He had to smile. “What, that wouldn’t be enough? I’d have to perform every night?” He gave a gusty sigh. “You’re a cruel taskmaster.”
“If you were going to be gone half the time, maybe I’d need it. Anyway, you’d leave me hanging like that, after all that talk? If you wouldn’t be up to the challenge—now I’m really disappointed.”
“Hmm,” he said, grinning like a fool, “I might be able to manage that. Maybe. I’d have my away weeks to recover, after all. Yeh,” he decided, “reckon I’d have to give it my best shot. Do my marital duty.”
She laughed, and he was lying there on his back, smiling into the dark, separated from her by their wall. “So no kiss?” he prompted. “Not even one pillow’s worth of a cuddle for your jealous non-husband?”
“You going to do that war dance thing while I’m here?”
“You mean the haka? Not a war dance,” he felt duty-bound to point out. “It can be a challenge, it can be a tribute, but it’s not a dance. And yeh, I am. With the All Blacks. You’re going to see it.”
“Then that’s when I’ll kiss you. I don’t imagine I’ll be able to help it, because it sure looked like a war dance to me.”
“Could get up and do it right now,” he suggested. “Take my shirt off again first, too.”
“So tempting,” she sighed. “But I am strong. No pillows. No haka. No kissing. Go to sleep.”
Foot-in-Mouth Disease
He was lying in bed the next morning with his hands behind his head again and watching her put on her makeup in the mirror on the back of the door, which was nothing but a pure pleasure.
“I was thinking,” he said, “that you might want to go for a walk today. Up on one of the forest tracks, maybe.”
She finished filling those lush lips with pink, slicked on some gloss with a finger, then pressed them together in a kiss, and he rucked the duvet up a bit more around him. He didn’t want to go for a walk.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked. She’d come out of the bathroom in a white tank and tight black trousers that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Now, she went over to the closet, took out a long pale-pink sweater, and tugged it over her head, where it fell off one shoulder, leaving just those two tiny straps showing, the tank and the darker pink bra underneath, and that was almost worse.
She turned to look at him inquiringly, and he realized she’d said something, and that once again, he’d lost the plot. “Pardon?”
“Maybe we should take a break.” She came back to sit on the side of the bed, picked up the delicate necklace she’d worn the night before, a mother-of-pearl wedge with a tiny pearl in the center, and fastened it around her neck. She didn’t need his help this time, unfortunately.
“I mean,” she said, “I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ve been neglecting everything, just having fun with you. And maybe…maybe we should take a break,” she said again. “It might be better, don’t you think?”
“Uh…maybe.” No. “I leave on Monday, though, for Dunedin.” And he’d only have a couple days with her after the game before she left for the States again. So why shouldn’t they make the most of the time they did have?
“With the All Blacks.” Her hands were behind her head, twisting her hair up into that knot again, which was a pity, because he loved it falling around her face.
“Yeh. Finally.”
“It’s been really hard, huh?” she asked, her blue eyes full of nothing but sympathy. “I’m sorry, Will. I know I haven’t said that, but I really am sorry that it’s been so hard.”
He was sorry, too. In fact, he could fairly be said to be suffering. “No worries. Not your fault.” He cleared his throat. “So…nothing today? Could I take you out tonight, maybe? We could go to the Lava Bar afterwards, do some dancing, a bit more pretending.”
“Mmm.” She was still working on her hair, all cozy on the bed with him, and he was dying. “The Lava Bar? That supposed to be hot?”
“That’s the idea.”
“I guess, since you’ve bought my services and all, I should give you your money’s worth, you think?”
“Pretending-wise?” he managed to say. “Yeh. At least we could dance. And be out in public, of course,” he hastened to add. “Someplace where heaps of people would see us.”
She smiled. “Something to look forward to, get me motivated to get my work done. Sounds good. A real date. Well, a pretend date.”
“Better than that fella in Vegas, let’s hope.”
“My failed interview? You still remember that? That was a long time ago. A few first dates ago.”
The thought struck him in all its horror. “You don’t have a…a partner back there, do you? That isn’t why you’ve been saying no to me, is it?”
“Of course I don’t.” She looked nothing but offended. “What, I’d be dating somebody who’d say, sure, go off and pretend to be some other guy’s girlfriend? Would I go out with a guy like that? No, I would not.”
“Oh.” He swallowed against the relief. “Nothing. Stupid idea. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you to dinner, and then we’ll go dancing, and I won’t ask you where you went to Uni.”
“You not going to be a back-door guy?”
He nearly choked. “You have to stop saying that. Not to a man. No.”
“Oh.” The red was creeping up past that low neckline, as always. “Right,” she went on, trying for brisk. “Dinner and dancing. Sounds great. And I’ll get some work done in the meantime. Were you planning to get up sometime soon? Should I wait for you?”
“Nah. You go on.” It was going to take him a minute to be suitable for viewing. “See you downstairs.”
