Beauty and Pain (2 page)

There he was, sitting in his usual place on a red metal seat, all long limbed and broad shouldered, his legs sticking out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He seemed at ease as he held a newspaper and read it, although I liked to think that he wasn’t taking any of the words in. That he was thinking about me instead.

Usually I remained standing on the platform, wanting to beat the mad dash when the train arrived and avoid being crushed. To get my pick of seating near a window so I could gaze out and daydream. Today, though, today was going to be different.

I walked toward his bench. A gust of wind sallied along, whistling through a wire mesh refuse bin, jostling its contents before attacking his newspaper. He battled to keep it from crumpling or being blown out of his hands and must have decided he was going to lose the fight. He folded it as best he could then tucked it beneath one arm. I imagined him thinking that he’d read it when he was settled on the train.

I had plans to distract him from reading.

I sat beside him then hooked one leg over the other, letting my coat fall open so he could get a good eyeful of my exposed thigh, knee and shin. A sneaky look down confirmed that the lace of my stocking top could be seen if only he’d lean across a bit and take a peek. I placed my hands in my lap, entwining my fingers, and studied him.

He was staring at me—not at my legs as I’d hoped, but my face.

“Well, hello again,” he said. “I thought you’d have been standing over there like you always do.”

“Why would I, now that I have someone to talk to?”

That had been the best I could come out with at this point. My lungs were tight, as though being this close to him had rendered them useless, and I willed myself to breathe normally, to appear a woman in control of her emotions. And perhaps I
did
appear that way. He wasn’t to know that my heart was hammering wildly and my mouth had gone dry, that I’d never done anything like this before in my life and hadn’t ever thought I would. But there I was, sitting as close to him as I dared, our thighs almost touching, the tops of our arms an inch or so apart. If I tilted my head I could rest my cheek there, feel the softness of his suit. It would be cold, what with the weather, but would soon warm up.

“Fair point,” he said. “So, I’m going to be forward again. Is there any reason why you’re dressed so…differently today?”

I didn’t answer on purpose. I was too busy gazing into his eyes and waiting to hear what he’d say next.

“You’re usually in trouser suits, aren’t you, or at least a longer skirt,” he said.

So he
had
been watching me, then.

“Today,” I said, “I wanted to put something on that made me feel sexy.” I could hardly believe I’d repeated one of the lines out of my fantasies, but I had and it hadn’t been so bad at all. I decided to push on. “You know, to see if it would make you take notice.” I’d laid my interest in him bare and could only hope he didn’t think me too shameless, too bold.

“I’d notice you whatever you had on.”

If someone else had said that I might have thought it was a standard pick-up line, designed to make me fall at his feet. I’d already fallen a long time ago, but those words, as they’d spilled from his lips, had sounded…right. Sincere.

“Oh really?” I asked, surprised.

“Really. There’s something about you. You stand out from everyone else. As though you think things that would shock.” He paused and smiled. “Did you know that when you’re on the train and you’re looking out of the window, you bite your bottom lip sometimes? I’ve often wondered what makes you do that, what you’re thinking, and I always come up with something risqué.”

Now that wasn’t a word I expected a man to use, but then he did have a refined air about him, as though he might well have swallowed a dictionary between rounds in the ring, and when speaking he dipped into the vast well of vocabulary and selected ones that stood out.

“Risqué,” I said, loving the way it had rolled off my tongue. “Perhaps I do think things like that.”

“Do you?” He lifted his eyebrows then cocked his head, urging me to go on.

“I do.”

“Ah, I thought so. And would you care to share those things with a fellow traveler? It’ll give me something to think about other than my own risqué thoughts.”

“You’ve never given me the impression you think naughty things,” I said, a little shocked at his revelation but trying to hide it.

“You’d be surprised. Even more surprised if I admitted they were all about you.”

Again, I could have thought he was stringing me along, saying things that he thought I wanted to hear, but he stared at me with such a genuinely serious expression that I could do nothing but believe he’d meant everything he’d said.

I mulled over what he’d asked. “I
could
share them,” I said, offering him what I hoped was a sexy smile. “But I’d much rather show you.”

Chapter Two

The train chose that moment to rudely interrupt us, bringing with it a different kind of wind that smelled of oil and machinery. It shot into the station then came to a laborious halt, as if it hadn’t wanted to stop at all. Commuters surged forward, briefcases and handbags getting knocked here, there and everywhere, toes stepped on and arms getting squashed. I rose at the same time as the man and as though we’d prearranged it, we waited for the crowd to disperse before we stepped forward.

As usual, none of the cabins I could see were empty—rush hour was a bitch and messing with my needs—and I resigned myself to accepting that I might not get my fuck on a train after all. Still, it would be nice to sit with him, get to know him a bit, and continue with our saucy conversation. It would beat staring out of the window as the scenery whooshed by any day.

We boarded, my thigh brushing his, and while I glanced about for signs of two empty seats, I fought to hold back the blush our slight connection had produced. He walked down the aisle, looking back briefly to see if I followed, then moved on again. He paused to let a woman stow her bag in a hanging rack above her seat, and I bumped into him. My breasts were squashed on his back, my pelvis just below the tight swell of his arse, and I stayed there for a second or two, reveling in the warmth of his body heat, the intimacy.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, not sorry at all.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t be. I rather like it.”

Sadly, the woman finished blocking the aisle and we were able to pass. I strained my neck to see ahead, noting there were several empty seats but none of them together. Disappointment had a good go at dampening my excitement, but I brightened up by consoling myself that we could sit on those two seats just there, the ones either side of the aisle.

