by Lyn Denison
“She did?” Crys frowned. “I didn’t hear the phone.”
“I was standing right beside it, so I probably picked it up before the buzzer rang in the shed.” Mel took down another cup and poured a cup of coffee for Crys. “Margie said she’s having a get-together tomorrow afternoon at her place. Some women are coming down from the Gold Coast for a car rally. They belong to a women’s club. Feathers, I think she called it?”
Crys nodded.
“Anyway,” Mel continued. “After the car rally they’re going to end up at Margie’s place for a swim and a barbecue. And Margie asked us to go.”
“That was nice of her,” Crys commented carefully.
“She said to be there about three-thirty or four.” Mel took a sip of coffee. “Do you want to go?”
Crys paused. “I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, and you’re working hard on your illustrations.”
“Actually, I’m doing quite well with them. I’m on the last one, and I’ll be finished ahead of schedule so there’s no worries there.” Mel hesitated. “It might be fun.”
“You want to go?”
Mel shrugged. “I enjoyed meeting your friends on Tuesday night, and Margie said they’d all be there.”
“Well.” Crys wavered. “If we’re tired I guess we don’t have to stay late.”
The next afternoon Mel drove them over to Margie Donovan’s small property at Tyalgum.
Margie’s house was an attractive brick bungalow with wide wooden verandas. A landscaped courtyard led to a medium-sized pool.
When Crys and Mel arrived, women seemed to be everywhere, including a few swimming in the pool.
“Brrr!” Mel shivered. “They’re swimming at this time of the day? It looks freezing. As we used to say in Queensland, they must be Victorians.”
Crys laughed. “Margie has solar heating. Want to try it?”
“No, thanks,” replied Mel. “I have thin tropical blood. I’ll mill around the barbecue fire.”
“Scaredy-cat.” Crys teased softly as they joined everyone.
“Welcome!” Margie greeted them warmly. “I must say you two look happy and relaxed.” She raised one dark eyebrow quizzically at Crys, and Mel was sure Crys flushed.
But then Billy and Loretta arrived, and the moment passed.
Billy set to cooking the steaks, and Mel helped Margie and Sue put the salads on the table for their buffet meal. Everyone sat around eating, laughing, and talking until night fell.
Margie lit some strategically placed braziers for light and warmth, for it was cooler now that the sun had set. She switched on her stereo and soon women were pairing off to dance on the veranda. Mel watched as Billy pulled Crys to her feet and swung her into a very invigorating jive. Mel got up with a group of women and threw herself into moving to the music.
After a while Margie hunted through her music collection, and a number of the visiting women entertained them with some lively line dancing. Mel and Crys allowed themselves to be talked into having a go, and with much hilarity they stumbled their way through a couple of the simpler dances.
“Wow! That was great, but exhausting,” Mel said as she sat down beside Crys.
“You did really well,” Crys complimented her. “Are you sure you haven’t line-danced before?”
“No. I swear. I’ve always thought it was just country stuff. I didn’t know it was so much fun.” Mel smiled as she nibbled on some potato chips.
“Now for something slower for those of us who can’t keep up the pace.” Margie laughed as she changed the CD. She asked one of the women from the Gold Coast to dance, and they moved to the smoochie number.
Other couples joined them. Billy got up with Loretta, and before she realized what she was doing Mel was taking Crys’s hand, gently pulling her to her feet.
“Come on. This looks like a piece of cake after the line dancing.” Mel slid her arms around Crys, and they moved together to the beat.
Mel lay in bed and tossed from side to side, the lyrics and tune of the last song she’d danced to with Crys sounding relentlessly in her head. She could feel Crys in her arms, Crys’s warm breath on the side of her neck, Crys’s breasts grazing, moving away, returning to touch her again.
They’d arrived home from Margie’s barbecue and walked quietly toward their rooms. Mel could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and that same charged tension seemed to echo about them. Only tonight it had been unbelievably more compelling.
Mel paused, her hand on her doorknob. “Well, good night,” she got out.
Crys’s eyes seemed to sparkle in the artificial overhead hall light. “Yes. Good night, Mel.”
Their eyes met, skidded away, then met again.
