The Rules of Engagement

by Ally Blake

  The night air was bracing, especially when compared with the scorching heat of her skin. Caitlyn shivered. Dax slid her soft jacket over her shoulders, but didn’t pause long enough for her to put it on. She had to jog to keep up with his long strides.

  They crossed the street and headed down a narrow lane, then through an alley cutting between two gothic high-rises. Caitlyn was clueless as to where he was taking her, but he seemed too intent on getting there at such a pace her heel caught on a loose stone and her ankle twisted. She let out a soft ‘Ouch!’ just as his arm caught her around the waist.

  With the sudden cessation of motion her senses came into sharp relief. Their breaths were uneven and strong in the quiet night air, the tall buildings muting the sound of city traffic. A lone bass guitar strummed in a bar somewhere close. Slivers of moonlight filtered through the branches of a pair of a row of trees that had lost their leaves, the light slicing across Dax’s jacket highlighting the deep rise and fall of his broad shoulders.

  A bone-deep ache suddenly filled her, making her feel heavy and full. As if her skin were too tight, her lungs too small, her blood too thick.

  Dax gravitated towards her, and her jacket snagged the concrete wall at her back. She arched away, only to press into Dax, and the hardness against his thigh, which stopped her short. Moonlight now slanted across his eyes. The desire within them hit her as if an airbag had just exploded against her chest.

  When he kissed her, or maybe it was she who kissed him, it was hard, lush, deep. Her leg was around his hip, his hand sliding up the back of her skirt. Her mind a swirl of red-hot desire so thick she could barely breathe.

  His hand slid to the front, his deft fingers finding their way beneath the barely there underwear with such ease. She gasped as he slid inside her. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he breathed deliciously into her neck, his tongue mirroring the pulse of his fingers. She felt scorching hot and divine.

  All too soon every sensation contracted to her centre, her eyes snapped open, the moon round and bright and blinding in her vision as she split apart, his mouth on hers, drowning out the cries of release that felt as if they were pouring from her very centre.

  As she collapsed against him, spent, their breaths rose and fell in a ragged cacophony. Cool night air prickled at the perspiration glistening on every inch of her exposed skin.

  From the corner of her eye an audience of pigeons pecked at something in the gutter and she realised she’d just let a guy have his way with her in an alley in the middle of downtown Melbourne. What was she thinking?

  Her eyes slid to the face of the man who still held her in his arms, and she realised quick smart it wasn’t some guy, it was Dax. Serious, smart, suit and tie, pillar of the community Dax Bainbridge who looked almost as stunned as she felt at what they’d succumbed to.

  ‘Come home with me,’ he said, and as if he’d said the words she knew he meant for her to stay. To spend the night with him. To wake up in his arms.

  That wasn’t part of the plan. No ho. She fully meant to hold fast to her determination to keep the sorbet sex on home soil, or at least the level playing field of the array of gorgeous hotels and dark secret corners of the city they’d frequented. Going home with him surely meant letting go of control, and that meant giving into the pull of attraction like the junkie she was.

  Her mind grew frantic as she searched for an excuse. Or just a plain no. Yet the longer she looked into his eyes, the more the world slowed around her, quieted, paused.

  ‘Come home with me,’ he said again, his voice deep, his tone sure, his touch full of promise that she’d not regret it.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, not quite convincing herself that the breathlessness that followed was pure and simple desire, and not a bit like the way an addict must feel the moment their drug of choice entered their veins.

  * * *

  Caitlyn stood alone in the centre of Dax’s vast lounge room, leaving him asleep in his big bed. She nursed a big glass of tap water in both hands, and stared out at the twinkling lights of Melbourne as moonlight spilled through the wall of twelve-foot-high windows. The cool air of the climate-controlled apartment swirled about her legs, which were bare bar the inch of Dax’s old Melbourne Uni T-shirt, which just covered her bottom.