He stopped walking and turned to me, clearly having the same idea. “Will these do?” Lifting one hand, he gestured to the seats in turn.

I nodded, taking the one on the right. He sat, smiled at a young man beside him, who had earbuds in and bobbed his head to music I could faintly hear, then diverted his attention to me.

“It’s hardly going to afford us much privacy, but needs must,” he said. “The person sitting beside you has earphones in too.”

I planted my elbow on the armrest then leaned across a bit, toward him. “I’ll take your word for it. And I suppose we could talk in code.”

A man bustled past, his bulging bag just missing my face, catching his foot in the dangling front side of my coat and almost toppling over. He chuckled self-consciously, muttered a quick sorry, then went on his way.

He’d done me a favor. My legs were exposed again.

“So, what do I call you?” I asked. “Are our identities to remain secret, or shall we be honest?”

He smiled and lifted one hand to rest a finger beneath his chin. “Honesty has served us well so far, don’t you think?”

It had, and I smiled to show I agreed. “So your name is?”

“Gabriel. And yours is?”

“Isabella.”

“Very nice. Has a sexy ring to it.”

I hadn’t thought of my name as being sexy, but if he thought so, I’d take that. I’d take anything he cared to give me—particularly if it had the kind of bent I was after. But not everyone was into what I was. I’d have to do some gentle probing to see if he was.

I laughed. “Oh, I don’t know, there are far more sexy things than the name Isabella.”

“Like what? Tell me.”

“I could, but you may not want to speak to me again. What I find sexy might not be your cup of tea.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

The train interrupted us again, beginning its slow glide out of the station. At this point I usually stared through the window and watched as the bridge above the train seemed to be peeled away, like a large, unseen hand was lifting it from a model railway to relocate it elsewhere. Then the daylight appeared, the sky spotted with gray-bellied clouds and a few crows coasting the airwaves. A metal stairway to the right on the opposite platform, the top of which reached a glass-enclosed bridge that joined one side to the other, came next. After that, nearly naked trees, abundant evergreen bushes, then some outskirt houses gave way to countryside.

But this morning I didn’t see any of that. All I saw was Gabriel smiling at me, the sparkle of anticipation in his eyes. It was as though he was testing me, pushing to see if I had the courage to tell him what I thought was sexy. He had confidence, quite a bit of it from what I could gather, although it didn’t come across as arrogance. At a guess I’d say he knew what he wanted but with me he’d bided his time, made sure I was interested. A bit like I’d been with him. And he’d already said he didn’t usually touch someone he didn’t know.

So why had I been different?

I repeated what he’d said. “There’s only one way to find out, yes.”

I glanced at the woman beside me then the man beside him. Both were busy looking out of the window, the woman’s tinny music just about audible over the hum of the train.

Safe that I wouldn’t be overheard by those sitting in front and behind us, I said quietly, “What do you think of whips?”

He sat up straighter, my question obviously startling him, and moved the finger beneath his chin up to partially cover his mouth. He appeared to be thinking, furrowing his brow and looking down at the aisle floor.

“It depends. In what context?” he asked.

“To use while having sex,” I said quietly but firmly.

“I see.” He looked back up then slid his eyes from side to side before resting his gaze on me. “I enjoy them.”

Now
I
was surprised. I hadn’t taken him for the sort who liked a bit of kink, even though I’d hoped he was. “And floggers? Same answer?”

He nodded. “Yes, although I prefer the cat.”

So he knew exactly what he was talking about, then. This was better than I’d ever dared hope.

“It’s my favorite too.” I leaned across a bit more and whispered, “So many strands hitting all at once. It’s like a large, hot hand with a million fingers.”

He smiled again, his eyes glazing as if he were remembering a time when he’d felt the lash or had administered it. He shook his head slightly then refocused on me. “Had we managed to find a place on here to…get to know one another better, there wouldn’t be enough room to use any of those things.”

A bubble of excitement popped inside me that he’d been thinking along the same lines as me—fucking on a speeding train. “No. Shame, that.”

“It is. I doubt there’s anywhere on here where we could be alone at all.”

“Hmm.”

I cast my mind back to when I’d been late for work a few weeks ago. I’d forgone breakfast and nipped to the buffet carriage to grab a muesli bar and a drink. Whilst paying I’d noticed there was a storeroom, tagged onto the back of the carriage, with its door wide open for anyone to just wander into and, so I’d thought, help themselves to any number of sugary snacks.

“The toilet is far too small,” I said. “But there is one option.”

“Go on.” A spark of interest lit his dark eyes and his brow creased.

“No,
come
on. This way.” I stood. “I’ll show you.”

My coat swept behind me as I made my way down the aisle and gripped the odd headrest for balance. I didn’t bother to turn and check whether Gabriel was following me. I knew damn well he would be.

My strides were so long, so doggedly determined, that my stocking tops were on show with each step, my skirt having ridden up and the flap of my coat flicking at my knees.

A couple of old codgers and a prim-looking woman stared, but only for the seconds it took me to reach the automatic door to the next carriage.

It slid open with a swoosh, and I could tell by the amount of time it took to close again that he was right behind me. I would have loved to sneak a glance at his face, see if he held his chin high and his lips tight. Were arousal, excitement and anticipation written plainly on his handsome features, or did he simply look like he was following a stranger on his way to grab a cup of tea and a bacon butty?

The buffet carriage was empty of customers, as was usually the case at this point of the route. The train had journeyed from much farther west and it was the early commuters who purchased their first meal of the day onboard—not so much us, with only half an hour to go into central London.