Chapter Two
Ketchup on Your Face
I watched Jeremy Kyle browbeat his guests, feeling pretty damn smug my life wasn’t as screwed up as the ex-convict sleeping with his sister’s boyfriend. Then Caroline walked in, frowned, and immediately put a damper on my happy buzz. She switched off the TV and turned on Classic FM.
While some poor cow screeched in Italian, Caroline looked around the kitchen like one of those know-it-all designers—the ones who leech people’s homes of personality and call it tasteful. I backed off and watched her. The nineteen eighties Formica countertops and splintered, mismatched chairs contrasted sharply with Caroline’s carefully curated understated elegance. It was going to be a tight fit for dinner tonight. Our kitchen was big enough to cram in a table and chairs but not large enough to fit Caroline’s distaste.
She stared at my midriff. “Don’t you have anything else to wear? You look cheap.”
“This is my reality-TV look,” I said, eyeing her chic dress and glitzy shoes. Man, I loved shoes and Caroline had loads. “You could let me at your wardrobe if it really bothers you, and then we could ask James to pick out the real Caroline.”
Her frown turned into a scowl. We’re hardly clones but we’re very similar and she hates that. Caroline’s my height, slender and perfectly proportioned, unlike me. We share the same shade of honey-blond hair and we both wear it long, except that hers is always salon perfect. She’s most often described as classically beautiful though, and doesn’t get the crude attention I get. I’ve been cursed with the kind of padding that inspires panting, not poetry.
When we were little my mother used to say that Caroline was her strawberries and cream, all pink and white, and I was her peach crumble—until she forgot she was supposed to like peaches just as much as strawberries.
Our eye colour is different also. Mine are a changeling shade of blue whereas Caroline’s are a constant shade of bitch. Looking at her, they seemed harder than usual. I checked on the chicken and studied her as she made a salad. Her movements were stiffly precise.
Trouble in paradise maybe? I certainly hoped so.
“Is James too posh to help with the nosh?”
I laughed at my rhyme, watching Caroline grate a carrot and bobbing my head to the rhythm. Shit, I was high as a kite. If I weren’t careful she’d notice and tell the olds. I modulated my voice and tried to sound like I usually did.
“Where’s the toff?”
“If you mean James, he’s discussing the order of service with mother.”
Brilliant, my chance to get crude with cantankerous Caroline had come. That’s alliteration by the way. I passed my English retake with an A.
I glanced toward the sitting room. “It’s a pity James will be Down Under until the wedding. That’s three months for him to jerk off at his hotel all alone. Why don’t you give him some pussy tonight? Show the poor sod you care.”
Caroline stopped grating. “That would only show that I’m a slut, like you.”
“Never underestimate the power of the pussy.”
I popped a cherry tomato into my mouth, moaning in pleasure as I chewed. Her face turned a blotchy red and she grabbed a cucumber, slicing it viciously. Jesus, was she uptight or what? I bent down to get the plates from my mother’s hand-painted wooden cupboard. The red poppies on the doors grew and rippled in front of me and I swatted one away.
“What’s wrong, Caro? Are you afraid you won’t measure up in the sack? Surely James has copped a feel and told you what he likes? Don’t tell me you haven’t done the same to him.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Copping a feel is for women like you. I’m saving myself for marriage, especially after what happened to mother. I’ll be a real virgin on my wedding night and never know the touch of another man.”
Oh for fuck’s sake! Caroline belonged in the Middle Ages. Only sleeping with one man your entire life? No fun and games before you committed yourself to lifelong misery? No thanks.
“Sounds bloody boring to me,” I said. “And all that pain on your wedding night when you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself. Take it from me, Caro, virgin sex hurts like hell. A man’s penis is like a crowbar, stretching you open and tearing you up even if he takes it slow. The head looks like a red Nazi helmet and it’s like, really wide...and that’s the bit you’re going to have to deal with first, all swollen and pokey. Once it’s jammed inside you’ll have to pee so bad you think you’ll burst, but all you can do is struggle not to leak while he pumps into you.”
Caroline stopped slicing, the colour draining from her face.
