The conversation continued with barely a pause, and she got up and walked into the kitchen to refill her glass and have a nibble at one of the chocolates she’d retrieved from the fridge for everyone. As she hesitated over the box of truffles, pondering which one to choose, she turned as someone appeared at her side.
Garth studied the box. “So what’s the best one?” He leaned on the breakfast bar next to her. “Come on, tempt me.”
Chapter Thirteen
She hesitated for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his arm pressed against hers. She’d been physically aware of him all day, a frisson tingling along her spine every time he moved or spoke, and she knew he’d been watching her. Was he as conscious of her every move as she was of his? Did he feel this same tingling every time they were near each other?
She cleared her throat. “Tempt you?”
You’re flirting again, scolded the angel.
“Mm. I’m a complete Philistine when it comes to chocolate. Teach me something.”
Her lips curved. That she could deal with. “Okay.” She looked at the box. “Try these.” She indicated a line of round truffles.
“These are dark chocolate, I presume.”
“Oh yes. Always. Like men and coffee, chocolate is always better rich.” She grinned as his lips twisted wryly. “First, try one and have a think about what you can taste. Then I’ll tell you what I look for, and what I can taste in it.”
He took one and popped it in his mouth, looking into the distance. “Mm, nice.”
She tried not to think of the way his tongue was sampling the chocolate and said instead, “Any flavors?”
“Vanilla?”
“Yes. Anything else?”
“Er…something fruity?”
She laughed. “Not bad. Now, take another one, and we’ll try them together.” They both took a chocolate. She bit it in half with her front teeth and smoothed the chocolate on the roof of her mouth with her tongue. “Okay. The first thing I look for is the texture. Is it smooth, thin, creamy, buttery, sugary?”
He followed her lead, bit his chocolate, and considered. “Creamy. It’s not thin, it’s almost fudge-like, quite dense.”
“Yes, very good. Gold star. Next, I think about the flavor notes. Are they simple? Complex? All flavors, like scents, can be divided into groups—nutty, roasted, fruity, flowery, spicy. A lot of it depends on where the cocoa beans came from. The ones used for these chocolates were from Madagascar, and that gives the chocolate a citrusy taste, like tangerine. Can you taste it?”
“Um…kind of.”
“There’s also quite a bit of pineapple in there.”
“If you say so.”
She smiled. “I added chopped, dried cherries to these, which is probably the dominant flavor you can taste and is why you said they were fruity. It also gives them that slightly chewy texture. You’re right about the vanilla too. I added that to balance and deepen the flavors.”
“Anything else?” He ate the other half, clearly amused at how much she could get out of one chocolate.
“I have to think whether it has a slow and lasting taste or whether the flavors are fleeting and quick. Does it linger on the palate?” She popped the other half into her mouth. As she sucked, she said, “this one’s not bad—the taste of orange and cherry remains after the chocolate’s gone...”
She gestured with her hand as she spoke, but her words drifted off as he caught it and turned her palm toward him. A circle of chocolate remained on her thumb and forefinger where the truffle had melted as she held it.
He studied her thumb thoughtfully. Then, very slowly, he covered it with his mouth and sucked.
She stared, shocked, as every single hair on her body stood on end. It was the single most erotic act she’d ever had done to her, which was saying something considering she’d dated Ethan for so long.
Garth brushed the pad of her thumb with his tongue, and in response her nipples tightened and her panties grew damp. His eyes met hers as he did it, hot, challenging, interested to see whether she would let him finish.
She should move away. She should totally tell him not to be so forward, and who the hell did he think he was, and why did he think he could do something so intimate when she barely knew him.
Instead, however, she said, “Oh.”
He turned his mouth to her forefinger and did the same with that, stroking it with his tongue, swirling it across her skin, and then he pulled back and looked at her. Licking his lips, he held up his hand, showing her the dots of chocolate on his own thumb and forefinger.
