April 2013

ZOE

There's no place like home. Unless your home is a spare hotel room because you're so caught up in running your department that sometimes it's easier to stay the night. In which case, there is a place just like home, and it's work.

Let's face it: I have no other reason to spend evenings wrapped in expensive Egyptian cotton or soaking in deep claw foot bathtubs. If I didn't love my job so much, it would actually be a little sad. Okay, it's definitely sad, but I spend twelve hours a day running this place. It's only right that I get to enjoy it too.

My phone buzzes, and I reluctantly lift a hand out of the bath. Bubbles drift through the steamy air as I shake the water from my fingers and tap the phone screen.

Darren: Hey beautiful. I'm thinking of you. Are you free tomorrow night? I'd love to cook you dinner.

Urgh.

I ignore the message and slide deeper into the bath. Water sloshes over my chest, bubbles circling my throat like a collar. How long has it been since I had an actual hand around my throat? Too long. Not the kind of thing you can tell someone you enjoy until you trust them. I don't ever let them stick around long enough for that to be the case.

And unfortunately for Darren, he's about to find that out.

Three dates. That's all it's been. That's all it ever is. Anything beyond three dates is creeping into relationship territory, and I've no interest in entering.

When the water starts to cool, I drag myself out of the bath and wrap a towel around my body. We've recently upgraded to 800 gsm and God does that extra weight make a difference. Plush, velvety cotton caresses my damp skin as I amble towards the queen-sized bed. Much nicer than the double I have at home. The mattress is the perfect firmness, the pillow isn't too soft, and the space is huge.

I thought I'd miss my old hotel, but moving to the luxury market was an excellent decision.

Once settled, allowing the air-con to flutter over my face, I idly scroll through Facebook. I never knew Richard was such a photo whore; he's all over my feed, arms wrapped around Christian. I'm happy for him. Honestly. But I'm also a little bitter. I had my shot at that, and naively I'd believed what Richard and I shared was the safer choice. The longer-term choice.

Longer-term turned out to be a four-month engagement. After Mark's surprise visit, Richard decided he needed closure with Christian too. When his two-week trip to Australia extended into a month, I knew exactly what had happened. Richard had cashed in on our deal. I can't blame him for that, even if I did naïvely expect that deal to end the second we became engaged.

I scroll down and pause on an article about Teddy Stone. He's kind of cute and his songs are fun, but his scrawny frame and boyish grin betray his young age. The universe is clearly messing with me, though, because one of his bodyguards looks scarily similar to...

Frowning, I click on the photo to enlarge it, forgetting it's a link. My heart speeds up as I wait for the article to load. It can't be. Underneath a photo of Richard? No way. But he is a bodyguard. And he does have experience with musicians.

The page loads, and I'm instantly bombarded with ads as I scramble to flick through the article to find the photo again.

More ads. A pop-up. Then, finally, I get to the image. I screenshot, just so I can click off this awful page, then open it up and zoom in.

Shit.

My thumping heart screeches to a halt and drops to my tummy.

It is him.

But oh my God. It's been two years since last saw him in the flesh, and he was still getting better with age then. Arousal throbs between my damp thighs as I stare at him. Tall, jet-black suit, broad frame, a light dusting of dark stubble. He looks like a damn athlete. A wet dream. I hope I dream of him tonight because that's the closest I'll be getting to that body.

His face, though. The photo would have only captured a fraction of a second of action, yet that expression is so recognisable. Stoic. Almost stern. Serious. When did he last smile? Does he have someone at home who makes him laugh?

I go to Google and start searching for images of Teddy Stone. There are plenty of promo shots of him grinning into the camera on a set, but I find a few candid pictures from paparazzi. Unfortunately, he's not famous enough for there to be lots of these, and I can't find Mark in any of them.

Switching back to my screenshot, I sigh. The universe is definitely messing with me. Just moments ago, I was fantasising about having a hand on my throat, and now I'm faced with a sexy photo of the only guy who's ever blown my mind in bed. Everything about him was perfect. At least in the bedroom. His body—which now looks even more impressive—his skill, his stamina, his voice, his dick...

