“Fox’s place? I didn’t think it was that expensive.”
“Neither did I, but when she saw the prices of the wine her eyes nearly popped out of her head like a cartoon character’s.”
“I know what you’re saying. You’re worried you won’t know whether she’s going out with you because you have money, or because she likes you. But the thing is, you spent a week together and got on really well, and she didn’t know then, did she?”
“True.” I concede that Jess genuinely seemed to like me. “It is possible though that she’ll be angry I didn’t tell her.”
“If she is, then she’ll be hypocritical, won’t she, with the secret she kept?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Teddi sighs and pushes herself to her feet. “Think about it. I’m sure if you really want to see her again, you’ll find a way. Just remember that love doesn’t come around very often, and when it does, we should grab it with both hands and never let it go.”
She walks carefully around the table to me and slides her arms around my waist. I hug her back, and we stand there for a long while.
“I hope I didn’t make things weird by getting it out in the open,” Teddi says.
I kiss the top of her head. “Not at all. I feel better for it.”
“Me too.”
“Then it was worth it.” I release her, and she picks up Bella’s halter and lets the dog guide her to the door.
“Let me know how you get on,” she says.
“I will.”
She waves goodbye and disappears.
I return to my desk and sit, then turn the chair so I’m facing the window. Since I left the Northland, the weather has turned. It’s still warm, but rain is running down the glass, and the City of Sails is hidden in a light mist.
I feel a strange mixture of sadness and lightness of heart. At last, I think the chains that have held me back for the past few years have finally been unlocked, partly by Jess, partly by Teddi. My grief has been exacerbated by a cloud of jealousy and resentment, but as I think about the fact that Will is no longer around, I no longer feel the boiling fury in my stomach—at the world, at Will, at Fate for dealing me such a shit hand. Teddi was always supposed to be Will’s girl, and she always will be. It’s time I moved on and found my own girl.
And I think I know where to look.
Chapter Twenty
Jess
It’s the fourth of January, and I’m struggling.
I feel as if I’ve spent the last ten years on a boat on the ocean, desperately trying to get my sea legs and stop the boat from pitching, and all of sudden a storm has blown up and now I’m rocking out of control.
When I discovered that Rich had returned to Auckland, I drove straight home and haven’t ventured out since. Part of me is aware that I’ve retreated into my shell to protect myself against the trials and tribulations of the past few days. Because I know it’s part of the healing process, I haven’t been too hard on myself. I’ve tried to eat well and do my yoga and meditation exercises in the hope that if I keep a healthy body, my mind will follow the same path, but it’s having trouble.
Caleb and his wife Emma call in on me from time to time, checking I’m okay. I’ve told them everything that happened, and to be fair neither of them passed any judgment—they both gave me a hug and told me to take time to think about what I wanted to do. In the meantime, they bring me the odd cooked meal to make sure I’m eating, and, I suspect, to make sure I haven’t harmed myself.
I have no intention of doing that. Even in my lowest moments, I’ve never contemplated suicide. I’m far too stubborn to give in like that. I don’t want to leave this world. I want to be happy in it, and the drive to achieve what feels like should be a relatively easy goal is what keeps me going.
I have a lot to think about. First, of course, is Rich. I begin by trying to put him to the back of my mind. I tell myself repeatedly that we had a great time, but that the relationship obviously had a sell-by date, and it’s going against Fate to pretend it was anything other than a holiday fling that had merely been convenient for two people who’d been lonely and desperate for some comfort during the festive season.
I tell myself that, but it doesn’t work. I know we were together only a week, but I’m surprised by how much I miss him. I miss his warm body, his hot mouth, his whispers in my ear. I ache for his touch, and for the precious moments where I would open my eyes and find him gazing intensely into mine as he thrust inside me.
But I also miss his dry sense of humor, his intelligent conversation. I miss the way he seemed fascinated by me, and how he would go for a run along the beach and then on return come straight out with a question that had obviously popped into his head that he couldn’t wait to ask. I miss his enthusiasm about my work, and the way he made me feel better about myself. He made me feel attractive—he made me feel like I was a good person. And that’s no small thing when you’ve spent much of your life thinking you’re worthless.
