Getting Lost Page 10

  There was no longer a defining line where the dance floor began. A mass of sweaty people, all in their pyjamas, or even less clothing, moved in time with the throbbing beat. Stella couldn’t help steal a glance toward Phoebe, who continued to converse with the stranger. A pang of jealousy bounced in her stomach.

  Stella and Ryan had been doing their dance act for two years now. By her own admission, Stella was no dancer, but she had been a pretty good gymnast in her younger years, and remained rather flexible. Ryan, on the other hand, could move. His hips seemed to have a direct connection to the beat of the music. Stella loved how good he made her look.

  Their signature routine began hot and steamy. Ryan’s hands found themselves in all the right places, and their moves were nothing short of obscene. Every time they put on their little show, the crowd would yell and scream at them to get a room. Stella was thankful she’d had that last drink. Dirty dancing certainly wasn’t something she could convincingly perform sober.

  A small group gathered around them, Matt included. As Ryan effortlessly lifted Stella, her legs wrapped around his waist, his head buried in between her breasts, he whirled her around, and she caught glimpses of Matt, an expression of absolute disgust distorting his face. Ryan spun around with increasing speed, supporting Stella’s lower back as she released his head from her chest, leaning back until she was spinning at right angles. As the spin decreased in speed, Ryan clutched Stella’s backside, and like an expert, flipped her three-hundred and sixty degrees, lowering her to the ground, flat on her back, his foot resting in her groin, arms raised in triumph. The crowd loved it.

  Stella needed help up, she was laughing so hard. To her satisfaction, she turned to watch Matt storm off in a huff. Predictably, Belinda dutifully followed.

  Ryan lifted Stella to her feet, and the commotion died down. At the bar, they puffed and panted, eagerly topping up with liquor.

  “Thanks for the grope.” Stella loved Ryan’s new touch.

  “Sorry.” He looked concerned. “Did I go too far?”

  “No way. It was just the thing one of my boys needed to see.”

  “Oh dear, one of those. Do you want me to take you out the back for a good time? That might get him off your case?”

  “Did someone suggest going out the back for a good time?”

  Stella and Ryan turned to see Phoebe approach. Yes, please, Stella silently pleaded.

  “Well, Stella. Our little Pride of Erin was rather tame compared to that.” Phoebe ordered a drink.

  “Not my fault. You were leading.”

  “I’ll remember that next time.”

  Stella was disappointed when Phoebe returned to the table, comfortably in conversation with the same girl, although she noted, with a concession to her jealous feelings, that their posture appeared friendly and easy, not romantic and flirty.

  “Righto,” Stella said, resting her icy beer in the middle of her forehead. “I need fresh air. It’s roasting in here.”

  Dodging the dancers, she weaved her way toward the door. As the old Western saloon-style doors swung back and forth behind her, an arm gathered her up and carried her away from any prying ears and eyes. Stella thought it was Ryan, but hoped it was Phoebe.

  It was neither.

  “Surprise.” Matt beamed at her, high as a kite.

  Stella wriggled to break free. “Let me go, Matt.”

  “How come it’s okay for that fucking poofter to manhandle you?” His grin widened. In a singsong voice he added, “I bet he doesn’t have any of these.” He pulled a stash of little pills from his pocket. “Come spend some time with me and Belinda. See where the night takes us.” Matt began singing something about spending the night together whilst skipping around her. If she didn’t think he was such an idiot, she would have been amused.

  “Matt, I’m really flattered, but I’m not interested.” She thought the direct approach might work. “You get caught with those and you’re on your own, sunshine.” Matt shrugged. “I’m serious. Get rid of them, and don’t let me see them again, or you might not make it to the end of the tour. I can’t tell you this any simpler, Matt. I don’t do men, and I don’t do married women if I can help it.”

  “Well, I’m rather pleased I don’t belong in either of those categories.” Phoebe stepped out from the shadows.

  Stella’s knees buckled. More flirting, more innuendo. Sometimes she simply couldn’t work Phoebe out. She loved it, but it was so damn confusing. Was it just brazen talk, or was there more to it? She felt like a teenager again.

