by Diana Fraser
“Well you’re right about the predictable and orderly. Or was right. I feel like I’ve just stepped off that particular ledge.”
“And how does it feel?”
“Scary. Like I’m falling.”
His grip tightened. “You’re not falling. I have you.”
She turned around in his arms and her hips met his and she suddenly realized why he’d angled away from her. He was hard for her. She swallowed and pulled away. It took all her effort and self-control. “I’m not so sure you having me isn’t even more scary.”
“I’m sorry. But there’s no way I can have you in my arms and not want you.”
She nodded and pressed her cheek against his chest. “Me too,” she whispered.
He pulled away and she could see a frown on his face. “Tell me, Rebecca, what is it you’re so afraid of? You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“It’s not you I’m afraid of.” He bent down and kissed her softly on the lips and her body melted and she sank against him. He pulled away too soon. “It’s me. It’s my mind I’m afraid of.”
“Why would you be afraid of your clever mind?”
“When you kiss me, when my body responds, I stop being clever and I think other things. Except”—she gulped, as she tried to put into words her deepest fears—“except they’re not really thoughts, they’re needs.”
“You’re frightened of your body’s needs?”
She nodded.
“But that’s normal.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t think it is. I think… I think”—she squeezed her eyes shut but that didn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks—“I think I have a dirty mind,” she gulped. “When I see you, I just want you inside me. I don’t care who’s about, I don’t care if we’re seen… in fact I think I’d like it. I just want you. Your body, naked, rubbing against mine, doing things to me that I can’t…”
He groaned and pulled her tight against him. “Christ, Rebecca…”
“Morgan, don’t you see? I’m so scared of that side of me. I can’t believe I’m even saying these things. I’ve never told anyone before.”
“They’re natural. It’s not dirty. Believe me, I’ve seen and heard dirty minds talk before and yours is nowhere close. Besides, it’s not like you want to have sex with the whole of Lake Tekapo in one session.” Then his eyes narrowed anxiously. “Is it?” he added.
She half-spluttered a laugh between the tears. “No. Just you. All the time. Just you.”
The tension in his face disappeared. “Just me. That sounds good. You can trust me, Rebecca. I’ll look after you, make sure you’re safe. You can trust me that nothing we do will be ‘dirty’. Only good clean, loving fun. Do you trust me?”
She nodded.
“Say it.”
“I trust you, Morgan. I trust you like I’ve never trusted anyone before.”
“Good. Then let’s go someplace and I’ll show you that you can trust me.”
The journey back to the cottage seemed to take forever. Morgan drove with his arm around Rebecca who nestled into him, her feet curled under her on the seat. She looked at the familiar road in the ute’s headlights and felt a sense of wonderment at how unfamiliar it looked. It was as if she’d ventured into new territory.
They pulled up outside her house and the rumble of the ute died into the stillness of the night.
“You okay?” He lifted her chin and kissed her.
“I don’t know.” It was the only honest answer. She felt she’d gone beyond being okay or not okay. She was simply living in the moment. And she couldn’t ever remember having done that before.
He brushed his thumb against her lip. “I want a better answer than that in a little while.”
“Like ten minutes?”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “It’ll take me longer than that, sweetheart.”
“Half an hour?” she grinned.
“And some.”
In the end it was over an hour before they lay, side by side, panting on the bed. “You okay?” he asked.
“Um,” she grunted softly. She casually stretched her arm over her face, trying to shelter her reaction. She didn’t want him to see her tears. Because how could she explain them when she didn’t understand herself?
As the tears flowed down her cheeks, trickled under her chin and onto the sheets, his fingers stroked down her arm, until he reached her hand and enfolded it in his own.
“Rebecca? What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t speak.
“You surely don’t still believe that what we’ve done is dirty in any way? Because it’s not. It’s making love.”
If he hadn’t said those words, she might have got away with the tears. But as soon as he said them, the surge of emotion rose from deep within her and she could hide her tears no longer.
“Ah, Rebecca…” He drew her to him and held her while she cried softly against his chest. He didn’t say anything further, just held her, until she’d cried herself out and her breathing had evened out. “Tell me,” was all he said.
“I told you I’m adopted. Well, ever since I met my birth mother I’ve been scared. I’m on the nature side of the nature/nurture debate. I’m a scientist and scientists believe in the laws of science, of genetics, of children being like their birth parents.”
“You’re frightened of being like your birth parents?”
“Yes, and I’ve good reason because I know who they are. Or at least… I know what they’ve done.” She swallowed. “When I was fourteen I wanted to know about my birth mother. And I managed to trace her without my parents’ help. Turned out they knew more about the circumstances of my birth than they’d ever let on and they wanted to protect me. I didn’t find that out until later. At the time, I couldn’t understand why my birth mother was reluctant to meet me. Then, when I did meet her, she was cold. She made it very clear that this was to be our one and only meeting and she said that if I had any questions she’d answer them honestly and directly because I wouldn’t have another chance.”
Rebecca closed her eyes as the memories of that heartbreaking moment consumed her.
“Go on,” Morgan prompted gently.
