by Emily Forbes
‘From the War, oui?’
‘Yes. They used Walers. They were bred as stock horses initially but then used for the military because they were so tough and strong. There are some amazing stories of their efforts in both the Boer War and the First World War.’
‘You have so many. What do you do with them?’
‘We sell them. Mainly as stock horses but we’ve sold a few recently to be used as therapy animals.’
‘I have heard of therapy dogs,’ Viktoria said, recalling Fiona and her dog, Leroy, ‘but I have not heard of therapy horses.’
‘Some horses develop a good relationship with people if they have the right temperament. Walers form strong attachments. I breed them and then they go to stables around the country and people suffering from depression and PTSD and the like can spend time with them. Some ride, some just like to brush them, to talk to them. The horses don’t judge.’
Viktoria was fascinated. ‘And who looks after the horses? Do you need special training?’
‘No. You just need to know how to look after a horse and once you get to know the horse’s personality, and they know yours, you’ll have a friend for life.’
‘And this is something you have always done?’
‘Not exactly. Cam and I grew up on a sheep station. Naturally, we learnt to ride, and I bred some horses when I was younger but nothing serious. Neither Cam nor I wanted to inherit the sheep station so when our parents sold it to retire and move into town, I spent my inheritance on this property and Cam bought his house.’
‘Does he ride?’ Viktoria asked. Cam hadn’t mentioned riding when they’d spoken of the horses. She’d told him she rode but she hadn’t gone into detail. It was another one of the things she had kept quiet.
‘Not any more,’ Skye said as she handed over the last apple and put the lid on the tub. She wiped her hands on her apron and said, ‘We should get back for afternoon tea before the boys eat all the cake.’
Once again Viktoria had the feeling of things unspoken.
They had spent a pleasant afternoon with Skye and David, but Viktoria had been keen to be alone with Cam again. Freddie was due to arrive in Sydney tomorrow and she suspected that might curtail her freedom. She wouldn’t be able to disappear on a whim. She had messaged Brigitta to let her know she was spending the afternoon with Cam but while Brigitta could track her movements through an app on her phone she wouldn’t question Viktoria’s decisions. Freddie might be more interested in the company she was keeping.
As Cam turned into the hotel driveway she decided she would ask if he wanted their day to continue. He would either say yes or no.
‘Are you going to walk me up to my room?’ she asked as the doorman approached.
She waited. There was no pretending that either of them didn’t know what she was asking, and she wasn’t getting out of the car until she had his answer.
He switched off the engine, stepped out of the car and handed the keys to the valet attendant.
She smiled and took his hand and led him to the private lift that would take them directly to her penthouse. If he noticed that she had her own lift, he didn’t comment. They stepped out into the foyer of the penthouse and she swiped her access key again to let them into the living room. The curtains were open, and Sydney Harbour glittered in the twilight.
‘Is this what working for a prince looks like?’ he asked as he took in his surroundings. He wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. ‘Please tell me the charitable trust isn’t paying for this.’
He had his back to her as he looked out to the water and she quickly messaged Brigitta to tell her that she was back but didn’t want to be interrupted and she would let her know if she needed her before she replied to Cam. ‘It is not. But I did not invite you up here to look at that view.’
As she hoped, that got his attention.
He turned to find that she had kicked off her shoes and had her fingers on the top button of her shirt.
He crossed the room in three strides as she undid the first button.
His grey eyes were dark, and his gaze was unwavering. She could see her own desire reflected in his eyes and she felt her temperature rise as a flush stole over her cheeks and anticipation burned bright inside her. She couldn’t breathe; his gaze was so intense it felt as if the room lacked oxygen, as if it was being burnt up in his eyes. She parted her lips to take a breath.
Her lips felt dry, her throat parched. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue as Cam groaned and gave in to his desire. Gave in to hers.
He wrapped one arm around her back and pulled her to him and kissed her hard. He tasted of coffee and cinnamon, of freedom and promises.
She reached one hand behind his head, holding him to her as she kissed him back. His tongue was warm in her mouth. His hands were warm on her skin. Every inch of her was on fire, consumed with desire. She felt his fingers on her arm, could feel them tracing a line up to her shoulder, across her collarbone to the sweet hollow at the base of her throat. She felt his thumb dip into the little dimple. She couldn’t breathe; she’d forgotten how.
She needed to breathe.
She pulled away and he lifted his hand, releasing her from his touch. She almost begged him not to. She didn’t want him to let her go.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak but, aware that the curtains were still open, she knew they needed to move into the privacy of her bedroom. She knew it was unlikely, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that paparazzi were everywhere and, even though no one seemed to have worked out who she was, old habits died hard. She knew all about photographers with long camera lenses and she couldn’t afford to take the chance.
She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. She hit the button on the remote to draw the sheer curtains across the windows, giving them some privacy without total darkness.
