After a year away from this story I've decided to add a new chapter to what is actually a prelude to my other story.

I have incorporated the alternate beginning of The Edge of Reason (film) that is a deleted scene on the DVD, into my interpretation of events that followed the beginning of Mark and Bridget's relationship.

Bridget Jones: After the Kiss

Chapter VI

Sex and Skydiving

Weight: 9st 6; Cigarettes: 14 (Due to fear of death and being chucked—Will definitely quit smoking tomorrow); Hours have been in functional relationship: 123; Minutes standing in shower after humiliating swine encounter: 50

Thursday January 3

9:10am My flat Bugger! Am late for work yet again! Sodding alarm didn't go off. Probably due to fact that did not remove clock from rubbish bin last night after particularly randy shag session with boyfriend, whereby Mark cleared entire surface contents of self's bedside table with his foot. Actually woke up this morning at the foot of the bed half swaddled in bed linens resembling Roman toga with similarly attired naked man sprawled next to me. Mark Darcy was something of a ravenous beast last night. Can't wait to tell Shaz and Jude all about it. They will certainly be sick with envy!

Have had fantastic boyfriend for 5 full days now, which translates to 18 equally as fantastic shags. Am v. much looking forward to shagging beautiful man for v. v. long time to come. Maybe even for rest of self's life if am lucky. Shaz and Jude warn not to get hopes up too soon. He's still on his best behaviour, they say. Give him another few months to become complacent and before I know it he'll be coming round every night after work, parking himself in front of football on the telly, scratching his arse, and barking about why I don't have supper on the table yet. What do they know? They both have crap relationships. Mine is perfect. Mark isn't an alcoholic, workaholic, or fuckwit. And he never gets angry or swears. He is perfect. A gentleman in every way…except maybe in the bedroom. Hurrah!!

9:20am "Bridget, where the hell is my sodding left shoe?! I'm late for work!!" Uh-oh! He sounds v. upset. Is only indirectly my fault that alarm did not go off, but have physically exhausted boyfriend to point that is definitely my fault that he did not wake up early and is now going to be late for important meeting with foreign ministers.

9:23am Had better help him find his shoe before he tears flat to shreds.

9:30am Was on the stairs by the front door.

9:55am Sit Up Britain office Am v. bad influence on v. important lawyer. He was so worried about getting to work he did not kiss me good-bye. In fact, think car may have still been rolling when he dropped me off in front of the studio.

9:56am At least he's not an alcoholic or fuckwit. Gaah!!!

10:25am Nonchalantly dropped self into plastic swivel chair while Richard Finch's back was turned toward the coffee machine. Tried to look busy with stack of papers on conference room table as if had been sitting there the whole time.

"She's here Richard," Veronica, my miserable excuse of a colleague announced arrogantly, cutting her eyes in my direction. Long lovely legs, shiny auburn hair, perfect skin, bad attitude. Hate her! Stupid stick insect witch! Ever since I snagged the only interview with Kafir Aghani and Eleanor Heaney, she's been out to get me. Jealous of my success as a highly regarded journalist, while she's been passed over for promotion twice in the past year. Will just keep to myself that the only reason I got the interview was because Aghani's defense attorney had a mad crush on me.

"Ahhh the prodigal daughter has arrived! Now maybe we can begin," Richard slurred as he plopped into a chair to my left. Opened my mouth to explain, but was met with dismissive hand motion. Veronica sneered with satisfaction. I glared back. "Now then everyone…" He was rambling on, but was not really listening as was thinking about Mark's parting words in the car, "Don't forget. Renoir Cinema at 6:55. Don't be late." Have never even heard of the film that he wants to see. Foreign, I think. Sounded boring really. No matter. Will be perfectly content just to sit in the dark with him and hold hands. "Earth to Bridget Jones!!"

"What?…Oh, I mean pardon?"

"So help me if you are thinking about that boyfriend again…Have you heard a word I've just said?" Jealous pervert! I see the way he eyeballs me like a piece of meat. Likely just bitter that I won't let him grope my arse and fondle my tits.

Jealous! Jealous! The whole lot of them!

"I've heard exactly what you said…Something about flying round Kent, was it?"

"Very good…and you'll do fine as long as your chute opens."

Wot!!!! "I have to jump out of the plane?"

"Yes, Miss Jones. That's why it's called sky-diving," Richard articulated. Veronica and a few others snickered.

