by Allie Little
I bury my face into his chest, needing him.
“Don’t be mad, Grace.”
I draw back. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”
He looks up at an early morning sky with the blood-red hint of a beautiful daybreak. “I know I got a little overheated up there, but I’ve been worried Grace. Out of my mind with worry. And then seeing you with him got under my skin.”
“I’m not mad. I’m extremely relieved to see you.”
“I’m sorry it took so long to get to you. Maritime Rescue was busy and we knew you weren’t out in the water, so Jack drove us back to Tea Gardens to get his boat. It was the only way, but it took an eternity to get to you.”
The tenderness in his eyes turns my heart upside down. He nuzzles his head into mine, and when he kisses my forehead I know, just know, that I’m head over heels in love with Riley.
17
Riley
She walks across the room, all sinewy legs and arms and body. She’s all I’ve ever wanted and so much more. She reaches the bed and leans across, pressing herself against me. Soft. Beautiful. Like nothing I’ve felt before.
I drag her on top of me, eagerly devouring her lips with mine. Then pulling back, I caress the curve of her lip with my own. She whispers words of encouragement, sucking at my earlobe, then she’s noiselessly mute, the only sound between us her ragged intake of air.
She stops in her tracks, takes my face gently in her hands. “Riley?”
I gauge her thoughtful, serious expression. “Yeah?”
She hesitates nervously, the words struggling to come. “I…” Glancing swiftly away, she dodges my stare. “It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs faintly, inaudibly, lacking her usual conviction.
Her heart beats steadily, faster somehow, yet still connected to the slow, pulsing beat of the earth. I linger a moment, listening to her breathe. Listening to the way in which the beat of the earth drops evenly into rhythm with her soul.
“I love you, Grace Carter,” I say without thought, because in her company my heart is a flower, opening into the sunshine.
She draws back, an enormous smile infusing her exquisite face. Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “How on earth did you know what I wanted to say?”
“I just knew.”
“You’re so cocky,” she laughs, the sound like a child on Christmas morning, kneeling before the decorated tree, the presents wrapped and intact like a heart unbroken. Her hands run from my shoulders down, over my biceps to my elbows, lingering where my forearms rest at her hips.
I gather her playfully in my arms and deftly roll her beneath me. “So, say it, Grace. Come on, I know you want to.”
“Say it?” she asks, her blue eyes meeting mine.
I kiss her, my mouth travelling down to nip at her collarbone, her skin salty like the sea. “I need to hear you say it, Grace. I need to believe.”
She sighs happily. “I need to believe, too. You’re not real, Riley. I’m not used to men like you.”
“So, get used to it.” I nuzzle at her sternum, hearing her gasp like it’s her final intake of air. I lick my way to her nipple, drawing it into my mouth, running my tongue across it like it’s the best damn thing I’ve tasted in forever.
She groans, pulls me tighter. “I love you too, Riley,” she whispers, the words spoken straight from her heart.
The words hang perfectly in the air. And right in this moment it feels natural, expected, to have her here in my bed with the rising sun skimming iridescent reflections across the surface of the water outside.
“Riley?” she says after a while. “You’re very quiet all of a sudden.”
“Just happy,” I sigh, gathering her closer.
She changes pace, wraps her legs around me, pulling me in tighter.
“Come here,” I slur, my face buried against her breasts. I move upwards, my mouth grazing the distance to her neck, then up further, to where the softness of her cheek presses lightly against mine. I kiss her until we both break for air, all sensible thoughts permanently leaving my head. I slide my hand to the curve of her hip, over her thigh, pulling her leg even harder up around me.
“I like how you taste,” she whispers, licking her lips.
“And how do I taste?”
She savours me again, licking my tongue. “Kind of salty and sweet, all at the same time.”
“Hmmm, all I can taste is Japanese tea. Roasted rice, popcorn.”
She chuckles, palming her hands over my chest, my muscles firming at her touch. “You do make an excellent cup.”
