Chapter 11 – It’s About Time

“You can’t be serious,” Jack murmured eventually, when his brain had started working again.

Tilly shrugged, her slim shoulders moving in the clinging black top she wore, the neckline dotted with iridescent beads that caught the lamplight. “Why not? I don’t want a relationship with you, Jack. That’s risking too much. If I ever hurt you…”

Jack frowned thoughtfully. He felt like someone had invaded Tilly’s body – either that, or he was really, really high. Perhaps there’d been something in the Chinese food. “So what you’re saying is, you like me, but not enough to date me.”

She sighed, running her hands through her cloud of dark hair. “I like you too much to date you. This way, we can still be friends. It’s just lust, and hormones.”

Jack stared at her, and shook his head, biting back a laugh. “You know, I can’t believe you’re saying this. The girl who I thought was all hearts and flowers, hugs and puppies, suggesting what would essentially be a one-night stand.”

Tilly held his gaze for a moment, worrying her bottom lip with her small white teeth. “Have I gone down in your estimation?”

Again, Jack shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m just… It’s sort of like I’m seeing this whole new side of you.” A side that he knew he’d be thinking about for the next, oh, maybe ten years.

He must have said something right though, because Tilly moved a little closer. So close, in fact, that he could make out the flecks of gold in her irises. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he stiffened, caught between anticipation and, okay, slight fear about what she might do next.

“So….”

Their eyes met and held.

“What do you think?”

Jack held up his hands. “Oh, I don’t know.” His body felt quite different, of course, but right now he ought to be listening to his head. “Til, you’ve been the one constant in my life for as long as I can remember. I don’t want to screw that up.”

She sighed. “I feel the same way. But, and if we’re going for total honesty, I can’t stop thinking about you and it’s making me a little bit insane.” She let her hand trail down his side, and linked her fingers with his. “That’s all. But… you know. You can take some time to think about it, if you want.”

Jack looked at her, and then at their joined hands. A beautiful woman, and a trusted friend, was practically offering him a no-strings night of passion on a silver platter. He’d have to be dead not to turn it down.

He snaked an arm around her and pulled her close. “I’m done thinking.”

A smile trembled on Tilly’s lips. “Then I guess we don’t need words anymore.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tilly’s heart slammed relentlessly against her ribs as she leaned into Jack, looked into his dark blue eyes. It was a moment she’d often thought about – no, scratch that, often lived through in her imagination.

She lifted a hand to gently cup his cheek, the slightly stiff scrape of his stubble tickling the sensitive skin of her palm. He leaned into her touch, and, encouraged, Tilly brushed her lips against his.

When Jack slid a hand into her hair and kissed her back, his tongue tentatively touching hers, he tasted a thousand times better than she could ever have imagined. Even her frequent and fervent daydreams couldn’t live up to Jack – the warmth of his skin, his scent, the touch of his hand.

As their kisses became more passionate, Tilly slid her hand up Jack’s t-shirt and into his thick, curling brown hair. His hair was the first thing she’d started to notice about him – the first place she’d started wanting to touch him. Now, she threaded her fingers through the soft strands as they kissed, desire coiling tight in her lower body.

Jack drew back, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Wait here. Don’t open your eyes until I say.”

He smiled, and it was infectious; Tilly smiled too. She heard some banging and snuffling, scrunching, then the striking of what could only be a match. Finally she felt Jack link his fingers with hers, pulling her to his feet. “Don’t open your eyes yet.”

He guided her through the apartment, and when they stopped he fussed some more. “Okay, open.”

Tilly smiled. He’d tidied. The striped blue bed sheets, instead of lying haphazardly over the mattress, had been tucked in. A single candle, scented with something – vanilla, or maybe cinnamon? – burned on the bedside table. The curtains had been drawn.

“I know it’s hardly rose petals and champagne, but if we’re going to do this…”

“Shut up.” She grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him close, breathing in him. As she looked up into his face she thought: it should be illegal to be so attractive. Everything about him just pulled her in deeper. His dark, intelligent blue eyes. His kind, friendly nature. The adorable, wayward curl of his hair. The deep cadence of his voice.

Oh yeah, she thought as their lips met, I was a goner as soon as I met him. I just didn’t know it yet.