Chloe stared at him. Was he asking her to suck it off? Eek! Her cheeks flamed and she blinked rapidly just thinking about the phrase.
Garth chuckled and reached out to brush the dob of chocolate across her bottom lip. Automatically, she went to remove it with her tongue, but he shook his head. She waited, transfixed, as he moved closer, leaned forward, and kissed her.
He touched his soft, warm lips to hers and stroked his tongue once across her bottom lip, then again, removing the chocolate slowly. But he didn’t stop there. He moved his tongue into her mouth and slid his arm around her waist, and before she knew it, he was kissing her soundly, pinning her against the breakfast bar. He pushed his hips forward, and the hard length of him that pressed against her stomach was a clear indication of how much the chocolate licking had aroused him. He slid his other hand to the nape of her neck, encompassing her, overwhelming her in a way she’d never been overwhelmed before by a man.
She placed her palms flat on his chest, ostensibly to push him away, but to her shock her fingers stroked the firm muscles below his shirt and her hand crept up to slide hungry fingers into his short hair. It happened in seconds, but that was all it took to ignite her fuse and send her synapses sparking like fireworks, her mind a flickering wheel of thoughts and emotions as her body did its own thing in response to his hot, obvious desire.
Behind them, somebody whistled, and then everybody cheered. Chloe gasped and pushed him away, her face burning. Garth laughed, but she was mortified. What would everyone think? First she’d sat there and let Nick put his hand on her knee, and then she’d let Garth do something positively obscene to her.
Yes, yes, shouted the devil. Do it again.
Shut up! She berated it firmly, not missing Garth’s smug glance across at Nick, who’d watched them with an obvious glare. What was this, testosterone city? They acted like stags battling away with their antlers over the female in heat. Well, she wouldn’t let any man treat her like a possession. She was through men using her. She’d done nothing but try to please Ethan, and he’d thrown it in her face, humiliated her, and pretty much ruined her self-respect. She wasn’t going to let a man treat her like that again.
Without looking at Garth, she walked away, bringing her glass of wine with her, hands shaking. Standing at the edge of the group by the window, misery swamped her. She should have stayed at home and watched re-runs of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in her pajamas. She would’ve left, but she’d had too much to drink and anyway, they’d come in Stella’s car. Stella wouldn’t be very pleased if Chloe left her stranded.
Then again, maybe she would. Her best friend leaned close to Alex to whisper something in his ear, and he threw his arm casually around her shoulder as he bent to listen and then laughed in response. Stella wasn’t going to go home a single woman, by the looks of it. Alex clearly idolized her, and Stella couldn’t believe her luck.
Chloe watched them flirt and look into each other’s eyes, touch hands and share a glass, all the characteristic signs of attraction. Stella wouldn’t be sharing her tent that night. Lucky cow would have a proper bed to sleep in, and a proper man to cuddle up to under the covers. Chloe didn’t resent her friend being happy at all, but the surge of jealousy surprised her.
Her gaze slid across to Garth, who leaned against the wall again. She wasn’t surprised to find him watching her. This time he didn’t smile, but his eyes were gentle, apologetic even. She didn’t bother to hi
de her resentment and hurt.
“Are you okay?”
She turned to see Nick beside her, and she sighed inwardly. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? Only you seem—” He stopped as his phone rung and cursed. “Sorry. Just a sec.” He flipped it open and turned away.
She sipped her wine as she turned her gaze to the view outside the glass windows. The moon hung low on the horizon, about three quarters full, and dangled over the sea like a yoyo suspended from the stars. Some people still sat outside, surrounded by citronella candles to keep away insects, but more had come inside now, and someone had turned the music up, ready to start partying. The crowded room was growing warm, and Chloe edged closer to the window, uncomfortable amongst all the hot, sweaty bodies in the humid atmosphere.
“What?”
Chloe frowned at Nick’s raised voice. He paced up and down a few times, clenching his fists.
