Long Time Coming Page 6

  Piper, that little voice in the back of my mind taunted, are you confusing apprehension with excitement again?

  The twist in the pit of my stomach at that very moment confirmed this was the case and it grew ever tighter as I turned the corner onto the street where I was due to meet him.

  The knot, the twist in my gut wound around itself, contracted painfully as I caught sight of him. Leo.

  His back was turned and he had one hand up to his face or his mouth, I couldn’t tell which. He wore a dark jacket or blazer, and jeans. No trainers, but proper shoes. Highly polished. His hair was close cropped at the back and on top it had those ‘just been fucked’ spikes which looked as if they’d been mussed up carelessly in a few seconds but had probably taken him an absolute age to arrange in the way he liked.

  Oh God.

  Those two words repeated themselves over and over again in my mind.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God... I want...

  I wanted to touch the back of his neck so badly, could have reached up with one hand and—

  "There you are!" he said, making me jump with the enthusiasm of his greeting. "I’ve been waiting." He took a drag on the cigarette he’d been holding before dropping it, crushing it with the toe of his shoe and kicking it into the gutter. "Jesus it’s freezing out here. How do you bloody women manage in those..." He pointed at me. "Things."

  "Things?" I echoed, trying not to smirk as I met his gaze. He was a smoker. Deep joy. He swore even more than I did. And he had a tendency to be bossy under the guise of being a gentleman.

  I really shouldn’t fancy you. I really, really shouldn’t fancy you. I’ve just come out of a break up. I hurt another guy badly. I don’t deserve this, but... goddamn it, I do. I do fancy you. So much it hurts. And I give up.

  "Yeah. All that... girly shite. F’r’instance, where’s the rest of your coat?"

  "The rest of my…?" I looked down. Didn’t think I looked too bad. I’d made an effort to look nice. I’d also made an effort to look as if I hadn’t made too much of an effort. "What’s wrong with it?"

  "It doesn’t have any fucking sleeves."

  "You swear more than Gordon Ramsay."

  "Yeah, but I’m better looking though. Come on, woman, where’s your sleeves?"

  "Look, they have sleeves. They’re meant to be that way. Three-quarter-length. You’ve never heard of three-quarter-length sleeves?"

  "No." He choked out the word in an accented laugh. "I’m a bloke. I do coats. Jackets. That’s about it. Sleeves are supposed to go all the way down to your wrists."

  "You roll your shirtsleeves up."

  "Ah, you noticed?"

  "Fuck. Oh. Damn it. Well, if you’ve got Tourette’s it’s evidently catching. Um, yeah. I might’ve noticed."

  "Shirtsleeves are optional," he told me, smirking. "They’re there so I can roll ’em up and look all masculine and sweaty. Right, you, let’s go inside."

  "You?"

  "It’s a term of endearment." He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me into Cole’s, sweeping me past the doormen like he owned the place. I let myself be swept.

  We headed straight for the bar. At least, he did. I followed.

  "Um...is it just you?" I asked. "Or...?"

  "Huh?" He stopped, leaned down so I could shout in his ear. My stomach damn near leapt into my throat at the very smell of him. I never knew how delicious... now what was that... musk? I never knew musk and cologne could have that effect on me.

  "I said..." My words came out as a croak, barely audible above the music, rasping against my suddenly dry throat.

  "Something wrong?" His thick brows knitted together and being so close to his eyes didn’t help me get my breath back any quicker. "I can’t hear what you’re saying."

  "I said..." I tried again, relieved when the words came out relatively smoothly. "I asked if it was just you here tonight?"

  "Who else would there be?" The corners of his mouth threatened a smile, but nothing beyond that. His eyelids crinkled ever so slightly, though, and I felt...not mocked, but certainly like the object of his amusement.

  "Just wondered. Blokes usually meet their friends in bars at weekends don’t they? At the start of the evening, even if they have...other plans later?" When in doubt, fall back on the failsafe. Flirt your way out of any embarrassment.

