On the Right Track

by Penelope Janu

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he says.

  I skirt my hand over the muscles in his arm, hip, bottom and thigh. ‘You have intelligent eyes and a beautiful body. If you were a horse …’ My eyes dart to his.

  His teeth flash white when he smiles. ‘What?’

  I wriggle out of the rest of my clothes and then I sit next to him, my legs curled up to the side. I push against his shoulder until he lies on his back.

  ‘If you were a horse you’d be a thoroughbred,’ I say.

  He puts my hair behind my ear, his tone quiet, reflective. ‘I think that’s a compliment.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there anything else you like?’

  ‘Remember when you spoke to Ramsay on the phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were angry with me, but you were patient with him. And kind. Can I look at you? You have to keep still.’

  He gets up on his elbows, kisses my mouth and lies down again.

  I run my hands over his body. Then kiss him with open-mouthed kisses in the way he’s kissed me before. The different textures of his skin against my mouth and tongue excite me, as do his irregular breaths. I explore his erection.

  ‘Get up here, Golden.’ His voice is rough.

  I lift my head. ‘Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Too much.’

  I lie on top of him, being careful of his ribs, and feel the way our bodies fit together. Our size difference is less obvious lying down. Our navels line up and when he opens his legs a little my thighs fit comfortably between his. My breasts lie against his chest. He looks at them and strokes the sides. But when he tries to lift my body higher he grimaces in pain so I rise up on my hands to help him. He kisses until I squirm, then he brings a hand between our bodies and, softly muttering, slides his fingers against me.

  ‘Oh fuck, Golden. This is too much as well.’

  His skin is hot and damp and so is mine. He kisses me, a firm possessive kiss, and then carefully rolls onto his side and lays me on my back. He swings his legs off the bed and I hear the crinkle of plastic.

  That’s all that it takes. Images crowd into my mind of when this has happened before. The shift of weight that jars my knee. The foot that kicks my ankle. The thrusts that ram me into the mattress. Even without pain there’s fear and dread and failure. I close my eyes tightly. My legs straighten and stiffen. My stomach knots and my hands clench into fists. I’m brittle and fragile and delicate, just like a porcelain doll.

  He touches my hair. ‘Golden? Sweetheart? Open your eyes.’ He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over me. He touches my shoulder. ‘It’s all right. Don’t look like that.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ My voice is too loud. ‘Please do it anyway. Otherwise I’ll feel even worse.’

  ‘I’d hurt you.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does.’ He climbs to the top of the bed and leans against the bedhead, then pulls me into his lap so my cheek is against his shoulder. He strokes my body with long firm sweeps of his hands. Shoulders and back, breasts and stomach, arms and legs.

  I look into his eyes. Mine will be easy to read. We never agree on anything. I’m damaged. We’re naked.

  ‘Trust me,’ he says, tipping my chin up with his fist. Even before his lips meet mine I know what sort of kiss it will be. His tongue takes over my mouth. And then my tongue is in his mouth and he’s controlling that as well. His hands go to my breasts and then between my thighs, until I’m quivering with need. When he lifts his head, I moan. He kisses me again, mutters against my mouth, moves down the bed and lies on his back.

  ‘Sit on top of me,’ he says. ‘Put your legs either side.’

  I straddle him. His erection is flattened against his stomach, long and hard beneath me. He bends his legs at the knees and grasps my shoulders.

  ‘Look at me, Golden.’ His eyes are black in the moonlight. ‘Does this hurt?’

  ‘No.’ I clench my thighs tighter. ‘I like it.’

  He groans as he talks. ‘That’s good.’ He takes my hand and wraps my fingers around his erection. ‘It’s yours,’ he says.

  My eyes are glued to his. ‘What?’

  ‘My cock. It’s yours. I can barely remember when it wasn’t.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Do whatever you like with it.’

  I think I understand. At first I move against him, slide up, then down. He closes his eyes and swallows. He’s slick with sweat. When I lean forward and press myself tentatively against the head, taking it in, his breath catches.

  ‘Like this? More?’

