Just Not Mine (Escape to New Zealand)

by Rosalind James

  When she was relaxed, her body humming, she stood up again, went over to the bed, unfastened her robe, dropped it at the foot of the bed, and crawled under the duvet. Crawled under it naked, because she loved the feel of the cotton sheet against her skin, the freedom of nudity in this one place where it was just her and her body. And because she and her body were going to have a long, slow, delicious date tonight, while she thought about Hugh, about what had happened today and all the things she hoped would happen next.

  She heard her phone ding, because she’d forgotten to switch it off, sat up again, picked it up from the bedside table and read the words.

  Unlock your back door.

  Her eyes flew to the window. To the blind that, she realized, she hadn’t shut again. To the figure she could barely make out, a shadow against the shades of black behind him. To the man who’d been standing there watching her this entire time, because he’d thought she’d meant to do this, that she’d been inviting him to watch her, asking him to come to her.

  She was frozen, sitting up in bed, the sheet around her waist, the phone in her hand. And the figure still standing there. Waiting. Watching. The phone was silent, and all she could hear was the sound of her breathing, audible in the stillness.

  She slid out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown, and left the room.

  Over the Fence

  She hit the light switch in the kitchen, then wished she’d left it off, because she could see nothing beyond the glass sliders but the reflection of the room and the impenetrable blackness beyond. He could be standing outside right now, looking at her, and she wouldn’t even know it. The thought made her breath come shallow, her body tighten with shivery nerves. But this wasn’t really some demon lover she was waiting for, some anonymous visitor in the dark. This was her neighbor. This was Hugh.

  It was the Hugh who’d kissed her the way he had in her dressing room, though. That Hugh had been a different animal from her friendly, helpful neighbor. That Hugh unnerved her.

  She hesitated a moment more, then turned the lock and slid the door open, her heart pounding.

  To find … nothing. Nothing but the darkness of her back garden, the looming bulk of Mt. Victoria beyond, the musical trill of the cicadas.

  And, after a moment, the movement at the top of the fence. A dark shape suddenly appearing above it, then dropping to the grass. Hugh, coming across to her. Coming fast.

  “You know,” she started to say, “some people would have just walked around.”

  She didn’t finish the sentence, because he was on her. One arm wrapping around her shoulders, the other hand at her waist, his big body backing her through the door.

  His mouth was hard on hers already, forcing her lips open, his tongue invading. She was dimly aware that she was whimpering with surprise and excitement, that her hands were at his shoulders, grabbing at him, and still he pushed her backwards, until her back hit the wall and there was no retreat. One hand was behind her head, cushioning it, threading through her hair, the other was at her waist, and she was on her toes, his body pressing into hers.

  “I need to do this,” he groaned, his hand between their bodies, pulling at the sash of her dressing gown. He yanked the edges apart, and then both hands were cupping her breasts, his thumbs moving over them, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. His mouth was at her throat, his teeth closing over her skin, and she was gasping, her hands pulling his shirt up, sliding over the skin of his sides, his back, greedy for him.

  When he lifted his mouth from her neck and took his hands from her, it took a moment for it to register. He was yanking the dressing gown from her shoulders, dropping it to the floor, and she pulled his T-shirt over his head with desperate haste, ran urgent palms over the heft of his shoulders, down his broad chest, around to his back while he shoved his shorts over his hips, kicked them aside, then reached for her again, hauling her up against him with one arm, the other hand sliding down her back, and down further still, gripping her, holding her even closer. The wall was cold against her upper back, and he was hot against the rest of her, hot and urgent and big and hard.

  His mouth trailed over her cheek, biting her earlobe, his teeth scraping the skin beneath, and she was shuddering. He shifted her in his arms, and his hand wasn’t on her leg anymore. It was over her, moving, stroking, and he had her bent backwards a little over his arm, and her gasps had turned to moans.

  “Take me to bed,” he told her, his voice coming out strained, “or you’re on the floor.”

