Kiss Don't Tell

by Avril Tremayne

  She dug out her phone, checked her diary. And her throat seized up again. Adam’s name occupied the spaces for eleven—no, twelve!—nights over the next two weeks. Not good. Not good at all. She should never have let herself grow so dependent on his company.

  Then she saw the entry she needed.

  Four nights from now was the opening of the bank’s latest sponsored art exhibition.

  David would be there.

  So she would take Adam.

  A nice underscore of the original intention of the contract.

  Good for resetting her haywire brain.

  Good for convincing Adam she was fine and dandy and not in need of a commitment he wasn’t capable of.

  Good for her pride.

  Good all round.

  Lane looked at her charm bracelet and sighed. She was warped. There were no two ways about it. Because at the back of her usually sensible mind was a sneaking, snivelling, unworthy desire for Adam to hate David. For him to tell her he …

  What? Loved her?

  ‘And if that doesn’t prove to you that you need to get this relationship back into perspective, nothing will!’ she said aloud.

  Yes, it was time for Adam to meet David.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Adam knew he was completely dependent on Lane for his happiness when she cancelled two dates in a row and his immediate reaction was to kick a hole in the wall of his library.

  When she cancelled the third date he was ready to rip apart the entire house, and only stopped when he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror—and it was such a weird combination of wretchedness and fury he scared himself.

  He was pretty sure he’d scared his mother too when, at a loose, Lane-free end, he’d turned up at the airport unexpectedly to kiss her goodbye. She’d certainly given him a probing look when he’d asked her if Sarah had already left the airport because he needed to speak to her.

  ‘Oh Sarah left a good fifteen minutes ago—a date with some lawyer called Liam. You won’t get her tonight so don’t bother trying,’ his mother told him. And then, all innocence: ‘But if there’s anything you want to talk to me about…? Lane for example…’

  Thankfully Massimo had chosen that moment to insist they clear Customs, because Adam feared it wouldn’t be difficult for his mother to extract the whole sorry tale from him the way he was feeling. As it was he’d clung a little too closely to her when she’d hugged him goodbye and whispered in his ear that she had a sixth sense it would all work out. God knew what Sarah had been telling her!

  When day four came around, and Lane didn’t cancel, and he knew he was going to see her, Adam allowed himself to believe in his mother’s sixth sense. He was almost euphoric. Which made him wonder if he’d become a sex addict, because it felt as though he’d been going through some kind of drug withdrawal, and just the thought of a hit of Lane was like a quick fix.

  But if what he was feeling was some sort of addiction, he was going to embrace it.

  Tonight was going to be special. He could feel it. Tonight, at her bank function, with her colleagues in attendance, Lane was publicly acknowledging she was with him. She was telling the world—or at least her corner of it—they were together. He punched a hand in the air. Yes! A game-changer moment. And befitting such a moment, tonight he was going to tell Lane he loved her.

  Adam took the string of amber he’d bought for her out of its velvet pouch, running the light, warm nodules through his fingers. He’s seen it in the jewellery store and instantly pictured the dark honey translucence of the beads against her skin. He couldn’t wait to see her wearing the amber and nothing else.

  He visualized that as he climbed into his car. As he drove to her house. As he parked. As he opened her squeaky gate, walked up the path, knocked on the door.

  But when she opened the door, the reality of her knocked every visualization out of his head.

  She was wearing the red dress they’d bought together. Her hair was piled on her head in a profusion of copper curls. She’d darkened her eyelids with smudgy grey shadow and reddened her lips—or Erica had, more likely.

  And she was stunning.

  But she didn’t seem to notice his awestruck expression, merely saying calmly, ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said.

  She blinked, then looked just past his temple. She had her habitual cool smile in place. ‘So are you, in that suit.’ She made a nervous gesturing motion with her hands. ‘So, shall we …?’

  Feeling suddenly uneasy, Adam led her to his car. When they reached it—he’d brought the Jag instead of the jeep tonight—Lane stopped in her tracks. But a moment later she shrugged and said, ‘Nice car,’ and he could tell she wasn’t particularly impressed the way women often were when he rolled out the Jag. Well, she drove a Ford Focus—fancy cars clearly weren’t a high-priority interest for her. No big deal.