***
He picked up the pace as he pounded out one more kilometer around the lake. He’d chosen to run to the gym, then do a longer run afterwards, up into the hills, because match-fit was an entirely different animal than gym-fit, and he’d been out of it for ten days now. Besides, he’d needed to do something, since he wasn’t spending the day with Faith, and he’d been restless waiting for their evening out. Their first real date, and he was looking forward to it. You could put it that way. Or you could say that he was dying for it.
He spotted the group of kids in their uniforms ahead, standing about on the beach, bikes flung to the ground around them, and smiled a bit.
It brought back some memories, even though he hadn’t been here much himself. Too much rugby training, because even then, he’d taken it seriously. And once his dad had bunked off, of course, desire had become something much more urgent. He certainly hadn’t been smoking, the way they were. Not cigarettes, and not anything else either. One would have cut into his wind, and the other would have turned up in a drug test and brought his rugby to a screeching halt.
He’d never envied the kids who had been able to hang about together, either. He’d had all the mateship a man could need. He’d loved the structure of rugby, had loved knowing exactly what he was meant to do, in this one area at least. And he’d definitely loved everything rugby had given him. The demands had been brutal, maybe, but the rewards had been worth it. Knowing that you were always giving your best, always being kept to the mark, and that you were providing for everything and everyone you needed to as well.
He recognized the bike before he saw her. A familiar white basket hanging from the front handlebars, with Talia’s backpack stuck into it. She was standing on the beach, facing the water, with a tall figure Will recognized beside her. Somebody who had his arm draped around her shoulders, his head bent much too close to hers.
It wasn’t even a thought. Will’s feet had sped up, had left the track, were crunching over the stones at a pace that had the entire group turning in alarm. He didn’t slow until he was nearly there, running a line that had him circling around and stopping bang in front of Chaz, who had jerked away from Talia and dropped his arm from around her.
“Will?” Talia said. “What are you doing here?”
“No,” he said. “The question is,
what are you doing here?”
“What d’you mean? I’m hanging out with my friends, aren’t I.” Her voice was rising, already agitated, and he found his adrenaline spiking in response.
“And now you can keep me company on my run home,” he said. “Go on and get your bike.”
“Why?” she asked, her expression exactly the same as it had been when she’d been a little girl and their mum had told her it was time for bed.
He glanced at Chaz, who had one thumb hitched into the waistband of his jeans, his posture all calculated indifference. “Because I don’t like the company you’re in.”
He knew it was wrong as soon as the words had left his lips, and sure enough, Talia was fairly spitting now. “What? Why?” she demanded. “If Mum doesn’t care that I’m here, why should you? You can’t tell me what to do! You don’t even care!”
He moved instinctively towards her, she took a step back, and he realized with horror that she was scared he was going to hit her.
He bit the words back, the ones he wanted to say, because this wasn’t the time, and it wasn’t the place. “We’ll talk about it at home,” he said instead. He fought to get his temper under control, and nearly succeeded. He was always cool. Always. Except right now. “We’re leaving. Come on.”
“Why?” she asked again, nearly stomping her foot. “Why shouldn’t I stay here and talk to my friends? You can do anything you want, and you get away with it, and nobody says anything? You have nasty pictures taken, you get suspended, you bring your girlfriend here and expect everybody to just say that’s OK, that’s fine, and I can’t even stand with my friends in public, on the beach? I’m supposed to just stay home alone? What am I supposed to do? Who am I even supposed to talk to?”
“I didn’t say that. And I’ll talk to you. That’s what I’m telling you, that I want to talk to you.” He went for strong and stern and sure. It worked on the paddock, the only place he had to speak with authority. Surely it would work here as well. “I’m sure your friends are…fine.” He looked around at them, at the veiled, uncomfortable expressions, the gazes dropped to study their feet. They did look fine. They looked like teenagers. Most of them. “But now it’s time to go home. So we can talk.” About why a nineteen-year-old shouldn’t be interested in her. Wouldn’t be interested in her, except that he wanted a girl who’d be impressed. Who’d make it easy.
He should have talked to her the night before, no matter what, should have followed her into her bedroom and said…what?
Should have told her, that was what. Should have explained. Nobody better to do it, nobody who knew more about it.
“Yeh, right,” she said, her voice shaking. “You’ll talk to me like you always do? When you’re even here? Which is never? Well, I’m not coming! I’m not! And you can tell Faith that I’m never, ever taking her anywhere again! Not if everybody’s just going to spy on me!”
She had whirled, and she was running, hurdling the log and heading up the path. He almost ran after her, then hesitated. And do what? He could run after her, of course he could. He could run her down, grab her, haul her home by force. Except that he couldn’t. It was illegal, for one thing. And anyway, if he caught her, if he shouted, if he held her there to listen to him, all he’d be was a bully. It was all wrong, and it wouldn’t work anyway.
He looked around at the downturned faces, the uniform shoes scuffling in the stones. And Chaz, standing there with an expression on his face that Will longed to wipe out in the old way, the best way.
He almost did it, except that he couldn’t. The frustration was twisting inside him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
“When she comes back,” he told the kids, not looking at Chaz, “tell her that I’ll see her at home, and we’ll be talking.” It wasn’t nearly good enough, but it was all he had. And then he took off.
