One Hot Winter's Night

by Woods, Serenity

  Afterward, she wiped her thumb and finger slowly from the corners of her mouth to the middle of her lower lip. “Now every time I lick my lips in public,” she giggled, “you’ll know what I’m thinking about.”

  Heath didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, blinking, slightly dazed. She frowned, concerned.

  “Are you okay?” She touched his hand. “Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  He shook his head, but still didn’t speak. He lay back on the bed and covered his face with his hands, and then ran them through his hair.

  He felt completely overwhelmed. He’d been with his share of women, and only a small proportion of them had enjoyed performing oral sex. Some of those hadn’t liked him coming in their mouth—a couple of others had politely used a tissue afterward. He didn’t mind particularly, but he’d rather they didn’t bother if they didn’t enjoy it. But Cat made him feel sexy and gorgeous and wanted—which was completely ironic because she was the one person not interested in him, not really.

  She smiled and came to sit beside him, and stroked his cheek. “You’re so sweet, sometimes. I love you.”

  The words obviously came out before she could stop them. Clearly, she hadn’t even known she was going to say them. He didn’t know who was most surprised, her or him.

  He stared at her. “What?”

  Her eyes widened. “Shit. Sorry. That kind of slipped out.” She met his gaze for a moment and then looked away, standing up.

  Quickly zipping himself up, he stood and caught her hand as she went to walk into the lounge. “Catherine…”

  “It didn’t mean anything.” Her voice was hard. “It was a slip of the tongue. Don’t get all romantic on me.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “You’re incredible. You’ve just told me you love me, but you still won’t admit it to yourself.”

  She went scarlet. “What are you talking about? This isn’t love. We’re just having sex.”

  “Bullshit.” He was angry now. “I know I haven’t said it but I’ve tried to show you, and I’ll say it now. I love you, Catherine.”

  The colour faded from her face as quickly as it had come. “Don’t. You don’t love me. You can’t—we’ve met less than half a dozen times.”

  “Ever heard of love at first sight?”

  “Don’t mock me,” she snapped.

  “I’m not.” He fixed her with a firm stare. “I’m crazy about you. I love you, and I know you feel the same way about me.”

  Her eyes turned steely. “Don’t tell me what I do or don’t feel. I don’t love you. You’re convenient. We’re using each other for physical relief, that’s all.”

  Hurt made him catch his breath.

  He shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “I don’t want this.”

  She glared at him. “This what?”

  “This.” He gestured around him. “Having sex and then not knowing when I’m going to see you again. Not knowing who you’re with, what you’re doing. Having you pretend you don’t have feelings for me. I can’t do it, Catherine. I won’t do it.”

  “Some guys would kill for this,” she said angrily. “For hot sex with absolutely no commitment.”

  “Maybe. But I’m not one of them.” He saw the pain on her face and sighed, his anger fading. He reached out and touched her cheek. “I’m in love with you. It’s early days, and if I’m very careful, I might be able to haul myself back from the edge. But I can’t carry on like this. I’m just going to fall for you further. And it’s killing me.”

  He hesitated and took her hand. “Tell me you love me again, and mean it. Tell me you don’t want me to go—that you know we’re meant to be together. That you want to at least try to make it work.” He slipped a hand into her hair. “I want to marry you, Catherine. Share a house with you. Have babies with you. Look after you, bring you home to meet my family, grow old with you. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  Her eyes were bright green, shining in the semi-darkness. She shook her head, and his heart sank. “That life’s not for me,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you want.”

  “Why not?” He was so frustrated he could have torn the cabin down with his bare hands. “What’s your big secret? Tell me! Tell me why you ran away from home, what happened to you that was so bad you can’t bear to think of letting any man get close?”

  “I told you in China, Heath, I’m damaged goods.” A tear ran down her face. “I told you not to fall for me.”

  “I can’t help it. I love you.” He wiped her tear away with his thumb. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “More than I’ve ever trusted anyone,” she said brokenly.

