‘Yes, she did. I’m sorry, Lane.’
‘It was almost thirteen years ago—old news, really.’
‘But it still matters.’
‘Yes, because I—I still miss him. We all do. He … he was a brilliant mathematician.’
‘So you take after him?’
‘Pure mathematics is different from economics but I guess we both liked numbers.’
‘He would have been proud of you, Lane, I think.’
Why did that make her want to cry? She took a sip from her glass, swallowing her emotions along with the wine.
‘And your mother must be proud of you too …?’ He said that hesitantly, as though he knew it wasn’t true.
How to answer that? Lane cleared her throat. ‘We’re quite … different. I mean, I’m nerdy and she’s not.’
‘She’s not … and yet she must have been proud of your nerdy father.’
‘Yes. But that’s … different. A different kind of pride.’
‘One based on a perfect love. That’s what you said they had.’
‘She loved him so much that when—’ She stopped herself.
‘When …?’
Lane took another quick sip of wine. ‘When he died, I thought she’d die, too.’
‘She hasn’t remarried, then.’
‘She hasn’t even been on a date.’
‘Dear God! That is dedication to love.’
‘Anyway, the past isn’t something to dwell in.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so, no. Not to that extent.’
‘I mean me. I shouldn’t be dredging this all up now.’
‘Why not? It’s interesting.’ He was watching her a little too keenly. ‘I wonder which way is best—to have a perfect love you never get over, or a lot of imperfect loves you can leave behind?’
‘You don’t believe in perfect love, remember?’
‘Well look at the examples we’re working from! In your case, a mother who can’t carve a new life for herself because the perfect love of her old one still has its hooks in her—that can’t be any fun. In mine, desperate attempts by both parents at finding a perfect love resulting in another marriage every time one of them gets the hots for someone new—which might sound like fun but is really exhausting and frustrating, not to mention expensive. You know, I’m starting to think you have the right idea with the fee-for-service option. It saves a hell of a lot of people a hell of a lot of aggravation.’
‘And you’ve really never fallen in love? Not even imperfectly? Not once, with all those women you’ve been with?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘This is how I look at it, Lane. Relationships are like curve balls. You have to accept that life sends you curve balls, but you can choose whether to bat them, catch them or let them go. And I choose to let them go.’
‘Doesn’t it sometimes happen that you want to catch one but you drop it accidentally?’
‘Ah, but I’m trained and agile. If I wanted to catch one, you can bet I’d catch it.’
‘But you don’t want to catch one.’ She nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see.’
He sent a mischievous smile across the table. ‘And in any case, I figure who needs love when you can have lust? It got me on a platter for you, didn’t it?’
‘Not exactly on a platter,’ she retorted.
‘What do you mean? You ordered sex with no strings, and here I am. Like a steak and fries.’
She dabbed at her lips with her napkin, then folded the napkin neatly and placed it beside her plate. ‘Yes, but I’m not allowed to eat you, am I, even though I’ve already settled the bill! It’s like I keep being given takeaway containers to store in the freezer.’
Adam laughed. ‘God, the things you say.’ He took a sip of wine, and choked on it as another laugh escaped. ‘You know what, Lane? Laughter is an aphrodisiac—that’s Lesson Number Five.’ He reached over to flick his finger along her cheek. ‘So keep it up and who knows what will happen?’
‘I don’t think Lesson Five is going to do me any good,’ Lane said. ‘I’m not very funny.’
‘Oh, you’re funny. Maybe not intentionally, but you are.’
‘It would just be better, from my perspective, to get straight to the sex.’
‘I’ll tell you what, Lane. How about we go into the bathroom right now and do it there?’
‘The—’ she started, but couldn’t find any more words.
‘I once did it in a very fine bathroom in a top restaurant overlooking Bondi Beach. Mia, her name was. She was leaning over, hands on the cistern. I was behind her, hanging on to her hips. Talk about waves crashing—inside and out. I call that experience my Royal Flush, because she was the friend of an obscure member of some European royal family.’ He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Well, Lane? Want to give it a whirl?’
Lane waited a moment, trying to look like she was mulling it over. ‘On balance, I think not,’ she said, pleased she sounded so calm, given she was about to have palpitations—because she could picture him, just like that. And what’s more, with her like that. Which didn’t make sense. Lane hadn’t even managed to get things right the one time she’d tried it in the missionary position. How did he think she’d know what to put where in a toilet cubicle? She’d probably end up flushing her own head.
‘Oh, you think not.’ He leaned across the table again and spoke softly. ‘Well, I will have you like that, Lane. When we’re out at dinner one night, and you least expect it, I’m going to follow you into your private little cubicle and bend you forward and rip your panties off and shove myself inside you.’
Heat spread over her every inch of Lane’s skin. An endless prickle raced across her flesh so that she was covered in goose pimples. She felt almost hypnotized, staring into Adam’s dark eyes. There was a half-smile on his lips. Threatening. Promising.
‘We’re skipping dessert,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. My place. It’s closer.’
