Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Twenty

PERRY

The wood burner’s throwing out the heat as the storm rages outside. With the curtains pulled closed and the lamps set low, the living room’s painted in a soft, buttery light.

Pulling my legs up onto the sofa, I sink deeper into the soft leather, and close my eyes.

As soon as we got home, we’d rushed as one through to the utility room with no thought of sorting out ourselves first. Jasper, cold and soaking wet and maybe even traumatised, he was our first thought. I’d been all set to call the vet. I’ve got the number on my phone because I still organise Jasper’s regular health checks for Elliot, but the little dog’s resilient if nothing else. A drink, a treat and a warm, soapy wash in the big, deep Butler sink, he was soon wagging his tail.

A snuffly sound prompts me to open my eyes, and I can’t help smiling as I look down at Jasper, now nice and clean, warm and dry, curled up on his cushion near the burner. His wiry fur even looks fluffy. None of it’s my doing.

It was James, the man who professes to loath dogs and with a special place in Hell for Jasper, who insisted on feeding Jasper a treat. He also insisted on washing him clean with gentle, careful hands, although as he soaped up the little scrap, he couldn’t seem to decide whether Jasper was a good and brave boy or an evil little git who deserved to be muzzled and tied to a post for the rest of his stay.

“I think we deserve this.”

I look up to see James come in, carrying a tray. I can already smell it, the aroma of rich hot chocolate. There’s also the remains of the Victoria sandwich cake I made just yesterday, oozing strawberry jam and buttercream.

“I thought we should finish it off because it’d be a shame for it to go stale.” James gives me a big grin. We both know that’s not going to happen because as soon as I make a cake it’s gone not within days but hours. “He looks like he’s recovered from his ordeal,” James nods over at Jasper, who’s sleeping, snuffling and snorting, lost in his doggy dreams. Jasper twitches and yelps, and it jerks him awake. His head shoots up and he looks around and I can’t help but smile as he gives himself a little shake and settles once more — and farts.

“Jesus,” James rasps, his face scrunching up. “That bloody dog may have recovered, but I’m not sure my sense of smell ever will. I think the inside of my nose has been burnt.”

It’s all noise and fuss, because he doesn’t banish Jasper to the utility room, or even the kitchen, and I smile into my mug of steaming, sweet chocolate.

“No, you have it,” I say, when James goes to place a slice of cake on a plate for me. He doesn’t argue as he bites into the sponge and gives a deep and satisfying groan.

“You really should make these when you set yourself up,” he says between mouthfuls.

“Victoria sponge? It’s not really a celebration cake.”

“I’ll celebrate it. It’s bloody fantastic.” He attacks what’s left.

I know I should be pleased he likes it, but it’s a stark reminder I’m making plans to leave. A gust of wind, heavier and harder than before, rattles the windows, and the hot chocolate that a moment ago tasted so rich and creamy is now thin and bitter.

“I think we deserve to get a takeaway for dinner.” James puts his crumb covered plate down next to his mug on the coffee table.

“You’ve just had cake.”

“I needed something quickly to revive my strength after our ordeal, courtesy of the animal.”

“I’m happy to cook.” I go to stand up but his hand wraps around my wrist. Gently but firmly, he pulls me back. He doesn’t let me go and I don’t try to pull away.

“I know that part of our arrangement is that you look after the food, but not today.”

We’re sitting close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath, laced with chocolate and vanilla. He’s smiling, and his eyes, moss green and flecked with gold, are locked on mine. His grip around my wrist slackens, but just a little, and he must be able to feel my speeding, out of control pulse, because it’s booming all the way through me.

“And I’m glad you do because I’ve not eaten so well for — well I don’t know for how long. But I don’t expect you to do it every night, and I certainly don’t expect you to do it now, not after the last few hours we’ve had.”

He’s still holding my wrist as he holds my gaze.

“But I like doing it.”