  In a childish and dramatic display, Matt’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, man. What chance have I got with you around, Lancaster? How come that big faggot idiot in there gets a turn at you and I don’t? This sucks!”

  “Piss off, Matt,” both Stella and Phoebe said in unison before laughing.

  With a huff and a groan, Matt marched inside.

  Phoebe frowned. “He’s not just drunk is he?”

  “Nope. And he’s completely delusional.”

  Phoebe changed the subject. “Thanks for the dance earlier. I think we make a good pairing.”

  Stella recalled it clearly, although she guessed the alcohol she had consumed since was somehow enhancing the experience. “You handled me well.” She sounded ridiculous. “I mean you controlled me well.”

  Phoebe grinned and raised her eyebrows.

  Stella was embarrassed. “You’re a great dancer. That’s what I actually mean.” Stella gently stroked Phoebe’s cheek. “I think you’re amazing.”

  Phoebe didn’t recoil, but she didn’t take it further, and Stella found herself feeling disappointed. “You hardly know me, Stella.”

  “I know enough.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’ve been reading up on you. I know you’ve been hurt in the past. I’ve no idea what happened with Rebecca.” Phoebe cringed at the mention of Rebecca’s name. “But although you worry me and scare me a little, you also excite and intrigue me.” God, I wish you didn’t.

  Silence lingered between them for a long time before Phoebe finally spoke. “So, what did you find out about me?”

  “Only stuff I read on the Net. Newspaper articles, magazine excerpts. I’ve no idea how much of it, if any, is true.”

  “You’re the first person, Stella, in a long time, who has shown me any interest other than to heckle me, interview me, or photograph me. Most normal people run a mile.”

  “I can’t go anywhere, Phoebe. You’re not the only person on that coach. Trust me. If you’d disappeared that first day, I’d hardly have hunted you down to be your friend.”

  “I concede the first day was fairly rough. But now?” Phoebe appeared hopeful.

  Now that she knew Phoebe would have followed, she wished she had escaped the bar hours ago. Excessive alcohol fuelled Stella’s courage. “What I want more than anything right now is for you to take me in your arms and dance with me again.”

  Phoebe glanced down. “These arms?”

  “Uh-huh. Those exact arms.”

  “You’d better step closer, then.”

  Stella’s senses switched into overdrive. Everything began to happen simultaneously, and she couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made her feel so alive and sensitive to absolutely every action or word. Her heart raced, her palms became clammy, her stomach flipped, and of all things, her legs began to twitch. The power of her feelings and desires was threatening to overwhelm her.

  “Can you hear the song, Stella?” whispered Phoebe.

  A throbbing bass-driven track seeped into the night air, and Stella cocked her head to try to recognise it.

  “No.” Phoebe pulled Stella close until their bodies were mere millimetres away. “Not that song.” She gently touched the very centre of Stella’s chest. “The song in here.”

  “It’s a slow song.”

  Phoebe slid a firm arm around Stella’s waist. “Correct. Slow and sexy.”

  Stella suddenly understood the game. “For you to know the beat of my s
ong, my heart should be as close to yours as possible, I think.” Stella dragged a finger from Phoebe’s waistband slowly up over her stomach until it rested between Phoebe’s breasts. “Here.”

  “Excellent idea.” Their eyes remained locked. “Do you understand how important our stance is?”

  Stella shook her head. It felt so light, she was fearful it might shake right off her shoulders and float away.

  Phoebe continued in a low tone, her voice smooth as silk. “Well, to maintain a solid footing, I think it only appropriate for my thigh to settle right between here.” With featherlight touches, her hand glided to Stella’s upper thigh, gently cupping her. “Open them wider, please?”

  Stella obeyed, and Phoebe replaced her hand with her thigh.

  “I’m not at risk of falling now,” said Stella.

  “Really?”

  “Well, not off my feet. Falling for something else isn’t out of the question.”

  “Falling can be dangerous.” Phoebe began to sway in time to the imaginary slow song, pressing Stella’s head against her shoulder and wrapping her arms securely around her.

