Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 01

When he finally pushed through the cafeteria door, he saw her dead ahead, last in line, her back to him. Had she seen him? Had she hung back on purpose? He didn't wait to finish his contemplation, and instead strode up behind her, feeling the draw of her presence, greedy to be near her. He felt good. Being near her made him feel...good.

He waited behind her, but she didn't turn. Was she ignoring him or had she really not spotted him stalking her down the stairs? He leaned a little closer, trying not to breathe too deep as the now-familiar scent of flowers made its dainty assault on his self-control. He wanted her to know...to know that he'd seen in. Dipping his head close to her ear, he kept his voice low.

"You only sent me one."

He watched the imperceptible straightening of her shoulders, her chin lifting quickly as she recognised his voice. She didn't turn around, but her retort came swiftly over her shoulder in my direction.

"You only asked for one!"

Why did it please him so much that she fought back? He usually hated locking horns with women, mainly because he always got the sense that it would inevitably end in an exhausting stalemate. Those sorts of exchanges were just a drain of energy. This was...different. It sparked something inside him, energising him. It wasn't a battle, it was a game.

"I didn't know you were so stingy," he said, keeping his tone teasing, pretending to look through the baskets of crisps that sat up on top of the deli-style casing. No one around them seemed to be paying any attention to their exchange. His ears strained for her answer, which he didn't have to wait long for.

"You should be more specific next time," she murmured in a mock admonition. Then her choice of words registered, and he couldn't help himself. Even he could hear the smugness in his voice.

"Next time, huh?"

Was she blushing? She kept her eyes straight ahead and still didn't turn, so it was hard to tell. He thought he saw a flush on her cheeks. And now she was definitely pretending to ignore him. The queue shuffled along, and they both stepped up. Thanks to the distraction of their conversation, they were nearly at the cash register; she with an empty tray and he with empty hands. He took a longer stride than her and bent his head, his lips almost making contact with her small, perfectly formed ear. Damn it. He hadn't noticed them before either. But he couldn't resist drawing her out again.

"Your tray..."

"What?" she asked, suspicious.

"It's empty."

He caught the stiffening of her shoulders. That proud little chin jutted up again.

"I'm not hungry," she said, dropping her tray to her side self-consciously. She seemed to be searching for a way out of the queue, but they were hemmed in on all sides.

He watched, fascinated, as she blushed even deeper pink, crossing her arms across her body as best she could. He liked flustering her. Putting her off-balance. It brought something out in him...a mixture of devilment and protectiveness. In one breath he longed to expose her vulnerability, and in the next he wanted to stand between her and the world like some fucking knight in shining armour. He wanted that vulnerability of hers for himself. All for himself.

The queue moved up, and finding an escape route, she made a swift exit towards the lifts. He'd upset her, he could tell, but not mortally so. Her responsiveness was...delightful. He found himself chuckling as he remembered her expression when she'd realised she'd forgotten to order food.

It wasn't until later, when he had to restrain himself from checking his phone yet again, that he realised they needed a better method. Meeting in hallways and cafeterias was no good. It was dangerous for both of them. Not just because he detested the gossip network. Mostly because he didn't know how much longer he could hold himself back when he was near her.

* * * * *

It was a simple solution really, and he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it earlier. Maybe it was the rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement as he ran, clearing his mind. It was a sunny, cool morning, which was rare, even in summer. He'd forgone the usual torture of the treadmill and headed out for a street run instead. Even at this hour there were already die-hard professionals leaving for work. Many of them were elegantly-suited women, polished, poised, lipstick on. As he jogged past he found himself searching their faces. Studying their body language. Looking for that elusive something that he saw...felt, when he looked at...her.

Stephanie. He allowed himself to savour her name.

He was still mystified at the difference between his response to her and all the other women he'd been with. But of course, 'being with' was a generous description for the string of short, terminal connections he'd had. But did he want this one to last? Was it just the thrill of the chase that was keeping his interest? Usually he'd have bedded her by now and moved on. But there, again, was that singular fixation which was entirely new to his experience.

He let his eyes drift up and down the approaching figure of a leggy blonde. She noticed him too, he could tell...the slight widening of the eyes, the rapid blinking as she looked him up and down, the twitch of her lips. But he stared into her beautiful face, and as he passed by her, felt...nothing. It was the strangest thing.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He had a plan now. A way to make Stephanie more...accessible to him. It wouldn't take much to put in place.