It seemed time slowed as they stood together, arms entwined, lips locked. Tilly’s heart soared, and if the fear that this might spell the end to their friendship reared its ugly head, well then, she forced it away. I can regret this tomorrow. For now, she just wanted to savour the moment.

She broke the kiss and Jack drew in a deep breath. The ragged sound he made infused Tilly with boldness and she let her hands slide down his t-shirt, feeling the lithe bunch of his leanly muscled form beneath the fabric. Slowly, torturing herself, she smoothed the fabric up slowly. The first brush of her hands against his skin, flushed with desire, sent a jolt of pleasure arching through her. Jack 

Tilly hesitated, her hand flat against his stomach. She felt his lower belly muscles tense under her fingers.

Jack covered her hand with his and pushed it up, silently telling her it was okay to keep sliding up his t-shirt.

Oh, boy. Tilly didn’t need telling twice. The fabric bunched in her hands as she lifted it over his head. Jack raised his arms to help, and they broke the kiss for a moment. Tilly dropped the t-shirt on the bedroom floor. It wouldn’t be missed.

Then she lay her cheek against her chest, feeling the soft, dry curl of the hair there, and his heart thumped against her ear. It was a sound Tilly could have listened to forever.

Jack had other plans. He wrapped his arms around her, then scooped her up, laying her down on the bed. Tilly felt the squashy mattress give slightly as Jack set her down, and came to lie beside her. “Change your mind yet?” he asked.

Her gaze met his, searched his beautiful cobalt eyes. “I’m not going to.”

“Neither am I.” Then, it seemed, he finally let go, kissing her with a passion she’d never imagined burned inside him. His hands danced over her, barely touching her through her clothes. She ached to feel him everywhere at once, and she arched her back, pressing herself against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

After what seemed like hours, Jack ended the kiss and began a leisurely journey downwards, dotting kisses over her cheeks and down her neck. He hesitated for a moment over the neckline of her top, his breath fluttering warmly over her skin.

“It’s okay,” Tilly murmured.

He didn’t react right away, but then he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin below her collarbone, then lower, until he flicked his tongue over the curve of her breast, exposed by her top’s loose neckline. Tilly gasped, praying silently that he wouldn’t stop.

He didn’t. Slowly, gently, as if she were a china doll that might shatter, he slid the hem of her top up her stomach and over her breasts. He eased the fabric over her head, and Tilly had one frantic moment to wish that she’d worn some lacy concoction instead of her serviceable white bra.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jack whispered, and her doubts dissolved. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the delicious tingles shivering along her skin as Jack kissed her way over her shoulders, his mouth lingering in the shallow valley between her breasts. Her body tightened almost painfully as he edged the flimsy cotton of her bra aside and stroked his tongue over her sensitive flesh.

The feel of his mouth on her sent a thrill through Tilly. Desperate to feel him against her, skin to skin, her hands found their way between her body and Jack, and she fumbled at the zipper of jeans. Her fingers brushed against him, feeling the ridge of his desire for her.

“Wait,” Jack panted, his breathing shallow. He took his glasses off – a little steamed up – and set them on the bedside table. “Let me undress you first.”

Tilly couldn’t suppress a smile. They were both so eager to please – so hesitant. She felt more nervous than she had when she’d lost her virginity.

She lay back, her heart pounding, every sense focused on Jack’s gentle touch as he unbuttoned her jeans, parting the pliable fabric. She lifted her hips as he smoothed the cloth down her legs, whispering kisses over every inch of skin he exposed. Her jeans went the way of his t-shirt, and then she lay, exposed, a scrap of pink cotton the only barrier between him and the most intimate part of her.

Tilly pulled at Jack’s jeans playfully. “You’re overdressed.”

He smiled at her, that quick, bowl-you-over smile, and her gaze moved over his face, so familiar, and yet tonight so strange – so new, but so intimate. Tonight, he was hers, and only hers, and years from now, she’d relive this night again and again, no matter what happened afterwards, no matter what was said in the morning.

“So I am.” He sat up on the bed, unbuttoning his jeans, sliding them off his legs. Tilly watched, entranced. She’d seen Jack’s body before – on a beach holiday a few years ago, getting changed, on a hot day – but this was different. Now she’d get to touch him in ways she’d only fantasized about.