  He bit his lip. “But not enough.”

  Another tear spilled out. “I just can’t.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “And I can’t make do with pieces of you. It’s not enough for me.”

  “I understand.”

  He rested his forehead on hers. “I don’t want this to be over.”

  She nodded, tears flowing freely. “But it sounds like it kind of is.”

  Even then, she wouldn’t fold, wouldn’t admit she needed him. Heath wanted to bawl like a girl, to scream like a toddler, but he didn’t. He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment. Then he walked out. He got into the car, started the engine, and reversed out of the drive.

  By nine o’clock the next morning, Cat was walking down to the local coffee shop where she had agreed to meet the son of a local Maori kaumatua, or elder. She’d told Heath when they were at the bar the night before that her appointment was at 1pm, and he’d told her his was the same time, and they’d realised that the young Maori was clearly hoping to play them off one against the other. That morning, however, she’d rung Rapine and asked to meet him earlier, hoping to conclude the deal and get out of Kerikeri before Heath realised what was going on. If she was going to end up without him, she might as well have the weapons to cheer herself up.

  She tried to tell herself that a suitcase full of ancient weapons was going to be a suitable substitute for sex with a gorgeous archaeologist, and almost believed it, until she thought about the look in his eyes as he’d kissed her before he’d left.

  But she wasn’t going to think about that. She’d spent all night playing it over in her head without coming to a different conclusion. He deserved better than her—he needed a woman willing to settle down and provide him with the things she couldn’t. She’d done the right thing by forcing him to end it. Trying to carry it on, persuading him to sleep with her when they met up—it wasn’t fair to him. Even if she did miss him terribly.

  She shook her head, concentrating on the bright Kiwi sunshine and the smell of coffee emanating from the cafe ahead of her and trying to ignore her misery. She adored the espresso coffee the New Zealanders made, with steamed milk and just the right amount of foam on the top, usually with a little fern drawn on the surface. She was in the mood for coffee. Possibly with a slug of brandy.

  Then she saw the car outside the shop. It was Heath’s rental. A rather beaten up car was parked in front of it, and beside it stood Heath and a Maori guy that she presumed was Rapine. The Maori guy must have called Heath and told him she’d asked to meet earlier.

  Heath looked over his shoulder as she approached. Their gazes met briefly before he looked back at Rapine.

  The Maori guy was young and looked nervous. She could understand why. Heath was glowering, hands on hips, towering over the slighter, shorter Maori lad.

  “Kia ora,” she said, walking up to him. “You must be Rapine—I’m Dr Cat Livingstone. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Yes.” He pronounced it “yis”. He looked at Heath. “This is Dr Roberts from Te Papa Museum.” His Antipodean accent had the distinctive lilting, clipped intonation that most Maori seemed to have.

  She looked at Heath, who looked coolly back.

  Rapine glanced between them curiously. “Do you two know each other?”

  “Yes,” said Cat.
r />   “No,” said Heath at the same time.

  “Okay…” Rapine lifted his chin. “Let’s talk business.” He indicated the boot of his car, presumably where the weapons were.

  “Let’s not,” said Heath shortly. He turned to Cat. “He hasn’t got permission from the kaumatua to sell these.”

  “They belong to the iwi,” Rapine protested. “I am the elder’s son—I have as much right to sell them as he does.”

  Cat’s heart sank. “I understood the tribe had agreed.”

  Rapine looked determined. “The iwi were divided. Some of them didn’t agree. But we need the money. We have to build a new jetty down on the foreshore. And our primary school needs books and sports equipment. The elders prize our history and culture above everything—they can’t see that we need to live in the here and now.”

  Cat studied him, realizing he was older than she’d first thought. He made a sound argument, but that didn’t mean he had the right to sell the weapons. Items like that always had spiritual and cultural significance. It had only been his insistence that he’d had the authority of the tribe behind him that had convinced her to come.

