by Anne Oliver
‘There’s a big difference between a simple gift from the local shops and a car. I’m used to being on my own, Luke, and making my own decisions.’ She looked away, at the harbour, and he sensed she was thinking of something sad. Then she seemed to shake it off and turned back to him, her grey eyes wide and focused on his as she said softly, ‘Can I come in?’
With a nod, he moved back to allow her entry.
His whole body tensed as she stepped inside and closed the door. Blame it on one long and frustrating night, but he fought the iron grip of desire, the urge to back her up against the door and plough into her until the sounds of their pleasure rang from the rooftop. He glanced up at the lofty ceiling. That was a whole heck of a lot of pleasure.
‘What?’ She followed his eyes as she set her bag on the floor.
‘Thought I heard voices,’ he muttered. He blew out a breath. ‘Come on in. Below-floor heating,’ he said as he led her across the wide expanse of carpet. ‘Sofas are due tomorrow. They didn’t have the colour I wanted in stock. The rest is pretty much in order.’
He aborted the tour of his bedroom at the last moment, opting instead for the kitchen.
‘Open your gift,’ she said, sitting down at the table.
He thumbed open the brown cardboard box. Inside were two plain champagne flutes and a wood-topped corkscrew. ‘Thanks, Mel.’ Simple, inexpensive, but it meant a lot that she’d thought to buy it.
‘I know, you probably have a whole stack of glassware. Great views,’ she said, immediately changing the topic, turning away again, the remnant tension from last night humming in the air.
‘You can never have too many glasses.’ She was trying to ignore that tension and he needed a caffeine jolt to take the edge off. ‘Want coffee? I was just about to make some. Or would you like to christen the glasses with something stronger?’
‘Coffee’s fine. Mind if I explore some more?’ She waved a hand and was already walking away.
‘Go ahead.’ It would give him time to cool down.
‘Oh, by the way, I hope you’re free this afternoon,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I owe you one.’
Oh, yeah. Frustration gnawed low in his belly. But he didn’t think that was what she was referring to. Grinding his teeth, he turned his attention to coffee-making but his mind was fixed on where he suspected Melanie was now—in his bedroom.
He could picture her admiring the harbour view, then turning to admire the king-size bed. Or was it vice-versa? He remembered his unmade bed, sheets crumpled from his restless nights. He imagined his sheets crumpled from a different kind of restlessness. Melanie’s pale skin shimmering against his midnight-blue sheets, her hands moving over the linen. Over him.
He clenched his teeth as he poured water over coffee beans and stupidly hoped what Mel had planned involved crowds and adrenaline.
‘Okay, Luke,’ she said, over her mug a short time later. ‘I’ve got a whole two days off. You wanted not serious. I’m suggesting not serious.’ She had that familiar gleam in her eyes that he’d learned to associate with things that usually involved either risk or daring or both.
‘What do you have in mind?’ he ventured. And guessed adrenaline was definitely on the agenda. He’d been too hasty in his hopes for what she’d dreamed up, he thought, with a sense of trepidation.
‘Luna Park. Fairy floss, a couple of rides…’ That gleam turned positively wicked.
Luke’s stomach did that queasy jiggle it always did at the mention of that place.
‘Who chooses the rides?’ He heard the uneasy tone of his own voice.
‘I do.’ She sipped her coffee, seemed to consider. ‘Maybe I’ll let you choose one, if you’re nice.’
Hardly mattered. If Mel let him choose all the rides but one, he’d still know that this afternoon was going to be a roller-coaster ride in more ways than one. He could only be grateful he hadn’t suggested an early lunch. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. We’ll come back here after and eat. I’ll even let you cook.’
‘Generous of you.’ Luke blew out a breath. If he could face food. He pushed back his chair, already sweating a line of nerves down his spine. ‘Let’s get it over with, then.’
* * *
Luke had avoided theme parks since he and Mel had been together, and not only because the sight of fair-goers being flung into the sky turned his stomach to mush. He couldn’t get past the image of them together whenever he got a whiff of the warm metallic smell of greased machinery and hot doughnuts.
As they strolled through the familiar gaping mouth at Luna Park’s entrance the past returned in a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds. He won her a teddy at one stall, a green velour snake at another. They rode the Ferris wheel and a couple of low-grade thriller rides, all within sight of the Harbour Bridge.
