"I think you've just signed my death warrant."
Elizabeth made a light airy sound, completely unconcerned. "Have I?"
"Did I do something awful to you recently, Lizzie?" Simon asked, battling a mix of annoyance, anger, wry amusement and guilt. Lots of guilt.
"Not particularly, no. Although, I will think back on it, just to be sure." She answered, sipping lightly from the slim flute in her feather-like grasp.
"If I haven't offend you, then why did you do that?" He asked, his anger increasing slightly as he recalled the earlier look in Clare's eyes. Rage, and something very akin to pain. He flinched slightly at the recent memory. "For sport?" He added when he didn't get an immediate reply from his friend.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Yes, I was so bored I decided to entertain myself by almost starting World War III." She let out a short snort, a sound that was a far cry from what was conventionally considered ladylike. "If I was bored, I'd go outside to the balcony and have phone-sex with my fiancé. I wouldn't basically be inviting death to my doorstep. That's just plain crazy."
Simon stared at the words. "Then why the hell did you do that?"
"Because it had to be done." She said simply. "And you certainly weren't going to do it. It's best to start a relationship without any deception, no matter how much good intention went into it."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Simon said, his tone dangerously dark.
Elizabeth just rolled her eyes again. "Look, it's obvious to anyone with a set of well-functioning eyes that you two still have that God-awful, all-potent chemistry. You still worship the ground she treads, and you still would fall over your feet for the chance to breathe the very air she exhales. And I believe she still feels something for you-"
"You couldn't be more wrong." Simon rejected instantly with a final conviction.
"I'm never wrong, sweetheart. I thought you understood that by now." Elizabeth said dryly.
"She hates me." Simon stated bluntly.
"I never said she doesn't, did I?" She asked, casually perusing the activities taking place in the room. Hailey had come out in a new dress - a pale peach armless mermaid dress that hugged the curves of her slender body and flaunted them exquisitely. A series of ahhs and oohs greeted her appearance, the small group thoroughly charmed by the elegant picture his daughter made.
"Besides," Elizabeth continued, a warm smile on her lips as she watched Hailey twirl around her ensnared fiancé, "a little bit of animosity adds spice to a relationship. Helps to keep each other on your toes, since you never know what to expect. Plus, there's the benefit of the explosive hate sex. What's not to like?"
Simon wondered if the woman reclining languidly beside him had somehow grown insane over the past twenty-five hours since he'd last seen her. Her logic was completely mad, yet she spoke like as if it made the most sense in the world and looked at him like he was crazy not to recognize it.
"What?" She asked innocently at his prolonged stare.
Simon was silent, regarding her for a moment. Then he said, quietly, only for their ears, "You're mad."
"And you're just realizing this?" She grinned widely at him, flashing white, straight teeth. "Have you not been paying attention these past thirty-eight years?"
Besides himself, Simon laughed, shaking his head. "Obviously not."
"Well begin to, because you're going to be seeing just how mad I can be very soon."
Simon frowned at this vaguely daunting statement, premonition suddenly saturating his blood. "Elizabeth-"
"Simon you know I'm going to do whatever I want, so you might as well quit it." She said bluntly, her tone bored and almost distracted. "Just give in, and let me work my magic. Trust me, it's easier that way for the both of us."
Simon shook his head once, his grey eyes filled with a steely determination. "I'm not going to make her life harder than I have already."
Elizabeth looked at him, her gaze soft with what resembled compassion and sympathy. "You didn't do anything wrong, Simon. Not yet, anyway. And choosing to forfeit that profound, deep connection you both have is and would be the worst thing you could ever do to her. To yourself."
He watched as she lifted the flute to her mouth, lightly placing the rim to her red painted lips. She took another small sip of her drink.
"Deny it if you must Simon, but you know it's true."
Unable to form a reply, Simon instead turned his attention to his radiantly happy daughter surrounded by her friends.
***
The drive back that night was a silent one, with Clare stonily glaring out of the window, radiating a forbidding, cold energy that he chose to stay clear of. There was no use in slotting his own head into the guillotine when the executioner was not in the mood to kill, was there?
They had come back to the city alone, as they had earlier in the afternoon. The rest of the people who had been present for the first testing were staying the night there in a nearby hotel, but as Clare's work required her to be there very early, and him with his packed work schedule, they had opted for leaving rather than staying overnight.
The moment Simon had parked his car across the street from the café, she had immediately left, only momentarily pausing to say a coolly polite 'thank you.' Then she had disappeared into the side of the building, not bothering to use the front since the café was already closed for the day.
That had been five days ago.