He smiles. “And I like that you like it, more than you know, but you’re not my cook and housekeeper, although there’s definitely an opening if you ever decide to revise your plans.” He smirks, making sure I know it’s the joke he means it to be. “And this is on me. No arguments.”

He lets go of my wrist and jumps up from the sofa, and without thinking I trail my fingers over the place where his have been.

“But—”

“I said no.”

He’s looking down at me and although he’s smiling there’s hard resolution in his direct gaze, telling me that any arguments from me will be brushed away. But it doesn’t stop me from trying.

“And I say yes. You let me stay here for not much more than a few quid, and you insist on buying virtually all the groceries—”

“I have a weekly delivery set up from Waitrose. I see no reason to change it.”

“That’s not the point.”

I stand up and placing my hands on my hips, I look him in the eye.

“So what is your point?”

I huff. I think my point is very clear, but it’s obviously not.

“Look, you’re only charging me chicken feed to be here—”

“I don’t want you to pay me a damn penny for anything, but you insist, you stubborn little bugger.”

My jaw drops open. Stubborn? I’ve never been that. Too pliable, too willing to agree and say yes, too eager to please to ever be called stubborn.

“I want to buy you dinner.” James’ voice drops, his tone almost caressing and I shiver as his words curl around me. “It might only be a takeaway, but it’s still dinner. So why not indulge me and let me do that for you, eh?”

Because every little thing you do for me weakens my resolve to reset my life, making it harder to leave…

“Thank you.” He’s giving me no choice.

“Then that’s settled. We are, as they say, on the same page.”

I’ve never felt more unsettled in my life, and the pages are turning too fast for me to read.

“Thai Me Up?”

“What?” I jump. My legs almost buckle, and my face heats… No. Yes. Maybe…

“Thai Me Up. It’s new, not too far from here, and Elliot says it’s very good.” He’s grinning at me, reading my mind, and my face throbs out another blast of heat. Just like my dick. Thank fuck I’m wearing loose trackie bottoms, and an oversized and long sweatshirt.

“Yes, that’d be great. Yeah I like Thai, it’s really nice.”

“It is. And so much better than being tied up. All that chaffing, it’s not good.”

He gives me a wink and a lopsided smile, and goes to find his phone, leaving me to collapse back down on the sofa.

When he comes back he sits next to me and opens up the menu. My face isn’t quite so hot and my dick’s calming down as James and I weigh up the choices, but I make sure my sweatshirt’s pulled down as far as I can. James places the orders and I have no idea what’s going to turn up.

Mumbling that I need to go to the loo, I rush off. Ramming the lock home I fall back against the door, breathing hard. I stare down at my crotch. My dick, at last, is behaving itself, so at least that’s one thing sorted as I don’t want to be handling a red curry or whatever it is we’ve ordered when I have something else that’s demanding a handling of its own.

I take a look at my reflection in the mirror over the sink, and groan. My cheeks would make a pickled beetroot look anaemic. Turning on the tap, I let the water run until it’s really cold before I scoop up handfuls and splash it over my face until some of the heat starts to fade.

The food arrives soon after, and we eat in the kitchen, the heart of the house. Piled up in front of us on the blond wood table, this isn’t just a takeaway, it’s a feast, and my stomach rumbles. I’m more hungry than I thought and James laughs.

We’re about to dig in when his phone pings with a text message.

“It’s Elliot, asking about Jasper. The man’s in Paris with his gorgeous fiancé for three days. You think he’d have more on his mind than his farty little dog.” His eyes snap up at me. “Do you think I should tell him I almost lost my life, scrabbling around in a filthy muddy pond because his daft dog decided to run off?” There’s a mischievous tilt to his smile and challenge in his eyes.

“Oh God, no, don’t do that. Just tell him that he’s been a good boy.”

James snorts. “He’d instantly be suspicious and will probably end up telephoning me even though he’s supposed to be getting down and dir— enjoying the cultural activities of one of the world’s great cities. No. I’ll tell him exactly what he expects to hear from me.”

