Just the Thought of You Ch. 01

Face it Steph, he hasn't even asked you to dinner. Just lunch. As if we're lunch buddies, catching up on office gossip. Why, oh why hadn't I stuck to my original impression of him? Apparently, his arrogance knew no bounds. But there was that dumbass part of me that got butterflies and a jolt of adrenaline if I even thought I glimpsed him in the hallway. And if I let my mind drift anywhere near those little gilded cages full of memories of his hands on my body, him kissing me with that insane hunger, his teeth on my skin... Damn him.

I let him...and myself, stew for about forty minutes without a reply. I wanted him to sweat a little.

It just drove me nuts how he blew hot and cold so quickly. So easily putting all the defences back up again just as soon as I'd seen the other side of them. Why couldn't he trust me? Was it to do with me, or did he just need some sort of therapy?

I tapped nervously at the computer mouse with my fingernails, undecided. Steph, he'll break your heart. I sighed. He was already half-way there.

And so I replied anyway. The idiot that I am. The silly idiot who can't stop thinking about the look in his when he finally admitted he gave a damn. He might have forgotten he'd said it. He might even have forgotten that one brief second when he'd felt it. But I hadn't forgotten.

'Yes. When/where?' I typed back, and bit my lip as I hit 'send'. When would I ever learn?

* * * * *

JAROD

Well, fate sealed, he grimaced as he stared at his outbound text.

'12 tomorrow? I'll drive.'

At least it was to the point. Okay, it was down-right blunt as hell. All of a sudden he just wanted it all to be over. For the lunch to be over, the inevitable conversation to be over. For her possible tears to be over. Fuck.

He stood up, pushing his fingers through his hair. This wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. Damn it, but he didn't relish the thought of closing the door on this. There was only so far he could push down the memories. Of her in his arms. Of that flying, singing feeling. Was it his imagination? Had it really happened the way he thought it had? But it couldn't be real. Not long-term. A fluke? Maybe the build-up of years of emotional stress had just finally bubbled to the surface and happened to land in one big catastrophic mess on her.

Unless, of course, the catalyst actually was her.

It was this possibility his mind was doing its very best to avoid. The thought that perhaps, maybe...someone was able to get him in a way that no one ever had before. The thought was so alien. That fragile shard of hope had been doing its best to wend its way through his head for days now. What if the lunch date actually went well? What if she was 'the one'? What if...

Shut up, Jarod. Just...shut up. The sudden bang produced by the swift kick he'd delivered to his filing drawer pulled him up short. He took a deep, steadying breath. Pull yourself together, man.

"Jarod?"

His head snapped up. Angela stood at his doorway, a pile of expense envelopes filling her arms. The stern glance over the glasses, the quick appraisal. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The very last thing he needed. "Yes?" He smiled brightly.

"Is everything all right?" she queried, looking around his office as if to discover some creature roaming around making strange noises.

"Right as rain, Angela. And you?"

She blinked at him several times before nodding and turning on her heel, disappearing back through the doorway with a brisk swish of her skirt.

Jarod stared at her retreating back. He didn't know what entity to beg, but all he knew is that he needed this to sort itself out, and soon.

* * * * *

STEPHANIE

I'd spent half the evening stressing over how to explain to Angela that I needed a long lunch. A lie about a dental appointment? A raging bladder infection requiring immediate medical attention? His text said that he'd drive, which meant he wasn't going to risk taking me anywhere near the office. I wasn't sure whether to be comforted by this or offended. All the possibilities went through my head as I tried to lose myself in my favourite Austen novel. Did he want to take me away from the office so we could have a romantic lunch? Or was it what I expected and dreaded? That he didn't want me near the office so I'd do my weeping woman routine far away from prying eyes? Was he ashamed to be seen with me? Or did he just want some privacy? It's these sorts of nonsense questions that can drive a girl nuts.

I tossed the book onto the bed next to me. I wasn't any closer to figuring out the untold world of meaning in the four measly words of his text message than I was to liking Mr. Henry Crawford and his shallow excuse for a sister.

