Butterfly (17 page)

‘Streaker Arrested At Women’s
Coleslaw Wrestling Championships.’ I give him a smug smile. ‘That’s
got to win. You should’ve picked the tabloid.’

‘No way!’ He grabs the paper to
check, shrugs, then hands it back. ‘All right, then, David Cameron
Names New Species of Ancient Whale “Ancient Whale”.’

‘Hmm…’ I turn the pages,
flicking through for something funnier. ‘David Beckham Puts Balls
In Wrong Place.’

He shuffles through the paper
and takes a mouthful of tea. ‘Woman Finds Cross-Dressing Alien In
Tree.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Not bad.
Kamikaze Goats in Mass Suicide Pact.’

By the time our deep-filled
baguettes arrive, I’m laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes.

As we eat and chat, I’m
completely relaxed, which I never really was with Theo looking
back. There was always something not good enough for him. My
clothes didn’t look right, my hair was messy, my job wasn’t good
enough, I wasn’t thin enough, pretty enough, funny enough, trendy
enough. And the more I tried to please him, the pickier he seemed
to get. I began to doubt myself all the time.

If we went out to eat, the food
was bad, the drinks were too expensive, children nearby were making
too much noise. Always something to berate, moan, or complain
about. Nothing and no one could ever live up to his standards. He
thought he was better than everyone else, more intelligent, more
good-looking, stronger, a better lawyer, a better rugby player.

One minute he was up and the
next down, and trying to read his moods was a full-time job. I was
just an accessory. A little toy he could manipulate who would do
what he said, wear what he said, go where he said. I was
inexperienced in relationships, and I thought it was all normal.
And inside, I just had this urge to please, because all I ever
wanted since Mum died was to feel that someone loved me.

But with Ben, it’s not like
that. At all. He’s so laid-back, it’s just easy to be with him.
It’s not forced or hurried. I can be myself with him, utterly and
completely. I don’t need to hide, and he doesn’t judge me. Every
moment we spend with each other my attraction towards him gets
deeper and stronger. So strong it’s almost tactile.

He pushes his empty plate away.
‘I’m so full.’

‘Me, too.’ I rub my stomach as
the waitress takes our plates away. ‘So, what now?’ I’m not ready
for the day to end yet. I’m having fun, more fun than I’ve had in a
long, long time.

‘Do you want to see a film?
There’s a new romantic comedy on at the cinema.’

‘A romantic comedy?’ I’m unable
to hide the amazement in my voice.

‘What’s wrong with that?’ His
mouth twitches in a smile.

‘I thought men hated watching
chick-flicks. I thought they preferred action films.’

‘Well, not this man. I’ve seen
enough action doing MMA.’

‘Wow, a martial arts champion
who’s trained to beat people up, but loves helping people, drinks
Earl Grey tea, actually likes romantic comedies, and is a
self-confessed nerd. I’d never have guessed by looking at you.’

‘And what would you have thought
by looking at me?’

My gaze sweeps across his dark
good looks, his large hands with scars across the knuckles, the
crook in his nose where it’s been broken, the small chip in his
front tooth, his well-muscled body. A body trained to fight, to
hurt, not heal. ‘A bad boy. Mean and moody. Arrogant. Selfish.
Dangerous. A man’s man. One of the lads.’ Which describes Theo
perfectly, except Ben’s nothing like him at all.

‘I’m glad to disappoint you,
then.’ His smile gets bigger.

‘So am I,’ I say, swimming in
his warm, chocolate brown gaze.

You don’t know just how
much.

‘Anyway, I may have an ulterior
motive for wanting to watch a romantic comedy with you.’ He tilts
his head.

‘Oh, and what’s that?’

‘I just want to hear your laugh
again.’

He takes my hand in his, and a
little piece of me melts inside. He’s nothing like any guy I’ve
ever met before. He’s strong, powerful, and rugged, but at the same
time gentle, kind, and compassionate. A gentle giant. How did I
ever get lucky enough to meet him?

I lean over and kiss him,
running my hands through his thick hair. A rush of excitement
surges through me, and for a while, I completely lose track of
where I am and what day it is.

The only thing that exists is
us.