I can’t think what to do about it, though. I don’t know how to get in touch with him. I should have spoken to Hemi and Tama on the beach, but I didn’t think about it at the time. My mind’s so full of everything else that’s going on that I can’t seem to form a plan. Deep down, my instincts are telling me to wait, and my gut feeling has been right enough in the past for me to follow it this time.
I have also, of course, thought non-stop about Lara and Max and what happened that day on the beach. I know the ball is in my court. I’m sure Fiona’s waiting to hear whether I’m interested in keeping in touch with my children—with Lara anyway.
The trouble is, I’m not sure that I am.
I’d put that part of my life behind me. I might have brought them into the world, but they’re no more my children than the couple of kids who live in the house opposite. I don’t know what can be achieved by getting in touch at this late stage. Does Lara want an explanation for why I gave them up? She didn’t appear angry on the beach, but there’s no way of knowing whether that’s behind her attempt to find me. Perhaps she’s unable to shake feelings of abandonment.
Or maybe she just wants to investigate her roots and see if we have anything in common. Whatever, she must be picturing that I’m some kind of heroic mother who fought against the giving up of her kids—a mother who’s now rich and successful, with an amazing job, maybe even her own husband and children. I can’t believe that she’s hoping to find a jobless, aging spinster, an ex-drug addict and ex-convict, whose last relationship was an affair with a married man, and who’s living in her brother’s sleepout because she can’t afford a place of her own.
I know Maria would argue the fact, but I don’t believe I have an ounce of heroism in me, and that is why I haven’t yet picked up the phone and called Fiona.
Today is the fourth of January. It’s not a public holiday—shops, banks, and businesses are now open, and the world is moving on with the New Year. I need to move on too. I need to get out there and find myself a job, a way of earning enough money to live on. And I need to decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.
I’m not ready to ring Fiona, but equally I’ve calmed down a lot over the last day or two. There’s no rush. Maria used to say that even the smallest wounds take time to heal, and the scars I bear aren’t small ones. I have enough savings to carry me for a few weeks. Caleb would wave my rent in a heartbeat—he didn’t want to take any in the first place—but I insisted on paying him, and I’m too proud to stop now. But I decide that I’ll start thinking about looking for a job tomorrow. Like the Reiki principles suggest, just for today I’m not going to worry.
My pencils, paints, and sketchpad still lie in the bag I shoved them in when I left the bach, but now I find the bag and retrieve the sketchpad. Outside, it’s cloudy but warm, and I pour myself a glass of iced tea and bring it with a sliced apple and the pad onto the tiny deck at the back of my house.
Although Caleb originally built this as a sleepout for visiting guests, it’s the per
fect size for me, with one bedroom and a bathroom, and a cozy living room with a worktop and sink against the wall. I have a tiny oven and a microwave, and it does me just fine. The front of the house looks out over Caleb’s huge lawn and his pool, but he built a private deck for me that runs around the back of the house and overlooks another, smaller patch of garden, with orange and lemon trees, Bangalow Palms, a huge jacaranda that’s spilled lavender-colored petals over the lawn, and all my veggie pots.
I bought a plastic table with a cheap umbrella at a car boot sale, and now I put up the umbrella to shade myself from the sun, and take a seat.
I open the sketchpad and flick through it.
Immediately, emotions tumble through me. There’s sadness and self-pity as I look at the pictures of Rich. I think how positive and excited I felt at the time I drew them, and I think about what I’ve lost.
But there are also positive emotions. Pleasure is the first, as I look at the drawing I did of him lying in bed, and think about what had come before it—namely me, then him, then me again.
Also, I feel a sense of amazement and pride as I look at the unusual colors and shapes that illustrate the way I see the world. The painting is fresh and vibrant, unlike anything I’ve seen before, and I begin to wonder whether Rich is right, and maybe I do have a unique selling point that could mean I might be able to make money from my paintings.
