Set Me Free

by Jennifer Collin

  ‘I see it,’ he said, grinning at her.

  ‘Can I tell you why I love it?’ she asked. He nodded, genuinely interested, and she went on. ‘I think the bike belongs to a woman who lives there,’ she pointed to a doorway. ‘She washes clothes to make money to pay the rent and eat and send her kids to school. It could be a really unhappy life for her, but she won’t let it be because she has that bicycle. Every day she rides it to the hills just outside of town and she sits and watches the clouds and breathes the fresh air. There might be a horse she pats or a dog she plays with. And before she comes home she collects some flowers and ties them to the basket on her bike. When she gets home, she leaves them there because they remind her that she is free. That she is free to choose whether she is happy or sad. And although her world could be depressing and mundane, she escapes it every day to indulge in the joy of being alive.’

  When she finished the story she flushed a little, as though she'd said more than she meant to.

  ‘Would you like to get a drink?’ The words were out of his mouth before the thought had entered his mind.

  Charlotte met his eyes. Her shoulders dropped, and her head tipped to one side. ‘Why yes, I would,’ she breathed.

  Craig accepted his change from the bartender and returned to the spot Charlotte had selected by the window overlooking Boundary Street. The bar was one of the more recent establishments to open in the area, so the smell of stale beer was absent, and the furniture still relatively undamaged. They were reclining in adjacent black vinyl couches, a dark glass coffee table between them.

  This was not going well. He shouldn’t be drinking with this woman, not when she was already making him light-headed. He had to get back to business and get this over with quickly. He handed her a Pimm’s and lemonade and took a swig of his beer.

  She thanked him and appeared to be lost for words, giving him the opportunity he needed.

  ‘So how long have you been in the gallery?’ he asked. And immediately kicked himself mentally. He didn’t need to know the personal stuff.

  ‘About five years. I moved up here from Melbourne to open it. Well, if truth be told, I followed Emily up here and opened it for her. She was having real trouble breaking into the local scene. It can be quite closed, you know. Maybe it’s the small town mentality. But having her own personal exhibition space worked. As soon as she was able to exhibit regularly, she was suddenly someone to watch. She still hasn’t quite cracked the glass ceiling of the art world yet, but it should only be a matter of time.’

  Instead of coming clean, he asked her what she thought of Brisbane, she asked him if he’d been to Melbourne and somehow they managed to fill an hour with small talk before she opened another door for him.

  ‘So what keeps you busy, Craig Carmichael?’ she asked.

  His instant reaction was panic. Having been lulled into a state of contentment, he wasn’t ready to fess up now. ‘Let me get you another drink, and I’ll tell you my story,’ he deflected.

  Waiting at the bar for the drinks, he considered his situation and snuck a peek at her. She was checking her phone and stifling a yawn. A tendril of auburn hair fell across her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear. In his pocket, his own phone came to life. He checked it and switched it off. Cassie could wait.

  He figured he had two options, neither of which was going to get him what he honestly wanted: to get to know this woman some more. Charlotte Evans was sublime, interesting, funny and easy to talk to, which made her something of a freak of nature in his estimation. Who wouldn’t be fascinated by something so rare?

  But eventually, she was destined to loathe him. He was about to destroy everything she'd been working for, and potentially leave her unemployed to boot.

  Option one was to come clean, tell her who he was, why he'd come to see her and watch her face fall, her back stiffen and listen to all manner of hatred spew forth from her scintillating mouth. Option two was to keep quiet about his profession and his business associations and lie, be generally dastardly and for the first time in a long time, enjoy the company of a captivating woman, even if it was for just an hour or two more.

  Of course, there was no way to get around the inevitable. Option two had to include another visit to the Evans Gallery in the morning, and he could get back to business then.

  Reluctant to make the decision he knew was the right one, he made his way back to the couches, drinks in hand. Charlotte looked up and smiled as he approached. Option two it was then, and he slid on to the couch beside her. Let the lies begin, because ultimately he had nothing to lose, but a few hours of pleasure to gain.

