The Opposite of Drowning

by Erin McRae

  He ran a finger along her slit, nearly coming apart as she whimpered. He cupped her then, velvet, damp, and rough, a knuckle pressed up against her clit. She rocked into his hand.

  Harry pulled back far enough to unfasten his trousers, but stopped abruptly with his hands on his own belt.

  “What?” Eliza asked, twisting to look at him over her shoulder.

  “I don’t have anything.”

  Eliza blinked at him questioningly.

  “Condoms,” he clarified.

  “Oh. Why didn’t you say?”

  Harry rolled his eyes then kissed the skin of Eliza’s shoulder in apology. “I most certainly did say.”

  Eliza brushed her hair back from her face. “Whatever. I have an IUD.”

  “How modern. And solves only half our problems.”

  “Do you have anything I should be truly worried about?”

  Harry shook his head. “No. I’m careful usually. I’m just trying to be responsible.” And it’s so difficult, with you right here in my arms.

  “I’ll risk it if you’ll risk it,” she offered. As if all they were up to was far more mundane mischief back at the office.

  Harry cleared his throat delicately. “Just so long as you’re aware.... I’m a bit of a slut sometimes. Though I haven’t, in a while.”

  Eliza laughed harder than Harry found flattering under the circumstances.

  “What? It’s true!”

  “I’m sure it is,” She said. “I’m also sure I don’t care. I trust you. I trust us. And I certainly trust modern medicine. Now can we please stop with all the talking?”

  Harry didn’t need to be told twice.

  He took a breath to steady himself and then undid his trousers. He shoved them down and kicked them away, and then with his shirt and even his damn jacket still on, pressed one hand below Eliza’s navel to maneuver her the way he needed her. With his other hand he steadied her legs as she spread them for him.

  His first thrust into Eliza was like coming home. She whimpered in pleasure and fumbled for his hand, still pressed against her stomach. Harry let her have it, and groaned when she brought it to her mouth and sucked two of his fingers in. Then she pressed his hand down to her entrance again, against her clit and where they were joined together so intimately.

  Neither of them were going to last long, Harry felt sure. And indeed, it was only a matter of moments. Eliza’s breathing hitched and became unsteady. Her body clenched and spasmed around him. Harry’s own orgasm left him gasping for breath.

  Both of them were still trembling when Harry turned her back around to face him. They needed to get cleaned up, and he could not wait to sleep with Eliza’s head finally on the pillow next to his. But first, he drew her forward, and pressed the gentlest of kisses against her mouth.

  Chapter 12

  The Bells and the Flood

  Eliza

  THAT NIGHT IN HARRY’S arms Eliza dreamt of a shimmering blue ocean and a golden beach. The air was Mediterranean-warm, nothing like the cold Atlantic she’d lived so near for her entire life, and she was utterly alone. There was only water and sand and the evening sun painting the cliffs above her amber and ochre and seeming to set the water afire.

  She walked at the tideline, shoes in one hand, the sand cool and soft beneath her feet. She didn’t know how long she’d been walking when she realized there was another pair of footprints before her own.

  Rather than dismay, to find herself not alone in all this calm and beautiful expanse, Eliza felt a relief such that she’d never known. She followed the footprints as they led away from the water and across the soft, dry sand.

  There was a figure seated on the beach, an elbow resting on his knee and his eyes nearly closed against the low-hanging sun. When he saw her coming, he raised his hand to shield his face against the light.

  “Well,” Harry said. His collar was unbuttoned, his trousers were rolled above his ankles to keep the sand and water off, and his hair was wild in the sea wind. His smile was the most beautiful thing Eliza had ever seen. “It took you long enough.”

  ELIZA JOLTED AWAKE in a bed that was not hers to find the room dark, the sheets tangled around her legs, and Harry’s arm draped warm and heavy across her side. For a moment she wasn’t sure what had woken her, but then she heard it: Heavily tolling bells, distant but clear, in the otherwise quiet Paris night.

  She grumbled at the intrusion and tried to pull a pillow over her head, but managed to hit Harry in the face with it instead.

  “Mmm. What is it?” he asked sleepily, and for a moment Eliza could only hold her breath and stare at him, her whole being alight with the awareness of his body and his proximity.

  The bells tolled again.

  “Stupid Paris and its stupid churches,” Eliza mumbled.

  “What?”

  “The bells, they’ve been going all night.”

  Harry frowned. “They don’t ring the quarters in Paris. In Rennes yes, but not here.”

  Eliza considered remarking on his penchant for trivia, which, at the moment, made no sense to her. They weren’t in Rennes – Brittany’s capital – but in Paris, and it hadn’t been the quarters; it had been constant. Why it was stopped now, she didn’t know. But she was tired, and he was close and warm.

  THE NEXT TIME ELIZA woke it was to the electronic chirp of her cell phone alarm, muffled somewhat in the pocket of her coat, still on the floor where it had fallen last night.

  Muttering apologies to Harry, she stumbled naked out of bed to find it and turn it off. Once she did, she realized he wasn’t there and that the shower was running. She considered leaving him to it, giving them both a few moments alone for whatever processing they needed to do after last night, but swiftly discarded the idea. She wanted to be where he was.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Eliza knocked on the bathroom door, then slipped inside.

