by Lesley Young
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“It’s full of your paper ornaments, Charlie. I can manage it well enough,” she said, already heading back in. In fact, three of my boxes were required to house my origami collection.
I bent over in order to slide the suitcase in her trunk properly. I would have to buy Jenny something for her assistance. A gift.
I heard the roar of a loud engine but only thought about the fact after I turned around.
Jace!
He was straddling a large motorbike a few yards from the car, watching me.
I was . . . winded.
He may as well have driven his bike right into me.
I collided with his silent raging presence. And he kept backing up over me, grinding his tires into my carcass, taking in my belongings and Miss Moneypenny, who cried in her carrier beside me.
“Goin’ somewhere?” he snarled (and I am not exaggerating), dismounting his bike. My heart had resuscitated itself and was beating wildly. I felt my eyes burn, and I withdrew inside myself in order to fix the default setting.
I stepped back as he drew closer, and bumped into the edge of the open hatchback. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. His jeans fit him snug, and he wore a black long-sleeved riding shirt, which accentuated his tanned face. Sunglasses were pushed on top of his head.
Did he— Was he here to see me?
“Yes,” I managed to say, even though an answer was redundant.
He stood right in front of me, crossing his arms, and I tried to look up to meet his eyes, only I did not get past his mouth.
“Why are you here?” I mumbled, confused.
“You fuckin’ serious?!”
His words slapped me. My gaze flashed to his eyes, and I froze at the anger in them. “You fuckin’ playin’ me or what?” He uncrossed his arms.
“Leave her alone, or I’ll make sure you never use it again,” snapped Jenny, pushing her way between us with the box. Jace was forced to step back.
I have never been so grateful for assistance in my life, and even though Jenny was tiny compared to Jace, she was a mighty defender.
Unfortunately, Jace laughed.
It was an angry laugh.
“Who’s this, then? This your car?” he asked her quickly.
“Jenny Williams. From your bookings department. And don’t even think about sacking me, too. I’ll have the human rights commission so far up your arse you’ll never see the sun again! And while I’m at it, how dare you prey on someone like her! What’s the matter with you!?”
Jace’s head jerked back. His top lip lifted on one side. He was insulted. I could not blame him. Jenny’s tone had been harsh and out of line. He glanced back at me, and I glanced away, then right back again, because I could not help myself. I needed to feel him. I was so hooked on him. Just a little glimpse at his mouth so I might remember it on mine. His eyebrows flattened out.
“I never sacked anyone.”
My mind tried to understand the . . . riddle.
“Is that what you think, Charlie?!” he asked with disbelief. “I never sacked you. Why in the fuck would you think that?”
Even Jenny, who stood in front of me, glanced back at me, questioningly.
“That was the arrangement,” I insisted, in shock. “The arrangement we always had. That we would not engage in coitus so long as I was your employee.”
“That was your condition. Not mine,” he snapped.
“But you said that if I crossed the line with you there was no crossing back!” I protested, appalled and elated, and appalled I was elated; my entire plan was disintegrating.
Was I not fired?
Jenny’s mouth popped open and her eyes narrowed. “You never said he said that. You said he sacked you.”
“He did!” I protested again. “When he said that!”
Jace made a strange noise and rubbed his face with both his hands. It sounded like a laugh, but I believe it was frustration. Yes, a moan. “Fuckin’ ’ell. You see,” he said to Jenny, opening his hands, seeking something . . . Maybe understanding or sympathy.
He turned back to me. “So that explains yesterday. The cold shoulder. I’ve been losing my fuckin’ head!”
I didn’t know what to say, although I badly wanted to ask if he had sought comfort inside another body.
“You’re wrong, Charlie,” he growled, loud and clear, making me jump a little. He added, loud and firm, “I never sacked you.”
“But . . .” I tried to work through the logic. “We can’t still work together and participate in—”
“We’ll discuss that later. We all clear here now, Jenny Williams from bookings?” He stepped around her to pick up a box.
“No, wait,” I protested, uncertain how to control events. “Wait!” I added louder since he was not listening.
“Yeah, she’s right, hang off,” barked Jenny. She put down her box and tried to take the box from Jace. He rolled his eyes and shoved it back in the trunk. Both turned to me empty-handed.
I was . . . torn. I did not wish to place Jace in harm’s way, but now that I had another chance, I was experiencing an intense selfish need to have my cake and eat it, too.
My mother had done it all the time.
Why shouldn’t I?
Sullivan, that is why. He would deport me if I did not keep spying on Mr. Knight.
“Charlie, I don’t think you should go back to that unit,” pronounced Jenny, catching me off-guard with her focus, nodding up at the apartment building. Her eyes darted over to Jace, who was watching me with a look I had never seen before.
“You were never comfortable there, were you?” she asked quickly, not waiting for an answer. “You felt obliged, you said as much. I thought it was fine, but now . . .” She glared at Jace, rather ungenerously. “I tell you what, I’ve got a spare bedroom, why don’t you shift over to mine and that way you’ll not have anyone breathing down your neck.”