“I asked her a few questions about herself, about me—I can hardly remember them. And then I asked her who my father was. I can picture her now. She was standing by the window, her arms folded, looking out, impatient to leave. I was heartbroken. And when I asked her that question she turned to me and told me that she had no idea who he was. That he’d never been found. I didn’t understand. I asked her what she meant by ‘found’. She tapped her cigarette into the tray, sucked on it deeply—I remembered that because she was in profile and her nose was exactly like mine. Small, stupid, snub thing.”
He kissed her nose. “Nothing stupid about your nose.”
She tried to smile but failed and took his hand and rested it across her closed eyes. “And I thought, there, in that moment, in that gesture, this was what I was missing—someone who looked like me, someone to whom I could trace my likes and dislikes, my personality, my looks everything. That was what I wanted—to know myself through my birth parents. And despite her attitude I still thought she held the key.” She opened her mouth to continue but no sound emerged.
He pulled away his hand and brushed her closed eyes. “Open your eyes and tell me, Rebecca.”
She flicked them open and looked into his eyes—eyes that held only her. It gave her the strength she needed. “She said they’d never found the man who’d raped her, who’d left his baby inside her. That by the time she knew she was pregnant, it was too late to get rid of me. Adoption was the only recourse. She had been sixteen, Morgan. What kind of man forces himself on a sixteen-year-old girl?”
He shook his head.
“The answer is a man who couldn’t control his base instincts. A cruel man.” She inhaled a shuddering breath. “She told me how it happened, what he did to her.”
“Why the hell did she put you through that?�
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She shrugged. “I think, in some way, she wanted to punish me. Maybe I represented the man who’d raped her… my father. Maybe she wanted to vent a bit on me. Hurt me for how he’d hurt her? I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve never forgotten the terrible details of it. He’d used her again and again.”
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
“That’s my father. I carry his genes. I’m terrified I’m some kind of sex maniac like him. When we make love my mind kind of goes blank and I want so much. My body wants yours, in so many ways.”
“Rebecca. You’re not your father, you’re you. Unique. Christ, my birth father was a drunkard and an utter bastard.”
“But you know you’re nothing like that.”
“I have been in the past. But no, I’ve moved on from that. I trust myself now. Maybe no-one else. But me. And you.” He pushed her hair off her face, held her face in both his hands and kissed her. “You’re nothing like anyone else. Not your mother who was too cruel in telling you these things. And certainly not your father. He may have been mentally ill, may have been off his head on some drug or other for all you know. None of which has anything to do with you. Do yourself a favor and forget him, forget these things which are haunting you and most probably wrong.”
“I can’t forget things I know.”
“Then don’t forget those things, but don’t connect them to you. There’s no reason to fear your sexuality, simply because you had a rotten father.”
There was something in his expression, something so genuine, so loving, something so convincing that it pushed her fears away and she leaned toward him and kissed him.
The kiss turned into something more passionate and they rolled onto the bed and he showed her how totally un-dirty and good loving could be between two people.
It was still dark when Rebecca awoke to find Morgan dressing. She propped herself on one elbow, patted the table for her glasses and peered at the clock. “Five o’clock! Really?”
“I’ve slept in. I have to go.”
“Breakfast? Toast, coffee?”
“No time.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Just time for a kiss.” He sighed and swept his hand down her naked body. “Wish I had time for more. But…”
She laughed and jumped out of bed and leaped into his arms. He kissed her again and walked through into the hall and up to the front door. With her still hanging around his neck, kissing his neck, he grabbed his coat from the coat rack and shrugged it on. Then he grabbed her bottom, gave it a good squeeze and a hard kiss and then unceremoniously unpeeled her from him and dropped her to her feet.
He opened the door and a blast of cold air filled the hall. But she didn’t dash away, simply stood in her nakedness, feeling her nipples peak under his lustful gaze and the cold air, and the throb of lust between her legs.
“Thank you, Morgan. Thank you for everything.” She reached up once more and kissed him before retreating backward into the hall.
“My pleasure, Princess. I’ll see you later.” After one last sweeping glance, he closed the door and was gone.
The ute roared into life at the same time as an unfamiliar phone ring tone sounded.
She frowned, pulled on her dressing gown and looked to the floor where a cell phone vibrated. It must be Morgan’s. Must have fallen out of his jeans pocket.
“Hello?”
“Who’s this? Is Morgan there?”
“Er, no. He’s, er, just left.”
“Without his phone?”
“Yes. He forgot it.”
“Damn.” There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Can I give him a message?”
“Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m…” What the hell was she? “I’m his friend.”
“His friend? Right. Like he stays with women friends until five in the morning.”
“I really don’t see it’s any of your business.”
“Anyway. Whatever. Just tell him to phone me.”
“Who shall I tell him rang?”
“His wife.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“His wife?” repeated Rebecca, the words slowly sinking in.
“That’s right. Tell him to ring me. And tell him it’s urgent.”
Rebecca thought quickly as she tried to suppress the poisonous blend of fear, anger and grief that made her want to vomit. “Urgent?”
“Yes. Tell him we need to talk about Joe.”
“Joe?”
