Page 54 of Lie For Me

She was leaning back against the wall, looking up at him from beneath heavy lashes, smudges of mascara below her eyes, and a smattering of new freckles across her cheeks. It would take nothing for him to close the distance between them, for him to sway towards her, press her against the wall and kiss her.

He hesitated, unwilling to add to the drama of her evening by kissing her when she was already in such a heightened emotional state. To complicate things for them both. To risk a friendship. But he couldn’t make his body move away. He stayed frozen, leaning into her, his eyes locked on hers. Then he felt Lucy’s hand come to rest gently on his chest and a slight but insistent tug on his lapel. It undid him. He closed the gap between them, and his lips found hers.

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Her breath was sweet and spicy with whisky. Her lips, pressing against his, were opening, urgent, her tongue sliding into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, crushing her body into him as she tipped her hips into his. He could feel the fullness of her breasts crushed against his chest, the arch of her hips into his, her hands in his hair, pulling his head down to hers. He groaned and pushed her back, his left hand roaming over her hips and waist, his right hand holding hers, pinned against the wall.

She moaned softly into his mouth, and he kissed her again, more deeply, his tongue searching for hers. Lucy’s free hand slipped around behind him, slid over the small of his back, pulled at him. He eased back from kissing her for a moment, both breathing heavily, and gazed deep into her eyes. They were dark pools, her cheeks were flushed, her hair tousled around her face, her lips swollen and wet from kissing.

Into her mouth, he whispered, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes,’ came the reply, on an out breath. ‘Don’t stop.’

He dropped her hand, and her fingers were in his hair again, urging his lips to meet hers. His hands slipped behind her hips, cupping her bottom, pressing himself against her, his lips slipping down her throat, kissing her neck. His teeth grazed over the rise of her breasts above the fabric of her dress, and Lucy let out a gasp. Jack wished he could tear the silky fabric from her where she stood.

His hand skimmed her hip, her waist and cupped her breast, his thumb skimming lightly over her nipple through the thin fabric, feeling it harden in response to his touch. Lucy moaned, and he covered her mouth with his, feeling her urgency merge with his.

Jack barely registered the sound, then he heard it again. A cough like a squeak.

He tore his gaze away from Lucy for a second and glanced down the corridor. There, a few feet away, was the shy young waiter with the train track braces. His face was beet red, and he was staring at the floor, clearly wishing it would open up and swallow him into a fiery hell pit. He cough-squeaked again and raised his hand, showing a key. He lifted his head slightly, but his eyes landed anywhere but Jack and Lucy.

‘Sorry,’ he squeaked, and cleared his throat. ‘I have to get into the cupboard.’

Jack pulled back from Lucy and looked at where the boy was gesturing. They were directly in front of a door with a sign that read, Cleaning Stores.

Jack straightened and turned his back to the boy to hide his arousal. He cleared his throat.

‘Sure, sorry, go ahead, sorry…we didn’t realise anyone….’ Jack flipped his hand.

Lucy, her face flushed, was frozen to the spot as if she thought no one would see her if she didn’t move, least of all the boy standing six feet from her. Her eyes were on the shoes that she had dropped to the floor, and her fingers were fumbling to slide her dress straps back over her shoulders.

‘Lucy.’

Jack slipped his hand into hers to pull her away, but she snatched her hand back. She looked mortified.

‘Sorry’, Jack mumbled, stepping back. ‘We need to go.’

The boy stood, staring at the floor, clutching his key. Lucy stumbled slightly as she peeled herself away from the wall and lurched forward to grab her shoes. Without looking at Jack or the boy, she started barefoot unsteadily down the corridor, narrowly missing a replica suit of armour as she went. Jack gazed at her departing figure, her tousled hair falling down her back. The boy, his face still aflame, shuffled anxiously on the spot and half-heartedly flapped the keys. Jack nodded at him and took off after Lucy.

Lucy had picked up speed and Jack followed her as she hurried past the restaurant and function rooms, across the lobby and out into the gardens. She slowed down once her bare feet hit the gravel driveway and Jack caught up with her as she hopped from foot to foot, trying to avoid the spikiest bits of gravel.

‘Ow! Ouch! Shit, ow! Bugger!’ Lucy was hurrying towards the relief of the lawns at the side of the drive, arms flapping, shoes still in hand. ‘Oof!’ She reached the lawn, dropped her shoes and padded her feet on the soft grass. As Jack crunched his way across the gravel drive behind her, she turned to face him. She seemed unsure, her face unreadable. She didn’t smile as he approached, but she didn’t seem annoyed or upset.

Jack went with the only thing he could think to say.

‘I’m sorry.’

Lucy adjusted her dress, still a little askew. He felt a surge of desire as he watched her smooth the fabric over her hips, where his hands had been only moments before. Swallowing, he turned his gaze to a particularly grotesque gargoyle squatted on an old stone wall. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and ran a hand over his face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I think this pretending to be your boyfriend thing, and the drinks…and then––’ He let out a ragged breath. ‘You were upset and I…I tried to be a good friend…or,’ he gave a gruff laugh, ‘fake boyfriend….and I…’

He ran out of steam.

‘It’s okay,’ Lucy said, running her fingers through her tangled hair. ‘I think we just got….’ she shrugged, ‘a bit muddled.’

Her eyes met his. They were bright and shining, and her expression had an open artlessness that pulled at something deep inside him.

They were quiet for a moment, standing awkwardly opposite one another, no distance seeming like the right one. The noise from the other guests filtered down to them, music and chatter rising and falling as people went in and out of the doors. Someone passed right by the doors yelling, ‘Margot? Margot! Where’s my suitcase?’

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