The Bringer

“All done,” he says after what seems a long time, sounding somewhat breathless.

I turn to see he’s moved over to make room for me and is holding the duvet back.

I climb in beside him. His body is so warm. He lays the cover over me, and reaches over and switches the lamp off, plunging us into darkness.

I turn onto my side, facing him. James stays on his back but turns his head towards me.

“How many woman have you had?” What is wrong with me? Why do I keep blurting these clumsy questions out at him?

A snort of laughter comes from him. “What makes you ask that?” he says, still laughing, but I can hear the surprise in his voice.

And I’m truly thankful it’s dark in here, so he can’t see just how red my face has gone.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” I mumble, embarrassed. I turn my head burying it into the pillow, realising where that question’s come from. Neil’s words have been playing on a constant loop in my mind ever since he uttered them to me earlier.

He strokes my arm with his finger. “You wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t.”

I lift my face up and push my hair back. Then, feeling like a broken record, I say, “It’s just Neil said, well kind of implied, that you’d had a lot of women – that you were a womaniser – I think.”

“The little shit.” He laughs. “He’ll be lucky if he still has a job on Monday.” He cups my chin and brings his face closer to mine. His eyes are glowing at me in the dark. “He was having you on, Luce.” His voice sounds more intense, more serious. “I’m guessing to lead you away from me and straight to him. Trust me, I’m not a womaniser. I’ve had a fair few women in my time, don’t get me wrong, but I’m certainly no womaniser.”

“Luce?” I say with surprise, suddenly distracted.

He runs his hand down my neck and over my shoulder. “You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?” He leans over and presses his lips to mine.

“No,” I murmur, our lips touching.

He takes a deep breath. “I know I should have said this earlier but you looked – look incredibly beautiful tonight.”

Beautiful. James thinks I’m beautiful.

“You think I look beautiful?”

“I always think you look beautiful.” He kisses my forehead, my cheek, my jaw. “I’ve wanted you from the very first moment I saw you,” he groans, voice low as he kisses my neck.

I don’t say anything, mainly because I can’t. I’m so overawed by what’s happening right here, right now. Things only my dreams were made of.

His lips find mine again. At first he kisses me slowly, then more passionately. My body is heating, responding to his touch. His hands go around my waist and he pulls me on top of him. A bolt of desire shoots through me. Our bodies are pressed together, his pot coarse against the bare skin on my leg, but I don’t care. His hands are on my back, slowly moving lower, as he devours me with his lips. I put my hands on his bare chest. I can feel his fingers inching my dress up.

Then suddenly he brings his hands up to my face, cupping it and gently pushes me back, away from him.

He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, whilst I look on at him in confusion, my lips throbbing, my body aching.

He blows out a final breath, opens his eyes, a serious expression now on his face. “Getting a bit carried away there. But I promised you no funny business and I meant it.” He tips the end of my nose with his finger. “We’ve got all the time in the world for that.”

I lay down beside him, disappointed, but knowing he’s right, even if his reasoning is far different from mine.

Because no matter how badly I may want him, I know it’s not right. Not when he doesn’t really know me.

He slides his arm under my shoulder and pulls me closer. I rest my head on his warm chest and listen to his heart beating.

But even the warmth of his body and the comforting thump of his heart can’t take away the chilling effect his words have left on me.

‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’

If only we did.

Chapter 12

Guardian Angel

“Are you happy?”

James regards me with his intense brown eyes, his lips curving into a heartbreaking smile. “Of course I am,” he says. “How could I not be when I’m with you?” The smile suddenly drops from his face. “You’re happy aren’t you – with me?”

“Of course,” I beam. “I’ve never been so happy.”

It’s early Sunday morning, a few days since we first kissed. We’re laid in his bed. And no, it’s not how it sounds. We haven’t done that. All we’ve done is talk – in-between all the kissing, that is.

James hasn’t attempted to move things any further which I’m pretty relieved about. I’m fairly sure he would like to but I know he’s been respectful. And it’s not like I don’t want to have sex with him because if it’s anything like the kissing, well . . . let’s just say if it is then I most definitely want to.

But I also know it wouldn’t be right. How could we make love when he doesn’t even know who I truly am.

Its bad enough how much I deceive him already, but really, that would be just taking it to the extreme.

I know I’m running out of time. He is going to want to have sex soon. It’s only natural. And I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do or say when the time does finally arrive.