  ‘So tell me something about you, Craig,’ Charlotte reminded him.

  ‘I get vertigo at heights, and I’ve never been to South America.’

  ‘Funny,’ she said sarcastically. But the distraction worked. ‘Where have you been then?’ she asked, taking a sip of her Pimm’s.

  They swapped travel stories for another hour and moved on to their favourite local haunts. Things got a bit close for comfort when she revealed she enjoyed Sunday brunch and a stroll through the market stalls at the wharf redevelopment he’d delivered twelve months ago. Thankfully, her attention shifted to his empty beer at just the right time and she insisted on buying him another.

  Climbing over him and sashaying off, she ignored his refusal. Watching her, he pondered how those luscious hips would feel between his hands.

  ‘And there’s that amazing restored Art Deco cinema out there!’ she exclaimed, easing back onto the couch beside him. Craig asked her what kind of movies she liked; which eventually led to a serious discussion about the Australian film industry.

  ‘It just seems like some years there are no good ideas, so a number of mediocre movies get made in order to justify an annual awards ceremony. Surely it would be better to just admit ‘hey - we’ve got nothing this year’, than denigrate the whole industry by producing work that just doesn’t come up to standard.'

  Craig continued to push the argument that there should be a standard of excellence by which films should be judged, even at the concept stage.

  ‘But you couldn’t even set that standard unless there were poor films to compare the excellent ones to. Without mediocrity, there can be no excellence,’ Charlotte countered.

  ‘Come on! You’re telling me that you can’t tell a piece of art is bad unless you’ve got a good piece to compare it with?’

  ‘Well, it’s not as simplistic as that but yes.’

  Craig shook his head at her, trying to look frustrated but enjoying every minute. He was in even deeper trouble now, and rueful that the evening had to end.

  ‘I’m not going to win this argument, am I?’ he asked.

  ‘No. But I will concede that you have a point. Mediocrity does seem a waste of time and money.' Then she hastily added, ‘I need to visit the little girl’s room.'

  Charlotte stood quickly and swayed slightly. When she stumbled, he reached up to steady her with a hand on the small of her back. The rippling softness of her through the fabric of her shirt had him entertaining the idea of lifting it up to touch her bare skin. Fortunately, he was able to resist.

  Regaining her balance, Charlotte strode across the bar, the swing of her hips a little more pronounced now. She looked drunk, but they’d only had three drinks each, and she was drinking Pimm’s at that.

  ‘I think I should go home,’ she announced when she returned, still swaying a little. She bent down to pick up her handbag off the couch next to him and inadvertently flashed him a glimpse of her bosom. Craig swallowed, wondering how that lace would feel between his fingers as he pulled it off her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, returning his gaze to her face. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem a bit wobbly.’

  Charlotte smiled self-consciously and wobbled a bit more as she answered. ‘I’m pretty tired. It’s been a long day, and I guess the drinks have gone to my head. I’ll be okay when I get home.’

  ‘I think I should make
sure you get there safely. Where do you live?’ he asked.

  ‘At the other end of Boundary Street. It’s not far. I’ll be okay.' Charlotte glanced towards the door and bit her lip.

  Craig stood and guided her out of the bar with his hand on her back. It could have been chivalry, but really, he just wanted to touch her. ‘No you won’t. I’ll walk you home.’

  Charlotte smiled sheepishly and complied. ‘Okay. It’s this way then.’

  They passed a pizza bar along the way, and Craig insisted they stop to put some food in their stomachs. Illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lighting and devouring a giant slice of pizza, she was still gorgeous. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. While she unashamedly went back for a second slice, mumbling something about being famished, he could barely even swallow his own. Something akin to shame was lurking in the depths of his conscience.

