would say if they were a spy and regretted admitting to being a spy, right?”
“Exactly,” I say. “So, you believe that I’m a spy. I’m glad we agree, Sparkplug.”
“That is not what I said.”
She darts her hand out and lands a sportive slap on my pec, the imprint of her hand burning through my T-shirt and causing my skin to flare imperatively.
“So … why the suits?”
“I was born dirt poor,” I say. “Growing up, my old man was always ranting about his suits, about how he wished he could have a whole room full of them, wear a new one every day. It started as a joke with the old fella, but then it sort of stuck.”
She smiles. “Where is he now?”
“Gone.”
“Where—Oh,” she cuts off, reading my face. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Cancer, one hell of a thing. He was seventy. My mom is alive and well, she lives in Malta with her new husband and … And I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this, Sparkplug.”
We pause and stare. Outside a wind whips up the snow and aims it at the window, but the warmth inside causes it to steam and become a mirror that just shines the inside back at us until there is only the inside.
Only us.
A winter’s night with a woman made for pleasing, loving.
Anything could happen.
I feel my phone buzz and I check it, guessing correctly that it’s Fiona.
“Fiona’s definitely staying out tonight,” I say, voice husky. “She says you’re – quote – more than mother-thumping welcome to get your ass down here and then top-and-tail me as Jess’s house.”
“Hmm.” Her tongue runs over her lips … and then, in my mind, around the tip of my manhood, and then her lips open and I’m inside of her, pumping, her eyes wide as they gaze up at me, silently begging for more. “I don’t know if I want to, to be honest. I’m not much of a party girl. That’s more Fiona’s … Oh, God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”
That’s right.
Because Fiona’s my daughter and she’s her best friend and this is all a malformed mess.
I’m starting not to care, though.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “This isn’t the first time Fiona’s stayed out late. But at least it gives us an opportunity, eh?”
“To do what?” she asks, voice breathy with possibility.
To fuck. To put our first child inside your womb. To claim you and own you and mark you with my seed so that every other predator in this savage world can know who you belong to.
“To drive,” I say.
“To drive?” she repeats. “Where are we driving to, Saul?”
I smirk. “Downstairs.”
“What?”
Chapter Nine
Sadie
I stare in awe as the overhead lights blink on, one by one as though for maximum effect.
The basement is a warehouse-sized room, stretching from what must be one side of the estate to the other, the racetrack laid out in a looping circuit that returns to itself via a bridge. At the side, the Go-Karts are lined up, painted in similar colors and patterns to Saul’s Formula One cars upstairs.
“Now you’re just showing off,” I giggle.
He turns to me with his characteristic smirk, looking somehow more primal in his shorts and T-shirt. His muscles on display and they’re so tight and honed I have to keep reminding myself not to stare.
I remember how he took my hand in the bedroom, just casually reached across and took it. And then held it – about a million lightning bolts shattering in the contact – and we both just silently agreed not to address it.
It’s like we both somehow know that if we were to address this – whatever this is - than we’d have to address Fiona, and what this means for her.
I try to tell myself I’m getting ahead of everything.
Maybe this is still nothing.
But he leaned toward me in the kitchen, didn’t he?
And he did hold my hand. There’s no question about that.
“Maybe I’m showing off a little,” he agrees, smirk twitching. “What’d you think, though? See if you’re as much of a Sparkplug on the track.”
“Are they electric?”
“Yes, why?”
“I don’t think I’d be able to handle the real thing,” I admit.
“They’re safe,” he says, and then pauses to consider, tapping his chin in an over the top way that makes me fill the room with dorky laughter. “Well, safe-ish.”
“Great, you’re really filling me with confidence,” I mutter dryly.
I’m still in my tank top and shorts, my bra all tangled from where I hastily pulled it