Coming Down (15 page)

But I don
’t want him to pull away.

A shiver snakes
its way down my spine at the same time my breath gets caught in my throat.

“
Don’t look at me like that.” His voice is low. A warning.

“
Like what?”

“
You know what I’m talking about, Beth.” He moves closer, so my left hip is jammed against the breakfast bar while my right is jammed against him. I have to look up to meet his eyes. When I do I’m lost in them. It’s not wine I want to drown in, it’s Niall.

“
You’re the one touching me.” I place my hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“
Then touch me back.”

My fingers touch his jaw, tentatively at first. I feel the sharp scratch of his almost-beard, the softer give of
the skin below. His muscles tense as I brush my thumb along his lips. “Like this?”

“
Yes.” His voice is strangled. I feel it vibrate against the pad of my thumb a moment before his lips close around it, pulling it inside his soft, warm mouth. My legs buckle from under me. It’s such an intimate move; there’s no mistaking his intention.

“
Beth.” He pulls my hand from his face and holds it tightly with his own, leaning in closer still, until his face is a breath away from mine. “You’re married.”

“
Yes.”

“
And I want to kiss you.”

“
Yes.”

He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching my face
as though all the answers are there. “Do you want to be kissed?”

I
place my palm on the back of his neck, weaving my fingers into his hair. When I press my lips to the corner of his mouth I feel his warm gasp of air on my skin. With a thumping heart I kiss his jaw, his cheek, the soft spot beneath his ear, and his hands circle my waist, his fingers digging in as if he’s trying hard to hold on.

“
Kiss me.” His words sound like a plea. I continue my route, dragging my lips down his neck, resting them in his collarbone. “On the lips, Beth, please.”

I can almost taste his desperation as I move back up. It
’s as needy as my own. I rock my hips into him and he’s as sensitised as I am. I can feel his hard outline through his jeans. I hesitate before I place my lips back at the corner of his mouth, because it feels as though I’m on a precipice. I could turn and walk away right now and somehow salvage some kind of sense out of this whole situation.

But
I don’t. I couldn’t walk away even if I tried. I’m so full of him it hurts. I can feel him, smell the gentle scent of soap wafting from his skin, and hear his harsh breaths as he tries to get some control. He’s taking me over and I want it so badly. “Niall?”

“
Yes?”

“
Kiss me.”

It takes him less than a second to capture my lips, pulling my head toward him until we are crushed together. I moan softly as his tongue slides against mine, sending heat rushing down my body. He alternates between kissing me hard and
gently, soft brushes followed by scraping bites. I follow his lead, threading my fingers through his hair, gasping into his mouth when he grinds against me.

Every thought is subsumed by the aching need he creates in me, the desperation to touch, to taste, to feel. We kiss so hard we barely break for breath, preferring suffocation to separation as we move our lips as one.

His hands push beneath my t-shirt, and the sensation of skin on skin makes my spine tingle. He pushes beneath my bra strap, splaying fingers across my shoulder blades.

“
I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you.” He breaks away long enough to breathe. Then he nuzzles his face into my neck, biting softly at my skin. “Christ you taste as good as I remember.”

Though he doesn
’t mean for them to be, his words are like a bucket of ice water being thrown at my face. I pull away, my bra strap pinging against my back as his hands slide from underneath them. Reaching up, I touch my lips. They feel swollen, needy.

“
We can’t do this.” I’m still breathless and sensitised. “I can’t do this. I’m married, this is wrong.” I should have thought of that before I pressed my lips against him, I know that. There’s no question that my judgement’s off. “I have to go.”

Niall steps back and runs a hand through his thick black hair, trying to undo the damage my own
fingers did moments before. “What about dinner?” He motions at our plates, the food cooling and congealed in an MSG-enhanced pile.

“
I’m not hungry,” I say. “I’m so sorry, Niall, I shouldn’t have done that.” Tears spring to my eyes. Self-disgust replaces the neediness of before, and I hastily grab my coat and bag.

“
Wait.” He tries to take my arm, but I pull away. One touch and I’ll be done for. His presence overrides any self-control I can muster. “I’ll drive you home.”

“
It’s okay, I’ll get a cab. You’ve been drinking anyway.” I point at his glass. It’s mostly full, forgotten in the heat of desire. “Thank you for the drink, and, um, feel free to finish the food.”

I practically sprint out of his door, taking the steps fast, even though I know he could catch up with me easily if he wanted to. He doesn
’t, but still I run, as if I can leave it all behind—the shame, the embarrassment, my poor sense of judgement. But the thing I want to escape from the most is still with me.

Y
ou can’t outrun yourself.

14

I spend Sunday morning moving all my things to the spare room, thinking a clean break will be kinder, easier. A stopgap until I can find somewhere affordable. In the afternoon, I move it all back again, re-hanging clothes and re-stuffing drawers. Somehow, I manage to waste an entire day prevaricating, and by the time I replace the final item in my wardrobe the sun is low in the sky, turning the streets pink as it sets.

My indecisiveness has
managed to distract me from my phone, which lies on my bedside table in angry silence. Plus, I tell myself, I’ve had the equivalent of a two-hour gym workout, carrying all that stuff back and forth. I could do with a cardio workout.