Lane’s heartbeat kicked. Hard. His place. Not hers. The last time she’d been at a man’s place, it had been DeWayne’s. Oh, God. God, God, God, get it together, Lane. You’re paying Adam—it’s different. ‘I have to pay first,’ she said. Ugh—Freudian slip. ‘I mean, pay for dinner.’
‘It’s done.’
She blinked at him. ‘But we don’t have the bill yet.’
‘I told you it’s a standard deal here, and I’m a regular, so it’s all sorted. I made the arrangements before you got here.’
‘Then I’ll pay you back.’
‘No you won’t.’
‘Yes, I will.’
He shoved his chair back, threw his napkin on the table. ‘Get up, Lane. We’re not going to bicker over the bill. We’re leaving now.’
She allowed Adam to take her hand and lead her out of restaurant, but when they reached the footpath, she stopped and turned to face him. ‘Let me ask you this, Adam: would you have asked me out for dinner if there wasn’t a contract in place?’
Adam didn’t answer. He didn’t need to—his tightened jaw told the story.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Lane said. ‘So it wasn’t a “date” and is therefore an expense associated with our arrangement. Which that means I should pay.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. You teach—I pay. That’s the deal.’
‘I said no.’
Lane sighed inwardly. She could still hear him saying to her, ‘I’ll take your money, Lane,’ and she knew she should be holding firm. No grey areas, no favours, so they would both know where they stood, start to finish, but Adam’s eyes were hard, his mouth was a tight line, and she was too depressed to keep arguing. ‘All right, since it’s so important to you. But this is the only time I’ll allow it.’
‘You’ll allow it?’ Adam, looking outraged but grim with it, reached for Lane’s elbow. ‘Come. I’m parked across the road.’
With stomach-clenching clarity, Lane knew he was going to get mad at what she was about to say but she didn’t kno
w what to do about it other than get the words out quickly and totally without inflection. ‘I drove my own car, remember?’
His jaw worked; he seemed to be grinding his teeth. He gestured her onwards and Lane, tottery in the alien shoes, led the way to her car. No strolling this time.
‘Here it is,’ she announced unnecessarily, stopping beside her car.
‘A Ford Focus,’ Adam said. ‘If I’d had to guess, it’s what I would have picked for you. Everyone drives them. Even the Pope chose a nice, humble Ford Focus.’
‘You have a problem with my car, too?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘It’s economical and reliable. And you’re not the one driving it.’
‘The problem is that I am driving it.’
‘Is this an alpha male thing? Because it’s stupid. I can drive my own car.’
‘Not tonight you can’t.’
‘I’ve driven myself all over this city for years.’
‘I asked you out. I’ll get you where you need to be.’
‘Oh, all right,’ she said, hitting the unlock button then slapping her keys in his hand.
She was halfway to the passenger door when she realized Adam was keeping pace beside her.
‘And don’t tell me you can open your own door, Lane,’ he said, when she paused mid-stride, ‘because I don’t give a rat’s arse.’
She un-paused herself. ‘All right, I won’t tell you—but I can.’
He opened the door. ‘Thought you weren’t telling me.’
So much for laughter being an aphrodisiac, she thought to herself, as she got in the car.
‘What did you say?’ he asked.
Damn! Said it out loud. Well, so what? It was worth saying out loud. ‘I said so much for laughter being an aphrodisiac, because you’re not displaying any evidence of good humour.’
‘Well, you do have a way of spoiling a man’s mood.’
Lane felt a horrible urge to burst into tears. Of rage, she told herself. Tears of rage. Not hurt. Not … hurt. She was angry because … because spoiled moods equalled no sex. That was all. Adam would use the excuse to put her off again. And she had no idea how to fix it. How to make him want her. How to make him do it.
She reined everything in, determined not to cry in front of Adam Quinn, staring straight ahead, waiting it out, willing herself to swallow the rage, the wounded pride, the … oh, all right, it was hurt. She admitted it. He’d hurt her. And that was the problem when you muddied the waters with things like dinner. Things like dinner made you forget that all you’d wanted, all you’d asked for, was a sex contract.
She sensed Adam getting into the car, heard him start the engine, felt the car ease out onto the street.
A motorbike roared past on Lane’s side, and Adam turned at the sound. She felt his eyes on her and gripped the handbag on her lap more tightly. She had no idea what she looked like, but she was trying hard for a calm, in-control expression. An unhurt expression. Because there was no room in this agreement for hurt feelings. Or any more damn dinners.
In the next second, he was pulling in to the kerb.
He unbuckled his seatbelt. Started on hers.
She slapped at his hands. ‘What are you—?’
Before she could finish her question, Adam had unbuckled her, dragged her half out of her seat and was kissing her with a passion that managed, by some miracle, to be incredibly tender.
‘What was that for?’ she asked, dazed, when he released her.
Adam touched her hair. ‘Because I wanted to,’ he said simply. ‘And because I was acting like a pig and I’m sorry. But, Lane, you’ve got to realize that men are proud bastards, and when they’re pushed too far, they react.’