"About that…I really don't think I'm right for the job. You see, I'm afraid of heights. And well, frankly, I really do look horrid in jumpsuits."

When doesn't she look horrid? Could hear Veronica whispering into another colleague's ear. I don't know what Mark Darcy sees in her.

An easy lay, another suggestively whispered back.

Back to Richard, "Could improve our male demographics, but unless you want your knickers showing on national television at 6000 feet you'll leave the short skirt on the ground and wear whatever the bloody hell the skydiving company outfits you with! Got it?"

"Right." Was no foreseeable way out of it. Was likely going to freefall to self's death today in a tragic skydiving accident and would never get the chance to tell Mark how much I love him…or to hear him say it first. Was feeling pretty low.

The others were filing out of the meeting room, including Veronica. Richard remained seated next to me sipping the remains from his coffee cup. "Aww…cheer up Bridget. You, Simon, and Clive will be heading out in the caravan in 20 minutes for your safety training." Sighed loudly, but said nothing. "They'll teach you everything you need to know. You'll be in good hands," he added in a surprising display of compassion while patting my shoulder and looking not so inconspicuously at my breasts. "It will be fun. You'll see."

"Okay. I'll do it," I replied with my bravest face. He's right. People jump from planes everyday, right? Nothing to worry about…Unless of course my lines get twisted and my chute opens too late, similar to that poor bloke a few weeks ago. Bugger.

"That's our girl." He grinned and stood to leave. "Oh, and by the way," he craned his head around to face me. "You might want to notify a next of kin. You know…just in case." Gaaaahhh!!!!

10:35am Next of kin? Was he kidding me? Definitely am not going to call Mum and Dad and tell them what am about to do. Mum would forbid it for reason that have finally found a good, sane man and if am killed that will put an end to it. When I spoke with her yesterday on the phone, she was still beaming about Mark and me. She said that she could cancel her eBay auction. Gaahh!! She was joking...I hope.

10:40am Had better ring Mark to tell him that I love him…just in case.

10:42am Got Mark's voicemail. Couldn't do it. Didn't want him worrying during important meeting with government officials. Reminded him to pick up his dry cleaning after work instead.

7:25pm Taxi en route to Renoir Cinema After an excruciatingly nerve-wracking caravan ride sitting between Clive and Simon trying to memorize report, then an equally as courage-depleting procedure and safety training, was eventually strapped into a v. unflattering orange suit with parachute pack. When the plane reached the spot where I was to jump, had lost the tiny bit of nerve remaining and gripped the side of the plane for dear life. Was sure that we were higher than 6000 feet. Seemed more like a 1,000,000. Could no longer remember a single thing the instructor had said to do. Doom!!! Doom!!!

No way! Not going!

Had no idea that I live in such a beautiful country!! So glad Richard threatened to publicly humiliate me if I didn't jump. Only a few initial moments of sheer panic and terror as I forgot one v. crucial detail-- to pull the line to open my parachute. Was rapidly plummeting head over feet to the ground. (Will leave that part out when I retell the story to Mark.).

The view was brilliant! Rivers, bright green fields, farms, lush trees, and a perfectly lovely aerial view of Leeds Castle, all pieced together like a patchwork quilt. Makes one take stock of what is really important in life…my budding romance with Mark Darcy! Must not do anything to bugger it up.

The descent was harshly punctuated by a disgraceful, disgusting, headfirst landing into a pin of dozens of oversized horny pigs. "This is Bridget Jones reporting from a big vat of excrement." V. humbling indeed.

And once again my arse will be a prominent feature in the report. Bugger!

7:28pm Am going to be sacked.

7:29pm Not going to worry about that now. Am v. late and about to be chucked. Cannot believe how long it took to get rid of that putrid smell.

"Excuse me, can you drive any faster?" I pleaded with the taxi driver.

Friday January 4

7:30am Have most wonderful, faithful boyfriend. Last night was fantastic…

"Sorry. Are we too late?"

"Depends how you look at it. We're too late for the very last showing in this country of Heng Waitsu's previously banned masterpiece, that I've been looking forward to seeing for 11 years..."

"Right," I responded uneasily, wincing a bit, thinking he was about to really let me have it.

He reached out to touch the side of my face, not in an affectionate manner, but rather to remove something that didn't belong. Gaah!! Hope it wasn't more dried excrement. "But there's still time for pizza…possibly some sex afterward, if that's of any interest."

