Her Client from Hell (12 page)

‘Hi, Jack.’

‘Hey. Right on time.’

‘I’m getting better.’ Shoving the food into his arms, she took a deep breath, waiting until he was looking right at her. ‘Jack, just so we’re clear, this doesn’t—’

‘Mean anything? I know. I know. It’s just food. Come in.’ He moved back to let her in, his gut clenching at the thought of having her here and not having her. But he could do this—he just had to concentrate hard on not looking at her smile, her hair. Or listening too intently to the light laugh blowing through his humid house like fresh air.

Stepping into the lounge, her mouth opened wide. ‘Wow. Some place you have here. Have you just moved in?’

‘No. Been here five years. First place I bought when I’d got enough for a mortgage down payment.’ Winning an industry award had helped bring the big guns knocking at Zoom’s door and, for some reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to move out of the neighbourhood he’d grown used to. Time was he’d have given anything to leave the place, but he’d been drawn back here with a feeling of needing some familiarity. God knew why. Guess it was also close to Lizzie.

And now close to Cassie. Luck? Fate? Chance? Whatever. It didn’t mean anything.

‘Oh, really—five years?’ Her eyes widened now as she ran a hand across the back of his sofa. ‘It needs a little colour, Jack. You have heard of colour, haven’t you? It’s like...you know, that soft tickly stuff on the ground in Holland Park? Grass? That’s green. That big bright circle in the sky? Sun. That’s yellow.’

‘Yes, well, we don’t all need to live in Willy Wonka land. I like things to be tidy and ordered.’

‘You don’t say.’

He looked at his place—stark and spacious and white. All white. Sofa, chairs, rug, blinds. Easy to match, the designer had told him. As if he cared; he wasn’t trying for
Homes and Gardens
home of the month. Home wasn’t something he knew much about, having not really had one since he was six years old. Hell, for ever, in fact. He shrugged, far more interested in the riot of colour standing in the middle of the room. She swirled around, her skirt kicking out in a circle, revealing legs that he preferred wrapped around him than pirouetting, and leaving her scent everywhere.
Everywhere
. His chest became a crushing mass of emotion, the most prominent in there being lust. But there was more. Just...more. ‘Home decor isn’t top of my to-do list. I just need a bed, a kettle and somewhere to keep my stuff. I’m hardly ever here.’

‘Clearly. It barely looks lived in.’ She shook her head. ‘I have a sudden urge to mess everything up. Unstraighten the rug. Half close the blinds—at a jaunty angle. Run dirty footprints across the floor. Something. Where are the knick-knacks? Photos?’

‘Of what?’

‘Family? Lizzie? You? Your pet iguana?’

‘I’m very sorry, but truth is I don’t have one.’ Family, or iguana.

‘What a shame. And I was holding out all this time just to meet him.’ Her mouth formed a perfect pout as she threw her hat, like a Frisbee, onto the sofa, where it sat messily, out of place, like a big bright stain against the alabaster fabric. ‘Maybe you should get one and brighten the place up a bit—or wouldn’t the green scales go with the decor? How about a pet that’s white? A cockatoo?’

‘And have someone else in here endlessly chattering away too? No, thank you.’

She laughed, lowering her voice to a comedy whisper. ‘Oh, well, we’d better move into another room. Quick. I’d be afraid to spill anything and ruin the look. All that red wine, green sauce, golden potatoes. Shudder.’ But she flicked a sarcastic look towards her hat and grinned.

She followed him through to the kitchen and started opening drawers, ferreting in cupboards, lifting out plates and pans, working her way round as if she’d designed the damned place. It looked as if she wouldn’t be happy until every darned thing he owned was piled on to the counters. There was a hum in her throat, though—no denying that the moment she walked into a kitchen she was in her happy zone. Nudging a drawer closed with a swing of her left hip, she handed him the wine bottle. ‘You get this poured and I’ll sort the food. So, how’s the week been?’

‘Frustrating. A hot sense of running round in circles and not getting where I wanted to be.’ Kind of like right now, but he had wanted to sack Billy, not rip his clothes off. ‘Yours?’

