by Penny Jordan
‘Good morning, sunshine,’ he said, his voice thick with suggestion.
Her uncooperative knees turned to jelly and she slumped against the kitchen bench, clutching her gown shut over her naked breasts, which were already straining as though they too were wondering why he wasn’t still there.
‘I’m taking you out tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen how you react to a good feed.’
She tried desperately to find a way to give herself more time. Either to come to terms with his terms or to extricate herself from this thing without looking a complete fool. And in the end came up with, ‘What if I’m busy? I might have a date with someone else.’
‘So you’ll cancel,’ he insisted.
A shot of searing frustration jolted her upright. He was the one who wasn’t making any promises about keeping his goods just for her, for goodness’ sake. ‘What if I don’t want to cancel?’
‘I…I don’t quite know what to say to that.’
She could feel his own impatience pouring through the phone. And this time when she chose to pay more attention to his actions than to his words all she could see was his level of care, the look in his eye when he was about to kiss her, the fact that he regarded her highly enough to be so honest with her in the first place.
She slapped a hand over her forehead as she said, ‘Oh, relax, Damien. I’m coming out with you.’
‘Tease,’ he said, the lingering hum in his voice telling her he liked it.
‘Bossy boots,’ she shot back. ‘So where are we going?’
‘A little Jamaican bar around the corner from my office we often go to after work. How do you like rum?’
She shrugged. ‘Don’t mind it.’
‘And bars full of men in suits?’
‘Love them to bits.’
‘Mmm, I thought you might. So how about it? You, me, a hundred of my closest friends, a leather couch and a couple of rum toddies to keep us warm this cool autumn evening.’
Right, so he didn’t want to be her boyfriend, but he didn’t mind introducing her to the people in his life. As what? She ran her hand over her eyes.
‘So what does one wear to a Jamaican pub to meet your closest friends?’
‘Ah, I’d suggest not a lot of buttons. Or layers.’
Chelsea blinked, having had no idea that this season buttons must have been some kind of fashion faux pas.
‘So long as it’s easy for me to take off,’ he clarified, and her tension didn’t subside one little bit. It only morphed all too easily into a flurry of imaginings about him sliding a dress over her head versus tugging trousers over her thighs.
I can do this, she thought. I’m strong. I can put up with a lot to have more of this man.
‘I’ll pick you up around eight,’ he said.
She nodded.
He laughed. ‘Have a good day, Chelsea.’ Then he hung up.
Chelsea put the phone down, and realised she still had his note crunched up in her hot palm. She unfurled it.
‘Early meeting,’ it read. ‘Seriously. I’ll call you. D.’
With a growl she tossed it into the sink where a few drops of moisture made the blue writing bleed.
That evening Chelsea sat on a backless barstool, trying to keep her back straight, and running her finger back and forth through a drop of condensation that had slithered from the glass of her Jamaican Cobbler to the shiny black bar.
It had been a long day. She’d had to contend with a phone call from Kensey, who’d pressed and pressed until Chelsea had filled her in on as much of her past couple of days as she could while keeping the conversation clean. Another from Chic magazine, pushing her interview up a week. And yet another from the bank manager wondering if she’d signed the papers as yet.
All the while she’d managed to find plenty of time in her over-packed day to go over every second of her relationship with Damien all the way up until he’d had to sit her down and give her the talk.
She could feel a tension headache coming on.
She glanced over her shoulder to look for Damien, who had disappeared to find a quiet corner amongst the fake palm trees less than five minutes earlier when his mobile had rung.
But all she could see apart from the blinding green black and yellow décor of the up-market city bar was a sea of New Uniform types. All grown up yet no less sure of themselves and their privileged place in the world. She was pretty sure Damien would never have made a speech like the one he had to any one of the glossy nymphettes gyrating on the dance floor. He wouldn’t have needed to. As they skimmed their hands over one young guy after another they looked as if they understood the transitory nature of affection.
Thankfully his ‘friends’ hadn’t arrived as yet so she hadn’t had to try to be whatever he introduced her to them as being.
‘So sorry,’ Damien said as he came from nowhere to slide onto the seat beside hers. ‘My father after his weekly report.’
Chelsea raised what she hoped might be a sophisticated eyebrow. ‘You’re a little old for that, don’t you think?’
‘He’s retired. Bored out of his mind. Mum has a bunch of cronies over for drinks every Friday night and I think I’m his way of feeling like he’s still out there climbing the corporate ladder rather than spending his days following my mother around like a good little lapdog.’
‘Yet they’re divorced.’
‘That they are. And so much happier that way. No strings. Meaning they can do whatever they please when they please. They just so happen to be pleased with one another at the moment.’
He grinned at the idea. He actually grinned. As though he thought she was so on the same page as him about those nutty types who thought marriage and commitment were something to aim for, she’d feel the overwhelming need to grin back.
She rubbed at her now throbbing temple.
‘And speaking of dear old Dad, he has some experience in banking too, you know,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he’d be prepared to look over your loan papers if you’d like him to. He’d be able to spot any dodgy loopholes in an instant and it would make him feel like he still has his finger on the pulse.’
