Husband Stay (Husband #2) (13 page)

I had a moment’s
hesitation, but he was so persuasive. His hand slid off my thigh to caress its
way up my hip and past my waist to the edge of one breast, stroking under it
with his thumb.

And I melted.

I just…relaxed
into the chair, into the kiss, into his caresses, until I completely forgot
where we were, what we’d been saying, and what I thought of him. All that
mattered was the wholly new and incredible ricochets of pleasure he was
creating in my body with the slightest touch.

A soft buzzing in
my ears enveloped me along with Jack’s masculine scent which pulled me to a
higher level of excitement, amplifying every tingle and sizzle. It was like lying
in a warm, effervescent pool with bubbles stimulating my skin on the inside.

I was so lost in
it, it was only when Jack leant back to his seat, taking his time sliding his
hand over me on the way, that I caught my breath and opened my eyes to find the
hostess standing beside us with the drinks cart.

“Coffee?” she asked
dryly.

“No thank you,” I
choked out, mortified beyond anything I’d ever known before.

In sharp contrast,
Jack smiled up at her. “I’ll have a whisky thanks. Neat.”

For him, she came
alight, fluttering her eyelashes and taking her time handing him the drink,
making chit-chat over the complimentary snacks. Etcetera. And the whole time I
sat there, staring at the wall in front of me, wishing a hole would open up and
swallow me.

When she’d moved
on, he said conversationally, “For a woman whose life is about
more than
sexual gratification
, you certainly—”

“You know what?” I
turned on him. “Just because you can…” I lowered my voice. “… make me excited,
doesn’t mean I want to—”

“You do, admit
it.” All pretense of humility was gone now as he smirked at me over the rim of
the glass.

“Doesn’t mean I’m
going to. Especially not with a trickster like you.”

“Trickster?” He
raised both eyebrows. “Now then. I haven’t been called that before.”

“I’m sure you’ve
been called lots of things.”

“Not trickster.”
He pretended to frown and consider that. “Am I to understand that you feel
tricked? In what way have I misrepresented myself and my intentions here?”

“Romance?” I said
cynically. “Come on. You just want…” I dropped my voice again. “You just want
to get into my pants.”

He grinned, as if
he couldn’t quite believe what I’d said. “What sixties movie did you fall out
of?
Get into my pants?
Baby, if it was all about my own pleasure, I’d be
wanting you inside
my
pants.”

My cheeks were so
hot, I was sure the hostess would be back with a fire extinguisher.

“Except,” he went
on, “This has always been about your pleasure, Angel baby. Not mine.”

I swallowed down
embarrassment. This was an adult conversation. I could handle it. “Are you
going to tell me that’s why you’re pursuing me, for a ‘date’ and ‘romance’, so
you can give me…orgasms,” I whispered.

His smile widened
and I had the distinct feeling that he was amused by me. But he only said,
“Among other things?”

“What things?”

The moment the
words were out of my mouth, I wanted them back. I didn’t want to hear about the
things he wanted to do with me, but it was too late. He leant down to whisper
against my ear—ostensibly to maintain the privacy I wanted—but all that did was
send warm breaths of whisky against my neck, making me excited all over again
as he said, “Well if we’re going to keep up our ratio of three to one, then I’m
obviously going to have some orgasms myself, and I’ve been thinking about how
I’d like that to play out…”

I stared at the
wall in front of me, my good hand clenched in my lap as he told me in graphic
detail all the many and varied ways he’d imagined we might use our various body
parts—and props—to achieve those orgasms, not to mention the variety of ways he
intended to make me climax.

It was both the
best and worst conversation of my life. And while part of me wanted it to
stop
right now
, there was an undeniably sensuous part of me stirring to life,
considering the options he was mooting and favoring some over others.

I was appalled at
myself, and double-appalled at him.

When he’d
finished, I turned to face him, ready to shut him down. But his face was only
inches away, and breathing that delicious whisky scented breath, I was tempted—so
very tempted—to kiss him. Just be done with it. Stop fighting. Because right at
that moment, I was fighting.