Crys’s throat moved as she swallowed. “I’m glad we went. It was a lovely afternoon and evening.”
Especially the evening, Mel wanted to say, but she just couldn’t seem to force the words out. All she could manage was a nod.
Crys looked at her for long seconds, and then she moved on to her own room. “Sleep well,” she said, and then she was gone.
And Mel could only make herself go through the motions of taking a shower and getting into bed.
Sleep well? If only…
The most sensible thing, she told herself what seemed like hours later, was to relieve all this pent-up tension in the most basic way, but somehow she knew that wouldn’t help in the least. Momentarily maybe, but…Mel suspected she was way beyond that. She should have had a cold shower, she told herself irritatedly.
Glancing at the luminous dial on her bedside clock, she groaned. She was wide awake, and there was no way she was going to get any sleep in the foreseeable future.
Mel flicked on her reading lamp and threw back the covers. Shivering slightly, she slipped into a pair of warm track pants and pulled a sweater on over her short nightshirt. She sat back on the bed and thrust her bare feet into a pair of thick socks.
Then she switched out the light and felt her way into the hallway and on into the study, closing the door quietly behind her before flicking on the light. Crossing to her drawing board, she gazed critically at the mounted sketch.
She couldn’t believe she’d accomplished so much in so short a time. It was just a little over a week since Terry’s manuscript had arrived. Usually doing the illustrations took her weeks to complete. But then again, she couldn’t say she’d worked on them so diligently before.
Terry had always subscribed to the all-work-and-no-play school of thought, and while Mel could see her point, she knew there had been times when Mel had simply wanted to closet herself in front of her drawing board and work. But Terry had usually coaxed her out to lunch, to a party, into the bedroom.
Mel sighed. Had she been so…she searched for the right word. Pliant? Complacent? It appeared that way from six months on.
Perhaps she had been too easily led by Terry, but she couldn’t say she’d been all that unhappy. She and Terry had had their disagreements, and sometimes Mel knew she’d felt a little, well, uneasy. But most of the time she’d been quite satisfied with her life.
Yet this past week or so, working until her body ached, had filled her with a mixture of exhilaration and personal achievement that she hadn’t felt before. And she knew what she’d completed was good. More than good. Maybe even the best she’d ever done.
She picked up her pencil. This one, of the chubby and appealing Wendy the Wombat inquisitively nosing her way into a box of magic tricks that were about to cascade all over the curious animal, would be ideal for the cover of the book.
Mel began to work. By the time she’d finished the illustration, her eyes were gritty and strained, her body stiff and tired. She stretched her muscles and gazed at the picture with satisfaction. Maybe a couple of finishing touches here and there on one or two of the others and she could get them off to Terry. Monday should see them ready to be sent away.
She cleaned up her workspace and then flicked off the light, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark before open
ing the door. She went to return to her room, and then decided she needed a drink. In the kitchen she paused. Water or warm milk? Milk would be nice. Would Crys hear the microwave? Mel didn’t think so.
Paddy and Misty materialized to wind themselves around Mel’s ankles, mewing their starvation.
“Shh!” Mel admonished. “You can have a snack as long as you promise not to wake Crys.”
Mel fetched their bowls and, in the light of the open refrigerator door, spooned some cat food onto the plates before taking them into the laundry, the cats following closely behind her.
Returning to the kitchen Mel poured a small glass of milk and placed it carefully in the microwave. She pushed the button and then flinched when the bell dinged as it had completed its cycle.
She would have liked to take the glass of warm milk back to bed with her but she suspected she’d probably spill it floundering around in the dark. She sipped the hot liquid, and her tummy rumbled, making her realize she was also suddenly hungry. She took a cookie from the jar and murmured appreciatively. Crys had always made the most divine chocolate chip cookies.
Mel swallowed the last of the milk and rinsed out her glass. Surrendering to temptation, she took another cookie with her as she moved back into the hallway, her hand running lightly along the wall to guide her.
She took a nibble of her cookie as she turned the knob to open her door. The cookie crumbled, and she made a grab for the falling fragments, biting off an exclamation of annoyance. Bending down she felt around for the errant cookie crumbs and almost overbalanced as a light came on under Crys’s bedroom door.
