Worthy of me.
Two uniformed servers stood on either side of the restaurant door and looked at Drew and I as we walked up the steps.
"Can I help you, sir?" one asked.
"Just checking the decorations for the bride and groom before they arrive," Drew answered, as though he had every right to be there as he boldly walked past and into the restaurant itself.
Windross of Cockle Bay is a gracious two storey villa, with plush, timeless décor, tastefully matched to the marquee outside. My heels clipped over dark polished wooden floors as we wound our way through white linen adorned tables and chairs until we mounted the stairs.
"Where are we going?" I asked, only catching glimpses of the flower arrangements and party favour boxes I'd spent literally hours and hours folding and packaging with Gen.
"Shhh," Drew whispered. "I have a plan."
I couldn't stifle the giggle to save myself. "Of course you do," I managed to murmur back.
No, there was no way my life would exist in black anymore. Drew would see to that.
We came out into another area that hadn't been made up to match the wedding setting below and outdoors. There obviously weren't enough children to warrant using this part of the restaurant, and as the rest of the party was being held in the grand marquee outside, this area of the cottage was left as it usually sat. Clean and pristine and elegant, but no floral arrangements or pretty ice pink boxes of treats for the guests.
Finally Drew stopped over by a window that looked down on the wedding celebration already starting over by the beach. A few eager party goers had wandered over to the marquee to take the offered champagne flutes on the waiters' trays. But most were still surrounding the newly married couple down on the sand by the wedding arch.
"We don't have much time," Drew whispered, his hands already running eagerly and hungrily over my shoulders and down my sides, fingers flexing when he gripped my hips. Hot breath coasted over my bared nape; my hair also pinned aloft in an abundance of blonde curls. "Hmm," Drew murmured. "I love this dress. I love your hairstyle. I love you."
My heart skipped a beat, ridiculous, but true. I never knew this existed. I never wanted to live without it ever again.
"Turn around," he whispered huskily. "Sit down on the edge of the windowsill."
I did as instructed. This afternoon was my time to follow. Tonight I might lead.
"Are you wearing any underwear, Ms Quayle?"
"Why don't you find out."
"I think I will." His hands stroked down the fabric of my dress, his body crouching as he reached the hem. Grey eyes lifted to look up at me. "You are exquisite," he whispered.
I smiled.
I seemed to do that a lot lately, and none of it was an act anymore.
I know who I am now.
I reached out and cupped his jaw, thumb running along the stubbled edge. I'd made Drew promise not to shave. He's so rough and sexy with a five o'clock shadow.
Soft but firm fingers ran up the inside of my calves, tickling for a second behind each knee, then moving on to the prize.
"Hmm," he murmured again, this time contemplative not purely complimentary. "I'm not sure if I should be disappointed there's no purple underwear for me to keep."
"I think you have enough of my knickers in your possession," I pointed out.
"Nonsense. I won't be satisfied until your entire wardrobe is at my house."
A thrill raced through me. We'd spent every night together since the siege, except last light when Dominic, his brother Nick and Finn Drake stayed at Drew's. Drew's house was just down the street, walking distance from the wedding reception. Convenient once we'd had a few cocktails later, but an ideal location for the groom and his grooms-men to prepare for today. So, I'd stayed with Gen at her and Dom's place, with Katie and Abi in tow.
Drew's and my first real night apart. I'd missed him. I'd decided, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling unable to get to sleep, that I wouldn't spend another night without him in my bed.
Or me in his.
I wasn't sure about marriage, that was a leap that would require some time bathed in Drew's rainbow of colours before I could believe it was not just a dream. But being together every night? That was real. That was mine to take.
So, before I realised what I was saying, I asked, "Have you ever lived with a woman before?"
My breath stalled in my chest as Drew stilled his hands on the bare skin at the top of my thighs. An intimate position for this type of conversation, but my timing hasn't always been the best.
"No," he said hesitantly.
And to top off the foot in mouth moment I added, "Not even Justice Crane?"
Oh, holy flaming cheeks of embarrassment. Really? I asked that?
But I hadn't forgotten the good judge with the shiny red hair and strong voice. The one who had made Drew lose a little of his composure, when he'd remained so in control throughout the rest of that fucked up day.
Drew's hands left my skin. I missed them. And he came to his feet before me.
"Do you want to talk about this now?" he asked.
I didn't, but I could never back down once challenged. It was a character flaw to add to the others. But I'd discovered something recently. I no longer gave a fuck what people thought about me, as long as I could live with myself I'd be OK. The new Kelly Quayle; open, honest and out there.
I lifted my chin and held his gaze, then gave a short nod of my head.
Drew smirked. It was definitely crooked.
"All right, little star," he said, moving forward and wrapping his arms around me, pulling me flush against his suit, away from the windowsill. "Once, when I was drunk."
What?
"A work thing," he said on a breath of released air. "I'd had a bugger of a week and got totally shit-faced." Bloody hell. "I.." he paused, looked over my shoulder but probably didn't see a thing of the celebration out there. "I don't actually remember it."
Oh. My. God.