“When?” he asked the caller. “No! Fucking hell.” He thumped the sofa, and several people turned to look at him. “I don’t know. I’ll have to see if anyone can bring me. Can you see what’s missing?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Shit. All right. I’ll let you know.” He clipped the phone shut.
“What’s up?” someone asked.
“My house has been burgled.”
“Oh no!”
Everyone stopped talking and somebody lowered the music. “Shit,” Alex said, leaving Stella’s side and coming over. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Nick ran his hand through his hair again, leaving it more rumpled and haphazard than normal. “The burglar alarm’s gone off. A neighbor went around and thinks he disturbed them, but he’s not sure if anything’s missing.”
“Oh Christ.”
“What do you want to do, Nick?”
“I need to go home,” he said, looking around wildly. “I’ll have to call a taxi.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll take you.” One of the men stood and took out his keys. “I haven’t been drinking.”
The two of them made their way to the door, people trying to console Nick as he went, but Chloe remained where she was. Garth looked decidedly self-satisfied, and she prickled with suspicion at the memory of his phone call after Nick had placed his hand on her knee. There was something fishy going on.
Chapter Fourteen
Garth met Chloe’s angry gaze, and his heart thumped with alarm. Damn it—she’d seen right through him.
Stewart left the house, casting a final look over his shoulder at her. She pushed her way through the crowd to where Garth leaned against the wall, trying to keep out of the way of the bodies choking the room.
She stood in front of him, eyes blazing. “Are you happy now?” She snapped the words in a voice low enough so those sitting in the living room couldn’t hear her, but loud enough to show her displeasure.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“Don’t bullshit me, you arrogant bastard. I saw that triumphant look on your face. You’re thrilled Nick got burgled. You think it’s funny.” A look of horror crept across her face. “Oh my God. It was you. You did it.”
“I’ve been here the whole time.”
The hand not holding her glass of wine twitched as if she wanted to slap him. “Don’t treat me like an idiot. You’ve done nothing but butt heads with him since I arrived. You kissed me because you thought he was going to kiss me, and I saw the look on your face when he put his hand on my knee.”
She stepped closer, into his personal space, blue eyes sparking like a summer sky filled with lightning. His heart thumped uncomfortably.
“You were on the phone.” Her voice filled with menace. “You orchestrated this. Didn’t you?”
Garth said nothing, conscious of his palms sweating. She’d guessed correctly. His contact had only tripped the alarm, and nothing had been taken. He just hadn’t been able to bear being in the same room as Stewart any longer.
Someone had turned the music back up again, and the dull thudding of the bass made his teeth ache. His clenched jaw didn’t help. The fan on the center of the living room ceiling hardly stirred the warm air at all, and the breeze from the door didn’t reach to his side of the room. Why had he come so far in? His stomach roiled uneasily from the greasy food he’d eaten earlier, and the beer tasted sour in his mouth. “I...” His brain felt fuzzy. He couldn’t think what to say.
“Didn’t you?” Chloe’s words were thick with bitter disappointment.
“I...” He touched his hand to his forehead. It was cold and clammy.
He saw it in her eyes the instant she realized what was happening. Her anger vanished, to be replaced by concern. “Garth? What’s the matter?”
“I need to get out.” He pushed past her and tried to cross the room, but there were too many people. A girl laughed, her voice high and harsh, hurting his ears. Someone tried to offer him a beer, but bile rose in his throat at the strong smell of the hops. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself and force everyone aside, but the walls were closing in on him. If he didn’t get out soon, he’d make a huge fool of himself.
A slender hand slipped into his, and Chloe pushed through the crowd. She apologized with smiles and a word here and there, but cleared the way for him to follow her outside into the clean, invigorating air. She didn’t let go of his hand as they exited the doors, and led him across the deck, past the people talking and drinking, down the steps onto the beach.
