by Amy Andrews
He’d chosen confrontation. It was time to lay their cards on the table.
Hamish knocked again. When she still didn’t answer he sighed and fished in his pocket for his keys. He’d have preferred to enter by invitation but if she wasn’t home it wasn’t going to happen. And, if nothing else, he needed his clothes for work tomorrow.
He inserted the key into the lock. He’d just grab his bag and go. Ring her later and see if they could make a time to talk. He entered the apartment and pulled the door shut behind him, the ghosts of a hundred memories trailing him as he traversed the short entrance alcove that opened into the living room.
‘Hamish?’
Her head and torso suddenly popped up from the couch and scared the living daylights out of him. Hamish clutched his chest to still his skyrocketing pulse. ‘Damn it, Lola.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I knocked but...’
It was then he noticed her red-rimmed eyes and her blotchy face in stark relief to the pallor of her skin. She looked...awful. Lost and scared and small. Like someone had knocked the stuffing out of her. Not the strong, feisty Lola he was used to.
Was this grief...over him? Over them?
And why was the thought as gratifying as it was horrifying? What the hell was wrong with him?
‘Lola?’ Hamish took a step towards her but stopped, unsure of how welcoming she’d be to his offer of solace. ‘Are you okay?’
Her short hysterical-sounding laugh did not allay his concerns. She shook her head, her curls barely shifting it was so slight. ‘Aunty May died.’
Her words dropped like stones into the fraught space between them. ‘What?’ Her aunt was dead?
He was at her side in three strides, their animosity forgotten as he sank down beside her, his hand sliding around her shoulder and pulling her to him. She didn’t argue or jerk away, just whimpered like a wounded animal and melted into his side.
He eased them back against the couch and her arm came around his stomach, her head falling to his shoulder. Hamish dropped his chin to her springy curls, shutting his eyes as he caught a whiff of his coconut shampoo in her hair.
‘You want to talk about it?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
So he just held her. Held her while her tears flowed, silently at first then louder, choking on her sobs, her shoulders shaking with the effort to restrain herself and failing. Eventually her sobs settled to hiccupping sighs and she was able to talk, to tell him what had happened.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Hamish murmured, still cradling her against him, his lips in her hair. He knew how much Lola’s great-aunt meant to her.
Lola nodded. ‘I thought she’d be around for ever, you know?’
‘Yeah.’ He dropped another kiss on her head. ‘I know.’
She seemed to collect herself then, pushing away from him slightly as she scrubbed at her face with her hands. ‘Sorry for crying all over you.’
‘Don’t.’ Hamish cupped her cheek, wiping at some moisture she’d missed. ‘I want to be here for you, Lola. You have to know that.’
He wanted to be here for her for ever. If she’d let him.
Emotion lurked in her big green eyes, waiting for another surge of grief. They slayed him, so big and bright with unshed tears.
So...damn sad.
‘Hamish.’ Her hand slid on top of his as their gazes locked. She absently rubbed her cheek into his palm and tiny charges of electricity travelled down his arm to his heart. From there it was a direct line to his groin.
Which made him feel like seven different kinds of deviant.
Traitorous body! This wasn’t about that. This was about something deeper and more profound.
Comfort. Not sex.
Yet the two seemed to have a habit of intertwining where they were concerned. Even now he could feel the threads reaching out between them, twisting together, drawing them nearer.
Her breathing roughened and Hamish responded in kind. A strange kind of tension settled over them, as if the world was holding its breath. Her eyes went from moisture bright to a rich, wanton glitter.
‘Lola.’
It was a warning as much for himself as for her. They couldn’t keep doing this, letting desire do their talking. She was grieving. And he wanted to give her more than a quick roll on the couch. They mustn’t let their hormones take over.
‘I missed you last night,’ she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
Apart from I love you she couldn’t have chosen better words to say to him, especially when they were full of ache and want and need. Her voice was husky and it crawled right inside his pants and stroked.
‘Lola.’
He was only a man. And he loved her.
She shifted then, moved closer, pressing all her curves back into him again as her mouth closed the gap between them. Their lips met and he was lost.
Gone. Swept away.
In her taste and her smell and the small little sounds of her satisfaction that filled his head and rushed through his veins like a shot of caffeine.
Hamish’s other hand curved around her face, sank into her hair as he kissed her back, his nose filling with the smell of her, his tongue tingling with the taste of her. She moaned and he half turned and their bodies aligned and he totally lost his mind.
He’d missed her too.
It was a crazy thing to admit. It had only been twenty-four hours but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, to stop wanting her, to stop wishing he’d just shut the hell up and not pushed for more.
It wasn’t fair that one woman had so much power but that was love, right? You laid yourself bare to one person. Laid yourself bare to their favour as well as their rejection.
‘God... Hamish...’
Her voice was thick with need as she slid her leg over the top of his and straddled him. She kissed along his neck and pulled at his shirt and he was drowning. Happily. Being sucked down into the depths of Lola’s passion, dying in her arms, every part of him aching to give her what she wanted. What she needed.
