The Contract (Nightlong #1) (12 page)

“For fuck sake, you’re a maniac.”

“Takes one to know one.”

He slipped gently from me and I squeezed my walls together to stop his seed escaping. He pulled me to him and kissed me, gossamer-light lips on mine, his tongue even softer inside my mouth.

“I love you.” He zipped up and left me as he found me – still desperately in love with him.

THAT night I had dinner in front of the television – alone – pretty much how it was back in Knightsbridge.

I also went to bed alone and didn’t feel him get into bed with me until around three a.m.

On Sunday morning I woke with the lark and decided to get up. Maybe use the gym or something. Padding towards the bathroom, I felt a familiar warmth between my legs and realised I’d gotten my period. No wonder I was awake so early, my sky-high body temperature waking up such a notorious bed sloth. Fetching some stuff from my handbag, I sorted myself out in the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom.

Checking the bed, I saw there were no marks on the mattress and Dante was still fast asleep.

AFTER an hour spent using the treadmill, rowing machine and cross trainer, I showered my sweat off before diving into the pool in my swimsuit.

After a leisurely fifteen-minute swim, I dressed in some jeans and a sweater and foraged for some food in the kitchen. I’d gathered Dante had decided to give Ayda Sundays off, after realising she benefited from one day’s release a week.

I made a fruit platter for myself and dunked some of it in honey, some of it in yoghurt. I was amusing myself to my heart’s content, alone and at peace with my thoughts.

“Hey, you left the bed.”

Smiling, I told him, “I woke early, used the gym and the pool.”

He snuggled into me from behind, wearing a navy-blue silk robe. It was definitely his colour.

His hand strayed into my sweater to grope my boob and I leaned back for a kiss, not letting his tongue in.

“What is this? Retraction after me giving you multiple orgasms yesterday?” he growled.

“I am… you know.”

He wriggled his eyebrows. “Sore?”

I chuckled. “On.”

“Oh?” He folded his arms, confused. “Ohhhhhh.”

“Yes.”

He moved away from the menstruating woman and poured himself some coffee.

“You didn’t give me multiple orgasms, by the way.”

“I didn’t?” he said, almost choking on his coffee.

“Nope. I’d done all the foreplay, you see.”

“This day gets worse. The first time I give a woman MOs and she tells me that.”

I chuckled, feeling cheeky. “It was something about the steam and how it made me feel brave… and comfortable being naked. It was something about… imagining you watching me.”

“Mmm. Well, now look what you’ve done.”

He opened his robe to show me a boner sat nicely in his boxers.

“I would, darling… but you’ll work harder for me next time, won’t you?”

Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself. “Damn woman.”

“So… what are we doing today?”

“I don’t know. I’m tired… so nothing too exerting.”

He sat by me at the breakfast bar and stole bits from my fruit platter. I stood up to take his porridge from the warming chamber of the Aga and delivered it with seeds and honey. He looked at me, bewildered.

“You remembered?”

“Of course!”

“Not bad, not half bad,” he said, tucking in while also rearranging his boxers.

While he ate, I watched nature take its course outside, in the back garden. Birds pecked at the feeders or swooped near the pool and beyond. Tractors tilled the fields.

“I was probably really horny yesterday because I was due. Don’t think I’ve ever been so horny in my life before.”

“I don’t, either.” He chuckled, at ease, and it made me feel at ease too.

“I’m not on the pill,” I confessed, “but it’s very unlikely I will, you know. I don’t have regular periods so it’s shocking I’m having this one.”

“Ciara, you mean to say–” His tone stern, it caught me off guard.

“The chances are small.”

“No they’re not! Any woman having periods
could
get pregnant! You should’ve told me.”

“Well I’m telling you now, aren’t I? We both know for certain that right now, I’m not pregnant!”

He slammed his spoon on the counter, puffing air in and out of his lungs angrily. Holding his head in his hands, he started pacing the room, fuming.

“So if you’d fucked some random, what would you have done, hmm?”

“Made them wear a rubber, you tool!” I shouted back. “I learnt that lesson, remember?”

“What about me? Why didn’t you make me wear one?”

I stood and glared at him, tears filling my eyes, my arms folded. “Just think before you get all shitty over this one thing, Dante, okay? Think carefully before you say another word.”

He held his hand up. “You’re seeing my doctor to get sorted, end of.”

I hightailed it right out of the room and like the lost girl I was a little over a week ago, I sobbed into my pillow upstairs because of his lack of understanding.

ON MONDAY MORNING, SEXTON DROVE me out to Surrey to a private medical practice Dante had been using his whole life. It was certainly a drive out of his way so I assumed his doctor must be good.

I felt sad as we drove there, and slightly broken. We’d slept in separate beds last night; after working late, Dante had gone to one of the spare rooms and slept there.

After Dr Clare Heron took my weight, height, blood pressure and a urine sample, she asked, “So what is the purpose of your visit, today? Other than checking in as a new patient.”

She must have sensed I had something on my mind.

