8 comments/ 32069 views/ 22 favorites Just the Thought of You Ch. 01 By: Brunne © 2014 Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * STEPHANIE & JAROD - PART THREE It's been a long time in the making, but here is the beginning of the conclusion to Steph and Jarod's story. For those reading for the first time, you'll probably want to go back and read: * PART ONE - 'Under My Skin' * PART TWO - 'Deep in the Heart of Me' ...otherwise not much of this chapter will make much sense! For those of you who have waited all this time to read more and have kept me going with your encouragement - thank you. You are awesome. x Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * STEPHANIE Hair up? Down? And what blouse with the grey skirt? A bright colour? Classic ivory? I squinted at myself in the bathroom mirror. Stuck my tongue out at my reflection. Why was every tiny decision suddenly the biggest fucking decision in the world? And when, pray tell, had I turned into a complete and utter airhead? I let the electric toothbrush whir on for another sixty seconds, reluctant to finish and move on to the next task. All these decisions took up too much energy. I was so tired. And besides, you can never be too careful about gum health. Hell, who was I kidding? It was all his fault. Still staring into the mirror, I bared my foamy teeth in a snarl. Spit and rinse, Steph. Spit and rinse. Yes, I was a wild, rabid animal. Crazy in the head. Foaming at the mouth. Crazy to go along with him and his games. Crazy and mad with distraction every second I wasn't with him. Why had he needed to be so incredible. So sensitive and giving and...incredible. There were still parts of that night I hadn't gone back to think about. I hadn't allowed it. There were some memories I didn't dare touch in danger of ruining their perfection. So I just had names for them, and let myself hold each memory in turn, ever so lightly, and say its name. Stroke its shiny surface, but not dip into it. The Hallway. The Bed. The Chair. The Look in his eyes when he told me he cared. All of them too intense to revisit just yet. Still, days later, my mind danced around the edges of them. Checking to see that each memory was still there, intact, pristine. * * * * * I'd woken up when his morning alarm went off, only to find myself in the bed alone. Again. This was getting to be a bad habit. I could hear the shower running, which answered the question of where he was. So no morning-after shower sex, then. I tried to uncurl my body as gingerly as possible but still had to gasp with the pain of it. I was unused to such...activities. And there had been a lot of it. Activity. I lay there, blinking, trying to remember, trying not to. Staring up at the exquisitely plastered ceiling. The last thing I'd been conscious of was drifting off, curled up in his lap. He'd been holding my hand. We did things in such a backwards way, didn't we. Worked our way back from the ending to the start. First fucking, then kissing, then holding hands. Next thing I knew he'd be making at eyes at me from across a crowded room. Or he might actually introduce himself properly. He must have carried me all the way to bed. I didn't even know if he'd slept with me or gone back to that chair of his. The thought of him sitting there, sprawled in the chair, eyes dark and fixed on me made my body temperature rise a little. I managed some semblance of a sitting position, the hardwood floor cold under my bare feet. I had a sudden yearning for the warm, worn pile of the carpet in my bedroom at the flat. And my fuzzy dressing gown with the hearts and daisies. I was shivering now. The last thing I wanted to do was get into my clothes unwashed. There was a short moment of panic before I remembered they were probably still out in the hallway where he'd taken them off me before he-... I winced my way over to the hamper. Pried up the lid and found the white shirt I'd worn the night before. The shirt he'd unbuttoned before he-... Dammit. The sound of the shower and the promise of heat and steam drew me into the hallway. I wrapped the shirt around me like a robe and tiptoed up to the bathroom door, which was open just a crack. He was out of the shower, his back to me, towel wound around his slim hips. I must have made a sound, because he turned and caught me peeking in through the gap. I really couldn't tell you what the expression on his face was. All I know is he looked different when he looked at me than when he didn't. It wasn't a happy look. Stern, almost. Guarded. I ran my fingertips along the door frame, suddenly very interested in the mouldings. So we were back to this, then? Gone was the playful man I'd discovered the previous night. Gone was the ardent lover. Jarod was back. I turned to go back to the bedroom, but he was already opening the door wider. I could feel his eyes on me. "Did you want a shower?" I blinked, then nodded, still not meeting his eyes, trying to ignore the way his hair curled when it was damp. And the expanse of naked, beautiful chest at eye level. I did want a shower. I had the sudden, desperate urge to wash it all off me. The whole thing. That can't be good, right? He half-gestured towards the sink. "I've just got to shave and you can have the bathroom." He dropped his arm to his side when all I did was nod. There was that look on his face again. His hands moved to his hips and he drew back. "Look, I've got an early meeting. There's clean towels on the radiator, okay?" When I still didn't answer he turned on his heel and headed for the sink. I was trapped. Not able to go backwards, not able to go forwards. He gave me no clue where I was meant to be and who I was meant to be to him. Not even a good-morning kiss? No sweet words? I could feel myself shutting off, and this time I didn't stop it happening. All the time unable to keep myself from taking in the sight of him, half naked, muscled shoulders rippling as he went through the long-ago-memorised habit of shaving. Damn him for being so pretty. * * * * * The hot water felt good. Great, actually. And he had really amazing body-wash. It smelled like the sea. I toyed with the idea of washing my hair, but there was no way it would dry in time without my hair dryer. I told myself it was the incredible smell of the soap that made me lather myself from chin to toe three times. Nothing to do with him, no. I finally resigned myself to leaving my steamy cocoon in the bathroom, and stepped cautiously into the hall. The cooler air raised goosebumps up my arms, but the only noises I could hear were coming from the other end of the apartment. I stared down the hallway. Something was missing. My clothes were gone. I darted across into the bedroom and only breathed again when I spotted them laid out on the hamper. What, did I think he'd steal them so I couldn't leave his apartment and be forever his wanton love slave? Steph, now you're just being ridiculous. I could see he'd made some attempt to smooth them out. I'd left them littered along the hallway and the bedroom floor without a care. Still swathed in an enormous bath sheet, I reviewed the state of my skirt and blouse with dismay. Not only were they crumpled from spending the night on the floor, but there was no way I could get away with wearing them to the office a second day in a row and have no one notice. Why hadn't I thought about this? Why hadn't I considered the going-to-work-the-next-day bit? But had I even planned to stay the night? I made myself half-way decent and went in the direction of the coffee-related sounds emanating from the kitchen. Jarod was leaning against the counter top, coffee cup in one hand, newspaper in the other, his eyebrows meeting in a frown. He looked impeccable. Fresh shirt, pressed trousers, crisp tie. He looked good enough to eat. I felt like yesterday's leftovers. "I thought I could drop you at your place before I go in," he said between sips of coffee. He made eye contact briefly, then went back to his newspaper. That was it? We carpool and everything goes back to normal? As if it never happened? I noticed the cup and saucer laid out for me next to the espresso machine. "I wasn't sure if you wanted any." He was watching me in earnest now, his newspaper forgotten. I didn't have anything for him. No words, no emotions. Nothing I was ready to say or tell. His distance had hurt me. Two could play at this. "It's okay. I'll have some at the office." He shrugged, giving me another sideways glance as he put his cup away in the sink. I concentrated on smoothing a rather enormous wrinkle in my skirt instead of the heavenly aroma coming from the coffee machine. Besides, I still needed to get changed at home and make my regular commute. Like any other day. But it wasn't just any other day. Everything inside me felt different. I felt like a different person inhabited my body. I resented the intrusion. I wanted the old me...the real me, back. I should have known then that she was long gone. * * * * * How long had I just been sitting here? On my bed, staring into the shadowy depths of the closet. Tears running unnoticed down my face. So. There you have it. That's why the memories stay in their gilded cages. And I still don't know which damn blouse to wear. Damn him. Damn, damn. I swiped the back of my hand over my lips, the memory of his brief parting kiss again entering my mind when I least wanted or expected it. Time to get your big-girl pants on, Steph. Or you'll be late for work, just like you have been every day since he dropped you at your front door. The kiss in the car had been brief, and caught me by surprise. When I'd almost flinched back from him, he'd stared at me, dark things shifting about in his eyes. Was I starting to recognise what it looked like when I hurt him? Good. Then maybe he'd be feeling a little of what was roiling around in my gut. We looked at each other for a few seconds more, and then I ran. Well, not actually ran, but fled. As gracefully as I could. As quickly as I dared up the path to my front door. I made it up the stairs and into my room before dissolving into a ridiculous puddle of tears. Five days. Five days and no text, no call, no stopping at my desk. I'd deliberately avoided looking anywhere in the general direction of his office. I knew he could probably see me. But he'd been like a phantom. Always in meetings. Always headed in the other direction, or absent altogether. So was the silence his fault, or mine? Had he taken my flinch as a sign? A bad omen? Granted, I hadn't texted or called him either. The phone sat like a stone in my handbag, heavier in my imagination than in reality. Of course I checked it. Cussed myself out each time I did, but I did check it. It would have been easier to stop breathing than stop doing that. I pushed myself off the bed, still trying to remove the physical memory of his mouth on mine. But it was permanent now. That particular memory was like a tattoo, and wouldn't fade. I grabbed the first clean, ironed shirt that came to hand and dragged it on over my head. It would do. Who cared, anyway? * * * * * JAROD He'd let her sleep. When his arms weren't able to hold her any longer he'd carried her to the bedroom. She was heavier than he'd expected, and his arms shook with fatigue as he rolled her carefully onto the bed. She'd barely woken, sighing softy in her sleep as he tucked her under the covers. How long he'd stood next to the bed he didn't know, the cold steadily seeping into his body. Stood there, watching her sleep in his bed, her dark hair fanned out over his pillows. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This wasn't going to happen. He'd felt a madness akin to this one once before, and it had nearly finished him. He'd never have let it get this far if he'd thought... How could he love her? He barely knew her. What did he really know about her? She worked at his office and she smelled of flowers. And yet he was bound to her so tight he didn't even know where to start looking for a way out. * * * * * He woke with a start, half-tangled in the sheets. A turn of the head and he could see her still sleeping next to him. She was curled in on herself, facing away from him. He hadn't been able to bring himself to touch her. To hold her. Afraid that even that would somehow intensify what he felt. As if it were a matter of contagion and exposure, and he could quarantine his heart if he just didn't touch her. He checked the clock and dropped his head back onto the pillow. He'd gotten an hour of sleep, tops. The night that would never end. Groaning, he scraped himself out of bed. Everything hurt. Everything ached. A hot shower had to help. He wasn't sure if he actually heard her or if he just sensed her presence. He was wrapping his towel around his waist, his back stiffening at the sudden awareness that he was being watched. He turned quickly enough to see a pair of dark eyes peering at him through the crack of open doorway. Her hair fell around her shoulders, begging, as ever, to wind itself around his willing fingers. And those eyes. Sleeping, unconscious, he could deal with it. To look into her eyes with the knowledge that he had somehow begun to...love her. He didn't know how to do that. He steeled himself, pushed it down, and strode to the door. He swung it open, catching her as she went to turn away, the expression on her face unreadable. The light from the bathroom fell across her face. For a split second he caught a glimpse of a little girl. A lost little girl. It was as if she knew. Knew that something had changed. That he had changed. She refused to meet his eyes, blinking rapidly with those smoky dark lashes of hers. He tried not to look at her mouth. Soft from sleep, the pink of her lips called to him like a siren on the rocks, begging to be kissed. A flash of what could come next filled his mind. Her, naked against the wall of his shower, him pressing hard and insistent into the softness of her, those lips under his, their bodies slick and slippery together like fish in the hot water. He swallowed hard, blinking. "Did you want a shower?" he asked, desperate to at least break the silence. A shower alone, he cautioned himself, locking the mental images away firmly. She nodded, her gaze briefly flicking up to his before dropping down to his chest. "I've just got to shave and you can have the bathroom." Again, she only nodded without speaking, her mouth tightening into a thin line at his continued scrutiny. So be it. He backed away from her, in need of some distance, the faint scent of her hair dancing around the edges of his senses. "Look, I've got an early meeting. There's clean towels on the rack, okay?" He tried to keep his voice level, but still detected the slight edge of panic. Her passiveness was freaking him out. It called to him to break through it. To break through to her and find that writhing, begging, all-encompassing lust-creature he'd held in his arms the night before. But he couldn't. He turned away from her and pointed himself at the mirror, trying to remember what it was he usually did to shave. He stared dumbly down at the shaving cream, his razor dangling in the running water until the familiar motions pulled him in. And still she watched him from the doorway. * * * * * The bathroom door closed with a click behind him as she took her turn. He only allowed himself a second of lingering, his hand just inches from the door handle. Giving in to the madness last night had left him dangerously accustomed to surrendering to his impulses. And the impulse at the centre of his mind, sending all the wrong signals to various parts of his body, was the thought of her on the other side of the door. Stripping off, stepping into the hot water. Into his shower. He groaned inwardly. Why the fuck aren't you in there with her? battled with, Keep your damned distance, Jarod. Work. You've got to get to work, he reminded himself. Right. And still, he hesitated at the hiss of the water starting up. Damn it. He tore himself away. Surveyed instead the hall and the trail of her clothing he'd left there the previous night. And, discovered that he'd have to keep his own memories under wraps if he was going to get out of the apartment at all, and not just end up taking her back to bed. One by one he picked up her garments, trying to ignore the slight dizziness he felt as the scent of her reached him. With a care that he couldn't explain, he found himself laying everything out, smoothing the wrinkles. He never did anything like this for anyone. He barely picked up after himself let alone anyone else. His chest tightening with a sudden surge of the panic he'd been keeping under wraps. He couldn't let this happen. Wouldn't. Dressed in his work clothes, he felt a little safer. Shielded, armoured against the feeling that he was in far over his head. His morning routine calmed him. His paper, his coffee. But still, there was the buzzing in his gut. She would walk around the corner, and she'd look into his eyes. And she'd know. And there would be no way back. Swirling the dark liquid in the cup, breathing in the warm, nutty aroma, he braced himself at the sound of her footsteps padding down the hallway. Just read your damn paper, he told himself. Drink your coffee and read your paper and get her out of your damned apartment. She just stood there, hovering at the doorway. He looked up at her, saw how she shifted back and forth from one foot to another. Crumpled clothes, no makeup, hair in a tousled mane around her head. She was breathtaking. "I thought I'd drop you at your place before I go in," he said, trying to concentrate on his newspaper so that she wouldn't see the spark of need in his eyes. He hazarded a glance up and caught her staring at the coffee cup he'd left out for her on the counter-top. "I wasn't sure if you wanted any." Damn it, he couldn't take her eyes off her. Just two steps and he'd have her in his arms, his mouth on hers, those soft, perfect breasts pressed against his chest. Those infuriating, tiny hands of hers grasping his shoulders and tugging at his hair... "It's okay. I'll have some at the office." He blinked at her rejection. Swallowing hard, he attempted a shrug, still barely able to take his eyes from her as he put his cup in the sink. There was still time to go back. Just two steps away. They could both call in sick. He'd spend the entire day with those lovely, curvy woman-legs wrapped snugly around his waist. He could go on pretending this was lust and not...not... The drive to her flat was silent. She stared out the window, her body turned resolutely away from him. He blanked his mind, not even allowing himself to wonder at her distance. It was better if she kept it. Distance. It was easier that way. Until he could get his head straight. But when he pulled up to the curb and she turned in her seat to unbuckle her seatbelt, his hand had come up of its own volition. Tipped her chin and brought her lips to his. Held her mouth to his even when she flinched back. Barely a brush of a kiss. But he couldn't forget it. Or the look in her eyes when he pulled back from her. It stayed with him as he watched her dash into the house. It stayed with him all the way to work. Meetings and calls and emails, and he could still feel the imprint of her mouth on his. He knew it now. He was in trouble. Bad trouble. * * * * * STEPHANIE 'Would you go to lunch with me? Tomorrow?' The text stared out at me, startling, in black and white on the phone's tiny screen. I'd checked it impulsively just after lunchtime, and there it had been. Five days of silence, and then...what? He wants to go on a fucking date? I cursed at the section of my insides that started jumping around with joy. Shut up, silly insides. It doesn't mean a thing. He's probably just trying to end this...thing...with some dignity. To assuage his guilty conscience for being a world-class prick, no doubt. Just the Thought of You Ch. 01 Face it Steph, he hasn't even asked you to dinner. Just lunch. As if we're lunch buddies, catching up on office gossip. Why, oh why hadn't I stuck to my original impression of him? Apparently, his arrogance knew no bounds. But there was that dumbass part of me that got butterflies and a jolt of adrenaline if I even thought I glimpsed him in the hallway. And if I let my mind drift anywhere near those little gilded cages full of memories of his hands on my body, him kissing me with that insane hunger, his teeth on my skin... Damn him. I let him...and myself, stew for about forty minutes without a reply. I wanted him to sweat a little. It just drove me nuts how he blew hot and cold so quickly. So easily putting all the defences back up again just as soon as I'd seen the other side of them. Why couldn't he trust me? Was it to do with me, or did he just need some sort of therapy? I tapped nervously at the computer mouse with my fingernails, undecided. Steph, he'll break your heart. I sighed. He was already half-way there. And so I replied anyway. The idiot that I am. The silly idiot who can't stop thinking about the look in his when he finally admitted he gave a damn. He might have forgotten he'd said it. He might even have forgotten that one brief second when he'd felt it. But I hadn't forgotten. 'Yes. When/where?' I typed back, and bit my lip as I hit 'send'. When would I ever learn? * * * * * JAROD Well, fate sealed, he grimaced as he stared at his outbound text. '12 tomorrow? I'll drive.' At least it was to the point. Okay, it was down-right blunt as hell. All of a sudden he just wanted it all to be over. For the lunch to be over, the inevitable conversation to be over. For her possible tears to be over. Fuck. He stood up, pushing his fingers through his hair. This wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. Damn it, but he didn't relish the thought of closing the door on this. There was only so far he could push down the memories. Of her in his arms. Of that flying, singing feeling. Was it his imagination? Had it really happened the way he thought it had? But it couldn't be real. Not long-term. A fluke? Maybe the build-up of years of emotional stress had just finally bubbled to the surface and happened to land in one big catastrophic mess on her. Unless, of course, the catalyst actually was her. It was this possibility his mind was doing its very best to avoid. The thought that perhaps, maybe...someone was able to get him in a way that no one ever had before. The thought was so alien. That fragile shard of hope had been doing its best to wend its way through his head for days now. What if the lunch date actually went well? What if she was 'the one'? What if... Shut up, Jarod. Just...shut up. The sudden bang produced by the swift kick he'd delivered to his filing drawer pulled him up short. He took a deep, steadying breath. Pull yourself together, man. "Jarod?" His head snapped up. Angela stood at his doorway, a pile of expense envelopes filling her arms. The stern glance over the glasses, the quick appraisal. