Making Sense: Sensual Healing, Book 2

by Serenity Woods

  He slid his hands into her hair, and it was as soft as he’d imagined, curling between his fingers like pale silk ribbons. It smelled of orange blossom, sweet and light, making him think of warm spring evenings in the sub-tropical Northland as a child, times when he was happy, before all the problems started.

  Her lips were soft too, unbelievably so, parting automatically to receive his tongue as he brushed it into her mouth, wanting to savour her. She tasted of the sweet wine she’d been drinking, intoxicating and delicious, stirring his blood and making him deepen the kiss, even though a small part of his brain tried to remind him that this was only supposed to be a fleeting attempt at consolation. Shut up, he told himself. This was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time, and he was going to make the most of it while it lasted.

  She stroked his tongue with her own, shy at first, growing bolder. When his teeth grazed her beautiful, plump bottom lip, she gave a little murmur of appreciation, low and sultry, erotic enough to flood him with heat.

  He groaned, and in response she moved the hands she’d placed on his chest around his waist beneath the guitar hanging across his back, pulling him closer. He cupped her head with one hand, his fingers sliding into the cool hair at the nape of her neck, the other hand moving down between her shoulders to the small of her back.

  Desire flowed through him, making him grow hard where he pressed himself against the flat of her stomach, and he wondered if she’d pull away, shocked. Instead, however, she reached up on tiptoe, moulding herself to him, and he sighed. She was soft against him, from her breasts pushing against his muscled chest to her butt yielding beneath the pressure of his fingertips as he slid his hand lower to hold it. She moved her hips slightly, rubbing against his erection, and an image jumped into his head of stripping off the thin cotton cut-offs, spreading her legs and sliding into her wet, swollen centre.

  A white-hot heat kindled between them, perhaps born out of the sultry weather that made their skin damp with perspiration and the smell of roses rise from her to ensnare his senses. It made her rake her nails lightly down his back, and in response he plunged his tongue into her mouth, tightened his grip on her ass, and pushed her back against the wall. She met it with a bump sharp enough to make her gasp, jolting him to his senses.

  He lifted his head, blinking. “Shit.” He took a step backward, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what made me do that. Sorry.”

  Her pupils were so dilated her eyes looked an eclipsed sun, the unmatched irises showing as slender, shining coronas around the black centres. She pressed her lips together, tucking her hands underneath her butt against the wall. Looking up at him, her chest heaving, her lips curved. “Don’t apologise. Jeez. That’s the best kiss I’ve had in, like, ever.”

  He met her gaze and started to smile. “Uncomplicated, though.”

  “Oh God, yes, totally.” She raised an eyebrow at his jeans, eyes twinkling. “Didn’t affect either of us at all.”

  He glanced at his obvious erection and tipped his head at her. “I said uncomplicated, not unaffected.”

  She laughed then. He was pleased to see the starlight had reappeared in her eyes. “That cheered me up,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  She winked at him. “Now you can go back to the bar and make one of your fans a very happy lady indeed.”

  “Yeah,” he said, although he wasn’t going to be interested in any other woman that evening. He wanted to retain the memory of Freya’s soft body pressed against his for a while longer and enjoy the taste of cherry and Sauvignon on his tongue.

  She met his gaze and smiled. “Goodnight, Nate.”

  “Night, Aroha.”

  She laughed and ran up the steps, inserted her key in the lock and let herself in, disappearing into the dark house.

  Nate started walking away and, grabbing the neck of the guitar, lifted it over his shoulder so he could hold it in front of him. He strummed as he walked, filling the warm evening with an old Elvis love song. He’d meant to cheer Freya up, to fill her with the energy of the stars, and it had worked. But she’d done a damn good job of lifting his spirits, too.

  Chapter Three

  Inside the house, Freya pulled the net curtains aside an inch and watched Nate walk away. She could just hear him singing, and it made her laugh as she observed his butt in the tight jeans.

