by Susan Napier
She decided on the truth. ‘Yes,’ she said, shaking her hair back behind her ears and replacing her slightly crumpled hat, like a warrior putting on a defensive helmet. ‘I don’t know you—’
He was en garde even before she had fully unsheathed her words. ‘You know me well enough to make love to,’ he pointed out.
‘I—it’s different here…you’re different,’ she said, trying to marshal all the things she wanted to say in the right order.
‘I thought you said you wanted something “different”,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Have you changed your mind again?’
‘Yes, I mean no—’
His patience snapped. ‘Well, when you do decide to make up your mind, let me know!’
This time he did stump off, and she thought he might disappear into himself again for another few days, but to her surprise and subdued delight, the next afternoon when she went walking at roughly the same time he appeared again, and the next…each time a little earlier in her walk until by the end of the week they were setting off together.
Walking and talking was certainly much more productive than sitting and talking, the relaxed surroundings and lack of watchful eyes making Kate realise how proscribed their lives had become in the city.
Most of their talk was idle and unthreatening, but inevitably they touched on weightier subjects and Kate began to amass more pieces of the puzzle that made up Drake Daniels. Like the fact that when he had shed the name of Richardson he had also sloughed off his Christian name, Michael, and had deliberately chosen a name that had no connection with either his father or his mother—one that was sufficiently different to satisfy his hunger to be unique, to be more than the nobody his parents had reduced him to by their destructive indifference.
Drake had been a defiantly swashbuckling name to his younger self, he admitted wryly, and Daniels had been the name of the only adult whom he had respected, a high-school English teacher who had seen a special spark in the troubled youth that no one else had bothered to nurture, and whom he had attempted to encourage, challenge and inspire in the short time that they had shared a classroom, advising him to travel as far and widely as he could to expand his human experience for his future writings.
They occasionally met other people on their strolls, who either casually greeted Drake by name or failed to recognise him at all, and Kate learned that the ebb and flow of tourists at Oyster Beach dictated his puzzling annual schedule—summers for travel and research and roughly drafting out ideas, the rest of the year fitting in periods of intensive writing at Oyster Beach in a way that avoided both school and public holiday breaks.
One afternoon at low tide, after they had walked in the other direction to the mouth of the tidal estuary, they came across three shrieking little boys digging trenches in the wet sand near the waterline.
‘They don’t look old enough to be out here on their own,’ said Kate, estimating them to be no more than five, one of them a toddler still in nappies. She glanced up at Drake, who was staring broodingly at the sandy trio. ‘And don’t tell me things are done differently here in the country.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’ He was scanning the straggle of houses tucked into the trees behind the low dunes and then out to sea. ‘Ah…’ He pointed to a lone female figure lying up in the dunes, nestled into a hollow by a log, protecting the pages of her book against the ruffle of the light breeze.
‘I hope she’s paying more attention to the children than she is to her book,’ worried Kate. ‘Young children can drown very quickly in only a few centimetres of water.’
She went over to talk to the trio about their endeavours and felt better when she saw the woman instantly put her book aside and sit up, responding to a reassuring wave by relaxing back on her elbows, but not resuming her reading until Kate moved away, hurrying to join the man who had dawdled on ahead.
‘Can’t be one of my books—or she wouldn’t have been able to put it down so easily,’ jibed Drake as Kate fell into step beside him.
‘Why didn’t you come down and say hello? They would have liked a man to admire their work.’
‘No, thanks. I told you, kids aren’t my thing. Why do you think I always come back to town during school holidays?’
‘I thought it was to avoid all their parents. It’s not as if the little ones know or care that you’re the great Drake Daniels. They’re completely unpretentious. That toddler was so cute the way he tried to copy his brothers—’
‘A total pain in the neck, if you ask me,’ he said tersely.
‘How can you say that?’
