Everything You Want: Everything For You Trilogy 2 (13 page)

“You’re turning quite brown,” I tell him, trailing fingers over his burnished skin as I take my turn.

He squirms beneath my ticklish caress. “That’s the wild gipsy in me.”

“Wild,” I repeat, laughing at our word. I can almost believe it when I see how untamed this civilised captain of industry becomes in the throes of sexual abandon. I’m losing all inhibitions under the heat of a foreign sky as well. So much so I forget to filter a thought, blurting it out. “Is sex part of our weekend deal?”

Jack ratchets up onto one elbow and squints down at me. “I can’t believe you’d even think that.” He sits upright abruptly and starts dragging on his shorts and t-shirt. “Christ, Tabitha.” He tosses my clothes across with a scowl. “It’s time we were heading back.”

My anxiety has ruined the moment but he doesn’t know I’m already party to his motives. He thinks the state of affairs between him and Amanda remains a secret from me. And I’m certain he’s not telling her about what we’re doing together. I may not like to think about it but he’s two-timing her with me and me with her. I feel a tragedy unfolding.

Any awkward silence is broken as we wander back to the house in the early evening warmth. It’s hard to stay mad at each other.

“How long were you planning on holing up here anyway?” he asks me.

Until Earth stopped spinning. “Dunno.”

“We need to talk about it.”

“Okay.” But I’m so not ready to hear about him returning to London and his real life with Amanda. I wonder if he’d let me stay on here for a bit now he owns the place.

“We’ll be flying back Monday morning.”

“We?” I’m not sure if I’m saying yes or no to that.

It’s a bit of a shock to be honest. And he’s not asking, he’s telling. He’s never truly stopped being the
Boss
despite what any of this looks like. The further we walk out of the meadow, the more I feel it. My brief moment in the sun with my Jack is almost over.

“A CEO can’t run away from their responsibilities. Not me and not you.”

“I know that.” I just didn’t care at the time. Having Jack here with me makes me care even less.

“I need to explain some other stuff too. Better you hear it from me first.”

Oh God. This is it. He’s going to admit he’s with Amanda and that he’s grown tired of making me pay for being an interloper; an upstart. That I’ve been some dalliance for old time’s sake or because he can’t commit to a marriage to her always wondering what it might be like to screw that silly young bitch who had the hots for him when she was a kid. To get me out of his system.

I sink to my knees in full hyperventilation mode. Don’t tell me, Jack. Don’t say those words out loud. Let me pretend a while longer. The balmy, still, surrounding air refuses to enter my lungs as the noisy cicadas serenade my awakening.

Jack turns as soon as he senses I’m not in step behind him.

“Tabby?” He wheels back and kneels in the long grass beside me. “Breathe. I shouldn’t have left you in the sun so long.

“No. You shouldn’t,” I gasp.

“Breathe in... three, four, five. Hold, two. Out... two, one. Again.” One hand stretches lightly across my diaphragm and moves back and forth as I force oxygen in and push it out. He knows the breathing routine as well as I do.

I close my eyes allowing the tilting world around me to vanish. I have to let him go again but I can’t bear it. Not so soon. Not today. I struggle to my feet with his hand at my elbow. What is the point of fighting for Jack, when he doesn’t want me?

“Let’s get you indoors. You need water. Probably still dehydrated.” He considers all possible reasons for my collapse but the right one.

“I’m fine.” I pull myself under control. Enough to make a joke of it. “I can’t possibly need water. I swallowed half a lake when you ducked me.”

“Do you want me to carry you back?” Lines of concern etch his forehead.

I wave him off. “Walking will get my lungs working.”

Jack relaxes at my quick recovery but shortens his pace so I don’t have to move so fast to keep up. Why can he be so lovely sometimes but so incredibly insensitive others? How could he not know how I feel? At least he doesn’t launch into his confession so I have a stay of execution. But I can’t pretend any longer that he’s mine.

