good bloke at his core. Had always been there for me growing up.

“I wanted what you’d had,” he said, his back to me.

“Come again?”

“I said, I wanted what you’d had. You know, a woman who…” He sighed. “A woman like Zara. From what you’d told me she sounded right up my alley, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, but somehow I can’t imagine you being submissive, mate. A Dom, yes, to a degree, but a sub? No way.”

“That’s what I wanted to find out, whether I could be a sub, have a woman lord it over me.” He turned, smiled sheepishly but didn’t look right at me. Seemed he couldn’t quite stare me in the eye. He sat again, swivelled the chair from side to side as he gazed at the carpet.

“And?”

“I’m not sure I can do it.” He glanced up then, gave me another wry grin. “You know me, I’m a bossy bastard. Have to have it my own way.”

“I’d like to say that’s the perfect attributes for a Dom, but it isn’t. Doms don’t have it all their own way, not really. It just seems like that. The subs are the ones with full control.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” He pouted, reminding me of the sulky kid he’d been in our youth at times.

“Have you done any research? Has she explained things to you? I know with Zara I was confused until she let me know what was what and how things went.”

“She said she’ll be teaching me, telling me stuff. Later.” He drank deeply.

“Where did you meet her?”

I was intrigued as to whether he’d been to a place like Eden Street. I wouldn’t put it past him. Curiosity would have got hold of him, and before he’d known it, he’d have got himself involved with a woman, wheedled in his cajoling, charming way to get them to be his teacher. If he had, I could well imagine the one he’d chosen to be his Mistress would be someone similar to
Fifi. Could see her giving him a kick to the face as well. I remembered her pointed nails and shuddered. The damage she could do with those…

He shrugged. Stared at the wall behind me. “The coffee shop.”

My guts went south. No, he wouldn’t. Would he? Yet it was none of my business who he saw, who Zara saw.

“Seems that’s a pick-up point where women go to find men,” I said, hoping to fuck he hadn’t zeroed in on her. Not my Zara.

“Lots of women there if you hang around long enough.” He looked at me then and winked.

I let out a breath, hoping he didn’t hear the shake of it. “I wouldn’t know. I’d only ever seen Zara in there.” I’d only ever had eyes for her. “She’d been the only woman by herself, as a customer anyway.”

“Like I said, amazing how many go in there if you hang around long enough.” He shrugged. “I just need to get over this whole manly shit I have going on. Problem is, I can’t help myself. I’ve always been the one in charge. And even though I know I’m meant to just do as I’m told, I can’t resist disobeying. I’m wasting my time, her time, too, but there’s something about her where I just have to… I don’t know. I have to have her. She’s got me hooked.”

“I know how that is. I feel for you.”

“You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t.”

He got up, put his glass on the sideboard, then went to the door. “I need to get going. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Sorry for a lot of things, actually.”

Before I could ask what he had to be sorry for, he’d gone.

I was left frowning, nonplussed, wondering what on earth was going on with him where he’d not only admitted he’d been in the wrong with a woman, but that he was sorry. All in the space of five minutes? I’d never thought I’d live to see the day. Whoever this woman was, she’d certainly changed him. I could only hope she’d continue to do so. Ollie being more human and a little more gracious about women was something I’d wanted him to be for years. Well, ever since Marie anyway, but that was ancient history.