Page 57 of Lie For Me

So other women liked Jack—it wasn’t a surprise. Women often checked him out. It wasn’t even the first time someone had approached her to ask about him, to find out if he was single. She just hadn’t paid attention to it before.

She glanced in the mirror. Her face was glowing, her eyes bright and luminous. She felt wired, like she’d drunk a pot of extra strong coffee and had nowhere to get rid of the energy. Her eyes lingered on her lips, still red from the kiss. Combing her hands through her hair, she teased out tangles with her fingers.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the door.

It was getting late, and guests were trickling away in the direction of the bedrooms. Lucy peered around nervously, but there was no sign of Heather or her mother. Clustered around a table, a group of Ollie and Sophie’s friends from university hooted and cheered as a waitress unloaded a tray full of drinks, but there was no sign of the happy couple.

There was also no sign of Jack.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved not to have to face him again so soon when she was feeling so unsettled or disappointed not to see him. From the direction of the bar came a familiar cackle, and Lucy assumed the group of three women doing tequila shots were the same people she had overheard in the toilets. Before anyone could spot her, she turned, slipped out of the room, across the lobby and out into the gardens. Gulps of fresh air would eat up the adrenaline and, hopefully, calm her addled mind.

From her morning walk, she knew she could make her way around the outside of the hotel and come back in through the French doors. Trembling, though the night air was still warm, she padded across the soft grass, shoes in her hand once more, her feet leaving prints in the dew.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel this way. She looked up at the moon high overhead and at the gardens, silvery bright in the moonlight. A fox trotted along the tree line, ignoring her.

So they’d kissed and felt each other up—so what? These things happened at weddings. No need to overthink it, she told herself. Chalk it up as just one of those things. They’d both been drinking, and the argument with Heather and Jack stepping in to look after her had confused things, that was all.

Rounding the corner, she arrived at the French doors that led back into the hotel and to their room. She hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. A couple fumbled their way down the corridor, giggling and holding on to one another, then disappeared into a room. The bright lights inside made Lucy all but invisible outside the door. Reaching out her hand, she pulled open the doors and headed down the corridor toward their room, head held high. She had nothing to feel embarrassed about, she told herself.

She eased herself into the bedroom. The lights were on, and noises were coming from the bathroom. The door opened, and Jack strode out, toothbrush in mouth, humming while he brushed. He was barefoot and bare-chested. His trousers were unbuttoned and hung loosely around his hips. Lucy tore her eyes away and stared at a picture on the wall of Victorian ladies promenading in a park.

His eyes lit up when he saw her.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he mumbled through his toothbrush. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to. I stuck my head into the party, but it looked like it was winding down, so I came back here. Where did you get to?’

Lucy thought of the conversation she had overheard in the loos. For a second, she opened her mouth to joke about being forced to listen to women cooing over Jack. It wouldn’t be the first time she had shared such a story with him. But for some reason, the words wouldn’t come out. He was a free agent and could chat up any woman he chose to—but she didn’t want to be his wing woman.

Jack was watching her quizzically.

‘Nowhere,’ she said and shrugged. ‘Just took the long way round to come back here.’

Her glance landed on a pillow and sheet on the chaise longue. Jack followed her gaze.

‘You take the bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the chaise. I tried to blow up that mattress but,’ he nudged the folded-up blow-up mattress with his foot, ‘I think it has more holes than the Titanic.’

‘Jack, you don’t have to do that. That chaise is too small for you. I’ll sleep on—’

‘No,’ Jack said. He was standing in front of her. ‘I had the bed last night, your turn for a decent night’s sleep.’

‘But I got you into this,’ Lucy said ruefully. ‘You shouldn’t suffer for helping me out.’

‘You asked me. I said yes. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to do.’ He grinned. ‘Now,’ he prodded her in the arm, ‘would you get ready for bed, woman?’

Lucy laughed, feeling the tension between them ebb, and grabbed her nightclothes and toiletries.

A few minutes later, she stood in the bathroom staring at herself in the mirror. She plucked at the hem of the cartoon-covered shortie pyjamas that had seemed so cute when she had bought them, but now felt childish on the body of a thirty-three-year-old woman. They didn’t look like the pyjamas of a wanton woman who got hot and heavy in hotel corridors. She flushed at the thought. She wished she owned just one satin slip nightie, or silky nightshirt. Something grown-up that she wouldn’t mind someone else—a man—seeing her in. Cartoon-patterned pyjamas weren’t sexy. The vibe they gave off was more, read me a bedtime story and pass me my warm milk.

‘Cute PJs,’ Jack said as she scurried over to the bed.

Lucy grimaced and hurled herself and the cartoons beneath the covers. Jack had concertinaed himself onto the chaise. His head rested on an arm slung behind his head, and she could see the tops of his boxers peeping out from beneath the sheet. Hurriedly averting her gaze, she dove for the light switch beside the bed and plunged them into darkness.

‘Oh. Night then,’ Jack said, a laugh in his voice.

Lucy giggled.

‘Sorry, should have warned you.’

They fell silent, and the bed springs creaked as Lucy shifted to get comfortable. Lucy thought she had never breathed so loudly in her life. The darkness was intimate, and all her senses seemed heightened. She felt like she could sense exactly where Jack was, even in the ink-black room. As if she stepped off the bed and reached out to take his hand, she’d find it immediately. She lay stiff and still, trying to breathe silently.

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