  ‘Fuck, yes.’

  Even when he’s buried inside me he barely moves, leaving me to set the pace. At first I’m tentative, feeling my way, but then the friction and sensations intensify. It’s like a gallop down a mountain—unbridled, wild and dangerous. I’m desperate to get to the end but I don’t want it to finish. Finally he puts his fingers against me. I climax immediately and so does he, digging his heels into the bed and holding my hips as I moan and gasp above him.

  When I collapse against his chest and sob into his neck he strokes my back. ‘Okay?’ he says.

  I’m trembling and can’t articulate anything. I feel the movement of his lips when he smiles against my neck. Finally our bodies cool and our breaths steady. When I roll onto my side he kisses me, a long slow kiss. Then he pulls the covers up and folds me into his arms.

  Tor kisses my shoulder and nuzzles under my hair at the back of my neck. He switches on the bedside lamp. I roll onto my back and put my hand over my eyes, looking at him through the gaps in my fingers.

  ‘Tor? It’s dark outside. What are you doing?’

  He leans on one elbow, watching me. ‘I couldn’t see you properly. Go back to …’

  I follow his gaze. The marks on my arm were red after my shower. I put on my clothes and hoped they’d fade away. Now they’re various shades of blue. He eases the sheet down and lifts my wrist, holding my arm up to the light.

  ‘I’ll kill the fucker.’

  ‘Tor!’ I pull my arm back and sit. ‘Don’t say that. He had big hands, it’s no big deal.’ I run my finger along his mouth until it softens. ‘You’re tired. Have you slept at all?’

  ‘We’ll be at the racetrack tomorrow. You said I didn’t have to keep you safe. I think I do.’

  ‘You can’t be responsible for everyone, no matter what you think.’

  ‘Not everyone.’

  ‘The people connected to your work, then. And your brother. You worried about him, didn’t you?’

  Shutters crash down in front of his eyes. I grumble as I push against his shoulder, until finally he lies on his back. When I put my head on his chest and my leg over his legs, he plays with my hair.

  ‘I think I’ve guessed most of it anyway,’ I say. ‘You lived a happy life with your mother and stepfather, travelling the world, picking up languages. Per was left behind with your alcoholic father.’ I push my body upright and look into his eyes. ‘Well? You know all about me. It’s unfair not to tell me things.’

  He settles my head onto his chest again. He sighs.

  ‘Per always stood his ground,’ he says. ‘He still does, unless it’s something to do with Harriet. Our father saw it as defiance. He neglected him, and he beat him up.’

  I stroke his chest. ‘You saw Per in the holidays when you were children, didn’t you? You knew about the abuse but didn’t say anything. Is that what happened?’

  ‘I let him down.’

  ‘You were scared, weren’t you?’

  He stares at the ceiling. ‘My mother had an affair with Henri, my stepfather. My father was in the military, impeccably credentialed, decorated. He lied at the custody hearing, accused our mother of all sorts of things, and she was afraid of him, that’s how he got custody of Per. He thought having one son of his own was preferable to sharing two. Per feared our father would lie again and prevent me from seeing him if I told the truth.’

  I get up on my elbow and gently kiss his mouth. ‘W
hen did it stop?’

  ‘Per got bigger, stronger. He left our father as soon as he could.’

  ‘You shouldn’t blame yourself. You were a child too.’

  ‘I should have spoken out, made him safe.’

  I brush back his hair and kiss his forehead, then lie on my back and take him with me. He lays his head against my breasts and breathes against my throat as I caress his shoulders and back. At first he’s content, but then he strokes my breast, getting closer and closer to the nipple with each sweep. My skin heats, warmth pools between my thighs all over again.

  ‘Tor.’ I push against his body. ‘I know what you’re doing, distracting me so you don’t have to talk.’

  He leans on his forearms and smooths my hair over the pillow. Half his body is lying on top of mine.

  ‘You have eucalyptus eyes,’ he says, running his hand down the side of my face. ‘You know this is more than just sex, don’t you?’

