Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (27 page)

"And why did he end our face to face,
we had some important business to discuss?" He’s gripped, impatient to
hear more.

"So he could put me on his
knee."

His mouth opens and stays that way.
"And do what exactly?"

"Stroke my hair, cuddle me."
Knowing exactly what I’m doing, I smile sweetly.

His hand is in his hair again; for Ayden
it’s his neck that’s his tell, for Jake, it’s his hair. Like a wide toothed
comb, his fingers move from front to back, forming a wide circle that finishes
on his chin.

"Look. I don’t think we’re talking
about the same guy." He tips his head back to stress the point and blows
out hot air.

"Oh I think we are." I reach for
the kiss pendant but find only a vacant space. "Have you spoken to him
today?"

"Have I! Oh yeah, we had a real early
start. At 3am this morning, he calls me asking about love songs, songs that say
sorry. I mean, what the hell do I know about songs?"

Obviously he’s finding the whole affair
difficult to comprehend, so I encourage him to continue.

"Anyway, I went round to Stone Heath
this morning when his secretary reported him AWOL."

"Stone Heath?"

"You know, his place in
Belgravia?"

I don’t, but I nod as if I do.

"And he’s there in yesterday’s
clothes writing some God damn speech to give to a bunch of school kids. I mean,
what’s all that about?"

I know perfectly well what that’s all
about, but simply smile.

"So, I ask him, what the fuck’s going
on? You’re supposed to be in LA in two days giving the opening speech at a
conference attended by some of the leading players in global communications,
and you’re here downloading songs and attending kids’ parties and ..." He
holds my attention with a wide stare. "... d’you know what he said?"

"No."

"Fuck off!"

I know I shouldn’t but I start to laugh.
"That sounds like Ayden." I’m trying to under-react, but peals of rippling
laughter are erupting from my mouth. My poor Mr. P.

Jake reaches down and takes a couple of gulps
of the unclaimed half glass of red wine sitting on the table: he really is
feeling very stressed.

"Hey, that’s not the reaction I was
hoping for lady. You wanna tell me what’s going on? Because, I tell you, if he
doesn’t get his shit together and come up with a monumental opening speech,
we’ll be fucked. Six months of planning right out the window and A.S.M.I. along
with it."

"There’s nothing wrong with him, not
really." I know but I’m hesitant. Should I tell him?

"If you’re messing around, then you’ve
gotta stop. There’s a lot at stake and I don’t just mean his reputation."

He finishes off the wine and I feel a
sudden chill in the air. His once hazel eyes are now a penetrating charcoal
colour. I sense an approaching battle of wills. Here it comes

"How much will it take to get you off
his back?"

As hard as I try, I cannot conceal my
disgust. "What! How dare you come here to my home, and offer me money to
stop seeing him. Don’t you realise what this is all about?"

His piercing stare doesn’t leave my face,
it tunnels through my eye-balls like a truth seeking missile.

"He’s in love with me," I
announce, waiting for his reaction before elaborating further.

"He’s what?"

"You heard me." I allow him a
couple of seconds to mentally digest my revelation. "He won’t admit it
because it would feel like he’d lost the battle but, once he realises he can
win the war, if he just stops fighting, he’ll be fine." I smile, feeling
proud of myself for solving the puzzle.

He’s standing, pacing, running his hand
across his hair again. "I don’t get it. You’re as fucked up as he
is."

I nod in agreement. "Yes, I am.
Please sit down."

He exhales and faces me.

"Now, tell me when should Ayden go to
LA?"

He runs his now sweaty palms over his
thighs. "He’s scheduled to fly out of Heathrow tomorrow around midday,
stay over, run through his speech and face the music Wednesday morning 10am,
local time. But I can’t see it happening, not now when ..."

"He’ll be there."

He gives me a knowing smile. "I sure
hope you know what you’re doing?"

"I think I do now." I stand,
brush down my skirt, I’m ready to give him his marching orders.

He’s a smart guy, he reads my signals.
"Ok I’m out of here. I can see you’ve got things to do."

He leans into me and kisses my cheek.
"Just so you know, Ayden likes to operate out of sight, in the shadows,
but this is big, he has to be seen to be engaging in the social debate about
corporate communications: he
is
A.S Media International. If you’re
serious about him, you’ll get him to L.A." He offers his hand to me.
"No hard feelings about the pay-off? I had to give it a shot."

I reach out to shake his hand. "No
hard feelings. Just don’t ever try to insult me by offering me money again, or
I’ll make sure that long standing friendship you and Ayden have, the one you
value so much, comes to a very swift end."

