by Fiona Lowe
He chuckled, the sound wicked and wonderful. ‘If you like that, then I think you’ll like this.’
He moved slowly and systematically, kissing and licking and stroking her breasts, her belly, all the time murmuring ‘God, you’re sexy. Beautiful.’ She soaked up every compliment and every type of touch he offered, feeling like a woman worshipped. Her body loosened, her legs fell open and then he was kissing the tender insides of her thighs until he flicked his tongue inside her.
‘Oh!’ She lost herself in the ball of sensation that grew hotter and more deliciously frantic, pulling her higher and higher and tighter and tighter until the pleasure was so intense it was almost unbearable. Yet she wanted more. So much more. Her hands reached for him to pull him up to her but her body took over, wielding total control. Her head thrashed back and forth, her muscles clenched, desperate to close around something, anything. Her hand closed around the edge of the mattress as her legs wrapped around him as if that would somehow help. Be enough. At the point of agonising pleasure, the exquisite ball of sensation exploded, drowning her in bliss.
When she’d floated down from ethereal heights, she opened her eyes. Charlie was smiling at her. ‘Going on the sound effects, I gather you liked that?’
‘Like would be an understatement.’ She laughed. ‘Call me Oliver, but I want more.’
‘That can be arranged.’ But as he moved she grabbed him, accidentally clunking him on his shoulder with her cast. ‘Ouch!’ He rubbed the spot.
‘Sorry. Just lie on your back.’
His eyes glittered. ‘Is that a command?’
‘If you want it to be.’
Had sex with Charlie been this much fun when she’d been younger? Probably not. Youth may have blessed her with a narrower waist and fewer lines around her eyes but age had added confidence and a few sexual tips to a once limited repertoire. ‘Now I’ve got you where I want you...’ Pinching the tip of the condom, she rolled the sticky rubber beast down his length.
‘Be careful what you do to me.’ His voice was rough. ‘It’s not that I’m unfamiliar with restraint or the pain of denial, but there’s only so much control I can exert on a body that craves to be inside yours.’
Craves. A desperate thrill ran up her spine, vaporising all her plans. Locking her gaze with his, she prayed that after two years of celibacy her body would know what to do and accommodate him. His hands splayed on her thighs as she guided herself over him, lowering herself slowly. She gasped as the tip of him entered her.
‘No hurry,’ he said, not taking his eyes off her. ‘Take your time.’
She could clearly see the effort he was putting into leashing his body and her heart lurched. ‘I want this.’
‘I know.’
His hands fondled her breasts and something inside her let go. She slid down his length and he filled her. For a moment she sighed at how amazing it felt.
‘Good?’
‘Way more than good.’ She leaned down and kissed him—half with relief, half with desire—and he returned it. Initially the kiss acknowledged her concerns that they still fitted together but then it exploded it into something beyond the realms of anything she’d ever known.
Moving together as one, she savoured every stroke—the combination of silk and power sliding against her—as they created a rhythm that drove each of them upward. She watched sweat slick his body, his muscles bunch and clench, the inky black of his eyes absorbing the vivid blue and then the fast rise and fall of his chest. His eyes closed, his jaw slackened and he bucked and shuddered under her as a look of pure pleasure washed over him, stealing away every vestige of strain and whatever else dogged him.
I did this. The power of it engulfed her already aroused body in a fire of pure ecstasy—ribbons of sensation streamed through her—and she rode them home until she collapsed in a depleted and yet utterly fulfilled mess on his heaving chest.
‘Thank you.’ His arms enclosed her, holding her against him, and she gradually felt his breathing slow. He kissed her hair. ‘Seems like we’ve still got it.’
Her body was liquid relaxation and it took effort to raise her head and smile. ‘Seems so.’
You’re home. She tensed as the thought rocked her. No. No way. It’s just familiar territory.
‘You okay?’ Concern etched his face.