  Heath glared at her. “Don’t even think about it. You’re not buying them.”

  Anger flared in her stomach. She would never consider removing an item from its cultural home if its local community didn’t want to sell. The thought that Heath considered her capable of doing such a thing hurt her feelings. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Who are you to say what I can or can’t buy?” she snapped.

  He scowled. “This conversation is over.” He pointed at Rapine. “You’re going back to your village and you’re going to return those weapons to wherever you got them from.”

  “Heath!” Cat stared at him. “You can’t tell him what to do like that.”

  “I most certainly can.”

  She glared at him. “If you don’t want to buy them, that’s fine. But if someone else wants to buy them, it’s none of your business.”

  He’d taken on that lazy, relaxed look that she was beginning to understand meant he was furious. And she knew it wasn’t really about the weapons.

  He took her by the arm and marched her a few yards down the road, turning her to face him. “Tell me you’re not going to buy those weapons,” he said carefully.

  She wasn’t going to agree with him just because he was bullying her into it. She lifted her chin. “I’ll do nothing of the sort.”

  His eyes met hers. Finally, she saw, shimmering in the hazel depths like stones at the bottom of a pool, the deep, deep hurt he’d been trying to hide. “I don’t know you at all, do I?” he said quietly. “What a fool I’ve been. I thought the woman in my bed wasn’t the Black Cat. But you’ve been her all along.”

  “We’re one and the same—you can’t separate us. You told me that about you and the Fox,” she reminded him, trying not to cry.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But I was lying.” He released her arm. “I guess I’ll see you around.” And he turned and walked back to his car, got in, and drove away without a backward glance.

  Chapter 29

  “You’re going with Ed to a strip club,” Lucy said firmly. “Tonight.”

  “No, I’m not,” Heath replied, just as determinedly.

  “Honey, you need to get drunk, and you need to get laid. It’s the only cure for being in love.”

  Heath swore loudly, slammed his pen on the table and stood up. “Will you leave it out? I’ve had as much as I can take from you, Ed, Judith, Mum, Dad, and the rest of the goddamn family.”

  His sister-in-law shrugged, totally unaffected by Heath’s show of temper. “We’re worried about you. You’ve never been like this before.”

  “I’ve been back four days, not four months—I can’t see why you’re so worried.”

  “Sweetie, usually you forget about a girl five minutes after she’s out the door. For you, four days of moping is an eternity. It’s not surprising we’re worried.”

  Heath’s gaze dropped to his desk. He sighed heavily and sat again, putting his head in his hands. “I can’t get her out of my mind. She’s all I think about. I thought it would get easier, but it only seems to be getting worse.”

  He closed his eyes. He’d played over the scene outside the coffee shop a million times. He’d been cruel to her, and then he’d walked away from her. It was the only thing he could have done, but it didn’t stop him feeling like a heel. He missed her. He wanted her. But she didn’t want him. The conundrum went around and around in his head like a kid refusing to get off a Ferris wheel.

  Lucy studied him. Heath adored his sister-in-law. She reminded him of a spaniel puppy with her glossy brown curls and huge eyes. Now those eyes were filled with sympathy. “She really got to you, this one, didn’t she?”

  Heath sighed and rested his forehead on a hand. He looked up at her. “She was The One,” he said simply. “Or I thought she was.”

  “The One?” Lucy raised her eyebrows.

  “You know. The One. Mrs Right.” Heath looked down at his desk and fiddled with his stapler. “Or I thought she was. I knew she was anti-commitment. But I thought I could talk her around.” He punched the stapler, ejecting a folded piece of metal onto the table. “Turns out I couldn’t.”

  “Maybe she’s changed her mind, now she’s had time to think about it.”

  “I doubt it. She’s so stubborn. There’s no way she’d call me in a million years.”

  “And there’s absolutely no chance she’d be interested in anything more?”

  “Absolutely none.” Heath doodled with his pen.