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The very last thing he needed. "Yes?" He smiled brightly. "Is everything all right?" she queried, looking around his office as if to discover some creature roaming around making strange noises. "Right as rain, Angela. And you?" She blinked at him several times before nodding and turning on her heel, disappearing back through the doorway with a brisk swish of her skirt. Jarod stared at her retreating back. He didn't know what entity to beg, but all he knew is that he needed this to sort itself out, and soon. * * * * * STEPHANIE I'd spent half the evening stressing over how to explain to Angela that I needed a long lunch. A lie about a dental appointment? A raging bladder infection requiring immediate medical attention? His text said that he'd drive, which meant he wasn't going to risk taking me anywhere near the office. I wasn't sure whether to be comforted by this or offended. All the possibilities went through my head as I tried to lose myself in my favourite Austen novel. Did he want to take me away from the office so we could have a romantic lunch? Or was it what I expected and dreaded? That he didn't want me near the office so I'd do my weeping woman routine far away from prying eyes? Was he ashamed to be seen with me? Or did he just want some privacy? It's these sorts of nonsense questions that can drive a girl nuts. I tossed the book onto the bed next to me. I wasn't any closer to figuring out the untold world of meaning in the four measly words of his text message than I was to liking Mr. Henry Crawford and his shallow excuse for a sister. To say I stomped down to the kitchen would imply I was acting unladylike. But fluffy slippers and a daisy-print dressing gown aren't particularly ladylike in the first place, so I wasn't to blame. I caught sight of myself in the glass of the microwave door as I waited for the kettle to boil and had to stifle a laugh. If only the mighty Jarod could see me now. Hair tied in lopsided bun, the smudge of dark circles under my eyes, and more teddy-bears on my nighty than was entirely decent. Such a smouldering sex-pot. How I'd managed to lure him into such sex-capades still escaped me. But I was determined. Tomorrow I would look good. Nothing flashy. Understated clothes, daintiest of pearl earrings and my most demure hairstyle. He would have nothing to object to. I would in no way embarrass him on that count. I stirred an extra spoonful of the hot chocolate powder into my mug and went back to pondering my Angela-dilemma. Screw it. I'd go in early, leave late, and just tell her I needed a longer lunch. What business was it of hers as long as I got the work done? I stuck my tongue out at my microwave door reflection as I passed it on the way back upstairs. I just kept telling myself that two could play at this game, and I wasn't about to let him off easy. * * * * * JAROD This isn't rocket science, he thought. You put on a shirt, and then you choose a tie to match it, right? Right. He stared back at his reflection in the bedroom mirror. No, this one wasn't any good either. It was the third tie he'd tried, and it just wasn't...right. He wrestled with the knot in frustration before dropping his arms to his sides in defeat. This is ridiculous. You're meant to be breaking it off, not trying to impress her. But he just couldn't shake the flock of nerves that persisted in swooping through his midsection at the thought of sitting across from her for an entire meal. What he thought might happen, he didn't know. He just knew that he was dreading it, and couldn't find a tie that didn't make him look like his fucking accountant. He blinked. It was the shirt, wasn't it. The pale pinstripe just wasn't right. And there was only one tie that went with the damned thing anyway. It was dark grey, expensive, and hadn't reappeared since he'd used it to blindfold her that first night in the car. She must still have it. He scowled at himself, the growl of frustration just begging to come roaring out. Jarod, stop being such a girl. The shirt landed, bunched up, on the hamper. One reluctant button rolled away in a gentle arc under the dresser. * * * * * Traffic was awful, made worse by the fact he'd gotten started later than usual. Getting into the office did nothing to improve his mood which, by then, was decidedly foul. He'd barely sat down and gotten his computer switched on when Angela was at his door, pestering him to sign off on a teetering stack of expense files. He'd been living in the futile hope that they would somehow disappear from his desk of their own accord. "Just give me a minute, would you Angela? For heaven's sake..." He saw her eyebrows flick upwards at his tone. The quick tuck of her chin, both startled and disapproving. She turned to go, hesitating briefly at the doorway as if she wanted to say something. Faced with his acid glare, she seemed to think better of it, and slipped out quietly. It was gone 11:30am when he finally resurfaced out of the mountain of folders. He stretched back in his chair, fingers kneading at the painful crick in his neck. Bloody paperwork. At least it had been a distraction. He leaned a little further back in his chair, angling so he could see out the door in the direction of her desk. She was there. He sat up a little straighter. Her hair was up in some sort of twist at the back, baring the full curve of her neck. The swooping nerves in his gut were momentarily interrupted by the sudden twitch of desire as the memory hit him. The smooth softness of her skin. The heady scent of her perfume. Her melting into him and burning like some sort of damned erotic napalm. He gripped the arms of the chair a little tighter. No. That was exactly why this had to end. He pushed himself to his feet and took a walk. Anything to keep himself away from her. Anything to calm the slight tremor in his hands. What was wrong with him? * * * * * STEPHANIE It was a relief really. All the waiting was just enough to kill a person, but it was finally today, and I was dressed and groomed and ready for anything he could throw at me. After days of feeling like I was coming apart at the seams, I felt together. Collected. Calm. Okay, the butterflies weren't exactly flying in formation, but I could take a deep breath without my hands shaking, couldn't I? Was he as nervous as I was? What on earth would we even talk about? This thought wasn't particularly helpful. Because then I just started thinking about how the conversation might consist of him telling me that the idea of dating an Admin Assistant was too much of an embarrassment for me to be anything more than a good shag. Angela gave me a funny look when she saw me there, already working, when she came in. Setting her handbag on her desk, she regarded me silently before saying her usual tart good morning. I felt like my cheeks must be glowing red. As if she could guess where I was going and why. I waited until she was suitably snowed under to pop by her desk in what I hoped seemed a casual way, and asked to take a longer lunch. "Lunch with a friend?" she asked conversationally while seeming to scrutinise me from head to foot. I felt like something in a specimen jar. I just nodded, not really trusting my mouth to work properly, everything about my body suddenly dry or clammy and entirely uncooperative. Did she guess? Did she know? But she just nodded and gave me a funny half-smile as she was called away by one of the executives. I stood staring after her, temporarily incapable of thinking or moving. Okay. So I'd go to lunch with him then. Right. I could feel all my calm composure quickly dissolving, and fled for the Ladies. Locked in a stall I slumped down on the seat, head between my knees. Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck. Had I really thought this would be easy? Facing the prospect of having him sit across the table from me and cut me off at the knees in that awful, cold way of his? I took deep, steadying breaths. It would be fine. I'd be fine. This was life, right? Rough with the smooth. But the gilded cages threatened to burst open. No. I wouldn't think about it. Wouldn't allow myself to remember how it felt to have his hands pressing into my waist, his mouth on my breast, suckling like I was life itself and he needed me in order to exist. After several minutes with toilet tissue pressed to my eyes I ventured out of the stall. Lost, hollow Stephanie stared out at me from the mirrors. Get it together girl. Whatever happens, you'll survive. But I wasn't sure I entirely believed it. * * * * * So close to just not going. THIS close to ignoring the time on the bottom of the computer screen and pretending it was just another day. Pretending I hadn't spent an extra hour getting ready this morning. For what? A minute slipped past 12. And another. I let them. I reminded myself to breathe. It would be so easy. Just blow him off now, and save myself the potential pain of actually going through with it. I'd just end it there. Full stop. My absence acting as the small, black dot at the end of a very dark, confusing sentence. "Stephanie, you're still here?" My heart was instantly in my throat, pounding. I spun my chair towards Angela's voice. She stood there, holding her usual steaming bowl of cream of tomato soup. "Uh. Yes, I just had to finish a...thing." "Oh, I'm sure it can wait. Off you go. Enjoy your lunch." I grabbed my handbag, feigning pleasure, shrinking under those eyes that missed nothing. I could only smile at her, sure my face was about to crack with the strain of it. I was late. He would be waiting. I pressed at the elevator button, but heard it dinging several floors up. With the lunch crowd, it was impossible. I took to the stairwell, trying not to skip steps. I had a sudden image of myself, broken and bleeding at the bottom of the stairs after taking a deadly tumble. Unable to attend lunch. Reprieved. The garage seemed darker than it ever did at night, the bright light of the outdoors blazing in from the exit ramp. Too soon I was next to the car, my hand on the handle, the door opening much to easily. * * * * * JAROD The clock in the car dash said it was 12:05pm. He gripped the steering wheel and flexed his shoulders, trying to relax. Where the hell was she? Forcing him to sit here, stewing. Words rolled around in his head as he tried to rehearse what he'd say to her. Nothing sounded right. He wasn't trying to hurt her. Or make her feel cheap. Or that it hadn't meant anything to him. He just had to tell her that it was too much. It couldn't be done. It had no future. They had no future. The click of the passenger door handle startled him back to alertness. Silent, she slipped into the seat next to him. Her eyes met his briefly, her lips tightening in a stiff smile. "Hi," she said, her voice soft and unreadable. Just the sound of her voice sent the swooping feeling in his gut into some sort of frenzy. He just about remembered to speak. "Hi." She busied herself with fastening her self-belt. As if that could save her from the car-wreck he was about to make of this lunch. He concentrated on getting the car pulled around and pointed in the direction of the exit. He squinted, not daring to look over at her. "So, busy day?" Great, Jarod. Nice conversation skills. "Not too bad. You?" He could feel her eyes on him now, and pretended he needed his eyes entirely on the road as they turned out of the driveway into the street. If only his insides would quit clenching like that he could figure out what he should be saying. "Yeah. Just a lot of paperwork, really." She made a soft 'Hm' noise, but she didn't say anything more. They drove on, the silence becoming ever more deafening. She was the first to break it. "So, where are you taking me?" Relieved to have a safe topic, he gave her a quick glance before checking his mirrors and changing lanes. "Just a little Greek place I know." "Greek sounds nice." Was that uncertainty he could hear in her voice? "Don't you like Greek food?" "I don't know, really." He looked over at her. Sure enough, her cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment. "Haven't you ever had it before?" "Well, yeah. Not at a proper restaurant." She was looking at him now. He did his best to keep his eyes on the road. "I think you'll like it." * * * * * He was lucky. There was a parking space very close to the place. It was a somewhat trendy part of town, with several pedestrian-only streets established as a 'market' area, and usually fairly busy at lunch. The plus side was that they'd have some privacy from the prying eyes and ears at the office. That and the food was good, and if he had to feel like hell over this, he would at least do it on a full stomach. She'd gotten out on her side before he had a chance to open her door. But then, this excursion wasn't about obeying the rules of chivalry, was it. She was standing on the pavement, smoothing her narrow skirt, the reluctant sun catching the gloss of her hair as the clouds shifted. His breath hitched a little. She really was beautiful. He cursed the gentle pull in his chest. He wouldn't allow it to have meaning. This was simple. Even if he had to make it simple. They walked side by side, not touching, but that damned perfume of hers tormented him all the same. He stopped in front of a small corner building, wooden-clad and sporting a shabby Parthenon-inspired entrance complete with Grecian pillars either side of the doors. She looked up at him in surprise. Had she been expecting him to take her to some Michelin star restaurant with gleaming marble surfaces? He pushed the narrow door open for her, trying his best to ignore how closely she brushed past him as she stepped through the doorway. Inside, they were met with the sight of vintage wood panelling and a quirky Grecian-house facade over the kitchen pass-through. So, why hadn't he taken her to some minimalist, stainless steel place as he usually did on a date? Why had he chosen his favourite, private, lunch retreat? But then, why had he made any of the choices he had where she was concerned? They were met by a portly Greek man, his long apron almost scraping the ground as he bowed his way to a table for two by the window. Everything was slightly shabby, but laid out perfectly. That's what he loved about the place. No pretence, just good, clean food and quick service. After settling herself into her chair and accepting the napkin laid across her lap by the attentive waiter, she took a long, slow look around. Other than an older couple sitting at a table along the other window, they had the place to themselves. "So what do you like?" His voice seemed to startled her, and her wide eyes turned to meet his. She blinked a few times, then flipped the menu open in front of her. The frown that caused the little crease between her eyebrows intensified. "What do you usually have?" she asked, eyeing him warily. He considered the menu. "A few cold starters and then one of the fish dishes usually. But it's up to you." She sat looking at him, and then closed her menu. She folded her hands together in her lap and sat back in her chair. "Why don't you order for us both?" What was this about? Was she just unsure of what to order, or was she trying to draw him into something? Conscious of her eyes on him he scanned the menu in search of some rescue. "Is there anything you wouldn't eat?" he asked. "I'll try anything once," she said, eyes lowered, carefully straightening the napkin on her lap. Okay then. Have it your way, he thought. He raised his chin in the direction of the waiter, who bustled over instantly. He ordered them both the lunch special, with various meze dishes and grilled sea bass as a main course. He sat back and had to stifle a grin at the amazed look on her face as the small, stout waiter turned into a whirlwind of activity, delivering an array of dishes and pouring water and wine with a flourish. She seemed to take it all in, smiling at the waiter as he fussed over her. The pull in his chest intensified. Damn it. This wasn't the time to be making matters worse. "What's this?" "Sorry?" He looked to where she pointed; a plate full of grilled cheese. His mind was still so caught up in his purpose that it took him a second to think of the name. "Haloumi. It's cheese. Try it..." He pushed the plate a little closer to her. She slid a slice onto her fork and transferred it to her plate, frowning at the pale, char-grilled rectangle. Once it was in her mouth, her face was transformed, her eyes closing and a smile growing steadily as she chewed. Just the Thought of You Ch. 01 "Oh, that is amazing," she said, half-moaning, already reaching for another piece. He couldn't stop the grin this time. "I know. It's sort of like the best toasted cheese you ever had, minus the toast." She covered her mouth with her hand as she chewed, shamelessly eyeing the last piece. "If I'd known you were so easy to please, I'd have tried luring you with cheese from the beginning" he said carelessly, scooping some houmous onto his plate with a wedge of warm pita. What was he doing? Later, said the internal voice. Just enjoy the food for now. No point spoiling a good meal. He could broach the subject when they were done eating. She dipped her bread into the taramousalata and took a tentative bite. Her face brightened. He wondered if he should tell her it was made from fish eggs, and found himself fighting that grin again. The truth was, watching her discover the new tastes and flavours was an absorbing and unexpected pleasure. "Mm," she said, "This one is nice too." "I'd still like to know why no one has ever introduced you to this before." She tipped her head to the side, as if trying to decide how to answer him. "Honestly? I couldn't really...afford it." Her chin rose almost imperceptibly, that damned pride of hers showing a little. "What do you mean? It's not very expensive." "I know," she said, blushing ever so slightly. "We didn't have much for eating out, growing up." The chin again, before she lowered her eyes to where her fingers worried at an edge of the tablecloth overlay. So she'd been both sheltered and poor. Perhaps it accounted for her lack of demanding. Her lack of expectation from him. His thoughts were interrupted by the waiter descending on them with steaming plates of freshly grilled sea bass. Wide-eyed, she watched how he pulled away the crispy flesh with his fork. She followed suit, slowly at first, then with growing confidence. "This is delicious," she said between mouthfuls. "You should taste it when it's fresh from the sea." "In Greece, you mean?" He nodded. "You've been there, then?" Her fork stilled, waiting on his answer. He shrugged. "Not for years. I went on a gap-year during university. Island-hopping, that sort of thing." Had he imagined it, or had he seen a spark light up in her eyes? If he had, it was quickly hidden, and she turned her attention back to the fish. "I was with some friends at first, but they got bored after a while, and I went on by myself." "Weren't you lonely?" He thought back. He shook his head. "No, not really." He took another bite, feeling her eyes on him, carefully scrutinising. She wasn't making any attempt to hide her interest now. And so he found himself telling her all about Greece. Picking up the ferries from island to island. Finding his food in the markets and the local tavernas. Fresh olives and pistachios and lemon trees. The tickle of the half-feral cats winding their way around his ankles under the tables, begging for scraps. About how the blue of the sky and sea was so vivid that he'd finally come to understand why Greeks painted everything with such brilliant colours. And discovering the nasty sort of headache you could get from drinking too much of the local retsina wine. She listened intently, asking questions, drawing him on. Drawing him further into his memories than he had ever been before. Bringing up to the surface the wild sense of joy he'd felt that summer. The warm Mediterranean winds on his face as he rode the ferries. The sheer freedom of staying in one village as long as he felt lit it before moving on to the next. Moving with the sea breezes, almost. "You liked being free. To do what you wanted, when you wanted to." She stated it. Didn't ask it as a question. She sat back, nodding to herself. The waiter hovered, waiting to take their plates. Jarod blinked, sitting back in his seat. How long had they been sitting here, talking? Stephanie swirled the remnants of wine in the bottom of her glass. The smile he'd seen in her face while he told her of his travels was gone. The crease between her eyebrows was there, along with a troubled look. She let out a deep sigh, her eyelids flickering before her gaze rose to meet his. "You invited me to lunch to break things off, didn't you." Her words hit him like a sick punch to the gut. He tilted his head back, no response forming on his tongue. Say something, Jarod. Anything, damn it! But it was too late. The wounded look in her eyes told him that much. * * * * * STEPHANIE I nodded, my mouth tightening into a thin line, pain burning through my chest. So I'd been right. I'd known all along it would be this. So why did it still hurt so badly? I knew it was coming, but it still felt like he'd torn my heart right out and left it on the floor to bleed out. "No, okay, it's not like that," he protested, pressing his hands down on the table. "Oh, so you mean that's not what this was?" I said, gesturing to the room around us. "No, what I mean is..." The rising hysteria in my chest came out as a sort of strangled half-laugh. "I may not be well travelled, Jarod. I might not be experienced in the world like you are. But I'm not a fool." "Stephanie, listen to me." The look on his face was definitely one of pleading. If I didn't think I was imagining it, I'd have said he was genuinely in some pain as well. But how could that be, when he'd intended to end it...end us, all along. I concentrated on folding the napkin from my lap into the neatest, tidiest triangle I could. Everything in me focused in on the sharp edge of white linen. Suddenly it was very important to fold it as perfectly as I could. It helped me breathe. All his talk of freedom. At first I'd found myself sucked into the descriptions of his travels. The excitement of not caring about the outside world and just going where the whim would take you. But in the end I couldn't ignore it. Sitting across from me, forgetting to even eat his food, I'd seen a side of Jarod I'd only suspected existed. It was as if he'd lit up from inside. Never had I seen him so relaxed, so animated, as when he talked about being a free agent in the world. Unfettered, unattached, answerable to no one. Alone. I could give him that. I wouldn't take it from him. No matter how much it was killing me inside, I wasn't about to stand in his way. He'd said it, hadn't he? That he hadn't had any girls for years. He preferred his own company. The pin-tidy interior of his flat was evidence enough of that. I'd just been fooling myself, thinking that I could compete with it. I had nothing. "Take me back to work, please." "But Steph, can you just let me explain?" He leaned forward, his hand sliding towards me. He evidently thought better of it and pulled it back. "Jarod." I steeled myself, breathing deep to calm the shaking in my voice. "Take me back. Now." Face like thunder, he swore something unrepeatable under his breath. With swift, jerky motions he pulled out his wallet, tossed some notes on the table and stood. Muttering an apology to the dumbfounded waiter, he beat me to the door. How many times had we ridden in that car in awkward silence? At least this would be the last time, I told myself. Some comfort. No comfort at all, actually. * * * * * JAROD His office door remained closed for the rest of the day. Even Angela hadn't come to bother him, despite the growing pile of files on his desk he knew she'd need for Richard. How on earth was he going to fix this? From the moment Stephanie had levelled those accusing eyes at him across the remnants of their lunch, it was the only thing he could think about. How to fix it. Why he suddenly needed to mend the very thing he'd deliberately set out to destroy, he couldn't yet explain to himself. Had he ever really intended to go through with it? Because the objective had most certainly been achieved. He was ashamed that she'd had to call him out. Embarrassed to have been so entirely transparent. The idea that she perhaps saw more than most crossed his mind. Did she know him that well, then? Had she known what the lunch was to be all along? And there was the worst thing about it. Again, the irony snapped ruthlessly at his heels. Mocked him and his own naivete. At some point during that damned meal he'd made up his mind. Or changed it. Whichever. As he'd sat there, lost in the lively, dark curiosity of her eyes, the certainty that there was no escaping what he felt for her had settled on him like a warm blanket. Heavy and sure and encompassing. This wasn't about proving whether or not she was a decent conversationalist. It was him trying to fool himself. He was the fool. And now he had to fix it. If it could be fixed. * * * * * STEPHANIE I wiggled my toes. They seemed an awfully long way away, down the other end of the tub, propped either side of the pitted chrome tap. But that far-away fuzzy feeling probably had more to do with the third glass of white wine precariously balanced on the rim of the bath. I hadn't allowed myself the luxury of tears. I'd known what I was getting myself in for. I'd managed to slip back into the office without making eye contact with the omnipresent Angela, and spent a number of half-hearted hours painstakingly organising and reorganising my email folders. I looked nowhere but my computer screen. Allowed no thoughts but the icons that blurred in front of my eyes. My chest was wound so tight I knew that if I let the tears start, there would be no stopping them. Damn him for the bastard he was. Lunch. With a whole afternoon of fucking torture afterwards. Great planning. How on earth had I allowed myself to walk into that little trap, eyes wide open. Well, fuck him. I didn't need this. Didn't need to feel like everything inside me was being slowly winched out through a gaping hole in my chest. The bath water was on the verge of tepid. Goosebumps were starting to form along my bare arms. I let my head fall back and contemplated how exactly I was going to manipulate my limbs into an upright position. Something buzzed. I sighed heavily and sank deeper into the water, the bubbles engulfing me. Whatever it was buzzed again. Fuck. I rubbed the heel of my hand against my forehead. "Just leave me alone!" That's right. The buzzing. I sat up so quickly the wine glass nearly ended in a million pieces on the floor and a mini-tidal wave of bath water sloshed over me. The phone he'd given me was sitting on the lid of the toilet. Right where I'd left it while strongly contemplating flushing the damned thing down. At least to drown it. But then I'd had the idea to run a bath, and switched to the idea of drowning myself in hot water and satsuma-scented bubbles instead. I just stared at it. It lay, dark and shiny against the white plastic of the toilet seat. Like the disembodied head of some venomous snake. Okay, so may that was a little melodramatic. I leaned out of the tub and grabbed it, belatedly remembering to dry my hands. I wiped some suds off the screen with my bath towel. Gathering a breath, I switched it on. 'Stephanie - just hear me out, please,' was the first text. I clicked over to the next little envelope icon. 