"You bet." He lets go of my hand
first. "It’s been good to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about
you."

"Not all good I hope."

"Mostly." He grins, cheekily.

"Oh you shouldn’t believe everything
you hear." I think we actually have an understanding, finally. "Ayden
is a very talented businessman, but you already know that?"

He nods.

"What you don’t know is that he’s so
much more than that to me." I purposely hold off on the smile, to make my
point.

He winks and gives me a knowing look.
"I think you’ll be good for him, once he sorts his head out."

"I think so too. Thank you for coming
to see me." I usher him to the front door.

He spins around, forcing me to take a step
back, his right hand is in his hair again. "Look, I’d kinda appreciate it
if you didn’t mention me coming here, Ayden can be ..."

I beat him to it, “Difficult."

"Yeah difficult." Smiling, he
turns away from me and strolls towards his waiting car. I wave him off, feeling
so much clearer about what I have to do. I rush inside, pick up my phone and
press Speedial 1. Ayden picks up on the third ring.

"Hi, it’s me."

"I know." That’s a curt reply.

“You asked how long and, what’s it been,
an hour?”

"More or less." He’s unsure
about my line of questioning but is willing to go with it.

"I’ve had all the time I need. Will
you get over here?" I picture him smiling, if only for a second.

"Only if you ask nicely."

My God, even now after all that’s
happened, he’s still fixated on winning; if it’s not bloody buttons it’s bloody
please. I find my best girlie voice. "
Please
will you come round
because I want to talk to you and I’m stood here in your T-shirt feeling as
horny as hell." I switch back. "Will that do?" The line goes
dead.

A silver BMW, way past its prime, is chewing up the
tarmac on the A1, only 12 miles from ground zero. The weight of equipment and
basic provisions is playing havoc with the suspension, forcing its impatient
driver to curse and swear.

Thankfully the route is quiet for 1500hrs on a Monday
and Dan is able to reserve his spot in the inside lane, refusing to give the
budget saloons a second glance as they flash past him doing 70. As far as he’s
concerned, they are mindless drivers on the road to nowhere, whereas
he’s
a man on a mission. He knows better than to rush when embarking on an operation
of this scale.

‘I’ve waited seven years for this, another couple of
hours won’t kill me.’ His mood lightens, he readjusts his seat and takes in the
scenery.

He loaded up the car at 0400hrs, drove the 17 miles to
work to make the early shift at 0600hrs and looked busy until his shift ended
at two. From there he headed straight to the estate agents to hand over his
Landlady’s signed reference, which he typed out for her, and the email address
of his Line Manger Mr. Crowther. It was all done and dusted in thirty minutes.

 Now, with almost sixty miles behind him, he’s running
on pure adrenalin; the route to Elm Gardens is engraved permanently into his
psyche and the registration of Stone’s car is engraved permanently on his skin,
like a pink tattoo.

Discarded on the passenger seat is yesterday’s Daily
Mirror, folded back on the page he read during his tea break. As hard as he
tries to distract himself checking out drivers and passengers as they overtake
him, his eyes are drawn to the photograph taking up almost a quarter of the
page. He snatches it up and flattens it out across the steering wheel; his
impatient hands fold the outer edges around it, allowing him to hold it firmly
in place. Out of sheer wilfulness he proceeds to inspect the photograph at
close quarters, whilst steering. But, doing two things at the same time is
proving to be more of a challenge than he first thought, not because he is
actually driving, but because the words on the page keep merging. Ayden Stone
and Elizabeth Parker are side by side in the picture and in print, as if they
are meant to be together. He smiles inwardly, ‘Elizabeth Parker, right. What
happened to Francis?’ His thoughts are his own and they are coming thick and
fast, triggering a disturbing response.

Dan Rizler is gripped by rage, it has him by the
throat and he can barely swallow. Momentarily, he has a lapse in concentration
and the car veers onto the hard shoulder, making a loud, rumbling sound that
jolts him back into consciousness.

“Fuck!” He swerves back into position and holds firm,
checking his mirror for an unwelcome observer or, worse still, a police car.
The last thing he wants is for the cops to pull him over and to start asking
questions, even though he knows he has nothing to worry about. He doesn’t have
a police record and they would be hard pushed to find anything in his car worth
investigating. After all, he’s just an ordinary guy, moving his stuff from A to
B. Why would they think otherwise?

Back on track, he allows his eyes to settle on the
road and briefly on the black and white photograph of the ‘happy’ couple.
There’s something about a Book Launch and some writer’s new crime thriller but
it’s of little consequence. All he can see is Stone holding her hand, turning
on the charm.

