Now he undid her jeans, his fingers unsteady against her skin. Instead of pulling them down, he lifted her up and tipped her onto the bed, where the moonlight cast strips of pale light through the open blinds. She lifted her hips as he worked the jeans down and tossed them in the corner with his own. He propped himself above her, and she reached up, running her fingertips across his chest, over the rise and fall of his abs, down to the lowest point of his belly. Then she paused, and looked up. He looked right back at her, his eyes heavy and dark, flooding her with desire that she knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t fight.
“Oh, God. We’re in trouble.”
At her words, he lowered his head and kissed her, carefully at first, but within a moment the kiss ignited, and the last whispers of hesitation evaporated in her hunger for his mouth. He tried to reach around to her back and undo her bra, but she pushed his fumbling hands away and did it herself, tearing off the lacy constraint. Then she reached down and tugged at her panties, desperate to be rid of everything standing between them. Maybe everything in the real world was standing between them, but right now, here in the midnight glow, was exactly where they were meant to be. Where they needed to be.
When they were both naked, he lay next to her and gathered her into his arms. She pressed against him, tangling her legs with his, and he held her tighter as their lips and tongues said everything they never had with words. She wriggled upward, trying to position herself so that she could slide against him, hungering for that sweet combination of rigid heat and slippery wetness.
“Wait.” As he pulled away, a groan of disappointment came from her, and he smiled, just a little. He went to the tangle of jeans on the floor and pulled something from his pocket, then came back to the bed.
“You brought them with you?” she said, propping herself up on her elbow. He looked equal parts guilty and uncertain, and she took the little packets out of his hand. “Three?”
He frowned. “I didn’t mean…”
“Yes you did.”
She considered the foil squares. While she’d been here, trying not to think about him over there, he must have been doing the same thing. Which was terrible. There was no way either of them should have been thinking any of it. And yet, here they were.
When she looked back at him, his expression was still unsure, and she realized he might be having second thoughts. God, no. Not now. If he left now, she’d die of sudden loneliness and frustrated lust. She gave him a push. “Roll over.”
When he obeyed, she straddled his waist, the teasing moisture between her legs dampening his skin. Beneath her, his chest rose and fell as he breathed harder, his lips parted, and she knew he wasn’t going anywhere. As he watched, she tore open one of the packets and pulled out the condom. Then she backed up until she was sitting across his thighs. With her own breath coming faster, she held the tip of the condom and rolled the rest of it down the length of him, hot anticipation shooting through her as she realized just what kind of length, and breadth, she was dealing with. Then she leaned forward, her mouth barely brushing his, holding herself oh-so-slightly out of reach.
“I wanted you,” he said, his voice husky, the words a painful confession. “Did you know it, back then?”
“I know now,” she said, and lowered her hips in one exquisitely deliberate motion. His body arched and his head tipped back, a groan escaping his lips as every inch of him was suddenly, completely inside her. She heard her own answering moan as she began to move, the instinctive rhythm taking over. He matched her movement, pulling her down so that her breasts swept against him with every thrust and return. The ache in her heart was stilled, replaced with an ache to have him deeper, deeper inside her.
Then he flipped her over with a restrained growl, pinning her underneath him, holding still, holding his breath. She tried to grind against him, but he held back.
“Hold still,” he said, his voice rough.
But she couldn’t. She’d gone beyond holding still, or holding back. With a determined effort, she freed her arms and wrapped her legs around him, lifting her hips and forcing him down into her.
“Fuck. I can’t…” he said, and surrendered with a low groan, driving into her once, twice, again and again. She tightened her thighs against his sides and tucked one ankle around the other, desperate to stay close as they moved together. The world narrowed to nothing but skin and heat and the sound of their breath blurring in her ears, and her hands roamed up the sides of his chest, across his shoulders, down his hard biceps, her fingertips savoring every taut muscle. Oh God, this man. Even if this was the one and only time she touched him like this, she’d never again think of him as the teenager she knew back then.
Back then.
For one cold, hard moment, the words froze in her brain, and she was abruptly thrown out of their mutual escape…the sweet, hot deception that neither of them could justify.
He must have felt the change. He slowed, and stopped, and looked right at her. And she couldn’t look away. In the hazy bedroom blue of his eyes, she saw the same desire and doubt that was doing battle in her own heart. They held each other’s gaze, silent and deep, and in that moment he seemed like the one safe place she never knew existed.
“It’s you,” he said.
She nodded.
“You,” he repeated.
A sudden intensity came into his eyes, and she felt him rise and strengthen inside her. Her body instantly responded, the heat igniting around him again.
“Me.”
He caught his breath as she pressed her hips upward, bringing him deeper. Then he dropped his mouth to hers and she opened her lips, letting him in, his hunger quickening her own as his tongue met hers again. Jesus, he was starving, and so was she, and there was only one way to relieve this exquisite desperation. She reached down and pressed a hand on the small of his back, as far down as she could reach, her palm riding their thrusts as they moved together again.
