Sympathy for the Devil (8 page)

       His hands slowly, warmly curved around my waist and lifted me to him. The T-shirt fell over his hands as his thumbs curved into the hollow ache in my back. Still near to a blackout, his face was now so close to mine that his eyelashes tangled with mine. His ruler-straight nose brushed along mine in such a soothing tingle that I closed my eyes. I could feel his breath against my lips, the scent of lavender mixing with the hint of smoke and sandalwood on his skin. He closed the gap and demanded entry to my mouth with a gently insistent tongue.

       Somewhere after Pierce pressed harder against me, I was on a beach in Miami wearing a bikini and wondering where my waiter was with my martini.

       Bitch! She did that on purpose. I watched her with suspicion then heard her snore like a new-born puppy. I laughed helplessly. Never before had a woman faked sleep to avoid me getting my hands on them. Novel experience, Cari Collins, cheers for that. I guided her to lie back down. I shifted the hot water bottle to her stomach then tugged off the T-shirt I’d borrowed from Mr. Philips. Well, there it was. My night in bed with Cari, in all its dim glory. She turned onto her side, muttering about a martini as she wriggled back.

       Her arms fitted into the crooks of my elbows, her perfect bottom pressed into my crotch and her legs aligning mine. She used me like a horizontal armchair. I told myself to move away before she woke up and slapped me for indecency. I leaned over and gave her a careful kiss. Not a scratch, not a shift, a smile or a wake up. She didn’t give anything away in her sleep. Apart from a need for more alcohol, strange girl. I leaned over her to see how many Nurofen she’d taken. Three. Hmm. I wondered if that had anything to do with the kiss earlier. There had been a definite weakening; otherwise she wouldn’t have begun to let me inside before passing out.

       I stared at the ceiling and scratched my chest absently, having properly twitched the curtains closed. I swear some higher power kept protecting her from my advances, every time I got pretty close to doing something about her. There were guys on my course who talked about her like she was a Page 3 model. Everyone has their slut period when university starts. Maybe I could make Cari a nice rounded number thirty. It begged the question if I saw myself stopping at thirty with the girl beside me. I looked down at her, lashes grazing her shiny cheekbones, mouth parted in sleep. Maybe I could stay with her for a while. Well, until we did a Mr. and Mrs. Smith and tried to kill each other.
Or just wait until she finds out about Toni.
I couldn’t get the Bradley out of mine and West’s life if I was giving Cari one or two. No, I was too far down that path to stop now, even if I wanted to.

       I woke up with Pierce curved around me, my back to him, but one of his arms was above my head, the other tightly around my waist. I was so warm I thought the sun was shining for a moment, then I recognised that the warmth was coming from Pierce. Walking radiator.

       I carefully lifted his arm and reached for my bag. I nearly did a dance of joy to find that I had a whole bar of Galaxy Caramel in the clutch. I munched a few bars, had some more Nurofen with the Coke, and lay back down. The hot water bottle was still quite toasty, and I saw from the clock that it was only nine in the morning. There was a grumble from behind me and, with bloodshot eyes, Pierce examined me, as if trying to remember who I was. I guessed this was not a new experience for him.

       “When did you get up?” he asked, taking the Coke from me and gulping half of it. I was getting ever so slightly turned on by the dark blond hair in his armpits.

       “Just now,” I said quietly, taking the Coke back and putting it on the table.

       “Well, for God’s sake don’t get back up,” he commanded, curling his arm back around me, closing his eyes. “It’s bloody cold.”

       No, wait. I needed to get up do something that involved me cleaning from head to toe, washing the scent of stale alcohol, sweat, and smoke from my body.

       He rubbed a hand over my stomach. “How are you feeling down there?”

       “Drugged up,” I explained unnecessarily.

       He grinned sleepily. “That’s always a good thing. Now be quiet. I fancy a cuddle.”

       To my utter astonishment, he touched his mouth to my neck and fell promptly back to sleep. This was beyond weird. Last night I’d have been out of here like a shot, but it was cold, and I had a lecture this afternoon and he was so warm. Despite the chocolate and the caffeine, I was coaxed back into a light sleep.

       I was woken up again what felt like a few minutes later by a door slamming and a phone ringing.

       “Lousy bitch,” Pierce growled, his voice rumbling against my forehead. I was tucked securely under his chin.