My body’s impulse
was to give in to whatever pleasure he wanted to administer, and take instruction
on how to return the favor. I could do that. I could tell Kamal I had a meeting
and I could let Jack take me somewhere with a bed.

Alternately, I
could pretend the whole one-night-stand hadn’t happened, and move on. I knew
which option would give me more ability to focus and concentrate, and surely
I’d need those attributes if I was to make the right decision about my singing
future. In the end, I knew that’s what I had to concentrate on if I was to have
any ability to pay my bills.

Worrying about my mother
finding out about my promiscuity had nothing to do with it…

The captain’s
voice came over the loud speaker, announcing our imminent arrival in Sydney.
Seatbelts on. Phones off. That gave me precious seconds to calm myself. And when
the cabin was silent again, I said, “I’m afraid I’ll be too busy to explore
your imaginative scenarios. I’ve got a career to pursue.”

He leant back and
his beautiful mouth turned down at the corners. “One minute you’re sexy and amenable,
the next you’re arrogantly dismissive—”

“
Arrogant?
Me?”
I blinked at him in outrage. “You’re the one—”

“When?” His chin
tilted up, demanding.

“At breakfast,” I
shot back. “Waving your…” I pointed at his nethers. “In my face and expecting
me to jump back into bed with you.”

“Don’t confuse sexual
confidence with arrogance. They’re two completely different things.”

That made me
falter. Were they? “So you’re telling me you’re just confident—”

“Of making you
howl with pleasure? Yes, ma’am.”

The hostess took
that moment to return and he handed over his empty glass, as if he had no idea
that she’d overheard our conversation. I couldn’t bear the embarrassment a
moment longer so I turned away and put my good hand up over one ear. “I’m not
listening to this. You’re not going to humiliate me into having sex with you.”

“So reminders of
how I’ve pleasured you won’t work…” From the corner of my eye I could see him
counting off fingers. “Humiliation is off the list, and I suppose romance was a
silly idea anyway because you’re far too busy with your career?”

Finally, he was
listening. I dropped my hand. “Correct.”

“So it’s not just
me. You’re not having sex with anyone?”

“With anyone,” I
agreed, although I wasn’t sure why he wanted to qualify that. “I’m all about
the work.” In reality, I couldn’t imagine anyone else being able to elicit the
responses he’d so easily drawn from my body, but I wasn’t about to admit that. I
just wanted the embarrassing conversation over and done with.

“Okay.” He shrugged,
as if the subject was closed. “So, if I see you in the news with some boy-band
member draped around your neck, I’ll know it’s publicity and not sex.”

I frowned at him
for almost a full minute before I said, “
What
are you talking about?”

He pulled his
phone out of his shirt pocket. “Have you seen the videos of you singing last
night on
YouTube
?”

I frowned at his
phone. “I saw Jill’s.”

“Did you read the
comments under them?”

“No.”

I tried not to be
anxious while I waited for his response, but it seemed to take eternity. While
I waited, the plane landed and taxied. It was only when the ‘fasten seatbelts’
light went out that he said, “Read them, Angel. You’ve got my phone number.”

Then he flipped
his seatbelt off and stood into the aisle, chatting to the hostess as they
waited for the door to open. I sat back against the window, looking at him,
telling myself I was relieved this was the last I’d see of him.

But I took my time
in the inspection, from the worn heels of his cowboy boots up long legs and
over the most scrumptious male butt I’d ever seen, then to an expanse of back
I’d alternately stroked and clawed in excitement, past wide, wide shoulders to
that soft brown hair that just touched the collar of his white shirt.

Seen objectively,
he was one hell of a good looking man, and despite the fact that he confused me
with his behavior—cocky one minute and humble the next—I had a sudden instinct
I’d never forget him. I also imagined that, given time, I’d be very grateful
for what he’d shown me.

I
was
a
sexy, responsive woman who could have as many orgasms as her caring partner
wanted to bestow. In fact, during sex, I could bestow orgasms on myself. That
had been one of his fantasies: standing in front of a mirror and watching me
stroke my clitoris while he took me from behind—watching me bring myself off.

