Move Over Darling (16 page)

‘Yep, they should have listened to Doris. Their lips certainly shouldn’t have touched!’ He laughed. ‘Now, would you like a drink, since you didn’t have one in the interval? We can get one here?’

Back to reality. She’d been too busy people-watching, laughing and chatting with Gethin and simply absorbing the atmosphere of the occasion to want to leave her seat during the intermission, but the evening was rapidly drawing to a close. She shook her head, gaining herself some time to squash down the sudden lump in her throat that was making it hard to talk.

‘No, you’re right.’ He reached for her hand as they stood up to squeeze along the row of seats. ‘We’ll go somewhere quieter.’ He started to edge his way forward. ‘Isn’t that what always happens in opera?’ he asked, over his shoulder, as they waited for a gap. ‘They were two people from different sides of the tracks. They were never going to settle down in a cottage with roses round the door and have babies together.’

He could have been speaking about them, thought Coralie, a sudden sense of anti-climax making her feel glum. ‘Just because you can see it coming doesn’t mean you have to like it,’ she mumbled.

He stood back to allow her to thread her way into the queue of people squeezing towards the stairs and fell into step behind her. Imagine if she’d fallen for Gethin Lewis, she thought, trying to ignore the warmth of his body against hers as he ushered her through the throng.

Two people from different sides of the ocean. What chance could there be for them when the place of her dreams was the place of his nightmares? Move over darling? Not a hope; of course it would never work.

‘Thank you for tonight, Gethin,’ she said, making a determined attempt to compose herself once they were outside. ‘I’ll always remember it.’

‘And so will I, Coralie.’ He smiled. ‘You may be a lousy model but your face was a picture there. You lived every moment of that story, didn’t you?’

Not the opera, she wanted to tell him, the evening. To put all her problems to one side for a few hours and to sit there, daring to dream that the attractive man holding her hand was someone who cared for her, had given her a glimpse of how life could be. She closed her eyes before the shimmer of tears she could feel welling up were caught by the sparkle of the strings of white lights in the trees and betrayed her.

‘Hey.’ He lifted her chin. ‘I was joking about the model bit. It’s not you. It’s me.’ His hand was warm against her cheek and it took all she had not to lean into him when she was so aware of how very lonely her life had become.

‘Coralie?’

The lilt of his accent almost made her knees buckle. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes to find his dark gaze on hers, full of yearning. In her head, she could hear Doris Day singing out a warning, telling her that their lips shouldn’t touch, but Coralie ignored her. Who cared about the rest of the world? Who cared about tomorrow? Then her arms went up and she lifted her face to meet his lips as his mouth came down on hers. All that mattered was the heat of his hands through the silk of her dress and his hot, hard body pressing against hers.

Oh, the relief of giving into what every fibre of her being had been crying out to do was all the sweeter for the agony of waiting. This was Gethin. Gethin Lewis, who’d branded himself on her imagination ever since that first unforgettable glimpse of him on the other side of her fence. She pressed her hands to the hard planes of his face, breathing in his citrus cologne blended with the warm, clean male smell of him, the rough brush of his stubble against her fingertips confirming he was real. Just for a fraction of a second, she almost laughed at the novelty of what she was doing – kissing
Gethin Lewis
, the man she’d almost maimed in her garden – but then his mouth moved against hers, demanding her attention, sweeping her away on a raft of delicious sensations and dark promise of what might come.

‘Coralie?’

She pulled away reluctantly. That he’d even been capable of breaking off in the middle of a kiss to her was a bit depressing. Maybe she wasn’t getting it right. Just the way his tongue teased her lips made her gasp with pleasurable anticipation and set her skin tingling. If she’d been having half the effect on him, he wouldn’t have been able to come up for air. But then he thought she was prim and proper, neat and tidy. She’d have to try harder to banish any lingering impressions he might have had about her preferring a cup of tea to making love.

‘We’re becoming a sideshow here,’ he said, gently, when she looked up to meet his eyes. ‘Would you like to go somewhere a bit less public?’

Still wrapped in his arms, she peered round him. Yup, they were still in the Lincoln Center, weren’t they? No wonder people were grinning at them or walking away shaking their heads. She buried her face in his chest before looking up at him and nodding.

