On the Right Track

by Penelope Janu

  All of a sudden there’s a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.

  Tor is close, closer than I expected him to be. ‘Golden? What did you say before?’

  I’m not sure why I answer him honestly. My voice wavers. ‘Eucalyptus haemastoma, a broad-leaved scribbly gum. Grandpa taught me the proper names of the gums when I was small.’

  We’re standing near the wrought-iron boundary fence, and the camellia hedge behind it. There’s no one in sight on our side of the fence—we’re sheltered from the gatekeeper by the tree—but I can hear a group of men and women chatting on the other side. Their voices are raised, excited. They’re probably walking towards the public entrance because the gates will be opening soon.

  The burgundy stripes on Tor’s grey tie are a similar shade to the lines on the tree trunk. I trace another squiggly mark. I’m not starting this conversation. He’s the one who wants it.

  He speaks quietly. ‘You were upset before. Why?’

  I shrug.

  He sighs. ‘Is there anything you can tell me about Ferguson?’

  Should I start at the beginning of our association and tell Tor that Marc used to wrap me in horse blankets on cold winter evenings when Grandpa was running late. Or at the end of it? Marc’s career meant more to him than I ever could. When I get home I’ll think some more about Marc, but not here, not with Tor.

  ‘You told me not to talk about the people you’re spying on.’

  ‘Cut it out. You and Marc were together.’

  ‘Is that what Marc told you?’

  ‘He didn’t have to. It was obvious from the way he looked at you.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘I presume your grandfather knew?’

  ‘No comment.’

  He puts his hands in his front trouser pockets. His mouth is really tight now. ‘Ferguson’s reference to Angelina. I didn’t hear all of it. What was that about?’

  If he didn’t catch everything Marc said, maybe he missed the word ‘money’. He might have heard my response though, when I said the matter had nothing to do with me or anyone else. I focus on rolling up the sleeves of my shirt, making sure the folds for each arm are even. When I reply my voice is relatively steady. ‘It’s a personal matter, and irrelevant to your investigation. As is any relationship I may or may not have had with Marc.’

  He frowns. ‘Angelina was friendly, open, when I first met her. Now she wants nothing to do with me. You’re protecting her from something. Are you protecting Ferguson as well?’

  ‘I repeat. None of this has anything to do with you. Can I go now?’

  Once his features are schooled back into neutral he looks into my eyes again.

  ‘You’re not being investigated. Neither is your sister. All I’m trying to do is make sense of things. I don’t wish to argue with you.’

  His tone is steady and his words are measured. I almost believe him. ‘There’s no need to argue with me, because I’m doing what you want me to do.’

  ‘If that is the case, Golden, why don’t you answer my questions?’

  I’m certain he’s been working on his sounds. The O in my name has marginally lengthened. It’s only a matter of time before he does the same with the E and perfects his pronunciation.

  ‘I said no. And what you said before, about me not being investigated. Don’t you understand that any investigation involving my grandfather has an impact on me?’

  ‘What I’m doing is important.’

  I count to ten as I kick at the turf. ‘You might want to save the world. I don’t. I just want to be left alone.’ I’m suddenly weary. And hungry because I didn’t have breakfast. I cross my arms over my chest. ‘I’ve done what you wanted today. More than you wanted.’ I’d like to look over his shoulder but he’s much too tall for that. So I swallow a couple of times, and watch the way his tie rises and falls with his breath. After a while the burgundy stripes blur in front of my eyes. ‘I sat on the bench for you. People recognised me. They stared.’ My voice is up an octave. ‘I had to say hello when I didn’t want to.’ My words sound childish, ridiculous. Even to me. I close my eyes.

  ‘Golden?’ He mutters my name. ‘Open your eyes.’

  When his hand touches the side of my face, tipping it upwards, I’m so surprised I do as he asks. His eyes are startlingly dark. He threads his fingers through my hair and gently but firmly strokes the nape of my neck. His thumb searches for and finds the pulse at the base of my jaw. And even though I wouldn’t have thought it possible, his eyes get even darker.