Five days. He had spent five days working on autopilot, five evenings alone brooding silently over Elizabeth's words. He'd spent five days missing her, craving her, till he couldn't bear it anymore.
He had to see her.
Simon slowly drove up the street, mulling as he did. He had no right to do this - he knew that. He had no right, coming into her life again and rearranging it to suit his purposes. He had already done enough, caused her enough grief. He didn't need to make matters worse by appearing constantly in her life.
Simon knew this, but he couldn't help himself. He needed her. The word need didn't even really completely comprehend how much he needed her. He craved her, every second of the day, day and night. It was as if all those years he had spent separated from her had accumulated, creating a deep, gnawing hole in him that only more of her could hope to fill.
And though he knew his actions were far from fair, that she deserved to be given exactly what she wanted from him - not more of his presence in her life than was necessary - he couldn't do it. God help him, he just couldn't. Not even for her. He was selfish that way.
Simon exited his car after parking, his heart already halfway in his throat as he made his way across the street to the café. The little bells overhead jingled as he pushed the door open, heralding his arrival. A few faintly curious gazes shot up towards his direction...and then did a double take.
The employees of the Icing On The Top café looked to the door, with welcoming smiles on their faces, which immediately changed slightly into one of surprise. Then the smiles returned, eager for the most part, but a little wary.
All except one, their head baker. The moment her eyes landed on him, the smile she had on faltered, bleeding out of her face in a slow, dawning manner, as recognition struck. And just while he had been inwardly morning the loss of her smile, that awful, false saleswoman smile he absolutely detested on her curved her lips, stretching wide enough to pass as honest. But he knew it wasn't honest.
And he hated it.
For a minute, he wondered if he should just leave. She clearly did not want him here. But that selfish, undying part of him that needed her presence, that craved her nearness steered him on, giving him enough strength to step into the café and stride to the pastry side of the counter. It gave him enough courage to hold her gaze all the while he did. Because even though his guilt was heavy, it wasn't heavy enough to halt his need for her. His love for her.
Suzie smiled welcomingly from behind the counter, beaming as he stopped before them. He only glanced momentarily at her, his eyes returning back to Clare.
"Hello!" Suzie said in an enthusiastic, cheery tone. "It's nice to see you here again, Mr Wentworth."
"Hello Suzie." Simon acknowledged faintly as he took her in. Her straight hair was packed into a slipping knot behind her head, and the familiarity of the image went straight to his chest.
Her eyes were politely impassive, a dark hazel that watched him with a polite interest. She stared back unflinchingly at him, her expression impassive and unreadable. He didn't like it, not being able to read her emotions. He didn't like at all-
"Sir?" Suzie prompted. "Mr Wentworth?"
He looked away from Clare for a moment, his eyes landing distractedly on the young woman beside her. "What?" Simon asked.
"What would you like?" She inquired politely.
"What's today's special?" He asked faintly.
"A British styled egg tart." Clare said, her voice scrupulously clean. "We're sold out, however. Would you like something else? We have blueberry tarts."
"You know I'm allergic to blueberries, Clare." Simon said without thinking. Suzie's eyes widened into mini saucers at the revelation. Clare's jaw clenched very slightly.
"You are?" Clare made a surprised sound beneath her breath, like as if she'd had no idea. "I'm sorry, I had no idea. Would you like something else?"
"Yes." He answered. "A serving of pie. Apple."
Tension, heavy and dark saturated the air, and for a long minute there was silence. Simon watched her closely, unable to look away. His heart beat heavily in his chest, and the organ squeezed painfully in his chest.
"Coming right up." She murmured, tearing her gaze away from him finally. "If you'd like some coffee with that, please don't hesitate to head over to our barista side and place an order."
"I won't hesitate." He smiled. "The coffee here is marvelous."
***
She watched from the corner of her eyes as he made his way over to the barista side, the pleasant expression still on her face. Inside, however, she was seething.
Why was he here? Clare wondered, chewing the inside of her mouth with a vengeance. What the hell was he doing here?
It had been five days since she had last set eyes on him. Five peaceful, trouble free days. Five days in which she had brooded reluctantly over the events of that day, annoyed with herself and incensed every time she recalled Elizabeth's airy insinuation, irritated and aroused every time she remembered the intoxicating, delirious feeling of his mouth on hers once more. Five days of relative normality.
But now he'd shown up, and blasted her already irked mood to hell.
She had been thinking of him before he had shown up, much to her annoyance. Clare had just managed to convince herself to think of something else when the small overhead bells had tinkled quietly to admit him, and the intention had shot to hell.