To say I stomped down to the kitchen would imply I was acting unladylike. But fluffy slippers and a daisy-print dressing gown aren't particularly ladylike in the first place, so I wasn't to blame. I caught sight of myself in the glass of the microwave door as I waited for the kettle to boil and had to stifle a laugh. If only the mighty Jarod could see me now. Hair tied in lopsided bun, the smudge of dark circles under my eyes, and more teddy-bears on my nighty than was entirely decent. Such a smouldering sex-pot. How I'd managed to lure him into such sex-capades still escaped me.

But I was determined. Tomorrow I would look good. Nothing flashy. Understated clothes, daintiest of pearl earrings and my most demure hairstyle. He would have nothing to object to. I would in no way embarrass him on that count.

I stirred an extra spoonful of the hot chocolate powder into my mug and went back to pondering my Angela-dilemma. Screw it. I'd go in early, leave late, and just tell her I needed a longer lunch. What business was it of hers as long as I got the work done?

I stuck my tongue out at my microwave door reflection as I passed it on the way back upstairs. I just kept telling myself that two could play at this game, and I wasn't about to let him off easy.

* * * * *

JAROD

This isn't rocket science, he thought. You put on a shirt, and then you choose a tie to match it, right? Right. He stared back at his reflection in the bedroom mirror. No, this one wasn't any good either. It was the third tie he'd tried, and it just wasn't...right. He wrestled with the knot in frustration before dropping his arms to his sides in defeat. This is ridiculous. You're meant to be breaking it off, not trying to impress her.

But he just couldn't shake the flock of nerves that persisted in swooping through his midsection at the thought of sitting across from her for an entire meal. What he thought might happen, he didn't know. He just knew that he was dreading it, and couldn't find a tie that didn't make him look like his fucking accountant.

He blinked. It was the shirt, wasn't it. The pale pinstripe just wasn't right. And there was only one tie that went with the damned thing anyway. It was dark grey, expensive, and hadn't reappeared since he'd used it to blindfold her that first night in the car. She must still have it. He scowled at himself, the growl of frustration just begging to come roaring out. Jarod, stop being such a girl.

The shirt landed, bunched up, on the hamper. One reluctant button rolled away in a gentle arc under the dresser.

* * * * *

Traffic was awful, made worse by the fact he'd gotten started later than usual. Getting into the office did nothing to improve his mood which, by then, was decidedly foul. He'd barely sat down and gotten his computer switched on when Angela was at his door, pestering him to sign off on a teetering stack of expense files. He'd been living in the futile hope that they would somehow disappear from his desk of their own accord.

"Just give me a minute, would you Angela? For heaven's sake..."

He saw her eyebrows flick upwards at his tone. The quick tuck of her chin, both startled and disapproving. She turned to go, hesitating briefly at the doorway as if she wanted to say something. Faced with his acid glare, she seemed to think better of it, and slipped out quietly.

It was gone 11:30am when he finally resurfaced out of the mountain of folders. He stretched back in his chair, fingers kneading at the painful crick in his neck. Bloody paperwork. At least it had been a distraction.

He leaned a little further back in his chair, angling so he could see out the door in the direction of her desk. She was there. He sat up a little straighter. Her hair was up in some sort of twist at the back, baring the full curve of her neck. The swooping nerves in his gut were momentarily interrupted by the sudden twitch of desire as the memory hit him. The smooth softness of her skin. The heady scent of her perfume. Her melting into him and burning like some sort of damned erotic napalm. He gripped the arms of the chair a little tighter.

No. That was exactly why this had to end. He pushed himself to his feet and took a walk. Anything to keep himself away from her. Anything to calm the slight tremor in his hands.

What was wrong with him?

* * * * *

STEPHANIE

It was a relief really. All the waiting was just enough to kill a person, but it was finally today, and I was dressed and groomed and ready for anything he could throw at me. After days of feeling like I was coming apart at the seams, I felt together. Collected. Calm. Okay, the butterflies weren't exactly flying in formation, but I could take a deep breath without my hands shaking, couldn't I?

Was he as nervous as I was? What on earth would we even talk about? This thought wasn't particularly helpful. Because then I just started thinking about how the conversation might consist of him telling me that the idea of dating an Admin Assistant was too much of an embarrassment for me to be anything more than a good shag.