Jace made a strange noise as he exhaled, and said, “No one’s breathing down her—”
“I could use a roomie,” continued Jenny, talking right over him, turning her back to him, sticking herself between us. “We’ll have a good bit of fun, us sheilas. I charge what the place is worth . . . one thousand dollars a month, not a penny less. You’ll be free to sort out what’s on and what’s not, and you won’t be beholden to anyone.”
“She’s not beholden to anyone now!” protested Jace.
My mouth was hanging open. I focused on Jenny’s eager eyes (much easier than at Jace’s black daggers), and I nearly cried with relief. It was beyond generous, even if she was offering because it was clear she was concerned about Jace’s influence on me. I was too fixated on the instant solution to dispel her misassumption; if I lived with Jenny and worked for Mr. Knight, it would be very difficult for Sullivan Blaise to impose himself on me. Not impossible, mind you, but difficult. It would be, to use a Jace term, a “buffer.” I reckoned that if Sullivan had trouble getting me alone, and I was dithering about actually collecting information, maybe he would give up on me altogether and find someone else to do his dirty work. He did not strike me as the sort who would deport me out of spite. Of course, I could not be sure. But it was a risk worth taking, I decided.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I said quietly.
Jace huffed.
“Good-oh. It’s decided. We’ll head to mine, ay?”
Jenny picked up Miss Moneypenny and glanced at Jace, if I was not mistaken, rather proud of herself. I was grateful for her support but made a note to clarify matters with her as she was, on the whole, being rather unnecessarily discourteous.
His warm hand wrapped all the way around my bicep, tight, before I could follow her. “You’re with me,” he said, low in my ear.
I glanced up, intending to protest, when he said to Jenny, who had just secured Miss Moneypenny in her backseat, “We’ll follow you.” Jenny came round the back end of her car. She saw the same thing in his face that I did, for the words of
protest she was forming with her mouth never came out.
“Fine,” she snapped at him. “I’m in Surry Hills.”
I pulled up the map of Sydney in my mind, relieved that my new accommodations would not be too far from the Plaza; however; I might still need to take transit, unless of course I caught a ride into work with Jenny, although I would not ask. I was glad I had found the courage to take driving lessons, which started on Tuesday. Before moving here I had set a goal of owning my own vehicle—it was necessary to every independent woman—and of course there would be no point if I never got my driver’s license.
Jace was staring down at me—I could feel it—and I knew; I was just distracting myself. I could barely breathe. We just stood there. So . . . I glanced up, but before my eyelids had fully lifted, his mouth was on mine, quick, off-center and hard. Then he manhandled me over to his bike, and let go. I watched him straddle the sleek, aggressive black, silver and neon green machine.
It was poised not unlike a panther mid-strike.
“I’ve never been on a motorbike before.”
He laughed briskly. “Yeah, well, I’ve never been separated from my balls before. Make do.”
Sarcasm.
I swallowed. Jenny started her car.
“Do you have a helmet for me?” I asked, even though he clearly did not.
“Don’t need one.”
“I’m sure that’s what nearly five thousand Americans who are killed on a motorcycle every year say before—”
“Don’t take this the wrong way or nothing, but get on the fuckin’ Kwaka now, Charlie.”
He was bossing me.
He made a frowning face.
He was mocking me, again.
I took the challenge, stepped over and straddled the dangerous apparatus. He helped me over, and as soon as I was on, I slid myself forward right into his back on the slope of the seat. It was extremely awkward. He helped me position my feet on two short black projections. I wound my arms around his waist, instinctively, with deep trepidation.
“Do you have any instructions for me?” I yelled over the engine.
He took off after Jenny without a word.
Chapter 14
Jenny’s apartment was on Bourke Street, on the top floor of a brown brick complex built in 1928, a short walking distance from the restaurant-lined Crown Street. It had an ample living room, a small “kit” (kitchen) off one end, two bedrooms off the hall opposite and a very narrow bathroom, where it hardly seemed possible to fit in a shower, bath, and sink.
The walls were white, and Jenny had decorated the place with low-lying all-white furnishings (highly impractical), accented with colorful carpets and pillows. There were knickknacks from her various travels, painted wooden animals, wicker baskets full of well-read newspapers, and black-and-white framed prints of various war zones decorated the living rooms walls.
“But this is your office,” I said, when she showed me to my room. It contained a desk and a single bed.
“I never use it,” she said, vehemently. “Guest bed was for my mum when she visited before she passed.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I offered, stiffening. Jenny had never divulged this about herself, even though she knew I had lost my mother. What did that mean? I would have to ask B.
“You sure you want to stay here?” asked Jace, who had brought up Miss Moneypenny, my suitcase, the garbage bags and a box, all in one trip. Jenny and I had managed two boxes each.
“She’ll get on fine,” said Jenny, sharply.
“Yes, I will,” I answered, wanting to put her mind at ease. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. I told her that again, and she turned red-faced while Jace rolled his eyes and walked over to the small window, arms crossed.
She showed me the rest of the place, the linen closet, how to work the oven (one burner was on the fritz) and gave me a spare key.
“I’ve got to head to my dad’s for Sunday dinner. You want to come?” she asked, standing near the front door.