“Have you got my notes from my old doctor?”

She nodded slightly. “They faxed copies this morning after Mr Sinclair called.”

“Well, I… get a period maybe once every three months. I don’t keep check of the dates. I’m having a period right now. I just became sexually active–”

I cut myself off, thinking I sounded like a silly teenager, full of nerves, embarrassment and doubts.

“You want contraception?”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t used the pill, Ciara.”

“I was told it wouldn’t hurt, but I don’t know… I get cellulite using it.”

“We could try another. One doesn’t fit all.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. You’re perfectly healthy.”

“Okay, good.”

“Are children something you want?”

I crossed my legs and stuffed my hands between my thighs, looking down at my lap. “Yes.”

“It’s perfectly possible.”

“I was told–”

She started typing away at her computer and mumbled, “Don’t tell anyone I said this but some physicians think it’s kind to be cruel, especially when teenage pregnancy is involved.”

“You mean, I got told I couldn’t have kids to put me off ever trying again.”

“Many miscarriages are followed by perfectly healthy births and it’s only natural after loss that a girl or a woman might want to try again.”

I gulped. “I’m not sure my partner… Mr Sinclair, wants children.”

She nodded slightly, that patient/doctor confidentiality thing languishing in the air between us like swollen rock-salt clouds threatening to pour into open wounds.

“I’m guessing it’s early days. Give it time?”

“You’re right.”

“Here’s a prescription,” she said, “you can pick up another batch in six months after a follow-up, and then we can put it on repeat, just to make sure it’s a good fit. Any problems, come back. I would take extra precautions for the first two months to make sure the pill has started working properly. Okay?”

I nodded. “Sounds fine.”

“See you then, Ciara.”

I left the room wondering why I didn’t want to escape it.

I turned back to her and asked, “Do you do bereavement therapy here?”

“We do.”

“Thanks, I’ll mention it to Dante.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just wouldn’t.”

Not knowing what else to say to the doctor who knew more about my lover than me, I walked numbly out of the surgery and towards the chemist next door.

My prescription filled, I climbed into the Phantom and asked Sexton, “Let’s go have coffee and cake somewhere ridiculously extravagant, on me.”

Eyebrows raised, he said, “Is this necessary? He wants you back home right away.”

“Oh, it’s as necessary as air, right now.”

“Very well.”

“YOU said ridiculously extravagant,” Sexton said as he pulled into the Ritz around an hour later.

“Oh my god.”

“Yes, quite.”

We valet parked and everyone looked stunned to see I was taking my driver for afternoon tea. Sexton didn’t stand out in the restaurant though – he looked very much at home – like he was brought up with a silver spoon in his mouth, too.

“I think we actually ought to put this on Dante,” Sexton told me.

“Yes, I agree. He deserves to pay.”

Sexton drank his tea, having demolished his side of the three-tiered tray a lot quicker than me.

I’d started off with my sandwiches with the crusts cut off, the vol au vonts and little salmon wraps, and now I was slowly making my way through miniature cakes and macaroons.

“Does he say much about Daltrey to you?” I asked my driver, feeling downright brazen.

Shaking his head, his grey eyes looked clear when he replied, “Never.”

“But you know he was murdered?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got to help me out here, Sexton.”

He sat sturdy and poised, opposite me. “He won’t appreciate me saying anything.”

“He won’t know you’ve said anything. Do you think he keeps me around just for my looks? I’m not so stupid, you know? I’ve had to keep coming up with new stuff all these years to keep his mind occupied.”

He nodded in agreement, readily accepting that was all true. “I know but… you’re emotionally involved. You can’t predict how you might react to what it is he is, what he does.”

“He told me already about the job.”

“Oh… I see.”

He started rubbing his hand through his stubble, looking suddenly nervous.

“He’s emotionally retarded, we all know that. Just tell me–”

I saw the look of astonishment on his face and he retorted, “That’s not it at all, Ciara. He’s more emotionally aware than all of us put together, it’s why he corners people off into neat boxes. Creates rules and regimen. It’s how he copes.”

“He should have counselling.”

“He has.”

I nibbled the corner of a salted caramel macaroon and swished it down with some Earl Grey with lemon. It was such a fine afternoon tea, it really was. The best of my life, in fact.

“Ciara, want some advice?”

“Yes!”

He took a deep breath. “For all his faults, I still love him, everyone does. We all know he’s limited how close he lets people get, so believe me when I say whatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it because you’ve gotten closer to him than anyone else has done in a decade. Remember that.”

“Keep doing what I’m doing?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m… now we’re together, it’s difficult to be patient.”

“He’s difficult full stop, but then you knew that already.”

“Yes.”

My phone rang and it was Dante. Hating to answer at the dinner table, yet also hating to keep him waiting, I answered anyway.

“Hello darling.”

“Don’t ‘hello darling’ me, where are you?”

“The Ritz. I railroaded Sexton into afternoon tea…” I winked in the driver’s direction. “…I needed a pick-me-up.”

