Just the Thought of You Ch. 01

© 2014 Brunne

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STEPHANIE & JAROD - PART THREE

It's been a long time in the making, but here is the beginning of the conclusion to Steph and Jarod's story.

For those reading for the first time, you'll probably want to go back and read:

* PART ONE - 'Under My Skin'

* PART TWO - 'Deep in the Heart of Me'

...otherwise not much of this chapter will make much sense!

For those of you who have waited all this time to read more and have kept me going with your encouragement - thank you. You are awesome.

x Brunne

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STEPHANIE

Hair up? Down? And what blouse with the grey skirt? A bright colour? Classic ivory? I squinted at myself in the bathroom mirror. Stuck my tongue out at my reflection. Why was every tiny decision suddenly the biggest fucking decision in the world? And when, pray tell, had I turned into a complete and utter airhead?

I let the electric toothbrush whir on for another sixty seconds, reluctant to finish and move on to the next task. All these decisions took up too much energy. I was so tired. And besides, you can never be too careful about gum health.

Hell, who was I kidding? It was all his fault. Still staring into the mirror, I bared my foamy teeth in a snarl. Spit and rinse, Steph. Spit and rinse. Yes, I was a wild, rabid animal. Crazy in the head. Foaming at the mouth. Crazy to go along with him and his games. Crazy and mad with distraction every second I wasn't with him.

Why had he needed to be so incredible. So sensitive and giving and...incredible. There were still parts of that night I hadn't gone back to think about. I hadn't allowed it. There were some memories I didn't dare touch in danger of ruining their perfection. So I just had names for them, and let myself hold each memory in turn, ever so lightly, and say its name. Stroke its shiny surface, but not dip into it. The Hallway. The Bed. The Chair. The Look in his eyes when he told me he cared. All of them too intense to revisit just yet.

Still, days later, my mind danced around the edges of them. Checking to see that each memory was still there, intact, pristine.

* * * * *

I'd woken up when his morning alarm went off, only to find myself in the bed alone. Again. This was getting to be a bad habit. I could hear the shower running, which answered the question of where he was. So no morning-after shower sex, then.

I tried to uncurl my body as gingerly as possible but still had to gasp with the pain of it. I was unused to such...activities. And there had been a lot of it. Activity. I lay there, blinking, trying to remember, trying not to. Staring up at the exquisitely plastered ceiling. The last thing I'd been conscious of was drifting off, curled up in his lap. He'd been holding my hand. We did things in such a backwards way, didn't we. Worked our way back from the ending to the start. First fucking, then kissing, then holding hands. Next thing I knew he'd be making at eyes at me from across a crowded room. Or he might actually introduce himself properly.

He must have carried me all the way to bed. I didn't even know if he'd slept with me or gone back to that chair of his. The thought of him sitting there, sprawled in the chair, eyes dark and fixed on me made my body temperature rise a little.

I managed some semblance of a sitting position, the hardwood floor cold under my bare feet. I had a sudden yearning for the warm, worn pile of the carpet in my bedroom at the flat. And my fuzzy dressing gown with the hearts and daisies. I was shivering now.

The last thing I wanted to do was get into my clothes unwashed. There was a short moment of panic before I remembered they were probably still out in the hallway where he'd taken them off me before he-...

I winced my way over to the hamper. Pried up the lid and found the white shirt I'd worn the night before. The shirt he'd unbuttoned before he-... Dammit.

The sound of the shower and the promise of heat and steam drew me into the hallway. I wrapped the shirt around me like a robe and tiptoed up to the bathroom door, which was open just a crack. He was out of the shower, his back to me, towel wound around his slim hips. I must have made a sound, because he turned and caught me peeking in through the gap. I really couldn't tell you what the expression on his face was. All I know is he looked different when he looked at me than when he didn't. It wasn't a happy look. Stern, almost. Guarded.

I ran my fingertips along the door frame, suddenly very interested in the mouldings. So we were back to this, then? Gone was the playful man I'd discovered the previous night. Gone was the ardent lover. Jarod was back.

I turned to go back to the bedroom, but he was already opening the door wider. I could feel his eyes on me.

"Did you want a shower?"

