Just Friends (The Agency Book 1) Page 25

  “There’s no point. What’s done is done. I need an early night – I promised to meet Naomi tomorrow morning.”

  He moves into the light and I finally see his face properly. He looks shattered – striking and gorgeous – but still shattered. “I can’t believe you’re thinking of going somewhere else.”

  I shrug. “I’m not going to argue that finding a job with Naomi is a brilliant move, because it’s a dumb move. But going to Tribe is also a dumb move. And if I’d decided to stay at BMG, that would have been a dumb move too. My life is a shitshow and you know what? I’m not going to blame myself anymore. I tried to sort everybody else’s mess out, I tried really fucking hard, but none of this was ever my fault. Ridley Gates was not my fault!”

  His eyes narrow, making the blue fade to grey. “I know that. Why are we talking about Ridley?”

  “Because I sorted it tonight. I used some information Lucille gave me, and when he tried . . . when he tried it on again, I came at him with everything I had and I fucking nailed him – just like I told you I would. He won’t hurt Malcolm ever again. And he won’t hurt me again.”

  He freezes, and his face drains of colour. “Um, okay.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “I don’t know, but I want to beat the shit out of him again.”

  “I told you before, Ethan. I appreciate that you care about me enough to do that, but I’m not a delicate flower. I may not have much in the way of brawn, but I’m astute – and maybe a little bit devious – and I had this under control. I told you I could help Malcolm and deal with Ridley. Well, I did it. You owe Lucille a new job though.”

  “I’ll . . . um . . . sort something out for her,” he says, looking a little bit shell-shocked.

  “Good.”

  “And . . . I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But speaking of jobs . . . Naomi Linus? I have to tell you, she’d do anything to get you away from me. I slept with her flatmate last year. Twice. She’s been trying for a third ever since.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, really?” Just when I’d forgotten how self-absorbed Ethan Fraser is, he comes out with the most ridiculously conceited comment I’ve ever heard. “Are you going to let the sun know that the earth revolves around you now?”

  “I don’t mean she’s helping you just because of me.” I raise my eyebrows and he responds with a guilty swallow. “Okay, I did mean that, but you have to admit she’s overly keen if she’s meeting you on a Saturday morning.”

  “I need to find a new job quickly. I have rent to pay.”

  “Do you need to get away from me this much?”

  All of a sudden I feel the weight of my drenched clothes dragging me to the floor. I back up against the door to my sitting room and place my hand on the handle to steady myself. It would only take a second to go inside. Just one second to escape him.

  “You’re not doing this, Vi. I’m not letting you leave me.”

  “You can’t force me to come with you.” I open the door and enter my sitting room, throwing off my wet cardigan before going to the bathroom to find a towel. I’m angry and I’m devastated and I don’t know which emotion is controlling my actions because I also seem to have lost the ability to think. I’m moving from one calamitous revelation to the next, digging a gigantic shit, piss and vomit-filled pond to swim in as I go.

  When I return he’s pacing the room. He looks like he’s been put through a wash, spin and tumble dry cycle. He watches me as I towel-dry the ends of my hair. Neither of us speak a word.

  “Ethan, I think you should leave now. Please. Just go home.”

  “I told you I wasn’t going until we’d talked this through.”

  “We’ve talked.”

  “You’ve talked. I haven’t.”

  I sigh and sit down on my sofa, placing the towel over my lap. “Okay then, talk.”

  He fluffs his hair again then lounges on my armchair, one leg hanging over the arm. I toss him the towel and he sinks his face into it, seemingly breathing in the fleecy cotton for a moment before rubbing the back of his neck dry. The wait for him to speak is killing me – it’s like I’m on trial and I’m waiting for the jury to come back with a verdict on whether or not I’m guilty of being a hopeless whiny wimp who had ten minutes of bravery this afternoon then promptly fucked everything back up again.

  “These last few weeks, it’s been like I’m living someone else’s life. And now? The thought of you not coming to Tribe with me makes me want to walk in front of a bus. I know I’m being selfish. I know that, but I can’t help it. You’re everything to me.”