“What have you told him?” I say as I dish the food up for both of us.

“Oh, that we locked Jasper in the cellar to tenderise for a couple of hours, before cooking him with fresh seasonal vegetables. And roast potatoes. And with a good rich gravy.” He says the words casually with a straight face.

“No, you can’t say — that’s—”

“Incredibly evil of me? Cruel and unfeeling? Especially as I know how fond both Elliot and Freddie are of that farting little bugger?”

“He’s not that farty.” But he is. James grins as his phone pings a reply.

“‘I would expect nothing less from you, James,”’ he reads out. “‘I hope you enjoy a good burgundy with him, and don’t forget to use toothpicks to remove the fur from between your teeth. It’s very wiry.”’ James barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he turns off his phone. “Lucky sod’s getting a few days away,” he says, as he digs into his food. “I can’t remember the last time I had a break from work. It feels like forever.”

“I know what you mean, I’d love to take a bit of time out.” I fork up some noodles and stare at them. “Have you been to the cottage in Love’s Harbour?” I ask, referring to Elliot and Freddie’s Devonshire hideaway. James is Elliot’s best friend, so of course he has, making my question redundant, I suppose — which is why it’s a shock when he shakes his head. “You really haven’t? It’s a lovely place, it feels like such a haven.”

“He says I can go down there whenever I want but I never seem to have the time, but to be honest a cramped cottage in a Devonshire seaside village isn’t really my idea of a good time. Although it’s very beautiful in that part of the world,” he concedes. “It’s where Jack comes from,” he adds.

Jack, James’ baking friend.

“Really? He doesn’t have a West Country accent.”

James huffs out a short laugh. “Of course he doesn’t. Expensive private schooling tends to see to that. His family’s been in a twee little village called Polton Lacy for centuries, but none of them have a hint of Devonian. I got to know his brother George, first, and then the rest of the family. You’ve been down to the cottage, haven’t you?”

I nod. “Yes, and it isn’t cramped. It’s actually bigger than it looks and also they’ve had the loft extended so there’s plenty of room. You should take up his offer and go down there, especially if you need a short break. All that sea air’s very rejuvenating.”

“Hmm. I get a rash if I move too far from London. Besides, it’d be like staying in self-catering accommodation when full on, five-star luxury is more my thing. And anyway I’d just be going on my own which wouldn’t be much fun.”

His last words surprise me, and I’m sure I see his shoulders sag a little. A man like James could easily find somebody to spend a weekend with him.

Me. I’d spend a weekend with you there…

Some hope of that happening. Whatever my relationship is with James, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t include weekend mini-breaks in cosy cottages.

Aiden, suddenly and vividly, fills my head. Tall, handsome Aiden, who knows way more about James than I ever will. I bite down hard on my noodles as I bite down on my jealousy, harder and way more indigestible.

“I’d jump at the chance to go down there again.” Which is unlikely to happen, as there’s no reason for it now the cottage is all set up.

“Why did you go down?”

“To take deliveries. For furniture, and things like that. I’ve been there three times, all in the first months after they bought the place. I was more than happy to go. I even had Jasper with me on one visit.” I grin at James across the table.

“No drama? No Brillo pad dog getting lost at sea or into fights with the gulls and other locals?” His smile’s broad and his eyes are glittering.

“Nothing so daring. We went out for local walks. I don’t think Jasper likes the sea very much, but he certainly liked the little morsels of fish and chips I gave him.”

“And these working trips to the cottage, they’re the only breaks you’ve had in recent months?”

I nod. “Me and Grant, we were meant to be going away earlier in the year, but it never happened.” I shrug. James is looking at me and waiting for me to finish. “Out of nowhere, he decided he was going to go away with his footballing friends instead. He was away for two weeks, on a football tour. Or that’s what he told me. I didn’t believe a word of it but by that time it was easier than arguing.”