  "You must be fucking joking!" He drew back slightly to examine my face before finishing his reply. "You think I wanna show you off to my mates when I’ve got you all to myself? I’d never get any peace. Especially when you look that good."

  "I look…?" No, never mind. Whatever he meant by it, it was best I let it lie, otherwise I’d sound as if I was fishing for compliments. I straightened up and faced the bar. Time to grab some alcohol.

  But no. He grabbed me, pulling me back by the elbow. Never in my life had I been so grateful for three-quarter-length sleeves, whether he liked them or not. No sleeves meant his skin made contact with the inside of my arm, his thumb grazing the inside of my elbow and thank God the music was loud enough to conceal my gasp.

  "Listen." His breath warmed my earlobe and I wondered if some kind of sexual foresight had persuaded me to wear my hair up tonight in a messy French roll. Any closer and he’d be licking my neck. "Listen, the only reason I didn’t meet up with the boys tonight...well, there were two. Meeting a bunch of strangers all at once can be quite intimidating for a lady, sure enough, which is why I didn’t introduce you the night we met, but more importantly..." He gave my elbow a near imperceptible squeeze and I would have thought I’d imagined it, were it not for the shiver of electricity that ran up my arm. "I’m not sharing you with anyone."

  I gulped, not wanting to look up at him, not because of fear of what I would see on his face, but what mine would reveal to him.

  I swore he knew what his hot breath on my neck did to me because he gave a short burst of laughter and automatically I turned my head to catch his smile and his breath smelled of cigarette smoke still. I hated the smell. On him, I knew I’d love the taste.

  At that moment I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his lips. Centimetres from mine, with cigarette smoke lingering, close enough for my heart to pound, close enough to make my lips part.

  He put his other hand on my neck, fingertips grazing the hollow below my ear, his thumb at my throat and if he pressed a little harder, my breath would catch again. "No."

  I blinked. What the—?

  "No, I’m not gonna kiss you."

  "What?" It was unladylike of me to exclaim so loudly over being denied a kiss, but Jesus, he’d let me think he was about to...

  "Not yet anyway." Smiling, he broke contact piece by piece. Thumb. Fingers. Hand. "I might get carried away."

  "Might..." Attempting further speech was pointless. All I could do was clear my throat.

  "Can I get you a stiff one?"

  "I...what?"

  He broke into an uncontrolled grin. "I meant a drink, you dirty wench." The way he said it, it sounded like dorty.

  "Yes. Please." Another attempt at clearing my throat. And thank God I had the presence of mind not to ask him for an alcopop. "Vodka and coke. Thanks."

  "Double?"

  "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

  "Of course not, I prefer my women sober. They enjoy it more."

  "Enjoy what more?" I winked. At least I now had control over my facial muscles and my ability to flirt had returned, though for how long I didn’t know. Probably until the next time he touched me.

  "Jesus..." He leaned on the bar with both elbows, but still managed to stretch over to speak to me. "Early in the evening, place isn’t full yet and I still can’t get the barman’s attention. Do something to get his attention, would ya?"

  "Like what? Flash him?" I winked again.

  "Not a chance. I wouldn’t share you with my mates, I’m not sharing you with a fuckin— Oh, hi, yeah... Gimme a pint of Guinness and a double vodka and coke for the lady."

  "Ice?" the barman asked. Clearly a man
of few words.

  "No thanks, no ice."

  "Brave girl." Hot breath in my hair again, as the barman tended to our drinks.

  "Are you kidding me? I’m an experienced drinker."

  "You’re talking to an Irishman here. You really don’t want to boast about your drinking prowess to me. I’d only be impressed if you ordered a single Irish and took it straight up."

  Beat.

  "The look on your face," he went on. "I love the way your eyes go wide. It’s like you’re just about to..."

  My mouth dried in an instant and as I licked my lips I caught him watching.

  "Jesus." It sounded like a groan as he turned away and I thought I’d done something wrong until he slipped an arm round my waist, pulled me in and told me, "Any more of that and I’m not gonna be able to walk over to the fucking seats."