She continued staring at Damien as though she’d never seen him before. He was willing to introduce her to his friends and his parents even though he wasn’t willing to promise he would ever be there when she woke up in the morning. She would never inflict any guy on Kensey and her family unless it was serious.
‘I’m not yet sure I’m even going to go that way,’ she said.
‘Why on earth not?’
She closed her eyes for a second and reminded herself never to let Kensey anywhere near him, no matter how long they stayed together. She’d never be allowed to make a decision on her own.
She opened her eyes to be blinded by the kaleidoscope of colour shining from the mirrored wall behind the bar. The drum-heavy music now pulsated inside her head. And she thought, Well, if you can’t beat ’em…
‘Do you want to dance?’ she asked.
Damien looked at her as if she’d grown an extra head, but when the dance song eased into a slow and ultra-romantic beat, he put his untouched drink down, gave the barman a wink, then took her hand and eased her through the crowd out onto the dance floor.
Half a dozen women gave him the eye before giving her a once-over. In her tight jeans and black off-the-shoulder top she felt as if she ought to have at least looked like she belonged. Still she grabbed his hand tighter.
He spun her out and then into his arms until he held her in the classic ballroom hold. She had to look up to see into his eyes, which were smiling down at her. Pristine pools of blue.
The lights turned low, with only sporadic shafts of disco-ball light flickering over his face, proving his eyes never left hers.
The words of the song permeated. Talking of fear and tears and not knowing whether to hang on tight or go back to being lonely and confused. She leant her head on his shoulder and blocked them out.
As they slowly moved around the hardwood floor she
felt their bodies meld closer together of their own accord. She managed to slide inside the soft lining of his suit jacket until her stomach rested flush against his with only two swathes of thin cotton separating her building warmth from his.
There, she thought, her whole body sighing in relief. In his arms everything felt okay. Better. As if she weren’t a fool agreeing to his terms even though she knew she was a thousand miles further down the road towards wanting this to last for ever than he was.
Whether he leaned down or she stood on tiptoe first, she had no idea. Their lips met, gentle yet insistent. Her eyes closed and she drank him in.
His kiss was like magic, pouring warmth and unstoppered emotion through her body until she reached up and ran her hands around his neck, clinging to him, impressing herself upon him in every way possible.
His tongue lapped the roof of her mouth, sending her into some kind of free fall. She tipped her head to the side and opened her mouth to him, and with it her whole heart.
He let go of her hand and reached down to cup her buttocks, pushing her against the evidence of just how turned on he was.
‘Not here,’ she said against his mouth.
His eyes flickered open, dark and heavy with desire. She would have put money on the fact he hadn’t even remembered where they were. She was momentarily tormented by the fact at times he was so sure, so clear-headed, and other times keeping his hands off her seemed more than he could bear.
‘Where?’ he said.
‘Let’s get out of here.’ She dragged him from the dance floor, through the heaving, glittery crowd.
‘But we haven’t had dinner.’
‘I don’t need a feed to put me in the right mood.’
‘So it would seem.’ Damien had found his head after all. He moved in tight behind her as he hastily collected their things from the cloakroom, nodded a quick goodbye to the bouncer and herded her out into the chill evening air. She shivered; he gathered her close.
They scooted around the corner into the car park, and Damien was off driving down the street towards Chelsea’s apartment before she’d strapped herself in.
She leaned back against the leather headrest in the passenger seat of Damien’s gorgeous primrose-yellow Austin-Healey Sprite. The top was down, her hair was flying, she felt just fabulous, as if every drudging daily concern had been whipped out of her ears to be lost on the wind.
This was the life. The kind of life she could be living hanging with the likes of Damien Halliburton of the Halliburton Halliburtons. This was the fire, electricity, excitement, danger, no care for the consequences she’d known he had to offer before she’d even known his name.
‘Where can I get me one of these?’ she yelled.
‘One of what?’
‘This car. Tell me they go for a song. Please.’
‘More like an opera than a song.’
Damien glanced sideways and offered her a sexy smile. Their eyes locked and held. She couldn’t wait to get back to her place and knew he couldn’t either.
‘Hang on,’ he said. Dragging the car down into such a low gear it groaned, he turned off the main road and headed towards the Docklands precinct with its wide open spaces cleared for future high-rise developments and phenomenal view of the Melbourne city skyline.
The second the car pulled to a stop atop a patch of grass hidden behind a billboard they were in one another’s arms.
They came together with such force, such unbridled passion, it was as though they’d been away from one another’s touch for years, not mere minutes.
Fast and furious, she thought. Then right on top of that…It can’t last for ever. For Damien the relationship would burn out, or she would from the sheer force of keeping her true feelings from him.
Blocking out her contrary thoughts, Chelsea was in Damien’s lap and he’d flipped the seat back as far as it would go. In that moment she regretted wearing jeans. She wanted him so desperately. Needed to lose herself in the sensations he created in her to stop the torrent of rebellious emotion sweeping over her.
He groaned. ‘I haven’t done this since I was a teenager. I only hope I’m still as flexible.’
