About Last Night Deleted Scenes

Bribe Number 1: City Plays Rugby

She would have been happy to spend the day sorting through Nev’s paintings and planning his next moves, but after she’d spent a few hours getting grubby in the basement, he insisted on feeding her. Then he changed into a rugby jersey and shorts and invited her to tag along to his weekend match on Blackheath Common. Cath promised to meet him there later; she needed to stop home first to shower and change.
It was a beautiful day to be outdoors. The common sat on the crest of a hill, its green fields gently sloping away in all directions. There was something quintessentially English about the view, she thought: nature captured, fenced, cleaned up a bit, and released for public consumption. It was a lovely spot.
The game was more brutal than she had expected, a sort of primitive football with no pads, but the guys all appeared to be having a good time. The players locked themselves together in a bizarre ritualistic huddle, lined up for out-of-bounds balls, ran, tackled, kicked. After a while, she let her eyes unfocus, and the men in their bright jerseys turned into colorful balls of energy bouncing off one another as they careened around the field. Then she lay back on the blanket Nev had brought for her and watched the clouds stream past, feeling warm and lazy.
She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew Nev was squatting beside her.
“Was I that dull, love?”
He was flushed, dirty, disheveled. Handsome as all get-out.
“You were spectacular,” she said slowly, rubbing her eyes. “Tremendous. Fantastic. Superb. Unparalleled.”
“You haven’t the faintest idea about rugby, have you?”
“Nope.”
One of the players jogged over. “Who’s this, Chamberlain?”
Nev offered her a hand and pulled her to standing. “This is my girlfriend, Cath. Cath, meet Rog.”
A little embarrassed, Cath shook the man’s proffered hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“My pleasure,” Rog replied. “Didn’t know you had such a pretty girlfriend, though I’m not surprised. You’re a posh bastard. Will you two be coming along to the pub then?”
Cath left Nev to field the question. “No, we have plans.”
“Right,” he said with a wink. “We’ll see you next week, Chamberlain. Nice to meet you, Cath.” Rog jogged back to join the other players, leaving her alone with Nev.
She pinched his bicep through the thick cotton of his jersey. “Your girlfriend, am I?”
Nev grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer. “I certainly hope so. The way Rog was checking you out made me want to punch him.”
“Mmm. That’s sexy in a Neanderthal kind of way,” she said, pressing her breasts against his chest. “And I have to confess, I like seeing you tackle people.” She reached up to touch a new bruise on his jaw. “Plus, you have the wounded warrior thing going. You’re pushing all my buttons today, City. I can’t decide if I want you to mother you or ravish you.”
“You could do both,” he growled in her ear.
“I could at that.”
They walked back toward the flat, Nev limping slightly from a hard tackle. He tried to explain the game to her, but Cath quickly got distracted by the terminology.
“So you’re a ‘tighthead prop.’ Sounds about right,” she teased. “And what position does Rog play?”
“He’s the hooker.”
Cath giggled, and Nev rolled his eyes. “Does the hooker score?”
“It’s called a ‘try,’ and no, he doesn’t. His job is to get possession of the ball in the scrum.”
“The scrum.” She snorted. “Whoever came up with this game had a filthy mind.”
“You’re the one with the filthy mind, love.”
“And that’s just how you like it.” Cath spied a pharmacy. “Speaking of which, I have some shopping to do. You go take a shower, and I’ll catch up.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“Do what I say, City. I’m in charge now.”

 ***

The shower was running when she arrived at the flat. Cath took her purchases to the bedroom, set them out on Nev’s bedside table, and stripped down to her bra and panties, glad she’d thought to put on something nice earlier.
The water shut off. Showtime.
When he stepped out of the shower, she was holding his towel, and she’d draped another one over the toilet seat. “Sit here. I’ll dry you off.”
Stepping between his knees, her bare stomach inches from his face, she toweled his hair dry and worked her way down his body, admiring the lean muscles of his shoulders and arms, the broad plain of his back.
“Stand up.”
Kneeling, she dried his legs. He had a bruise on one hip that was going to be a doozy, as well as scrapes on both knees; she patted them gently and kissed each one. She lifted one foot at a time and toweled it off, running her fingers along the tender skin of his instep.
“Cath.” His hands found her hips, but she pushed them away.
“Shh. I’m mothering you. Take it like a man.”
He gave her a tender smile and kept his mouth shut.

