High Heels & Bicycle Wheels

Chapter 10

Dinner. Steak, chips and salad, on lap trays in front of the TV, with Jackson foregoing the chips. High-fat, bad carbs apparently. A body like a superman obviously didn’t happen without a measure of deprivation and care. Enough fizzy wine to live up to its name, but not put her under the table. And two hours rolling around, howling with laughter, watching Despicable Me on DVD, which Jackson conjured from his room. Who’d have thought?

‘Cartoon collection, never travel without it. Think yourself lucky I didn’t make you sit through Happy Feet.’

She guessed that was his way of excusing himself for inflicting her with his childlike taste, not that she’d minded a Disneyfest at all. She could imagine, now she knew him better. Pin-up hottie of the century, morphed into one big kid. And trying not to think how engaging that was, and conveniently easy, as laughter diffused the sexual tension which crackled across the gap between them. Took her mind off the heat of the man, who’d moved next to her on the sofa, stretching those long sexy legs of his to rest tantalisingly on the coffee table. Making a deal with herself: Look but don’t touch.

Made sure she didn’t admit that after tonight Despicable Me had zoomed onto her list of favourite movies too, or give him the opportunity to seize on the fact they found the same things hilarious. It was important to play down how comfy she was in his company – give this guy any nugget he could vaguely interpret as a compliment, and he would be in danger of getting stuck in the building, given that his head would be too swollen to get through the door. His self-belief was not in short supply. Honing in now on his languid profile as he leaned by the open door to the terrace. Cressy would be disgusted at her for what she was throwing way. Sex on legs, think of it as a gift. Maybe she’d regret it too, tomorrow.

‘So how did you get into cycling?’ Suddenly reluctant for the evening to finish, she threw Jackson a carefully chosen, open-ended question.

‘I’ve been at it for as long as I remember. When we showed some promise as lads, our dad seized on that, more for himself than for us. He got his kicks from our success, and he drove us pretty relentlessly.’ He gave a pensive shrug. ‘My old man’s a bit of a fucked-up guy, I’m afraid.’

She assumed that last excuse had to be in response to her appalled expression. ‘But didn’t it make you want to rebel?’

Was a dad who was fucked-up and alive better or worse than one like hers, who’d broken her heart when he left, then died?

‘My dad’s regime didn’t allow questions, let alone rebellion. His methods were harsh, but I guess we came through in the end. By the time we were old enough to stand up to him, we were hooked on winning. Signing up to a pro team was the fast way out, and I went when I was eighteen. Other young riders found the team life a shock, with the hard training, the discipline and being away from home, but for me it was like a holiday camp after my dad.’

‘It all sounds rough.’ Poor Jackson. Who’d have thought he’d had such a bad time. It made what she’d always thought of as her own raw deal seem easy.

‘It toughened me up, made me what I am, and to be honest I don’t often talk about it.’ He gave a sigh and moved towards the open French doors. ‘Coming out to see the moonshine on the sea?’ A casual invitation, flipped over his shoulder as he sidled out, moving the conversation to somewhere safer for him, but less safe for her.

What a corny line! But innocuous all the same. They were both adults here; they both knew the score. Any moves that were going to happen would have been made hours ago. Since she laid down the unspoken rules, he’d backed right off, and now she’d got her own rampant woman back in the box, she was well out of the danger zone. Easing herself off the sofa, she padded across the polished boards. One last glimpse of the clouds scudding across the night sky before she went to bed slotted neatly into the low-risk category. Good-girl Bryony could manage that.

‘It’s breezy out here.’ Keeping it light, the wind snatching her hair as she stepped into the small courtyard. ‘And so bright. Amazing how the moon splashes across the water.’ She moved across to where Jackson was leaning on the waist-high wall, scanning the horizon, t-shirt flapping.

‘Hey, look.’ She stooped to examine something moving on the ground at the edge of the planted area. ‘I thought it was a leaf, but it’s a frog.’

Two seconds, and Jackson was crouching beside her, hunky shoulder uncomfortably close to her cheek, extending a finger towards the ground. ‘Ahhh, it’s a toad.’

Trust Mr. Know-it-all.

‘There’s a difference?’

‘Toads have more warty skin – and they don’t hop, they crawl, although technically they’re all frogs.’ He tickled the top of its head gently with a leaf as it moved to take cover under a stone. ‘We used to spend all summer collecting them on holidays in Cornwall when we were kids – when we weren’t cycling that was.’