  Dax’s living space reflected back at her in the smoky glass. All shining dark wood floors and long, elegant, custom-built leather couches. Remote-controlled blinds and recessed TV that slid out from behind the fireplace. She’d found both of those when she’d accidentally sat on the remotes. It was modern, masculine, and immaculate. Much like the man who lived there.

  What she hadn’t anticipated—in those moments when she’d let herself imagine, knowing it couldn’t hurt as she’d never see the place in person—were the small nuances that made him seem all too real. The mud-caked running shoes dumped unceremoniously under the hall stand. The bowl of apples on the kitchen bench that were a couple of days past being edible. The plethora of family pictures lined up on the slick black bureau.

  Her eyes danced over the images in the silver frames. There were several photos of a woman who must have been his sister. Laura? No, Lauren. Same straight back, same intelligent eyes, same hairline. There were several of people Dax’s age she’d never met. Mates? Cousins? People she’d probably never even heard of. She felt a sharp little pinch in her belly at the knowledge she likely never would. Though, as far as she could tell, there were no pictures of anyone she would have guessed were his parents.

  He’d mentioned his folks a few times over the weeks, and every time she’d gleaned a definite tension there, some underlying injury that weighed on him even now, but one he’d never elaborated on. Each time he’d become particularly distant for a moment or two, then brushed past it as if nothing had ever happened.

  But something had happened. Something big. Something that had no doubt shaped him into the man he was today. In the past she would have pushed, pried, and prodded until he’d opened up to her, needing to bleed from him every bit of empathy and compassion she could. It was a testament to how far she’d come that this time she’d left well enough alone.

  And would continue to do so, she told herself in no uncertain terms. Deep and meaningfuls were way off limits. Way too risky for her susceptible heart.

  A glint of pink light reflecting off a photograph shone into her eyes, and she turned back to the windows. The sky was still navy and dusted with stars but the whispers of cloud were turning a faint pink on the horizon.

  Morning was near. That was enough to drag her loose-jointed body kicking and screaming back to its senses. Coming to his place at all had been totally against the rules of sorbet sex, but still being there in the morning would be a punishable offence.

  She told her feet to move, but they refused to budge. If toes could sulk, that was what hers were doing as they curled stubbornly into the hard floor.

  Aah! If only Dax weren’t so exceedingly irresistible. Those intense eyes, those insistent lips, those unholy hands. When he kissed her, touched her, whispered devilish promises of what was to come against the soft spot below her ear, she turned to marshmallow. And not the spongy, sweet, soft kind. The slowly melting-to-liquid heat-over-an-open-fire kind.

  In every other thing she’d had with a guy—relationship, fling, whatever—she’d always been in the driver’s seat. Even while she’d imagined herself being swept off her feet, in the back of her mind a part of her had known she was skewing the relationship in the direction she wanted it to go. Needed it to go.

  But this time... It felt different. They weren’t going down any road she’d been on before.

  That’s a good thing! she reminded herself. Living in the moment. Having no expectations. It was thrilling not knowing what was awaiting her around the next corner. And, okay, it was kind of scary too.

  She glanced over her shoulder towards the bedroom where Dax lay warm and naked and exquisite. All she’d have to do was go to him, to kiss him at the edge of his beautiful lips, or run
a hand over his gorgeous backside, and the tumble of thoughts compounding in her head would be lost to her in minutes.

  Maybe that was the key to the real success of sorbet sex: to stop overthinking things. To enjoy the freedom of not having to direct every move. To forget the rules and give herself over to their explosive heat. What if it could cleanse her of, not only her grand accumulation of romantic mistakes, but of the insecurities that had sent her hurtling down the wrong path again and again?

  Her toes uncurled and walked her towards the open door, towards Dax. Her heart rate quickened, her skin grew tight, and her fingers felt bloodless as her imagination took flight.

  And the last thought that slipped into her mind before it was lost to the debilitating blaze of being in Dax’s arms was that, even while she wasn’t sure what was around the corner any more, she had no doubt that the road she was on with Dax was one she’d never find on any map again.