Since I’ve been living in James’ house I’ve barely thought of Grant. He seems like ancient history and I find I can talk about him and feel nothing. Not even humiliation for the way he treated me. I guess that’s some kind of progress.

“Well, you look like you could do with a few days away if you don’t mind me saying. You certainly look better now than when you first arrived here, but after everything you’ve been through recently some sort of break is in order I would have thought, even if you do like the sound of a clapped out English seaside town.”

“Then it’s clear you really haven’t been to Love’s Harbour. It’s beautiful, and if Elliot offers me the chance to go there again, I’ll grab it with both hands.”

“What, you’d rush down there and leave me to do what? Cook my own dinner?” He says, his lips twitching.

Or you can come with me. We could take walks along the beach and afterward sit in one of many cosy little pubs…But of course I don’t say that. It’s a stupid thought because I have no doubt at all that James is what he says he is, a five-star luxury man.

He’s right, though, about getting away, even if it’s only for a weekend… Maybe I could go and visit my parents and soak up some Spanish sun? Much as I love them, it’s not my idea of a quiet and relaxing getaway, and I put the idea aside.

We finish eating and James makes coffee and we take it through to the living room. Jasper’s snoring quietly on his cushion. The flame in the wood burner has grown smaller but the room is still deliciously warm and the air’s tinged with the slight tang of applewood. We both flop onto the sofa, full to the brim with Thai food.

“I could put the TV on, stream a film, or put some music —”

“Let’s see what’s on. If there’s nothing much — oh fuck.”

Jerking forward, I grab my leg. Out of nowhere, cramp tears down my calf and into my foot, clenching up my toes. The fiery pain’s excruciating and I hiss through my clenched teeth as I try to massage the rock hard muscles. This is a rare but bad attack and I can feel the tears prickling the back of my eyes.

I gasp as James manoeuvres me so my leg’s straight out. He shoves up the loose leg of my track suit bottoms, to my midthigh.

“Cramp, it’s bloody painful. One of the ways of keeping it at bay is to drink plenty of water.”

He digs his thumbs into my calf, and I scream. It’s a high pitched, undignified sound, but I don’t care. In some dim piece of my brain, I’m vaguely aware of Jasper jumping up and joining in with a howl.

“Arrrhhgg, oh fuck, no.” I screw my eyes closed as I try to pull my leg away, but James’ grip is like iron.

“Pain before pleasure. I’m going to massage out the knot. And stop howling. Between you and that bloody animal, it sounds like a badly made werewolf film in here.”

He runs his thumbs hard along the muscle. It’s agony and I can’t even begin to answer him back. I screw my eyes closed even tighter. The pain eases a touch, and my calf muscle begins to soften. I prise my eyes open.

James is on his knees in front of me. His salt and pepper hair, a little longer on the top, has flopped forward over his brow. His lips are set in a grim line as he pushes, squeezes, and kneads into my flesh. He’s resolute and determined, all his concentration on me. I swallow, and he looks up.

The dark green of his eyes is eaten up by the black, dilated pupils. They laser into mine. My breath jerks and I can’t look away. His hands, hot on my leg, have become a soft caress.

“Better?” His voice is rough and ragged.

“Getting there,” I rasp.

“The arch of your foot’s still hard. Needs some attention.” He drifts a finger across the knotted muscle.

I jump as pain flares through the arch.

James tilts his head to the side. “Give me a chance to make everything better for you, Perry.” His voice is deep and seductive, little more than a purr.

Make everything better… Oh, God, yes please…

James smiles and shifts up to the sofa, easing my leg across his lap. The cramp has drained from my calf, and settled into my foot.

“Pressure points,” he says, as he works his thumbs over the hard ridge of my arch.

I hiss, but almost immediately the burn begins to ease. James’ hands are skilled and talented, but I never ever thought it would be otherwise.

Pressure points. I’ve certainly got a pressure point in one particular muscle that’s got nothing to do with cramp. James’ touch is sure and deft and he clearly knows what he’s doing. The pain’s morphed into something intensely relaxing and I groan, this time from pleasure rather than pain.

