Your Room or Mine? (9 page)

‘All done,' she said, leading the way back up the garden. Where the piles of rubble and rubbish had been there was now a softly shaped lawn, bordered with flowers and shrubs designed to give greenery all year round. The trees had been cut back, but not enough to remove the privacy that was so important to him. Next to the house was a circular flagstone terrace with a wrought-iron table.

‘I hope you're pleased with the end result,' she said, to fill the silence.

‘I love it,' he said. ‘I can hardly believe it's the same space as it was a few weeks ago. You're good. Definitely worthy of recommendation.'

Even in her sadness that this was coming to an end, she felt a flush of pride the way she always did when someone praised her work. Reputation was everything.

‘Thanks.'

‘I'll have the payment wired to you first thing tomorrow.'

‘I just need to round up my tools and stack them in the van and then I'll be out of your hair.'
For good
, she nearly added, but didn't.

He shook his head, dismissive.

‘Do that after dinner.'

‘Are you sure that's a good idea?'

She'd tried hard to mentally distance herself since he'd come home early two days ago. Friends with benefits was harder to walk away from than benefits, but she meant to do it.

‘One last night,' he said, looking at her steadily, his hazel eyes holding her gaze.

She nodded.

‘Let's go out,' he said.

She stared at him, hardly believing her ears.

‘Out?'

‘For a drink.'

He stepped briefly into the kitchen to grab his keys, then locked the door and led the way to his car. She followed him in her jeans and converse. He'd never taken her anywhere. Since the hotel they'd only ever been together at this house. What did this mean? Did he want to take things to the next level? The thought made her stomach flutter with excitement that she couldn't acknowledge. She glanced down at herself as she climbed into the pristine Maserati. At least she wasn't in her steel toe-caps. She shook away the self-consciousness.

It was just a drink. It meant nothing.

****

‘Order whatever you like,' he said, taking her right back to that first night in the hotel restaurant.

‘What's this about, Oliver,' she said. ‘You didn't need to do this, you know. I don't need a steak dinner to say thank you, it was a business transaction.'

‘It's our last night,' he said, putting into words what they both knew.

‘And you wanted to signify that in some way?' She took a sip of her drink. Had she really thought this might mean something? Why did she even want it to? She forked up some fries and swallowed them quickly to stop the stupid churning in her stomach. This was playing out exactly as it was meant to. As they'd
both
meant it to from the start.

‘I thought it might be nice.' His face was inscrutable, his tone stilted.

Nice? The easy banter they'd developed was missing, presumed dead. And didn't that make sense? Easy banter and drinks in pubs didn't sit well between them because those things belonged to people in proper full relationships. Weeks on and they were basically still living that one-night-stand. Their relationship began with sex, and that was how it was going to end. Apparently there was no room for anything more than that between them.

She realised with a flash of clarity what this whole encounter had really been about for her.

‘Maybe it's a good thing that this is ending,' she ventured. ‘I've got my head straight now. All this time I've been thinking this thing between us has been about Joe. Maybe I felt like I was owed some fun, maybe I wanted to be the one playing the game for a change. But these last few weeks I've been thinking more and more about my parents too and that's unusual for me because we're not close.' She shrugged. ‘Maybe this whole fling has had more to do with them than with Joe.'

He watched her as she toyed with her wine glass. Fidgeting. Uncomfortable. Oliver Forbes didn't do shoulders to cry on or sympathetic ears. He should be making a swift exit right now before he got sucked into anyone else's problems. What the hell had he been thinking, taking her out for a drink, moving the goalposts? He couldn't do full-on relationships, already the ease of their company was unravelling. If he let this go further, let them get closer beyond that physical connection, how long would it be before he walked away and hurt her?

‘How do you mean?'

‘Joe wasn't right for me,' she said. I think I even knew that before his cheating smacked me between the eyes. I wanted that relationship to work, Oliver, I wanted to be part of a couple where both of us gave everything to the partnership, where we were a team. My father had a string of affairs and my mum turned a blind eye. One of them even turned up at the house once, when I was about ten. She had blonde curly hair and she wore a lot of make-up. And do you know what my mother did?'

He shook his head, thinking how confusing that must have been for a kid.

