by Lyn Denison
“Thanks for letting me come visit you,” she added politely.
Crys chuckled. “You’re welcome any time, even if your mother did orchestrate this visit.”
“Trying to distract Mum when she’s in full stride is as impossible as it always was.” Mel shrugged lightly. “It was easier to go with the flow. But Mum was right. It’s lovely countryside down here, and it is great to see you again.”
Crys inclined her head. “Likewise. So, come on around the front of the house and admire my view.”
Mel walked with Crys and the dog along the side of the house and up the few steps to the covered veranda.
Crys’s house was set low and constructed of roughly hewn brick, giving it an aura of age. The building was on the crest of the hill, and wide verandas ran around the entire house, taking advantage of its three-hundred-sixty-degree view.
The back afforded a view of rolling hills while the front overlooked a low, wide valley with a tree-lined river at the bottom that rose to rolling hills again. Through a break in one group of trees Mel could see the road she’d just driven along, and there was the blue bridge she’d crossed.
Also through the trees was the roof of the other small house below, closer to the road, the one Mel had passed as she drove up the hill. It was nice to know Crys’s house wasn’t completely isolated.
“This is a fantastic position,” she said, impressed.
“I think so.” Crys smiled. “I had this built three years ago when I sold off the other house and some of the land.”
“That house down there I can just see through the trees?” Mel asked.
“Yes. You would have passed it on the way up the hill. It was the original house on the property, and we lived there for years. But I felt this was the prime position for the house.” She shrugged. “I sold the old house and five acres and lived in the trailer out by the shed while this house was being built.”
“You lived in that small trailer I saw? But it’s smaller than my first flat.”
“I did. For about six months. And it’s called compact.” Crys laughed softly at Mel’s expression. “Now where’s your adventurous spirit?”
Mel grinned reluctantly. “I guess it could have been fun.”
“It was. But, quite frankly, I have to admit I was glad to move in here and spread out again. Come on inside and I’ll show you your room.”
Mel followed Crys through a pair of French doors and across the polished wood floor of the living room. With Crys leading the way Mel found her gaze drawn to Crys, the back of her dark head, her broad shoulders, narrow waist, and the fullness of her hips in her faded jeans.
Mel swallowed and made herself look around the room at the comfortable-looking lounge arranged around the brick fireplace. Bright scatter rugs made the room seem homey and welcoming.
“This is the living room. Obviously.” Crys gave Mel a quick smile over her shoulder as she opened the door that led into a wide hallway.
“The house has three bedrooms, but I use one as a study.” She indicated a small room on her left. “It has good natural light so if you like you can use it if you want to do some of your own work. My room’s at the end there, and this is yours. The bathroom’s across the hall next to the study.”
The room Crys showed Mel into was light and airy and held a double bed covered by a bright crocheted spread in a rainbow of colors. A small chest of drawers was on one side of the bed, and Crys crossed the room to slide open a large, built-in cupboard.
“Hanging space here and drawers over there,” she said easily.
Mel walked over to the French doors that opened out onto the veranda. “Here’s that wonderful view again.” She turned. “Wow! You can lie in bed and watch the sun come up over the mountains. Is the view exclusively for visitors, or do you have the same outlook from your room, too?”
“Yes, I have it too. I designed the house specifically to take advantage of the views. We have some impressive sunsets sometimes.”
“It’s a great place, Crys,” Mel said sincerely.
“Thanks.” Crys smiled and glanced at her wristwatch. “Well, I was planning on having dinner in about an hour. How does that sound?”
“I’m ready whenever you are.” Mel swallowed and continued quickly. “I’ll just go out to the car and get my stuff. I stopped off for a surf at Burleigh on the way down and I’m all salty, so maybe I’ve got time for a quick shower.”
“Sure. I’ll give you a hand with your bags.”
“One bag.” Mel held up her finger. “Oh, and my drawing case. I’m traveling light.”