"Pretty bad, huh?" he said, but spoke again before I could answer. "She was really good about it. Initially a little upset when I saw her the next time, which is to be expected. But when I figured out what had happened and apologised, she was, well, she was nothing short of brilliant. Laughed about it, made it a private joke between her and I, and never told another soul. She could have ruined me. You don't get into relationships with judges, it's just too complicated and can cause conflicts of interest when they're scheduled to preside over a case you're on. No one else knows. Not even Dominic. I have a hell of a lot of respect for her because of that. She insists she was pretty drunk that night too, but I don't know. I don't remember. And it's bugged me ever since."
He finally looked down at me, pink tinged his cheeks. He looked tense, worried.
I wasn't worried. Inside my bad girl conscience was doing a jig, while my good girl conscience was tapping her foot and mouthing, tell him.
All I could do was smile. It threw him for a second, his brows lowering as he pulled back an inch and stared at my jubilant grin.
"You think this is funny?" he asked, starting to dig his fingers into the exact spots he knew made me laugh. "A lost night, hours of memories forgotten. You think this deserves a laugh?"
I sucked in air through the giggles and gripped his arms to stop from collapsing on the ground.
"What's so funny, sternchen?" he whispered, when he finally stopped tickling me to death.
I took in a deep breath of air and said, "Thank you."
He stilled. "Thank you?"
"Yes. Thank you for sharing that."
"Um, you're welcome?" he said hesitantly.
I smiled wider, cupped his cheeks with both hands, and whispered, "You are perfect for me, Drew Kline."
"I know this," he quipped, a twitch of his lips at one side.
I shook my head while still smiling.
"I lost a night too," I admitted in a soft murmur, and watched as his eyes softened and his head fell forward to rest forehead to forehead with mi
ne. "It's the night that brought me to you."
"Ah," he whispered, hot breath fanning my face. "The catalyst that made you cut your five down to one."
I nodded against him. "I could regret it, but I don't now. Because I've realised that we can't look back on life with disappointment. It's what shapes us, what moulds us into who we are today. It's also what leads us to where we are today. And Drew, baby," I whispered, tipping my head back to lay a soft kiss against his lips, "there is nowhere else I want to be than with you."
"Kels," he murmured, leaning in to steal another soft, sweet kiss.
Someone yelled, "Photos!" outside. Someone else shouted, "Where the bloody hell are Kelly and Drew?" While someone else answered, "Where the bloody hell do you think!" Making me laugh and Drew sigh with a small measure of defeat.
"Rain check on red?" he asked, slipping his hand down to grasp mine in preparation for leaving our little illicit - or maybe not so illicit now - spot.
"On one condition," I said as he started to lead me back to the stairs.
"Yeah, little star?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.
This was it. This was me embracing rainbows and maybe not quite saying goodbye to red, but definitely saying fuck off to black.
Or at least I hoped so.
"Move in with me," I blurted, then added, "Or I'll move in with you. But, you know, let's live together."
Oh, holy freaking balls-up, couldn't I manage this with a little more finesse?
Drew stopped in his tracks and turned back slowly to look down at me. Lopsided smirk on full and glorious display.
"I'll help you pack, sternchen. And I promise you as much colour as you can handle every single day for the rest of our lives."
No. There was no hoping about it, I was definitely saying fuck off to black.
"Well then," I said, flicking my hair with a saucy shake of my head and putting a little swing into my hips. "Let's get this party started."
Drew's deep and beautiful-contented laughter followed me out of the room.
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Read on for the first chapter in book one: The Tempting Touch Of Fire, of the new Paranormal Romance Series by Nicola Claire: Elemental Awakening.
Chapter 1
I Had A Sinking Feeling
My heart thundered in my chest. I could feel every... single... beat. I thought I was dying.
Hazy images of a horror movie memory skittered across my mind, trying valiantly to hide from me. Something had happened. And it was very bad. I tried to roll onto my side, but my movements were hindered. For a frozen moment in time, I feared my attacker was still here, pinning me to the ground. A whimper rose up from the depths of my chest, a sob broke free from my mouth.
As soon as my lips parted dirt poured in. Suffocating, tasteless, gritty. It surrounded me, filled me, consumed me.
And I knew I was dying.
I struggled against the sensations of asphyxiation and entrapment. I dug my fingers into the dirt at my sides as though they were claws. I firmly kept my lips compressed in a thin line and took only shallow breaths through my nose, but the damage was done. I was surrounded with, buried in, entombed by... dirt.
I frantically tried to remember where I was, how I got here. Not that those memories would probably get me out of this predicament, but it was a survival instinct that came from deep within. I couldn't run, I couldn't fight, so I tried to out-think my captor. Knowledge was power, and the knowledge of escape lay in remembering how and why I was here.
I'd been out for an early morning run, before the store opened. I always ran through the Rose Gardens between my house and lower downtown. Then out along Tamaki Drive, taking in the sea and the gulls that swooped along the foreshore. The path for pedestrians along the winding drive is dotted with Pohutukawa Trees. I often brushed my hands across their gnarled and rough bark trunks as I jogged past.
But I didn't have a memory of touching the bark, or of seeing the gulls in the sky. I hadn't made it to Tamaki Drive, so was I still in the Rose Gardens?
