by Leah Ashton
And with that he was losing himself in those eyes, falling into their depths. He needed to touch her. He needed Mila. There was no going back.
He shifted his weight, pushing himself away from the railing. Mila remained still, but watched him. He stepped closer, with plans to drag her into his arms. But then he paused.
Instead he leant forward, bending closer, until her breath was against his lips. Her breath hitched.
Heat flooded Seb’s body. He wasn’t even touching her, yet every cell in his body was on high alert, desperate for Mila.
Then, finally, he kissed her. It just seemed fitting for their lips to meet first, for their kiss to be their focus—maybe to give Mila that one last chance to back away from the point of no return.
Because Seb knew he didn’t have the strength to do it himself.
Her lips were plump, soft. Their kiss was intimate. Different from that kiss on the beach. More considered, more knowing. This was a kiss without a question—this was a kiss with a destination.
And Mila was definitely coming along for the ride.
Mila’s hands were suddenly behind his neck; his were at her waist. And then she was in his arms, pressed as close as she could be.
Their kiss deepened as Seb’s hand slid beneath Mila’s camisole top, finding warm, smooth skin at her back. Mila slid her hands downwards, greedily discovering the shape of his shoulders and his chest.
His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, to her neck—desperate to explore all of her, to taste all of her.
Mila continued her own exploration, her hands shoving up his T-shirt, feeling his skin hot beneath her touch.
Somehow they were back inside. Seb was backing her against the nearest wall. Mila was smiling and sighing against his mouth as they kissed.
But even now—even as his whole world was focused on Mila and how she felt, how this felt—Seb knew what he was doing. Knew what he was risking.
But he couldn’t make himself stop. He couldn’t walk away from this—this maelstrom of need and desire. He needed this. Needed her. Needed tonight.
It would have to be enough.
* * *
When Mila woke it was still dark.
She rolled over in Seb’s bed, hoping for an alarm clock or something that would tell her the time, but there was none.
Her phone was in her bag, abandoned somewhere in Seb’s cavernous living area, so that couldn’t help her.
Not that the time really mattered. What would she do with the information, anyway? Work out if it was an acceptable time to call a taxi and make a run for it back to her place? Or maybe, if it was still truly the middle of the night, use the time as an excuse to simply close her eyes again and snuggle closer to Seb’s gorgeous warmth?
She didn’t really need to know the time to do either of those things. Mila knew that. Either were viable options, regardless of the time.
One was the better option, of course. She should go. But instead she stayed exactly where she was. Naked, but not quite touching Seb, a thin expensive-feeling sheet covering them both.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. It was a nice room, although understandably devoid of any personality. The large bed had a stitched fabric buttoned headboard, and the bedside tables were spindly and clutter-free. Where Mila lay, she faced the door to the hallway. A large abstract canvas decorated the wall immediately opposite her, aligned with the door. It was too dark to work out the colours—they were simply dark splashes and swirls against a pale background. Mila had been too wrapped up in Seb to notice it when the lights had still been on.
She smiled at the memory.
Maybe she didn’t need to know the time. Without it the night remained unanchored to reality. Like a dream. Perfect, with no regrets.
Seb shifted behind her, breathing with the steady, deep pattern of sleep.
Mila rolled over so she faced Seb again. He was also on his side, but it was impossible to make out any details in the darkness. She could watch his shoulders lift with his breathing, the shape of his body silhouetted against the window in the almost blackness...
‘Mila...’ he said, after a while.
‘Sebastian.’
She never said his full name. Tonight, the longer word sounded like an endearment.
He reached out, drawing a finger along her jaw. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he said, very softly.
His thumb brushed against her bottom lip, and she couldn’t have spoken if she’d wanted to. She realised she’d been restraining herself from touching Seb. Whatever reason she’d had for doing that instantly evaporated and became impossible to justify. Why, oh, why would she want to do anything but touch Sebastian Fyfe?
And so she did—exploring his face the way he’d explored hers, delicately tracing his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his nose, his lips.
She was rediscovering a face she’d known almost her whole life. But it was not the face of a boy any longer. Tonight it was almost unfamiliar—foreign to her. But then, that made sense, didn’t it? Yesterday Seb had been a lifelong friend. Tonight he was her lover.
Mila waited for regret to descend.
But it didn’t.
It would.
But right now that didn’t matter. Right now it was dark. Right now time stood still.
Mila leant closer and kissed him.
* * *
She was having a shower. Seb was awake, sitting up in bed, reading some emails on his phone. From the shower Mila could see him through the open en-suite bathroom door, the shape of one propped knee tenting the sheet, his bare chest golden in the lamplight. He could probably turn the light off now, though. It was morning.
Mila turned her face upwards, directly into the spray of water, her eyes tight shut. This was all very domestic. Not quite comfortable, but not entirely awkward either.
She hadn’t left as she’d intended, in yesterday’s clothes under the cover of darkness. He hadn’t asked her to, either. Although maybe he was just being polite.
