by Daphne Clair
Annys sat up, smiling down into his eyes. ‘If you like. Men don’t have as much stamina as women.’
‘Is that so?’ His eyes dropped to her bare breasts, and he lifted a hand, lazily circling a pink aureole with one finger. ‘You wanna bet?’ he enquired softly, his eyes darkening as he watched the effect of that careless caress.
Annys tipped her head back and closed her eyes, the better to enjoy the slow, tingling return of desire. ‘Mmm.’
‘Anyway,’ he said quietly, turning his attention to her other breast but still lying with one hand casually tucked under his head, ‘how would you know? You’ve never slept with any man but me.’
She opened her eyes and looked at him, her mouth curving in a smile. ‘I read a lot,’ she said succinctly. ‘And you needn’t look so smug.’
‘I feel smug. No, I feel pleased and proud and humbly surprised.’
‘Humbly?’ Annys cocked her head at him. Humble wasn’t a word that she’d thought would be in Reid’s vocabulary.
As if the admission might have embarrassed him, he lifted his head to free his hand, and said huskily, ‘Stop talking, woman, and come here.’
And he drew her down to him and stopped her mouth with his.
That had been one of the best times of all. Already sated, but with the mutual, teasing challenge to spur them on, the initial sluggishness of returning passion allowed long minutes of tender stroking, of lazy, intimate explorations and soft, sweet kisses. The gradually building delight was accompanied by low laughter and quiet, nearly motionless embraces that lasted for minutes at a time, when they almost drowsed before a caressing hand, a wandering mouth, sparked a shudder of pleasure or a murmur of encouragement.
Accustomed to explosions of shared need, they found this time a new dimension to their lovemaking, and when she received him into her body they paused by tacit consent to gaze at each other with awe and ecstasy, not wanting to leave the exalted plane that they had reached, even for the final release of their mutual joy in each other. For a long time they stayed together, breathing carefully, smiling now and then, touching each other’s faces, exchanging quick, almost furtive kisses. Until, unable to postpone it any further, Annys drew his head down to hers and closed her eyes and opened her mouth to him, and felt him move gently, then more and more urgently, and finally she was flying, flying, breaking up into shining, bright pieces of pleasure, flinging back her head because she had to give voice to it, as Reid gave voice to his with his mouth against the warm skin of her throat.
It was a long, long time before they came back to earth, and stirred against each other, and nuzzled contentedly, and Annys settled her cheek on Reid’s shoulder and slept.
Later they got dressed and went out for a leisurely dinner, eating without tasting, drinking an expensive wine that Reid had ordered, and finishing the bottle without noticing. Every time they looked at each other, Annys felt her heart pound with love for him, with wanting him again. And she knew that what was in her eyes was what she saw in his, so that after a while she was afraid to look at him at all. Afraid that everyone else in the restaurant would know, that the very air between them would be scorched.
When he put a hand over hers and asked, ‘Do you want dessert? Or coffee?’ she couldn’t even speak, just shook her head.
He stroked her hand, his fingers strong and lean over hers. ‘What do you want, then?’ he asked.
Annys looked up at him. ‘You,’ she said baldly.
Reid took a quick breath. ‘Thank heaven,’ he breathed. ‘I don’t think I can stand another five minutes without having you.’
They never even made it back to the hotel. They’d been staying at a beach holiday resort, walking the half-mile or so to the restaurant along a white road.
When Reid said, ‘We could go back via the beach,’ Annys nodded agreement. They took off their shoes and held them as they walked, arms about each other. It was late and there was no one about. The moon kept disappearing behind dark, ragged clouds. Their feet tangled in a drift of dried seaweed, and as they paused to extricate themselves Reid dropped a quick kiss on her mouth before they walked on. Then he stopped her for another, longer kiss, his fingers kneading the smooth skin of her waist beneath her thin silk dress.
They came to a huge, bleached driftwood log and he kissed her again, deeply, while she held him with her arms flung about his neck, her shoes forgotten on the sand.
