by Robyn Grady
Her fingernails digging into her palms, she followed him to the railing. He checked his watch again, then studied the Harbour Bridge, which was set to ignite with transfixing kaleidoscopes of light at any moment.
Amidst the building excitement, he spoke, low and almost grave. ‘In case you’re wondering, I am going to kiss you.’
Her bones turned to jelly.
But she lifted a shoulder, let it drop. If he could tease so shamelessly, she could outright lie. ‘I hadn’t wondered at all.’
From way below, distant and near, the countdown drifted up.
Ten, nine, eight…
His fingers laced with hers as his face, dramatically cut in the moving light and shadow, came close. His next admission poured over her, hot and drugging. ‘I’ve wanted to do this all night.’
Five, four, three…
How to react? What to say? She wanted his kiss, but how much, or little, did he want from her?
As she searched his eyes a roar of ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR’ went up and the sky erupted with loud bursts of colour-filled stars. While magical showers rained and thunderous cracks exploded all around, his hand, joined with hers, wound around her back and tugged her in.
He spoke close to her lips, his breath warm and inviting. ‘Stars are shooting, Celeste. Make a wish.’
His physical presence was so strong—so close to hypnotic—she could barely catch her breath, let alone think. Her voice was tellingly husky. ‘You make a wish.’
His hand on the small of her back urged her closer. He was already hard. ‘I wish you’d stay the night.’
Her skin was on fire. Her legs were loose rubber bands. What did she want? Where would this lead?
She groaned. ‘I—I…I’m not sure.’
He smiled. ‘Guess I’ll have to convince you.’ His lips tasted hers, tender and coaxing. ‘Happy…’ another, longer taste ‘…New…’
Cupping her jaw, he kissed her slow and deep, with a scorching knowledge and soul-filled necessity that she’d dreamed of every night for weeks. When their mouths gently parted, he didn’t say Year.
Instead, she sighed and said, ‘Yes.’
CHAPTER SIX
CELESTE didn’t care if yes was the right decision. Lord knew it was the right decision for now. With fireworks whistling, bursting and collapsing all around, Ben smiled and led her from the balcony into his large shadowy bedroom. She followed, only knowing she was walking on moonbeams.
The smell of spent gunpowder drifted in through a giant open window. That, mingled with his masculine scent and indistinct shapes shifting over the walls, made the moment seem almost surreal. With flashes working over the strong planes and angles of his face, Ben kept his eyes on hers and effortlessly peeled the dress up over her head.
As he heeled off his shoes his gaze dipped and he smiled. She knew why.
Black underwear—a delicate crop top and scant panties. She could kiss Fate smack on the lips for guiding her hand in her drawer this afternoon when she’d dressed for her trek to the airport. She’d dreamed of standing before Ben Scott wearing her best French lace—but her fantasy hadn’t gone this far…Ben corralling her back onto his bed, that devilish glint in his eyes, two minutes past the stroke of midnight.
As she reversed on all fours towards the middle of the mattress, he followed, unbuttoning his white collared shirt as he walked on his knees. When he reached her, he cupped her face and decimated her with a perfect-in-every-way, penetrating kiss. The stars falling outside had nothing on the wonderland going off in her mind and through her body. The only spectacle worth experiencing tonight was happening right here in this room.
When their mouths parted, he took warm, slow kisses from the line of her jaw. ‘I’ve thought about you a lot, Celeste.’
Her insides jumped. One checkmark. Should she be so honest?
She combed her fingers over his shoulders. ‘Me, too.’
She’d said those words before, on his yacht when they’d danced. He’d said he was glad that they’d met—Me, too—then he’d gone on to say he would take care of PLM. Soon after, they’d said goodbye. As days had grown into weeks it had seemed the farewell was final. Then tonight’s miracle had landed in her lap.