  * * *

  Dax stirred, the sound of water splashing against a ceramic basin drawing him slowly into the land of the living. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, half expecting to have his heels slipping off the end of a bed that wasn’t his.

  When they failed to find fresh air, he opened his eyes to find he was in his bed. His room. Yet Caitlyn’s sweet scent was everywhere. That was what came of having had her there half the nights that week.

  The door to his en suite opened and Caitlyn rocked into the room wearing the kind of extremely high heels that pretended to be business attire while they were really built to turn a man’s head. Her fitted grey skirt would also have been perfectly work-appropriate if it hadn’t flared into a saucy little frill at her knees. Add to that the fact that she’d yet to dress herself above the waist, and her lacy white bra only just covered that which it was intended to cover, and desire slid hot and fast through his veins ‘til it amassed as a beating pulse between his legs.

  He willed her to look at him, to smile that saucy little half-smile that told him she was drugged with desire, to crawl down his bed and wish him good morning the best way he knew how.

  Instead she sat on the end of his bed, shook her hair over one shoulder and set to attaching an earring to her other ear.

  Dax stilled and breathed deep and slow through his nose, suddenly feeling as if he should look away. It had nothing to do with her state of undress; he’d seen her in far less. It was her fingers tugging gently at her ear, and the dainty earring that refused to do as it was told, that had him in their thrall. It felt like a private thing, something purely feminine he’d never been witness to before.

  No, it wasn’t private. It was intimate. Yet while the recognition of such a foreign sensation burned deep in his belly, like the first signs of a stomach ulcer, he found he couldn’t look away.

  Finally recovering some inner fortitude, he snapped his eyes to his bedside clock, then the book face down on his bedside table, and ultimately the odd dusty handprint on his ceiling.

  Intimacy was not on the agenda. Not for him. Not ever. What was the point in letting anyone get that close? Even blood couldn’t be trusted not to screw you over if it was in their best interests to do so. If he hadn’t learned that lesson hard enough, then he wasn’t the man he thought he was.

  Duty. Obligation. Accountability. These were concepts he could rationalise. Concepts he correlated with positive results. Living up to and beyond his responsibilities equalled Lauren being happy, the foundation flourishing and the Bainbridge name once more being treated with respect. Outcomes that had led to him finally finding a kind of balance in his life he was happy with.

  No. Content would be a truer word.

  Okay, so he could live with it, which was no small thing considering the years he’d spent being furious with himself for not noticing the path of destruction his parents had left in their wake. That he, a man of sense and education, had been so easily duped.

  Putting Caitlyn, or any woman for that matter, on some kind of romantic pedestal would be akin to sticking a target on his back, with the word ‘SUCKER’ written in bold type.

  So, if it wasn’t intimacy, what was it?

  Caitlyn had nothing to do with the other parts of his life, which meant, when he was with her, he rarely thought about anything else. Add the rare lightness she wore like a second skin and he’d never known that kind of effortlessness before. It was bedazzling, and made it easy to forget things. Like work and family. Like real life. That relief from the everyday was a luxury he’d never known before.

  It wasn’t intimacy. Quite the contrary. It was the beauty of the casual affair. Yes. No question. Much better.

  Caitlyn shuffled on the end of his bed. His eyes went to her, the creamy skin of her back, the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. His body responded as if the beauty of the casual affair had just met a raw and pounding sexual chemistry. The kind that made mere contentment feel like a dirty word.

  He pushed back the covers and went to her.

  Her profile showed surprise as she was buoyed by his weight dipping the mattress at her back. Surprise and delight.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist, nestled his nose into her soft neck and breathed, finding power in the feeling of her skin contracting at his touch.

  She hooked a knee onto the bed, and a hand around his neck, pulling him closer even as she said, ‘I have to go into work ridiculously early. Right now, in fact. Apparently the delivery of balloons for the launch that turned up last night is the wrong colour and I have to fix it asap. You’re coming, right?’