I blinked, then nodded, still not meeting his eyes, trying to ignore the way his hair curled when it was damp. And the expanse of naked, beautiful chest at eye level. I did want a shower. I had the sudden, desperate urge to wash it all off me. The whole thing. That can't be good, right?

He half-gestured towards the sink. "I've just got to shave and you can have the bathroom." He dropped his arm to his side when all I did was nod. There was that look on his face again. His hands moved to his hips and he drew back. "Look, I've got an early meeting. There's clean towels on the radiator, okay?"

When I still didn't answer he turned on his heel and headed for the sink.

I was trapped. Not able to go backwards, not able to go forwards. He gave me no clue where I was meant to be and who I was meant to be to him. Not even a good-morning kiss? No sweet words? I could feel myself shutting off, and this time I didn't stop it happening. All the time unable to keep myself from taking in the sight of him, half naked, muscled shoulders rippling as he went through the long-ago-memorised habit of shaving. Damn him for being so pretty.

* * * * *

The hot water felt good. Great, actually. And he had really amazing body-wash. It smelled like the sea. I toyed with the idea of washing my hair, but there was no way it would dry in time without my hair dryer. I told myself it was the incredible smell of the soap that made me lather myself from chin to toe three times. Nothing to do with him, no.

I finally resigned myself to leaving my steamy cocoon in the bathroom, and stepped cautiously into the hall. The cooler air raised goosebumps up my arms, but the only noises I could hear were coming from the other end of the apartment. I stared down the hallway. Something was missing. My clothes were gone. I darted across into the bedroom and only breathed again when I spotted them laid out on the hamper. What, did I think he'd steal them so I couldn't leave his apartment and be forever his wanton love slave? Steph, now you're just being ridiculous.

I could see he'd made some attempt to smooth them out. I'd left them littered along the hallway and the bedroom floor without a care. Still swathed in an enormous bath sheet, I reviewed the state of my skirt and blouse with dismay. Not only were they crumpled from spending the night on the floor, but there was no way I could get away with wearing them to the office a second day in a row and have no one notice. Why hadn't I thought about this? Why hadn't I considered the going-to-work-the-next-day bit? But had I even planned to stay the night?

I made myself half-way decent and went in the direction of the coffee-related sounds emanating from the kitchen.

Jarod was leaning against the counter top, coffee cup in one hand, newspaper in the other, his eyebrows meeting in a frown. He looked impeccable. Fresh shirt, pressed trousers, crisp tie. He looked good enough to eat. I felt like yesterday's leftovers.

"I thought I could drop you at your place before I go in," he said between sips of coffee. He made eye contact briefly, then went back to his newspaper.

That was it? We carpool and everything goes back to normal? As if it never happened?

I noticed the cup and saucer laid out for me next to the espresso machine.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted any." He was watching me in earnest now, his newspaper forgotten.

I didn't have anything for him. No words, no emotions. Nothing I was ready to say or tell. His distance had hurt me. Two could play at this.

"It's okay. I'll have some at the office."

He shrugged, giving me another sideways glance as he put his cup away in the sink. I concentrated on smoothing a rather enormous wrinkle in my skirt instead of the heavenly aroma coming from the coffee machine.

Besides, I still needed to get changed at home and make my regular commute. Like any other day. But it wasn't just any other day. Everything inside me felt different. I felt like a different person inhabited my body. I resented the intrusion. I wanted the old me...the real me, back.

I should have known then that she was long gone.

* * * * *

How long had I just been sitting here? On my bed, staring into the shadowy depths of the closet. Tears running unnoticed down my face.

So. There you have it. That's why the memories stay in their gilded cages.

And I still don't know which damn blouse to wear. Damn him. Damn, damn.

I swiped the back of my hand over my lips, the memory of his brief parting kiss again entering my mind when I least wanted or expected it. Time to get your big-girl pants on, Steph. Or you'll be late for work, just like you have been every day since he dropped you at your front door.

The kiss in the car had been brief, and caught me by surprise. When I'd almost flinched back from him, he'd stared at me, dark things shifting about in his eyes. Was I starting to recognise what it looked like when I hurt him? Good. Then maybe he'd be feeling a little of what was roiling around in my gut. We looked at each other for a few seconds more, and then I ran. Well, not actually ran, but fled. As gracefully as I could. As quickly as I dared up the path to my front door. I made it up the stairs and into my room before dissolving into a ridiculous puddle of tears.

