She moved away, the glide of the wheelchair smoothly skirting the furniture. Not that there was a great deal in the starkly black and white room. The dining setting, a couple of large couches facing the wide screen television, a coffee table or two and what looked to be a mechanical armchair similar to one his mother had in the nursing home to help her get up.
Waiting for him at the door, a towel bunched on her lap, he was reminded again of how different it was relating to someone in a wheelchair. He had a mate in the U.S. in a wheelchair, a brilliant researcher, but his was a fancy motorised thing that could raise and lower so he could bring himself up to the level of the conversation. Harriet seemed to spend a lot of time either staring at his midriff or craning her neck to look up at his face. “Doing anything special for your birthday?”
She reached over to press the up button for the lift. “Just dinner with Mum and Dad, I imagine. They might do a cake for morning tea at work.”
In a few weeks, she would be twenty-five. Still young, though she didn’t really act young, or dress it. He wondered what happened to all her flowy dresses and the pretty jewelled flowers she used to wear in her hair. “Did you get a big party for your twenty-first?” He’d gone with her to her cousin’s shindig, held at the Hilton in the city, only a couple of weeks before they broke up.
Turning to face him in the lift she shrugged. “No. It wasn’t worth it. As it turned out I was in hospital.”
“Why? Were you sick?” His heart did something weird at the thought of her in hospital again. Surely, she’d been through enough with the accident.
“Not sick. Just follow up surgery on my knees.”
“What sort of thing? Did something go wrong?”
“Just adding a few nuts and bolts. I doubt if I could get onto a plane without setting off the alarms, with all the metal in my legs.”
“Don’t you know?”
“No. I haven’t been anywhere to test it.”
“You were going to Noumea with your parents just after I last spoke to you.”
“It didn’t work out. I’ve been in Brisbane all this time.” She slanted a wry smile up at him. “If you’d been looking.”
No, he hadn’t been looking. Not the first few years. But she’d been on his mind. Imagining her on the beach, at university, at parties. Dancing. He followed her from the lift, distracted by the sparkle of the swimming pool under the clear night sky.
Scattered lamps on poles added a soft glow to the surrounds but the still water was lit totally from below, clear as crystal against the sky-blue tiles. She shed her robe on a lounger by the stairs into the pool and pulled herself up with the chrome railing, steadying herself. All his imaginings had been way off the mark. And another lie exposed. Had there been any truth at all that day?
Pounding his way up and down the pool he tried to drown out the conviction that she’d been lying for a very specific purpose. What had she said to Grae? Or had Grae said it? She couldn’t have joined him in the U.S. in a wheelchair. Even after she recovered from the initial trauma.
The job she had lined up near the university where his research gig was based depended on her being fit and active. And they’d both been right on one count. At the time, he wouldn’t have gone without her. Not if he’d known the extent of her injuries. They’d made promises, commitments.
He slowed at the tightness in his chest, needing oxygen. He’d given it all away so easily. Hadn’t even bothered to fight for it. Walking away from a girl tied to a hospital bed with horrific injuries. Even though she’d lied about it, he should have queried it. Not just taken his wounded ego to the other side of the world. No wonder she thought so little of him. Thought he wouldn’t have what it takes to be with someone in a wheelchair. Gasping for breath, he stood, waist deep in the shallow lap pool.
Harriet felt rather than heard Lucas stop swimming. The sudden cessation of the backwash as he ploughed past her, his powerful body cleaving the water at speeds she couldn’t hope to emulate even if her legs had been functional. She bobbed her head up when she reached the end of the pool only to find him a couple of meters away. His hair was slicked over his skull and beads of water trickled from it down his spine. Once upon a time she would have traced the flow of those droplets, right down to water level where they vanished in the plumber’s cleavage of his low-cut swimmers.
He looked every bit as good as she remembered and more, the broader shoulders accentuating the narrow waist and hips, the tight butt and the long, long legs illuminated by the inset lights on the floor of the pool. She sank a little lower as her breasts tingled, afraid of him seeing the betraying hardness of her nipples under the thin bikini top.