He moved his arms from her waist, stroked his hands downward and then gripped her hips, lifting her to stand on the log, her bare feet on the cool, weathered wood. His hands were under her skirt, smoothing her thighs, his head tipped back as she bent over him, giving him her mouth.
‘Undo your dress,’ he said against her lips, still touching her, and she opened the tiny buttons down the front of the low-necked, fitting bodice, glad that, because straps tended to show, she hadn’t worn a bra tonight. She pushed aside the fabric, revelling in the sound of Reid’s indrawn breath as he looked at her.
She put her hands in his hair and drew him to her, uttering a soft cry at the first warm, eager touch of his mouth, her knees sagging a little as she swayed closer to him, feeling his firm hands shaping her body under the concealing skirt of her dress.
After a while he lifted her down, holding her to him, and said, ‘I can’t wait, darling. I want you now, here. All right?’
‘All right,’ she agreed, covering his face with tiny, urgent kisses. ‘I don’t want to wait, either.’
He shrugged off his shirt and made a pillow for her head of it, and spread the skirt of her dress on the sand, and in the shadow of the driftwood they lay down and pleasured each other once more.
Afterwards they dusted sand off each other, and Reid did up her dress for her, fumbling at the buttons. He didn’t bother to put on his shirt, slinging it carelessly across one shoulder, his other arm hooked about her waist. He brushed his lips across her temple. ‘I love you. You’re the most incredible girl I’ve ever met. I love to make love to you.’
She wasn’t the first for him. Annys had known that, of course. She felt a twinge of jealousy, quickly stifled. He was older than her, and men even nowadays were expected to show off their sexual prowess, to test their manhood while still in their teens. But he’d not married before, never asked any of those other girls—and she had no idea how many that was, hadn’t enquired—to be his wife.
And the fact that he was no novice at lovemaking didn’t mean he’d been in the habit of sleeping around. She was sure he wasn’t the type to do that. He’d obviously been attracted to her when they’d met, but he’d never made her feel the way some men did when they covertly or frankly ran their eyes over her as though she were on sale. And he didn’t spend half his time when they were together watching other women, either, although Annys had noticed the interested glances many of them couldn’t help casting at him. He was too good-looking not to attract some feminine stares, but he gave no sign of noticing them. In fact, from the moment he’d first set eyes on Annys, he’d given her the heady impression that he never wanted to look at anyone else.
She had been equally smitten. From the night they’d met there’d been no one else for either of them.
It had been in a ski hut on Ruapehu, where she was a weekend guest of married friends who belonged to the club that owned it. In the party of ten people there was a man who she knew had been invited along for her benefit. He was nice, and she’d been getting on well with him that day on the slopes, and was happy to sit beside him as they sat about a roaring fire in the evening swapping stories of mishaps and good runs, and singing.
Then someone had come banging on the door, and three men came in dusting snow off their clothes and explaining how they’d taken a wrong turning on the mountain, it was snowing heavily and they couldn’t make it back to their own hut.
Of course they were made welcome for the night, and they accepted hot drinks and everyone shifted about to make room for them round the fire because they had just come out of the snow and m
ust be cold.
Introductions were made and the tallest of the three stopped by Annys and smiled at her as she began to shuffle along the wooden seat she was on. ‘Don’t move,’ he said, ‘I can sit in front of you, if it won’t block the warmth from you too much.’
She looked up into dark eyes with flecks of green in them in a tanned face, saw the quick flare of interest and felt an answering flicker of warmth and excitement.. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I was getting a bit too hot, anyway.’
He stood for a moment smiling at her, and then turned and sank down with his back to her, his arms resting on raised knees.
She looked at the dark head in front of her, the dark hair with a hint of wave combed back but a little ruffled, and the hand that hung casually across his other arm. A strong hand, capable, long-fingered and broad-palmed, with short, clean nails. Not the hand of a manual worker but very masculine all the same.
He turned his head and found her watching him, and smiled again.
For an excuse, she said, ‘I didn’t catch your name.’
‘Reid,’ he said. ‘I’m Reid Bannerman. And you’re Annys.’