“Fucking poser!” He hisses between his teeth, slamming
his hand over his image, almost puncturing the paper. Only Elizabeth Parker
remains intact. His jealousy fades and it’s just the two of them again, the way
he likes it, the way it’s meant to be. Her beauty transcends everything else,
he cannot look away. Even dressed in black she’s an angel, his angel. He
stretches out his thumb and caresses her image, up, down, left and right
nonstop for the next eight miles.

When he reaches the Pinner turn-off, feeling pacified
by the proximity of her image, he glances down once and then again, preparing
to say farewell, but she has vanished. All he can see is her escort, standing
there next to a blurred and faded ghost. He takes a look at his thumb. It’s
black and the ink has found its way around the entire nail and into the
cuticle. Without noticing, he has erased her from the page. She no longer
exists. Surprised at his own clumsiness, he chuckles, holds up his thumb and
inspects it. “How’s that for a prediction princess, I’ve got you under my thumb
already and I haven’t laid a finger on you yet?”

A couple of roundabouts later, he finds himself at his
destination. It’s 1600hrs. He’s wearing his new check shirt, and feeling
uncharacteristically buoyant. With the gait of a man excited at the prospect of
moving into a new home, he steps out of the car and leans in to pull out a box
of second hand crockery and cutlery. He bounds over to the security door,
letting the contents rattle and jangle beneath his arm. Without looking at his
Tenancy Agreement, he punches in 1479 and, to his satisfaction, it clicks open.

Assuming the occupant of 53a is not at home, he begins
carrying in his meagre possessions up two flights of stairs, leaving some of
the bags and boxes at the bottom. The move-in takes no more than half an hour.

There’s the rattling of a door lock behind 53b and,
for a second, he is frozen to the spot. What if the labels had been wrong on
the front door and his girl steps out onto the landing, bringing them face to
face? ‘What to do? Nothing’s in place. It’s too soon.’

To prevent a possible cockup, he climbs the stairs,
two at a time and drops his last item on the floor with an echoing thud. The
mattress slides down the wall and comes to rest in a sitting position in the
living room.  It’s queen sized and second hand, he picked it up on the way over
for twenty quid. He won’t be needing anything fancy for what he has in mind.

Feeling
as if I have a new lease of life, I speed
walk into my bedroom, throw off my stale work clothes, shower and put on
Ayden’s T-shirt and the prettiest panties I can find. I just have time to brush
my hair and clean my teeth before the doorbell rings.

I take my time. It rings again. When I
open it, I swear he’s out of breath: has he run all the way here? I’m floored
by a vertical stare and want him to take me right there on the doorstep, but we
have to talk first.

He enters cautiously, throws down his
overnight bag and kicks the door shut behind him. “I like the T-shirt,” he states,
following me into the lounge.

“Then you’ll love what’s underneath it.” I
grin over my shoulder. “Come in and sit down.” Rather than settling for the
sofa, I switch off the lamps and make straight for the bedroom. It will only be
a matter of time before we’re in here anyway. “Take a seat.”

“Where?”

Does he thinks I’m being Elizabeth?

“Anywhere, on the bed, the chair.” I fold
my arms and the T-shirt rises a little up my thighs. I catch him looking and
like that he’s being so attentive.

“I don’t know what’s going on Beth but
...”

“Ayden, just be quiet and listen. I don’t
want you to say anything, alright?”

He nods. “I’m all ears.”

He leans back onto the bed, allowing his
strong forearms to take his weight. Now it’s my turn to visually undress him. I
notice he’s discarded his tie and the top two buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing
a few strands of protruding chest hair; his fitted shirt isn’t tucked in, but
it’s lying across his fly, creased.

He looks so hot.

I clear my throat and begin. “I’ve had time
to think, and I know what’s been driving you for most of your life and
throughout our relationship: your need to win. That’s been your motivation.
It’s impacted on your business in a positive way - you said so yourself in your
speech tonight - but it’s had a negative impact on your love life, on us.”

He’s clearly surprised by my candour, but
not shaken by it. “Should I be writing this down?” He has to throw me off,
doesn’t he? He’s settling back onto the bed, looking like the main course at a
buffet. That’s not good, especially as I haven’t eaten all day.

He cocks his head to the right and signals
for me to carry on. I swallow noisily and try to tear myself away from his
intense scrutiny. I wish I’d opted for a pair of jeans and an overcoat now.
When he looks at me that way, I feel as if I’m being stripped bare. I pull his
T-shirt down over my thighs as far as it will go, but that only makes it cling
to my hardening nipples. He’s enjoying the view, I can tell.