  He opened the door for her and she slid inside, inelegantly, as usual, which he found completely endearing.

  Lane was silent during the drive, responding only when Adam asked her a direct question—and so coolly, Adam’s uneasiness began to climb.

  He could see she was making an effort to relax her hands as he parked. ‘Is something wrong, Lane?’ he asked.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘You just seem a little—’

  ‘I don’t want to be late, that’s all. I put Sarah on the guest list—it seemed to fit, with Frisk & Frolic doing the PR for that big arts festival in Western Sydney. She’s the lead on that—did she tell you? And anyway, you know how much she loves a party. I’ll bet she’s already here.’

  Adam helped her out of the car and took her arm. They walked in silence, Lane tripping only twice in her new red shoes. She seemed to be getting used to wearing heels but she had quite a way to go before she’d look natural in them. And he found that completely endearing too.

  The exhibition was in a redeveloped rail yard building in one of Sydney’s thriving urban areas near the Central Business District. The old carriage works had been transformed into a multipurpose arts and culture space. It was Adam’s favourite kind of redevelopment—embracing the building’s past while adapting it and modernizing it for the future—and he was looking forward to spending time inside with Lane, discussing the architectural features. She was always interested, seriously interested, in every subject that came up. The ace student in her, processing and cataloguing snippets of information in her amazing brain.

  But first …

  He stopped her outside and kissed her, heedless of the people streaming around them on their way into the gallery. He released her slowly, smiling into her eyes … and got a shock.

  Because instead of looking dewy-eyed at him, the way he’d come to expect, Lane seemed distraught.

  Something was definitely wrong.

  Adam was about to suggest they skip the function and go back to his place to talk, when she started walking agitatedly towards the entrance.

  ‘Sarah will be waiting,’ she explained, when he reached out to try and halt her.

  Adam was at a loss as to what could be wrong; all he could do was follow Lane inside and hope he’d find out what was troubling her as the night progressed.

  When they reached the exhibition space, Lane looked around quickly, and then with the briefest, ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ she headed across the room.

  She was heading towards … towards … some blond guy …?

  Yes, a blond guy.

  A handsome blond guy.

  As Adam watched, the man turned, and his eyes slid over Lane’s body in male appreciation.

  Was Lane smiling back? Her back was to Adam so he couldn’t see, but what he could see was the guy touch Lane’s arm when she reached him.

  Like he was her lover.

  Adam felt the hairs on the back of his neck spring up at about the same time as he identified the roaring in his ears as a rush of temper-laden blood throu
gh his veins. He didn’t know how long he stood there feeling his insides turn from fire to ice before his sister’s voice penetrated the sick fury in his head.

  ‘Adam? Hello? Adam!’

  With an effort, Adam dragged his gaze from Lane.

  Sarah was smiling up at him. ‘Isn’t this a gloriously glamorous turnout? Good thing I dressed up.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me what she’s brought me to.’

  ‘It’s an art exhibition that’s going to travel all over the country. There are some stunning pieces but it’s strictly display only—nothing for sale—so don’t get attached to anything. Not that you could fit another painting in your house. According to the curator of the exhibition—that cute guy with the green bow tie over there—it’s a great opportunity for—’ She broke off. ‘Adam …?’ She turned to follow the direction his gaze had snapped back to three times since she’d started talking.

  She gave him a knowing look. ‘Ah, okay, I see.’

  ‘It’s him, isn’t it? David Bennett?’

  ‘I’d say so, although I haven’t met him yet.’

  ‘If you haven’t met him, how can you be sure?’

  ‘Because he’s been described to me. And, well, look at them.’

  Oh God. God, God, God, yes, look at them. Look at him, so polished and handsome and … and drooling. ‘So she’s still going to … you know … with him?’