Crys laughed, and Mel followed her out to the car. Rags had raced around the house and bounded up to Mel as she walked outside. She paused gingerly, but he only sniffed her interestedly.
“He doesn’t bite,” Crys assured her. “At least, not invited guests.”
Mel extended her hand slowly, and Rags sat down while she rubbed his ears.
“If he was a cat he’d be purring.” Crys smiled at the dog. “You old softie, Rags.” She looked back at Mel. “Now, if you like you can put your car in the shed over there. There’s plenty of room and it will be under cover,” she suggested. Mel opened the door and slid behind the wheel.
Rags stood up and gave a whine, almost as though he was begging Mel not to leave.
“Looks like you’ve won a heart,” Crys said lightly.
Mel made a face. “That’s me, a real Pied Piper when it comes to dogs and kids.”
“Not a bad representation. They say if dogs and kids like you, you can’t be all bad.”
Mel twirled an imaginary mustache and started the car.
Crys followed her up to the shed, the dog tagging along, and she showed Mel where to park the BMW.
“Nice car,” she said, “and beautiful finish.” She ran her hand over the maroon duco as Mel climbed out.
“Well, it’s eye-catching,” Mel agreed as she opened the trunk. “Actually, I was thinking I might sell it and get something a little less ostentatious.”
“That would be a shame.” Crys sighed. “I’ve always wanted a car like this.”
“You have?” Mel raised her eyebrows. “Well, it just so happens I know where you can get one.” She grinned and pointed to the BMW. “One careful owner, a woman loved by dogs and kids, who only drove it to church on Sundays.”
Crys laughed. “I wish I could afford it.”
Mel swung her bag out of the trunk and put it down on the floor. “Next best thing. You can drive it while I’m here.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Oh, I think I can trust you.”
There was suddenly an imperceptible tension in the air between them, and Mel turned back to the car and collected her drawing case. Crys stepped forward and picked up Mel’s bag. Mel started to protest.
“It’s okay. I can manage one small bag,” Crys told her. “And you were right, you do travel light.”
Mel locked the car and they walked back toward the house. Dusk was settling over the valley, and deepening shadows added a new dimension to the view.
Mel slid a sideways glance at the other woman as they walked along. Crys stopped every so often to toss a stick for the dog, who came panting back with it.
Crys looked…looked what? Mel asked herself. Healthy. Wholesome. Vibrant. She barely seemed any older than the Crys Mel remembered from her adolescence. Her dark hair was a little shorter and perhaps there were a few flecks of gray showing at her temples, but it was as though the years between had never been.
And Mel was shocked at how familiar the other woman was to her. She remembered the soft curve of her cheek, the nose Crys had always thought was too small for her face, her dark eyes fringed by long lashes, and her full, almost sensual mouth.
Mel shivered and stumbled, making herself concentrate on the pathway back to the house. Of course she would remember Crys well, she reassured herself. Hadn’t she known her since she was a child?
Oh, yes, jibed an inner voice. You’
ve only been here ten minutes and you’re allowing yourself to feel, to think inappropriate thoughts about the other woman. Not the best of starts, Mel, she chastised herself as she followed Crys inside.
“I’ve put some fresh towels in the bathroom,” Crys was saying easily as she set Mel’s bag in Mel’s room. “Just let me know if there’s anything else you need. I’ll go see to dinner.”
Mel thanked her, and Crys left. On her own again, Mel let the breath she seemed to have been holding escape from her lungs. Well, they’d got over their first meeting and everything seemed to be going reasonably okay, she decided. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as awkward as Mel had imagined it would be.
She dug into her bag for fresh underclothes, clean jeans, and a light sweater. Since the sun had slipped behind the hills, Mel could feel the air grow cooler.
In the bathroom she peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower recess. The warm spray felt divine, and she began to soap her body, washing off the salty residue left by the ocean.
Crys had set out a couple of different cakes of soap, and Mel had chosen what looked like a block of natural soap that had a faint scent of vanilla.
