Don't Marry Thomas Clark (28 page)

‘I hope you're not planning on just chucking them on top of my clothes like that?'

‘Are you kidding me? We've organized an unforgettable show in your honour. The shampoo will perform a triple backward somersault while singing the aria from
Carmen
, your deodorant will spray itself into the air before falling back among the knickers and the bubble bath will join them in a shower of rose petals while I walk a tightrope and the maître d' hands out vanilla pastries to the wildly applauding audience.'

‘To what do I owe this dubious display of wit? I thought you'd taken a vow of silence for the rest of the trip,' he says, grabbing the toiletries out of my hands, putting them in a plastic bag and knotting the top at least a couple of times.

‘What's the matter? Your imaginary friend stopped talking to you again and you don't know who to take out your perennial discontent on?' I snipe, holding open the bag.

‘Actually, I'd appreciate you speaking up occasionally, just to remind me you're still alive.'

‘Unfortunately, I'm old-fashioned and only have limited functions. I don't react to external stimuli, but if you press the button on my back, you'll hear my recorded voice repeating: “Welcome! You have just entered in the selection menu of preset reactions of your virtual companion. If you want scintillating conversation, be silent. If you want a demonstration of affection, buy a dog. If you want disinterested advice, drop dead. Our company guarantees personalised assistance in the event of death and, if you book your deathbed vigil before the nineteenth, you'll get a free personalized obituary and commemorative plaque for the fireplace in the house. Don't miss this incredible offer!”'

‘May I ask what we are fighting about?' he asks impatiently.

‘I don't know!' I explode.

‘Hey…' He takes my face in his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes. ‘What's happening?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘What's wrong?' And he seems strangely worried.

‘There's nothing wrong!' I blurt out, pushing him away. He stiffens and stares at the floor with a pensive expression.

‘Sandy, don't you think it would be better if we talked about it?' he asks, reasonably.

‘Talk about what?'

‘This?'

‘This what?'

‘It's not easy for me either,' he begins, stopping me from leaving.

‘Oh, it must be
awful
for you,' I quip, ‘having to stay here with me instead of sailing the seas with Jack Sparrow's harp-playing idiot sister.'

As soon as I say the last sentence he freezes and stares at me in disbelief. ‘Are you suggesting that I like Donna Doyle?'

‘I began to have my suspicions when I noticed the trail of slime you left behind you when you escorted her to her car.'

‘Is that why you're so tetchy?' He looks relieved. ‘You're jealous?'

‘Don't be stupid.'

‘You're jealous.' It's become a statement. He moves towards me and I automatically step back, slamming into the window.

‘Haven't you got anything better to do?' I ask aggressively.

‘No,' he admits, putting his hands in his pockets. There's practically no distance between us now, and there's no space behind for me to escape into.

‘I think you're trapped,' he says.

‘This is ridiculous.'

‘What is? That you're hopelessly attracted to me?'

‘I'm not attracted to you.'

‘Then why are you blushing?'

‘Because I'm fair-skinned, and it's hot in here,' I say.

‘Liar!'

‘And why are you so interested in finding out?'

‘Because I feel exactly the same,' he says with disarming simplicity. ‘And I would have told you so the other day at the dinner table, if you'd only given me the opportunity.'

‘That's impossible.'

‘You don't believe me?‘

‘No. It just doesn't make any sense. You can't stand me, you've said so yourself: I'm untidy, insecure, cowardly, I don't have good taste, and over the last few months I've even been an opportunist on the lookout for easy money. Have I missed anything?'

‘No, I think that's everything.'

I watch him in puzzlement, my heart suddenly feeling as though it's been broken into pieces. Was he making fun of me? Was that just a stupid joke?

‘But I like you anyway,' he adds after a moment of silence. ‘I like watching you. I like touching you even more. I like making you angry and I'm literally going crazy with the desire to kiss you.'

‘It's late. The Doyles will be waiting for us,' I whisper, lowering my eyes, feeling exhausted.

‘To be honest, I have absolutely no desire to go to the Doyles. Do you?' he asks, placing a hand on my cheek.

‘I…' I begin, and then feel his fingers stroking my neck. I lift my face and I find my lips glued to his. I know this is wrong. I know that tomorrow I'll regret it and that everything will be terribly complicated, but here we go again. I can't stop.

