He pretended to take an interest in his book, but read the frontispiece over and over again until, half an hour later, Trevelyan and Evie slid down the slide, entangled and shrieking, and picked themselves up at the bottom.
‘You staying here, then, Trev?’
‘Yeah.’ He was obviously enormously pissed, but he held it better than poor Julia Shields. He was able to walk and his speech was only marginally slurred. ‘Nice room. You wanna see?’
‘Too right, babe. Is your bed comfy?’
He laughed and swung her around in a bear hug.
‘Come and find out.’
Eyes narrow with rage, Adam watched them enter the pub. For a moment he stood looking after them, trembling, drawing some low-voiced comments and laughter from the walking group.
Then he turned his eyes back to the climbing frame and saw the camera, still there, hanging from the frame by its strap now.
He retrieved it and made his purposeful way to the pub staircase, finding nobody on duty to stand in his way.
At the top he paused to look around. Which of the four old oak doors would lead into Trevelyan’s room?
A sudden earthy sigh and a thump had him scurrying straight for the furthest door. He had to bend his head in order not to bump into the low-slung beams. When he reached the door, he knelt and tried to look through the keyhole.
He was in luck. The key wasn’t in the door.
He could see the edge of the bed. Evie was bent over it, her face buried in the covers, presumably unwilling to put her bottom in contact with anything potentially frictive. Trevelyan had removed her shorts and was kneeling on the floor, her legs over his shoulders, his eager mouth breathing alcohol fumes on to Evie’s spread pussy.
Adam saw Trevelyan’s tongue reach out and lick the upper portions of Evie’s thighs, then he buried his face in them, snuffling like a stupid fashion-victim dog.
Evie’s gorgeous tanned flesh jiggled, the bottom he had touched only a couple of hours previously now in the hands of another man. It was unbearable.
His urge to burst in and disturb them battled with his urge to keep watching Evie’s mesmerisingly beautiful body. What if he never saw her naked again? What if this was it?
He held his breath, waiting for Trevelyan to start licking Evie out properly. It was torture, knowing what she looked like undressed, knowing how she fucked, knowing what she sounded like when she came, yet never having done anything to her himself. When would he be the man to make her whimper? When would he be the man to make her eyes roll back in her head?
What did this bastard journalist have that he didn’t?
Trevelyan fitted his tongue into Evie’s groove, licking sloppily and without decorum.
He isn’t even sober. I would never go to her drunk. I would see that I was fully aware of what I did to her.
Evie’s limber legs kicked and flexed over Trevelyan’s shoulders.
‘Ohh, keep going, lover,’ she said softly. ‘Lick me nice and slow.’
Adam watched, shaking as if in a fever, until Trevelyan had been feasting on her juicy cunt for five long minutes. Then, just as Evie began to make those tell-tale sounds he’d heard so many times as she writhed under other hands, he knocked loudly at the door.
‘Fuck!’ he heard them both exclaim.
He smiled, despite the obscenity, his heart gladdened by the ruin of their moment.
‘What?’ shouted Trevelyan. ‘Who’s it?’
‘I have your camera.’
‘Adam? Is that you?’ called Evie.
Through the keyhole he saw her slide under the bedclothes and bury herself in them.
‘Who’s Adam?’ Trevelyan asked. ‘Better not be your husband or, y’know, shit like that.’