'Let me explain. We need to talk.' Explain? What was there to explain? I didn't think he could have been any clearer in his regard for me and what really drove him. What did he think he wanted from me that I could actually give him? I let the phone drop onto the bathmat and slid back underneath the fragile cloud of bubbles. That's what I felt like. Like a tiny bubble. Surface stretched thin, crowded from every side. One little jostle and I'd be gone. Disappearing in a fine, iridescent mist. The pain that had been twisting up so tightly in my chest released with a palpable ping. Unravelling in a rush, with a sob. The bubbles caught the tears, dissolving into nothing. Melting just like the hurt. * * * * * JAROD Jarod pulled himself upright and dropped his feet over the side of the bed to the floor. God. He leaned his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. What a wretched night. He hadn't slept well at all. And, of course, the damned dreams were back. With a vengeance. In his dream, he was running. Running flat out, breath burning, searing in his chest. It was the same dream, but different. She wasn't there, ahead of him. There was no flash of dark hair flying around corners just out of sight. It was just him. Running without knowing how to stop. He reached over to the nightstand and checked his phone. Just as he had done, compulsively, ever since he sent the texts the night before. Still nothing. Squinting at the clock only told him he didn't have time to crawl back under the covers and pretend it hadn't happened. * * * * * The hot water of the shower helped a little. Eased the ache in his muscles. It did nothing to help with the tight feeling in his chest. He leaned against the warm tiles, just letting the water run down his back and shoulders, wishing it could thaw whatever it was the felt frozen inside. There was no ignoring his subconscious any longer. Any idiot could decode what that dream was really about. It had long ago ceased being about chasing her, or any other woman. It was all about him trying to escape. From reality. From the truth. From the gripping fear of feeling what he did right now. It all spun together. That dark spark in her eyes. That utter openness to the part of himself he barely felt he could even glance at. She thought he thought her a fool? He shook his head at the very idea. Every one of her reactions to him was based on some unwavering instinct. There was a quickness to her assessment that put him to shame. She'd known. Known before he did. Maybe it wasn't a conscious knowing, but the surety she radiated when she was least aware of herself instructed him. Taught him the truth. They just needed time. Time together to unravel what needed unravelling. * * * * * STEPHANIE There really is nothing quite like the puffy-eyed frontal headache of a crying-jag hangover. It was that or the wine. Probably the wine. I hauled at the strap of my handbag, pushing the front lobby elevator button again. I knew...I knew pushing it again didn't make the thing arrive any faster, but I was late. Thanks to the headache. I closed my eyes and took a deep, relieved breath as the elevator finally dinged its welcome. I rushed in, completely focused on the button panel, barely noticing there was already a passenger. My finger froze on the button, and my eyes closed again. When I opened them, it was still Jarod standing there, hip leaning casually against the rail, a toasted bagel from the cafeteria in his hand. "Hi," he said, his expression completely indecipherable, but his voice soft. Struck dumb, I just stood there, staring, like an idiot. He looked...incredible. Of course he did. And of course I was going to bump into him. We worked in the same office, on the same bloody floor. Of course. But the shock of it buzzed through me. The space inside the elevator suddenly seemed too small, too warm. And he was staring at me and not looking away. I could feel my face burning. Cursing myself for the unexpected desire to burst into tears right in front of him. I spun to face the door. Damn you, elevator, move quicker. I swallowed, biting the inside of my cheek in an attempt to steady myself. Damn it, I would not fall apart. Not right now. The second the doors slid open I was gone, walking fast, my chest heaving in an attempt to hold my emotions in check. I could sense him striding along behind me, see him in my peripheral vision. The way he moved. The smooth, restrained power in his gait, sent me flying to the golden memory cages, desperate to fling all the doors wide. After what felt like a million miles of corridor, I felt his presence disappear from behind me. I'd passed his office. He was gone. Some of the girls gave me quizzical looks as I stormed to my desk. I could barely guess what I must look like, eyes puffy, hair flying. Frankly, I couldn't care less. I sank into my seat, overcome by a sudden and complete exhaustion. Many deep breaths later, I opened my eyes. A post-it stared back at me from my screen. 'Check your email,' was all it said. But I'd know that slanted handwriting anywhere. I fought the urge to walk right back down the hall and out of the building. Why was he doing this to me? Why couldn't he just let things be? * * * * * JAROD It was a little place he'd always wanted to visit. Tucked into the middle of Dartmoor, a village nestled between the rocky tors. If he wanted to get away from it all, with her, it was just the place. The cottage wasn't big, but it was secluded, self-catering, and nicely fitted. It would be comfortable, and he'd have her to himself without all the complicated nonsense of his apartment or hers. He brushed the bagel crumbs from his desk into the wastebasket and checked his sent email again compulsively. Reviewed again what he'd written to her. He knew it was a risk to send it via work email. But it was obvious he couldn't just grab her and ask, and it wasn't the sort of thing you put in a text. 'Stephanie, We need to talk about this. About us. I know what you think, but there is more to it. I want to spend more time with you. Alone. I've booked a place for the weekend. I have it from Friday, but if you can't take the day off, we could go down Saturday. Please come with me. - Jarod' He checked again that he'd put the links to the cottage website at the bottom. It was all there. Had he been too presumptuous, as always? Reading his email back, he winced a little at his own phrasing. He wasn't sure what was worse, sounding like he was begging, or the assumption that she'd just drop everything and go with him. He could only hope. When she'd stepped into the lift, his stomach had taken a journey back to the basement without him. She'd held herself so stiffly, those soft curved lips of hers pressed tight. And when she looked up at him, there was no missing the look there. He'd seen it before, when she'd run away, and he'd ripped off those damned sunglasses. That look cut him like no knife could. He vaguely registered the fact he'd spoken to her, but she'd just turned away from him. The doors were barely opening and she'd darted past him. He'd barely kept up with her, and had to resist everything in him that wanted to grab for her. Stop her. Make her speak to him. Make her see. But it was done. He'd laid it out there for her to decide. The tightness was still there, deep in his chest, but along with it was a longing. A yearning for a yes from her. And for her smile. * * * * * 'I'm sorry, Jarod. I can't. - S' Can't. Not 'won't'. Can't. Jarod increased his pace as he headed towards an incline in the road. The burning in his muscles went some way towards blocking out the sensation he'd had in his gut ever since he'd opened her email. Had he pushed her so far? Just the hint of breaking things off, and she went running? There was something about it he just couldn't puzzle out. Couldn't puzzle her out. Okay, so he'd acted like a prick the morning after they'd been together. And there was the lunch. But he didn't know how he could be any clearer with her. He wanted to work it out. He turned his concentration to the feel of his feet hitting the unyielding solidity of the pavement. Lost in the rhythm he wasn't aware exactly when his thoughts drifted to the memory of her, straddling his lap, hair flung back, the satiny softness of her skin under his hands. Desire hit him like a fully-loaded truck and stopped him in his tracks, left him gasping. Hands braced on his knees, chest heaving, he waited for it to pass. But the flood of images just wouldn't let up. All he could do was break into a jog again, focus intently on the feel of his muscles straining and force it from his mind. Just the Thought of You Ch. 01 He had to speak to her. To try again. Try to get her to see. * * * * * STEPHANIE He hadn't replied to my email. I figured silence was probably better. Simpler. Then I could get on with the process of trying to forget everything. I could pack those gilded cages carefully into perfectly-sized boxes and close them up. The fact that I wanted to keep those memories so badly wasn't a particularly good sign. How can you take the contents of your head and wrap it in bubble-wrap and file it away? People just don't work that way. I didn't, that's for sure. I pushed the second half of my sandwich away from me on the desk. I hadn't really been hungry for the first half. I knew I hadn't been acting quite normal, and Angela's eyes had been on me more than usual. So what if she knew, or guessed? It was over now, and everything could go back to normal. Or, more likely, I'd have to start putting my CV together and looking for another job. I was jumping at every little movement from his end of the corridor. The insane fear of bumping into him in the hallway had me sneaking down back staircases and tagging myself onto groups of the other girls whenever I could. Unless I wholly concentrated my mind on whatever menial task I was working on, every blink of my eyes would bring with it a flash of an image. The hidden thoughts behind the grey-blue of his eyes. The way the muscles in his shoulders flexed when he braced his body over mine. The contrasting dark of morning shadow against his skin just before he shaved. It was all a part of me now, and I couldn't bring myself to excise it. Because how do you cut love straight out of your heart? Surprised? I suppose I was. I wonder if it creeps up on everyone. You look back and you can see the thread there. The strand winding back through everything, right to the moment it first bloomed. Was it when he first said he cared? Or even before that. The first time in his car. When he'd been gentle with me when I'd least expected it. A caress. Can it start that way? Such a small thing? And then you wake up one day, and it's already there, where there wasn't anything before. And then there's the day you wake up, knowing loving also means letting go. (To be continued...) * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Thank you so much for reading -- if you enjoyed this story, please be sure to let me know with your votes and your comments, they are much appreciated. Just the Thought of You Ch. 02 © 2014 Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Okay, lovely readers -- some more of Stephanie and Jarod's story (chapter 2 of 3). For those reading for the first time, you will want to go back and read: * PART ONE - 'Under My Skin' * PART TWO - 'Deep in the Heart of Me' ...otherwise not much of these chapters will make much sense! For those of you who have waited all this time to read more and have kept me going with your encouragement - thank you. You are awesome. x Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * STEPHANIE The bustle and murmur of the other girls finishing off for the day shook me back to some awareness of the world outside my own head. Was it really time to go home already? I'd absorbed myself in anything mindless and tedious, and the time had started to flow around me instead of against me. The only sensation I had besides the empty-shell feeling was a flutter of relief. Another day gone. Another day's distance. A day survived. The screen darkened as the computer shut down, and I gathered my things together with the slow movements of the truly weary. I mentally turned down the wine-glass option. It just made me feel worse and take inadvisable baths that got cold. Maybe I'd stop by the shops on the way home. Find something new to read. I longed for that deep-reading-oblivion, where I got to be in someone else's head. To go live in someone else's shoes for a little while, and not in mine. I was so concentrated on mentally cataloguing the authors I'd look out for, I completely forgot where I was in the corridor. That I was passing the turn to his office. "Stephanie." Oh god. My heart kicked and began to pound, knocking the breath out of my chest. The thrill of my name being said by his voice burst through, bringing with it the painful prick of tears in my eyes. Why, why could he not leave me be? This was already so damned hard. Did he not know that? I whirled towards his voice, my anger coming to my rescue. "What?" He blinked at the sharpness of my tone. "What do you want, Jarod?" I asked again, keeping my voice steadier this time. Civilised. "I...will you come in?" He gestured towards his open office doorway. Walk away, walk away, but no. I followed the direction of his hand. I stepped through and into the sacred ground of his office, and heard the door click closed behind us. Only the desk lamp gave the room any light, and his presence behind me seemed to fill the entire space. Somehow this, his office, his inner sanctum, felt so much more intimate than his apartment had ever done. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, hugging tight, and turned to face him. "Aren't you worried about someone seeing us?" Perhaps there was a little more acidity in my tone than I'd meant. He seemed to flinch a little under my gaze. Shaking his head, he seemed to come back to himself. "I don't give a fuck what they think." He waited for my reaction to that, his hand still on the door handle, as if to hold me here. "So?" "So, come with me. This weekend." There it was again. The beseeching. The edge of arrogance. "Jarod, I can't, okay?" I pulled my arms tighter, holding back the lurch of need to change my mind. "Why not? Why can't you? The other day - it was a mistake and I regret it. Every moment since, I've regretted it, Steph." "There's no point. No sense in-" "In what? In talking to each other?" "What's there to talk about?" He seemed lost for an answer to that. He turned and walked past me to his desk and back again, pacing. Just as I'd seen him before. As he'd done just before making declarations that had made my heart sing. Hand thrust into his hair, the same tortured look on his face. The deja-vu was making me dizzy. I reached out for the edge of the desk to steady myself. "Are you okay?" He was at my side, alarm clear in his face. "I'm fine," I said, trying to keep my breaths slow and steady and calm the racing of my heart. He was so close. Smelling-his-aftershave close. Dying-to-fall-into-his-arms close. I took a small step back from him. "There's nothing to talk about," I half-whispered, my voice sounding small and insignificant. "But Steph...I was an idiot, okay? I didn't want to face it. I don't know why I couldn't see it before." I pressed my hand to my forehead. What was he saying? My mind just felt so muddled, and the room so close and airless. I just needed to get out...out. "Steph, will you just listen to me..." I slipped around him and reached for the door handle, but was pulled short. His hand gripped my wrist, fingers encircling, thumb sweeping in an slow arch over the back of my trembling hand. The tears welled in my eyes, the sobs rose with every breath in my aching chest. I tugged my arm out of his grasp, pulled the door open, and fled down the corridor. * * * * * JAROD So that was it then. He had his answer. She'd shut him out, utterly and completely. His hopes fell away into the darkness just as surely as the light had once engulfed him. The last feel of her soft skin against his fingers lingered there like a remembered kiss. She was gone. He recalled the need to breathe, inhaling with a gasp that sounded loud in his ears. It caught on the painful lump in his chest, and he had to press the heels of his hands against his eyes. Crying like a lost schoolboy. Dammit. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his throat. He turned to close the door and found Richard standing there, hands in pockets, regarding him intently. His stomach instantly plummeted. How much had he heard? How much had he seen? "Richard! I didn't see you there. I-" "Jarod," Richard said, gesturing in the direction of Jarod's desk. "Can I come in?" "Sure, I mean-" he trailed off, moving to close the door behind the older man. When he turned again to face him, Richard was leaning back against his desk, regarding him sternly. "Look, I can explain-" "Jarod, I'm not here for explanations." He stood staring at Richard for a few heartbeats before straightening. "I don't want this on her. I initiated it completely, and she-" "Jarod." Richard was shaking his head. "You misunderstand me." All he could do was stand there, allowing all the possible scenarios to race through his head. That she get fired for fraternisation. Or would it be him? There wasn't a strict policy, but why else would Richard be standing in his office looking so grave, right after walking into the middle of their heated conversation? "How long have I known you, Jarod?" Floored by the question, he had to turn his head away, struggling to think straight. He clutched at a number. "Seven years, sir? Eight, maybe?" Richard nodded, eyes lowered as if weighing his words. "You've always been one of the steadiest. Cool in the face of a crisis and all that." Jarod nodded and swallowed, bracing for whatever would come next. "I've thought for some weeks that you've not been yourself. I thought it was stress. You said it was, remember?" Richard blinked a few times as if in thought, catching Jarod's gaze with his own. "Angela tells me you and one of her girls..." he nodded in the direction Stephanie had fled and cleared his throat. "That Stephanie and you have been seeing each other?" "Yes-" "Well, I couldn't help overhear just now-" "Richard, there's nothing to say," he protested, cutting Richard off. "It's over. You must have heard that." "Yes, yes," Richard answered, shrugging. "These things can take time." He pulled a hand out of his pocket and pointed a finger at Jarod. "But I've never known you to be like this. And I know you've seen some women. Yes," he seemed to say to himself more than to Jarod. "Angela tells me you'd booked some days off?" Jarod nodded, not trusting his voice. "I suggest you go ahead. Take some time off. Clear your head." "But-" Richard waved a hand at him. "Oh, I don't mean like that. You're one of the good ones. I couldn't do without you. I just know a man at the end of his tether when I see one," he said, smiling wryly to himself. "Angela will keep an eye on her for you, don't worry. She'll be fine." With that, the older man shuffled out of the office, granting Jarod a rare twitch of a smile before he closed the door behind him. Jarod could only stare at the blank face of the door, stunned. * * * * * STEPHANIE I was turning the keys in my front door by the time I remembered I'd planned to go to the shops. My head sank and my eyes closed. So much for making sure I had something to distract me from the hellish ache in my chest. Sort of like when you have a tooth extracted. That very particular combination of dull and sharp pain that makes your head fuzzy and every thought a grinding agony. I pushed on the door latch with my last bit of strength. When it swung closed behind me with a rattling clank, I just stood there, handbag trailing on the floor. The pain behind my eyes finally resolved itself into the slow seeping of tears. I let my head fall back, gripped my hands into fists. The angry noise that came out of me was half groan, half growl. The anger gave me some strength back, and I used it to drag myself in slow, stomping steps up the stairs to my bedroom. How dare he make me feel like this? Why did I have to be the sensible, strong, rational one? And what fucking game was he playing, dragging me...okay, asking me, into his damned office? I rubbed at my forehead again. It had all gotten a bit fuzzy then. What had he said? Did it even matter? Something about having to talk. And I'd said...there was nothing to say. I toppled onto the bed, rolling over onto my stomach, pillow dragged over my head. I pounded my fist once, with futility, against the mattress. It just hurt my hand. That was dumb. I forced myself to take deep, cleansing breaths, eyes half-closed in the dark of my pillow head-igloo. You'll be fine, Steph. You've gotten through worse, right? It was no use. I turned onto my back, hugging the pillow to my chest. I let my eyes trace the familiar outline of the stain in the ceiling plaster from some long-forgotten plumbing crisis. My mind searched for patterns, sense, rational pictures. I sighed. It was just a grubby ceiling. I closed my eyes, rolling the memories backwards in my mind, replaying what I could remember of our aborted conversation. I don't know why I couldn't see it before. That's what he'd said, right? See what? What could he now see? I didn't want to face it. Face what? Us? It was some heartbeats later that I sat bolt upright. Oh god. Oh god god god. Was that what he'd been trying to tell me? My shoulders sagged. No, it couldn't be that. Could it? I pushed myself off the bed and moved to the small window that looked out over the back gardens and into the trees of the neighbouring courtyard gardens. The wind had picked up, dark clouds scudding low along the ridge of dark trees. I took a moment and just concentrated on breathing. No wonder I'd felt that deja-vu feeling. The first time he'd paced like that, agonising, wretched, he'd told me he cared about me. Cared. The very next day he'd retreated completely. Licking old wounds. Putting up old walls. Retracting the sensitive underbelly he'd dared expose. To me. That's what he didn't want to face. Being hurt, and rejected. Just as I'd just rejected him. Steph, you fucking fool. I let my forehead fall against the windowpane with a clunk. The cool of the glass felt good against the burning heat of my skin. And I should be embarrassed. I was such an idiot. All the things I'd wanted him to say. He'd been ready to say them. And I'd shut him down. Walked out on him. It wasn't Jarod who was running away from his feelings. It was me. * * * * * When I finally moved from my window, my body was stiff from standing so long. But I'd sifted through it all. Traced all the threads back to their origins. Underneath it all was sheer exhaustion, but it settled down on me as a sort of heavy peacefulness. What had started as some crazy game had, somewhere along the line, turned deadly serious. Was it possible that he loved me too? Was that what had caused him to retreat, just like I had? The pieces shifted, finding their places. He hadn't been with anyone for years. Those things he'd said about playing games. That was the talk of someone badly wounded, at some time, by someone. And every time I triggered it, I got the cold, aloof Jarod. Every time I reopened the wound, he stepped back. But god. It was the warm, laughing Jarod I loved. That slow smile. The naked intensity in his eyes. If he could push past all that garbage and still reach out to me, I owed it to him to at least face him. Even if I'd completely blown it. Broken his trust. He deserved my honesty at least. Then maybe I could move on, and so could he. * * * * * I woke, groggy, out of a deeper sleep than I could remember having for quite some time. The kind that takes you about five minutes to climb out of just to remember what day it was. Eventually, it bubbled up in my brain. Friday. The day we would have gone down to the cottage together. If I hadn't gone and fucked it all up. I crawled heavily from beneath the warm comfort of my blankets. Everything in me wanted desperately to stay horizontal. Permanently, if possible. I sat on the edge of the bed hugging my knees. I would have to face him today. There was no way around it. I wasn't sure how I'd get him on his own, but I had to say something to him. I didn't know just yet what that would be. I'd apologise, at least. Salvage what was left, if there was anything. * * * * * The office seemed unusually quiet. No wonder. I'd been so distracted I'd gotten ready for work in record time and it was still early. He always seemed to be in before me. Maybe I could catch him before all the other desks filled up with nosey, curious busy-bodies. I dropped my things at my desk and started my computer up, quickly surveying the area between me and his office. I was the first one in. The coast was clear. I approached his door, my heart pounding in great thuds in my chest, blood roaring in my ears. I still didn't know what I was going to say. Something. Anything. The door was ajar. I knocked lightly, too lightly, and tried again, louder this time. Nothing. I pushed gently on the door and it swung inward. Other than some files stacked on one end, his desk was immaculate, his chair pushed in. Computer screens dark. He wasn't here yet. My heart began to return to a normal rhythm, and the relief filtered slowly through me. I peeked into the hall to make sure no one was coming. The last thing I needed was for someone to see me snooping in his office. I slipped back towards my desk, but pulled up sharply when I spotted Angela at her desk, taking off her jacket. Shit. I hung a right and headed for the kitchen instead. Nothing wrong with a person going to get a cup of tea, right? * * * * * I was practically getting whiplash from looking up and around from my desk every time my peripheral vision caught someone moving in the hallway. It was after ten in the morning, and still I hadn't seen him. Damn it, where was he? Here I was, ready to grovel and apologise and he was nowhere to be found. I couldn't shake the feeling that he'd pop out of nowhere right in front of my desk and frighten me half to death. I gave my email in-box another futile glance. I wasn't able to concentrate on anything worth a damn. Maybe another cup of tea, and I could walk past, just to see if maybe he'd come in around the other way. I clutched my empty mug, nerves fizzing in my stomach. I still hadn't a clue how to start, and just one look from him was usually enough to render me speechless in the first place. I started to feel decidedly more ill, the closer I got. Darting a look around me, I turned down the short corridor to his office once again. The door was still as I'd left it. I pushed it open slowly just to confirm my sinking suspicion. Everything was still dark. He wasn't here. "Are you looking for someone?" I nearly jumped out of my skin, my nerves were that on edge. I spun towards the voice. Angela stood, poised, a stack of post in her hand. I felt the blaze of heat creeping up my cheeks. It took a few swallows before I got back my ability to speak. "I was just-...just needed to speak to..." I trailed off, mind racing, frantic. Oh god. What could I say? "Jarod's on leave today," she said, pinning me to the spot with just the look in her eye. "Oh," I nodded, shifting my weight from one foot to another, my embarrassment reaching excruciating heights. "Thanks." She looked down at the letters in her hands, lacing her fingers together thoughtfully underneath them. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, and I had to strain to hear her. "If I recall correctly, he said something about taking a few days. Staying at a cottage, I believe?" I stood, silent, dumb, under her all-seeing gaze. All I could do was nod. And let the information trickle through into my struggling brain. He'd gone. He'd gone to the cottage anyway. I'd missed my chance. Disappointment pulled me downward, towards deep, muddy darkness. I turned back to look into the empty stillness of his office, almost oblivious to the fact Angela still lingered at the doorway. "Come see me at my desk in five minutes, will you?" she said, then turned in her brisk way and disappeared along the hall. It wasn't a request. It was her commanding tone of voice, and not one to be ignored. Shit. Now I was in trouble as well. Fine. Great. Well done. I needed a new job anyway. I spent the five minutes in a bathroom stall, going over in my mind what I could say in my defence. But my heart wasn't in it. It was far away on a grassy moor. * * * * * Shoulders straight, I told myself. Chin up. I approached Angela's desk. She was busy typing, so I hovered by one corner of the desk, trying not to look troublesome. She swivelled in her chair with alarming quickness, her piercing gaze regarding me steadily over those damned glasses of hers. "Here," she said. It took me a few seconds to register that she was holding something out to me. I took it, staring at it blindly at first. I blinked. It was my holiday form. An entry for today and the following Monday, with her signature of authorisation glaring up at me from the page. "There should still be plenty of trains heading to the West Country today if you're quick about it," was all she said before turning back to her computer. But-" She spared me one last look over her shoulder. "Stephanie, I am neither blind, nor stupid. Off you go." * * * * * I practically ran most of the way home, a print-out of the cottage details clutched in my hot little hand. Even in the bus I couldn't sit, but stood at the doors the whole way, willing the driver to go just a little bit faster. What did I think I was doing? Just because Angela thought it was a good idea to send me on a wild goose chase didn't mean this was going to end well. He'd gone to the cottage anyway. Without me. The only thing that screamed out was that he wanted very much to be alone. That meant it was even worse than I previously thought. The further he retreated from me, the less likely it was that we could ever piece together what we could have had. What we could have felt. I fought the tears that stung and threatened to spill over. No, I had to have some hope. Even if he turned me out. Turned me from the door and I was stuck out in the middle of nowhere on a moor with the sheep and so much gorse. My keys almost got stuck in the door, I was rushing so much. Come on, damn you! I wrestled them free and the door finally sprung open. What on earth was I going to bring? I wasn't ready for a weekend away. But then, it might not be a weekend. It might just be a really long return journey, with my broken heart tied up in a hankie in my pocket. Just the Thought of You Ch. 02 No, I wouldn't think about that. Just concentrate, Steph. I grabbed my largest overnight duffel bag and started piling random things on the bed. Why were none of my nice things clean? I looked down in dismay at what I was wearing. The pictures had shown dainty little country lanes and lots and lots of green. Which meant mud. Skirts and blouses were out. I stripped off and hauled on my favourite black jeans instead, digging through my sock drawer for anything actually resembling a pair of warm socks. A t-shirt and cardigan would have to suffice. This wasn't a fashion show, I reminded myself. I stopped and regarded myself in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, hair floating out at a crazy angle. Yeah. This was really going to entice the guy to fall for me. Off came the t-shirt and cardy. A frantic pawing through my closet yielded a pale blouse with soft detailing around the neckline. Shivering, I conceded that the cardigan could stay, but picked out a long one with a belt that hadn't been munched on by moths all winter. I nodded to myself in the mirror, smoothing my rebelling hair, satisfied that I wouldn't look like an entire train wreck. Oh shit. Trains! I checked my clock. How could it be after noon already? I would just have to get to the station and hope for the best. * * * * * Tooth brush? Check. Clean underwear? Check. I drummed my thumbs against my thighs, eyes glued to the arrivals and departure boards. Deodorant? Damn it! I eyed the closest pharmacy along the far side of the station. Did I dare risk it? Not enough time. The pale afternoon light filtered through the domed curve of the cavernous Victorian roof. Around me, everyone was walking at a pace, trundling their suitcases, gripping their briefcases, clutching papers under their arms. Everyone was moving purposefully, confidently, with direction. It only made me feel more lost. What did I think I was doing anyway? I had no way of knowing what sort of reception I would have when I showed up on the doorstep. No way of knowing if it would just make matters worse instead of better. But I had to take the chance, didn't I? I blinked my eyes, trying to relieve the strain of watching for the boards to reveal the track I'd have to run to if I wanted to catch my train. I examined my feet again. My low-heeled ankle-boots would have to do. Flats were out, knowing the mud-puddles I was likely to encounter. Trainers were just...vile. I'd chucked my old worn pair into the bag at the last minute. Just in case I ended up hiking the breadth of Dartmoor in search of his damned cottage. I dragged the map out of my pocket again, tracing the small, sparse lines of the rural track leading to the little red marker. Dread rolling around in my stomach. He really had picked something out the way, hadn't he. As in, completely uninhabited. Something unintelligible came barking out of the intercom. Shit! The boards. I scanned them again. There it was. London Paddington to...to...yes! Newton Abbott. Track 4. I jogged to the barriers, fumbled my ticket into the slot, and I was through. I had to pass several first-class carriages before I found one I could get on, but I was soon slumped in a seat, my bag clutched in my arms. All I could do was sit there, head resting back against the seat. And breathe, Steph. You did it. * * * * * Two and a half hours, the guy at the ticket booth had said. More like two and a half years. Endless fields slipped past. Villages, flanked by expanses of perfectly tended garden allotments. Meadows filled with herds of daydreaming cows and the odd retired pony. Everything got greener. The villages grew further apart. It got darker. A lot darker. The further south-west we travelled, the larger and more expansive the clouds were growing. Umbrella? Shit. That's what you get for packing in a hurry. I pulled out my Austen book, having remembered that at least, but I couldn't read. The words all clumped together on the page, meaningless. When I'd sat reading the same paragraph for the third time, I sighed and dropped it back into my bag. There was nothing for it. All I could do was sit there. Drawn inexorably towards a fate I'd only half-chosen. Yes, I'd been the one to get on the train. But what drew me was some other thing. Was it love? I didn't really know for certain. Just that it was bigger than anything I'd felt before. There was a inescapable certainty about it. As if it had known before I had, and it was now sitting there, in the empty seat across from me, informing me of the contractual terms of what I'd signed up for. This love thing cost so much more than I'd ever bargained for. I let the cage door open just a crack. Closed my eyes and let the memory of him slip through into my mind. Just that one time, that look in his eye. It had told me everything I needed to know. It said more than he'd meant to say to me. It was the sort of look you could die for. Just to see it again was worth the risk. And I had everything to lose. * * * * * I woke with a start and a jolt of panic. The train was slowing, waking me out of a muddy haze. When had I fallen asleep? My eyelids felt like I'd left them open to dry out or something, then stung as they watered. It took a few blinks before I could read the sign on the station platform. Shit. We were here. * * * * * "What do you mean, the bus only runs on Saturdays?" I stared, dumbfounded at the perspiring, chinless man in blue behind the ticket counter. Seriously? Who only runs a bus on a Saturday? He shrugged, calm and unconcerned. "You could catch a cab?" A cab. Okay, I could that. It might cost me my life-savings, but I could do it. I turned my back on him and started walking towards the door. After a few steps I stopped. What was I doing? I didn't know the first thing about cabs out here. Irritation and the edge of anxiety fuelled me as I turned on my heel and made a beeline back to the damp man behind the glass divider. "You couldn't possibly call me one, could you?" I said in my sweetest tone. He huffed a bit, but pulled a few cards from below the counter and got on the phone. I tapped my fingers against the scratched laminate of the ticket counter. What I could see of the sky through the station doors didn't bode well. Dark was approaching quickly, and the deep grey of the low-hanging clouds was not good. Eventually Mr No-Chin nodded to me, receiver still to his ear. He pointed to the doors and mouthed, 'Two minutes'. I nodded my thanks, hauling my bag straps further up my shoulder. Somehow it weighed about thirty pounds heavier than when I'd left the house. I wandered out through the station doors onto the pavement. There were cars everywhere, but it was difficult to pick out which ones might be taxis. After an age, a sedan pulled up, the driver lowering the window and leaning across the front passenger seat. "Widecombe?" "Yes." "Any bags?" "No, I got it," I said, pulling on the back door handle. I could put it in the boot, but somehow having something to clutch tight to my chest was a comfort I direly needed. The guy seemed to be a big fan of those pine-shaped air fresheners. There had to be at least six of them in a variety of flavours festooning his rear view mirror, the mingled odours making my already jumpy stomach start to churn. After an aborted attempt at conversation, he got on with driving, and I got on with watching the hedgerows go by. The roads weren't exactly wide to begin with, but they just seemed to get narrower the further we went. Around about the time we popped out into what appeared to be the blink-and-you-miss-it town centre, the rain began to fall in spatters on the front windscreen. Within seconds we were awash, and the windscreen wipers were doing double-time and still not keeping up. I got a vague impression of a church spire and dark trees through the rivulets on the window, and then we plunged off into tiny lanes again. My fearless cabbie seemed to know the roads off by heart, and didn't take the complete lack of visibility as a cue to slow down. Teeth practically rattling in my head and losing my stomach with each dip in the road, I held on as best I could. He slowed, the branches of the now impossibly-close hedgerows scraping wetly against the windows. My heart lurched, but we were only letting another car through a small lay-by before taking off again. When we finally did stop, it was with an abruptness that nearly pitched me into the headrest of the seat in front of me. "This is as far as I go, love," he said, hitching around slightly to look at me. I rubbed at the condensation on the window, trying to orient myself, frowning. This didn't look anything like the road I'd seen on the street view of the map. I traced the road again on the paper with my finger. "This doesn't look like it..." He pointed off and to the left, in front of where we were parked. "That's the turn-off you want, up there." "Can't you get any closer?" The rain was drumming steadily against the car roof. I'd be soaked within seconds as it was. "Sorry, love," he shrugged, "Just got this little motor and I'm not about to get her dinged up rattling down that cow track." I growled in my head. But I could tell he wasn't about to budge. I'd have to walk it, rain or no. I hitched my bag further up my shoulder, having shoved the last of my cash into his hand through a crack in the window. I barely escaped getting drowned in a wave of dirty water as he ground his tyres into the gravely side of the road. I pushed a wet strand of hair out of my eyes. My shoulders slumped as I felt the cold, wet trickle of rain make it right through to my underwear. Great. Just...great. My map was almost in tatters, sodden and wet, but I could see the turn-off ahead. No time to change into my trainers now. My boots would just have to recover later. If there was a later. I pushed the what-comes-next out of my mind and concentrated wholly on the task of picking my way between the ever-increasing mud puddles swamping the narrow road. Rising around me on all sides was more and more hedgerow. As if I'd wandered into some mad, holly-infested labyrinth with a monster waiting for me in the middle. Except it wasn't a monster waiting. It was Jarod. Though somehow that scared me even more shitless than any mythical beast ever could. The reality of his reaction to me showing up, dripping wet and bedraggled, on his doorstep, was just starting to trickle in a chill down my spine. The thought of it followed the creeping cold rainwater that dripped from my hair and ran down my back, raising goosebumps all over my body. What had I done? I just stood there, at the end of the short pebbled driveway. It was the place from the picture all right. A bit less sunny and whole lot wetter than the photograph, but the wisteria arched over the doorway just as winsomely as I'd imagined. And why did the roof have to be thatched? How could anyone resist a thatched roof? It was everything perfect and idyllic that I was not. That we were not. The whole picture felt entirely incongruous, and knowing that walking up to the door...the door with the little wobbly-glass inset-windows with the warm, warm light pouring out. That walking right up there would break the spell. Poof, and perfect harmony in the universe would be expunged. Permanently, probably. I was about to destroy the world. I made myself go up the steps. Stood and stared for a few dazed seconds at the quaint limestone planters, brimming with succulents. He was right on the other side of that door. Ears straining over the patter of rain, I could hear someone moving about inside. The scrape of a drawer opening and closing. The clatter of a pot on the stove. He was cooking. * * * * * JAROD He wasn't sure how angel-hair pasta was going to fill the dull ache in his gut, but the grumbling from his stomach was just getting irritating. The whole getting-away thing had yet to improve the foulness of his mood. Everywhere he looked, he saw where she should have been. But she wasn't. She wasn't handing him a wooden spoon to stir the pasta. Or sitting on the bar stool at the kitchen island, feet dangling, elbows propped on the counter-top as she watched him play chef. The knock at the door didn't make much sense, but then nothing much did at the moment. Still lost in his thoughts, he put the knife down on the chopping board and grabbed a tea-towel, drying his hands as he went. Neighbour maybe. Lost sheep or something. Whatever it was people knocked on doors for around here. He'd seen her so clearly, there, with him. When he opened the door he kept seeing her. But instead of inside and warm and dry she seemed to be drenching wet, hair plastered to her head. Face paler than pale and looking just a little scared. The hand holding the tea-towel dropped to his side, and he just stood there, dumb. "Hi," she said, her voice sounding faint and far away. He stared down into those dark eyes of hers, and a thought bubbled up. What on earth was she doing here? He regained enough presence of mind to step back a little, giving her room to come through the doorway onto the mat and out of the downpour. She really was dripping everywhere, soaked through. He knew he should be forming words, but his eyes kept being drawn back to other things. Like the beads of moisture clinging to the hollow at the base of her throat. Or the dark lacy pattern of her undergarments pressing through her wet top. He blinked and shook his head, his eyes finding their way back to hers. "You said you couldn't come," he said, like a dolt. She didn't answer, just kept looking at him with those big eyes. Which is when he finally understood that the funny noise she was making was her teeth chattering and she was shaking with chills or cold or whatever it was, and could barely get her mouth open. "Shit, Steph, why were you out in that mess?" Brain finally engaging with the situation, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her into the kitchen, ignoring her protesting noises about getting the floor wet. He got his fingers under the handle of her bag and prized it from her freezing fingertips, and was reaching for the neck of her coat when she stepped back, eyes darting to his, then away. "No." More teeth chattering. "I just need...a towel," she managed to say. She looked up at him. "Do you have a towel? I think I need to get out of these clothes?" He had to think hard, his brain still slow and as muddy as the wet boots making dirty puddles on the kitchen tiles. Still trying to puzzle how he'd manage to think about her so hard and so long that she'd just...appeared. He took a breath and pushed a hand through his hair. Get yourself together, man. He took her by the shoulders again and pushed her in the direction of the bedroom. "There's towels in the bathroom." She got halfway there and started hopping on one foot, trying her best to pull her wet boots off. He strode over and grabbed for her flailing foot, pressing into her until she had to lean on him as he bent down. He gripped the heel, tugging hard to get the wet boot off her foot. Shit. Even her socks were drenched through. Turning her, he did the same with the other boot. Straightening, he grabbed for her arm as she made to rush off into the bedroom. "Hey...hey. Take a hot shower or a bath or something, okay?" She seemed to bristle at his words, still not meeting his eyes, tugging at his hold. "Don't be an idiot, Steph. I'm not having you die of hypothermia. Take a bath." She seemed to accept the sense of his words and slipped into his bedroom without any further protest, wet socks trailing. Hell. How did she get herself into such straights? And why on earth was she here? Here and looking too scared to say boo to a goose. He shook his head, walking backwards to where the pasta had boiled itself away into complete mush. Damn it. He tipped the lot of it into the bin and started again. * * * * * STEPHANIE Oh, I'd acted like such a dork. "I think I need to get out of these clothes"?? I'd practically propositioned him right then and there, though it wasn't what I meant. At all. I really did need to get out of clothes that felt like they'd turned to frozen concrete on my body. But when that door swung open and he was there. Just there, hair mussed, jeans (jeans?!) slung low on his hips, the v-neck of his dark t-shirt showing just a hint of chest hair I'd had the privilege to stroke and know how silky it felt. If it hadn't been for the fact I'd started to freeze to death somewhere between the driveway and the top step, some part of my body would have exploded from the sheer heat of it all. What had the expression on his face been? Blank at first. Confused, then it closed off. Shutters down. And somehow I'm wobbling around trying to get my boots off and then that big hot body of his is seeping glorious heat against my side and up to my breast and I'm staring down at the nape of his neck while he wrestles with my wet shoe. All I can think about is reaching out my chilly fingers and stroking that little sweep of hair right there on his neck. He smells so good. So damned good. But I'm cold and wet and drowned and it's such a relief to be in a bath of hot, hot water. In his bath. In his cottage-of-the-weekend. Dampening his towels. My wet clothes in a mangled pile on the tiled floor. I can't even remember where my bag went. And I don't care. I made it. And he didn't turn me away. Yet. * * * * * JAROD He was pacing. Back and forth, as much as the small cottage living-room allowed it. Stepping back to the stove every now and then to check on the pasta and sauce. He didn't need to make yet another gluey mess out of it. Why was she here? Why had she changed her mind? He found himself standing up next to the closed bedroom door, listening. To make sure she was okay, he told himself. Not because her being there at the front door had opened up a yawning chasm of hunger that had nothing to do with Italian food. It had everything to do with the part of his heart that got swallowed up entirely the moment he looked into her eyes. More. Just...more. He needed more of her. He felt like some quivering thing was vibrating - buzzing inside him. Teasing at him. The bare sliver of a thing. Hope? That little chink of light through into the dark pit he'd been trying to fill with useless plans and angry words and self-recrimination. He stopped himself, hand on the door. Breathed deep. She was here. * * * * * STEPHANIE I stood behind the bedroom door and pondered, hitching the bath towel a little higher under my armpits. Steal one of his shirts, or wander out in nothing but a towel in search of my bag? My hair still hung down my back, wet but clean now. I cracked the door open a little and felt the weight of something sag against it. My bag. Well, that was moderately thoughtful. As long as it wasn't some signal that I should pack that bag and leave as soon as possible. I pulled the door open just wide enough to get my hand out and the bag in. My jeans were completely soaked. I'd hung them up on the towel radiator but they wouldn't be dry for hours. I'd sort of planned to wear them most of the weekend. If there was going to be a weekend. I was nearly at the bottom of the bag, my things in a steadily growing mound on the floor. Oh thank god. I'd packed some extra leggings. Maybe with my long tunic top... * * * * * I finally emerged from the bedroom, wet hair brushed back, my feet entirely grateful for the extra pair of socks I'd packed, even though they were a horrid shade of green. Lord knew what I looked like. Sans make-up, green-footed drowned-rat chic. His back was to me as I stepped into the living room, my stomach jumpy and a little sick with what must be nerves. I was here now, and he was here. Now what? Just the Thought of You Ch. 02 He was at the kitchen island, a rather scary looking knife in his hand, chopping steadily. I was still trying to get over the fact he really did cook. He turned his head briefly to look at me before going back to the mange tout he was turning into little green slivers. Of course he knew how to eat well. How else could he have that gorgeous lean muscley-ness. Him in those jeans. They just hugged in all the right places. And that snug little t-shirt. Damn. His shoulders hunched as he worked and I got distracted for a little while just watching him. Lost in a fleeting memory of how those shoulder muscles felt under my eager fingertips. And maybe a little of how those hands had felt on my...everywhere. Everything in the cottage was miniature. That's what cottages are, right? Miniature places for quaint, miniature people. Jarod - he just looked massive in comparison to everything in the place. Like some sort of enormous, dark eclipse of all the littleness and floral-print chintzness in all the world. Why did he have to look so huge and looming and...wonderful? Not trusting myself