  “Everything?” I repeat with a hint of sarcasm. Boy, am I tired of hearing that phrase.

  “Yes. You know you’re more than everything.” He leans forward in the chair, his hands folded together. His elbows on his knees. His eyes firm and fixed and . . . damn my stupid stomach. After everything, it still somersaults when he looks at me that way. “There have been so many times over the past three years when I’ve almost said this to you, but I didn’t think you’d believe it. And I didn’t want to ruin what we had. None of this would have happened if I’d . . . if only I’d told you . . .”

  He walks over to me, and all of a sudden I don’t know where I am or who I am or what day it is. It’s like I’m watching myself from across the room, like a modern-day version of Scrooge witnessing my life playing out in front of me. I will my alternate self to say something. I beg my alternate brain to start working. Ethan sits down next to me, and I slide as far into the corner of the sofa as I can go. He reaches for my hand. I move it away, but I don’t know what to do with it, so I start playing with my hair. “I’m sorry for all of this. I’m sorry for being me. I didn’t know . . .”

  “How didn’t you know?”

  His hand moves towards me again, but he thinks twice and pushes it down on his own leg instead. His jeans are patchy – dark blue on the bottom, paler blue where the thick denim has already started to dry out. “I thought maybe you felt that way, but if I’d known for sure, things would have been different.”

  “Different? How did you miss it, Ethan? For the three years I’ve known you, you’ve been addicted to making random women fall in love with you. Zoe, Erin, Jenny, half the agency, even Naomi’s flatmate and the sodding cleaner! How didn’t you notice that the woman you’ve spent every day of your life with had fallen in love with you too?”

  “You don’t understand. I’m trying to tell you . . .” He makes another grab for my hand and this time I let him. He locks his fingers in mine, and as soon as I feel his touch I melt into him. “I love you . . . I’m in love with you. I fell in love with you the first day I met you. You’re different to everyone else – smart, funny, beautiful, talented, confident, brave . . . I thought I couldn’t have you, so I tried to replace you, with anybody, but it was always you. I never thought you’d feel the same way – never in a million years – so I settled for working with you and spending every day of our lives together. I fell in love with you, then I fell in love with being your friend – and that became everything to me.”

  Every single part of me – mind, body and spirit – explodes with joy. I’ve needed to hear him say those words more than I’ve needed to breathe. I don’t care what happens next. I just want to stay in this moment forever.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  “I’m thinking you’re batshit crazy.”

  “I’m crazy for not telling you sooner.”

  “You’re crazy if you can’t see how wrong I am for you.”

  “Don’t ever say that.” We’re inches apart. He takes both of my hands in his and holds them tight. “I love you just as you are, and I always have. I fell in love with you because you don’t follow the rules. You’re you and you’re brilliant and beautiful and my god, never apologise for being you. Never.” He releases my hands so he can cup my face and smooth my hair out of my eyes. “I’ve already tried to show you how perfect you are for me, and I
want to show you again.”

  I look up and slowly meet his gaze. “You mean . . . ?”

  “I mean I want you. I am in love with you, and I want you.”

  I open my mouth to speak – to tell him I love him too – but nothing happens.

  Silence fills the air between us.

  I try to talk again, but my words are blocked by his mouth on mine, the soft and urgent feel of his lips sending tremors through my body.

  And then I’m kissing him back.

  26

  OUR BODIES PRESS TOGETHER AS we kiss and it’s different to before. Last time it was more cautious; his kisses were soft and guarded because he was unsure of what we were doing. This time there’s urgency and there’s certainty.

  It starts softly. A brush of skin against skin. Reassuring and tender. Only the slightest pressure at first, but it sends ripples of electricity buzzing through me until all I can think about is what it would feel like to have those same sweet, gentle lips visit every single inch of me.