She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him close. His gaze ran over her face before moving lower, over her breasts. How could grey eyes hold such heat? Such intensity? She held her breath, trying to stop the rise and fall of her breasts, but still her nipples peaked in response to his gaze burning through the thin fabric of her shirt. She could feel the moisture between her legs as her body responded as his gaze devoured her. He’d scarcely laid a finger on her and yet she felt ready to self-combust. A look, a glance, a smile was all it would take for her to melt under him.
‘Are you sure about this?’
Again, there was no pretending they didn’t know exactly what he was asking.
‘Yes.’ Her voice was breathless. She wasn’t going to pretend that they hadn’t been leading up to this moment all day. ‘I want you to make love to me.’
She didn’t need to ask twice.
His fingers found the buttons on her shirt and he undid them in seconds. He bent his head and trailed a line of kisses from her collarbone to the swell of her breast. Her legs trembled, threatening to give way, but before she could stumble he scooped her up with one arm and lifted her onto the bed.
She lay back as he eased himself over her, supporting himself on his elbows. She reached up and ran her hands over his biceps, feeling his strength, marvelling at the firmness within him. His breath was coming fast now, she could hear it and feel it as it hit the bare skin of her shoulders and neck, but he didn’t move. How could he hold himself so still? He was poised to move forward, to take this to the next level, but somehow he held his position. He was in no hurry. How could he be so calm when desire threatened to consume her?
The waiting was exquisite agony. A delicious sense of anticipation battled with the desire to have him take her now, right now. She arched her hips up towards him, pushing herself against his groin, and was rewarded when she felt his matching desire, hard and firm, straining against his pants.
She breathed out on a sigh as she let her knees fall open and wrappe
d her legs around him, pulling him closer, pulling him down against her. She heard him groan and he lowered his body until it covered the length of her. She wanted this. She wanted to feel his weight on her; she needed to know this was real.
Every cell of her body tingled in anticipation; she could feel each one straining, reaching out to him. Her skin was on fire and every nerve ending quivered with anticipation, alive with the possibilities of what was to come. Her expectations were almost painful, her reaction intense.
He reached for her, ending her suspense. His lips were on her earlobe, soft and warm, his breath in her ear. He kissed her neck and then his lips covered hers and she melted into him and let him consume her.
His fingers skimmed over her nipples, hard and peaked. He swept the strap of her bra from her shoulder and exposed her left breast to the cool air. His thumb brushed over her nipple, teasing, tantalising. She cried out as a wave of desire washed over her and a bolt of heat scorched through her, sweeping from her nipple to her groin in a searing flash.
His hands slid behind her back and with an expert flick of his fingers he undid her bra. He bent his head and his lips left a trail of hot spots from her lips to her throat and collarbone until finally he took the tip of her breast in his mouth, rolling his tongue over the taut flesh until Viktoria thought she might come then and there. But she didn’t want it to end. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She wanted to feel him, to touch him, to arouse him too.
Her hands found the bottom of his T-shirt and she pushed it up until she could run her hand over his warm skin. His skin was firm but soft under her fingertips. She pulled his shirt from his body as his mouth continued to tease her nipple, sucking and licking. He paused momentarily to let her drag his shirt over his head before he returned his attention to her and her pleasure.
He cupped her breast in his hand and ran his thumb over the peaked bud, making her moan. She arched her back, offering herself to him, and he took one peak in his mouth again, sucking hard, and she almost exploded in his arms.
She ran her index finger from his sternum down along the line separating his abdominal muscles, following the line of dark hair that led below his waistband. She concentrated on him, wanting to extend the pleasure, wanting to share the delight. She snapped open the button on his trousers, unzipping his fly and pushing his pants low on his hips. His erection strained against the fabric of his boxer shorts. She ran her hand over his shaft; it was strong and thick, and she felt it rise to meet her. He groaned and the sound of his arousal urged her on.
His hand ran up her thigh and under the hem of her shorts. She pushed against him and instructed, ‘Take them off.’
She lifted her hips as he undid her shorts and slid them off. His fingers met the elastic of her underwear and slid under the lace of her undies. Viktoria let her legs fall apart again, opening herself to him, giving herself to him, and she bit back a cry of desire as his fingers slid inside her. She was slick and wet, throbbing. His thumb found her centre and she gasped as his touch took her to the edge.
But she didn’t want it this way. She wanted to share the experience. She wanted all of him and she wanted him to have all of her. She let go of him and pulled her underwear off and lay naked before him. His blue-grey eyes roamed over her body, setting her on fire with his gaze.
She watched as he stood and divested himself of his pants and shoes. She didn’t think she could bear to wait much longer. She was desperate to feel him inside her. Desperate for them to be joined together.