near him I took the closest escape route and settled into a slipcovered easy chair, knees to chest, hugging tight. "Are you okay now?" He was looking at me again, the knife blade resting on the cutting board. Waves of something - anger or tension - rolled off of him and towards me. The room practically bristled with it, heating the air around me. He was like some one-man forest fire. Run, little deer. Run. "Yeah. I'm...fine." Lame, Steph. So lame. I sighed. He went back to chopping but then stopped, tipping his head back, hands fisting on the counter-top. "So what are you doing here?" It hurt, when he said it that way. What was I supposed to say? Because I think I might love you? Because I couldn't go on living with you thinking I didn't give a damn? Because ever since first you touched me I haven't bee able to think about another single thing than being skin to skin in your heat and drowning myself in your eyes? I settled for, "You invited me, didn't you?" His eyes closed briefly. "You said no." "I know." "So?" He turned to face me now, knife still in hand. I forced myself to meet his eyes, putting my feet onto the floor as if to somehow absorb some stability, some solidity out of the old stone flagging underneath me. "You were right. We need to talk," my chin rising slightly. He let out a sort of "Huh," noise, then turned back to his vegetables. "You said there was nothing to say." He could have sliced the carrots with the edge in his voice. This wasn't going well. This had been a very bad idea. It just wasn't going to work out doing it this way. I pushed myself out of the soft confines of the chair, surprised how shaky I was just standing up. "I'm sorry Jarod. I shouldn't have come." I started on my tottery way towards the bedroom. I'd pack my things up, call the damned cab and put it on my credit card. Anything to escape the sheer weight of animosity pounding down on my shoulders from his general direction. "Steph? SIT." He'd taken a step toward me, the tip of that knife pointed right at my heart from across the room. What? Sit- WHAT? "Sit, Jarod?" Anger flared up, hot and quick, out of nowhere. "What am I? A dog you can tell what to do? Sit. Stay. Beg??" I was flaming mad and didn't entirely know why. Hands clenched at my sides, facing him down. Because what? He hadn't greeted me at the door with grateful kisses and a passionate embrace? Because he didn't seem to want me there? Because I needed him with every damn fibre of my being and I hated him, just hated him for it? "And don't you dare point that thing at me," I added, pointing back at the knife. He blinked, looking down at blade for the first time, then back at me as if even he wasn't sure what he doing. He dropped his arm, still staring at the knife he'd just pointed right at me, shoulders slumping. He closed his eyes and turned back to the kitchen counter, dropping the knife on the cutting board and bracing his hands against the edge of the kitchen island. "God, Steph. Why did you come here?" I took a moment to think about my answer, still breathing hard from the anger that pushed hot threads of emotion through chest. It braced me. Gave me the strength to say it. "Because you haven't told me everything." "What?" His hands slapped on the counter-top and he turned to look at me. "What haven't I told you?" I swallowed, absorbing the radiating anger, the force of it, feeling the heat of it spark past my still-damp hair. "You haven't told me about her." "Her-?" His head jerked back, confusion or incredulity all over his face. "Her who? What the fuck are you talking about?" "Her," I said again simply, more sure now what it was I'd come here to prise out of him. "The one who did a number on you. The one who's left you jumping at your own shadow. All the time." He deflated in front of me, looking in several different directions as if to escape, exasperation clear in every movement. He finally met my eyes, holding his hands out by his sides. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about." "Yes you do." Yes, he did. Oh yes he fucking did. Me, who couldn't know him that well yet, even little me could see he was lying. I crossed my arms over my chest and prepared myself to stare him down. "What does this have to do with anything? We need to talk about us. That's it. Nothing else." He turned back to his chopping board, shifting small piles of vegetables around aimlessly. "That's just it. This is about us." "It's the past, Steph. It doesn't mean anything." "It means something to me, Jarod. I means something to me," I said, poking at my chest with a trembling finger. "And why the fuck should I care?" He glared at me. I lost it. Raised my voice. Waved an arm. "Because I fucking do, Jarod. I care." I took a deep breath, "Because I see a world of pain going on behind that icy-cold wall you keep putting up between us and I just..." I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slow. "I just want in, Jarod. I want you to just let me in. Is that too much to ask?" He became very still. I could have sworn he was holding his breath. Then I knew he was when he let it out with a rush. He pointed to one of the bar-stools that pulled up under the opposite side of the kitchen island. "Sit. I mean..." he corrected himself, and just in time, too. "Please just sit down, okay? Your hovering is driving me nuts." I surrendered, walking around the island and hoisting myself up onto the seat, trying to ignore how badly I was shaking. I was directly across from him now, looking straight into his face, but he kept his eyes on the fennel he was holding, knife poised for cutting again. "Okay, you want to talk about what, my past relationships? All the other women I've fucked? Is that it?" He stared at me, eyes full of challenge. He returned his focus to slicing the fennel as if he bore it a serious grudge. I traced the edges of the tiled work-top with my fingers, mind racing. Where was I going with this anyway? With just a mad hunch and a whole lot of hot-air bravado? He could call my bluff in the very next breath and I'd know I was wrong to come here. Wrong about all of this. I had to try. Stab in the dark. "I dunno. You still seem pretty mad about something. About someone. Someone who hurt you. Or a bunch of people. I don't know." "And that's why you refused to come here this weekend?" "No. That was..." I sighed. "That was all me." He grunted softly. "So I'm supposed to confess my past sins and everything will be fine, is that it?" I did my best to ignore the sting in his voice. Tried my best to fight the mixture of hope and surreality of sitting here, watching him be Mr Domestic God while trying to crack open the deep well of hurt I knew was inside him. Or was the well inside me, and I just needed to know I wasn't the only one stung so deep and hard by rejection that I couldn't let anyone in? But I would let him in. I would. "You've always doubted me, Jarod." He seemed to absorb that, not answering right away. "Well, I barely know you." He shrugged one shoulder and kept chopping. "It's more than that. I know it is." He actually growled at that, his full gaze on mine and boring into me, intense and dark and wild. "What do you want from me?" He pressed his hands down, shoulders hunched, eyes still glued to me, not letting me escape. A few thunderous heartbeats passed. When I didn't answer, he straightened, throwing some scraps into the bin with a great deal more vehemence than was necessary. "You want to know about how I had a girl practically accuse me of being a rapist? How she was all over me one second, and the next she was making it very clear to me how rough and horrible and beastly she thought I was? Just looking at me like I was some sort of...of...animal?" A rapist? What?? He stared at me, breathing hard. Wrapped his hands around the edge of the counter-top, and I wasn't certain if he was trying to break the island in half, or just hold himself together. "Jarod-" But it just caught in my throat, and he was already raising a hand to stop my words. "No, Steph, you wanted to hear this, so you get to hear it all." He pinned me there, with his eyes. Wild, intent eyes. "You want to know how I tried to change myself, for years, and make myself into Mr Nice Guy because of her? Because she thought I was a monster? To make myself into someone you women could actually tolerate?" I was gripping the edge of the island, trying to cope with the flood of words that kept coming and coming out of him. I was trying, I really was. But I just didn't understand. What had he done that would make someone think that of him? "I don't-" "Don't what?" he cut in. "Don't think I'm a monster?" He leaned in towards me, his face twisted in the closest thing to ugly his face could ever be. "I don't know what you mean." He lifted his hands and dropped them, looking away from me in exasperation. "Do you really need all the gory details? You want to be my little therapist now? My shrink?" I pressed my palm to my forehead, pressing tight to the ache that was building there. "No, Jarod. I just want to understand. That's all I want." He folded his arms and leaned back against the fridge, nodding. I thought he was just going to stay there, silent, I waited so long. He screwed his eyes closed and blinked a few times before looking at me again. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, flat. "There was this girl. I didn't talk to a lot of girls. When I was younger, before university. Made me nervous and fuck everything up when I tried. But she was different. She didn't force herself into my space. She was just always there, hanging around the edges of things, you know?" He uncrossed his arms and stepped back towards the cutting board, laying a hand on the handle of the knife, but not picking it up, just looking at it. "We would talk on the phone a lot. Late at night, when we were supposed to be asleep. And we'd talk about all sort of things." He shifted his hips, slid his foot against the tile floor. "And we talked about sexual stuff." He shrugged. "Nothing really, just silly fantasy stuff about what we'd do if we could. I was just stupid I guess. And on the phone, she seemed to love it. Said it was exciting. Said I wasn't like the other boys." He pulled over some green leaves and started slicing them, slowly, carefully. When he spoke again, each sentence was a slice. Sharp and fine. "I knew what she wanted. She wanted us to make love. So I did that. I made love to her. It probably wasn't all that great because I didn't have a fucking clue what I was doing. But I tried to be gentle with her. I know I was gentle." I didn't know. But I knew. Somehow knew what was coming next. Everything in me wanted to crawl the short distance over that damned island and take him in my arms and not make him say the next words. To hold him tight and swallow that pain with my mouth on his. To suck out the poison like some sort of snake bite and heal him. But even I couldn't do that. "I couldn't help it. I was being gentle, but then I'm nearly-" He stopped, running a hand over his face, grimacing as he continued. "I'm nearly coming and there are all of these words coming out of my mouth. Things I never meant to say to anyone, let alone her. I didn't plan to say it or think about it, it just came out. All the things I really wanted to do with her. To her." He gave me one last haunted look before quietly laying the knife down next to the cutting board as if he didn't trust himself with it in his hands anymore. "She went completely still, underneath me. I'll never forget that. I don't know what she was actually thinking, but she just looked horrified. Terrified maybe. She started pushing at me and crying and babbling. It was just..." He looked at me, a deep weariness in his face. "She thought I was a monster, Steph. Some sort of pervert. And she ran away from me as fast as she could." His knuckles started to go white where he was pressing his hands against the edge of the counter-top. "So I let the women come to me if they wanted. And I did things their way, and let them play their games and fucked them and kept my bloody mouth shut. Because there is always that moment when something slips out and I can see in their faces that it's over. I'm not who they thought I was. I'm not Mr Nice Guy anymore. I'm too much. Not enough. No good. No fucking good." My chest felt like it wanted to crush in on itself. Like I needed to sob, but couldn't find the air. I wasn't on the chair anymore. I was standing next to him, trying to pry his fingers from where they were gripping the edge of the island, my breath coming out in funny gasps. I finally got through the barricade of his arms and wrapped mine around his waist, ignoring the rigid stiffness of his body. Ignoring his protests, his ragged, plaintive and unconvincing, "Steph, no." I leaned my head back, desperate to catch his gaze but he kept turning his head away, grimacing. "Are you happy now? It doesn't mean anything. Just a stupid thing that happened. I-" "Shut up, Jarod." I kissed him. Yup. That's right. Mousy me kissed a completely resistant man about three times my size. A man with a very sharp knife. He went completely still. It was like pressing my mouth to a statue. All stone and coldness. But I could feel him shaking just a little, his arms braced either side of me. One little quiver and I knew I had him. I let my tongue trace ever so gently along the curve of his top lip. He groaned against my mouth, one reluctant hand gripping my hip as if to push me away. I pressed myself against him, shameless, begging him to respond. And then he sort of snapped, grabbing my hips with both hands, his lips giving in to mine in the most glorious way. That tiled edge of the island was suddenly digging into my back, but the only thing I could really feel was his mouth open over mine, fierce, punishing me for my forwardness. Nipping at my bottom lip with his teeth, the pain sharp but so, so welcome. "Steph, Steph..." he groaned against my cheek, and I was lost, sinking down into a heavy heat. Clinging to the solidity of his neck and shoulders I could only just hold on when put his mouth on my neck, open and ravenous and threatening to take more, to bite deep. * * * * * JAROD He could feel her breathing so hard, even where he gripped her, high on the hips, just where her waist dipped in. He dug his fingers into the softness of her, not allowing himself to worry if he was hurting her. She'd come to him. No line set down. No rules given. She didn't even have to say it. What her kiss promised was the one thing he'd never allowed himself. The curl of her tongue the beckoning of a creature that wanted him. Wanted him. But who was he? Maybe he was gentle. Maybe he was a sadistic bastard. Or maybe all these things and maybe more. All he wanted now was the salt-sweet taste of her on his tongue and the faint flower scent of her hair in his nose. And nothing else. Fuck everything else. There was nothing but this. That fluttery pulse in her neck hammered against his tongue, just there. It called him and egged him on. He couldn't get over how she felt through that damned cottony top. What was she wearing? Some thin, stretchy leggings that felt like barely anything at all. His chest was already burning from the breaths he couldn't take in between tasting the sweet spot under her ear and the hollow of her throat. All he knew was he wanted to dig his fingers into that soft, female warmth that was all her. That and just roll those soft girly hips against his straining, aching erection. He groaned against her skin just at the thought of how it was going to feel. Rock hard against yielding, gorgeous softness. He held off though, waiting for it, savouring the little frantic noises she was making when he threatened her pale, silky skin with his teeth. Scraping just hard enough to raise the goosebumps right up her arms and set her whimpering and trembling in his arms. He wanted her focus. He wanted her to be in no doubt who she was with right now. Not one of those useless idiot boys who'd probably only seen far enough to con her into some cheap and filthy blow-job in the backseat of their hatchback and who'd completely missed the incredible woman he held. Right here. All his. He left the sensitive skin of her neck alone for a moment, straightening, letting go of one of her lush little hips long enough to get a handful of her still-damp hair. It clung to his fingers like cold little snakes, twining, trapping him, drawing him closer to the warmth of her scalp. "Steph. Stephanie. Look at me..." The sooty line of lashed fluttered, then her eyes opened to his. He sucked in a unsteady breath at the dark dilation of her pupils and the sheer, naked need. Need for him, he hoped. So hoped. He spread his hand along her lower back, tugging her away from the counter-top, eyes lost in the lazy heat of her gaze. He rocked his hips forward as he pulled her closer, pressed her against himself. Stifling a groan, he took a few very necessary deep breaths. God, she felt so good. Tight against him. Like her body was made for him to press his cock against. He had to swallow hard before he could speak again. When he did, he barely recognised his own voice. "Do you feel that, love? Do you feel how much I want you?" She shivered at that, a low humming moan in her throat, her eyes closing momentarily as she arched against him. "You feel so good, babe-" he gasped, pushing her back to the counter again, both hands sliding around the sweet swell of her ass, rocking her up against him. How could something be so damned satisfying and so hunger-growing at exactly the same time. Feel so perfect but be so so far from enough all at once. "Jarod-" He drew back just barely, pushing his fingers into her hair, thumbs stroking softly at her temples, searching her eyes for the concern he'd heard in her voice. "What is it babe, what's the matter?" She shook her head, eyes closing. When she spoke, her bottom lip trembled, the shine of tears beneath her lashes. "-Missed you. I missed you...so much-" the last bit coming out in a little hiccupy sob. He crushed her against his chest. A chest gripped with a sudden tightness. She'd come back to him. That was all that mattered. She was here. He drew back just far enough to look down into her face. Her eyes still damp, but the curve of her mouth told him it wasn't sadness she was feeling right now. One arm hitching her close around her waist, the other he allowed to gather in the heavy strands of her hair, tugging her head back swiftly enough to trigger her indrawn breath, her lids lowering instantly with a knowledge of what he was probably about to do next. Just the Thought of You Ch. 02 He teased her at first. Letting his lips drift like a breath over hers. Allowing just the tip of his tongue to dart along the gentle bow curve. But it was too strong. The need to taste her completely. Everything. Everywhere. He pressed his mouth down on hers with such ferocity he had to steady her when her knees gave way. He reached back to the counter-top behind her, sweeping the cutting board and the knife and every damned wilting vegetable into the sink with a satisfying clatter. Fuck dinner. Tightening his hold on her waist he lifted her, his lips never leaving hers, her feet dangling, sitting her firmly on the edge of the kitchen counter. He could feel her trembling, her confusion, her wondering at what he wanted with her. She pulled away from his lips. "Jarod-" He rubbed his thumbs along pulse just below her ears, eyes filled with the vision of her lips, swollen pinker from his kisses, just parted. He shrugged, breathing deep at the giddy sensation climbing up through his insides. "Changed my mind. Don't want salad." He was hungry, all right. Insanely hungry. But not for the pasta going cold on the stove. He pushed her knees wide apart with firm hands, nestling himself between her spread legs, pressing his hips and the aching ridge of his arousal into the warm nestling curve of her body. He bent over her, still taller despite her perch. He threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her face to him. "So tell me," he flexed his hips in a slow grind against her, a low growl in his throat when she responded by tightening her knees around his hips, breathed a breathy whimper. She stared up, liquid gaze, into his eyes. He bent in to nip at her neck. "You changed your mind. Why?" Punctuating his words with little bites. Harmless nibbles. She had to blink and swallow before she found her voice, her breath hitching with every touch of teeth to skin. Startled each and every time, no matter how many times he did it. God, he loved making her speechless. He could feel her getting all jumpy against him, desperate for more. "I was...an idiot," she said, closing her eyes, shoulders slumping. He nibbled along the delicate line of her jaw, his fingers gripping into the soft part of her waist. "But I thought you were a smart girl," he crooned, thumbs working their way upwards from the breath-heaving curve of her ribs to the sweet underside of her breasts. Just the lightest touch. Just a brush of thumb pad along those curves and she was mumbling something incoherent. He ducked down, escaping the arms she'd been wrapping around his neck. He found the tip of one breast with this teeth through the cotton shirt and her bra, biting gently, quick, thrilling at her squeal of surprise. Pushing her back onto the unforgiving tiles of the work-top, he wormed his hands up under that infuriating cotton top until he found bare stomach. She was so warm. So fluttery and breathy and solid and real all at the same time. He scooted her a little closer to the edge, fingers already searching along the waistband of the leggings. He hooked his fingers in, just above the little hollows on either hip, and began a very slow tug. An inch of bare skin. Little soft kisses, then a nip and a bite, and she was arching up off the top and saying his name. Another inch and he was rubbing his tongue along the top band of her deliciously lacy panties. He stared down for a minute, strangely fascinated by the ridiculously innocent little bow right in the middle. Taking it lightly in his teeth, he pulled, stretching the elastic. Letting it go with a little stinging snap against her skin. Causing her to jump, surprising a squeak of a whimper out of her. But his hands found their way to the tops of her thighs. His thumbs tracing their way steadily down, down into the dipping crease between her legs, gripping each thigh, thumbs pressing down hard in that little hollow behind the tendons of her inner thighs, brushing so close...so close. "Oh, god...Jarod..." She was struggling against him now, trying to sit up, but he was already spreading her, his face close enough to catch the scent of her. He nuzzled against her. Fuck, she was so wet. He bit down. Buried his face in that hot centre of her and bit down. Ignored her wailed expletive. Paid no heed to the small fingers twining painfully in his hair, pulling and pushing at him and babbling something about stopping or not stopping ever. Something like that. He couldn't stop his thumbs any longer. They pressed inward, drawn to her, massaging in small, deep circles, finding the gentle give of her cunt through the taut fabric. He narrowed his bite, concentrating on the area just around her clit, pressing hard with his tongue against the already drenched fabric. God, she tasted good, and she wasn't even undressed. He got his fingers under the waistband of the leggings and wrenched them down, his mouth already on the swollen mound of her sex, biting slow and deep through the barely-there fabric of her panties. The lace just slid over her skin, slick with her own wetness. The leggings ended up on the floor. As did those ridiculous green socks. The panties followed, and she was finally bare in front of him. God. He could hardly breathe. He pushed the cotton top higher, one hand capturing and kneading one of her perfect little breasts. He stared down at her. His ears filled with the jagged pants and whines she made every time he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger through her bra. When he pulled his hand away she arched and complained, but quickly settled as soon as he started his slow massage on her inner thighs. His thumbs were slick from her now. Skittering over her skin, so close. So close to slipping into that hot little hollow. He hooked his hand behind her left knee, ducking down and draping her leg over his shoulder, grabbing her other leg and doing the same. Straightening, he pressed down over her, finding her breasts with his hands, kneading gently, feeling their weight and and soft resistance, leaning forward into her until she opened her eyes. She was so god-damn gorgeous. Waves of still-damp hair pooling around her upturned face, eyes trying to hide from him, but dark with wanting. She gripped the edge of the counter-top with one hand, knuckles white, her chest rising in hitching breaths. "I thought you weren't coming back to me," he groaned, face pressed against the soft skin of her leg."I thought you'd left me and you weren't coming back." And his eyes burned. Sudden, unexpected burning he had to blink back. His hands moved down to grip her hips and held her tight, tight to him where he strained with needing her. He would keep her and never let her go. Wrapping his hands around her upper arms, holding her firmly down, he ducked his head down to her bared stomach, rubbing his chin against her, the slight stubble heating her skin, frictioning, scraping rough