There were too many memories. That’s why she didn’t have this reaction with anyone else. Her body, evil traitor, wanted all that Lucas had once offered. Her mind knew it would never work. She’d seen it too often among her friends, even relatives. Relationships were hard enough without adding the complications of a disability.
While she watched, he raked his long fingers through his hair, dragging it away from his face as he turned to face her. From the front, he was even better. She had to stop herself counting his abs again. It’s not like they were hamsters and likely to multiply. The water swirled around his hips, but she could see the bulge, impressive despite the influence of the cold water.
She remembered that too, shivering as heat pooled low in her abdomen. He’d been the man who took her virginity, so of course her body felt a connection. There was nothing magical about it, whatever she believed at the time. She had to make herself believe it, or she was doomed.
His eyes gleamed vivid emerald in the reflected light from the pool and she watched, fascinated as the pupils dilated, blackness swamping the green. He’d seen her looking at him again. She licked her lips and something flared into life, his lids suddenly drooping, thick lashes shadowing his gaze. Desire?
“Are we finished?”
She nodded mutely, though it felt more like something was starting. She hadn’t quite made it to her usual twenty laps but tonight was different. She edged her way to the steps, but he beat her there, his long stride taking him out of the water with ease. Standing on the second top step he turned and stretched out his hands. “Let me help.”
Harriet stood at the bottom of the steps, her body and mind at war. It was just an offer to help. But if she touched him, the powder keg of her body’s reactions would explode. She ached to touch him, but not just his hands. Could she stop herself, once she felt that first contact? How had she come to this? A couple of weeks ago she’d been congratulating herself on how well she was coping. Smug in her body’s indifference to that side of life. Envisaging a future without a man, children, and physical passion.
Straining for first contact, her body won the battle. Her hands reached up, glided over his palms to grasp his wrist for better purchase. Long fingers wrapped around her forearms, a jellyfish burn on her skin, searing through the damp outer flesh to heat the blood in her veins to boiling point. She saw him stare at her breasts, feeling the scalding heat translate into a rosy blush that travelled from her chest to envelop her whole body. Perspiration dampened her upper lip and she ran her tongue over it, tasting the salt.
“Have you been with anyone since the accident?” He bit his bottom lip, as if he wanted to bite back the words. Too late. It was out there. Blunt as ever. That hadn’t changed.
His voice was rough, urgent and she cringed. Oh help. Was she so transparent? She wanted to sink back into the water and drown but his hands held her, forcing her to stay, unable to escape from his probing look.
She twisted in his hold, trying to match his stare. “If this is where we play the ‘I’ve had more lovers than you,’ game I’m conceding defeat. You win.”
Sheer surprise must have aided her because his grip loosened, allowing her to drop back into the pool. She’d turn into a prune before she attempted to get past him.
“Hold on a minute.”
Strong arms scooped her up, dragging her
back to the stairs. A muscular forearm made a rigid bar under her breasts and his other hand splayed across her stomach, pulling her against his body, dropping them both back onto the steps. Heat flared again as the curve of her bottom came in contact with his erection. It had to be memory for him too. He couldn’t want her now.
All skin and muscle and breakable, useless legs. No way could she wrap them around his waist as he entered her, holding him tight like she’d done that last night together. Their first and last time. Forget kneeling over his body, on the floor in front of him as she…
His hand cupped her mound over the bikini bottoms to drag her onto his lap and she bucked, trying to get away from the sensory overload but it only ground her buttocks against him.
“Sh..ugar. Stop doing that. Geeze, Harry.”
She stilled immediately at the raw tone. “Let me go, then. What are you doing?” His hand moved away, the fresh contact with the water chilling the fabric against her sensitive skin.
“Trying to hold a conversation. And don’t go into shock. I told you I’ve been practicing.”