I close the sketchbook, lean back, and close my eyes. I should be grateful for the things I have. Rich gave me a wonderful gift—for one whole week, he made me feel wanted and loved. I mustn’t regret meeting him. I do wish I hadn’t driven off the way I did, but it’s done, and there’s not a lot I can do about it now. I just have to be thankful for the wonderful memories he left me with, and hope he’s feeling the same.
The air is warm and still. Maybe this afternoon I’ll indulge myself and have a dip in Caleb’s pool. I don’t do it very often as I don’t want him to feel as if I’m intruding on his family—I’ve done my best to keep to myself since I moved in. But a swim in the cool water would be nice today.
Thinking about cool water makes me think about the first time that Rich and I went in the sea. I remember that delicious feeling of the water flowing over me, as I admired his warm brown skin and his amazing tattoo, and imagined his hands on me, his mouth on mine. I remember how it felt to make love with him, to have him moving inside me. My skin tingles as if a cool breeze has brushed over it, and my nipples tighten beneath my vest. I can’t love him because it’s only a week, but I think I was in love with him, a tiny bit. Maybe a big bit. I miss him.
“Are you meditating or just dozing off?”
At the sound of the male voice, I open my eyes. For a moment, I think I’ve conjured him up in my imagination. He’s standing at the foot of the deck, hands in the pockets of his jeans, his pose casual, although his shoulders are slightly hunched, so I sense he’s more nervous than he’s letting on. He’s wearing an All Black’s top that clings to his gorgeous upper body. His curly hair is ruffled; his smile seems genuine. He’s here—he’s really here.
His smile fades as I continue to sit, motionless. “Do you want me to go, Jess?” he asks.
In answer, I rise from the seat and walk down the steps. Without thinking, without considering what I’m doing, without planning for the future or weighing up the consequences, I rise onto my tiptoes, put my arms around his neck, and I kiss him.
Rich sighs, and then he slides his arms around my waist and pulls me tight against him. I tip my head and slant my mouth across his, opening mine so our tongues can tangle and our breaths intermingle, flipping my internal switch from cool to sizzling in seconds.
I lift my head and look into his dark brown eyes, drinking him in, unable to believe he’s come to find me. “I missed you so much,” I whisper, and he doesn’t smile—he takes my face in his hands and rubs his thumbs over my cheeks.
“I’m crazy about you,” he says fiercely. “Don’t walk out on me again.”
“I won’t.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.” I welcome his hard, almost forceful kiss, feeling my blood rising, an ache beginning between my thighs. I suppose I should offer to make him a cup of tea, and we should sit at the table and talk about what’s happened, and discuss why I walked out and where we go from here. But there’s no need for words. I want him, and I can tell that he wants me, and without another word I lead him into the house and through the tiny living area to the bedroom that overlooks the deck.
Caleb and Emma have taken their kids to a friend’s over on the Hokianga, and he told me they won’t be home until after five, so I don’t have to worry that he’ll suddenly appear around the corner. It’s warm in the room and I don’t have air con, so I undo the sliding door and push it wide, letting the scent of lemons and jasmine filter into the room, and the sun’s rays fall across the bed like gold bars.
I strip off my vest and shorts, and Rich tears off his shirt, jeans, and boxers, and we lie, naked, on the bed, pressed against each other, and kiss.
“I’ve missed you,” he tells me, sliding his hand over my waist to my hips, then down over my thigh. “More than I’d thought possible.”
“I thought maybe I was making it up in my head,” I whisper, arching my back when his hand returns to my breast. “I’ve only known you a week. I thought I couldn’t be missing you as much as I was.”
“Does it make it less real?” He cups my breast and squeezes the nipple until I moan. “I’d rather feel what I feel for you in a week than live with someone for a lifetime that I didn’t love.”
My heart swells. “Me too.”