against smooth, so smooth. Then nipping with his teeth, little bites of her skin lower, lower to where she was spread open for him, legs trembling. He covered her with his mouth. A long, open-mouth kiss. As long as her breathless wail. Oh, the taste of her. How could he have never tasted her like this before? His tongue slid, gentle and slow, lapping at the wet of her entrance, slow, slow up to the nub of her clit. Rolling it slow, steady, under his flattened tongue, her whole body jumping under the pressure on that one small area. He held himself still, holding her arms helpless, mouth pressed to her. Waited, breathing hard, waiting. Waiting for that little desperate moan. For the buck of her hips against his mouth. For her plaintive, tremulous, "Oh fuck- Jarod, please..." He plunged the tip of his tongue as deep inside her as he could, stretching her legs wide, ravenous now, hungry for more and more of her taste. Sweet, strangely sweet and musky. Shook off the the small hands that fought him and tried to reach to press him deeper, closer. * * * * * STEPHANIE Oh holy fuck. FUCK. He had my arms tight against the tile. Tile that should feel cold but everything was just burning up. The whole room. My whole body on fire. I couldn't even bear to lift my head and look to see what it was he was doing down there. With that mouth. With his tongue. Ohhh fuck how did he even do that with his tongue. Just pressure. Wet, hot pressure clamping down on me, slick friction right there. Right on my clit and I'm so close. So close to coming right now. I never thought he would. That he was able to give like this. Or take. I can't really tell which this is, just that he's pushing, pulling me over an edge I can just see and then it's right there. Searingly strong, threads of it pulling through me from breathless chest all the way down to where he's French-kissing my pussy. That thrumming strand of pleasure, connecting up, blooming wider, building higher and I'm lost. Gone, totally gone, coming against his mouth. I tried not to clamp around his head so tight with my knees, but all I could do was curl up around that most incredible wave of sensation. And he just keeps it there, holding it, drawing it out with his tongue and his lips longer and longer until I can't take any more of it. How can I need pleasure to stop, but I do. Please stop...stop. I was nearly sobbing when he finally released me, his cheek pressing tight to my stomach, his hands gripping my hips, kneading deep with his fingers. All I could do was collapse. Everything, collapsing. Body, heart, free-falling. My hand found the top of his head. Had I always loved it this much? The feeling of his hair between my fingers? Had there ever been a time when I didn't? He was very quiet. Just leaning into me, my bare legs still pressed up, draped decadently over his gorgeous shoulders, his cheekbone nestled in the hollow of my belly button. I could feel his eyelashes brush against me when he opened his eyes. I rubbed my fingers against his scalp, filled with the strong desire to soothe him. After all my wanting to crack him open and pull him apart, now all I wanted to do was pick up all the little painful broken pieces and kiss them all back together. Whole. Maybe no longer carrying with him that awful memory. Or at least only a ghost of it. "Jarod?" "Mmph." "Are you okay?" Then his tongue was lapping at my belly button and some aftershock was hitting me and I was shivering all over with the heat of it, breathing funny and gasping and begging for mercy. I think he smiled against my stomach. I think that's what I felt. Bastard. Wonderful, incredible bastard. (To be continued...) * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Thank you so much for reading -- if you enjoyed this story, please be sure to let me know with your comments, feedback and votes, they are much appreciated. Just the Thought of You Ch. 03 © 2014 Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Okay, lovely readers – here is the final chapter of Stephanie and Jarod's story (chapter 3 of 3). For those reading for the first time, you will want to go back and read: * PART ONE - 'Under My Skin' * PART TWO - 'Deep in the Heart of Me' ...otherwise not much of these chapters will make much sense! For those of you who have waited all this time to read more and have kept me going with your encouragement - thank you. You are brilliant. x Brunne * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * JAROD He couldn't keep them there like that forever. Her, half naked, splayed out on the unforgiving tile of the kitchen island. Him, crick steadily developing in his neck and an ache in his lower back. But somehow just resting there, face pressed against her stomach, feeling the steady throb of her pulse and the rise and fall of her breathing wasn't something he wanted to stop doing right now. The euphoria was already beginning to drain away. Seeping down through his body. Leaving a coldness behind. And questions. He rested his chin on her hipbone and stared up along her body to her face. She just lay there, eyes closed, still breathing fast, lashes fanned dark against flushed cheeks. Why had she come all the way out here? Trekked all the way on her own, in the rain. Surely not just to get some confession of his past hurts. And regardless of the fact she'd turned into a writhing passionate mad thing in his arms...well, that was just her. That was how she was. It didn't say anything to him, other than that the fact she was purely, simply being who she was. It didn't promise anything. It didn't explain anything. Had she always been such a complete and utter mystery to him? Did he have any chance of ever understanding where she was coming from or going to? He shifted their tangle of limbs and pushed down the groan that seemed to want to bubble all the way up from where he was still aching. Painfully aching. Backing up slowly, he let her legs slide down next to his hips as gently as he could. "Up. Come on," he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. She turned her face away from him, not even making an attempt to pull herself into a sitting position. "You're going to hurt yourself lying there," he said, knowing how insufficient it was as soon as he said it. How the words were a million light years away from what he should be saying to her right now. He just couldn't find anything else inside his head that wasn't bound up in some deep confession of feelings he didn't have the first clue how to articulate. All he could focus on was the fact that this thing wasn't sorted out yet, she was lying much too close to sharp kitchen implements on a very hard surface and he was still desperately aroused. She groaned. Tried rolling up on one shoulder, before flopping back down again in defeat. He didn't really stop to think. Just got a hand under her knees and the other just under her shoulders and rolled her into his arms. She clung to him, small hands clenching tight at his arms, gripping the material of his t-shirt in her little fists. He rocked her back, her head nestling against his shoulder, her limbs boneless. He had to shift his grip so he didn't drop her. He turned sideways when he got to the bedroom door, carefully watching that her feet didn't catch on the frame. Her face was buried against his neck. All this registered in his mind in some sort of hierarchy of sensations and observations, somewhere below the feel of her weight in his arms and the soft, soft skin in the little hollow at the back of her knee. What he wasn't expecting when he lowered her onto the bed was the punch to the shoulder. And the other blow that landed on his chest. And then she was like some sort of wild thing, arms and fists flailing at him, her knees up, pushing him, some sort of mewling growl coming out of her. "Steph, what-" He made a grab for her wrists, trying to calm her, but she wasn't having any of it, jerking away from him and scooting up the bed. Where she sat, eyes wide and such an expression of anguish on her face. Her cheeks shone in the dim light. Oh fuck no, not tears again. He sat himself on the edge of the bed, his back to her, head in hands, fingers combing through his hair. "Every time, Jarod," she said, voice trembling, hands busy pulling her shirt down to cover her nakedness. "What?" It burst out of him, sharper than he'd intended. She crawled back a little closer to him, but stopped short of where he sat. "You know exactly what." "No, no I don't," exploded from him, appealing to her, hands held out in front of him. "You go cold, Jarod. Every single time. Just when I think we're finally getting somewhere. Finally getting close to something. Sharing something. And then I'm faced with a wall. A big brick wall made entirely of ice." She was up on her knees, her hands in fists at her sides. How he longed to just lean. Lean in towards her and those little fisted hands and the arms he knew would wrap tight around him if he did. Instead, he shrugged. Tugged at the knees of his jeans. Scowled. Idiot. What are you doing? He closed his eyes. Sighed, then breathed deep. "Why, Steph? Why did you really show up here?" She sat back on her heels, hands still clenched tight against her thighs. "Why do you think?" "I don't know. To berate me? To tell me what a complete prick I am?" He knew. He wrestled with it. He knew he should just man-up and say it and stop playing stupid, silly, petty games. This was too important to fuck up. He sighed. "Okay, so...maybe you wanted us to talk." She sat back a little further, as if she hadn't expected him to give in quite that easily. Nodding slowly, she tucked what she could of her thin, cottony shirt under her legs. "Yes," she said, still smoothing her hands over the fabric. "To talk." But he wasn't thinking quite so much about understanding her line of questioning. Instead, he was staring at the bottom edge of her shirt, where it barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. And at the shadowy promise beneath. * * * * * STEPHANIE I should have known from that particular dark glint in his eye as he looked at me just then. Should have known he would suddenly be up on the bed and on top of me, pushing me back into the soft give of the duvet-covered mattress and the raft of pillows at the head of the bed. Should have expected the open-palmed pressure of his hands on my wrists and the rough knee pushing my bare legs apart. "I don't think you really want to talk," he breathed, lips right up next to my ear, brushing lightly against my hair. Tickling, tingling down my neck with his words. It was true, of course. Talking was rather far from my mind at that exact second. Especially because with his knee between mine, I couldn't escape the distinct sensation of his erection pressing insistently against my inner thigh through his jeans. I think I arched up off the bed from that alone. But then he grabbed my hand and pressed it right there, tight against him, moulding my palm along the inescapable jut of it, pushing against my hand. "Does that still feel cold to you? You think I'm anywhere near cold?" he growled into my ear. God no. Heavens no. Even through his jeans he was just radiating heat and an eagerness that was making it nearly impossible for me to breathe. My fingers closed in around him without a thought. My greedy little fingers trying to map the length and breadth of him through the rough fabric, thrilling at the low, guttural groan he buried against my neck. He was right. This was exactly why I'd come all this way. To feel him looming over me. Holding me down. Coming apart in my hands. This was exactly why I was here. His mouth was finding a cosy home against my neck, making my breath catch every time he opened his lips over my skin, pressing hard with the slick flat of his tongue, razoring over that same sensitised area with those evil teeth of his. I just wanted to feel it again. That heart-stopping rush when he bit down. When the pressure and the sharpness and the sheer wrongness of it burst through and plunged me into some swirling depth where the only lifeline was him. Connected by a glowing strand of light, tugging, pulling me closer. Swamped in wave after wave of that light. That's what I wanted. It was as if he sensed my unspoken request. He stilled. Knee still pressed up against me. Hands spread in restraint over mine. He lifted his head and looked down into my face. Such a dark thing roaming behind those eyes of his. A sorry, lost creature. Desperate to come home. To come in out of the cold. With everything in my being I said the only thing that could be said. "Yes-" At first I didn't think he was going to. His eyes left mine for just long enough to make me think he might. But then he was dipping his head and his lips brushed against mine. Soft, so softy. Caught my lower lip with his teeth, teasing, sharp, but not what I was begging him for. I couldn't speak, only press my frantic thoughts into the air between us in some desperation that he wouldn't make me beg for it. "Say it," he whispered against my mouth. Oh god. No. Don't make me say it. "Please Jarod..." I shivered, my body rising off the bed without me asking it to. "Please what?" I opened my eyes and he was still levelling that lost look at me. He wasn't playing games. He needed me to say it. Wanted my permission. My approval. Of him. "Bite me...Jarod, please-" But his mouth was already pressed hot and wild against my neck, just there in the hollow where it met my shoulder. He went very still. Held himself there, a slow slide of his tongue over my skin the only thing moving in the room. In the entire universe. Just the points of his teeth resting lightly on my skin. And then the explosion of incredible pleasure-pain when his jaw clenched and he bit down. So hard, so so... I didn't recognise the sound that came out of my chest as me. Relief, gasping relief and the most incredible heat and rolling pleasure blooming up from low in my body up and through my limbs. I could hear him moaning against me, groaning when he shifted his grip with his teeth and bit slowly down again. He pushed my hands up higher, over my head. His knees shifting and pushing my legs open, his hips seeking me. His mouth still on my neck and the heat and the pressure of it. Behind my eyelids it was all blinding white and breathless airlessness. The shock of it slowed. Replaced by a growing warmth. Glowing, growing warmth. The pressure on my neck released, slowly. Replaced by a lapping tongue. Soothing lips. Light kisses. I felt him relax into me, his shoulders dropping, his hands flexing closed around mine, chest rising and falling in time with mine. "God, Steph-" he whispered against my cheek. Something hot and wet began at the outer corners of my eyes and turned out to be tears. Tears of what? I tightened my fingers around his, rubbing with my thumbs, soothing. Then not soothing. Stroking, licking at him with my fingers, the friction of my finger tips on his skin, pressing deeper. He rocked forward with his hips, and I couldn't think about my hands any more, even when he pressed them deeper into the pillows. Just the pressure of his body. The rough scrape of denim against parts of me he'd already rubbed raw with his stubble. It obviously wasn't enough for him. Not close enough by far. With one last squeeze of my fingers he pushed himself back onto his heels on the bed. My legs still draped over his thighs, my shirt pushed up around my hips. He was fighting his way out of his t-shirt. And I wasn't unhappy about this. In the dim light filtering through from the living room, I had all the visibility I needed to start digging my fingers into all those pretty little muscular indents along his ribs. Rubbing in with my thumbs, catching his jagged in and out breaths. Such a short little journey up to where his nipples stood out, as if waiting for me to touch them. Just the one barest of touches with my fingertips and he was hissing in a breath and grabbing for my wrists. Such a sensitive boy. He stared down at me, eyelids lowered and his lips just that little bit parted from the fast breaths he was taking. Dark eyes, despite their pale, pale grey. He released my wrists, but the look in his eyes pinned me down in a way his hands and his legs and his body couldn't. I lay, unable to move, listening to the snick and drag of his belt being unbuckled. I disappeared in a cloud of cotton when he took the hem of my blouse and stripped it off over my head. A few tugs, and my bra followed it to the floor. I had to close my eyes and breathe deep breaths when he pulled back and rolled to the edge of the bed to tug his jeans and boxers off. That heavy, intoxicated feeling was kicking in. I only opened my eyes again when he crawled his way back up my body, wrapped my legs around his hips and walked his hands up next to my shoulders. His beautiful, stern face hovering there, over mine. Lips dipping low and capturing mine, slow and thoughtful. Testing. Tasting. Just the slight flick of his tongue drawing the breath of a whimper from my chest. The nudge of his hips and his erection brushing gently against my stomach making me arch greedily. But he was taking his time. Making the kiss deeper, resting his elbows into the pillows either side of my head and just taking his damned time. Like he'd never kissed a girl before and needed to find out how everything felt and tasted. Except that at the same time he knew exactly what to do. I could feel the drug of it filling my body. Deep, thudding, expanding. Slick tongue doing battle with mine. And then something kicked off and he was suddenly hungry. Kissing me hard and wild and greedy. One hand tangling in my hair, the other digging fingers into my hip. Maybe because I'd started to rock up against him without meaning to. And moaning. A lot of moaning. He slid his knees back away from me on the bed, flattening his body over mine. Pressing me into the bed so I nearly hadn't got the breath to go on. My nipples brushing up against the silkiness of his chest hair had me shivering and arching for more. But still he held himself away from me, braced on his arms. Except for where our hips came together. There he was shifting himself down and flexing and somehow finding the aching wetness between my legs and just sliding through it with that amazing cock of his. Pressing and rubbing against my clit with the unyielding ridge of himself. Slow and steady like he had all day. Like he didn't have me whimpering and bucking underneath him. It wasn't until I could start to feel the trembling in his arms that I knew he was just as near the edge as I was. I was losing all control over my body from the sheer need to have him inside me. I clutched at his arms, digging my fingers into the already straining muscles. He just slid his hands further up under me, cradling my upper body on his arms, never stopping with the rub and slide against me that had me gasping and nearly weeping with needing him. He slowed his movements and dropped his mouth down near my ear. Warm breath bathed my skin. Lips just brushing my ear. Voice low and breathless, but intense, insistent. "Say you'll stay..." Stay? Stay where? Did it matter? If it was with him... "Yes-" "I can't hear you," and he braced himself above me, staring down. Storms fighting in those grey eyes. "Yes, I'll stay," I said, speaking each word in-between little whimper-cries when he rubbed himself just there. I was so close. So near the edge. An orgasm just on the other side of the next press of his slick, velvety skin against my clit. But not yet. Please not yet. Not until he was deep inside and filling up every emptiness I'd ever felt. "You'll stay with me..." He was gathering his knees under him now, his arms tightening around my ribcage. Of course I will. Where else could I go? Where else could I be? "God, Jarod...yes, always-" The 'always' seemed to wring a ragged groan out of him, his head tipping back. Then he was bending down again and his lips were finding mine. Insistent tongue seeking me out, consuming me entirely with his mouth. And he was dragging a hand out from under me to tug my legs higher around his waist, settling the head of his cock right against me. Pressing in, slow. Pulling back and pressing again. Then sinking deep and deep, getting me right at the end with a sharp little thrust. That's about the point where I started to go to pieces. The orgasm just started there and built in waves as he angled his hips to mine and began to fuck. Slow at first, grinding into me with each agonising thrust. Then losing rhythm and growing faster, more frantic. Letting himself go. I had my hands gripped to his shoulders and felt it. The moment he dropped everything and just let the control roll away. The moment when he gave in to the free, flying soaring feeling he was already giving me. * * * * * JAROD He woke in the dark. The small, low wall of her body pressing tightly, warmly, into the front of him. He'd fallen asleep with the soft scent of flowers. He'd dreamed of flowers. He buried his face deeper into the silkiness of her hair, and slept. * * * * * STEPHANIE When I surfaced from sleep again, it was with sunlight streaming in through a little window on the far side of the room. I just lay there, body numb with the rise from sleep. That and the realisation that I was in bed alone. I pulled the pillow over my head. There was no way I could face the dancing dust motes in that beautiful golden sliver of light. How could it fade so quickly. The feeling of really being with him. And yet here I was again. Left alone in the bed. Discarded. I threw the pillow off the bed and flipped onto my back, tangled in the sheets and biting back the urge to scream. My hands opened and closed in fists next to my buzzing ears. No, dammit, I was not going to cry. With my eyes screwed shut I only just heard him open the bedroom door. Then I was being jostled, his big warm body clambering up the bed and up my body until he was half draped over me. "We have a problem." He announced this. Fuck. He wanted to have this conversation while pinning me to the bed? What, so I wouldn't run out half-way through? Then his thumb was pressing on my forehead, rubbing in a slow, sweet circle, right between my clenched eyebrows. "I mean, it's serious. But not that serious," he said. I cracked an eye open. He was staring down at me, head cocked to one side, frowning. "What?" I said, perhaps with little too much vehemence. A vehemence which may or may not have had something to do with the warm curls of sensation his body pressing down on me was creating low in my belly. Really? "We haven't got any eggs." I blinked and stared at the ceiling for several seconds before turning my head back towards him. "That's our problem. No eggs," I repeated, stupidly. "Yeah," he sighed, with what sounded like genuine disappointment. I tried to turn towards him, heaving at the leg holding mine down, giving up when he wouldn't budge. I had to satisfy myself with shifting my upper body. Anything to get a better look at this stranger in the bed with me. What had he done with Jarod? He just lay there, those silver eyes warmed almost golden with the sun pouring through the window. Who knew morning stubble could be breathtaking? Tousled head propped up on one hand, the other one straying somewhere dangerously close to my hip. I swatted it away, and instantly wanted it back. There and maybe...other places. Damn him! "You're serious." I stared at him. Just the Thought of You Ch. 03 "Yeah. I wanted to make you scrambled eggs." Scrambled eggs. I thought he had left me to rot, alone, abandoned in bed. Maybe changed his mind about wanting me here. And he wanted to make scrambled eggs? I fell back against the pillows, crossing my arms firmly over my breasts on top of the sheets. "You don't like scrambled eggs?" I was still angry. He wasn't cold or aloof or sipping coffee while reading a damned newspaper like it was the most interesting thing in the world and I was nothing. He was here, wrapping his limbs around me, relaxed and talking about breakfast. Fucking breakfast. So why was I still so incredibly angry? It finally hit me. Like a wave coming up from my feet and breaking over my head. Plunging me down into that awful feeling. It wasn't his coldness that bothered me so much. It was these breakneck changes in temperature. Cold to hot was just as uncomfortable. Him being wonderful was just as unsettling. I just didn't trust it. Didn't trust him. I pushed at him again. Shoved him rather hard, actually. He released me, surprised, I think. Let him be. Let him know how it feels to be on a bloody roller coaster every other second. I was about to sweep out of the bed in a furious rage, then realised I'd have to do it naked. Once again, I was in a bed with sheets tucked in so tight the army would've given the housekeeper a medal. I barely made it to the edge of the bed, sitting up, the top sheet clutched to my chest. His hand grazed my shoulder. "Steph?" "What?" He didn't answer right away. I turned towards his silence. He was just lying there, staring at me. He looked for all the world as if he were just a little afraid. Not afraid of me. Just...afraid. "Don't do this-" he said. Tense and tight. "Do what?" I looked down at my feet, rubbed my toe against the nubbly carpet. I felt him take a breath, it was that deep. He let it out slowly. I waited, concentrating on my toes. "Don't run away. From me." Something gripped my chest so tight. Like a hand reaching in a squeezing at my heart and lungs. Was that what I was doing? Running again? After