The white-knuckle ride Mel chose that had had his gut churning with dread in anticipation wasn’t the one he’d disgraced himself on five years ago, but it wasn’t much better.
‘You’re not going to chicken out on me, are you?’ Mel said—a statement, not a question—as he watched a pale-faced teenager barely walking away unaided.
‘No way,’ he muttered.
But it took a good half-hour before the clammy sweat dried and he could face the fairy floss Mel insisted was part of the whole experience.
They stayed until evening darkened the sky to purple and Sydney twinkled with thousands of lights reflecting on the inky harbour.
Until the feel of Mel’s hand in his was no longer enough. He wanted those hands on more than his mouth as she fed him pieces of her doughnut. He wanted those eyes now dancing with pleasure, sobering and darkening with passion.
‘We’ve seen enough,’ he said, tugging her away from the merry-go-round’s tinkling music. ‘Time to go home and eat.’
But by the time they reached the car Luke had one objective in mind and it wasn’t eating.
‘Ooh, the luxury,’ Mel sighed, settling herself into the passenger seat as they left the car park and turned into the traffic.
He swore he heard the sound as she ran a hand over the butter-soft seats. As if she was wondering how they’d feel against her bare skin.
He gripped the steering wheel as a sudden vision of a naked Melanie draped across the seat rolled in front of his eyes. Her bottom sliding over the supple leather as he pulled her closer. Her eyes, hot as molten steel as he reached between her silky smooth thighs, spreading them wider, finding her wet, slippery heat…
With a wry shake of his head he picked up speed as he crossed the coat-hanger bridge. Any more X-rated images like that and he’d be forced to pull over and turn them into a reality.
‘What’s wrong?’ Mel said and he felt those eyes staring at him. ‘You in pain…or something?’
‘Forget it.’ He cleared the huskiness from his throat.
‘No. What were you thinking? I want to know if we’re on the same wavelength.’
She touched his knee, just a friendly pat, but he felt the subtle tightening of her fingers and the instant tensing of his thigh muscles. ‘No questions.’ He swore beneath his breath as he slowed for a truck that cut in front of him.
‘You’re hard as a—’
‘No talk.’ He almost snapped. He took one hand off the steering wheel to cover hers, eased it off his thigh and set it on her own. ‘Not if you want to make it home in one piece.’
Was that a purr? he wondered as she snuggled down in her seat. From the corner of his eye he saw her undo the toggles of her jacket. She raised a hand to her pony-tail, tugged off the band and dragged her fingers through her hair with a sigh of satisfaction.
Damn, he’d wanted to do that. He inhaled the scent of her shampoo as she moved, the subtle drift of the soap she’d used last night.
Last night. When he’d found her in the bath. His blood turned thick at the memory. Anticipation grabbed him hard between his thighs.
He shifted, his discomfort growing to epic proportions as he navigated the roads on vi
rtual autopilot. He was reacting like a randy adolescent, thinking like a horny teenager.
Making up for lost time, he thought. He’d never been an average kid. ‘No son of mine plays with dirt,’ his father had told him when Luke had shown an early interest in geology.
Nor had he been an average teen. To the loud jeers of his mates, he’d preferred cataloguing his rock collection and his safe geological field trips to dating the up-market daughters of his father’s acquaintances. Thank God he’d seen the error of his ways when he’d reached his twenties.
He glanced in the rear-view mirror and sneered at his reflection. Still nothing like the free-spirited Melanie who dived into life without a reserve parachute.
The Roll-A-Door rose with a barely audible rumble and security lights winked on as he pulled into the driveway and up the steep incline into the undercover carport. He turned off the ignition. In the silence he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his chest, Melanie’s soft breathing.
He turned to look at her. Her hair draped her shoulders like a scarf of black silk and he had to reach out and touch. Smooth and cool against his fingers. Then the lights went out, leaving them in total blackness, and the silence deepened with dark velvet promise. Leaving his hand on her hair, he edged closer. His forehead bumped something bony.
‘Ouch,’ she said with a jerk.
‘Sorry.’ He lifted a hand and discovered he’d bumped her nose. His fingers drifted lower, over lips compressed into a thin line—of pain or annoyance or both. His lips followed his fingers, then his tongue, skimming her mouth until it softened. Then he felt her pull away with an impatient swish of fabric over leather.