  ‘I just know … ’

  ‘What?’ He kisses the tip of my nose and whispers. ‘What, Golden?’

  ‘I didn’t know it could be like this.’

  I think we both feel it—arousal messed up with confusion, uncertainty. I stroke his body possessively, not missing anything. He strokes mine the same way. We whisper unintelligible secrets against each other’s lips. And finally we make love. It’s slow and gentle and tender. Our bodies join, tremble, release. We both cry out. Then, legs tangled up, I hold him tight and he sleeps.

  The next time I wake it’s dawn and the sky is a mixture of pale golds and washed-out shades of blue. Tor is lying on his back and looking at his iPad. He faces me.

  ‘Sleepyhead.’

  I yawn, and stretch. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Five.’

  I gently touch his side. ‘Is this why you can’t sleep? Does it hurt?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘Do you want ice?’

  He idly strokes my breast with the back of his hand. My nipple tightens. When I reach for the sheet he yanks it away.

  ‘Uh uh.’ He kicks the sheets further down the bed. Then he brings me closer. ‘I want you.’

  I touch his cheek, prickly under my hand, and study his face. ‘Your eyes are so dark, like …’

  He raises his brows. ‘Like?’

  ‘An ironbark tree. It has rough bark that darkens in the rain.’

  His voice is soft. ‘What’s the botanical name?’

  ‘Eucalyptus paniculata.’

  When he smiles, my throat tightens. His features blur. I can’t still the tremble in my lips. He has to save the world. I need to have a home. We can’t possibly be good for each other.

  ‘Golden?’ He frowns. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He speaks quietly. ‘I want to hear your voice.’

  I can’t think of a reply so I kiss him. For a moment he stills but then he kisses me back, a searching, questioning, worried sort of kiss. I lift my leg over his hip.

  He looks at his erection, lying against my stomach. Then he sighs. ‘You’ll be sore.’

  ‘I haven’t been in pain once.’

  ‘I didn’t mean your leg.’

  When I guide his hand between my thighs, he groans. I take his face into my hands and breathe words into his mouth.

  ‘I trust you.’

  He stares into my eyes. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

  Every one of his movements is deliberate, graceful, precise. Step, step, step, glide. Step, step, step, glide. Just like the first time we danced. The pace quickens, then slows and then achingly builds. And after it’s over we hold each other as if we’re afraid to let go of whatever it is that we’ve found. I trace his features—his intelligent eyes, strong jaw, the dips beneath his cheekbones. And then his body—the line of his shoulder, his ribcage and hip.

  He presses tiny kisses against my lips and whispers, ‘Golden?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I didn’t know it could be like this, either.’

  CHAPTER

  38

  Tor sits on the end of the bed with his back to me. He’s wearing a collared shirt, tie and trousers and is talking on his phone. All I hear are monosyllables, ‘No. Yes. Now. No.’ He must have showered because his hair is damp and I smell soap. When he turns his head I see him in profile and my gaze slides to his mouth. He stands.

  ‘Hold on,’ he says into the phone, walking to me and running a finger down my cheek. He whispers, ‘Morning, Golden.’

  I pull the sheet up higher. I haven’t had time to think. What happens now?

  Tor’s attention goes back to the phone. He walks out of the room, still talking in monosyllables, and I dash to the bathroom down the hall.

  A few minutes later he taps on the door. ‘Golden? Unlock the door.’

  ‘I just got out of the shower.’

  ‘So?’

  My stomach flips. ‘It’s after nine. You should have woken me.’

  He’s quiet for so long I think he must have left. But then he speaks again. ‘I want you to wait for me here. I’ll be back after lunch.’

  ‘No! You said I could come!’

  Another silence. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘I’ll see you downstairs when I’m dressed.’

  My tightly fitting faux suede dress will be different from the flimsy dresses others will wear, but I don’t want to look too out of place at the stables when I see Tomas. My hair is in a loose braid with a thick red ribbon threaded through it. My tights are red too.

  Nate looks up from the kitchen table and grins. ‘Hey, Golden. You look very pretty.’

