by Helen Brooks
She remained perfectly still for a moment, and then feverishly began to disrobe before she lost her nerve. The bedroom was dimly lit by the same bedside lamp as before, but the bathroom light was stronger, more unforgiving. Once she had shed her clothes she forced herself to move the few steps to the bathroom, her legs wooden. Get it over with, she told herself. Just do it.
Zeke was in the shower with his back to her, and the air was already steamy because he’d left the door ajar. She stepped into the shower and he turned immediately, wrapping his arms around her. He was already warm and her skin felt icy cold in comparison.
‘Just get acclimatised for a minute,’ he said huskily, his hands massaging her slender back and shoulder-blades. ‘You’ll soon warm up, I promise. You’re frozen right through.’
Locked together as they were, Melody felt she’d had a moment’s reprieve. The spray poured down mostly on Zeke, and after a minute or two he turned her round so the water hit the back of her head in a tingling flood. His hand reached for the shower gel and he poured a little into his palms, lathering it before running his hands over her shoulders and down her arms in firm gentle movements. ‘Nice?’ he whispered throatily in her ear.
Her nerves were pulled as tight as piano wire, and for the life of her she couldn’t reply. He turned her again, his long fingers stroking the white foam across her breasts in slow, sweet languid caresses meant to arouse her, and—in spite of her thudding heart—she felt her nipples tighten under his light touch. Feeling her response, he cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs drawing circles round the rosy-pink peaks until they were swollen and aching and she had to bite into her lower lip not to moan out loud. He was so, so good at this.
‘So delicious,’ Zeke murmured huskily, his mouth finding her eyelids, her nose, and then her lips in a scorching kiss. ‘Feeling warmer?’
Unable to speak, Melody managed to nod her head, memories crowding in of times in the past when they had showered together—intimate, precious times. Times of loving and laughter.
With his eyes holding her wide green ones, Zeke lathered his hands again, running them slowly across her belly and then over the rounded swell of her bottom as he moved her sensuously against his hardness. She knew he must have felt the scars at the bass of her spine, but he didn’t pause before sliding his fingers over her skin to find the golden curls at the apex of her thighs, his gaze never leaving hers.
Slowly she began to relax, the warm water and his caresses bringing a pleasure that quenched the panic. The worst scars were grooved in the tops of her legs, and standing wrapped together as they were he couldn’t see them. For now that was all that mattered. The moment would come, but not just yet.
She reached for the shower gel, her voice soft as she whispered, ‘My turn,’ longing to run her hands over his body.
‘By all means.’ His voice was thick with passion and his body demonstrated how much he wanted her, his breathing ragged and his manhood as hard as a rock.
Melody began by soaping the hair-roughened expanse of his muscled chest, flattening her palms over his nipples and rubbing the hard little nubs slowly as she watched his reaction. She took her time, loving the feel of his male flesh, and when her hands slid lower his stomach muscles bunched. Then she found the steely length of his manhood, causing him to gasp as he pulled her closer. ‘Hell, Dee,’ he muttered thickly.
‘I haven’t finished,’ she protested faintly, wanting him as much as he wanted her and knowing she couldn’t wait either.
‘Sweetheart, I appreciate the fact you think I’m a control freak, but believe me, I know my limitations,’ Zeke said shakily, reaching behind him and turning off the shower. He propelled her out of the cubicle, grabbing two towels off the bath rail and wrapping one round Melody and the other one around his hips.
He pulled her into the darkened bedroom, turning and taking her into his arms as he kissed her hungrily, the towels sliding from their bodies as they fell on the bed. Their bodies were still damp, their hair dripping, but nothing mattered but sating the fierce desire burning between them.
Zeke’s hands moved over her feverishly, as though he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her, his lips finding the warm pulse in her throat, the rounded swell of her breasts and their swollen peaks, the velvet skin of her belly. When he entered her their bodies moved in a perfect rhythm, building their shared sensation until his final thrust sent them spinning into another world—a world of ecstasy and untold pleasure and splintered light. Melody clung to him, not wanting the moment to end, knowing it would be the last time they’d be like this.
‘I love you.’ He moved slightly, relieving her of his weight but still keeping his arms round her as he fitted her into his side, pulling the duvet over them.
‘I love you.’ She could say that and mean it, but her voice was thick with the knowledge that she was going to lose him. ‘So much. Always remember that.’
Zeke fell asleep quite quickly, but although she was utterly exhausted Melody couldn’t doze off. She lay in his arms, warmly relishing the closeness as her thoughts tortured her. They had made love for a second time and he still hadn’t seen what the lorry had done to the once perfect body he had so adored. She had thought the moment had come, and although she had been terrified there had been an element of relief there too. But she’d had yet another reprieve.
She shivered, the slight movement causing Zeke to tighten his embrace in his sleep, but after another moment she carefully extricated herself from his arms and crept out of bed. The hotel room was warm and her hair was almost dry already, but again she felt a shudder run through her.