  He paid for the drinks, saluted me with his pint glass and took a sip. It was my turn to stare as he licked the foam off his top lip and gave an 'ah' of contentment. "Nothing like a pint of the black stuff," he said. "And you have to get the head right, too; that’s really important. I love a good bit of head, don’t you?"

  Though I coughed into my drink I managed not to splutter too much, or spill it, but it was enough to make him laugh.

  "Shit." He set his glass on the bar, took mine from my hand and put it down too. "Sorry, darlin’." He patted my back. "Course, this is just a flimsy excuse to touch you, you know."

  "Yeah, thought as much."

  "My mouth’s always getting me into trouble. I can’t help myself."

  I looked sideways at him, still coughing. "Jesus."

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, fine." I reached for my vodka and coke again, took a gentle sip, all the while hoping he wouldn’t say a single word to put me off again. "It’s polite to wait for a woman to swallow before you make her choke." I glanced up at him through my eyelashes, coyly, waiting for his reaction.

  But he was just staring at me, pint glass in hand, lips parted.

  "What? Did I say something...wrong?"

  "Hell no." He shook his head, seemed to come out of his reverie—and I dreaded to think about what he’d been imagining. "Absolutely nothing wrong at all." He took a quick gulp of Guinness, and took my hand. "Come on, let’s go find a seat before I...well, now. And walk in front of me. Just pretend I’ve got a gun in my pocket."

  "You’re just saying things like that so I’ll look."

  "You can have a close up if you want."

  "Now, now, what did I say? Not when I’m trying to drink my vodka."

  We worked our way across the room, and even though Cole’s wasn’t crowded, he stayed close behind me and I was tempted, sorely tempted, to 'accidentally' brush my hand against that gun in his pocket, but held back. Not because of dignity. Something told me I’d have little of that left after he got me where he wanted me. No, I refrained from touching him for the same reason he’d stopped himself kissing me earlier.

  Once we started neither of us would be able to, or want to, stop.

  He slid into the booth before me and I joined him, sitting to his left.

  "Better this way," he said, slipping an arm around my waist. I wriggled about in the seat to make myself comfortable and he rested his head on my shoulder as he spoke. "Might be a bit embarrassing for me otherwise." His free hand came to rest on my thigh. On bare skin. Inches away from the hem of my skirt and I wondered if he’d try to—

  "I never thought I’d say this but there’s one thing Guinness isn’t a good cure for." Nevertheless, he lifted his hand off my leg so he could go for his pint glass and take another gulp.

  Surprising though it was to admit, it was a relief. The less physical contact he made with me, the more I was able to concentrate on simple things like sipping my own drink, registering my surroundings, or breathing.

  "So," he said, setting his glass down again. I held mine up to my mouth, both for sipping and to mask my face. Though why I felt this need, I didn’t know. "What made you come out tonight?"

  "You asked me."

  "Nah, come on..." He shook his head, smiling. "Would you do everything I asked you to do?"

  "That depends on what it was you wanted me to do."

  "Stop flirting with me and be serious."

  "I am being serious. You just see flirtation in my every movement because you’re dirty that way."

  "So why did you come out?"

  "I just gave you my answer. You asked me." And I wanted to feel good about myself, not guilty.

  "You don’t know me, though."

  "Maybe that’s why I agreed to come out tonight."

  "Oh really?"

  "Yeah." I nodded. "You’re someone new. New and exciting. Sure, it’s all very well saying I like meeting new people or I’m a very sociable person and that may be true, but the bottom line is I like meeting new people for selfish reasons, because variety is the spice of life."

  "You get bored easily, then?"

  "Oh, maybe not with people so much. I like to try new things," I said, draining my glass and resisting the cough tickling the back of my throat. I couldn’t let myself choke on a gulp of alcohol in front of an Irishman again; that would be so shaming.

  "I knew there was something I liked about you." He gave a toothy grin and my heart skipped a beat. Yes, he was good-looking. Of course he was, otherwise he would never have caught my eye, but the more time I spent in his company the more he grew on me. The more he smiled, or touched, or flirted, or looked at me like he was thinking filthy thoughts, the more my desire increased.