She was too aware of him. She couldn't stop watching him from the periphery of her vision. Clare was hyper-aware of his every movement, was too conscious of him.
She watched him as he sat down at a table, carrying his order by himself. She watched him cut into the pie with his fork, watched him slot it in between his lips, watched him chew wordlessly. She watched while he did that thing he did after taking a bite of her cooking, pausing and closing his eyes like he was savoring the taste, all the while clenching her jaw subconsciously.
As if feeling her gaze on him, Simon opened his eyes and turned to her direction, pinning her with a look, his lightning grey eyes taking her in, like he was looking into her, like he was absorbing her with that single look.
It was disconcerting enough that she looked away, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to do something to keep her hands busy. Rather eagerly, she picked up the small rag that was kept under the counter and began to wipe down the counter top, even though it wasn't in the least unclean.
The moment her twenty-minute break came she took it readily, anxious to leave, to escape his presence, the dark, appealing aura that had suffused the room the moment he had stepped into it. She felt his gaze all over her as she left, using the kitchen to go.
Clare drew in a soft breath of relief as she stepped into the kitchen, shutting the door firmly behind her. He needed to stop this, she thought as she leaned heavily against the wall. He couldn't keep doing this, keep showing up unannounced and uninvited. She didn't want him here.
Inhaling a calming breath, she tried to halt the clawing emotions in her throat. Losing control over her emotions wouldn't do anything but make matters worse. To solve this...to get rid of the reoccurring problem he presented once and for all, she would have to think rationally and carefully. She had no idea why he kept coming here, but it would have to stop.
She would make sure he understood that.
***
Simon sipped the rest of his coffee, uncaring that it was now a little lukewarm. He glanced towards the counter once more, to see that she wasn't there.
Where was Clare, he thought, leaning back in slight irritation and dissatisfaction. The whole reason he had come here this morning, postponing at least three meetings in the process was because he wanted to see her. He couldn't see her if she avoided coming back to her job, and that was what she was doing. He had been monitoring the time. Her twenty minutes were now infringing on thirty.
Where was she?
He stood from his table, pulling a bill from his wallet without glancing at the value. It wouldn't be less than a fifty anyway. Then he made his way to the counter, pausing to smile at the bright teenager - Lexi - as he did.
Behind the counter was Suzie, Clare's assistant. She was looking at him with a curious gleam in her eyes that made him feel just a bit uneasy, like as if he was a slide under a microscope. He ignored the feeling, flashing a smile in her direction.
"Hello, again Suzie. Thank you for the apple pie. It was delicious as always." He appreciated cordially.
She pinked slightly at the complement. "Thanks, but I didn't do much. The complement should go to Clare - it's her recipe."
"Really? It's a lovely one." He nodded. "Speaking of which, where is Clare? I'd like to thank her for the pie."
"She's on her break." Suzie replied, still watching him curiously.
Unwilling to leave without seeing her once more, he said, "Could you please call her for me? I won't take more than a minute of her time."
Suzie shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. She's on her break, and usually spends it in her apartment. And besides, I can't leave the counter unmanned."
Reluctance settled into his stomach as he nodded. "I understand..." He trailed off into silence as the door leading to the kitchen from behind the counter opened, and in she strode with her dark chestnut hair in a newly fortified knot behind her head. Her eyes flickered in his direction and stayed, dark with a particular brand of determination, the source of which he knew he wouldn't like.
She smiled, a bland one. "Mr Wentworth. Are you leaving now?"
"Regretfully." His smile turned wry. "Duty calls."
"What a pity." She murmured noncommittally, "Well, thanks for stopping by. We hope you enjoyed our creations. Please come back soon."
What she was saying, he knew, was the opposite of how she felt. Simon merely nodded. "I will."
He made his way out of the café, smiling politely at the employees and patrons as he did. It took him just a minute to head across the street to his car. The moment he had been about to open the car door, he received a text. He took out his phone, and was both unsurprised and surprised that she had sent the text.
It was short and precise, a simple text that read;
I'll see you at my apartment tonight at nine. We need to talk.
Simon glanced behind him to the café. She had her attention focused elsewhere. His reply was short as well, straight to the point.
I'll be there.
***
By eight thirty, the café was already closed for the day, with only the staff left with the task of rounding up. Predictably, fifteen minutes later, the lights were switched off and the front door was locked. Clare headed up to her apartment, pausing to glance at the time. It was now about nine minutes to nine.
Simon would be here soon.
The thought had her moving faster, determined to at least freshen up before he showed up. The last thing she was going to appear as before him was dirty.
