Letting Go

by Cathy Hunter

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

'She let her eyes wander down over his sleek, powerful body. Every one of his muscles was taut with expectation and she felt a rush of excitement as she saw how much he desired her. Even in her fantasies, she had never imagined him responding so eagerly . . . '

When a steady relationship that has lasted nearly ten years comes to an abrupt end, Monica feels totally disorientated - and exasperated by the well-meaning advice of friends.

Soon, however, she learns that being single has its attractions, provided you have the self-assurance to take full advantage. And now Monica's starting to realise that her new-found independence gives her the freedom to let go, and start over . . .

Discover Piatkus Entice: temptation at your fingertips - www.piatkusentice.co.uk

Release date: April 25, 2013

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 224

Sample

‘Why do you want to come to this, anyway? You don’t usually.’ Michael pulled a tie from the rack inside the wardrobe door and held it to his collar. ‘Does this go?’

‘It’s fine. Why? Don’t you want me to?’ Monica turned her face to one side and applied blusher to her cheekbone.

‘It’ll be full of people from the office. You won’t know anyone. And you’re always telling me how boring solicitors are.’ He was leaning over her, adjusting the knot in the mirror with more care than he usually took.

‘Oh, I’m sure they’re not so bad. You seem to have been spending more time with them recently – socially.’

She pressed her lips together on a tissue and tossed it on to the table beside her. Michael picked it up and put it in the wastepaper basket. He hated her leaving little trails of femininity around his bedroom. Even though she slept there four or five nights a week, the earrings, lipsticks and underwear she left around were always tidied away into drawers.

‘And anyway, it’ll be interesting to see who you work with. Do I look all right?’

‘Very nice,’ he answered, barely glancing at her.

She turned to look at her reflection. She had taken great trouble over her appearance, opting for a short, black cocktail dress which she rarely had occasion to wear. During her lunch hour, she’d rushed out to buy some new tights and had ended up paying five times as much as she normally did, but that didn’t matter. Just this once, the most important thing was for her to look her best.

They walked in silence towards the car. Monica had spent the whole day at work trying not to think about the evening ahead, but the sound of her heels on the pavement, sharp and clear like the ticking of a clock, made the suspense unbearable. Michael too seemed on edge, and Monica wondered if he knew her reasons for insisting on going with him.

‘Who’s driving?’ she asked.

‘I don’t mind. I will,’ he replied. His voice sounded tense, as if his shirt collar was too tight.

She watched him as he drove. His expression was tight-lipped, his eyes fixed impassively on the road ahead. Monica felt she needed to say something, but somehow it was already too late – they were on their way. She wished that in the ten years they’d known each other she’d learned to read his thoughts better. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have found herself engaged in this ridiculous, and possibly catastrophic, charade. But however familiar they’d become with each other’s company, there were still times when they both seemed incapable of broaching a subject, even when they were fully aware of how important it might be. She hated the silences, but she’d never learned how to avoid them.

She’d known Michael since Law School. They’d come together more out of circumstance than passion, but that seemed to matter less as the years went by. They graduated at the same time and both left to begin jobs in central London, living in separate rented flats a few miles apart. After two years, Monica applied for, and unexpectedly got, a job with a large firm of solicitors in Newcastle who specialised in company law. It was a wonderful opportunity, as Michael had said; if he had said anything else, she might have thought twice before leaving him, but they both had their pride, so she moved up North and they hardly saw each other for the next year. She had a brief relationship with her flatmate, a Geordie called Phil who wore aftershave and called her ‘pet’, but she never felt settled, so in the end she resigned her position and headed back to London. Michael welcomed her warmly, but with an infuriating hint of smugness. She didn’t tell him about Phil.

They turned a corner into a quiet road with large, detached houses on either side and sculpted privet hedges. ‘Remind me what our hosts are called?’

‘John Cheatham – one of the senior partners – and his wife, Ivy,’ Michael answered. ‘They do this every year. It’s a morale-booster.’

‘Sounds dreadful.’

‘Then why did you come?’ he snapped. Immediately, he moderated his tone. ‘It was okay last year,’ he went on, in a more controlled manner. ‘Lots to eat and drink, at least. Here we are.’ They pulled up.

Monica toyed with her pendant as she waited next to Michael on the doorstep. The knot of anxiety which she’d felt in her stomach all day was now so tight it was almost painful. Why had she put herself in this situation? Earlier, it had had seemed like a reasonable course of action, but now that they’d arrived, she began to regret it at once. She should have just confronted him when her suspicions were first aroused, and given him the chance either to confirm or deny her accusations. That’s how any normal couple would have behaved. But things had never been so straightforward in their relationship.

