by Helene Young
He cradled her closer, her tears unbearably hot on the skin of his collarbone as she rested against him. The fine muscles in her back quivered and she drew in another shuddering breath, her breasts pressing against him. He could feel the tremble still in her thighs and the desire was too strong. He feathered kisses across her temple, finding the faintest trace of lilies still in her hair, on her skin. The want in him, the need, the lifetime of love, made him press his lips more firmly, tasting the salt of her tears by the corner of her eye, down her cheek, on her lips.
He captured her soft cry and, just like it had sixteen years ago, the kiss ignited with a flash and a burn. She blazed under his hands, but this time there was no stepping back from the brink. This time the hand she raised to his face was gentle, a caress not a rejection. She slid it round to the back of his neck, brought his mouth closer as she parted her lips. Her hair was silken against his fingers, gossamer touches against his face as he bent and pressed greedy kisses down her neck.
For a moment his lips lingered on the delicate skin of her throat, feeling it flutter. This was real, was right, was humbling in its intensity. He ran his hands down her back, loving the supple strength in her, drawing her even closer, anchoring her hips to his as her breathless gasps proved she was no more in control than he was.
He slid his fingers under her shirt, found the soft skin at her waist, warm against his fingers. She shivered and he felt the ripple race across her stomach as he spanned her waist then traced her ribs higher, higher, his thumbs finding the silky fabric of her bra, rolled over her tight nipples, cupped her breast in his palms. Her back arched and their hips melded together again. His erection was instantaneous when she slid her hands down to cup his butt, pressing herself against him.
‘Darcy,’ he murmured.
‘Hmm.’
‘Let’s take a shower.’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
He slid his hand down her arm, entwined his fingers with hers and tugged her towards the bathroom. The cottage’s original claw-foot bath filled the room. Its old-fashioned copper shower head sprouted from the wall, the only modern addition was the sheer white shower curtain that hung like a virgin bride’s veil. Noah undid the buttons of his shirt, ripped it from the waist of his pants, and tossed it into the corner of the room by the freestanding handbasin.
The air was cool against his skin after the fire of their kiss and he drew her back towards him, slipping his hands under her shirt again and lifting it up. Devilment gleamed in her eyes the instant before he lifted the shirt over her head and he snuck a quick taste of the skin between her breasts.
He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pants, ran his thumbs along the luminous skin and bent his head to place more precise kisses along the line of her bra, over the swell of her breasts. He fumbled a moment with the catch on her pants then the zipper slid down, the rasp like a ratchet in the quiet room. The fabric pooled at her feet. The snake tattoo slithered up the inside of her leg, but it had faded now, mellowed to something that could almost have been a blue vein in her milky skin.
He pulled her close, claiming her lips as he unhooked her bra and slid it clear. The brush of her nipples was unbearably erotic, but he resisted the temptation to crush her to him again, loving the slide of their skin with the lightest of touches. She took a small step back, her fingers plucking at his belt, his button, his fly before she slid his trousers to the ground.
He let her take the lead, closed his eyes as she licked, nipped, nuzzled her way across his chest, down his stomach and along the line of elastic. Her breath burned through the fabric. His hands tangled in her hair, slid down to her shoulders, eased her up to meet him again.
‘I always wondered,’ she said, her mouth curving into a wicked smile. ‘Now, after all this time, I finally know.’
‘Know what?’ he replied between scorching kisses.
‘Know you taste as good as you look.’
He smiled and reached behind her to turn on the water. ‘Look at the pair of us,’ he said, facing them towards the small mirror above the handbasin. They were dishevelled, but what he saw was a grey-eyed man with a beautiful woman in his arms whose face and body were familiar but so new. He met her gaze in the reflection.
‘You disarm me, Darcy Fletcher.’
‘I hope that’s a good thing,’ she said, turning in his arms and sliding her hands behind his head. He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and she tilted her head, opened her neck to him and he closed his eyes as he tasted the sweetness of her skin. There was no turning back from this moment. The time for words was over.
