Close Relations

by Lynsey Stevens

  When they reached the bridge Jarrod gingerly led the way across the creaking timbers and, once on the other side, he turned to help her off the last step onto the path. Georgia slid into his arms and drew in the heady scent of him. Remnants of his musky aftershave. The clean freshness of his soft cotton shirt. The essence that was totally him.

  This was their favourite spot. They often climbed the bank, sat beneath the concealing overhang of the scrubby trees, talked for hours, kissed.

  ‘Let’s go up the bank,’ Georgia whispered, her heartbeats hammering in unison with the heavy thud of his.

  Jarrod glanced upwards. ‘It’s late. I should be getting you home.’

  Georgia heard the slight edge of indecision in his voice and knew he wanted to hold her close. She took his hand and started up the bank, pulling him after her. And he didn’t resist.

  The dry leaves on the trees overhead barely stirred as he drew her into his arms, kissing her gently before pulling slightly back from her.

  ‘What was I saying about not being able to deny you anything?’ he murmured wryly, his fingertips rubbing the soft skin at the base of her throat.

  ‘It’s the same for me.’ She swallowed thickly. ‘Oh, Jarrod, touch me.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  HIS arms tightened and his lips found hers. In moments the kiss had deepened and their bodies strained urgently, moulding together.

  A shaft of wanting shot to the pit of Georgia’s stomach to explode in a starburst of desire. She could feel the hardness of Jarrod’s arousal too, and sensed the subtle change in the tension that held him. Then they sank down onto the sandy earth, their hands insistently exploring each other’s bodies.

  Georgia’s fingers pulled at the buttons of Jarrod’s shirt, slipped it back from his shoulders, and her lips trailed over the smooth, silken contours of his shoulders, his chest, his hard, flat midriff. The moonlight filtering through the dry leaves kissed him too and Georgia caught her breath.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ she murmured, her voice thick.

  His low, throaty laugh cascaded over her and he lifted her loose cotton top over her head, unclipped her bra, feeling her full breasts. ‘I’m beautiful? You’re the beautiful one,’ he whispered, and his lips went to her breasts, his tongue-tip teasing first one hardening rosy peak and then the other.

  Georgia rested backwards, her arms supporting her, her fingers curling into the warm sand, and she closed her eyes. The craving in her body intensified, flowed through her to her fingertips, the very tips of her toes.

  His lips left her breast, slid upwards over her throat, her chin, found her mouth again, kissing her druggingly. When they drew apart they were both breathless.

  Jarrod reached for his shirt and when Georgia would have protested, begged him not to put it back on he spread it behind her and gently laid her back onto the ground, his lips caressing her again.

  His touch tantalised her body, caressed her breasts, fingers unbuttoned her skirt, circled her navel, moved downwards before sliding upwards over the smooth skin of her thigh, to find her most responsive core. She arched against him, the breath of her husky, incited moan teasing his sensitive ear lobe. Jarrod tensed and she felt him pause, sensed he was going to put some cooling space between them.

  ‘No!’ Georgia cried thickly. ‘Please, Jarrod. Don’t stop.’

  Her hand covered his and then moved to the press stud on his jeans. It sprang open, the noise crashing into the stillness of the moonlit night She drew down his zipper, her fingers finding him, exciting him the way he was exciting her, and he groaned in concession. Seconds or hours later they were naked, bodies entwined.

  One small part of Georgia acknowledged that they were both way past being capable of drawing back but she knew she didn’t care. She loved Jarrod so much and he loved her. If the earth had chosen that moment to disintegrate she wouldn’t have noticed.

  Then Jarrod’s glistening body moved over her, settled into her, and their smooth, slick skin slid together. And the earth did explode. She cried out into the salty dampness of Jarrod’s shoulder as waves of pleasurable release washed over her.

  The applause swelled in the well-known club as the patrons rose to their feet Georgia came back to earth slowly, acknowledging their accolades with a shy smile that hid a sudden wave of cynicism. Why wouldn’t she be able to give the poignant lyrics life? The sad lament could have been written for her. And Jarrod.

  She moved back to allow Lockie centre stage. In this set she would only be called upon to harmonise in the chorus.

