Yours to Keep

by Diana Fraser

  “Welcome to my home,” she said proudly.

  He took one step and entered a different world. And he knew, in that moment, that it was a world that he didn’t want to leave. He shot her a quick smile, glanced at the world outside and wondered briefly how he could ever have thought he could live in that world without the knowledge that this one existed.

  Amber closed the door and switched on a side light, then another, then another. Apparently there were no center lights. She stood, looking uncertain but happy, on what appeared to be a rag rug—he only knew because he’d seen one in a colonial museum his sister had dragged him to once—with the warm glow of the lamps creating a halo around her red hair. There was a fireplace behind her, its Victorian surround and cast iron hearth showing remnants of a fire. He shook his head. No fire was needed with Amber there.

  She frowned. “Is everything okay? I know it’s nothing like you’re used to but—”

  “It reminds me of my grandmother’s house,” he blurted out. Memories washed through his mind with all the uncontrollable force of a tsunami. Things he thought he’d forgotten now flashed through his mind. “Anyway,” he said quickly, regretting his impulse to say what was on his mind. “These are the paintings, are they?” he asked, pointing to the stack which was piled in a corner.

  “Yes, they’re my newer ones.”

  “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  She stood back while he flicked through the pile. They were definitely Amber’s, but they were also definitely something different to her usual style. “They’re beautiful. They’d look right at home in any of the inner city galleries.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s an option.” She walked over to the small kitchen, which was off the back of the only living room. “Would you like a cup of tea, glass of wine or anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Oh. I thought you’d stay for a bit.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  She put the kettle down and walked up to him. He wished she hadn’t. It was all he could do to stop himself from reaching out to her, pushing his fingers through her hair and holding her face steady so he could kiss her as he’d imagined kissing her since he’d met her. He swallowed and clenched his hands. He wouldn’t give in.

  “That’s a shame,” she said quietly. “We seem to keep meeting and then you leave, too soon.”

  “Too soon for what?” he asked. As soon as the words had slipped out, he knew he’d said entirely the wrong thing.

  “For this,” she said, rolling onto her tiptoes, putting her hands through his hair and holding his head steady, just as he’d imagined doing, and pressing her lips to his.

  It was quiet inside the room, cocooned by velvet curtains, thick rugs, and with only the ticking of an antique carriage clock for company. Outside, the sound of wind chimes gathered pace as the rain which had been threatening gently rolled in from the sea.

  The feel of her fingers on his head, her breath against his, her tongue teasing his, broke down the last remaining defenses. He put his arms around her and kissed her like he’d wanted to kiss her ever since he’d met her.

  Eventually they parted, Amber continuing to kiss his lips and neck, before nestling into his arms with a sigh.

  “You’re an enigma, Amber,” he breathed. “So beautiful, such a part of the world and people, and yet not. And yet you’re hiding here, somehow.”

  “I’m an enigma?” She looked up at him with a smile. “I’ve been trying without success to figure you out since day one. I think I’m pretty much an open book.”

  He shook his head. “No. You’re not.” He scanned her face, his fingers tracing her cheekbones, nose and lips, marveling at their delicate contours, the softness of her skin and the kiss that had been so much more than he’d imagined—and he’d imagined a lot. “The more I get to know you, the more I realize there is that I don’t understand. You’re open and trusting and yet… I don’t know. There’s a shadow there.

  “Shadow?” She grunted. “You’re imagining things.”

  “I have no imagination. You should know that about me by now. No, like back there, in Christchurch, when you’d finished your painting and you realized you were alone, that look of panic on your face. What was that about?”

  “Me, panicked? Surely not?” She tried to move out from his embrace, but he held onto her hand.

  “Yes, you were. You looked… scared almost. Afraid to meet me on your own?”

  She looked up at him with a serious expression, which wiped the encouraging smile from his face.

  “No, it was nothing to do with you.”

  “Then why so scared to be on your own at four thirty on a winter’s afternoon in central Christchurch?”

  Her smile fell away and pain like a shadow fell over it. She swallowed. “I was sixteen when it happened.”

  A feeling of dread slid through him. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. “What?” he barely whispered.

  “I met a boy in Christchurch. Just a boy. A lad. A young man in ripped jeans with long hair and a guitar. And I went back to his house.” She shrugged.

  “What happened?”

  She sucked in a breath and he could see that it was hard for her to continue. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually tell people.”

  “It’s okay. Take your time.”

  He took hold of her hands in his and swept his thumbs across them, trying to give her the reassurance and strength it appeared she needed. She smiled and looked at him with such trust that anything that remained of his hardened heart melted.

  “He must have spiked my drink. I don’t really know. Everything is so hazy.”

  “When did it stop being hazy?”

  “It took five days for me to come round.”

  “And no one came for you?”

  “No one knew I was there. He must have forgotten to top up the drugs one time, and I came around.” Her eyes darkened with fear as she remembered the moment. “And I escaped. The police found me wandering the streets, and took me home. I’ve hardly left there since. Not wanted to. And I only ever visit Christchurch during the day, and I stick to the places I know.” She shrugged. “Scared, I guess.”