‘Drop it, Kate,’ he ordered, but then he was the one unable to leave it alone. ‘Since when were you so keen on ankle-biters, anyway? I thought you agreed with me that they don’t fit in with a career-orientated lifestyle.’
‘But lifestyles don’t always stay the same throughout people’s lives,’ she argued. ‘They’re constantly being modified by changing circumstances, like having children…’
‘If people want to change. Some people should never have children,’ he said flatly. ‘Especially when they don’t have the time or inclination to care for them, or because social pressures and vanity or self-interest—or simply pure carelessness—come into play.’
Kate’s heart staggered. ‘At that rate neither of us would have been born,’ she said, desperately trying to put a positive spin on his words, ‘and think what the world would have missed…’
He didn’t respond to the opportunity to use his usual amusing wit. ‘And think of all those parents who buy into the perfect baby fantasy and then find the day-to-day reality turns them into abusive monsters!’ he grated. ‘Call me a heartless bastard, but I don’t ever want to add any kids to the list of my mistakes.’
No, not heartless—but maybe one who cared too much, thought Kate shakily. In spite of what he said, she didn’t believe it was solely a matter of preserving his highly enjoyable lifestyle. Drake seemed convinced that he would not be a good parent. He was an intelligent man—he must know that he wasn’t doomed to perpetuating his parents’ weaknesses and failures, yet it appeared that he wasn’t prepared to put himself to the touch.
Kate had far more trust in him than he did in himself. She knew that, whatever happened, he would never punish an innocent child for an adult’s mistakes. Although cynicism ran strongly through his books, they were essentially heroic stories of men who found personal redemption in a worthy cause. She only hoped that Drake would find it worth redeeming himself for the sake of his own child.
She could have let herself be depressed by his vow to eternally shun fatherhood, but by the end of the stroll her natural resilience had reasserted itself, boosted by Drake’s relentless flirting. Because she had fallen eagerly into bed with him the first time they had met, she realised that she had missed out on the seductive excitement that she was now experiencing as with a look, a word or a touch Drake attempted to evoke reminders of the powerful physical attraction that existed between them. She had deprived herself of the delicious torment of the should she/shouldn’t she nervousness and the romantic thrill of the chase the first time around, so why shouldn’t she enjoy it to the full in the precious little time she had left?
Her only previous serious relationship had been with a newly qualified lawyer who had sought her out at a party just after her nineteenth birthday, and laid gentle siege to her reserve. Brett had been flatteringly devoted for long enough to make her start to wonder if they might get engaged, but when she had finally been persuaded to reluctantly introduce him to her mother he had been off like a shot, resurfacing a few weeks later as one of Jane Crawford’s new crop of hotshot legal protégés.
At the time she had thought Brett the height of romance, but he had never made her bones melt and her flesh quicken, as Drake could do with a single, smouldering look.
It was slightly disconcerting to discover in herself a streak of cruelty that took pleasure in his frustration as she continued to keep him at arm’s length.
When he offhandedly suggested on their Friday walk that Kate might like to come to the planned pool game that evening after all, he clearly expected her to be instantly charmed by the idea.
‘Will the others be bringing women, too?’
‘Not that I know of—what’s that got to do with it?’
She lowered her eyelashes demurely. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to start a fight.’
He snorted.
‘I thought I was supposed to stay away from Steve Marlow in case he dragged me into a life of degradation and crime.’
‘Maybe I over-stated the case a bit,’ he admitted.
‘Are you going to win?’
His diffidence disappeared. ‘Of course! They’re rank amateurs—they just like to think they’re hustlers!’ he said, oozing male hubris.
‘And you want me along to provide the applause for your victory?’ she teased, touched by the notion that he wanted her to see him as the conquering hero. Or maybe he just wanted to prove to them both that he wasn’t jealous. ‘Do I get to pin my favour to your sleeve?’
‘Not unless you want me to get beaten up. It’s a pub not a jousting ring.’
‘Will I be able to play…since you told Steve Marlow that I couldn’t? Or will I have to stand around holding your beer?’
