Never Too Late (28 page)

Sitting beside Ewan, Cara had no idea what she ate. She

could barely taste it anyway, although everyone else was in

rhapsodies over the food.

‘God, this seafood risotto is beautiful,’ groaned Michael,

shovelling huge forkfuls into his mouth.

‘I know,’ muttered Arlene, spearing a mussel, ‘it’s better

than sex.’

Michael looked outraged. ‘Whaddya mean, better than sex?’ he demanded, his mouth full.

Everyone howled.

‘Not sex with you, darling,’ she amended.

‘Sex with who, then?’ he said, even more outraged.

Everyone howled even louder.

Ewan leaned closer to Cara and whispered in her ear, his

breath tickling the soft skin of her neck, ‘Mine isn’t better

than sex.’

His fingers curled around her jeaned knee, caressing her

as if he could feel skin instead of denim. She moaned softly

at his touch.

‘And you’re not even eating the risotto,’ Ewan remarked sotto voce.

Cara erupted into giggles and Arlene, who’d refused to

discuss her risotto/sex comment any more, swivelled

around in her chair. ‘What’s the joke?’ she said brightly,

wanting to distract Michael’s attention from the knotty

question of past lovers.

Cara shook her head helplessly.

‘Private joke,’ grinned Ewan broadly.

After a riotous dinner, the other four elected to go for a

drink in The Foggy Dew.

‘I think we’ll call it a night,’ Ewan said.

‘Yeah,’ added Cara, ‘I’ve got an early start in the morning.’

‘Slavedriver

bosses are a pain,’ said Dave, an arm around

Babs as they all walked slowly up the street.

Ewan and Cara nodded earnestly, trying to look as if

their desire to get home early was really to do with

Bernard Redmond and not their longing to be on their

own.

‘We’re going clubbing next weekend,’ Babs said to Cara.

‘You’ll come, won’t you?’

‘I won’t be around next weekend,’ she said regretfully.

‘My father’s getting married next Saturday.’

‘She’ll come out with us the following week,’ Ewan

promised, sliding a warm hand into hers.

Everyone was sad to see her go but adamant she should

go out with them again soon. They were so friendly that

Cara felt warmed by their goodbye hugs and waves. Used

to being always a little on the fringe of groups, it felt nice

to be in the middle of one, welcomed and liked.

She and Ewan walked up to Dame Street and, miraculously,

managed to hail a taxi without too much difficulty.

‘Would you like to come back to my place?’ he asked as

he opened the taxi door for her.

She nodded.

They sat in the back of the cab, Ewan’s hand in hers, and

talked about the day. It had been so very long since Cara

had been on a date that she knew she should have felt

nervous at the thought of one. But today, even though it

had been transformed from a casual day out into the

pleasurable state of a proper date, hadn’t made her in the

slightest bit anxious. Now that they were on their own, she

still felt relaxed. Sitting close to Ewan felt utterly and

completely natural.

The taxi stopped at a crossroads and the glare of a street

light shone in, illuminating Cara’s profile and dusting her

lustrous dark hair with silvery streaks. Ewan silently

reached over and stroked the high bones of her left cheek,

his fingers softly caressing.

‘You’re very beautiful, do you know that?’ he said

quietly.

It would have sounded corny had anyone else said it, if

anyone would have dared. And if someone had, her first

instinct would have been to punch their lights out.

But when Ewan said she was beautiful, Cara knew it was

because he meant it. It wasn’t a throwaway line designed to make her fall at his feet. She was beautiful to him; what was more, she felt beautiful with him, not a giantess with

clumsy feet and unusual foreign looks.

‘I didn’t feel beautiful, not ever before,’ she said, softly

so the taxi driver wouldn’t hear.

‘But you do now?’ prompted Ewan, his hand still gently

touching her face.

She turned to smile at him, letting her face say it for her.

He lived in the basement flat of an old Georgian house

in Dun Laoghaire. A young couple with kids lived in the

upstairs but they’d cleverly had the floor between the two

floors soundproofed, he explained as they walked up a tiny

garden path to his front door, which meant that the tenant

downstairs could make as much noise as they liked.

‘It means I can play my old Abba records at full blast,’

he joked.

Letting them into a tiny hall, Ewan touched a switch

and the large airy room beyond was filled with light. Huge

black and white movie posters dominated cream walls

with a Mondrian-inspired rug sprawled out on wooden

floorboards. But Ewan didn’t give Cara a chance to check

out his interior decorating skills. She, in turn, didn’t want

to.

At exactly the same moment, they turned and moved

forward, seamlessly melting into each other. His mouth

found hers and this time it was no brotherly kiss like the

one in the soccer club car park. This kiss was strong and

sensual, their mouths clinging together, probing, tongues

twining deeply as they explored.

Cara dropped her rucksack to the ground and pushed off

Ewan’s coat. He struggled out of it, their lips still locked,

before wrenching her out of her overcoat.

Silently, urgently, they clung together, hands touching

each other as if they were in a battlefield, afraid a bomb

was going to wipe them out instantly. As if every second

was precious and none could be wasted with their bodies

and mouths separate.

Ewan’s lips pressed exquisitely into Cara’s skin, moving

over her face and neck: kissing, licking, consuming her. Her

fingers shoved his jumper over his ribs and they stopped

kissing for a moment while he ripped it and his shirt off,

button-; pinging off as he dragged the unopened cuffs over

his hands. Then they were touching again, his face in her

hands as she tried to kiss his face all over, like a blind

person’s fingers reading Braille.

He moved his head rapidly to suck her fingers, imprisoning

them in his mobile mouth and sucking them as if he

wanted to eat her whole.

Then her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer to

her as he burned a trail down her face and neck with

molten kisses.