She didn’t know what the rules were in this situation. How did you have a one-night stand with a friend? Or someone who had once been a friend? Mila didn’t know how to define Seb in her life any more. The definition had changed too much recently. A few weeks ago she’d thought she’d never see him again. Then suddenly he was a daily presence in her life, and recently there’d been glimpses of the friendship they’d once had. But now—now she didn’t know what to call Seb.
Ex-something, though. Ex-friend...ex-lover. Because this was it, of course. After last night and this morning they were done.
She’d known it last night—known exactly what she was doing when she’d come to Seb’s apartment. She’d just focused on her need to see him—on her need for him—and allowed herself to do so: just for one night.
Seb had asked her at the beach markets how she would protect herself. Well, when it came to Seb and her decision to see him last night her plan had been simple.
It would only be one night.
I just want tonight.
One night she could handle. One night would not create expectations of a future and those delusions she was so apt to create.
And so she was safe, within her self-determined, one-night-only time box. Ivy had told her about time boxes, although she suspected they were rather different for mining project management. And in her time box Mila had been able to kiss Seb again, to discover his body, to sleep with him. Despite all the reasons why she shouldn’t.
And it had been amazing. Incredible. Better than she could have imagined. So good that she couldn’t regret it. She just couldn’t.
But now that it was morning, and she had reached the end of her time box, reality was starting to descend even if regret did not. And the most obvious reality—the most important—was that she’d just slept with her best friend
’s husband.
Oh, she knew that wasn’t strictly true any longer. She even knew that Steph would be the last person to expect Mila to stand by a teenage promise from beyond the grave. And, truth be told, Mila didn’t truly feel guilty, as such.
But she did feel intensely aware, right now, of Steph. Suddenly Steph’s loss felt raw. Raw in a way it hadn’t for many months.
Mila turned beneath the water, bowing her head forward as her throat tightened. Water gushed over her hair, pushing it forward and into her eyes, but she didn’t care. Silent tears mingled amongst the spray.
Seb’s feet came into her watery view, just outside the shower. She lifted her gaze, then ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her forehead.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
He’d been about to join her—his nakedness made that obvious. The last time Mila had seen Seb completely naked—in the daylight—would be twenty or more years ago. Amongst twirling sprinkler heads and shrieks of laughter.
Now he looked utterly different. And not the way she’d expected Seb to grow up. This Seb had all the extra muscles of a man with a physical job, not the lanky geekiness of the adult Seb she remembered. His shoulders were broad, his pectorals and stomach muscles defined, his legs powerful.
He was gorgeous—that was a fact. Strong. The tradesman’s tan—where his olive skin abruptly became paler in the shape of a T-shirt and work shorts—did not even slightly distract from his perfection.
‘Mila?’
She shook her head.
‘You’re not okay?’ he asked. He stepped closer, as if to join her—or to check on her. Who knew?
‘No, no,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m fine. Just getting out, though. It’s all yours.’
He blinked, clearly confused.
Mila stepped aside, leaving the water running so he could step immediately beneath its warmth. She kept her distance, knowing that if she touched him she wouldn’t be leaving the shower.
She felt his eyes on her as she grabbed a fluffy white towel and dried herself. For the first time she was aware of her nakedness. Was he reflecting, as well, on how her body had changed now that she was all grown-up? Or was he thinking of the other girl who’d run shrieking through those sprinklers all those years ago? Whose grown-up body he’d been far more familiar with. That he would’ve known almost as well as his own.
Suddenly it was all too much.
Her grief. Steph. Her time box. Seb.
Her procrastination was definitely over. She needed to leave. Not to be there any more.
I need to go.
So she did.
In his kitchen, she scrawled a note on the back of a takeaway menu. Seb hadn’t noticed her retreat. Or maybe he was just more au fait with how one should behave the morning after.
It didn’t matter—what he thought, what we would have said if she’d given him the chance to say goodbye.
Why would it? She’d been crystal-clear: I just want tonight.
And the night was over.
CHAPTER TEN
EACH WEEK SEB caught up with his parents for dinner.
Usually it was at a nice restaurant—his mum was a bit of a foodie, and took a lot of joy in sharing her favourite meals with her ‘favourite child’. He was also her only child, although that didn’t really lessen the sentiment. In the months he’d been back in Perth he’d yet to eat dinner at his parents’ place. He’d barely visited, actually. Deliberately. And this hadn’t gone unnoticed by his always shrewd parents.
They never said anything—they were good like that—but his mum would invite him over occasionally. Never with any pressure, never with any questions as to why he consistently declined—but she’d still ask him. As if prodding a bruise: Does this still hurt too much, darling?
As luck would have it, this week his mum, Monique, had invited him over for Sunday dinner. And she hadn’t been at all successful in hiding her surprise when he’d accepted.
Seb parked his car in front of the four-car garage located just to the side of his parents’ mammoth home. It had been his mum and dad’s dream home when it had been built—Seb still remembered the excitement of the day they’d moved in, when his parents had run around exploring the rooms as excited as the pre-school-age Seb had been.