‘Okay, I guess. I scored another couple of jobs, which is good. Word of mouth really helps in this business. The mother of the head injury girl recommended me to a couple of her friends. More kiddies’ parties, but that in turn may lead to something else. Plus, I managed to negotiate a better rate with the bank for paying my debt off. So I’m pretty happy.’

‘Excellent. Well done. So we have cause to celebrate?’ He handed her a glass of wine and chinked his against it. She gave him a full-blown mesmerising smile that whipped the air from his lungs. ‘One day you’ll land a mega contract and things will be sweet for Sweet Treats. Pardon the pun.’

‘Oh, so funny. Big contracts are hard to find and even harder to win. But I’ll take any good stuff that comes along. What’s been your problem?’

He told her about Billy and his less than stellar editing skills; for some reason, offloading to her made him feel better. Which was weird because the running of Zoom was his alone and he’d liked that, liked the autonomy, calling all the shots. Usually. ‘What I can’t understand is how he had such great references and yet he’s not shaping up.’

‘Maybe it’s you being there that makes him nervous?’

He laughed. ‘Oh, yeah, that’d be right. Blame the boss.’

She stopped stirring and waved the wooden spoon in his direction. ‘Absolutely. First rule of the kitchen: the head chef is always in charge and therefore always to blame. If not him, then the restaurant owner. Never the minions. Isn’t it the same in your line of work?’

He didn’t need to go into the hierarchy of the film business—safe to say, editors were just as respected as the directors. ‘There’s probably a whole load of dissent behind my back. Why am I not surprised you have authority issues?’

‘Why am I not surprised you have subordinate issues? Get off his back; give the guy a chance to prove himself.’ She pigged her eyes at him. ‘Stay out of the cutting room.’

‘Whoa. Radical—not sure if I can do that.’

‘Of course you can. Try it—stay away for a couple of days and let him get on with it. Take a chill pill. Control freak.’ Flicking the frying pan away from her, she flipped the almost perfect squares of flecked potatoes in hot oil until they began to sizzle and a fragrant garlic and rosemary scent filled the air. All around her was debris, discarded pots, oil smears on the granite. Thick slabs of bloody steak oozing onto a plate.

He picked up the plate. ‘Mess freak. Here, give me that meat.’

‘Oh, no. You are not going to set fire to my Wagyu like you did those corn cobs. You can’t cook, remember?’

‘I can do man food. Give it here.’ Not giving her any more opportunity to resist, he took the steaks and placed them on a hot griddle pan, where they immediately began to sizzle. After a couple of minutes he turned them over and noted that so far they were cooking to perfection.
Gotcha
. ‘I want to cook at least one thing for you.’

‘Thanks. That’s actually very nice. See, you can be if you try.’ Cassie leaned against him as she checked out the progress. Her hair tickled against his chin and he pressed a small kiss on to the top of her head. It just happened, instinctively, before he could catch himself.

Unsure of what her response might be, he stepped back a little. For a few seconds she looked up at him, as if weighing him up, as if working something out, tension spiralling until he just wanted her to say some damn thing.

But then she gave his backside a quick squeeze and grinned up at him. He let out a breath. Man, this felt so unlike anything he’d had before. A sort of comfortable excitement. There was that word again. Comfortable. He knew better than that. Needed to be on his guard.

And yet he was a man now, not an angry, confused teenager. Not a six-year-old, eight-year-old. Ten. He knew not to expect anything to last. Not to invest every last bit of himself in something doomed to end. This time he was definitely in control of things. He could walk away from Cassie any time—but having a little fun didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything at all.

She watched as he checked the underside of the meat. ‘Good job. Good job. You’re getting very handy in here.’

‘Not as much as I’d like,’ he growled. His left hand curved around her bottom. Excitement won over comfort and pinged across his belly and arrowed south, to his groin, his legs, then back up to the top of his head. ‘I’m just going to leave this to...rest?’

‘Excellent. Well, everything else is ready so I’ll quickly prepare the dessert while we’re waiting.’ Twisting off the top of a bottle of rum, she slugged a good amount into a pan and then a small amount into two shot glasses. ‘Got to test it first to make sure it’s okay.’ She winked and handed him a glass, then downed her drink in one gulp, shuddered as it hit her throat. ‘Wow. That’ll do. Your turn.’

