Memories Of Love

by Jenny Schwartz

  Her belly sucked in at the pleasure of skin to skin contact. She brought his hand to her mouth, kissed the palm and unleashed a whirlwind.

  It was incredible. The passion of his need freed her to demand everything, to be greedy about the sensations his touch aroused, and to tell him and show him what he did to her. And the more she gave him, the more he returned to her. His self-control and his strength brought her into a world where frustration was agonisingly sweet and satisfaction more necessary than breathing. They were both shaking by the time he pounded into her one final time and their shared climax rippled through them.

  She fell asleep, barely aware of him tucking her into the frame of his body.

  Later she’d wonder if things would have been different if she hadn’t woken up first the next morning. But the truth was, it would have been just as devastating and final whenever it happened. Life had a way of making you pay for your mistakes.

  She woke facing Ivan, their legs entangled, his arm keeping her close. She surfaced slowly, not thinking, simply feeling. And it felt wonderful. She pressed her lips to his shoulder. The smooth wrongness of scar tissue jolted her out of sleep. Her fingers replaced her mouth and she traced the shape and position of the scar.

  Only the littlest bit lower, and he’d have died.

  She jack-knifed out of bed.

  Ivan woke, silent and immediately alert. He sat up and the blanket fell to his lap.

  In the early dawn light, she saw the evidence of violence and suffering on his body. “I can’t do this. I can’t. It was a mistake.” Hysteria had her blood pulsing frantically. She could feel it beating against her skin. She wasn’t thinking any more. She was in survivor mode, traumatised survivor mode.

  “Nothing which felt that good can be a mistake. Come here and I’ll remind you.” Ivan sounded warm and satisfied, indulgent and inviting.

  “No!” She scrambled for clothes. The gown she’d worn last night was no good. She hadn’t thought this through. She was naked and vulnerable in front of him. Her suitcase was in the guest room. She hadn’t had the nerve to leave it in Ivan’s. She ran for the door.

  He swore and ran after her. He snagged her around the waist and drew her back. “What’s wrong with you?”

  The heat and strength of him at her back added a vicious twist to her volatile emotions. Everything about him promised protection, safety—and she knew it for a lie. Life ripped everything good from her. His scars were a harsh wake up call. If she stayed with him, when she lost him—and she would lose him—it would be the last straw. Losing Ivan would finish her.

  “Let me go.” She clawed at the arm that encircled her waist and kicked backwards.

  “Rita.” He spun her in his arms, imprisoning her facing him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Those lovely hazel eyes, his frowning concern, promised he’d fix everything.

  She put her hands flat against his chest and pushed.

  “No,” he said. “Until you tell me why you’re behaving like this, I’m not letting you go.”

  “Fine. You want to know why I’m trying like hell to get away from you—look what you’re doing. You’re holding me against my will. You’re bigger than me, stronger.”

  His arms dropped. “That’s just an excuse. I’d never hurt you.”

  “You will.” It was near a scream, scaring her. “You will.” Quieter. She had to make him believe her and let her go. The scared, scarred part of her knew she had to survive alone. “I’m fighting naked with you. This isn’t me. Last night, I must have been insane. I’ve got to get dressed.”

  He followed her to the guest room and stood in the doorway as she pulled on a cotton dress. “You came to me.”

  She shuddered and zipped up the suitcase. If the apartment weren’t so high up, she’d have seriously considered diving through the window. She really didn’t want to turn around and face her mistake—but since there was no option, she did.

  He stood in the doorway. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you come to me? I let you go, Rita. I didn’t push this thing between us.”

  “Didn’t you? You were there, Ivan. I was messed up. I lost the house, lost everything, and you came to the rescue. That’s who you are. A hero. And just for a while, I needed a hero.” She needed him, but the price was too high and her fear too strong. “But it works better if you’re just my boss, the ex-SAS hero.”

  She flinched at the slam of his hand against the door frame.

