True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(8)

     



 

'Don't you dare ...'

Before I manage to push out the final words or turn away, his mouth is  on mine. And now that he's kissing me, I should resist. But I don't. In  fact, I can't. His lips are as smooth and warm as ever, and I cave in  straight away. Kissing him back with a passion, I let his tongue twist  and turn against mine, lapping up the taste of him, listening to my  brain as it nags me to get a ruddy grip. Enjoying the absolute  perfection of a Daniel Foster kiss, I waft it away. As ever, physical  contact reduces me to a wanton hussy. A hand slides around my back,  pulling me in tight as he practically devours me. At last, when he's  finally had his fill, he pulls back, waiting for me to open my eyes  before he speaks.

'Feel that, Maya? That's attraction. The strongest fucking attraction  I've ever felt in my life. And you feel it too.' Releasing my hands, he  runs a finger across my neck. 'That's why you'll be wearing the necklace  again before you step out of this door. You and me are made for each  other.' He presses his crotch against mine. 'Capiche?'

'No,' I squeak.

'Never mind. You will.' He takes a step back. 'So, if you don't mind, I'd like to get started.'

'Started?' I gasp, still struggling to get my lungs back under control. 'On what?'

'My agenda. We're going to talk things through. And then we're going to  sort things out. And then I'm going to fuck the living daylights out of  you.'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that.' I straighten my dress.

'I would.' He withdraws another step. 'Now, why don't I make you that coffee?'

I glare at his self-assured smile for a good ten seconds before I push  past him, huffing my way over to a sofa, muttering obscenities under my  breath. While he sets about making me an unwanted cup of coffee, I take  off my shoes, tuck my legs under my bottom and fold my arms across my  lap. Watching the rain lash against the windows, I listen to the sound  of water gurgling, the chink of a teaspoon. At last, he appears in front  of me and offers me a mug. Reluctantly, I take it, holding it in both  hands and curling my fingers around the sides.

'Well?' I probe.

'Well what?' With a mug of his own, he positions himself on the coffee table, right in front of me.

'Item number one. Talking things through.'

'You're going to listen?'

'What choice do I have?'

Resigned to the fact that I've just got to grit my teeth and get on with  it, the sensible half of my brain finally seems to have calmed down.  And if the idiot half wasn't currently wavering, swamping itself with  visions of sweaty bodies thrashing about on a bed, I'd definitely have  the upper hand.

He chews at his bottom lip and stares at the floor. The show's clearly  over for now. He's locked me in, whacked me with a good dose of the  arrogant, womanising arse and kissed my face off. And fair play to him.  He's done pretty well with the shock and awe, but now that we're down to  the nitty gritty, he doesn't seem quite so sure of himself. And I'm  beginning to melt.

'Would you like to get started?' I ask, breaking the silence.

He shakes his head. 'I don't know where to start.'

'How about with the deception thing?'

'I told you. I didn't mean to.'

'Not good enough.'

'Maya, when I realised who you were, I lost all reason ...'

'That's not making me feel any better.'

'I know you hate me at the moment.'

'I don't hate you.' His head flicks up, his features softened by a look of hope. 'I pity you.'

His forehead creases. 'I don't want pity.'

'Not for the way you grew up. I pity you because you wanted revenge. That's pathetic.'

He stares at me, his eyes suddenly cold. 'Can you honestly tell me you've never wanted it?'

I think of Sara. Oh God, I've wanted it so many times. In fact, if  memory serves me right, only last week I paraded Dan in front of her  while she was at her lowest ebb.

'I should never have told you,' he mutters.

'But you did.'

He stares at me some more.

'I'm no angel. I have faults.' He places his mug on the table. 'It was a few moments of madness.'

Now, that's not quite right.

'A few moments? When did you first find out about me?'

'Friday,' he answers quietly. 'I saw your file on Friday.'

'And you had me moved to Norman's office?'         

     



 

'Yes.'

'And then you called me on Monday, and then you ordered me up to that  meeting. I'd say that's more than just a few moments of madness.' My  voice is rising now. 'That's four fucking days' worth of it.'

'Okay,' he snaps, sending a jolt right through my body and coffee  spilling all over the plush cream sofa. 'Maybe it was more than that.'  Glaring into my eyes, he struggles to calm himself. 'Happy now?'

