Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 02

He woke up angry. It had roiled around in his stomach all night as he fought for sleep. It took him much of his morning run to sort out why. After all, it’s not as if she’d done anything wrong. Was he just mad at himself? But he couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter what he did, and with whom, women had a way of making him feel like shit. Love them and leave them, and you feel used. Like some sort of discarded plaything. Take them seriously, and they point their accusing, heartbroken eyes at you as if you’re some sort of monster. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

By the time he hit the shower, his way forward had crystallised in his mind. It was time, high time, that he took what he wanted. If Stephanie wanted to get herself involved with something over her head, he could only say she’d had fair warning. He hadn’t forced her into anything the previous night, had he? She could have backed out at any point. Whatever regret she felt afterwards wasn’t going to be his problem.

She turned him on, that was for certain. Did he want to take it further? Take her to bed and screw her four ways to Sunday, most definitely. But he was all done with laying his heart out there and letting it be stomped on.

He paused as he knotted his tie and considered his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t quite know what women saw in men in terms of attractiveness, but he was accustomed to being regarded at such. And he was fit. She would get a fair deal out of it, and he wasn’t a half-bad lover. But that would be it.

So if it was going to be sex, then sex it would be. That, he could prepare for.

* * * * *

“You should get a scanned copy of the results through to your email within a few days, sir.”

“Thanks,” Jarod said, nodding to the receptionist as he took the receipt and business card she handed him.

“And you’re sure about leaving the other appointment unspecific on dates?”

“Yes, that’s right. If she calls in, she can book a time the suits her.”

“Okay, not a problem,” she said, tapping away at her keyboard before giving him a quick, professional, we’re-done-here smile.

Jarod stepped down to the pavement in front of the discreet Harley Street clinic, glad to have that stage of his preparations complete. Even if he was just going to approach the situation with Stephanie as an itch he needed to work through his system, he wasn’t about to be irresponsible. He’d been rash when he was younger, and while he didn’t think he’d picked up anything nasty along the way he had to be completely sure.

* * * * *

“I thought you said you were nearly there with a fix?”

Jarod took a deep, slow breath, levelling his gaze at his managing director, who was searching his desk for something to clean his glasses with.

“I am…we are. But the only team who’ve done this sort of work before are based in the US.”

“So? Can’t you tell them what you need and they send it all over?”

Jarod ran his fingers through his hair, knowing this was a long-shot, hoping against hopes that Richard would allow him to stretch the budget just a little further.

“It’s not that simple. I need to be there, on-site to oversee the work.”

“You seriously want to spend the next week in Detroit?” Richard finished polishing his glasses with the edge of his jumper, placed them carefully on his nose before staring at Jarod over the top of them.

No, actually, he didn’t. Michigan wasn’t exactly his idea of a fun holiday destination, but it was where the expertise was. “It’ll get the job done, Richard, I promise you.”

* * * * *

Jarod stared out at the silvery wisps of clouds that glowed in the moonlight. Somewhere much further below, the same moonlight scattered into a million flickering reflections on the surface of the Atlantic. Even in business class, there was nothing about flying that could induce him to sleep on an airplane.

The last few days had gone well. It hadn’t been a week in the end; three days and they’d had the necessary code and transports in place and the bug fixing would continue on, but that could be done from his office back home.

He’d not had much time to himself between the long hours in the office with the technology team and keeping up with his own team in the early mornings. He welcomed the distraction from other thoughts.

He’d gotten the sexual health test results through to his personal email that morning. Not entirely surprised, but certainly relieved that he hadn’t picked up anything nasty from his previous encounters. If you could call them that. He didn’t even want to count how long it had been. But it was the only explanation he was allowing himself for having broken his own rules and gotten involved with her.

They would have sex, he would get it out of his system and he’d move on. Get back to his work. Deliver a few projects on time for once.

He switched the overhead light off, and settled back into the seat as it reclined, pressing the play button on his MP3 player. If he couldn’t sleep on the long flight back, he’d at least rest.

As he closed his eyes, the warble that flowed through the ear buds was not the playlist he’d envisioned.

“…don’t you know you fool…you never can win, use your mentality, wake up to reality…”

He bolted upright, cursing whatever gremlin had infiltrated his music with Frank-fucking-Sinatra.

Frank got in one more crooning, “I’ve got you…under my skin…” before Jarod’s fumbling forced the player onto the next track.

Under my skin, huh? Not for long, he mused, relaxing once more.

* * * * *

He slept most of the next day, getting up only long enough to check his email and make sure his team were up to speed on the test scripts. The sleep was dreamless and deep, but he kept waking up with a heavy sick feeling in his head. Jet lag was like the worst kind of hangover.

It was dark by the time he felt alive enough to venture out of the flat. Despite his fatigue there was a task he needed to accomplish. It had already been a week and he hadn’t contacted her. She hadn’t contacted him either, but that was besides the point. If she wasn’t interested she could just ignore his offer.

Rush hour had petered out long ago, and the drive to the office didn’t take him long. He headed up past the security guard, exchanged their usual nods, and made his way to his office to drop off his laptop.