‘She invited her in and made tea.' She uttered a strangled little laugh that tugged at his heart and before he could think about it he reached out and squeezed her hand.

‘When I found out about Joe I threw him out of my flat. I grabbed as much of his stuff as I could and lobbed it into the street after him. The last thing I gave a damn about was what people might think. But she didn't want the neighbours to gossip.'

‘Perhaps she was staying put for you,' he said. ‘Trying to give you a stable home life.'

She shook her head dismissively.

‘She's still with him, years after I left home. It's never mentioned. She was, and still is, a doormat, Oliver. I swore I would never be that, but look at how I ended up. Joe did exactly the same to me, it had been going on for months.
Months
. I'd been holding it together at home, saving, planning our future. You'd think I of all people would be able to see through him, see what he was doing, but I didn't have a clue.'

She sighed.

‘I've never understood my mother's behaviour, why she would put up with that. Maybe this whole thing has been about trying to work that out. Maybe there was a bit of me wanting to be the other woman for once, wanting to be on that fun side of the fence just to see if it was any better. That's what this fling has been about. You have no idea how out of character this has been for me.'

She ran a hand distractedly through her hair.

‘You have nothing to prove, Izzy,' he said.

She looked down at her hand, still enclosed in his.

‘You're not to blame for Joe's behaviour.' He paused, then added, ‘Or your father's. It's not because of anything lacking in you.'

She pulled her hand away immediately, her cheeks burning because he'd somehow managed to see inside her mind.

‘Let's go home,' he said.

****

Up in his bedroom the knowledge that this was the last time hung over them like a cloud. As he took his jacket off she could stand it no longer.

‘Maybe I should just go, Oliver. Maybe we just call it quits while we're ahead. The garden's done.' She gave him a small smile. ‘We're done too.'

He shook his head, walked towards her.

‘It doesn't have to be like that.'

‘I think maybe it does. Maybe this whole thing has been a mistake. This has been me putting myself out there trying to prove I'm good enough, sexy enough to be the other woman, to be some cheap fling. Maybe I should have stayed home, like the good little wife. Like my mother. After all, Joe always came back to me in the end.'

She made a move for the door. In two quick strides he'd grabbed her from behind and enveloped her in his arms. He ignored her angry struggles and spoke into her hair.

‘That's exactly where you're wrong, Izzy. You're too good to put down, too good to leave.'

He turned her gently in his arms and lifted a hand to her cheek, stroked a tendril of hair back and watched as she covered his hand with her own and turned her face into his fingers, eyes closed, as if to soak up his every touch. His heart turned over softly. He wanted to stroke every ounce of self-doubt out of her.

In a rush of sudden comprehension Oliver saw that this was no longer about having the best time with the least investment. Yes, it had started out as exactly that, but somewhere along the way when he'd turned his back it had become much more. It was no longer about jumping through hoops to get to the physical, the job, the dinners a means to an end. He'd begun to enjoy the damn hoops just as much as the culmination of their evenings together.

Sex with her was different. The anonymity was long gone. It had become about pleasing her, sharing an experience, taking her to a level she'd never been to, wanting to better that and keep on bettering it. Benefits was long gone. Friends with benefits didn't really cover it. Somehow he'd taken his eye off the ball and found himself wanting even more. And although it scared the living daylights out of him he was powerless to stop it.

With infinite slowness he slid a hand around her waist, pulling her against him as he found her mouth with his. The stroke of her hands through his hair and over his skin thrilled him. Different this time. The usual passion still simmering there, but this time with a new depth that tugged deep in his chest. He kissed his way softly along her jawline, then back to the softness of her mouth, exploring with his tongue, wanting to taste and feel and experience every part of her. Her hands were beneath his shirt, the touch of her fingers on his skin touching his soul. There was physical pleasure and then there was this. A whole new plane, the desire to make her happy, to make her smile and laugh as well as sigh with pleasure. The thought crashed into his mind, sending him into a dizzying mental tailspin.

This was not just sex.

For the first time ever it was not just about the physical thrill of it for him. This was making love. He drew exquisite pleasure not just from the physical sensations but from pleasing her and being with her. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, laid her gently down and eased her clothes off, kissing each new patch of skin as he exposed it until she was squirming with desire. Knitting her fingers with his own beside her head, he held her grey-green gaze as he thrust smoothly inside her, watched the close of her eyes and the pleasure on her face with every slow deliberate stroke he made.

