‘Also known as The Toilet of Venus?’
He laughed with recognition. ‘Yeah, that was it. You can imagine how a bunch of fourteen year olds from the estate reacted to that. We thought it was hilarious. But you get my point, though?’
She smiled and put a hand in his.
‘Yeah, I do.’
‘Because I’ve been thinking a lot since we finished reading that diary, about what lives on after death. My work is the kind that lasts. Yours, not so much. I want you to be remembered as more than a footnote on Deano’s Wikipedia entry. You deserve it.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ said Jenna with a brittle laugh, but she knew what he meant, and she appreciated the sentiment. ‘You’ve made me a bit fat,’ she objected, peering again at the outline.
‘Get lost. There’s nothing of you. Besides, what’s wrong with a bit of flesh?’
‘Sorry,’ she sighed. ‘You’re right. LA turned me into such a body fascist. I hope I’m growing out of that now. You know, I really resented Deano’s fling because I thought she was fat. Isn’t that pathetic? What kind of skewed thinking is that?’
‘Well, Bledburn’s knocking all that crap out of your head,’ said Jason. ‘So it’s good for something.’
‘Look, we haven’t got long before the show,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘Would you do me a massive favour and come and get showered and changed? People are going to start turning up before we know it and I want everything to be perfect when they do.’
‘Oh, yes. Time for me to practise all my handshakes and manners and polite conversation,’ said Jason, rolling his eyes. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll behave myself at the exhibition. Can’t promise anything for afterwards though . . .’
He caught her round the waist and cupped her face in a rough, white-spirit-smelling hand. ‘Unlike you,’ he whispered. ‘You made me a promise for after the exhibition? Remember?’
A guilty little thrill of arousal hit Jenna right in the pit of the stomach.
Oh yes. She remembered.
Forty-five minutes later, she stood in her bathrobe, taking her dress for the night from its hanger and laying it on the bed.
‘That’s nice,’ commented Jason, standing behind her in his own dressing gown, slicking gel through his wet hair. ‘You’re wearing that tonight, are you?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
Jason rubbed his hands together then put them on her shoulders. He bent to kiss her neck. She nuzzled against his face instinctively, despite her gathering opening-night nerves.
‘Bend over,’ he growled.
‘Jason, we’ve just got out of the shower . . .’
‘Do it.’
Everything in her responded to his take-no-prisoners tone. She bent straightaway, her hands on the mattress either side of the long spangly dress.
Jason reached underneath to loosen her robe, so he could run his hands over her belly and breasts. He lifted it clear of her bottom and spread her cheeks with his thumbs.
‘Do you remember what you’re getting tonight?’ he said, as if this rude exposure hadn’t provided the perfect reminder.
The thought made Jenna wet and squirmy between her legs, much as she clenched her muscles.
‘Of course,’ she whispered.
‘Good. Cos I don’t want you forgetting. As a little reminder, you’re going commando at the exhibition tonight.’
‘Jason,’ she gasped, looking at the high split in the skirt of her dress, calculating the chances of wardrobe malfunction. They were slim, but all the same . . .
‘No arguments,’ he said, with a light pat to her bottom. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. I’m your performing monkey downstairs, after all. You made that deal, babe, and when you make a deal with the devil . . . well . . .’ He put his fingers between her legs and rubbed her pussy lips.
‘You are the bloody devil,’ she wailed.