  I kiss him back, parting my mouth desperately, begging for his tongue, but instead he pulls me to my feet, his lips moving swiftly to my jaw, then my neck. He walks behind me and pushes my wet hair aside to trail kisses down my back, wrapping me up in his arms. And the nagging doubts about whether we’re right for each other are silenced.

  He releases me to unzip his hooded top, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. He turns me around and we kiss again, this time stronger and more forceful. I move my hands through his soft, feathery hair. It feels different, smoother, the styling products washed out by the rain. His t-shirt is damp, and the cotton clings to the contours of his body as he presses against me again. I find the bottom of his t-shirt and snake my hands underneath to feel his warm skin. A deep moan escapes his throat as I run my fingers along the taut muscles of his chest, stopping to caress the spot where his heart is pounding under his ribcage.

  He responds by pulling me even closer. I wrap my arms around his neck, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, and he clutches my waist tightly. I part my lips again and this time his tongue is there, exploring my mouth until I feel like I’m going to implode. I pull away for a moment to catch my breath. My forehead rests on his, my gasps merging with his more urgent pants. Our noses align, but our eyes are cast down, as if meeting each other’s gaze would ignite an inferno that neither of us could put out. Would we even want to put it out? We stand locked together, frozen for a moment, yet swaying to silent music.

  “Vi . . .” he mumbles breathlessly. “I want this. I want you.”

  “I do too. I promised myself I would change . . .”

  He cups my face and pulls me in close, his thumbs gently caressing my cheeks as he looks directly into my eyes. “I already told you. I don’t want you to change a single thing.”

  “No, I mean I promised myself I would start to fight for you – that’s what I’m changing. I don’t want to hide my feelings anymore. I want to let you in.” He smiles and kisses me, and heat pools in my belly. “Are you worried . . . or scared?”

  “No. Not in the slightest.” His hand grips mine and he pulls it to his chest. “I’ve never been so sure about anything.”

  I grin. “But what about our bet?”

  He looks confused for a moment, then the glimmer of recognition lands in his eyes and he laughs. His laugh is delicious. “You resigned and I was fired. We don’t work together anymore.”

  “I’m still not sure about Tribe.”

  He leans into me again, claiming my mouth with his. He tastes of mint toothpaste – fresh and clean. “I don’t want to think about that tonight . . . All I want to think about is this” – he kisses my neck – “and this” – he kisses the base of my throat – “and most definitely this” – he kisses my lips possessively. He’s making every moment last as long as possible and I hope I never forget how good this feels . . . how breathtakingly, astoundingly, brilliantly wonderful this moment is.

  He starts to walk, but he doesn’t let go of me, kissing me as we take a few steps towards the sofa. He guides me backwards and lowers me down, then he stands above me in silence, his eyes sparkling with the silver light reflected from my chandelier. He smiles “my smile’, and I instinctively push my legs together as the throb in my thighs beats hard into my pelvis.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he says as he sits down next to me. I feel myself blush, but I don’t speak. I can’t, because my heart has taken up residence in my mouth and if I tried to talk, I think I’d choke.

  I lean against the back of the sofa as he reaches for the clip that’s holding my hair back from my face. “I love your hair,” he says, running his hands over the wet tangles.

  I laugh. “Even if it’s a bit messy?”

  He brushes my hair from my face and lets it fall over one shoulder. “I love messy, because you’re messy and I love you.”

  He rests his arm on the back of the sofa, his hand gently touching my shoulder, making lazy shapes with his fingertips. His other hand moves to my leg, sliding under my skirt, kneading the soft flesh of my inner thigh, then he takes me with a frantic, possessive kiss that lasts so long I feel breathless and light-headed. If I suffocate under him, it’s fine. I can think of many worse ways to die.

  He untucks my top from my skirt, and I raise my arms as he pulls the damp material over my head. My hair falls forward over my chest. I look down and mentally high-five myself when I notice that somehow – against insurmountable odds – I managed to put on one of my very few sexy bras this morning.

