Limerence (7 page)

“What?” I whisper.

“Hide your face from me. You have a very beautiful face, Mia, and I like to see it.” His steady gaze holds me in place. His hand is cold on my chin, yet his fingers are soft and firm all at the same time. I look into his face, to his chiselled jaw with its light dusting of hair, and his soft, plump lips.

I swallow; I want him to kiss me. Right here, right now. I want to feel his lips locked on mine, his tongue probing deep into my mouth, his lips dancing against mine whilst his arms hold me against his body. I shiver at the anticipation of his touch.

I think of Oliver and blink, feeling disgusted with myself and my behaviour.

“I…I erm, I have to go.” I grab my things from the table and begin dropping them into my satchel. I zip it up and look up to him again. Hurt shadows across his handsome face, and I feel awful that I have offended him. But my heart lies with Oliver. He watches me with sad eyes, and I feel guilt chewing me up inside.

The air seems charged, like there’s a current of electricity running between us, and his proximity is making me feel quite literally weak at the knees. He still has not moved, but continues to look at me, a small frown puckering between his eyes.

“Excuse me,” my voice is brusque, and I will him to move out of the way for me. I feel like crying. I haven’t done anything wrong…not really. But I feel so bad. It’s not what I have done, but what I
want
to do that shames me. He looks perplexed, his eyes darkening as he fights an internal battle with himself.

“Excuse me,” I say again, stronger now.

He finally stands and steps aside, and I shuffle out of my seat, brushing past his hard body as I squeeze out of the small space. I shiver again, letting the goose bumps trail up and down my back. I take one long last look at him. How can one man look so attractive in what is essentially just a suit? It is without doubt a ridiculously expensive one, but a suit none-the -less. He has the ability to fill it with so much desire that it seems to be oozing out of every pocket. I swallow, realising that my thoughts are running away from me again.

“Thank you,” I mutter. His hand reaches out for me, skimming my hair as I make a dash for the door. I give a quick nod to Mum noticing her frowning, and I know my guilt is written all over my face. I am going to be getting a lengthy phone call from her later, but that’s the least of my worries right now.

Friday dawns and I want to cheer. The day can’t go fast enough; all I want to do is let my hair down and have some fun.
We have lots of plans this weekend, but I intend to find some time for just me and Ollie. Unless he is going to have to work that is.

I frown, kicking myself for not trying to squeeze more information from him last night, but he had pretty much fallen asleep right after eating. I have never seen him take a job so seriously before.

Sure, he loves his job and he always works hard, but this seems like something more. Like he is on a one-man mission to complete it. I roll my eyes when it dawns on me.

He said at the beginning of the week that he wanted the job over and done with. I just hadn’t realised he had meant so quickly. He can’t carry on at this rate though; he’s burning himself out. To top things off, Bill has buggered off somewhere with a barely legible note to explain. Something about an aunt being poorly or an aunt dying? I can’t remember what Ollie told me. Either way, his timing is impeccable.

*

The pub is crowded and noisy with most of the staff from Delamere College. Even though it’s still relatively early, most people seemed to have clocked off for the weekend.

I pick up my phone and check it for the fifteenth time in half an hour to see if Oliver has called me. He hasn’t.
No new messages
, my voicemail states again and I grumble as I drop it back on to the table next to my empty beer bottle.

“I’m getting another drink if anyone wants one,” I call over to the rest of our group. Rachael, Mary-Lou, Eddy (our resident science teacher), and the new sociology teacher, Chris Mayer, are all perched on little stools around a small wooden table. He’s not as good looking as Mary-Lou had made out, but he is attractive. Rachael seems smitten with him and hasn’t left his side since joining us in the pub.

Oliver should be here also, but I’m guessing he’s stuck at work again. I haven’t heard from him all day and I can feel myself worrying about him, but since he still refuses to answer my calls or texts whilst he’s over there, there’s not much I can do. Anyway, the last thing that I want to do is get him into trouble by pestering. I’ve left him two messages and he knows where I’m going to be. I check my phone again out of habit .

No new messages.
I slip it into my jeans pocket and make my way over to the bar with Mary-Lou.

“You okay, Mia?” She waves her money at the bartender, trying to get his attention, but he slips past and serves someone else and she mutters something under her breath.

“Yeah, just waiting on Ollie. He should be here by now.” I glance towards the door as someone comes in, but it’s not Oliver.

Mary-Lou’s eyes are following the bartender backwards and forwards. “He’s working over at the new place, right?” she asks distractedly, leaning forward with a sexy pout. He’s a young guy—much younger than Mary-Lou, who’s closing in on forty. She’s attractive and charming but the bar man seems more intent on serving the younger women with more flesh on display.

