Vengeful Love (15 page)

He rises to his knees between my legs, resting his thighs on his heels, then pulls me onto his lap. I’m in the perfect position to take advantage of the firm muscles of his chest and I do. My hands fall all over his chest and back as I kiss his lips and my need for him returns at full steam. He lifts me and slides me down his length.

“You feel fucking amazing around my cock.”

He buries his head in my chest and rotates my hips so I’m working around him. I groan on each grind as he rubs against my G-spot. I can feel him swelling as he moves me faster, the pressure rising inside me again.

I can feel him tensing as he thrusts his head back, the sinews of his neck taut. “Jesus! Why did we wait so long?”

I meet his words with a kiss that takes us both to the brink. He moves me vigorously, lifting me and bringing me down hard, crashing him deep into me.

“Gregory!”

I drive down hard one more time, his hips thrusting against me, and it’s our undoing. I thrust my hands into his hair, pulling it tight, and throw my head back as I erupt.

He pulses and releases inside me, barking expletives.

He lays me back on the bed and rests his sweaty body on my chest. I want to kiss him but my limbs won’t move. I’m utterly spent.

“Scarlett?”

“Hmm.”

“You are on contraceptives aren’t you?”

I open my eyes to the ceiling. Sensibility went out of the window last night
and
this morning. My only thoughts were how much I wanted to be had by him. Fucked out of my mind by this mesmerising man.

“Yes.” My pounding heart calms. “Gregory?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have any STDs do you?”

I feel him chuckle into my chest. “Not that I’m aware of.”

An honest and completely fucked up answer.

Chapter Nineteen

How quickly delirious happiness can fade into complete, utter helpless sadness.

I reluctantly let go of Gregory’s hand at the overhead blue-and-white sign pointing west to Pediatrics. He kisses my cheek then I continue alone to visit my father.

I whisper, “How’s he doing today?” as if I might wake him from a light sleep.

Sandy shrugs and offers with no conviction, “I think he has a little more colour in his cheeks.”

With a nod, I take a seat in the chair beside her.

“Well?” she asks, nudging me with her elbow.

“Well, what?” I giggle.

“Well, how was your night?”

There’s no hiding my bright red cheeks and beaming smile so I confess, “It was perfect.”

“He, he, he,” she chuckles. I nudge her shoulder, embarrassed that she can read the details of last night, and maybe this morning, from the look on my face.

“Your dress looks pretty,” I say, acknowledging the effort she’s made in her lilac wrap-over dress and small-heeled nude shoes.

“Pfft,” she replies, rolling her eyes and wafting a hand in the air.

She offers me a Rolo from a packet in her bag and for a while we eat the caramel filled chocolate in silence, listening to the sound of my father’s beeping machines. On reflection, my intentions for last night got a little, or a lot, lost. I don’t know when closure turned to going to bed with Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO Ryans but now the last thing I want is for that door to close. Nor did I ask him about Jack Jones. I think my questions about Jack fled my mind the second I saw Gregory standing outside the theatre. Or maybe when he sucked strawberry from my fingers, or when his tongue turned my clit to a quivering mess.

“Did Jackson drop you off at the hospital?” Sandy enquires in her best impression of nonchalant, breaking my mouthwatering daydream.

“Erm, no, actually Gregory drove. Why do you ask?” In spite of my teasing, she keeps her gaze firm on my father’s bed.

“Oh, Scarlett, really, I’m just trying to make conversation,” she snaps, still refusing to make eye contact with me.

“Sure,” I purr, taking another Rolo from the packet on her lap. It really is a good job I run and drag Amanda with me to yoga, otherwise I might find my size eight frame ballooning—Sandy is categorically a feeder.

Sandy slips out to the ladies’ and I stand, watching my father sleep. “Come on Dad, wake up for me. I know you can get through this.”

I lift my hand to my lips, being careful not to tug on his intravenous drip. I follow his bruises and marks from his hand, up his arm. Glancing at the doorway to make sure Sandy isn’t headed back, I move my father’s sheet and look at his black and blue ribs, his frail purple chest. Then I check his back, as far as I can see without disturbing him and the machines keeping him alive. I check his neck.

This is ridiculous.

He’s bruised because he fell down the stairs. But there was enough doubt in my mind to look.

Stop overthinking.

“Sandy!” I jump when she comes back into the room and I hurry to place my father’s sheets back around him, as though I’ve been tucking him in.

Two hours, eleven games of Hangman, three games of Naughts and Crosses and no change from my father pass before Doctor Jefferson makes his rounds. His obvious procrastination as he reads my father’s charts is further confirmation that things aren’t looking up.

