by Kris Pearson
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN — POKER NIGHT AND SYDNEY
October 9th, 1969. Penny’s sixteenth birthday party would have kept the whole street awake—if we lived in a normal street. However much I miss being close to shops and friends, the house at the orchard means no-one is disturbed when we turn the volume up on the stereogram. She had the Beatles of course, and that “Whiter Shade of Pale’ song I like. The Tijuana Brass band was declared very un-cool, but how everyone danced to it! We put up pink and black streamers and covered the lamps with red chiffon scarves to give a rosy glow, and some of the young ones had to be persuaded to leave once midnight ticked over. They all had a thoroughly good time.
Sammie closed her eyes and the well remembered room swam into focus. Her mother had never talked about the party. Maybe she would have if they’d planned Sammie’s own sweet sixteen together, but Penny hadn’t lived that long.
She took another sip of her hot chocolate and turned the page, wondering how Poker Night was progressing. Had Rich had the luck he hoped for? Was Nick enjoying himself? Was Cam making the most of his night out? Tyler was due home with baby Georgia the next day and then he might find his leisure time too precious to spend gambling.
January 5th, 1973. Penny has met such a nice boy. Mike is tall and sporty and very friendly. He has just finished his carpentry apprenticeship and offered to help Erik build a trellis fence to give us some privacy from the packing shed.
March 30th, 1974. Penny confessed to us tonight she has fallen pregnant, so she and Michael will marry as soon as possible. I’m so disappointed she couldn’t wait.
Sammie drew a sharp breath of surprise. That was something she’d never suspected; so Ray’s conception had hurried her parents’ marriage up? And suddenly Mike had become Michael. Not quite so acceptable now?
June 14th, 1979. I am scheduled for exploratory surgery tomorrow to see if the doctors can solve my continuing ill health.
Sammie set the diary aside, swallowed the last of her hot chocolate, and glanced at her watch for the millionth time. Ten-thirty. Nick had arranged to be with her by eleven. It was time for a shower.
She’d no sooner got naked than the buzzer sounded. Wrapping a towel around herself, she padded barefoot to the access button and let him into the apartment block. A minute or two later he knocked on her door.
“You’re early,” she said.
“You’re undressed.”
“Not quite. I thought you’d be later. I was going to have a shower before you got here.”
“Excellent idea.” He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
“Nick!”
“Mind your head,” he said, unperturbed, as he carried her through the doorway to the bedroom. “I asked Cam about feeding the cat for a couple of nights, so that’s taken care of.”
Sammie grinned, unseen, at the unlikely change of subject. “And I asked Anita, so we’re covered both ways. How many beers have you had?”
He set her down. “Fewer than Rich thought.”
“So he didn’t quite clean up the way he planned to?”
Nick’s smile said it all. He un-tucked Sammie’s towel, peeled her out of it, and took her into his arms. “I play to win,” he whispered against her lips.
Sammie pushed up on tiptoe to get closer to him. The cotton knit of his T-shirt brushed over her breasts and the thicker denim of his jeans pressed against her thighs. Then his warm hands grabbed her butt, pulling her in against the impressive ridge of his erection.
“So do I.” She ground against him. “And I can feel just the prize I want.”
His mouth descended, hot and hungry, and she pushed her hands into his hair, ran them down his neck, and dug her nails into his shoulders as though she could draw him right inside her skin.
He excited her on every level. Sexually, yes. With a body and face like his, how could he not? She also found him slyly funny, a consummate flirt, maddeningly sure he’d get his own way, and fueled by unstoppable energy and ambition.
Tempering his unnerving confidence was an appealing vulnerability.
She’d watched him being eaten alive by the yearning to know his true parentage. The successful man was still a small guileless boy in that regard, and she ached to help him find any kind of answer to the painful mystery of his past.
For now at least she could indulge him until they were both blind with pleasure, and he forgot the thing that was tearing him apart. With that in mind, she stroked her tongue against his, and returned kiss for kiss as her fingers descended over his chest and torso until she reached the hem of his T-shirt. He tasted sweet and hot and full of need. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her again—the dark invader who reduced her to a panting storm of pulsing nerve ends even as she did the same for him.
Her hands burrowed under his T, scrabbling up over warm skin and soft hair as she dragged it off, desperate to be possessed and pleasured. When she grabbed for his jeans she found him way ahead of her—the denim already bunched low on his thighs.
