Shadows of the Past

by Frances Housden

  “So it’s you who make sure we don’t infringe on someone’s copyright or spend a million dollars inventing something that’s already out on the market. Somehow I had the impression that you’d met Randy through working on reception at Tech-Re-Search.”

  “No, I was called to reception since he wanted to hand over the envelope of data personally.” She felt Franc’s hand tighten round hers.

  “Understandable. We don’t just want anyone getting their hands on our data. That’s why I was surprised you knew about our project.” He hesitated then asked, “You don’t discuss our research with Randy?”

  Maria shook her head. So far, her only contact with Randy had been that day when he’d said he’d driven into the city specially to deliver the data to her at the research library. Heaven only knows what she’d done to spark off his need to stalk her.

  “Good. This project is my baby, my idea. The research you’re doing has saved us a lot of time but you understand, with its military applications, secrecy is vital.” He huffed out a breath. “But of course you do. The only reason Tech-Re-Search got the contract was because of its security clearance.”

  “I hope your project succeeds.” From the light in his eyes, and the determined thrust of his chin, she couldn’t imagine him failing.

  “You were right. This isn’t the place to discuss it. One day, you can come see what we’ve done for yourself.”

  “I’d like that.” Suddenly her mind was grasping at straws. Hoping her fairy tale wouldn’t end with the ball. She had no illusions about forever, but even a little while would be nice.

  Better than nice. Wonderful.

  She allowed herself to hope.

  Tomorrow, she’d start a new chapter in her personal journal.

  Franc pushed out a long whisper of air. Spaced each breath, to slow his heart rate. He wanted her to himself away from the crowded dance floor. “Let’s go out to the courtyard and dance in the dark. The stars are out. Do you know where to find the Southern Cross?” Next moment he heard Brent announce, “Last dance, folks, make the most of it.”

  “I should have thought of it earlier.” Disappointment rocked him with intensity as he anticipated her departure. But he’d no time for soul-searching as nearly everyone squeezed onto the floor and space was at a premium.

  The lights went out.

  With Maria in his arms he stayed in the middle of the crowd, swaying slowly, feet barely moving. The slippery texture of her dress flowed like water under his palm. He let them drift lower until they slipped round the soft swell of her buttocks. He wanted to shape her curves with his hands, to pull her closer and rock her in the cradle of his hips.

  He consoled himself with drinking in her perfume, brushing his cheek against the tiny whispers of curls escaping round her hairline. He had an ache in his groin hard enough to make a grown man cry. His teeth clamped down on a groan as her palms flattened against his chest and her head rested on them. Close, but not close enough.

  He hoped the dance would never end. They circled one tiny spot on the floor in what felt like a dream, and in the dark no one existed but the two of them. His hard flesh throbbed and flexed unbearably against her hip. He wanted more than this tease. He wanted to be inside her, thrusting deep and fast till they both screamed their release.

  His moan dampened her skin where the curve of her neck met jaw. Damn, I’m thirty-four, too old for this, too old to be worrying about Maria knowing I want her. The hell with it! His palms shivered over the silky fabric and curved round her slender shape, drawing her tight against his aching need just as the music stopped.

  The song finished, ending the dance, ending the closeness. Maria didn’t move, couldn’t move. A fire blazed inside her, leaping the barrier of clothing to meld her to him. Could he feel her shake? If he moved would she fall? She hid behind closed eyes. It didn’t mask the sound of people wishing each other Happy Christmas or good-night. Franc’s lips skimmed her forehead as his hands loosened their grip, leaving her bereft.

  “Merry Christmas, Maria,” he whispered.

  It was over. Time to go home.

  The gruff timbre of his voice echoed in her tremors. Tilting her chin with one large hand, he sought an answer in her eyes. The pad of his thumb stroked her bottom lip and released a sigh. In that instant she changed her mind about the color of his eyes. Not bitter chocolate, bittersweet. Like the moment binding them. She wanted to remember this. She would remember this. Always.

  The last time she expected she would see him. Tears blurred her vision. His face floated above hers like a mirage, until his mouth slanted and he took hers, blinding her with his nearness, his kiss, until only touch and sensation remained.

  God! She tasted sweet; Franc had known she would. Her lips parted on a sigh and his tongue swept past them for a taste of the honey he knew lay within. Almost tentatively her tongue touched his and he felt her hands tremble and flutter like butterflies across his chest. It was more erotic than if she’d answered his passion with one of equal demand.

  “Stay with me tonight. My apartment’s just next door.” The words grated from his throat as emotion took over. For one second he wished he hadn’t said them. But only one.

  As the lights came on she pulled away, her eyes huge, more violet than brown. They flicked from side to side, grounding her in the present. The party was over.

  “No!”

  Franc hesitated in mid-farewell-wave to a departing group. What did she mean, no? She couldn’t mean it. Did she think he didn’t know she wanted him as much as he wanted her?

  “’t have done that,” she said quietly.

  Maria backed away, breaking the contact, taking her heat. Franc shivered. “Why?”

  “We’ve had this evening. Why spoil it?”

  “We could have tonight and no one would be spoiled but you. Let me spoil you.”

