The Story of Us (37 page)

We walked right to the end of the cove, and he kept hold of my hand the entire way. I kept looking up at him as we walked, seeing him through new and wiser eyes. I felt touched that he trusted me enough to share his secret with me.

‘So perhaps now you can see why I've steered clear of relationships, unless they were casual or undemanding, since my divorce?' he asked.

I looked up at him, trying to commit everything about him to memory. It was a film I would want to replay a great many times in the months to come, when it was all I had left of him and our unique time together. So I took care to drink everything in, from the way the wind gently lifted the thick black strands of hair from his forehead, to the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. I felt something slowly begin to tear inside me; he was going to be almost impossible to forget.

‘I've learned to be more careful now in my choices. It's much easier when everyone wants exactly the same thing. That way no one gets emotionally attached… and no one gets hurt.'

It sounded like a cold and empty existence to me and I think he must have seen that in my eyes. ‘But that's not your way, is it, Emma, not at all?' I was startled to have the conversation directed at me and was wondering how to respond as he continued, ‘Even after everything that's happened with you and Richard, you still believe in finding that happy-ever-after ending, don't you?'

He wasn't mocking me, or even trying to be deliberately cruel; he couldn't know how hard it was to hear that he and I were at polar opposite ends of the earth when it came to relationships.

‘Well,' I said slowly, ‘my faith in its existence has been tested lately, that's true enough.' I swallowed past the small and unexpected lump in my throat. ‘But I'd like to believe that someday… there'd be someone' –
you,
a voice in my head screamed out –
‘
who could make me a believer again.'

He nodded his head, as though he'd received a doctor's prognosis, which wasn't great news, but not entirely unexpected. ‘The ring, the chapel, the wedding… you still want all that?' It wasn't so much a question, more of a statement.

I was going to deny it, but why bother? We both knew it was the truth. ‘I guess I'm just an old-fashioned girl, at heart.'

He gave a gentle smile and steered me to the flight of steps leading back to his cottage. I was pretty sure there'd been a test hidden in our conversation, and I was equally sure I'd just failed it.

He climbed the stone steps ahead of me. ‘Watch out on these,' he warned, ‘they can get a little slippery. Just stay close to me.'

‘I'm right behind you,' I said, wondering why the words sounded so familiar and significant and then I remembered the first time he had said them to me; it was on the night of the accident, when he'd been pushing me away from the exploding car. I opened my mouth to remind him, and then suddenly my foot slipped on the worn and crumbling step and I began to fall. I scrabbled for a handhold on the surface of the wall but there was nothing to grip on to. Jack spun around, his face horrified. His hand reached out to grab me, but it was too late. This time he couldn't save me, and I flew backwards off the steps, landing with a breath-stealing thump on not just the sand, but on something sharp and hard that was hidden beneath its soft surface.

‘Emma!' Jack cried out, jumping from the steps and rushing to my side. ‘Are you okay?'

I gave a sound which was supposed to be a laugh but which sounded perilously like I was about to cry. I'm not a baby, but it really hurt.

‘Are you hurt?'

‘Just my pride,' I lied. There was no way I was going to say anything about the rock or whatever it was that my bum had connected with so painfully. He held out his hand and pulled me to my feet. I tried to turn my wince of pain into a rueful grin. I don't think he was fooled.

‘Goodness, are you all right?' An elderly couple who had been taking an early evening walk on the beach had rushed over to lend their assistance. It really was beyond embarrassing.

‘I'm fine,' I lied once again, somehow managing a more genuine-looking smile for the anxious newcomers.

‘Do you need us to call for help?' asked the woman, already pulling a mobile phone from her pocket.

‘No, no, no. I'm just a bit winded, that's all. Please don't worry about me,' I reassured her.

‘We'll be fine, thank you,' Jack reiterated, and the couple seemed to accept our word and headed back down the beach. Jack waited until they could no longer hear us before turning to me. ‘What have you done, and how bad is it?'

‘I'm fine. I was more shocked than anything.'

‘Emma Marshall, don't lie to me. I'm the guy who pulled you out of a car wreck; I know when you're hurt or not.'

There was no point in lying. He was going to find out in a minute when he saw me limp up the steps. ‘I think there was a rock or something where I landed on the sand.'