Jack and I take a hot soapy shower together to wash all the sun oil and grass stains off each other’s bodies. I don’t think he wants to let me out of his sight until he’s certain he won’t have a dead body on his hands to explain away to Amanda. Yet I’m glad he lets me share the shower with him unlike this morning. I want to create as many happy memories as I can while I have the chance, even knowing that they’re what will destroy me in the end.

He towels his dark hair vigorously. “I have to go online for a bit. Is that going to be a problem?” He steels himself for the explosion.

We both know what happened last night but he’ll never let me get in the way of his business. And he must want to assuage the guilt of all this…
personal time
with me by doing some sweet-talking to Amanda. I’m just a temporary diversion, after all.

“It’s fine,” I reassure him offhandedly. “I do understand the concept of feeling guilty.” I can’t help throwing in my accusation for good measure.

He narrows his eyes at my choice of words as well he might, which only confirms my suspicions.

“Guilty enough to do anything reckless?” The uncertainty of how I will react, despite the fact I gave him my word not to run again, oozes from every pore which seems ridiculous considering the levels of his own deception, now I think about it. Although that’s a two-timing man’s conscience for you.

“Yes. That guilty.” I’m proud to say anger toughens me up.

His face adopts a stunned expression. “Tabitha, if you even think for one second –”

“Of doing the devil’s work?”

“What are you saying?” He grabs me by the forearms, yanking me in front of him, his eyes boring into mine.

“Oh I can be every bit as scheming as you can, Jack Keogh.” I pause to assess the mixture of emotions that flood his features. “I’m planning the unthinkable.” I pause. “To betray our famous Breton cuisine by doing a speciality of Nice for dinner instead. Just for the illicit thrill of it. And I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” Innuendo loads the words I speak with double meaning.

He expels a breath, his muscles loosen and the tightness round his eyes and mouth eases, although some of his famous frown remains. “I’m never sure what you mean half the time.”

“That makes two of us.”

He gives me an adulterously drugging kiss before disappearing into Harry’s study.

Jack’s study now. I wonder if he plans on bringing Amanda to Lassec now it belongs to him. Will he walk her through my meadow? Swim with her in my lake? Oil her body and make slow, easy love to her under the warm sun? Then she’ll finally have everything that is special to me. Everything. The invisible knife twists in my heart.

I determine not to go anywhere near Jack while he works. I can’t bear to hear him talk to her. Especially about his little problem: me. I occupy myself concentrating on reproducing a Salade Niçoise to Madame’s exacting standards but it is not enough to push out the insecurities eating away at my brain.

I throw a handful of French beans into a pan of hot water and wash some crispy lettuce. Turning on the radio to drown out the screaming silence of knowing he’s upstairs sharing affection with her, I get my violin and join in a Celtic folk song. Somehow the long, high orgasm note gets incorporated and I play it over and over at the open door hoping they’ll both hear me. I can be so childish sometimes.

But rebellion is the only thing that stops me dying inside.

When the cooked beans come out to cool, eggs are dropped in to boil and I crush tons of wild garlic and chop herbs for a dressing. Whenever Jack eats wild garlic from now on, I’m determined his conscience will be pricked remembering this night and me.

I rinse meaty little anchovies of their coarse salt preservative, chop tomatoes and red onion and assemble the whole bowlful. Everything is liberally tossed in dressing. It looks and tastes great. I chuck on a couple of handfuls of fat purple Provence olives and a spoonful of capers and throw a clean tablecloth over the lot to keep off insects attracted to the piquancy of the food.

Because of Jack’s fondness for fresh bread I crisp up the country loaf in the oven.

Ignoring the dining room for a more informal setting, I fix the kitchen table with an everyday tablecloth, lavender scented candles, and paper napkins. I want this night to be ordinary like me. Simple and uncomplicated the way we should have been together, before he shattered all my dreams.