Jeans and socks disposed of, he joined her again on the bed. Carefully, he raised his body over hers, but, impatient as ever, Tilly hooked her arms around him and pulled him down. He almost fell into her, his weight pinning her down, and Tilly squirmed in pleasure. The hard, hot length of him pressed against her lower belly, starting an ache spiralling through her. She eased a hand down his stomach and cupped him in her palm, learning the shape of him through his boxers. Jack groaned against her neck.

“Condom,” she whispered.

Not without effort, Jack leaned over and opened a drawer in his bedside table, rummaging and pulling out a small foil packet. Tilly reached for it, but he shook his head. “Not yet.”

First, he unfastened her bra. The flimsy garment parted easily, revealing her to his gaze. Jack stroked her, worshipping her with his hands and mouth, until she arched up against him, biting her lip to keep from crying out. As she recovered from passion’s dusky haze, his skilled hands moved down her body, stroking her through the thin fabric between her legs. Tilly cried out his name, her hands clenching on his shoulders.

“Now,” she murmured.

He didn’t disappoint. She felt cold for a moment when he left her, then his weight settled above her again, his mouth gentle on hers. He drew a simple, quick heart shape on her stomach and then eased her cotton briefs down over her legs. In a heartbeat he pressed against her, his arms tight around her, murmuring against her cheek.

As he slipped inside her, Tilly opened for him. He whispered her name as they came together fully.

And she knew, as a little piece of her heart broke away to beome his forever, that things would never truly be the same again.

 

——-

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Chapter 10 – Suggestion

 

The weeks crawled by. Tilly continued to date Anton but her heart wasn’t truly in it – even Kay saw and commented. Five weeks after their initial date, she met him in a café and broke the news. He seemed sad, but not overly so. He kissed her hand and wished her well. Tilly watched his retreating back, wondering if she’d thrown over a man who could have gone the distance with her.

A week after that, after no word from Jack, she finally gave in and called him. After fifteen rings, the voicemail cut in. Hi, you’ve reached Jack Brogan. Sorry I can’t come to phone right now. Leave a message.

She hesitated. “Hi Jack, it’s me. Just called to talk. Give me a ring when you can.” She pressed the little red “end call” button. She stared at the LCD screen for a moment, then tossed her phone down on the bed and went to take her frustrations out on canvas.

Two hours later, she had three angry red, yellow and orange paintings, almost violent in their passion. She also had no messages from Jack. Maybe he was punishing her for not calling him in almost two weeks. But hey, she’d texted, right? And wasn’t that almost the same as talking to someone?

Another hour, after she’d washed and dried her hair – not an enviable task with locks as long as thick as hers – she gave in to her churning stomach and dialled him again. This time, he picked up.

“Hey stranger.”

Just hearing his voice made her heart flip in her chest, batting against her rib cage. “Hi. I tried to call you earlier.”

“Did you?” His tone held genuine surprise. “I must not have heard it. Sometimes, after work, I forget to switch my phone off silent mode.”

Silence threaded down the line for a moment. Tilly swallowed, her free hand fussing with the hem of the skirt she wore. “So, what’re you up to?”

“Lying on the couch.”

“And?”

He chuckled. “And that isn’t enough? All right, I was reading, but then you called, and now I’m talking to you.”

Tilly pictured him stretched out on his couch, long legs hooked over one end, one arm behind his head, as New York bustled outside. The image was so warm and welcoming that for a second, she fervently wished she could be there.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just finished some paintings.” She looked across the room at them. Oh boy, she’d taken her feelings out on her art, and in a big way. “They’re…. works in progress.”

Jack laughed. “I know what that means. You were in a bad mood and attacked your canvases. You should get one of those punching bags, you know, that boxers train with.”

Tilly scowled, and wished he didn’t know her so well. “I’ll keep that in mind. How’re things with you?”

She heard a soft creak as he shifted on the couch. “Okay. Work’s pretty busy right now. But a friend from work’s having a birthday shindig this weekend. You want to come along and hang off my arm? It’d make me look good.”

“Oh, thanks,” Tilly groaned, but inwardly her heart sang at being asked to go somewhere with him. “Will you buy the drinks?”

“I don’t even have to,” he said, and Tilly heard his grin down the phone line. “It’s a barbeque at his place. He lives on the bottom floor of one of those huge brownstones, you know, the kind where as soon as you visit you think about murdering him and stealing the place for yourself.”

Tilly smiled. “I love old houses. All right, I’ll see you on Saturday morning.”

“Why not Friday night? I haven’t seen you for weeks.”