Mark kissed my temple and cocooned me under his arm as we retreated from the cinema. "Hmm…excellent…excellent. Or maybe we could skip the pizza…horrid fattening food."

An obviously disillusioned chap wearing a "The End is Nigh" sandwich board, cut between us. How wrong you are mate, I thought. How wrong you are. The beginning is nigh, and am blissfully happy.

---

In the car, reluctantly told him about my day. V. sweet how he offered to have Richard Finch brought up on charges. Not sure if there is actually a law against being an arsehole though. Mark was probably joking.

Wanted nothing more than to go directly to my flat and ravish him straight away in celebration of life, as was not killed yesterday in tragic skydiving accident or mauled to death by horny swine. But after a v. long day in meetings he was hungry, and not just for me. Said he had worked straight through lunch. So we popped into Pizza Express where we happened to run into Tom and his latest boy toy, Roger. They dominated most of the conversation with talk of music and the variable fitness of male celebrity arses. Surprisingly, even though he contributed v. little to the conversations, noticed Mark chuckling several times at the admittedly ridiculous banter. Suspect that under that reserved, stuffy exterior, Mark has quite a healthy sense of humour. Looking forward to peeling away his layers. Hmmm…

As time trickled by, my restlessness and hinting grew less and less subtle. Mark must have noticed.

"Tom…Roger, I don't mean to be rude, but I do believe that Bridget is suggesting that she would like to be alone with me." He winked devilishly as I flushed with embarrassment. "So if you would excuse us…" He signaled for the bill and grabbed my coat to assist me into it.

"Of course," Tom responded wryly. "Who are we to stand in the way of our Bridget's needs. You kids go have fun now. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Saucy poof. He and Roger hoisted their glasses into the air as Mark and I headed for the door. Turned back one last time to exchange a knowing glance with Tom.

---

Despite the disappointment of missing the film, Mark was yet again the tiger that I had come to expect and enjoy.

…He pressed his hard body against mine…His skillful hands caressing, stroking, tickling…His soft, moist kisses meandering over the peaks, valleys, and crevices of my neck and chest like an experienced explorer on a mission… pulling at my clothes in effort to expose more of my eager, willing body to his manly urges. He strained against those urges to prolong our pleasure for as long as he could until the moment came when he could hold it no longer. And with a rather vocal shudder he collapsed to the mattress.

Afterward, we laid in each other's arms. He dozed in an out of sleepy consciousness, while I traced light circles across his chest. Wanted him to wake up and talk to me about his day; we'd only talked about mine. Didn't just want to be what my colleagues had accused me of being: a horridly dressed, easy lay.

"Mark…" Lifted my face from his chest. "I'm sorry that you were late this morning. Did you have a good day?"

"Yes I did." He lazily kissed the top of my head. "It was very productive." He offered nothing further.

"Which foreign ministers were at your meeting?"

"Well, aside from Margaret Beckett of course, Condoleezza Rice, Philippe Douste-Blazy, Massimo D'Alema,…"

"Condoleezza Rice?"

"Yes, the US Secretary of State."

"I know who she is."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Mark, do you think she's pretty?"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Do you think she's pretty?"

"I don't know…Uh, I suppose she's an attractive woman…in a conservatively-dressed, intelligent sort of way."

"Why did you have to think about it before you answered?"

"I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"Bridget please…let's just go to sleep. I have an early morning and I can't be late again." He kissed my forehead, plumped his pillow, and rolled away.

"Mark?"

"Right. 13 seconds." He rolled onto his back with a sigh.

"Do you think I'm intelligent?"

"Of course I do."

"Are you being ironic?"

"Bridget," he propped himself onto one elbow, exposing his bare chest from beneath the fallen sheet. "You are a brilliant and engaging journalist with moxie that rivals none other." His response sounded rehearsed, as if I were to ask him the same question months from now, he'd answer in exactly the same manner, word for word.

"Do you want to sleep with her?"

"Who?"

"Condoleezza Rice."

"No Bridget! I do not want to sleep with Condoleezza Rice!"

"Well, why not?"

"Because I'm already sleeping with you."

"Mark Darcy that is not funny!" Crossed my arms over my chest.

"Darling, listen to me." He reached up and caressed my cheek. "You are the only beautiful, intelligent woman that I want to sleep with…I promise you. Now can we stop this nonsense and go to sleep?" I smiled and he rolled away so that his back was to me again.

"Did she ask you to call her Condi?"

"Go to sleep Bridget."