Her eyes brightened as he followed suit, laughed as he flinched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘It’s okay, I guess.’

‘That is a quality product. It’s better than okay.’ Then she added butter and some runny honey to the pan and stirred until it was thick and hot and well mixed. ‘Now, the next taste test. I love this stuff.’

She put her finger in the pan and pulled it out covered in thick golden sauce.

Before it reached her mouth he grabbed her hand and slowly sucked the sauce from her finger. It tasted soft and sweet and warm, like Caribbean nights, summer days.

He saw the moment her eyes misted, the second desire softened her, the way she pressed against the counter, the momentary flicker of her eyes as she registered that he wanted her again. That he had not stopped wanting her. That she wanted him too. ‘
Jack.
’

‘It tastes very good indeed, but I think we need to try it again, just to make sure.’ His mouth went dry and wet at the same time at the anticipation of tasting her. Then, he put his finger in the sauce and offered it to her. When her lips clamped around his finger and she slid her hot wet mouth over his skin he was gone. No amount of self-control would keep him from having her. He dipped his head to her mouth and sucked her tongue. Nipped her lip. Grazed her throat, her neck.

‘Delicious.’ Again, he put his finger in the sauce and trailed it from the pulse in her throat to the ‘v’ of her breasts. Followed the trail with his tongue, spurred on by the guttural moans in her throat. She leaned against the counter and he crushed her against it, tearing her top to one side, fitting his hand inside her bra and palming her breast.

‘My turn now. Don’t want it to go to waste.’ This time she put three fingers in the sauce and wiped them over his cheek. Then she opened her mouth and licked it off, her gaze fixed on his, her eyes glittering with need. Button by button, she undid his shirt and let it drop, then she pressed a sticky kiss to each of his nipples. More sauce. More kisses. Then she was pulling at his belt and undoing his zip.

‘Come here.’ Part growl, part desperation. Walking her to the table, he leaned her back against it, dragged her skirt up and looked at her creamy skin, those thighs parted for him, the flimsy scrap of lace that was the only barrier between now and heaven.

Who the hell was this woman with such a hold over him? Who he wanted to please, wanted to satisfy, wanted to hear his name on her lips, whose name he said again and again in his dreams. What the hell was happening to him? God knew. He was past thinking, past rationalising. He tried to control his breathing, his need, but his brains had all gone south. No—there was something else, a feeling. Something confusing and yet so very clear—just there. Something he didn’t understand, that he didn’t want to understand.

There was nothing to do but to show her what he wanted, how he felt. And even if he couldn’t work it out for himself then his body definitely knew.

Cassie felt him stretch her, inside her, filling her, and the rush of need for him intensified. His gaze so intense, his face so beautiful.
This wasn’t going to happen.
But how the hell could she stop it?

When he sucked on her nipple she cried out, when he called her name with such ferocity she came, so hard and fast it felt as if she was spiralling out of her consciousness. Then, when he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her so tenderly, she almost cried with the absolute purity of this achingly precious thing they had found. This connection that made her feel safe and happy and yet free at the same time.

He kissed her again, as if his life depended on it. As if he too felt it but didn’t understand. It was so right. So beautiful.

Yes.
This
. She’d been lying to herself when she arrived on his doorstep. When she’d brought the cake round earlier. When he’d kissed her, when he made love to her.

It did mean something. It meant everything.

She arched her back as he thrust faster and faster, wanting more. Wanting more. Wanting more...

And she knew that she couldn’t stop wanting this, wanting him. Knew that a part of her could never recover from knowing him—that, no matter how much she tried to prevent herself falling for him, or protect her heart against yet another man who might not care as much for her, a part of her would forever belong to Jack.

ELEVEN

Minutes later, Cassie
shifted, her back hurting now against the hard table, the stars in her peripheral vision slowly dissipating and the sticky residue pulling at her skin. But, as soon as she moved, Jack’s arms were around her, pulling her up, laughing. ‘Whoa, well, that’s the hors d’oeuvres over with.’