  And as they walked, his determination to be dastardly slowly wore off. The right thing to do was explain who he was and why he’d come to see her. Delaying the inevitable wasn’t going to do either of them any favours. Perhaps he’d charmed her so thoroughly that she wouldn’t care. Not likely.

  The steady click of her heels on the pavement was like a ticking time bomb and each time she bumped into him a small charge exploded. By the time he followed her up the stairs to her door, he was thoroughly tortured and resigned to the fact the evening would have an unhappy ending. Stupid bloody principles.

  ‘Charlotte, can I come in?’ he asked. ‘I need to talk to you about something important.'

  She smiled that coy smile and raised a curious eyebrow, again seeming drunker than she should be. ‘Okay. Should I make coffee?’ she asked as she pushed open her door.

  ‘Sure. Can I help?’

  He followed her into her small apartment. It was modest but tasteful. She obviously had a fetish for vintage, but the balance with contemporary was tactful. The art on the walls was clearly Emily’s, although it was less sophisticated than what he’d seen today. Early work, he assumed.

  He filled her kettle for her while she searched the cupboards.

  ‘Um, no need to put that on,’ she advised, turning towards him in the confined space. ‘I don’t appear to have any coffee. Or tea for that matter.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he said and reached for her hand, ignoring the small voice shrieking don’t touch her! ‘I think we should sit down.’

  He meant to pull her gently towards the magnificent Art Deco dining table but underestimated his strength and her precariousness. She crashed bodily into him and instantly overwhelmed his every sense. She was soft and slight and almost feline. Her hair smelled like the jasmine growing on Nana Gwen’s front fence that heralded the oncoming spring. He breathed her in. Heaven help him.

  With a will of its own, his hand drew hers up and placed it against his chest. He took her perfectly pink face in his hands and cooled her warm cheeks. She allowed herself to be led, gazing quietly at him with her grey eyes. He watched her lips part as he lowered his own. When they connected, he was lost, completely consumed by his sudden need for her.

  Her hand snaked its way up into his hair and pulled him closer as, with a small moan, she surrendered her mouth and her body. He moved his hands down and around her, pulling her closer and moving them across her back and down to her hips, seizing what he’d been craving all night.

  She made enough room between them to slip off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He tugged at his tie while she unbuttoned his shirt, her lips never leaving his. He wrenched the tie off and shrugged himself out of his shirt, then pulled her close to his bare chest. Pressed firmly against him she still seemed too far away. Thwarted, he broke away to hiss, ‘Where’s your bedroom?’ and followed her there, nipping at her clicking heels.

  He virtually tackled her on to the bed, and she laughed playfully. Easing himself above her, he placed a knee between her thighs. She wriggled herself further on to the bed, reaching out to pull him with her. He ran a hand down her neck, across her breast and down to her waist, watching it as it travelled over her.

  ‘You’re incredible,’ he whispered.

  She stilled. He returned his gaze to meet hers. ‘Are you okay with this?'

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed and pulled him to her lips once more. He pressed his full weight against her and kissed her back. She wrapped herself around him but still he couldn’t get close enough. He lifted her shirt and slid his hand up, up, up until he found the softness of her breast, still covered by the delicate lace he’d glimpsed earlier. She gasped and threw her head back, opening her neck to his lips. He kissed a path down, down, down while he reached behind her arched back and expertly unclasped her bra. He pulled it aside and claimed her with his mouth.

  She moaned softly and let him devour her before starting to wriggle out of her clothes. He moved to do the same with the remainder of his and then stopped.

  ‘What? What is it?’ she exclaimed, almost panicked.

  ‘Condoms?’ he asked, stricken.

  ‘Yes,’ she laughed and rolled across the bed to reach in to her bedside table.

  He virtually leapt out of his trousers and finished removing her skirt for her while she dug around in the drawer.

  ‘Ta-da!’ she triumphed.

  And then she was back in his arms, pressing herself against him, crushing those hips against his. She filled his senses, and he was razed by the taste of her, the feel of her, the sound, smell and sight of her until finally, finally, he had her as close to him as he needed.