Angela gave me a funny look when she saw me there, already working, when she came in. Setting her handbag on her desk, she regarded me silently before saying her usual tart good morning. I felt like my cheeks must be glowing red. As if she could guess where I was going and why. I waited until she was suitably snowed under to pop by her desk in what I hoped seemed a casual way, and asked to take a longer lunch.

"Lunch with a friend?" she asked conversationally while seeming to scrutinise me from head to foot. I felt like something in a specimen jar. I just nodded, not really trusting my mouth to work properly, everything about my body suddenly dry or clammy and entirely uncooperative. Did she guess? Did she know?

But she just nodded and gave me a funny half-smile as she was called away by one of the executives. I stood staring after her, temporarily incapable of thinking or moving. Okay. So I'd go to lunch with him then. Right.

I could feel all my calm composure quickly dissolving, and fled for the Ladies. Locked in a stall I slumped down on the seat, head between my knees. Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck. Had I really thought this would be easy? Facing the prospect of having him sit across the table from me and cut me off at the knees in that awful, cold way of his? I took deep, steadying breaths. It would be fine. I'd be fine. This was life, right? Rough with the smooth. But the gilded cages threatened to burst open. No. I wouldn't think about it. Wouldn't allow myself to remember how it felt to have his hands pressing into my waist, his mouth on my breast, suckling like I was life itself and he needed me in order to exist.

After several minutes with toilet tissue pressed to my eyes I ventured out of the stall. Lost, hollow Stephanie stared out at me from the mirrors. Get it together girl. Whatever happens, you'll survive.

But I wasn't sure I entirely believed it.

* * * * *

So close to just not going. THIS close to ignoring the time on the bottom of the computer screen and pretending it was just another day. Pretending I hadn't spent an extra hour getting ready this morning. For what?

A minute slipped past 12. And another. I let them. I reminded myself to breathe. It would be so easy. Just blow him off now, and save myself the potential pain of actually going through with it. I'd just end it there. Full stop. My absence acting as the small, black dot at the end of a very dark, confusing sentence.

"Stephanie, you're still here?"

My heart was instantly in my throat, pounding. I spun my chair towards Angela's voice. She stood there, holding her usual steaming bowl of cream of tomato soup.

"Uh. Yes, I just had to finish a...thing."

"Oh, I'm sure it can wait. Off you go. Enjoy your lunch."

I grabbed my handbag, feigning pleasure, shrinking under those eyes that missed nothing. I could only smile at her, sure my face was about to crack with the strain of it.

I was late. He would be waiting. I pressed at the elevator button, but heard it dinging several floors up. With the lunch crowd, it was impossible. I took to the stairwell, trying not to skip steps. I had a sudden image of myself, broken and bleeding at the bottom of the stairs after taking a deadly tumble. Unable to attend lunch. Reprieved.

The garage seemed darker than it ever did at night, the bright light of the outdoors blazing in from the exit ramp. Too soon I was next to the car, my hand on the handle, the door opening much to easily.

* * * * *

JAROD

The clock in the car dash said it was 12:05pm. He gripped the steering wheel and flexed his shoulders, trying to relax. Where the hell was she? Forcing him to sit here, stewing. Words rolled around in his head as he tried to rehearse what he'd say to her. Nothing sounded right. He wasn't trying to hurt her. Or make her feel cheap. Or that it hadn't meant anything to him. He just had to tell her that it was too much. It couldn't be done. It had no future. They had no future.

The click of the passenger door handle startled him back to alertness. Silent, she slipped into the seat next to him.

Her eyes met his briefly, her lips tightening in a stiff smile.

"Hi," she said, her voice soft and unreadable.

Just the sound of her voice sent the swooping feeling in his gut into some sort of frenzy. He just about remembered to speak.

"Hi."

She busied herself with fastening her self-belt. As if that could save her from the car-wreck he was about to make of this lunch.

He concentrated on getting the car pulled around and pointed in the direction of the exit. He squinted, not daring to look over at her.

"So, busy day?" Great, Jarod. Nice conversation skills.

"Not too bad. You?"

He could feel her eyes on him now, and pretended he needed his eyes entirely on the road as they turned out of the driveway into the street. If only his insides would quit clenching like that he could figure out what he should be saying.