‘My place?’

‘Yes,’ she said, looking him in the eye and leaving him in no doubt that her intention was not to do the dishes or push the Hoover round.

Gethin managed to rustle up a taxi with impressive speed, but a couple of blocks might just as well have been a trip to the moon, so giant a leap was it for Coralie and her stretched nerves. Before she managed to take control of her breathing, she was also worried that it would take a life-support pack for her to climb the grey marble steps up to his third-floor apartment.

Inside, he drew her close. ‘Are you quite sure about this, Coralie?’ he murmured, stroking the soft nape of her neck.

From somewhere unbidden, the dark memories welled up – the life lost, the lives wasted. Then something wonderful happened; as unexpectedly as they had appeared, the doubts faded and the worried voices fell silence. She felt as if she belonged in his arms.

‘What do you think?’ she asked softly, smiling up at him. Then he kissed her, his lips moving gently and slowly with hers, and the heat began to build. She closed her eyes, shivering with the thrilling sensation of his skin grazing hers as he bent his head to kiss her throat.

Her hands moved to unbutton the rest of his shirt. Somehow it was mostly undone and hanging loose anyway. Of course, that didn’t mean that he didn’t still consider that she was the one who was buttoned-up. Maybe there was a chance he’d think she was removing his shirt because it was crumpled and she wanted to iron it? She decided on the direct approach and reached for his belt buckle. His sharp intake of breath indicated that she’d hit the spot, but before she’d managed to congratulate herself, his hand slid under her dress and she forgot what she was thinking.

‘That’s a yes,’ she gasped a few minutes later, lying on his bed, just in case he was in any doubt, ‘I’m sure.’

Straightening up, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and enjoyed getting acquainted with the sight of his lean, hard body that she’d only previously glimpsed. She made him lie down and traced the fine dark hairs across his chest, then followed to where they formed a dark line from his flat stomach downwards. Retracing the path her fingers had taken with her lips, she teased him with fluttery kisses and delicate nips, whilst her hands restrained him.

‘I’m a patient man,’ he said huskily, breaking free and rolling her on to her back, ‘but I have my limits and you’re pushing them.’

His mouth moved to her throat. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this …’

His breath was warm against her skin as he moved slowly down her body.

‘You have?’ She shuddered as the relentless progress of his tongue set off wavelets of pleasure rippling across her body.

‘Uh-huh.’ He propped himself up to look at her. ‘Ever since the moment I saw you doing your Little Red Riding Hood act out in the garden at Penmorfa.’

Her only answer was a soft, involuntary moan, because his lips, following his fingers to explore her inner thigh, were doing something strange to her breathing pattern. She lifted her head at the same time as him and found herself looking into his deep, dark, midnight gaze. The Big Bad Wolf, all lean, hard and hungry, a slow smile playing across his face.

Gethin propped himself up on his elbow so that he could get his fill of Coralie in the morning light: silky dark lashes, the pale, smooth skin of her back, her chestnut curls contrasting with the white pillow. It was a room that he’d always thought of as tranquil, the sliding shoji doors dividing it from the living room maximising the light and enhancing the apartment’s understated opulence. But now he was feeling anything but tranquil.

Flashbacks of the night before fast forwarded through his brain: his hand on Coralie’s thigh, the slipperiness of silk sliding under his impatient fingers, her soft mouth hot against his. The soundtrack, too: whispers turning into moans, her breath in short, urgent gasps by his ear and then nothing but sweet, mindless oblivion.

Coralie stirred in her sleep and turned towards him, her amber eyes trusting as her lashes fluttered and she glimpsed the first sight of him. When she reached up and traced his jaw with her fingers, he dropped his head to kiss her shoulder before anything in his expression betrayed his confusion. His body felt wonderful, as if it had only just experienced what it really was to make love, but his brain was telling him to wrap up everything quickly. His brain had a point. Any minute now, Pamala Gray would be setting her terrier, Laura Schiffman, on him, reminding him that he was meeting her at the gallery at lunchtime to go over the final details for the evening reception yet again. Although, why they couldn’t just get on with it without him, he didn’t know. The paintings could practically sell themselves.