‘Can’t wait for the main course, then. And dessert...I’m looking forward to that.’ She kissed his chest and straightened her clothes, the turn of events and the way she so easily fell back into his arms a little shocking. The meat sat on the counter, going cold. ‘Hmm, what to do with the steak now?’

Jack zipped up, washed his hands and looked ready for more cooking action. ‘Microwave it?’

‘Heathen. Get out of my kitchen now.’

Trapping her against the bench again he playfully kissed her nose, head, throat. ‘Er...it’s my kitchen and I get to say what goes on here.’

‘And that’s quite a lot, judging by the last half hour.’

He grinned. ‘Again, not as much as I’d like.’

After she’d reheated the meat—on the griddle—and dinner had been eaten, Cassie excused herself to go to the bathroom. She knew you could tell a lot about a man by his choice of toiletries, the cleanliness of his space, which she was suitably impressed by. Not quite the OCD perfect line-up of bottles she’d expected; in fact, a happy mess. His towels were soft and warm, hanging neatly on the rail. So far, so normal. Except...

‘Why do you keep your BAFTA award on a shelf in the bathroom?’ she asked him as they started to clear away the dinner plates. ‘I mean, I’ve heard of people doing that, but I didn’t actually believe it.’

He shrugged. ‘To be honest, it was the first place I put it when I came back from the ceremony and I’ve had no reason to move it. Where else am I supposed to keep it? It seems as good a place as any.’

‘I don’t know, but I’d be shouting it from the rooftops. A big banner outside saying: award here!’

‘Who am I going to shout it to? Everyone at work knows I got it. My friends do.’

‘But it’s such an amazing achievement. You must be so proud.’

Clearly reluctant to talk about himself any more, he looked out of the kitchen window into the garden; it was a warm late summer evening. ‘We should have eaten outside while we can. Do you want to go for a walk in the park? It’s lovely this time of day, and not so busy.’

‘Yes, why not? Work up an appetite for dessert.’ Although, if the hors d’oeuvres were anything to go by, she was already hungry for more. ‘I’ll have to make more sauce. A lot more.’ She winked at him and started to make her way to the front door.

‘No. This way.’ He led her out through the narrow back garden, under a bower of blossoming white flowers, through a large gate and into the manicured gardens of Holland Park. Before them stretched a long tree-lined path, awash with dappled sunlight. Just across the way she saw the flickering flags of various embassies, and into some of the higher windows above towering walls and barbed wire.

‘Wow, this is brilliant. I’ve often walked through here and wondered about the kind of people who lived in these houses bordering the park. And now I know.’

‘Oh, yes? What exactly do you know? I’m only in a small house compared to one of those mansions. And what you see is what you get with me, I’m afraid.’

No, there was so much more to him than he wanted to tell her. So much he was hiding from, or running from; she didn’t quite know. So much that probably meant the difference between him staying and going. Things working or not even given a chance.

A tight fist of pain under her ribcage stalled her breath at that thought.

She wasn’t ready for this to end; it was too irresistible, too new. With a shock, she realised she wanted something more with Jack—something that this fledgling connection could build on. Because she wasn’t ready to let him go; she wasn’t ready to walk away. Sure, they were complete opposites on most levels, but they were the same when they made love, the same when they kissed, the same when they talked and laughed.

She wanted more. Despite everything. Her stomach curled into a knot.

After everything she’d tried to prevent, those times she’d fought her feelings, those times she’d slammed up barriers—but even now she couldn’t think of having more days without him, like the last three, wondering if she was in too deep or not deep enough. Wondering if they could make something precious together or not. She was through with being scared, of slamming up walls.

But she knew too that telling him would be insane.

He took her hand and they strolled towards the Orangery rose gardens and sparkling fountains. She remembered catering a wedding here not long ago, the happy openness of the bride and groom, who had talked her leg off about their hopes and plans; the feeling that she’d never found that with any man. Did she push too hard or not enough? Or just choose the wrong men in the end? But Jack was...well, he was different to any man she knew.

‘Okay, well, I know you’re a control maestro.’

‘With you around, it’s good to inject a little order or the world would implode.’ He squeezed her hand.