I let his mouth almost touch the contours of mine, listening to his breath. Slowly I surrender to his hands, which are gently moving down my back, creeping between the folds of my dress. He doesn't seem to be in any kind of a hurry. There's an urgency in his touch, though. He covers my face with little kisses, savouring my skin with the tip of his tongue. ‘You look beautiful,' he whispers when he gets to the bottom of my dress, shifting so that he can look me in the eyes again. He kisses me one last time then goes over to one of the two chairs at the foot of the bed, grabs his jacket and looks for something in one of the pockets. My mind racing, I watch him lift the phone to his ear and hear the brief conversation that follows, him holding me in his arms all the while.

‘Mr. Doyle? Good evening, It's Thomas Clark. I hope I'm not disturbing you.'

He wanders aimlessly around the room, while he explains that we can't make it that evening. Apparently I've got the flu and he can't bring himself to leave me alone. I've always said that I was a delicate creature. Strange that nobody has ever believed me!

When the conversation comes to an end, there's a knock at the door. It's Captain Foster, who is waiting to inform Thomas that the car which was supposed to be taking us to the Doyles' has arrived.

‘Thank you, Captain, but that will no longer be necessary.'

‘You're staying on board?'

‘Yes. Our appointment has been cancelled. Could you let the driver know?'

‘Of course.'

‘Very well, then. Please feel free to go for the evening.'

‘Unfortunately, the kitchen is closed. Do you want me to bring you something for dinner?'

Thomas looks at me, then smiles and says, ‘I would be very grateful. Could you leave everything in the dining room?'

‘I'll deal with it personally. Goodnight Mr. Clark, ‘ he says, warmly. ‘Miss Price…'

‘Goodnight,' I say with a feeble wave. Then the door closes and we are alone.

A thunderstorm breaks above us and heavy rain starts pelting the windows of the balcony.

‘The cushions'll get wet,' I say, pointing to the divans outside.

‘We can change them tomorrow,' says Thomas, closing the curtains.

Without taking my eyes off him, I take off my golden sandals and curl up on the bed, wrapping my arms around my legs.

‘Are you cold?' he asks, noting my gesture.

‘A little.'

‘Hold on, I'll turn on the heating,' and so saying he heads towards the door and begins fiddling with the thermostat. ‘Is that better?'

With one hand he indicates the temperature that appears on the illuminated display and I nod, while a warm gust of air blasts out from the vent.

‘What did Mr. Doyle say?' I ask, trying to break the silence.

‘He sounded a bit disappointed, but he sends his regards and wishes you a speedy recovery,' he replies, turning off the light. It's starting to get dark, but I can still see him across the room taking off his shoes and removing his tie. The curtains are thin and the light coming from the street lamps scattered along the marina filters through them.

‘Do you think it'll cause problems for your negotiations?'

‘I hope not.'

‘Maybe you should go,' I suggest. ‘You came all this way to see him.'

‘Well, I've cancelled now. I can't retrace my steps. Not without a good excuse to justify your miraculous recovery.'

Slowly he unbuttons his shirt, takes it off and lets it fall on to the back of the couch.

‘You could go on your own. I can stay here. I have a TV, I've got plenty of music to listen to on my phone. I'll be fine.'

Barefoot, he climbs onto the bed and comes to lie down next to me. I'm sitting in my corner feeling more and more irritated.

‘Come here, Sandy,' he says, stroking my leg with his fingertips. He's still trying to defuse the tension, with no success. ‘Come on, I don't bite.'

‘That is so not true. You
always
leave me covered in bruises,' I grumble, remembering when we decided to settle our differences with an alternative to dialogue.

‘Well, you don't mess around either. I always wondered where you got all that strength from – a bag of bones like you.' And his hand is back on my thigh, lifting the hem of my skirt, exposing my leg. ‘I've always loved the way you smell,' he says, kissing me right where his fingers have stopped. He continues to caress me and my dress rises even higher, revealing more and more bare flesh, which he is quick to cover with kisses.

‘Thomas…' I try to stop him, but he doesn't listen and keeps titillating me with his fingertips.