“Yeah.”

“He’s just busy then, sweetheart. I wouldn’t worry. He’ll be here soon enough, unlike our drinks.” She leans further over the bar. “Hey, doll face, a drink sometime soon would be great!”

The bartender looks up with a grimace. He finishes up with his customer and comes over to us.

As we make our way back to the table, I can’t help but notice Rachael is draped across Chris, looking at him and laughing loudly at something he’s said. Rachael drinks more when she’s flirting and she flirts more when she’s drinking; it’s a vicious circle. Although not drunk yet, she is well on her way and the night is still young. They do make a cute couple, though, and he seems to like her just as much. She deserves someone like him, someone smart and attentive. She comes across loud and arrogant, but inside she’s a jumble of romantic mush—no matter how much she tries to deny it.

Two hours later and eight beers down, I can feel I’ve drunk far too much. I have been ordering a drink for Oliver every time someone has gone to the bar, thinking that he would be here soon, but then I’ve ended up drinking it myself when he hasn’t turned up.
Waste not, want not
seems to be my motto tonight. Now I’ve drunk twice what I would normally drink in half the amount of time.

“Mia!” Rachael shouts over to me, interrupting my conversation with Eddy about his
lovely, lovely daughter
and
her clever, clever husband who works for a bank
.

“What’s up?” I take another swig of my beer, knowing even as I do it that I shouldn’t have any more.

“Chris and I are going to head over to The Red Room. Are you coming along?” She’s grinning at me from ear to ear, clearly smitten with him.

I love The Red Room. It has live music at the weekends and holds special open-mic sessions that Oliver and I like to enter. I’m tempted to go, but I look at my watch, and see it’s past nine thirty. Now I really am beginning to worry about him. I haven’t spoken to him since he left for work this morning. He said he would be finishing early tonight and would meet me here around five thirty, but I haven’t heard a peep.

“Let me give Ollie a call—see where he’s at.” I wobble when I stand and make my way outside where it’s quieter. It rings and rings but he doesn’t pick up. Eventually it goes to voicemail and I leave yet another message.

The fresh air makes my head spin. I have drunk way too much and decide it’s probably best if I make a move home. I stumble back inside and grab my bag.

“I’m going to go home.” I kneel by Rachael’s chair. “Think I’ll wait in for Ollie. I’ve still not heard from him and he’s not answering his phone.”

She leans in and gives me a quick hug. “He’s fine, sweetie, you know what he’s like when he’s working. He probably hasn’t even noticed the time.” She looks at her watch as she says this and frowns right along with me. “Well, maybe his phone ran out of battery.” I see Chris eyeing up our conversation from over her shoulder with a grin.

“Yeah,” I say without meaning.

“Stop worrying, Mia; he’s a big boy now.” Chris leans over, placing his hand on Rachael’s thigh, and giving it a little squeeze. “I’m sure he’s fine. Just lost track of time I bet,” he continues, smiling even wider at me, making me feel even more childish than Rachael had. “Come on, come with us,” he pleads.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try and stop worrying, but I really do have to get home. I shouldn’t have drunk so much,” I laugh. “My head is not going to thank me in the morning.” Even as I say it, I know it will make no difference and that I will continue to worry until Oliver’s home with me. I give Rachael a kiss on the cheek and stand back up, the beer rushing to my head once again.

“Right, I’m off, guys. I’ll see you Monday morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” I giggle, and do a big wave and a curtsy to everyone.

“You want me to walk you home, love?” Eddy asks like a true gentleman, sipping his Diet Coke.

I smile at him. “No, don’t be daft, I’ll be fine. It’s only a ten minute walk. Thanks, though.” I smile appreciatively and head for the door. “Lovely to meet you, Chris. I look forward to seeing you around the college. Mary-Lou, it’s been a pleasure as always.” I do another big wave and leave into the cold night.

The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, and the air is beginning to chill as I pick up my pace to the apartment. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing that I hadn’t had those last two beers. Or the four before them. I wonder for the umpteenth time what could have happened to Oliver. This is beginning to get silly; if he’s not going to answer my calls, he could at least give me the courtesy of a phone call. Even a text would do
.