       “Who?” I yawned widely, thanking God that I hadn’t drooled that much. I wiped my mouth carelessly.

       “That Mrs. T.”

       “Who cares?” I mumbled, burrowing my face against his bare chest, trying to get comfortable again on his hot skin.

       “What
are
you doing down there?” he asked me mildly. He hooked his arm around me to pull me to his eye level.

       Suddenly I was wide awake. We’d been here about seven hours ago, only this time, I wasn’t anywhere near a coma.
Ah hell,
I thought, seeing what was coming a continent off.
May as well get in there first
. I touched a hand to his jaw and pressed my mouth to his. He tasted sweet, from the Coke, which made me smile a little. He kissed me harder, pulling me closer as his tongue surged between my lips. He caught my bottom lip between his own then grazed his teeth over it, so gently it was a tickle. I angled my head and kissed him more deeply, thinking to him:
Harder! Like you mean it!
I felt his hand cover most of the base of my spine, locking me to his hard body as he slanted his mouth over mine possessively again and again. I didn’t know if I was shaking because of the hangover that would most likely kick me from here to Nicaragua sometime this afternoon or because Pierce had his firm hairy thigh between my legs, his hands relentlessly roving over my back.

       I traced my hands over the bumpy ridges that were the muscles in his back before I drew my fingertips along the seam of his Calvins. His fist speared into my hair and I felt my head being tugged back so he could run his mouth over my neck. Oh, sweet Lord, who the hell said this man was cold? It was like the equator relocated to this bedroom, this bed, this man. He guided me to lift my arms so he could take off the T-shirt and gave a low growl at the sight of me. His hand gently cupped my left breast, drawing his thumb slowly over my nipple. Briefly, he looked at me, as if asking my approval. A tiny voice in my head asked me what the hell I was doing. I ignored it and arched my back to him. His touch felt searing and I thought I was going to come when he replaced his hand with his mouth. He sucked at me insanely hard, his other hand rolling my nipple between his fingers, pinching lightly every so often to send a shock all over my body. He kissed his way to the other breast, a hand beneath me to tease me toward him, his thumb skimming over my tummy. I felt a twinge and winced involuntarily. Pierce, recognising the sound that came from me wasn’t the same as the moans I’d been making earlier, lifted his head.

       “Did I hurt you?” he demanded, frowning, my wet nipple all of a millimetre from his lips.

       “No.” I gestured by way of explanation to my lower aching limbs. He nodded in understanding but looked me deep in the eyes.

       “About that…” he began, brushing a thumb over the side of my breast.

       “Yeah, about that,” I finished, sitting up and folding my arms over my chest. The shaking had nothing to do with a possible hangover. Oh, God, we were both only wearing underwear.

Pierce touched his mouth to my neck again. “Not a good idea?” he murmured persuasively.

       “No, not really,” I said shortly, brushing him off and getting out of the bed. “I’m going to get dressed.”

       I sat on the toilet for a minute in contemplation of what I had done. I glanced down at my breasts and saw the beginnings of…fuck, were those teeth marks? I stood up and looked at my chest in the mirror. Great. I looked like I’d been attacked by the seven horny dwarves. Dammit, I was tired. Tired and horny and fed up. My eyes felt as if I had plastic sheets between them. I went back into the bedroom and pulled on my clothes, not even glancing at Pierce once, despite being topless. My clothes had shrunk overnight; I grimaced as I struggled into my cold jeans. Last night I had wafted Ralph Lauren so delicately and now it was permutations of alcohol and, since Pierce had shoved a Marlboro in his mouth, more smoke.

       After struggling into my top without the double-sided table, I glanced at him, seated bare chested on the bed, Marlboro dangling precariously from his bottom lip, trousers firmly on, undoing the knot in his Pradas before tucking his feet into them. His eyes were red rimmed from where the butt of the cigarette was stinging his eyes. He took it out of his mouth.

       “I’ll give you a lift back to halls,” he stated flatly. It made me cross. I’d never had that reaction from a bloke who’d seen my tits.

       I picked up my heels and waved them. “I’m not walking back to the bar from here to get your car. I’ll get the tube.”

       “Afraid of rumours?” he asked with a wry lift of his eyebrows.