She walked about twenty feet along the sand, past the tents pitched in front of the deck, out of the pool of yellow light spilling from the house, into the semi-darkness. He wore no shoes and the sand cooled his feet, the night air like cold water in the back of his throat. The soothing sound of cicadas in the bush above the beach blended with the peaceful swoosh of the waves on the shore. His panic began to die down.
Chloe turned to face him, but he couldn’t look her in the eye and sank instead onto his haunches. He released her hand and dropped his head, trying to clear his mind of the images shooting through it—of the small cell with the peeling paint, the smell of sweat and shit, most of it his own, and the three bars of bright sunlight that had lain on the dusty floor like bars of gold. He’d counted them over and over until he became convinced he’d never be able to count to more than three again. Emotion tightened his throat, but he forced it down, taking deep breaths to keep control.
Chloe stood over him for a moment, obviously watching him struggle with himself. Perhaps he’d alarmed or frightened her. Would she walk off?
But she didn’t move.
She placed her cool hand on the back of his neck, and he inhaled, drinking in the contact with another human being. He let her ground him as he tried to calm himself. She stayed like that for a while, quiet and relaxed, not speaking. Occasionally she stroked his hair, comforting him until his breathing grew more regular.
Then she dropped her hand and lowered herself to the sand beside him. He sat back and looked out across the sea. The moon splintered into white feathers on the water, while behind them a kiwi cried mournfully in the bush.
“Okay,” she said. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
He owed her an explanation. Nothing would develop between them until he came clean. Maybe it was time for some honesty.
He breathed in and let it out slowly. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got all evening.”
The urge to confide in her surprised him. “I used to be a journalist.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I decided I wanted to be one when I was a teenager. I did it to piss my dad off.” He smiled wryly. “My family’s in the oil business. My brother runs it now.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Two brothers, both older than me. And they both work in the business. Dad wanted me to as well.”
“And your mum?”
“She died when I was eight. I missed her. Dad was strict, but whereas Jake and Ian were made in his image, I was always Momm
a’s boy.” He threw a stone onto the sand, wishing he could remember her better. He was unable to recall more than the way she used to play cards with him, tickling him when he cheated.
He brushed away the memory. “I rebelled, told Dad I wasn’t going into the business. He refused to listen, but when I turned eighteen I took myself off to college to study journalism. He refused to pay my fees, and I had to fund my way through. But I got my degree. I moved to New Zealand a few years ago.” He couldn’t tell her about Jess yet. “I landed a job as a reporter for TVNZ.”
Her eyebrows rose. “No reporting on lost cats for you then.”
“Not quite, no. I traveled all over the world covering current conflicts. Paid off my debts. Made quite a bit of money, to prove I didn’t need my dad. And then, coming up for three years ago now, I ended up in Afghanistan.”
He went quiet for a moment, letting the sound of the sea soothe him. Chloe reached out a hand and squeezed his fingers. “What happened?”
“I was captured by one of the Taliban splinter groups. They took me hostage somewhere near Quetta in western Pakistan, near the border with Afghanistan.” Chloe gasped, but he carried on, unable to stop now. He wanted to tell her, to get it off his chest. “They kept me in a nine-foot-square cell with a stone floor, a piece of foam for a bed, two blankets, and a jug of water. They fed me once a day with soup, sometimes chicken or mutton if I was lucky. There were no toilets, just a pit at the end of the corridor, but that overflowed pretty quickly. I was allowed out for about ten minutes every few days to exercise.”
“Jesus.” She’d gone white. “Did they mistreat you?”
He looked down at his hands. He’d clenched them into fists, so tight they hurt, and he made himself unfurl them and relax. “Sometimes.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t want to tell her about the times they’d smashed his head against the wall, or kicked him until blood poured out of him. Or how they’d stubbed out cigarettes on his back, or stuffed newspaper down his shirt and set fire to it to try and force him to make a plea on television for his release.
Summer Fling Page 7