  “Fuck,” he gasps as he stares at the sheer, fuchsia-pink netting which encases my breasts but leaves little to the imagination. He reaches out and runs his fingers along the peach lace trim. “That’s one hell of a hot sight,” he murmurs. I grin at his reaction, then I grin wider as I recall putting on the matching pair of knickers this morning. Luck is on my side – that’s definitely never happened before.

  He moves in closer and kisses me again, moaning into my mouth as our chests crash together. I tug at the bottom of his t-shirt and he breaks off to impatiently yank it over his head. I spread my palms over his chest, and he mirrors my movements, brushing his fingers over my bra and thumbing my nipples, already hard and protruding under the see-through fabric.

  “Oh . . . my god . . .” he says as his hands become moulded to my tits, his fingers rubbing roughly at each hard peak, pressing into my soft flesh. Each time he breaks off from kissing me, I’m captivated by how wide his eyes are and how spellbound he seems to be. “You’re so amazing . . . shit . . . why did I wait so long for this?”

  I can’t help but smile with pride. Don’t get me wrong – I know I can pull off “sexy” when I try, but tonight I seem to have managed it with absolutely no effort at all. Given I’ve also been rained on for half an hour I figure he must like the drowned-rat look. “Wait until you see my matching knickers,” I purr into his ear.

  “Oh my god.” His voice is strained with heavy panting breaths that persistently remind me how completely into this he is. Shit. He’s completely into me, isn’t he? His throat vibrates as he kisses the tops of my breasts. “You’re killing me,” he groans.

  “I know I am,” I say with a teasing giggle as I change position suddenly to sit on my knees, taking him by surprise. He falls back into the corner of the sofa and watches me reach for the zip on my skirt. I don’t feel shy or embarrassed or insecure at shedding more clothing because I can see the longing, the raw desire, embedded in his face. He’s looking at me as if I’m everything he wants, and I don’t think – although I might be insane – that he only wants sex. I believe he sees a future with me in it.

  I let my skirt fall around my hips, then I stand up and let it drop to the floor. I step out of the floral cotton at my feet and manoeuvre myself between his legs. I wish I could kick off my heels, but sadly they’re strapped to my ankles. He pulls me forwards, his fingers hooking under the elastic of my underwear, his palms warm against my hip. He kisses my stomach, his tongue dipping into
my navel, and it feels amazing. I pull his head into me and run my fingers roughly through his hair, desperately needing . . . begging for . . . more.

  He pokes off his trainers with the back of each foot, followed by his socks, and then he grabs my behind, pulling me into his lap. I position myself so I’m straddling him, and I gasp as I feel his hardness beneath me. I meet his mouth with mine again, rubbing myself against the damp fabric of his jeans, making him groan as I press down onto his cock. I’m determined to make this the best sex I’ve ever had. I can’t vouch for it being the best he’s ever had given his colourful history . . . but the way he’s already responded to me is making me feel like I’ve got the bedroom skills of a high-class escort. Is that even a good thing? Oh, who cares?

  “Shall we go to the bedroom?” I ask, rocking gently on his groin, soft throaty gasps escaping into the space between us.

  “No . . . I just want you . . . here . . .”

  “You want me right here?” I say with a giggle.

  “Yes, so don’t you dare think of going . . .” He moves his hands to my back and fiddles with the clasp of my bra. His trembling knuckles jerk and dig into me as he battles to undo the hook, cursing under his breath. I pull my hands behind me to help him out, but he’s won before I get there, the peach lace straps falling from my shoulders. I let him peel away the remaining fabric and he surprises me by immediately taking one of my breasts into his mouth. I arch my back and moan as he pulls at my nipple with his teeth.

  “If we’re staying here, we need to get protection. I have some in the bathroom . . .”

  “My . . . wallet . . .” he says with difficulty, his mouth full of breast.

  He lifts his behind and I raise myself up so he can pull his wallet from his jeans pocket. He throws it down on the sofa next to him and unbuckles his belt. His fumbling is manic, and impossible with me straddling him, so I get up and take the opportunity to unstrap my heeled sandals.

  “No, leave them on.”