Five days. Five days and no text, no call, no stopping at my desk. I'd deliberately avoided looking anywhere in the general direction of his office. I knew he could probably see me. But he'd been like a phantom. Always in meetings. Always headed in the other direction, or absent altogether.

So was the silence his fault, or mine? Had he taken my flinch as a sign? A bad omen?

Granted, I hadn't texted or called him either. The phone sat like a stone in my handbag, heavier in my imagination than in reality. Of course I checked it. Cussed myself out each time I did, but I did check it. It would have been easier to stop breathing than stop doing that.

I pushed myself off the bed, still trying to remove the physical memory of his mouth on mine. But it was permanent now. That particular memory was like a tattoo, and wouldn't fade. I grabbed the first clean, ironed shirt that came to hand and dragged it on over my head. It would do. Who cared, anyway?

* * * * *

JAROD

He'd let her sleep. When his arms weren't able to hold her any longer he'd carried her to the bedroom. She was heavier than he'd expected, and his arms shook with fatigue as he rolled her carefully onto the bed. She'd barely woken, sighing softy in her sleep as he tucked her under the covers. How long he'd stood next to the bed he didn't know, the cold steadily seeping into his body. Stood there, watching her sleep in his bed, her dark hair fanned out over his pillows.

He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This wasn't going to happen. He'd felt a madness akin to this one once before, and it had nearly finished him. He'd never have let it get this far if he'd thought...

How could he love her? He barely knew her. What did he really know about her? She worked at his office and she smelled of flowers. And yet he was bound to her so tight he didn't even know where to start looking for a way out.

* * * * *

He woke with a start, half-tangled in the sheets. A turn of the head and he could see her still sleeping next to him. She was curled in on herself, facing away from him. He hadn't been able to bring himself to touch her. To hold her. Afraid that even that would somehow intensify what he felt. As if it were a matter of contagion and exposure, and he could quarantine his heart if he just didn't touch her.

He checked the clock and dropped his head back onto the pillow. He'd gotten an hour of sleep, tops. The night that would never end. Groaning, he scraped himself out of bed. Everything hurt. Everything ached. A hot shower had to help.

He wasn't sure if he actually heard her or if he just sensed her presence. He was wrapping his towel around his waist, his back stiffening at the sudden awareness that he was being watched. He turned quickly enough to see a pair of dark eyes peering at him through the crack of open doorway. Her hair fell around her shoulders, begging, as ever, to wind itself around his willing fingers. And those eyes. Sleeping, unconscious, he could deal with it. To look into her eyes with the knowledge that he had somehow begun to...love her. He didn't know how to do that. He steeled himself, pushed it down, and strode to the door.

He swung it open, catching her as she went to turn away, the expression on her face unreadable. The light from the bathroom fell across her face. For a split second he caught a glimpse of a little girl. A lost little girl. It was as if she knew. Knew that something had changed. That he had changed. She refused to meet his eyes, blinking rapidly with those smoky dark lashes of hers. He tried not to look at her mouth. Soft from sleep, the pink of her lips called to him like a siren on the rocks, begging to be kissed. A flash of what could come next filled his mind. Her, naked against the wall of his shower, him pressing hard and insistent into the softness of her, those lips under his, their bodies slick and slippery together like fish in the hot water. He swallowed hard, blinking.

"Did you want a shower?" he asked, desperate to at least break the silence. A shower alone, he cautioned himself, locking the mental images away firmly.

She nodded, her gaze briefly flicking up to his before dropping down to his chest.

"I've just got to shave and you can have the bathroom." Again, she only nodded without speaking, her mouth tightening into a thin line at his continued scrutiny. So be it.

He backed away from her, in need of some distance, the faint scent of her hair dancing around the edges of his senses.

"Look, I've got an early meeting. There's clean towels on the rack, okay?" He tried to keep his voice level, but still detected the slight edge of panic. Her passiveness was freaking him out. It called to him to break through it. To break through to her and find that writhing, begging, all-encompassing lust-creature he'd held in his arms the night before. But he couldn't.