Quietly she left his bedroom and made her way to her own after picking up her clothes. Once there, she pulled on a pair of leggings and a warm thigh-length top, brushing her hair into submission and then securing it in a high ponytail at the back of her head. Then she walked over to the window and looked out.
It was five o’clock in the morning on Christmas Day. The night hours were almost over. In a little while children all over the country would be waking up to see what Father Christmas had brought them. Houses and flats and apartments would be filled with excitement and noise, and later families would gather together for Christmas lunch. Mothers would be harassed and flushed from working in the kitchen and keeping over-exuberant offspring from raiding their selection boxes, fathers would be playing host and plying visitors with pre-lunch drinks, and grandparents would be arriving with that extra-special present their grandchildren thought Father Christmas had forgotten.
It was a day of busyness and joy and elation, of eating and drinking too much, playing silly games and watching TV. That was normal, the way people did things—only she had never had that experience as a child. Her grandmother had been of the old school. One small stocking hung on the mantelpiece, containing an orange, a monetary gift and a small toy, had been her lot, and Christmas Day had been like any other day except they’d had turkey for lunch followed by Christmas pud. They had spent it alone, and although her grandmother must have received Christmas cards she couldn’t remember any. Certainly there had been no decorations nor a tree. After her grandmother had died and she’d been invited to friends’ houses for the Christmas break she had been amazed at the furore and excitement, at the sheer pleasure everyone got from the day. It had been a revelation of what Christmas could be.
Why was she thinking of this now? she asked herself, gazing out over the snow-covered buildings beyond the hotel, their rooftops white against the black sky. The past was the past and it didn’t do to dwell on it. Her grandmother had done her best and she had always known her grandmother loved her in her own way. She had been fortunate compared to some. Zeke, for instance.
She moved restlessly, suddenly aware of why her thoughts had taken such a turn. Deep inside she had always known Zeke was her chance of experiencing what other people took as ordinary family life. There had been a part of her that had hoped they could create their own world within the world—a place where child
ren could be born and loved and protected, where all the things they’d both missed in their childhood could be given to their babies. She had hoped, but always not quite convinced herself.
And she had never believed she was good enough for him. So she had held back on total commitment, subconsciously waiting for the time when the bubble would burst. She had always been striving towards an unattainable pinnacle of perfection, and although he had taken her as his wife and loved her she hadn’t felt she was the best person for him.
Maybe if she had known her mother and father it would have been different—or her mother at least. She had always felt there was so much missing in her background, and her grandmother had been chary about discussing anything. Even the briefest sojourn into the past had brought such bitterness and pain on her grandmother’s side she hadn’t felt she could press for more. And so she’d grown up wondering, all the time wondering, without any answers about the people who had given her life.
Melody closed her eyes, wrapping her arms round her middle as she shook her head slowly. All this wasn’t really relevant to what she was facing now. She was a grown woman of twenty-seven and she had to move on. She had to leave Zeke—go somewhere far away, get a job and carve out some sort of a life for herself. Her thoughts ran through her head, a silent litany. She had told herself the same thing so many times in the past three months, willing herself on.
She couldn’t change her mind now. She opened her eyes, beginning to pace the room. She couldn’t—didn’t dare—let herself imagine anything different, because where would she be then? This way she knew what she was taking on and there was a strange comfort in that, somehow. She’d survive.
She stopped abruptly, feeling as though the walls of the room were pressing in on her. She had always hated small spaces. That had been part of the nightmare of staying in hospital—the feeling of absolute confinement. She needed to get out and walk. It was the only way she could think.
She didn’t hesitate. Grabbing a pair of socks from her case, which she still hadn’t unpacked, she walked silently into the sitting room and found her coat, hat and scarf, pulling on her boots which were still damp from the snowman exercise. Her gloves she left. They were so sodden she was better off without them.
Slipping the key to the suite in her handbag, she opened the door to the corridor outside and made her way to the lift. When the doors glided open at Reception her heart was thudding. She didn’t know what she was going to say to Michael or the receptionist. But as luck would have it Michael was nowhere to be seen and the receptionist was on the phone. She walked quickly across the tiled floor and out of the main doors, giving a sigh of relief when she was in the street.
The cold took her breath away after she had warmed up so nicely, but she walked on. The snow banked either side of the pavement so there was a path in the middle, and she had no trouble reaching the main thoroughfare. She hadn’t expected any traffic, it being Christmas Day, but already the city had awoken and yawned life into its inhabitants, and there was the odd person walking here and there, and cars on the roads.
Melody walked with no clear idea of where she was going, taking care to tread carefully. In spite of everything a little frisson of exhilaration curled down her spine. This was the first time she had been out under her own steam—properly out—since the accident, and the independence was heady. It felt good to be part of the human race again.
Although it was still dark, the streetlights combined with the effect of the snow lit up her surroundings perfectly well. She pulled her hat farther down over her ears—it really was bitterly cold—and marched on, wondering why she didn’t feel tired. She had felt exhausted yesterday afternoon, and again in the taxi coming back from the theatre, but now she felt as though she could walk for miles.
