Set Me Free

by Jennifer Collin

  ‘What is this wood? Is it rosewood?’ she asked, tracing a line through the dust with her finger as she crossed the hall to the first apartment on the left.

  ‘Spot on,’ replied Craig, following her.

  Charlotte paused at the door. Unbelievably, it was partially furnished and the furniture was well preserved, though grimy, and straight from the 1930s. It was wonderful. She gasped, glanced at Craig and then made her way over to the quaint little kitchen, dropping her sketch book on the circular teak dining table as she went. She stood at the sink and peered out the window above it into the weeds beyond, fingering the brittle lace curtains. Turning to look at Craig, she whispered, ‘This is unbelievable.’

  ‘I thought you’d like it,’ he said.

  ‘I feel like I am on a movie set. Or I’ve gone back in time. How long has it been vacant?’

  ‘About forty years, I think. The whole building was owned by one extended family and each apartment occupied by a different subset of the larger family. This one was the patriarch’s. His wife died in the early forties, not long after their sons started returning from the war. Each one of them settled in one of the other apartments and raised their families there until there was some kind of scandal and one by one the children and their families left. Eventually, the old man died, and the kids never bothered to sort out the estate. Until about five years ago, when Morgan Carmichael purchased it.’

  ‘It must have been some scandal to stay away from this.’

  ‘I don’t know the whole story, but I’d have to agree. Even if your taste was more modern, this piece of real estate is a gold mine.'

  Charlotte floated into the apartment across the hall, taking in the ornate ceilings as she went. There was an old 1950s record player and a stack of old jazz records. She ran her finger across the top. ‘If only we could plug this in.’

  She waltzed herself across the room like an early Disney princess and peered out the French doors to the garden on the other side of the block. A small animal, possibly a rodent or a lizard, scampered into the undergrowth, making her screech in a most un-princess like manner.

  Craig was at her side in an instant, making her body hum. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just something in the garden. Sorry, my reaction was a bit melodramatic.’

  He smiled at her before stepping back and restoring some distance between them. ‘So was mine, I suppose. I was expecting something larger. I am still waiting to find a squatter in here. It surprises me that I haven’t yet. Nor has there been any graffiti.’

  ‘Just not that kind of neighbourhood, hey?'

  Craig eyed her a moment, assessing. ‘That kind of thing happens in every neighbourhood. No, I think it’s something about this building. I think people are afraid of it. You’re the only person I’ve ever known to take an interest in it.’

  Charlotte recalled Emily’s reaction and wondered if there was anything more than good luck that had kept this gem so well preserved.

  ‘What are you going to do with it?'

  ‘I plan to refurbish it, when the time comes. I have a few other projects in progress ahead of this one.' They averted each other’s eyes. ‘And I’m not having any luck finding the right architect. I’ve had a few take a look at it and submit proposals, but none of them have done the building justice. I won’t settle for less.’

  Charlotte studied him. ‘It’s almost like you’re its custodian.’

  He studied her in return. ‘The thought had occurred to me. But I feel like a wanker suggesting it.’

  Charlotte laughed freely. Damn it, he was irresistible.

  ‘What about the furniture, shouldn’t you remove it and store it somewhere else? Auction it off?’

  ‘Yes, I should. But for some reason I keep putting it off. I quite like having my own personal museum across the road. And while it may sound silly, I don’t think the building would be the same without it. I feel like if I took it out, the whole thing might crumble or something. When I take it out, I want it to be because I am replacing it.’

  Recalling Emily’s fears that the building was on the verge of collapse, she asked, ‘Is it safe to be in here?’

  ‘I wouldn’t bring you in here if it wasn’t.'

  The suggestion behind the words, that he wouldn’t let any harm come to her, had her blood heating. She glanced at her watch. How quickly the time passed in his company. How content she felt, surrounded by antiques with a deep dark secret and in the company of a man who took it upon himself to protect it. She watched him as he methodically checked the windows and external doors to make sure they were secure. He must have been going somewhere when he stumbled upon her, but she couldn’t bring herself to let him get on his way.

  ‘Can I go upstairs?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  He followed close behind her, eye-level with her butt, making her self-conscious. She was so distracted, she didn’t feel the step start to give until it was too late and her foot was already through it.

  ‘Holy shit!’ she cried, as she felt the shattering wood pierce and peel off some of her shin. Craig grabbed her immediately and stopped her from going through past her knee. He seized her around the waist and hauled her back against the solid wall of his chest, offering her no sense of stability whatsoever. Holy shit, she thought as the heat of him triggered a series of acrobatic tumbles in the deepest pit of her stomach.

  ‘Oh crap, Charlotte, I’m so sorry,’ he said as he gently lifted her from the waist so her leg slid slowly back through the gaping hole in the step. She could see she was bleeding, but his hands firmly encircling her waist, just above the spot that was turning cartwheels, numbed the pain of the lacerations.

  He eased her onto his lap as he sat down to examine her leg. Flustered, she tried to get up but he pulled her back down forcibly.

  ‘Just let me have a look,’ he commanded.