all this. Coming all this way. Going through all the anxiety of it. After what we'd done together last night. After what we'd been together last night? Was I still trying to find a reason to run away? I felt myself caving in. Like a slow imploding. With tears included. I pulled at the sheets, burying my face in them, rocking forward. I was such an idiot. How could I be so close to ruining all this again? His knuckles rubbed a warm line along my upper arm. That only made me cry harder, and then his hands were pulling me back and rolling me towards him, in against his chest. Just tucked my wet face under his chin and curled me up around his big warm body. And he honest-to-goodness stroked my hair. * * * * * JAROD The damp seeped in through his t-shirt. Her tears. All bound up in his arms, crying. Because of him. He knew it had nothing to do with scrambled eggs, but he didn't have much of a clue past that. Just that she'd done her shutters-down thing, and nearly launched herself out of bed, clearly angry. Angry at him? Angry at something. He just wished she would tell him. What did he keep doing wrong? Was it the going cold thing? Is that what bothered her? He didn't think he'd done that this morning, so why was she upset? Smoothing a hand over the soft heaviness of her hair, he just held her tight. Even if he didn't understand he could at least hold her, and she didn't seem to be fighting that. He could feel it, if he let it. The realisation, buzzing on the outer edges of his conscious mind. Something so close, but just out of reach. The reality of what it could be. What it could be to really be with her. Waking up next to her every day, going to sleep with her in his arms every night. Something about that had driven him out of bed in some mad desire to make her breakfast, as if this whole being together thing was perfectly and utterly normal. But the paradox of it just couldn't quite unwind itself from his thoughts. How something so foreign and strange and unknown and entirely unexpected could be...the truth. That he could feel this with anyone. How long ago had he really given up on it happening to him? He didn't have an answer to any of it. She was quieter now. Dragging her hand free from where it was trapped between them, she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. Pushed her mussed hair back, eyes still lowered. He didn't quite dare say anything unless it was entirely wrong thing to say. Just waited. The hand drifted from her face and came to rest on his chest. He tried not to breathe too deeply. "Sorry," she murmured, brushing at the fabric of his t-shirt. "I've made a mess of you." He pressed his lips to her forehead, chest tight all of a sudden. "Never." When he pulled back, her eyes finally flicked up to his, slightly red from crying, uncertain, if anything. "Come on, let's go out and find some breakfast," he suggested, rubbing his thumb against the softness of her bare arm. She nodded, gathering in a deep breath. He planted another kiss on her forehead before rolling up to a sitting position. When he left her to get dressed, when her hand trailed in his at the edge of the bed, he thought he felt her fingers tremble. Just a little. * * * * * STEPHANIE The chink of cutlery on plates and murmur of voices drifted up into the mahogany rafters of the cafe. It was nice. Full of antiques. Promised a cooked breakfast. I moved my fork onto my napkin, then back onto the tablecloth again. Stop fidgeting, dammit. I had to stop my thumbs drumming on the table too. I just felt wired and edgy. I knew I should be relaxing in this little country idyll where the biggest crowd was right here in the cafe, the handful of elderly couples and some holidaying families with little kids spread out at the other tables. It was the only thing open on a Saturday morning. In the whole town, the only thing open. My eyes were scanning the other diners, but caught and fixed on the far side of the long room. They had a welsh-dresser set up with granola and yogurt and drinks. Jarod was standing there, head bowed as he carefully poured glasses of orange juice. It was a tiny bit of luxury, albeit an unsettling one, for reasons I couldn't quite sort out. To be able to just sit there and watch him. Observe him without being worried about getting caught looking. Or fretting about whether he'd see me watching him. He did look over to me, just then. A slight head tilt and his eyes flicking over to where I sat, fiddling with the tableware. He turned, carefully gripping the brimming glasses, concentrating on his progress through the maze of tables and chairs. But for a second there, he looked up. Looked straight at me. A look full of..what? I didn't know, just that my heart was hammering in my chest and I couldn't quite breathe until his gaze was pulled away by something else. He set the glass of orange juice down in front of me, and I just blanked my mind. Packed the feeling of that look right away and tight inside where I couldn't look at it. Smiled at him in a way that felt a little thinner than it should. He frowned a little as he folded himself into the wicker-backed chair, still giving me that look he'd been giving me since the bedroom. Concern mixed with worry mixed with a bit of who-knew-what. Trying to keep it light, but not succeeding. But could I really blame him, when I'd burst into tears over scrambled eggs? He was probably trying to decide whether or not I needed professional help. "You sure you're happy with just eggs on toast?" He moved the salt and pepper shakers into the middle of the table. Turned the ketchup. Arranged the HP sauce. God, he was fidgeting too! "Yup." I smiled another thinner-than-it-should be smile. "You can have the full cooked breakfast, you know," he offered, eyebrows querying. It was just so weird being out somewhere with him. Somewhere normal. It was disconcerting. As if some part of my mind had always felt that whatever this was between us just wasn't entirely real. But here we were, sitting down for fried eggs and hash-browns. And tea. Cups of tea. The type with the bag left to steep under the spoon and the milk already sloshed in. With sugar in a jar with a spout. "Steph?" I looked up him. I'd been sitting there, staring at the sugar. "Is everything okay? I mean, this morning..." I nodded, smoothing the tablecloth next to my orange juice. "Yeah, I'm fine." Smiled my barely-real smile. He dropped his elbows onto the table, head lowered, and ran his hands up into his hair. "Look, I know you're upset. At me. About something, I don't know." I let my deep breath out slowly, tracing the pattern on the tablecloth as if it was incredibly fascinating and required all of my attention. Okay, Steph, try to grow up. Have this conversation like an adult already. "I don't like it when you- when you switch gears so quickly," I managed to sputter out. Just...great. He frowned, leaning back in his chair, shifting in his seat. "What do you mean?" What did I mean? I sighed. Tentatively raised my eyes from the tableware to his. Guarded eyes, with that ever-present penetrating gaze. "Jarod, you just switch moods so quickly sometimes. I can't keep up." He seemed to consider this, leaning forward to press his teabag against the cup. "I could probably say the same about you." His eyes on me. Gauging my reaction to his words. Was that true? Maybe this morning it had been. "That's different." "How?" We were interrupted by the waitress, bearing plates. I stared down at the eggs she set down in front of me, my hands resting over top of my knife and fork, not picking them up as I knew I should. What was I really trying to say? "Jarod, I feel like I can't trust you." He set the salt down slowly. "I mean, I want this," I gestured back and forth between us. "I just feel like I'm on a roller-coaster. I don't know what to feel sometimes." When he didn't respond, the words just kept coming. "The last time to took me somewhere to eat, you were planning to dump me. Then you weren't. Then- Oh, I don't know." I dropped my eyes, studying my toast with deathly intensity, half wishing I could take it back, half glad I'd finally said it. My stomach churned with all the questions that needed to be asked and all the answers I didn't want to hear. He nodded, folding and refolding his napkin. The silence between us became huge. Filling up the room, huge. Like all the other people were muffled and on mute and we were sat in the middle of one massive cotton ball of soundlessness. I finally dragged my eyes away from my toast long enough to look at him. He was sitting back, just staring at me. With that expression I could just never read. The words burst out of me. "See? You're doing it again. I haven't any clue what you're thinking right now and it drives me crazy just not knowing-" He leaned forward with a jerk, and for all the world I thought he was about to tell me to keep my voice down. But he just opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He shut his eyes, turning his head away. He really was starting to look like he was in some sort of pain. Shit. What had I done? I reached a hand out across the table. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean it like that..." He shook his head, "No, no. It's not that." He made a sort of growling noise of frustration and pushed a hand up into his hair again. He stilled, but seemed to be humming all over with some strange energy. "It's not easy for me to say...things," he muttered, barely. I was this close to giving him my best 'No shit, Sherlock', look, but restrained myself. I edged a little closer. "Things. Like what?" "Things! Like-like..." he threw his hands up, talking in a rush. "I don't know. Like that you are...the most beautiful woman. That I have ever known." Stunned doesn't quite cover it. Knocked the breath out of me comes close. Is that what he really thought? Is that what was pent up behind all those tortured looks? Him wanting to say things? Maybe him wanting to do things? But he wasn't done. He'd taken my hand, and was rubbing it with his thumbs. Stroking with his thumbs. Starting a fire up inside me that shouldn't be burning anywhere near a breakfast cafe full of little kids and pensioners. "Your skin is beautiful. So soft and smooth. I could just go on touching it forever." I was staring at him as if he'd just grown an extra set of heads and some tentacles. The sheer intensity in his voice. He was utterly, completely sincere. Jarod. Sat there, across from me in the middle of baked beans and black pudding and toast that was steadily going cold. Telling me I was beautiful and how much he liked my skin. No, not just liked. More than liked. I took an unsteady breath. "Thank you," I managed. The frown slowly melted. The corner of his mouth tilted just slightly upwards. He took my hand, turning it over to expose my wrist, lifted it and pressed a kiss there. My heart just pounded in my ears, all the air in the room gone. Completely gone. He'd just kissed my wrist in front of a room full of people. I blinked. Mentally pinched myself. Nope. Still here. He put my hand back down on the tablecloth, where I stared at it like it wasn't part of me. But I wanted it to be. It still tingled from the soft, firm pressure of his lips. I looked up at him, eyes wide. "Come on," he said, gesturing to my plate, his eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable once more. "You should probably eat that before it goes cold." * * * * * When we stepped out into the tiny, sloped parking lot of the cafe, the clouds were rolling by. Not quite raining, but threatening to. The wind luffed at the leaves on the massive oaks near the centre green, and I was startled by his large, warm hand closing around mine. I looked at the long, sure fingers he was steadily twining between mine. I still found myself struggling to adjust to such a seemingly normal, affectionate thing. He looked back at me and tugged at my arm, nodding his head in the direction of the grassy area surrounding the church with its four-cornered spires rising up out of the very centre of the village. There wasn't far to go. It really was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it town. But the quiet and the deserted streets and the moody sky made the church glow out like a beacon behind the ridge of dark trees. I was drawn to it just as much as he was, eyes full of the light and shade and my heart full of the feeling of his hand wrapped around mine. He had to duck out of the way of some of the low-hanging branches, leading me in through the path. A stone wall rose out of the shadows on both sides to waist-height, the glowing green of the church graveyard stretching out just beyond. A spiked metal gate blocked the path, and until he bundled me into an alcove to the side of it I thought there was no way through. But he didn't let me keep going. He blocked the way with his body, pressing me back into the narrow curve of stone wall. In the shadow of the great oaks, his eyes were all darkness as he looked down at me. "You know what they call these things, right?" I shook my head, confused. Speechless with the feel of his body leaning into mine, dizzy from looking up at him. He swung the gate a few inches back and forth, the rusting metal creaking with the movement. "It's a 'kissing gate'. For keeping animals out." I could only stare at him blankly, just the word bringing with it the flood of memory of his mouth on mine, searching, finding- "Young ladies were known to keep their suitors trapped on the other side until they got a kiss." I nodded, swallowing hard, my vision full of the breadth of his shoulders and his dark head, dipping lower until he was talking quietly into my left ear. "Do you want to take a kiss, Steph? From me?" Maybe this was why those girls from a century back were swooning all the time. They had kissing gates and suitors and stolen moments in archaic little stone nooks where the vicar could pop out from behind a tombstone and force them to marry at any moment. And all I could do was try to get air into my lungs with him so, so close. His breath drifting warm against my cold skin, the wall of his body blocking out my light. His hands finding their way under my jacket and around to my ass and smoothing in such lovely circles. My hands went up of their own accord, framing that dark face, greedy for the sharp planes of his cheekbones and jaw. I rose up on my tiptoes and just did it. Pressed my lips to his. Crushed them, really. Feeling like such a novice all of a sudden. Forgetting everything I ever knew about how to kiss. But my silly kiss. It made him groan. And dip at the knees. A low rumble of pleasure right against my mouth, and he gripped me tighter, angled his head, lips pressing into mine, opening me up to him, urgent. His tongue found its way, flicked against the tip of mine, and it was me moaning this time. Fingers slicing into his hair, dragging him down and closer and tighter to me. He was crushing the air out of me and I didn't care. * * * * * JAROD He hitched the backpack a little higher on his shoulder, turning back to the trail from the vista that was slowly opening up below them. Gold-tufted grass rolled away, undulated downward into valleys where the dark trees still held onto the mist. He pushed his shoulders back, breathing deep of wet, clear air. And took another look at what was causing a shiver of excitement to fizz somewhere just under his ribs. She was climbing, just ahead of him. Taking the time to place her feet carefully between the rocks that pushed up through the grass. But not dragging behind or whining about the slog through muddy patches or sheep shit. If anything, she seemed to be enjoying this as much as he was. Just that tiny fact gave him an inexplicable thrill of something new, discovered. She turned and looked back at him where he was, slightly lower down on the hillside. Her cheeks were flushed, and a few wisps of hair drifted around her face, caught by the breeze. And then she smiled. Why did it have to grip him in the gut like that when she smiled? When she showed any pleasure at all while being in his company? How could it have ever crossed his mind to turn away from her. To end things between them. When all he wanted to do was trek over endless hills and valleys with the promise of her warm cheek pressed to his, the grip of her small hand in his. She tilted her head. "You okay?" He blinked. He'd been staring. "You looked a bit weird there for a second." He couldn't suppress the grin that fought its way out. "Oh, now I look weird to you?" He took a few quick, threatening steps up the rocks towards her, following her as she backed slowly away from him, poised to flee. But she was grinning too. "You didn't seem to have a problem with how I looked back there in the churchyard." He shot out an arm and snagged her wrist, holding tight when she tried her best to shake him off. He heard her half-laughing, half-squealing protest but her eyes were telling him the exact opposite. He got lost when his gaze dropped to her parted lips, completely disoriented when when she licked them. Whatever grip he had on her wrist failed and she smiled triumphantly, slipping out of his grasp. She was away up the hillside before he could recover. Damn it, but the combination of her, all wind-swept and flushed, with the relentless view of her cute little ass disappearing up the hillside was enough to bring any man to his knees. Had she worn those skin-tight jeans on purpose, just to torture him? So much for the demure-skirt being the focus of his fantasies. Just the Thought of You Ch. 03 He caught up with her just over the third rise. The rocky outcrop at the peak of the Tor loomed over the last bit of sloping hillside, and he got an arm around her waist just as they plunged into the shadow of the great stones. His full-body tackle had them both knocked down and rolling together on the uneven ground. Her squealing giggles filled his ears as he wrestled her back against the springy grass, pinning her down. "Got you," he gasped, his lungs screaming at him for air and the blood roaring in his head, thudding through his body. She went limp in his arms, finally giving up the chase, breathing as hard as he was between hiccuping giggles. He shrugged his pack off to the side and rolled onto his back, still trying to catch his breath. "Well, we're at the top," she murmured, breathless. He hitched himself up on an elbow and looked around. They were at the base of the very top circle of the Tor. The valleys with their dark trees were far down below. They were at the top of this little part of the world, with only the crag of rock and the sky above. "Wow." He combed his fingers through his hair, just taking in the view. She sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees, and stared out. "It's beautiful, Jarod." Her eyes turned to him briefly, then back to the dotted green expanse below them. He dug in his pack for the flask of tea he'd packed and dragged his eyes away from the view long enough to pour some into the plastic cap. "Hey," he said, bumping his knuckles against her arm, offering her the drink. She looked at him, eyelids lowered, and took the tea with a small smile of thanks. He tipped his head back, drinking straight from the flask. The tea filled his mouth, hot and sweet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes not leaving her. The slight breeze wound its way through the rocks behind them and tugged at her hair. She smoothed the strands back, tucking them behind her ear. That small, curving mystery of an ear, pale against the dark of her hair. Hot and sweet. He still couldn't get a proper lungful of air. Still couldn't catch his breath. It had nothing at all to do with climbing a hill. Climbing didn't usually give him a hard-on. "Steph." She blinked a few times, turning her head towards him with a nearly imperceptible widening of her eyes. "Come here." She hesitated for the merest of seconds. But she then rolled up onto her knees and came to a stop next to him. He leaned on his elbow and just let her fill his vision. His hands itched to touch her. To continue what they started with that kiss by the gate. But the eruptive thing inside him wanted too much, too soon. He had to take it slow. Slow, so he didn't scare her away as he always seemed to do. He pushed himself up, shoving the backpack into gap at the bottom of the rock face, then propping himself against the cool stone at his back. He gestured with his hand, "Come." She moved closer and he pulled her sideways across his lap, her shoulder tucked against his, her legs dangling across his knees. It just felt so good to wrap his arms around her waist and tug her closer. His eyes closed the moment her head dropped to rest against his. He breathed deep. He could just sit like this forever. With the world in his embrace. He could just sit here. He tilted his head, and her mouth came seeking his without question. Just pressing tight to his. He tried to stifle his groan, but couldn't. God, he wanted her. His hips flexed of their own accord, and he caught her whimpered moan with his mouth. Her hands gripped at his arms, and he had to pull her tighter just to stop her shifting against him. His cock was so hard it was painful. What was wrong with him? They were on an open hillside and all he wanted to do was strip her and fuck her till she screamed his name and begged him to let her come. Or make love to her so excruciatingly slow that she did the same thing. He tangled a hand in her hair, pressing her mouth into his, punishing, pushing past her lips with his tongue, drinking in her soft moans. How could it be that it was just as exciting? Just as overwhelming? The waves just as crashing-through-you-heavy as they had been the first time they'd kissed? How could he still be drunk for the taste of her mouth? She was digging her fingers into his arm, her hip rocking against him in an attempt to bring their bodies closer together. But every movement was just setting off fireworks behind his eyes and the slow and the calm was melting away swiftly in the pool of heat she was creating. Dragging him down into it with that wicked little tongue of hers. He pulled back from her, grunting with the effort it took. It took him some breaths. His forehead leaning against hers. Took some time to understand what was stopping him, when everything in his body just said 'go'. The pulse in her temple fluttered against his skin. Her fingertips brushed against his chin. Her thumb tracing along the bottom lip she'd just been making wet with her kisses. Whisper soft, just like her voice. "What's wrong?" He let out a short gust of breath, shifting his hips. Wincing at the sharp ache still there. But he couldn't just push past it. The thoughts just grew bigger and bigger until they filled up his head. He hooked his fingers over her wrist, stroking that inner soft skin, letting her blood rush through delicate little veins just under his hand. All that life, just rushing around. "Steph, why did you really change your mind? Why did you come all the way out here?" * * * * STEPHANIE I couldn't breathe there, for a bit. Which didn't make sense. They were just a few words. But there was something heavy and impenetrable in the way he said them. Like he'd taken the massive stones of the outcropping around us and lifted them and twisted them into words and pushed them through the air, into my chest. And they weighed me down. So heavy. I shook my wrist. Tried to shake off the light stroking of his fingers. All my skin prickled and the touch nearly hurt. He wasn't letting me go either. He had me around the waist, his arm like an iron band. Tight. When he did release my wrist, he just went for my chin instead, thumb and finger gripping, pulling my face around to his. His eyes said he wasn't going to repeat himself. I attempted a wriggle, but got nowhere. "I already told you-" "What?" I tried to shrug and swallow and look away from him all at the same time. Anything to escape the way he was staring at me. "You know. To talk. We needed to talk-" The arm clamped tighter around my waist, then loosened by the smallest margin, but only because he was using that hand to tug at my coat and my cardigan and the vest top underneath. Burrowing through my ridiculous layers of clothing until his fingertips drifted across the bare skin of my stomach. My breath caught in my throat. Why was he doing that? Why would he do that? He dragged me even tighter against the unyielding tension of his body. He was spun so tight. "Try again." "Look, Jarod, what do you want me to-" "Try again." So I tried to talk. Tried to put words together while his hand started slow circles on my stomach. Then lower than my stomach, digging in between the waistband of my jeans and my bare skin. I managed something between a gasp and a gargle. "What was that?" He practically purred in my ear. If purring could be ice-cold and made of metal and not fuzzy-warm at all. He shifted his fingers from where they grasped my chin and ran his hand slowly down my throat instead. Pressed my head back to his shoulder, stretching me, arching my neck. I whimpered, uselessly. "Go on." My mind danced back over everything, clawing at my thoughts, trying to sift through them for something adequate to say. I was taking too long, and his hand pressed just a little tighter. "I wanted to...be with you," I shivered. It was a weak answer, and I paid for it with the delving hand finding new nakedness underneath all my clothes. Oh god. I knew it was meant to be some sort of torture, but the ache