‘I know you work hard and play reluctantly. But when you do allow yourself to have fun you really enjoy it. That you’re wicked at sex.’ That got a press against a tree and a long leisurely kiss that pushed away any kind of thought process at all. When she pulled away she could barely remember how to speak. She kept a hold of him because she’d almost forgotten how to stand upright too. ‘Is sex in a public place a crime?’

He thought for a moment and sucked air through his teeth. ‘Sadly, I think so.’

‘Damn. Wow. Okay. Right.’ She tried a step forward on liquid legs. Seemed just about okay. But better hold on to him just in case. ‘Where was I?’

‘I’m a sex God or something.’ He pulled her against him and laughed.

She loved the way he looked when he laughed—so liberated and carefree and downright gorgeous. And it seemed to be happening more and more and she just knew part of that was because of her. Pride slid into the mix of emotions swirling in her gut. ‘Oh, yes, I remember now, you’re a woeful cook but a quick learner. You have an amazing talent but, for some very bizarre reason, you are reluctant to celebrate it. You love your sister. And, apart from that, I don’t know much else.’

‘Good God, woman, isn’t that enough?’ But he must have known it wasn’t, could never be, not after everything they’d shared. Beside her, she felt his body stiffen slightly. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘I don’t know.’ So she was going to push a little, then back off if it felt like too much. ‘There’s something I’ve been wondering about. You once said you moved a lot—Lizzie mentioned you were shifted to someone’s house? Mrs Something... When she baked the cake with the melted icing? And you cut her off mid-sentence. Why?’

He dropped her hand and for a moment she thought he was going to walk away, but he didn’t. ‘You don’t want to hear about my old history.’

‘Actually, I do.’ She sat down on the lawn and tugged him next to her.

He tried to pull away. ‘It’s getting late.’

‘Jack, I know I’m walking a thin line here. I know there are no promises or roses for us. But...oh, God, this is too hard.’ She climbed to her knees, knowing he was used to being on his own, that he liked it. That he had never tried to open up to her. Time to get out. This was stupid. ‘Forget it.’

His gaze locked on to hers, his mouth a thin line of uncertainty, and she saw a battle raging deep inside him.

After a few moments he sat on the grass and wrapped his arms round his legs, creating his own cocoon, rested his chin on his knees. Again he asked, ‘What do you want to know? Because there’s a whole lot of stuff there and I don’t know where to begin. I never know where to begin.’

A silence wove around them as she watched him, huddled and sitting apart from her, her heart breaking just a little at the darkness in his eyes. Hurt? Because of her or because of some memory she was insisting he relive just so she could feel closer to him? ‘I’m sorry, Jack.’

‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ he murmured, his voice barely audible. But neither of them got up to go. The last dying rays of the sun warmed her face but she felt cold because she had a feeling that whatever he was going to say wasn’t pretty. Where exactly to begin? In the end she just plainly asked, ‘Why did you pin up Lizzie’s hair?’

He squeezed his eyes closed. ‘Because I was the only one who she’d allow anywhere near her hair. It’s a bit wild and used to get into knots which took forever to comb through. Besides, no one else had the time. Or inclination.’

‘Why not?’

He turned away, as if deciding what to say. When he turned back to her, his face was serious, that lovely deep mellow voice had lost all emotion. Cold, matter-of-fact, causing a chill down the back of her neck. ‘We weren’t part of anyone’s lives for long. No one was really interested in what yet more foster kids wanted. So it was down to me. I looked out for her, looked after her as best I could. You ever need nit removal, I’m your go-to guy.’ He tried to find a smile, but failed and looked even more drawn because of it.

‘God, that’s awful.’ Cassie remembered her sisters fighting over who would plait her hair—over and over again. For a good part of her life she’d been their plaything, a living doll that they’d dressed and fed and pushed around in a baby buggy even when she was far too big to fit in it. When their father had died they’d closed ranks and protected her, shielded her from the emotional upheaval as much as they could. Even now, she was treated as if she wasn’t quite grown-up, and it was annoying, but she couldn’t imagine having no one interested in her. Heartbreaking. But it explained something about the way he felt he could barge into his sister’s wedding. They must have grown close if they’d only had each other.