As Mel started to rise, the door opened and Crys stood there, her body silhouetted by the bedside light.
“Mel?” she said, and then she saw Mel down on her haunches. She took a couple of steps into the hallway and stopped. “Mel? What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
Mel pushed herself hurriedly to her feet. “I’m fine. I just dropped part of my cookie.” She tried to laugh. “Caught having a midnight snack.” She held up the remainder of the cookie.
“Oh. All right then.”
They were mere feet away from each other, and suddenly the hallway seemed to close in on Mel, seemed to be filled with that same heavy tension. Mel’s previous arousal sprang back to vivid, clamoring life, and she was sure her knees were shaking. Any minute now and they’d just give out on her.
Her gaze moved slowly over Crys’s body. She told herself it was inappropriate, but she couldn’t seem to prevent herself from taking in every sensuous, inviting curve.
Crys wore an oversized T-shirt that finished mid thigh, the soft material molding her broad shoulders, caressing the full swell of her naked breasts. Mel’s gaze lingered there and took in their rounded fullness, the shadow of Crys’s hardened nipples pushing against the cotton.
Mel felt an intense rush of desire. Her nipples contracted, tingled invitingly, and a spiral of throbbing excitement gathered in the pit of her stomach and rushed to center between her legs. And she felt damp and so very ready.
Her heartbeats accelerated wildly and seemed to rise in her chest, thundering like drumbeats in her ears, and she swallowed convulsively. Surely Crys must hear them too.
She looked up and flushed with embarrassment, for she sensed that Crys was aware of her blatant scrutiny. Mel swallowed again, and her tongue tip moistened her dry lips.
“I’ve been working,” she said, her voice sounding decidedly thin. “I couldn’t seem to sleep.”
“Neither could I,” said Crys softly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Must have been the music,” Mel offered lamely. “Or something.”
“Yes. It must have been.”
“Hungry?” Mel asked. Crys put her hand on her throat, her fingers worrying the neckline of her nightshirt. “I could get you a cookie,” Mel added in a rush. “Or you could have this half of mine.” Mel took a step forward, stopped, and shakily held out the remainder of her cookie.
Crys’s gaze went from the cookie to Mel’s face, and Mel drew an unsteady breath.
And then slowly Crys was leaning forward, taking a small bite of the cookie Mel clasped. Mel couldn’t take her eyes from Crys, watched her, felt as though all of Crys’s movements were in slow motion. Crys’s dark head coming forward, her soft mouth opening, her white teeth taking hold of the cookie, her lips settling around it, biting off a small piece.
Mel barely caught back a low moan as Crys straightened and looked up at Mel. And she saw a faint question in the shadowy angles of her face.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” For a moment Mel couldn’t be sure she’d actually said the words or simply thought them. But of course she had said them. The deep huskiness of the comment only vaguely sounded like her voice, but the words reverberated about the hallway, echoed tantalizingly away, and then just as provocatively returned.
Mel watched as Crys swallowed the mouthful of cookie, and she saw her hand move to her throat, as though the food had lodged there and she needed to force it down. Mel swallowed in sympathy, and the air about them grew impossibly more oppressive.
“Mel, I—” Crys stopped, swallowed again.
In the shadowy light, Mel saw the subtle change in her expression. Her dark eyes seemed to glow, and then her eyelids lowered, her thick lashes fanning her cheeks. As Mel watched, Crys’s lips trembled slightly, begging to be kissed.
Afterward Mel couldn’t have said who made that first move, but they seemed to sway into each other. What remained of the cookie fell from Mel’s fingers as her arms slid around Crys’s body. As Mel drew Crys against her, she felt the breath she’d been holding hiss between her lips.
The touch of Crys’s breasts against Mel seared her, and their impression burned indelibly onto her hot body.
Crys looked up, and her gaze met Mel’s and held. Without breaking that eye contact, Mel slowly slid her hands sensuously down the contours of Crys’s back, her fingers cupping Crys’s buttocks, moving her closer as she strained to merge with her, thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach, her pelvis tilting into Crys.