His skilled mouth trailed down her neck and those memories floated off as a hot haze of desire built within her then condensed. She wouldn’t think about anything other than the sensations she enjoyed this minute. Plenty of time later to dissect right from wrong. Not now. Not now…
She grabbed a corner of his shirt and coaxed the fabric from his shoulders. Her palms fanned over the human granite she adored, hotter and more vital than she’d remembered. In reply, he slid a thin, forgiving strap off her shoulder, then brought her close to adoringly taste the slope. ‘I’m going to hold you to your promise.’
She fell into the heady splendour of his teeth grazing her neck. ‘Hmm…what promise?’
‘That you stay the night. All night.’
Fiery fingertips found the bottom edge of her top and, like the dress before, lifted it over her head. One arm bracing their weight, he eased her down, back onto the cool silky quilt. His touch was beyond exquisite. The way his fingers played her—over her hair, down her limbs—was a symphony fit for angels. When his mouth suctioned over one tight, pleading nipple, her lit fuse almost burst into a bonfire.
Her fingers knotted in his strong dark hair and she held him close. How on earth would she last?
‘I like you best naked,’ he murmured.
No one had ever spoken to her in that manner before—so sultry and commanding. And there wasn’t a moment’s doubt that she’d comply. Her breathing shallow, she lifted her legs and, quivering, closed her eyes. He caught a corner of her panties, and the black lace slipped up and over her pointed toes. She bit her lip against a whimper of pleasure as the edge of his hand sliced down…between her calves, lower to part her thighs, at last coming to rest at that pulsating hot divide.
She gripped the quilt as his expert touch wove in and around, driving the fire higher, compacting her passion to a finite beating force before—at the crucial moment—he broke contact and moved away. Breath rushing out, she snapped her eyes open and found his colossal silhouette kneeling before her.
Gripping her hips, he dragged until her legs draped over the thick steel of his thighs. Then he leant to scoop her up so they were positioned front to front with her sitting on his folded lap, her legs wrapped low around his hips, his length throbbing against her own burning need. His palms ironed up her sides before curling down her back, ultimately manoeuvring her behind until his shaft found an exquisite, heart-stopping way in. As his mouth claimed hers he began to move. She threaded her arms around his neck and trembled as the thrill and passion spiralled closer to out of control.
She’d been mad to think she might not want this. Tomorrow she’d survive whatever came. This minute she couldn’t contemplate not having Ben Scott at least one more time.
Celeste drifted off to sleep around dawn and awoke to the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Before she opened her eyes, she ran through her mental projector the sublime hours she’d spent in this bed. With that man.
Ben Super Sexy Scott.
She stretched and smiled.
Life certainly was wonderful.
‘About time.’
At the cheerful greeting, her eyes sprang open. Wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, Ben strolled in holding a tray with coffee and something smelling of melted butter on the side.
She pulled herself up, feeling a little odd about bringing the sheet with her. He’d seen everything, done everything. There was nothing left to hide. And yet when he looked at her, all hot and expectant as he slid the breakfast tray onto a table, her cheeks burned. She felt freer with him than anyone she’d ever known. At the same time she’d never felt more vulnerable.
Last night was over. Tomorrow had begun. Where to now?
He held up a white ceramic coffee pot. ‘Milk? Sugar? It’s freshly brewed. Can’t stand t
he instant stuff.’
Feeling like a princess, she told him how she liked it—hot and strong. When he joined her with two mugs and perched himself on the edge of the mattress, she had to fiddle to navigate a sip without her sheet falling.
He tasted from his mug then his index finger snaked out. ‘What’s this?’ The tip of his finger curled around the top of the sheet and tugged.
Her respiratory rate jumped ten rungs, but she didn’t retrieve her cover. Rather, she held her breath, as she’d done that day in the ocean, and let the sheet fall in soft folds to her lap.
He looked deeply into her eyes. ‘It’s not about feeling reckless. It’s about feeling comfortable knowing that you’re beautiful. This morning, you’re glowing.’ He bent close, dotted a kiss on each breast, then found her lips and kissed her with more meaning than she’d ever known possible.