‘Typical boy.’ Smiling, she gave a shrug, ‘Toad, frog, whatever, he’s pretty.’

Jackson let out a snort. ‘Typical contrarian woman. A frog and a prince to choose between, and you hone in on the damned frog.’

Laughing, she stood up, moving to take a last look at the sea over the wall.

‘Not big-headed at all then, putting yourself in the prince category?’

‘Prince of darkness maybe?’ He raised his eyebrows, voice husky, sending prickles down her spine as he came to stand behind her. Not touching, but close enough for her to breathe in the scent of clean male, to sense the shadow of his warmth on her back. ‘Cold?’ His breath brushing her neck sent a skitter through her body.

‘No.’

So close, she should be legging it. Except her legs were frozen, and nothing to do with the temperature. If she dragged her arms tight around her ribs she might get the juddering under control.

‘Your teeth are chattering.’ Not much of a warning from him, but the only one she got. Then the breath left her body as he folded his arms around her. ‘I’ll warm you up.’

Noooooooooooo. Bracing herself to protest. Too late.

Or, how about yes? The sensuous slide of skin on skin as his muscled arms closed over hers… Reason flew out the window, and lust won hands down. She leaned into him, and as his lips traced an exploratory path below her ear, a silver avalanche began at her scalp, and tumbled over every inch of her skin to her toes.

‘Jackson.’ Standing rigid, she braced herself against the onslaught. Delicious, compelling. Wanting this frozen moment to last forever. And then his hands were strong on her shoulders, as he spun her to face him. One graze of stubble on her upper-lip and his mouth landed on hers like a heat-seeking missile, turning her legs to molten syrup with the taste of him. She sagged against him as he whipped the oxygen out of her. Sweet. Achingly sweet. Peaches and cream, raspberry cupcakes, white-chocolate cheesecake. Feeding her the sugar-rush of her life, all wrapped up with the power of pure, unadulterated man.

The out-of-control brunt of his erection crushing up against her stomach, making the need pool between her legs. The aching pleasure of those strong male fingers as he slid his hand inside her top, and scraped his nails across her back. Dying as he moved around the front and teased a nail across her breast, then pulling down her bra cup, still kissing her as if his life depended on it, groaning his pleasure deep into her throat. Her knees sinking as he toyed with her nipple. Then, with his hand on her back, her bra clip twanged, and she gasped for air as he broke from the kiss. One yank and her t-shirt was up. She gave a small cry as his mouth landed on her nipple, shooting sharp judders of pleasure through her as his tongue tangled, sucking and circling, sending her cross-eyed, as his fingers deftly worked her other side.

‘O my.’ Back against the wall, lifting her leg, locking it over his hip, so she could thrust her pelvis and grind the heart of her pulsing wetness against the throbbing head of his erection. Meeting its heat through the fabric, every nudge forging a rocket of desire deep into her core. Searching, sliding her hand down the rock-hard muscle of his stomach, past the edge of his slouch pants, hearing him moan again as her hand closed around the length of his shaft.

Hot skin. Grappling with the elastic, tugging down his pants, and the dusky smell of male rising as she freed him. Closing her hand around his length, sliding up and down the hugeness of it, panting, aching for the whole beautiful rock-hard length of it.

‘Can’t wait.’ Her mumbling was urgent. ‘I need you. Now.’

Jackson, bleary, lifting his head. ‘Here? Sure?’

Running her hand over the slippery arc, finding the tip, already sticky, a primeval force within her driving her to take what she had to have. ‘Now Jackson.’

With one lift he’d swung her hips round to rest on the terrace table, a tug and he’d whipped down her sweat pants, flung her thong to who knows where.

‘Protection.’ A grunt, a fumble in his pocket, then he’d ripped the foil and rolled on, torn off his tee.

Bending her knees up, leaning back, feeling her eyes widen as she took in the size of him. Muscles shining in the shadows, and the massive thrust of his erection reaching for the sky.

Slick and wet and desperate to suck him inside her. He waited, just a second, a smile playing around his lips as he registered the ache in her. She lay back, shuddering, knowing that one touch was going to send her to heaven. Then she felt the glorious nudge of the tip of him. An inch was all it took. Pulsing on her, rocking into her, pushing her over the cliff edge, and she exploded around him, her whole body erupting in a volcano, pleasure throbbing and resonating through her.

Heart banging, dragging in her breath, and he was still, poised, shuddering a little, waiting.