She wondered who with and pushed the thought away. It was too painful. “What are we supposed to talk about? I’m not comparing notes.”
“That’s not what I meant. No-one wins if that’s the way the game is played.”
“Why else would you ask?”
“I’m making a mess of this. As usual. I wanted to ask…what I meant was…can you? Did the accident…effect more than your legs.”
She sank into his lap, shocked and more than a little moved. He sounded like he cared. Why would it matter to him? The hard length of him still pressed between the cheeks of her bottom. Was he going to offer it? As some kind of compensation?
“Technically I’m fine…with that side of things. It’s just with my legs. Awkward, much. Who would want to?”
“So, even though you can, there’s been no-one?”
Why did he sound so pleased? Some kind of man thing where he staked his claim, left the flag flying and then went off to new discoveries with the assumption that his conquered lands would remain his even if he didn’t want them? Although, the twitch from his erection suggested he wouldn’t be averse to revisiting.
Pride came to her rescue. Belatedly. “It’s none of your business.” A little curt but what did he expect. Hopefully he wouldn’t feel the urge to share details of his last seven years.
He stiffened, his arm tight across her midriff. A whisper of warm breath trickled across her cheek. Her skin prickled, and heat pooled low in her gut.
“I’m going to kiss you, Harry, speak now or forever hold your peace.” She was lost as his mouth claimed hers, his tongue sweeping away any resistance as it savoured her lips, delving deeper to dance with hers, tasting of chlorine, of him and the sorrows born of years apart. She could taste the sadness, salt amidst the sweet, a remembered surge of timeless ecstasy, a shattering of her soul that breeched the carefully built barriers in waves of pleasure mixed with tears.
Tears that Lucas kissed away, licking the moisture from the corners of her mouth. “Enough talk.”
The irony of his rueful statement triggered a bubble of something. Happiness? Had she forgotten happiness? No, she was happy at work. She enjoyed a joke and could laugh on demand. But this, this was more like…joy. She laughed, a wobbly sound that sounded odd. Had she lost the capacity to laugh simply for the sake of it? Her memory failed her. How did you tell the difference? When you’d been living a lie for so long.
5
He couldn’t be sure at first if it were Harriet trembling or his own reaction that caused the surface of the water to ripple out from their linked bodies. Curled into him, she shivered convulsively so he carefully adjusted his hold and lifted her from the water. He’d come close to the edge himself, his legs were not that great, but she was such a lightweight, he hardly noticed. Her breath cooled his collarbone, still wet from her hair.
“Do I put you straight into the chair or do you need to stand up to dry yourself?”
“If you let me stand, I’ll put my robe on before I sit down. Then I can dry my legs.”
The huskiness of her voice told the tale and the flush across her cheekbones when he finally caught a glimpse of her face caught at his throat. Embarrassment or anger? Either way he could be in trouble. He helped her with the coat and eased her down onto her wheelchair.
“Thanks. Could you pass me the towel?”
He shook his head, smiling, “Let me do it.” He squatted in front of her, resting on one knee. “Please.”
She returned his gaze, her brows drawn together. “Why?”
“I want to.” He gently wrapped the towel around her calf. “Tell me if I’m doing anything wrong.”
Dragging his eyes away from the puzzled expression on her face, he dried her legs carefully, patting the skin revealed by the cut-outs of the braces. He could see scarring above and below the moulded supports and a glimpse of ugly puckered scars across each of her exposed knees. He would have to persuade her to let him see them properly. Now he knew more of what she’d been through, he needed to understand, to see the extent of the damage.
With a final pat of her foot he looked up at her, relieved to see the angry flush had faded a little. “How’s that?”
“Fine. Better than I usually do. I have trouble reaching between my toes.” She frowned as she wiggled the toes in question and he tweaked one with a broad grin, to be rewarded with a soft chuckle. “Stirrer.”
He stood and reached for his own towel. “Shall we go eat?”