Jack looked at the damp sand which, embarrassingly, still held a perfect impression of my behind. He kicked the area with the toe of his boot and revealed a large sharp jagged stone buried a few centimetres beneath the surface.

‘Shit,' he muttered. He turned to look at the rear of my jeans. ‘How bad is it, are you bleeding?'

‘No, of course not. I've got enough natural padding back there to cushion the blow.'

He didn't smile as I had hoped.

‘Bruised?'

I shrugged. ‘Probably.'

‘Show me.'

‘No,' I said, horrified. He raised his eyebrows as though he was daring me to challenge him. ‘This is just a kinky attempt of yours to see my arse, isn't it?' That
did
make him smile. ‘Look, let's get back to the house and let me have a look at it, before we start deciding who else should be allowed a peek.'

My progress up the steps was slow, but I adamantly refused his offer to carry me. I think he only let me get away with that for fear that holding me in his arms might actually hurt me even more. Of all the areas to have injured in my fall off the steps, why couldn't I have twisted an ankle or sprained a wrist like any sensible person, why did it have to have been my bum? Eventually we reached the warmth of his kitchen and he shut the door firmly behind him.

‘Okay, Emma,' he said, having watched me limp painfully across the tiled floor. ‘That's enough. Are you going to show me your fanny now or not?'

Despite the throbbing pain from my rear end, I burst out laughing. ‘No, Jack, I'm not. And I really have to warn you that that word has a totally different meaning over here, and asking a question like that is likely to get you either slapped or arrested, possibly both.'

He looked a little taken aback, but quickly recovered. ‘If you're not going to show me—'

‘Which I'm not,' I completed.

‘Then at least go and have a hot shower. It'll help to take the sting away and bring out the bruise. There's a full-length mirror in there, so you'll be able to assess the damage.'

‘You seem obsessed with getting me undressed,' I said flippantly, and then ruined my sassy answer by blushing as I said it. ‘But if it makes you happy I'll have a shower and check out what I've done, just as long as we're clear that I'm the only one who gets a look. Okay?'

‘Okay,' he reluctantly agreed. ‘I'll make us some tea while you shower. You'll find clean towels in the cupboard at the top of the stairs.'

‘Thanks,' I said, and hobbled out of the kitchen.

On a scale of one to ten, my bruise scored about an eleven. I winced as I eased down my jeans and lacy briefs and surveyed the damage, looking over my shoulder into the mirror at the bluish-purple discolouration. It was roughly the size of a saucer and covered most of one buttock and inched on to my lower back. And despite what Jack had said, I didn't think I needed that shower to bring it out, it was doing that quite well all by itself. Nevertheless, I dropped my shirt and bra on to the rest of my clothes on the floor and turned on the dial inside the cubicle. I winced as the hot jets ran over the damaged skin, but after the initial sting, it began to feel a little more comfortable. There was a rack inside the double-size shower, and I couldn't resist taking a small handful of the shower gel, which smelled so reminiscently of Jack, and smoothing it over my naked body. I closed my eyes and let the water fall on to my head, losing myself in an x-rated daydream where I wasn't alone in the steamy closet, and that he was behind me, his strong fingers running along my slippery limbs, his mouth claiming mine beneath the cascading water.

The noise of the bathroom door opening made me jump so much that the bottle of gel slipped from my fingers and clattered noisily on to the cast-iron tray.

‘Are you okay?' Jack called through the door's opening.

‘Don't come in,' I cried out in panic, instinctively trying to cover myself. ‘I'm naked.'

I heard his small chuckle. ‘I always find that best for showering.'

I dropped the hands that were ineffectively trying to shield my breasts from view. ‘Very funny.'

‘How are your injured bits?'

‘Colourful,' I replied, ‘but the shower is definitely helping.' It was completely unsettling to be having this conversation with him while totally nude, and only a metre or so away.

‘I've brought something to help.'

My hands instinctively flew back up to cover me, but the small gap through which he was talking didn't widen. Just his hand came into view, as he placed first a tall bottle of lotion of some kind and then a steaming cup of tea on to the tiled floor.

‘If you need help with the cream…'

‘I have a lousy sense of direction, but I think I can find my own backside,' I joked.