And to hell with what he wanted, what he needed.
But somewhere, something was fighting back. A single brain cell screaming at him to stop, stop, stop. To have some respect. For himself. And for Lola.
Groaning, Hamish wrenched his mouth away from her kiss, from her pull. ‘Wait.’ He shut his eyes and panted into her neck as her hands fell to his fly, her fingers not waiting one little bit. And he wanted her hand on him so damn bad.
‘Stop.’
He shifted, grasping for sanity, for clarity as he tipped her off his lap. Ignoring the almost animalistic moan from Lola, he pushed to his feet and strode to the opposite side of the room. Shoving his hand high up on the wall for support, Hamish battled to control the crazy rattle of his heart and the crazier rush of his libido.
‘I can’t.’
She made a noise that sounded like another sob and Hamish whipped around. He couldn’t do this if she started crying again.
She wasn’t. But she was annoyed.
‘I’m sorry.’ It seemed like the least he could say given the frustration bubbling in her gaze and how hard her chest rose and fell.
She rubbed a hand over her face as she exhaled in a noisy rush. ‘Hell, Hamish. I just...needed some comfort.’
‘Yeah.’ An ironic laugh rose in his throat but he choked it back. ‘That’s what we do, you and I, when we’re feeling emotional. We have sex. That’s the problem.’
‘Why is it a problem?’
Her casual dismissal was like the slow drip of poison in his veins, eating away at him. ‘Because we don’t talk, Lola. We just take our clothes off and let our bodies do the talking. And I need more than that now. We need to start using our mouths to communicate, not our bodies.’
She blinked at him like she couldn’t b
elieve what was coming out of his mouth. But he meant every word.
‘I love you. I want to be with you. I want to be in your life—part of your life—not just the person you turn to when you need some distraction between the sheets.’
Hamish broke off, his heartbeat flying in his chest. Was he making any sense? It all seemed totally jumbled inside his head.
‘You want me to help you with the funeral arrangements and repatriation of May and being there when you talk to your family and rocking you as you cry yourself to sleep tonight? I can do that. I want to do that. I want you to lean on me, Lola. I want it all.’
She looked at him helplessly and Hamish felt lower than a snake’s belly. Denying her didn’t give him any satisfaction. But it would be too easy to slip into their old routine. Find himself in the kind of relationship he didn’t want, and he couldn’t bear the thought. His insides shrivelled at the prospect.
He wanted to be all in. And if that wasn’t on the table then he needed to be all out.
‘I...can’t deal with this now, Hamish.’ She rose from the couch and paced to the open balcony door. The last rays of afternoon sunlight slanted inside, gilding her shape. ‘Can you please just go?’
Hamish nodded. He’d dumped a lot on her today, on top of the news about May. Which was an awful thing to do but, damn it, she drove him crazy. He wanted to be her person, not just a warm body with the right anatomical parts.
He sighed. ‘I’ll just grab my stuff and go. I’ll be at Grace’s until my plane leaves on the third.’
She nodded, her back erect. ‘Okay.’
Hamish waited but she didn’t turn around no matter how hard he willed it. ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow to check on you.’
She nodded again but didn’t say anything, a stiff, forlorn figure in the fading gold of the afternoon light. It was like a knife to his heart to walk away. But a wise man knew when to choose his battles and live to fight another day and he was going to fight for Lola.
Even if it meant playing the long game.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE APARTMENT WAS silent as Lola let herself in at almost ten thirty on New Year’s Eve. Her shift had finished at nine but with the road closures around Kirribilli because of the New Year celebrations, she’d had to take public transport to work. Which had been fine on the way to the hospital but on the return journey the buses had been loaded with families trying to get home after the early fireworks. Add to that the detours in place and the trip had been much longer than usual.
Throwing her bag and a bundle of mail on the coffee table, Lola used the remote to flick on the television. Every channel was showing New Year revelry in Sydney, from shots of the foreshores to the concert on the steps of the Opera House. She settled on one channel and headed for the kitchen.
Grabbing the fridge door, Lola paused as her gaze fell on May’s postcard. Her heart squeezed as she pulled it off and read it again, smiling at May’s inimitable style. It still punched her in the gut to think she was never going to get another postcard from her aunt to brighten her day and make her smile every time she saw it.
The last few days had been a flurry of activity, making the arrangements to repatriate her aunt’s body and coping with all the associated paperwork and legal requirements. Which had been a good thing. Something to keep Lola’s mind off Hamish and how much she missed having him around.
May’s body was expected back in Sydney in four days and Lola was travelling with her to Doongabi. May hadn’t made any specific funeral requests, just that she be cremated and that Lola scatter her ashes somewhere wild and exotic.
Lola didn’t think May would mind going home after all this time, especially knowing that her aunt had left out of propriety, not animosity. It wouldn’t be her final resting place, Lola would make sure of that, but funerals weren’t for the dead. They were for the living. And the town and the Fraser family wanted to be able to grieve her passing, even if it had been over fifty years since May had left.