Bribe Number 2: City Gets a Blow Job

She hadn’t let him walk her home, wouldn’t give him her phone number, wouldn’t even tell him what time she’d be taking the train in the morning. But she’d smiled at him several times. Far gone as he was, he’d decided to take it as encouragement.
Still, it was a shock when she turned up at his flat at eight, looking nervous and smaller than he’d remembered.
“I’m sorry,” she said when he opened the door.
“Pardon?”
“I can’t date you, City. I’m just too– It’s complicated.”
“Alright.”
She looked down at her feet. “But I thought, if you wanted to, we could do this.”
“This?”
Stepping inside and closing the door behind her, she reached for the waistband of his trousers and deftly undid the button. “This.”
Too surprised to reply, Nev watched her unzip his flies. But his cock had taken the hint, and when she slid her hand inside his briefs she found him already hard.
Cath dropped to her knees, glancing up at him. “Okay?”
“More than okay.” He didn’t know what this was, but only a fool would turn her away. Nev was not a fool.
She pushed his trousers and briefs out of the way and drew her tongue slowly along his length, flicking experimentally, searching out the most sensitive areas for attention. He closed his eyes against the exquisite torture. Needing to touch some part of her, he tangled his fingers in her soft hair, traced the curve of one ear, the shape of her skull, her neck.
Cath cupped his balls gently in one hand, circled the base of his cock with her fingers, and took him fully into her mouth, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. The hot, wet embrace was nearly unbearable, the sight of her drawing him in and out of her lips erotic beyond description.
Then she began to use her teeth, dragging them lightly over his skin and sucking harder, and he had to clench all of his muscles tight against the loss of control. He needed to be inside her when he came, needed to feel her legs wrapped around his hips and her breasts pressed against his chest as he drove into her. “Cath,” he pleaded, squeezing her shoulder. “You’re going to kill me. Come here.”
“Mmm. Not quite yet, I think.” She swirled her tongue around the head, licking off a bit of moisture that had escaped, and drew him into her mouth again, her grip on his balls a bit tighter. Nev couldn’t prevent the thrust of his hips. Taking this as encouragement, she reached her other hand around to squeeze his arse in rhythm with his movements.
“Bloody hell, woman,” he said in a ragged voice he hardly recognized. “Come here, now. I’m begging you.”
She released him, her expression that of the cat who ate the canary, and rose on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. Nev took possession of her mouth with all the furious desperation that had been building in him since he’d last had her. He grabbed her hips and backed her into the wall, lifting her off the ground to give him better access. It was a hot evening, and she wasn’t wearing much–just a short, flirty skirt and a knit top, both black. When he pushed the skirt up roughly with one hand, he found her naked underneath, swollen and wet.
“Bloody hell,” he said again, unable to form a more coherent thought. He pushed two fingers inside her, pressing her clit with his thumb, and she came at once, dragging her mouth from his to cry out in his ear. The sounds of her surrender just made him more desperate, and he positioned himself between her thighs, gratified when she wrapped her legs around his waist and moaned her assent.
He was already moving inside her when he remembered what was missing. Muttering an oath, he pulled out.
“What is it?”
“Sodding Durex. They’re in the bedroom.” He put his hands on her thighs, meaning to lower her to the ground, but she stopped him.
“We don’t need them. I can’t get pregnant.”
He looked her in the eyes, wanting to be certain she had a clear head to make the call. “You’re sure it’s alright?”
“Unless there’s something you’re not telling me, yeah.”
She meant it. “I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Mary Catherine.”
He slid into her and she closed her eyes, her breath hitching in her throat with a little gasp that made his cock pulse dangerously. “I know.”
It was impossible to go slow. Her slick, tight embrace dragged him to the very edge of reason, and before long he was pounding into her, chasing his release.
But he wanted her to come with him. Nev slid his hands behind her arse, cushioning the blows of his body into hers, and tilted her hips to increase the pressure on her clit. He knew he’d got it right when she cried out and dug her fingers into his shoulder blades.
He sped up then, taking her faster and harder until she began to moan with every thrust and he felt her tense in his arms. “That’s it, love,” he said. The sounds of her climax filled his head as he emptied himself inside her.