Shit. I loosen my towel and let the two halves fall apart. He once did this to me, back when we used to fight our attraction and inevitably give in. Not that we tried particularly hard. At the time it had seemed complicated. Looking back, that chemistry was one of the simplest things in the world.

Closing my eyes, I slide a hand between my legs. Slick arousal coats my fingers as I dip inside. It doesn't even come close to how it felt with him, with his large, thick fingers. Calloused fingertips. Rough knuckles.

I know I'm torturing myself as I open my eyes and touch myself while looking at his photo, but it's the best kind of torture. A guilty pleasure that's heavier on the pleasure than the guilt. I rub slow circles over my clit, just like he used to, so soft despite his hard exterior. So focused on my enjoyment despite the lack of his own emotions.

I saw more of him during sex than any other time. It had to mean something. It just didn't mean enough.

When I come, it's nowhere near as powerful as it was at his own hand, and that breaks the spell. I lie on the duvet and pant, catching my breath, trying to ignore the guilt. The shame. The regret.

I don't have time for that now. Life is good. We're both moving forwards. And hopefully, despite his serious expression, he's happy.

*

"...And then I was thinking we could go for a walk along the beach. It'll only be a stroll because the grandparents just aren't up to anything more energetic these days, but..."

Mum continues to ramble down the phone as I sit in the back office, smoothing my thumb over a developing ladder in my tights. My upcoming visit to my parents' house will be the first time I've seen them in months. A weekend away from work will do me good. And if I keep telling myself that, hopefully I'll start to believe it.

"...Probably just a roast chicken for dinner. You know your grandma is fussy about beef, so—"

"When did you last see Mark?" I ask.

Mum falls silent. Her deep breaths float down the line as she finally stops her rambling.

"I thought you didn't want us to ever mention Mark again," she says eventually.

Closing my eyes, I lean back in my desk chair and let the gentle rocking motion soothe my scrambled head. Even after we stopped talking, I know Mark carried on seeing my parents. It's nice, I guess. He'd built up a bond with my dad and he doesn't do that with many people. It's just meant a little extra coordination over the years—via Mum—so we can avoid accidentally bumping into each other.

"I'm just curious," I reply. "I saw a photo of him last week. At least I think I did."

I definitely did. There is no doubt it's him. I've checked about twenty times since.

"Does he now work with Teddy Stone?" I press.

"I've no idea who that is."

"Young singer. Dark hair. Tall and skinny—"

"I don't know, Zoe. You'd have to ask your father."

The clock on the far wall ticks away, but Mum stays on the line. Despite her meddling when Mark and I were friends, she has always been sensitive since we parted ways. It's like she knows how I really felt all those years ago. A mother's intuition, I guess.

"Is he well?" My throat is dry, thick with emotion.

Her voice is soft when she replies, "He's fine, Zoe."

"Is he with anyone?" I've got no right to ask considering I was engaged last time we saw each other, but I need to know.

"No. Not as far as I'm aware." She pauses. "It was before Christmas when we last saw him. He dropped off a couple of presents."

My chest tightens. Presents. He's buying my parents Christmas presents. Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away. I'm just tired. Overworked. In need of a weekend away.

"What did he get Dad?"

"I couldn't explain it even if I knew." She breathes out a gentle laugh. "Some kind of intelligent watch."

"Intelligent watch?"

"Yes, one that's used for fitness. It's an inside joke apparently."

An inside joke. It's another strike to my heart. This is why I told Mum I didn't ever want to talk about him. I get by fine when I don't see him or think about him. But one stupid photo and a conversation about a Christmas present and I'm reliving the heartbreak all over again. 

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Thank you for reading :) xx

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If you want to read ahead, Bodyguard is nearly complete on Ream! We're currently 22 chapters ahead, with just another 2 chapters until the end... I'll post the link to my page in the inline comments 💜