  She obeyed, but fidgeted uncomfortably until he put his arm around her, clamping his right hand on her hip to steady her. That made her still, on the outside at least. His other hand was under the calf of the injured leg, turning it this way and that. The feel of him beneath her, his chest behind her, his arms around her and his hands gently touching her, brought back memories that taunted and ached. She certainly didn’t feel like a Disney princess now. The churning inside her was not so chaste.

  ‘I need to bandage that,’ Craig stated, all business. Apparently, his mind was on the here and now. He lifted her gently from her hips and slipped his right arm around her. It was strong and solid, and she fought the urge to lean into him.

  ‘I should have thought,’ he was saying as he lugged her towards the front door. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve been in here, and I forgot the stairs were a bit sketchy.'

  He helped her limp outside and released her temporarily to lock the door behind them. She tried to limp off alone to avoid being pulled against him again, but he was too quick, and he scooped her up and half dragged her across the road. Once inside his apartment he finally released her gently, onto an intimidatingly luxurious black leather couch.

  Sitting uncomfortably upright, she looked around, taking in his home. Very post-modern and very masculine. She almost expected a bear skin rug, head, bared teeth and all, to be laid out across the floor. Perhaps that was in the bedroom. It was sleek but not homely, as though the apartment itself was lonely with neglect. It was a stark contrast to the abandoned building across the road, which although uninhabited, exuded warmth. She wondered how much time Craig spent here. She wondered where else he might spend his time.

  Craig disappeared, in search of first aid supplies, and she began breathing again. What the hell was happening to her? This was the guy who was about to destroy everything she'd been working for. How on earth did she end up in his apartment?

  She tried to pull herself together, inhaling deeply and taking stock of the situation. She looked at her shin and was shocked by what she saw. It looked horrific. There was blood everywhere, with little shards of wood sticking out a
ll over the place. And now that Craig wasn’t around to distract her, she realised it really fucking hurt. Her eyes started to water.

  When he returned she brushed away the half-formed tears fruitlessly.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, kneeling before her with a bottle of antiseptic and a bandage. The pain dissipated instantly when he touched her arm, sending her senses spiralling in opposite directions, self-pity and longing at war within.

  Longing was winning.

  ‘It hurts,’ she managed, although for the moment, it didn’t.

  He held her eyes. ‘It’s going to hurt a little more while I clean it up. But once the bandage is on, it will start to feel better. Don’t worry, I know what I am doing. I work around building sites all the time and have taken care of injuries much worse than this.’

  ‘Like?' She needed the distraction. Something gruesome to put out the fire.

  ‘Nail gun accidents. You don’t want me to elaborate.’

  She did, and she wanted him to let go of her arm so she could think straight. She held her leg out for him so he would. He put his hand around the back of her calf to steady her and began slowly picking out bits of wood. Charlotte finally relaxed back into the couch and looked at the ceiling while he worked. She concentrated on taking deep breaths and exhaling them slowly. Craig would assume she was working through the pain.

  Like the building across the road, the ceiling above her was original and ornate, but of a different era. It was nice, but she preferred the Art Deco cornices. She turned her head to gaze out the sliding glass door and beyond the little balcony. His plants were healthier than hers at least. Perhaps his cleaner watered them. In the distance, she could see a plane descending towards the airport.

  He was so gentle she could hardly feel what he was doing, only the touch of his steadying hand. Working away methodically, he constantly murmured reassurance, and let her know when one splinter was going to hurt more than the others. Thankfully, he remained focused on the task. She couldn’t have borne to catch his eye while he was tending to her so gently.

  He finally swabbed the wound clean, which hurt just as he’d warned. She winced.

  He looked up and caught her eye before he began bandaging. ‘Last bit,’ he said. And then he was wrapping her calf, slowly winding the bandage around and around. He clipped it into place and stopped still with his hand on her leg.

  Their eyes locked again and his hand found its way to the inside of her knee, his fingers tentatively beginning the long, slow journey upward. Charlotte’s lips parted, and she exhaled as her skin tingled beneath his fingertips. Up until now his touch had been incidental. This time it was intentional. A jolt of electricity shot through her core. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

  But Craig froze. He looked down at his hand as though he didn’t know how it got there and then he lifted his gaze slowly back to hers. She bit her lip and leaned forward compulsively. She looked into his eyes and tried to read his mind. They were as clouded as her thoughts and gave nothing away. Was that desire? Was it? Oh kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, she willed him, leaning closer still.

  And then he did. He pounced on her like a leopard, growled ‘Oh God,’ and pushed her back into the couch. His lips were hard and commanding and a relief. His hands cupped her face and his hips nudged their way in between her knees, which she parted willingly. It was a ferocious kiss, an explosive release of the sexual tension that had been building between them as they skirted around each other over the past hour. Did it really only take them that long to get to this?

  Charlotte slid her arms around Craig’s broad shoulders and held on for dear life. She breathed him in and traced her tongue along his bottom lip. He slid his tongue into her mouth, exploring and then sighing with pleasure as she received him. He moved his hands from her face and slipped an arm behind her to bring her closer. His other hand was lost in her hair, making sure their lips stayed locked as he pulled her against him.

