He rolled the condom on, then, to her surprise and shock, picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Eek! You’ll drop me!”
“I’m very careful with my valuables,” he said.
“Your taonga?” she whispered.
“My taonga.” He pinned her against the glass, and slowly lowered her until he slid inside her.
Bridget tipped her head back onto the glass with a groan. She was impaled on him, and could feel him deep inside her, so thick and solid at the root that she almost came on the spot.
“Too much?” he said hoarsely. Holding her, he pulled his hips back and thrust, burying himself in her once again.
She groaned again, her mind spinning with confusing sensations. Him hot and hard inside her and the cold glass against her back. Her flushed cheeks and the cool breeze across her skin. His gentle eyes and his demanding mouth. His love, and his passion.
“Aaron,” she said, breathing his name against his lips, and he groaned and thrust harder, grinding against her clit and carrying them both closer to the edge with every move.
She gave in and just let it build, let him take her, because she was safe in his hands, his actions speaking a thousand words. The orgasm was quick, hard, and fast, and she pressed damp palms to the glass as she pulsed around him, wanting to cry, but not from sadness.
“Bridget.” He said her name as his climax swept over him, and she welcomed his hard kiss, his gasps against her lips, and the aftershocks of an orgasm that rippled through her, leaving her limp in his arms and happier than she’d ever been in her life.
*
“I wonder whether Mr. Brooks saw us out of his window,” Aaron said as they lay in bed later that evening.
Bridget rose up onto an elbow and stared at him. “I didn’t think the garden was overlooked?”
“Only by the house in the corner. I think he’s partially blind anyway so if he saw anything it was probably a skin-colored blur.”
“Oh jeez.” She flopped back onto the bed. “You lead me astray, do you know that?”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it yet.” He rolled onto his side to face her and grinned.
“Yeah,” she said, screwing her nose up at him. “You have far too innocent a face to be that naughty.”
“It’s a great disguise. Lets me get into all sorts of trouble.”
She laughed. “Like what? Give me some hints. Tell me what wicked things you’d do to me if you had the chance.”
His eyelids lowered to half mast, and a delicious shiver ran through her at his wicked smile. “Don’t let my penchant for rescuing wounded creatures fool you. I have a thousand things I want to do to you in the bedroom, and I intend to work my way through the list one at a time.”
“A thousand?”
He tipped his head from side to side. “Give or take.”
“Ooh.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Want me to name a few?”
They’d only just made love, but already she could feel her body moistening, preparing itself for him. “Go on then.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but the sudden buzz of a mobile phone stopped him. He stared at her. “Mal again?”
“Mine’s in the living room,” she said. “It’s yours.”
His eyebrows rising, he sat up, retrieved it from the bedside table, and read the screen. “It’s Mateo.”
Bridget frowned. He spoke to his son several times a week, before the boy had his bath and went to bed—usually much earlier than this. He’d told Bridget that he’d bought Mateo a twenty-dollar mobile to keep in his school bag, against Nita’s wishes, because he wanted his son to be able to call him if he felt the need, and Bridget suspected the boy was making the call on that phone.
Aaron swiped the screen and answered. “Hey, mate.” He listened for a bit, his stiffening body telling Bridget that Mateo was upset even before he said, “Calm down, son. It’s okay. Just tell me what happened.”
His gaze met hers as he listened, his eyes full of pain, and Bridget swallowed hard against a lump in her throat. She could only imagine how awful it must be to have a child and yet be so far away from him and be unable to help when he was in trouble.
“Did you tell anyone at school?” Aaron said softly. “Not even Miss Fox?” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s all right, Mat, calm down. I’m not going to do anything without your permission, but you have to understand that we need to sort this out. The boys are bullies, and if we don’t do something they are going to seriously hurt someone, and it might be you.”
He murmured comforting words while he listened for a while, and Bridget thought she could hear Mateo crying. She felt like crying herself. She’d never been badly bullied at school, but she knew girls who had, and it had made their lives a misery. She’d even heard of one student who’d tried to take her own life after being repeatedly bullied on Facebook and Twitter. God forbid it ever got that bad for Mateo—it certainly sounded like more than your average pushing around in the lunch queue.
“All right,” Aaron said when Mateo eventually calmed down. “Go and blow your nose, and then come back.”
While he waited, his eyes met hers again before he tipped his head back on the wall. “This is hell. I don’t know what to do.”
“Can he change schools?” Bridget suggested.
“It’s a possibility I suppose, but it’s the nearest one to where Nita works. She doesn’t have any family around her, so it would make it difficult for her to drop him off and get to work on time.”
Well, that was kind of her fault and her problem to deal with, Bridget thought, but she didn’t say so. “What about the police? Would they get involved?”
“Maybe. He doesn’t want me to do anything, he says. He’s terrified it will make things worse.”
“It can’t get much worse, Aaron. Just using the word terrified in the same sentence as your son’s name makes me want to march down there myself.”
He gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”
An idea came to her. “You told me that one reason you helped me on the quay was because you wanted to set an example for Mat. Can you come at it from that angle? Ask him what he thinks is the right thing to do?”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then lifted the mouthpiece up as Mateo came back. “Yes, I’m still here. Listen, Mat, I want to ask you something. If it were the other way around, and I was the one getting bullied, what advice would you give me? What would you tell me to do?”
He listened for a while. Then he chuckled. “Yeah, it was a mean question. But you need to think about it. Imagine that someone told me a man was hurting an animal—a dog—beating it up and mistreating it. I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen, could I? There are lots of things I could do. I could go around to his house and smash the guy’s face in. That would feel good, but I could hurt myself in the process, and there would be nothing to stop the man doing it again with another animal. The best thing to do would be to tell the SPCA or the police—they would remove the animals and take him to court so he would never be able to own another pet again. Sometimes you have to think about the bigger picture, about doing what’s right. These boys need to be taught that they can’t treat other people like this. If you don’t do anything, it will get worse. And telling your teachers isn’t being a snitch. It’s not like the boys have bunked school and you’re telling on them, or even like they’ve stolen something and you’ve reported them. You’re being physically abused by them, and it’s just plain wrong.”
He held his hand out to Bridget, and she slid hers into it.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s right. Being brave doesn’t mean putting up with it, Mat. Being brave would be sorting it out. It’s standing up and saying that it’s not okay for one person to intimidate another. Your teachers will help, but they can’t if they don’t know what’s going on. They think it’s all been sorted because you haven’t said anything. If you tell them, they have to take action. The boys need to be sus
pended and to have to sit before the board and explain themselves. And maybe that’ll be enough to make them think that you’re not weak, and you’re not going to be an easy target.”
He listened again. “Okay. Look, think about it over the weekend. I’ll do whatever you want—if you’d rather talk to the teachers yourself, that’s fine, or Mum and I can come in with you. It’s up to you. But doing nothing is not an option. All right, son. Try not to worry. Kia kaha.” He hung up.
“What does that mean?” Bridget asked softly.
“Kia kaha? Stay strong.”
She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. “I’m so sorry.”
He sighed. “Yeah. It’s not easy. If he doesn’t go to the teachers himself on Monday, I might have to intervene. He won’t like it, but I can’t have him upset like this all the time. It does worry me. Even if he does report these boys, and even if they are suspended or even expelled, he’s right—it could make things worse—it could make them want revenge.”
She curled up next to him, and he put his arm around her. “Will you talk to Nita about it?”
“He didn’t want me to because he said she gets upset and cries. She just sees it as another reason why she should take him to Spain. But I will talk to her, if nothing happens on Monday.”
“I’m sure he’ll do what’s best. He is your son, so I’m sure he has a strong moral compass and a sense of what’s right and wrong.”
He smiled and kissed her. “You know just what to say to make me feel better.”
“You too.” She pulled the duvet over them both. “Some things are worth fighting for, Aaron.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bridget’s words kept passing through Aaron’s head on Saturday, as if they were uncollected luggage on an airport conveyor belt. Some things are worth fighting for. At the time, he hadn’t been sure whether she was talking about their relationship or Mateo—maybe both. He hadn’t asked her, because her soft, warm body had distracted him, but they rang true deep within him.
A calm resolve had settled over him, and he was glad of it on Saturday as they attended Joe’s birthday party at the marae, because, as he’d suspected, it turned out to be a trying affair.
On the surface, it was just a pleasant celebration. Joe’s whanau had organized a hangi—a traditional Maori method for cooking food. It involved a large pit dug into the ground and filled with heated stones and slow-burning logs, onto which they placed wire baskets lined with banana leaves and full of meat and vegetables, leaving them to cook for hours so the meat fell off the bone and the vegetables were tender. The nearby school’s kapa haka group did a performance of traditional Maori song and dance, followed by Joe’s brother and his band who played both old and new songs for all the generations to sing along to.
Bridget found it delightful, and in turn Aaron was transfixed by her, unable to tear his gaze away from her all afternoon. She wore a simple pale pink sundress, and with her blonde hair floating around her shoulders she looked like the spring goddess after whom she’d been named, fresh and young and beautiful. Throughout the afternoon, everyone had done their best to try to get her to say whether the two of them were going to continue to see each other, but she’d gracefully managed to sidestep the issue each time with enough poise to make him feel a growing admiration for her with every hour that passed.
“Stop staring,” someone said from behind him. “Your tongue is practically hanging out like a cartoon character.”
He looked up to see his sister taking a seat on one of the plastic chairs opposite him. Bridget was talking to Izzy and Pam and a couple of other women near the drinks table, while Joe danced with Pam’s two young daughters on the green in front of the band, twirling them around to the music. His parents were talking to Joe’s parents, hopefully discussing how well their sons were doing with the business rather than what idiots they both were.
Aaron was taking the opportunity for a quiet break and sat sipping a latte while listening to the band’s rendition of Bowie’s Changes, which wasn’t bad at all. Tycho and Kepler lay by his side, worn out after chasing each other around the green and being stuffed full of lamb and sausages by half a dozen different people.
“I like staring.” He held out his coffee cup so she could clink hers against it in a gesture of welcome. “She’s like Aloe vera for the eyes.”