“When will you be back?”

“Couple of hours. Do you really need me back given you’re probably up to your armpits in work, or are you just being anal?”

“The latter,” he mumbled, sounding in defeat.

“I’m perfectly safe and I shall see you soon.”

“Okay,” he sounded downhearted, “as long as you’re safe.”

“I am. I love you.”

“I love you.”

He hung up and I put my phone on the table.

“See?” Sexton asked.

“What?”

“He just worries about you.”

I threw back the champagne I’d had alongside my tea and caught a waiter’s attention. “Can I take away my cakes? We’re running to a tight schedule.”

“Of course, madam.”

“Please, it’s miss.”

“Oh… okay, miss.”

I laughed, cackled even. Whispering under my breath, I told him, “Sexton here is my driver and bodyguard. Not my sugar daddy.”

The waiter rushed off, blushing, and Sexton sniggered to himself – his fine garb not usual of a driver.

“People these days,” I laughed, feeling triumphantly evil.

We got out of there quickly and walked a few laps of the royal parks nearby, picking at my cakes as we chatted about life. Sexton told me about his tours as a younger man in the Falklands and I told him about my humble background and having dozens of cousins all over the world, all of whom would open their door anytime, just because I shared the same name. I told him shame made me leave Ireland and shame had made me solitary. I talked of fishing the Blackwater back home in County Cork and catching salmon as long as my leg, of people never locking their doors, of villagers knowing each other’s names and sometimes stopping for hours to chat, when they were only meant to be passing through. My former lifestyle seemed to be a wonder to him. I mentioned my pregnancy and how I was a little naïve as a teenager, as most Catholic-reared children are when they’ve received little to no sex education.

Sexton listened, and I listened, and I think we gave each other a healthy dose of therapy that afternoon.

BACK at home, I jumped the stairs and raced to our bedroom to change into something pretty for Dante. He caught me dressing in the walk-in closet and the moment I heard him say my name, I turned and charged into his arms.

“You’ve been gone ages, I didn’t think you were missing me.”

“Oh I was.”

I attacked his mouth and he returned my kiss full pelt.

“I hate it when we’re not friends.”

“We’ve never been friends,” he said in a husky, breathless whisper, his kisses all over my face, “you’re my fount of all pleasure, you’re my heart.”

“Ah Dante, kiss me baby.”

He dug his hand in my hair and held my body with the other, pulling me close, his kiss relentless and hungry. It was like a reunion.

Like teenagers we fell on the bed to make out and did so for a long, long time, happily, and without the promise of sex. After we both lost our breath, he nestled in my chest while I teased fingers through his sleek hair.

“What did the doc say?”

“I can likely have kids.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t want to quarrel again, Ciara. I hate it.”

“Hey, I wasn’t quarrelling. Just on the end of your sharp tongue.”

His chest inflated. “I’m sorry.”

“I am, too. Listen, I have some pills now but we’ll have to be careful until they work in a couple of months’ time.”

“Okay. I’ll just pull out until then.”

I looked into his eyes. “That’s no guarantee.”

“It isn’t?”

Shaking my head, I was surprised a man this intelligent didn’t realise that. “No. You could still leak little Dantes inside me before you even come.”

Since leaving Ireland, I’d learnt everything I needed to know from books.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

He pulled me on my side and dug his hand into the back of my knickers to squeeze my butt.

“Dante, no–”

“I’m just warming up my hand.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Why? I don’t mind…” He dragged his lips up and down my throat, raising gooseflesh all over my body.

“I do.”

“This might be our last chance for me to come inside you before, you know.”

I held his cheeks in my hands, looking into his eyes. “I could still get pregnant, even like this. It could still happen. The odds are probably a squillion to one, but there’s always a chance.”

He pouted. “I really should’ve asked Mum to give me a sister, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, dear. You know fuck all about women.”

“Well, I knew to use a condom with all the others.”

My heart stopped and I was quiet. I stilled and realised, throughout this six-year period there could’ve been others.

“What others?” I mumbled.

“There were others, but I never loved any of them. There haven’t been any other women since we met, I swear on my life.”

I grabbed his face again, bringing his eyes to mine. “Why did you make me wait six years? How could you stand it? I can hardly stand to think about all that wasted time. I wish I’d known, wish I’d had the courage to jump you so long ago. I felt so wretched for so long, Dante. Nothing crushed my spirit as deeply as thinking you didn’t love me.”

“I do love you and it wasn’t wasted time,” he murmured against my lips, his body moving on top of mine, the dress I was putting on in the closet when he found me earlier still only half zipped up at the back. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the corner of mine, and then to my nose. “I think we’ve gotten to know one another in a brilliant way, yes? You certainly have become the little firecracker I always knew you could be.”

“Fuck it,” I exclaimed, ripping off his shirt.

I dragged him off the bed and we merged under the rainfall shower, ripping each other’s hearts open again.

OVER dinner at the dining table (I was humouring him), I tentatively asked, “Will I meet any of your people?”