“Just let me know if there’s anything else you need,” Crys had said. Mel sighed. Crys had provided everything. Towels. Shampoo. Soaps.
Mel paused as she ran the foaming soap over her breast, her stomach, and she shivered again. Suddenly she imagined Crys joining her in the shower cubicle, her body moving slowly closer until her naked breasts, her stomach, her thighs, pressed against Mel’s. And she felt a long-dormant stirring between her legs.
Mel moaned softly. What was wrong with her? She didn’t usually go in for such vivid fantasizing.
And in the months since Terry had left her, Mel had felt as though all her senses, her feelings, had frozen. Oh, she’d been going through the motions of living, existing on a superficial level. But deep down, way inside her, she’d felt as though she’d ceased to feel anything. Even thinking of Terry and their love-making had left Mel vaguely dissociated.
Now here she was suddenly all hot and bothered about Crys Hewitt. And Crys’s body.
It was the warm water when she was feeling cool, she told herself, and began to vigorously wash herself, adding some cold water to the shower to rinse off the suds. Cold water to douse her hot thoughts.
She grimaced. Crys certainly still had all the feminine curves in the right places, and she moved with a lithe, sensual grace that Mel didn’t know she’d remembered until she’d seen the other woman again.
Closing her eyes, Mel let the water cascade over her. What would Crys say if Mel admitted her fantasies? She’d tell Mel to pack her bag and leave, that’s what she’d say, Mel told herself.
She determinedly climbed out of the shower, dried herself, and quickly donned her clothes before rubbing her damp hair with her towel. She ran a quick comb through her spiky cut and wiped the condensation from the mirror to peer critically at herself.
She was too thin in the face, giving her a lean and hungry look. She knew she hadn’t been eating properly lately, but cooking for one seemed too much of an effort. And there were faint dark circles under her blue eyes. Crys would be hard pressed not to notice the difference in Mel. She was a long way from the dewy-eyed, flush-cheeked teenager who had had a burning crush on the other woman.
And yet, not so far removed. Her reaction to seeing Crys had dredged up all those old longings. The urge to hold Crys in her arms again seemed as strong now as it had been all those years ago. And Crys was still as beautiful, as desirable, as she had been way back then.
Mel rubbed an agitated hand over her eyes. What sort of person did all this make her? For the past six months she’d been nursing a broken heart over Terry’s duplicity, and now she was lusting after another woman.
What should she do? Maybe it was just a passing thing, she told herself. Tomorrow it would all fall back to an even keel.
And if it didn’t, well, there was only one thing for it, Mel decided. She’d just stay for a few days to satisfy her mother and then she’d go back to Brisbane. The last thing Crys would need was a brokenhearted, lovesick admirer from her past on her hands.
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool mirror. She had a sinking feeling it was going to be a long few days.
CHAPTER FOUR
Crys measured out some rice, added twice as much water, and put the bowl in the microwave. While the rice cooked she set two places on the small table in the dining room. The casserole was ready, warming on the stove top.
Would Mel notice that Crys had cooked her favorite, apricot chicken?
Crys paused as she took down two delicate wineglasses. Well, apricot chicken used to be Mel’s favorite, she reflected. Perhaps Mel’s tastes had changed in the past ten years. Crys grimaced. You could probably safely bet on that.
Crys sighed. She’d had to cook something. Why not apricot chicken? It was easy and relatively foolproof. The fact that it was Mel’s favorite wasn’t the only reason she’d chosen to make it. She was simply being a thoughtful host. Wasn’t she? Or was she deluding herself?
Taking the bottle of wine from the fridge she set it in the clay cooler on the table. She’d chosen a light white wine from Stanthorpe, hoping Mel would like it as much as she did. Crys stopped again. She didn’t even know if Mel drank wine.
In fact, she knew very little about this so very grown-up Mel. Oh, physically she’d changed very little. She was thinner, yet Crys would have known her anywhere. But there was an air of assurance about her now.