  “Wow.” She touched her lips with her fingers. That had been the most sensual, erotic kiss she’d ever had. She wasn’t sure why—she was hardly a virgin, and her ex-lovers had been kind and considerate. Maybe the warm, sultry night had affected her more than she thought, or the fact that she’d felt so down had made it seem such a beautiful moment. But she knew a major part of it had been Nate himself. Tall, dark, mysterious Nate, his eyes like black holes, sucking in all light, filled with understanding when she’d talked about feeling restricted and frustrated, about wanting to be free. He’d kissed her with a hunger that had awoken something inside her, a desire that had been hibernating, but now uncurled sleepily, rousing and stirring feelings she’d kept repressed for what seemed like an age.

  Shame it was only a kiss. What would have happened if he hadn’t pulled back, if she’d asked him inside, let him continue to kiss her, allowed the fire to build? Mia was right—she had no doubt he’d be fantastic in bed. The thought of him sliding his hands under her clothes, cupping her breast, lowering his lips and taking her nipple into his warm mouth made her feel slightly faint. But she wasn’t going to complain. It had cheered her up, lightening the depression she’d felt herself falling into when she first got the text.

  She let the curtain drop and went over to sit on the sofa, stretching out with her head on one arm and her feet on the other, content to lie in the dark and the quiet as she fished her phone out of her pocket and flipped up the lid. This time she felt calmer as she read the message.

  Hey babe. How r u? Hav prob here. Can u lend me $800? Dad spent rent :( Sry hon, rly sry. Ph me l8r. Mum x

  Freya flipped the phone shut, sliding it back into her pocket. Can you lend me eight hundred dollars? Freya snorted. “Lend,” she said aloud, scornfully. Her mother used the term as if she had no idea it meant you were supposed to pay the money back. How much had she “loaned” to her parents over the years? Thousands. Probably enough for her to have retired on, if she’d saved it instead.

  The most disappointing thing was that they hadn’t mentioned money for over three months. She’d fooled herself into thinking maybe her father had turned over a new leaf, had decided he wanted to cure himself of the addiction that had crippled the family for years. But she should have known better. He would never change.

  The weight that Nate had lifted temporarily began to settle back onto her chest. Sighing, she went into the kitchen and fetched a bottle of Pinot Gris from the fridge, bringing it back into the living room with a glass and pouring it almost to the rim. So much for not drinking any more. Then she went over to the bookcase, ran her fingers along the shelf of books that belonged to her, and extracted the exercise book in which she recorded her finances. She went back to the sofa, curling up and sipping her wine as she flicked to that month’s page, looking at The Fund, the details of which she recorded in a separate box in the right-hand corner of each page. The last three months, she’d been able to save two hundred dollars a month, which was no mean feat considering how much her student loans were. Now she was going to have to withdraw most of that to give to her mother. It left the balance of The Fund at around seven thousand, still three thousand short of the amount she wanted to save for The Big Plan.

  Freya liked thinking of The Fund and The Big Plan with capital letters. She held onto the dream every time she got a phone call from her mother to say her father had lost at the bookies again. One day, she’d escape and do what she really wanted to do—travel, to Europe, America, Asia and Africa. And as she travelled, she’d spend some time working with people who couldn’t afford private healthcare a
nd dental plans, who’d never seen antibiotics or vaccines or anything resembling a birth control pill, who lived with disease and sickness and death every day, because they didn’t know any better. That was where her heart lay, what she dreamed about during her coffee breaks at work as she sat by the window in the cafeteria in the hospital, looking over the city. She loved Wellington, had missed it while she was away in Auckland at university, but now she was tired of it, and she wanted to be free.

  And this had set her back another three months. She closed the book and let it fall to the floor, taking a good long gulp of wine. She wasn’t going to let it depress her. She thought of Nate’s warm hands on her cheeks, his teeth grazing gently against her bottom lip. That’s what she was going to think about when she went to bed that night. Not how restricted she felt, as if she were in prison, reaching through the bars to try to grasp the summer sky.