“Where did you—?”

“Just lay back and close your eyes.”

It’s an order but a gentle one, and I’m more than happy to obey. And that’s exactly what I do as I settle into the cushions and let my eyes drift close, as I give myself up to James’ touch.

* * *

There’s not the faintest echo of the pain that’d almost brought tears to my eyes. Instead, it’s been replaced by a calm and loose relaxation that’s been missing for so long I’d forgotten how that could feel. And it feels good, but what feels even better is a soft brush of something warm against my cheek. Instinct and a need for more has me pushing my face into the touch.

“Perry?” James’ voice. It sounds distant yet close. “Time to wake up.” I don’t want to wake up, and be dragged out of this warm, fuzzy place I’m in. I mutter, and his laughter trickles over me. “Time to surface. Come on.”

My eyes, acting to a will of their own, drag themselves open. James is looking down at me, his smile soft and indulgent.

“You went into a deep sleep, but I knew you would. Pressure points, you see.”

Pressure points. My own pressure point is now not so… pressured. At least it means I can stand without embarrassing myself. I go to push myself up and, unsteady on my legs, I wobble, but I’m caught in James’ strong arms.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “It’s quite normal to feel a bit shaky.” He’s holding me tight and close, and makes no move to let me go, just like I don’t make a move to step back. Because I don’t want to step back from this man. I try to move in closer, but his arms hold me still.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

I giggle. I know that’s exactly what I’m doing but I can’t stop. I feel drunk when I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Yes please.”

I see something in his face, something that pierces my fogged-up brain, but as nebulous as smoke it’s gone before I can catch it. My head’s heavy, slow and foggy and it’s hard to think or at least to think straight. Maybe I should feel mortified, maybe I should apologise. I seem to have a habit of drunk flirting with him, even though this time I’m not drunk.

“Sorry, only joking. Not that it was a very funny joke,” I mutter. He doesn’t answer, only gives me another of his guarded, unreadable smiles. “Yeah, best I go to bed. What a day. I feel kind of drunk, must be all those pressure points you… pressured.”

James’ hold on me has slackened, and I turn to go but I’m still unsteady on my feet, and once again he catches me.

His low, chuckling laugh is electricity sparking through my nerves.

“I don’t think you’re in any fit state to get yourself upstairs on your own, do you?”

“No, I’m okay. I think. If I take my time, I can—” The wind’s knocked out of me as James sweeps me up in his arms — and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of spuds. “What? What are you doing?” I wriggle in an attempt to get him to put me down but a sharp smack on my bum makes me gasp.

“You can barely stand up unaided, let alone climb the stairs. For Christ’s sake, stop fidgeting otherwise I’ll drop you. This is the quickest and easiest way to get you upstairs to bed.”

“Stop being a twat and put me down. The caveman approach is so yesterday.” Although if the caveman’s James, I’m sure it’s one I could get used to.

He snorts, taking no notice of me.

The fog swirling around in my brain has mostly cleared, thanks to the stinging slap. He could put me down, and this time I’d be steady as a rock. I’m not going to tell him that, not when my face is almost bobbing against his arse as he makes his way up. For a moment I wonder which bedroom he’s going to take me to, and I don’t want to examine too closely if the little lurch deep in my chest is disappointment or a kind of dull relief when he turns in the direction of my room when we reach the landing.

He toes the door open and puts me down on the bed. I stare up at him, not quite believing what’s just happened as he stares down at me through hungry looking eyes. My heart rate picks up and the muscles in my stomach tighten. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but all there is is a strangled noise that sounds worryingly like Jasper.

“Good night, Perry. Sleep tight.”

“James…?”

But he’s gone. I’m not sure what I was going to say. Stay here with me? Let me come with you? The words are best unsaid, of course they are, but as I stare up at the ceiling I’m not sure if I believe that.