Going Under
Hope closed her eyes and let the water wash over her hair, down her back. She turned languidly, welcoming the gentle cascade on her breasts, the stream of water a warm caress as soothing as a lover’s hand, as gentle as a kiss, trickling down her flat belly and pooling between her thighs.
She reached for the soap, slid it slowly over her shoulders, her arms, and then, delaying the moment, because she wanted to savor this, down her breasts. Over one rosy nipple, which pebbled at the contact, aching for more. Just that easily, just that quickly, because every inch of her body was sensitized these days, like she was nothing but throbbing need, nothing but anticipation, waiting and yearning for Hemi’s touch.
So she obliged herself. She slid her hand up, down, around, played with the other nipple, and it felt so good, she got a little bolder. Her soapy hand crept downward, slicked across her firm, smooth skin as she thought about Hemi, about the way he had looked the night before. When he’d been holding her over him, driving himself into her, then pulling her down, rolling so he was on top of her. Murmuring in her ear, telling her that this was an easy night, but tomorrow…tomorrow, he had other plans.
She shivered at the memory, and the soap was slick between her fingers, and her fingers were slick, too, because tomorrow was here.
The clear shower curtain was yanked back with a rasp of rings, and her eyes flew open.
“Aw, sweetheart,” she heard. “You got started without me. But go on. Show me some more. I’d love to watch, and you need to warm me up, too. Because tonight…you’re going to find out what happens to naughty girls who touch themselves in the shower.”
***
She got that far, and stopped. What did happen to naughty girls? She always seemed to balk at this point, her internal filter slamming down between her brain and her fingers, the little critic coming to perch on her shoulder, telling her not to go there, no matter how much she wanted to.
She made a few false starts, hit the backspace button and wiped them out, then sat back and sighed. Time to take a break. A shower of her own, maybe, because there was nothing like research. Research, and some thinking about—all right, about Will.
Fifteen minutes later, she was a whole lot more inspired. The faucet was the key. Hemi had some silk ropes in his well-equipped closet, she knew. Once he got Hope’s wrists tied to that faucet and had the bar of soap in his hand—well, she’d just say that Hope was going to be one exceptionally clean girl. The rope and Hemi’s strong arms might be the only things holding her up, though, because her knees were going to be shaking hard by the time he was done.
It was all there, and she needed to write it. She put the soap back into its dish, rinsed off as fast as she could, and shoved the faucet closed. It was a shame that its starring role was going to be limited to the page, but then, you couldn’t have everything. She groped for a towel, added heated towel rack to the mental prop list, and took a couple swipes at herself. No time to dress, because she had to write it while it was in her head.
She flung the door open and headed into the bedroom to do it. And ran smack into Will, coming into the bedroom, moving fast.
She bounced off his chest, his hands came out automatically to grab her arms, and for one frozen second, she was staring at him, and he was staring back. Looking not one bit like her funny, relaxed Will, because he was sweating, and breathing hard.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to hear her. Because, she realized with horror, she was naked. She stepped back and started to pull the towel around her, but his hand had shot out and grabbed hers just that fast, and the towel fell to the floor at her feet. Then one hand was behind her head, the other had slid down her back, and he was on her.
There was nothing soft, nothing sweet, nothing slow. Nothing but his lips claiming hers, his tongue deep inside her mouth, one hand fisting in her wet hair while the other slid down over the curve of a cheek and hauled her up onto her toes, pulled her more tightly against him.
She was making some sounds into his mouth now, smothered whimpers that she couldn’t help one bit, and her hands were
on his shoulders, trying to pull him even closer.
He stuck one hand out behind him and shoved the bedroom door closed, then seemed to catch himself. He looked at her, the question written in all its taut urgency on his face, and she shuddered.
It was enough. He had taken hold of her again, his mouth was devouring her, and he was backing her into the bathroom, all the way into the shower stall. She landed against the tiled wall, the shock of the cold a nearly unbearable contrast to the warmth of his mouth, his hard body. His hands were on her breasts, supporting their weight, his thumbs were moving over her aching, sensitized nipples, sending an urgent signal straight to her center, and she was burning for him.
“Please,” she moaned, her back arching, everything in her body wanting to pull him into her. She needed him inside her. She needed him now.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her out of the shower again, leaned inside and twisted the faucet, and tested the water impatiently with a palm.
She didn’t wait for it. She’d gotten hold of his T-shirt, was pulling him out of the shower, tugging the shirt over his head and tossing it, then running her hands greedily over his chest.
“Not waxed anymore,” she managed to say.
“No. But you are.”
She swallowed, feeling the warmth rising in her cheeks along with the steam that was filling the little room. “I’m so…I’m so…”
“I know you are. So am I. That’s why we’re going to do it.” He yanked his shorts and underwear down his legs and kicked them loose. “Get in the shower,” he told her, and then didn’t wait for her to do it. Instead, he pulled her in with him and shoved her under the spray. She gasped at the warm water hitting her skin, and he was grabbing the soap and beginning to use it on her, and it was her fantasy, but it was so much better. Because it was Will.
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