  “Are you frightened of falling, Phoebe?”

  “Not me.”

  “Are you suggesting I should be?”

  “Fear is a state of mind.”

  “I see.” Stella contemplated this for a moment. “Given the state of my pants, and the moisture content, might I suggest that fear is playing no part in influencing my current state of mind. What about your state of mind?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “No?”

  “That’s correct. Nothing.”

  Stella grinned. “Well, I’m hardly an imposing figure, am I?”

  Phoebe’s hand slid down the inside of Stella’s pyjamas, coming to rest firmly on her bottom. “Hardly.”

  “So, you’re in no way frightened of me?”

  “I think you’re probably rather tough, but no, you don’t scare me.”

  Stella realised what she wanted so desperately was beyond Phoebe’s awareness. It momentarily saddened her. “Physically, I doubt if I’d scare a flea.” She moved her mouth to tenderly kiss the very centre of Phoebe’s chest, as low as her top would allow, and dangerously close to Phoebe’s heart. “But in here, I’m quite certain I have you running scared.” Stella felt Phoebe’s sharp intake of breath as her lips settled on her soft, velvet skin.

  “I have you right where I want you, Stella. In my arms. I’m not afraid.”

  “So, what if I ask for more? What if I ask you to take me somewhere private now, address the issue you’ve created in my pants and in my heart?”

  Phoebe began to pull away.

  Stella gripped her firmly. “No, Phoebe. I’m not playing with you, I promise. But you can’t deal with fear when you’re refusing to accept it even exists.”

  They struggled—Phoebe in an attempt to escape and Stella holding on tight like a barnacle clinging to the bottom of a boat.

  Phoebe gave up her fight to flee and thrust her hand to Stella’s throat.

  Stella tasted some of the fear she’d been talking about.

  “I really want to kiss you.”

  “Then kiss me.”

  Phoebe’s lips met Stella’s with force, and it was a messy kiss until Stella collected her thoughts and caught up. She opened herself to Phoebe, giving in to her need and allowing the moment to send her flying high. The relief was almost palpable. Stella was strongly aware of the connection between her satisfied mouth and her clitoris. She soared to another level when Phoebe’s tongue danced with hers. The kiss was fiercely intense, the only thing left to surpass it was an orgasm, but Stella knew that wouldn’t happen. Not yet. It was a remarkable breakthrough for Phoebe to be passionately kissing her, but anything else would have to wait. Stella wouldn’t have Phoebe inside her, not tonight.

  Just when Stella seriously considered the only option was to touch herself, Phoebe pulled away. “I can’t do this.” She was close to tears.

  “Hang on, Phoebe. Don’t run.” Stella refused to let her go. “This is the fear I’m talking about. Please talk me through what you’re feeling. Please don’t run,” she pleaded, struggling to hold Phoebe close.

  “I need some air, some space. Just back off, Stella.” Phoebe was crying.

  Stella released her. “Okay, just please talk to me.”

  “I can’t. I never have.”

  Stella was beginning to think Phoebe might hyperventilate. “Imagine you’re in a playground and you’re stuck on the roundabout.”

  Phoebe shook her head, trying to make it all go away.

  Stella stood close but they didn’t touch. “You’re going round and round. You see the same things, the ride never changes and you’re alone. No one can get on. You’re all alone.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I need to get off, right?”

  “That’s right. You’ll never get a chance to have fun on any of the other rides if you keep going round and round.”

  Phoebe looked on the verge of speaking, but obviously thought better of it. “I’m not ready for this.”

  Stella tried one last time. “I get that. But you’ll never be ready for this. You’re waiting for a day that doesn’t exist. You’re waiting for the day when you’ll wake up feeling great, like your old self again and ready to tell the world, but I’m sorry, that’s just delusional. Understandable, but delusional. The day you feel ready for this isn’t coming. Your day of utopia isn’t coming.” Stella took her by the hands. “But you have today. You have me, and today is a good day to start. I’m a good place to start. Trust me, Phoebe. I’m a safe place to start.”