‘Okay then, see you downstairs.' I heard his footsteps disappearing down the wooden floored hallway. He hadn't even attempted to come in. It was respectful, courteous and completely honourable of him. It was also somewhat disappointing.

The tea was reviving and welcome, and despite a rather pungent initial aroma, the lotion Jack had left was noticeably soothing as I rubbed it over the injured skin. I borrowed a comb to smooth the tangles out of my hair, and as I cleared a circle in the steamy mirror, I saw that only my waterproof mascara remained from the make-up I had so carefully applied before leaving home. I gave a small shrug and bent to retrieve my clothing. If the prospect of my undressed body hadn't been sufficient to entice him, then what hope had there been for a little eyeshadow and lip gloss?

He was waiting patiently for me at the bottom of the stairs, and as I descended the treads I saw he was carefully studying my gait for a limp. Thankfully I was much more mobile after my shower.

‘You seem to be moving easier.'

I nodded. ‘I'm fine. It really is just a bruise, albeit a horrendously big one.'

He looked worried at my words. ‘I'm so sorry. I should have gone behind you on those steps.'

‘Then I'd have taken us both down,' I reasoned. I sniffed the air, smelling something burned and charred.

‘We killed the toad,' Jack declared solemnly.

I laughed at his words, and noticed for the first time how dark the hall had become. At some point while I'd been in the bathroom, the grey clouds which had been gathering all afternoon had turned into a thick grey blanket covering the sky. It was raining hard.

‘It's not your fault I fell. It's mine. I should have listened to your warning.'

‘I don't think you're very good at following orders,' he said ruefully. ‘Now I'm going to be haunted for months by nightmares of what dreadful injury you were concealing from me.'

‘Oh, for goodness sake—' I exclaimed, suddenly turning my back on him. ‘You're not going to rest until you see it, are you? Go on then, look, if that's what it takes to satisfy you that I'm not mortally wounded.' I pulled my shirt free of my jeans and undid the top fastening on my waistband. ‘But I have to warn you… it's not pretty.'

The hall was silent except for the falling rain battering against the windows and the soft purr of my zip. I didn't need to do more than lower the waistband of the jeans a few centimetres for the bruise to be visible.

I heard his sharp indrawn hiss of breath as the dark discoloured skin came into view. I was showing far less than I did when wearing a bikini on the beach, but there was something very intimate in holding up the back of my shirt and pulling down the jeans to allow him to study my exposed body.

‘I'm so sorry,' he repeated, his voice much huskier than before. I felt a small tug on the waistband as his hand took hold of the fabric and inched it lower, until the denim no longer covered me. I felt his fingers move slowly from the garment and brush against the undamaged skin of my lower back, and then dip lower and run against the top seam of my lacy briefs.

I sucked in a mouthful of air as though I was drowning, and heard the roughened raggedness of his own breathing. He paused, and I knew he was waiting for me to stop him. I did nothing. His fingertips ran just beneath the light elastic at the top of my underwear, following a path around my hip bone, lingering to stroke the sharp contour and then moving around on to the softer skin of my lower abdomen. I looked down at the strong fingers slowly circling and caressing my flesh. I leaned my entire weight back against him and heard him groan softly. Very slowly he turned me around. His eyes were heavy as his mouth lowered to my lips and his tongue searched for, and found, mine in a rush of desire that swept me along like a tidal wave. The kiss was so overwhelming and intense that I was numb to the pain of the pressure of the banister rail behind me, and then the wall as we stumbled back against it. His body pressed powerfully against me as his kiss took me with him through a blazing inferno which scorched and branded me as his.

I was flying, falling, lost, my only anchor to this world were the lips devouring mine and the strong shoulders on to which my hands were fastened, gripping and holding him against me. His lips released me and moved to the column of my throat, searing the skin I willingly offered with a blazing trail of kisses. I murmured his name, my hands journeying from his shoulders into his thick dark hair, finally knowing the feel of it between my fingers. He raised a hand and pushed the shirt from my neck, allowing him access to the sensitive skin of my shoulder. The thin strap of my bra was eased aside as he gently bit the delicate flesh and my knees literally felt incapable of holding me up a moment longer. I didn't think that they'd have to. But I was wrong.