‘Can you play?’ he asked, looking so surprised she was tempted to lie simply for the pleasure of seeing his face.
‘No, but I can learn.’
He looked vaguely hunted. Obviously his impulsive invitation was becoming more complicated than he had planned.
‘Or if you think you might need help, I could just wear something short and low-cut and lean on the table whenever the others line up their shots,’ she offered sweetly.
His eyes creased as he imagined the graceful Kate Crawford vamping it up as the local pub tart. ‘Or you could just wear nothing at all and we’ll forget about going to play pool,’ he murmured with a wicked grin.
He grinned again when he saw the prim white shirt and blue trousers she put on to go to the pub, her white sandals showing off small feet with innocently unpainted toenails. ‘That’s my girl,’ he chuckled.
Am I? Kate wanted to say. Am I really?
It was a rowdy night unlike any she had ever spent and she really enjoyed it once she had stopped being polite and simply shouted like everyone else, to be heard over the local band rocking the rafters and the bawling exchanges, catcalls and shouts of laughter. There were lots of jeans and flip-flops and more men than women, but the atmosphere was buzzing and Kate quickly discovered that a locally made, no-alcohol spiced beer was the choice of brew for designated drivers and wowsers alike, for very good reason.
She was on her second delicious glass when Ken and Steve arrived—minus partners but hugely amused to see Kate tucked up to Drake’s side—and they all listened to a few songs from the band while waiting for the pool table they had booked to become free. Although there were a few grins and knowing hails from the crowd, mostly aimed at Steve, it was all very laid-back, and there were no intrusive approaches or fuss about the fame in their midst. Everyone was just there to enjoy themselves at full volume. It was a little quieter in the back room of the pub where the pool tables were, but that changed when Steve kept feeding coins into the jukebox in the corner, ordering Kate to pick the songs most guaranteed to annoy Drake. So she chose dreamy, romantic ballads punctuated with the occasional head-banger to appease the good-natured groans from around the room.
In spite of Drake’s earlier boasts, his two friends made him work for his wins—mainly because they kept ganging up to ruin his concentration when he was playing one or other of them. Remembering her comments about leaning on the table, Kate enjoyed looking at the provocative pull of Drake’s faded jeans as they stretched across his tautly muscled backside when he bent to use his cue, and when he had a difficult shot facing her she made sure he knew she was staring down the open neck of his shirt, her own fingers playing suggestively in the V of her collar. However, he got his own back when chalking the tip of his cue, and she hurriedly primmed her mouth and pretended not to understand his sensual stroking and the deliberation with which he held her eyes while he gently blew off the excess chalk.
In the interests of fair play, Kate declared herself strictly neutral in the cheerfully insulting male byplay over the game and ferried cardboard tubs of hot chips and battered fish, jugs of beer and bottles of soft drinks to the protagonists, fascinated by the easy camaraderie between the three men, despite the fact that, as Steve pointed out, they were rarely all in the area at the same time. She enjoyed watching the differences in their play and chatting with each as they sat out games, but finally the series came down to a single match between Steve and Drake, while Ken kept up a hushed commentary that had Kate in fits of laughter.
Her sides were still aching when they drove back through the black, shadowy hills to the beach. Drake turned on the CD player and Kate was content to lie back and dream impossible dreams to the caress of some moody blues and the humming vibration of the Land Rover’s engine.
Wrapped in a sensuous cloud of happy imaginings she was almost dozing when Drake murmured that they were home, and insisted on walking with her to her door.
‘Enjoy yourself?’
‘You know I did. I like your friends.’
‘I noticed,’ he said, but without any heat. ‘They liked you, too.’
She sighed with a strange contentment. ‘Steve said the three of you don’t get together very often any more,’ she said, unlocking the front door. A lot of Oyster Beach people didn’t bother to lock their doors, at least in the off-season, she had been told, but Kate’s cautionary habits were too deeply ingrained.