  ‘She hasn’t mentioned his name for a while. In fact Erica thought he might be out of the picture. But you know Lane hasn’t been exactly forthcoming about you either. She’s a stickler for the confidentiality clause. Erica thinks … but then I’ve just assumed … still, I guess … Hmmm.’ She frowned at him. ‘I thought you weren’t … You know, the whole commitment thing … I was sure you …’ She shook her head, as though to clear it. ‘Why do you care who it is?’

  ‘I thought maybe …’ He stopped, shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Nothing.’

  Sarah stared at him. ‘Oh my God! Erica’s right, isn’t she?’

  ‘What the hell has Erica got to do with it?’

  ‘She told me, the night of Lane’s birthday, that you … that Lane … that you … Oh. My. God! She is right. She’s hit the nail on the head.’

  ‘What nail?’

  ‘You and Lane! Erica said it was obvious—well, to everyone except the two of you—what was going down. So … what exactly is going down? Not just sex, clearly, not just— Oh!’

  ‘Oh what,’ Adam said irritably.

  ‘Not just sex for you. But for Lane…’

  ‘Shut up, Sarah.’

  ‘Oh, this is bad.’

  ‘What’s bad,’ Adam said, ‘is seeing my mother at the airport last night and knowing my sister has been blabbing.’

  ‘No I haven’t,’ Sarah squeaked.

  ‘You’re blushing, which means you’re lying.’

  ‘Okay, I told her you took Lane to the AQHP dinner—that’s it! And she may have… Well, she may have deduced a certain level of interest on your part as a result of that particular occurrence.’

  ‘One day I’m going to kill you, Sarah.’

  ‘No you’re not’ Sarah said, and her eyes wandered back to Lane. ‘Oh God, she’s bringing him over!’ Shew grabbed Adam’s arm. ‘Try not to take out your murderous tendencies on him, either, will you? At least not in public.’

  Adam swivelled and saw Golden Boy approaching with Lane, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe let alone talk. David Bennett was insanely good looking. Getting better looking with each step. And then they arrived and David smiled and he saw that he had dimples. Dimples, for the love of God.

  Lane made the introductions—David, Adam, Sarah.

  David had a good, firm handshake—so Adam gave his a little extra crunch. But other than a tiny flicker of surprise in the eyes, David didn’t flinch. Damn him.

  ‘Do you enjoy art, Adam? Sarah?’ David asked.

  ‘Adam’s the collector in the family,’ Sarah said, but she was looking distinctly less friendly than usual. That was his sister, loyal to a fault.

  Another tiny flicker of surprise in David’s eyes. Adam guessed he wasn’t used to women cold-shouldering him. Still, when he asked Adam, ‘Do you collect anything in particular?’ he sounded affable. The creep.

  ‘Indigenous. And contemporary Chinese.’ Short. To the point. Perhaps a little churlish, but so what? ‘Remember, Lane? We looked at some a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Y-yes,’ she said nervously.

  David-the-dickhead smiled. ‘We have some wonderful Indigenous pieces on display tonight. No Chinese, though. A shame,’ he added, with a smile at Lane that Adam wanted to punch right off his face, ‘since China’s your specialty, Lane.’ Back to Adam, after a wary sideways glance at Sarah, who was giving him her version of a dagger look. ‘I’m a collector of Indigenous art myself. I have a wonderful Emily.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ Adam said. And a Susie, and a Jenny and a fucking Lane, he added silently—though he knew David meant the famous Aboriginal painter Emily Kngwarreye, and that his arseholery was not warranted.

  Lane, looking a little deer-in-the-headlights, piped up. ‘David also collects etchings.’ Then her eyes widened and she blushed.

  Adam felt his lip curl. ‘Etchings? Seriously?’ he asked, and would have been amused at David’s sudden wince … except that he still wanted to punch him.

  ‘So what do you do, Adam?’ David asked, obviously trying for a diversion.

  Lane answered for him, looking nervous at that point. ‘Adam’s an architect.’

  A determined smile from David. ‘Ah, so I guess you’d have an opinion on the new casino development on Sydney Harbour?’

  ‘I’m more into heritage buildings,’ Adam said in what could only be described as a fuck-off tone.

