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  I order a bottle of beer before I rest my elbows on the bar and hold my head in my hands. I need a moment. If I close my eyes and hold my breath for a second, everything will be okay, and my bleak despair at the future of my marriage will disappear. Won’t it?

  The barman places the beer in front of me before he returns to cleaning glasses. I take a long draw of the cool liquid to settle my nerves and my mind. I continue to drink, hoping the beer will actually wash away my problems. My marital issues are much bigger than a quick drink in a bar can fix. How have I not seen this coming? Phil always takes extra shifts. He seems to do anything apart from spend time with me, and that includes sex. The worst part is that I’m not bothered about it. I’m not bothered by my husband’s lack of sexual desire for me. After all the time we have been married, how can this have happened? I drain the last of the beer and tip it towards the barman. “Another, please.”

  “Same for me.” A velvety deep voice sounds from right behind my ear. Every nerve ending in my body awakens. The flesh on my neck tingles in response. The man slides effortlessly onto the stool next to mine, a hair’s breadth away. I steal a quick look in his direction.

  Dark hair frames a handsome face. One that could belong to my fantasy screen hero, complete with five o’clock shadow. A sexy smile across his lips gives his eyes a crystal quality that I could lose myself in. Instead, I whip my eyes back to my fingers, now clasped around my bottle for dear life. I think he chuckles, and I concentrate on not fidgeting. The barman returns with two bottles and places them in front of us.

  “Cheers.” That same velvet voice reverberates through my body. I slowly raise my eyes and look straight into two pools of blue liquid that stare right back at me. My entire body ignites with recognition and arousal floods me. He holds his bottle towards me. I have to concentrate to lift my bottle to his.

  “Cheers,” I croak. My cheeks flame as he smiles and his eyes light up with pleasure and amusement. I pull my gaze from his and focus on the beer. Yes, the beer is my friend. I sit as still as I possibly can and concentrate on drinking my beer without dribbling it down my chin or doing anything else horrifyingly embarrassing.

  My reaction to the man startles me. My right side hums at the mere presence of him. I shift away from him on my stool and try to break the connection. I shouldn’t feel this way. Despite my failing marriage, I am still married. I finish my drink with my heart beating out of my chest. I set the bottle down and swivel on the stool, ready to jump down. As I do, that gorgeous, deep voice strikes me again.

  “I’m Seb. And you are?”

  My eyes widen at his introduction. That sexy smile never leaves his lips.

  “Izzy,” I whisper. I don’t think my lungs can take in oxygen anymore.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Izzy.”

  I continue to look at him, unable to stop even if I wanted to. Something compels me to keep my eyes fixed on him. An alien feeling stirs my desires. The heat from my cheeks is ridiculous. I must be a bright shade of scarlet. That thought finally shakes my concentration. I stumble off my stool and pick up my bag.

  “Leaving so soon?” He straightens his bespoke charcoal-grey suit. The cut accentuates his broad chest and I know he wouldn’t achieve that with an off-the-peg Marks and Spencer. “Um… yes. I, uh, need to get going,” I stutter.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Does he really care if I leave? I look down and shift from foot to foot, as if I’m a love-struck sixteen-year-old. What do I say now? I risk another look, and my eyes wander up his body to his lips. A smile itches to spread across my face. As my eyes try to look anywhere but at his, he actually laughs. My stomach quivers and my thighs tingle in that oh-so-good way. Good Lord, Izzy! Say something. I take a breath to steady myself. “Okay, well, I, ah… need to go.” I spin on my heels and walk as smoothly as possible to the door.

  My sexual response to a complete stranger troubles my mind all the way home.

  I pull the duvet cover higher over my body and snuggle down into bed. Did tonight really happen? I go out for the first time in months to escape the cold loneliness of my home life and get some perspective on my failing marriage, and I meet a man who sets my body on fire.