“Yes, please. I’m famished.” She blushed at his knowing look and he silently breathed a sigh of relief. One hurdle crossed. It could have ruined everything, but so far so good. He hadn’t thought it through when he’d held her, touched her. The feel of her in his arms had blown his mind. So much so he’d even forgotten that long-ago conversation where she’d broken everything he’d thought they had. Even now, he wasn’t sure if even that betrayal couldn’t be explained away. Because if everything she’d said that day was true, she wouldn’t have responded to his lovemaking.
He would have liked to follow her into the master suite, to see how she handled changing. Instead he returned to her spare bedroom and swiftly dressed so he could get started on the meal. By the time she returned, wearing an oversized pink T-shirt dress that came halfway down her thighs he already had the onions and mince browning and a large pot of water on the gas cook-top.
She gathered cutlery and plates, balancing them on her lap. “Would you like to eat on the balcony?”
“Sure thing.”
“You sounded very American when you said that.”
“I was there nearly six years and it’s an easy accent to pick up.”
“I wish…” She turned away to set the glass topped table on the balcony and he watched her manoeuvre around the small space with elegant precision. He wished she’d come too. Had been angry with her for so long, for staying behind. She would have loved the house at Malibu, overlooking the beach. Plenty of room for her to get around and mostly accessible.
“How long were you in hospital?”
Her head jerked up from arranging the cutlery. “Eight months.”
In an era where people were being kicked out two days after major surgery, it didn’t sound probable. “All at once or were you back and forth for follow up surgery?”
Coming back inside she gathered up the wine glasses. “Eight months initially, although some of that was in rehab. The follow ups were only a few days each time and some day-surgery.”
“How many times?”
“A few. I don’t remember.”
Or don’t want to tell. He turned away to pick up a clean spoon. “Do you want to taste the Bolognese?”
After a momentary hesitation, she approached, placing the wheelchair at a slight angle to bring her closer and he held the spoon to her lips. This was an old routine and he wondered if she would play along.
Licking her lips, she smiled, and it wa
s the old smile he remembered. “It tastes the same.”
“A fahmilee recipee brought over from Eetaly by my Grandmama.” She giggled at his atrocious Italian accent and he put out his hand to swipe a smidgen of sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb, holding it up so she could see. “Waste not, want not.”
Obediently she opened her mouth and he dipped his thumb into the warmth, her lips closing just above the knuckle. Her tongue wrapped around the tip, cleaning it of the sauce and he drew a sharp breath at the erotic vision of her gazing up at him while sucking on his thumb. He shifted uncomfortably as blood surged south again. They’d been young and inexperienced when they first met. Harriet had been just a kid. They’d thought they had all the time in the world to learn each other.
Reluctantly he withdrew his thumb, bringing it to his own mouth, wanting to taste her. With a low exclamation, Harriet swivelled away, opening the fridge. “What shall we drink? I have red or white if you want wine.”
“Red would be better with Bolognese.”
She closed the fridge and vanished down the hallway and he turned back to check the spaghetti. He knew the decision he’d made was the right one. It was Harriet’s reaction he wasn’t sure about. No matter what she believed about his lack of staying power, he wanted to take a chance. The strong physical pull appeared to be the only weak spot in her armour. He could work with that. It was a known factor.
For a man who preferred a trial by numbers approach, letting his body do the talking had its drawbacks. With Harriet, nothing ever worked the way he expected. It had been a major part of her attraction. The fairy queen and the numbers geek. However unlikely, it had worked until the accident. He’d never made the same connection with anyone before or since.
Settled on the balcony, wine on the table and plates piled high with the spaghetti Bolognese, he took a moment to admire the view. “I see why you like it.” He prodded at his plate with the cutlery, suddenly nervous. “The views from my place are nearly as good. It needs a lot of work.” He glanced over at Harriet in her wheelchair. More than he initially thought. “I’m thinking of putting a lap pool downstairs. It’s the one thing I miss from my apartment building.”
Tell Me No Lies Page 6