Regardless, I press on with my
deliberation. “You’ve regarded every woman you’ve ever dated as a challenge,
one you’ve set yourself: to woo her, to win her heart, to fuck her and then to
move on. And, that’s worked for you until now: until you met me.”

I stop to breathe, get into my stride and
give him a second to take it all in. “You followed established protocol:
flowers, poems, gifts, clothes and it worked like a charm. You even threw in
the sub idea to clinch the deal, but things have not gone exactly to plan have
they?” The question is purely rhetorical and I don’t give him time to answer,
even though I can see words forming on his lips.

“Come the time to move on, you found
yourself wanting to stay and that’s not something you do. God forbid you should
let anyone, a woman at that, monopolize your time and steal your affection
right from under your nose.”

I take a breath and draw out the shape of
a TV screen as if I’m playing charades. “I’ve got a newsflash for you. You’re
in love with me, and it scares you to death because it feels like you’ve surrendered
and I’ve won.”

He’s silent now, so absorbed in thought I
simply continue with my commentary. “You said yourself that guys think with
their dicks, and you were one of them; going all out to be the alpha male,
having your choice of prime partners. But now, your heart speaks to you. It
tells you to send me songs profaning your love for me and, for the first time
in your life, you feel as if you’ve lost control, you’re not in the driving
seat any more but merely a passenger who’s enjoying the ride. That’s an alien
concept for you.”

I break off, distracted by his smile; even
though it more of a twitch, it reaches his eyes and I hear him speaking to me
through silent words.

“You’ve found someone you truly can’t live
without - me!” I arch my brows and offer an overly animated shrug. There, I
said it.

He considers my revelation and tips his
head over to the other side like an adorable puppy hearing his name for the
first time. I’m rooted to the spot.

“You think you’re very smart, Miss
Parker?”

I grin. “That’s because I am Mr. Stone.”

“Yes you are.” He reaches out to me and I
fall onto him, squeezing his face in my hands. “But, I’ve not finished ...”

“Oh! Dear God. Not more revelations?” He
covers his face with his hands.

“Hush.” I kneel up at the side of him on
the bed, feeling exhilarated and proud of myself. “Business has always come
first, it’s you raison d’etre, or it was until now. And, do you know when I
knew?”

He shakes his head and brushes a strand of
hair from my face.

“When you cancelled meetings to fly home
to me, turned off your phone and organised a picnic, stayed up all night
trawling the internet for forgive me songs and then bared your soul to five
hundred strangers, in the hope I would realise you were talking directly to me.
That’s love Ayden. The only reason you’ve not been able to diagnose the
symptoms is because you’ve never felt like this before: you’re not losing your
grip, you’re love sick.”

Even though he’s lying down and I’m
kneeling over him he’s comfortable and relaxed and I wonder if this is active
submission.

“I’m just as guilty, I didn’t recognise it
- I’ve never been in love before either.”

Why does he look so surprised? “You’re in
love with
me
!”

“Of course I am. I became Elizabeth for
you, I cut my hair for you. I stayed up all night sobbing at the thought of not
holding you ever again. Don’t you see, we’re destined to be together.  I’ve
been waiting for you to find me my whole life, and you have.” I caress his
cheek with my palm and fall into him.

“Yes, at last, I have. And you’ve found me
Beth.”

It’s been at least 24 hours since we’ve
kissed and, right now, it’s the only thing I can think of doing. I allow myself
to be smothered in mouth-watering kisses and lose my hands in his hair.

 “I love you Ayden.”

Like a tumbling wave, he rolls me over
until I feel his full weight on by body. “I love you more Beth. I was awake all
last night thinking about you. That was when I wasn’t looking for ‘I love you’
songs. Have you any idea how hard it is to find songs that sum up what you’re feeling?”

“Yes, I have, that’s why I loved the music
you sent me. Doing what you did was out of character.” I undo one of the
buttons on his shirt. “Not everything in life can be solved by barking out
orders or fucking Ayden. That may have been the way you’ve dealt with things in
the past, but that was then and this is now.”

He starts to laugh. “I love it when you
talk dirty.”

“I wasn’t, I’m being serious.” I mean it,
but his laughter is contagious and I’m folding by the second.

He’s suddenly very serious, stopping the
frivolity, pulling my face to his. “The prospect of living my life without you
made me want to throw myself under a fucking train.”

“Please don’t say that. Now the truth is
out we can start to enjoy each other.” I solidify our bond with an equally
serious stare. “I feel safe with you.”