She devotes a moment to gaze into my eyes and I watch her doubts leak away sieve-like, lost in the intensity of our moment. She raises a brow with a cheeky smirk, as if to say so what are you waiting for?
I raise mine too. “You’re on, sweetness.”
Grace
For a rich dude, the guy is … Zen. His bedroom is littered with a dozen or so white pillar candles, flame-light flickering a jitterbug dance across sprawling walls and windows. Incense sticks burn, wisps of heady sandalwood smoke trailing into the room. An oversized Buddha sits serenely by the door, eyes closed in trance-like contemplation. And then it hits me. The woodsy, fresh scent of Riley’s; his trademark scent. Incense. And the bonsais are literally everywhere. Carefully tended, sprouting with fresh growth at their tips, unlike my house plants, which at best were always … parched.
I look up into amber eyes. He meets my gaze, never removing his eyes from mine. I draw in a breath because he’s so divine. And I truly have to pinch myself, because buried beneath his amber scrutiny is something deep. Something spiritual. Something otherworldly.
A smile curls the corners of his lips. He steers me into the middle of the bed, positions me carefully, before rolling me skilfully on top and kissing me hungrily.
I straddle his hips and slide my hands over his chest. I’m wearing nothing at all, completely exposed in the pink dawn light, and everything in the world feels okay. Actually, it feels better than okay, because this is exactly where I’m meant to be, right here in this moment, with this man, in his sumptuous bed.
Swiftly he lifts me on top, slides himself inside and I gasp. Once inside, he’s unhurried and deliberate; measured and precise.
“God.” He groans, pulling me to him, his eyes sparkling with an almost spiritual regard. He works his hands over my body. “You’re going to love this,” he whispers at my ear.
I chuckle and kiss him harder. “I have no doubt of that.”
***
Riley holds me in his arms and kisses the top of my head, my body floating in a feathery bliss. His heartbeat rushes beneath my ear and it’s the strongest sound. Even. Steady. Reliable.
And it sounds like home.
“You’re full of surprises, Ms Carter,” he murmurs. “Nothing vanilla about you in the bedroom. It’s taken long enough to get you here, though.”
“You’re no vegemite toast yourself, Mr Atherton. I like your moves.”
“Baby, I could tell.” He moves his hand languidly down my back. “There’s more where that came from. And we just happen to have all day.”
He reaches across to light another incense stick, flicking the pewter lighter one-handed to ignite the glowing burn.
“You’ve never struck me as a hippie, Riley.”
“A hippie?” he says, incredulously. “I’m no hippie, but I like to connect with the divine energy of the universe. I wasn’t always so … Zen, I guess. I run and meditate now. It’s become my way of life. It’s how I’ve coped, you know, with the friction I’ve had going on with my father.”
It all made perfect sense, hearing him contextualise it.
“Dad says it’s a ridiculous waste of time. He says all the time I spend meditating - which, I’ll have you know is only twenty minutes a day - would be far better spent earning a quid with him in the family business. I’m to give up my hobby of a career to join him in his shady dealings.” He seems somewhat offended by the thought. “The guy’s got a nerve. He’s such an asshole. I
t’s as simple and straightforward as that.” He gives a deflated shake of his head.
“I hope I never have the misfortune of meeting him.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll do what I can to prevent it. I wouldn’t wish his presence on anybody, especially someone I care about.” He reaches to the bedside table and hands me a luke-warm cup of Gen-mai-cha which had been sitting there for the last fifteen minutes. “Is that cold? Would you like me to brew you a fresh one?”
I sip the roasted rice-flavoured liquid. “No, this is good.” The unusual flavour was growing on me. I could get used to this: the incense and Buddhas. The Japanese tea. The bonsais were certainly a tranquil addition to the room, which was a peaceful, meditative haven from the world. One undoubtedly felt rested and calm in here, although quite possibly that was the after-effects of the amazing sex.
He removes the oriental cup from my hands. “Drink it later,” he commands, returning it to the bedside. “You’ll need to re-hydrate after what I have planned.”