Her legs curled around him, binding him to her like silky ropes, her free hand sliding down from the base of his spine to push him deeper and deeper into her. Her hunger for him thrilled him on a level he had never known. With each stroke he pulled back almost entirely before thrusting back inside her, never wanting it to stop, hearing in the soft hiss of her breath that he was pushing her towards those delicious heights. He could see in the depths of her eyes pure pleasure with a twist of sadness, and knew it was because this would be the last time. How far they'd come from that no-strings night in the hotel.

He was in total control of this. He could perpetuate it if that was what he wanted. He simply had to find a way that minimised risk.

Afterwards, he left the room for a moment and returned, glass of water in hand to find her curled up in his bed, honey coloured hair spilling over the pillow, long eyelashes lying against her cheek, sound asleep. He wanted her as much as ever.

This didn't need to be the end. He would tell her in the morning.

Izzy grabbed the broom from where it leaned against the side of the house and gave the circular terrace a final once-over. Not that it needed it.

She had hidden her shock at waking up in his bed by taking a superfast shower and going downstairs to the garden without giving him a moment to speak. Fifteen minutes to finish up and she would be gone from here. Gone from him.

Only now it was over did she feel the wrench. She knew she was in too deep. Her heart twisted in her chest at the thought of not seeing him again. Had she felt this level of sadness when it had ended with Joe? That somehow seemed so distant to her now. And of course the downside of falling for the other half of your no-strings fling was that you couldn't state your feelings because that would mean flouting the very rules on which you were together. She'd misread his behaviour last night, she wasn't about to do it again.

She'd gone into this with her eyes open, had set the terms out herself at the outset, and reinforced them along the way. Could she really blame him for sticking to that when their arrangement – because that's what it really was – was over?

She turned as he stepped through the French windows onto the terrace, no longer overgrown and rubbish-filled now, but an intimate leafy space. To sit here at the wrought-iron table and chairs was to feel completely private, out of reach of the rest of the world. Her cheeks reddened a little as she recalled how the cool air had felt against her bare skin out here and realised privacy was probably the whole point of his design request. No doubt he would be wining and dining his conquests out here in future. He was dressed for work. Ready to go.

She replaced the broom. It was none of her business.

‘I'm done,' she said, forcing a smile and brushing her hands against her jeans. ‘I'll just collect up my last few tools and bits and I'll be out of your hair.'

He leaned against the wall, watching her, the hazel eyes crinkling lightly at the corners, his smile curling the left side of his mouth in that gorgeous way that she'd stupidly come to think of as hers. Serve her right, she'd known the risks.

‘Izzy, I don't want to quit seeing you,' he said.

Her heart leapt.

‘Really?' she whispered, smiling up at him as he took a step closer and slipped an arm around her waist.

Excitement bubbled up inside her. He felt the same!

Then he felled her heart with one swift add-on sentence.

‘I've found you another job.'

****

The joy of moments earlier slipped away, replaced by the breath-shortening crush of disappointment in her chest and a rising burn in her cheeks. Deserved embarrassment at her own stupid pride.

Last night's reassurances meant nothing after all, because still all he wanted from her was the fun part, the no strings part. If nothing had been lacking in her he would want more, wouldn't he? The fact he didn't made what had seemed so delicious and exciting at the beginning seem suddenly cheap and nasty.

Not noticing, he carried on outlining his plans.

‘You know the big white house at the end of the road, the one with all the overbearing greenery out front?'

‘Yes.' Her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

‘I've got you a new contract lined up. I know the owner through work and he mentioned they wanted to overhaul their garden, so I recommended you. His wife came and checked out my garden at the weekend and they can't wait to meet you and get started on roughing out some designs. They were just blown away with what you did here.'

She couldn't speak. Her mouth felt like it was filled with sand.

His smile faltered a little at her silence.

‘Are you not listening? I've got you a new contract two seconds down the road. We can have dinner together, hang out, you can stay over when you want to. What do you think?'