The evening drags on. I cook an omelette, pour a glass of wine and stare blankly at
Antiques Roadshow
, trying to stop myself from thinking. Later, I take a bath and have another glass of wine. Before I know it, half the bottle is gone.

Yet I still feel sick. Apprehensive.

It’s a day late, but I definitely have sorrows to drown. What the hell was I thinking? I’ve gone from being a mixed-up woman in therapy to an adulterer. That’s how I see it, regardless of whether or not we had sex. We kissed and we touched and I wanted more.

At ten o
’clock I climb into bed, pulling the covers over my head, blocking out the thoughts and disappointment with myself. All it does is give me a blank canvass for the memories. I think about the way Niall’s lips felt against mine, the hard ridge in his jeans as he pushed against me.

Kiss me on the lips, Beth, please
.

I can almost hear him saying those words. The desperation laced in his voice is reflected
deep inside me. These past few months keep repeating in my mind. Simon’s coldness, my anxiety. The way Niall’s been there to hold me up.

Please don
’t break his heart all over again.

Is my marriage
with Simon even worth saving? It’s as if the passion I felt last night has woken something in me. Something I thought I could live without.

Now I
’m not sure I can.

I wake up to warm arms wrapped around my body and a face nuzzled into the back of my neck
. For one fleeting moment I think it’s Niall. Then I reach behind me and feel soft, silky hair, thinner than his, cut closer to the neck. I recoil, wondering why I’m reacting so violently to my husband’s embrace.

Because it isn
’t him,
a little voice inside my head tells me.

“
Did I wake you?” Simon’s voice is soft. “I’m sorry, baby.” Whisky wafts from his breath.

“
What time is it?” I’m disoriented, not only from waking up, but because of the way he’s holding me. We’ve barely spoken for weeks, let alone touched. It feels wrong.

“
Just gone midnight.” He’s still nuzzling. His lips slide across my neck when he speaks. “I got back about an hour ago, the traffic was fairly light.” Another kiss, this time pressed to my spine. “I missed you.”

It
’s hard not to shudder. Should I pretend to go back to sleep; would that be believable? I wasn’t ready for this sudden onslaught of affection. I was expecting the usual coldness, hoping for it even. I could have coped with that.

His hand moves up, under my vest, in a grotesque parody of Niall
’s caresses. Biting my lip, I try not to cry out. When he reaches my breasts I feel myself shake, yet still I say nothing. Perhaps this is penance, a way of paying back for all my transgressions.

Simon must feel my spine stiffen, because he presses his face into my hair, muttering softly
, “I’m sorry for being such a bastard. I know it hasn’t been easy these past few months, but I’m going to try harder. We can see that counsellor you were talking about.” He kneads my breasts with his hands. “God, I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

“
We can’t see the counsellor. She won’t take us as a couple.”

His right hand slides down, brushing my stomach, pressing between my thighs. I turn my head into my pillow, trying to hide my disgust. This was what I wanted, wasn
’t it? For him to talk to me again, for us to work at our marriage. I should be turning over and throwing myself into his arms, peppering kisses over his face the way I did last night with Niall.

Niall
. It’s wrong to even think of him as my husband pushes his hand beneath the waistband of my shorts. He trails a finger along my thigh and it’s all I can do not to clamp them together.

“
Are you okay?”

I take a deep breath.
“I’m just tired.”

“
You poor thing.” Simon pulls his hand out from my shorts and reaches around my waist to turn me over. Then I’m facing him, staring into his chocolate-brown eyes. He pushes a lock of hair out of my face, and his tenderness makes me want to cry. When he presses his nose to mine I have to close my eyes to block everything out.

“
Kiss me,” he whispers.

I freeze. Hearing Niall
’s words coming out of Simon’s mouth seems some sort of cruel joke. “I can’t.”

I can
’t kiss Niall because I’m married to Simon. I can’t kiss Simon because I’m infatuated with Niall.

Infatuation, not love. That
’s what it is.

Simon lets go of me, rolling onto his back in defeat. Flinging an arm across his face, he takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “I understand. We need to take things slow. But being away this weekend gave me a lot of time to think, and I hate the way I’ve been treating you. I’m going to make it up to you, I promise.” He takes my hand in his, threading our fingers together. And though I eventually fall asleep, it’s neither restful nor reviving.

* * *

“You’re late.” Lara looks up from her lunch: a foil-wrapped ham sandwich and half a cup of tepid coffee. I suspect the latter has been hanging around most of the morning. Brown, sticky stains are dried on the side of her mug. She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth, yet still manages to talk. “You were supposed to be here at twelve.”

“
I’m only a couple of minutes late.” I step away from the shower of crumbs that fly out from her mouth. “And you’re disgusting by the way.”

“
Just time poor.” She balls up the foil and throws it in her bin. “I’ve a client at one, and from the look of you we’ll need more than fifty-five minutes to solve all your problems.”

“
There’s not enough time in the world for that,” I mutter, then flop dramatically into the leather chair to the side of her desk. “Aren’t you supposed to counsel me without a desk between us?”