  Harry, who had been standing with his head tipped back under the pathetic European excuse for water pressure, looked at her in surprise. “No, not at all.” Always the gentleman, he stepped aside so she could get in.

  It was as comfortable to share the shower and then the bathroom counter with Harry as it had been to share books and office space with him. Wrapped in a towel that was far too short, she borrowed Harry’s comb and untangled the knots in her damp hair while he shaved. Over and over again they caught each other’s eyes in the mirror. Each time it happened, one of them smiled before they exchanged pleased slightly self-conscious looks of shared delight.

  “I have to go back to my room for clothes,” Eliza said eventually, once she had pulled her blouse and skirt from last night back on. She didn’t bother with her stockings.

  “Or we could stay here all day,” Harry suggested.

  Their eyes met again. He was serious. For a moment, Eliza wavered. She wanted nothing more than to stay.

  But Harry – and his offer, she was sure – would still be here tonight. In the meantime, she had a job to do. And so did he. Meetings and presentations and networking that couldn’t be put on hold. She shook her head.

  “I’ll see you in a few,” she said, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth before she left the room.

  ELIZA CHANGED HER CLOTHES quickly. She barely had time to dry her hair and kept glancing at her phone while she did her makeup. She smudged her mascara for her trouble and was running three minutes late when she finally pulled the door of her hotel room closed behind her and made a dash for the elevator.

  She willed it to move faster, painfully aware of how late she already was. Despite Jonathan and Malik’s shameless flirting, she had no intention of letting them – or anyone else – know what was going on with her and Harry. With that in mind, the only thing she could do was operate with efficiency and perfection as she always had. And not look at Harry. As long as she didn’t have to look at him, she would be fine.

  That, of course, was impossible to achieve. As soon as the elevator doors opened and she stepped into the lobby she saw him
. He was standing by a window, a paper coffee cup in his hand and his head bent to talk to Jonathan. The morning sun, pouring through the windows, highlighted the lovely line of his back. Malik stood beside them, scrolling through something on his phone.

  Eliza was well-practiced at putting on a game face and getting through social situations by dint of manners and willpower. But when it came to this she was at a loss. They’d never had to exist together in public, and Eliza was belatedly realizing she had no idea how.

  She drew herself up, took a deep breath, and crossed the lobby to where her lover and her coworkers stood.

  Harry turned round before he could have possibly heard her approach. “Good morning,” he said with a smile no more and no less friendly than ever.

  Thank goodness one of us knows how to do this. “Good morning, Harry.”

  If either Jonathan or Malik suspected them, they gave no sign.

  AFTER THE BRIEF WALK to the convention center she didn’t see Harry for hours, which was probably for the best. There were panels and workshops to attend, notes to take, and hands to shake.

  But there were still moments, sitting in the back of a panel audience with a notebook on her lap and her attention drifting, when she couldn’t help but think of him. Harry’s hands on her hips, digging into her skin to hold her close, his lips on her neck and his voice in her ear. She flushed, and her hands clenched involuntarily with the memory of pleasure. Harry had been perfect. And she had been perfect with him.

  The panel on innovation and social media that afternoon, on which Eliza was a speaker, started late. When she finally did take her seat at the table she was discomfited to see Harry in the audience. What was he doing here?

  Her discomfiture only increased as the session went on. Harry never took his eyes off of her. Had he come to his senses after last night so quickly? Had he decided to come watch, and judge, and find fault with her? It was the kind of thing Cody would have done, offering condescending criticism in the guise of helping her improve her performance. Harry wasn’t Cody, but if things between them had changed last night, maybe they’d changed for the worst.

  After the panel was over she lingered in the room to chat with a few attendees who had more questions. Eventually she realized Harry was still there. Out of the range of conversation, but definitely standing close enough to be hovering.

  “Do you need something?” Eliza asked, once the rest of the gaggle had dispersed. She tried to keep the question even but wasn’t sure she succeeded. Harry looked concerned, perhaps confused, and shook his head. Infuriating man.

  “I have a meeting in –” Eliza glanced at her watch. “Eight minutes. Walk with me?”

  “With pleasure,” Harry said.

  Eliza looked at him in surprise, but he seemed to mean it. He certainly fell into step beside her eagerly enough. “So all of a sudden you’re interested in social media?”

  Harry nodded.

  “Really? Because you’ve never cared much for the topic before,” Eliza said as they moved down the hallway together.

  “Did you not want me there?” Harry asked, so mildly that Eliza was reminded that her first reaction ever to meeting him had been extreme annoyance. Perhaps she had been trying to protect herself from whatever this man unavoidably was to her.

  “I’d like to be at a professional conference without feeling like a coworker is looking over my shoulder and checking up on me everywhere I go,” Eliza said.

  “Wait.” Harry’s eyes widened with something like realization. He touched her elbow lightly, barely a graze, but Eliza was helpless against his gentleness. He drew her into a little alcove by a massive potted fern. “Is that what you think I was doing?”