He turned away from her and pointed himself at the mirror, trying to remember what it was he usually did to shave. He stared dumbly down at the shaving cream, his razor dangling in the running water until the familiar motions pulled him in. And still she watched him from the doorway.

* * * * *

The bathroom door closed with a click behind him as she took her turn. He only allowed himself a second of lingering, his hand just inches from the door handle. Giving in to the madness last night had left him dangerously accustomed to surrendering to his impulses. And the impulse at the centre of his mind, sending all the wrong signals to various parts of his body, was the thought of her on the other side of the door. Stripping off, stepping into the hot water. Into his shower. He groaned inwardly. Why the fuck aren't you in there with her? battled with, Keep your damned distance, Jarod.

Work. You've got to get to work, he reminded himself. Right. And still, he hesitated at the hiss of the water starting up. Damn it. He tore himself away. Surveyed instead the hall and the trail of her clothing he'd left there the previous night. And, discovered that he'd have to keep his own memories under wraps if he was going to get out of the apartment at all, and not just end up taking her back to bed. One by one he picked up her garments, trying to ignore the slight dizziness he felt as the scent of her reached him. With a care that he couldn't explain, he found himself laying everything out, smoothing the wrinkles. He never did anything like this for anyone. He barely picked up after himself let alone anyone else. His chest tightening with a sudden surge of the panic he'd been keeping under wraps. He couldn't let this happen. Wouldn't.

Dressed in his work clothes, he felt a little safer. Shielded, armoured against the feeling that he was in far over his head. His morning routine calmed him. His paper, his coffee. But still, there was the buzzing in his gut. She would walk around the corner, and she'd look into his eyes. And she'd know. And there would be no way back.

Swirling the dark liquid in the cup, breathing in the warm, nutty aroma, he braced himself at the sound of her footsteps padding down the hallway. Just read your damn paper, he told himself. Drink your coffee and read your paper and get her out of your damned apartment.

She just stood there, hovering at the doorway. He looked up at her, saw how she shifted back and forth from one foot to another. Crumpled clothes, no makeup, hair in a tousled mane around her head. She was breathtaking.

"I thought I'd drop you at your place before I go in," he said, trying to concentrate on his newspaper so that she wouldn't see the spark of need in his eyes. He hazarded a glance up and caught her staring at the coffee cup he'd left out for her on the counter-top.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted any." Damn it, he couldn't take her eyes off her. Just two steps and he'd have her in his arms, his mouth on hers, those soft, perfect breasts pressed against his chest. Those infuriating, tiny hands of hers grasping his shoulders and tugging at his hair...

"It's okay. I'll have some at the office."

He blinked at her rejection. Swallowing hard, he attempted a shrug, still barely able to take his eyes from her as he put his cup in the sink. There was still time to go back. Just two steps away. They could both call in sick. He'd spend the entire day with those lovely, curvy woman-legs wrapped snugly around his waist. He could go on pretending this was lust and not...not...

The drive to her flat was silent. She stared out the window, her body turned resolutely away from him. He blanked his mind, not even allowing himself to wonder at her distance. It was better if she kept it. Distance. It was easier that way. Until he could get his head straight.

But when he pulled up to the curb and she turned in her seat to unbuckle her seatbelt, his hand had come up of its own volition. Tipped her chin and brought her lips to his. Held her mouth to his even when she flinched back. Barely a brush of a kiss. But he couldn't forget it. Or the look in her eyes when he pulled back from her.

It stayed with him as he watched her dash into the house. It stayed with him all the way to work. Meetings and calls and emails, and he could still feel the imprint of her mouth on his.

He knew it now. He was in trouble. Bad trouble.

* * * * *

STEPHANIE

'Would you go to lunch with me? Tomorrow?'

The text stared out at me, startling, in black and white on the phone's tiny screen. I'd checked it impulsively just after lunchtime, and there it had been. Five days of silence, and then...what? He wants to go on a fucking date? I cursed at the section of my insides that started jumping around with joy. Shut up, silly insides. It doesn't mean a thing. He's probably just trying to end this...thing...with some dignity. To assuage his guilty conscience for being a world-class prick, no doubt.