Bribe Number 3: Nev Punches Winston in the Face

“What’s this about then?” his mother asked once they were all settled in the library. “It’s terribly rude to leave Cath on her own like this.”
“It’s about her,” Winston said. “See for yourself.” He dropped a thick folder onto his mother’s lap; Nev recognized the logo of the law office the family employed.
Evita flipped the folder open and thumbed through several pages. “You had her investigated?” she asked, her voice betraying surprise.
“I asked the law firm to have her discreetly checked out, yes.”
Nev practically leapt from his chair, furious. “You sneaky bastard! What right have you to go snooping around in Cath’s background?”
Winston stayed cool. “I wouldn’t have had to if you’d had the sense to do it yourself, little brother. But no, you’ve let her lead you around by the bollocks, and now she has all of us just where she wants us.”
“What are you talking about, darling?” Evita asked, her voice calm, her eyes still scanning the pages.
“She’s a gold-digger, Mother. She’s only married Neville so she can get at our money.”
“That’s nonsense,” Nev protested, but his mother held up a hand to cut him off.
“Let me handle this, Neville. That’s a very serious accusation, Winston. What evidence do you have?”
“She’s a pauper, to begin with. Hardly a pound in the bank, and she lied when she said she works at the V&A. They have no record of her employment.”
Of course they wouldn’t, Nev thought, since she wasn’t actually a paid employee.
“She lied about having an arts degree, as well. She never finished university.”
This surprised him; Cath seemed very well-educated. But it was hardly a crime. No doubt she had a good reason for not completing her studies. And come to think of it, had she ever come right out and said she had a university degree? He thought not.
Mother seemed to agree with him. “That’s all very unpleasant news if it’s true, but it doesn’t add up to the kind of accusations you’ve made, Winston.”
“There’s more,” Winston answered, his voice still smooth. “She’s a criminal. She comes from a well-known mafia family in Chicago. Her first husband”—here he looked at Nev with ill-disguised glee—“is serving twenty years on racketeering charges.”
Her first husband? Nev suddenly felt sick. Was it possible that Cath—his Cath—had been married? And to a criminal at that? What the hell was going on here?
“And to top it off,” Winston continued, “she’s a felon. She’s been arrested for arson.”
Nev’s head was spinning. A felon. There had to be an explanation. He knew Cath. This couldn’t be right.
Winston wrapped up his revelations. “I think it’s fairly obvious that our Neville has gotten us involved with a schemer. The question is, what do we do about it?”
“Neville, what do you have to say about all this?” Evita asked.
He knew Cath. But what could he say to defend her? She’d never told him a thing about her past. Was it possible, was it even possible she’d been using him?
Winston flapped a dismissive hand in his direction. “He doesn’t know anything. He’s a fool, and he’s let himself be blindsided by a cheap hustler.”
Nev wasn’t so confused that he would stand mute while his wanker of a brother hurled insults at Cath. He stepped close enough to loom over him. “You’re talking about the woman I love, you conniving bastard.”
“Pull your head out of your arse, Nev. She’s trash.”
Trash.
His hand curled into a fist.
Trash.
Nev didn’t know Cath’s past, but he knew who she was, and she was fierce and brave and loyal. She was funny, smart, creative, beautiful. She was wary. She was afraid. But she wasn’t a piece of rubbish, and he wouldn’t fucking stand for it.
Not from Winston. Not from anyone.
When his brother’s upper lip curled into a smile, daring him to do it, Nev did.
He hit his brother in the jaw, hard as he could, and the satisfying crack of knuckle crunching against bone gave him a fleeting sense of certainty.
If he knew nothing else, at least he knew Winston had this coming for a long time.
He’d had it coming for bloody ages.
Winston went down, knees crumpling, and Nev went after him, straddling his hips, pinching his chin between his thumb and fingers and wrenching his face around so he could do it again. He’d so much like to do it again, for every time he’d ever gotten angry enough to take a swing at his brother only to end up with a fist in his gut, knocking all the air out of him.
For every time he’d learned that it was better to be polite, to be afraid, to cower in the goddamn corner rather than take what he wanted and know that he deserved it.
He lifted his fist, and his mother grabbed it. Her hand on his felt cold, but it was the papery softness of her skin that stopped him.
That, and the unlikely miracle of his mother saying, “This is all my fault.”
He relented. Backed off, backed up, took the chair she pushed toward him.
“This is all my fault,” she said again. “I should never have pressured you. I did so want you to marry, but I never imagined you’d do something like this, and so fast. And she seemed such a nice girl, but I see now that it’s all been a terrible mistake. We’ll just have to find a way to have the marriage invalidated. Perhaps it’s not even legal here, I mean, they don’t just recognize any old marriage, do they? I’ll phone my friend on the Council, and—”
“Evita. Shut up.” Astonishingly, this came from Richard.
“Richard?” For the first time, she sounded frightened.
“Winston told me the board was pressuring Nev to marry, but I never imagined you had anything to do with it. I should have known. That the two of you would treat Neville this way — it’s despicable. You both ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
He turned to Nev. “I don’t know how much of what Winston said is true, or even what it means if it is true, but I refuse to believe terrible things about Cath just because they’re written in some report. I trust my own judgment more than that, and I trust yours even further. The two of you can sort this out between yourselves.”
So gobsmacked at this point that speech was well beyond him, Nev just nodded. His father had stood up for him. His father had chastised his mother. And all for Cath, who— Well, he didn’t know what to think about Cath. But he was sure as hell going to get some answers.