30
The pale dawn light filtered through the curtains as Darcy slid on her dressing gown. She’d snuck out of bed without waking Noah. He stirred under the quilt with a mutter then descended into sleep again, muscles flexing as he rolled on his side. She smiled. Who knew Noah Moreton could have so much talent in those hands and lips? A wave of contentment crept through her, slow and langorous like the last time they’d made love in the predawn light.
Standing on her back verandah an eddy of sadness, an echo of last night’s grief, swirled around her. She leant against the doorjamb, missing Major and Gypsy who were still with Muriel. The newly planted garden needed watering, the seedlings drooping in their beds of hay. It felt like weeks ago that Conor and Zeke had worked in her yard.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms against the chill of the morning. Had Conor duped them all? Had she harboured a criminal, a lawbreaker, even if he was a protected witness? She wasn’t sure how she felt about it still, about him. He’d stirred something in her that had made her open her eyes, look around and appreciate what had been there all along.
‘You’re over-analysing again.’ Noah’s breath was warm on her ear as he draped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.
‘Am I?’ She closed her eyes and rested against his shoulder, feeling the solid security of his body, his strength.
‘You’ve got too many clothes on,’ he murmured and she reached down to touch his naked thigh.
‘And you’ll scare the neighbours.’
‘Really? You think the roos will mind?’
‘It’s possible.’ She turned with a smile. ‘Breakfast? Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
‘You’re actually offering me breakfast without me begging?’
She laughed. ‘I think you’ve earned it.’
‘That’s good. So I can drop by again?’ He looked for a moment uncertain of himself.
She stretched up and kissed his lips. ‘The dogs like you. That’s probably a good sign.’
He laughed then, and she watched him walk away, his naked back more erotic than she’d thought possible.
As she waited for the kettle to boil, she plugged her phone into her charger. It beeped with a string of incoming messages.
Three from Beverley. She listened to them, chewing her lip as each frantic call played out. There were two from Stirling demanding she ring him back. There was no escaping the wave of sadness his voice provoked. The contrast between her two parents couldn’t have been greater nor the similarity more stark. Both of them were demanding that Darcy do something. Had it always been the way?
The last message was from Merle. ‘The funeral won’t be until next week. The police haven’t finished with her yet.’ She sounded distraught. ‘They’re doing an autopsy today. This is harder than I thought.’
Darcy dropped the phone on the table. Cultural differences came a poor second in police work, but maybe Noah could do something. She brewed a coffee and heard the taps shut off in the shower. A memory of water cascading down Noah’s chest last night crowded into her mind. The gangly teenager had filled out in all the right places. She shook her head. Now was not the time to stand here daydreaming. Noah deserved his favourite breakfast. She halved a couple of roma tomatoes, and went to put them in the oven to roast. The joint of meat was still there and she grimaced. It was relegated to the bin. Then she scrambled eggs,
opened the packet of smoked salmon she’d bought the other day as the aroma of the roasting tomatoes filled the kitchen.
With breakfast under control she went to lay the table and realised she’d left her pack on the chair. She dug into it, pulling out her spare shirt, the leftover food and her iPad. She unlocked the screen, surprised to see it still had some battery power.
‘Smells divine.’ Noah sidled up behind her with a towel around his hips.
‘It will be.’
‘You’re second to none.’
‘Oh, you’re good.’
‘I know. Don’t suppose I’ve left any clothes here before, have I?’
‘No, but there’s the stuff you loaned Conor.’
‘Right, of course.’
Noah kissed her cheek. She closed her eyes, savouring the moment as his lips slid to her neck, the iPad forgotten in her hands. Abruptly she felt him bristle, pull away.
‘Really?’ Noah sounded angry. ‘Conor?’ He stepped away, leaving a cold space behind. Bewildered, Darcy turned to him.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Love letters from Conor? He’s accusing me of lying?’ He pointed at the iPad open on the Notes program. ‘We’ll meet again?’