* * * * *

He'd spent so many evenings working late that the security guard barely acknowledged him with a nod when he came back into the office late in the evening. He'd wanted to be absolutely sure that he wouldn't be noticed. Whether he was conducting the whole affair in secrecy for the sake of her reputation or his, he wasn't sure. He just knew it was his responsibility to keep things under wraps.

The box and cable felt heavy and conspicuous in his jacket pocket, and he wracked his brain to think of any loophole that he'd missed in his plan. It was simple really. He wanted to be able to contact her when he felt like it. He wanted...a lot of things.

His footsteps were nearly inaudible on the office carpet, but it still sounded awfully loud in his ears. He paused in front of her desk, taking another look around him, scanning for anyone who might be lingering. Nothing. Dark offices, dim lights. He pulled her chair back and sat on it, looking around her desk for the right place to put his recent purchase.

He'd gotten her a mobile. He knew she probably already had one, but this was different. It was just a pay-as-you-go phone, but it had what he wanted. Texting and a small camera. He'd set it up very carefully. The ringer was set to silent, with vibrate on, so at least she knew if something happened. His number was the only one in the directory. It was his offering to her to open up a line of communication. A private line of communication.

He wasn't a monster. He'd already forced his way into her space. Twice. But with this...she could take it or leave it, and he'd have his answer.

He stared at the small black box containing the phone. It had no markings or anything to identify it. In his quest for anonymity he'd forgotten something rather important. How would she know it was from him? He stared at the contents of her desk, searching for inspiration, and his gaze settled on the post-it notes, sitting in a tidy stack under her computer monitor. Simple, he'd leave a note.

In the end, he wrote two. One went in the lid of the box, the other he fixed to the bottom edge of her computer screen. Satisfied that she'd see it as soon as she sat down, he placed the box in the middle drawer, tucking the charger cable further back.

As he made his way down the stairs to the carpark, he tried to imagine the expression on her face the following morning as she read the notes that said, simply, 'In the drawer.' and 'Turn it on.'

* * * * *

The lights of the city spread out beneath him, glimmering softly against the darkness. Jarod dropped his forehead onto the arm he braced against the ceiling-high windows of his living room. This was usually a haven for him. The quiet orderliness of his flat, the ability to stand and look down on all the busy things of life racing by far below him. Tonight it felt...empty.

Sighing and flexing his hands, he turned and slumped into the leather sofa, pulling out his mobile. He had to send a text for her to see when she picked up the phone tomorrow. If...she picked up the phone tomorrow.

As he'd done so often over the past few days he flicked reflexively to the photograph. The intimacy of it still had the power to hit him in the gut somewhere. How could you know something so private about someone and not actually know them at all? What did he really know about her? Her name? Where she worked? That when she looked up at him, her eyes held a world of possibility he'd never known existed?

What could he say that would give her some idea of what was going on with him? As explanation for his need to see her again. It had to be the truth. There was nothing else.

He attached the photo. That way there could be no confusion of what he was talking about. The text he typed read, 'I think about this. All the time.'

He hesitated, then hit the send button.

* * * * *

Jarod paced the length of the empty meeting room, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Usually days this busy raced by. Usually there was not enough time, not too much of it. The problem-solving sessions he'd been running with his team seemed to coming up with even more issues than solutions. He didn't blame them. They were working harder than anyone on ironing out the glitches. But the day seemed eternal. And his text messages remained distinctly empty.

She had to have found the phone by now. If she'd turned it on, she'd have read his text by now. He stopped to stare at his phone where he'd left it sitting on the meeting room table. But nothing. Silence.

Was this going to be the answer? If that was the case, he wondered if he had the strength to just let it be. To let it go. The memory of that golden thread of connection bursting into his existence flitted around in the back corners of his mind.

The eternal day dragged on.

* * * * *

He'd thought about going home. When there was nothing left to do. No more emails to reply to. No more reports to write. Nothing to occupy the restlessness in his brain. But he couldn't. Not yet.

So he drove. He didn't think much about where, just took street after street. It was nearly midnight, so there was very little traffic. The gear shift felt certain under his hand, the purr of the engine a steady comfort. It helped him switch off his mind.