“Turn the water on,” he demanded hoarsely. Sammie heard and saw how much he wanted her. His darkly flushed cock twitched and pulsed, straining to dive deep. Her body responded with hot honeyed slickness to welcome him, and fluttering muscles twitched low in her belly, wanting, wanting.
By the time the water ran to temperature a naked Nick nuzzled the back of her neck.
Tremors of lust raced through her as his hands reached around to cradle her breasts and tease her nipples. Deep inside, a volcano full of molten lava was a nano-second away from erupting.
“Getting wet time,” he murmured, crowding her into the shower and positioning them both under the pounding spray.
“God I hated leaving the other morning. I really wanted to do this.” He lifted her easily, and Sammie clamped her legs around his waist.
“Nick, there’s not room!” she squealed as her knee hit the mixer and the cascade of hot water turning freezing cold.
Cursing and laughing, he lurched aside to get them out of the frigid blast. He gave the compact shower box a disparaging glare. “Maybe you’re right,” he agreed, letting her slide down again, pushing her wet hair back from her brow, and dropping a kiss there. “But I’m going to give you a much more thorough wash than I did last time.” He fixed her with an intent and lascivious grin. “All your nooks and crannies are going to get very personal attention.”
Sammie reached over and adjusted the water temperature, imagining what he had planned. Imagining what she’d do for him in return, too.
She quickly wrapped possessive fingers around his jutting cock, stealing the advantage of surprise. “Look at this big thing, taking up so much room in such a small space,” she murmured, dropping to her knees in front of him. She steadied herself with a hand on his hip and felt Nick jolt as she swiped her tongue around him. She trailed her hand along the hot skin of his flank until she cradled his balls, and pressed a finger up behind them to massage and tease.
Nick sucked in an audible breath and took half a step sideways so the shower spray hit his shoulders and not her face.
She worked on him silently, taking him deep into her mouth, sucking and sliding, then releasing him to run her tongue around the velvet-smooth tip, again and again.
“Sammie...”
Was that the plea of a desperate man?
She took him deep again, wrapped her hand around the base of him and got rougher, pressed harder with her finger, heard him drag in air, felt him tense and tense...and then he went off like a machine gun, pulsing and pumping, and letting loose a long husky groan and a string of breathless curses.
He clutched at her long hair and tried to drag her away, but Sammie nudged nearer, milking him until he was done.
She rested against him, cheek against his belly, enjoying his ragged breathing and the feeble protests to release him. Slowly, slowly, she felt him soften a little. Only then did she draw aside.
Nick hauled her to her feet and cradled her close. The water poured over them in a blinding
torrent as he kissed her. Beautiful Nick had been all hers for those few minutes. When she left him behind, she’d always have that to remember.
Nick swung their bags from the back of the taxi and paid the driver. On the busy walkway other passengers were being dropped off, suitcases unloaded, goodbyes said. The smell of aviation fuel hung sharp in the air.
He glanced at Sammie, enjoying her excitement. She pulled the handle up on her case to wheel it into the terminal.
“How many seats across the plane?” she asked as they started walking. “I’ve only ever flown in small ones.”
“Six I think. They don’t run the biggest jumbos out of Wellington—runway’s too short. They had to bulldoze some hills down and push them into the ocean to make one at all.” He grinned at her look of disbelief. “True,” he said, reaching into the side pocket of his bag as he stopped at one of the check-in kiosks. “Here you go—get some practice in.”
Sammie took the e-tickets and looked at them with narrowed eyes. “So the bar-code goes under here?” She pushed the page under the scanner light and beamed when the screen lit up. After pressing the required keys, her boarding pass and luggage label zoomed out. “Fun—can I do yours too?”
“The novelty’ll wear off if you set off around the world.”
“When I set off.”
“You’re still going?”
Damn—don’t sound so needy, man.
Her eyebrows rose. “Of course I’m going. It’s been my dream for years. I was only waiting for my passport.”
“You may as well keep going from Sydney then.” He hated the sullen note in his voice. Hated she could leave him so easily after what they’d shared in the week they’d known each other, but it seemed nothing could dampen her high spirits.
“I’ve only got three day’s clothes and nothing to wear in bed,” she whispered, her expression teasing. That thought lightened his mood some, but still in the back of his mind, her impending desertion sat like a leaden lump.
He guided her to the luggage drop off, then onto the main concourse. Vast windows gave a superb view of the runways and taxiways. Sammie grabbed his hand as a huge white plane nosed toward the glass. “Can we sit over there?” she asked.