His soft, warm lips glide
against mine before his tongue plunges in to taste me. My body
heats instantly. My legs tingle.

Slowly, the noise of the bistro
filters back through my ears again and I jerk back, embarrassed by
my brazenness and the fact that people can see us. I don’t know
what’s happening to me. I just don’t do this kind of thing.

He smiles, and God, that smile
sets me on fire. It does so many things to me I don’t
understand.

I cross my legs to try to stop
the ache inside. ‘So, did we work out who’s paying for lunch?’ I
blurt out, trying to avert attention from what I’ve just done.

‘I’ll get it.’ He snatches up
the bill and stands. ‘Even though my headlines were far superior to
yours.’

‘Were not.’ I smirk.

‘Were.’ He gives me a playful
grin and drapes his arm round my shoulder as we walk to the
cinema.

We watch the film together, his
arm around the back of my chair, fingertips lightly stroking my arm
or the back of my neck as I lean into his shoulder. I say ‘watch,’
but I don’t actually see anything on the screen. Couldn’t tell you
what the film was even about. Because all I can see, feel, hear, is
Ben.

It’s getting dark when he walks
me back to my flat. It’s been a perfect day, and I want to invite
him in, but I don’t think I can.

Yet.

‘I’ve had fun,’ I say, standing
there awkwardly.

‘Me, too. And as a counsellor,
I’d also recommend you should do something fun for yourself every
day, too.’

‘Are you my counsellor or my
friend?’ I raise a questioning eyebrow.

He cups my chin in his hand, his
thumb rubbing across my lower lip. ‘I don’t want to be either.’ He
replaces his thumb with his mouth, gently sucking my bottom lip in
between his.

And I do what I’ve thought about
doing for a long time. I can’t fight it any longer, so I run my
hands along his back and slide them up his shirt, wanting his skin
and the hardness of his muscles against my fingertips.

He groans, the sound vibrating
through me, sending pulses of heat shooting through every nerve in
my body. His tongue gently makes love to my mouth. Swirling,
probing, teasing, exploring every inch with delicate ease. It’s a
kiss that lets me know in no uncertain terms that I am pretty
enough, funny enough, exciting enough, good enough. It makes me
forget the Grace I’ve turned into, and ignites the possibility of a
new Grace who is loveable. Who does deserve to be happy.

I can feel his excitement
through his jeans, but instead of making me freak, it gives me a
high thinking I did this to him. And it arouses me so much that a
blazing current shoots down between my thighs.

In that moment, we cross an
invisible line from friendship to something more.

His hands run through my hair,
and he holds me close but not too firmly. Any closer and we’d be
melting into each other. My breasts press against his chest, my
nipples alert to the static running between us.

He ends the kiss abruptly,
leaving me breathless and aching for more.

‘Is this OK?’ His eyes are half
closed, his voice low, husky.

‘Yes.’ I grip the back of his
neck and pull him back to me. How can it be wrong when it feels so
overwhelmingly good? Why should I feel guilty for wanting him to
kiss me?

When he draws back the second
time, I’m about to tell him it’s OK again, but he strokes my cheek
with the back of his hand and says, ‘I should go. You’re driving me
too crazy for my own good.’ He kisses my wrist. ‘Thank you for a
perfect day.’

I watch him leave, trying to
ignore the fire exploding through me.

I take a cold shower and slip
under the covers, reaching for my journal. I want to record how the
first kisses since it happened make me feel. How I never thought
they’d ever happen again. How they light me up from the inside and
make me realize that for the first time since the rape, I don’t
regret being a woman.

I do the relaxation deep
breathing Ben taught me as I lie in bed, but this time I’m not
trying to calm down from a panic attack.

I’m trying to quell the aching
need for Ben.

34

BEN

‘Good luck with the interview,’
Grace says as I take my apron off on Wednesday lunchtime and hang
it on the hook in the kitchen. ‘You’ll be great. I know you
will.’

My arms slide around her waist
as I kiss her. The sweetest lips I’ve ever tasted. She makes me
feel as if I can do anything in the world. She gives me purpose. A
reason for being. Validates me.