  "Why did you phone me?"

  He squeezed my leg and twisted round to give me his full attention. His voice wasn’t low, given the background music, but was barely above that noise level, so I had to lean in. He did it deliberately, I knew, so I had to get close. Not that I minded.

  "I don’t believe in playing games."

  I stared at his mouth, desperate to touch it, but also desperate to cling to any semblance of self-control.

  "Some people think I’m too forward."

  "I like that about you. I prefer honesty."

  "Brutal honesty?"

  "Sure." I nodded, nothing more than a mere twitch of my head, licked my lips and caught him watching me do so.

  "I really want to kiss you."

  Such a simple phrase, so bare, so honest, so arousing.

  It was all I could do to stutter out the words, "Then why don’t you?"

  "I don’t remember saying it was your mouth I wanted to kiss."

  "I..."

  "I love that I do that to you. Make you speechless. I see something I want..." He paused, ran a single finger up and down my thigh and a shiver of electricity followed his touch. "...and take it."

  Mute, I waited for him to speak further.

  "You’re a woman who likes honesty, correct?"

  I gave another slight nod. Once.

  "Well here’s something I know to be true." Leo ran his forefinger along the inside of my elbow, and it was the arm which still held my now empty glass. His lips parted for a moment, a brief flash of time, and he took a deep breath. The now fading smell of cigarette smoke drifted by as he exhaled again. He looked down at my legs. His left arm still encircled my waist and he touched my knee with his right hand. He bit his lip as he looked into my eyes again, staring. "We should get out of here."

  Seven

  I wasn’t as nervous unlocking my front door as I had been with Gray; this time round, there was no risk of ruining a friendship of many years’ standing.

  This would turn out to be nothing more than a deep and meaningful overnight relationship, an agreement between two consenting adults who knew nothing about each other beyond the fact the feeling was mutual. And that feeling wasn’t love, respect or friendship.

  It was lust.

  Daring shot through me as I opened the door, stepped across the threshold and held the door open.

  "It’s like crossing the Rubicon," Leo murmured. "You do realiz
e once I’m in your flat I can’t be held responsible for my actions?"

  "Don’t hold back on my account."

  We moved slowly. I flicked on the hall light, he stepped away to give me room to lock the front door again behind us and I zipped my keys back into my handbag.

  "Shall I get us something to drink?" I asked, to have something to say.

  Expressionless and wordless, he came nearer by one step, a frightening intensity in his chocolate eyes. I’d never noticed their true color before, but I’d only ever seen him outside after dark or under the artificial lights of a city centre bar.

  He gripped my upper arms just below my shoulders and kept walking, forcing me back until I ended up against my front door. Even when my metallic hair clip clinked against it and I gasped, he didn’t stop to ask if I was all right.

  His upper body pressed against mine, keeping me in place—you’d better not think you’re going anywhere—as he fiddled with his belt and zipper, staring into my eyes as he did so, glaring. "Hadn’t you better take your coat off?" he asked, continuing to tug at his own clothes.

  Unquestioning, I unbuttoned the jacket with the sleeves he’d earlier mocked and let it drop on the floor. When I was done he wrapped one arm around my waist and grabbed at my skirt with his other hand, simultaneously trying to haul it up and press himself harder against me.

  "What? Now?"

  "No, next week, when do you think?" His brow furrowed before he pressed his face to mine, mingling his shallow breaths with my own. "You’re not gonna argue, are you?"

  His authoritative tone made me gulp. "Up against the door?"

  "I don’t want to wait," he growled. "I can’t wait." His lips curled into a conspiratorial smile and he reached down with one hand, his arm making slow, rhythmic movements as he stroked himself.

  "The neighbors... They might hear..."

  "So fucking what? Let them hear. Now get these knickers off. Or whatever the hell you call ‘em. Now."

  I struggled to pull them down even partway with him standing so close to me, had to wriggle to one side while he watched. His scrutiny made me more nervous and shaky than I was already. His gaze burned my skin and I avoided looking back at him, any part of his body, his face or...