  She didn’t answer, because she barely heard him, and he didn’t ask again. He was pulling her with him, down onto their knees, laying her down on the rag rug in front of the kitchen sink. Coming down over her, his hands on her breasts, and then his mouth was moving over her throat, down her breast, settling on her, teasing out a response her body was completely willing to give, while his hand roamed, dove, held her, and began to stroke, finding the perfect spot, the perfect way to touch her.

  Her head thrashed, her hands reached for his shoulders, and she clung to him so tightly as he worked on her, drove her higher.

  “That’s right,” he said as she began to cry out, her hips bucking into his hand, because she couldn’t help it. “Come on, Josie. Arch that pretty back for me. Show me how much you want it.”

  He kept on until all rational thought had left her, until every bit of her had become pure need, pulling her toward a peak she needed to climb with everything in her. And then he let go of her, lifted his head, and she trembled and jerked against him.

  “More,” she begged, opening her eyes to look at him, her hands pulling at his shoulders. “Please. More.”

  “You’re going to get more,” he promised, moving down her body so she lost her grip on him. “Right now.”

  There was nothing subtle about it. He had a thigh in either hand, had spread her legs wide. He set his mouth to her, the rasp of his beard providing a delicious friction against the tender skin, his mouth and tongue doing the rest. Doing so much, she could barely stand it. Her breath was coming in loud sobs, her hands were scrabbling, reaching for a hold they couldn’t find, until she gave it up and her fists clenched shut, pressed against the cold linoleum, and began to slide back and forth in a frantic rhythm.

  He slowed down, and she rose into his mouth and begged again.

  “Please,” she gasped. “Please. Don’t … stop.”

  “I’m not going to stop,” he promised, his hands under her now, lifting her into him. “I’m never going to stop. I’m going to make you come so hard. And then I’m going to make you do it again.”

  He sped up, and she got louder, then slowed down until she was begging again. Over and over, cranking the tension up so deliciously slowly, and she’d forgotten that she was lying on her kitchen floor, was aware of nothing but his hard mouth on her, his strong hands gripping her.

  “I can’t … I can’t …” she got out, straining against him as the flames licked her, consumed her, devoured her.

  He wasn’t listening, though. He held her tight, kept on and on, merciless, until her back was arching so strongly she was bent like a bow, until her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her arms flung out from her sides, and she was gasping for air.

  He made her shake. He made her burn. And then he made her howl.

  She was still trembling, her legs parted, her body limp, when he came back over her, took her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss. Her eyes were closed, and then he slid home, and they weren’t.

  Size mattered. Oh, it mattered. She was filled so completely, even her eyes stretched wide at the astonishing sensation of it. He began to move, slowly at first, and that was even better, and she grabbed the bunched muscle of his shoulders, wrapped her hands around his biceps, flexed to support his body weight, and held on for the ride.

  He was so solid over her, inside her, around her, and she drew her legs up, twined them around his broad back, and urged him on. He was on his palms, driving so hard he was moving her across the floor,
and all she could do was hang on and keen out the hot pleasure of it.

  It was fast, and it was hard, and it was all the way over the top. They rode the dark wave together, more and more, higher and higher, until it pulled them under, tumbled them, rolled them. Until it very nearly drowned them both.

  Demon Lover

  “Whoa,” Hugh exhaled when he’d got back enough breath to say it, had rolled off her so he wouldn’t crush her. “Bed, don’t you think?”

  “Yeh. Bed.” She sounded about as shaky as he felt.

  He stood, reached a hand down to pull her to her feet, grabbed his clothes and her dressing gown off the floor and let her lead him down the hall.

  He came out of the bathroom once he’d got rid of the condom he’d barely managed to remember in the heat of the moment, followed the pathway of light to her bedroom, and found her. Sitting up, the white sheet pulled to her waist, the heavy waves of her dark hair streaming over her golden skin.

  “What a view,” he said, sliding in beside her. “Thought so earlier tonight, and I haven’t changed my mind.”

  He leaned over, pushed her hair away from her face with a gentle hand, and gave her the soft kiss he hadn’t managed yet that night, then sat back and smiled into her eyes, his hand still on her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek, feeling her leaning into it.

