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Whatthey’reabout to do.
Beside her, Angus Roth looks like a man contemplating a fine dining experience several months in the planning. In reality, of course, it hasn’t been that long. Only a few weeks have passed since their first exchange of messages. Everything about this has been fast.
On their left they pass a wood pile, beyond which lies a clearing.
‘Here’s a good spot,’ he murmurs, wiping the sweat from his forehead. ‘No chance of being disturbed.’
She’s perspiring, too. Her body heat has intensified the perfume she borrowed from Erin Carver’s dresser. The scent fills her nose.
Stones pop and crunch as Angus turns the wheel. Fronds of giant bracken fold beneath the bonnet.
Drew looks down at herself: at her watermelon-pink dress showing just the right amount of cleavage; at the fake blonde curls falling off her shoulders; at her freshlymanicured nails, her tanned legs. She’s shaking a little from adrenalin, but not too badly.
The burner phone she’s used for all her communications with Angus is in her lap. Taking a last peek, she opens the app that can shoot video while the screen is turned off and hitsRecord.
Angus kills the engine, then the headlights. Moments later the cabin lights fade up, turning the windows into black mirrors. With the phone now dark, Drew places it on the central armrest, lens aimed at the ceiling, and releases her seatbelt. The leather upholstery squeals against her bare legs as she turns to face him. ‘It’s sohot. Can you put the windows down?’
He thumbs two buttons on his door rest. Warm night air feathers in, carrying sounds of the forest. Close by, something shrieks in the darkness.
Drew glances through Angus’s open side window. Then she turns her attention back to him, catching her lower lip in her teeth for a moment before she grins. It’s a move as old as these woods, but it produces the result she was anticipating. He leans over, kisses her.
Drew closes her eyes, submits. When he touches her breasts, her back arches.
She tries to imagine he’s someone else. When her brain conjures an image of Max Carver, she latches on to it. She’s admired Tilly’s stepbrother for as long as she’s known him, but she’s been careful not to reveal her feelings.
Max is one of the good guys: compassionate, dependable, generous with his time. He’s always treated her as someone to be valued, perhaps even to be treasured; but however well they get on, the hard facts are that Max is heading to medical school and a bright future after that; and even though Drew has big dreams, too, she knows she’ll never leave Crompton. The most she’ll ever be is his friend.
While the fantasy that she’s kissing Max sustains her for a while, it’s impossible to ignore whose tongue is in her mouth. And when Angus’s mouth presses harder against her own she puts her hand against his chest and pushes him away.
‘Easy, Romeo,’ she laughs, wiping her mouth. ‘I don’t know what you’re used to. But with me you don’t get everything all at once.’
He smiles, lunges forward, snatches another kiss. ‘Is that right?’
‘Play nice,’ she tells him. ‘Be a good boy. And eventually you’ll get rewarded.’ Again, she glances past his shoulder at the night.
‘How nice?’ Angus asks.
She frowns. ‘You hear that?’
He cocks his head, turns to the open window and scans the darkness. ‘Nope.’ Rearranging himself in his seat, he slides his hand up her thigh.
Drew squirms away. She’s kissed him, let him touch her through her clothes. Despite what she just told him, she doesn’t have the stomach for anything further. ‘Seriously, I think I heard something.’
‘We’re in the woods, at night,’ he says. ‘Of course you’re going to hear something.’
‘Still, maybe we should find a different spot. Somewhere closer to town.’
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’
Drew cringes – knows, instantly, that she’s screwed up. His gaze travels down her legs to her footwear: strappy pink heels, not exactly tuned for running. Still, if it comes to it, she can kick them off, escape in bare feet. She may have left school with few qualifications, but she did win that athletics trophy.
Angus reaches out, touches her face. ‘What if I don’t want that?’ he asks.
She blinks. ‘Don’t want what?’
‘To be a good boy.’
His earlier flash of anger has vanished, replaced by a look she knows well: the charmless confidence of a man who fully expects to get his way, regardless of any objections.