between my legs was just buzzing now. I was this close to begging him to dig those fingers just a little further down and- "That's it? Just wanted to be with me?" I nodded. This time his hand did shove harder between all the layers and found its way under my underwear. His breath burned hot on my ear. "Are you sure you didn't just come for this?" His fingers stretched and curled, caught tight inside my clothes, the fingertips dipping into the wet mess between my legs and flicking against my clit along the way. I pushed at him, squealing with the pain-pleasure of it. Tried to pull at the hand on my neck. Scrabbling with my feet on the grass. But he had me pinned to him. And his fingers slid deeper. Slick and chill against the heat of my aching body. Burning cold. Ohhh. "You like this, hmm?" Rumbled low and arrogant into my ear. "God...yes-" "So greedy." His hand was gone and I was left with with the burning ache, my hips arching in protest. But he was working at the button on my jeans. Wrestling with the zipper. He swore under his breath, letting go of my throat so that he could use both hands. Grabbed handfuls of the fabric and yanked my jeans down first one leg, then the other. I could feel the cool air dance along the tops of my thighs but was too burning-up hot to care. " Shoes off," he grunted. He had my jeans down to my knees now. I obeyed, pushing at the heel of my trainer with the toe of the other until it tipped off into the grass. I must have taken too long, because he grabbed my ankle and pulled my other shoe off. It landed somewhere behind me. He made short work of getting my jeans off the rest of the way, leaving my sock feet dangling. The cool air goose-pimpled my bare legs. I curled my shoulder into his chest and pulled my knees up, suddenly feeling incredibly naked out there in the fresh air. What if someone came up the path? If I squeezed my eyes closed then maybe I wouldn't have to think about how out in the open we were. I contracted into an even smaller ball. He groaned and shifted his hips under me. "Fuck-" "Sorry..." "Sorry? For what?" "I thought I...I thought I hurt you-" He flexed his hips again, lewdly grinding the hard ridge of his erection against me. "Not quite." I pressed my hand to my mouth, but even that didn't stifle my moan. Another roll of his hips and his lips were at my ear again. "You want that, huh? You want my cock?" He was burrowing under my shirt again, with his free hand this time, taking full advantage of me clinging to his lap. His palm burned against my stomach, smoothing in circles that made my head throb. God, I wanted...needed him to rub those circles lower. But what if someone saw-? Like some extension of my own brain his fingers dipped lower, searching underneath the thin fabric of my panties. When he found the wetness again I just tried to keep breathing and gave up on holding in my moans. I just needed his hands on me. His fingers in me. Fucking me. I needed his fingers fucking me so badly. "Jarod...please-" He moved his other hand, no longer clamping my waist with his arm, but sliding the flat of his large, warm hand up along my throat. Stroking with his whole palm, pressing my head back against his shoulder, opening my neck to him. Arching my body. But still he didn't put his mouth on me. Just let his warm breath flow over my skin. And called me a fucking little slut. I melted. Everything, with a sigh and a moan, just melted. He chose that moment to push into me with two fingers. Fast, rough. I might have screamed if his mouth hadn't clamped down on mine. If his tongue wasn't pressing in on mine, thrusting just as his fingers were. Invading me and taking me. All I could do was shake and whimper and buck against his fingers, begging him for more. He pulled his mouth from mine, his voice hard-edged and breathless. "See? I know why you're here. I know why you got on that train. You're just a little slut who wants to be fucked." "No, Jarod-" "No?" He rolled, then. Tipped me backwards onto the cold, wet grass and rolled on top of me. Had me by the wrists, pressing them into the ground. Had my legs pushed apart with his bracing knees. He hung over me, panting. I struggled. I really struggled against him this time. Against the indignity of being spread out on some godforsaken hill in just my underwear. Against the claustrophobia of the questions. Against the look in his eyes, dark and wild and relentless. Immovable. I pulled until my wrists hurt and my hair was in a tangle over my face and the sweat prickled angrily down my back, the grass tickling at the backs of my thighs. "Let me go-" "Not until you answer me." The breath caught in my throat in a sob. There was just nowhere to go. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. Panic was close by, eating at the bottom of my lungs, stealing my air. But the truth just kept coming, bubbling up hot and fast. "Jarod I-" The blood pounded so hard and heavy in my head I could barely hear myself. "What?" I steeled myself. Drew in everything I had in my body and braced myself. Closed my eyes tight. "I-... I love you." He went very still. As in, stopped-breathing still. I waited. Waited for what came next. And kept waiting. In the end I had to open my eyes, because the what-next didn't come, just more stillness. I tried to shake the hair out of my eyes. Afraid of what I would see. He was staring down at me with a wild, haunted look on his face. Fuck. My chin raised up a notch. "I love you and I don't care if you don't. I do." He took a sharp breath and seemed to collapse half-way. Then he scooped an arm around me and I wasn't underneath him any more. He was rolling onto his back with me in tow and I was draped over his body, over his heaving chest. And he was kissing any part of me he could reach, my cheeks, the palm of my hand, my lips. * * * * * JAROD Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, it certainly hadn't been that. Had it? He knew he hadn't actually believed what he was saying. Hell, it was half-game, half utter nonsense. But something had just pushed. That restless, harsh, dark voice inside him had pushed him to push her. And there it was, the answer to the darkness, tumbling out of nowhere. The words were still rattling through his body, letting off small explosions wherever they bumped up against whatever was left of any rational thought or feeling. He had his lips pressed to her forehead. Just clutching her to his chest like some sort of madman. But he couldn't bring himself to let go. He could feel her breathing hard, her chest rising and falling and pressing into his. And the pulse under his lips. Fast, so fast. Like they'd both run a marathon race and collapsed together at some unmarked finish line. Her hair slipped, cool and soft through his fingers. He rubbed a strand with his thumb, just letting it tumble with all its minute strands against his skin. He brought a hand up to cradle her chin, tilting it up. She kept her eyes lowered, but they soon flickered up to his. Steadied and looked at him straight. Eyes a man could fall into and drown in and still keep falling. She was trembling. He ran a hand down to her legs. Cold. And still damp from the grass he'd been rolling her into. Damn it. When she started a more violent shiver, he took her face in both hands, kissing her cheek, her chin. "Babe, hey...just let me get the blanket out, okay?" He pushed himself up onto an elbow, still holding her as close as he could. It nearly dislocated his shoulder digging into the pack with one hand, but he managed to wrestle the blanket out. Shaking the folds out as best he could, he carefully rolled her off his lap and onto it. Grabbing the far corners, he pulled the blanket up around her, tucking the tartan fabric around her feet. Finally satisfied that she wouldn't die of hypothermia, he leaned back against his pack, one arm firmly around her shoulders. She curled up to his chest, one hand just resting there. There was no way she couldn't feel how his heart was pounding. Still. He swallowed. A small worm of panic was beginning to make its way up through his gut. He had heard her right. He hadn't just imagined it? He stroked a thumb along her dark, silky eyebrow, coaxing her to look at him. Searching her face as if he could see the truth there. "Could you-" He stopped. Took a breath. "Could you say it. Again." The hand on his chest grasped his shirt in a slow fist. Her eyes closed, then opened, looking into his. Her chest rose in deep breath. "I love you, Jarod." He knew that look now. The nakedness in her eyes that meant a voice somewhere inside her was screaming at her to run away, fast. But she held on. Held on tight and took him with her. The kiss was slow. Careful. As if it was the first ever kiss and fragile and completely new. Hot and sweet. * * * * * STEPHANIE His mouth was very rapidly helping me forget about how freezing cold my ass was. One second he was stringing me out on the ground and the next he was tucking me in? Could I be blamed for having a hard time keeping up? What I did want to keep up with was the slow flicker of his tongue along the inside of my top lip. It had me clenching my thighs together, seized by a nearly painful throb of just plain needing him. He'd been much too hasty taking those fingers away. Much. And what did I have to lose? I'd just blurted out my innermost and it was just...out there. Some major portion of my insides were still paralysed with fear at what I'd done. Said. Admitted. Granted, the large, wide palm he'd just burrowed under the blanket and run around my waist and up my back underneath my shirt was a fairly good clue that I hadn't made too colossal a mistake. His tongue wasn't nearly satisfied with just keeping company with my lips and was now curling along my own, teasing. Causing more thigh-clenching. Damn him. And his hand had wandered down my back and was enjoying itself in a slow, delicious, grasping grope of my ass. He groaned against my mouth, too, so I knew it wasn't just me that was becoming steadily oblivious to the fact we were barely concealed between some rocks on the top of an open hillside. What was concerning me more was how many clothes we had on, and how warm it was getting under this damned picnic blanket. I couldn't get my hand between us properly to undo my own layers, so I had to be satisfied with tugging his t-shirt out of the back of his jeans in search of bare skin. God, his skin was so hot. Fever hot. I didn't get any further than my fingertips drifting briefly over his back. His hand came up to span my jaw, tilting my face to his, kissing me hungrily. Like a starving man. His thumb grazed the skin just under my ear, back and forth. All I could do was clutch at his arm and kiss him back. * * * * * JAROD He wasn't going to do this. Not going to screw her on a hillside somewhere when she'd just confessed her love for him. That sort of thing called for four-poster beds and cart-loads of rose petals and those little tea-light candles burning everywhere. And champagne. You said that sort of thing over champagne. Not lukewarm tea out of a hiking flask. But hot and sweet, her mouth kept demanding his. How could she taste so good? Like everything he ever wanted. Even half mindless he had a sense that something had changed. Happened. In him. To him. It was as if he had been tethered to some massive, invisible weight, and the cord binding it to him had just...severed. Snapped. Broken away from him and fallen far and fast and left him weightless. Suspended and light. Buzzing with an odd numbness. Did those few, small words really have the power to do that to a person? Just the Thought of You Ch. 03 The only weight in a weightless universe was her slight frame next to his, and if he didn't hold tight to her he would just drift away. "Jarod-" He opened his eyes. She was giving him that look again. He breathed deep, letting his thumb settle against the pulse just under her jaw. That small throb helped him maintain some semblance of reality. The little crease between her eyebrows intensified. "I meant what I said. I need you to believe me-" His head moved back, his eyes searching hers. What? "Of course I believe you-" She blink rapidly and took a breath. "You haven't...said anything," she said, muttering the last bit. No, he hadn't. "I'm not playing a game, Jarod, I'm serious." He didn't stop to think about. Just scooped her up and rolled onto his back, with her on top of him, all tangled in the blanket. He framed her face with his hands, fingers in her hair, thumb tracing the swollen curve of her bottom lip. Her eyes closed, and when she opened them again she stared resolutely at his chin. "Steph, look at me-" She still didn't, even when he tilted her face down to his. "Babe-... dammit, please!" With that last word, her eyes locked onto his. "Stephanie," he exhaled slowly. "I take everything to do with you incredibly seriously." She regarded him silently. "What is it you need to hear me say?" He ran his thumb along one of those silky dark eyebrows and then back up to smooth her frown. He hoped she couldn't feel the tremble in his arms. The shaking he felt extend from deep inside and start to take over his whole body. As he grasped tight to the one small sliver of courage he possessed. Her small hands clasped at his, her cheek turning slowly against his palm, a small sound catching in her throat. His thumb rubbed against her lips, words just bubbling up. "You need to hear me say how much I love your mouth?" He lifted his head until their lips brushed. Traced that soft lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "And kissing you. I love kissing you." She pressed her mouth to his. Her cheeks felt damp. He pulled back, but only to smooth her hair. To look at her and make sure she was hearing him. Her eyes were wide. Shiny with tears. Something clenched tight in his chest, close to bursting. But he went on. "I love your skin." His hand skimmed her shoulder, burrowing under the blanket until he found the heated smoothness of her lower back. He buried his face against her neck, breathing her in. "So damned soft." He could feel her hands gripping into his shirt-front. Her jagged, short breaths. He dug under the blanket with his other hand until he found her waist. Spanned as much of it as he could, his thumb tracing along the delicate curve of her ribcage. Her hands were no longer still. Those little fingers were working away at the buttons on his shirt. The heat rolled up his body, a heavy wave that left him gasping. He let both his hands slide down to the soft curve of her rump. He grabbed tight and rocked her against his body. Got his fingers underneath the lacy fabric of her panties and ripped them down, pushing them down her legs as far as he could reach. Suddenly, he could hardly breathe. Then their hands were just tangling. Wrestling and bumping into each other over her coat and cardigan and shoving up her t-shirt and hauling on the last few buttons of his shirt and the t-shirt underneath. She won the contest and celebrated by pressing her mouth to one of his bared nipples. Flicking with a slow tongue. He hissed. Then paid her back with a firm, rolling grab of her ass. And whispered in her ear how much he loved that particular part of her too. She relinquished her punishment long enough to press her face to his neck with a shaky, whispered, "God, Jarod-" Raising herself slightly on her elbows, her hands came up to frame his face. Met his eyes and stared long and hard. She blinked, and let out a long breath. "You really mean it, don't you." He leaned in and nipped at her lower lip. "Mm-hmm." She shifted, pushing a hand down between them. It was headed for his belt buckle. Under his belt buckle, worming its way down his trousers and- "Steph-...don't-" "I want to hear you say it." Her eyes were dark, soft, wild. He couldn't help the twitch of his hips as she rubbed the flat of her hand against him through his boxers. Or the groan the rumbled up through his chest. Fuck, but he loved it when she touched him. Loved her. His eyes opened, held hers. "I love you, Steph." Time passed in a strange expanded way. Body humming with needing her, but somehow just happy in that still moment to be present with her. Right there, with the cool wetness of the moor seeping up through the air. With the leaning heaviness of rock over them and the rough tawny grass underneath them. Her face, hovering over his, framed against an ever-changing sky. His hand traced up along her shoulder. Brushed his fingers against her neck. Slid up into her hair and gripped it, hard. Pulled her down until their lips just brushed. "I really want to fuck you. Right here." Her eyelids fluttered briefly, her eyes meeting his, pupils dark and wide and completely gone from the world of rational thought. She nodded. * * * * * STEPHANIE Somehow my mind had taken his words and recorded them, each syllable, exactly. And was playing the words on a loop, over and over. The words where he said he loved me. Loved me. Loved me. Every time the loop went by, I searched each tone. Each inflection. Checked an re-checked. Searching for the half-truth. The mocking. The insincerity. The duress. Nothing. No, not nothing. What his voice had been filled with was...everything. All of himself, pressed into several very small words. The fingers tightening in my hair brought me back to the other thing he'd just said. The 'fuck' part of that was working its way into my little loop, and it was sending my stomach down to my feet somewhere. I didn't care that I was bare-assed under a sorry excuse for a picnic blanket. If anything. I wanted to be completely naked, out of the constricting heat of these clothes and free of anything that had to do with the real world. Why couldn't we just be rolling about, naked in the grass like Adam and Eve and not care about anything at all? Thankfully, he was already making progress on getting me out of my coat, undoing the last of the buttons, pushing the sleeves down my arms. I let my eyes drift closed when he just held my arms there, pushed back behind me. Opened my eyes again when he rolled his hips. Gasped out loud at the urgency of his erection against my bare skin through the fabric of his jeans. I tried to get closer. My body begged to get closer, but my feet were tangled. I scrabbled with my barely-free hand, trying to reach my ankle, desperate to free myself from the tether of my still-clinging underwear. Dammit. "Jarod, I can't-" My arms were released immediately. I looked down into his face. Watched him battle with himself. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, suppressing the growl of frustrating I could feel rumbling in his chest. "I'm sorry, babe. You just drive me so crazy. I shouldn't have-" "What are you talking about?" I shoved at his chest gently with my hand. He squinted up at me. "You wanted to stop." I pushed at him harder, wriggling so I could finally reach my feet. Straightening, task accomplished, I dangled my panties in front of him. "No. My feet were caught and I couldn't reach them." I watched the cogs turn. Felt his hands slide around my waist. Gripping tight, kneading with his thumbs. Dear sweet god. He didn't protest this time when I went for his belt buckle. I barely got down to his boxers when he was dragging me up to straddle him. "Fuck, Steph...please...I need you so much-" So hard. So blazing hot and hard and he pressed up into me and slid in so tight and smooth and slick, taking my breath. My arms kept shaking. I was holding onto his shoulders for dear life. Through the shock of it, I could feel him pulling on the blanket. Drawing it around me. I may have uttered some gibberish in gratitude. Or in an attempt to assure him that all I cared about right now was the feel of him inside me so deep. So deep. Cool moorland breeze against heated skin. Wet grass pressed, chilled, against my shins. It felt so strange. So foreign. But all it did was drive the excitement higher. My head was becoming fuzzy from the pure, clean air. That and the slow, rolling grasp of his hands on my bottom, pulling me towards him, drawing him even deeper. Gasping, whimperingly deeper. "Kiss me." My eyes slid up to meet his. "Kiss me," he repeated. He hadn't said where. So I started where the sharp corner of his jaw met his ear. Rubbed my tongue over the sharp sting of stubble. He pressed upwards with his hips as if to punish me. Such mad glorious punishment. Punish me more, was all I could think. Punish me some more my mad, wild man. * * * * * JAROD Heat seeped through into his shoulder from the white, smooth stucco of the doorway. Heat left over from the sun that was now sinking in deep reds and oranges into a calm, dark sea. He couldn't not take a deep, slow in-breath. Ocean. And the heavy trailing perfume from the cascade of flowering vines crowding the walls of the little covered walkway area just outside their room. He was pleased they'd gotten a room that was so secluded, with the door opening right out onto the sea view. It was how he'd remembered it. But different. Better, this time. It hadn't really hit him until they stepped off the ferry. He'd watched her wander, fascinated, through the stalls on the waterfront. With her dark hair and that wide, exotic mouth, it was a wonder she didn't get mistaken for a local. All he cared about was the way her eyes sparkled when she turned and smiled at him. He'd nearly forgotten how everything blended together in Greece. White and blue. Night and day. They'd stayed up late the previous evening with the dinner crowd and then spent the day exploring remote, tumble-down villages. He hadn't anticipated the thrill of her slim arms gripping him tight. Her body pressed to his back as he manoeuvred the scooter through the rough roads and sun-bitten tracks. He could have driven forever with her there, holding tight to him, her chin digging into his shoulder. He re-tucked the towel around his waist and shifted his hips so he could look back into the room. She was curled up on the bed, swathed in the light covers, her face turned to him. Watching him, no doubt, through those covertly lowered eyelids. He half-chuckled to himself. He was gradually getting used to her scrutiny. She missed nothing. Read him like a fucking book. And it was wonderful. The last curl of breeze drew his head back around. Pulled him into the deepening twilight. He stepped out onto the balcony, the smooth tile cool under his feet. There was something out there. Something drawing him out along the walkway. It tickled at his brain but just wouldn't show itself. He pushed aside a tangle of green vines blocking the view of the last streaks of sunset, and then it was all around him. He tilted his head back, breathing deep. But how could that be? It was as if she was outside with him. All around him. Surrounding him. Her scent. He tugged one of the vines closer, breathing in the perfume of the white, star-like flowers. Jasmine. And all this time, she'd smelled of jasmine. * * * * * STEPHANIE I tried to move, but there was some unyielding iron bar of an arm wrapped firmly around my body. At the end of that iron bar was a man's rather large, rather warm hand. Cupping my breast. Just that realisation caused it's own tidal wave of heat to roll up my body and leave me tingling and aching in places I should only be sore and very very tired. I breathed as deep as I could within the confines of my arm-cage. His deep breathing in my ear told me he was still asleep. Something pressing against my ass told me not everything about the man was slumbering. Seriously? But then I was so close to arching back and wanting more. Again. And more. And again. I bit my lip and screwed my eyes shut. Just go back to sleep, Steph. Or at least just enjoy lying here, with a sleeping mountain of man pressed to your back and the sound of the ocean drifting through the open window. But I'd already wiggled around too much, and the molten-mountain behind me shifted. Flexed. Oh god, that should not feel so good against my- Oh god. His teeth, scraping ever so lightly on my shoulder, and I'm just pushing back against him like some crazed thing. And his hand, sliding down the back of my leg, pushing my knee up so he can- Oh fuck FUCK- And he was saying things in my ear as he pushed himself inside me like how I was beautiful and how good I smelled and how much he wanted me. How much he wanted to fuck me. Maybe I'd have lasted a little longer if he hadn't moved that iron-bar arm and the hand attached to it, down from my breast where he'd been rasping a thumb over my poor, sensitive nipple, down, down and found my clit with his fingers and just stroked. Maybe then I wouldn't have come so hard my whole body curled up and clenched down on him so he came too with quick, sharp thrusts and a bone-melting groan, with his face pressed into the back of my neck. And then he did it all again, but slow. Gentle. * * * * * Drifting. Consciousness doesn't describe that state of being. When you're not entirely yourself any more, but part of someone else, and they're part of you. And you breathe for each other and feel for each other and nothing exists but the very clear not-being-alone any more. So not-alone that alone ceases to exist and it always was that way. (the end...) * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Thank you so much for sticking with this story and these characters and falling for them as much as I have. I've loved writing them as much as you've loved reading them. Many thanks for all the votes and comments and encouragement (and patience)! xBrunne