When he drew away, she wanted to drag him back. He affected her in a sense that defied words. It was as if she’d always known him and this was like coming home, sweet home. Was it the same for him?
Getting herself together, she nodded at the table. ‘What’s on the tray?’
He swallowed a long sip. ‘English muffins. Your choice of honey, jam or Vegemite.’
She laughed. ‘Now you’re trying to spoil me.’
He twirled an imaginary moustache. ‘All to serve my wicked purpose. We’re going to eat in bed.’
‘You’re not afraid of crumbs?’
His grin was dry. ‘I’ll suffer it.’
He crossed the room and returned with the tray. When he was propped up beside her, long legs out, bare feet crossed, she plied more butter onto her muffin, poured honey till it was drowning, then sank her teeth in and savoured the sweet taste. She’d never enjoyed breakfast so much.
In between bites, they talked. Ben ate two halves to her one, then pushed the rest aside. ‘I could eat more but I thought we might go for a walk and find somewhere nice for lunch, seeing it’s after eleven.’
She choked on her food. ‘Eleven o’clock!’
She’d been so preoccupied, chatting about the party and poor Malcolm and snatching glances at the musculature evident beneath Ben’s T, she hadn’t bothered to check her watch, or his.
‘I’ve had a swim, pressed some weights, done some work.’ His smile was curious. ‘You looked too peaceful to wake.’
‘I’ve usually done heaps by this time of day.’
‘It was a pretty big night.’
She quivered to her toes. Big was right.
He trailed a finger around her cheek and kissed her with just the right amount of tenderness. ‘Happy New Year, Celeste. I’d rip off my clothes and dive under there with you, but you probably need a break from my attentions.’
Uh, no. But that wasn’t the right answer. She shouldn’t sound overly eager after crumbling so easily and falling into bed with him last night.
Maybe a touch of the truth. ‘I could use a shower.’ She wanted to add, After that I’m yours.
But was she? This morning she was twice as keen on him as she’d been yesterday. She wanted to see him again. If she was unsure about some things in her life, she was certain about that. But if this was going nowhere—if last night had been a bit of fun on the side for Ben, nothing more—well, she would rather know now.
As if reading her thoughts, he quickly downed the rest of his coffee. ‘There’s fresh linen in the bathroom,’ he said, nodding at the attached room. ‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you a fresh change of clothes.’
She brightened. Better than having a wardrobe full of dresses left behind by past lovers.
When he left, she dived from the bed under the shower. She felt revived and formidable when she emerged half an hour later. Ten minutes after that, she felt empowered strolling down an inner city street, her arm looped through his. Everyone seemed to smile as they passed. The grey had all gone away.
They found a Turkish café at The Rocks open for lunch and Celeste relaxed more over pide bread, zucchini puffs and home-made hummus. Ben was in great form and only stopped talking to listen with interest when she had something to say, which was often. When he told a story about dressing as Santa for his friend’s children in Perth, and how his impromptu rendition of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ on the front lawn had attracted every child and howling dog in the neighbourhood, she laughed so much her sides ached.
Afterwards they strolled again and window-shopped. It was getting late when Ben stopped and turned towards an interesting window. The bold black and gold letters said ‘Magicians’ Haven’. She was secretly admiring his sexy sandpaper jaw when he tipped his chin at a mysterious-looking orb on the lowest shelf.
‘Is that yours?’
She looked down and laughed. ‘My crystal ball?’
The ball’s glass was clear yet somehow misty, flicked with colour that seemed to spark, then die away. The depths almost reminded her of her future—what once had seemed unclouded was now evolving, shifting, including what would happen next with Ben.
‘It looks pretty authentic, doesn’t it?’ She half meant it.
He sucked in air between his teeth. ‘Sorry. It doesn’t convince me.’
‘You think you could spot a fake from the real deal?’
‘If there’s any such thing.’
She had to ask. ‘Do you think there is a real deal, Ben?’