‘Cramp.’ She eased herself off him and let him apply counter-pressure to her foot, despite the fact the cramp was in her heart.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘SAW THESE IN Melbourne and thought you might like them.’ Charlie handed his grandmother an enormous bunch of hydrangeas. Some were a variegated blue and cream with flat petals twisted into fours, while others contrasted with tightly clustered pale green petals, but all were elegantly wrapped in heavy olive green and rich earth-brown paper and wrapped with a wire-rimmed golden bow.
‘Darling boy,’ she said smiling at him. ‘You remembered my favourite flowers.’
He’d walked past the florist after visiting his brother. ‘Harry reminded me.’
Anna gave him what he’d dubbed a ‘Harry’ smile, sad and resigned. ‘Darling boys, the two of you. How is he?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘Too thin. The last UTI knocked him about a lot. I left him with a best of Coldplay CD.’
Anna got a far-away look in her eyes as she reached for a vase. ‘What was that song he always played on the cello?’
‘“Life is for Living”.’
She nodded and untied the bow on the flowers. ‘Did you catch up with anyone else while you were in town?’
‘If you mean did I see Mum and Dad, I think you know the answer to that.’ Charlie switched on the coffee machine, suddenly desperate for a shot of caffeine. Desperate to see Lauren. Desperate to bury himself inside her and forget.
‘Randall and Patrice are coming down this weekend,’ Anna said, studying him carefully. ‘Your father asked me not to tell you, but I thought this way you had time to get used to the idea.’
Every nerve ending shot to high alert. ‘Lauren and I have plans to go away this weekend.’ Well, they would have plans the moment he saw her and told her about them.
‘You and Lauren Fuller?’
The surprise in his grandmother’s voice made him realise what he’d just said. Idiot! A litany of expletives boomed in his head. He and Lauren had a pact to keep things secret to protect Ian, Sue and Shaylee from unrealistic expectations. ‘Medical convention,’ he said, one beat too slowly.
‘Charles Ainsworth, do you think I came down in the last shower?’ Anna sighed. ‘I have a lot of time for Lauren. Don’t hurt her.’
‘I don’t make a habit of hurting people,’ he said defensively. ‘I think my work speaks for itself.’
‘I’m not saying you do it deliberately, darling.’
Indignation surged. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean, Gran? If this is about Mum and Dad—’
‘It isn’t. All I’m saying is you dash around the world as if you can’t bear to stand still. I wasn’t disappointed one little bit when you didn’t make it work with Alysha. Nothing about that woman was right for you, but Lauren’s different. Perfect almost. Does she know about Har—?’
‘I’m seeing a counsellor,’ he blurted out, desperate to stop her question rather than a real attempt to open up. ‘That’s why I went to Melbourne.’
‘You’re looking and sounding better than the first time I saw you,’ the counsellor said approvingly. ‘Nothing like three weeks of rest and sleep to rejuvenate you.’
Nothing like Lauren, Charlie thought, but chose not to mention her. Two weeks of great sex had done him more good than any amount of navel gazing ever would. ‘Sea air helps.’
‘And family.’
Not for the first time, Charlie thought the counsellor both clueless and useless.
‘I’m glad you’re seeing a professional,’ Anna
said, in a tone that said, finally. ‘And you’ve talked to them about Randall and Patrice?’
Not if they paid me. ‘Gran, don’t say anything to anyone about Lauren, okay?’
She tapped her nose. ‘I understand. Early days, but, darling, do everything you can to make it work. I’d like to see one of my grandsons happy.’
He nodded, not because he wanted to affirm that there was any chance he and Lauren were anything other than friends with benefits but because he couldn’t speak. His throat had thickened on the word ‘happy’ and guilt stole all his words.
‘Oh, and, Charlie, I don’t ask you for much but...’ Anna placed the arranged flowers on the mantelpiece ‘...I need you here at Bide-A-While this weekend. Lauren will understand.’
And that was when the date hit him. Saturday was the anniversary of Harry’s accident.
* * *
‘You got a haircut.’ Lauren ran her hands through Charlie’s now neat hair, missing being able to tangle her fingers in its length but happy to see more of his face. ‘Trying to impress the counsellor?’ she teased.