I resisted the urge to laugh. “If you’re lucky, your hymen will break before James rips your vagina apart. You’ll still be begging him to stop ’cause it hurts so bad, and then you’ll bleed like you’ve got your period. But don’t worry—he won’t care about the mess. He’ll be ramming his penis inside, over and over, rutting away for all he’s worth, grating your tender skin like you just did that carrot. And when it’s all over it’ll feel like you’ve got thrush.”
Caroline’s face was ashen. “You’re deliberately trying to scare me.”
“Just telling it like it is. Don’t go easy on the booze at your reception. James will want to screw all night since he’s been such a good boy. He’ll be like that geyser you saw in Iceland, ready to blow every hour on the hour.”
Caroline frowned. “That’s where you’re wrong. My fiancé is not the sort of man you’re used to.”
I widened my eyes. “You mean he’ll be happy with blow jobs?” She looked nauseous at the suggestion. “Men love getting head, Caroline. If I were you I’d take that cucumber and start practicing. Nothing disappoints a guy more than a woman who won’t go down, or worse—one who won’t swallow.”
“You’d know all about that,” she said maliciously.
The smile drained from my face and I stared at her, lost in my agonising past. “Thanks to you.”
Caroline tut-tutted. “Delusional as usual—the drugs did a once-over on your sanity.”
Her denial wasn’t surprising but it filled me with frustration all the same. Sometimes people convince themselves the lies they tell are the truth, as I suspected Caroline had. Sure, I’ve told my fair share of porkers, from little white gaps in reality to whopping black holes. But I don’t confuse my lies with the truth and I never lie to myself. The weird quirk that allows me to see the truth in others makes it impossible not to see it in myself.
That sucks, believe me.
Looking at Caroline I wondered again why she’d always hated me. For a crazy moment I wished we were like normal sisters, ones who loved each other, shared clothes and confided things. I would be happy for Caroline’s marriage and she would help me with my pregnancy dilemma. We would hold hands and find a park to make daisy chains in, laughing and rolling around on the grass.
Shit, the upper was making me delusional. I needed a distraction and Caroline’s sour expression said she was dissatisfied with more than our shabby house and my smutty conversation.
“What’s got you into a huff?” I asked.
In her annoyance Caroline was eager to off-load. “James is thinking of leaving Wimpress & Wimpress before he makes partner. He wants to buy a hotel in Spain of all places. Can you imagine?”
Not really, but it sounded a hell of a lot better than working a nine-to-five in dreary England. I grinned at the thought of Caroline giving up her corporate dreams to go bohemian on the Costa del Whatever.
“Don’t knock it, Caro. You’d look great in an apron and flip flops, handing out plates of baked beans on toast. And think of all the stag party drunks you’d meet.”
Caroline looked even more alarmed than when I’d taunted her about virgin sex. I puckered up to an imaginary lover, wiggling my bottom and moulding my hands to my breasts, lowering them to my crotch and undulating like a belly dancer.
“I told you already. Give the man some pussy and he’ll forget about Spain.”
I laughed at her expression, pivoted on my heels and smacked straight into James. The sudden contact with his hard chest made my nipples tingle and my breath hitch. His hands came out to steady me and he looked down. Instead of moving away, I wrapped my arms around his neck and tilted my face up.
“You should give him some tonight. I can tell he needs it,” I said, caught by a force I couldn’t put words to, something urging me to get closer. My eyes dared him to kiss me, blatantly showing him my desire. Hell, I was dizzy. Dizzy from the contact with his tall, muscular body and dizzy from my little spin with the upper.
James looked at my lips and I felt him shiver before he set me firmly away.
His voice was flat and condescending. “Only a woman lacking in intelligence gives a man pussy to get what she wants and only men who think with their cocks take it.” He looked at me disparagingly. “Caroline is certainly not the former and I’m not the latter. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of everyone.”
Anger at his insult left me grasping for the comeback that was hovering right at the tip of my tongue. Damn it, I knew I’d think of something when it was too late. Not that James would stick around to hear it. He’d cleared the space between him and Caroline and was bending down to give her a gentle, apologetic kiss for his language.
I thought I might puke.