  “You won’t want to hear this.”

  That thought had crossed Stella’s mind and as much as she probably didn’t want to hear it, she had to. “Please, give me a try?”

  “Rebecca and I had a son.”

  Son? That was the last thing Stella was expecting to hear. Phoebe Lancaster and the story of her life were more complicated than she could have imagined, but she knew people kept secrets, big secrets. The fact that Phoebe had her own shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  “So Rebecca had a child, a boy?”

  “No, not Rebecca. Me. I had our son.”

  Stella knew her eyes bulged open in disbelief, but she couldn’t hide her astonishment. The next question didn’t bear thinking about. “Did he die?”

  Phoebe smiled painfully. “No, he’s very much alive. I was the surrogate. Rebecca’s egg was implanted in me. We intended to do the same with my egg, but she…well, it never came to that.”

  “So much for the turkey baster method.”

  Phoebe shrugged. “It’s more expensive, doing it our way, but we wanted to be connected and related. My egg in her, her egg in me. It’s not uncommon when you can afford it.”

  Stella touched Phoebe’s cheek. “What’s his name?”

  “Sebastian. He was beautiful when he was born. Perfect even, but I guess all mothers say that.”

  Stella’s head swirled with so many questions. She focused on the big ones. “Where is he now?”

  “Rebecca’s father has him. They’re in Switzerland at the moment.”

  “Oscar Dean has your son?”

  “I thought I was going to jail. I thought he was going to kill us both, me and Sebastian. I did what I thought was right. Rebecca was dead. If I gave him to Oscar and I stayed alive and out of jail, I at least had a chance to see him again. This is my chance.”

  “You thought Oscar was going to kill you?”

  Phoebe nodded. The words were rushing from her mouth now. “You don’t know what it’s like. Rebecca had just died. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was scared, I was grieving, and I just wanted to do the right thing.”

  “And now you’ve come to see Oscar and get Sebastian back, right?”

  Stella thought she was catching on, but the look on Phoebe’s face suggested otherwise.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what, exactly?”
>
  “Oscar doesn’t know I’m here. I signed my child over to him five years ago. I’m not here to see Oscar. I’m here to see Sebastian.”

  Stella attempted to calculate Phoebe’s loss—first her lover and then her son. She couldn’t fathom the grief and emptiness that would plague Phoebe every single day. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe. I’m just so sorry.”

  Minutes of silence passed before Phoebe spoke again. “The day I lost Rebecca, was the day I lost everything. I need to see my son, and I know there are people who will try and stop me, but this trip was the only way I could think of to get close to him and hopefully remain undetected. A bus tour like this is the last thing I’d be expected to do if they knew I was in Europe. She broke down. “God, I miss them.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Phoebe.” And Stella didn’t. She hadn’t expected to discuss any of this. She tried to pull Phoebe close, but she resisted.

  “I know what you’ve been thinking, Christ, who wouldn’t, but I didn’t kill Rebecca. I loved her with everything I had, and that bastard, Simon Threadbody, took her from me, in front of me, and he walks around a free man. I lost fucking everything.”

  The words Stella had been longing to hear finally rang a sweet tune in her ears. She couldn’t explain why she believed Phoebe, but she did, unquestionably, and the relief was immense.

  “If Simon killed Rebecca, why didn’t you just tell Oscar that?”

  “Simon said we’d both look guilty. If he went down, he swore he’d take me with him.”

  “Jesus, Phoebe. This is big. Real big.” Stella had so many questions.

  “I’m not nuts, Stella. I’m not really anything. Anger is a hard habit to break. Hardly an improvement on the habit of loss and grief, is it?”

  “It’s a start.” Stella knew it sounded hollow, but there was one thing she was certain of, Phoebe Lancaster was attempting to move forward. Baby steps, yes, but Stella refused to give up on her.

  “How will you see Sebastian?” asked Stella.

  “Well, that’s complicated.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of this.”

  “Someone I knew when I was a child works for Oscar. She’s Sebastian’s nanny. She’s helping me.”