  My stomach hasn’t stopped turning, and that old, yet familiar, ache of desperate attraction does strange things to my breathing.

  The door shuts and I hear the turn of the lock. Phil. He hasn’t responded to my earlier text about what he was doing tonight. I don’t care. Sadness comes with that realisation. It’s late, but that’s nothing new for Phil. Although, after meeting Seb tonight, I’m beginning to wonder a little more about what he’s been doing so late. He can’t be working. My mind flits back to the reaction I had to Seb. Instant and overwhelming. Would it be such a leap to think that Phil’s disinterest is due to another woman?

  I curl myself into a ball, lie as still as I can, and pretend to be asleep. The bathroom light streams through the crack in the door as he changes. A few minutes later, he comes into the bedroom and climbs into bed. The distance between us tonight seems cavernous, not the actual three inches between our bodies. How could I not have seen this coming? I squeeze my eyes closed and see Seb’s clear blue eyes looking deep into mine and imagine, for a moment, what he would do if he climbed into bed with me.

  I wake up early. My eyes take a moment to adjust. It’s still dark in the bedroom and Phil’s still asleep next to me. I’ve a big training session at work and need to be in early to set up. I hop out of bed, grab the items I left hanging on the back of the bathroom door and head for my shower. I make it downstairs without having to see Phil. I sigh. Guilt churns in my stomach at my physical reaction to Seb. Oh, those eyes. Those eyes will haunt my dreams for weeks to come. Coffee. I pour my morning cup and hope that my day will be enough of a distraction to keep my mind from Seb.

  Driving to work, I go over my presentation. I hate presenting to a group and I’m always nervous. I know my subject thoroughly and I’m good at what I do, but I still give myself the mental pep talk as I park the car. It’s a crisp morning. The last signs of summer are fading and there is an autumnal chill in the air. I cling to my files, fighting off the cool air as I walk across the car park. I enter the building and head to my desk. I toss my files on my desk and go in search of coffee.

  The conference room isn’t ready—no surprise—so I spend the next twenty minutes setting up for my session. Laptops, monitors, and cables—I’m surrounded by cables and nothing is working correctly. I scramble on the floor to connect everything to the power, check the laptops and then attempt, once again, to link the main monitor to my computer. Why today? Why does it not work today?

  “Uh, hum.” I hear a man behind me while I’m still on hands and knees sorting the cables. “Is this the right place for the social media introduction?”

  That voice. I recognise that voice and my stomach lurches as liquid blue eyes flash through my mind. This can’t be happening. Not him. Not here, today, in my training session.

  “Excuse me,” he says, a little more sternly and sounding somewhat annoyed.

  I’ve not responded to his question and I’m still on my knees, my head hidden under a work table.

  “Yes. Yes, it is,” I reply in my most confident, self-assured voice. As carefully and gracefully as I can manage, I stand up and look towards him. Recognition registers across his face, drawing that sexy smile slowly across his lips and lightening his expression.

  “Well, hello, Izzy.” He offers his hand to shake, a polite and professional move given the circumstances. I take his proffered hand in mine and feel warmth and strength radiate through our touch.

  “Hello. Ah… Seb. You’re here for the training session?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I think I just changed my mind.”

  There go my cheeks again. Red. I stand motionless and slightly dumbstruck. What do I do? What can I say?

  “Okay, I’ll… uh, be with you in a minute. Have you got a coffee or te
a? They are laid up outside.” I cast my eyes down to his hands. He cocks his head to the side and raises his coffee cup in salute.

  I giggle nervously and turn towards my computer on the desk to hide my embarrassment. I open the programmes and presentations I will be using today and take a breath. I can do this. I mentally check myself, straighten my back, and face Seb. He has taken a seat at the conference table, set his drink down and is casually sitting with his legs crossed at the ankle and his arm resting on his knee. He’s watching me.

  His posture is relaxed and he looks totally at ease, the exact opposite of how I am feeling. As I summon the courage to speak to him again, another suited gentleman enters the room.