  Tor is leaning against the bench with his legs stretched out in front of him. His gaze is appreciative. ‘Extremely pretty.’ He raises his brows. ‘Coffee?’

  My dress is short so I smooth it carefully over my bottom as I sit. Tor puts a mug of coffee in front of me, then loops the plaited end of my hair over his wrist. He leans over my shoulder and kisses the side of my neck beneath my ear. It’s an open-mouthed kiss that liquefies my body … breasts, thighs, everywhere.

  Nate laughs. ‘Okay,’ he says.

  ‘Shut up, Nate!’ I turn to Tor. ‘You shut up too!’

  Tor smiles. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

  Nate puts toast on my plate. ‘Eat up.’ He passes the jam and talks with his mouth full. ‘Tor and I have a meeting with Garcia at one.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You’ve already played your part,’ Nate says. ‘Garcia’s convinced that you and Tor are together. Because of the fight, not because of …’ He waves an arm around, encompassing Tor and me. I’m amazed he doesn’t wink.

  I cut my toast. ‘You don’t think I can be of use, even though I’ll know if Garcia is lying?’

  Tor frowns. ‘If we challenge him we’ll get nothing. We want him to volunteer what he knows.’

  ‘Softly, softly, right?’

  ‘We’ll be an hour. Will you be okay on your own?’

  Tor thinks I don’t know about dangerous men. And he’s protective by nature—his brother, me, the rest of the world. He’ll be angry I’ve gone behind his back. But yesterday he said the shit my father represented was getting in the way of us being together. If he was just talking about sex, he was wrong because we had sex last night. If he was talking about more than a one-week commitment, we’ll have to learn to trust each other.

  But he doesn’t trust me yet. I’ll tell him about Tomas after I’ve seen him. ‘I promise not to cause another fight,’ I say. ‘I’ll hang around with the horses and keep my head down.’

  By the time we get to the track it’s well after eleven and the call for the first race is blaring from the loud speakers. We park with the other patrons in a field behind the track, and pick our way over the grass. Just before we reach the entrance gates Tor pulls me aside. He doesn’t look like his ribs are sore or that’s he’s barely slept—if anything he appears even more alert than usual. He frowns for a moment, as if he’s thinking hard about what he’s go
ing to say next.

  ‘You want Sam to articulate what he wants, don’t you? Particularly as he can’t see.’

  ‘Why are we talking about Sam?’

  ‘And Elka, she tells you everything but in a way that’s difficult to understand.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Ramsay can’t communicate at all.’

  ‘Yes he can!’

  ‘Golden … you work to get the results that you want. That’s what I do too. You have to trust me.’

  ‘I’m trying to.’

  He absently lifts my plait from my shoulder. ‘Even if Garcia was involved in the race fix involving your father, we have no proof and as far as we know he’s been clean ever since. Keeping you away from him today maximises our chances of getting information.’

  ‘You’ve already told me you don’t want me there.’

  He frowns when Nate calls out. ‘Tor? We’d better get going.’

  We pass the bookies on our way in. Marc senior is taking bets, his white leather bookie bag strapped to his chest. It’s not surprising he looks older, because over five years have passed since I’ve seen him. His birthday is three days before mine and he’s ten years younger than Grandpa would have been—that makes him seventy-one. He’s busy taking bets but our eyes meet for a moment. He looks away immediately. So now he’s avoiding me?

  The clubhouse is long and two-storied, but not very large. Tor mingles with the crowd at the bar, smiling and shaking hands, while Nate and I stand on the balcony that overlooks the racetrack, studying the form guide and watching the races. White marquees cover the public areas on the far side of the grounds, but closer to the track people stand in the sun, talking, laughing and drinking. I haven’t had a chance to find out whether my run-in with Ashleigh has been reported in the media. Hopefully she wants to avoid the type of publicity our altercation could generate as much as I do, not that that’ll stop Eric hearing about it. He has a knack for finding things out. Unexpected tears sting the back of my eyes and I blink them away. I’ll never forgive him for selling my home, so the only option I have is to cut him out of my life—this time for good.