38
Ruby
The sun setsin the Spanish sky, streaking a burning gold and red across the wide sky above the orange groves. I sit on the cushioned chair outside the old farmhouse with my legs tucked under, as I drink freshly squeezed juice from the oranges I picked earlier. Jem appears from inside and settles beside me in a world away from the London we left yesterday.
“You’re right about quiet. I can literally only hear crickets,” he says.
“Not your thing?” I ask, hoping he won’t hate every minute.
“Not what I said.” Jem wraps an arm around my waist, our skin sticky in the evening warmth as we cuddle up. “This would never be my choice in the past. I think I avoided places like this because when it’s quiet the thoughts sneak in.”
“Really? I’m the opposite. When it’s quiet my mind can be quiet too.”
“I’ve spent a lot more time alone recently, so I’m getting used to it.” He catches my look. “I mean away from the music world alone. You don’t count.”
“Sheesh. Thanks!”
“You know what I mean!” Jem hugs me to him and kisses the top of my head. “You count for more than you know.”
When Jem told me he’d found a place to stay for a few days, he wouldn’t tell me where. We flew to Barcelona and picked up a car before arriving a couple of hours later at the small estate in the Catalonia countryside. The huge building is expensively renovated with numerous bedrooms and luxuries that I doubt the original owners had—swimming pool, terraced gardens, and even a tennis court.
Not the normal holiday destination for Blue Phoenix’s guitarist.
The house belongs to Steve and he brings his family here every summer. The rooms show evidence of children— shelves of books, kids’ DVDs, and bikes in the converted barn adjacent to the house.
We take a downstairs bedroom with doors that open out onto a private terrace, overlooking the pool. As I acclimatise to the surreal world I’m pushed into, and after weeks of stress and fear, the calm takes hold instead.
This is our second day lost in a place out of time. We’ve spent days together in Jem’s London house, wrapped up away from the outside world, but this is a step further removed. The drive to the nearest village is twenty minutes but the small Spanish settlement only has a couple of shops and a bar. Real civilisation is several hours away.
“Such weird a weird place to be after life in London,” I say.
“Life has taken on a lot of weird the last few months. There’s you—”
“Weird?” I interrupt with a laugh. “The pot calling the kettle black, much?”
“No! Everything. Being sober, no Blue Phoenix, meeting a crazy girl who stole my heart. Shit, I doubt life could be any more opposite than a year ago.”
“Don’t, Jem.” I squeeze his hand.
“I hardly remember a year ago, but I do remember things heading downhill for everyone in the band. In the middle of the chaos, I lashed out in every direction, hurting people.”
I softly place my lips on his. “Haven’t you read my tattoo recently? Yesterday’s gone. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Hmm… maybe I should take a look to remind myself?” Jem’s eyes glint in the fading light as he slides a hand beneath my loose T-shirt.
I’m bra-less and he closes his hand over my breast, gently rubbing my nipple. Whenever he touches me, it’s as if Jem has a magic ability to trigger a hardwired need for more. As he slides his other hand teasingly across my skin, the spreading desire for him shifts downwards. The knowing smile he gives shows how aware he is about the effect he has with barely a touch.
“Plus, I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to wear T-shirts with other band names on them.” He pushes the material upwards. “I feel as if you’re cheating on me with Queens of the Stone Age.”
I laugh at him as he pulls the black T-shirt over my head and dumps it on the floor, then digs his fingers into the back of my hair, and pulls my face to his. I move my head back. “Go inside and grab me a Blue Phoenix shirt, then.”
“If you want to be covered by something Blue Phoenix, I’m perfectly capable,” he whispers.
Jem runs his tongue slowly along my bottom lip. My mouth parts in anticipation; Jem’s kisses empty my mind of anything but us. His kiss fills the gaps of what he refuses to say what we both refuse to admit; that we belong together as much as any other couple—other couples who spend their days telling the world they’re in love.
We gradually put together our shattered pieces; the kisses and touches and the times in bed melding our bodies is the glue that holds us together. We’re still fragile and the mended parts could easily come apart again but every day the bond strengthens.
I hold his head, our mouths moving together. He tastes of the sweetness of orange juice, and of Jem. Sometimes gentle isn’t enough and Jem’s awareness about my past means he holds back until I’m clear that I don’t want him to.