“I love this, you know,” he says trailing his fingers across the exposed skin on my back where my vest has ridden up, “waking up beside you every day.”

“Me too.” I smile warmly.

“Here’s a thought,” he says moving closer to me. “Let’s just stay in bed forever, never get up, just the two of us cocooned here in our own little world. We could get takeaway delivered three times a day . . . obviously you’d have to get out of bed to go get it from the front door.” He grins.

If only he knew how much I wish that could be true. But instead of saying the truth, I just laugh and say, “You’d go stir crazy stuck inside.”

“Not if I had you to keep me company.” He kisses the bare skin on my shoulder, his two day old stubble scratching against me.

“Okay then, I’d go stir-crazy,” I smirk.

“Nice,” he mock chides. “Looks like I’m gonna have to hold you hostage in here with me, then.” He laughs and lays back, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the ceiling. “I’m not letting you get away, Luce.”

And I say nothing.

Because I know one day soon I will have to go and there will be nothing either of us can do about it.

I prop myself up on my elbow and put my hand on his face, our skin so different in contrast. His dark, mine light. He glances at me and closes his eyes. I run my finger over the scar on his eyebrow. “How did you get this?” I ask

He opens his eyes. “The scar?”

I nod.

“I did it when I was seven. I was going through my superman phase and I told my mate Carl that I could fly just like the man himself. He said I was a liar – which obviously I was.” He smirks. “And, well, Carl said he’d only believe me if I showed him. He dared me.” He glances at me, eyes amused, and shrugs. “Well, it wasn’t like I could back down even if I was totally shitting myself.”

I touch the scar again. “I take it it didn’t go so well.”

“You could say that.” He laughs, his expression soft. “I went for it, though, put my superman cape on and everything. You’d have been impressed. I got up on our extension roof, nearly puked a few times when I saw the drop,” he laughs, “somehow managed to contain myself, and after a few deep breaths, I just closed my eyes and went for it.”

I sit up aghast. “I can’t believe you tried to fly.”

He stares up at the ceiling and laughs.

“So . . . what happened?” I ask tentatively, lying back down on my front propping myself up on my elbows.

He grins sideways at me. “Well, I didn’t fly, obviously. I just kinda dropped and landed right on Carl’s bike which was sitting directly below. I was lucky it was there ‘cause it broke my fall. Carl wasn’t so chuffed – I broke his bike.” He lifts his right arm up. “Broke my arm in a couple of places and cut my head open. Hence the scar.”

“You could have died.”

He widens his eyes in mock-seriousness and chuckles. “You look so cute when you’re concerned.” He runs his fingertip down my nose.

I bat his arm away. “It’s not funny.”

He catches hold of my hand and lifts it to his lips and kisses my fingertips.

“Sorry.” He tries to say it soberly but I can still hear the snigger in his voice. “That’s what my dad said – not sorry, that I could have died – well amongst many other things.” He presses his lips together, stifling a grin, knowing I’m not in the mood. “The doctor said I’d been incredibly lucky, said I must have a guardian angel watching over me.”

I look down at the bed sheet as though it’s suddenly the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.

“Maybe the quack was right,” he says emphatically. “I mean think about it, Luce, that’s two pretty serious scrapes I’ve survived now. Shame you hadn’t been there to save me back then, though, inside of Carl’s bike.”

I don’t say anything.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, seeing my expression. He chucks my chin with his finger but I don’t look up.

“Have I upset you?” he asks, voice soft.

I lift my head up and find myself gazing straight into the depths of eyes. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer. I rest my head on his chest. “It won’t,” he says earnestly, kissing the top of my head, “especially not whilst I’ve got my very own guardian angel around keeping me safe.

I close my eyes, concealing the truth in them.

“God, I’m starving.” He stretches his long, lean body out obviously done with the conversation. “You want some breakfast?”

“No, I’m okay thanks.”

He shuffles down the bed, forcing me off him so we’re laid face to face. “You’re not hungry, eh?” He raises an eyebrow. “No surprise there, then.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you never eat.”

Okay so now I wish I’d never asked. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

I sit up. “Yes. I. Do.”

“No. You. Don’t.”

“I DO!” I yell, wide eyed with exasperation, even though he’s right, I don’t.

He shuffles up the bed, resting up against the headboard and rubs his hand over his face.

We both sit in a stony silence.

Then finally he says in calm voice, “Luce, you can talk to me, you know. About anything. I won’t judge.”