       It wasn’t fair what God had given him. I knew I looked shocking. Hair all over the place, cracked lips, sleep creases in my cheeks, Alice Cooper-ed make up. He, on the other hand, had adorably ruffled hair, his mouth looked smooth and plump, his skin warm, golden-pancake-syrup tanned, and his stomach rippled with muscles. I half wondered if it’d be worth the grief if I bit his bottom lip right now. From the predatory look I was getting from him, I guessed the answer to be no.

       “Rumour mill will be working overtime anyway. I’d rather not add to it by rolling up in your car.”

       “Despite…” He trailed off.

       “Despite it being the most gorgeous four-wheeled motor I’ve ever seen.” Boy had a brand new Audi convertible in sleek midnight black. I rubbed distastefully at the skin on my chest. I wanted a shower. Now.

       “I’ll take you out in it, any time you want,” he told me softly. Silence reigned. He threw his cigarette out the window onto the ledge. I bit on my thumb nail. “Don’t do that.” He ordered, tone irritable. I released my thumb and looked anywhere else but at him

“Look…” he began, but I didn’t have the energy to scrap with him, not when I had his teeth marks fading from my breasts.

       “I’ve got to go.”

       “What the fuck is the matter with you?” he roared at me. Mrs. T pounded the wall, echoing the pounding that was going on in my head.

       “What? What do you want me to do? I just want to go home.”

       “You were all over me a minute ago. Now what?”

       This must be a novel experience for him. I had to leave. I felt dirty and not in the way I liked. “Can we talk about this some other time? Cool,” I added with false joviality. I turned to leave the room and found the door closed in my face, Pierce’s hand against the wood.

       I turned and looked up at him in utter irritation.

       “Talking,” he said in a low growl, “starts now.”

       I wished I’d had the foresight to put my heels on. I didn’t like having to look up at him like some subordinate. But then another five inches wouldn’t have really helped. “About what?”

       “Your revolving attitude to me.”

       “Which is?”

       “Don’t play thick, Cari, it doesn’t suit you.”

       All right, now I wanted a fight. “You want to talk, fine. Me, you, that bed…Worst idea ever. Because you swagger around like you’re Kanye West. Every time I think there’s something remotely redeeming about you, it gets bitch slapped by your unbelievable narcissism. Have we shared enough, do you think?”

       “You over-opinionated wannabe Paxman bitch,” he said softly. “How long did it take for you to think that all up? Your problem is you swing that perfect little body around and forget there are some men who won’t do as you tell them every second of the day.”

       “What? What has that got to do with anything?”

       “I’m not going to heel like a dog for you.”

       “Who asked you to?” I fairly cried.

       “You did. Expecting me to beg and plead for you to stay. No one uses me.” The vehemence in his voice should have told me to shut up, but never take me for a girl who takes orders well.

       “It’s not like I gave you a hand job, wiped the cum on your face, then introduced you to my husband. We kissed. So what? What do you want, a proposal?” I mocked.

       He gave a derisive laugh. “This is you taking on all the gossip around uni like it’s on the front cover of
The Sun
. You know, if you used your own brain rather than relying on second-hand information you might have the slightest idea about the sort of person I am.”

       “What? A slag?”

       “Takes one to know one,” he retorted. “No, don’t give me any Bambi-eyed protest, like you’re the fucking Virgin Mary, as if that will make you feel better about the grave mistake you think you made staying here.”

       “No ‘think’ about it. It’s a mistake I
know
I made. I’m just going to pretend it didn’t happen, how’s that?” I glared at him challengingly.

       “Whatever, Cari. Just fuck off then. Quit while you’re a dot on the horizon behind me.”

       With a hand to my bare back he shoved me out of the room and closed the door. Fury nearly made me go right back in there and beat his head in with my heel. I thought the better of it. If a guy had done the same to me, I’d be pissed too.

       I sent Kate a text message saying thank you, as I knew she’d be in lectures now. I felt a distinct lump in my throat and I tugged on my heels and wrapped myself tightly into my coat and headed for Kings Cross Station. Damn him and his reputation. This morning it had just been me and him. Not me, him, and every single girl he had ever screwed over, and me envisioning Fiona Gray shovelling cake into her face to get over being cruelly dumped by him. For liking him. I couldn’t do it —he was too damn evil. But he reminded me of Jude Lawrence, only Pierce was pure sex with undertones of something so dark it would get me into enough trouble I’d be in therapy for the next ten years.