by Kylie Scott
Once there had been a lovesick girl flashing her breasts at an impossibly out-of-reach man in an ill-thought-through teenage folly that could only end in rejection and embarrassment. And now there was here, me riding him, owning him completely.
My orgasm built slowly, an awareness growing between my hips. A tightness intensifying my sensitivity until only coming mattered. His hands guided my hips, urging me faster, harder. Wet sounds filled the room, the musky scent of sex strong in the summer night air.
“That’s it,” he rumbled. “So fucking good.”
Suddenly, the flat of his palm cracked across my ass cheek. A streak of pain flashing through me. Again and again. I cried out, driving myself onto him, coming impossibly hard. Everything inside me clenching tight before being swept away into a starless night. It was beautiful and terrifying and everything in between.
Strong hands gripped me, his body rising beneath me to drive his cock deep. He groaned, emptying himself into me. I just kind of collapsed on his chest like having bones had gone out of fashion. My skin coated in sweat, my lungs close to breaking. His arms wrapped around me, which was good. Someone had to hold me together before all of my pieces got lost.
Eventually, he raised his head, hand sliding over my behind. “Why, Adele, your ass is bright pink. Just the right cheek. My right, not yours.”
“Thanks, I’m aware,” I said, voice muffled against his chest. “I can feel it.”
“Just checking.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Sure I am.”
He rolled us back over, reclaiming top position. Then he kissed me, soft, tender, sweet things, followed by deep, long kisses that made my head spin. I lost my breath all over again, gripping his shoulders tight. Then he pulled out of me. I didn’t like him leaving my body, the loss of him. To be fair, though, my vagina could probably handle a short break. Last night had been intense, and tonight we hadn’t really taken things any easier.
He lay on the bed beside me, smiling. Actually looking content. “Thank you for staying.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Monday
I slept in until about noon the next day, obviously in full sexed-up holiday mode—much better than mere normal holiday mode. All of those happy hormones flooding my body. The flush of love and all that.
After the bed, he’d fucked me up against the shower wall. Then I’d woken at around daybreak with his hard-on poking me in the back. Spooning with Pete was nice and came with all sorts of benefits. His hand toying with my breast before traveling down my body to ensure my core was wet and ready. After we were done, he went to work and I went back to sleep. All in all, a thoroughly awesome day, and it was barely noon.
I was checking out the contents of the fridge when he walked in, the afternoon finally cooling a little as the sun dropped below the hills.
“Honey, you’re home,” I said, smiling.
“Hey.” He gave me a brief smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. The scent of sweat and sawdust heavy on him. “What are you doing?”
“I was thinking it must be my turn to make dinner.”
“Huh.”
“How was your day?”
“Fine.” He filled a glass with water and downed it in one gulp. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll get something figured out in a while.”
“It’s not fair if you have to do all the work all the time.”
He didn’t look convinced, staring out at the back deck.
“By the way, your design for the kitchen was way better than my ideas,” I said, refusing to be discouraged. “The big island counter really works.”
“Thanks.”
“I had been considering doing the 1950s housewife thing,” I said. “Meeting you at the door in a fancy dress with your slippers and a martini in hand.”
That got me another flicker of a smile. “The bikini’s enough.”
“I went swimming earlier. The water’s lovely—did you want to go in?”
His brow descended. “Maybe later.”
“Okay.”
There was a weird vibe in the air. One I didn’t trust. The way he avoided my eyes and the short tone of voice. Maybe his day had sucked and he needed time to decompress. Or maybe this was just another fucking mood swing and change of mind. No. Don’t jump to conclusions. Everything is fine.
“Can I get you a beer?” I asked.
He just shook his head.
Whatever. I headed over to the couch and turned on the TV. The Castle was showing on a movie channel. A classic film if ever there was one. A minute or so later, Pete slumped onto the other end of the couch. Head back and eyes closed.
“Mind turning it down a little?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He exhaled, shoving his hands through his hair. “Can we check the cricket scores for a minute?”
“No problem.”
I handed the remote over to him, not having a clue what channel it would be on. Cricket might be one of the nation’s beloved sports, but it had never rocked my world. I shifted on the couch, cuddling up with a cushion. Meanwhile, he stared at the TV, a scowl still imprinted on his face.
“Is something wrong?” I asked finally.
The lines eased. “I just . . .”
I waited.
“Guess I’m used to having the place to myself when I get home.”
“Oh.”
“Normally, female guests only stay for a night,” he said, gaze glued to the TV.
It was a fuck-and-go situation. Right. Good to know. Even after all of the carrying on about wanting me to stay. Interesting how this came up now, when we’d just started sleeping together. And now, I did not feel welcome.
“I tell you what,” I said. “I’m going to go out to the tavern for a while, have some dinner, and give you your space.”
“What?” His head turned whiplash fast. “No . . . Adele.”