‘You taste good,' he whispers, sighing. Gently and without my realizing, he drags me down and I find myself lying in his arms. This, I imagine, is what is commonly called ‘the point of no return'. ‘Kiss me.‘

His voice is husky and his lips are back on mine, rubbing, sucking, biting. He catches my tongue with vehemence, grabbing my dress, and with a single gesture rolls me onto my back and is suddenly on top of me. I want him. I feel as though I'm going insane. Inside me the desire to touch him, to taste him, grows.

My heart pounding, I run my hand through his hair and thrust my lips onto his neck. He pulls my dress up to my waist and grabs my panties, slowly peeling them off. ‘We don't need these anymore,' he whispers before kissing me again, this time biting my lower lip.

I instinctively push my hand between his legs and murmur his name when I take hold of his sex with my fingers. Discovering that he is so sensitive to my touch sends me into a frenzy.

‘Thomas, I want to touch you…' I murmur, removing his belt.

‘Later…' he replies, moving away so that he can take off my dress. I lie completely naked in front of him, with one hand resting on my breast and my lips parted. I sit on the cushions and wait for him to take off his clothes. I know, I should try to control myself, but instead I devour him with my eyes.

He doesn't stay on the bed but gets up and lets his trousers fall to the floor, pausing for a few seconds to look at me, captured in the glare of the moon. I feel helpless and vulnerable. Now that he's no longer on top of me I feel as though I've lost all my confidence, so I lower my eyes and avoid looking at him as he returns to sit next to me, I just feel the weight of his body and the sudden warmth of his hand on my ankle, forcing me to open my legs.

‘Let me look at you…'

I don't think I've ever felt this way. I'm so excited and at the same time embarrassed that I'd run away if I could, but I don't. And I even stay still when I feel his stubble tickling my belly button, my stomach and from there he slides wildly down, with the sole aim of dispelling any remaining uncertainty. A growing tension takes hold of me until I feel the touch of his mouth and only then do I abandon myself to him, letting myself savour the sensation without trying to contain my more urgent desire to go further. To go beyond my fears, my beliefs, my excuses. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, trying to calm myself, but it's too late. I feel the soft touch of his tongue pressing against me. When my breathing grows heavy, he changes rhythm slightly, and a thousand thrills run across my hot skin.

‘Do you like it?‘ he asks, his voice full of excitement, but before he's able to answer I feel his hand and his kisses becoming more and more intimate, and I can do nothing but hide my face in my hands. His fingers penetrate me gently, bathing him in my pleasure, and I can no longer resist.

‘Thomas, please, enough…'

‘Tell me, Sandy. Tell me you want me,' he whispers without ceasing to torment me.

‘I want you,' I whisper in a faint voice.

He stops kissing me just long enough to say, ‘I can't hear you. I want you to tell me you want me. You want me inside you, now.'

I look down and I try timidly, still whispering, ‘I love you.' Our eyes meet and his are the same colour as a stormy ocean. I drown gently in the increasing passion that is growing inside of me and I find myself saying, ‘I want you, Thomas. Please, take me…'

Only then does he get up. He kneels between my legs, his hands firmly gripping my hips and pulls me toward him. It's the most intense sensation I have ever experienced. I push my head onto the pillows and arch my back, so that his eyes can take in the generous curve of my breasts.

‘I want to hear you enjoy yourself, Sandy. Don't hold back,' he urges, sinking back into me with a push that leaves me breathless, then he slips out and waits for me to reopen my eyes before sinking back between my thighs with ever more urgent thrusts.

‘Go on, Thomas. Don't stop,' I plead, quivering all over and squeezing the pillow. It seems like he doesn't want to let go, and he controls our movements to the point that it's almost driving me crazy. It's nerve-wracking, almost painful, and so I decide I can wait no longer – I circle his waist with my legs and caress his lips with my tongue, watching him with a voluptuous expression. When I catch his eye, I raise my hips slightly and I draw him to me, sighing with pleasure. His eyes follow my movements until he feels so tight between my thighs that he can't hold back anymore. With feverish gestures, he closes his fingers around my waist and starts to possess me, no longer trying to contain himself but giving free rein to his instincts. Our bodies collide and merge and, inside of me I feel my excitement mounting. Holding my breath, I let myself be guided by his body and when my hands tighten around his now trembling wrists, I feel him explode, dragging me along with him in his ecstasy. We reach the pinnacle of pleasure almost simultaneously and I have to cover my mouth with my hand to stifle my own voice.