“Or up in the Koru Lounge if you like. It’s classier than here, with an even better view.” He waved a hand at the shops. “Do you need a book to read?”
“Let’s stay here,” she begged, tugging him closer to the wall of windows. “Can we get a coffee and just watch? Nick, I want to see everything.”
They landed in Sydney at sunset after a smooth three-hour flight through clear skies. Nick had insisted Sammie took the window seat, and once the crew had ensured tray tables were folded away, seat backs were upright, and everything set for landing, Sammie became as wriggly as a puppy and provided him with a constant progress report.
“Nick, look at all the beaches. That one has really big cliffs down to it. Like your old house.”
…“Way over there, is that the harbor bridge?”
…“Are those the white sails of the Opera House roof?”
…“Nick, look at the boats...there are hundreds and hundreds of them.”
…“Hey, we’re flying way out past the city. I wanted to see more.”
…“Nick, the houses go on and on forever. Is it all Sydney? It’s huge.”
Once they were on their final approach, it was …“Oh God, we’re nearly there. Nick—look at all the different planes!” She grabbed his hand and held on tight until they bumped down and the huge roaring rush of the reverse-thrust died away.
After clearing customs and immigration, they wheeled their bags out into tropical air.
Sammie took a deep, deep breath, and Nick watched as her breasts rose against her pale turquoise T-shirt.
“I thought I’d be able to smell eucalyptus trees,” she said as they approached the cab rank.
“I’ll see if I can find you some.”
“The orchard always smelled like apples. Well—the pack-house did once picking was on. Apples and the cheap timber they made all the pallets from.”
Nick nodded, smiling slightly at the memory. “Yeah, all the stacks of pallets ready for the boxes of apples once they were packed. And all the molded trays that separated the layers of apples in the boxes.”
“Friday trays.”
“Thousands of them. Is it still the same?”
Sammie shrugged. “It was while Grandpa had the orchard.”
“He was good for me, old Erik. Better than Brian ever was. I think he saw I got no encouragement at home. He made me work, but he paid me for it. Taught me to value my own efforts.”
“Sounds like Grandpa, for sure.”
They drew level with the front cab on the rank. “Coogee Beach,” Nick told the driver as the man stowed their bags away.
Sammie peered from side to side as they sped along.
“Aren’t the houses different? Lots of bricks, much less timber. And look at all the palms—it’s not really warm enough for them in Wellington.”
Nick saw the familiar city through new eyes as she rattled off comments and questions until the driver pulled in beside the hotel entrance.
They walked into the expansive foyer, luggage rolling smoothly on the gleaming sand-colored marble floor.
“Nick!” she exclaimed, gazing toward the spectacular view dominating the far wall. “Oh, it’s lovely. Thank you.”
“Go and have a closer look at Coogee Beach while I take care of this,” he said, watching as she raced away to the windows .
“Mr. Sharpe and Ms. Sherbourne—a King Ocean View room,” the receptionist confirmed, smiling at Sammie’s reaction.
A few minutes later, they took the elevator up to their floor and he handed her a key-card.
“You don’t mind that we’re not in the center of Sydney? We’ll see more of the city tomorrow, but this is one of the areas I want to check out.”
“Anything that suits you, Nick. This is beautiful.” She slid the card into the slot and pushed the door open. “Oh—this is beautiful.”
The huge bed dominated the space, but after giving it an appreciative glance, Sammie abandoned her suitcase and headed for the end wall instead. She swept the gauzy curtains aside and opened the big glass doors to their balcony. In the golden light of evening, waves rolled up the wide crescent of sand several floors below. The shorefront street with a broad paved walkway and a strip of grass with a line of tall Norfolk Pines were all that separated them from the ocean.
He walked out to join her and they leaned on the railing together in companionable silence, looking down to the swimming pool, out to the beach. On the next balcony, behind a panel of sturdy trelliswork, a man with a broad Australian accent complained about his luck at the racetrack the day before.
Nick turned to her. “Do you want to eat in the hotel or try one of the local restaurants?”
“Let’s go for a walk down there—we’ve been sitting for hours.”
He checked his watch. “Unpack first? Check out that nice big bed?”
“Unpack, dinner, then bed,” she said firmly. “It’s been a long, busy day.”
He grimaced at that. She was right, and neither of them had slept much the night before...