Including Lola’s mother, who had been surprisingly helpful with all the arrangements and genuinely upset at May’s passing. Lola had always thought her mother had disliked her aunt for her gypsy ways and for seducing Lola to join the dark side, but her mother’s grief had been raw and humbling and had made Lola look at her mother in a different light.
She put the postcard back on the fridge with a sigh, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that May’s last written communication would stay right where it was for ever. Opening the door, Lola grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. She was going to sit on the balcony in the dark and watch the revellers whooping it up at the park across the road.
She was going to think about everything that had happened this past year. About May and her mother and going back to Doongabi. About the explosion at the night club and Wesley and Emma.
And Hamish.
From their first meeting on the bridge to him walking out of here the other day, rebuffing her need for comfort. She was going to wallow in all of it. Probably even cry over it a little.
But when the clock struck twelve, that was it. A new year. A clean slate. Looking forward. Not back. And there was a lot to look forward to. Seeing family again. A job that she loved. Her trip to Zimbabwe. And maybe it was time to take a sabbatical and do some more extensive travelling. Her aunt was gone, someone had to pick up her mantle.
Someone had to take May’s place.
Work would probably let her take a year off without pay. And even if they refused, she could quit. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get another job again on her return to Australia. She was highly skilled. She could go anywhere with a hospital and pick up a job.
From Sydney to some two-bit town way out past the black stump. Which brought her squarely back to Hamish.
And just how lonely she felt suddenly, her life stretching out in front of her, a series of intersecting roads and her walking down the middle. All by herself.
Lola had never felt lonely before. Serial travellers made friends wherever they went but were also happy with their own company. When had she stopped being happy with her own company?
Maybe it was to do with her aunt’s death? Knowing she was out there somewhere in Lola’s corner had counteracted any isolation Lola might have felt without May in her life. But deep down she knew it was Hamish—she’d only started feeling lonely since he’d come on the scene.
Damn the man.
To distract herself, Lola contemplated going out. Throwing on her red dress and getting herself dolled up and hitting Billi’s. She could probably still make it before the countdown. Flirt with some men, do some midnight kissing.
But the thought was depressing as all giddy-up. The truth was, she didn’t want to be with just anyone tonight, kiss just anyone. She wanted Hamish.
Lola scowled and stood up. It would pass.
It was just a break up-thing, the loss of the familiar. Which was why she didn’t do relationships. No relationships, no break-ups. No feeling like death warmed up on New Year’s Eve or any other night for that matter.
They were too different, she reminded herself. They wanted different things. It would never work.
She went and poured herself another glass of wine, picking up the mail off the coffee table as she passed. But she didn’t open it straight away, distracting herself instead with her phone and friends’ social media posts.
All round the world, it seemed, people were in varying stages of preparation for the New Year. Lots of overseas friends stared back at her from photos full of happy, smiling people, all having a great time together. She tried to smile too, to feel their joy, but she felt nothing except the heavy weight sitting on her chest.
It was grief, Lola understood that, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier.
She should have volunteered to work the night shift tonight instead of the late shift she’d filled in
for as at least it would have kept her mind on other things. Like how she and Hamish had requested this night off so they could sit on the foreshore together and watch the fireworks, show the country boy some real city magic.
The thought made her smile, which made her annoyed, and Lola grabbed for the mail. Maybe a few bills might help keep her mind off things until the fireworks went off and her slate was magically cleaned. She hadn’t checked the box since before Christmas so she had quite a stack to deal with.
Most of it was bumf from advertisers. There were three bills, though—it was the season for credit cards after all—and a letter from the local elected representative wishing his constituents all the best for the festive season.
And there was a postcard. From May.
Lola’s heart almost stopped for a moment before it sped up, racing crazily as tears scalded the backs of her eyes. It was of a snow-covered mountain, the peak swirled with clouds. The caption on the front read, ‘Beauty should be shared.’
On the flipside, May had written, ‘One of nature’s mighty erections.’ Then she’d drawn a little smiley face with a tongue hanging out. Lola burst out laughing and then she started to cry, the words blurring. Her aunt had signed off with, ‘Merry Christmas, Love, May.’
‘Oh, May,’ Lola whispered, turning the card over again to look at the picture, her heart heavy in her chest and breaking in two. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
The mountain stared back at her, and so did the words. ‘Beauty should be shared.’ May’s strange insistence from their Christmas Day phone call that Lola choose love over adventure, replayed in her head. ‘A gypsy caravan is big enough for two.’
Lola’s heart skipped a beat as the words from the postcard took on a deeper meaning. Beauty should be shared. Was her aunt reaching out from beyond the grave? The feeling that May had somehow known she wasn’t long for this world returned.
Suddenly Emma’s words joined the procession in Lola’s head.
‘Why shouldn’t I get to live my life fully? Like other people? To love like other people. To share my life, no matter how long it is, with someone else. Why should I restrict myself to a half-life?’