He didn’t laugh but instead rolled her under him and kissed her with surprising ferocity.
She hadn’t expected to see Charlie tonight. He’d gone to Melbourne for the day so she’d taken the opportunity of a free evening to go over the practice’s financial statements. Fighting a losing battle not to go cross-eyed at the figures, it had been a relief to answer the door and find Charlie standing on her veranda. When he’d lifted her off her feet in a fireman’s lift and carried her to bed, her squeals of protest had been token at best.
She gazed up at him, thrilled the dark shadows and drawn skin that had defined him a month ago had vanished over the last couple of weeks, thankfully replaced with healthy colour. It gave her a tingle, knowing she was playing a part in his recovery. Her fingers traced his chest and then she gently pinched his waist. ‘You’ve gained weight.’
He rolled to the side and pulled her in against him. ‘It’s all that good food you’re cooking me.’
‘Ha! Ha!’ Lauren assembled meals rather than cooking them. She knew she probably let her mother feed her too often but she enjoyed being part of family dinners and hearing about Shaylee’s adventures at school. It was as close as she’d ever get to having a family of her own. ‘I think it’s all the cake Anna’s feeding you. She’d better not be nibbling on any herself.’
‘I promise you, she’s not. She does watch me intently when I eat, though, saying she’s enjoying cake vicariously through me.’
‘You’re such an obliging grandson.’
She waited for him to fire back a cheeky ‘That’s me,’ but instead he sat up abruptly and got out of bed. He fished up his boxers from the floor. ‘Hungry?’
For you, always. ‘Sure. I bought some prawns off the boat and there’s salad.’
‘A perfect match for the champagne I bought you in Melbourne. I’ll make a start.’
Lauren jumped through the shower, pulled on a pair of comfy shorts and a T-shirt and walked down the hall, anticipating the delicious fizz of expensive champagne. As she got close to the kitchen, she heard Charlie talking to someone. He had his back to her and was staring out the window with his phone pressed to his ear.
‘For God’s sake, Dad, it’s just a CD. I thought Harry might enjoy it.’ His hand moved hard and fast against the back of his head as if his fingers wanted to pull at hair that was no longer there. ‘Of course I didn’t buy it to upset Mum. Hell, I didn’t think she even—’
Charlie held the phone away from his ear. Lauren heard an angry male voice but she couldn’t make out the words. He slammed the device back against his ear. ‘I don’t need your permission to give my brother a gift, Dad. This conversation is over. Goodbye.’ He swore as he stabbed the screen of the phone with his finger.
Lauren wasn’t sure if she’d gasped her surprise out loud but Charlie swung around, his eyes as wild as a choppy wind-blown sea. She saw him rein in his anger from untamed to controlled, but it still simmered in the depths of his gaze. His mouth curved up in jerky increments until it resembled a dimple-less smile. ‘All set for dinner? Good. I’ll pour that champagne.’
‘You have a brother?’ Shock shot the question out unfiltered. ‘How did I not know this?’
He ripped at the gold foil around the neck of the bottle. ‘Because we’re all about sex, fun and each other, not boring details.’
Boring details? The words left a slight sting. ‘Well, sure, but a brother? Twelve years ago, I told you I was an only child with thirty-six foster siblings. How come you never mentioned your brother then?’
A slight tremor stiffened his hand on the wire cage that held the champagne cork in place. ‘Unlike your family, mine’s complicated.’
She snorted. ‘Thirty-six foster kids, Charlie. Every family’s complicated.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he muttered. The amber fluid with a hint of pink frothed in the flutes and he handed her a glass. ‘Please don’t get all bent out of shape over this. That summer I needed time out from being an Ainsworth. Right now, after that phone call, I need time out from my father, okay?’
A skitter of unease rode over her pragmatism that they were both using each other to feel better. ‘Are none of your family close?’
He drained half the glass and set it down on a coaster. ‘Gran’s the glue. When she’s dead, I doubt I’ll have anything to do with my parents again.’