  Charlotte was adrift. She could feel his heart beating, racing as fast as hers. Her breasts were aching to be claimed by his hands, his mouth. His erection pressed against her abdomen, straining and craving her. Tightening her hold on him, she abandoned herself, gleefully, to the inevitable. He commenced a trail of kisses down, down, down her exposed neck.

  But then suddenly a sharp pain, as Craig accidentally bumped her bandaged leg, snapped her out of the fog of desire. In a miraculous moment of clarity, she came to her senses. Her need to make love to him was desperate beyond measure, but nothing good would come of it. Just more awkwardness and confusion, hurt and betrayal.

  The ache she felt for him was stronger than anything she’d ever felt before. But how could she possibly mess around with the man who was taking a wrecking ball to her life? How could she possibly mess around with this man and not lose herself to him in the process?

  How would she ever fight his magnetic pull if she let herself drown in him once again? One taste was proving difficult to recover from; imagine how hard it would be if she indulged a second time. Regardless of this overwhelming need, ultimately they would end up either hurting or hating each other. Or both. Charlotte broke off the kiss, pulled back and pushed Craig away.

  ‘Stop,’ she mumbled weakly.

  He did, although not quietly, and pushed himself back on his haunches, shaking his head.

  ‘This isn’t right,’ Charlotte added quietly. ‘You and I cannot go there again, Craig.' Despite how much I want to.

  He looked at her, the fire still burning in his eyes. ‘You’re right,’ he said and stood up. He ran his hand through his hair. He walked over to the windows and looked out at the view with his back to her. ‘But if you really mean it, I think you need to go because I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you for much longer.’

  Obligingly, Charlotte stiffly pushed herself up off the couch. Her lips were still warm from his kisses. Her body still ached from his touch. She wanted to walk over to him and slip her arms around him, to press against him and lure him back into her embrace. Using every ounce of her self-control, she turned to his front door.

  ‘Thanks for showing me the building,’ she murmured politely, because she truly was grateful for that. ‘And thanks for patching me up.'

  ‘Charlotte…,’ he turned, and paused, looking at her intently, but thinking twice about what he was going to say. She waited, her breath held. He raked his hand through his hair again. ‘It was my pleasure,’ he sighed, and turned back to the view.

  She limped her way to the nearest bus stop, flustered, embarrassed, confused and sad. It wasn’t until she was seated on a bus heading for the city that she could breathe properly again. Until she remembered where she’d left her sketchbook.

  Chapter ten

  With the last of half a dozen boxes of her personal belongings tucked under her arm, Emily nudged the back door of the Monster shut with her hip. She felt enormously satisfied; she was taking back control of her life.

  One day at a time. That’s what everyone kept telling her. Today was a good day. Today, she’d leapt forward.

  With her own clothes and the important stuff back in her possession, she felt like the anchor had been reattached and thrown overboard. All she needed now was for it to catch on something.

  She didn’t need to be afraid. Her mother and her sister did just fine on their own. True, neither of them was a shining example of a successful single: one was celibate and the other hopeless with men, but they were happy. Content. They had homes and jobs and friends. Emily could have that too.

  Looking up, she spotted Charlotte coming up the street, trying to hide a slight limp.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Emily asked, as soon as her sister was in hearing range.

  Charlotte averted her eye. ‘Do you remember that Art Deco building we drove past last week?’ she answered.

  ‘The one that was about to collapse?’

  ‘Yeah.' Charlotte took a deep breath before she elaborated. ‘I went to see it.’

  ‘You went to see a b
uilding?' Hmm, Emily thought. Definitely not a shining example of a successful single. But that was Charlotte. She had a thing for buildings. ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought I might sketch it.’

  ‘Really?' Curious. It had been years since she’d known Charlotte to sketch, let alone traipse half-way across town to do so. ‘When did you decide to do that?’

  ‘I had a dream last night,’ Charlotte told her. ‘I was looking for something in my apartment. I don’t remember what it was, but I found this door I’d never seen before. I opened it up, and it led to one of the apartments in that building. In my dream, it was an extension of my place and the rooms within were mine. They had always been there, but I wasn’t using them. I was walking through them, wondering what I could do with them. The dream was haunting me all morning, so after you and Mum left, I decided to nip over to Hamilton and have another look at the building.’

  ‘Did you get anything good down?’ Emily asked, looking for Charlotte’s sketchbook.

  ‘Um… yeah. But I lost my book,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘How on earth could you lose your book? Did you leave it on the bus? And what happened to your leg?’

  Charlotte sighed and leaned against the Morris. ‘It’s a long story.' She looked at the box resting against Emily’s hip. ‘Did you get everything you need?'

  ‘Yeah. Most of the important stuff. There’s still some crockery and bits and pieces over there, but that can wait.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘Not a glimpse. I texted him just before we arrived so he didn’t have the time to work up the courage to deal with Mum. As expected, he cleared out, and we had our run of the house. We got in and out as quickly as we could though, in case he decided to return.’

  ‘Wise move. He would have found his nerve eventually and come back.’

  Emily was considering setting her box down on the footpath when Diane hailed them from the top of the stairs. ‘There you are, Charlotte. What on earth have you done to your leg?’