“Please, can you just tell us,” I say impatiently.

He hangs the clipboard back onto the end of my father’s metal bedframe, puts his Biro back into the top pocket of his white coat and folds his arms across his chest.

“I’m afraid your father’s condition hasn’t improved as we’d hoped. His brain function doesn’t seem to be improving as the swelling reduces.”

“Can’t you wake him up?” Sandy pleads.

“It’s really about whether he’s strong enough to come ‘round. You must understand he suffered a heavy trauma.”

“There’s a chance he won’t recover.” I don’t know whether I’m telling Sandy, asking the doctor to confirm what I already know, or re-telling myself the truth of the situation.

“But he might?” Sandy almost begs.

Doctor Jefferson is visibly uncomfortable and rocks from one foot to the other, pushing his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “It think it would be sensible to prepare yourself for the worst. There’s still time but we need to see an improvement. Doctor Heath’s body is weak and unresponsive but we will keep trying, waiting. I’m not suggesting you give up hope but you need to be realistic.”

I nod and watch Sandy slump back into her seat.

“If it would help, I can arrange for someone to come and see you. We have an excellent counseling service here. Some people find it helpful.”

Sandy shakes her head, staring at my father.

“We’re fine,” I say.
He’ll come through, I know it. It’s not his time.

It’s there again, a small but repugnant sense of relief overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of hatred. For myself and everything bad in this world that happens to good people like my father.

When Doctor Jefferson leaves I tell Sandy she really must leave the hospital and do something for herself.

“And where would I go?” she asks.

“Anywhere, Sandy. Go shopping, take a bath, bake, go to the cinema. I just don’t think it’s healthy for you to be here all day, every day. I want to be here too but Dad isn’t waking up.”

Moving to his bed, I stroke my father’s cheek then place the most gentle of kisses on his warm forehead. “I love you, Dad. I always will and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sandy and I walk the long corridor away from my father arm in arm.

“Let’s just grab Gregory and we’ll give you a lift to wherever you want to go. He’s visiting the children’s ward.”

Sandy follows whilst grumbling about putting us out. Like one lift is worth more than the twenty-odd years she’s spent running around after me.

Before we even see the children, the laughter and screams of delight are infectious. Three nurses dressed in navy two-piece uniforms chuckle and shake their heads as they watch the activities of the general ward unfold. My feet move more quickly as my interest is piqued. Just before I turn the corner to see what’s causing the commotion the almighty roar of a man’s voice vibrates in my ears. I glance at the three nurses, the tallest of the three, the most sensible looking who wears her hair in a French chignon, says through her laughter, “Every time...every time we tell him not to get them too excited but does he listen?”

Turning the corner into the ward, Gregory’s tall, broad figure comes into view, towering over a group of deliriously happy children. He’s wearing the fluffy ginger head of a lion, his hands curled into stiff paws held up to the sides of his mane.

Laughter unwittingly bellows from the depths of me.

A beautiful little girl of maybe five or six with the largest, sparkling blue eyes I’ve ever seen, slowly raises a frail finger from where she stands in front of Gregory and points over his shoulder in the direction of Sandy and me. As the lion slowly turns, lowering his hands one at a time, to see Sandy and me, our laughter becomes uncontrollable. Sandy leans on me for support. Tears of sheer joy stream down my face as I hold my aching ribs in place.

“Sandy, Scarlett, come and meet my friends,” Gregory says.

He waves us over and relieves himself of the lion head, then whispers something to the little girl with sparkling eyes who nods exuberantly and flashes Gregory a toothy grin.

“Thiiiiis is Isabella,” he says, his voice straining slightly as he lifts her onto his knee, perching them both on a small pink and white toadstool.

“Hi,” I say, reaching out my hand to take hers, mesmerised by the innocence of her wide smile.

Gregory moves Isabella’s hand up and down and left and right as we try to make our hands meet for a shake which makes Isabella chuckle, the most delightful sound.

“Isabella is one of my faaavourite reasons to visit the hospital,” Gregory declares, receiving a hug from Isabella in return.

“I have cancer,” Isabella tells me in the same way she might tell me what she ate for her last meal or what time she got up in the morning.

I notice for the first time the dark clouds beneath her big, beautiful blue eyes. Her head is bald and her body under her rainbow-covered hospital gown is pale and boney.

I swallow the enormous lump of reality that has formed in my throat. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Isabella.”

“It’s okay, Gregory says it means I get to have more fun than lots of people because I get to play with my friends every day,” she says, very matter of fact.

“Well, I guess that’s true.”

“Scarlett?” she sings. “Are you Gregory’s girlfriend?”

“Oh, I, erm, well.”