  He swore softly under his breath at the thought of this beautiful soul being subjected to the worst kind of violence against a woman. He felt pain in his whole being, from the tip of his fingers to his gut to his chest—everything ached with an unfamiliar pain. He wanted to shout out his anger and frustration that such a thing could happen to someone like Amber—could happen to anyone, but especially the trusting and vulnerable Amber. She was too good for this world, and he wanted to make sure nothing like that happened to her again.

  But it was, wasn’t it? He had entered her life with the sole purpose of using her to make her stop her peaceful protests, which were proving so disruptive to his development of the building. But he knew, now, that that would have to stop. The building be damned. He’d do anything not to hurt Amber, anything to keep her safe and happy.

  He pulled her to him and held her tight against his chest. He placed his cheek against her hair and felt her breath against his chest, her hands moving tentatively around his back, her fingers splaying and pulling him tighter to her. He’d felt an instant connection, despite their very obvious differences, when he’d first seen her. And that connection had deepened with every subsequent meeting. For the first time ever he both wanted her physically—wanted to kiss every square inch of that beautiful pale skin of hers, and her slender limbs, wanted to make love to her—and wanted to connect with her emotionally. But he could do neither until he’d cleared up the mess he’d created for himself. And then, he promised himself, he’d begin again with Amber. But he wouldn’t leave without a demonstration of his intent.

  He pulled away and gently cupped her face. “I’m so sorry you had to experience something like that. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” said Amber with a smile.

  Maybe, he thought, but he was as guilty as sin for
how he’d planned to use her. But that was the past, he told himself firmly. “I promise you that I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again.”

  She shook her head, her beautiful hair shifting beneath his hands. “No. That’s what my family try to do—keep me close, keep me safe—but I need to be myself, I need to live and breath and feel free.”

  “But how free are you when you won’t travel, you won’t experience things outside your small world?”

  “It’s not small. I have all my people here. All the people I love. It feels huge.”

  “But what about Paris?”

  She pulled a regretful face. “Maybe one day I’ll get there.”

  “I’ll make sure of it,” he said, before he saw her face uplifted to his, her lips partly open.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  It would have been rude to refuse, he thought, as he pressed his lips to hers. From the first touch, he knew that this would be nothing like he imagined. It was like ice touching fire. The movement of her lips against his, her tongue teasing his, inhaling her breath, broke down the final barriers around his hardened heart.

  Eventually he pulled away and they pressed their foreheads to each other’s, breathing heavily.

  “And there was me thinking you didn’t fancy me sexually.”

  He lifted his head in surprise. “What?”

  “I thought that perhaps you hadn’t made an advance to me… you know, a sexual advance, because you were a gentleman and weren’t like that.”

  He grinned, and did what he’d been wanting to do ever since he’d met her, he pushed his fingers through her glorious hair. “I am a gentleman but I like sex as much as the next man. No, I want to be honest with you. I like it possibly more than the next man. And I’ve thought of nothing else since I saw you in the street that first day when I was running.”

  “Hm,” she moaned lightly, and the sound did things to his body which there was no way he was going to act on. She rolled on to her tiptoes ready to kiss him again. But he took her hands and stepped away with a shake of the head. He needed to sort his business affairs out first.

  “I’ve got things to sort out, Amber, before we can take this any further.” The doubt which flooded Amber’s face nearly undid his resolve. “Amber, believe me. I really like you. I really do. But—”

  His words were robbed by her mouth on his and a kiss which made him forget his name. Then she heard a rap on the door which was followed by a few more, before they eventually parted.

  Amber shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened and gave a shy smile. “I’d better get that.”

  Amber opened the door and the lady from next door stood there with a big grin, holding a large, angry-looking ginger cat. “Look who I’ve found!”

  “I told you he wouldn’t be far away.”

  David stood in the shadows, hoping that the neighbor would disappear. Amber too, he noted, hadn’t opened the door very wide, but it seemed the neighbor had no intention of leaving. Instead she stepped confidently into the house, nodded at David, and sat down in a chair by the window which she obviously regarded as her personal space.

  Before Amber could close the door, the neighbor on the other side greeted her heartily and, without waiting for an invitation, entered the room and greeted the woman seated with the cat. Neither seemed surprised to see the other. David couldn’t help wondering if it was a set up.

  The man and the woman began talking between themselves. Amber shrugged and smiled at David. David shook his head, bemused. No one ever entered his central city apartment without an invitation. In fact, he rarely gave invitations. He was a private person and, if he wanted to socialize, he much preferred to do it away from his own home. The fact that people could treat Amber’s home with such familiarity baffled him.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Amber asked the couple. The man had now taken a seat in the opposite chair and they were talking about the museum. It seemed the man worked at the museum as a volunteer. More community stuff. They both nodded eagerly and David followed Amber through the bright plastic streamers which marked the entrance to the minute kitchen.

  Amber plucked some brightly colored mismatching mugs from a stand and held one up to him. “Like one?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll get going. It looks like you’re busy.”

