Bad Blood Page 13

  Even before she opened the message, she was already reminding herself to keep her expectations firmly on the floor where they belonged, but it was impossible to not feel a little hopeful.

  “Hey, hope you’re well,” she read feeling her heart quicken at the length of the message. That was promising. “Random, but I’m in Cardiff tomorrow for a concert. If you’re free, it would be nice to catch up before hand? I’ll be there from three and have no plans until I meet my cousin at seven. Happy-face emoji.”

  Rose’s fingers were already tapping a response when she stopped abruptly.

  Don’t be so keen, she warned herself, but she was already grinning at her phone. She forced herself to put the phone down and to distract herself, she put a pot of pasta on to boil. She wasn’t really hungry, but she thought that the time it took to cook would be an appropriate gap between his invitation and her response. She composed a message that was just the right combination of enthusiastic and breezy, and spent the rest of the evening hastily applying a box dye and trimming her split ends with the kitchen scissors.

  It’s not a date, she had to remind herself for the twentieth time as she reapplied her lipstick on the bus into town. Gareth is just an old school friend who happened to be at a loose end. Just because he’s newly single does not mean he’s interested in you.

  Nevertheless, Rose couldn’t remember a time when she’d spent longer on her appearance. She had dug out her ancient diffuser to tame her usually frizzy mess into a bouncy chestnut mane framing her carefully made-up face. She’d spent an hour trying on different outfits before settling on her favourite black jeans that she hadn’t been able to fit into for years, optimistically keeping them at the back of the wardrobe on the off-chance that she ever shifted that extra stone. She had been rotating the same trio of shapeless trousers for years; the elasticated waistbands stopping her from realising that she had unwittingly lost a good few inches around her hips since she’d been cooking-for-one. She’d paired the jeans with a silky purple top that she’d picked up in Primark on a whim, but never worn. Even she had to admit that she looked quite nice, feeling confident enough to add a rare slash of lipstick.

  “Rose!” Gareth was waiting in the bar with a half-empty pint in front of him, looking cool and confident in a leather jacket over a band t-shirt with jeans, and he rose to greet her with a warm hug.

  She felt herself tingle a little at the brush of his stubble against her cheek, and she tried to ignore how the woody scent of his aftershave made her feel. “Hi. It’s so lovely to see you again. I hope you’ve not been waiting long.”

  He shook his head. “No, not at all. You’re right on time. I’m staying in a hotel out of town, but I got a taxi in a little early as I had no idea if I’d be able to find the place or how long it would take to get in.”

  “Are you not staying with your cousin?” She asked.

  “No, he lives in Swansea and he’s working until five,” he explained. “His girlfriend was meant to be coming with him, but they broke up so it’s a last-minute thing. I’m a big Saving Mavis fan though so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” Rose frowned in confusion and he laughed. “I take it you’re not really into late nineties Indie Rock?”

  She smiled shaking her head. “No, sorry. Completely clueless.”

  “I’ll bore you with all my very specific trivia,” he joked. “But let me get you a drink to numb what’s going to be a very boring conversation for you.”

  Rose laughed happily, secretly thrilled when Gareth waved away her attempt to pay for their drinks. They took their drinks to a table outside chatting and laughing as they sat people-watching on the busy strip of bars and restaurants. Gareth managed to talk her into sharing the biggest platter of halloumi fries, chicken wings and spicy wedges that she’d ever seen, and even though she felt a little self-conscious at first, they were both soon stuffing their faces giggling like a pair of kids as they dripped dipping sauce everywhere.

  “Thank you so much for keeping me company,” Gareth beamed after he’d received a text from his cousin to say he was on his way. “I’ve had so much fun. I almost don’t want to go to the gig now.”

  “What’s this sacrilege?” Rose joked pretending to be outraged. “You don’t want to hear Lincolnshire’s ninth most successful band of all time play their hit record that reached a dizzy number twenty-seven in the UK chart in nineteen-ninety-seven? Call yourself a fan!”