I attempted another struggle against the binds that held me tight. I felt a responding tug against my limbs, then the shock of something pricking my skin, tearing at the flesh, scraping against my legs and wrists and sides. It wasn't enough that my mugger had buried me alive in the ground, he'd also securely tied me up with thorny rose bushes and vines.
Differing emotions of bristling anger and heart-stopping panic warred inside me at that realisation.
But I hadn't seen my attacker. I don't think I heard a thing at all. I simply woke to this nightmare, covered in dirt, unable to call for help. Unable to move without getting cut to shreds on thorns.
What the hell did I do now?
Relax, came a soft whisper, a rustling of leaves that somehow formed words.
What the...?
Let us in, said a similar voice, but this one held a different tone than the other. Not so much the rustling of leaves, as the creaking of branches overhead.
Oh God, I was hallucinating. There was nothing else for it. I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen and thought the rose bushes were talking to me now. What a way to go. I always enjoyed nature, but right now I'd take the concrete jungle of Queen Street over lush green lawns, that was for sure.
I waited for the next onslaught, but the roses had settled down. Instead I could hear something scratching, something stirring off to the side of my face in the dirt. I couldn't turn towards it, I couldn't turn away. The vines held me securely and any movement meant a thorn through my skin. A whimper sounded in the back of my throat. I hate insects. Creepy crawlies are the only animal life I cannot abide. Give me a rabid dog over the quivering legs of a soil dwelling insect any day.
I couldn't help it, it came from deep down inside. I struggled away from that sound with all of my might, feeling every prick of blood and tear of my skin. Every scratch and tug and pull against me. I struggled for mere minutes, growing weaker by the second. Pain radiating from every scratch, every puncture wound in my flesh. I ached from straining, and stung from the harsh scratch of thorns. I'd never been one to shy away from getting dirty, but this was character changing.
I didn't think I could enjoy nature ever again. I'd avoid parks and shun animals, and spend the rest of my life walking paved streets and living in tall buildings, far from the scent of soil.
It must have been that thought that did it, because suddenly I could smell so much. The earthy loam of dirt, the pungent smell of a budding rose, the clean scent of newly mown grass, the crisp tang of salty air, the ugly stench of diesel, the acidic bite of bile. I realised that last one was coming from me and it wasn't the taste I was responding to, but the smell. How bizarre.
My struggles had stopped while I took the plethora of scents in. As though their presence, and my recognition of them, was grounding, calming even. My heartbeat had settled, my skin no longer crawling with the sensations of insect-like feet, my nostrils no longer filled with dirt, but filled with the delightful smells and scents of the earth.
And... I liked it. I liked it a lot. For a moment I just savoured it, all of it. Even the intrusion of exhaust fumes and pollution. My nose reacted badly to those, but immediately pulled the scents of nature around me to soothe. As though a natural protection from the outside world.
I realised, from feeling trapped and imprisoned by something so very foul, I was now embraced within it, cared for by it, comforted and cosseted and protected from unnatural sights, sounds and smells. I still couldn't see, and I was no longer hearing any scratching sounds.
&nbs
p; But, oh God, could I smell. I wanted to sit up and see what else I could scent. I wanted to embrace the earth around me, give worship, roll around in the welcoming smell of dirt.
As soon as those thoughts found my conscious mind, the earth above me shifted. Weight lifted off my body and the vines and rose bushes that had held me, parted and simply slipped away. I sat up gingerly, finding myself in a deep trench at what I presumed was the back of the Rose Gardens on Gladstone Road. Where my early morning run always took me. I hadn't made it to Tamaki Drive, I'd only made it this far. And fallen into an open pit in the early morning dark.
What a dork. Clearly I'd tripped and fallen and then the dirt, being newly dug over, collapsed on top. Somehow making the rose bushes and some nearby vines get tangled up in the whole mess. My struggles had only gotten myself more entangled in them, until I almost buried myself alive, trapped by prickly thorns. What a friggin' freak.
I shook my head and staggered out of the pit, into a brighter sunlit sky than when my self-inflicted ordeal began. I had no idea how much time had passed, but by the position of the sun in the sky I was late. Way late for work. I dusted myself down, feeling soothed by the sensation of dirt beneath my palms as I cleaned my leggings of sod.
Then I raced back up Gladstone Road and slipped my key in my apartment door. Traipsing dirt across the entranceway, I kicked off my running shoes and tiptoed towards the bathroom down the hall. My efforts were entirely wasted, as little spots of soil followed behind in a zigzagging trail. I showered as quickly as I could, but several hours in the dirt meant three shampoos and conditioning treatments, as well as half my extremely expensive Lilly of the Valley body-wash from Monsoon.
Fifteen minutes later, no doubt half a day's pay packet, and I was pristine clean, but weirdly still smelling the earth. It was as though it was all around me. In the kitchen as I downed a glass and a half of milk. In the lounge as I snatched up my latest supplier's bill off the coffee table for work. And out on the concrete driveway of my apartment complex as I hot-trotted it towards the shop.
Sweet Seduction Sabotage Page 29