  His breath stirred long tendrils of her hair against her cheeks. She pushed them behind her ear, remembering how they’d gotten that way. Franc’s fingers forking through her hair as he held her head still. “I need to call a cab.”

  She needed to get out of here before she did something stupid.

  “I don’t mind driving you home.”

  “No. I insist. It’s better this way. Let me take a cab.”

  “All right. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll call one.”

  Maria turned in her seat and watched out the back window of the cab, and without resorting to her glasses, she saw his tall figure soon blend into the shadows.

  Franc Jellic was almost irresistible. And that six-letter word, almost, was her saving grace. She’d never met a man like him. Never been tempted until now, though she had been curious about her sexuality.

  For a moment the answer to the puzzle had been within her grasp, until she banged into a wall of reality and the image of what might have been shattered as she hit. To bare her body, her scars would mean explanations. Explanations she couldn’t give him. Explanations that wouldn’t help her find the way out of the maze left by her abduction.

  A sigh racked her body. She hugged herself to stop the tremors and tried to look on the bright side.

  One thing for sure, she’d learned a lesson tonight. Learned how easily one could become trapped, brought to one’s knees by a glance, both tender and wild at once. A glance that promised to teach all she wanted to know as it sent her body into meltdown and her heart into overdrive.

  Yes, curiosity was all it would take. His kiss…how would it feel in the secret places where her body had throbbed as they danced? Would it ease the ache or sharpen the pain?

  Christmas Eve had arrived with a bang. Heat sizzled in puddles of tar on the road and sunburned leaf tips spangled trees meant for the northern hemisphere with bronze. The only cloud in the sky was the leaden one hovering over Maria’s head advertising her failure.

  She mulled over her problems as she stood at the top of the driveway, waving to Tess and Linda, who she shared the villa with. “Bye, have a happy Christmas and
a lovely holiday,” she called, her thoughts nothing to do with the joys of the season. Soon she, too, would be hitting the road back to the bosom of her family.

  Bosom being the appropriate word. There would be hugs all round. Papa and Mamma squeezed so tight, sometimes she could hardly breathe. It was their way of showing they loved her.

  The word suffocat reared its head. Flushing, she pushed the thoughts away. Of course they were protective of her. They still tended to see her as the teenager who’d been abducted.

  It was a weird situation. She couldn’t remember anything. Yet it was impossible to forget the incident. Her family’s concern kept it in the forefront of her mind.

  Yes, incident was a better word.

  It was real, yet unreal. A story told from someone else’s point of view. Lately, she’d begun to waken in the dead of night in a panic from nightmares. It dated from the moment she realized someone was shadowing her footsteps.

  A faint ping sounded at the back of her mind like the first warning note of an alarm. The impression sent her spinning round to scan the front garden and faded just as quickly when she saw the old man next door raking the pebbles on his driveway. Being unable to carry through last night’s plans had left her jumpy, knowing Randy Searle was still on the loose, didn’t realize she was on to him or that she knew his name.

  Alone in the house, she cleared the festive lunch table where they’d exchanged gifts. The other girls had protested, but saw her logic, conceding her journey home was less lengthy than the ones facing them.

  She pushed her glasses up on her nose, her spare pair. On her way home this afternoon she’d stop by the restaurant to see if her others had been found where she’d placed them on the table. But before she left, since she had plenty of time, she’d walk around to the shop next to Northcote Point cinema and buy her mother a box of the handmade chocolates she loved.

  As she washed up, flashes of memory from the night before filled her thoughts. Could any woman ever forget her first real taste of romance?

  The trick would be to make sure no memories of Randy Searle were allowed to taint it. Thank heavens she’d made time to write it all down in her journal before sleep overtook her.

  Franc wrote his signature on the check with a flourish. Stanhope’s annual Christmas party didn’t come cheaply, but it was worth it for the goodwill and camaraderie it engendered in the staff. He passed the check over the tall, narrow desk to the manager. “How much of this covers breakages?”

  Paul Start, the manager of The Point restaurant, grinned. “You got off lightly, no more than two or three glasses.” Always one for an eye to business, Paul winked. “Come back next year. You’re the kind of customer we like.”

  Just as astute, Franc took his receipt, glanced at the figures again and said, “Next time, I’ll ask for a discount.”

  Paul’s eyes narrowed, calculated. “Do that. Next time, you might get one. But for now, how about having lunch? On the house.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  He should have known that eating lunch in almost the exact spot he’d held Maria in his arms wouldn’t aid his digestion.

  He looked up at the entrance and relived his reactions of the night before when he’d watched her walk through it.

  He’d likened her to a goddess, and hen his ardor had carried him away, she’d spurned him. Didn’t mean he was going to give up or take his rejection as absolute.

  There had to be a way.

  No sooner thought than found.

  Paul slid into the seat opposite. “I forgot to hand over these.” He twisted fragile-looking rimless glasses in his fingers so they caught the light. “One of the cleaners found them at the table by the potted palm.”

  Franc recalled how her pupils had been huge as they turned the lights on at the end of the dance. Could the look that had enchanted him been slightly myopic?

  Taking the glasses from Paul, he slid them into the pocket of his thin chambray shirt. “Thanks, Paul. I’m sure I know who these belong to.”