‘Hey…easy there…’ His lips curled into a soft smile as he breathed into her ear. ‘If that was anything like as awesome for you as it was for me…’

Leaning forward, burying her fingers in the muscle of his buttocks, she pulled him towards her, her first storm over, but knowing she wasn’t done. The heat rising again inside her as she opened and he pushed into her. Slowly, screamingly slowly at first, then pulling back, teasing her, tangling with her, pushing and pulling as she gulped through the glorious agony of it. Then halfway in he stopped, cupped a breast in each hand and scraped his nails across her nipples. Scraping until she thought he was going to drive her crazy. Just at the point where she was sure she was going to go wild, he thrust deeper into her. One slide, and she had the whole damned length of him, no idea how she was going to breathe, no idea how she was going to exist. Then as he began to move, faster, faster, suddenly she knew she was going to go again, not able to help herself, throwing herself back, lying, arching herself to the sky, as he impaled her over and over again, driving her on. Then, suddenly, above her the sky split open, and as her climax erupted; her whole world disintegrated. Clamping onto him, and through her choking gasps, she felt the final thrust of his ejaculation, heard the howl of his orgasmic groan as he collapsed on top of her.

Chapter 11

‘What are you doing?’

Stuffing the last crumbs of a muffin into her mouth, knees up, feet on the sofa, Bryony looked up from her phone in response to Jackson’s question.

‘Tweeting. Why? I always tweet before bed, if I don’t my friends will wonder what’s happened.’ Her defensive tone was no doubt a reaction to his eyebrows hitting the ceiling at that piece of news. ‘And answering the text from my brother, who expends way too much energy trying to make sure I don’t spend evenings like this with guys like you.’

Jackson grimaced. ‘That’s a bit crap. So what are you putting in your tweet?’ He stifled a grin. ‘Just had crazy terrace-sex with guess who? It was well worth the wait by the way. The wild, crazy sex, I mean.’

Not that he’d had a four minute table-ender on a terrace before, though he’d keep that bit to himself. Neither had he encountered anyone who insisted on fast-forward, then came apart twice in as many seconds. Polar bear feet not only coming in from the cold but getting super-heated on the way came as one big surprise – and fast as it was, the orgasm had blasted him out of this world. Wow to that one. Put it down to the sexual desert of the previous year.

‘Fab moonlight on the sea hashtag east-coast-joys.’ That’ll cover it.’ Looking up, she sent a flash of a smile over the top of her phone. ‘Crazy’s one way of describing it. I couldn’t help noticing you had a condom at the ready out there.’

Nice tweet, then straight onto him. Nothing he wasn’t prepared for though. Apology at the ready.

‘Old habits. Nothing to do with my expectations about tonight, I promise.’ Added hurriedly, in the vain hope she’d buy the truth, even if it did sound unlikely. ‘With guys in cycling, carrying condoms is one way you look out for each other. That way no one’s ever disappointed, and everyone stays healthy.’

‘Hmmmm. Sounding a lot like an ad for an STD charity there. I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.’ She tapped her phone on her lip, thoughtfully. ‘It was crazy, wasn’t it? Why was it so wild?’

Good question. He’d never had sex that feral.

‘No idea.’ Shrugging, feigning ignorance, because he had an idea the blame lay entirely with her, but no way could he say that. ‘Maybe it was the adrenalin hanging round from the ride or after running to beat the tide on the beach. Who knows? Maybe it’s that basic human survival instinct that kicks in when there’s danger around. The same way people shag like rabbits when there’s a war on, and everyone bonks after funerals.’

‘Like a celebration of being alive, you mean?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Maybe you should commemorate your survival by having a muffin. I brought them in from the car. No one should die before they’ve tasted one of these.’ Sucking a finger of one hand, she shoved an open cake box towards him with the other. ‘No arguments, I insist.’

Firm. Bossy. Or just plain domineering? He took a moment to adjust to the railroading.

‘Diets are the norm for a pro-cyclist. You learn to live with the hunger. It’s a way of life that takes a lot of sacrifice.’

‘So for a pro it really is like it says in the books?’