He said it as though her name was special, looking into her eyes.
She said, ‘You’ve a good memory.’ She’d only had three new names to learn; he’d just been introduced to ten people.
‘Not particularly,’ he said.
She’d looked away then, because his eyes told her she knew why he’d remembered her name, and she wasn’t quite ready to admit it to him. Never before had she been so strongly, instantly attracted to a man. She found it unsettling, a bit scary.
Perhaps he realised it, because after a thoughtful moment he began talking to the man beside her in a casually friendly way, and when he next spoke to Annys it was in the same tone, a simple query about how she’d found the mountain, and how often did she ski?
From then on it was easy. Annys managed some equally casual replies, telling him she couldn’t ski as often as she would have liked, but letting him know she was fairly competent. She found out that he was a consulting engineer and had worked all over the world.
‘Consulting on what?’ she asked.
‘Buildings, bridges,’ he answered, ‘roads sometimes, oil rigs once or twice. I specialise in advising on earthquake resistance. Just recently I’ve been helping plan the rebuilding of a town in Japan that was hit last year. What do you do?’
‘Nothing so exciting.’ After leaving university with an arts degree she’d taken a course in design, but jobs were hard to get, and she’d worked in a fashion boutique for six months, then in a sports goods store. Now she was a part-time instructor in a gymnasium, giving her time to design and make sportswear which she was beginning to sell to retailers. ‘I’m just starting out in my own sportswear business,’ she told him. ‘But I don’t know yet if I’m going to make it.’
‘You’ll make it,’ he predicted.
He couldn’t possibly know, of course, he’d only just met her, but the quiet certainty in his voice was an ego boost.
‘You have that look about you,’ he told her, ‘that says, “I can do anything”.’
It was a look and an attitude that she had worked at. Some men were repelled by it, preferring women who could make them feel strong and needed. This man looked as though he found it interesting, even attractive. His eyes held approval, and a hint of challenge, as though he would have said, Go on, then, show me! Show the world.
She would too, she thought, returning the look unwaveringly. Something about him put her on her mettle. She’d never cared what anyone thought of her, had forged ahead in her own way for her own satisfaction without worrying about other people’s opinions. But she wanted Reid Bannerman to know that she was someone, that she was a success.
When the other man, the one with whom she’d spent an enjoyable day, yawned and said, ‘I’m off to bed,’ she glanced at the clock and saw how late it was. Some of the others had already gone off to their bunks. As he made for the ablutions room, she got up in her turn. Reid Bannerman caught at her wrist and stood too, holding her in a light, firm clasp. ‘Are you two a couple?’ he asked her, glancing towards the man whose name she could scarcely recall now.
Annys shook her head. ‘I only met him this weekend.’
He said, ‘You only met me tonight.’
There was no answer to that. Already he was important to her, in some tentative but definite way.
‘Come skiing with me tomorrow?’ Reid said abruptly.
‘Yes,’ Annys said. Of course she would. There was no question of turning him down. Whatever was between them demanded that they spend some time together, discover each other, find out what it was that had forged an instant bond between them, as though in some strange way they’d recognised each other.
He said, ‘Good,’ and let go her hand. For a moment longer they stood close together, facing each other. Then
Annys turned away and left him.
* * *
The run he suggested in the morning was one of the advanced slopes and she hadn’t tried it before. When she told him that in answer to his query, he said immediately, ‘We’ll take another one instead.’
‘No.’ She set her jaw stubbornly and said, ‘I’ve enough experience to tackle it. I’ve not had anyone to ski it with. I want to do it,’ she insisted, as she saw he was about to argue. ‘If you won’t come with me, I’ll ski it by myself.’
She knew it was going to be a test of her skill, but today, in his company, she knew too that she could indeed do anything.
And she was proved right. They pushed off together at the highest point they were able to get to, and swooped down shoulder to shoulder, the wind whooshing by them, their skis hissing over the deep, smooth powder, leaving twin tracks behind them on the steep slope.