‘No, but when we do it’s always as if we only saw each other yesterday. The group dynamics are such we can just pick up where we left off. Some friendships are like that.’
‘That’s what we do, too, isn’t it? Pick up where we left off,’ she said, turning in the doorway. But not any more, she thought wistfully.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ he suggested softly as she switched on the light and blinked at him like an owl, her silver eyes still hazed with dreams. ‘Offer me a nightcap?’
‘I don’t have any alcohol in the house,’ she said, hypnotised by his slow smile.
‘A coffee, then.’ He reached out and stroked her hair behind her ear, his thumb briefly brushing the lobe. ‘Isn’t that the way the two of us usually end a night out?’
No. They usually ended it in bed, making love. Her eyes dilated with betraying speed, her pink lips parting, her breasts rising and falling against the white cotton shirt.
‘Coffee keeps me awake,’ she croaked.
‘That’s good. Awake is good,’ he murmured, slowly lowering his head, his thighs bumping against hers as he shuffled her back against the wooden panels of the open door. ‘I wouldn’t like you to be asleep when I did this…’
His kiss was warm, soft, sweet and sensuous…a delicate tasting of her resistance, with no aggression to trigger her alarm, just a gentle teasing of her lips, a whisper-soft stroke of his firm, velvety mouth.
It was so sweet and so soft it left her wanting, and as he began to draw back her arms slid around his waist and folded across his strong back, holding him secure while she went on tiptoe to try and increase the pressure against her yearning mouth.
He didn’t make the mistake of swooping inside with his tongue, instead he withheld himself, luring her to seek her own pleasure and move ever deeper into danger.
His legs shifted, his knee bending as his denim thigh eased between hers, rising up to fit snugly into the notch of her body, his hands on her hips tilting her pelvis into the cradle of his and then stroking around to trace the outline of her panties through the thin fabric of her silk trousers. When he began to softly knead the rounded cheeks of her bottom, moving her rhythmically against the rigid muscles of his thigh, she uttered a tiny, shivery cry that broke on the still night.
‘Ask me inside�
�take me to your bed,’ he whispered, sipping the cry from her bee-stung lips. A clever glide of his fingers slipped a few of the pearl buttons on her shirt and she felt the delicate swirl of his fingertips on the silky swell of her tightening breast. ‘You know you want to, Kate. You won’t even have to ask, you just have to want me…I’m yours for the taking…all of me is yours…’He moved his hips in a slow rotation that rubbed the thick bulge between his legs against her feminine mound, teasing her with the memory of the turbulent ecstasy his heat and hardness could provide.
For a moment they both thought the faint squeak was her whimper of surrender, but then Kate groaned and turned her cheek to the door, her arms dropping away. She could feel Drake’s rigid body drawn so tight it was trembling, then he uttered a harsh sound and let his forehead rap on the door behind her averted head, leaning it there while he said thickly:
‘I can’t take much more of this. I thought we were lovers, Kate. What’s happening? Why can’t we make love?’ He lifted his head, temper seeking a safer outlet. ‘And what the hell is that infernal noise?’
Now the enchanted spell was well and truly broken. ‘A rat, I think,’ she said. ‘I told you about it, remember.’
‘You’ve told me so many things…except, apparently, the one thing that really matters.’ He pushed himself away from the door, breathing deeply, half turning away to hide the painful state of his body. ‘Just tell me this, at least: have you fallen in love with someone else, Kate? Someone who makes it impossible for you to be with me?’
‘No!’ She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. ‘I—No—There’s only ever been you these past two years. Please, just give me a little more time,’ she begged.
‘You haven’t been raped, have you?’ he rasped.
‘What? No!’ she said, her eyes rounded in shock. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you.’
‘That’s what I’m paid for,’ he growled. ‘You still want what we have, Kate. Stop fighting it. Whatever it is that’s bugging you you’d better sort it out soon. Or I will.