  “Have I mentioned,” he asked her, “how beautiful you are? And what a lucky man I feel tonight?”

  “Mm, I don’t think so,” she sighed. She was smiling too, soft and sweet, sliding down to lie against the pillows, and he was going with her, as if he’d ever had a choice. He got an arm under her so he could pull her into him, stroke the skin of her shoulder, and she settled against his chest, and it was exactly where he needed her.

  “But, Hugh,” she asked. “What about the kids?”

  He had to laugh. “What about them? Was I meant to be thinking about them? I realize I don’t know all the rules, but I’m pretty sure that’s not one.”

  “No,” she said. He could feel the curve of her lips as she smiled against his skin, and that was good too. “But you shouldn’t leave them alone too long. Even to come here. Even to be next door. Not at night.”

  “Ah. Means I get points,” he told her.

  “You already got points,” she said, and she was smiling again, he could tell.

  “More points, then, because I left a note on the kitchen table and put my phone in my pocket. On second thought, considering the kind of pressure I was under, I reckon that earns me a medal.”

  “Could be,” she said, sounding a little sleepy. “More thinking than I was doing.”

  “Oh, I thought you did some fairly good thinking. That was a pretty good invite you sent me.”

  “Well, actually,” she said, “it wasn’t. Not exactly, because that wasn’t … it wasn’t the result of thinking. When you texted me, when I saw you at the window … well, you startled me. That’s putting it mildly.”

  He pulled away, looked down at her with a frown. “What?”

  “Because I didn’t mean to do that,” she said. “I didn’t know you were watching.”

  “Aw, shit.” He lay back down again with a groan, his arm flung up over his eyes. “I’ve been a bloody Peeping Tom.”

  “No, you haven’t,” she assured him. “I think you just gave me a real-life Demon Lover fantasy, that’s all.”

  “A what?”

  “You know. A stranger coming out of the shadows without a word. Rushing me, taking me over the way you did.”

  “You saying I attacked you?” He pulled himself up to sit, an icy chill replacing the hot blood in his veins, and stared down at her. “That doesn’t sound like a demon. That sounds like a rapist. You were allowed to say no. You were allowed to text me back and tell me to get the hell out of your bedroom. All you had to say was no.”

  “And if I’d wanted to, I would have.” She was sitting up too, her hand on his upper arm. “Hugh. No. That wasn’t what I meant, not at all. I’m saying, when you texted me, when I saw you, I realized that I must have wanted you to watch. I raised my blind to look for you, and then I didn’t close it again, because I must have wanted you to see, and then I wanted you to be my Demon Lover. I wanted you so much. I wanted you to come.”

  She leaned over, kissed him softly on the mouth. “And you did, didn’t you?” She’d pulled back a little, had herself propped over him, her body so irresistible, her smile so slow, so seductive, and he was falling again. “And so did I. How many times was that? You had me so far gone, the last thing I was doing was counting.”

  “Three,” he told her, smiling back, the relief filling him. “Because I was counting. And next time, it’ll be more. Now that I know what you like.”

  “Oh, big promises,” she mocked, and her eyes were sparkling, her gorgeous mouth was curving, and he laughed, rolled her over, got her under him again.

  “Well, maybe,” he said, “just one more. For tonight. Going to rock you nice and slow this time, just because I want to. Because your Demon Lover isn’t done with you yet.”

  Dr. Eva Takes a Turn

  She woke to the sound of the alarm, struggled out of sleep and rolled to switch off the annoying buzz, not feeling one bit ready to wake up.

  And then she remembered why. She sat up, pulled her tangled mass of hair from around her face, and listened for him, but of course he was gone, had left sometime in the minutes or hours after she’d fallen asleep with her head pillowed on his chest, his hand stroking her hair. He’d gone back home, leaving not so much as an indentation in the pillow. Nothing but the faint ache between her thighs, the hum in her body to show where he had been.

  “Somebody got a shag at last.”