Tilly hesitated. On the one hand, she should limit the time she spent with him until she knew what she truly wanted. On the other hand, Jack had been her best friend for years. She’d be a fool to say no – cutting off her nose to spite her face.

“Okay,” she gave in. “Friday night. But you’re buying the Chinese takeout.”

“Deal.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

I really like you. I think I’m in love with you. What about if we went on a date?

On the flight over, Tilly squirmed in her seat, trying to find a way to broach her feelings with Jack. How to tell him how she felt without ruining things?

Was potentially losing their friendship worth the risk if it led to something amazing? She clenched her hands in her lap, her short nails digging into the flesh of her palms. I just don’t know. If there was one thing she hated, it was not being sure of herself. She’d always been of the opinion that people who beat around the bush lacked strength of character. Now she had to reconsider.

Maybe people who feel unsure just have a lot to lose.

The flight, short as it was, seemed to drag. So did the subway ride to the centre of New York. Tilly shouldered her overnight bag and took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow down. It’s just Jack. So why did she feel as if what happened today could shape the rest of her life?

Don’t be so melodramatic. Whatever happened today, or whatever didn’t happen, life would carry on. Ultimately, even if she and Jack dated and then parted ways, they’d both get on with their lives.

But it won’t be the same, Tilly thought miserably. Aragh! She wished she could turn her brain off sometimes. If only she could find the switch.

She hopped off the subway, squeezing through the pull and press and bodies, and gasping in a breath when she could finally taste the air outside. New York always somehow seemed magical to her, despite the never-ending traffic, despite the smog and the crowds and the yell of gruff taxi drivers. Maybe that was Hollywood’s fault. Or maybe she just loved New York because Jack lived there.

By the time she pressed the buzzer on his apartment, dusk had started to descend. Not that in made much difference in the city that never slept – lights still flashed neon, cars screeched and hummed.

“Come on up,” Jack’s deep voice flowed through the speaker.

The door clicked. Tilly took the stairs again – it was better for her, or at least that was what she told herself – and when she reached Jack’s apartment he stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, his long legs clad in fog-grey jeans, wearing a loose black t-shirt that shouldn’t have drawn her eyes to his torso.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his dark hair curled haphazardly around his face. Tilly wanted to reach out and smooth it for him. “Hey,” she said instead.

“Hey. I got your text. The Chinese will be here in ten minutes.”

Tilly gave him a hello-hug. “My hero.”

Some time later, they’d demolished six cartons of Chinese food. Tilly swallowed another bite of Mongolian beef before she declared herself stuffed. “No more. Oh God, no more. Let’s put this away before I explode.”

After, they slumped on Jack’s couch and watched some of his Futurama boxset. Exhausted, Tilly set a pillow on Jack’s lap and rested her head on it, her legs stretched out on the large couch. The apartment smelled of Chinese food, and the scent of Jack’s aftershave curled around her like a familiar caress.

She sighed, content for now. Jack lifted a hand and started to run his fingers through her hair; something he often did to comfort her when she was feeling sad. Tilly resisted the urge to rub against his touch like a purring kitten.

When his fingers strayed to her face, stroking her cheek, she turned her head, brushing her lips against the heel of his hand.

“Jack,” she murmured.

He paused the DVD. “Hmmm?” 

She sat up, pushing her mussed hair from her face. “I’m… not imagining this, am I?”

For a moment she thought he might take some sort of crack, but his expression was calm, as still as a lake. “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t think so.”

Her breath eeked out, half-sigh, half frustrated growl. “What do you want to do about it?

Now he did smile. “I was sort of hoping that it might go away if I ignored it. You know, the manly decision rules and all that.”

Tilly playfully punched him, but then her smile faded. “Actually, I sort of wanted to suggest something to you.”

Jack grinned wolfishly. “A night of no-strings, hot and heavy passion to get it out of our systems?”

Silence settled heavily between them.

Finally Tilly said, “Well, yeah, sort of.”

Surprise stole the smile from Jack’s face.

Chapter 9 – The Kiss

PLEASE READ: This chapter contains a very sensual scene. If this doesn’t sit well with you, please don’t continue. Thanks.

——-

For one perfect second that seemed to stretch into forever, Tilly held perfectly still. Memories welled up inside her – the burning ache of every time she’d looked at him and fervently wished that he’d touch her, just once, with more than just the casual intimacy of longstanding friendship.

