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I see the emotions that flicker on his face and I recognise only one—relief.
‘Are you sure?’
I laugh—a soft sound that covers whatever that heavy pain is in my chest. ‘Come on, Jack. We both know how this works.’
I press a kiss against his cheek and move into the lounge. Our sushi feast is still on the table—a relic of our attempt at a date. Like normal people date. But we’re not normal. Not on our own and definitely not together. We’re misfits, both of us, operating outside the normal realms of this kind of relationship thing.
I scoop up my dress and bra and pull the dress on over my naked body, stuffing the bra into my handbag as I step into my shoes.
My hair I pull over one shoulder, brushing my fingers through its tangled length to neaten it somewhat.
‘Martins will be on roster now,’ he says, looking at the clock over the oven and referring to one of the junior staff drivers.
I shake my head. The last thing I want is for a company driver to see me like this, post-Jack-Grant-ravaging. ‘I’ll get a cab.’ I walk towards him again and press a single kiss to his cheek.
‘I’ll see you Monday.’
‘Monday...’ He nods and there are more emotions in his face, these harder to comprehend. ‘Right. It’s the weekend.’
I swallow past a lump in my throat. ‘And then Australia,’ I remind him—probably unnecessarily.
‘Yeah.’
His eyes probe mine. I feel like I’m escaping prison and one of those enormous floodlights has landed on me, full beam.
‘You’re okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ I reassure him.
We’ve just had pretty much the best sex in the world—I doubt it has ever been better for anyone than it is for us. But I know I need to go. It’s important. My self-preservation instincts are blaring loudly, demanding I put some space between us.
He nods, and it’s only then that I realise he’s got a glass of Scotch in his hand.
It hurts. There’s something about seeing him with a drink that reminds me of what he does—how often he does it and how he reacts afterwards. And I don’t want that to b
e the case with us.
Those self-preservation instincts join forces with my brain and they pull the strings to make me smile brightly.
‘Thanks for tonight. I had fun. See you soon.’
And I turn and walk slowly towards the door, my heart thudding, my mind foggy.
* * *
I watch her leave with a certainty that I’m messing up my life in a monumental way. What the hell am I doing? Sleeping with Gemma once was a disastrous cock-up. But again and again? Showing her all my dark spaces and hauntings?
No one needs to know the demons that lash me.
I am in control. That’s me. It’s the persona I’ve built and I don’t like the idea of someone knowing that it’s not completely true. Lucy knew, of course. And I guess Amber does; she’s seen me in a pretty fucked-up state, right after Lucy died. But Gemma? Now?
Her eyes, big and intelligent, are assessing, always understanding. And the way her face scrunches when she’s about to come... The way her body trembles beneath mine... Jesus. I want her now—again—more.
I turn to the door. If I chased her what would she say? God, would she think it means I want more than sex? Ironic, given that I just want sex. With Gemma.
An obsession is building inside me. Bit by bit it is closing me in. But Gemma Picton is hardly going to let me turn her into my own personal sex slave. Although I think she’s about as caught up in all of this as I am...
All the more reason for me to fight harder, to control it.