The door opened and they were ushered through into the hall. As soon as Monica was inside the house, she felt stifled by the heat and the number of people. The party sprawled over two large, downstairs rooms, both of which were overflowing, and she had to push past several couples to follow Michael into the kitchen where the drinks were being served. She noticed that he was glancing around, evidently searching for a particular face, and when he handed her a glass of white wine he barely made eye contact. She was infected by his uneasiness and began to glance about as well, even though she had no idea who she was looking for. If Michael really was having an affair with a colleague from work, the woman concerned was hardly going to be wearing a badge to identify herself.

‘Do you know most of these people, then?’ she asked, partly to get his attention.

‘Hmm? Oh, about half of them, I suppose. But most of the faces are familiar.’ He sipped from his glass and forced a smile.

‘Shall we go through into the other room?’ she suggested.

‘Yes, sure. Why not?’

Michael led the way, nodding a greeting to a couple of men in suits who stood chatting in the hallway. As soon as they entered the front room, a woman turned towards them. Her face broke into a smile which froze momentarily on her lips when she noticed Monica. She recovered herself almost at once, but it was enough.

‘You must be Monica. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

Monica smiled graciously.

‘And this is Suzie,’ Michael said. ‘She’s a colleague of mine. She’s only been with us for a few months, but she’s already something of a rising star.’ He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and smiled first at Suzie, then at Monica.

Suzie laughed. ‘Now don’t embarrass me, Michael.’

Monica sensed at once the rapport between Michael and Suzie. It was so strong it was almost tangible. She could detect it in the way they stood together, catching each other’s eyes surreptitiously from time to time and exchanging little smiles that bore no relation to what anyone was saying, as if there was an undercurrent of meaning which only the two of them were party to. She suddenly felt like an intruder, and the awkwardness and injustice of it made the colour rise to her cheeks.

‘Shall we get another drink, Michael?’ Monica said abruptly, taking him by the arm and pulling him gently towards her.

He hesitated for a moment and then looked at his glass, which was still half full. ‘I’m fine, actually. You get one.’ He smiled innocently at her. She could have punched his face.

‘Suzie? Another drink?’ Suzie declined politely.

Monica had no choice. She let go of Michael’s arm and turned away, trying to appear unruffled but mentally cursing Michael for having failed to respond to her hint. He wasn’t stupid enough not to have noticed. He obviously didn’t want her clinging to him all evening. Perhaps it was his way of punishing her for having come. Either that or he found it impossible to tear himself away from Suzie. As Monica walked towards the door she felt the urge to look back and see whether Michael and Suzie became more intimate in her absence, but her pride kept her eyes fixed in front of her. There would be time later to assert herself; she didn’t want to come across as paranoid.

Throughout the day she had been inwardly rehearsing the evening, refining her responses to cope with any eventuality. If her worst fears were realised and it turned out that Michael was indeed having an affair, then she’d imagined herself unleashing a controlled torrent of disdain, punishing him for his betrayal and at the same time remaining aloof and dignified. But as she stepped into the hall, she was suddenly aware of her heart pounding in her throat. God, it was years since she’d experienced a threat to her relationship, either real or imaginary, and she’d forgotten how physical a sensation it was, how overpowering. What was she doing walking away, leaving them alone together? She had to stay with him, make damned sure he didn’t have a chance to exchange any more cutesy smiles, or appear, even for a moment, to be unattached. That’s what she would do. There was no shame in that, for Christ’s sake, they’d been together for nearly ten years – she was allowed to make some demands.

She stopped decisively and turned round. Framed by the doorway, she saw the two of them together. Michael was whispering something to Suzie, who had turned her head sideways to listen, and his lips were so close to her ear they looked almost to be touching it. A smile flickered across Suzie’s mouth as she registered each word, and then suddenly her hand swatted at his arm in mock castigation. Michael laughed and rocked back on his heels to evade the playful swipe, catching Suzie’s wrist and holding it firmly while she pouted fiercely at him and tried to wrench it free. After a few seconds, he released her, and she glowered at him, bristling as she clenched and unclenched her fingers several times. There was no real anger in her expression, just a kind of coy petulance that was evidently part of the game.