In spite of coming outside to consider her position with Zeke and what she was going to do, she didn’t think as she walked along. She merely breathed in the icy air, luxuriating in the way her face was tingling and the feel of the morning on her skin.
She was alive. She hadn’t died under the wheels of that lorry and she wasn’t paralysed or confined to a wheelchair. She was lucky. She was so, so lucky. Zeke had been right, and Mr Price too, when they’d said she was better off than lots of the other patients at the hospital.
It was possibly only half an hour later when she realised she needed to sit awhile. Walking in the thick, crunchy snow was more difficult than on clear pavements, and now that the first flush of elation had dwindled exhaustion was paramount. Mr Price had warned her against doing too much initially, she thought ruefully. It would seem he knew her better than she knew herself—which wasn’t difficult.
Hyde Park stretched out to the left of her, the trees a vision of Christmas beauty with their mantle of glittering white, but, deciding it was sensible to stay on the main road, she resisted the impulse to wander in. Instead she brushed the snow off a bench on the pavement overlooking the park and sat down.
A young couple meandered by, wrapped in each other’s arms, the girl’s ponytail tied with bright red tinsel, a thick strand of which was looped round her boyfriend’s neck like a scarf. They smiled at Melody, the girl calling, ‘Happy Christmas!’ before they ambled on, giggling as they stumbled in the snow.
They probably hadn’t gone home yet from some Christmas Eve party or other they’d attended, Melody thought, watching the pair walk on. She suddenly felt aeons old, their carefree faces emphasising her staidness.
She’d never really gone to parties—not until she had met Zeke, that was. Her grandmother hadn’t approved of what she’d classified ‘aimless frivolity’, and even at dance school and in the years following she had preferred to spend any free time practising her dance moves rather than anything else.
No, that wasn’t exactly true. Melody frowned as the thought hit. She had always felt guilty if she considered going to parties or get-togethers, knowing the sacrifices her grandmother had undoubtedly made to provide the money for her to follow her chosen career. Add that to the fact that she’d invariably felt like a fish out of water, and had tried to hide herself away in a corner on the rare occasion she’d been persuaded to accompany one of her friends to a shindig, it was no wonder she hadn’t been asked much. She’d never felt quite able to let her hair down.
And then Zeke had swept into her life, turning it upside down and challenging all the rules she’d lived by. Her heart thudded, panic uppermost, but she wasn’t sure if it was the thought of walking away from him that caused the churning or the fact of how stupid she had been in not making the most of these past few hours when she could still touch and caress him. Why was she sitting on a bench in the middle of a London street when she could be in his arms? Time was so short.
Her toes clenched in her boots but she remained sitting where she was and gradually the panic subsided. She was here because she needed to think. She had been thinking non-stop since the accident, but not coolly or unemotionally. Anything but. She had been jolted to her core and every single thing in her life had been shaken.
It might have been better if she’d been allowed to cry, to sob and howl the frustration and pain at what the accident had taken away from her out of her system, but she had learnt early on that crying unsettled and disturbed the nursing staff. She supposed it had disempowered them in some way, made them feel they weren’t doing their job, and because they had all been wonderful to her she’d repressed her grief and got on with the process of building her body. It had satisfied them at least.
A gust of wind feathered the snow on a tree inside the park, missing the ones on either side. She stared at the cascade of white as the cold chilled her skin.
How many times had she asked herself, why her? Why had she had this happen to her? Why had the one thing in her life she was any good at been taken from her? But it was useless thinking like that—as useless as that tree complaining to the wind. And it wasn’t even true. She was beginning to see that.
Melody was getting cold, but she still sat
, her thoughts buzzing. Dancing had been her whole life from as long as she could remember, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be good at something else if she tried. She just never had. Although she might not be able to dance any more, she could teach. At the back of her mind she had always imagined herself doing that one day, just not so soon. She’d thought she would ease herself into it, not have it presented as a fait accompli. But why fight it? The accident had happened. End of story.
And Zeke? Could Zeke possibly fit into this new life?
It was as though a separate part of herself was speaking, forcing her to confront the real issue.
It was one thing to decide their marriage was over in the clinical unreal surroundings of the hospital, where life was measured in the regimented hours of an institution, quite another when she was presented by Zeke himself. Dancing had been a vital part of her life, but Zeke—Zeke had been her world. From the first date they’d enjoyed each other’s company more than anyone else’s, and the intimate side of their relationship had been everything she could have wanted and more. He’d been affectionate and tactile on a day-to-day basis too, often sending her texts out of the blue to say he was thinking of her, and meeting her out of work for lunch or in the evening when she wasn’t expecting it.
Her mind grappled with the memories pouring in now she had allowed the floodgates to open. Making love till dawn. Walking on the beach at midnight at the villa in Madeira. Zeke at the stove, cooking breakfast as naked as the day he was born. The list was endless, and after keeping such a tight rein on her mind for the past months she was now powerless to stop the tide. She simply sat, her head spinning and her thoughts bringing a spiralling vortex of emotion that made it difficult to breathe as the sky lightened and dawn began to break.