I’ve got his
phone number
.

I could
call
him if I wanted to. Even if I decided to take my singing to the next level,
surely I’d need some time off, to relax. And what sort of relaxation could be
better for the body than orgasms. Only, what if Jack was busy then, if he’d
moved on to someone else? Would he be ‘amenable’ to fitting me into his
schedule? And would I like that? Being part of a schedule?

No. I didn’t think
I would. Last night I hadn’t given it a thought, but if I had, I would have imagined
I was his only lover right at this moment in time. But maybe that wasn’t true.

A shockingly
strong impulse to ask him came and went. Then I watched as he strode off the
plane without a backward glance. When most of the passengers had disembarked,
the hostess retrieved my handbag for me. I scrabbled around the floor one-handed
and found my drink bottle and tissue packet, but I wasn’t in a rush to leave.
The last thing I wanted was to see Jack at the baggage claim. Better to let him
leave and come in for my suitcase later. So I sat with my phone in my hand, an
easy search away from looking at those comments on
YouTube
.

Wondering why I
was nervous.

“Mummy-ji, I’m
sorry if—”

“
No. I am
sorry, Angela
,” she said sharply. “
I am sorry that you are such a
disrespectful daughter who thinks more of her own vanity than she does of her
mother’s happiness.
”

I breathed in
slowly through my nose, trying to calm myself down, but my pulse was racing. The
only good thing about this conversation was that I was in the apartment alone.
Kamal had gone out for lunch with friends. So I straightened myself on the edge
of the bed and tried to get through it as quickly as I could. I knew from past
experience that when my mother got truly wound up, she was difficult to stop.

“If you’re talking
about my singing, I haven’t decided—”

“
You are
clearly on a path of material gain,
” she snapped. “
Not a path of
nurturing, as you should be, especially at your age.
”

I took another
long slow breath, reminding myself that although this conversation was
unpleasant, at least it wasn’t about Jack and morality. I could be thankful of
that. So I tried again with, “I understand your concerns,” and when she would
have spoken over me I hurried on with, “…but as I said at the start of the call,
I haven’t decided on anything. I simply have options.”

“
You do not
have the option of being a mother. You rejected that option when you threw your
husband out of his home.”

What?
I
stared blindly across the room, and for the very first time, while speaking to
my mother, I felt something flare inside me—a kernel of grief opening up to
reveal hot anger. Before I could stop myself I said, “He threw
me
out,
Mummy-ji. I am the one who has no home, and who will never own a home unless—”

“
If you had a
husband, you would not need a job.
”

“And what happens
if I marry again and he divorces me, if he decides to replace me with someone
else?” I could hear my voice rising and I had no hope of calming myself. Thirty-five
years of resentment was bubbling up. “What if I am sixty and he owns the house?
What then, Mummy-ji?”

She was
uncharacteristically silent, and I jumped into the gap, my heart racing with
reckless fury. “Can you imagine how you’d feel if your husband threw you out
and you had nothing? Not even health insurance.”

“
Your Daniel
would never—
”

“You have no idea
what he’s capable of. And you’ve never asked me about my side of the story, so
don’t talk to me about disrespect!”

Amazingly, in the
next second I flung Kamal’s cordless phone onto the floor so hard it bounced
and hit the door, then I stood up and kicked it for good measure, thinking—but
somehow managing to stop myself saying—
Unfeeling bitch!

I was trembling
from head to foot as I stood in the center of my bedroom, staring at the phone
which was ominously silent on the other side of the room. Belatedly I walked
across and snatched it up, still shaking as I hit the End Call button. Then I
walked it back into the living room and slammed it into its cradle.

Now you’ve done
it.

I stood staring at
the phone, trying to push my adrenalin aside to work out what the hell had just
happened. I’d never spoken to my mother like that before. Ever. And I wasn’t
sure what the outcome would be. Miraculously, however, I didn’t regret what I’d
done. If anything, I felt a soaring sense of elation, as if I’d just climbed a
mountain and was gazing down at the vista—which was beautiful.