She slipped into the shower, taking only three minutes to shower quickly. By the time it was nine she was dressed and dry. Part of her wondered why she bothered to take a shower now instead of later - there was no real reason for it. She ignored the question, however, heading to the little fridge to find out what she could eat. She was a little hungry.
By nine-thirty, she had finished the sandwich she had made, and was now occupying herself with coming up with a new glaze recipe.
By ten she was halfway through with her first rough draft for the new glaze recipe, and was wondering if the café's store contained all the ingredients she needed, or if she would have to go shopping tomorrow morning.
By ten forty-six, she decided it was time to go to bed, and to hell with Simon Wentworth. He wasn't the one who had to get up at an obscenely early time to prep for work, and that was probably why he thought he could keep her waiting.
Annoyed and irritated with herself for even staying up this late, she headed to her bedroom, changing from the simple jeans and t-shirt she had changed into before, into the long, baggy cotton t-shirt she had designated to be a night shirt. She was about to slip into her bed when she heard the doorbell ring.
Clare paused in the act of lifting her thin blanket, cursing mentally as she heard it ring again, confirming that she had heard it the first time. Damn it, damn it, damn it...
The bell rang again.
Grinding her teeth, she abandoned her welcoming bed, leaving the room altogether. She crossed the short narrow hall, her teeth still grinding together as she reached the front door. The very locked front door she would have to start opening now.
Damn it.
"Who is it?" Clare growled, unable to keep the ire out of her tone.
"It's me." His deeply gravelly voice filtered past the iron door to her ears. "Simon. Please let me in."
"Why the hell should I do that?" Her voice contained enough icy menace to frost hell. "What does the time say?"
"I don't..." There was a short pause, followed by, "It's a minute after eleven."
"Exactly."
"Clare-"
"Good night Simon." Clare said in a final tone, and was turning to return back to her waiting bed when he spoke again, his tone imploring.
"Clare please open the door. I know you said nine, but something came up at work and-"
"Bully for you." She muttered rudely.
"Please." He pleaded again. "I've had a stressful day at work. Please just let me in, Clare."
Clare, in that moment, completely loathed that marshmallow soft part of her that he seemed to be able to manipulate so easily. It was the reason why she was undoing all the intricate locks on her front door at after eleven in the night, cursing under her breath as she did. It was the reason she let him into her home so late at night, was the reason the weary, exhausted expression on his face tugged on her heartstrings. She locked the door silently, looking at him discreetly once she finished.
Without a word, she strode into the sitting room, pausing to demand that he remove his shoes at the door. He took them off without a word of complaint, along with his dark coat and black suit jacket. The tailored waistcoat went as well, and he undressed till he was left in his white shirt that he had rolled up a little to his elbows, and the dark formal slacks that suited him too well.
Clare left him barefoot in her living room when she realized she couldn't drag her eyes of him long enough to blink. Trying to marshal her emotions as she stepped into her kitchen, she reminded herself the reason why she had invited him into her home in the first place.
To make things clear to him.
Satisfied that she had been able to clear her head sufficiently, she poured a glass of water for him, recalling that he had looked thirsty earlier. When the protesting part of her had reared, she told herself that she couldn't very well let the man choke on his own spit, no matter how tempting it sounded. Her parents had raised her better than that before they died, after all.
She returned to the little sitting room to find him on the small loveseat he had occupied on his previous visit here, his eyes shut and his long limbed frame set in the most relaxing position the seat could afford, which was basically none for a man his height.
He looked like he was lightly dozing. He had folded his coat and jacket neatly beside him, and the navy blue tie he had worn previously was now atop the pile. Neatly, of course. Simon was nothing if not an order maniac.
Her eyes travelled to his throat, unbidden. The top and second buttons had been undone, exposing a sliver of his natural olive skin and his collar bone. She noticed a few springs of curly black hair there as well. Her mouth watered subconsciously.
With his eyes closed, she was able to observe him to her fill. His hair was a rumpled salt and pepper, with more pepper than salt. It still curled at the edges, like it used to before when he was younger.
His lashes were still dark, though a little scanty compared to before, his cheekbones and jaw still high and proud, still so Goddamn attractive. Clare suddenly had the urge to clock him in his jaw, an urge she pushed aside.
His mouth would probably defined as average or mediocre - not thin, but yet not so full. But she still remembered how it felt like to be kissed by it, to feel him drag it against the crevices between her thighs, to see it circle around her nipple...God, she was still so fucked.
The small, smothered sound that left her was enough to make him open his eyes. And then dark, stormy grey eyes landed and stayed on her.