18
Riley
The phone rings and Grace reaches a lean arm across to the bedside to retrieve the call. She croaks into the handset, half asleep.
“Yes, hello? Grace speaking.” Her eyes pop open and she sits up with a start, wrapping herself in the sheet to conceal her beautifully naked body. “She’s what?” Grace grabs for my arm. “When did this happen?”
She motions for me to get out of bed while she does the same, dropping the ivory sheet like a silken waterfall and searching for clothes. “Oh no, poor Gran. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She ends the call panicked, her eyes widened in shock.
“What’s happened?”
“Gran’s fallen and broken her hip. She needs surgery tonight. I have to get to Sydney, Riley. I can’t let her go through this alone. Not after all she’s done for me. She’s all the family I’ve got.”
“I’ll drive you. Get dressed and grab your things.”
She wriggles into her clothes, tears welling in her eyes. She wipes at the lone tear escaping across her cheek.
“She’s going to be okay, Grace. We’ll get to her as quickly as we can.”
“I need to see her before she goes into surgery. I hope we make it in time.” She moves across the room like a robot, mechanical and glazed. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. I can’t bear to think of it.”
“She’s going to be fine. It’s a broken hip, Grace. It’s not life threatening. She’ll be fine.” I drag on a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt, shrugging into both, one after the other.
“You’re always so good to me.” She grips my shirt, buries her face in it, then draws back and fixes her blue eyes on mine. “You have no idea how important you’ve become. I don’t know how I’d deal with any of this without you.”
“Sweetness, you’ll never need to find out. Let’s go.”
Something intense was blossoming. A connection. In fact, there had been an undeniable connection ever since Grace had come to stay in Shoal Bay. In the aftershock of evading Dan, Grace and I had become close. And after last night, we were even closer. We were deeply connected, on so many levels. And now here we were. I’d finally broken away from my father, and without a doubt I’d done the right thing by cutting him dead. And Grace had found her solitude and peace in the tranquillity of the Bay. Apart from the obvious discomfort of spending a night wet and cold on an island mid-winter, she’d managed to relax and unwind, free from the stalking eyes of Douchebag, as Gemma so fondly referred to him.
Now to get her Gran all mended and well again.
***
The road to the hospital winds eternally. Sunday drivers pit their speeds against one another on the expressway, zipping between lanes. Grace sits silently, seemingly assailed by dread.
I reach across, squeeze her knee. “You okay, babe?”
She nods unconvincingly. “Yes, I think so.”
“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I say, joining the highway at the end of the expressway. “Not long now.”
She grabs my hand, lacing appreciative fingers through mine. The highway is a mess of slow traffic, peppered with an over-abundance of red lights and crawling at an agonising pace. Eventually we pull in at the hospital, the Emergency sign blinking sporadically in red and white. The paint peels from a cream-coloured façade.
Grace pushes quickly from the car and slings her bag over one shoulder. “Coming in with me?”
“Are you kidding? As if you’re going in there alone.”
She rounds the car and seizes my hand, snatching it into her own. “Well, come on then. We don’t have a lot of time.”
The emergency doors slide back, revealing lines of white plastic chairs reminiscent of teeth on a predator. The stench of disinfectant is overwhelming. The hustle of nurses and rows of obedient patients, waiting for triage.
Grace heads straight for the triage counter, a determined gravity in her step.
“Yes, can I help you?” The triage nurse is emotionless, as if bored by our presence.
“My grandmother’s been admitted after a fall. Can you tell me where I can find her, please?”
“What’s her name?” She taps at the keyboard of an archaic computer in need of an upgrade.
“Bess Carter.”
The nurse scrolls impassively through lists of inpatients. “Carter, Carter. Ah yes, here she is. Level 5, Room 1. She’s still waiting for surgery. Shouldn’t be too long.”
Grace nods a thank you and looks around, disorientated. “Where’s the lift?”
“This way.” I guide her around a few corners badly in need of refurbishment, the paint scratched and cracked, black marks ribboning the walls. Finding the lift, we rise slowly to Level 5, the prehistoric contraption dragging itself reluctantly aloft. The metallic doors glide back and Grace leaps into the foyer, tugging me out by the hand.