To know that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Cam looked at Viktoria lying on the bed, naked, waiting, and he pushed aside any reservations. He hadn’t made love to anyone since Gemma, but it was too late for any doubts. He didn’t want to think; he couldn’t think. There was no room in his head for anything other than desire. It took all his self-control to hold back long enough to find his wallet and retrieve a condom.
She lay, propped on her elbows, naked and gorgeous, and watched him roll it on.
She reached for his hand and pulled him back onto the bed. She reached behind him, holding his hips, cupping his buttocks, to pull him close. She arched her back and let her knees fall open as she fitted him to her like pieces of a jigsaw.
She sighed as he thrust into her.
She gave herself to him and he claimed her. All of her.
He filled her, consumed her and they became one.
Cam felt himself losing control.
Everything else in his life was forgotten as Viktoria took over his senses. He wanted to go slowly, he wanted to savour the moment, he wanted time to commit it all to memory, but he couldn’t resist her. He couldn’t fight it. He was only a man, a powerless man, and he could feel himself being swept away. The world ceased to exist except for Viktoria.
This was what he wanted. To disappear into a world of pleasure. To escape from a world of pain.
But Viktoria came into this new world with him. He wanted, needed to escape but he also wanted her to share in this moment with him. He was choosing to let her in.
And suddenly there was nothing else that mattered.
He wasn’t thinking about the incident, or his scars, or his guilt or even Gemma. For the first time in years there was no room in his head for any of those things. He was completely in the present, immersed in the moment. The only thing he was thinking about was Viktoria.
He felt her hand on his chest, felt it brush over one nipple, felt another surge of blood to his groin. He breathed her name and that was the last coherent thought he had. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pinning him to her. She pushed her hips against his and his resistance crumbled.
She tilted her hips and moved in time with him. He heard his own guttural moan as he thrust into her, filling her, claiming her for his own. He couldn’t hold back, he couldn’t resist and when he heard her call his name it pushed him further.
There was nothing gentle in their lovemaking. It was fuelled by pure desire. Desperate, all-consuming desire.
He thrust into her again, up and down he moved, faster and faster, harder and stronger, and she met each thrust. She arched her back and held him close with her legs, opening herself to him, offering herself to him.
He buried himself deep inside her and when he felt her shudder and come undone, he came with her. They climaxed together and when they were completely spent he gathered her to him, holding her close, reluctant to let her go as he savoured this next moment, as they lay in each other’s arms, slick with sweat and breathing hard.
She had blown his mind.
She had given him a gift. She had relieved him of his trauma and stress. He felt as if she had pieced a bit of him back together. That while she held him in her embrace he was restored, renewed, revived.
For those minutes she had let him feel like the man he used to be and he wondered: Did she have the power, the ability to heal him, to restore him?
She lay curled against his side. Her fingers were warm as they trailed over his chest, across a nipple, down his sternum and over his abdomen, coming to rest on the scar on his hip bone.
He could feel himself stirring again as her hand moved lower. Following the line of his scar.
Down the outside of his thigh.
‘How did you get this scar?’
Her question brought him abruptly back to reality.
He’d been kidding himself that he could stay in the bubble she’d created. He’d thought tonight might have been different. That it could be the turning point for him. But once again he was too quickly thrust back into his reality.
But this time there was a difference. This time he had been prepared to let someone in. And if he was going to let her in then she deserved an answer.
‘I was involved in an incident.’
‘It is a big scar. Was it a bad incident?’
‘It was.’ It couldn’t have been worse. Even
if he’d died too, he had thought at times that that would have been a better outcome. Guilt continued to eat at him. If everyone had died, including him, he wouldn’t be living with that guilt. But he didn’t say that.
‘Was it a long time ago?’
‘Two years.’
‘Will you tell me about it?’
If she’d asked him if he wanted to talk about it he would have said no, but what did it matter if he told her about the incident? If she wanted to, she could find out all the information on the internet anyway. The articles didn’t talk about the personal cost of the incident. The articles didn’t mention how it had destroyed his life, and he didn’t need to talk about that either, but he could give her the facts. He’d repeated them often enough in various hearings and in front of various panels.
But only a handful of people heard about his guilt—the psychologists, Doug, Skye.
But he wasn’t ready to leave her yet. Talking to her was a way to stay beside her for a little longer.
‘I was deployed to the Middle East as a surgeon,’ he said. Lying in the semi-darkness made it easier to tell his story. ‘I was responsible for medical treatments and surgery at the base hospital, but I also went out into the field with the helicopter evacuation unit to retrieve injured or wounded soldiers. I was almost due to come home when a retrieval went wrong.
‘The helicopter crashed. It was shot down. I thought it must have been a mistake, but I found out later it was deliberate. They ignored the medical markings and launched missiles at us. I ended up with multiple injuries, including a fractured pelvis and a shattered femur. I was put back together with plates and pins and screws, which is where that scar came from. I lost a lot of blood, but people said I was lucky.’
‘That does not sound lucky. That sounds painful.’