  “You showed up at my panel! After we – well.” Eliza felt herself flush, which did not speak well for her struggle for composure.

  “And you thought I went to find grounds to criticize?” Harry looked hurt. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  “Other men would,” Eliza said.

  Harry’s hand slid from her elbow down her arm until his fingertips rested gently, almost innocuously, against her wrist. She realized she’d taken an unconscious step closer to him.

  “I’m not Cody,” Harry said gently. Earnestly. “I like to listen to you talk. Whether it’s me you’re talking to or the whole room. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, and you’re within your rights to object, because as you say, professional, but my interest was personal.”

  “Oh.” She felt foolish. And mute. And neither were helping with Harry. Who just liked to hear her talk.

  “Oh,” he said, mocking ever so slightly. He brushed the back of her hand with his thumb. Then he said, “Tonight?” so softly that Eliza could barely hear him and lifted his eyes from their hands, to hers.

  She realized with a jolt that he was nervous. Afraid that she’d say no. She nodded, not sure she was able to speak.

  WHEN ELIZA CHECKED her phone after she got out of her meeting, she had a text from Harry.

  Give me a ring when you’re done?

  “What’s going on?” she asked when he picked up her call, torn between nervousness and excitement.

  “Well.” Harry sounded pleased. “Jonathan and Malik caught me on the way out of a panel and asked me to convey their regrets that they will not be at dinner.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. Some unspecified conflict between having any discretion at all and a king-size bed apparently.”

  Eliza laughed. “Did Jonathan tell you that or did you deduce that?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Harry said. “And not, actually, why I called.”

  There was something in his voice – that nervousness again – that made her ask, “So it’s just us?”

  “It would appear so,” Harry said. “If you’re up for it?”

  “Harry, are you asking me on a date?” She couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice.

  “Do you want me to ask you on a date?”

  “Yes,” Eliza said firmly. “Do you want to ask me on a date?”

  Harry cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Good. Then that’s settled.”

  “Excellent.”

  AFTER ANOTHER CONFERENCE session, a long shower, and a nap – Eliza wasn’t sure, but she did hope, that she was going to be up late tonight – she regarded her mess of a suitcase. She was going to have to do some ironing.

  She picked up her phone. Where are we going? she texted Harry.

  I’ve not decided yet, came his reply.

  Well, what should I wear?

  I leave that entirely up to you.

  Eliza groaned to herself as she tossed her phone onto her bed. That was no help at all. And his tone was impossible to read via text. But she couldn’t help but hear his words in the warm, slow tone she’d only ever heard him use for her.

  Eliza washed, dried, and curled her hair into its heavy waves, wriggled into a cocktail dress she’d brought in case of fancy dinner meetings, did her makeup, and fished her pearl earrings out of her jewelry case. As she blotted her lipstick, she caught sight of her bare left hand in the mirror.

  Being free of Cody meant she was free of the need, emotional or social, to belong to someone else. Eliza didn’t know how to belong to anyone, and Harry didn’t know how to own anyone. She had no idea how that worked in the world beyond a business junket to Paris and for now, she couldn’t let herself wonder. It was too much, too hard, too strange and far too uncertain.

  Harry was waiting for her in the lobby when she came downstairs, lounging in one of the chairs beside the ridiculous gas fireplace. He stood up as soon as he saw her and, when she reached him, leaned in and kissed her cheek. The hair stood up on her arms.

  “You look lovely,” Harry murmured.

  “So do you.” Harry did look handsome. He wore a grey suit with just a bit of sheen to it and a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Eliza had seen him without a tie like that, rumpled on a weekend or at the
end of a long day, but never sharply put together as he was now.

  She took his arm as soon as they stepped outside of the hotel and made their way to the Marais. The bells of Notre Dame were ringing in the distance, the sound different somehow than the one that had awoken Eliza in the night. Despite all the reasons they had to be newly nervous with each other, she felt as if they had been doing this forever, as if they’d been lovers even when all she had ever done was curl up innocently in the armchair in Harry’s office.

  The restaurant was along a little alley in an old stone building with an angel carved into the lintel over the door.

  “You’re taking me to a restaurant named after an alchemist?” Eliza asked, only faintly incredulous.

  “He only got that reputation after he died,” Harry intoned. “He was actually a bookseller. And this is the longest continually operating restaurant in Paris. I very nearly had to commit alchemy to get the reservation.”

  “How did you?” She was curious now.

  “I bribed someone.”

  As they were led to their table, Eliza had no idea if he was telling the truth

  ***.

  Eating proved to be difficult – even with scallops and wine-braised lamb and the most perfect herbed potatoes Eliza had ever had – when they couldn’t stop touching each other. Harry seemed to have a compulsive need to play with her fingers, and the room, already dark and hushed compared to restaurants in New York, seemed to fall away from them. They talked about the things they always did – books and coworkers and places they’d been – but without worrying about whether they should be quite so easy with each other.

  They talked of the times they’d spent in Paris before this, Eliza for holidays with her parents and Harry for work and an apparently dubious European backpacking trip when he’d been in his early twenties.