An ache wound through her from tip to toe. ‘And Harry? That’s your brother’s name, right?’
His lids hooded his eyes and he sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’ll always have time for Harry.’ For a split second he was perfectly still and then with a flourish he pulled out a chair for her as if he were a maître d’. ‘Your prawn and mango salad awaits.’
Before she could ask him anything else about Harry, he’d launched into a funny story about a woman on the tram in Melbourne. When he’d milked that for all it was worth, he talked about the adventures and misadventures of working in Africa. From tales about doing deals with the militia so they could get aid into villages to a misunderstanding where he’d found himself the inadvertent owner of a fifteen-year-old girl and a pig, and how the village chief had only accepted the return of the pig, he didn’t draw breath.
Lauren knew his raconteur style would hold fundraising groups enthralled and that these stories would tease out generous donations for Australia Aid, but they left her chilled. Instead of a talented surgeon and captivating storyteller sitting across from her, all she could see was a man holding her very firmly at arm’s length. Unlike the evening in her parents’ dining room when he’d used a similar story for distraction, this time she’d glimpsed a clue about his distance. His family. Did she dare talk to Anna about it?
* * *
‘Charlie.’
‘Yeah,’ he said absently. He was fully occupied in the task of applying papier-mâché to the wire outline of a pterosaur for Shaylee’s school dinosaur project. It was ridiculous how much fun he was having and he didn’t understand why Ian and Lauren had been so relieved when he’d offered to help.
‘Thank you so much,’ Lauren had said two hours ago at the surgery. Then she’d glanced around and, making sure no one could see them, gifted him with a kiss full of gratitude. ‘Mum’s in Geelong at a training day and Dad should have been home an hour ago but he’s stuck in a traffic jam on the Westgate Freeway.’
‘And you’ve got the family planning clinic. I get it. It’s no big deal. I’ll pick up Shaylee from school, give her something to eat and we’ll get cracking on the project. I happen to know a lot about dinosaurs. Did you know that the—?’
‘I’ll let you dazzle Shaylee with your brilliance,’ Lauren had said quickly, looking at the clock. ‘I have to go. I owe you one.’
‘And I’m sure I can find the perfect way for you to repay me.’ He’d pulled her clo
se and nuzzled her neck, purely to inhale her scent and carry it with him. Laughing, she’d pushed him away and dashed out to the waiting room to call her next patient.
‘Are you a dad?’
Shaylee’s question shocked him from daydreaming about extracting delicious payment from Lauren and back to the Fullers’ kitchen table. ‘I’m not married.’
Shaylee tilted her head, her ebony eyes scrutinising him. ‘You don’t have to be married to be a dad.’
He remembered Shaylee’s fractured family and the fact she didn’t know her father. ‘That’s true. But to answer your question, no, I’m not a dad. Why did you want to know?’
‘Cos you’re really good at this.’ She gave him a beatific smile. ‘And you made me an ice-cream smoothie.’
He laughed. ‘I learned how to make smoothies because my brother loved them.’
‘Did you make them with strawberry ice cream for him too?
‘I did.’
Mum, why do I have to make Harry smoothies all the time?
Because you’re his big brother and it’s your job to look after him.
‘Do you still make him smoothies?’ Shaylee asked, as she slapped wet and soggy newspaper onto the pterosaur’s wing.
Old guilt clawed into him. ‘No. He doesn’t drink smoothies anymore.’
Shaylee’s small hand crept onto his arm. ‘It’s okay, Charlie. Don’t be sad. You can still make smoothies for me.’
Out of the mouths... He mustered a smile against the numbing ache that circled his heart and patted her hand. ‘Thanks, Shaylee. Good to know.’
‘Cooee.’ Ian walked in, clutching his lunch bag, and immediately dropped a kiss onto Shaylee’s head. ‘Look at you two. That pterodactyl is coming along in leaps and bounds.’
‘Actually, Ian,’ Shaylee said in the authoritative tone of a kid who’s excited to know something an adult doesn’t, ‘it’s a pterosaur.’