‘Depends on the books you read.’ He jumped at the opportunity to derail her efforts to force feed him, and fill her in on his life instead. God knows, there was so much to say about it he could keep her quiet all evening. ‘You get to travel, you train with the team for months on end in warm places, cycling hundreds of miles a week. It’s usually somewhere in the mountain. Think hairpin bends and zigzag roads, heat beating off the tarmac, deep blue skies, Italy, France, Spain, Portugal or somewhere. You race with the team on races that last weeks at a time, and then when it’s winter you do it all over again in the southern hemisphere. Your body is in an extreme and heightened state of fitness, you’re at risk of injury from crashes every day of your life, your whole life is carefully controlled, from pretty much every calorie you eat to how long you sleep, and the more successful you get, the more the control. The team thing is incredible. Sometimes you’re working for guys in the team, sometimes they’re working for you, you’re supporting each other, but at the same time it’s hugely competitive. If you’re successful, the pay is phenomenal, it’s the roughest, toughest thing in the world to do, some days you love it, some you hate it, but the adrenalin rushes and the endorphin highs are totally addictive, so you never want to stop. And with all that at stake does it sound like I’d reach for the cookie jar?’

The life of a pro-cyclist in a nutshell. Missing out the bit about adoring women hurling themselves at him, obviously. And how much he’d missed it all since he’d been away from it since the accident. And how he didn’t know what the hell he was going to replace it with if his damned knee didn’t get the thumbs up from the surgeons and the physios soon. And what the crap he was going to do if the unthinkable happened and he had to give up. Given her gaping mouth, opening and closing, it had surely stopped her in her tracks. Hadn’t it?

‘Calorie-wise you have to have earned it today.’ She shot him a wicked grin. ‘One way or another. Can’t the Prince of Darkness come over to the nutritional dark side just this once?’

Seemed like she was unstoppable. Nice reference to half an hour ago when his claim to be the Prince of Darkness had got him straight into her pants. After a whole lifetime of deprivation one way and another, suddenly the novelty of submitting overcame his natural instinct to refuse.

‘Go on then.’ He plucked a muffin from the box, threw himself down on the sofa beside her. ‘On one condition.’

‘Which is?’

Loving the way her eyes, narrowing in suspicion, sent an unexpected shiver whistling down his spine as he slowly teased the paper away from the cake.

‘You come to the dark side again too, when I’ve finished this.’ Stretching across, he slid a finger under her top, traced a line across her side under the elastic of her waistband. Felt her squirm against him. Running his finger over the bumps of her ribs, slipping over the silky cup of her bra. A rush of blood hit his groin as he found her nipple already quivering on high alert. Sinking his teeth deep into the muffin, he let the raspberry sweetness zing his taste buds.

‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’

The sugar-high hit him instantaneously, sent his pulse into overdrive, and his erection too – although that was already well established. No one could be immune, sitting next to nipples like those. Her workplace must have more hard-ons per square foot than most. Pity any red-blooded male who had to spend their days being tantalised by that view. And this time sex was going to be different. Long, and very slow.

Easing to his feet, he grasped her hand, spun her a smile. ‘Coming?’

‘Where?’ The tension in her hand flashed up her resistance.

‘I thought we might take advantage of the king-size bed?’

Or maybe not, judging from her appalled frown.

‘Definitely not bed.’

Jumpy as hell then, and massive back-pedalling called for.

‘Fine by me.’ He let out a mental whistle of relief for the fact she hadn’t ruled out the sex. ‘You know what? I’m going to sit right on here, and we’ll take it from there, okay? Anything goes, apart from bed.’

Easing down next to her. No sudden movements in case she ran. Happy to play it her way. Raising his arms, he stretched back on the sofa, feeling her gaze already locked onto the bulge of his erection. Leaving it up to her, the bang of his heart reverberating through the sofa. Waiting. Knowing, from the dark dilation of her pupils behind her faltering eyelashes, she wouldn’t be resisting for long.

Too right.

One hand, inching across the sofa, winding under his t-shirt, sending his pulse rate off the scale in anticipation. One finger, achingly slow, tracing the line of hair down from his navel. Then the full-blown twang of her palm hitting his shaft, almost making him lift off.

Shifting a little, he snatched his breath at the agonising pleasure hit.

‘All ready then…’ More of a statement than a question, her voice all husky now.

His mouth was dry with anticipation. ‘Whenever you are…’

His fingertips closed on the condom in his pocket. Taking his mind off the excruciating wait. Thinking slow, thinking moody, thinking maybe they should lower the lights to go with the smoulder.

So wrong.

Wham. One leap, she jumped to standing. A bob, and a kick, her joggers hit the coffee table, and he was staring at thighs, lush, tanned, taut. And the teensiest triangle of a thong. Midnight-blue silk. Made his mouth water. Those perfect russet nails feathering on the hem of her top. He swallowed. Bit his lip to stop himself grabbing hold of her, dragged in a breath to get control. Wham again.