In which case …

‘Hey, you,’ Coralie murmured, winding her hands round his neck. He pulled her towards him, feeling his pulse leap at the sweet morning smell of her. God, how he longed to plunge into all that luscious heat and softness! Somehow, he managed to find enough willpower to hold back. He knew enough about her to realise that this wasn’t her usual style; there was a shyness about her which made a refreshing change from some of the women who commissioned him to paint them and acted as if they’d bought his body along with his talent.

Coralie’s reticence made her more of a challenge, too; made him eager to discover the part of her she was withholding. Time had to be marching on, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing what might be the last opportunity to feel her soft curves against his body.

‘Thank you for last night,’ he murmured, running his fingertip across her lips. ‘It was very special. You’re lovely – do you know that?’

But when he stole a glance at her to see if her thoughts reflected his, he was alarmed to see her eyes brimming with tears. Oh, not now; he didn’t have time for a scene.

‘I’m not,’ she whispered, her pupils contracting as the cold daylight glanced across her pale face. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

Uh-oh! The on-off boyfriend was back on the scene, perhaps, and now she was recriminating herself for giving in to temptation? He didn’t know whether to be relieved at the lucky escape from more emotional involvement than he could cope with or insulted that she’d used him.

‘Whatever it is,’ he said carefully, ‘it shouldn’t affect what’s taken place between us. There’s nothing you need feel guilty about.’

‘You sound like my mum,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘She’s always accusing me of punishing myself for something that wasn’t my fault.’

‘Well, you should listen to your mother. I wish I could still listen to mine, but it’s too late now.’ Where had that come from? This really wasn’t the moment to air his family’s misfortunes. Especially when he had such a full day ahead of him. But something about the woman lying next to him seem to fit so well, as if she were part of him, and it was making him drop his guard. He lifted his head just enough to catch a glance of his bedside clock. Ten-thirty already and he was supposed to be at the gallery by one o’clock. Heck, where was the morning going?

And then he felt Coralie’s body quiver and saw the tears starting to spill down her face.

‘Come on,
cariad
,’ he said, holding out his arms and gathering her up. ‘Nothing’s that bad.’

He lay still, rubbing her back until she cried herself out. Could he take the day off? Tell Pamala he was sick? Something was making his head swim and confusing his thinking. One thing at a time. First he’d try to find out what was causing Coralie so much distress. Probably best just to let her get it off her chest.

‘So, tell me about it,’ he said gently.

After a deep breath, he heard her gather herself ready to speak.

‘Before I moved to Penmorfa, I used to work for a management consultancy, in the Process Improvement Unit – that means axing jobs to you and me. It’s easy to make struggling firms more efficient; you either get them to run better computer systems or lose staff. Most of the time you can pat yourself on the back and tell yourself that the human sacrifices are worth it. Another company is saved and people’s jobs are secure – until the next round at least.’

‘Quite a responsibility,’ he observed, sympathetic but at the same time willing her to get to the point.

She nodded and went on. ‘Only this time, the company I was sent to was close to home. My boss assured me everything would be fine. Except that I knew one of the employees through a mutual acquaintance, a guy called Ned Wallace. Ned was a nice enough guy, a bit of a lad, liked all the trappings, you know? Designer suits, go-faster car – all bought on credit, it transpired later. He never believed for one moment that he was expendable, but the management level there was far too top-heavy so it was the obvious place to cut. Ned, of course, was then faced with the reality of not being able to finance his extravagant lifestyle. That was the moment when all the careful calculations I’d made in the seclusion of a tidy office became a messy, uncontrollable reality.’

She paused to collect herself again. ‘On the surface Ned took it quite well. Joked about how he was going to blow the redundancy money on the holiday of a lifetime, but no one realised that he was far from being all right.’

‘So?’ He stroked her shoulder. ‘You can’t make everything better, Coralie. Sounds like the guy was a loser, carrying that amount of debt. You might even have done him a favour.’

She cleared her throat so that she could carry on. Fresh tears started sliding down her cheeks on to the pillow. ‘No. He lost everything he had, but he wasn’t the only victim. He was distressed about how his fiancée would take the news that he’d lost his job. So, he drove round aimlessly, screwing up the courage to go home, and he completely failed to notice a pedestrian crossing. He didn’t see a young trainee teacher, Hayley Butterfield, returning to her flat from the convenience store across the road.’

