Confessions of a Kinky Divorcee. Lana Fox

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СКАЧАТЬ for me; beef in tamarind sauce for him. As we start to eat, I can feel him watching me, but I don’t rise to it straightaway – partly because I like him admiring me, and also because OH, MY GOD, THAI FOOD IS GORGEOUS! (Why has no one ever mentioned this before? All spices and sweetness and heat.) Anyway, finally he puts down his chopsticks, takes a swig of wine and leans towards me properly. ‘I hope you don’t think me rude,’ he says, ‘treating you so directly. I find you very attractive. And the fact that you have such taste in shoes … well, frankly, I got hard the moment I met you and haven’t calmed down since.’

      I flush, unable to meet his gaze. ‘Oh my,’ I say, ‘you’re very forward, aren’t you.’

      ‘It’s my way of saying, “This is who I am.”’ He pauses for a beat, as I look into his eyes. Then, with the most devilish smile I’ve ever seen, he murmurs, ‘I want to screw you, Deborah. Over and over again. And as I think you know, we’ll be leaving your shoes on.’ If I don’t feel the same, he says, I should speak up now. Like Gladys would, God love her.

      I laugh. ‘That’s Gladys for you.’

      ‘I’m not really thinking of Gladys right now,’ he says, pressing his knee against mine. Oh, gosh, his attention is wonderful! It makes me feel all precious and twinkly – I haven’t felt like that in years. But I don’t know how to respond. And I know I should hint that I’m not a sex-on-the-first-date girl. Suddenly, I don’t want to look at him, so I gaze at the fish tank by the entrance, where large fish in all sorts of colours spread their glamorous fins.

      ‘I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I?’ he says, at last. ‘Forgive me. It’s the Dom in me. I should share some more about myself. Let me tell you about my own workplace.’

      He talks on and on about his big fancy office, but I’m not really listening. I’m full of delicious spices and the feel of his breath when he leans in close, and the way he talks about his clients as if they don’t matter a jot. What a lean, mean man! And oh, my gosh, how sexy! As for me, I notice how fascinated he seems by my own work situation. He wants to know story after story of shoe sales – including what sort of women buy what, and why.

      Anyway, we eat dinner, exchange small talk and have coconut ice cream for dessert. Oh, my goodness! And when I insist on splitting the bill, we have a small tiff before he caves. ‘Gone are the days when a man could buy a lady a meal,’ he says, with a glare.

      To which I say, ‘Instead, we have the days when a woman can pay for whatever she darn well chooses.’

      He raises one eyebrow, but a smile plays over his lips. ‘You’ve caught my weakness, Deborah dear.’

      ‘Control,’ I say. And I have a sudden image of me sitting astride him riding up and down, while he grasps one of my shoes in his left hand and one of my breasts with his right. I’m going at it hard, with my wrists bound behind me, and he’s glaring at me, fiercely, like an angry dog and his lips are parted and wet with saliva. And I ride and ride, letting out cry after cry as he groans beneath. ‘All over your shoes,’ he moans. ‘All over your fucking shoes.’ But he comes inside me, long and hard, calling out my name.

      Anyway, Kitten, I digress. Let’s fast forward to outside the restaurant, where I tell him he shouldn’t drive because he’s been drinking. ‘I’m going to drive regardless,’ he tells me, cool as butter, but he also reaches up and smoothes a curl of hair from my face. It’s begun to rain a little, but it’s more like a fine mist – like when film stars spray perfume into the air then walk through it, to make sure of an even coverage. (That’s what it says in Cosmo. I’m more of a ‘squirt and go’ kinda gal. These Hollywood women have more time than sense.)

      So I tell Guy, ‘Fine, but I’m getting a cab.’ I hold up my hand as he tries to interrupt me. ‘I’m paying for it. No question.’

      ‘I wasn’t going to offer to pay. I was going to offer to stay.’

      ‘You’re a poet and you don’t know it,’ I say. (Terrible rhyme. Shoot me now).

      ‘You’re insufferable,’ he tells me, but he’s smiling a little, and his gaze softens thoughtfully as he cups the side of my jaw. ‘I’ve been trying to find a woman like you for a very long time.’

      Bingo, Kitten. I beam away. ‘In that case,’ I add, ‘you won’t mind if I take a rain-check on the staying over?’ I explain that I haven’t been with a man since my husband dumped me, and Guy’s immediate response is to pull me into a hug. Totally unexpected from Mr Suave! ‘Of course I understand,’ he says, gently. ‘I’m sorry if my sex-patter makes me seem like a bastard. I can be very patient, I promise.’ And just as I get a lump in my throat, because I can’t remember how long it’s been since a man was actually sweet to me, I find he’s taking my face in his hands and kissing me on the mouth – it’s a soft-firm smoulder of a kiss that tastes of Thai ice cream. It’s been years since someone kissed me with such hunger and affection. And phew, I tell ya, I could get used to this, Kitten! I enjoy it so much that when he pulls back I must look like an idiot with my gob hanging open and my eyes all bugged. He smiles before lifting my hand and kissing it. ‘Promise you’ll take that taxi,’ he says. And, before I know it, he’s walking away.

      I get a cab home, and when I arrive there’s a woman sitting on my doorstep in nothing but a loosely buttoned shirt that only just covers the tops of her thighs. She’s petite and tanned, with a black Cleopatra bob, and she’s smoking a cigarette with her slender legs crossed. At her side is a saucer – from my rambling rose set! – filled with cigarette butts. She’s clearly been out here a while. She’s a stunning girl and I’m transfixed for a while before realising the front door is ajar. I’ll bet the hallway is filling with smoke – it’ll take me a year to get that out of the curtains.

      ‘Hi,’ she says, on an exhale. ‘You must be Deborah.’

      ‘And you’re Lil,’ I say.

      ‘Jackpot,’ she says, turning her gaze away. And you know, I don’t like her, Kitten. She’s sullen, this one. To a girl with that kind of attitude, eye-rolls come as easy as pie.

      ‘We don’t smoke in this house,’ I say.

      She sighs, slowly raising her gaze. ‘That’s why I’m outside.’

      I ask where Janey is and she says, ‘How should I know?’ before drawing on her cigarette again and saying, ‘Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. We’ve fought is all.’ She watches me as she rises to her feet and shakes my hand. Her fingers are slender and cold. ‘Janey’s watching a movie. Her kind of movie.’

      ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll sort it out.’

      ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘I’m sure I will.’

      On the way in, I make a point of closing the door. And you know what, Kitten? I don’t bother to do it quietly.

      In the living-room, Janey is asleep along the brown leather sofa, in the most lovely nightwear I’ve ever seen. Her tiny shorts are made of grey silk with polka dots all over them, and her matching top has spaghetti straps – one of which has slipped down her arm – and a trim of black lace. On the TV, a film plays along. There are gunshots and witty quips, but I take no notice. All I can see is this beautiful girl curled up on her side, an arm draped over the edge of the couch, loosely holding the remote control. Her skin is white as a pearl and, with her legs bent up towards her belly, her tiny shorts can’t quite contain her buttocks. Honestly, they’re so smooth and tight and curved that all I can СКАЧАТЬ