Darcy looked down, realising he’d been reading what was on the screen.
‘More fool me,’ he said, stalking back to the bedroom, the tattoo band around his biceps accentuating the size of his muscles.
Darcy swallowed and read the letter, dread building in her heart. Conor must have written it while she’d been down by the creek. The date and time were stamped on the top of the letter.
Darcy, thank you. You saved my life and my sanity. You’re so very easy to love, too easy to love. I will treasure the memories we created, the passion that lives in your heart.
But you deserve better – not only from me, but from those around you. You deserve the truth. Ask Noah about Grant White’s death. He’s lying to you. He knows the truth about what happened that night on the boat. He’s always known the truth. Can you really trust him?
I will never forget the taste of your lips, the feel of your skin. One day, when all this is behind us, I know we’ll meet again.
Until then, yours
Conor
Oh dear God, it sounded like they’d slept together and then some, Darcy realised with a rush of shame. But what did he mean about Grant’s death?
‘Noah?’
Noah had bundled his clothes up in his arms, his face sad and grim by the time she walked into the bedroom.
‘Darcy.’
‘He said you know the truth about Grant’s death.’ Her voice was tight, embarrassed.
Noah shook his head. ‘He’s stirring trouble, Darcy. Your boyfriend’s a troublemaker.’
Darcy stood her ground, pensive but determined to defend herself, despite the flush of guilt. ‘He’s not my boyfriend, Noah. It was a mistake. Can we talk about this?’
‘There’s not a lot to say, Darce. I’m not blind. You couldn’t even look at me at the old dairy. You’ve always been a sucker for the wrong man.’
His words made her flinch. ‘So what about Grant? What do you know that I don’t? I always thought you were the only person who didn’t lie to me.’
He shook his head. ‘You haven’t even tried to deny you slept with Conor.’
‘So what if I did? What about Grant? What don’t I know about that night on the boat?’
‘Darcy, we’re all human. I’ve made mistakes, you’ve made mistakes, Conor’s made some almighty fuck-ups. I’ve never intentionally lied to you. I didn’t do that to hurt you. I thought I meant something to you. More fool me.’
They glared at each other, all the intimacy, the affection of the night before gone, banished by jealousy, insecurity and fear.
‘So you’re not going to tell me?’
‘It’s ancient history, Darcy, and it won’t bring Grant back. He’s gone.’
‘Tell me.’
His sigh seemed to empty all the bravado and anger from him. He looked defeated.
‘I found out Stirling was giving him Clear, a performance-enhancing drug, had been giving it to us all in smaller doses apparently. The day before Grant died I confronted him about it. We argued. He’d been acting weird, way more aggressive than usual. I knew something was up.’
Darcy sank against the wall, shocked that he’d been lying to her for so long. ‘Conor said that, said it was on the autopsy report. Why didn’t you say something?’
Noah looked down at the clothes in his arms and hesitated. ‘I was going to. I told him I was going to report him and Stirling. He went even more crazy. Accused me of being jealous because you’d chosen him. That made me lose it because I was sure he didn’t love you. For the first and last time we beat the shit out of each other. It’s why he wouldn’t listen to me on the boat. I was my fault that he did what he did. He thought I was going to destroy his career before it started. And I was. It’s my fault he died.’
The pain in his grey eyes was real as he tipped his head back. ‘So now you know.’
She looked away, her emotions swinging in a giant arc from relief to disappointment. He’d lied to her, but hadn’t she always known deep inside that something was wrong with Grant that day? Noah’s revelation had lifted some of the weight from her shoulders. Maybe her argument with Grant had been the final straw, not the catalyst as she’d always believed.
Noah straightened up and headed for the exit. He stopped in the doorway.