  Mind made up, he tossed his napkin onto his plate and pushed his chair away from the table. “Her place is on my way, so I’ll drop them off.” He’d written the address down when he’d called her cab, though he’d been sure it was one he wouldn’t forget.

  “Good idea. I couldn’t see a thing through them, so she’s probably lost without them.” Paul stood up, saying conversationally, “So where are you off to this afternoon?”

  Knowing that Paul had often commented on his many lonely dinners, Franc just tapped his pocket. “Anywhere that takes me past where she lives.”

  Maria couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken the car out. Working in the city, she traveled mainly by bus. It was convenient and less hair-raising than driving over the Auckland Harbour Bridge each morning and evening.

  She unlocked the car and slid inside, placing her purse on the passenger seat along with the chocolates she’d just bought. If she started the car, she could leave it running while she went in to change out of her lilac crop top and shorts.

  Key in the ignition, she turned it, pressing down on the accelerator at the same time. The starter engine turned over a few times then faded away. She turned the key again with less success than before.

  Nerves tightening, aware there was no one she could ask for help, she gripped the key in a death lock. The third attempt ended in a couple of clicks.

  She recognized that sound, it meant the battery was dead or the connection was loose. Her brothers were always on at her to turn over the engine occasionally between her visits home. Now she wished she’d taken their advice. In contrast to her vision, her hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

  In no time at all, she’d popped the hood and stood blinking into its dark depths. The battery was easily recognized. She wiggled the connection. It seemed nice and tight apart from the green gunk sprouting from under the plastic cover.

  Shifting her exploration to the trunk, she grabbed the tool kit and unrolled it on the concrete. The huge screwdriver looked handy, so she grabbed it.

  As she stood, she felt the back of her neck tingle as if someone had laid a cold hand on her nape. Her stomach plummeted like a bird in freefall while the rest of her was shocked into immobility.

  e was here.

  As she began to take stock, Maria wrapped her hand round the metal shaft of the screwdriver, holding it like a club as she took a deep breath then whirled around.

  The heavy frames on her old glasses slid down her nose as she spun. Great, now she could see nothing. She pushed the black frames higher on her nose with the back of an oil-smudged hand.

  Over the last month there’d been times when she’d balanced on the edge of panic. Since the first day she’d felt someone’s eyes on her, there had been other occasions with no one in sight when she knew he’d hidden to watch.

  Like now.

  The air bristled with static energy that prickled her skin as if a storm was brewing, but with not a cloud in the sky she knew that wasn’t the reason.

  On the edge of the garden, the bushes stirred between the villa she and her friends rented, and the one next door. She started to shake. Why had no one put in fences? They helped keep people out.

  Stop!

  This is what he wants. Don’t give him the satisfaction. A few deep breaths in out, in out, that’s it. Calm down and find the courage you took to the party last night. He can’t scare you if you don’t let him.

  The next-door neighbor’s cat, Mimzie, sauntered out of the bushes, tail high. It looked straight at her, as if to say, “It’s only me.”

  Only him. She wanted to believe that desperately.

  But the creepy sensation she got when she felt him watching her hadn’t gone. And to pretend that it had would be a cop-out.

  “Everything all right, Maria?”

  Her eyes lost their focus as her thoughts turned inward. Someone was walking up the driveway; he wore a white T-shirt and dark blue jeans. Not Randy, thank heaven. It was one of the young
guys from a house down the street. “My car won’t start…Tony, am I right?”

  He reached the top of the driveway and moved into the shade of the carport. One hand pushed a lock of straight surfer-blond hair from his eyes. His smile was cocky. “That’s me, Tony Cahill, the one and only. What happened? Wouldn’t that huge screwdriver scare the motor into submission?”

  “I thought the problem might be the battery leads. I was going to try tightening them up with this.” She waved the screwdriver at him. “Or if that didn’t work, take the wooden handle and knock off all this verdigris that’s growing out of it.” She turned around and looked at the engine.

  He was tall, which meant he had to duck to fit under the hood. “Let me have a look.” He moved in close, his shoulder brushing hers. “You’re right, it does look a bit of a mess.”

  Maria flinched as his arm snaked round her back. His arm sweated on her bare skin as his hand skimmed the underside of her breast and lingered before he reached under her arm for the screwdriver. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Maria was trapped, but she wouldn’t let go of the screwdriver, What if she needed it to defend herself? She elbowed him in the ribs“Creep! I think you’ve done quite enough. You can go now. Your kind of help I can do without.”

  Franc had parked on the road. He could see Maria and some lanky kid bending over the open hood of a car, arguing. Urgency lengthened his stride. “Is this a private tussle or can anyone join in?”

  The kid jerked his arm away from Maria and a huge screwdriver bounced off the chrome bumper of the outdated Ford and onto the concrete paving, where it lay humming like a tuning fork.

  Maria recovered quickly and literally threw herself into his arms. Not that he minded or needed reminding how she’d felt in his arms last night. “Franc! I thought you were never going to get here.”

  So they were into playacting. “Sorry, sweetheart, time got away from me.” He took a chance and stole a kiss.