The interior is painted a bleak grey, old and out of date, seemingly ancient. The ward is army barrack-like, with wide open corridors and rooms jutting off from either side. Exposed and bare, the only privacy is afforded by means of swing around curtains in the wide-open room.
Bess is lying in bed with oxygen prongs fixed to her nostrils, eyes closed, her face the colour of ash. A drip of morphine is attached to her hand, taped flat against her frail, porcelain skin.
Grace rushes to her bedside and pats her lightly on the arm, waking her.
Bess blinks open her eyes, smiles weakly. “Darling girl, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come,” she croaks.
“Of course I’m here. You’re about to have surgery, Gran. As if I wouldn’t be here. I’d never let you face that on your own.”
“I know, dear. I just thought you had more than enough on your plate.” A tiny glistening tear forms in the corner of one eye. “I don’t want you worrying about me too.”
“Oh Gran, don’t ever talk like that again.” Grace kisses her on the forehead. “Are you in much pain?”
“Not anymore – I’m on the strong stuff and it’s fabulous.”
Grace giggles. “Typical. Oh Gran, this is Riley. Riley, this is Bess, my grandmother.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bess.”
She takes my hand warmly. “And you too, Riley. I’m just sorry it’s not under better circumstances. No old girl like me wants a handsome young fella seeing her in this condition. Talk about embarrassing.” She gives us a cheeky grin, then suddenly becomes serious. “Now, I’ve heard you’re taking good care of my girl, Riley, and that means the world to me.” She presses my hand between hers, an appreciative twinkle in her cornflower-blue eyes.
“It’s no hardship, Bess. It’s not exactly tough having Grace around.” I catch Grace’s eye and give her a flirty wink. She rolls her eyes theatrically then focuses in on Bess.
“So, tell us what happened, Gran. How on earth did you fall?”
She stops to think, recollecting. “Well, darling girl, I’m a little hazy on the details to be honest. I was carrying out a basket
of laundry when all of a sudden, I caught my foot on a rather large rock. It was right in the middle of the path - quite a sizeable one too. And very odd that it should be there. It would have been extremely heavy to lift, and was almost as if someone had placed it there deliberately, although of course I’m sure that wasn’t the case. It was probably just the local kids, having a bit of fun.”
“Having a bit of fun?” Grace tut-tuts. “Gosh Gran, that ‘bit of fun’ has landed you in hospital with a broken hip.”
Bess shrugs a pair of ancient shoulders. “I’ll be all right, darling,” she reassures. “Now what are you doing this evening? You’re very welcome to stay at my place in the spare room if you plan on hanging about in Sydney. I’ll give you the key.” She reaches into the drawer next to her bed and pulls out an old leather handbag, brimming with cheque books and a couple of white lace-edged handkerchiefs. She rifles through it hastily. “Here, take my keys,” she gestures them at Grace. “Actually, take the whole bag. I won’t be needing it in here.”
Grace fits the entire bag into her own oversized tote. “I’m not sure what we’re doing yet, but I think we should we stay.”
“We may as well. The surgery won’t finish till later and I’m sure you’ll be wanting to see Bess afterwards, possibly later this evening and then first thing tomorrow morning as well.”
Grace signals an agreement. “Okay, thanks Gran. We’ll stay at your place tonight.”
“There’ll be a meal for you in the freezer and a nice drop of red to go with it.” She winces a little, attempting to shift her broken body in the bed. Grace helps, fluffing and rearranging several pillows behind her. “Now off you two go. No point hanging around here in this dreary place. Go on now, scoot!”
“The surgery will be over before you know it, Gran. I promise.” Grace hugs her, reaching for her hand. “We’ll be back really soon.”
“See you soon, Bess. Hang in there.”
She manages a pained smile as the room is interrupted with buzzing orderlies, fussing around the bed. IV poles and pillows are officiously rearranged before a prostrate Bess is whisked hurriedly from the room.