The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3)

by Janice Horton

  ‘Jenny said the last person to stay here was a president. Shall we have a nightcap?’

  Henri doesn’t pick up on my last remark or register my concerns.

  All I can think about is there being two of us and only one bed and in my overactive and now overstimulated imagination, this all feels like too much.

  Is it because he’s a strikingly attractive man and he looks so temptingly suave in his tux?

  Is it because he’s impressively well-travelled and has a sexy twinkle in his eye?

  Is it because I think he would be an incredible partner in bed?

  Is it because the oversized bed makes me think about Henri’s manly lure and magnetism?

  Or, is it because in my head and to my horror, I’m already naked in that bed in Henri’s strong and muscular arms? The thought of it has me weak at the knees.

  I decide to tackle the situation straight away before any more assumptions are made.

  ‘Henri, I want you to know that although you won our little bet earlier, it’s not that I don’t find you attractive – because I do – but I don’t intend on sleeping with you. I’m sorry. It’s just, well, I’m on my honeymoon.’

  He pours a small measure of brandy into two large brandy glasses with a steady hand.

  ‘Your honeymoon?’ he repeats.

  ‘Yes. W-with Jon,’ I stammer, by way of explanation.

  Henri only manages to half conceal his frown. ‘Ah, yes … the pilgrim honeymoon trail.’

  His tone upsets me. ‘I’m sorry? The pilgrim trail? What do you mean by that, exactly?’

  He approaches me and sets the glasses down so he can cup my face with his hands.

  In his eyes I see his compassion but perhaps not his complete understanding.

  ‘My darling Maya, don’t you know that I’m jealous?’

  Jealous? Of what? Jealous of Jon? Why would Henri be jealous of a dead man?

  ‘But you can relax. I have every intention of taking the couch tonight.’

  I breathe a deep sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. I appreciate your understanding.’

  ‘No understanding required,’ Henri insists as he picks up his drink and moves away to turn his back on me. I’m guessing he’s having mixed feelings but then he turns to look at me again and I see mischief etched on his face.

  ‘But just to clarify … you did say just now that you do actually find me attractive?’

  I roll my eyes at him to excuse myself from having to qualify his flippant comment and wander into the bedroom to take a pillow and a sheet off the bed, all the while pondering further on his admission of jealousy. There’s no doubt that Henri is a gentleman. He’s been nothing but a kind and considerate friend to me all evening. He was really concerned for me earlier after I’d taken the seasickness pills and he’d wanted to look after me. But all of that is because he and Jon had been friends and – because of that – now he was my friend. He’d been so easy to be with tonight and together we’d had so much fun and adventure.

  I really don’t know why I’ve been so worried about being in a room alone with him.

  Had I really thought he might jump on me the moment we got up here?

  Or that he might have been expecting me to jump on him?

  I honestly think I’ve been massively overthinking this and flattering myself too much.

  ‘Here. Take these. I hope you’ll be comfortable,’ I say, handing over the bedding.

  I honestly don’t know what emboldens me, but I lean forward to kiss his cheek and say goodnight. Maybe it’s the warm, wonderful, and now deliciously familiar whiff of his cologne mixed with the scent of cognac on the air between us? Or just the desire to offer further thanks for the fine friendship we had forged. Either way, it all went wrong.

  Henri moves his head to the side at the last minute and I end up with my lips on his mouth instead of his cheek. And, before either of us knows what’s happening, we’re locked in a long and delicious kiss. He tastes of brandy and manliness and his lips are soft while his body feels hard and muscular beneath my fingers as they sweep across his broad chest.

  He draws me even closer towards him as my breath quickens, my lace-covered breasts and my stiffened nipples pressed hard against his shirt.

  I feel his heat and his heartbeat and my own heart pounding.

  When we pull away, we stare at each other for a moment in shock.