They half fell on to a couch Cara hadn’t even noticed,

bodies locked together in a frenzied embrace. She moved

so that she was half lying on top of Ewan, her upper body

crushed against his. Her eager mouth traced down the

smooth skin of his chest to his nipples and he groaned as

she nibbled gently.

Unable to wait a moment longer, Ewan sat up so he was

propped against the couch back and started to pull her

jumper up her body. Straddling him, Cara sat up and

ripped Phoebe’s chenille jumper up and dragged off her

cosy grey T-shirt to reveal her completely plain white

cotton bra. Through the soft fabric, her nipples stood out

in rosy peaks and she could see his eyes darken as he gazed

at her longingly.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said for the second time that day.

Breathing heavily, their lips met passionately and briefly

before he pushed her back to the other side of the couch, fingers and mouth exploring her body greedily.

Like dancers in a practised ballet, they seemed to sense

exactly what the other wanted, moving in unison. At the

same time, they wordlessly moved and stripped off the rest

of their clothes, eyes locked on each other as they tore off

jeans, socks and underpants. His body was lean and well

muscled, strong shoulders tapering down to narrow hips

and long legs.

Naked, Cara stood for a moment, knowing that the

harsh overhead lights were on her and not caring. For once

she didn’t feel too tall or unfeminine. She didn’t worry

that she hadn’t rubbed scented lotion into every part of

her body in case she smelt like a woman who’d had her

shower over twelve hours previously. And she didn’t care

that it was at least a million years since she’d shaved her

legs.

Ewan thought she was beautiful and when she was with

him, she felt beautiful.

His hot eyes roamed over her nakedness, then he

wrapped himself around her and she felt that taut, strong

body hard against her. She almost shivered at the sensation

of his skin against hers, revelling in the sensual experience

of making love to this amazing man. She felt wanton,

earthy, she wanted him to explore every part of her body,

she wanted to lose herself in Ewan and let him lose himself

in her. She didn’t want it to stop. Ever.

With infinite tenderness, Ewan kissed Cara and led her

back to the softness of the couch.

Are you sure?’ he asked as she lay down.

Absolutely,’ she replied. She’d never been so sure of

anything in all her life.

He ripped the foil off a condom, not watching what he

was doing but looking hungrily at her. Then he was inside

her, hard and thrusting, and Cara felt herself open up at

that exquisite moment, the feeling of utter closeness,

physical and mental. It was glorious: the sensation of his

mouth in her hair, breathing her name as they moved

together expertly.

Her breath came in short gasps as they came together,

their bodies fused in an electric moment, skin on skin,

sensual and exhilarating all at the same time.

When she screamed his name as orgasm rippled through

her, she felt as if she’d been set free from a prison, like a

bird let out of a tiny cage. Her body quivered, high on the

vibrating ecstasy of the moment, high on feeling his

fevered passion for her before she felt the sweet peace of

satiation flood through her.

‘Cara,’ Ewan moaned raggedly.

She held him to her, clinging to him as if letting go

would be a disaster, until he shuddered to a halt, spent and

exhausted.

‘Just as well you’ve got an insulated ceiling,’ Cara

quipped, feeling lost in the silence after her fevered cries a

few moments previously.

Ewan laughed and, arms still wrapped around him, Cara

felt his flat stomach vibrate at the effort.

‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘because that was so good, the

neighbours would probably want a cigarette afterwards.’

He turned sideways carefully, not wanting to fall off the

couch which seemed far too small for two tall people to lie

on it all of a sudden. Propping his head on one arm, he

gazed at Cara.

‘I gave up smoking four months ago and not having a

cigarette now is probably the hardest moment in that

entire four months.’

‘You mean, you don’t bring strange women home every

Sunday to do this?’ she asked, tongue in cheek.

‘No,’ he replied, his mouth finding hers again.

She closed her eyes and lost herself in his kiss, loving the

sensation of lying tightly beside him, wrapped around each

other, limbs tangled up.

Ewan seemed in no rush to move. He ran his fingers

lightly over her shoulders, tracing the contours of her body,

stroking every hollow and curve. Feeling like a cat lying in

the sun, Cara simply lay back and enjoyed the feeling

He had the most incredible eyes, she thought idly. The

outer rim of his iris was a deeper green than the rest of his

eyes, as if a watercolour painter had carefully ringed the

hypnotic cloudy green with a deeper, richer colour, almost

the colour of verdigris on old copper. When he looked at

her with that sleepy, sexual gaze, she felt as if he had the

power to melt her insides.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

It was Cara’s turn to laugh. ‘I’m the one who’s supposed

to ask that. You’re supposed to fall asleep and snore while I

lie here and wonder where it’s all going and should we get

married in your parish or mine!’

Ewan didn’t stop his gentle stroking, fingers caressing

the curve of her waist and gliding down to touch the

length of her thigh. ‘I’m afraid that if I fall asleep, I’ll lose you. That you’ll have time to think, get scared, be afraid

you’ve got too close and run out of here without saying

goodbye. I don’t want that to happen,’ he added.

Cara said nothing. She just wondered how he could be

so intuitive. Did he know that she’d had practically no

relationships over the past six years? Had someone in the

office been sneaking? But nobody knew that much about

her private life, apart from Zoe.

‘You’re not going to run out on me?’ he asked. ‘I have

this gut feeling that’s your instinct.’

Cara’s eyes met his.

‘No,’ she said. ‘What makes you ask that?’

He shrugged. ‘I can see it in your eyes. You’re like a

hedgehog, all prickly on the outside but soft and scared

inside. When somebody gets to see the inside, you want to

get away from them as quickly as possible.’

‘I’m not going to run away,’ she repeated. ‘I promise.’