  She would have staked her life on Jarrod’s integrity back then. But it appeared that the man she’d fallen in love with and the real Jarrod Maclean were worlds apart. And the pain engendered by his perfidy still gripped her now, was as real as it had been during the many hours she’d spent waiting for him to come back to her.

  But she’d eventually pulled herself out of that black abyss of despair, out and over the top of it. Her Jarrod Maclean and the small part of himself he had given her were lost to her for ever, would never return. She’d learned to live with that.

  Then why did this hurting remain?

  Georgia brushed her hair impatiently back from her face. When you’d loved with the intensity that she had loved it took time to get over it.

  Four years? she taunted herself relentlessly.

  The whole and only cause of this morbid wallow into the past was Jarrod’s reappearance. He’d turned up like the proverbial bad penny and he was throwing her calm, relatively ordered life into disarray, making her remember things she’d put behind her, proving so easily that her past wasn’t as deeply entombed as she had imagined it to be.

  But you’ll never be so young, so full of life, of love. Forget it, Georgia, she reproached herself. Forget Jarrod and what he did. He’s only here for a brief stay to comfort his dying father. And when Uncle Peter loses his so precarious hold on life then Jarrod will leave again. Just keep out of his way, and keep him out of your mind.

  Besides, until those moments in the car this evening he hadn’t really shown any sign that he wanted to remember the intimacies they’d shared. She was probably only one of his many memories, hazily forgotten.

  And he certainly hadn’t given the impression he wanted to take up where they’d left off. Not that Georgia wanted to. It was ludicrous even to think about it. She might still find him physically attractive but as a man she hated him, could never forgive him.

  Yet of their own accord her eyes sought him out. He was leaning towards Morgan, apparently trying to catch what the young girl was saying above the sound of the music.

  Georgia had never felt that there was more than a very slight family resemblance between herself and her young sister, but from her position on the stage she could have been looking down on herself.

  Morgan’s young face glowed as her bright eyes so obviously admired Jarrod’s chiselled features. And her hand rested companionably on his arm as she leant closer, her mouth within a mere inch of his ear.

  What was Morgan saying? Whatever it was, Jarrod’s lips moved upward at the corners in amusement. He’d smiled at Georgia in that same affectionate way as she’d grown up. Surely Jarrod wasn’t interested in Morgan? Her blood ran cold. No! Morgan was only seventeen, barely more than a child. He wouldn’t…She forced herself to drag her eyes from the cosy cameo they made.

  The hours flew by and the audience didn’t want them to stop playing. They stomped for encore after encore and when Georgia finally left the stage and reached the dressing room she sank down on the chair totally exhausted.

  The tiny dressing room filled with a crush of people, eyes all glowing, congratulatory. Lockie and the boys were kissing her, even Morgan was smiling. And through a break in the faces, leaning solidly against the doorjamb, was Jarrod.

  Georgia’s bright eyes met his and his lips twisted in a crooked half-smile. He inclined his head in unspoken acknowledgement

  Very magnanimous, Jarrod, her silent regard flashed at him. Did
he think she needed his approbation? She turned swiftly, brutally away from him.

  When the last patron had finally left the club and Lockie and the boys had switched off all their equipment they sat around the now silent stage drinking coffee, all a little loath to bring the night to an end.

  Georgia had changed back into her own clothes and removed her make-up. It had been too much trouble to put her hair back into its confining band so she’d left it loose about her shoulders, unaware that the softness of the style drew attention to the shape of her face, giving it a youthful, ethereal beauty.

  Jarrod sat at a table just slightly apart from them all, slowly drinking his coffee. After one quick, inscrutable glance at Georgia as she joined them he kept his attention on the cup in his hand.

  ‘Here comes our star.’ Lockie grinned.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Lockie. One night does not a star make,’ Georgia misquoted a little breathily. Some of her euphoria had dissipated with the removal of her costume and make-up and she was suddenly bone-weary.

  ‘Have it your way, Georgia.’ Lockie sighed exasperatedly. ‘But perhaps you’ll believe me when I tell you the owner of the club is more than pleased with our show.’

