done. Sex is a game of two halves. Right now I need his half, the hot thrust of ridged gristle that completes my pleasure, fills me up, plunges and surges deep into my hidden, needy places and gives them purpose. But to my fury he still holds off.
Why? If this is my punishment it’s pretty effective. Now I’m needier than ever, aching for him, still incomplete.
His phone rings, making me jump. He slides his hand out from the warm, clinging nest deep between my legs and puts the phone to his ear.
‘Wolfe.’
This time the message is brief. He switches it off with an impatient flick and sits up beside me. ‘We’ve got a trace on Mitchell. He’s back in Dallas.’
‘You’re a what?’
It’s late evening. We’re driving back to Dallas and sitting in the back of Darnley’s limo, either end of the softly cushioned rear seat. I’m glad of the distance between us. He seems indifferent.
To pass the time he’s asking me what I do.
It’s always a mistake to tell people. I glance out of the window at the ghost of my reflection. Its stern gaze warns me I should have kept quiet. Too late now. I’m used to this reaction but somehow it’s disappointing coming from him.
I frown at myself. Why should he be any different? Beyond my shoulder I see his startling, predatory face. His brooding eyes are fixed on mine, waiting for an answer.
He makes sure of his facts, something I never do. It’s led me to this and it’s led me to him. And now it looks like it’ll drive him away.
I brace myself for his scorn, his laughter – I’ve heard it all – and try again. ‘I’m a poet. Well, when I say “poet” I really just play around with words. It’s a kind of hobby. I teach literature and drama at a small private academy near Boston. But I guess you knew that. That’s where Ryan and I –’ I break off at his sudden frown.
He looks out of the window, seemingly unconcerned. ‘So how come you’re in Texas?’
How does his mood change so fast? Barely an hour ago I was lying in his arms, hot for him. Now I wonder how we ever got close at all. His tone is distant and impersonal. It’s like we’ve barely met.
‘I told you, I’m meeting Ryan – or trying to. It might be easier if you didn’t muscle in whenever I get close.’
His frown flickers again. ‘It might be easier if you told me the truth. You teach in Boston yet you flew here from Charlotte. We checked. So what took you to Charlotte? You were on a driving tour?’
I sigh again. ‘Partly. I’m due to speak at a poetry summer school.’ I take a deep breath and feel my cheeks go pink. ‘They’ve asked me to read my new poem.’
Try as I might it’s impossible to say this without a tiny spurt of pride. I wait for him to laugh.
Instead he looks thoughtful. ‘You’re a poet? Say some.’
I grin. ‘Don’t get me started. What do you like? Homer? Sylvia Plath? Kanye West?’
He’s not smiling. His tone bristles with impatience. ‘Something of yours.’
I want to tell him that’s not how it works. Poems don’t come to order.
I take a deep breath and say the first words that come into my head. ‘You crave control but cannot tell me why.’
For a split second emotion flickers over his face and then his expression grows opaque. The vast car hums around us, closing us in as we come in range of the bright lights of Dallas. ‘That’s a poem?’
‘Not a very good one.’ I feel myself blush. ‘It’s all that hit me on the spur of the moment. But it’s got rhythm, it’s got bounce – and it’s true. A poem has to be true – it’s like a snapshot, something you see that other people miss.’
I’ve touched some nerve. He’s sitting very still, his expression blank.
‘“Crave control”? Who says?’
‘I say.’ Now it’s my turn to be curious. ‘And it is true. Isn’t it? It’s just something I sense about you …’
I tail off. Something’s wrong. He’s unhappy about this. Before I can pursue it his phone rings and he slaps it to his ear.
‘Wolfe.’ He listens for a while and then murmurs into it, turning his face away from me. ‘Fine. Keep me informed.’ He slips it back in his pocket and turns back, his eyes cold. ‘We’ve picked up another trace from Mitchell’s phone but we can’t be sure precisely where he is. All we know is he’s definitely back here in the city. They think he’s using prepaids. So keep yours switched on and tell me if he makes contact. We might fix his location.’
We finish our journey in silence. To my relief he stops asking about my chosen hobby. And he has the grace not to laugh.
* * *
In the elevator I feel self-conscious in my rumpled shorts and top. Around us well-heeled guests are coming and going, formally dressed and carefully not looking at me. I’m guessing they must think I’m some tramp he’s just picked up in the streets. Darnley leans against the wall opposite, his sultry gaze not helping.
Our suite is all low lighting and fresh linen. Darnley tosses his jacket on the bed and reaches once more for his phone. ‘Shall we try the restaurant this evening? You look like you could use a shower. I’ll make some calls.’
His tone is brisk and businesslike, his glance cool. He’s used to making the rules.
In my room I flip through the selection of things I’ve brought with me. From my scanty vacation wardrobe I choose some slim pants in white linen and a low-cut top with thin, sparkly straps and decide to go bra-less. I brush out my hair, feeling freer with every stroke. My tight daytime ponytail has made it springy so loose curls bounce on my shoulders and down my back. I aim for carefree but I feel nervous. Ryan might be annoying but Darnley disturbs me. A touch more make-up, a dash more scent and I’m ready. And hey, I’m still on vacation and have a date to eat with a good-looking guy – what more can I ask?
As I join him my heart does a flip. His calls were constant. I could hear the murmur of his voice all the time I was changing but somehow he’s showered, shaved and shrugged on a tux and now he’s fixing links on the cuffs of yet another dazzling shirt.
He looks sensational. I hold my head high and decide to let the warm glance he sweeps over my bare throat and shoulders serve as adornment – it certainly brings colour to my cheeks.
‘Any news?’
I pause on the way to the elevator and recall the purpose of our stay here. ‘From Ryan? No, nothing yet.’
Darnley frowns as we step into the elevator. His face darkens as another couple join us. ‘Is your phone switched on?’
I
