by Ash Harlow
“You’re in the fucking kitchen, Luther. You have no idea what we’re doing.”
“I see everything.” He was back with us a minute later, carrying a plate with a thick slab of cheese, pickles, and an enormous dollop of fiery tomato chutney Darcy had made. It was devastatingly hot, and I could see Darcy was about to warn Luther as he loaded it onto a piece of cheese, but I stopped her.
“Watch him,” I whispered.
Luther shoved it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed without as much as a blink. He noticed our scrutiny. “What?” he asked.
“I made that. Do you like it?” Darcy asked.
“Fantastic. Coffee and chutney. You’re growing on me, Miss Darcy.”
“Are you made of titanium?”
“Why?”
“We can’t eat it. I accidentally added chili twice.”
“I didn’t notice.” He took a long drink from his beer, and then pulled out the next file. “These are the bank authority forms. Double authorization needed for payments out of the working account for expenses. Three of us can sign, so, Darcy, you’ll need either Oliver’s or my authorization as well as your own for all transactions. This is your username. Sign on the bottom. You sign, too, Oliver.”
Luther had balked when I told him I wanted Darcy to have access to the working account so that she could pay expenses directly. It made sense, but his reaction showed there remained a hangover of suspicion surrounding her. I insisted, he reluctantly agreed.
We went through a few more things, finished our drinks, and Luther left with two jars of tomato chutney.
“Is there a woman in Luther’s life?” Darcy asked.
“He says he doesn’t have time. I think he may have tried, years back, but I don’t know any woman who could live with that energy.”
“Poor Ginger is crazy about him.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen.”
“Why?”
Telling her would betray Luther. When it came to the Hough family, Luther was more connected than Ginger realized. “Historic stuff. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Okay. She offered to help me out if things get too crazy. I think it would be good experience for her. Right now, she’s doing cleaning jobs, and she needs to up her game. She’s bright, but she has no confidence.”
“I’m more than happy to have her help you out.”
“Her mother seems pretty controlling.”
“You’re fishing, Darcy.”
“Yes, I am.” She grinned at me, then licked her lips. “Why don’t you distract me?”
“Oliver…”
“Shh. Stay like that. I have to leave soon.” I pressed against her beautiful ass, stroking her pussy which dripped with need. Darcy was in that soft, languid state of half-sleep, and I’d woken with a granite-hard cock the same way I did every morning with her in my bed. I slid my cock through her soaking cleft and she moaned, pressing her ass back to me.
“Put it in. Fuck me slowly,” she said. Her nearly-awake voice had a raspy edge, probably not helped by the amount of noise she made last night when I made her come three times before I fucked her.
“Are you sore?”
“Tender.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
Her laugh was soft, and ended with a moan. I held her against me and we rocked with a languid rhythm. It didn’t matter how we fucked, she always made me come hard. I took my time, drawing a long orgasm from her, my mouth tasting the skin on her delicate neck.
“No hickeys,” she warned. “It’s too hot for a scarf.”
I nipped at her skin, then returned to soft kisses. I was falling for her in a way that made me re-examine everything I believed about love. I craved her taste, the sounds she made, the things she said, the sight of her curled on a chair. Her laughter, her confusion, her secrets. Every part of her satisfied me. Darcy was my drug. My addiction. My hunger for her never relented, and once I’d had a taste, I needed more.
Twenty-Eight
Darcy
The house felt strange with Oliver away. He wanted me to stay there, but it needed him to make it feel right. Anyway, I’d arranged for Ginger to come over after work, and I wasn’t comfortable yet entertaining in Oliver’s home.
Ginger arrived with a flurry of bags and a wooden crate filled with bottles. I was making pizzas and she’d brought a range of new soda flavors she’d been working on.
She grabbed glasses out of the cupboard and started mixing drinks. “I want you to taste them naked, first, then I’ve got a couple of cocktails I’m going to add these to. This is elderflower and lemon verbena. It’s good with gin, but taste it with springwater first.”
I sipped. “It’s delicate, and refreshing.”
“You like it?”
“I love it. You can leave the bottle behind.”
She grinned as she poured the next one. “Luther said something to me the other day that I’ve been thinking about.”
I’d intended to steer the conversation off the subject of Luther, given what Oliver had said to me. My hope was to encourage Ginger to look elsewhere for someone who might be better boyfriend material than the guy who has no intention of having a relationship with her.
She passed me a fresh drink. “This one’s spicy. Cardamom, ginger, lychee, and a few Sichuan peppercorns.” She sipped, and nodded to herself as if satisfied with the outcome. “Back to Luther. He thinks it’s too big a risk to take on a lease and open my own soda bar.”
That annoyed me. Ginger and I had done the figures and, optimistically, it could work. “Don’t give up your dream too quickly, Ginge’—”
“He had a better idea. He suggested a pop-up soda shop for summer. Turns out he owns the building I wanted to lease, anyway. He said I could have it low-rent, and try out my sodas. Sort of use it for market research, then take the best sodas and work with some of the mixologists around, and bottle them. Sell them with cocktail recipes and stuff.”