  Georgia raised her eyebrows.

  ‘And,’ Lockie continued, ‘there were some people here with a good bit of clout in the industry and I have it on good authority they were impressed-that’s with a capital I.’ He sprang to his feet and danced a jig. ‘We’re in! We’re in! After all this time. In the old days, didn’t I tell you I’d make it one day, Jarrod?’ He turned to the other man.

  ‘At least once a week.’ Jarrod smiled drily.

  Lockie feigned a punch in his direction and subsided onto a table-top, raising his eyes skywards. ‘Oh, boy! I can’t wait till Sunday so I can phone Mandy. Have I dreamed of this moment? We all have, haven’t we, guys?’

  ‘And what about you, Georgia?’ asked Evan Green, the guitarist, after they’d all laughingly agreed with Lockie. ‘Has tonight made all your dreams come true too?’

  Georgia tensed as a shaft of pain tore through her. Dreams. What were they? Transient things at best. Pure torture at their worst. Any dreams she’d had were dreams of loving, marrying, having children, growing old together-together with Jarrod. And they’d been smashed. Jarrod had sliced them apart in those few short destructive moments four years ago. Since then dreams had had no part in her life. Dreams were luxuries she wouldn’t allow herself to indulge in again.

  She shrugged. ‘Let’s not get too carried away on the wings of one night’s success,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Good grief! What a crashing bore you are, Georgia.’ Morgan grimaced as she crossed to sit at the table with Jarrod. ‘Now don’t try to tell us you didn’t enjoy this evening. I saw your eyes sparkling. Must have been all those guys gazing up at you in total admiration.’

  ‘Admiration?’ Andy put his large arm around Georgia’s shoulders. ‘Now that’s a new word for it. Wait until tomorrow night after word has got around. We’ll have our hands full fighting off the guys, Lockie; you mark my words.’

  Georgia flushed and pushed herself gently away from the solidity of Andy’s body. ‘And who says I’ll want you to fight them off?’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be heading off home now?’ Jarrod’s deep voice broke in on the loud guffaws and Georgia’s gaze swung to him.

  He was standing now, feet apart, and she recognised that particular tilt of his jaw. It unleashed another flashback with equally acute clarity.

  She had been singing with Lockie’s band at the local primary-school reunion and Jarrod had been in the audience, as he had been tonight. After her initial nervousness Georgia had known she’d performed well and everyone had sought her out to congratulate her. Yet Jarrod had said nothing. Until they were driving home.

  ‘It was a lovely day, wasn’t it?’ she began, glancing uncertainly at him, trying to think of an explanation for his silence.

  ‘And, just think,’ she rushed on, ‘old Mrs Kruger and Mr Jones enrolled at the school when it was first opened seventyfive years ago. They didn’t look that old, did they?’ She slid along the bench seat, closer to Jarrod’s hard body. ‘Do you suppose we’ll go back too, in, say, another fifty years?’

  He half smiled then. ‘You probably will, Georgia, but I can’t see myself lasting the distance. You’re younger than I am.’

  A cloud passed over her face and her fingers tightened when they rested on his thigh. ‘Not that much younger, Jarrod. And I want to grow old with you,’ she added softly, seriously.

  Jarrod took one hand off the steering wheel and covered her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Then he’d sung a few bars of the Beatles’ song, ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’, making her laugh again.

  ‘You’ll be the prettiest, sexiest sixty-four-year-old lady in town,’ he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it gently.

  ‘Oh, Jarrod.’ She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I’m glad you’re in a good mood again. Why have you been so quiet?’

  ‘Quiet? Have I?’

  ‘You know you have. What was the matter?’

  He sighed. ‘The day. The past. I guess I felt “old” creeping up on me. And hearing you sing, seeing you up there on the stage, watching the audience watching you-it made me realise just how talented you are. I suppose I was jealous.’

  ‘Jealous?’ Georgia dimpled and he grimaced.

  ‘I didn’t like having to share you with all those other people. Especially the guys,’ he added self-derisively.

  ‘But I was singing to you,’ Georgia said softly, her voice thick with her need to kiss him, hold him close.