“What are you, a parrot or something? Yes, Joe. His son. I guess he didn’t tell you about him either.” The woman didn’t wait for Rebecca to reply. “There’s something wrong with him. Morgan needs to ring me as soon as possible.”
Rebecca sat down, her legs suddenly weak. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing emerged.
“Did you get that? Urgent.”
“Sure.” She swallowed. “I’ll let him know straight away.”
The phone went dead and Rebecca tossed Morgan’s phone on the bedcover and stared at it. All the while her mind re-played her night with Morgan, as if she were editing the rushes of a film. His face at the moment she climaxed, watching her intently, the broad shoulders and back she explored every inch of with her mouth, tasting, caressing. His thigh muscles, tense as he stood supporting her, her legs wrapped around his hips, his arms holding her as she arched back as she thrust herself onto him. She’d let herself go; she’d trusted him, just as he’d told her to. And he’d been deceiving all the time. What else had he lied about?
A cold, calm anger filled her, curbing the deadly hurt. She rose, went into the bathroom and flicked on the shower. While she waited for the water to heat up, she looked at herself in the mirror as the steam rose and curled around her. Her eyes were steady now. She could do this. She’d shower, go find him and give him the message. And then she’d return, have breakfast, check her emails and go to work. Just as she always did. Just, she corrected herself, as she’d always done before Morgan.
She had to find that ordered life once more, had to hang on to something solid because Morgan had lied—he’d lured her off her nice, orderly path into chaos with the promise of trust. But she couldn’t trust him. And without trust there was nothing.
Once dressed she rang Glencoe but Morgan wasn’t there. Apparently he’d gone straight out to a stockyard between the homestead and Lake Tekapo.
She jumped in her car and drove through the dark streets, which were only just beginning to lighten. She’d soon left Lake Tekapo behind and was approaching the stockyard. Lights spilled out from the open doors of the shed and, as she drew closer, she saw his ute parked outside.
She got out and shivered in the freezing dawn air. One of the other workers saw her. He called inside: “Boss! You’ve got company. It’s your missus.”
Seems like word had got around. Pity word hadn’t got around with equal ease that Morgan was already married and that his missus was actually someone else. If she’d known he’d been married, she wouldn’t have gone within a mile of him. She didn’t do things like that. Being the lover of a married man certainly didn’t enter into her future plans.
Before she reached the shed, Morgan appeared. When he saw her, his face lit up. She shook her head in disbelief. How the hell could he look at her like that while he had a wife and son—unacknowledged and needing him?
He raised his arm as if to pull her to him but she stopped short.
“What’s wrong?”
She flexed her hands and thrust them into her coat pockets. She didn’t know if she was going to punch him or reach for him. “You left you cell phone behind.” Her voice rang out sharply across the quiet yard and he narrowed his gaze. She tossed the phone to him and he grabbed it in mid-air.
“You came all this way to give it back? No reason to have done that.” He pushed it into his back pocket. “Hardly use it anyway.”
“You might not, but someone called you.”
He frowned. “Callum? But he knew I’d be here.”
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br /> “Not Callum. Your wife.”
“What?”
She cleared her throat. “Your wife rang. She asked me to pass on a message to you that Joe’s sick. That your child, your son, is sick.”
“Joe? What the hell’s wrong with him?”
Until his reply, Rebecca hadn’t realized that she’d been waiting for Morgan to deny it all, to tell her that it must be the wrong number, or that it was all lies. In weak moments on the drive over she’d figured that maybe this was all some mad ex’s figment of her imagination. But in that moment, when he hadn’t even attempted to deny it, the anger ebbed away, evaporating like a mist burned to nothing by the sudden blast of the mid-summer sun, and the tears emerged. She bit her lip. She would not cry.
“Your wife didn’t share the details with me. She just wanted me to tell you as soon as possible. And I’ve done that so I’m going.” Rebecca turned to leave but Morgan was too quick and grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She couldn’t look into his face, simply stared at his fingers that sunk into her thick coat. She could feel their strength through the layers, burning her skin. “Take your hands off me!”
“No, I need to know what she said. Did she say where she is? Where Joe is?” He walked in front of her, his hands gripping her arm more tightly still. “Did she anything about where they were?”
She tried to wriggle out from under his firm grip but he wasn’t letting her go.
“Rebecca, was there anything else? Anything at all?”
“There was nothing else. Why don’t you damn well ring her and ask her if you’re so anxious?”
He took his phone and scanned the recent calls and pressed dial. “You don’t understand.”
“Morgan, I understand the facts perfectly. That’s what I do for a living. I examine things, I draw conclusions. It’s not that hard. Now, I’m sure you’ve things to sort out, so I’ll be leaving.”
“Wait! Rebecca, just wait and I’ll explain—“
Rebecca glanced at him but someone had obviously responded on the other end of the phone and Morgan had stopped mid-sentence and turned away from her. And in that moment, with his back to her, as he spoke the name of the woman to whom he was married she felt a fresh blast of grief, that shattered her anger. The tears began to fall before she turned and walked away, before Morgan could see. They began falling in earnest as she started the car and she was driving blind by the time she turned onto the country road, back to her home, back to her life before Morgan.