Mel instinctively moved her hips, and a low, soft moan escaped Crys’s mouth, her breath warmly teasing Mel’s chin. Mel lowered her head and put her lips to the fullness of Crys’s, and suddenly the fire that had been smoldering burst into flame, raged out of control. They clung together, lips tasting, tongues tantalizing, until, gasping for breath, they drew apart.
“Crys,” Mel whispered brokenly, and Crys seemed to sag against the wall, needing its support.
Mel followed her, her hands on Crys’s body, slowly exploring the outline of her hips, the indentation of her narrow waist, her firm, flat midriff, and finally the heaviness of her breasts.
Crys’s nipples were hard peaks thrusting against her nightshirt, and Mel’s thumbs found them, grazed them incitingly, and Crys groaned again.
“God, Mel! I can’t — I need to touch you, too,” she said brokenly, and her fingers fumbled with Mel’s sweater, got tangled in her nightshirt.
Mel gave a choked laugh and tore her sweater and nightshirt off together, tossing them in a heap on the floor.
Slowly Crys reached out, her hands settling gently on Mel’s waist as she gazed at Mel’s naked breasts. Mel’s nipples were erect. They felt so hard she thought they’d explode as she waited for Crys to touch them. When Crys leaned forward, licked first one and then the other with the tip of her tongue, Mel lost whatever control she still had.
Somehow they were in Crys’s room, the bedside lamp throwing a shadowy glow over them as Mel shakily pulled Crys’s nightshirt over her head. Then she stood transfixed and drank in the sight of Crys’s naked body, the absolute beauty of her. Her full, dusky-tipped breasts. Her smooth, rounded hips. Her intriguing triangle of curling dark hair.
She murmured low in her throat as she reverently reached out and let one fingertip lightly trail over Crys’s shoulder, over the swell of her left breast, to encircle the engorged nip
ple. Crys drew a sharp, ragged breath.
Mel’s questing finger meandered down the valley between Crys’s breasts, dropped lower to dart in and out of Crys’s navel, slid over the swell of Crys’s stomach, reached the dark, curl-covered mound. She cupped Crys’s pubes with the palm of her hand and then let her fingers dip into the musky dampness and slide gently into the delicious folds.
“Mel, I have to…I can’t stand up,” Crys murmured hoarsely, and she sank onto the bed.
Mel went to follow her, but stopped and hurriedly discarded her track pants and socks. She went to move over Crys, but Crys put out her hand.
“No. Stop.”
A stab of fear jabbed at Mel. Was Crys going to push her away? Surely not? Mel didn’t think she could bear it again.
Crys lay back, resting on one elbow, the fullness of her breasts drawing them sideways. “Wait,” she said, her voice thick. “I want…I want to look at you, too.”
Mel stood before her, the lamplight playing over her, and she felt Crys’s heavy-lidded gaze as though Crys had reached out and touched her. She saw herself — her tall body, her breasts that were far more compact than Crys’s, her narrow hips and long legs, and she flushed. Would Crys find her slender contours wanting?
“So long and sleek,” Crys said thickly. “So beautiful. Just as I imagined you’d be.”
Immensely relieved, Mel moved then, stretched out her length beside Crys, delighting in the sensual softness of Crys’s skin. She ran her hand over Crys’s body again, kissed her sensitive earlobe, slid her tongue tip along the line of Crys’s jaw, and rediscovered her sweet, velvety lips.
“Tell me what to do, what you like,” Mel whispered brokenly against Crys’s mouth.
“There’s no hurry. We have plenty of time.” Crys gently pushed Mel back onto the bed, and Mel’s nerve endings went wild, exalted with a rush of unimaginable yearning.
Crys’s hands moved over the planes of Mel’s face, her forehead, her eyelids, her straight nose. When they reached Mel’s mouth, Mel opened her lips, pursed them around Crys’s seeking fingertips.
Then Crys continued her journey, over Mel’s chin and throat, settling momentarily, enticingly, on her chest, before Crys’s whole hand at last cupped Mel’s burgeoning breast. Her fingers teased Mel’s nipples, concentrating first on one and then the other, and then Crys leaned forward, replacing her hand and fingers with her mouth and tongue.