  “Take a seat.” I motion to the table, avoiding Seb’s eyes, and return to my computer.

  I focus on the screen in front of me as more people file into the room. I greet them pleasantly, all while keeping Seb in the corner of my view. He doesn’t move, nor does he take his eyes from mine. Please stop looking at me. You’re making me—

  “Will you be starting anytime soon?”

  His question throws me, and I’m momentarily flustered. “I think we’re expecting one more. We’ll start in a few minutes.” I don’t address him directly, but I can’t help but steal a glance. He’s grinning at me. This is going to be a long morning. I curse under my breath.

  “If you have any further questions once you start your social profile, I can be found at any of these sites, or by email.” I flick up the final slide with my social contact details and inwardly sigh. I’ve gotten through it. I sit down in relief. I keep my eyes on my screen to avoid the possibility of catching Seb’s. I wait until I can’t hear any more movement in the room before I raise my head, and look straight up into liquid blue. Oh shit.

  “Not going to say goodbye?” he purrs. His velvet tones sing in my ears.

  “I’m… ah… sorry. I hope you enjoyed the session?”

  “Some elements of it, yes.” His smile stretches slowly upwards.

  My stomach turns and my lips part in response. What is he doing to me? I ask myself, frustrated that this relative stranger has such an effect on me. I stand and admire him for a moment. He’s still sporting a five o’clock shadow. His hair is short and neat and a smoky black. His suit is a dark charcoal, matched with a white shirt and a lighter grey tie. He looks strong and in control, confident. My pulse quickens as I drink him in.

  “I wanted to leave this with you last night, but you ran off before I had a chance.” He places a card on the table and pushes it towards me. I pick it up and finger the thick white card, elegantly embossed with his name and a mobile number. “And it only seems fair as you’ve just given me all your contact details.”

  My brow furrows and I try to decipher what he means. He turns and gestures to the screen where there are several ways of contacting me still on display. “Oh, I see. Thanks.” I absentmindedly rub my thumb across his name on the card, feeling the individual dips and rises of the letters.

  “I expect you to call me, Izzy.” With that, he turns and walks out of the room.

  I sit back down, slightly dizzy and somewhat at a loss. I stare at the screen, which still has my Twitter, Facebook, and email details on it. All are my professional business accounts—I do this for my job, which I love, but I’m not going to post my personal details. Nor my favourite sites.

  The rest of my day is quiet, so I take my time to sort out the room and return to my desk. I’m careful to keep Seb’s business card in my pocket, out of sight of prying eyes. Will I call him? Do I want to? What will it mean if I do? Troubling questions plague me, and for the rest of the afternoon, I focus only on Seb, or rather, Mr. Sebastian York.

  I write a few generic posts for the people in the training session today and wrap up some emails before I leave for home. Home. At least today’s relative excitement has kept my thoughts off Phil. It’s unlikely I’ll see him tonight. He’s been avoiding home as much as possible. Or maybe he’s seeing how absent he can be before I say or do anything in response. Should I do anything? Should I say anything to him? Is it all my fault? Isn’t marriage supposed to be a partnership? I seem to be the only one trying. I shake my head as tears pool in my eyes. I’m thankful for the privacy of my car.

  This is stupid. I try to convince myself that being a good wife means more to me than any desire I may harbour about exploring my sexuality—my desire for submission in the bedroom. I know this yearning will never leave. It is something that deep down I both crave and fear. Something more. I breathe in deeply and resign myself to the fact I will never experience my fantasy. I should not frustrate myself further. I should try to mend bridges with Phil.

  The day has shaken off its cool start. I’m not looking forward to winter. The sun has a magical effect that brightens all situations, and with what I’m currently facing, I need the sunshine. I walk up to the front door and open it to a dark and empty house. Nothing new. The depressing thought breaks my last grip on my emotions and I sob in the hallway, mourning the marriage I once held such hope in. I stumble into the bathroom and turn on the water, seeking solace in the warm water, a substitute for the physical embrace I long for.