I knew I could
ring Jill or Fritha or Louella and they’d be thrilled for me. But this was a revelation
I needed to absorb on my own. I’d stood up to a bully. And the only consequence
I could see was that she might not speak to me again, which would ultimately
mean an end to the bullying.

Why had I not done
this decades ago?

There had to be a punishment
I wasn’t remembering, but I couldn’t think past relief to properly assess the
damage. Perhaps I’d ruined my relationship with my father as well. But right in
that moment I felt so good I wanted to start singing showtunes.

And that reminded
me…

I went back into
the bedroom, picked up my own phone and looked at the text that had come
through from Noah Steele’s assistant. It had contact details for agent extraordinaire
Rosie Tatts, who was confirmed as wanting to meet me. Jill’s text had followed soon
after with
Just talk to her. You don’t have to commit.
Clearly Finn had
kept her in the loop.

Talking to Rosie
Tatts was sensible. I knew that. I’d be crazy to ignore the opportunity, not to
mention rude to Noah Steele who’d gone out of his way to help me. So I was more
than willing to meet her. I just wasn’t…excited.

I was confused
about the whole baby/career issue, not to mention shockingly distracted by Jack
and his offer of regular mind-blowing sex. But I had to forget that, because no
matter what happened about my singing, I needed to spend all my free-time
looking for a good father—now, while I was still fertile.

First things
first, however. I needed a job to pay my bills and singing would certainly be
easier than working in the deli while I had a broken wrist. I rang Rosie’s
office and her secretary said she was currently in Sydney, so I made an
appointment to see her the next morning, thinking
it’s just opening a
discussion
. I wouldn’t be committing myself to anything.

Then I rang
Louella to fill her in on my career news—leaving out the fact that I’d had my
first ever one-night-stand and just hung up on my mother. There was only so much
you could say over the phone.

Louella sounded
surprisingly well for a woman with such a bad flu that she couldn’t go to the
launch. And when she heard I was coming into the city for an appointment, she
organized to meet me for lunch, confirming my suspicion that the illness had
been a cover story. I wondered if I’d hear the real reason for her boycott. I
hoped it was nothing to do with Frith or Jill. I found dissent among the four
of us hard to weather.

But there was no
point worrying about that in advance. Instead I forced myself to mundane
things, like washing clothes and making dinner, albeit slowly with one hand.
When I had to take Kamal’s clothes out of the dryer so I could use it, I found
myself wondering what it would be like to fold another man’s underwear and iron
his shirts. Not that I did that for Kamal. I just dumped his clothes on his
bed. But I had for Danny. And I knew I would again, or at least I hoped I
would, when I found the right man.

Jack was wrong in
every way, except for sex. He was
very
right for that, and despite my
resolve to stop thinking about him, I had only mindless tasks that afternoon so
I spent way too much time remembering the scent of his skin, the taste of his
kisses and the hard, hot strength of his body.

As I awkwardly peeled
bananas one-handed for the curry, I couldn’t help myself wondering what
fellatio would be like. Then the mail arrived with a cell phone bill that would
wipe out the rest of my savings. I was mulling that over when my phone rang, so
I grabbed it absently, wondering if Louella had changed her mind about lunch.

“
Angel baby
.”

I sucked in a
surprised breath, and couldn’t help myself glancing at the banana skins.
Bad
girl!

“Jack.” I even
sounded guilty. “How did you get my number?”

“
Phone
directory
.” Oh! “
I forgot to give you those forms to sign
.” He
sounded so
sexy over the phone I could hardly think.

“Forms?”

“
The insurance
forms, so you can get a refund on your hospital expenses
.”

I glanced down at
my phone bill. An insurance payout would save me borrowing money from Kamal.
But before I could wonder if Jack’s generosity would come with a price, I
registered the fact that he sounded all business—even hurried, as if he’d just
remembered me and had something better to do.