"Yeah. Just a lot of paperwork, really."

She made a soft 'Hm' noise, but she didn't say anything more. They drove on, the silence becoming ever more deafening. She was the first to break it.

"So, where are you taking me?"

Relieved to have a safe topic, he gave her a quick glance before checking his mirrors and changing lanes. "Just a little Greek place I know."

"Greek sounds nice."

Was that uncertainty he could hear in her voice? "Don't you like Greek food?"

"I don't know, really."

He looked over at her. Sure enough, her cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment. "Haven't you ever had it before?"

"Well, yeah. Not at a proper restaurant."

She was looking at him now. He did his best to keep his eyes on the road. "I think you'll like it."

* * * * *

He was lucky. There was a parking space very close to the place. It was a somewhat trendy part of town, with several pedestrian-only streets established as a 'market' area, and usually fairly busy at lunch. The plus side was that they'd have some privacy from the prying eyes and ears at the office. That and the food was good, and if he had to feel like hell over this, he would at least do it on a full stomach.

She'd gotten out on her side before he had a chance to open her door. But then, this excursion wasn't about obeying the rules of chivalry, was it. She was standing on the pavement, smoothing her narrow skirt, the reluctant sun catching the gloss of her hair as the clouds shifted. His breath hitched a little. She really was beautiful. He cursed the gentle pull in his chest. He wouldn't allow it to have meaning. This was simple. Even if he had to make it simple.

They walked side by side, not touching, but that damned perfume of hers tormented him all the same. He stopped in front of a small corner building, wooden-clad and sporting a shabby Parthenon-inspired entrance complete with Grecian pillars either side of the doors. She looked up at him in surprise. Had she been expecting him to take her to some Michelin star restaurant with gleaming marble surfaces?

He pushed the narrow door open for her, trying his best to ignore how closely she brushed past him as she stepped through the doorway. Inside, they were met with the sight of vintage wood panelling and a quirky Grecian-house facade over the kitchen pass-through. So, why hadn't he taken her to some minimalist, stainless steel place as he usually did on a date? Why had he chosen his favourite, private, lunch retreat? But then, why had he made any of the choices he had where she was concerned?

They were met by a portly Greek man, his long apron almost scraping the ground as he bowed his way to a table for two by the window. Everything was slightly shabby, but laid out perfectly. That's what he loved about the place. No pretence, just good, clean food and quick service.

After settling herself into her chair and accepting the napkin laid across her lap by the attentive waiter, she took a long, slow look around. Other than an older couple sitting at a table along the other window, they had the place to themselves.

"So what do you like?" His voice seemed to startled her, and her wide eyes turned to meet his. She blinked a few times, then flipped the menu open in front of her. The frown that caused the little crease between her eyebrows intensified.

"What do you usually have?" she asked, eyeing him warily.

He considered the menu. "A few cold starters and then one of the fish dishes usually. But it's up to you."

She sat looking at him, and then closed her menu. She folded her hands together in her lap and sat back in her chair. "Why don't you order for us both?"

What was this about? Was she just unsure of what to order, or was she trying to draw him into something? Conscious of her eyes on him he scanned the menu in search of some rescue.

"Is there anything you wouldn't eat?" he asked.

"I'll try anything once," she said, eyes lowered, carefully straightening the napkin on her lap.

Okay then. Have it your way, he thought. He raised his chin in the direction of the waiter, who bustled over instantly. He ordered them both the lunch special, with various meze dishes and grilled sea bass as a main course.

He sat back and had to stifle a grin at the amazed look on her face as the small, stout waiter turned into a whirlwind of activity, delivering an array of dishes and pouring water and wine with a flourish. She seemed to take it all in, smiling at the waiter as he fussed over her. The pull in his chest intensified. Damn it. This wasn't the time to be making matters worse.

"What's this?"

"Sorry?" He looked to where she pointed; a plate full of grilled cheese. His mind was still so caught up in his purpose that it took him a second to think of the name. "Haloumi. It's cheese. Try it..." He pushed the plate a little closer to her.

She slid a slice onto her fork and transferred it to her plate, frowning at the pale, char-grilled rectangle. Once it was in her mouth, her face was transformed, her eyes closing and a smile growing steadily as she chewed.