wait …
Trembling, she let the cold air rush between their lips and slid round in the circle of his arms to face outwards again. Her heart stamped an angry beat in her chest and she took a few deep, cleansing breaths.
She closed her hands over the top of his, if only to stop the mesmerising rhythm of his fingers as he stroked her bare flesh. The slice of December wind against her face was a welcome jolt. Nearly as good as a cold shower.
However, Jake didn’t seem to notice it. He nuzzled into the side of her neck and placed tiny kisses along her jaw. She had to do something to break the spell, so she straightened a little and ordered herself to pay attention to the view.
‘Isn’t it fascinating—looking into all the windows, watching other people go about their lives?’
Jake clasped her even closer, his breath raising the sensitive hairs inside her ears.
‘Riveting.’
She struggled to ignore the exquisite tickle of his lips on her earlobe. She was pretty sure if anyone took an X-ray of her insides right now, they’d be staring at a quivering mass of strawberry jelly.
She picked a window and focused intently on a mother pacing a repetitive circuit with a tiny baby propped on her shoulder. Although the pane muffled any sound, she could tell by the infant’s red scrumpled face that it was not in a happy place. Every few seconds they disappeared as the woman changed direction, but she always reappeared in the same place.
The hypnotic quality of her movements was certainly working on Serena, who suddenly noticed Jake’s hands had worked free of hers. The combination of lips and fingertips was fatal. Her eyes slid closed and her lips parted. A tiny intake of breath that sounded very much like an ah brought her to her senses slightly.
Focus, girl. Focus.
She wrenched her eyelids open and searched for another window. Two floors down, she found one. A couple—married, probably—pottered around their kitchen. He stirred a pot; she opened a bottle of wine. They were so unhurried, hardly making eye contact, but they moved around each other in a well-choreographed sequence they must have practised a thousand times, opening drawers and cupboards, dishing up their meal. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Even the movement of Jake’s lips against her skin was almost forgotten as she watched them circling round each other in their seemingly mundane dance.
In the pit of her stomach, she ached for just a little of what they had.
‘It’s freezing out here, Jake. Let’s go back inside.’
He made no fuss, only smiled at her and opened the door for her to step through. Once inside, he fastened the catch and closed the curtains, so not a chink of the outside world remained visible.
But in her imagination she could still see the couple, sitting at a little square table, swapping stories from their day at work. She gave him an easy smile, sweet with promise. He touched her hand as she reached for her glass …
Serena tried to erase the image by taking an active interest in her surroundings. Jake’s furniture was expensive. Classic designs with a modern twist. She could have opened the pages of any one of the aspirational interior design magazines at the supermarket and seen something identical. Almost.
As she looked more closely, she noticed elements that jarred. There were too many books for a truly minimalist look—and not just work-related tomes. Novels, poetry and biographies jostled for position on the cluttered shelves. Colourful modern art canvases hung on the walls. She would have expected abstract designs in beige and brown, not Kandinsky and Chagall. In the corner, a glossy acoustic guitar with a ratty strap was propped up against a small table.
‘Do you play?’ she asked, nodding towards it.
‘I used to.’
‘Not any more?’
‘Well … I pick it up now and again. I’m very rusty. I just don’t have the time.’
‘Play me something.’
Jake shifted in his seat. Ridges appeared on his forehead. ‘You don’t want to hear me twanging away after listening to your old man. I wouldn’t compare favourably.’
‘Pass it here, then.’
‘Yes, Miss.’
She sat the guitar on her lap and, one at a time, pressed the fingers of her left hand onto the strings. It took all her concentration to strum the few bars of the only song she knew. It was about as comfortable and familiar as bungee jumping. She stopped mid-verse and looked at Jake. His eyebrows were hitched halfway up to his hairline.
‘That has to be the worst rendition of “Scarborough Fair” I’ve ever heard.’
She bowed slightly in acknowledgement. ‘The musical gene obviously took one look at me and decided to leap-frog a generation.’
‘Not a carbon-copy of your father, then?’
‘I don’t think you’d find me half as attractive if I was.’
He laughed. ‘You’re right there!’
She clapped a decisive hand against the front of the guitar. ‘Anyway, my point is this: anything you produce can only be a step up from my paltry efforts.’
He thrust out a hand. ‘I don’t think I can resist you in anything.’
She passed him the guitar and settled back into the sofa as he reprised the song she’d just butchered.
‘You’re good,’ she said, when he had finished a verse and a chorus.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, from a woman who knows what good guitar sounds like even if she can’t reproduce it.’
‘Did you ever think of taking it further?’
‘A career, you mean?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Not really. I needed to be sure I could earn a living so I could get Mum and Mel off the estate. Accountancy won out over music in that respect, no question.’
‘Do you ever wish you’d had another choice?’
He shook his head. ‘My life is exactly what I planned it would be. I wouldn’t change a thing.’
His answer made her heart sink a little. She knew she wanted safe and predictable in her future husband, but a wayward part of her still hankered after the creativity and verve of an artistic temperament.
Yes, and look where that has got you in the past! Stomped on, taken for granted and broken-hearted. Don’t even go there!
While she had been arguing with herself, Jake had started strumming the guitar again. He was staring into space, not even watching his hands, yet they seemed to remember the chords of the haunting tune he played all on their own. She closed her eyes and let the gentle thrumming wash over her, until it petered out a few minutes later.
‘That