I spread the sauce on the pizza bases while she talked. “That could work. In fact, I think it’s a good idea. After dinner we’ll adjust your business plan. It lowers your risk, Ginger, which is a good thing.”
She beamed at me. “I was really nervous the other night at our meeting, but he was quite nice to me. He does have good ideas, and I managed to listen rather than stare at him and turn to mush. It’s progress, Darcy.”
“Good. I’m really happy for you.”
“Here. This will make you happier. White rum, pineapple, lime and a secret mix of bitters made from New Zealand native plants. Maraea helped me with this one. See what you think.”
I tried it, loved it, tried it again. “This is stunning. I think I could get happily drunk on this. Wow, Ginger, this is what you’ll be getting into. The other day Oliver introduced me to the new mixologist at the Lodge. Tell Maraea you need to meet him. He’s hot,” I said, giving her a wink.
“He could be on fire, but my heart wouldn’t notice.”
My career as a matchmaker was obviously not going to take off.
After dinner, half-drunk on Ginger’s amazing cocktails, she pulled an art folder from her bag. “Check these out. I got carried away after my meeting with Luther and mocked up some designs for bottle labels.”
The labels had a vintage look with hand-colored illustrations of the ingredients. “Wow, they’re fantastic. Who drew them?”
“I did.” She flipped the pages quickly. “They’re okay. Just doodles.”
“They’re beautiful, Ginger. I didn’t know you were so talented. You could train as a graphic artist.”
“Do you really think they’re that good? I wanted to do art, but Mom wouldn’t let me. Not after what happened with Nessa.”
“Who’s Nessa?”
“My big sister. She went to university to do art, but she sort of went off the rails. Things didn’t go well for her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
Ginger shrugged. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. There was a big age difference between us.
Nessa went to school with Oliver and Luther. Oh!” She tucked the designs back into the folder and jumped up. “I made gelato. Let me get it. I’ve got a salted caramel syrup which sounds weird but tastes great poured over the top.”
“How on earth do you keep your figure, Ginger? Surely you taste what you make?”
“I keep fit chasing Luther.” She giggled. “You should see your face. Don’t worry. I know nothing’s ever going to happen there, but I can dream, can’t I?”
“You can dream of being the cordial queen.”
After she left, I went through the few pieces of mail that I’d picked up earlier. Most were advertising flyers addressed to Jen’s gran. The one addressed to me was postmarked from Australia. It had that official look which suggested life was about to get worse.
We have been retained by Premier Insurance Co to pursue recovery on behalf of their insured… The information that we have received indicates that liability for the damages rests with you… criminal negligence as a result of the fire …
I couldn’t take it all in. I folded the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope. Well, they’d have to wait, or sue me, or bankrupt me, or I could probably pay them off at twenty dollars a week. I expected there’d be a summons at some stage, but until that happened, I’d just have to try to forget about this new horror.
Surprisingly, I slept through the night. I expected to have a thick head and a dry mouth when I woke, so the fact that I bounced out of bed with little after-effect from the amount of alcohol Ginger and I had consumed was probably more a testament to the quality of Ginger’s cordials than anything else.
I missed Oliver. I missed his bed, waking in his arms, making him coffee while he made me breakfast. I missed his soft kisses and easy touches as we moved around the kitchen. I missed the way he sabotaged my attempts to dress after a shower. Unhooking my bra while I pulled my panties on. Tugging my panties to mid-thigh and touching my pussy while I buttoned my shirt.
I missed the way he commanded people, owned his domain, was fair and smart. The way I missed him meant my heart burst into reflective fragments when I heard his voice, or saw him in the distance. My silly overflowing heart that filtered every thought I had about Oliver.
My workdays were full, and often Oliver was away from his office for hours at a time, but I always knew he was mine at night. I worked until six and returned to the cottage. I planned to continue working there but when I arrived and opened my laptop my focus was drawn outside. The evening was calm, the yard still filled with sunshine.
Across the road was an access path that went past the houses then into the trees and along the edge of the river. I’d walked a small way along it before. Tonight, for some reason, I felt on edge and decided I’d explore further along the path and see how far it went. I changed into shorts and a light sweater, pulled on a pair of sneakers and headed off.
Twenty minutes later I was pleased with my decision. Occasionally I came across joggers, people with dogs, a cyclist, but mostly it was me alone with nothing more than the unique, briny scent of the river, and one of the prettiest views in the world. A sense of contentment pushed at the edginess I’d felt until it left me. Oliver would be home in the morning and everything would return to our incredible heady, happy routine.
Once the sun started to dip behind the hill, I turned back for home. I hadn’t seen anyone for a while and I wanted to be out of the thickly forested part of the track before dark. I picked up my pace and started to jog, and made it back to the road with plenty of light.
I paused passing Oliver’s house before continuing until I reached the cottage porch. There something stopped me. There was an inch of gap between the door and the frame even though I thought I’d pulled it securely closed. Through it I could see a light was on. It puzzled me, briefly. I’d left in daylight so I must have switched it on automatically.
I glanced around. Two houses down there was a car on the street I hadn’t noticed before but perhaps someone was visiting a neighbor.
