The Passion Play (4 page)

"Cunning."

"It didn't achieve anything. It just let him be complacent we were having our couple time so then he could avoid time with me otherwise. At least Mark talks to you when he's sitting on the couch in his underpants."

"He does." Caroline's face softened in rememb
rance. "Just last night he said-" She broke off self-consciously. "Actually you probably don't want to hear that soppy stuff right now."

"No. I don't. I am so over love. A sperm donor is what I need."

Caroline's eyes widened. "You wouldn't. Can you imagine what your folks would say? They'd go nuts. They'd cut you off completely."

"So? Let them. I'm not going to live my life for anyone else but me, anymore."

"Look, I could get behind you having a wild time, clubbing, meeting men and living a little. It's not like you had any of that before. Even when I first met you you were this buttoned down, obedient little girl. I'll go with you even, if you need the moral support. You know I'd be the first one to stand on the sidelines and cheer you on. Given you're using protection and not actually trying to get pregnant with every hot man you drag home."

Felicity leaned back into the couch cushions, looked up at the ceiling and breathed a deep sigh. She missed sex. Yes, she did.
The heat and passion and pleasure of it. Being without it had her feeling old and dried up, past her best. It had been such a blow when Dan lost interest, but she had suppressed that hurt too, driven it down deep inside and denied the poignancy of her loneliness. "I can't imagine dragging someone home."

"It's not that hard. I mean, I'm out of practice but I do remember a thing or two. Most of them come willingly. And you're so pretty you'll have no trouble. Just bat your eyelashes and they'll be dragging
you
home."

"I've never actually had sex with someone I wasn't in love with." Was that self-pity? It did not feel like pride. More that she had set a false value on her own constancy.

"Aw, man," Caroline groaned. "Now I feel guilty for leading you astray. Ignore me. You go out and fall in love again."

"No. I'm not setting myself up like that.
Maybe sex. Sometime. Sometime far in the future." Or perhaps sooner if she had enough courage to be powerfully sexual, to take what her body wanted and not wait for the permission granted by deeper feelings and a solid relationship. A relationship she had no intention of starting.

"For the good of your own health and mental wellbeing."
Caroline's tone was dry.

"Yeah, that."

"We're not made to be alone, honey. We need love, and that means physical love too. You even more than most, maybe. Human touch. Companionship."

"I won't be alone."

Caroline's face fell into grave lines. "The baby?"

"Yes," said Felicity, her voice soft as a whisper, and her heart full of dreams.

CHAPTER THREE

This was a crazy idea. Inspired by another lonely night in a dead-silent house.

It had seemed rational to test herself, to find the limits of her courage in this most minor way: could she form a connection with a man
– a stranger – and be casual about it? Mainstream promiscuity. Not love. Just sex, as Caroline said.  A release for her body. Perhaps even find her own sperm donor, once she had the results of the tests back. Was it even possible for her?

She could have turned on her own music or the radio to kill the sound of solitude, or phoned a friend. Stayed locked up in her safe little box at home, not venturing out.

This was not fun.

What passed for music here was grindingly loud. It had her hunched over at the bar as if the beat were a physical weight. She resisted the urge to cover her ears. Four times now she had been approached – what
she would have judged as a wild success by anyone's standards –– and for all she knew those men were sterling guys with wonderful characters, and terrifically attractive.

How she was supposed to discern that was a mystery, at this volume, in the semi-darkness.

She tried with the first of them. Really tried. He had a great smile, all straight white teeth lit up unnaturally in the ultra-violet strobe. It looked so macabre. She felt her own smile become a fixed grimace, and her shaking head in response to everything he said – because she could not hear him – had apparently discouraged him. After awhile he shrugged and sidled back into the crowd.

The next man was short.
Really short. She hated to be shallow but she lived for years around a pack of football players and a giant of a husband. As long as conversation was impossible it was all down to what he looked like, and she could not ignore his height. She was certain he was smaller than her. She gave him a kind smile and shook her head with more purpose.

Number three repelled because his eyes slid over her body when he thought she was not looking: hungry and acquisitive. For all she had come thinking this might be the night of her first one-night-stand – a vague, dim flicker of possibility but one she admitted, buying condoms on her way here – it was not going to happen with this guy.
Ew no. Just . . . no.

He got no smile at all. Just a flat out refusal and a hard stare after she caught that assessing gaze sizing up her assets.