‘If you’re not, I am,’ she said, and his next groan was lost in her kiss.
He was right, she thought five minutes later when both of their shirts had been tossed into the back seat. They sure could make some beautiful love together.
So how could he be so wrong about the rest?
Her eyes flew open, and she was momentarily shocked by the sight of the Melbourne skyline looming huge and glittering before her. The sky was black and clear, the moon large and luminous lighting the glossy dew on the grass around the car. She shivered.
‘You can’t be cold,’ Damien said, wrapping his arms about her and pulling her to him. Her breasts scraped against the hair on his chest as he only added to her physical pleasure by biting into that magical spot where her neck met her shoulder.
But even that wasn’t enough to cover up the certainty that none of it was enough. And never would be. She was in love with him. She wanted a future with him. What she didn’t want was to see him day in and day out knowing it was only one step closer to the time she’d have to say goodbye.
‘Stop,’ she whispered, but her throat caught the word before it made it to the outside world. So with greater force she said, ‘Damien, no more.’ And she pushed him away.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his voice barely more than a rumble. ‘Did I hurt you?’
She sat up, her eyes frantically searching the back seat for her bra, her top, anything to make her feel less painfully naked. She slid her top over herself, inside out though it was. And had to swipe a tear that she felt sliding from her left eye.
She pulled herself off his lap and he helped her, running his hands down her arms as though checking for broken bones. He glanced up into her eyes and must have seen the anguish therein as he swallowed, and his own eyes were suddenly filled with such care it made her choke.
‘Chelsea, what did I do?’
‘Nothing,’ she blabbed. ‘Truly. It’s me. All me. I just…’ God, how could she say this without sounding ridiculous, and giving herself away completely? ‘This affair, or whatever it is we have going on, I don’t think I can do it.’
Damien leaned slowly back into his seat and ran a hand through his hair. ‘But last night…I thought we’d agreed it was what we both wanted.’
‘I know, I did. I thought I did. But as it turns out I can’t.’
‘So in the past twenty-four hours what’s changed?
I’ve fallen in love with you, you idiot!
‘I’ve changed my mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative.’
He swore loud enough it seemed to echo across the large empty block of land. He reached into the back seat of the car and grabbed his shirt and jacket, tugging them over his arms as her words sank in. And when he spoke again his voice was deathly quiet. ‘I never promised you anything.’
‘I know.’ Hers was barely above a whisper.
‘So this is it. You’re breaking up with me?’
God, was she really?
‘What difference does it make?’ she asked, prolonging the final step. ‘You said it yourself, there will be an end point. I just think it would be better to end it now.’
‘I don’t agree.’
Did he have to make it so hard? Couldn’t he see her heart was breaking for him? In that moment she so wanted to reach out and beat her hands on his chest until he could see the truth. Instead her anger turned to words.
Her voice was chilly when she said, ‘The last thing I need in my life is another man who is going to let me down.’
His chest swelled as he took the barbs full on. ‘And the last thing I need in my life is another woman making demands of me I simply can’t fulfil.’
Chelsea crossed her arms over her chest as she realised she had begun to shiver for real. ‘Well, then, you should be thanking me for letting you off the hook.’
&nbs
p; He ran his hand over his face and with it seemed to wipe away every ounce of feeling. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I should have listened to Caleb.’
‘About what? About me?’ Her accompanying laughter was shrill. ‘Not bright and shiny enough for his tastes? Well, you can tell him I don’t think much of him either.’
Finally, he looked at her. His eyes were so dark, so hooded in the moonlight she had no idea what he was thinking. ‘You don’t even know him.’
‘I know enough to guess he wouldn’t be thrilled with the idea of you slumming it with someone who clips dogs’ toenails for a crust.’
Damien’s laughter was tinged with a bitterness she hadn’t imagined he might possess. ‘God, Chelsea, I have never met a woman with as big a chip on her shoulder as you have.’
His tone only made her more sure. And more angry. With him, and with herself for ever thinking he might be different. He might be worth putting her defenceless heart on the line for.
‘Well, don’t panic,’ she spat out, ‘you won’t have to worry about your friend’s anxiety for your well-being any more. You and he can go off to some other swanky club with your bright and shiny friends and talk money and markets and boating and tennis, because I have a glorious weekend mapped out for me where I belong. In a dilapidated cabin in the Yarra Valley with my sister, her balding husband, their nutty three kids, and goofy dog, eating cheese on toast, crowded around the twelve-inch television, playing Pass the Parcel at a six-year-old’s birthday party. Your scene’s not my scene and vice versa. And I say thank goodness for that.’
She stopped to take a breath. Her lungs felt tight, her cheeks hot, even in the cold evening air.
‘Are you done?’ he asked, his voice cool.
She gathered every ounce of self-preservation she had inside her, turned to him and said, ‘Even better. We’re done, Damien. So are you going to take me home now or do I have to hitchhike?’
He looked at her for several long seconds. She was close enough she could see every single hair on his head as the breeze lifted it off his face, see the twitching of a muscle in his left cheek, the rise and fall of his breaths beneath his quickly buttoned shirt.