He chuckled and squeezed her hand. ‘I guess all those gypsies can’t be wrong.’
This was it. He might yet ask to see her again, but nothing had been mentioned at lunch. Not, How about a movie next week? Or, Are you doing anything next Friday night? Wasn’t that usually what happened when a ‘date’ was going well?
But times had changed. Women proposed to men. Females occupied top positions in business and politics. Wearing a skirt didn’t equate to being considered a delicate flower any more. She wanted to know. If his answer was ‘no’ or ‘let’s see’, she would deal with it.
‘I didn’t think we were talking about crystal balls any more,’ she offered.
His brow knitted. ‘What were we talking about?’ But she could see in his eyes that he knew.
‘Guess what I’m asking is…’ Say it. Say it. ‘Are we real, Ben?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘What we shared last night was one-hundred-per-cent real.’
‘And today?’
‘If you’re asking if I want to see you again, you bet I do. If you’re asking if I want long term…’ He paused, then shook his head. ‘That won’t change.’
She took his answer in and on one level was pleased. He wanted to see her again—that was comforting. But what did his statement say pared down? He liked being with her, sleeping with her, but if she was looking for more, he wasn’t it—subject closed.
She brushed a wave from her brow and tried to smile, but her lips were trembling so much, she looked away instead. ‘I see,’ was all she got out.
They began to walk again and he blew out a breath. ‘Look, you deserve an explanation—’
She held up a hand. No need. ‘Point is we can see each other again, have a few laughs, play some pool…’ Jump in the sack. ‘Or not.’
She hadn’t wanted to be left in the dark. It would’ve hurt far more to enjoy a few more dates, then learn they could never be anything more than ‘casual’. Now more than ever she knew she liked Ben way too much to be little more than sleeping partners.
Her throat tightened.
How many others did he have?
Ben scratched his temple. ‘The simple truth is, I’m not prepared to pick up a bow, take aim and see if I luck out and hit the bullseye with a happily ever after.’
She forced a laugh. ‘Am I the bow or the bullseye?’ She sure wasn’t the happily ever after.
‘I don’t try to fool anyone into thinking I’m anything more than I am.’ His jaw clenched and he seemed to think it through. ‘Long term usually comes hand in hand with kids.’
Had she mentioned kids? Sure, like the rest of humankind, one day she planne
d on having one or two. But motherhood seemed a good while away yet. She had lots to accomplish.
‘I wasn’t planning on falling pregnant, Ben.’
His voice deepened. ‘Of course not. No one should even consider bringing children into this world unless they’re sure. And certain today isn’t necessarily certain tomorrow.’
She shook her head. Talk about damaged.
She knew she shouldn’t, but her concern and hurt slipped out anyway. ‘You’ll never get over growing up in foster care, will you?’
His smile was jaded. ‘I don’t mean to sound harsh, but you really had to be there.’
Celeste weathered the sting. She couldn’t imagine having her earliest memories include dejection over feeling alone and largely unwanted. The father Ben had never known had abandoned him. But should he always let that regret dominate a big part of his life?
She might be disappointed in how their relationship had turned out, but she’d gone into it with her eyes wide open and, regardless, she still thought enough of Ben to hope that he’d find happiness eventually. However, it was pretty obvious that if he didn’t move on, he would end up a lonely old man one day.
The cogs in her mind continued to turn as they walked on.
‘Have you had any luck with that PI who was tracking down your father?’ she asked artlessly.
Ben blinked twice at her, then lowered his chin. ‘No. Nothing.’
She shrugged one shoulder. ‘Maybe you should try that other agency you were talking about.’
He frowned as if she’d read his mind. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. The first guy was a younger brother of a friend. Might be time for a professional.’
She hoped he’d be able to track down his father—his family—and try to make peace, if not with them, then with himself. She could easily hate her own father for so many reasons, but then she’d risk being filled with hatred herself; no one needed that. Both she and Ben needed to move on from yesterday and rob their pasts of the power to make choices for them—commitment issues included.