He sat for some time, staring at the envelope. Inside it was a printed copy of his sexual health report along with a card from the clinic. On the back of the card he’d just scrawled,

‘You have an appointment here, just call them and tell them when. Up to you. It’s all paid for.’

Some part of him winced at how impersonal it sounded. Felt. Was. Had he really become that callous? So now he was destined to arrange sexual trysts by text and screen his candidates beforehand? But how else could it be? What other option did he have?

He rose wearily from his chair, sealing the envelope before carefully writing her name on the front. Stephanie. Unbidden, a vision of her, moaning against his hand, writhing in orgasm underneath him. Stifling a groan at the sudden tightening in his groin, he made his way to her deserted desk with a fresh sense of purpose. It was time to exorcise this particular demon. No matter if she looked like a goddamn angel.

* * * * *

He lay in bed, heavy with exhaustion but unable to sleep. Part of his mind still sat alongside that damned envelope, tucked into her ridiculously tidy desk drawer. And with it, he waited…and couldn’t wait. The week that had seemed to pass so quickly, full of meetings, cab rides and baggage carousels. Now it felt as if an eternity had elapsed since he’d last filled his lungs with the soft scent of flowers, and her.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand the wait for her to find damned the envelope in her desk. Fuck it. Switching on his bedside lamp, he grabbed his mobile, tapping his finger against it in impatience as it started up.

Try to say something sensible, he warned himself, acutely aware that his new-found resolve, his ability to keep his distance, was under serious threat.

‘There’s something for you-’ he began. But his fingers were ahead of him and he’d already hit ‘send’ by accident. Shit. He began a new message and finished what he’d meant to say, ‘…Inside your desk at work.’

Fantastic. You couldn’t even send a text without fucking it up? He slumped down into his pillow, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration as his restlessness remained undiminished. Was she asleep already? Had she given up after not hearing from him for an entire week? She may not even know he’d been away. He wanted…no, needed some response. He needed to know…

‘Are you okay?’

He stared at the text cursor, blinking at him silently. Unable to tell him if he was making a fatal mistake. A step too close to actually giving a shit? His thumb found the ‘send’ button anyway.

He rolled out of bed, pacing the room, staring back at the phone. It sat, still and silent on the bedside table. Was she even there?

He thought hard about their last moments together in the car. Had he got this all wrong? What if she wasn’t even interested anymore? What if it wasn’t just regret she’d been feeling, or embarrassment, but genuine dislike?

He was reaching for the off switch of his bedside lamp when his phone chirped softly. He stared at it, unmoving, his stomach doing a slow flip. Maybe it was the team in the US. But no, it was even too late for them to still be at the office. So it had to be her. He flicked open the text.

‘Fine. You?’

The first rush of excitement dulled to a low throb at the curtness of the words. It was far from a joyous welcome. But what did he expect? It’s not as if he’d called. He pondered his reply. Maybe if she knew he’d been away she wouldn’t be quite so prickly.

‘Tired. Lagged as hell,’ he replied. What was this? Small-talk? It didn’t escape his notice that this was probably the longest so-called ‘normal’ conversation they’d ever had. His mind drifted back to the blunt, clinical proposal he’d left for her in that envelope. No, nothing here was quite normal.

The phone sounded again, catching him off-guard.

‘Where were you?’

A tendril of triumph began to twist its way up through the uncertainty. Ah, so she did care. Maybe he hadn’t made an irrevocable mess of it after all. Though there was certainly still time for that. He aimed for something, anything, to spark off her wonderful defiance.

‘Why, did you miss me?’

He could sense her hesitation, and took the plunge.

Is it still there?’

The wait this time was longer. Much longer. He paced. He did a few push-ups before remembering that he was utterly, and completely shattered. He was sprawled on the bed, on the verge of giving up hope when he heard the low, metallic chirp.

There was no text. Just a photo. It opened with excruciating slowness on his screen. There was the curve of her thigh, almost entirely in shadow, but the dark crescent of a fading bruise was clearly visible. Shit. It was the darkest one yet. How hard had he bitten her? Flashes of those moments in the car flitted through his mind. He sound of her soft moans and the sweet taste of her skin. But the photo opened still further and he was staring at lace. Not the shining, white virginal cottony kind. Black, damned-sexy, fuck-me lace.

Why had he invented this particular brand of torture for himself? Why on earth did he keep asking for something that left his body screaming with need, with no hope of real release? The longer he stared, transfixed, at her smooth, creamy skin against the dark, gossamer whorls of sheer fabric, the more intense grew the waves of heat that steadily washed up and over his body.

There was no escaping it. He wanted more. Wanted to see all of her. Wanted to taste all of her, everything. The longer he looked, the more he became entangled in the hypnotic thought of her lying in bed, bare against the sheets dressed in only those dainty lace underthings, purely for him to drag them off of her and sink into the soft, welcoming warmth of her body…and lose himself. Lose himself completely.

It was the only response he could think of to send. What else could he say? What else could convey the mess of frustration and lust, the worshipful appreciation of the most erotic thing he’d ever set eyes on?

He typed his reply and hit send.

‘Fuck.’

That was all.

Then he rolled out of bed to take the first cold shower of his life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To be continued… (of course!)

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