'You used me.'

'Oh, get real.' He grimaces. 'That's not true.'

'You used me to get back at Sara.'

'Think about it, Maya. I did not use you.'

Pushing himself up from the table, he prowls to the window. With his back to me, he folds his arms and stares out at the Thames.

'Whatever happened, I wouldn't have gone through with it. I'm not that  sort of man  …  not deep down. I've never done anything like that in my  life.' His head dips. 'I would have come to my senses sooner or later. I  don't even know what made me think like that in the first place.'

He drifts off into silence and I wish I could see his face. Both of us  know what made him think like that: my sister's relentless bullying, a  miserable childhood, the past we share. I'm about to tell him as much  when he begins to speak again, more quickly this time, as if he's trying  to force out the words before he loses the strength to do it.

'I found out who you were on Friday afternoon. I organised the swap  because I wanted you near me. And then I spent the weekend  … '

He pauses and I wonder what on Earth he's going to say next. Plotting  how to use you? Planning how to destroy you? When his answer finally  comes, it throws me.

'Pissed out of my head. Trying not to think at all. It was a fucking  miracle I sobered up by Monday morning.' I hear him blow out a breath.  'I walked in that day. I knew you'd be in the lobby at nine. I timed it  so that I could see you but you had your back to me. You were filling in  a form. I don't know what I expected to happen when I saw you, but I  certainly didn't expect ...'

'What?'

He turns. 'You were wearing a tiny strip of material that could barely  pass as a skirt. I rode the lift up to my office with the biggest  hard-on of my life.'

I feel my lips begin to curve upwards. No, no, no. This isn't good at  all. They're breaking ranks. This is a serious conversation, and I'm  smiling at his crassness.

'I called you because I wanted to hear your voice. I had you come to the  meeting because I wanted to see you properly.' He pauses, weighing up  his next words. 'You took my breath away as soon as I laid eyes on you.'

I'm thinking back to that meeting now, to his cold greeting. Good God,  if that's taking someone's breath away, then I'm a monkey's aunt.

'You covered it up well.'

'I'm good at that sort of thing.'

As he moves back towards me, my body prickles with anticipation. He  comes to a halt in front of the sofa, reaching down, taking the mug from  me and placing it next to his own before he positions himself back on  the edge of the coffee table. He leans forwards and rests his elbows on  his knees.

'Right from the start, I knew I was in trouble. I was a complete fucking  mess.' He pauses, watching for my reaction. 'You do that to me, Maya.  You turn me inside out. You're in here.' He touches his head. 'Every  single minute of the day. I need to fix this.'

I'm already captivated by the flecks of copper dancing around his  pupils, the layers of dark blue that permeate his irises. They're  pleading with me now, those eyes, and I just want to fall into his arms.  Reaching out, he takes my hand in his, triggering the same electrical  charge that pulsates through me every single time we're in contact.  Logic won't last long. I know that. I need to drop in a weak and  pointless protest, and I need to do it fast.

'I don't know if I can trust you.'

'You can trust me more than anyone else in the world.'

'How can I trust a man who keeps secrets from me?'

'I tried to tell you, more than once. It was never the right time.'

I stare at his long fingers, saying nothing. I'm crumbling steadily.

'And I'm not the only one who kept secrets. You didn't tell me about Boyd.'

It's an instinct. At the mention of his name, I pull my hand away.

'That's different.'

'How is it?' he demands, his voice still gentle.

'That's nothing to do with who I am.'         

     



 

'Of course it is.'

And he's so bloody right. Boyd, my sister, Tom: the whole lot of them have left me riddled with self-doubt and fear.

'I never talk about him. I don't even like to think about him. I block him out. That's the way I cope.'

'And how do you think I deal with my past?'

He falls silent. Taking both of my hands now, he gently encourages me to  my feet, pulling me in to his chest and enclosing me in his arms. I  feel a hand at the back of my head, another at the base of my spine, and  I can smell him now, that fresh signature scent of his. A familiar  spark of energy flutters through my body, concentrating in my chest and  in my loins. And then the tears begin to flow. Maybe it's because of  Boyd, because Dan's just scratched a wound that's never really healed,  or maybe I'm crying for Dan, suddenly overwhelmed by the awfulness of  his past. I have no idea, but a gentle trickle soon grows in force.