  Her hand left him as she set to working at her earring again, a small frown creasing her face.

  ‘Coming?’ Soon, he hoped, pressing a string of slow kisses across her collar bone. She breathed deep, her skin tightening deliciously with each touch.

  ‘To the Z9 launch. It’s on the fifteenth of next month. We’ve hired the Melbourne Cricket Ground for the evening. It’s going to be fabulous.’

  The fifteenth was a few weeks away. She clearly imagined they’d still be this into one another by then and the thought of the many luscious nights those few weeks could guarantee slid hot and hard through him.

  But the finely honed tug of self-protection that never fully turned off, even with her, stopped him short of making any promises.

  Instead he made a move for her still naked ear lobe.

  ‘I have to go to work!’ She groaned, pushing him away.

  ‘I’m not stopping you.’

  Her brow furrowed as her eyes wandered over him; over his bare chest, over the white sheet barely draping over his lap. When her eyes found his again he could see how torn she was—needing to go, wanting to stay.

  It connected with something inside him. An appreciation of those same feelings. Any last lingering doubts curling about his stomach settled. It meant they were both being sensible. Neither of them wanting this to be anything other than what it was.

  Then finally her earring clicked into place, and a sigh of relief washed over her, pressing her breasts forward, her head back, and every sensible damn thought fled his head before they were destroyed by a tidal wave of desire.

  He took her by the shoulder and tipped her back into the bed, then leant over her to lay an upside-down kiss on her lips.

  What could have been a ‘have a good day at work and I’ll see you whenever’ kiss quickly morphed into something deeper. She reached up to slide her hand into his hair, then used it to pull him closer.

  Superhuman strength roared to life within him and he dragged her up and into his arms. There she clung tight, moaning into his mouth as he slid his hands over every inch of bare skin he could find.

  When she pulled away, she was breathing so hard. So, he realised, was he.

  Neither of them said a word. They didn’t need to.

  Raging attraction thundered within the amber depths of her eyes and he knew it would be mirrored exactly in his.

  She pressed her hands hard against his chest, forcing him down onto the bed. He landed with a thud, the soft
feather pillow sinking under his weight.

  Her mouth curved into a smile, a knowing smile, a smile full of promise. The groan of desire rumbling through him was so intense it literally lifted his torso from the bed.

  She pushed him back down, not once taking her eyes from his as she sourced a condom, fitted him, and straddled him. Found him. Taking him deep inside her ’til her breath escaped in a small gasp.

  He shuddered, his body thanking her for giving it what it craved so badly it ached.

  As she began to rock her dark eyes connected completely with his. Her desire mirrored his. Heightened it. Wrested away his control until he felt as if he had none at all.

  Her skirt rode up her thighs. His hands followed its path. All that soft skin beneath his hands and the tightness of her clenched around him was almost too much for him.

  Thank God she was as far gone as he, as it was mere seconds before she gripped his shoulders, her head rocking back, her beautiful throat clenching as her body undulated in waves of ecstasy.

  He followed, right on cue. Colour and light and awe exploding behind his eyes.

  She lowered herself to him, leaning her head on his chest, her light body sinking softly, wholly against him. Her small hand lying gently on his stomach.

  He wrapped his arms around her, his head still spinning, his entire body thrumming, sensations too intense to specify bouncing haphazardly about inside the cavern of his chest.

  And then something other—something concrete and a million miles away from the sweetness pressing against his life-hardened corners—occurred to him.

  ‘You weren’t wearing any underwear.’

  ‘No,’ she said, her breath tickling painfully, pleasurably, across his chest, ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Had you intended to seduce me from the outset, or do you often go commando?’

  ‘Now what’s wrong with having a little mystery between us?’

  Mystery meant secrets. Deception. Yet in that one tiny moment, looking into those melting brown eyes, he wondered if being so unconditionally implacable all the time was excessive. If a little innocent covertness meant more of the kind of action he was still recovering from, maybe he’d been unfair in giving all secrets and lies a bad rap.