Number four was still with her, putting up with her hunching and wincing about the sound and her refusal to let him buy her a second sticky-sweet drink – a dialog carried out in hand gestures. Now he suggested they dance.

This might not be the ideal club, but since she
was
here she was going to jump all the hurdles and get them out of the way. Dressing up, going out, finding a place with a queue to indicate popularity, getting inside and looking available. Handling advances by strange men and now dancing. If she got really wild maybe she would try a kiss and a grope on the dance floor.

She had missed kissing. Dan was a good kisser when he put his mind to it. Which he hadn't in-

She
was not
thinking about him. Tonight was all about her and – currently – the big, beefy guy with the sheepish smile and a way of ducking his head she found quite appealing. He was clean shaved and had a decent pair of lips on him.

She nodded 'yes' about the dancing, and slid off the bar stool. He was quick to take her hand in his vaguely moist one and tug her after him. She followed in his wake, squeezing between squirming bodies, a sensation that was unexpectedly stimulating. Alien as the experience was, she felt alive under the onslaught: painful eardrums and wriggling people and the prospect of a kiss from a stranger. How many
years since a night had so many unusual events packed into it? Too long. She found herself grinning, and tried to sink into the music, to find some way to enjoy the beat of it like everyone else, to set herself free to move with it rather than fight it.

-----

It wasn't her.

No
way
that woman could be Felicity King.

Not a chance.

Felicity had too much class to come trawling a nightclub looking for . . . what? A hook up? Even just a dance? Not likely.

The resemblance was strong though.
So strong Luke Barrett found it hard to keep his eyes off the woman. Not that one could depend on the light in here. He squinted against the strobes.

It wasn't just her face. It was the way she moved too, like a dancer held in check, all graceful restraint. She wore figure-hugging jeans like Felicity never
did, high-heeled boots and a glitzy shirt that covered her skin but followed her shape real close. A good shape. A great shape, small and delicately curved. He liked that shape.

Luke wrapped a hand around his single beer, warmed now to room temperature. A prop he had been ready to abandon when he first spotted the woman. Carlos had just left with an excited girl his own age, and Luke considered his work done for the evening. The sight of the Mrs King
lookalike stopped him like a jerk on a leash. Instantly he wanted to go say hello, take a closer look and see if the illusion was as solid close up. It probably wasn't honorable to approach a woman just because she reminded him of someone else but, hell, a wise man recognized an strong impulse and acted on it before he did something even more stupid. 

Still, he wrestled with his conscience a good twenty minutes, watching her.

Watching the men who swarmed her as she sat temptingly on that barstool, pale blond hair in loose waves around her face.

Those lips of hers were the same shape as Felicity's, for sure. It was impossible to see if they were as pink too, by this light. Even as he thought about them she pinched them up and frowned like something bothered her.
The music maybe. It
was
loud tonight. They were probably trying out a new DJ, who didn't yet have a feel for the place.

He didn't think it was the man talking to her that made her frown. She didn't seem to mind him. She hadn't liked the other ones.
Sent them away with nothing. Now number four was making more of an impression.

Damn, she was looking up at the guy through her lashes, all serious like Felicity King did. Mrs King knew how to
listen, she surely did, so the person talking to her would swear she was drinking in every word. He found he didn't like this woman sharing that expression with this other guy. Luke should have made a move when she sat alone, should have ignored chivalry and gone up to her, invited her to go someplace less noisy to find out if she'd look at him under her eyelashes like that, listen like Felicity King did.

Instead he sat now, watched, and begrudged the way her eyes lit up and she smiled at the stranger and nodded. The woman he didn't know saying yes to the man she didn't know.

She got down from her seat at the same time as the other guy, and the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

Luke swore under his breath. He'd missed his chance, hesitating too long while hastier men than he tried their luck with the lady. He craned his head to see if the two of them had left. He couldn't see her but her partner was clear as day, standing almost a head above the crowd, probably as tall as Luke, or near enough.

The guy was looking downward – presumably at her – and trying to dance. Not very well, by Luke's estimation. Off the beat and awkward. If he knew anything about women he could guess she wasn't impressed. It confounded him that more men didn't learn how to dance properly. Women loved it beyond all reason if a guy could dance. It seemed to him an essential skill for any red-blooded man. He considered himself lucky this hadn't occurred to the majority of the male population.

He mulled over the situation.