* * *
Dry chicken breast, chips and salad.
I stared at the unappetising food on my plate and let the inane conversation waft over me. Would it have hurt my parents to wish me a happy birthday? I was desperate to go upstairs and take a few slurps of liquid celebration but I couldn’t, not with our guest of honour forcing me to pretend I was part of our family.
I watched Caroline’s French-manicured fingers lift her glass to pale pink lips. No wine for rehab girl, no siree. I got juice or H2O at home. Self-pity threatened to topple my polite social mask so I straightened my back and jammed a piece of chicken into my mouth.
My mother was eager for stories to tell after church. “Do you have any celebrity clients, James?”
He headed her off with a smile. “My firm is draconian in its confidentiality policy.”
She didn’t know what draconian meant but she got the message and sat back, disappointed.
My father took a long swig of Heineken. “What kind of lawyerin’ do you do again?”
Caroline sighed. “Corporate law and taxation, Daddy. Remember?”
I had looked it up. “James helps companies and really rich people avoid paying their taxes,” I clarified.
James gave me a steady look. “We minimise the tax liability for our clients, yes, but we do not facilitate tax evasion.”
I rolled my eyes at his mumbo jumbo. “You help your clients screw the government out of money while people like us pay everything we owe because we’re poor. That must be so fulfilling.”
“It’s fulfilling to give good advice,” he said levelly.
“It’s a lucrative branch of the law,” Caroline interjected, her face full of pride—and the desire to work in taxation once she’d paid her dues at Legal Aid. “James excels at it and should make partner before long. It’s perfectly legal—that’s the beauty of it.”
I turned on her. “So whatever is legal is right? I thought you trained to be a lawyer to help people defend themselves or fight injustice, not help the rich get richer.”
“Nothing wrong with being rich,” my mother said, smiling at James.
My father nodded and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn right, there in’t. Caroline will be set for life when she marries you, mate. Posh like she’s always dreamed. You said you’d only marry a high-class bloke, remember darlin’?”
James shifted uncomfortably and Caroline turned a darker red than her wine. I hoped she’d choke on it but she didn’t oblige.
I focused on James. “Do carry on making yourself and your clients richer while everybody else pays what they owe.”
He gave me another one of those measuring looks I was learning to hate. “It’s hypocritical of you to judge me for doing my job when you don’t contribute the taxes you’re so concerned about. When you’ve tired of being ‘between miseries’ and join the workforce, I’ll consider your opinion.”
He had a point but I wasn’t willing to let him get away with it. The whole practice seemed unfair to me. “Firms like yours help dictators and the mafia to launder their money,” I accused.
Caroline huffed irritably. “Paisley, tax law is over your head. Stick to secretarial studies and leave complicated affairs to those qualified to understand them.”
“It’s hardly rocket science. I read all about it in five minutes.” I pointed my finger at James. “You’re as guilty of money laundering as your clients are. Worse, even, because you help them to do it. That’s disgusting.”
My father gave me a menacing look. “That’s enough out of you.”
“Not to worry, Mr Benton,” James said coolly. “Self-righteousness is often a shield forged in hypocrisy.”
Once again I felt his measured appraisal, only this time I didn’t care what he thought of me.
<<Bring it on.>>
He obliged. “You seem perfectly capable of studying or getting a job regardless of your...troubles. Yet you want to live off the work of taxpayers like your parents, people who work hard so you can laze around and—”
“You know nothing about me,” I interrupted, livid at his judgement.
“Likewise, but out of respect for your parents I’ll elucidate.” He turned his head to address my father. “For the record, I do not represent criminals or dictators and I would never condone or facilitate their activities. My clients are hard-working professionals looking for tax effective ways to manage their money. I help them.”
“Yeah, to help themselves,” I mocked.
“Why should that bother you?” James asked, sounding truly perplexed. “Many of my clients are like Caroline, people who are successful because they have drive and intelligence. They don’t sit around and expect others to work for them. You languish at home, perfectly capable of doing the same but choosing not to. You should aspire to be more like Caroline—an honest, professional woman of outstanding integrity.”