“Aw. You are soft on her, aren’t you?” Fran gave him a look that was half affectionate, half worried. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I never know what I’m doing. It’s not stopped me before, though.”
She laughed, put her hand on his arm, and gave it a quick, affectionate rub. “She seems nice.”
“She is nice. Very nice.”
“Are you in love with her?”
He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by another voice.
“Wait! I want to hear the answer to this.”
He sent his mother a wry look as she and his father took the chairs on his left. “Go away,” he said affectionately. “Stop bothering me.”
“So that’s a yes, then?” Fran said.
William Reed grinned, but Clara Reed’s brow creased in a frown. In her late fifties, she had wavy silver hair cut in a fashionable bob, plain gold studs in her ears, and she wore cream trousers with a smart, fawn-colored top. She looked like what she was—an off-duty lawyer. Aaron had never seen his mother look remotely scruffy.
“Aaron,” she said. “Sweetheart.”
“Don’t start.” He took a large swig of his latte.
“I have to, darling. It’s the law.”
It was what she’d always said to him when she wanted to get her own way since he was a boy, and he chuckled. “I’m too old to fall for that one anymore, Mum. Just let it rest.”
“I can’t.” She looked genuinely upset now. “Joe’s been telling me what you’ve been up to, and I’m worried about you.”
“And how does Joe know what I’ve been up to?”
“Binoculars,” Joe said, coming to sit beside Fran and stealing her coffee cup to take a swig from it. “You can get a great view of the garden from over the fence.”
Aaron coughed into his cup. “What?”
“I’m joking,” Joe said, amused. “So what have you been getting up to in the garden?”
“Nothing,” Aaron said hoarsely as all eyes turned on him with amused interest. “Can we please change the subject?”
“Is Bridget going back to Wellington tomorrow?” his mother asked, ignoring his plea.
“Yes, on the eleven thirty.”
“What will happen then?”
“A change at Auckland, and touch down in the capital around two, I’d imagine.”
“Aaron…”
“I don’t know,” he said, somewhat helplessly. “We haven’t talked about it yet.”
“So you don’t know if you’re going to see her again?”
“No.”
“No you’re not, or no you haven’t talked about it yet?”
“No, can you all mind your business and stop bothering me.” He shoved a hand in the pockets of his jeans and pulled out a small velvet box.
“Jesus,” Fran said. “Seriously?”
He heard his mother’s intake of breath and saw his father’s startled look, and rolled his eyes. “No. It’s for Joe.” He shoved the box into Joe’s hand.
“Sorry mate, already spoken for.”
“Will you just open the fucking thing?”
“Aaron, language,” his mother scolded.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. How could mothers always make you feel twelve-years-old no matter what age you were? “Happy birthday.”
Joe opened it and laughed. “I love it.” He turned the box around to show the others. It was a tie pin with a tiny stethoscope next to a paw print. “Are you trying to tell me I need to smarten up?”
“Wearing the occasional shirt wouldn’t kill you.”
Joe grinned. “Thanks, bro.”
“Oh?” Bridge
t rested her hand on Aaron’s shoulder and looked at the box in Joe’s hand. “Have you two set a date?”
“Ha ha.” He watched her take the seat beside him, with Izzy sitting next to Joe. “I hope you’ve come to rescue me. They’re ganging up on me.”
“Joe said he has a good view of Aaron’s garden through his binoculars,” Fran said.
Bridget’s pale cheeks immediately flushed bright rose. Aaron tried not to laugh and glared at his sister. “Will you stop? You’re making us both uncomfortable.”
“Sorry.” Fran stuck her tongue out at him, proving she was far from apologetic.
“It’s been lovely to meet you, Bridget,” Clara said. “I hope it’s not the last time we’ll see you.”
Aaron felt the first real flicker of irritation. Not only was Clara being two-faced, because she quite clearly didn’t approve of him seeing Bridget, but she was fishing in an underhand way to discover whether Bridget was planning to stay a part of his life.
“Clara,” William said. “Let them be.”
“What? I’m only being polite.”
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Aaron snapped. “You’ve all been nagging me for ages to start dating again.”
“You know that’s not what we’re saying,” Clara said. “Sweetheart, you’ve had such a hard time. We’re just worried you’re going to make the same mistake again.”
He put his coffee cup on the table with a bang. “For Christ’s sake, I’m thirty-four and more than capable of looking after myself, even though none of you seem to think so.”
“Aaron,” his mother scolded. “Stop overreacting.”
“I’m not overreacting. I’m saying what I’m feeling.” He knew that his friends and family thought themselves acting out of kindness, but that didn’t give them the right to try to bully him out of this relationship with the mistaken idea that they knew what he wanted better than he did.
“I’ve been on my own for over two years. I haven’t even come close to dating again. And now I’ve met someone, and I don’t care if she lives on Mars—I’m crazy about her, and I don’t appreciate you quizzing her about our relationship. It’s incredibly rude, and I think she’s been more than patient with you.”
Persuading Spring: A Sexy New Zealand Romance (The Four Seasons Book 4) Page 18