  He knew things had to change. He had to do something to move on. She was probably in Rome or Berlin or Moscow flirting with some guy to get access to a dinosaur bone nobody had ever heard of or would be interested in seeing.

  He sighed. “Maybe I will go with Ed tonight. I’ve got to get her out of my brain. Perhaps having sex with someone else would work.” He closed his eyes and received a brief flash of Cat’s mouth closing around him as she went down on him, his hand tight in her blonde hair. He put his head in his hands again. “Oh God.”

  Lucy sighed. “Do you love her?”

  Heath looked at where he’d doodled a drawing of a black cat. There was no hope for him whatsoever. “Yes.”

  “And do you think she loves you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So…you’ve got to go back to her. Tell her how you feel. Talk her into it. You weren’t head of the debating team for nothing.”

  Heath shook his head. Then he leaned back in the chair and studied Lucy again. “It won’t work. I know that. For us to work, she would have to admit she wants me, and that’s not going to happen. I’ve got to move on.” He looked at the documents on his desk awaiting his attention, but the words swam in front of his eyes. “How do I do that again?”

  Lucy stood. “For God’s sake, man, it’s Christmas Eve. You look like you haven’t eaten in a fortnight. Come out with me and get a mince pie or something.”

  He knew she wouldn’t give in, not where food was involved. She treated him as she treated her two kids: firmly and stubbornly, with food and sleep being top priority. “Okay.” He scooped his papers together. “Let me just make sure there’s nothing urgent in here, and I’ll be right with you.”

  Cat stood by the window, looking out at the gardens in front of the hospital. They always tried to make them beautiful so the patients had somewhere nice to walk during the day, but, inevitably, they were inhabited by smokers, or people in gowns shuffling around in slippers with white faces. Now, at eight in the evening, they were filled with shadows. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were haunted with the spirits of those who didn’t make it out of the place.

  She hated hospitals. She would have given anything to go home and crash out in her own bed. But she couldn’t leave Alexander.

  She turned and looked at the old man lying in the bed across the room from her. Tubes led from him to a ventilator, and he looked pale and small
in his striped pyjamas. He’d had a heart attack, and it wasn’t yet clear whether he would be strong enough to recover from it. He might die there, in the hospital room, with only Cat to give a damn that this fine man wouldn’t see another day.

  She looked back out of the window, her mobile phone in her hand. Numerous times, she’d dialled the number for Te Papa in Wellington. And every time, she’d cancelled it before anyone answered.

  Ringing Heath meant giving in. It meant admitting she wanted him, needed him, something she’d never said to anyone in her life, not even Alexander, although they’d both known he and Melissa had saved her life as clearly as she’d saved theirs that day on the street. She didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to admit to Heath or to herself that she needed him. Besides which, she didn’t want to burden him. They’d made the break—he’d be getting on with his life.

  But she did need him, and she did want him. She’d wanted him when she left him in bed in the ice hotel; when she woke up to find he’d vanished from the room in Cairo; when she’d got on the plane in Xian; the moment he walked away from her outside the coffee shop. She’d wanted him all the way home on the plane flight. She’d wanted him every minute of the four days they’d been apart. And the first thing she’d thought about when on the way to the hospital on hearing of Alexander’s heart attack was Heath, and she’d cried, ashamed her distress wasn’t only due to the fact that the man she thought of as her father was possibly going to die.

  She missed him. So much, she couldn’t eat, sleep, or think straight. She needed to hear his voice again.

  Biting her lip hard, she dialled the number for the museum again and put the phone to her ear.

  This time, when the receptionist answered, Cat asked the woman to put her through to Dr Heath Roberts’ office. She closed her eyes, trying hard not to cry. She had to keep calm and not put any pressure on him. It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, to stand there and wait for him to answer. His phone rang and rang. It would be just after nine in the morning there. And of course it was already Christmas Eve in New Zealand—she’d forgotten. Perhaps he didn’t work on Christmas Eve?