I pushed the front door open and paused, my hearing on high alert. I couldn’t detect anything, so I closed the door and stepped into the hallway.
“Hello, Darcy. Long time no see.”
The voice turned my blood to ice.
“Rob? What the hell are you doing here?”
“That’s no way to greet your boyfriend after all this time. Where’s my welcome home kiss?”
He’d lost weight since I’d last seen him, and he looked gaunt, with prison pallor. His hair was longer. It suited him, in a way, but mostly he appeared dishevelled.
I backed up to the door and pulled it open, summoning all the strength I could muster in my voice. “Leave.”
“Treasure, come on. I just need somewhere to stay until I get back on my feet. I’ll take the sofa if you and your new rich boyfriend want the bed.”
“I don’t have a new rich boyfriend.”
His grin showed a missing molar. Dentistry in prison was obviously basic. He drew a few steps closer, and I stood taller. I refused to shrink from him, or the inmate tattoos across his knuckles.
“Still lying. Just like you did to the cops. No fucking loyalty, that’s your problem, Darcy. You really dumped me in the shit back in Australia. Now I’m going to give you the opportunity to make good. Take it. It’ll give you peace of mind.”
“Out,” I growled, my arm shaking when I pointed through the door. “Out now, or I’ll call the police.”
He continued toward me and I really thought he was going to leave the house, but he jerked the door from my hold and closed it. “Your security sucks, Darcy,” he said, grabbing my forearm.
His fingers dug into my skin, and I inhaled sharply at his touch. I tried to jerk away, but his grip tightened, and he pulled me down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Let me go, Rob,” I snarled, “or my next call is to the police.”
“Does everyone in this small town know about the trouble you got into in Australia? You know, in places like this, people like to gossip. What about that rich boyfriend? What’s his name? Oliver Sackville. That’s it. Did you tell him how your house burned to the ground after a meth cook-up went wrong?”
“Don’t even try it.”
“Mud sticks, sweetheart. Believe me, that’s something I do know.”
My thoughts were scrambled. I was trying to gauge whether he was high, whether he was a physical danger to me, or just on a mission to completely wreck my life. “Are you high?”
He laughed. “You never could tell, could you? I’d come home blazing and tell you I was clean, and you never had a clue.”
“I consider it a source of pride that I have no idea when people are high.”
“Smug bitch.”
“Okay, I’ve had enough. Tell me what you want, then get out of here.”
He pulled out one of the chairs around the small kitchen table, and put pressure on my arm until I sat. My laptop was open, and I slapped it closed.
“What do I want? Let’s see. You totally fucked me over in Australia. You could have saved me with your testimony, but, no, loyalty straight out the window in order to save your own ass. You owe me, treasure. I did fourteen months inside, then they kicked me out of the country. So here I am. Nobody will hire me in the banking business so I need money, a bed, somewhere to stay until I get back on my feet. Those are things you can provide. Shitty digs you’ve got here, by the way. I thought that Sackville guy was loaded.”
I studied him, unable to find a single ounce of empathy for the way his life had turned out. “You ruined me, Rob. You lied, you burned our fucking landlord’s house down and left me with nothing. And then you tried to trade me off to the police, to save your ass. Get the facts straight about who the liar is around here. As long as you’re denying what you did, you’ll never get ahead. I want you out of my life, forever.”
“Oh, I bet you do. Nothing like the criminal boyfriend showing up and tainting your pretty life. Tell you what. Ten grand and I’ll fuck off.”
/> “I don’t have any money, okay?”
“No, but your boyfriend does.”
“What makes you think he’s my boyfriend?”
He went to the fridge and helped himself to a beer, studying the label before pulling a cigarette lighter from his pocket and using it to pop the cap. “Craft beer, Darcy. None of the cheap shit for you, eh? So, back to your boyfriend. You two are everywhere. One little internet search and there you are, arm candy for a glittering occasion, as they say. The power couple, as much as you can be in a shithole like Waitapu. Anyway, it was easy to find you. Always will be. You forget the skills I have.”
“Put them to good use then, and earn yourself an honest living.”
“I am putting them to good use. I tracked you down, didn’t I? So this is how it’s going to go. I’m staying here until you get the money for me. You can tell your boyfriend I’m a cousin from up north who’s fallen on hard times. I’m sure Sackville will give you a loan. I’ll give you a week, and then I’ll start talking around town. People really are assholes. They’re always going to believe Darcy’s a meth cook over Darcy’s sweet and innocent. I’m afraid you really don’t have much of a choice.”
I stood. I had no idea what I was going to do but I certainly wasn’t about to let him intimidate or blackmail me. I headed up the hallway, to the front door.
“Don’t you fucking walk out on me,” he yelled.
That did it. I don’t know why, but suggesting I was walking out on him flipped my switch. I took my phone out of my pocket. He’d followed me down the hall and the first thing I did was take a photo of him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled.
“I need a photo for the police so that they know who to look for.”
He held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”
“Leave. My. House.”
“Don’t do anything you’re going to regret, Darcy. Hand me the phone.” He made a fist and thumped the wall.
I jumped in fright, but shoved the phone in my back pocket. “Leave.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t give me the phone, then I’ll have to.”