I pace impatiently, tormenting myself with just how much time he seems to want to spend with her. To stop myself going crazy or doing something I may regret, I wander outside. Handfuls of wildflowers picked from the uncut edges of the back lawn are propped in a floral milk jug and placed on the table. Jack can see that not everything has to be as hyper-designed and flawless as Amanda to be perfect. Nothing about me or tonight will remind him of her and this looks simple and beautiful.

At the last minute I dash upstairs and change into a pretty pale blue summer dress, still carefully avoiding the part of the house where Jack is working. On the very edge of doing something reckless, I finally see him coming downstairs. I watch him from the kitchen doorway where he catches me out waiting for him, chewing at my bottom lip.

Missing nothing, his eyes swiftly take in my change of clothing and I see his somewhat restless manner ease. When he glances in at the kitchen table he gets a gleam in his eye.

“Five minutes,” he says, holding up the fingers on one hand, turning and dashing back upstairs again.

I’m both irritated at his hasty departure and perplexed.

He’s back in four, having changed into smart lightweight summer casuals with a floral print shirt. The blue pattern almost exactly matches the shade of my dress. I so love this man, I can’t help grinning like an idiot. He holds out my chair then takes his place opposite, clicking his tongue at me as I jump up again immediately and dash across the room.

“I left the bread in the oven.”

Jack laughs. He’s stress-free and I’m not going to spoil it, even though I can’t help myself wondering if it’s me or her that’s achieved that small miracle. Whichever it is, I’m going to refuse to listen to any confession he has to tell me until dinner is over.

“Doesn’t smell like burnt offerings.”

“I forgot to turn the oven temperature up too, so it’s fine.” My head has turned to mush today. I dump the warm bread in a clean teacloth-lined basket and return to the table.

“Your mind isn’t on your task today.”

“No.”

“So where is it?”

That, I’ll never reveal. “It’s this place. It has that effect on me.”

Jack stares at me, smiling. “This place agrees with you.” He pulls off a chunk of warm bread as soon as I place it on the table and waves it in the air to cool it off a bit. He holds it in front of my mouth and I open for him to pop it between my lips.

The outside is crusty and the inside soft and steaming. Jack takes another piece and smells it.

“Delicious.” He looks across the table at me, puts down the bread and reaches for my hand. I give it to him. “And you are simply perfection.”

We are still playing his games. “
Merci, Monsieur. Et voila
.” I whip the cloth off the salad theatrically and indicate to Jack to hold up his plate for me to fill. I pass him the butter for his bread and we both tuck in, hungry after our day’s exertions.

“You really can cook, Miss Caid,” he mumbles around a full mouth.

“It’s salad, not cooking.” Let’s call things as they are.

“You’ll make someone a lovely wife one day.”

I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat at his comment. I know it’s only a clichéd phrase and he doesn’t mean to prod at my insecurity but it hurts anyway. He’s letting me know I won’t be his.

I force my head back into the game. “And you’ll make someone a lovely husband.” Just not mine.

He stares at me thoughtfully, bare traces of that frown resurfacing. Something is bothering him but I don’t want to hear what I already know. Not yet.

“What do you think of the dressing?” I enquire coquettishly. “The garlic is wild.”

“Extremely wild. I’ve come to prefer a lot of things that aren’t too tame, lately.”

We smirk at each other yet I wonder if he has private jokes with Amanda too, that exclude the rest of the world. I can’t imagine it somehow and the thought pleases me.

“
Sauvage
.” I whisper the French word for wild to him. It suits him.

“Are you calling me a savage, kitten?”

“You,
Monsieur
are a monster.” I picture Oberon finally releasing his faery queen, Titania, from the charm that made her fall in love with a beast. There’ll be no such easy cure for me, I think.

“And you,
cailín álainn
, are mine.” He stretches over the table and I rise to meet him. We kiss, his tongue softly seducing mine until I want to climb across the divide to get to him.