Not For Sale

by Rebecca Williams

  "It's all right, baby. It's all right. You don't have to say any more. I get it now. Cars scare the hell out of you, so they should. You don't have to explain any more,” Cain whispered in her ear, stroking the back of her neck, rocking her back and forth like she was a child

  "That's not it. I'm not finished.” Now that she'd started, she'd tell it to the end. “In the quiet, my mother started talking to me. In French, even though my father insisted we should always speak English or we would never improve. She spoke to me in French when things were important. In the quiet and darkness, she told me I'd be okay. To be strong. She told me how much she loved me. Never to forget that she loved me. And then, she stopped talking. I screamed when she stopped because I knew why. I wanted to rescue her, but I couldn't move. There was something trapping my legs."

  Olivia knew her voice was quiet in the traffic noise, because it was hoarse with the heaving and the sobbing that cracked her throat and her soul. “In the end, they took the car apart to get us out. My brother, Phillipe—yes, I know; if they're not Henri, they're Phillipe—was still breathing when they found him."

  Oh, God ... Oh, God ... it was starting again! All the pictures. All the pieces. “Do you know the radio was still playing when the emergency people arrived? They put Phillipe and me in the ambulance together. They said they would come back later for my parents. My parents were less important because there was only one ambulance and ambulances were for living bodies. I spoke to Phillipe in French. I thought if he was frightened he might forget his English, understand me better in French. On the way to the hos-hospital, he died. He died and they tried to bring him back, tried to make him live, but they couldn't and I watched him die. I let him lie beside me all the way to the hospital without touching him. I couldn't reach him for the d-doctors and the n-needles ... and the r-rails."

  Damn, the pictures and the sounds. Images of her brother's skinny, young chest arcing off the trolley under the paddles the ambulance officers used. The whining sound of electricity building charge in the machine, the zapping noise it made on his chest. The thump of his back against the sheet-covered mattress of the gurney. She hadn't understood then. She'd screamed at them to leave him alone, to stop hurting him. She'd screamed in French and no one had understood a word.

  "Do you know I had nothing wrong with me? Isn't that unfair? If there was a God, why would he give me nothing and kill all of them? Why not cut off my legs, give Phillip a broken arm—spread things out evenly? I was nothing special. There was nothing to say I shouldn't die, too. God didn't save me. He punished me."

  * * * *

  Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus Christ. What had he done?

  Cain's mind was flaring off expletives in every direction. None of which he voiced, in favour of quietly holding the woman now shaking in his arm. Olivia was still weeping—dry, hurtful crying that would break the heart of her God if he, she or it were listening. It did more than break Cain's heart. It twisted, shredded, incinerated and crushed his heart. Then, just for fun, put it back in his chest so he could feel how damned bad it ached.

  He wanted her to stop talking, stop remembering. But things were coming fast and hard. Some sentences were stammered, like she was having trouble with the language. Others poured out without any kind of punctuation, as though she wanted to finish with them quickly. She was describing them as they flew past her eyes, returning to her memory.

  "You think I'm frightened of cars now, you should have seen me as a teenager. I went through ten or fifteen foster families. Every time I had to get in the car, even leaving the orphanage, or to go to the shops, I cried. I clawed at the doors and banged on the windows, begging them to let me out. They all knew what had happened, they all tried to be calm, but they all gave up. They thought if I faced my fears, I would get over it. One of the foster fathers threatened to lock me in a car until I was quiet. He never did, but just the thought..."

  Olivia gulped back the end, but Cain knew just the thought had frightened the crap out of her, just like it did him ... even now. Blaspheming was inadequate, his entire being ached for the woman curled, quivering, in his lap, clutching at him like he was a life preserver. He was nothing of the sort. He was an impatient, angry bastard, who'd dredged this up for her because he was egocentric enough to think he'd be able to fix it. Nothing could fix this. This would be the same for her forever, and he would never—not if he was lucky—come close to understanding how she felt. If he could, he would have made it him not her who had this skewered to their mind. But from the ache already enveloping his chest, he was pretty sure the pain would drop him to the ground. It was a miracle she was still walking around.

  He'd bet she knew people felt that way for her, bet she understood that no one could remove the images branded on her heart. That's why she didn't reveal herself to people. Why she spent her life pretending. The truth was too big. The real Olivia couldn't be fixed. How many people could live with that? Who could bear to live with someone they loved, but couldn't help? His gut clenched in rebellion at the very concept.

  Cain felt her coming back to him, sensed the memories receding. The shaking slowed, but she kept her cheek on his shoulder, warm breath on his throat, pale hand on his chest. Curled up like a little girl, she restored some of the warmth to his shattered spirit. Where there was life there was hope. Olivia was well and truly alive.

  "You should take me home, Cain."

  Her voice was a shock when it came, so solid and certain again, if a little croaky. She was truly amazing. “Are you sure?” He was thinking about the car, about how to get her home without making her suffer through another drive so close on the heels of her memories. “What about a hotel for the night?” In the morning maybe things wouldn't seem so scary.

  A quiet giggle met his concern as she rose to make her way back to the car. “I promise I'll be good. I'm too tired to be frightened."