“
Angel?
”

“Sorry. I forgot
about the insurance claim.”

“
So did I
.”
I heard a clunking sound, as if he was doing something while he was talking to
me. It usually annoyed me when people did that because it seemed impolite, but
on this occasion, it calmed my libido. “
I’m leaving town tomorrow night
,”
he said, then I heard him say in a muffled voice, “
Sure, put that down on
the table by the window,
” as if he had his hand over the receiver. Then his
voice was clear again, “
I’m sorry I can’t bring them to you, but if you can
come to my hotel to sign them, I’ll lodge them straight away with a priority
request
.”

More muffled
instructions to someone, and when they finished and I heard silence again, I
said, “Sure. Give me the address.”

It was a swanky
hotel at The Rocks, a short taxi ride from where Louella and I would be lunching,
so I arranged to meet him in the lobby at 2pm. Seconds later he’d ended the
call and I was left staring at my phone, thinking
That was unexpected.

The last thing I’d
imagined was a disinterested Jack. And despite the fact that I was the one
who’d said no to an arrangement/dating/romance, my pride was stung. He’d moved
on. Seemingly effortlessly.

Later that night
while Kamal was out clubbing, I lay in bed, still thinking about Jack. I should
have been worrying about meeting the agent, or the fact that I had no idea how
my mother was reacting to my tantrum. But instead I was thinking about Jack’s
hands on my body, his mouth on mine, and the fact that he could make me climax
so
easily
. I should have been elated about that. But instead, I felt
disturbed. What if it only happened with him?

I rolled around,
restlessly, and then decided I was uncomfortable enough to take off my pajamas,
which I never did. The night I’d spent naked in Jack’s arms was one of a
handful of nights I’d slept without pajamas in my life.

Even after sex
with Danny, I’d gone to the bathroom to clean myself up and dressed in a pajama
top and briefs, at the very least. But now, I wanted them off, even though the
building might catch fire or Kamal might have some bizarre reason to knock on
my door in the night, or…whatever other reason I’d told myself I needed to be
dressed. I didn’t.

So in a rebellion
against my mother I slipped out of bed and took my loose tee-shirt and shorts
off, recklessly stripping my briefs off as well. The sheets were cool against
my skin as I slipped back into bed, but I ignored that. I ignored everything except
the memory of Jack’s bed, Jack’s fingers, Jack’s mouth.

It should have
been no surprise, then, that my hand might find its way to my breast, and then lower.
My cast lay heavy at my side as I stroked, tweaked, slipped and slid into
places that would lead me toward an orgasm. It was one-handed, admittedly, but
I was frustrated by how slowly my arousal moved, how awkwardly. I could feel
the sensations building, but after my molten experience with Jack, it was
disappointingly one-dimensional.

I could see now
that lovemaking with Jack had been overwhelming because the sensations had been
multiple and constantly moving. He’d surprised me by knowing erogenous zones
I’d never discovered, and Danny hadn’t bothered to look for. And he’d always
seemed to be doing several things at once. With only one working hand, I
stroked my inner wrist against my nipples but it wasn’t the same as his hot
mouth against either sensitive area.

Nothing was as
good, and in the end when my persistent stroking drove me to orgasm, it was
oddly hollow. My muscles still contracted, my body still shuddered, and
pleasure jerked around inside my body, but it wasn’t warm, or intimate or even
particularly satisfying. The sheets felt cold around me afterwards, and I had
an immediate urge to put my pajamas back on.

I told myself it
was just the cast—no one can do it properly one-handed. But as I lay in that
cold bed, I suspected something terrible—that a single night of lovemaking had
spoilt me forever.

I didn’t care
about my mother’s opinion of promiscuity then. All I could think about was Jack
being Shiva to my Shakti. And if he was, I was in serious trouble, because his
voice over the phone told me clearly that he’d moved on. Even if I had the
courage to tell him I’d changed my mind, he might not want me, and if he did,
it would surely be only for a limited time, until he grew bored.

Where did that
leave me?