"Dammit." Leanne cursed perhaps a little loudly and, surprised at the expletive, the man seated next to her looked up. "Sorry," Leanne gave a wan smile and then lied. "I don't like flying too much."
"Hey, I understand," the man smiled, brightening considerably while obviously surveying Leanne's legs.
She noticed the flick of his eyes and sighed. 'You can piss off too, mate.' Although this remained unsaid, Leanne's glare gave the stranger no excuse for not getting the hint. This was one pissed off lady. 'I'm in no mood for chancers like you,' she thought, 'I've had enough of that lately.' She turned to the window and pretended to be enthralled by the work activities of Luton airport, ignoring the man completely. Leanne had cursed because she was angry, and the anger was directed at her former lover, or so she tried to convince herself.
The small plane pushed back and a few minutes later, climbed into the leaden skies above London. It was somewhere over the Pyrenees that Leanne accepted that she should be more angry at herself than James. James may have engineered the scene, but she was really to blame for going along with the scheme when she should have known better. At that point, high above the mountains, Leanne squirmed in the seat at the recollection of the sensations she had experienced and the itch between her legs tickled her consciousness. She felt a pulse of life as her clitoris woke and her insides clenched at the residual memory of events.
"Dammit," she cursed again, this time eliciting no response from her neighbour.
***
Leanne paused with her foot on the first step, her hand on the banister. She trembled with a cocktail mix of fear, anxiety, and a heavy shot of arousal. 'The bastard,' she thought, 'this has to be a dream,' it was too surreal to be true.
"My wife," he had said only an hour before, "well," he paused, his eyes everywhere but Leanne's. "It appears she wants to –- ah –- experience a woman."
"Your wife?" Leanne was taken completely off guard by the revelation. The implication had been that they meet for coffee as an act of conciliation, not to discuss his wife's sexual hankering.
"My wife," he confirmed still failing to look Leanne in the face.
Leanne was lost for words. She'd agreed to meet him to lay to rest the ghost of their affair. It had cost her dearly over the months. How many times had she come within an inch of calling him? How much time had she wasted thinking of him? How much love and emotion had she scattered to the winds of his indifference?
Too much.
She stared out across the pebbled beach. The dark water of the Channel in December appeared swollen; a solitary man gazed out towards France which lay beyond the horizon. Leanne wondered about his life for a few moments. What troubles did he have? Why was he standing and just staring out over the dark, tumultuous water? Perhaps he was untroubled; perhaps he'd been a mariner and was merely reminiscing of old times...
'Fuck', she cursed inwardly. 'I shouldn't have come back. This place... Him...'
"We had a chat." Leanne returned to the present at the sound of James's voice. "Well, it was more than a chat, but I'll spare detail." James fiddled with the condiments, obviously discomfited. "Go on." Leanne's curiosity cajoled her despite her better judgement.
She knew him well; she was suspicious of his motives. Was this a ruse to get her alone in some hotel so he could seduce her? Leanne knew how dangerous that was. She liked to think she was strong enough to resist him, but...
"Like I said, I'll spare detail, but the upshot is that she admitted to fantasising about another woman – about experiencing another woman. You and I have discussed your sexuality..." He spread his hands and grinned, "So?"
The question lay between them, a request on the table in front of her. It was her decision.
Or was it a test, some kind of game? He was entirely capable, the unpredictable bastard. Leanne sipped at the now tepid coffee; it had cooled, forgotten since his opening gambit. She considered her options. If it were a ruse to seduce her she hoped she had the strength to deny him, on the other hand, if it were true...
A woman, the taste of a woman, it had been such a long time. Lust burst like a hot flare and desire oozed from her sex. Her pulse quickened and she felt her nipples tighten ... Thank god he couldn't see the reaction, she wanted the upper hand, and for him to know she was aroused would be a failing.
Leanne's cup clinked into the saucer. "When?"
"She's at home now."
"Your home?"
"Yes."
His house put a whole new complexion on the situation. The risk for him, if this were a game, was incalculable. If it were a seduction ploy then where was the wife? There was no way he would dare risk being caught in flagrante delicto.
And what if it were true? The question again; a stealthy slide of doubt crept into Leanne's considerations. She imagined the woman waiting. Was the anticipation the same for her as it was for Leanne? Was she trembling with that volatile mix of fear, lust, and anticipation?
It was a pivotal moment. James remained silent, perhaps sensing that if he spoke, or even moved, then Leanne may just laugh in his face, tell him to stop being an arsehole, and leave.
The ooze between Leanne's legs became a trickle, she was sure she could smell her own arousal. "I'll do it."
Finally their eyes met and locked as though in battle. Leanne stared at him with a level gaze, desperate not to show any sign of emotion. She won, his eyes dropped first.
James became brusque and businesslike. "Give me fifteen minutes and then follow," he ordered. He signalled for the bill, paid, and left. In the vacuum of his departure Leanne idly watched the man on the windswept beach. Again she wondered why he stood there. What was he thinking? Was he in the eye of the storm, as she was herself? James had led her on such a merry emotional dance over the summer... Was the man on the beach enduring his own crisis, or was he just enjoying the solitude? Leanne sighed, she would never know, and she had her own destiny to fulfil. She slipped on her coat and left the warmth of the café. The cold of the day slapped into her like an accusation. Was she insane?
During the short drive, Leanne changed her mind a dozen times, but inwardly, deep inside herself, she knew she would make the date. There was the residue of her brief, but oh-so-intense affair with James. He had controlled her, played with her mind, leaving Leanne with the need to exorcise that ghost. He no longer held the power; she was going into this with her eyes open, it was her decision.
But her stomach churned and her sex oiled with barely controlled craving.
"You bastard," she whispered into the uncaring interior of the hire car.
He met her at the door.
