by Allie Little
He looks right at me, pulls me into him, whispers in my ear, “Yeah, but that’s all I’ve got.”
I hold him a while then draw back and look. He re-adjusts, hauling in the happy light he usually parades in his eyes. He pushes the pain that occupies him away, burying it deep below the surface of his smile.
He places his hands on my hips. “So, can I get you a drink? A cup of tea or something? A beer?” It’s a good distraction.
I nod. “Yes, please. Just some water.” And I wonder if I’ve blown it, the moment, mentioning Charlie. He seems okay, but quiet.
He fills a glass from the tap outside, reappears in the doorway and hands it to me. I take it and my hand shakes, the water shivering noticeably in the glass. I’ve given myself away now, I’m sure of it. My jumpy, panicky nerves get the better of me. I sip slowly, craving a calm, unflappable exterior.
He grabs the glass from my hand and drinks. Swallows the water in several titanic gulps. Doesn’t leave me a drop.
I laugh, blinking. “What? How very hospitable.”
He smirks. “Aren’t I?” He goes outside to refill it, and I’m left shaking my head. He saunters back and hands it over. “This one’s yours,” he announces, grinning.
I can’t help but smile, arching an eyebrow. “Very cheeky.” My spare hand fidgets with my hair, hooking it behind my ear. God, this is torture.
It’s almost an eternity but he finally moves in, never taking his eyes from mine, steals the glass and places it near the bed. Without the glass I feel silly, purposeless, and don’t know what to do. I look away, laid bare and vulnerable. His eyes collect mine, and I see it. His desire. Right there. He reaches across, takes my face in his hands, glides his thumbs softly over my skin, and kisses me. He doesn’t avert his fastened eyes, and I’ve completely forgotten to breathe. Inhale, Sam.
My hands roam his chest and it’s hard. He tugs me in and my breath’s caught, sucked straight from my lungs. I splinter away, airless, until all that’s left is my emotion sitting naked in the room. With him gazing so deep in my soul, I’m nervous. Those eyes that see through me, leave me undeniably defenceless.
He walks me slowly backwards to the bed, his lips covering mine. Soft at first, then firmer, crushing, till I inhale sharply, make that silly little noise, that gasp, letting him know I want him. Want? Who am I kidding? Need.
Hearing it he moans and kisses me harder, his unshaven jaw brushing roughly across my skin. He presses his body against mine, pulling at my top and dragging it forcibly over my head. The pressure of his chest nearly sinks me to my knees. Demanding and insistent, like I couldn’t say no, wouldn’t, even if I wanted to. Which I undoubtedly don’t.
Gathered in his arms he holds me like he’ll never let me go. That alone, is my trigger. And I’m sure he can sense it, because he holds me closer. He draws back, his hands running the length of me from my shoulder blades down. Down, till they settle in the small of my back. His gaze darkens and I’m trapped in it, our ragged breathing the only sound perceptible between us.
I tug off his top, ripping it over his head, and he’s perfect. His chest, so summer-brown and broad, I almost have to look away. In fact, I shut my eyes, bury my head against his skin and breathe him in. Jack’s unique scent.
My skin is on fire, like every part of me burns for his touch. He pushes me down. Strong but gentle; persistent. His mouth finds mine, slides across to nip seductively at my throat, finding the crook of my neck as he lies on top. When we move together I want him. Crave him. Need to feel him on top of me, around me, in me. So much so it’s torture, and it’s deliberate, because he pulls back and gives me one of his wicked, knowing grins, lighting up those concentrated sea-green eyes.
He yanks at my clothes, insistent. And here with him, they’re an impediment. Between the two of us they come off clumsily and I push them off the bed. Moving his hand lower, he pushes his fingers inside, and I’m having a hard time concentrating because that feeling is bliss. And I need him to fill the painful ache that drops suddenly away like an abyss inside of me. And I’m longing for him to lose those low-slung jeans.
