Just for the Rush. Jane Lark

the way he’d said it, and what he’d said, made my tummy do even weirder stuff. It was like a coil twisted down through it.

      ‘You check out the fridge. I’ll put the cases upstairs.’

      He had my rucksack on his shoulder, my case in one hand and his in the other.

      I didn’t ask which room he’d be putting my case in.

      ‘There’ll be some champagne in there. Get that out, for a start, and anything else you fancy.’ I watched him walk upstairs, my gaze hovering on his bum. He’d said he liked watching mine, but his was nice too.

      I turned to the kitchen. Ravenous, suddenly, but probably not for food. My heart pumped so hard. I couldn’t wait to find out what sex with him was going to be like, but I was terrified of making myself look stupid.

      I sighed when I opened the fridge. Rick would be playing charades with our parents about now. Go him! He could keep ‘nice’.

      There was caviar, paté, smoked-salmon mousse, prawns, salad stuff and chicken, along with a dozen varieties of local cheese. Jack knew how to eat well. The problem was, I didn’t.

      My phone buzzed in the other room.

      I pulled out the champagne and looked in the cupboards for glasses. I found wine glasses. They’d do. I took out two and held them with the stems between my fingers, then picked up the champagne and went back into the living room.

      Jack was just coming downstairs.

      I held the champagne up.

      He came over and took it from my hand. ‘Take your coat off.’ He’d taken his leather jacket off.

      I put the glasses down on the table, which stood in the far corner of the room, then slipped off my coat. There were coat-hooks behind the door and I hung it up there. But the room was really cold without a coat. I rubbed my arms.

      He’d undone the foil on the champagne and had the cork ready to pop. His thumbs gently pressed it up. Bang; it went off and made me jolt as it flew up and hit the ceiling while a mist of champagne evaporated out of the bottle, but there was no spray. I guess he’d learned how not to waste any over the years.

      He picked up a glass and filled it, then filled the second glass before putting the bottle on the table. He handed me a glass. ‘To a holiday of naughty sex.’ He tapped the rim of his glass against mine, just as a clock somewhere in the house chimed midnight.

      ‘I feel like Cinderella. Shall I peek out and check the Jag didn’t turn into a pumpkin. Something must be suddenly going to change or disappear.’

      He shook his head. ‘I wish a week of sex could change stuff. But no. This isn’t going to change anything, Ivy, except it’ll either mean we look at each other more in the office, or we look less. More if we have hot memories we are continually thinking about. Less if we manage to burn out the flame of lust entirely.’

      ‘Have you done this before?’

      ‘Brought people up here? As I said, no. Had sex with people to kill my desire for them? Yes. It works. But some infatuations take a little longer to burn out.’

      ‘So, is that why you invited me, because you want to stop getting hot when you look at my bum in the office.’

      He grinned rather than smiled. It was a more relaxed expression. This place changed him. He drank a large gulp of champagne, then set his glass down. ‘It’s cold in here. I’ll get the fire going.’

      He knelt down at the hearth and picked up a pack of matches. The log-burner was set up, ready to be lit – all he had to do was light a match and when he held it to the paper on the fire, the paper burst into flames. He shut the door on the burner. The fire raged into life as it sucked oxygen through the grate.

      He knelt back on his heels, watching the fire.

      ‘Why is that here?’ When he looked at me to see what I meant, I glanced at the naked fir tree.

      ‘I may have forgotten to tell the housekeeper that Christmas wasn’t happening.’

      ‘You said the word. Now I get a forfeit.’ I drank some of my champagne, pretending to think, but I already knew. ‘When you’ve finished with my blindfold, I’m going to use it to tie you up.’

      ‘I might say the word more if you’re going to come up with that kind of forfeit.’

      ‘Then I’d change the rules.’

      ‘You can’t change the rules, it’s my game.’

      ‘But you’re not the boss any more, Jack. You’re just my lover.’

      He stood up suddenly and came towards me. ‘Do you know how sexy that sounds?’ His hand came about the back of my head. ‘Feel.’ His other hand gripped mine and pressed it against the front of his trousers.

      ‘Shit. I’m in for some fun.’

      ‘You are.’ His lips came down on mine and I spilt champagne on the stone-flagged floor as his tongue pushed into my mouth. Forget jelly, my stomach was lighter than that; it was soft snow melting into slush. A sexual tingle teased between my legs, while heat raced across my skin, four chilli symbols of heat. I’d felt nothing like that when Rick kissed me. Had I never really fancied him?

      Jack broke away. ‘I think you spilt your drink down my jumper.’

      ‘Sorry.’

      ‘No need to be. It was my fault.’

      ‘I feel guilty about Rick—’

      ‘You’re not pulling out now we’re up here?’ He looked at me, his body stiffening.

      ‘I wasn’t saying that. I meant I feel guilty for staying with him so long. You’re right. I’ve fancied you since I started. I don’t think I ever fancied Rick. I should have let him move on years ago. Oh, I forgot. I got a text.’ I finished off the champagne, put the glass down and went over to my bag. I pulled out some tissue to wipe up the spilled champagne, but took my mobile out too.

      ‘Rick: Hey, I miss you. You should be here. If you change your mind over Christmas I can drive up and get you. I still love you, Ivy.’

      Daggers pierced through my chest, a hundred of them… All dipped in guilt.

      ‘What is it?’

      I touched my thumb against the screen to unlock my phone, then went into Rick’s messages and held the phone out to show Jack.

      He took it from my hand. ‘He wants you back,’ he said after he read the first one, but then he started scrolling through them. ‘Oh shit. Are you sure he hasn’t got some sort of problem?’

      ‘I think his problem is just me. I walked out on him.’

      ‘There are hundreds of these things.’

      ‘I know. I stopped replying a fortnight ago. He still sends them. They generally start about ten and then, as the night goes on, they get more and more desperate. I think he’s drinking a lot.’

      Jack looked up from the phone, at me. ‘You must feel like shit.’

      I closed my lips and nodded. Stupid tears welled up. He pulled me into a hug. Crazily that did stuff to my innards too, just in a different way than the kiss.

      ‘It’s alright to feel shit when you’re breaking up. No matter what side of it you’re on. And you’re not obligated to have sex with me just because you came up here.’

      I pulled away. ‘But I want to have sex with you.’ I sounded petulant.

      He laughed as he dropped my phone into an armchair, then his fingers braced the back of my neck and he kissed me.

      My arms reached around his neck, one hand still gripping the tissue I’d got out to wipe up the spilt champagne.

      He was taller than me, but in my heeled boots, not all that much.