Only each other. Her throat closed over.

He shrugged, but he couldn’t hide the resentment. The tinge of sadness playing out as smudges under his eyes. ‘Yeah, well, you can forget the puppy-eyed pity, Cassie. It’s life. And forever ago. If I went anywhere near Lizzie’s hair now she’d probably hit me with a solid right hook.’

She tried to laugh, but her throat was too raw; there was no humour here. None. ‘Why were you fostered?’

Again, a pause. A look away. A battle for words. ‘Marion, our mother, wasn’t mother material. She was poor and uneducated and didn’t know how to look after babies—but she sure knew how to make them. Lizzie and I don’t have the same dad, but that’s fairly obvious. I’m not sure if Marion knew who our dads were—difficult to know when you’re having regular sex with lots of guys for cash.’

‘She was a prostitute?’ She tried not to be judgemental, but the hopelessness of the situation bit deep in her heart.

‘Yes. But it was a means to an end, and meant she had no time or energy—or love, really—for us. We were just mouths to feed that she didn’t want. I spent six years starving and dirty, trying to look after Lizzie when I had no clue how, barely more than a baby myself. One day I told my teacher the extent of what was happening at home and she called the authorities. Then we were moved, and moved, and moved.’

‘Why? Why didn’t someone take you in and love you?’

He shook his head and laughed, coldly. ‘What a nice rosy picture of the foster system you have. One family moved back to Australia and didn’t want to take us with them. One mum got sick and couldn’t look after us. Another
mum
got pregnant and had her own baby and we were suddenly surplus to her requirements.’

‘That’s cruel, Jack. Do you ever have any contact with Marion? Know where she is? Is she still alive?’

He nodded. ‘As part of the deal, she was supposed to stay in contact with us—supervised access with a social worker. She never turned up. Not once. At first it was gutting. Then it was expected. Then it was normal. We tried to forget her and look forward. So every time we started at a new place we thought:
this is going to be it
, our home. We unpacked our pathetic grubby suitcases and got excited and dreamt big, tried to fit in, tried to make new friends, tried to be the perfect kids just so they’d keep us. And every single time they swooped in and took us away; the last place we stayed was a grubby children’s home. By then we’d stopped dreaming, stopped getting excited, stopped trying to connect with anyone but each other.’

She reached over to him and wrapped her hand over his. When he took it she shuffled closer and leaned against him to give him some physical contact, because she didn’t want him having to face saying all this on his own. He had her now too and she was a damned good fighter. ‘So you relied solely on each other. I feel bad that I accused you of being overbearing and overprotective.’

‘Don’t, for God’s sake. You’re coming from a very different scenario. Your father died in tragic circumstances; your family had a way of dealing with it. And you’re more than entitled to bitch a little.’

‘But still, I shouldn’t have been so damning of the way you were acting.’

‘You were right, though. I was over the top, barging in.’ He rubbed the back of his neck and spoke to his feet. ‘See, I did the best I could, but Lizzie was damaged by it. When I found her that day I felt responsible. I knew she wasn’t well, and I’d left her alone. She nearly died. I decided I’d have to do a damned sight better for us or lie down and die alongside her. The only thing I was good at was making amateur films so, once she got a little better, I threw all my energy into that, earning cash to pay for her rent and college fees. Only it takes me away more than I want. Not that it matters so much now she has Callum.’

‘Yes, but she’ll always need her brother.’ She squeezed his arm.

‘Yeah.’ But he didn’t look convinced. He wanted his sister to be happy, but he wanted to be part of her life too, that was clear. And Lizzie had needed him so much over the years, but now she had another man to love.

‘Seriously, Jack, you may be a giant pain in the backside, but she’ll always love you.’ That raised a smile and she put her arm round his shoulder. In one sweep he had her in his arms, holding her. Just holding.

Cassie didn’t think it was possible to feel more for the man than she already did. That he’d come through such a childhood and been so successful and wholly sane astounded her. Impressed her. She felt nothing but admiration for what he’d achieved. And a whole lot else. Her heart swelled at how much he’d grown and moved on, how hard he’d fought. How this kind and gentle man who had enough demons of his own had managed to protect his sister.