“It’s fine.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“We could both probably use some time to clear our heads.” I smiled. “No big deal.”
I rose, straightening my bikini to make sure it covered everything. Then I put one knee on the couch, reaching over to give him a kiss on the forehead.
“I’ll just go get changed, then I’ll head out for a couple of hours,” I said. “Give you some peace.”
Hands grabbed me, dragging me onto his lap. I sat straddling him, face-to-face. Lots of stuff was going on behind his pretty eyes. “You don’t need to go.”
“Then why do I feel like I do?”
His lips firmed. “I don’t want you out on your own.”
“You never did like that, did you?” I asked. “So you don’t want me going out on my own, but you don’t particularly want me here right now either.”
Nothing.
“What’s the answer, Pete?”
He just stared at me.
“Because I want to help you make good choices.”
“You want to help me make good choices?” He sputtered. “How old am I, five?”
I shrugged. “You don’t want your toy, but no one else can have it either. What does that sound like to you?”
“Adele, you’re not a toy.” His arms wrapped around me, pulling me in tight against his body. “I just . . .”
I rested my head on his shoulder, waiting.
“You’re right, I’m not exactly making sense.” His hands moved restlessly over my back, up and down my spine, soothing. “Seeing you so comfortable in my home, it just kind of caught me off guard. It threw me for a minute, that’s all.”
I kept quiet.
“What’s worse, you looked like you belong here,” he said, voice subdued. “In a way, it’s your house too. You came up with the idea and everything. I’ve still got your sketches in my office. Do you remember all those hours we spent together, thinking of how things would be?”
“We dreamed this place together.”
“Yeah, we did.”
Silence.
“Hm.”
“Problem is, you suck at boundaries.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
“And every time I even think about you leaving, I swear I just about have a fucking heart attack,” he said. “I hate it.”
“So what’s the answer?”
“You stay right where you are, give me a chance to get used to this.” His fingers moved up to my neck, massaging. Against my chest, his heart was beating hard. “I want to get used to this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said, the word definite, confident. “Though I should probably go shower. I probably smell awful, running around all day.”
“I don’t think we’re ready for a separation yet.” I kissed his neck. “Besides, I like you how you are.”
His hold on me tightened in response. It was more than enough. We sat there for hours, cuddling and watching TV. Normal couple stuff. After our chat, his occasional channel changing to check in on the cricket scores didn’t even bother me that much anymore. And as the night wore on and The Castle moved toward its climax, he checked in less and less.
Tuesday
The call came just before four, the shrill ring of the phone startling in the early-morning darkness. Pete fumbled for his cell on the bedside table.
“Hello … Jesus, is she alright?” The voice on the other end continued, each word increasing the worry in Pete’s gaze. “Of course. If there’s anything we can do, please let me know . . . Alright. Thank you for letting me know.”
I sat up and flicked on a lamp, wide awake. “What’s wrong?”
“Helga’s had a heart attack,” he said, sitting back against the headboard. “Jesus.”
My insides squeezed in shock. Helga had been working for Dad so long she felt like an irremovable part of the world up here. The fact that something might happen to her defied the natural order. “Is she going to be okay?”
“They think so,” Pete continued. “She’s out of immediate danger, at least. But it must have been really serious. Her daughter sounded devastated.” I put my hand on his knee, trying to be comforting. His normally tanned face looked pale in the dim lamplight. “Talk about out of the blue. She was her perfectly normal self in the office this morning—yesterday morning, I mean.” He looked like he was in shock. “Busy getting all the paperwork from the Toohey job sorted.”
Even for me, it was hard to get my head around the idea. “Helga’s been with Dad since he started.”
“It kills me to interrupt him on his honeymoon,” Pete grumbled, and then sighed in resignation. “But I’d better call him. Helga’s basically family.”
“He’d definitely want to know,” I said, climbing off the bed, getting my thoughts in order. “Did you want to head to the hospital?”
“Sounds like her whole family’s there.” He shook his head. “And she’s isolated in recovery. We’d probably just be in the way.”
“Okay. Coffee?”
“Please.”
“How about I hop online and organize some flowers to go to the hospital as soon as possible?” I asked, needing to be doing more. “She’s at Nambour?”
He nodded, as if relieved that there was at least something we could do. “That’d be great. Thanks.” He frowned. “She’s going to need recovery time and everything. It sucks to have to think about it, but she’s always been such a powerhouse at work, and it’s doubtful she’ll be returning anytime soon.”
“I can help out in the office for a few days,” I said. “At least until you get a temp in and get them settled.”
With a small smile, he slid a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. “Thank you, beautiful.”
The gentle look in his eyes and sweet curve of his smile made me silly. I almost blurted out that I loved him. Just about went ahead and exposed my messy stupid heart to him. The tip of my tongue needed to take more care.
Instead I smiled back at him and said, “Of course. No big deal.”
