Carnage: Book #1 The Story Of Us (Volume 1)(64)

He smiles at me, a full on sexy smile and I’ve no doubt that he is more than capable of blowing my mind, whether he can blow that wall down that’s around my heart is another thing.



CHAPTER 12

As horny as Cam makes me feel, he doesn’t stay over Saturday night; we talk for a bit longer and arrange to speak during the week. I’ve given him the number to the shop as well as my home, he has no idea what a big deal that is for me, I don’t give any blokes my number, none at all.

I head over to my parents for lunch on Sunday and groan when I see my Mum sweeping the porch as I pull up in the taxi I’ve had to book. Jim picked me up for the dress fittings yesterday so I’ve been able to hide the fact that my car is off the road, until now. My Mum stops what she’s doing and leans on her broom while she watches me pay and get out of the cab.

“Where’s your car George?”

“Hello Mum, these are for you.” I hand her a bunch of carnations, her favourites.

“Oh thanks babe, mmm, they smell beautiful. Where’s your car?”

“Oh I left it at a friend’s last night, because I had too much to drink. He’s going to drop it back later. Is Bailey here?” I ask, noticing my brother’s Range Rover in the drive. I start to head into the house before she can say any more about the car.

“Yeah, he’s in there somewhere, talking business with your Dad.”

The house my parents now live in is a barn conversion, it’s absolutely beautiful, high ceilings and exposed beams; they had to adhere to all kinds of building regulations to get the job done and bring in a few specialists but the end result was spectacular. My favourite thing about it was the galleried landing that ran all around the upstairs, part of the flooring down stairs were the original flagstones and part was timber, it was sleek and modern but warm and cosy at the same time. I headed to my Dad’s office as this is where I could hear his and Bailey’s voices coming from, I put my head around the door, they both had their bums perched on the edge of my Dad’s huge desk. Thoughts of Cam and what we had almost done in his office Thursday night popped into my head and my cheeks instantly flushed, my Dad was sipping from a whisky tumbler, Bails was inspecting a shot gun, probably the latest edition to my Dad’s collection. He always kept guns and enjoyed shooting, game and clays but he had got into it even more since they moved. This house was on five acres, he had deer, pheasant and plenty of rabbits out the back, a huge pond and stables where my Mum kept here two horses, well one was mine, but I’d been very negligent lately and hadn’t ridden in weeks.

“Ello Princess,” my Dad said as soon as he spotted me, he held his arms open and I walked right into them, breathing in the smell of him deeply. Drambuie and Tabac aftershave, no matter how many different designer aftershaves people bought him, my Dad always resorted back to his old favourite and I’m so glad that he did. To me that smell was home, safety, love and security, that smell was, when I was a little girl, how I assumed all Dad’s smelt and I loved it. He held me tight and breathed me in. “Fuckin’ ell Georgia, you’re skin and bone. What have you been doin’ to yourself? Your mother really needs to fatten you up.”

“Thanks Dad, I love you too.” I pull away and give Bailey a cuddle and my head spins as I take in the smell of his Givenchy aftershave. “Big brother Bailey, how are you? I’ve missed ya, you smell lovely.”

He squeezes me so hard I can hardly breathe. “Baby sister Georgia, how the f*ck are you? It’s been way too long. Fuck, you’re skinny.”

“Bailey, language please, it’s Sunday.” We all turn and laugh at my Mum; her and my Dad both grew up in Plaistow, my Dad still had a real cockney accent but my Mum spoke much nicer and had always corrected us on our grammar. I never dropped my H’s or said ain’t, grub or gissit… instead of give me it… around my Mum. When we travelled on business most people assumed we came from London but they had no idea which part and would never have guessed at my mother’s working class roots. I most definitely wasn’t posh but around my Mum, I wasn’t common either, away from my Mum and work was an entirely different story.