  At first, I see that Henri is just as surprised as I am and that his eyes are now an even darker shade of green. But then his expression softens and his eyelids lower in lustful repose as he looks at me. And, in that moment, all my guilt melts away and I know I desperately want to sleep with him. I can’t fight myself or my desire for him any longer. There’s no reason not to when we obviously both want the same thing. And, after tonight, I’ll likely never ever see him again. The latter fact only makes this prospect all the more appealing to me.

  A night of sex and physical satisfaction with a man who is fun and attractive. It doesn’t have to be anything more and no one needs to get hurt.

  We are both adults. Okay, I’m not sober but I’m certainly not drunk either.

  Maybe this is more of an act of rebellion than a sound decision?

  Or maybe I’m simply acting on our mutual attraction and the sexual tension that’s been building between us right from the first moment we met. I’m a normal, living, breathing woman and I have a libido. I need release. I also need affection.

  Before I fell in love with Jon, I’d occasionally had boyfriends with benefits. I know I could do that again tonight with Henri and we could both enjoy mutual affection and sex without the complications of commitment or love because after tonight we will be strangers.

  Being faithful to Jon’s pilgrim trail doesn’t mean sentencing myself to a life of loneliness.

  Jon wouldn’t have wanted that for me.

  And, after all, he’s technically the one who brought Henri and me together.

  Surely that’s the same as giving his blessing?

  Chapter 18

  Henri’s lips are still close to mine so I kiss him again, this time with purpose. I hear his throaty, guttural moan of pleasure as I make my intentions clear. Then we practically drag each other across the room and into the bedroom, pulling at and discarding our clothes as we go. I flick off my shoes and he lifts my dress over my head as I unbutton his shirt, pull at his belt, and unzip his trousers.

  He whispers my name and words of encouragement as my hair falls over my shoulders and we tumble onto the bed together. I respond in kind and in consent as he hesitates for just a moment before sliding my panties down. Then, hot and naked in our embrace, we slow the pace and take our sweet time, taking turns to make love to each other, until we’re sated and eventually, in the early hours of the morning, we fall asleep in one another’s arms.

  That night I dream of golden coins, spinning roulette wheels, and dollar notes.

  * * *

  In the morning, with sleepy eyes and a warm, lazy body, I lie next to Henri as he sleeps and I study his beautiful face on the pillow. He is so ridiculously handsome. Especially with a morning shadow of stubble. I think about how, in another existence, in another life in which I lived in Hong Kong, I would have liked to get to know him better.

  All I know about him right now is that, just like Jon, he’s into martial arts and was an investment banker. That he was once married. That he lives on a yacht and he likes to sail. That he likes to gamble on occasion and that he drinks bourbon and cognac and appreciates food and fine wine. That he’s intelligent and articulate and he’s a really smooth dancer. He’s also a passionate, skilled, and considerate lover.

  Perhaps I do know more about him than I thought? Perhaps it’s him who knows nothing about me?

  I lean carefully over to the bedside table to collect my engagement ring from where I’d placed it in the early hours of the morning. I slip it back on my finger and watch Henri’s dark eyelashes fluttering on his high cheekbones, sad that once he opens his eyes i
t will be time for our love bubble to burst. This will all be over.

  We’ll travel back to Hong Kong and he’ll head straight over to the marina because he’ll have been watching the clock – or rather the gold Rolex on his wrist – knowing he still has such a lot to do to complete the preparations for his race this afternoon. He certainly won’t have any time to think about me or that I am leaving today and how, despite my promise to look him up, we are hardly likely to see each other again. I’m pretty sure he’ll forget me and our night together soon enough. But I’m also pretty sure that I’ll never forget him.

  Today I will go back to my hotel alone to pack up my things and head out to the airport.

  And, when his boat race starts, I’ll already be halfway to Singapore.

  It’s a real shame that it’s worked out this way. I’d have enjoyed all the bonhomie and celebration involved in waving him and the crew of the Super Typhoon off on their epic race. It’s also a shame that I’ll be leaving Singapore just hours before his boat arrives.

  I’m reminded of a poem I’ve always loved by another of Henri’s namesakes – this time Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – but only now do I fully understand the poignancy behind the words.

  Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing

  Only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness;

  So on the ocean of life we pass, and speak one another

  Only a look and a voice, and then darkness again and a silence.

  * * *

  When Henri opens his eyes, he blinks sleepily and smiles happily. He says, ‘Hey, good morning, beautiful!’ as though relieved last night’s passions hadn’t been just a dream.

  Then he pulls me back into his arms and folds me once again against his warm body.

  He kisses my forehead and holds me tightly and I feel like I’m melting with both the pleasure of being with him now and the sadness of knowing that this is our swansong. His voice is low, soft, and direct when he speaks, giving me the impression that he’s spent some time during the night thinking about our time together in this bed and in each other’s arms.

  ‘Maya, I’m wondering if you might consider delaying your flight out of Singapore on Monday? It just seems crazy to me how we’ll both be in the same place on the same day and yet we’ll be missing each other by only a few hours. Believe me, I’d be racing across the sea with even more purpose if I knew I could see you again.’

  It all sounds wonderful and I know I’ll feel truly terrible turning him down.

  ‘We could be celebrating a great win and every great win demands a party with Champagne. Please, Maya, come on. Tell me you’ll be there.’

  But I just can’t bring myself to change my plans.

  Doesn’t he realise that I’m not on this magical mystery tour to get halfway and then abandon it?

  I have a duty to honour Jon’s memory by following all of Jon’s notes to finish what I started. If Henri can’t understand that then it’s his problem, not mine.

  ‘Henri, I can’t. My flight is booked. I have my itinerary. It’s Jon’s plan.’

  ‘But isn’t it also Jon’s plan that brought us together?’ he counters.

  He’s using the same rationale that I used last night to justify us sleeping together.

  I stare at him. This isn’t what I had expected from him this morning.

  I’d slept with him in the safe and certain knowledge that this was just a one-time thing. That last night had been no more than a wonderful and uncommitted conclusion to two amazing days.

  ‘Look, call me old fashioned, but we slept together and it means something to me,’ he continues, looking at my engagement ring with a frown. ‘Maya, I want to be honest. I was feeling pretty jaded about relationships. Until I met you.’

  ‘Jaded? I don’t understand. Do you mean since you got divorced?’

  ‘No, not that. My divorce was amicable. What I mean is that well-meaning friends are always trying to set me up, but I’ve never met a woman I wanted to see again. Until you.’

  He’s leaning on one elbow now, gazing at me with pleading eyes.

  ‘So, why don’t we give this a chance? Say you’ll wait for me in Singapore.’

  He strokes a lock of hair from my brow and studies my face while he waits for my answer.

  I shudder with pleasure at his soft, slow caress across my cheek. It feels so very intimate.

  ‘Henri, this wasn’t a date. We’ve only known each other for two days. Slow down!’

  ‘That’s exactly my point. This isn’t something I can do casually. I really want to get to know you better. All I’m suggesting is that we create a window of opportunity in which we can both get to know each other properly. Flights can be changed or cancelled, you know. Plans can be postponed. Just for a couple of days. Then we can see each other again in Singapore. What do you say?’

  I stare at him and allow myself to imagine a scenario where we spend two more days together in Singapore. But those are days I was supposed to have been with Jon – not physically but spiritually – and abandoning his plan to be with Henri seems like a selfish betrayal.

  ‘Look, Henri. I agree that this didn’t feel entirely casual. Clearly, we do have something between us … a connection. But following Jon’s plan is important to me. It might not be set in stone but it is set in my heart. I’m sorry, but I feel I must continue to follow his plan.’

  He frowns and shakes his head. The look in his eyes tells me he’s loathe to accept defeat. Again, I see him glancing with narrowed eyes down at my engagement ring.

  Suddenly, looking up at me he counters with a compromise.

  ‘Okay. At least tell me that you’ll think about it between now and then?’

  Think about it? Change my mind? Change my plan. Ditch Jon’s magical mystery tour?