Then it flashed by, and Tilly remembered something her friend Kay often said when it came to making decisions: Think of the first Transformers film. Do you want to look back in thirty years time and wish that you’d gotten into the car, or do you just want to get in the car?

Oh boy, did she want to get in the car.

She kissed back. As his mouth moved over hers, warm, quietly intense, Tilly lifted a hand to slide her fingers through the layers of his chocolate brown hair, tattered-silk soft against her skin. How often she’d thought about touching him like this.

He drew back; ended the kiss, and searched her gaze. A small, shy smile played on his lips.

Tilly would have given anything in the world just then, just to know what he was thinking.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Tilly recoiled as if he’d slapped her across the face. I’m not sorry. “What?”

He leaned back in his seat, but his arms were folded. “I’m sorry. I… don’t know what came over me.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He seemed to withdraw even more. “I just… I mean, I thought you and Anton made a good couple.”

What the hell? Tilly wanted to demand. You’ve just given me one of the most incredible kisses I’ve ever experienced and now… now you want to talk about my date? “Well… good, because I think he might even be the one.”

Why had she said that? She knew why. To get back at him for the barb he had probably not even meant. But it had hurt, and if the only way to get that across was to hurt him back, then so be it.

Jack looked surprised. “Oh. Well, that’s great.”

Silence threaded between them as the cab continued its journey through the congested streets of the city. Finally, just when Tilly thought she could bear the silence no more, the driver pulled up outside the hotel Jack was staying in.

“I liked them,” he said as he went to open the door.

Tilly turned. “What?”

“I liked your paintings. A lot.” She had a moment to drink in the quiet intensity of his beautiful cobalt eyes, framed by long lashes, and then he was gone, his presence reduced to the click of the cab door closing.

Tilly leaned back in the cab and closed her eyes, which burned with tears she wouldn’t dare shed in public.

She tried to will back the image of Anton’s pleasantly handsome face as he’d stood with her at the showing, but all she could think of was the little smile that Jack had worn after the kiss. A smile she’d never seen him give her before.

Her head hurt.

 

* * *

 

Jack dreamed of her. He tossed and turned in his sleep, the hotel bed’s white sheets tangling between his bare legs.

In the dream, he lay in his own bed, Tilly beside him, her inky hair spilling over the snow-white pillow case. The naked curve of her shoulder rose above the edge of the sheets, and he lifted a finger to stroke her soft skin.

She turned then, opening sleep-softened eyes, and her lips curved ever so slightly, as if she was dreaming, too.

Slowly, achingly slow, she lifted her body, moving underneath the bed covers like a thief moving through darkness. When her skin touched his, a low groan escaped his lips, halfway between a curse and a prayer.

Her gaze fell to his. Their eyes met and as Jack read the scorching heat in her eyes, he had no idea how he’d ever just seen her as a friend.

“Jack,” she whispered. She moved against his chest and her nipples grazed his skin. He curled his fingers into the sheet beneath him, afraid to touch, afraid in case she disappeared.

Then she lowered her head and their lips met. She opened for him, so that the tip of his tongue tasted the silky softness of her mouth. As they kissed, he felt her shift on top of him, straddling him. His body, past ready, tightened in delicious, painful anticipation.

Unable to resist any longer, Jack released one of his hands from his tight grip on the bedclothes and stroked his fingers down the gentle slope of Tilly’s spine. She arched in response, a low half-sigh, half-purr whispering past her lips.

He explored further, learning the shape of her shoulders, the column of her neck, and finally, gorgeously, the gentle weight of her breast, cupped in his palm.

Jack. He heard her whisper his name as she pressed herself wantonly against him, his breath fanning his jaw as she dropped teasing kisses across his face, heedless of the dark wash of stubble that populated his skin’s surface.

And then suddenly, she disappeared, snaking down against his body, nipping at the skin on his chest, her face pressed into the light smattering of dark hair there. Her hand, small of palm, tapered fingers, slid down his torso, over his flat belly, and followed the arrow of hair that led to the evidence of his desire for her.

When she cupped him, his hands clenched into fists. Everything centred on the glorious stroking motions of her hand on his flesh.

Then, all at once, she dissolved, and he awoke to the beeping of his cell-phone and the most frustrating morning hard-on he thought he’d ever experienced.