I fumble with the metallic button, tugging at the belt loops, and he groans, helping me. Shucks them off awkwardly to the end of the bed. He switches off the bedside lamp. God, do I ever take the lead? I’m thinking I need to use some restraint, but I can’t, and I don’t want to rush it because he’s kissing my neck, finding the spot that tingles, dancing shivers down my spine.
He reaches a hand into the bedside drawer, groping in the dark. “I’ve got one here somewhere,” he says, shuffling contents around. He pulls out a condom and rips off the foil, casting it onto the floor. I watch as he unrolls it onto himself.
Oh...my...god. My arms are around him, commanding, pulling his body back down to meet mine, and when he pushes himself inside, slowly, I gasp. Like there’s nothing in the world that could feel this good, in this precise moment, and my mind lifts away until there’s nothing but feeling streaming through me, coursing through my veins, with no thought at all.
His kisses are soft now, hot and unhurried, eliciting a spontaneous whimper. Moving from my mouth, he feathers his lips across my neck. Arching to meet him, I want to catch him, lock him up and keep him. Right here, forever. His skin melts with mine, we dissolve together, and he traces a line from my throat with his hand, over my chest, rippling shudders through my skin.
He looks down at me with soft hooded eyes, resting his forehead against mine. “You are so beautiful Sam, and you don’t even know,” he murmurs, before his mouth reaches once more for mine.
And I don’t know what to say, other than hold him tight, my hands clutching at the skin on his back, egging him on and meeting his rhythm. The cadence of every stroke an inflection, rising like a blissful torture, until my body screams for it to release, holds it and waits, holds, until I shatter away, and the whole world falls with me; rupturing away, until all that remains are the pure and immaculate elements of us.
I am completely unravelled. He presses his forehead onto mine. “You feel so good,” he breathes, and I’m stripped and laid bare; basking for once in my unvarnished state.
“Hmmm,” I say, brushing my lips across his, smiling. He strokes the hair from my face, and just that gesture, so intimate, is like honey.
Rolling over, he holds out a muscled arm. I wriggle across and press my body against his, lay my head on his shoulder, feeling the solid strength of him. It’s like nothing can touch me, and I want to stay like this forever, because right now there is nothing else. Just Jack and me, in our elements.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sunlight spills into Jack’s room. It dances on the walls, twinkling with reflective light from the river. I gaze at him. He’s sleeping, his sandy hair falling across his face like a slumbering angel. I kiss him and he stirs, pulling me into him, closer, so I’m pillowed against his chest. A smile curls the corners of his mouth.
I lift my head to look at him. Properly. I knew he’d wake up perfect. He squints his eyes and plants a soft kiss on my mouth.
“Happy?” he murmurs, his breath in my ear. I am ensconced in his arms and could stay here forever.
“I am,” I breathe. How could I not be?
He rolls himself up on an elbow, gazes down. His eyes are an intense green, immersing me in the verdant shade. “So while I have you here, tangled in my sheets...” He kisses me lightly, runs his hand down my side, caressing the curve near my hip.
“Yes?” I murmur. My body sparks to his touch, thirsting for it. I run my hands over his hard chest.
He gives me a look. One that’s not hard to decode. I hold his gaze, a smile raising the corners of my mouth. He skims his lips across mine, nearly halting my heart when he hovers above.
“I feel like the luckiest bastard on the planet right now.” He runs a hand between my thighs, parting them, and I hollow my back, raising my hips at his touch. Desiring more. Because that’s what he does. Fills me with a desperate yearning. Only for him. I
close my eyes when he enters, leisurely, happy I’m not left soliciting for more.
***
“So what do you want to do today?” he asks, his arm cradling me.
I know what I’d like to do. Surf, swim. Launder the grainy sleep deficiency shadowing my brain. But the suggestion wouldn’t be welcome, knowing what I know.
I sigh. “We could stay right here.” I feel like batting my eyelashes, but that would be corny.
He smiles, kissing the tip of my nose. “As fulfilling as you are, we need to eat.”
He is of course, the voice of reason. At the mention of food my stomach contracts, growling in anticipation.