Without consciously choosing to he made his way north and west and up to the higher point of the city. The streets became narrower and the houses older, larger. He had a favourite place he'd discovered one summer. Up near the top and on the edge of a large grassland park. As he drove he pressed the window controls and took a deep lungful of cool night air. He slowed on the narrow road, searching for the place he always parked, there, between the tall plane trees, at the end, past a long row of Victorian mansions, their windows dark. From here he could see city lights in the distance, but it was different here than in the flat. Here he could just be part of the night.

Shutting off the engine, he sat in the stillness, letting the breeze drift over him. And he knew he couldn't let it end. He had to try at least once more, silence or no silence. He blinked as he noticed the time. It was after midnight. She was probably asleep. For some reason that spurred him on. She probably wouldn't pick it up until the morning, so what was there to lose?

The only light in the car came from the screen of his phone. He found the number for the mobile, opened a text and typed.

'Are you awake?'

He tapped his fingers against the side of the phone, indecision nagging him. But he hit send anyway.

The wind was picking up, rattling the leaves in the branches above him and bringing with it snatches of far-off sirens and the sound of distant trains passing. He nearly didn't hear the chirp of the incoming message.

It was as if his stomach had decided to take up residence somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes. Fumbling with the buttons, he clicked onto the message to see who it was from. Who else? Her name stared up at him from the little screen. The message wasn't long.

'I am now.'

He felt a warm flush start up from his middle somewhere. So he'd woken her? Or...she'd been waiting? He searched his mind frantically for something to say...something to ask. She was right there. On the other end, waiting. All they really had to connect them was what had happened in the stationery cupboard, and then in the stairway hall. Would she allow him another look?

'Is it gone?'

A moment passed. Another chirp.

'Is what gone?'

His mouth twitched with a smile. She knew very well what he was talking about. There it was again. Not a fight, not a will-less surrender. She wanted to...play. It gave him an inexplicable thrill. He answered her with, 'You know what.'

It took a little longer this time. But she did reply.

'Nearly.'

But not yet. Not entirely gone. He took a very deep breath. What he really wanted was to see it again. To see, right now, the link between them.

'Show me.'

Silence was the answer, for at least a few minutes. He leaned his head back against the headrest and wondered if he'd gone too far. Had he gone too far?

The phone chirped. The part of his brain not intent on trying to open the text noticed that his hands were shaking, just a little. When he saw the contents, he understood why. No words. Just a photograph.

He'd been captivated by the curves and hollows of her stomach from the moment he first slid his hand under her blouse. He'd practically memorised everything he could see in the first photograph. To see it again from a slightly different vantage point gave him an odd shock. The bruise was still visible, but it was fading. This photo was taken from a slightly wider angle than the first. What captured his attention now was the unmistakable lacy edge of her underwear at the bottom of the photo, and what could only be the shadowy curve of her breast at the top.

He was having some difficulty breathing, and his heart seemed to be beating rather loudly in his ears. It was as if he'd been dropped into deep water, and that water was need. Aching, twisting need. Every time he looked at the photo, every time he let his eyes trace the shadows and lines of her body, the desire to have her in his grasp increased. To be next to her in the dark, his body covering hers, his mouth tasting that skin, breathing in her scent. His whole body was on fire at the thought.

Gasping at the images that flooded past his closed eyes, he flexed against the car seat. Fuck! He wanted her...wanted her so badly. Like nothing he'd ever wanted. Thank god he wasn't there with her, because he wouldn't be able to stop himself and he'd be on her and in her and fucking her and-...

Stop! Jarod, just...stop. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and took a few shuddering breaths. This was madness. He was just letting his imagination run riot over a damned photograph. It wasn't real. None of it was real. Was it?

It was some time before he'd calmed himself enough to start the car and pull away. The phone sat on the passenger seat, taunting him. He knew he couldn't reply tonight. The only thing he'd be able to say would be to ask for her address. If she'd been willing to send a picture of herself half-naked, who knew what else she'd consent to in the heat of the moment. Playing or not, he didn't trust himself.

What he'd seen in her eyes was strong, but fragile. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he gripped onto it too tightly, he could crush it.

* * * * *

To be continued...