Maybe it was nothing but collusion, or delusion—the wrong thing to do, for the wrong reasons. But something had been lit, and all they could do was let it burn up and burn out. Because it was happening, and there wasn’t a single thing she planned to do about it.
There on the bay, in the attic room full of history and regret, she felt a tidal wave rise in her body, from the incandescent point where he was plunging into her, through every nerve and vein and pore, drenching her with an unstoppable heat. With sudden strength, she arched upward, lifting him with her as she came, and they fell to pieces in the same instant, lost and found, abandoned and rescued…made whole, just for a moment.
He collapsed onto her, his breath hot on the side of her neck, the room quiet apart from their unsteady breathing. She put a leg over him, welcoming his weight, not wanting him to pull out and be gone. Not wanting it to be over.
She really was in trouble.
But he levered himself back up, not meeting her eye, and pulled out, carefully taking the condom with him.
“In there,” she said, pointing to a trash can by the dresser.
When he came back, he lay down and pulled her close, her back to his chest. He pressed his forehead against the back of her head, burying his face in her hair. She threaded her fingers through his and nestled in, warm in the quiet afterglow.
But after a while, the quiet turned into silence. Too much silence. She listened to his breathing—he wasn’t asleep. Maybe he was waiting for her to say something.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “You?”
Not as good as she’d been five minutes before, and less okay with every awkward second that passed. “I’m fine.”
“Good.”
Silence resumed.
Oh, shit. What had they done?
“Get some sleep,” he said, untangling his fingers and patting her hand.
Patting her hand? She wanted to turn around and slap him in the head in return. Tell him not to fuck her and then fuck with her. Force them back to a place of truth.
Then again…maybe that wasn’t where they were meant to be after all.
She rolled away slightly, plumped up her pillow, and said goodnight. And waited for sleep to come.
* * *
An insistent meow broke into her consciousness, and Jacinda opened one eye, just a tiny bit. Velvet, hungry again. Okay. Breakfast.
Then the events of the night before came flooding back. Liam. She turned over, not sure what they’d say to each other in the cold light of day, but instinctively hungry to see him, touch him again.
He wasn’t there.
She looked to where their clothes had lain together on the floor. Her jeans were there, crumpled alongside her blouse. His things were gone.
Of course.
If a heart could really sink, this must be what it felt like. She closed her eyes again, and pressed her fingers against her eyelids. It seemed like his second thoughts had shown up after all, only after they’d had the best sex she could remember—bare naked in every way, body and soul.
How convenient for him.
How fucking humiliating for her.
She pulled the duvet over her head, embarrassment and anger doing battle as she relived the confronting, redeeming, passionate night. What was it really about, for him? He wanted her, he’d said. Well, he came prepared, and he had her.
Anger won.
Chapter Sixteen
How to be an asshole, in three easy steps.
One, lay all your pain on the most beautiful girl you know.
Two, take her to bed even though you know you shouldn’t. Have mind-blowing sex. Don’t say any of the things you ought to.
Three, sneak out in the dark when the guilt overwhelms you.
Yeah, easy.
Except for step four: feel like shit. Especially when you wake up with a hard-on heavy-duty enough to power a small city, and you have to do something about it, even though she’s all you can see, and you wish she’d get the hell out of your guilt-ridden imagination.
Now Liam stood on the hot sand, his eyes narrowed against the sunshine. The beach was scattered with people enjoying their summer Sunday. Clusters of teenagers, the girls eyeing the boys, the boys eyeing the girls’ curves. Dog walkers following their salt-sodden pets, carrying soggy tennis balls. A leathery-skinned old guy who probably swam every day, summer and winter. Kids digging moats that drained as fast as they tipped in buckets of water, while their parents looked on.
All the happy normality made him want to puke.
He dropped his towel and ran four long strides into the breaking waves, then dived under. In the dense, watery silence, he swam as far as he could, and came up way offshore, heaving in a breath. Looking back, the beachy scene made him think of the dioramas they used to make at school—a palm tree here, some scattered sand there, then add a shell or two, and some cut-out people. Right now though, he was the cut-out person.
He turned in the water and started to swim parallel to the coast, heading for the rocky inlets and outcrops where Mount Clarion rose out of the ocean. The water was calm, but every now and then a surge of turbulence struck him as a boat passed by farther out. He kept going, slicing mechanically through the water until he reached the spot he was aiming for. At low tide, a tiny, sandy bay was revealed, but now there was nothing but sharp black rocks, studded with limpets and mussels and draped with slippery lengths of seaweed. He let the water carry him in, then grabbed the rocks and hauled himself up, ignoring the stabs to the soles of his feet and the sharp shell edges threatening to cut his hands.