He kisses me, delving his tongue into my mouth, and when he pushes urgently against my knee, I open my legs to give him access to the flesh I know will already be wet and swollen. We both groan as he finds it so, and my hips thrust involuntarily while he begins to stroke there.
“It’s not enough, though.” He lifts his head, still stroking me. “I’ve come back because it’s not enough. I want to see you again.”
I nod, breathless, filled with hope and wonder. “Okay.”
“We’ll talk after. But you want to see me again?”
“Yes,” I say, and tears fill my eyes. “Yes, I do.”
He lifts up, takes a condom from his wallet, and rolls it on, and in seconds he’s positioning the tip of his erection at my entrance before lowering himself down on top of me.
“Look at me,” he instructs, and I look up into his chocolate-brown eyes as he pushes forward and fills me up.
“Ohhh… Rich.”
“Yeah. Oh fuck, yeah.” He hooks an arm under one of my knees and lifts my leg so he can slide even further inside me. “Aaahhh… Jess.”
I bring up my other leg and hold the backs of my thighs, giving him unfettered access, and welcome him as he begins to thrust, burying himself in my soft flesh with a groan.
Oh it’s heaven, and I close my eyes and revel in the feel of the sunshine falling across us, the slide of Rich inside me, the heat of his mouth on mine. It’s sweet, it’s like we’ve captured a piece of summer in the room, and as Rich’s thrusts faster and I feel my orgasm approach, I open my eyes and gaze up into his. I’m dreaming, aren’t I? I must be.
We come together, our bodies tightening and pulsing, our mouths locked in what seems like an unending kiss. But of course, all good things come to an end, and eventually Rich collapses on top of me in a glowing heap, and I sink back into the pillows, unable to get up and loving every minute of it.
It’s hot, so hot. I feel like I’m being baked in an oven. But I don’t want to move. I want to stay here for the rest of my life, and never, ever, have to leave.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rich
Half an hour later finds us semi-dressed, with a glass of iced tea, sitting outside at the small table.
I’ve had a brief look around the place. It’s so tiny—the whole sleepout could fit in my living room. But it’s got Jess written all over it, f
rom the multi-colored throws on the suite to the crystals hanging in the windows to the large square pillows that I know she must use for yoga and meditation.
I notice that she has her PlayStation 3 plugged into her TV, and the old-format Dark Robot is one of the few games she owns.
She’s slipped on a loose sundress, and I know that if I were to slide my hands down her, I’d find her soft body free of underwear. I try not to think about it, though. I had her in bed barely a minute after I walked into her house—I need to give the poor girl a bit of time to cool down.
I hadn’t meant that to happen. But I’d been worried she didn’t want me to be there, and then she’d pressed her lips to mine, and I’d been so relieved and happy that I’d gotten carried away. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to mind too much.
We sit an inch away from each other, holding hands. Jess’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes alight.
“How have you been?” she asks.
“Not too bad. You?”
“Okay.” Her lips twist—she’s lying.
“Have you spoken to Lara yet?”
She lowers her gaze to her iced tea. “No. I haven’t rung.”
Alarm bells ring in my head. I’d thought she’d be straight on to her daughter as soon as she got home. She’s taken this even harder than I imagined. “Why not?”
“I kept thinking about what Lara was expecting. She’d have been hoping for a perfect mother and instead she’s got me. I don’t want her to be… disappointed.” She speaks calmly—she’s definitely given this some thought.
“I doubt that’s the case,” I tell her gently. “Fiona seems like a nice woman, so it’s not as if Lara’s looking for a replacement mum. She wants to find out where she came from. To discover her roots.”
“And what do I tell her? The truth?”
“Yes.”
“That I was a depressed drug-abuser who ended up in prison?”
“That your parents as good as forced you to give your babies up against your will. That you went through a difficult time because you missed them so much, but eventually you turned your life around and became the beautiful person you are now.”
My New Year Fling: A Sexy Christmas Billionaire Romance (Love Comes Later Book 2) Page 16