He rubs a hand across my belly and laughs. “You see?”
“Okay,” I acquiesce. “Maybe I am a little hungry.”
“I’ll cook,” he says, gathering me closer. “It’s just a little harder to get out of bed this morning.”
Laughing, I kiss his lips and he rubs his stubbled cheek across mine. So rugged.
I watch as he pulls on a pair of boardies and drags a sweatshirt over his head. “Back soon,” he says, leaving me with the sparkling river spilling toward the sea. He disappears, vanishing across the lawn to the house.
Almost immediately the smell of bacon wafts with the breeze. I roll myself out of bed, swathing myself in a sheet. His room is kind of public, here where boats roam the lazy Myall. There’s so much glass, and the brittle see-through wall barriers such a unique beauty. Last night, the gentle lap-lap of water on silty sand. The moon shining its path like a glittering conduit, channelling mystique through the dark. That inscrutable shiny magic.
I open the windows, let the sunshine patina my skin. This morning, I’m happy to feel exposed.
In next to no time he’s back with a glint in his eye. “I made bacon and egg rolls,” he says proudly. “Let’s go find somewhere to eat them.” He’s also carrying a thermos. It’s daggy but cute.
I yank on last night’s clothes while he watches, throwing on a slouchy top over my bra. I drag on my jeans, wriggling into them because they’re so super-skinny tight. His mouth twitches a smile.
“Let’s go then,” I say, twisting my hair into a ponytail. I need to use the bathroom, so despite my unusual desire to be exposed, I send him outside. It’s too early for that. At this point in time, perhaps it’ll always be too early for that. Because after one beautiful night, what am I assuming anyway?
He’s waiting on the grass, watching the river.
“Where are we off to?” I ask, linking my fingers through his.
He tugs me toward his boat, grinning. “I found this place I want to show you. I think you’ll like it. I know you’re the local, but unless you’ve got a boat ...” He plucks the keys from the backpack he’s slung over his shoulder, and jumps in. It’s a lot more awkward for me, even with his help. The boat pitches as he hauls me in.
***
I stretch out on the sand beside Jack. This is his place; the place he’s brought me to. The river curves like a crescent moon, and the beach is a hidden gem, protected from the elements with droopy casuarinas whispering soft sweet nothings in the breeze.
“So what d’ya reckon?” He rolls onto his side, pillowing his jaw in his hand.
I look around. “I can’t believe it. This place has been here the whole time and I never knew?” The water is a transparent aquamarine. It laps the shoreline in a gentle slosh and roll, the sunlight netting the sandy bottom. I dip my toes in its warm ripples.
He grabs my hand. “Pretty special, huh?”
I meet his gaze. “It’s beautiful. Thanks for bringing me.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Well, you should be feeling honoured,” he laughs. “You’re the first person I’ve brought here. Actually, you’re the only person I’ve got to know. Sort of. Which is hard to believe I guess, seeing as I work on the ferries.” He pauses briefly. “The guys here, they seem to hang tight.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re not wrong. They are kind of ... exclusive. It might take a while for them to accept you. Especially since ...” I break off.
He glances across. “Since what?”
I hesitate. “Well, since you don’t surf.”
His face tightens. “I guess so.”
“Plus it takes a while until you’re considered a local. It’s a protective thing.”
“Protective?” He seems confused.
I look at him. “We get a lot of tourists here. It’s what keeps us going. Sometimes though, it gets a bit much. It’s fun and it’s busy, but we’re entirely overrun, and we need to protect it. Our own little piece of paradise. Schmaltzy, right?”
“Not really.” He stares across the water, shimmering in the delicacy of daylight. He goes quiet. And you can see it in his face, like a deep descending fog. “I get the need to protect what you’ve got.”
Letting it go would be easier, but after a while I ask, “Do you mean after losing Charlie?”
He nods slowly, decisively. “Yep.” And that’s all. That’s all he says.
“So do you ever get sad?”