Balancing on the craggy outcrop, he looked at the rocky scene for the first time since that fucked-up night. The breaking sea. Tiny rock pools hiding miniscule sea creatures. Overhanging pohutukawa trees. The green mountain above. Everything just the same as when they were kids.
But nothing had ever been the same, since the summer Jacinda came to Sweet Breeze Bay.
If it wasn’t for her, Ethan would still be alive.
Maybe that didn’t make it her fault, exactly…but it was still the truth.
The other truth was harder to admit. He dragged a hand through his wet hair, swiped the salty droplets from his face.
If it wasn’t for him, Ethan might still be alive.
If he’d come here to look for him sooner.
If he hadn’t let jealousy get in the way.
If, if, if.
He couldn’t make himself go up to the graveyard on the hill. He couldn’t go to the Kelp and King. He couldn’t touch Ethan’s guitar, sitting on its stand in the corner. Hell, he could hardly look at it. But somehow, after everything that went down with Dane and Connor and Jacinda yesterday, this bay had called too strongly.
His gaze swept the rocks around him. The thousand shards of Ethan’s vodka bottle would be transformed by the ocean by now, worn smooth by years of moon-driven tides, and the caress of the sand. There was nothing here to show what had happened that night.
Nothing except his screwed-up self.
He took one step back, then dived into the water and swam—away from the bay, but no farther from the past.
* * *
On top of Mount Clarion, Jacinda stopped and let her backpack drop to the grassy ground. Carefully though—the wine bottles in it would be their reward for making the climb. The breeze tangled her hair and eased the headache she’d had all day, and she breathed deeply, savoring the clean air.
Riley was standing with her hands on her hips, puffing a little. “This view is so worth it.”
Jacinda took in the sparkly ocean, the tree-studded suburb of Lancet Bay, and the jumble of city buildings across the harbor. She’d thought about this view so many times over the years, but it was even more beautiful than her imagination had given it credit for. “It’s amazing.”
“The best place is round the other side,” Kerry said, hoisting a cooler bag higher on her hip. “Not so windy.”
Tina finally caught up with them. “When did I get so unfit?” She pushed her hair away from her scarlet face. “Bloody hell.”
They’d knocked on Jacinda’s door just before noon, insisting that she come for a picnic lunch. She hadn’t been up long—after catching up on sleep, she’d been having coffee and planning which strip she’d tear off Liam first. But then she’d changed her mind. Screw him. Danielle and Sam would arrive tomorrow, and then she’d hand over kitten duty and hit the road. Might as well try to enjoy her last day.
“Come on,” Riley told Tina now. “Almost there.”
She groaned, but trudged after them. They walked farther around the curve of the hill until they reached Kerry’s favorite spot, overlooking Sweet Breeze Bay. Jacinda scanned the little settlement, laid out like a picture-book town, and found Tui Street with Nana Mac’s place and the Wards’ house next door. Then she looked down to the foot of the mountain, where the trees ended and the houses began. She could see the rooftops of the oldest remaining dwelling in the bay, an imposing two-story homestead with a big, barnlike utility building to one side, all set on a huge lot. “I always wondered what that old place looks like inside.”
“It’s been empty for years, just sitting there,” Riley said. “The family are all in London now. It really needs restoring, but I don’t think they’re interested in taking it on.”
“That’s a shame. It’s gorgeous.”
Tina pulled a blanket from her bag. “Come on, let’s get set up. I’m starving.”
They spread the blanket on the grass under a tree, and started unloading the picnic food that Riley had brought from Clarion Call.
“It all looks so good,” Tina said, stealing an olive as Riley set the container down.
“I invited Jess,” Kerry said, handing Jacinda a wine glass. “But she felt bad about what she said the other night.”
Jacinda shrugged. “That’s okay.” She opened one of the bottles and concentrated on pouring herself a glass.
“Well…it wasn’t really.” Tina shook her head. “Kerry told us what she said. I’m not a Sweet Breeze native like yo
u guys, but everyone knows about Ethan. Jess was so out of line.”
After last night with Liam—and this morning without him—this was the absolute last thing Jacinda felt like talking about. She passed Tina a mini cheese board, hoping to distract her. “What are you working on now? More necklaces?”
But Tina wouldn’t be redirected. “Earrings,” she replied, layering a wedge of cheese between two crackers before she continued. “That’s not what everyone thinks. What Jess said, I mean. There must be something more to it. Why does no one know what happened? Shouldn’t there have been a police report or something?”
“Jesus, Tina, you’re as bad as Jess,” Kerry said.
Jacinda pushed her sunglasses farther up her nose and looked out to sea, the dull pounding in her head starting up again. She took a long sip of wine. And another. Better not to say the things she was thinking.
One Distant Summer Page 11