I’ve been sitting around all week wondering if he is all right and when he would be getting home. Well I’m not about to spend the next three months—like he’d said it would take—doing the same thing. Next week will have to be different. I need to speak to him about a lot of things. I wonder whether to mention what happened in the coffee shop with Mr Breckt. What would I tell him though?
Your boss fed me some of my Banoffee pie.
That just sounds ridiculous. He probably won’t even take me seriously. However, it had been more than just feeding me the pie; it had been raw and sexual. I know in my heart that something is happening between Mr Breckt and me. Something that a part of me deep down wants, but my heart does not.

I love Oliver, that I do not doubt, but there is something about Mr Breckt that sets my body alight when he’s near. I’m sure he feels it too; it can’t just be me, can it?

Footsteps interrupt my thoughts, and I glance behind me, but don’t see anything. Even so, I pick up my pace. A chill runs down my spine for some inexplicable reason. I’m only round the corner from the apartment now; I cannot wait to get inside in the warmth and order some food. My stomach rumbles in joy at the thought of food and no more alcohol.

I hear footsteps again and take another look behind me. Still nothing, but I am definitely spooked. I look round and notice that there isn’t anyone else about. A couple of the corner shops are shutting, the lights going off, but no other signs of movement. I fumble in my bag for my key as I see my door approaching, and realise I am near enough jogging now.

Too bad I’m not wearing trainers, I think as I trip over in my heels and land heavily on my knees. Pain shoots up them and I cry out.

I stumble to my feet, my stomach lurching in protest at the too quick movements. The beer sloshes about inside me and my mouth begins to water. I panic for a moment that I am going to throw it all back up, and try to take deep, steadying breaths to settle my stomach back down. In through my nose, out through my mouth; in through my nose, out through my mouth. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.
Well this is embarrassing.
I laugh at myself for getting into this situation.

“Mia, are you okay?” The sound of his voice does its usual trick on my stomach and it flips. It’s more than my body can take, and I find myself heaving on to the floor, the contents of my stomach hitting the pavement in a loud and unattractive splat.

His arms wrap round my waist as he holds me up, but I push him away.
This cannot be happening,
I think as I retch repeatedly. He reaches for my hair, to hold it back from my face.

“Get off me!” I yell, as I wipe my face with the back of my hand.

Mr Breckt’s arms are around my shoulders again as I try to stand. I try to push him away but he’s made of stone and doesn’t budge. Looking into his handsome face, I expect to see pity, but instead there’s only concern, and perhaps a little annoyance. His strong arms hold me steady on my feet, which I am both glad for and uncomfortable with.

“Let me help you, Mia,” he says firmly.

“Thanks, but I’m feeling much better,” I lie, fumbling in my bag for my keys. His hand holds them out to me, and I have a vague memory of dropping them. It’s all I can do to pray that I didn’t throw up on them. I take them and thankfully they’re dry.

I struggle for a few moments to get the key in the little hole: but the hole is small and the key is being difficult. I feel him behind me, waiting for me to open the door. His breath on the back of my neck, his proximity far too close and intimate. I want to shout at him to go away. Of all the ways I want him to see me, this is not one of them.
What is he even doing here?
my subconscious jumps in. Oh god, I am so embarrassed. My cheeks flush again and the sudden blood makes my head spin as I tilt to the side, but his arms are there to catch me. Of course they are.

He takes my keys and opens the door, swiftly picking me up in his arms and carrying me up the stairs into the apartment before I can protest at his manhandling. I can feel his muscles straining beneath his clothes, and a flush of heat and desire runs through me. He unlocks the inner door and carries me over to the sofa, gently laying me upon it, and wanders off. I keep my eyes closed whilst the world spins and I curse myself again for drinking so much on an empty stomach.
I will never drink again!

“Mia,” his voice is right next to me, his sweet breath blows on my cheeks and my eyes flutter open. “Drink this.” He hands me some water and I gratefully take it. I push myself up into a sitting position, slipping my shoes off as I do.

I take a sip and then another, swilling it around my mouth and swallowing with a grimace. He is kneeling by me, his face expressionless as he watches my every move, his arms folded across his body. He is not in his typical suit, but jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt. I can see the edges of a tattoo on one of his arms and his strong muscles under the material. My fingers twitch to stroke his skin and trace his tattoos; heat surges through me. He notices me staring at him and his lips twitch in amusement and I blush again and look away.

“I’m fine now, thank you.” I need him to leave. I can feel my pulse racing as he looks me over, my body quivering at the thought of him holding me again.

“That was a very dangerous situation you just put yourself in, Mia,” he says. “You never know who could be out there.”

My mouth takes over from me before I can think about what I’m saying. “What, like you? And I wouldn’t have been in that situation, as you put it, if my fiancé would have been with me like he was supposed to be,” I snipe back.