“You are,” he states as the subtle glow
from the lamp reflects in a glistening stare. “And you feel like home Beth, and
that’s something I thought I’d never hear myself say.” His eyes continue to verify
his revelation. “I want to keep saying the words. ‘I love you,’ even though it
feels like I’m speaking a foreign language.” He’s smiling at me in such a way I
can imagine angels watching and crying with the sheer beauty of his devotion.
It’s a Titanic moment.

“You see through all my faults Beth and,
in spite of them, you still love me. Your innocence allows you to see the world
through a child’s eyes; in your world, there’s no deception, only truth and
trust. I love you for that if nothing else.”

So intense is his stare that I’m
self-conscious all of a sudden. “Stop staring.”

“Why? You’re a beautiful woman, inside and
out. For as long as I’ve known you I’ve wanted to fix my eyes on you like a
heat seeking missile, but I’ve stopped myself, scared you might read my thoughts.”

A broad smile takes shape. “I can. I know
exactly what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not difficult seeing as I’ve got
the biggest hard on waiting for you.”

“See, I knew that.”

He traces the shape of my nose with his
forefinger and gives it a gentle tap at the end. “You have special powers Miss
Parker,”

He teases further, kissing every inch of
my neck, my jaw and edging me backwards across the bed. I tip my head back in a
kind of helpless joy. This is what I need, my daily dose of Ayden Stone.

“I love this spot,” he whispers, kissing
the tender skin beneath my right ear. “Because, when I kiss it, you make this
noise.”

He kisses it again and, one cue, I moan in
response.

He laughs seductively.  “There’s another
part of your body which quite takes my fancy.”

He rolls up my T-shirt and it gathers
around my stomach.

“Ah, here it is.”

He allows the tip of his tongue to tickle
the area around my navel and then my pubic bone: the promise of what is to
follow has me stretching and writhing.

“Let’s see what we have here.”

I feel his hands skimming my calves, my
knees, my thighs, leaving my legs dangling over the bed, waiting. My breathing
is irregular and I feel the heat of passion starting to sear through me.

“I think I’ve found what I’m looking for,”
he announces, lifting his head to nail me with a look of such intensity it
makes me gasp. “The thought of never doing this again with you made me crazy.”

I feel his hands taking down my panties
and parting my thighs: my God this man has amazing hands, what he can do to me.

 The instant his tongue touches my
clitoris I start to move and groan, I’m defenceless: breath rushes from my
mouth, fingers clutch at bedding, perspiration coats my skin. A soft cry leaves
my lips and I instinctively press myself into him.

“Oh yes ...”

My temperature is rising, so I shut out
the light to allow my senses to focus on that central apex where my clawing
need originates. To call this sexual delight would be an understatement: it’s
raw, unadulterated ecstasy.

“Make me come Ayden, make me forget last
night.” My back bends and bows and I’m panting, begging. “Please.”

He does exactly that, and I’m forgetting
everything that has happened, living only in the moment. His fingers find me
and their steady, relentless thrusting push me to the edge of orgasm. When he
leaves me saturated and needy, I think I’ve been abandoned but his salty tongue
pushes into my mouth and the pad of his right hand picks up where his tongue
left off. His sinful mouth is on mine and I suck and taste myself.

With a breathless whisper he commands me.
“Look at me Beth.” I open my eyes to see his beautiful, vulnerable face. He’s
stripped bare. “You speak to my heart you always have, you know me and you love
me, in spite of everything. I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that, please don’t say that.” I
cannot hold back; his words and his hands are tipping me over, everything is
tightening and building. My tender orgasm sweeps through my body and my sob
like cries are kissed away. I grip his shoulders and hold him to me.

With a softness I had not expected, he
wipes the tears from my cheeks and allows my heart rate to slow.

“I want to feel you inside me,” I hiss,
moulding his mouth to mine.

In the blink of an eye, my lips are
disregarded and my T-shirt is lifted over my head and flung across the room.
He’s standing upright. With frenzied hands, he’s pulling off his shirt,
unbuttoning his trousers.

I lean up on my elbows, without shyness
and look at his muscular torso for as long as he will allow. “Ayden, you’re
perfect, inside and out. You just don’t realise it yet.”

He pushes down his Calvin Klein boxers and
presents himself to me. “Do you want this?”

Isn’t the fire in my eyes and the wetness
of my crutch proof enough?

“Yes, I want that, in me, right now and,
if you ask me to beg, I will ask you to leave.” I hold up my right hand to him
and spread my legs a little wider, without shame or embarrassment. Why conceal
what is his?