“
Stop being a layman.” She takes a sip of her coffee then makes a face. “And anyway, this isn’t a counselling session. It’s lunch. Where you get to make me feel better about myself by telling me how crap your rich, privileged life is.”

I laugh, I can
’t help it. She has this knack of seeing the ridiculous in everything. “If you mention first-world problems I’m going to slap you,” I warn.

“
Hey, I make a living out of first-world problems, I’d never disrespect them.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk and clasping her hands together. “So, tell me all about it. I hope there’s sexual deviancy involved. I’ve missed that since I came here.”

“
Does deviancy include refusing to have sex with your husband?”

“
Nope, that’s what we like to call marriage.”

“
Okay, great, you’ve solved all my problems.” I smile cheerily. “Now let’s go to work on world peace.”

“
So the ice king thawed, then?” She ignores my jibe.

“
He came home on Sunday, had a few drinks then tried to get it on with me. I guess you could call that a thaw.”

“
Did he mention the silent treatment?”

“
No, he just tried to kiss me. And I kissed Niall Joseph the night before,” I blurt out, totally unprompted.

Lara is taken aback.
“What?” She leans toward me, her eyes wide. “You did what?”

“
I kissed him, or he kissed me.” My heart is racing. I’m not sure if it’s at the memory or my confession. “We both kissed each other.”

“
When, where? Oh my God, did you tell Simon?”

“
You’re judging me,” I hiss. “Your face has gone all judgey and it’s not meant to do that. Don’t you remember your training?”

“
I’m not your counsellor. I’m your friend and I’ll judge if I want to,” she retorts. “But I’m not judging you anyway. I’m surprised, shocked maybe, but not judging.” She sits back in her seat. “He came over for dinner last night and didn’t mention a thing.”

“
You had him over for dinner?” I ask. “Without me?” It’s hard not to feel aggrieved. Like my two best friends have gone on a day out and forgotten to invite me.

“
I’m sorry, I didn’t get the memo saying that you two had a snog and now must be treated as an inseparable couple. Is that what you are now?”

I shake my head.
“I ran out of his flat and we haven’t spoken since.” I blush at the memory, burying my face in my hands. “What am I going to do?”

She peels my fingers away until I
’m looking at her. I don’t point out that she’s moved from behind her desk, and there are now no barriers between us. It isn’t the time. “How do you feel about him?”

“
Which him?”

“
Niall. The last thing I heard he was just an annoying relic of your past. Somebody you’d rather forget. How did that all change?”

“
We’ve become friends,” I whisper. “He waited outside the police station for me after Cameron’s arrest and took me for a drink. And then he invited me for dinner with him and his mum—”

“
His mum?” she splutters. “You had dinner with his mum? Christ, this is serious.”

“
Shut up! We were only friends then. We are still, I think, though I haven’t seen him since Saturday night.” I frown. “Maybe we aren’t even friends anymore.”

“So how did you go from having dinner with his mum to a tongue sandwich? You didn’t do it in front of her, did you? Because that would be all kinds of weird.”

“
No. He invited me over on Saturday night.”

“
Two nights in a row,” she interrupts.

“
And?”

“
I’m just saying. He invites you to meet his mum one night. The next he invites you over for a snog. Didn’t you think it was all a bit... much?”

“
No,” I wail. “I didn’t think anything. That’s the problem. I should have thought, then maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“
Sweets, it doesn’t have to be a mess, not unless you let it. You just need to decide what it is you want to do. Whether it’s Simon you want, or Niall.”

She makes it sound so easy. But the things that look simplest on the surface end up being the most complicated underneath. At the end of the day I don
’t know what the hell it is I do want. The lack of certainty’s making me feel sick.

* * *

On Thursday afternoon I’m fluttering around the classroom like a demented butterfly, picking things up, putting them in the wrong place and generally freaking out. A glance at the clock tells me it’s just gone two. Only half an hour until I see Niall again. For the first time since Saturday. I’m not ready for it. No solutions have been forthcoming, no decisions have suddenly been made. How can they when I don’t even understand what I’m deciding on?

I
’m staring blankly into the supply cupboard when I hear the door to the classroom open. The drawn-out creak causes me to turn my head with nervous anticipation, but the person standing in the doorway isn’t Niall. Instead, Lara walks in, her mobile clutched in her hand. She stares at the screen for a moment before she looks up at me.  ”Um, I’ve just had a text from Niall. He isn’t coming today.”

“
What?” Suddenly, I’m desperate to see him.

“
According to him, he’s had an emergency.” She widens her eyes at the last word. “Apparently he sends his apologies.”

Apparently
. What on earth does that mean? I shrug, trying to ignore the crushing sensation in my chest that feels way too similar to disappointment. “Nice of him to give me some notice,” I grumble. I’ve got about an hour to think of some way to entertain a group of rowdy kids. I don’t like the odds.

“
Maybe he’s sick,” Lara says. “Perhaps a sudden wave of nausea has just engulfed him, chaining him to a porcelain prison.”

“
He’s probably sick of me, I’ll give you that.”

“
It could all just be a coincidence.” She doesn’t look convinced. “It doesn’t mean he’s avoiding you.”