  "You already are good. Incredible, in fact. So, you just be you and I'll be good. I'll drive more carefully, Olivia."

  Her hand came to rest on his cheek, lowering to stroke along his jaw. “It wasn't your fault, Cain. You didn't run a red light, you didn't fall asleep at the wheel, and you did stop in time for nobody to be hurt. Nothing tonight has been your fault. All of it was my decision, my choice. I could have insisted on a tram or a taxi. I could have gone to the party with you. I could have tried reasoning with Phillip. All my choices."

  "There was no reasoning with Phil,” Cain countered, handing her the seatbelt, “but now that we've come around to this topic ... why did you go to the party with him and not me?"

  "I like you."

  "You purposely avoid all the people you like?” His heart leapt back to life in his chest at her words.

  "I don't generally like many people. When I do, it's only the men I avoid. Especially the ones who don't like escorts."

  Again with the reproachful tone. “I'm going to pay for that forever, aren't I?"

  "Only as long as you know me."

  The engine purred into action at the same time Olivia's challenge brought his competitive nature to life. So, they were back to playing that game. The old “don't get too close, keep him at a distance” game. Now that he understood the source, he wasn't playing. “Forever,” he asserted defiantly.

  "Whatever."

  Stopped again at a red light, destined, it seemed, to be kept from her for as long as possible, Cain reached across and placed a hand on her knee. Pulling it slightly towards him, he let his fingers wander over the soft, ticklish flesh on the inside of her leg. He felt the tiny, responsive shiver. There was no need to play these dumb word games, she knew what he meant.

  During the rest of the drive home, he began digesting his feelings for Olivia. The new Olivia he now knew something about. She'd come across so confident, the way she disregarded and discarded people, how she'd been happy to have sex with him without letting the tiniest part of her personality become involved. In her current life, the old Olivia was struggling to survive. Craving the closeness sh
e'd been raised with, wanting the things she knew would bring her pain, a grown-up Olivia was willing to compromise. Physical closeness instead of intimacy, sex without strings, the illusion of caring ... all to keep her emotions at bay. Having no emotions at all must have been better than the crippling pain that threatened her soul.

  Now that he understood a little, he felt no certainty at all regarding what to do next. A trouble shared is a trouble halved, his mother had told him as a child. Was she right? Perhaps all he had to do was love Olivia. Could he do that without stumbling beneath the weight of her sorrow, or would fear and sadness haunt their relationship forever? Whatever the case, tonight had made one thing very clear for him. No relationship with Olivia was to be undertaken lightly. If he was in, it had better be for the long haul.

  There was definitely some serious thinking to be done.

  CHAPTER SIX

  As Cain carried her from the car, Olivia knew he'd be assessing her apartment block. It wasn't in him to be inattentive. She could tell that much by the way he took his time making love to her. Through the darkness of night, she tried looking at their surroundings through his eyes. The outline of thick foliage surrounded a communal courtyard. This block of apartments was quite old and that's how she liked it. Her building still had atmosphere, something readily sacrificed in favour of squarish modernity in this part of town nowadays.

  Somehow Melbourne had become divided in to ghettos according to status and taste. Suburbs like Prahan and Toorak were reserved for those who inherited or married into their money. Richmond was for the edgy, artsy types who kept their images chicly alternative. Label clothing was bought on Chapel Street and good Asian cuisine purchased on Laigon Street. Everyone knew who fit where with the mere mention of a suburb or shopping area.

  South Yarra, where Olivia lived, was the part of town where the residents were just, well chic. Generally citizens of South Yarra were either yuppies or dinks, driving their trendy Volkswagen Golfs to and from work, heating their meals in microwaves while watching their stock portfolios grow. While technically she didn't fit in here, she loved the place anyway. Her suburb, more importantly her block, had character. Character couldn't be bought.

  Cain managed to push the button for the elevator using the hand beneath her knees. She knew his protective instincts urged him to carry her, but the in the light of the evening's events, the gesture rankled her still raw emotions. Already he was treating her like a weight to be carried, someone in need of constant support. She wasn't like that. She'd supported herself, almost single-handedly, for as long as she could remember. He'd have to get past this need to save her if they were going to be friends. “Cain, I can walk you know."

  "Mmm, I know, but tonight I feel an intense desire to take care of you. Let me take care of you, Olivia."

  She relaxed a little at the thought his soft, protective side would only last a night. Tomorrow he would revert to his previously demanding, slightly arrogant, self and all would be well. She could deal with egotism and machismo, it was sweetness and caring that set her off balance.

  Pressed so closely against his hard chest, she was feeling more than just a little jittery. On top of all the emotions she'd experienced tonight, now she was going to add lust. Flaming desire was definitely the sensation of the moment. How she'd gone from heartbroken history to an aroused present, she didn't know. Maybe it had something to do with needing an outlet. Or maybe it had something to do with the seriously sexy smell of his cologne. Whatever the cause, she was more off balance tonight than she had been in a long time.

  Setting her on her feet, Cain watched her shaking hands fumble with the key in the stubborn lock. Damn this door!

  "Do you want me to go home, Olivia? If you want me to leave, I'll go."