  Within a heartbeat our bodies are so close that even though they’re not touching I imagine the heat of his. I breathe in his clean male scent. If I stood on tiptoes I could just reach his mouth. His lips are slightly parted. So are mine. The ache in my thighs and breasts spreads throughout my body. It’s a strange sort of hurt because I want it to get worse. I watch my hand as it moves over his shirt and beneath his jacket to rest against his chest. He takes a breath that isn’t quite steady as I open my fingers against the warmth of his body. His hand slides from my face to my shoulder.

  ‘Golden.’ His voice is raspy. ‘We can’t do this. Not yet.’

  ‘When you touch me I feel … it’s not fair.’

  He makes a soft groaning sound and covers my hand on his chest. His fingers clench over my fingers, forcing them still. Our hands were like this when we danced. His other hand goes to my waist; his fingers grip and release like he can’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me away.

  His smile is strained. He dips his head. ‘Your eyes are … what colour are they?’

  I whisper. ‘Dirty green.’

  ‘That can’t be right. Your eyes are beautiful. Why were you upset?’ When his mouth skitters over one eye and then the other, my knees wobble. His touch is so light I feel the movement of his lips against my eyelashes.

  It becomes suddenly crucial that I kiss him. He danced with me. He notices things. Whenever he touches me it’s impossible to dislike him as much as I should. I want to know how it would feel to breathe into his mouth. And how it would feel for him to breathe into mine.

  This is safe. It’s just a kiss. It can’t develop into anything more because we’re standing in the open under a scribbly bark tree. Tor won’t grab me and jar my leg, or see it and pretend it’s not ugly. I won’t have to lie and tell him it doesn’t hurt when he eases me to the ground.

  Processions of people file down the footpath on the other side of the fence. Hundreds will have walked through the turnstiles at the main entrance by now. Someone in the betting ring makes an announcement over the loudspeaker. Horses will be led to the marshalling area soon and then they’ll warm up and go to the starting gates. The crowd will roar as they gallop down the straight.

  Tor’s erection presses into my stomach when I lean against him. My nipples harden and the tingling in my body weakens my limbs.

  ‘I have to kiss you,’ I say. ‘To pay you back for the dance.’

  ‘Oh fuck. Don’t.’ He’s not filtering his expression at all. His eyes are black and he wants to kiss me. But it seems he’s thinking not here, not yet. He tears his gaze away and lifts the hair that’s lying over my shoulder. Then he twists his fingers through the strands. He rests his forehead against mine. ‘We can’t, Golden.’

  ‘I want to get it over with.’

  He growls. Then trails his lips across the top of my cheek, over the bridge of my nose and across the other cheek. It was the same path he traced with his finger when he told me he noticed my freckles.

  ‘It would be stupid to do this now,’ he says, ‘in so many ways. Can’t you see that?’

  We stare at each other. It’s hard to get any words out. In the end all I can manage is, ‘Please.’

  He shakes his head. “‘Getting it over with” won’t be enough for me.’

  Angelina told me Tor went out with her actress friend for a week and this was some kind of record. I don’t want a week. Or a day. Even an hour. All I want is a kiss.

  He c
ould turn his face away when I put my arms around his neck, or he could take a step back. He could easily pick me up and set me down somewhere else. But he doesn’t do any of those things. He looks down at me with a clenched jaw and yearning, heated eyes.

  When I press my lips against his he stills for a moment. But then his lips soften and part. We feel our way with soft and exploratory kisses, like we’re playing a game and not quite sure of the rules. I search every millimetre of the outside of his mouth. He teases my bottom lip with tiny bites until it tickles, and I rub it on his chin.

  He opens his legs wider apart and lifts me a little before settling me again in front of him. I’m on my toes but he’s holding me so tightly with his hands linked behind my back that he’s supporting much of my weight.

  ‘Is this all right?’ he says.

  When I smile, he unlocks his hands so he’s holding me against his body with only one arm. He traces the shape of my mouth with a finger.

  ‘Are you sure I’m not too heavy?’ I say.

  ‘I’m sure.’ His voice is gruff.

  I kiss him again, still tentatively. When I touch his top lip with my tongue he whispers yes. So I run my tongue over his bottom lip as well. Once in a while I dart my tongue between his lips. Every time I do it he groans.