“We’ve got plans,” interjected Jace, looming large in the doorway to my new bedroom. He entered the living room and stood somewhere behind me.
Jenny glanced at me, her eyebrows raised, and I felt she was demanding reassurance. Considering all she had done for me, I wished to ease her mind. “I will be fine, here. I would like to settle in.”
“Are you certain? It’s no bother. He’ll have extra on the barbie.”
“She’s fine,” said Jace.
I smiled, and nodded at Jenny’s glare.
Jenny left.
I glanced around the living room, shaky, barely able to absorb all that had happened. I felt . . . good about this change. Yes, I would strive to be a good roommate.
Suddenly, I realized how much I had wanted to move in with B when she had asked me five years ago. I should have told her that! My eyes flashed wide. Why had I never told her that? She would have liked to have known.
“You still giving me the cold shoulder?” asked Jace behind me, bringing me back into the moment with gravity-sucking force.
“No,” I said quietly, picking up Miss Moneypenny and taking her into my new bedroom. “Can you close the door behind you?” He did and I let Miss Moneypenny out after I filled her litter box. “She will feel better getting used to one room first.”
She ran straight for Jace’s legs and my face flushed. I sighed, frustrated, but was pleased she was not traumatized by yet another move. Apparently, we were born gypsies, and her a seductress, at that. Jace was smiling, squatting down to pet her.
After a moment, when he rose up and shifted a few boxes onto the desk, he said, in a tone I had not heard before, “You didn’t have to move here, you know. If you want me to fuck off, I will, if that’s what this is all about. You can have your job, you can stay at the Pyrmont and I’ll leave you alone. I don’t know how. But I will. You just have to . . .” he trailed off, turning around to face me. “You have to actually communicate what you want, Charlie.”
Staring at his chest, I felt how small the room really was. And how terrible indeed it must have been for him thinking that I didn’t want him. I had only hoped he regretted our agreement.
“And you need to look me in the eye when you do it.”
I glanced up and my heart skipped a beat. I have no idea why. Physical appearance never meant anything to me before.
“I want . . .”
He stared down at me from under this brow, his raven eyes matching his hair. I searched for that place in them, where I felt . . . sure.
There.
“I want everything,” I answered boldly.
He smiled.
“But . . .”
His smile slid.
“How can we maintain a professional relationship if we mate, too? Everything I have heard or read has said that once professional boundaries are removed, it is impossible to function in an effective manner. I really like this job, and it did come first. Is that not why you have avoided engaging in sex with prior offsiders?”
He smiled again, picking up the suitcase and moving it out of the way, into the closet. Now there was a clear path between us and enough space to move around without tripping. “Don’t think about that, and we’ll have no worries, Charlie. We’ll just maintain that boundary between nine and five. I can do it. And . . . you should have no probs given how you turn off feelings.” The last part was delivered with a strange tone.
I inhaled sharply. “I don’t turn off feelings.”
He turned around. “Like ’ell. How else could you think I was the kind of bloke who would use you like that and then toss you aside like rubbish?”
His eyes bore down on me.
Oh.
He still had the wrong idea. Or perhaps it was the wound our misunderstanding had created.
“I wasn’t . . . I didn’t think less of you.”
His brow furrowed. He required further explanation.
“I respected the logic, which I thought we had both agreed to.”
How could I have got this so wrong? “I thought, given the intensity of the attraction we experience, we could not be effective in a professional capacity. We were simply acting on our base desires. And I thought we had chosen that mutually.”
He watched me closely. “You have a strange way of thinking, Charlie.”
I felt my face flush. I did not agree with him, but decided not to protest.
“Guess I’m going to have to be careful, no, explicit, and absolutely clear, about what I say in the future.”
“Yes, that is always helpful.”
“Like right now.”
I eyed him, expectant.
“You denied me, again.”
Denied him?
Wait, his face . . . Was he . . . cross? No. But he felt something deeply. I could not be sure what. There was a peculiar look on his face.
“I’ve never been denied anything. Ever. And I don’t like the feeling.”
My eyes opened wide as he pulled his shirt up and off over his head.
“So now I am going to have you . . . the way I wanted to have you the first time you denied me.” He loosened his motorcycle boot with his heel and bent over to tug it off, and then the other. “Do you understand what I am saying clear enough?”
I soaked in his rounded shoulders and his broad naked chest, long, lean, full of muscular dunes. His nipples were perfectly proportionate circles. He was undoing his pants, and I felt my vagina was moist, already, upon his simple words. No. If I was honest with myself, it had started earlier, on the back of his bike, my breasts pressed into his back, my eyes squeezed tight, terrified and exhilarated, dependent on his skill.
My God! I had thrown caution to the wind and climbed on the back of a motorbike, a vehicular menace, for him! I was completely addicted. I could not control myself even if I wanted to, and I did want to, a little, in that moment, as I was intimidated.
He slid down his jeans and his underwear, yanking them off. His penis, nearly erect, flapped against his stomach as he stood back up, naked, rubbing his cock with his hand.
Astounded, feeling numb, out of body, I watched him put on a condom, my vagina tingling, aching.