Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
‘Sounds good to me.’ He strides over to the double doors that lead onto the courtyard. ‘I love this,’ he says, unlocking the door as I pour us drinks. ‘I’m on the fifth floor of a high-rise. No outside space.’
I gather up the glasses and follow him into my small garden. ‘Here.’ I hand him a glass and he raises it before taking a sip. ‘Cheers,’ I say in response.
He wanders over to the willow tree and pulls back some of the branches, peeking into the hidden space behind. ‘This is really cool.’
‘It’s my peaceful space,’ I say, getting an unexpected replay of Stephanie’s tormenting sounds of pleasure in my head. And then Jack’s growl. They’re playing on loop. Over and over, getting louder each time. I wince, closing my eyes, but I’m interrupted from my inner turmoil when Tom speaks. ‘You never did tell me what you do.’
‘I’m an architect.’
‘Nice. Designed anything I might know?’
‘Like the Shard or something equally iconic?’ I ask on a teasing smile.
Tom laughs. ‘Now I know the bloke who designed the Shard was some Italian dude. You’re not Italian, and you are definitely not a dude.’ He winks cheekily, prompting me to laugh.
‘His name is Renzo Piano. Sadly, I’m nowhere near his league, but maybe one day.’ I shrug.
Tom smiles and takes one step forward, closing the distance between us to only a foot or so. I look up at him, finding soft, searching eyes. ‘I’m hoping I haven’t read this wrong.’
He moves in and I hold my breath, waiting for his lips to meet mine, and when they do, I exhale and relax, accepting his kiss. His lips are soft and tender, his mouth working slowly over mine. My mind empties. It’s a relief. It’s a reprieve. I can’t pass up the opportunity to free myself from the mental chains I’ve locked myself in. Even if it’s only temporarily.
With my wine glass in one hand, I use my free arm to reach up and rest over his broad shoulders, responding to his kiss. My willingness forces the pace up a few notches. I expect this to take me further away from my pain, but I’m proven wrong when my darkness is suddenly hijacked with images of Jack. I try to push his beautiful face to the side, feeling Tom slip my dress from my shoulders, exposing my bra straps. The bra Jack bought for me. I persevere, taking our kiss up another level in the hope of getting past my momentary lapse in fortitude, but a loud crash brings the moment to a screeching halt and Tom pulls away fast, looking towards the doors.
‘What was that?’ he asks, a little dazed.
‘I don’t know.’ I start towards the flat to investigate, and just make it into the kitchen when Jack comes crashing through from the lounge. I skid to a stop, shocked by the sight of him. He looks manic, his eyes wild. He stares at me, his chest puffing under his jacket, his shirt hanging from his trousers, his waistcoat undone and the knot of his tie halfway down his torso. He looks a wreck, and when his focus moves and centres on something behind me, his jaw tensing to snapping point, I know he’s seen I have company.
I fear Jack might explode at any second and lash out at my guest. I can’t allow that.
I turn to Tom. ‘I’m sorry; I think it’s best you leave.’ I take his wine glass from his hand and set it to the side, not liking the scowl he has pointed at Jack.
‘Who’s this?’ Tom asks, keeping his eyes on the deranged-looking man in the doorway of my kitchen. I hear Jack draw breath and wait for him to say something, but nothing comes. What can he say? That he’s the married man who’s fucking me?
‘A friend,’ I say, taking Tom’s arm. ‘I’ll see you out.’ Leading him towards the kitchen door, I look at Jack, my jaw as tight as his. He moves from our path, his nostrils flaring aggressively as we pass. I can see it’s taking everything in him not to lunge at Tom and beat the shit out of him.
‘I’m not sure I’m cool with leaving you alone with him,’ Tom says as we reach the front door. It’s open, with splinters of wood hanging off around the lock.
I shake my head to myself. ‘He’s not that type,’ I mumble meekly, trying to smile.
‘I don’t think your front door would agree.’ Tom points at the mangled wood with a frown.
I’m feeling so remorseful for putting him in this position. ‘I’m so sorry about this.’
‘An ex?’ Tom asks, eyebrows high, and I just nod, because what the hell else can I say? ‘I don’t think he’s over you,’ he laughs. ‘I hope you sort it out.’ His sincerity triples my remorse. Leaning down, he gives me a peck on the cheek. ‘Bear me in mind if you don’t, though, yeah?’