Over the years the house had been modernised, its exterior rendered to hide all that once fashionable feature brick, and Seb’s old bedroom converted to a guest room many moons ago. But it would always feel like home to Seb—the place intrinsically linked with so many of his childhood memories.
He’d had the best pool in the street, for example—complete with a slide and a small diving board—which had just been the coolest thing ever. It had been a hub for his friends—and the backdrop to many of Mila, Steph and Seb’s adventures.
They’d played Marco Polo, they’d hosted pool parties, and they’d even shared a bottle of peach schnapps in the small pool house, aged fifteen and sixteen. That hadn’t ended well—with sore heads and furious parents.
But it was his memories with Steph—just Steph—that made it so hard for Seb to visit this place.
Laughing together in his bedroom as they’d studied—with parent-prescribed door open, of course. Steph joining his family for dinner, charming his parents. That one night after Steph’s Year Twelve ball in the pool house...
Seb climbed out of his car, slamming the door harder than he’d intended. It was dusk, and huge jacaranda trees were throwing long shadows across the Fyfe mansion. Twin jacarandas also stood outside the mansion to the left: the mansion that had once belonged to Steph’s parents. Not any more, though. They’d sold up shortly after the funeral. Now a millionaire mobile app entrepreneur lived there, his mum had said. Complete with the sunshine-yellow Lamborghini parked in the drive.
While he understood why her parents had moved, it didn’t seem possible that it was no longer ‘Steph’s place’. He’d always thought of it that way, even when they’d been living together in London.
He’d loved Steph. Really loved her. Once they’d been inseparable: that annoyingly happy couple that never argued. But as things had begun to fracture in their relationship Seb had wondered if maybe they’d married too young. They’d grown up together—but maybe they’d still had some growing up to do after they’d become husband and wife. Maybe if they hadn’t both got caught up in their London dreams—if marriage hadn’t conveniently provided Seb with the visa that Steph had by default through her mum’s British heritage...
Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe they shouldn’t have got married.
No.
Seb couldn’t wish away his marriage. He couldn’t regret what they’d had. Once it had been special.
But he could regret his single-minded refusal to address the cracks—and later canyons—that had appeared between them.
He’d failed Stephanie. Driven her away, and driven her to—
‘Honey?’
His mother stood at the top of the limestone steps before the grand front door, a short distance away. Seb realised he hadn’t moved, had simply been standing beside his car, staring blankly out at the street he’d grown up on.
‘Mum!’ he said with a big smile, striding towards her.
She watched him carefully, not bothering to conceal her ‘worried parent’ expression.
‘I’m okay,’ Seb said, pre-empting her question as he sprang up the oversized steps. ‘Really.’
He followed his mum indoors. She talked about dinner as she led him down the hallway: she’d cooked something new, with salmon and something fancy that possibly sounded French.
His dad was in the kitchen, his hip propped against the large granite-topped island, a beer in his hand. The huge space faced a dining and living area of similar scale, and beyond that were large picture windows overlooking the glass-fenced poo
l and a spacious grassed area beyond.
‘You finally made it,’ his dad said.
‘Kevin,’ his mum said. ‘Don’t be so insensitive.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s an observation—nothing more.’
Seb nodded. Once he would have been equally matter-of-fact. He’d learnt a lot about life’s shades of grey in the past eighteen months.
‘I thought there might be too many memories here,’ he said. He might as well be matter-of-fact about that too.
‘Are there?’ his mum asked. She retrieved a bottle of wine from the fridge and held it up—a second unspoken question.
‘Yes, to the wine,’ he said, ‘and I’m not sure about the memories. Not yet.’ So far the house didn’t feel at all as he’d expected.
Conversation moved on as Seb’s dad set the table and Seb and his mother stood together by the stove as the salmon sizzled and spat. They talked about Seb’s new business, about his parents’ travel plans, the baby news of someone Seb had once gone to school with who Monique had bumped into at the supermarket...
Why had he come here? Why tonight, after he’d avoided it for so long?
Earlier, beside his car, Steph had been all he’d been able to think about. He’d expected to step inside the front door and for the emotion to be overwhelming: for the walls and floors to release his memories, for that familiar wave of grief to drown him again.
But it hadn’t happened.
It had been five days since he’d seen Mila—since she’d silently exited his apartment without even a goodbye. Instead she’d left the briefest of notes.
We can’t be friends any more.
That had been it.
It hadn’t been unexpected—after all, that had been her response after their kiss. And their night together had been so much more. More...everything.
But at the time he’d hoped that ‘I just want tonight’ meant that the next morning they’d return to their regular friendship.
Or maybe that was just what he’d told himself to justify something he’d known was a truly terrible idea.
But—regardless—Seb still thought Mila’s decision made no sense. Even less so now than after their kiss. Before, she’d argued that his attempts to reinvigorate their friendship were pointless because they’d both—according to Mila—neglected it for far too long. But surely the past few weeks had proved her theory wrong?