Annys swerved to avoid a snow-covered hump; Reid went right over it, soared briefly and landed perfectly balanced and went speeding on, his poles free in his hands. Behind him, Annys laughed and made an effort to increase her speed, swooping past him a little further down. She knew she was going so fast that she was barely in control, but she’d told Reid she could do this, and she was determined she was going to do it well.
Then he was beside her again, smiling at her, and she risked a brief smile back before returning her concentration to keeping her balance and watching for obstacles.
First she and then Reid would fly ahead, but the other would pole after the leader and catch up. When they finally reached the bottom side by side and in a flurry of snow brought themselves to a controlled halt, she turned to Reid, panting and laughing, her eyes bright with exhilaration. ‘That was terrific!’
He looked down at her, grinning as he pulled off his snow goggles. ‘You’re pretty good,’ he said with respect. ‘I thought I’d have to hold back for you.’
Annys said almost fiercely, ‘Don’t you ever hold back for me!’
He regarded her with concentration for a moment and then said, ‘Right. I won’t.’
From the first she’d known that was one of the things he liked about her, that she never asked for special concessions, and was always able to match him.
At the end of the day he fished a card from his pocket and gave it to her. It had ‘Bannerman International’ written on it in bold black type, and underneath, ‘Engineering Consultants’ and Reid’s name.
‘Consultants?’ she queried. ‘In plural?’
‘I’ve more work than I can handle.’
‘How many in the firm?’
‘Three engineers, a couple of trainee-assistants, a secretary, a telephonist.’
He asked for her address and telephone number and she gave it without hesitation. He wrote it down in a small green-covered pocket diary, looked at it and said, ‘I’m based in Wellington at the moment. But I’ll come to Auckland as soon as I can manage it, spend a few days. I’ll be in touch.’
She didn’t question that he would. Even when two weeks went by and she hadn’t heard from him, she knew it
would happen.
One afternoon she’d just got back from the gym and was making a cup of coffee before settling down to her drawings, when the phone rang.
‘Reid,’ he said in answer to her casual hello. ‘Reid Bannerman. Remember?’
Of course she remembered. She realised she’d been counting the days.
He took her to a restaurant for dinner, then to a nightclub, and they danced, sometimes apart and sometimes close, and drank a little and listened to the music, talked in snatches when the music let them, and danced some more. Then he took her home and said, ‘Can I come in?’
And Annys, knowing what he meant and suddenly nervous, said, ‘No. Not yet.’ Then bit her lip because that was giving away more than she’d meant to.
He laughed quietly, and said, ‘May I kiss you goodnight?’
Silently she lifted her face, and he took it tenderly between his hands and kissed her very, very gently. And left.
Annys let herself into the old house that she shared with two other girls and the fiance of one of them, and shut the door, feeling almost sick with disappointment.
He had not made even the slightest suggestion of seeing her again. Was he one of those men who demanded instant gratification, and, if they didn’t get it, went off to greener fields?
If so, he wasn’t worth bothering with, she assured herself. And took herself to bed feeling thoroughly depressed, tempted to cry herself to sleep.
All that changed the following day when he phoned as she was getting ready to go to the gym. ‘What are you doing today?’
‘I’m working until two,’ she told him.
‘I have a meeting at one. I should be through by two-thirty. Do you surf?’
‘Yes, I have a board.’
‘Good. I can pick you up at three. Your place?’
It didn’t occur to her then that he was taking a lot for granted. She said, fine, that would suit her perfectly, and when he’d said goodbye hung up with a smile on her lips and a singing heart.
It had kept on singing as they rode the waves at Piha on a wild, cool summer’s day when the water thundered on to the black-streaked sand as though determined to pummel it into submission. Growing tired of fighting the rollers, they climbed Lion Rock and stood on the summit, buffeted by the wind and looking down at the curling breakers trying to scramble up its face, and held hands on the way down. Then they went into the water without the boards, bodysurfing in on the thundering waves again and again, and coming out breathless and cold, their skin stinging with the salty force of the ocean.