Had she actually believed for a moment there that he might feel the same way as her? She'd assumed that staying overnight had made the difference, that he'd seen it as some kind of tentative commitment between them. It had meant nothing, just an extension of the agreement they'd had before.The feeling of sudden isolation dragged her spiralling downwards, she'd presumed to know his mind. She of all people who knew in spades that you could never really know anyone. To think you did was to set yourself up for a kick in the teeth.

Her father. Joe. And now Oliver. Did she have some kind of blind spot?

The goalposts hadn't moved an inch for him after all. The tenderness, the closeness she thought she felt were illusions, a mistake. He thought she still wanted nothing more than no-strings sex. And she'd read more into it because he'd cooked her a few meals, encouraged her to stay the night, talked her up over Joe and her parents.

He'd basically found a way of prolonging their affair that required no further commitment whatsoever. Nice and safe and arms-length. What would happen when this contract was up and she'd built the white house couple a lovely new garden? Would she be presented with yet another neighbour with a yard full of weeds so that Oliver could keep his precious independence and yet still have the part of her he wanted – the physical part? Emotions need not apply.

She shook her head and withdrew her arms from his neck. Stepped back into her personal space.

‘I can't do it,' she said.

She moved to start packing the last of the garden items away, concentrated on stacking some seed trays. She felt his eyes on her and glanced up. The crushed look in his eyes tugged at her heart but she knew it for what it was – disappointment that his supply of no-strings sex was being turned off. Nothing more. She supposed he was bemused as to why she hadn't just bitten his arm off and could she really blame him for that? This was what she'd said she wanted all along, after all. A no-strings fling. All he'd done was find a way to prolong it, with another nice gardening contract thrown in.

It was no longer enough.

‘Why not?'

She carried on packing up her stuff, knowing what this meant and fighting the cold tendrils of disappointment that snaked their way through her. This was the end.

He touched her arm softly.

‘I don't understand. I thought you'd be made up. What's wrong?' He took the pile of seed trays out of her hands and tugged her across to the wall, sat down and pulled her down next to him.

‘We're going nowhere, Oliver,' she said. ‘It's run its course.'

He tensed.

‘It doesn't have to be like that.'

‘Yes it does. It's time to go our separate ways. It was great while it lasted but it's become a distraction and let's be honest, it's never going to step up to the next stage, is it?'

An answer wasn't required. She finished putting her things together and carried them through the side gate to stash them in her van. She glanced up as she closed the van door at the beautiful leafy frontage of the house. Finished now. Perfect. A garden to match the high spec of the house. And there was the problem right there.

In his eyes she would never be good enough to live somewhere so gorgeous. She was good enough to park her van outside, good enough to stop over, share his bed and be peripheral to his real life, but she would never be any more than that.

He trailed in her wake. A few of her belongings were inside his house, some clothes, a spare pair of shoes. She mentally threw them away. Position made clear, dignity wouldn't allow her to go back now. She opened the driver's door.

‘Where are you going?' he said, an undertone of disbelief tinging his voice.

‘I'm seeing my friends tonight and then I need to put some time into planning my next job,' she said, not looking at him. She climbed into the van.

‘What about the white house job?'

‘I'm perfectly capable of sourcing my own business,' she said. ‘I've got a number of people waiting on start dates.'

Truth be told, she'd been less than her usual obsessive self about lining up work this last month. Letting standards slip, eye off the ball. Maybe this was for the best, a wake-up call she needed to quit a diversion that could never go anywhere.

He put himself between the open door and the van to stop her slamming it.

‘I never said you weren't capable,' he said. ‘I thought you'd be pleased.'

‘Thing is, Oliver, I've been neglecting the business a bit these past few weeks. Best now if we call it a day.' She took a fortifying breath. ‘It was just a bit of fun after all.'

She turned the key in the ignition and started the engine.

‘You're saying you don't want to see me again?'

For a lawyer he was slow on the uptake.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘That's exactly what I'm saying. It was fun while it lasted.'

‘I thought we had something pretty good.'

She stared out through the windscreen, her throat burning with the effort of swallowing tears. She shook her head and allowed herself one last glance up at him.

‘Actually it was something pretty shallow,' she said, putting the van in gear. ‘And now it's something that's over with.'

She drove away without looking back.