  He pulls back a little. His face is set and strained. His body is tense and rigid. He’s like a horse at the starting gate.

  ‘Golden,’ he says, ‘do you think …? Fuck. I don’t think I can wait any longer.’

  I frown as if I’m perplexed. Then I rest my lips against his and mumble into his mouth. ‘Do you want me to do more with my tongue? Is that it?’

  He growls again and grasps the back of my head. And then we’re exploring each other’s mouths more thoroughly. I can’t ever imagine getting tired of the taste of him, or the feel of his body pressed hard against mine.

  When a car horn blasts on the road we both startle. Then we look into each other’s eyes. I think he sees something in mine that I’m not sure I want him to see, but I’m so desperate to keep kissing him I can’t turn away.

  ‘Golden?’ He kisses my mouth, short and hard, and then looks into my eyes again. ‘Try not to dislike me so much.’

  I blink up at him. It’s impossible to deny how I feel about him most of the time, but I want to kiss him anyway. I trace the line of the widow’s peak under his fringe and then I thread my fingers through his hair. I reach up as far as I can and bite his earlobe. Immediately he turns his face towards me, and then we’re kissing again.

  I hear voices. They’re on our side of the fence, and close. Tor must have heard them too because he freezes just like I do. They haven’t seen us but they easily could have done. All the other sounds of the racecourse filter through as well. An announcement comes over the loudspeaker. I can hear music, I think it’s jazz.

  He loosens his hold around my waist and I slide down his body. He watches me closely while I get my balance and stretch out my ankle. I don’t know that either of us knows what to do next.

  My tummy grumbles. ‘Oh!’

  He lays his hand over my shirt, above the button of my jeans, near my navel. Even though his hand isn’t touching my skin it feels like it is. Flash-fires of heat ignite in my belly. I want to wrap my arms around his neck again. But I’ve already had my kiss.

  I push his hand away. ‘Don’t.’

  He frowns as he steps back. His eyes are merely dark grey now, like his suit jacket. He puts his hands in his front pockets.

  ‘Have lunch with me, Golden. We can talk.’

  A chasm, deep and insurmountable, opens up between us. What would we talk about? Marc and me? Marc and Angelina? Grandpa and my father? Money laundering? Innocent victims of crime? His actress friends?

  I shake my head as I put my bag over my shoulder. The sun has moved behind a cloud and we’re blanketed in shadows. I wrap my arms around my middle.

  ‘I have to get back. I have Pepper to see to, and paperwork.’

  His jaw is as tight as I’ve ever seen it. His fingers feel stiff when he reaches out a hand and touches my cheek. When the backs of his fingers brush against it I want to take hold of them and soften them with mine. Instead I turn my face away. His hand falls back to his side.

  ‘I’ll go home and change, pick up lunch,’ he says. ‘Then I’ll drive to your house. You can do your paperwork, I’ll deal with Pepper.’

  He’s speaking evenly. But there’s an edge to his voice. Doesn’t he understand that things have to go back to normal?

  I lift my chin. ‘Wouldn’t that be risky for you? Coming to my house? Feeding my horse and me? Aren’t we tainted with dirty money?’

  He makes no effort to hide how he feels. He snarls his words. ‘Don’t you dare, Golden. Not after what just happened. Don’t you dare.’

  Grandpa’s documents are still strewn on the floor in my bedroom. What would Tor do if he found them there? He wouldn’t want to kiss me again. He’d get down on his hands and knees on the rug at the foot of my bed and search for evidence. Like he said before, his work is important. It would come first.

  I turn away but don’t get far. He steps in front of me, blocking my path. His eyes are ironbark hard.

  ‘I’m going to New York next weekend. I’ll be away for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘I’m busy for the rest of the month. We’ll spy together after that.’

  He takes hold of the tops of my arms. His grip is light and I could pull away but I’m frozen to the spot. He dips his head so his mouth is a tiny distance from mine. When he speaks, I feel his breath on my lips.

  ‘That’s three weeks away,’ he says.

  My voice is a squeak. ‘So?’