Chapter Eleven
Seven Years Ago
“You know, Pete, I’ve never been a huge fan of any of your girlfriends.”
“This is really taking me by surprise,” he said flatly. “Yet I always sensed there was something behind all the adulation and fawning you heaped on them.”
I ignored his sarcasm. “But this one . . . what’s her name again?”
Pete smiled, his face in perfect profile as the sun set over the ocean. “Serena.”
“Right, Serena.” And I totally committed that to memory. “She seriously has the most amazing resting bitch face I’ve ever seen.”
He laughed, kicking a little sand my way. We were walking on the beach at Mooloolaba with our shoes in our hands. The sand warm under our feet and a breeze blowing in off the water. It was beautiful. Pete’s date, meanwhile, sat up in one of the trendy beachside bars with a vodka and tonic, reading Vogue magazine and messaging someone on her phone. She didn’t want to get her pedicure scuffed. Apparently sand could do that.
“Be nice,” he said.
I shrugged. “It’s a simple statement of fact. The minute it’s declared an Olympic sport, the woman has that shit locked down. Gold medals, all the way.”
“Language.”
“Eighteen.” I rolled my eyes. “Did it not occur to you to ask if she liked the beach before bringing her on a date to the beach?”
“Who doesn’t like drinks by the water and a walk along the beach?”
“Serena, apparently.”
“I thought it would be romantic.”
I laughed.
“What?” And he had the gall to look affronted.
“Oh, please. The lies you tell. If you actually wanted to get romantic with her, you wouldn’t have brought me.” I shook my head. “You’re over her; admit it. I won’t be seeing Serena again.”
One shoulder lifted. “She’s a little high maintenance. But I mean, she is nice.”
“She’s not nice. She’s hot. There’s a difference.”
He didn’t respond.
“Has it ever occurred to you to date someone whose company you actually enjoy outside of the bedroom? Someone you can have clothed fun with?” I headed for the shoreline, looking for seashells. Little waves rippled in, wetting my feet. “Ooh, the water is lovely. Dare you to go in.”
“What?” The line appeared between his brows. “I’m in jeans and a shirt. I’m not going in.”
“It’s a dare, Pete. You can’t turn down a dare.”
“Sure I can.”
“Seven years’ bad sex.”
“Don’t talk about sex,” he grouched. “I’m barely dealing with you being legal to drink.”
“Double dare.”
“Kid.”
I walked in farther, kicking water at him. It proved to be insufficient. So I bent over, cupping my hands to splash him good and proper. “Stop being so shallow, Pete. Come into the depths.”
“Your dress is getting wet and there’s a wave coming.”
“I don’t care. I’m having fun.”
“Adele.” He took a few steps forward, enough to wet the bottom of his jeans. Then he gestured me to him with his hand. But he was also smiling, enjoying himself. “Come on, don’t be crazy.”
I splashed him some more and sure enough, a wave surged up behind me, plastering the knee-length skirt of my yellow cotton dress to my ass and legs. What the hell. I fell backwards, ever so elegantly drowning myself. When I came up sputtering, he was laughing, his smile wide. The best sight on earth.
“Are you happy now?” he asked, standing in the water up to his knees.
“Almost.” Hair hanging around my face like a sea monster and water pouring off me, I gave him a full-body hug, wrapping my arms around him. “Aw. Isn’t this nice?”
“That’s g
reat,” he said. “Thanks.”
To my everlasting delight, he then pulled his dark-blue T-shirt off over his head. Christ, his body was something else. Sculpted muscles. Seriously ogle-worthy stuff.
“Come here,” he said. “Kid, your dress . . . put this on.”
“Oops.” I laughed. Water had indeed made the material a wee bit see-through.
He just shook his head.
“But now you’re all wet too. You may as well just come in.”
And he did, dumping me into the next wave before diving in himself.
Tuesday . . . Now
“How’s it going?”
“You want the honest answer or the easy one?” I asked.
Pete didn’t even blink. “Honest. Always.”
“Well, so far as I can tell, Helga’s files are somehow based on some sort of mystical numerological system dating back to much earlier times,” I said, gaze on the computer screen. It was about midday, the early start and too many cups of caffeine possibly catching up with me. “We may need to crack open copies of The Key of Solomon to figure it out. Either that or the Dead Sea Scrolls, maybe. I’m just not sure yet. I mean, it’s all here; I know it is. I just can’t find half of it.”
He said nothing.
“I will figure this out,” I said, determined.
“I know you will.”
I flashed him a smile. “Your messages are on your desk and I have about a billion questions when you’ve got a minute.”
“Okay.” He leaned his elbows on the taller front-counter part of the reception desk. “Anyone given you any shit?”
“What?” It took me a moment to work out what he was talking about. “Regarding the booby-trap incident of long ago?”
“Yeah.”
I raised one shoulder. “No, just a couple of funny looks. About what you’d expect.”