  ‘Henri, perhaps you don’t understand that this is all about the journey. It’s Jon’s journey. And you are not Jon. Don’t you see? You’re just my connection to Jon.’

  I realise all at once that I’ve made a mistake. My words had been cruel and my tone more than a little fierce. In the next few moments of stunned silence, Henri processes what I’ve just said to him. I fall into a bit of a panic when I see the hurt of my rejection register on his face and I scramble to better explain myself so that he might understand.

  ‘Henri, remember when you committed yourself to teaching Tai Chi in the park in honour of your Grand Master? Well, this is my way of honouring Jon. Now do you understand?’

  He nods slowly. ‘Okay. Yeah. Sure. Now I understand.’ He sighs deeply with resignation.

  Then he pulls me into his arms and kisses me one more time.

  It’s a slow, deep, smouldering, incredibly passionate kiss and an emotional goodbye. When he finally releases me, he heads straight to the bathroom, and I lie alone in the bed, my mouth tingling with the taste of him and my body still pulsating with the reignited desire for the pleasure and the pressure of his hard body inside mine.

  Feeling cold and lonely again, I imagine myself calling out his name and saying I’m sorry and that I will meet him in Singapore. I so desperately want him to come back to bed.

  Suddenly, all the feelings I was trying to quell last night seem magnified rather than resolved. I’d quickly gone from feeling aroused and heated to feeling riddled with guilt that Jon was cold and dead and in his grave while Henri was very much alive and just on the other side of the bathroom door. I close my eyes and try to think about Jon.

  If I think about Jon then I won’t think of Henri.

  I need to fix my mind on exactly what I set out to do and complete this journey.

  I tell myself I’m not falling for or lusting after Henri. In being with him, I was just being reminded of all that I was missing about being physically connected with Jon. I try hard to picture Jon’s face, but, frustratingly, it keeps morphing into Henri’s.

  I call to mind my meditation teachings and use my ajna, my mind’s eye chakra, to see Jon and to reimagine all my
favourite memories of being in Jon’s arms: how our kisses would lead to our lovemaking and how his lips would sweep sensually from my mouth to my neck, trailing slowly and exquisitely down over my entire body.

  But now I only see Henri making love to me instead.

  Feeling flustered and ashamed, I give up and get out of bed to make a pot of coffee.

  I use the second bathroom. When I come out, showered and dressed, Henri is gone but he’s left a note on the coffee pot about ‘joining him downstairs for breakfast’. It doesn’t escape me that he’s used a yellow Post-it note from the desktop in the adjoining sitting room.

  Feeling a tad overdressed in last night’s clothes, I go down to join Henri.

  He’s sitting in bright sunlight at a table beside a large window that offers a fabulous view of The Strip. The weather outside looks fine today – the sky cloudless and blue, the palm trees motionless. The wind has calmed which bodes well for his boat race this afternoon.

  He smiles when he sees me enter the executive dining room and immediately puts down the Hong Kong Times he had been reading to stand and see me seated opposite him at the table for two. Despite our previous night of gambling and drinking and debauchery, Henri somehow manages to look bright-eyed, fresh, and still incredibly dashing in his shirt and dark trousers. Naturally, he hadn’t bothered with his bowtie this morning.

  I, on the other hand, probably look a little the worse for wear on a lack of sleep.

  I’m relieved when a waiter rushes over with a pot of hot, fresh coffee and a breakfast mug.

  ‘So how are we planning to get back to Hong Kong this morning?’ I ask Henri.

  He looks at me over the top of his own coffee mug. ‘As fast as possible. Would you mind if we took the hi-speed ferry back? I checked the forecast and the crossing is calm. I can’t get a chopper here until midday and the ferries leave every fifteen minutes.’

  ‘No problem. Perhaps it’s time I found my sea legs anyway.’

  After breakfast we collect ourselves together and then we have a bit of a tiff over Henri objecting – in fact refusing – to take his half of the cash from our winnings last night.