Monica stood rooted to the spot, acutely distressed by the scene she was witnessing, but nevertheless unable to take her eyes from it. Neither Suzie nor Michael noticed that she was watching; they were both too engrossed in each other’s company. Michael was animated, talking quickly and gesticulating, occasionally touching Suzie on the arm to reinforce a particular point. Nowadays he rarely made the effort to be entertaining, but with the right audience, it seemed, he was as capable as ever of performing. And Suzie was providing just the responses he needed, eyeing him with a sceptical, almost defiant expression before breaking into sudden fits of irresistible laughter at the conclusion of each anecdote.

The sight of their intimacy sickened Monica. She suddenly felt as though her intestines were twisting inside her, and the blood which surged up into her face with sudden violence sounded in her ears like the roaring of the sea. Her intuition told her that, without question, Michael was having an affair with this woman. Before the party, she would have accepted any number of more innocent explanations for the recent changes in his behaviour – early onset of the male menopause, perhaps, or a resolution to devote more time and effort to his social life. But now the various signs – the occasional unexplained absence from his flat, a generally increased level of secrecy about his movements, the slight nervousness when he picked up the phone in Monica’s presence – all seemed to point towards the same explanation. And there, in front of her eyes, was the final piece of evidence – Suzie.

From the moment Monica had first laid eyes on her, she’d sensed that Suzie was a real danger; not the fluffy, impressionable young type that Monica could imagine Michael finding increasingly appealing as he grew older, but a genuine threat. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was striking, with long, dark hair that fell sleekly down her back, and wide, almond-shaped eyes. A very short, sleeveless dress exposed a pair of broad shoulders and rather muscular arms; her legs too were solidly built, but at the same time sleekly contoured, giving an impression of strength rather than heaviness. She could never have aspired to daintiness, but seemed, from the way she carried herself, to be proud of her more powerful physique. As if to emphasise that she spurned the prissiness of conventional femininity, her shoes were inappropriately clumpy, with high, thick heels that sank into the plush carpet. Her stance was relaxed and confident, almost brazen, and Monica could imagine her being an intimidating adversary if crossed.

For several long seconds Monica remained staring at Michael and Suzie. She was constantly on the verge of rushing back to interrupt their cosy little huddle, but for some reason, she didn’t move. She stood paralysed, simultaneously gripped and repelled by what she saw, as a violent storm of emotions swirled about her. Then, suddenly, she turned on her heel and hurried through into the kitchen.

Her heart was still pounding and her mind spun giddily around the single, vivid image of Michael and Suzie together. But with slow, deep breaths, she willed herself to regain control of her thoughts. She mustn’t become hysterical, she told herself – that could do her no good at all. Nor should she let herself jump to conclusions. Painful as it was to see Michael flirting with another woman, it didn’t necessarily indicate any greater wrongdoing. And she had become so wound up, even before she arrived at the party, that she was hardly in the best state of mind to weigh the evidence. She needed to take a few minutes for her nerves to settle. Perhaps later, when she returned to the front room, she could have a quiet word with Michael and find out what, if anything, was going on.

In the kitchen, a man was helping himself to a glass of wine and offered to serve Monica. ‘Say when,’ he muttered as he began to pour.

‘Fill it up,’ Monica replied. She took a couple of swallows and held her glass out again.

‘More?’

Monica nodded. ‘I’m thirsty,’ she added.

‘You are, aren’t you?’ smiled the man. His eyes sparkled with a warmth that cut through some of her turmoil. Here was someone who appeared human, at least. ‘Maybe you should have a glass of water.’

‘Can’t drink it. It makes me depressed,’ she said.

The man laughed quietly and refilled her glass. She held it up, murmuring, ‘Good health.’

‘And happiness,’ he responded.

Monica’s eyebrows flicked upwards in an involuntary gesture of scepticism. The man obviously noticed.

‘Was that the wrong thing to say?’ His tone was quiet, in contrast to some of the braying voices she could hear around them.

She shook her head, unnerved slightly by his perceptiveness. Then, smiling politely, she turned to leave the room, wondering whether a visit to the cold buffet might restore her spirits a little.

‘It obviously was the wrong thing to say,’ he remarked. She turned back to find that he was still smiling at her with the relaxed affability of someone lucky enough to be a natural socialiser. He had dark, intelligent eyes that, in spite of his smile, seemed to chastise her gently for being discourteous. ‘Or are you in a hurry to get back to someone?’ he added.

She looked into his eyes, trying to assess whether it was just a random remark or one intended to provoke a reaction. His expression was vaguely ironic, giving nothing away.

‘Not especially,’ she answered. ‘I don’t really know anybody here.’

‘Well stay in the kitchen and get pissed,. . .