Jack rolled over, spreading his hand out on the empty side of the hotel’s big double bed.

Tilly.

But of course, she wasn’t there.

 

———-

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Chapter 8 – Dutch Courage

 

Feeling faintly ridiculous, Tilly hesitated outside the glowing windows of the restaurant she was due to meet Anton in. She wore a knee-length black dress with a wide red belt, and black court shoes with a red flower pattern on the toes. Kay had chosen well – she looked smart but sexy – but not overdone.

However, she felt rather different. Her stomach roiled.

By agreeing to this date, she knew she was officially starting to say goodbye to her chances with Jack.

Maybe he was on a date tonight, too. Tilly swallowed. The thought of him caressing another woman’s cheek, touching his lips to hers, made her feel physically sick.

She fussed with her clutch bag for a few moments and then, when she could put it off no longer, she stepped inside. When a pretty young waitress approached her, Tilly shook her head with a smile. “I’m meeting someone here.”

She scanned the tables, and finally near the back she saw a man matching Anton’s picture sitting alone. She knew the moment he clocked her, because he smiled. Tilly found herself smiling back, genuinely. He did look kind – and he was handsome.

Maybe this wouldn’t be a total loss, after all.

Tilly made her way to the table and Anton stood when she reached her seat. He offered a hand. Tilly took it. “Hi.”

“Hello.” He spoke with a slight accent, and Tilly’s hopes rose again. She was a sucker for men with accents. “I’m Anton. As if you couldn’t guess,” he added, with a self-conscious smile.

“Tiger-Lily. But my friends call me Tilly.”

She sat down and they looked at each other across the rose-petal table cloth, all awkward smiles and too much silence.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Anton admitted eventually, running a hand through his dark hair. “To tell you the truth, I have been on a few arranged dates where the lady has…. Changed her mind.”

Looking at him, Tilly’s sympathetic heart squeezed. She had almost done the same thing – although, her circumstances were different. But Anton had no way of knowing that Kay had set them up on this date. “Well, I’m here now. And I’m sure we’ll have a fabulous time.”

He brightened. “Yeah, me too.”

The waitress appeared by their table. “Can I get you any drinks?” She looked at them from under what seemed an endless cloud of eyeshadow.

“Green tea for me,” Tilly requested. Anton ordered a beer.

When the waitress had moved on, Tilly opened the menu sitting before her. It was beautifully laminated, and gold thread laced it together. She was reminded, warmly, of the Chinese restaurants that she and her parents had eaten out at when she was younger.

“What are you thinking of ordering?” They asked each other at the same time.

Tilly laughed. And for the first time in a while, she forgot to think about Jack.

 

* * *

 

 

“Stupid tie.”

Jack stood by the mirror in his hotel room in New York, fussing with a dark blue tie. He’d chosen it because people had commented that it set off his cerulean eyes. Jack usually just said “mmmm” in response. He privately thought, sometimes, that ties were torture devices in disguise.

Tilly wouldn’t care if he wore a tie or not.

But, he reminded himself as he tried to knot the blasted thing once again, this was about making an impression. He wanted to be seen as more than just a friend, more than just the Jack she’d known all her life.

He finally knotted the tie, not without turning the room blue first with his curses, and then shrugged on his dark blue jacket. Too much for a gallery viewing? Probably not, since it was in the evening. He just felt a bit overdressed as he was allowed to wear t-shirts and jeans when he was at work. 

Outside the hotel, on the still sunshine-hot streets of New York, Jack signalled a taxi, and gave the gruff-faced driver the address of the gallery Tilly’s showing would be held at

He’d replied to Tilly’s invite – wisely or not – to say he wouldn’t be coming due to work commitments, but he had decided to surprise her. He supposed he’d see tonight if his gamble paid off.

The taxi wound through dinner-time traffic in the bustling city and finally Jack paid the driver and stood outside the glass-fronted gallery. People already milled around inside, drinking what Jack assumed was complimentary champagne or least some sort of juice. As he neared the entrance, he saw the paintings, grouped in their canvases according to colour, inspiration, subject, or whatever Tilly had seen fit to choose.

He gave his invitation to a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile at the entrance, and then meandered through the crowds. He felt rather pleased to see that, despite the heat, most of the invitees had opted to dress smartly.

Then he spotted her.