  Gareth burst out laughing. “If I didn’t know that you were jealous, I’d be very upset.”

  “Very jealous,” she gave him a cheeky wink. Several large glasses of wine coupled with how easy his company had been had melted away her nerves. “I’ll be looking them up on YouTube the minute I’m home.”

  “You’d better,” Gareth gave her a stern look. “There is going to be a test, young lady.”

  She got to her feet, wobbling a little and he reached out to steady her. “It’s been lovely to see you.”

  “Are you going home now?” He asked. “I’ll walk you to get a taxi.”

  “No need,” she shook her head. “It’s still early. I can get the bus just around the corner.”

  He insisted on walking with her, and they both laughed at how tipsy they felt as they wobbled over to the bus stop. The streets were a typical Saturday mixture of day-drinkers and shoppers, and Rose waved merrily as she noticed one of the youngsters from work on the other side of the road. As they drew to a halt at the bus stop, Rose suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere between them. She wondered if she was imagining it, but Gareth seemed a little tongue-tied and shy as if they had come to the end of a date and he was trying to figure out how to kiss her. Her heart skipped a beat excitedly at just the thought, and she reminded her sozzled-brain that they were both forty-years-old and it was broad daylight on a busy street.

  “You’d better go and meet your cousin,” Rose smiled shyly. “My bus won’t be long.”

  “Aargh, I don’t want to,” Gareth pulled a face and grinned sheepishly. “I feel like I’m about sixteen, Rose.”

  Her stomach fizzed with butterflies as they locked eyes and grinned foolishly at one another, the alcohol sloshing around their systems lowering any inhibitions. She held her breath waiting for him to make a move, but before either of them could pluck up the courage a red-faced woman pushing a double buggy drew to a halt besides them. The moment was broken, and Gareth looked down at his phone.

  “My cousin is at the train station,” he grimaced. “I’d better go.”

  Rose shuffled away from the newcomer to free up some space for a quick, fleeting hug from her old friend feeling a tug of frustration when he drew apart quickly.

  “Have fun,” she said as brightly as she could muster through her disappointment.

  “Thanks Rose,” she wasn’t sure if she were imagining it, but she thought he looked as dismayed as she felt. “I’ll text you.”

  She waved once before turning away, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach and focus on the positive day she’d had instead.

  He’s gorgeous and funny, she reminded herself sternly. And way out of your league.

  “Rose!”

  She turned in surprise to see that Gareth had retraced his steps. Rose hurried over to meet him, wondering if he’d picked up something of hers by accident or forgotten the way.

  “Everything ok?” She asked when he didn’t say anything immediately.

  “Yeah,” he nodded quickly before closing the space between them. “I just wanted to…”

  He was only inches from her now, and she felt her cheeks flush at the closeness of his broad chest to her face. Her heart sped up, but she was terrified to look up, scared she was misreading the situation.

  “Rose,” he repeated her name until she looked up into his dark brown eyes.

  Her heart hammered against her chest as he reached out for her, and she stepped forward closing the gap. She was so close to him that she could see her own reflection in his eyes, and she was surprised by how nerv
ous he looked, but she forgot everything, completely melting when he leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

  Tim

  The sun was just starting to rise as Tim jogged down the stairs, still fastening the cuffs of his shirt. He was always the first awake in his house, but it was a narrow lead, and he was always cautious of the unpredictability of Bea’s wake-up time. At this early hour, the last thing he wanted was to get into a conversation with Eleanor or the children, but he hadn’t heard a peep out of anyone leaving him with a sense of relief as he took the last few steps and turned the corner into the kitchen. He startled as he walked straight into his dressing-gown clad sister.

  “Bloody hell!” She jerked backwards in shock, and water splashed out of the tumbler in her hand all over him.

  “Oh, for goodness sake!” Tim snapped irritably. “What are you doing skulking in the dark?”