  Jarrod slowed the car and turned into a little-used gravel lay-by. He stopped and pulled her urgently into his arms.

  ‘All my songs are for you,’ Georgia whispered, lifting her face eagerly for his kiss, meeting him with reciprocal passion.

  ‘And I’m selfish enough to want them to be for me alone,’ he groaned as his lips found hers.

  Now Georgia blinked the vivid scene from her mind. It could have been yesterday. The situations were practically the same. She had been on the stage and Jarrod part of the audience. She’d sung love songs just for him and his eyes had darkened with jealousy. The way his eyes had darkened again tonight.

  In that moment of recall, hope burst forth inside her like new shoots after rain, blossoming in a vertiginous ascension that briefly deprived her of breath. Jarrod was jealous. Tonight. As he had been all those years ago. Then in a sobering rush she remembered.

  And with that recollection came the terrible, almost unbearable sensations of loss. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest and she unconsciously clutched at Andy’s arm so tightly that he turned to her full of concern.

  ‘Georgia?’ He frowned worriedly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing. Sorry.’ She took a deep breath, striving to regain her self-possession. ‘I’m just tired, I guess. I’ve been up on a high and my body’s telling me it’s time to come down to earth.’

  Lockie’s quick glance slid from his sister’s pale face to Jarrod and he stepped forward. ‘Yes, we should be going. We all need our beauty sleep.’ He gave Andy a slap on the back. ‘Some of us more than others.’

  ‘Very funny!’ exclaimed Andy drily.

  ‘Hey, how are you getting home, Lockie?’ Ken asked. ‘I thought you didn’t have a spare tyre to put on the van.’

  ‘I’ll leave the van here overnight. Andy and Evan can go with you and we’ll go with Jarrod.’ He grinned at the other man. ‘You won’t mind dropping us off, will you, mate?’

  Jarrod shook his head and Morgan patted his arm. ‘Again! They’ll have you in the taxi drivers’ union before you know it, Jarrod.’ She looked up at him. ‘How did we manage before you came home?’

  We managed, Morgan, Georgia wanted to cry out. And we could have managed now if Lockie had simply ordered a cab. They didn’t need Jarrod.

  But her eyes were drawn to him, had him in profile, h
is dark hair neatly styled, cropped short in the front, the thick, vital strands almost reaching his collar at the back. He was unbelievably, even unfairly attractive, his deep chest narrowing to his lean waist and hips, his jeans moulding the athletic length of his legs.

  For heaven’s sake, she chided herself. She seemed to have developed a fixation on his body. She couldn’t seem to prevent her eyes from devouring him. Was this what not being able to touch him was doing to her?

  Pull yourself together, Georgia Grayson, she silently commanded herself with bitter self-contempt. If she kept leering at him everyone would begin to notice. And begin to wonder…

  ‘Come on, Georgia. Have you fallen asleep on your feet?’ Lockie brought her out of her censorious reverie and she hurried after them.

  Walking into the kitchen, Georgia stood the empty laundry basket in its place behind the door and swept her tangled hair back from her face. She had finished hanging out their washing and the gusty wind would ensure that it would soon be dry.

  Morgan intended to take the bus down to the shopping centre to meet her friends but Lockie had been dead to the world when the girls had had their breakfast.

  ‘Is Lockie still in bed?’ Georgia asked now, as Morgan passed her a cup of coffee.

  ‘I called him again half an hour ago but there aren’t any signs of life from his side of the house as yet.’

  Georgia shook her head. ‘He should be setting off to pick up his flat tyre soon. The tyre centre will be closed if he doesn’t’

  ‘He’s pretty slack, isn’t he? Lazy devil.’ Morgan made a face. ‘If it hadn’t been for Jarrod who knows how we’d have got home last night?’

  ‘We’d have taken a taxi,’ Georgia replied drily, and took a sip of her tea. ‘Morgan,’ she began, ‘about Jarrod…’

  Morgan looked up and smiled broadly. ‘What about him? Wow! Isn’t he a turn on? I could really go for him in a big way.’

  ‘He’s nearly old enough to be your father.’ The ridiculous words were out before Georgia could draw them back. And she’d promised herself she was going to be tactful.