Tilly stood between an elderly couple, by one of her paintings. The couple seemed rapt, hanging on her every word as she gesticulated with her hands, the joy in her work sketched all over her face. She wore a dress – was it just him, or had she only just started to dress like a woman?! – in black, embroidered with large blue and white flowers on the left side. A powder-blue flower secured her hair in some complicated bun arrangement.

Jack swallowed, and made his way over. His heart felt like it lay in his throat. By his sides, he unconsciously curled his fingers into his palms.

He knew the moment she saw him. Something in her face changed – and a huge smile spread over her rouged lips.

She made polite excuses to the couple, and then he heard the gentle click of her shoes on the polished wooden floor as she zig-zagged through the crowd to see him. She poked him square in the chest. “Liar. You said you couldn’t make it.”

That made him grin. “I wanted to surprise you.”

She hugged him, pressing her cheek against his chest. Jack wondered if she could tell how hard his heart pounded – as if it wished to escape from his chest and flutter off into her hands.

“I have a surprise for you, too. Oh – there he is. Anton!” She waved.

Jack turned, a sinking feeling already instilling itself in his gut. Sure enough, a tall, lithe man, his skin swarthy like a handsome pirate’s, headed towards Tilly, a more-than-acquaintances glint in his eyes.

Tilly held out her hand and Anthon slid his fingers through hers. He gave Jack that look, a look Jack knew well. It said: Well, who are you and how do you know Tilly?

“This is Anton. Anton, this is my best friend, Jack.”

The two men shook hands. Looking on, Jack wondered if anyone noticed that they eyed each other with mutual distrust and suspicion. “The famous Jack,” Anton said in a New York accent with a hint of the exotic. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” It made Jack feel childishly smug. “All good, I hope.”

Tilly poked Jack. “Of course. When have I ever had anything bad to say about you?” Then her gaze softened as she looked at him. Something flickered across her face, and she opened her mouth to say something, but then a woman arrived and patted her arm. “Are you artist? I’d love to talk about a commission.”

Tilly sent Jack and Anton apologetic smiles and then she was off again, her eyes sparkling as she spoke about her love of painting.

“She is really something,” Anton said, half to Jack, half to himself.

Jack nodded, his gaze tracing her retreating figure. “Yeah. Excuse me, I’m going to find the bar.”

 

* * *

 

Some time later, the guests dwindled, and Tilly said goodbye to Anton outside the gallery. He bent his head to kiss her, and she let him. His lips felt pleasantly soft and cool against hers – a nice kiss, a vanilla kiss.

But nothing that set her pulse aflame.

She watched him hop into a taxi, waved, and then went back inside to find Jack. She hadn’t seen him since she’d be plucked from him and Anton by the zealous woman. That hadn’t been a bad thing – she had a big commission to look forward to. But something niggled at her and she worried that she’d upset Jack.

She found him in the bar, nursing something that looked like whiskey. He’d unknotted his tie and it lay on either side of the open collar of his shirt. Looking at him, Tilly felt something inside her warm.

Sliding on to the stool beside him, Tilly nudged him. “Why the long face?”

Jack glanced at her. “Oh. Hi. How’d it go?”

Tilly sniffed. “You’re drunk.”

“Hmm?” Jack looked down at the glass of whiskey as if seeing it for the first time. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“He went home. And I wouldn’t say he’s quite my boyfriend.” Tilly folded her arms. “Anyway, the showing’s over. Where are you staying?” It hurt a little, more than she would admit, that he hadn’t asked to crash at her apartment.

He named the hotel, a short cab ride away. Tilly hooked her arm through his. “Come on, let me take you back there. It’s pretty late.”

Jack didn’t protest when she led him towards the door. He wasn’t as drunk as he seemed, but he still reeled from seeing her with Anton – what a stupid name, too – and seeing her looking so…. Happy.

In the darkened interior of the cab, Tilly sighed. “What’s the matter, Jack? You haven’t been yourself all evening.”

Jack turned to her. Her black hair spilled loose over her shoulders, bare in the expensive-looking dress she wore. The red gloss she’d painted on her lips had faded, making her look as if she’d been thoroughly kissed by someone. Not him.

Tilly’s brow furrowed and she touched his cheek. “Jack…”

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe he was just tired of keeping his feelings to himself. But Jack did something he never thought he’d have the courage to do. He leaned over, cupped Tilly’s chin, and whispered his mouth over hers.