  Adam reckoned anyone else would have hightailed it in the face of his and Sarah’s blatant unfriendliness, but nope. David stayed right there, as though it would take a freaking bulldozer to move him, chatting right on about some of Sydney’s heritage buildings—the Queen Victoria Building, Customs House, St Mary’s Cathedral …

  David was charming. Erudite. Knowledgeable. Well mannered.

  Bastard.

  How they got onto discussing Adam’s Chinese art collection, Adam wasn’t sure, but at least it prompted Sarah to drag Lane away to meet some joker called Felix from Beijing. He was relieved to have Lane out of too-good-to-be-true David bloody Bennett’s orbit for a while.

  ***

  ‘What’s the great urgency?’ Lane asked as Sarah pulled her across the room, her heart in her throat and her mind still with Adam and David. With every second step, her eyes strayed back to them as they talked about who knew what.

  ‘Felix is organizing a series of investment seminars in China and I mentioned you as a possible speaker. He thinks you could be an excellent panellist, especially given you speak Mandarin, and I’m sure the bank would see it as great publicity, too. But first …’ Sarah leaned in close and lowered her voice ‘… I’d like to know what’s going on with you and Adam.’

  ‘Sarah, you know I can’t tell you—’

  ‘If you’re going to blather on about that confidentiality clause, stop right there, because I’m over it,’ Sarah said, with an unusually hard look at Lane. ‘I’m not asking for the nitty-gritty sex details, Lane, but this is my brother we’re talking about and I want to know why you felt the need to march David Bennett over to meet him. It seemed very pointed. Deliberate, meaningful, significant. Maybe even a little bit cruel.’

  Lane sucked in a shocked breath. ‘Cruel?’

  ‘I could almost think you were waving David at him like a banner or a flag or pompom. Go Team David. Suck it Team Adam. And he’s my brother! And Mum left for Italy yesterday, which means it’s up to me on my own to look after his emotional state, Lane. Me. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t understand the problem.’

  Sarah drew herself up. �
�Oh, don’t you?’

  ‘Well … no. Adam already knew about David. He’s known about him for weeks. This … tonight … It’s just part of the arrangement. Way back when we started, he said … he said if I showed him who I was interested in he’d give me a quick assessment. This was the first chance I had to … to arrange it, that’s all.’ She paused, thought about Adam’s cool, almost clipped response to David, hope rising. ‘You don’t think it bothered Adam, do you?’

  ‘Here’s a thought: why don’t you ask Adam if it bothered him?’

  Why don’t you ask Adam?

  Hadn’t she all but done that, the first time Adam brought up David’s name, only to be told David wasn’t an issue?

  ‘I thought you said Adam was a total, unrelenting tart,’ Lane said, keeping her voice level and calm—completely at odds with her gnashing insides. ‘“Definitely not the man for you”—those were your exact words to me.’ Tell me I’m wrong. ‘I don’t think he’ll be pining for me when the contract lapses in five and a half weeks.’ Tell me he will. ‘He’s not into commitment—you’ve both told me that.’ Tell me things have changed.

  Sarah’s mouth opened, and Lane waited, pulse racing, heart yearning …

  ‘I’m asking what you feel, Lane,’ Sarah said, after a slight hesitation. ‘I want to know if you … what you … how you …’ She grimaced, then gave up. ‘Oh what’s the point? I saw David Bennett, Lane. I saw him; I met him.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Well just look at him!’

  ‘David?’

  ‘Yes, David! It’s no wonder you wanted to— Ugh. You know what? Forget it! You go and pine after David Bennett. I have Adam and Mum and Massimo, and … and Bertie to think about for a while. Not to mention Lusty Liam, my own new love interest, six days and counting, of whom I have very high hopes. So yes, go on pining and while you’re at it, why don’t you find Felix for yourself? Last time I saw him he was standing near the big blue sculpture. I. Am. Done.’

  And Sarah flounced off—actually flounced! Sarah! Who was the sunniest-natured girl in the world!

  Lane worried about Sarah’s reaction, her disapproval, all the way over to the blue sculpture, and all through her conversation with Felix. Sarah was concerned about Adam—that much was clear. But surely the only reason she’d be concerned about Adam was if …