  "No. No, I'm still just a bit nervous. I want you to come inside."

  A bit nervous ... ah, Olivia, you are the queen of understatement! It had been an awful night. She absolutely did not want his last memory of this evening to be her crumbling composure and tear-wrecked face. Hopefully, she could salvage something from the night's events now. A little desire to counteract the depression.

  Letting Cain into her apartment was another first added to the evening's list of premiere events. Tonight was the first time she'd ever used her training to defend herself, the first time she'd ever needed to defend herself. The first time she'd ever told anyone about her family, leaving herself open to the scourging pain sure to follow when he ran away from the baggage she represented. And now this, the first time she'd let a man into her apartment.

  The saying about home being where the heart is applied to her home one hundred percent. In her flat, she kept the relics of her family and the secrets about herself. In these few small rooms was the antique furniture she'd picked up in second-hand shops around Melbourne. Her favourite stores were the converted dark stone buildings, tiny workers’ cottages and old-fashioned shop fronts that peppered the streets outside Melbourne's CBD. Those places were paradise for those with a furniture fetish. Combining the aged appearance of the shops with the city's narrow, shadowy streets always made shopping in the suburbs feel like a treasure hunt. Equally as good were the garden scents of jasmine and lilac from street front yards. The pleasure of shopping in Melbourne's streets meant Olivia had collected a fine array of antique furniture to couple with her white, “shabby chic” accessories. Once inside her home, there were no secrets left. Her heart was on display for visitors to see, to judge, to leave.

  Until now, it had all been about Cain. If he'd not bothered to ring for her again, if she'd never seen him again, Olivia would have been able to blame him. Just another man only interested in sex. Nothing wrong with that, certainly nothing odd. If she'd never seen him again, she could have blamed his job for taking him away to different countries—he had no time for real relationships. She might also have blamed his shallow personality for allowing him to have sex without emotions.

  Now that she'd told him about her family and let him into her apartment, it was all about her. If he chose to run away now, it was because she was too much trouble, too difficult to decipher. Not his type, whatever that cliché was meant to mean. It would be her being judged. That being the case, it was going to hurt an awful lot more when he left.

  Grabbing her paranoia by the throat, Olivia opened the door and led the source of her worry into her little world.

  "Welcome to my humble abode.” Smiling, she gestured for Cain to sit on the Chesterfield sofa she'd found advertised in the shopper section of the weekend paper. “You get comfy while I pour us a wine. I'd offer you a scotch, but I'm all out."

  "Wine is fine, Olivia."

  From the lazy sensual tone in his voice, she got the distinct impression he wasn't the least bit interested in wine, but was humouring her anyway. Reaching into the cupboard above the fridge, she found the bottle she'd been keeping for her next wine night with Charlotte. A good solid Shiraz from Australia's Hunter Valley region. The smoky aftertaste left by “Black Pepper” made the wine feel as if it were disappearing from your mouth in a cloudy puff. Much the way she felt when tangled in Cain's gaze—in danger of disappearing in a delicious puff of smoke.

  Delivering the glass to his hand, she carefully avoided his fingers for fear of dropping the drink should they touch.

  "I'll just be a minute. I'm going to get rid of this stupid hair.” Olivia tugged on a lock of the nasty blonde wig that was beginning to itch.

  Walking past the phone to her room, she flicked the answering machine to play back her messages. She'd been waiting a week to hear from the tutor of her Engineering Materials subject. The one subject in the entire course she was having trouble with. The first time ever she actually needed a tutor and the man was missing in action. Apparently, he was overseas somewhere, taking part in some kind of research. Good for him, bad for her. If he wasn't back before her exam, she was going to fail dismally ... then go looking to put his head on a platter.

  In her bedroom, Olivia's taste in decorati
ng became even more eclectic. Her antiques sat alongside eastern statuettes and trinket boxes. The Balinese mirror had a frame that consisted of intricately carved animals, which tumbled and hung from delicate columns and bars like children on a climbing frame. The whimsy of it settled her somehow as she began removing the bobby pins that had faithfully kept her fake hair firmly in place during the night's activities.

  The answering machine beeped and Charlotte's French formalities began. Her friend immediately switched to English, which meant Cain would understand every word. Olivia almost stomped a foot when Charlotte began reciting the details of an appointment for the following night. This was becoming ridiculous. What had started as a favour was becoming a serious full-time job. After what happened tonight, she wasn't so sure she wanted to do it at all anymore. Besides that, what had happened to the rule where Charlotte rang her mobile to discuss business, only leaving messages at home regarding personal stuff? She'd not broached the subject earlier because it hadn't mattered so much. Now it mattered, and now it irritated her beyond belief.

  "There are no further messages,” the machine informed her.

  Pulling the wig off her head, Olivia stomped back into the living room to the disloyal machine. She flipped it off disgustedly. If Cain hadn't been watching her with such interest, she might have swept it right off the counter onto the floor. But he was watching her ... closely, so she assuaged her need for violence with pursed lips and a tight sip from her wine glass.

  "Your boss keeps you pretty busy, doesn't she?” he observed, as she took a seat in her favourite old wing-backed chair that almost matched the sofa.