  “You’re saying you weren’t fucking me, last night. You were fucking any soldier. Anything male and hard, like a—”

  But she fled past him. At the apartment door, their eyes met as she reached back to shut it behind her. “I’m sorry, Ivan. I thought, I hoped. Maybe I was crazy. But I can’t do this. I can’t lose anything more.”

  Chapter 6

  The three star hotel room was quiet, clean and claustrophobic. Rita hadn’t gone to work on Wednesday. She’d switched off her mobile and gone to ground. If she couldn’t scrape up the courage to face Ivan—and she suspected she couldn’t—she’d have to quit her job.

  Pain gripped her chest, hurting worse than the choking flames of the house fire. The people at Tamerlane Security were her friends. She couldn’t lose them.

  She punched the thin hotel pillow. How could she have been so stupid? She’d bought into Sonya’s insane idea that she and Ivan could be together. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Ivan needed a woman of courage and strength, beautiful, sexy…

  He’d made her feel beautiful and sexy.

  Rita rolled out of bed and into a cold shower. Since she couldn’t sleep, she’d attend the ANZAC Day dawn service at King’s Park. There she could be among people, but alone. She’d remember the men and women who’d given their lives so others could live with dignity and freedom, so that others could love and build families.

  She let the cold shower sting her flesh. It would never be her building a family, never her fighting to protect those she loved. She was a coward, but she wasn’t an idiot, and only an idiot kept hitting her head against a brick wall. Hadn’t she learned? Life took everything—everyone—good from her.

  A large crowd had gathered by the time she made it to the memorial. In the lightening dark of predawn, a once a year kinship gathered them together. Strangers, each with their own grief and memories, stood in silence. There were little children there, sleepy and held in their fathers’ arms. There were old women, alone, possibly widowed, remembering. There were cadets in their uniforms, just old enough to be wondering what life would bring them. They were united in a sorrow that was yet strength.

  The cool dawn air rasped in her lungs as her throat tightened. The words of the service floated over her. They were as meaningless to her as to the toddler near her whose brown eyes were wide with uncertainty as he patted the tear on his father’s cheek. This was a time of emotion, not clever words.

  The bugle sounded with the echo of distant battlefields.

  She folded her arms, hugging her loneliness to her.

  Ivan would march at one of the services, today. He’d wear the medals he’d earned and he’d remember his army mates, like James Kai, who’d never come home. Today, their families would mourn them.

  As she mourned her mum and dad.

  Oh God. You never got over missing those your loved. It didn’t matter if they’d died in a war or a car accident or in hospital after a long illness. Their absence killed you.

  Beside her, the toddler broke into tears. With horror, she realised he was staring at her. It was her pain, the agony in her expression, which had the small face burrowing into his father’s throat.

  “I’m sorry. Sorry.” She pushed through the crowd, seeing people fall back at her desperation. Their pity broke her.

  The tall trees of the park soared above her, lit by the golden light of dawn. She ran beneath them, her feet leaving the soft grass to slap against the bitumen of the road. She skidded on the gravel, righted herself and lurched onward. Her
car was parked forever down the road, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how long or how fast she ran, she carried the pain with her.

  Ivan put his medals back in their box and tucked it in a drawer. Then he shrugged a casual shirt on over his jeans and buttoned it as he walked into the kitchen, grabbed his car keys and headed out.

  As important as ANZAC Day was, his focus was on Rita.

  His woman had courage and pride, but he’d failed her. She’d come to him, but then she’d gotten scared.

  “I can’t lose anything more.”

  Just the memory of those words made him swear. He was an insensitive idiot. All the words she’d thrown at him, her near hysteria and desperation to get away. He should have seen what she was doing.

  She was trying to protect her heart. She had lost everything, her family, her home, even her memories.

  He should have held on to her. But he had his own demons; the fear that the darkness in him would hurt her.

  It could. Witness how he’d let her run away with her pain and her fears.