"Clare-" He began, his voice deep and husky. He didn't get to finish the statement, however, since she thrust the half-filled glass of cool water into his line of sight.
"Here." She said, her tone curt. The moment he accepted the glass from her hand, she went to sit on the armchair opposite his seat.
Simon gulped down the water wordlessly, murmuring a word of thanks afterwards. He set the glass at the feet of his seat since there was no coffee table to place it on.
Then he looked up at her.
For a long minute, they stared at each other, unable and unwilling to break the silence.
Then he said, "You said we needed to talk."
"Yes. I also asked you to be here by nine." She snapped, unable to help it. Her reaction to Simon was always to snap first, then feel vaguely guilty afterwards.
Simon let out a low sigh heavy with weariness. "Clare please don't..." He sighed again. "Please don't start."
Clare almost bristled. She almost did...but then his eyes slid shut momentarily, like it was too heavy for him to lift for too long, and her ire vanished. Her heart did that thing again where it just seemed to melt because of him.
She bit the inside of her cheek and didn't say anything cutting. Instead she said, "If you were so tired, you shouldn't have come here. You should've sent a text or something. You look ready to drop."
"Do I?" He murmured, his voice wry.
"When was the last time you slept more than five hours?" She asked quietly.
Simon shook his head, his eyes still shut. "I can't recall. Maybe three days ago...?"
Three? Clare frowned. Why the hell would he work to such an extent? He was the boss. There was no reason for him to wear himself out to this level.
"You shouldn't wear yourself out like this." She advised curtly. "You're not getting any younger."
Simon blinked, his eyes opening to smoky, light slits. "Ow." He said. "I think I'm hurt."
She made a sound of mild irritation beneath her breath, when really she wanted to smile, for some reason she had no longing to investigate. She was sure she knew the cause.
"That's none of my concern." She said plainly.
"No." He smiled but it was sad, a reflection of wistful wishes. "It's not. Not any longer."
The silence grew again, almost suffocating in its intensity. Clare swallowed, unsure of what to say.
What was there to say? Literally nothing. What was done was done. The only thing they both had as a solid common denominator was their kids. There was nothing left for them. She couldn't let there be.
Why that thought was bleak, Clare didn't want to know.
What she wanted to know was what she was doing. Why was she entertaining these kinds of thoughts at all? And more importantly, why was she comfortable with his presence in her house? Why wasn't she giving him the boot? Why the hell was she worried over him, over the fact that he wasn't taking proper care of himself? Was she softening towards him? Again?
Did she really not know any better?
"Clare, can I ask you for a favour?" His voice pulled her from her thoughts.
Her brows arched high, expressing her incredulity at the audacity, but she nevertheless gave a nod.
"Can I sleep with you again?"
Her eyes widened in stunned outrage. "What the hell?"
His own eyes widened, as if realizing his blunder. "No, I didn't mean for it to come out like that." He assured hastily. "What I meant to ask is if I can sleep beside you like we used to. Just for tonight."
"Why the hell would I say yes to that?" She growled.
"Because I'm begging you." He said lowly, his eyes brimming with honesty and need, need so deep and so consuming she felt it in her soul, a resemblance that resonated with the craving for him she kept on a tight leash. "Because I need it, and you need it as well."
Did she?
"Please, Clare." Simon pleaded, his deep grey eyes sucking her in, rendering her unable to refuse. "Just for tonight, let's call a truce."
Clare swallowed thickly, looking away. Unsteadily, she stood to her feet, her head shaking as she did. No. No. It was a horrible idea, an awful idea. She would regret it if she gave her consent, she just knew it.
She was unaware of him rising, of him coming to stand before her. Warm hands enveloped her own, and a deep longing rose in her throat. She shook her head again, everything in her revolting against the idea. No.
"Clare." His voice took on a siren-like quality, soothing and convincing. Coaxing. "Please say yes. It's just for tonight. It doesn't have to mean anything."
That was literally impossible. It was completely impossible that she could spend a night with his warmth around her, surrounding her again and come out of it not feeling anything. She couldn't do it.
"Simon, I don't think-" She began uneasily, her eyes darting to his semi-exposed collar bone and catching. Fucking hell.
"Then don't think." Simon said rationally, pleadingly. "I'm not asking you to have sex with me. Just..." He blew out a soft, hot breath. It rested warmly against her forehead. "Please, Clare."
She opened her mouth to tell him no, to tell him that he could go to hell with his request and reside there. But the words that made it past her lips were soft and breathless, a complete opposite of what she originally intended.
"Just for tonight."
It seemed she truly didn't know any better.