  “It’s strange, they always seem to pop round exactly a quarter of an hour after someone who they don’t know comes to my house.”

  David didn’t think it so strange. He suspected that Amber’s neighbors, like her family and friends, would do anything to make sure nothing untoward happened to her. Knowing Amber’s openness, there wouldn’t be many people unaware of what had happened to her.

  She put the kettle on a hob—David did a double take before shaking his head in disbelief—and turned to face him. “I’ve enjoyed this afternoon. Shame it couldn’t have been longer.”

  “I’ve enjoyed it too.” But David was grateful that the neighbors had stopped things from getting out of hand. It was too soon. He had things to remedy first. “Maybe… You’d like to come to dinner at my apartment next week?” He should be able to get things sorted by then.

  She shook her head with a smile. “No thanks. I don’t go to men’s apartments.”

  He closed his eyes briefly at his stupidity. Of course she wouldn’t. “Dinner then. At a restaurant. Not St Augustine’s. Somewhere more friendly.”

  She laughed. “That would be lovely.”

  “I’ll check my diary and get back to you.”

  He reached out and drew his knuckles gently down her cheek. It was so soft. She instinctively turned and kissed his fingers. It was all he could do to withdraw. But withdraw he did, pushing his hands well into his pockets where they couldn’t get him into trouble. He stepped away. “I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  He walked back into the small lounge, unable to prevent a big grin on his face. The neighbors returned it. “You off now?” asked the man, jumping to his feet in an old-fashioned gesture.

  “Yes. I’ve got to get back.”

  “Sorry to disturb you,” said the old lady with an expression which showed that she wasn’t in the least bit sorry.

  “You didn’t,” replied David. “I was leaving anyway.” He didn’t want them to think he would in any way take advantage of Amber, although in a different way he had intended to. But no longer. “Goodbye.”

  Amber opened the door and stood there, casting a long shadow down the path as David walked to his car. “Goodbye,” she called out. He waved back at her as she closed the door. He stood looking at the row of cottages for a moment. Amber’s curtains weren’t drawn and he could clearly see the three of them chatting and laughing in her front room. He stood, mesmerized by the view, before opening his car door and sliding in. Even then he dipped his head to get one last view of her—red hair flaming under the orange glow of the low-watt lamps, her clothes a flashing mix of colors as she flitted around passing cups to her guests before stopping in front of the window. She caught his gaze and, lifting her hand to him, wiggled her fingers. The simple gesture caught at his chest and plucked something there. He made an involuntary movement to his chest, beneath which he knew were his ribs and his lungs and another part of him which he’d only been interested in for its ability to keep him alive—to continue to pump blood and oxygen around his body. It seemed it had now acquired another function which was solely focused on this unusual woman who appeared like an angel in her window.

  He waved back and turned on the engine, pulling his gaze determinedly away from her. What the hell was happening to him? He had no idea and, for once in his life, he didn’t care. Because it felt right. He slipped the car into gear, gave Amber once last wave and drove the short distance to his sister’s house. It seemed his world was suddenly growing a lot smaller, and he didn’t mind at all.

  6

  The gray watery expanse of Lake Ellesmere slowly gave way to th
e suburbs of Christchurch, and still Amber leaned against the window of the car, fretting over her first exhibition at an inner city gallery.

  “Aren’t you excited?” asked Maddy, turning to Amber in the back seat of the car. “First proper exhibition and all that!”

  “Yes, of course I am,” she replied, still seeing the gray of the water in her mind’s eye. It seemed to fit her mood.

  “You don’t look it.”

  Amber shrugged. Maddy was right, she didn’t. And neither did she feel it. “It’s just…” She sighed. “It’s all happened so quickly.”

  “That’s more reason to be excited. How David pulled it off, I don’t know!”

  Amber sucked her lip. Nor did she.

  Gabe looked at her in the rear-view mirror. “Is the gallery owner a friend of his?”

  Amber shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Don’t you know?” he asked.

  “No.” She pulled her gaze from the growing suburbia and looked at Gabe. “Want to know why?” She didn’t pause for a response. “Because I’ve hardly spoken two words to him in the two weeks since I last saw him. And I thought we were getting on so well.” She slumped back in the seat and rubbed her forehead.

  “Over to you,” murmured Gabe to Maddy. Amber couldn’t even be bothered to glare at her brother. What was it with men and emotions? They came across all tough and yet didn’t seem to be able to handle, let alone talk about, their feelings. If they had them. Amber grunted to herself. Especially David. He was the worst of the lot. Kissing her so tenderly and sexily one minute and then disappearing with hardly a word. What on earth could be so pressing that he made sure he didn’t come anywhere near her for two weeks? But she knew the answer. Nothing. Nothing was so pressing. It was obvious that he didn’t want to have a relationship with her. The kisses which she’d thought to be so wondrous obviously were significantly less wondrous for him. The exhibition? Well, she guessed that was either a friendly favor, or a parting thank you gift. Thank you for what, though? That was the question.