His eyes break free of the river and he sighs. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But it’s not as bad, you know? Not nearly. That raw pain that tears you up inside? That’s gone. Or maybe you learn to live with it. You’re not aware of it every waking moment. Like at first, when your stomach’s hollowed out and your heart’s been skinned and you’re left with a hole. All empty and raw and so fucking painful.”
I squeeze his hand, tearing up as he speaks. “How long did you feel like that for?”
I watch him remember, the pain settling in his eyes. “I cried for a year while it gnawed at me,” he says. “What a wuss, huh? Guys aren’t supposed to cry, are they?”
“Aren’t they? You lost your brother, Jack.” Like he needs reminding.
He smiles ruefully, shaking off the dark absorbing thought. Puts the light back into his wounded eyes, and I see now that it’s not a façade. More like a coping mechanism. Nothing superficial. Rather it seems all too painfully real.
I shift closer and hug him. He wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in warmth. I feel helpless actually, like I should say more. Do more. Say the right thing. The overwhelming urge to wave a magic wand strikes me in the heart. But I’m no magician.
He releases me to give me a poke in the belly with a knotted smile. “Want to go fishing?” he says.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“So who’s the guy?” Riley demands, narrowing his eyes.
I rack my memory, trying to think how he could possibly know. “What do you mean?”
“The guy you left with the other night? You know, on the boat.” He fires an incredulous look in my direction.
“Oh, him.” I’m falsely nonchalant. “That’s Jack.” So much for wanting to keep him secret. All for me.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Right. And since when is there a Jack?” He’s annoyed and I hear it. I really wasn’t expecting this today.
I look up at him, shuffling my feet nervously on the floor. “Um, since recently.”
He just nods, twisting his mouth down disapprovingly.
I reach for his arm. “Riley ...”
George walks into the room and stops, staring from me to Riley and back again. “What’s going on? Are you guys okay?”
I shrug. “We’re fine,” I say, forcing a smile and looking up at Riley.
“Leave it alone, George. This doesn’t concern you.” Riley turns and stalks from the room, leaving George gaping behind him.
“What’s going on with you two?” George demands in a whisper, peering round the architrave at Riley busying himself in the kitchen. “I told you I don’t like complications.”
“Absolutely nothing,” I say.
He looks at me like I’m mendacious. “I’ve said it before Sam, I don’t want any complications between my staff.”
I nod. “Okay.” There might be some complications, but they’re not what George is assuming. Not exactly, anyhow.
<
br /> He calls Riley back in from the kitchen. “Hey Riley, I need to speak with you.”
Riley pops his head through the kitchen door, leaning his tall frame against the architrave. “Yeah? What is it, George?”
George tells us that Gemma’s not well. She won’t be back for a while. At least a few weeks. That I’ll be on bussing duties with Emily so Riley will mostly fly solo in the kitchen. If things get busy he’ll call in Joe.
Riley’s face drops. “That’s ridiculous George. You need to hire a casual waitress.”
George shakes his head. “We’ll see. I’d really prefer not to.”
“Hire one, George.” Riley’s tone suggests authority, and I wonder at his audacity.
“Is Gemma okay?” I’m not surprised to hear this news, based on how thin she’s become.
George shrugs a concerned shoulder. “I’m not sure. Her mother called me last night. Said she wasn’t well. And Emily said she’s moved home for a while.”
Emily comes in from the front. “So you heard? Gem’s not well. Really not well.”
“I’ve just told them,” George says, backing into his office and closing the door.
Riley heads to the kitchen, surly.
A strange smile curls across Emily’s face. “So what’s the story with you and Riley? What’s going on? It’s obvious that something’s happened.”
I shrug casually. “Like I said to George, absolutely nothing.” I pause. “Which is why Riley’s pissed off.”
“I see,” Emily nods knowingly. “So, I guess I’m not understanding everything here. Why would he be pissed off if there’s nothing going on?”
It’s a good question. One that I’m not sure I want to answer. How deeply I would need to go to fill in the details. That night on the beach; the drink at the pub. And now Jack ...
“We had a moment, but it didn’t work out.” I’m unapologetic for my brevity.