It wasn't his way to make trouble. If that woman had looked like anyone else – no matter how attractive – he'd have shrugged his shoulders and waited to see if she'd settle on the big guy or come back to the bar still available. If she didn't look so much like Felicity King he'd just take his chances.

But she did look like Felicity King. And her partner couldn't dance. And the guy had only been a minute, two tops, in front of
Luke. And cutting in was a time-honored practice. And if the guy got offended – which he probably wouldn't, but a smart man was aware of the possibility – and threw a punch then Luke could likely take care of it.

Luke stood up.

-----

The man could not dance. Her excitement trickled away. It was actually rather awkward to stand opposite a stranger with whom one had been unable to speak, and move around in time to a fast beat and look . . . where? Did one make eye contact and smile? Look over his shoulder?
One then the other? Close her eyes and pretend to be lost in the music?

She felt sorry for the guy. He seemed self-conscious, as if he knew he was uninspiring. He made an effort but the dance moves seemed like something he had practiced at home in front of the mirror, rather than inspired by the moment.

It was not sexy.

She wanted sexy. She wanted that elusive feeling of being alive and young, like the blood was pulsing fast through her body. She wanted to stand close to a man who turned her on. To put her hands somewhere on his body, imagine taking him home and finding out if a one-night-stand was something she could actually enjoy.

She wanted to stand on the edge of that cliff, lean over it and look down.

It was not quite what she had thought it would be, to come here. Her desires were a big jumble of hurt and insult and determination to prove her own youth and desirability, to jump back into life, to prove to herself she could have what she wanted if she chose it, after years of saying 'no, there are rules to be obeyed.' Maybe she wanted to be reckless and stupid or maybe she just wanted to flirt a little and try it out. Maybe she wanted to discover if she was capable of sex casual enough to conceive a child and never look back at the father or maybe she wanted sex as a means to its own end.

She did not know.

All she knew for certain was nothing more was going to happen with this man.

Oh no. Now he was mouthing the words to the song.

What was the polite way to escape? She did not want to hurt his feelings, but he was not for her.

She became aware that in the mass of bodies on all sides, there was a man who had joined them, his body oriented towards her in a way that made it clear he danced with her. She had been blocking out awareness of the press of flesh in every direction, almost-but-not-quite touching, but obviously her body was clued up on the subtle signals of availability. She darted a quick glance sideways to check if she was right, if he watched her.

His eyes were on her face. He was smiling a warm smile at her. She
was
right.

It took her a moment to recognize him, his f
eatures painted different colors, purple then green then red. Only a moment though.

"Luke!" she exclaimed in glad recognition, extraordinarily relieved to see a familiar face in the midst of all this strangeness. She stepped right up to him and hugged him, she was so pleased. He immediately stopped moving and hugged her too, a safe port in a heaving sea of uncertainty. After a moment she reared back, her arms still wrapped around his waist, and gave him a beaming smile.

He was looking astonished, kind of pole-axed really, though not unhappy. When he saw her smile his face softened and she felt his hold go tight.

That surprised expression reminded her she was not supposed to be too friendly with the players. She was supposed to keep her distance and maintain proper boundaries. She started to release him and only felt regret a moment later as she heard in that mandate the echo of Dan's voice in her head, where it did not belong anymore.

She wanted to hug Luke – Mr Barrett –
Luke
again out of sheer defiance, but he had taken his cue from her and already moved a small step away.

She remembered what's-his-name and looked to one side to see he had withdrawn, stepped away and started to turn, already easing into the crowd. He caught her eye and gave her a nod and a friendly smile, graciously letting her go when she had clearly found a friend.

When she turned to Luke again he grinned and mouthed 'sorry' as he pointed after her departed suitor. She flapped a hand in dismissal, grinned back, shook her head 'doesn't matter'.  Luke was moving to the beat, wedded to it with casual mastery that drew the eye. She raised her eyebrows and made a moue of surprised appreciation, scanned his body down and up and then laughed to remove the sexual edge from the moment, moving her own body in time.

There
was
a sexual edge to be removed, too, she realized. A strong one. He was a very attractive man, not straight-out handsome but roughly good-looking, broad and well-muscled. She had felt those muscles when she hugged him. He was amazingly solid.

Wow. That was a surprise. She had never looked at him as a sexual being before. She just did not think that way about the players or about anyone, really. All her sexuality had been dedicated to her marriage, and even when that had stopped working out for she had never . . . well it was not her habit to go around speculating what it would be like to . . . she did not tend to look at men the way she now found herself looking at Luke.