‘Oh, no.’ He stared at the ceiling feeling helpless.

‘Hayley was killed instantly, although Ned Wallace didn’t know that because he just kept driving. Somehow, he convinced himself if he didn’t stop, it hadn’t really happened, so he just kept going until he got home. It took three days before his conscience got the better of him. Even then he only handed himself in because he realised he’d been found out. He’d had his car repaired, you see, the day after the accident. He guessed, correctly as it transpired, that the mechanic would see the appeal for information and put two and two together.’

She paused to swipe at her tears. ‘Three days, imagine that. And a young woman lying dead and her family’s lives in ruin because of what I’d done.’

‘No.’ He sat up and drew her to him. ‘You can’t blame yourself for that. It was him, the driver, who killed that girl, not you.’ He looked at her pinched face. ‘Oh, Coralie. That’s the burden you’ve been carrying all this time? The reason you took yourself off to the middle of nowhere? So you could hide away from it all?’

She took a deep, shuddering breath. If he could have stayed there with her, he would have, but that would mean letting too many people down. The gallery assistants, Ruby, everyone who was working so hard to make this day a success for him. So he tried to make it better as far as he could. He took her face gently in his hands and made her look at him. ‘Listen, Coralie, you have to forgive yourself or it’ll ruin your life, too.’

‘But it wasn’t just Hayley’s family who suffered that day. My decision cost Ned Wallace dearly, his family disowned him, his fiancée called off their wedding. He was left with no one.’

‘Some people would call that retribution.’

‘Not me, I—’

‘Forget about it, Coralie,’ he said, letting her go. ‘You’ve lived with this for long enough. It’s time to move on.’

He couldn’t help stealing another glance at his clock. And she saw him. He groaned inwardly; the fact that he’d been smiling and trying to sound friendly and reassuring didn’t make him feel any less of a bastard for not giving her every bit of his attention.

‘Coralie, I’m sorry—’

‘No, really, it’s fine.’ The vulnerability in her eyes, when she stared at him as if trying to convince herself she’d been mistaken, could have broken his heart. Really, she didn’t know how much better it was this way.

‘I really shouldn’t be going on at you when you’ve got so much to do.’ She turned on her side before swinging her legs to the edge of the bed. Her shoulders drooped as she paused, very briefly, and he began to register how much she was hurting. He longed to pull her back to him and cradle her against his chest. Except he was so afraid that eventually he’d only end up hurting her more.

‘Perhaps you’d call a cab for me?’

‘Hey, look – let’s both shower and have breakfast then we could go together, if you like?’

Jesus, he was gabbling, but with that vulnerable expression she was wearing he was afraid that he’d fill a gap by saying something stupid, like ordering her to tear up her ticket and asking her to stay with him. He wished he could make everything all right for her.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you, not when you’ve got such a busy day ahead and the reception this evening.’

The reception! Maybe that would be his chance to put things right?

‘You are coming tonight, aren’t you?’ he asked desperately. ‘Only, I’d like you to see the new work before you go.’

Go.
He looked past her, at the black metal fire escapes snaking down the yellow brick apartment blocks opposite and tried not to think about how much he’d miss her. Otherwise, he’d start wondering why he’d utterly failed to paint her portrait, and why all that heat and intimacy had only left an increasing craving for her. Not looking at her made it easier for him to inject the right note of cheerfulness into his voice. The mistake he made was glancing at her and seeing how the lovely soft morning smile had vanished from her face to be replaced by something shadowed and hidden. He almost relented and reached out for her.

‘Just one thing,’ she said quietly.

He held his breath.

‘The portrait …’

‘I’ll scrap the whole idea, if you like,’ he said, lifting his hands. ‘You were never very happy with the whole idea, were you?’ he pointed out, trying to sound like a reasonable man rather than a guilty one. ‘So, it’s not fair to put you through that kind of ordeal when it’s not really working for either of us. I’ll sort something out for the charity auction. I won’t let Penmorfa down.’