I flick ash into a pot.
Somewhere in my little brain I had a plan to drop some money into Ann Summers’ till. But that plan is wearing a slit throat and shoes with dried blood on them: I won’t be wearing no baby doll outfit and waiting stretched out on my dining table for Ebony’s man tomorrow. In a way it is a relief. There is something about Jaron Rose that terrifies me. He plays with my head. He sets up cravings inside me that I can’t control.
I finish my cigarette and grind it out on the metal railing. I am firm in my decision. I’m never going to bed with Jaron Fucking Rose again. I go into my home, close the balcony door, and though I can still smell him, I go straight to my worktable.
I sit down and sketch a little girl’s outfit. A white pantsuit with blood red lace frills. It has a round red pocket on it. I hold it away from me. Nice one, Billie. I lean my head back and Jaron pops into my mind. With ruthless precision I push him out and open to a fresh page on my drawing pad.
I will forget him, if it’s the last thing I do.
3.30 p.m. one day later.
I glance at my watch. All day I have been a bundle of nerves. I’ve gone through so many cigarettes I feel light-headed. I go into my bedroom and dress in blue: baggy top and shapeless trousers. The least sexy thing a woman can wear, but then I cannot resist spraying a little perfume.
‘Who are you trying to kid?’ my reflection taunts.
‘I can look good while I’m telling him to fuck off,’ I tell my reflection, and sweep on a layer of mascara. My stomach is clenched tight with anticipation. I need a stiff drink. I help myself to an impressively large shot. That helps loosen the knot. I twist my wrist and look at the time.
3.40 p.m.
Right. I smoke another cigarette and pace the floor. Time creeps along.
3.55 p.m. I look at my reflection in the dining room mirror. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes glitter
3.56 p.m. For fuck’s sake.
3.59 p.m. I take a deep breath and leaving the living room walk toward the hallway.
4.00 p.m.
Jaron Rose walks through my door, and finds me leaning nonchalantly against the hallway table. He is dressed all in black again. And damn if it doesn’t make him look devilishly good. He stops when he sees me. We stare at each other. My thoughts swirl like crazy, untangle and drop into a confused heap at the bottom of my mind. Desire flashes like fire between us. The memory of the hot iron thrust of his cock flashes into my empty mind.
He smiles, a hint of something rich and secret. He should come with a warning. Beware. Undercurrents here. Dark and dangerous undercurrents. ‘It’s not too late to get on the dining table,’ he says seductively.
Even I have to admit: he is über, über cool.
‘Most people knock and wait to be allowed in,’ I say sarcastically.
‘I’m not most people,’ he says, and gives me a look so filthy it makes my toes curl.
‘What did you do? Steal my key and make an impression of it?’
He grins. ‘Nope. I’m just good with locks and clocks. Thought I’d save you the trouble of opening the door.’
‘Well, don’t.’
‘Are you always this unfriendly when someone is trying to be helpful?’
I fix him with an unfriendly, slightly suspicious stare. ‘Ebony dropped in yesterday.’
His eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t appear in the least bit concerned.
‘Right after you left… And when she realized that you had just fucked me she burst into tears and ran away.’
For a moment he stares at me expressionlessly and then he breaks into a grin. ‘You opened the door in your torn nightie, didn’t you?’
I fidget uncomfortably. ‘I may have done. But so what if I did? You’re the cheat.’
‘Awww… Did she make you feel bad?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes, you brute.’
He throws his head back and laughs callously.
I glare at him. ‘I’m glad you think breaking your girlfriend’s heart is funny because she looked a mess yesterday.’
He takes a step toward me and I instinctively take a step back.
He stops. ‘Are you scared of me, Billie Black?’
‘No, I AM not.’ I put my hands on my hips and glower at him.
‘Don’t run when I come towards you then,’ he says, and walks unhurriedly to me.
My pulse starts racing and for some ridiculous reason my throat snaps shut. Watch out, the warning flashes in my mind, and I have to quell the desire to step sideways—backwards is out of the question since there is a wall behind me. So I stand my ground and hardly flinch when his hand slams into the wall, and he leans one massive shoulder against it, effectively trapping me.
I squirm and look up into those dark green eyes. Oh man! Hurriedly, I drop my gaze to his mouth. Fuck me. I drop it lower to his throat. I am on safer ground watching his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he chuckles. The warm flutter of his breath on my forehead is a bit more distracting.