  ‘So? You initiated a kiss. Perhaps it’s time to do it properly now.’

  Some sensible part of my muddled brain is telling me his words are offensive and I should walk away. But my body wants to breathe him in again. He must see it in my eyes and parted lips. His hands slide to my waist and he pulls me close.

  Tor’s mouth touches the thousands of places he didn’t get to when we kissed the first time. Each sweep of his tongue is deliberate. He strokes the inner surfaces of my cheeks and lips. Then he gets to my tongue. He goes under it and over it. He circles it. He draws it into his mouth and sucks. He growls my name against my lips. I’m disoriented and flushed as my thoughts are tossed around in a maelstrom of confusion and desire. I hardly know where I am and what I want. My hand is trapped between our bodies. I free it and stroke his neck, his jaw. His kisses are fierce, ferocious, blocking out everything but the taste and scent of him. Am I still breathing? I barely know. My hand flutters against his cheek.

  He stills. Then lifts his head. My eyes are closed but I’m sure he’s studying my face.

  ‘Golden?’ he whispers.

  I open my eyes.

  For a moment I’m afraid he’ll release me, but he lowers his head and finds my mouth again.

  This time his tongue probes carefully. It cajoles as it explores, it’s demanding but persuasive. He’s everything I touch and hear and see. Our tongues slide, twirl, advance and retreat. They dance. My body throbs with need, I’m achingly, exquisitely aroused. Just from a kiss.

  He lifts his head when we hear the clip-clop of high heels. It’s a well-known trainer, deep in conversation, her low-pitched tone distinctive. Her hat is a profusion of artificial leaves in autumn colours. She glances our way, smiles charmingly, but doesn’t miss a step.

  ‘Do you know who that is?’ I say.

  Tor nuzzles my neck. ‘I don’t give a fuck.’

  His hands have never left my waist. Mine are pressed between us again, clutching his jacket. We hold each other as we steady our breaths. When he brushes his lips against mine I feel his smile. His words are so quiet I can barely hear them.

  ‘You said you wanted to kiss me to get it over with,’ he says. ‘This isn’t over with.’

  I had two kisses, the one I started off, and the mind-numbing one I got from him. I can’t
expect more.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ My voice is croaky. ‘Definitely is.’

  He links his arms behind my back and mumbles against my ear. ‘It’s not. I want more from you. Everything.’

  Everything? That isn’t a kiss, or even two kisses, under the sundappled canopy of a scribbly bark tree. Everything is crumpled linen and naked bodies and passionate tumbles. Everything isn’t for someone like me. My body is fragile and pale and delicate. Just like a porcelain doll’s.

  His lips are on mine again. One hand glides up my side. His other hand cups my hip. He wants everything. My hands tremble and little sounds come up the back of my throat. I wrench my mouth away.

  Our eyes meet and he frowns. I imagine what he sees. Shock. Fear. Dismay. That I was stupid enough to imagine I could kiss him without consequence.

  I can’t control the sob that starts deep in my chest and works its way out of my mouth in gulps. I can barely breathe. And then the tears begin. Floods and floods of tears streaming down my cheeks.

  Tor rubs his hands up and down my arms as he kisses me. Tender kisses on my temples and forehead and eyes. His lips are wet with my tears. He’s saying the same things over and over again.

  ‘Sweetheart, sorry. Shhh. Golden. No, no, no. Fuck, don’t cry like that. Sorry. Fuck. Golden, don’t.’

  He keeps his hands on the tops of my arms when I take a step back. I suck in gasps of air and try to control my breathing. Then I twist out of his grasp so we’re not touching anymore. I hope the wet marks all over his shirt and jacket are tears and nothing else because my nose is streaming. When I point to my bag he gives it to me and I forage for a handful of tissues. I swipe at my face and blow my nose.

  I’m grateful he doesn’t dare wrap his arms around me, or speak. He just stares, frowns and opens his mouth like he wants to say something.

  Finally he does. ‘Golden?’

  I look up.

  He speaks softly. ‘May I drive you home? I’ll take your car and catch a taxi back to my car later on. Should I call Angelina?’