  “I was getting water to take some pain killers,” she shot back fumbling for the light switch, and flooding the kitchen with light.

  Tim winced at the sudden brightness, ignoring her feeble attempts to mop up the spillage despite the heavy, cumbersome cast on her leg, and brushing past her to retrieve his laptop and keys. His sister and her son had been here now for three weeks, and to his frustration, she was showing no signs of moving any time soon.

  In the back of his mind, he was acutely aware that the distraction of two extra people under their roof had worked to his advantage as Eleanor hadn’t said a word about the increased time he was spending out of the house. Tim had a feeling that the only suspicion she had was that he was avoiding his sister, and he pushed aside the familiar tug of guilt as he thought about the real reason that he hadn’t been around. A cry from upstairs alerted him to Bea waking up and he hurriedly made his escape before the rest of the house were up, leaving his sister mopping the floor with a handful of kitchen towels.

  It was only later in the day that he realised he couldn’t find his personal mobile. He had shoved everything into his laptop bag in a rush when he had heard Bea wake up, and a jolt of worry shot through him as he pictured the phone lying abandoned on the kitchen worktop for anyone to pick up. He tried to not use work devices to speak to Emma, wanting no evidence of the line he had crossed, but he had no choice but to send her a quick, impersonal email warning her that he had left his personal phone at home. He figured she was savvy enough to be able to read between the lines.

  He watched his inbox anxiously for a moment, before shaking off his fears and returning to work. As if on cue, her name flashed up on his work phone screen. He glanced at his calendar, torn between being late for his next meeting and speaking to her.

  “Hello,” his desire to hear the silky accent of Emma Boucher won.

  “Just thought I’d call. Quicker than emailing. Is this a good time?”

  “I’ve got a couple of minutes,” he replied, smiling to himself as he pictured her sat at her desk in one of those tight dresses that clung to her curves.

  “I just wanted to give you the heads up,” she said without a trace of concern in her voice. “I sent you a message earlier. Nothing incriminating.”

  Despite her cool-as-a-cucumber delivery, he felt a sliver of dread in the pit of his stomach. While Emma was strictly professional in the workplace, she was the epitome of raw sexuality and to her, a nude photo was no big deal. Her definition and Eleanor’s of “nothing incriminating” were likely to be two very different things.

  He attempted a low chuckle, knowing that she would be annoyed if he became uptight about it. “What did it say?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She teased in a deliciously low whisper that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

  “That’s why I asked,” he replied knowing she was deliberately trying to ruffle his feathers.

  “Honestly,” she replied reverting back to her no-nonsense, professional tone. “It was just checking the details for this evening. Are we still on?”

  “We are still on,” he confirmed, his stomach flooding with lust at the thought of her lithe, naked body.

  It was all he could do to concentrate for the rest of the day, and he left the office earlier than usual, whistling and smiling making Marie look up suspiciously. He flashed her a charming grin as he headed off to the station for the short commute to Emma’s hotel room. Despite Tim’s roving eye, he’d never had a full-blown affair before. He’d had plenty of opportunities of course; he was tall and ruggedly handsome, with a high-flying job that had him working closely with plenty of young, keen, and eager women over the years. He’d given in to temptation and there’d been nights away with work where he’d been the tempter, but it was only ever a one-time thing and he had never wanted to get into the complicated, and potentially stressful, territory of an affair. Emma Boucher was a whole other story though. She was movie-star beautiful and deliciously self-assured. She was seven years his junior and unencumbered by the burden of a husband or children. Her free-spirited attitude was as sexy as her long, tanned limbs and deliciously curved body. After her risqué photo message, they’d exchanged increasingly flirty texts before she’d come back to London on the flimsiest excuse the following week where after-work drinks had ended up with him in her hotel room. From then on, he’d seen her on an almost-weekly basis, even making the long drive to her house twice to indulge in the type of passionate, adventurous sex that he had thought he’d left firmly behind in his twenties. Each time he had thought it would be the last, but Emma was enticingly addictive, and he couldn’t bring himself to call time yet on their fling.