  The sound of keys in the front door made her sit up in surprise and peer over the edge of the sofa to see who was coming in. Grace was staying with Ash, so it had to be Mia, which surprised her, as it hadn’t been long since she’d gone off with Ross. But it was Mia, and the older girl came in and threw her bag on the floor before collapsing in the armchair across from Freya.

  “Hey,” said Freya, lying back down.

  “Hey.” Mia leaned her head on the back of the chair. “Well, that sucked.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” said Mia. “That’s the problem.” She got up and went into the kitchen, coming back with a wine glass, and poured herself some of the Pinot Gris, taking a big glug before continuing. “He took me back to his place, and we started to make out. But…nothing happened.”

  “Nothing?” said Freya, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nada. Zip. Zilch. Dead as a dodo down there. And he didn’t even apologise. I mean, I know it happens to all men at some time, and it’s nothing to be worried about, yadda yadda, but when you make out with a guy for the first time, you don’t really want to find out his salami’s more of an uncooked banger, if you know what I mean?”

  Freya started to laugh. “Oh dear.”

  Mia took another swallow of the wine and slumped in the chair. “I’m not a nymphomaniac. I’m not, like, insatiable or anything. I just like sex. That’s not a sin, is it?”

  “I don’t think it’s one of the Ten Commandments, if that’s what you’re asking. You know, as in ‘Honour thy father and mother, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not enjoy getting thy leg over’.”

  “That’s what I thought. I’m not abnormal. I’m just…desperate.”

  “So what happened?”

  Mia shrugged. “Made my excuses and left. I was tactful. I didn’t say ‘I’m off as you can’t get it up, mate’, even though I thought it.”

  Freya bit her lip. “Very diplomatic.”

  Both girls drained their glasses and poured the rest of the bottle between them.

  Mia sighed for the last time, turning her attention to Freya. She studied her for a moment, obviously just beginning to remember what had happened at the bar. “Did Nate walk you home?”

  “Yes.”

  Mia stared at her, and Freya’s lips curved. “Hah!” said Mia, sitting up. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Now that’s clearly not true. Come on, spill the beans.”

  Freya wrinkled her nose, sipping the wine again. “He kissed me.”

  Mia’s eyes widened. “He what?”

  “An absolute smacker, hand on my ass, tongues and everything.” She burst out laughing at the look on Mia’s face. “Relax, it was uncomplicated.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means he did it to cheer me up and did quite a good job of cheering himself up, too.” She grinned. “It definitely wasn’t an uncooked banger he had in his pants.”

  “Oh. My. God. I am so envious I’m as green as the Hulk.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re all going to bed frustrated tonight. It was only a kiss. We both made it quite clear we weren’t in the market for anything more.” Her gaze unfocussed as she remembered the final few seconds, when he’d thrust his tongue into her mouth, tightened his grip on her ass, and pushed her up against the wall. Her head had nearly exploded.

  “Oh yeah,” said Mia. “Didn’t mean anything to you.”

  “I didn’t say that. He’s hot. I’m not a frickin’ ice queen.”

  Mia smiled. Then she frowned. “What did you mean, ‘he did it to cheer me up’?”

  Freya sighed and told her about the text.

  “Oh crap.” Mia looked pained. “Hon, I’m so sorry.”

  “Ah.” Freya shrugged and took another swallow of wine. “I’ll start saving again next month.”

  “Even so. It’s shit.”

  “It is shit, thank you for saying that.”

  “Has your dad ever tried to get help for it?”

  “Yeah, but I think he only does it for Mum, you know? I don’t think he really wants to get better. He likes gambling, loves the thrill. He doesn’t think about what would happen if he loses. He believes he’s going to win every time. He’s constantly surprised when he bombs out.”

  Mia swung her legs around and hooked them over the chair, sipping her drink. “You’ve never told me…Was he always like this?”