  The bath is soothing and hot, and I am surprised at how good it feels. Bubbles and the scent of citrus envelope me. My body relaxes and my mind follows, seemingly content after my emotional break earlier. Sometimes I can cry my sorrows away and feel better, my own form of self-preservation. After the bath grows cold, I climb out, wrap myself in comfy pyjamas and grab my iPad, ready to sit in my chair and spend some time with my other “self.”

  I quickly get lost in the images showing exactly what I’m craving—submission, bondage, trust in another. I notice a new like and follow on my blog and I’m curious as to who is taking an interest in me on here. I don’t do a lot of interacting. It’s more for me to watch and imagine. I’m not interested in followers. Before I get a chance, my email alert rings. I tap the envelope icon and see Seb’s name in my inbox.

  Izzy,

  You haven’t called. I’m waiting. I had a very enlightening day and would very much like you to call me.

  S

  Shit, shit, shit. I can’t call him. Can I? My heart is suddenly in my mouth. I may not be able to get him out of my mind, but I never thought he’d actually contact me. I could email him—no harm in emailing. If I have a phone conversation with Seb, I’ll be all over the place.

  Seb,

  I’m hoping enlightenment has come from the training session today. What would you like me to call you about? Are you having trouble with a new social platform?

  Izzy

  This is so much easier than when I’m standing next to him. His presence—his very being—intimidates me. What would happen if I were ever alone with him?

  Izzy,

  I could say it was your training session, but that isn’t the complete truth. I would like to talk about going for a drink. Maybe you could actually talk to me this time?

  S

  That would be a problem. My mouth is bone dry.

  Seb,

  What do you mean by the complete truth?

  Izzy

  Maybe he won’t realise I’m frantically avoiding his other question. Could I go out with him for a drink? There wouldn’t really be any harm in a drink, would there? But as I think that, I’m not being honest. I don’t think I could have a conversation with him on the phone, let alone face to face.

  Izzy,

  Well, the training was, as I said, enlightening, but I was rather more interested in what I found out as a result of the training session. Don’t avoid my question, Izzy. Drink. With me.

  S

  Seb,

  I’m not sure a drink is such a good idea. I’m married and wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m glad you learned something from me today.

  Izzy

  Izzy,

  Oh, I definitely learned something today.

  Is there any rule that says we couldn’t go for a drink? Men
and women drink together all the time and it doesn’t mean anything. Drink. With me.

  S

  Really? Does he mean that? A wave of hope floods through me as I remember my reaction to Seb at the bar and then again earlier today. I would like to see him again.

  Seb,

  If you’re sure you want to go for just a drink then no, there shouldn’t be anything to stop us. Should we meet again at the same bar?

  Izzy

  Izzy,

  Good girl. I’ll see you at the bar on Thursday night. 7pm.

  S

  What was it you told us today, Isabel? Choose one or two social platforms to start with. Well, Facebook is obvious, but I’d like to see what you do. You did say you can build your interactions by finding people that you’re interested in? Well, I’m certainly interested in you.

  I don’t often believe in coincidence, but meeting you twice, seeing your instant reaction to me—how could I not be intrigued? Your lost look at the bar, your nervousness in my presence, both scream your vulnerability. It stirs all my base instincts to possess and comfort.

  I grab my tablet and bring up my browser, starting at the social media sites Izzy talked about today. Facebook and Twitter hold nothing but marketing links. I want to find out more about Isabel Fields, and she gave me my starting point. I have a basic understanding of these platforms. I have yet to understand the fascination that people have with them. But the course saved me from being sent into another company this week. I have a great job, but it would be nice to do something that didn’t involve going into a company and breaking it apart to maximize profit. Or worse, just not being able to turn it around and leaving it to the administrators.