‘I’m salty,’ he says. ‘I’ll shower.’
‘I like salt.’ I put my hand on his arm. ‘Why did you send me away, Per? I told you how I felt in those sketches. You should have come to Palau with me.’
He reaches for me again, holding me tightly. Then he puts his forehead against mine.
‘You said your father trusted you,’ he says. ‘Had faith in you. I had to let you go on your own.’
I step back and release the breath I’ve been holding. My words run together. ‘I have to tell you what Tan knows. I don’t want you to think I’m hiding things from you, or that I’m a liar. Even though I lied on oath. And worse.’
He stares into my eyes. ‘Are you taking risks keeping this to yourself? The sort of risks I’d want to know about.’
I give him a shaky smile. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘So don’t tell me. If it comes out, we’ll deal with it.’
I’m not sure that I deserve this sort of trust. But not telling Per protects him. He can’t get into trouble for a cover up if he doesn’t know the facts. When I rest my hands on his chest he puts his hands on my waist, drawing me closer again.
‘Tan told me you’d given him an ultimatum,’ he says. ‘That he had to keep quiet or you’d leave the foundation.’
‘It wasn’t an ultimatum. I was cool and calm and I gave him a choice. You would’ve been proud of me.’
He rests his chin on my head. ‘It’s not official yet, but the foundation is getting The Adélie. It reached its funding targets just a couple of days ago. The support it was getting in Norway led to additional backing in Australia.’
I shut my eyes. The Adélie’s motors hum softly. She moves gently on the swell. When I open my eyes again Per is staring into them. He frowns.
‘I’m still pissed with you for disappearing to Palau for so long.’
I wrap my arms around his neck. ‘How do you say sorry again? Not beklager. The other kind of sorry. When you’re very sorry?’
‘Jeg er lei meg.’
‘And how do you say “I missed you”?’
‘Jeg har savnet deg.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Stop making me say things. Six fucking weeks. And it wasn’t like I could bring you back. Not after what happened when I came in the chopper.’
I smile. ‘I guess not.’
He rubs his thumb along my lip. ‘Your lips were bleeding on the Torrens. I wanted to touch them even then.’
I cup his cheek, the one with the scar. When I trace it with my thumb he turns his face into my hand for a moment. Then he pulls back. He looks at me with troubled eyes.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ I say.
He rests his chin on my head again. ‘My father had told me not to go out. I disobeyed him. He was abusive. Often. That’s why I hid. I was afraid.’
I stand on my toes and kiss his throat. I told him about the accident in Brazil but I didn’t want to talk about it afterwards. He said there was no rush. There’s no rush for him to talk either. Because even though he may never admit to being vulnerable like regular, non-action-hero people, he knows I’ve seen that side of him. And if he ever forgets it, he can get out my sketchbook. Wherever he goes, it will be kept safe and sound in his cupboard.
Per takes the hem of my jumper and eases it over my head. My long-sleeved T-shirt is next. He sits me on his bed to yank off my socks and boots. Then I’m pulled to my feet again while he removes my jeans and thermals and underwear. He’s not kissing me, and he’s only touching me in order to undress me, but I’m weak with lust by the time he’s finished. He mutters and curses as he drags off his clothing. When we’re facing each other again I rest my hand on his chest. His skin is burning hot and his heart is thumping. He puts his hand on the side of my face.
‘D’you think you can love me, Harriet?’
My voice is shaky. ‘I’m frightened of doing it. You have shrapnel wounds. And you swim lengths of the beach. What if I lose you?’
He slowly shakes his head. ‘Like I’m the dangerous one? The risk taker? The one who dives in at the deep end?’
I’m so choked up I can’t say anything.
He takes a breath, and studies my hair as he threads his fingers through it. ‘You love the foundation, and all its members. Your school kids. The love you had for your parents, and the way you love Drew—a tenth of that would be enough for me.’
I cup his face and kiss him gently on the mouth. ‘No, Per, you deserve much more than that. And you have it. I love you to death. That’s why I’m frightened.’
He yanks me into his arms, wraps one of his legs around one of mine, and trips me. I lose my balance and we tumble onto the bed together. And before he has the chance to protest I wriggle under him, wrap my legs around him and position myself against his erection. I raise my hips.
‘Please, Per. Now.’
He hesitates, but when I grasp his bottom with my calves he groans, and enters me a little. Then I tighten my legs around him even more, and in one long thrust he’s deep inside me. Except for our pounding hearts and harsh breaths we’re perfectly still. Until I smile against his neck. ‘Per?’
He rises up on his elbows. His eyes are dark and sombre. ‘Harriet?’ He smooths my hair from my face. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I want a dark-haired little boy.’
His breathing is all over the place. I’ve never seen this expression in his eyes. The longing. The relief. It warms me. Just like the heat of his body.
‘Gyllen dusk,’ he finally says. ‘Tassel.’
‘Do you mean you want a fair-haired girl with a ponytail?’
He nods as he holds my hips and turns us on to our sides so we’re facing each other. I run my hands over his back as his hand feathers over my breasts and stomach to the tops of my thighs where we’re joined. He shudders when he feels the moisture there. He moans against my mouth, and then he starts to move.
‘Can you teach her Norwegian?’ I say.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s important to do it early.’
‘All right.’
‘Even before she’s born. As early as that.’
‘Lille venn?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can’t … talk.’
We make love to the rhythm of the ocean. The skin of his throat is salty. Afterwards, our limbs tangled, he falls asleep. When he rescued me from The Watch I sensed he’d come up and get me if I refused to go down. Neither of us knew that I’d be rescuing him just as much as he’d be rescuing me.
When he stirs, I trail my fingers across his shoulders.
‘Per? I’ve been thinking. We could have a Scott and Amundsen Polar family. Or an Amundsen and Scott one. Polarman, Polarwoman, Polarboy and Polargirl. With matching wetsuits and sashes. What do you think?’
He rises up on one elbow and kisses my mouth, and then he looks into my eyes. It never gets dark at the Pole in the summer months but it’s late afternoon and stormy so the light is dim. His face is in shadow and his eyes are silver.
I’m trying not to smile as I trail a fingertip down his scar. ‘Well?’
He dips his head and mumbles against my neck. ‘Du er trøbbel,’ he says.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To Jo Mackay, Publisher at Harlequin Australia, thank you for your belief in this book. And thanks to Laurie Ormond, Julia Knapman and the rest of the Harlequin team for your support over the past few months. To my editor Dianne Blacklock, your suggestions were invaluable.
Steve, many thanks. Any mistakes relating to ships and nautical matters are mine—and creative license. Andreas Lamo, your assistance in respect to all words Norwegian was wonderful. Thanks to my lecturers and fellow students at UTS for accepting (sometimes even falling in love with) my romantic leads, and teaching me so much. Vani, Helga, Irina and Kelly, thank you for your feedback on messy early drafts. And eternal gratitude goes to my friends in the romance writing community—your wisdom and generosity amaze me.
A hug for my mum, who always said I should write a book, and for my dad
, for being a dad. Thanks to my daughters—author Tamsin for ‘getting it’, Michaela and Gabriella for telling me everything’s going to be fine, and Philippa for being my literary go-to girl. Finally, thanks to my sons Ben and Max who said (whenever they saw me typing at the kitchen bench), ‘How’s Harriet going, Mum?’
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First Published 2017
First Australian Paperback Edition 2017
ISBN 978 148921455 3
IN AT THE DEEP END
© 2017 by Penelope Janu
Australian Copyright 2017
New Zealand Copyright 2017
Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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In At the Deep End Page 29