  She answered the door in a skimpy silk wrap that had his breath catching in his throat. His eyes gravitated to the curve of her buttocks just visible beneath the robe as he followed her into the room. She moved deliberately slowly towards a bottle of wine bending provocatively to pour him a glass. He resisted reaching out to touch the smooth, firm flesh of her thighs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed instead to prolong the intense build up.

  She sat down next to him tucking her long legs beneath her body, and treating him to a glimpse of high, firm breasts wrapped in something black and lacy. “How was your day?”

  “Good,” he replied. “How was yours?”

  “Really good,” she flashed him a devilish grin. “Oh, and guess what?”

  He rose to his feet to remove his suit jacket, carefully laying it over the arm of the chair in the corner. He kept his eyes on her face as he removed his tie, loosening his shirt collar.

  “What?” He asked after the deliberately long pause.

  He sat back down, and she unfurled her long legs draping them across his lap. He ran an appreciative hand over the soft, smooth skin. She let out a tiny moan of pleasure that had all the blood in his body rushing to his groin.

  “A role is coming up in Georgia’s team,” she told him her voice matter of fact even as she slipped closer towards him until her buttocks were almost in his lap.

  “In Retail Change?” He tried to keep his focus on the conversation even as the urge to rip her clothes off almost overwhelmed him.

  “That’s right,” she slid closer, the silk of her wrap slipping down one shoulder as she moved. “It would be a sideways move not the promotion I hoped for, but with the outsourcing likely, it makes sense to start thinking tactically.”

  She looked at him pointedly, but he remained quiet. He tried to avoid talking about work with her, knowing that he had already crossed a line that could get him in serious trouble.

  “If the job appeals to you,” he replied. “You should go for it.”

  She bent forward at the hips showcasing her flexibility to brush her lips across his slowly before breaking away to take a sip of her wine. “It would mean moving to London.”

  “If that’s what you want,” he took advantage of her slight movement to slip a hand inside her robe running his thumb over the hot lace encasing her body.

  “The only downside,” she continued calmly even as she squirmed against his touch. “Is how expensive
property is here.”

  “Hmmm,” he found the seam of the garment rubbing his thumb across it roughly making her squirm. “That’s true. It’s hard enough to buy in a nice area with two good salaries.”

  “You don’t have a little bolt-hole somewhere I could rent from you, do you?” she shifted away eyeing him mischievously.

  “I wish,” he ran a finger lightly across the curve of her thigh back towards the spot he had been caressing.

  “What would happen if you got divorced?” She mused in a teasing tone.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he responded dryly. He was ninety-percent sure that she was joking about him getting a divorce, but her comment rang alarm bells.

  “You’re leaving it late to think about these things,” she continued. “One minute you’re in a nice big house and the next thing you know, your wife has kicked you out and you’re living in a studio in a commuter town. It happened to Dave White.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” he felt a flicker of irritation that she would compare him to someone Dave’s level. “I’m due a substantial inheritance from my father’s estate, so once he pops his clogs, I’ll be sure to purchase a batchelor pad.”

  “How very cheerful,” she deadpanned as he gently removed her from his lap, refilling their glasses to hide his concern. “Well, as much as I’d like to drink to your father’s good health, I may have my own agenda for hoping that inheritance comes in sooner rather than later.”

  He frowned at her in confusion. “And what agenda might that be?”

  She looked at him for a moment in silence as if weighing up what to say, and her stillness unnerved him. She stood up, letting the robe fall to the floor. His jaw dropped as the delicate web of black lace covering her exquisite body erased all his concerns. She reached for his glass draining the red liquid in one mouthful and climbed onto his lap, the fragrance of her body making his head spin with desire. She ran her lips across his neck before catching the lobe of his ear between her teeth sending shivers of lust through his whole body.