I was speechless. If love was blind then James needed a guide dog to steer him clear of the bitch sitting next to him. Then again, it probably wouldn’t work. Caroline had years of practice hiding her true self.
I couldn’t look at her. She’d be preening and blushing with pleasure and the sight would make me sick. I stared into James’s eyes instead, suddenly struck by the image of a summer blade of grass dipped in gold.
“Gold dust doesn’t stick,” I said, much to everybody’s bemusement. They could make of my words whatever they wanted, because I didn’t even know what I meant by that.
“Never mind Paisley, darling, we’re used to her tirades,” Caroline said.
The conversation turned to the wedding and I slumped back in my chair, my food cold and forgotten. James looked serene, the sanctimonious prat, whereas I felt anything but. I was seething, aroused by our exchange and wanting to fly across the table and take my convoluted emotions out on him.
What the hell was wrong with me?
James observed me so discreetly I doubted anybody else noticed. Every time our eyes met it was like swallowing hard liquor, a burning jolt that travelled straight to the pit of my stomach. When I saw his next glance I was ready.
<<Hungry?>>
His fist clenched around his glass. I concentrated on squeezing ketchup over my cold chips, just to do something to keep my eyes off him. When I looked up he was watching me again.
<<Can’t stop staring, can you?>>
His gaze went to my cheek. <<You’ve got ketchup on your face.>>
I wiped it off with a scowl and the corners of his lips lifted. When the meal was finished I got the cake I’d picked up and set it on the table. My top gaped open in front of James as I fumbled with the matches, taking my time to light my candle. Unmistakable desire flashed in his eyes before he caught himself and looked away.
Caroline’s voice floated around the kitchen, her vowels longer than the Queen’s. “Trisha and Sandy are travelling down next weekend for bridesmaid’s fittings with Veronica and Harriet. Afterwards we’ll be dining at La Piemontesa.”
I rolled my eyes. There was no such thing as plain old eating and drinking for Caroline. These days she “dined,” “took tea” or “enjoyed refreshments.” The more she talked about her plans, the more my serotonin levels dropped. I knew all about those from rehab. They rise sharply when you’re high and when they drop they take you with them. For some people that means a lot of whinging or crying; for me it means bad-tempered rudeness.
My madwoman might be stuck away in the attic but my inner bitch was free to roam.
“You mean I’m not a bridesmaid?” I interrupted, laying on a little false accent of my own. “I’m gut’ed.”
“You can help the best man,” Caroline said.
“I’d rather get off with him, thanks.”
My father banged his fist on the table. “Elizabeth Paisley Benton!”
Oh, crap, he was going to make me pay for that little remark. My mother reached a fluttering hand out, smiling nervously at James. Watching her attempt to control my father’s rage, it occurred to me that he couldn’t do anything in front of our posh guest.
“I’m sorry,” I said, hand on heart. “I’d rather fuck the best man’s brains out than have anything to do with the wedding. How’s that for honesty, James?”
I toasted my sister with the last of my juice, leaving my family to make excuses to the stuck-up lawyer who was going to marry her. Him I was glad to leave behind most of all.
* * *
I tried to drown my troubles in bathwater but my mind flitted between my unwanted pregnancy and my unwanted attraction to James. Pregnancy...James...baby...
Babe.
Oh God, I couldn’t do anything about being pregnant but I sure as hell wasn’t going to waste another second thinking about my sister’s snooty fiancé. I wished I could have got him back for his insults though, especially the one about my lack of intelligence. That had to be the only reason he was still occupying my thoughts.
I pulled my bathrobe over my damp skin and walked out of the bathroom, coming to an abrupt halt when I saw James leaning against the opposite wall. His eyes swept over me, pausing briefly on my breasts before he averted his gaze. I swallowed nervously, my fingers clumsy as I finished tying my robe.
We stared at each other, swirling currents rippling in the air between us. With one stride he was in front of me.
“Excuse me,” he said stiffly, intending to brush past and go into the bathroom.
I didn’t budge. “Where is everybody?”
“Caroline took the Lamborghini to drop off your parents at the Radomskys’ for card games while I shower and change. We’re meeting up with her bridesmaids in town.”