  But if he was any sort of man, he could heal as well as hurt—and that’s what losing her had shown him.

  He couldn’t restore her house or bring her parents back to life. He wasn’t a miracle worker. Still, where she thought she’d lost everything, he’d show her that she had everything to gain.

  He would convince her that he was worth the risk.

  The knock at her hotel room door surprised Rita. No one knew she was here. A momentary suspicion stirred. Ivan could find anyone anywhere. But why would he bother looking for her?

  Perhaps the hotel cleaning crew needed access to the room. She should have hung out the ‘do not disturb’ sign.

  She opened the door, then sagged against it. “Ivan?”

  “Good. You’re dressed.” He strode into the room, grabbed her handbag from beside the bed, hooked it over her shoulder and guided her out of the room.

  The whole manoeuvre took about twenty seconds—not long enough to get her brain functioning.

  It wasn’t till they were waiting for the lift that she dug in her heels. The doors opened.

  Ivan swept her forward. “You resist and I’ll carry you.”

  “I quit,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  “My job. I quit. You can let me go.” She tried to tug her arm free.

  “I’m not letting you go, ever.”

  Her eyes shot to his face.

  He looked back steadily. “You had hysterics, sweetheart, and I let you run. I won’t be making that mistake again.”

  “You won’t have a chance.” She struggled to get the words out. Part of her wanted to cling onto him. How weak was she that one little word, sweetheart, had her hurting with hope?

  “Yeah, I will. And I’m going to show you why you’ll give me that chance.”

  “Me? The despicable soldier groupie?” She flung his insult back at him. “I won’t have sex with you.”

  The lift doors opened. Great, fate was mocking her. A group of elderly people were waiting in the foyer for the lift. There were twigs of rosemary, for remembrance, in their jacket pockets.

  Face flaming, she allowed Ivan to guide her out, and once they were out of the hotel, it seemed pointless to refuse to get into his car. One glance at his face convinced her he’d use force.

  “Sensible,” he said.

  “I am sensible.” Except for when she was seducing her boss.

  “Except with me,” he said. “With me, you let yourself dream.”

  Oh boy.

  “And Rita, your dreams are safe with me.”

  The quiet vow rattled her enough that she stayed silent as he guided the car out of the city and into the suburbs. Dreams are dangerous, she wanted to shout at him. But he knew that. He knew what his dream of being a soldier had cost him. The difference between them was that Ivan was fearless. He’d follow his dreams and pay the price for them. She was all out of courage. She didn’t even have the nerve to resist him. The broken, hurting heart of her wanted him.

  He pulled up in a tree lined street that was filled with cars.

  “My parents’ house.”

  “What?” She twisted in the car seat.

  “My apartment is big, but not big enough for your party, and Mum loves entertaining.”

  “Wait.” She actually held up a hand. “Back up. My party?”

  He took her hand and pressed it against his chest, over his heart.

  The steady thump should have reassured her. Instead, she panicked. “You can’t be having a party for me. It’s ANZAC Day. That’s when you get together with your mates.”

  “My mates are here. My friends and yours.”

  She stared into his eyes, trying to read him. She didn’t know what she’d expected from him, but it wasn’t a party.

  “You didn’t give me long, Rita, but your friends from work are here, and those from university and high school that I could round up. My school and army mates are here. So are my family—and you know I have a lot of family. It’ll be a big party, but I don’t want you to get nervous. Everyone’s here for you.”

  Her fingers curled into his shirt. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” He released her hand, got out of the car, came around and helped her out. Then he put an arm around her waist. “It’s a memory party. You said you lost everything and, sweetheart, I know your life’s been bad. But you’ve got good friends who love you, and my family are probably in the house chewing the carpet, waiting to meet you and make you welcome. Any second now Mum’s going to burst out the front door and hug you.”

  “But Ivan—”

  “Told you.”

  A very attractive late middle age woman ran down the house’s steps and met them on the front path.