Crys shook her head. And why wouldn’t there be? The last time Crys had seen Mel she’d been an awkward teenager. Now she was twenty-eight, a successful illustrator, and a confident young woman. Yes, Mel Jamieson had indeed grown up.
And she was very attractive, Crys acknowledged. Angela had once referred to her younger daughter as her ugly duckling, an opinion that Crys had challenged forcefully at the time. Well, Angela’s so-called ugly duckling had developed into something of a swan. Crys almost laughed at her flight of fancy.
Yes, Mel was an attractive young woman. Her long legs and firm, shapely body—
Crys pulled herself up. Suddenly she felt a throb of tension in the pit of her stomach that was as surprising as it was disturbing. It was a long time since she’d had that particular sensation of awareness, that spiral of sexual wanting.
She walked quickly around the breakfast bar and back into the kitchen, glanced at the rice still turning on the microwave carousel, and crossed to the sink and back again, trying to calm her unexpected rush of agitation.
She had no business even thinking of traveling down that path with this particular woman. It was inappropriate, she told herself vehemently. Totally inappropriate. Mel was Angela’s daughter. Angela was her oldest friend, and she had entrusted Mel to Crys’s care. Mel needed to be taken care of, not taken advantage of.
Yet knowing all that didn’t prevent Crys from having to admit to herself that in another place and time she would have found herself attracted to someone just like Mel. Not just physically but…there was something else about Mel. There always had been. And Crys had to curb her recurring inner turmoil.
She’d do well to remember that, apart from anything else, she was fourteen years older than Mel. What would an attractive young woman see in a forty-two-year-old who was fast approaching her use-by date?
Crys exclaimed softly in self-disgust. She was nothing but an old perv, she told herself and wrinkled her nose at her indistinct face reflected in the microwave door.
But there had always been some kind of bond between Crys and Mel, even when Mel was a child. They’d always been tuned to the same wavelength, laughed at the same jokes. That bond had remained intact as Mel grew up. When it had undergone an imperceptible change Crys couldn’t quite recall, but when Mel had kissed her all those years ago —
The microwave dinged the end of its cooking cycle and Crys pushed those dangerous reminiscences out of her mind. Sh
e set about washing the rice until it was light and fluffy.
“That’s good timing.” Crys smiled as Mel joined her.
“Smells delicious,” Mel said lightly and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans.
Had she imagined that Crys’s dark gaze had moved over her? Mel went hot at the thought. Then she chastised herself, telling herself it was her vivid imagination, a leftover from her sybaritic thoughts while she showered.
Mel glanced at the table, neatly set, and noticed the unopened bottle of wine in the cooler. “Shall I open the wine for you?” she asked. It would give her something to do, keep her thoughts away from other perilous ramblings.
“That would be great.” Crys handed Mel the opener, and their fingers touched fleetingly.
Mel felt a surge of sensual awareness, and her body tensed, her heartbeats tripping all over themselves, making her slightly breathless.
“I’ll dish up our meal while you’re doing that.” Crys turned back to the kitchen, and Mel took a steadying breath to regain her composure.
“I was hoping you’d like some wine,” Crys was continuing. “I rarely open a bottle when there’s just me drinking it. Seems something of a waste to open a whole bottle for one person.”
“You don’t sound like a closet drinker,” Mel said as the cork popped easily.
“Not guilty, your honor. I go to sleep before I get drunk. I’m not much of a life of the party, I’m afraid.”
“Me too. Terry used to get disgusted with me. Said it was a waste of money plying me with drink.” Mel stopped, and her smile faltered a little. It seemed as though she hadn’t thought about Terry since she arrived here. And yet, for the past six months she’d thought about nothing and no one else her entire waking day. Maybe getting away to Crys’s farm was just what she needed to resolve her Terry issues and close that particular episode in her life.
Mel realized an uneasy silence had fallen between them, and she gathered her wayward thoughts. “But anyway, one or two glasses with dinner I can handle,” she made herself add as lightly as she could.