  He lifted himself slightly so he could watch her underneath him. Her eyes were closed and her head thrown back. Her lips were swollen and slightly parted, and small delirious sighs escaped her. They intensified into gasps as he moved against her until she eventually groaned, loud and astonished.

  After a moment, her eyes opened slowly and she pulled him to her before rolling them and pinning him underneath her. She moved her knees up to either side of his waist and placed her hands on his chest, pushing herself back until she hovered above him. Guiding his hands up from her hips to her breasts, she watched him beneath her. She rocked him, steadily and rhythmically until, like she had before him, when he peaked, it was loud and overwhelming. He continued to shudder as she collapsed against him, pressing her soft breasts against his chest.

  He put his arms around her and held her there. She nibbled on his earlobe, making him chuckle.

  ‘You’re incredible,’ he repeated.

  ‘You’re just saying that because you came,’ she teased, climbing off and stretching out bedside him.

  ‘No, I said that before I came. I was just repeating it for emphasis.’

  Craig rolled onto his side to face her. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. She closed them as he ran his finger down the side of her face.

  ‘Can I use your bathroom?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure. It’s just there,’ she said, eyes still closed; hand waving loosely.

  In the bathroom, Craig cleaned up and sobered up. Shit! Shit! Shit! That was not supposed to happen. He’d completely lost control the moment she stumbled into him. All rational thought had utterly cleared out of his head leaving only her and her smoky eyes and hypnotising hips. Holy crap, how did he tell her now? ‘Hey, you know how we shagged each other senseless just now, did I mention I’m the developer who’s about to demolish your gallery?'

  Back in the bedroom he found Charlotte passed out and purring like a kitten. He should wake her up and talk to her, or leave a note and call her in the morning. But as he was trying to decide which, he gazed at her for longer than he should have. And then, because she was warm and soft and her hair smelled like Nana Gwen’s front garden, he climbed in next to her and pulled her into his arms.

  Chapter three

  Charlotte stretched lazily and contentedly. Disorientated from travelling halfway around the world, she wondered where she was. Remembering she was home, a gratified grin spread across her face. No wonder she'd slept so well.

  She
rolled over, and something sharp dug into her naked hip. She reached down to retrieve it.

  ‘Shit!’ she exclaimed, bolting upright and glaring at the empty condom wrapper. Her memory of the previous night gradually returned, and despite the initial shock, she quickly became aware of the sated feeling between her legs. Was he still here? There were no sounds of movement coming from the bathroom, kitchen or living room. She wrapped her sheet around herself and tiptoed out of the bedroom just to make sure. Confirming she was indeed alone, she returned to bed feeling a mixture of relief, shame and disappointment.

  She was relieved Craig was gone because she would have died of embarrassment if she had to face him. Oh my God. She never, ever did one night stands. Well, there was that one time in that backpacker’s hostel in Hanoi, but it had been so dreadfully awkward and humiliating that she swore herself off that kind of misadventure for life. It had seemed like a good idea when she was drunk, but waking up next to a smelly stranger and discovering he was not the demigod she'd thought him to be had been mortifying.

  Last night, while she'd felt drunk, she was really just jetlagged. Her common sense may have been off kilter, but her hotness radar was certainly not. Craig Carmichael would have been as delicious this morning as he'd been last night. And she was disappointed that he was not here for her to wallow in that.

  She couldn’t remember him leaving. Now she was wide awake, she could certainly remember him coming. She could very clearly remember coming herself.

  It had been a surreal night. Craig had her swooning from the moment he tinkled his way into the gallery. Tall, solid and so sure of himself, his presence filled the room. His clothes hung from his broad shoulders like a work of art, and without clothes, he was a sculptural masterpiece. He also seemed to be magnetic. She was pulled towards him whenever he got close; which was probably how they ended up in bed together.