He looked just fine to me. The work tie had come off and a few of his shirt buttons were undone. His sleeves were rolled up and his face was slightly flushed from sitting in our stuffy kitchen. And his lips—
Stop slobbering! my mind shouted.
“I’m sorry James,” I said hurriedly, bowing my head and mustering all the sincerity I could. “I was acting like an idiot before dinner but I was just teasing. Honest. I didn’t mean what I said about your job either. You showed me I’m being irresponsible and lazy and I didn’t like it.”
My eyes were level with his chest, counting the open buttons with a mind of their own. “I wish I had a brother like you, somebody to give me good advice.”
James’s expression changed from guarded to friendly and he relaxed. His eyes warmed and out came that devastating smile. My breath caught at his loveliness. An odd description for a man, I know, and I couldn’t even blame the upper.
I held out my hand and smiled tentatively. “Friends?”
When I felt his warm clasp, the same little contact buzz ricocheted between us but we didn’t let go. I don’t think James noticed he was still holding my hand until I tugged it free. I’d almost forgotten about getting him back for his insults. Almost.
My bottom lip trembled. “My rudeness forced me upstairs without even a kiss from Mum and Dad but never mind,” I said, sighing for good measure. “We’re rarely on good terms anyway and nobody even cares that it’s my birthday.”
I heaved a longer, heavier sigh and turned away, shoulders hunched and face averted. I didn’t have to pretend the sadness but had I laid it on too thick? Something in my voice must have got to James because he pulled me back like I hoped he would.
“Happy Birthday, Paisley.”
He bent his head and aimed a brotherly kiss at my cheek but I saw it coming and turned my lips to his at the last minute. My intention was to give him a quick peck to put him on the spot and embarrass him, but kissing James was like nothing I’d ever felt before. His mouth was warm and masculine, yes, but electric, sparking a jet of instant pleasure that spread from my lips to the rest of my body like one of those forest fires you hear about in California.
James gasped and pulled away. Without thinking I followed his upward move, clinging to his mouth. He froze and I took advantage, twining my tongue with his and stroking into him. He tasted of the expensive brandy he’d gifted my father. Heady and forbidden.
A long shudder went through him and then his tongue stroked me back and he pulled me roughly into his chest. My hands locked around the back of his neck and we tangled together, probing and pulling in a rising surge of desire, tasting each other like we couldn’t get enough.
He didn’t nibble at me or beat around the bush. He devoured my mouth as if he were starving. When he reached down to push me away, I held on to his neck like a leech. Hot hands landed on my bottom, rested and then cupped and squeezed me into his crotch. He was hard and getting harder. The sound in his throat was tortured. Full of lust. He tightened his grip to pull me into his erection and I emitted the same sort of sound.
My nipples were on fire, throbbing under my bathrobe as I tried to get closer. I wanted to fit my body to his until the sliver of space between us disappeared and all I could feel was James, all I could hear was the pounding of his heart. He covered my breast with his palm, digging in tightly to feel its heaviness through the threadbare cotton. It wasn’t enough for either of us. He yanked my robe open and clamped his hand over my naked breast, grinding into me with his hips.
I gasped at his thrust and my heart jumped as five kinds of alive touched my bare skin. His fingers were scorching, circling my aching nipple, confident and sure. I’d never felt anything like it. Exhilarating. Excruciating. I bit his bottom lip and he returned the favour.
It was as if James was consumed by the force of his attraction to me, as if he wanted to absorb me completely, delete the effect I had on him and wipe me out of his system. And I wanted to do the same, sink myself through his every layer and tear out whatever it was that triggered my overwhelming response to him.
Lost in a current of conflicting emotions, we took it out on each other. I raked my nails across the corded muscles of his neck and drew blood. James’s revenge—the instant, demanding prod of his granite hard-on—heated me to boiling. Everywhere his hands touched my body responded, wanting more. He obliged, his tongue delving deeper, punishing me with his exploration. Tasting every particle of my desire and owning me completely.
He was no longer fighting his attraction to me; he was branding me his, singeing my skin with his possession.