  “Yep.” Freya stretched out her legs. She felt hazily relaxed. She could almost feel the press of Nate’s lips against hers, like the indent left in a pillow when you got out of bed. “It sounds corny, but my life really has been a rollercoaster. Sometimes we’d have loads of money—flash cars, fancy clothes, always eating out at restaurants. Then a few months would go by, and Mum would start having to sell stuff. She’d stop buying luxuries, start mending tears in clothing rather than buying new items. When I got into my teens, we had several really hard years. As quickly as she earned money, Dad gambled it away. Sometimes we missed meals, and the school had to help me out with my uniform.”

  “Oh jeez.”

  “Yeah. It was awful.” Freya rubbed her forehead. “And it got worse and worse. First Cissy fell pregnant, then Jen.” Both her sisters had several kids under the age of five. “Mum convinced Dad to stop for a while, saying his grandchildren needed him, but even though he toned it down, he didn’t stop completely. I don’t think he can.”

  “So what made you so different?” Mia asked, her eyelids sliding to half-mast.

  “I was absolutely determined I wasn’t going to end up like my sisters. And that I was going to be able to support myself. I did it all on my own—got my place at Uni, applied for the loans, paid for it all, worked my fucking socks off. I wanted to put it all behind me, the hardship, the desperation. But it never stops. I should just go, leave them to it, but I can’t bear the thought of them being turned out of the house because they can’t pay the rent, so I bail them out.” She shrugged. “And still it goes on. Probably always will. Frustrates the hell out of me, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Mia leaned her head on her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. We need to find ourselves a couple of rich princes. Either that, or win the Lotto.”

  “I’d rather have the prince. Money and sex.”

  “Yeah.” Freya took a mouthful of wine. “Me too.”

  Mia glanced at her. “Was it a good kiss?”

  Freya exhaled slowly. “Oh yeah.”

  “Walk me through it.”

  Another exhalation. “I was getting upset. So he said, ‘Oh, come here,’ slid his hands either side of my face and kissed me. I think he only meant it to be quick, but he just sort of carried on. His hands were so warm.” She’d forgotten about that. “That was odd, actually. His palms burned against my cheeks.”

  “Burned?”

  “Yeah. Weird. But anyway, he kissed me thoroughly. Like he really meant it, you know? Like I was special.” Her cheeks grew hot.

  “You are special,” said Mia, smiling.

  “Thanks, but you know what I mean. I’ve be
en with guys, and I know they liked me, but they never treated me as if I were extraordinary, as if they wanted me more than anything in the world…” Her voice trailed off, and she shot Mia an embarrassed look. “Jeez, I’m drunk, sorry. It was only a kiss.”

  Mia sighed and finished off her wine. “We need to get laid, seriously.”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “I’m going to bed.”

  “Probably not the worst idea in the world. Night, sweetie.”

  “See you in the morning.” Mia went down the corridor, and Freya heard the bathroom door close.

  She swallowed the last mouthful of wine, put her glass on the table and slid down until she was lying on the sofa. An image of Nate swam into her mind—his tall, slender body, muscular arms, the intriguing Māori tattoo, the guitar slung across his back. His dark, dark eyes, warm and amused, and then glittering with desire. The muscles of his back beneath her fingertips, and the press of his erection against her soft mound. She ached for him.

  The warmth of his hands lingered in her cheeks, and she frowned as her eyelids began to close. It was important, the way he’d cupped her face before he’d kissed her. There was something strange in how he’d hesitated before deepening the kiss, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs. She’d have to think about it in the morning. Now, however, all she wanted was the blissful oblivion of sleep.

  She dreamed about him, nevertheless.

  Chapter Four

  “You want a coffee?”

  Nate looked up from his desk where he sat opening the day’s post as Ash came in and started fiddling with the espresso machine. “Yes please. I need something to keep me awake. I’m dozing off here.”

  “Tell me about it.” Ash rinsed out the filter in the sink in the corner and refilled it with coffee from the grinder. “It’s because it’s so warm. I was meditating, wondered what the strange noise was and realised I was snoring.”