I cower under the weight of the enormous question from this little girl who’s less than half my height.

“I don’t mind if you are,” she continues, breaking the awkward moment. I have no doubt it feels much longer in my mind than it is in real time. “He can just have two girlfriends.”

“Oh can he indeed?”

Gregory pulls his arm tighter around Isabella’s waist and offers her the most adorable smile. He looks me in the eye, turning my insides into knots then takes my hand and presses the base to his lips. “I’d like two girlfriends.”

* * *

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Gregory asks as we drive away from Borough Market.

Through my smirk, I ask as innocently as possible, “Looking at you like what?”

Glancing in my direction before checking his blind spot to change lanes he raises one brow to me.

“Okay, okay, it’s just, you amaze me. I mean, I would never have expected a man who drives a car like this.” I gesture toward the magnificently complex dashboard and immaculate black leather interior. “What kind of car is this anyway?”

“A Maserati Gran Turismo.”

“Right. I wouldn’t expect a man who drives a Maserati Gran Turismo, who smells divine, dresses like he just stepped off the front page of
Forbes
and who’s frankly more arrogant and aggressive than a hungry lion at work, to be so...so...” I shake my head, struggling to find the words to articulate how I feel, “...wonderful and caring.”

“You don’t know me as well as you might like to think, Scarlett.”

Casting my gaze to my fingers in my lap, I try to hide the fact he’s just verbally punched me in the gut. I want to know him. Everything there is to know.

“Those kids did nothing to deserve the hand they’ve been dealt in life. They’re just kids, pure, innocent. They’ve been born into a certain life, scarred by disease. I like to see that they can still laugh. I want to help them remember the good things they have, the reason they fight to stay alive.”

His words are somber, betraying his confident exterior.
What are you hiding beneath your skin, Mr. Ryans?

“Children shouldn’t have to deal with what’s dark in the world.”

“Are we still talking about the children in the hospital?” I ask warily.

He swallows, his features set and strong. Then he leans back in his seat, one arm working the steering wheel, the other moving to rest on my thigh.

“If my money and time can help make those children laugh and feel like someone cares, even a little bit, that makes me feel—It gives me a reason. A Purpose. My going there to visit isn’t a selfless act.”

It seems completely selfless to me but his face is forlorn as he focuses on the road ahead. I stroke his hand then entwine my fingers in his, receiving a squeeze in return. On some level, I understand. When my mother left me, I asked myself why I was even born. That my father needs me gives me purpose. And there’s still an element of me, despite my acceptance of my mother having left now, that works so hard because helping others achieve their goals gives me worth too. Gregory’s past runs deeper than that, darker than that, I’m certain of it. But I think I can empathise on some level.

I grip his hand tightly. I’m starting to think I have a new, gorgeous, accomplished and utterly spellbinding reason to be alive.

“I look like I just stepped off the front page of a magazine,” he says thoughtfully. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Shrugging, I let him answer his own question. “Where are we going?”

He shrugs—
touché.
His browns twinkle and there’s the ghost of a smile around his lips. I lean back in my heated seat feeling the warm embrace of contented silence.

Buildings fade into trees clutching to retain their last leaves. The sound of congestion and the burn of red traffic lights are displaced by the soft whisper of tyres on open country roads. The scenery whizzes past my window so fast that it reflects the dream I feel like I’m starring in, the kind of dream that you know, even in your subconscious, is too fantastic to be real.

Gregory brings the car to a stop, encouraging my eyes to open.
Oh I didn’t!

“You look cute when you sleep,” he teases. The very words I did not want to hear.

“Oh gosh.” I fumble to check my clothes are in place, quickly doing a drool swipe of my mouth and chin just in case. “I’m so sorry, it’s the motion.”

“You must have needed it.” He’s smirking as he leans his head back onto his headrest.

“No need to be so cocky.”

Searching our surroundings, I look for anything to help me legitimately change the subject. I have no idea where we are. The sky is clear, the day looks fresh. It takes time for the unfamiliar sight of fruitless vines in perfectly parallel rows to sink into my mind. A smile takes over my opened mouth as I turn in my seat to an ivy-covered archway and hanging from it, a sign engraved with the words
Chapel Down
.

“Chapel Down? You brought me to Chapel Down?” I shriek.

Gregory is now wearing an even more self-satisfied grin than before, a grin that makes him enigmatic, beautiful and irritating to me all at once.

“Well, how mistaken I was to think you knew about wine. You’ve brought me to an English vineyard in one of the few months you are guaranteed to find vines with no grapes.”

My face is emotionless as I watch Gregory’s mouth open and close like a fish, silently gulping water.