<<Mine.>>
My eyes were shut but his thought rippled through me as if he’d spoken out loud. We were connected, mentally and physically wired together. He pulled me upward and hoisted me around his hips, spreading my thighs and fitting my legs around his waist. When my back slammed into the wall I had a moment of clarity, remembering that my parents and Caroline could be home any minute. The thought was fleeting, gone with the next shove of his hips. We were melded together in a desperate, carnal rhythm and I completely forgot they existed.
All I could think of was James’s rampant sword.
Hold on a minute, where in the fuck had that come from? All I could think of was his cock pressing into me, damn it. He moaned when I unzipped his trousers and found him, hot and thick and heavy. I whispered my approval against his mouth. I’m not one of these shrinking virgin types like Caroline. I liked his package and I told him so.
A huge reality check, as it turned out.
“Shit!” James grabbed my hand and pulled it off him. The supportive hold on my bottom dropped and my knees buckled. I slumped against the wall, dazed, and he jumped back with another hoarse curse. The sudden absence of his body left me feeling bereft. Incomplete. As if I’d given up my favourite drug cold turkey. I wanted to launch myself at him and feel his arms around me once more.
Oddly, I also wanted to cry.
Recovering enough to readjust my robe, I glanced at James’s face and read his desire for me. Self-loathing was fast overtaking it though, and I suspected the loathing would be directed at me next. Yes, there it was. I dropped my eyes. What the fuck had I just done? My petty revenge for his irritating judgements had turned into the most intensely passionate experience of my life. That it had been with James was the worst thing that could’ve happened to me. Hell, I didn’t even like the man. In fact, I hated people like him, snooty and patronising. Not only that, he was Caroline’s soon-to-be husband, forever and ever, amen.
How could I have thrown myself at him?
I wanted to escape to my bedroom but the disgust on James’s face kept me prisoner. It also triggered my pride, spurring me to taunt him before he saw how much he had affected me.
“It looks like the little head does the thinking after all,” I mocked.
He looked away, infuriated at his participation in our mano a mano. “You’re a nasty piece of work, Paisley Benton.”
He was right, but I wanted to slap him all the same. “I think you like it nasty,” I sneered, staring pointedly at his crotch. “I think you’re tired of boring and tasteless. You’re starving for flavour and thirsty for my personal favourite—a long, hard screw up against the wall.”
James’s pitying look made me want to graduate my slap to a jaw-breaking punch.
“Throwing yourself at unavailable men only says you’re desperate and have no class.”
I looked away. Kissing him had proved that I was indeed the slutty little sister. I didn’t want his opinion of me to hurt but it did. Then the hurt turned into anger. Who did James think he was to judge me? He had participated just as much I had, hadn’t he? Kissed me like he couldn’t get enough and rubbed against me like he meant business. So what did that make him?
I jutted my chin. “I wouldn’t say it’s classy to feel up your fiancée’s sister.”
He cursed, advanced a step then drew back. “What you—what we did was despicable.”
I imitated his expression and shot it back at him. Not for the first time I thanked my bizarre gift. Oh, he meant what he said, all righty—most of it. Paisley Benton repulsed him.
But he wanted her anyway.
“And that really bothers you, doesn’t it?” I said derisively. “That somebody like me can make you hot around your expensive Italian collar. Who’s the hypocrite now? Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”
“Don’t push me.”
“Or you’ll push into me right? Want to put it to the test?”
I grabbed my robe and considered flashing him to prove my point. Quick as a panther, he lunged. I yelped in surprised pain as his fingers dug into my arms. My body leapt in response and I wanted...I wanted... Well, I didn’t know what I wanted but I knew I wanted him to give it to me.
He lowered his mouth to my ear, his lips parting to shape themselves around calm, controlled words. “Maybe one day you’ll find a man who doesn’t mind settling for what you offer, but even if I didn’t love Caroline you wouldn’t meet my standards, regardless of how long it’s been since I’ve had a screw up against the wall.”
I recoiled, struck by the truth in his eyes. He released me, setting me aside and shutting the bathroom door in my face with a dismissive click. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the chipped paint before I ran to my bedroom and flung myself on the bed, trembling with a mixture of fury, shame and unfulfilled desire.