‘But I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets here, Darcy. Look in the mirror before you judge me. ’
He walked out and she heard the twang of the guitar as he collected his instrument. She slumped onto the bed, burying her face in her hands as the front door closed.
From heaven to hell in the space of ten minutes. Why, Conor? Why write something like that, which could be so misconstrued? Was he really just a troublemaker?
Her phone rang and she ran to answer it.
‘Mum?’
‘Darcy, darling, how are you?’
Darcy had to work hard to gather herself. ‘I’m fine. How are you? I’m sorry about Stirling. But I’m glad Amelia’s safe. How’s Chantelle?’
‘I’m sorry that he died like that, too. He didn’t deserve it. Chantelle’s not doing well, but her mother’s flying across and she has Amelia to keep her busy.’
Typical Beverley, chin up and carry on.
‘And you? Where are you?’
‘I’m driving back from the Bundaberg airport.’ Her voice sounded strained.
‘Do you want to come round?’ Her mother was the last person Darcy wanted to see right now, but she knew despite her bravado that Beverley would be distraught about Stirling’s death. Darcy still hadn’t worked out what she was feeling for the man who’d let her down so many times.
‘Yes. I’d love to. I’ll be there in half an hour. We need to talk.’
Darcy packed away the breakfast she’d been so joyfully making for Noah. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry for all that she’d found and all that she’d lost.
Instead she collected the dogs from Muriel, handed over the car, answered her questions as best as she could, but the last few days were still taking their toll and she made her excuses and left. She kept going until her mother knocked on the door.
‘Darcy. Darling, you look exhausted.’ Beverley leant in to peck her on the cheek, but Darcy pulled her into a hug, feeling once again how frail her mother had become. Reluctantly Darcy let her go. Grief had etched new lines around Beverley’s eyes.
‘How are you?’ Darcy asked as she led her mother into the kitchen where the kettle was close to boiling again.
‘A dreadful week. I’m so sorry about Rosie and Stirling. Sorry that it had to end this way. Stirling’s stupidity was always going to come home to roost one day.’
‘You knew he was giving his players steroids?’
‘Of course. He kept a book with all the details. I found it by
accident years ago. Stirling was a champion liar.’
‘So why have you always defended him?’
‘Darcy, your father had a difficult childhood. It was obvious all he wanted was a stable family. He wanted a son and a daughter and a homemaker for a wife. It wasn’t his fault that didn’t happen. So he threw himself into coaching.’
‘And Grant?’
Beverley gave her daughter a long measuring look. ‘You mean, when did I find out Stirling had a son?’
Darcy nodded. Beverley was so composed.
‘We were living in Brisbane still. A letter arrived for Stirling and I slit the envelope. I used to keep the stamps for a charity. Anyway a photograph fell out. It was a boy, a toddler, at his second birthday party.’
‘Oh, Mum, that’s awful.’ Darcy put an arm around her mother, but Beverley straightened up, pulled away.
‘Don’t feel sorry for me. You haven’t heard it all yet and you may well hate me when you do. We had a dreadful row about it. He was about to leave on a school trip. He was a science teacher by then. He said he didn’t regret it, that he’d always wanted a son and that I’d failed him.’
‘And you wonder why I found it so hard to like him?’ Darcy filled the mugs and placed one in front of her mother.
Beverley ignored the interruption. ‘I was furious with him. I went out with my girlfriends. Hit the town that weekend. I hadn’t done it in years. I met a man, a nice man, and I ended up in bed with him. It was exciting, different to your father. I didn’t have much experience before I married Stirling and this was special.’
Darcy felt queasy. She didn’t want to hear any more, but she couldn’t tell her mother to stop now.
‘Stirling came home from his trip all contrite and apologetic. We went to bed and a couple of months later I discovered I was pregnant. When you were born you were a miracle baby for me, so precious and all mine, because I knew in my heart you weren’t Stirling’s daughter, you were my daughter. It was wrong of me, selfish, but it was as though I had one up on him finally.’