We’ve spent a lot of time
kissing since that first time. For me, they’re stolen precious
moments at the beginning or end of the day when the shop’s closed,
but it hasn’t gone any further yet.

‘How about I cook you dinner
tonight?’ I say.

She bites her lip, thinking
about it. It makes me want to suck on it, but I’m going to be
late.

‘At your place?’ she asks.

She’s never been to my flat yet,
which is probably a good thing. Money’s tight until I get a new
job. I’ve never been inside her flat, either, and that will be a
big step for her.

‘Wherever you feel more
comfortable,’ I say when she hesitates. ‘Or you could forget I
asked. I don’t want to push this until you’re ready.’

‘No, thanks.’ She shakes her
head firmly.

I knew this would be a long
road, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, but I smile
at her anyway. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have
suggested it.’

‘No, I mean, I don’t want to
forget you asked me. I want to cook for you instead. You can cook
next time. Do you want to come to my place?’

‘You’re sure?’

She hesitates for just a
fraction of a second. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Great. I’ll be over about
seven.’

She splays her hands across my
chest. I put my hand over hers, wondering if she can feel what she
does to me. Feel how my heart beats faster whenever she’s
close.

I go home and change into black
trousers and jacket, a white shirt, and a burgundy tie. I wore the
suit to court, the only suit I own, and the memories of those three
years inside bubble to the surface. I have to tell Grace what
happened before it’s too late. But the knowledge that she won’t
feel the same about me afterwards just about kills me, so I push it
to the back of my mind and walk to the interview.

I arrive at The Clover Project
fifteen minutes early. A woman in her late forties with black wavy
hair sits behind the reception booth. Her head’s bent over the desk
as she fills out paperwork. One side of the glass screen is open,
and I stand there and wait for her to look up.

‘Hi.’ She smiles. ‘Can I help
you?’

‘Hi. My name’s Ben Hardy. I’m
here for an interview.’ I smile back.

The smile slips from her face,
and I immediately know something’s wrong. By the frown she gives as
she looks me up and down, I think I know what.

‘Didn’t they phone you and
cancel it?’ she asks.

This opportunity is slipping
away from me. I wanted this job so badly. I wanted to be someone
who could give these women back their lives, but it’s not going to
happen now. I can tell from the look in her eyes.

I swallow hard. My mouth’s just
lost all its moisture. ‘No. No one’s called me.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but they
should have done. The letter we sent inviting you for an interview
was a mistake. We overlooked something on the application form, and
it wasn’t picked up straight away.’

‘Right.’ What else can I say? I
know she’s talking about my criminal history.

‘I’m sorry they didn’t call and
you’ve had a wasted trip.’ But she doesn’t look sorry. She looks
relieved as I turn to leave.

Wasted. Yeah.

Just like my life.

I can’t keep the wolf from my
door. He’s chasing after me, nipping at my heels, breathing down my
neck. Waiting to rip a bite out of me when I think I’m just out of
reach. Letting me know exactly what sort of a man I am.

Except I’ll never be out of
reach.

I take some deep breaths as
anger and disappointment rip through me like a tidal wave.

As soon as I’m home, I strip off
down to my boxers and lay into the punch bag in my bedroom until I
can’t physically lift my arms and legs anymore. My breath comes in
ragged gasps as I sink to the floor, hot tears splashing down my
cheeks and mingling with my sweat.

I can never outrun my past.

35

GRACE

I light candles in the lounge
and put on some soft background music as the spaghetti sauce
simmers on the hob. After everything he’s done for me, I want to
make my first dinner for him special.

This is big.

It’s huge.

It’s the first time I’ve had a
man in my flat in over a year, and I know what it means.

I’m healing. I’m growing. I’m
living again.

I want him. I want to do more
than kiss him, but I’m scared shitless. What if I freak out when
things move further? What if I have a panic attack, or scream, or
freeze?

I try to push the fears away.
Take some calming breaths.

As I hear a knock at the door,
my hands begin to shake. As soon as I swing open the door and see
his face, all my fears vanish, because the only thing I can think
about is how devastated he looks. His eyes are bloodshot. His
hair’s messed up like he’s been running his hands through it. His
usually perfect posture is slouched and defeated.