‘Is that—’ Lane stopped, swallowing. For some unfathomable reason, she didn’t want to think that kissing her in that way was another lesson. Except that of course it was. ‘Is that Lesson Number Six?’ she asked.
He looked at her blankly for a moment, but then nodded. ‘Yes. Lesson Number Six.’
‘And you’re talking about the money, right?’
‘The money.’ Pause. ‘Yes.’
Lane pursed her lips, ready to discuss the nuances of this lesson now that their mutual anger seemed to have abated, but needing to choose her words carefully lest she spoil everything all over again. ‘All right,’ she said slowly. ‘I know I’ve got a lot to learn. And I’ll try to be sensitive when I’m on a real date. But I think it’s ridiculous to argue over money.’
His lips twitched. ‘It is ridiculous. But I didn’t say men were smart.’
Lane wanted to smile, felt her mouth start to stretch in response. But this was a lesson, and she would do well to remember it and not be sidetracked. ‘But you’ll agree—I know you will—that between us it’s different. You and I aren’t really dating, so you have no financial responsibility for me.’
‘What if I want to do something that costs money and you don’t?’ he asked.
‘I can say no if I have a problem with it.’
‘Wiggle room, Lane. Remember the wiggle room.’
Lane thought about that. ‘Well I … I guess it might be good for you to suggest things to do if you think they’ll help with … with the mood or whatever. In fact, I’m sure that will give me a much better understanding of the things men like to do. And I promise, if I can’t afford it, we can discuss it. But I …’ re-buckling her seatbelt ‘… can afford most things.’
‘Are you telling me you’re rich?’
‘No,’ she said, and hesitated a moment before continuing. ‘But when my father died, he left a substantial portfolio of shares and I … I manage that for the family and I like numbers so … Well, so.’ She shrugged, uncomfortable. ‘I also earn quite a lot.’
Adam was silent for a moment; she could feel him watching her. He seemed about to say something. Then he surprised her by lifting her hand, threading her fingers through his and bringing their joined hands to his lips to kiss the back of her hand.
‘All right, moneybags,’ he said. ‘You pay. But, just every now and then, remember Lesson Six and let me buy something—an apple, movie tickets, a lousy cup of coffee … Otherwise I’m liable to start beating my chest, because my ego’s as fragile as the average guy’s—which means pretty bloody fragile.’
As he pulled out onto the road, Lane thought about the way Adam had kissed first her mouth and then her hand. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted him to do more than kiss her. Surely he wanted that, too. A man didn’t kiss a woman like that then just leave things there. When they got to his place, it would happen at last. She just knew it.
And then she realized he’d taken a turn towards the airport—he was taking her home to Mascot. ‘I th-thought we were going to your place,’ she said. ‘You said it was closer for … for … you know.’
‘For “you know”?’ He gave a shaky laugh. And then a sigh that was just as shaky. ‘I know what I said, Lane, but I think we should call it a night. We’ve covered two lessons tonight—Five and Six—and it seems to me that neither of us is stable enough for Lesson Seven. So let’s take a raincheck on the “you know” and I’ll just take you home, okay?’
‘But you … you could stay with me if you don’t want to do it at your place, couldn’t you?’
‘I don’t think so, Lane.’
‘And about your car? You’ll need to go back for it and I … I could drive you back to get it. Afterwards, I mean.’
‘You can’t risk me being seen by Erica, remember? That means I can’t come in for any reason, and certainly not for “you know”.”
‘But—’
‘I’ll get a taxi back to Haberfield and pick up my car. It’ll be quick at this time of night.’
‘Driving me home, getting a taxi … It’s all very stupid, this arrangement,’ she said, wanting to cry.
‘Yeah, well that’s men for you.’
And what could she do but let the matter drop?
And she clearly had a long way to go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lane’s next scheduled date with Adam wasn’t until Saturday, when they were to shop for what Lane had privately labelled her ‘sex wardrobe’.
So when she answered a knock on her door on Thursday night, she was stunned to find Adam there holding a bottle of red wine and a DVD. Stunned … and not at all prepared for the punch of half-lust, half-fear that hit her.
‘I like the jeans,’ he commented.
Lane looked down at her only pair of jeans—washed to within an inch of life—at the too-big sweater she was wearing, at her be-socked feet. She looked a wreck.
‘Sweater’s good, too,’ he added.
Was he serious?
Adam grinned, reading her mind. ‘Women in men’s clothing. Mmm. Almost irresistible. Lesson Number Seven—and I didn’t even have to teach you. Ex-boyfriend’s?’
‘You know I don’t have one of those,’ she said, trying to sneak a look at the DVD cover, assuming it was porn. Which could be interesting …
‘So whose sweater is it?’
‘My brother’s. Or at least, I intended it for him.’
He took a step back and examined the sweater—not that it was worthy of such close attention; it was a pretty common-looking item, charcoal-coloured with a white stripe across the chest.
‘Since he’s not wearing it and you are, I’m guessing he didn’t like it,’ he said. ‘Why not?’
‘It turned out to be the wrong brand.’
‘Huh? There’s nothing wrong with Abercrombie and Fitch.’
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