  “Rita.” From her smile, you’d have thought she’d just seen an angel. Then she swept Rita into a huge hug.

  It was only the first of uncountable hugs as friends from Tamerlane Security joined Ivan’s family in swooping down on her, plus old friends embraced her beaming and quietly whispering their approval of Ivan.

  He was never far away. Whenever she felt overwhelmed she looked for him and he was there, steady as a rock. Her personal hero. It panicked her all over again, but there was no escape. People were here to party and they were here for her—because Ivan had organised it.

  She had started the day totally alone and now she was surrounded by love.

  They ate. There was more food than in a supermarket and two huge barbeques were going non-stop. Then dishes were cleared away and plans were made for a cricket match in the park across the road. But first they came to the reason for the party.

  Ivan stood up. “Everyone here knows Rita and they know what she’s lost. Her home and its memories of her family. Nothing can replace those. But we also know that Rita is special. A good friend and, for me, much more than that.” His smile was as intimate as a caress. “Rita, we can’t give you back what you’ve lost, but we can share our lives and we want to.”

  And then the presents came out and Rita understood what Ivan meant by ‘a memory party’.

  He’d asked every guest to bring something special from their lives and to wrap it with a card that explained the memory attached to the gift. She had lost her tangible memories, so Ivan had arranged for everyone to share theirs with her. It was sweet. It was heart-breaking. It was healing.

  People joined her and Ivan in his parents’ family room or wandered off to the park, to the kitchen or to other parties. She opened the gifts while people smiled and teased and—in the case of Ivan’s family—leaped up to hug her. She was stricken to silence, over-whelmed by the outpouring of love that gathered her in. Gifts ranged from a school friend’s copy of their high school yearbook, to Ivan’s mother’s old cookbook with scrawled-in additions and notes about everyone’s tastes, to Caleb’s old plaster cast. Its attached note set her sniffling.

  “When I was eight, I broke my leg falling out of a tree. It was a bad break a
nd I was in hospital a while. It didn’t stop me taking risks, but it did teach me to value the care of the people around me.” The plaster cast was signed by adult handwriting and little children’s wobbly printing. “My gran visited me everyday in hospital and read me ‘Wind in the Willows’.”

  “I loved Ratty best,” Rita told him.

  Caleb laughed, kissed her cheek, tipped his chin to Ivan and strode out, saying something about joining the cricket match. His message hadn’t been subtle, but it had been clear; Life hurt. Don’t let it stop you.

  Finally the last gift was unwrapped, treasured and set down safely. Rita leaned back against the sofa and realised that at some point Ivan had wrapped his arm around her. His strength was supporting her. His love was supporting her.

  A man didn’t organise this sort of party for an employee or a friend. The party was a statement of intent. She was his.

  And surrounded by love and by the mementoes of caring and belonging, she could finally acknowledge her own love. The love that had given her the courage to seduce Ivan, and then, had made her a coward.

  She leaned into him. “Thank you.”

  His arm tightened. “I don’t have an old memory to share with you.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve given me so much.”

  His arm squeezed tighter, silencing her. “I want to share a new memory with you, but not here.” He glared at his family who made no effort to hide that they were shamelessly eavesdropping. “In private.”

  “Oooh,” his sister said.

  “Last straw.” Ivan stood and hauled Rita up with him. “We’re going. Thanks, Mum, Dad. We’ll collect the gifts later.”

  “Thank you. Thank you all so much,” Rita called as she was towed to the door. The hope in her heart scared and excited her, and she clung to his hand.

  They were halfway to his apartment before Ivan broke the silence in the car. He didn’t know what Rita was thinking, but he’d watched her all afternoon. The rigidity in her spine had relaxed as the warmth of friends and family gathered her up and held her close. For him, it was how she’d cuddled into him while unwrapping her gifts that gave him hope. But he wanted one thing sorted before they reached home.