  Clive was scrutinizing her from the chair in which he was sprawled with his script. She had arrived in the makeup room not first, or even second this morning, because Val were already there too.

  “And that somebody isn’t me,” Clive continued. “Sadly, the only love affair Steph’s got going right now is the one with the toilet bowl.”

  “Still sick?” Josie asked, taking her own seat in the next chair along.

  “Yeh. Never fall pregnant, that’s my advice,” he said, and she kept the smile on her face. “But you’re trying to change the subject. Hard Man Hugh living up to his name, eh.”

  “Good one, Clive,” Valerie said without turning her head as Gregor continued his ministrations, added another coat of mascara to her big blue eyes before stroking blusher onto the apples of her porcelain cheeks.

  “Absolutely none of your business,” Josie said. “And how would you know anyway? Not like I’ve got an ‘Engaged’ sign lighting up in the pertinent area. You’re not nearly such a Clever Clogs as you’d like to believe. He’s my neighbor. I told you.”

  “Oh, yeh, I’d say you’ve got the sign,” Clive said, unperturbed. “Wouldn’t you, Gregor?”

  “Well …” The makeup artist paused in the act of blending Val’s blusher and cast a speculative eye over Josie. “Let’s say you’ve given me more work to do than usual. The beard burn, darling,” he said at her look of outrage. “That’s put us all on notice. Not to mention the wee baggies under your gorgeous eyes. Get on with it and get your sleep, please, sweetheart. For my sake.”

  “Didn’t even notice the beard burn,” Clive said. “You’re good, Gregor.”

  “Just doing my job,” he said modestly. “Honestly, Josie, tell him to go easier on you next time. You’re going to look well and truly preserved by the time I cover all that up.”

  “Will you stop?” she protested, though she couldn’t help laughing. “Leave a girl a bit of dignity.”

  “Nah, got to let us live vicariously,” Val said. “If you’re going to have that much fun. Because he did look like a bloody good time to me. All that smoldery burn when he looked at you? Mmm. And I take it the undies didn’t lie, either? That wasn’t a sock stuffed in there?”

  “Glad one thing went right last night, anyway,” Clive said more ser
iously when Josie didn’t dignify Val’s question with a response. “Since the meeting didn’t, I guess.”

  “No,” Josie said, and she’d gone from being a bit embarrassed to being a bit gloomy now. “Haven’t heard for sure, but I’m thinking, not a chance. And Dr. Eva’s character’s looking thinner and thinner, isn’t she? You can see right through her by now, she’s so shallow. Only so long you can milk a story line, and I think we’re about there. That’s what worries me.”

  “Good thing you’ve got the adverts, then,” Val said bracingly. “Keep that wolf from the door. Wish I had that many offers, but all I ever get is washing powder. Or, for a real treat, running through a scratchy field full of tall grass with some bloke tenderly holding my innocent hand. Not paying the mortgage with that.”

  “Sex sells,” Clive said. “And our Josie’s sex on wheels, or sex in heels, more like. You can write your own ticket, can’t you.”

  “Long as I want to focus on the sex,” Josie said.

  “Trust me,” Val said. “Do it. Or you’ll find yourself smiling with loving Mummy patience at some spoilt brat of a two-year-old who’s just undone the entire roll of loo paper and tied the dog up in it, with some fella doing a voiceover. ‘So strong, and still so soft. Because little bums can use a little help.’”

  Josie laughed. “That’s how much fun you had last week, eh.”

  “Yeh,” Val sighed. “Just that exciting. The kid was a bloody nightmare, too, and his mum was worse. I wanted to tie both of them in the loo paper by the time we’d done, and leave them there. The dog was the best actor of the lot.”

  Gregor pulled the smock off from around Val’s neck, and she got up and collected her script from the table. “So if anybody rings, asks me to lie in all my glory on top of a horse and look shaggable for a few hundred thousand dollars?” she asked. “Tell them I’ll be in my dressing room, running through my virtuous lines, preparing to keep the hospital pure for another day. And that I’m very good with animals.”