‘Let’s get out of here.’ Her sharp response made it clear she wasn’t impressed with their surroundings.
And why would she be, with a perfectly good bed a few metres away? He grabbed his keys. ‘Right with you.’
But he hesitated a moment before climbing out. Was his plan to keep things between them casual flawed? Would he be able to walk away when they decided they’d had enough? More likely she’d be the one to walk first. Some other guy would take her fleeting fancy.
Hold that thought. It made it easier to keep everything in perspective.
CHAPTER TEN
THE LIGHTS came on again as they made their way to a connecting door and entered the apartment. He tossed his keys on the kitchen table. He wanted nothing more than to grab her hand and keep walking till they hit carpet—forget the bed.
But his duty as host demanded he grit his teeth against the tightness in his jeans and ask, ‘You want to eat?’
‘Maybe.’
Her ambiguous answer had him turning. Maybe? Had he been misreading those sexual innuendoes in her eyes? Against the floor-to-ceiling windows, framed by the city and harbour lights she looked like a model posing for one of those Come Visit Sydney posters. That had to be an encouraging sign, right?
His whole body burned as she shrugged off her purple fleece, revealing a glimpse of red strap beneath her jumper in the process, and let it fall where she stood.
‘First I need to get out of these tight boots,’ she said, tugging them off. ‘My feet are killing me.’
He empathised. Tight seemed to be the order of the moment. But he wasn’t looking at her feet. His attention was wholly focused on her lips. Glossy with oil from the sugared doughnuts they’d shared. A few clear granules still clung to the corner of her mouth. ‘You have sugar on your mouth.’
‘I do?’
She raised a hand to brush it away but he captured it in his own as he nudged her backwards towards the living area. He continued to hold her, rubbing his thumb over the pulse in her wrist, feeling the thump against the tender skin, the firm mounds of her breasts as he leaned in. ‘You do.’
Her lips parted slightly as he dipped his head, flicking out his tongue to sample that sweetness. And, God, it was sweet, dissolving on his tongue as he licked his way from one corner, over her bottom lip to the other. When she opened her mouth to speak—to moan? to gasp?—he slipped right in to savour the next course.
But she pulled back slightly, and he watched her eyes at half-mast in the reflected light from the kitchen. Beneath the heavy lids he recognised the same burning intensity he knew she’d see in his. But something else flickered in those depths.
Was he moving too quickly? Or not quick enough? Damn it all, what had happened to the sunny girl he’d spent the afternoon with?
More than anything at this moment he wanted to erase that look and calm whatever-the-hell doubts had put those clouds there. A sudden urgency gripped him. Don’t give her time to think. He reached out, pulled her back, hard against his body. ‘Melanie.’
Her name sounded like wine on his lips. Smooth and sultry and seductive. With something perilously close to desperation, he rushed his hands beneath her clothing, finding slinky satin and firm flesh. Heard the same desperation in her shallow breathing as her body tightened.
He had her jumper up and over her head before he could say ‘finesse’—not how he’d wanted it to be, but helpless against a sudden fear that something might keep her from him as it had the last time. A fleeting image of lacy red bra crossed his vision before he unsnapped it, tossed it away.
He caught a handful of her hair in his fist, pulled her head back until her gaze locked with his. Shock, heat and desire darkened her eyes. ‘There’s only us,’ he rasped, his voice thick, his hand abrading her scalp. Unable to think beyond this moment.
‘I—’
‘Only us. Now. Here.’
‘Only us,’ she whispered, and he heard the tremble in her rough-edged voice.
He tightened his hand against her head, drawing her tight against him with his other hand at the small of her back so that she was arched against him.
‘Only us. Right. Now.’ Her hot, breathy demand feathered across his chin, her hands wasting no time diving under his jumper and up to tweak his nipples into hypersensitive bundles of nerve endings. ‘Now, now, now.’
The pulse of his blood beat through his veins in time with her chant, an insistent drumming that spread through his body, hammered in his groin as he fumbled with the top button of her jeans.
Shoving the denim over her hips and thighs with her panties, he palmed the tight, hot skin of her buttocks. The manoeuvre wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t skilled, but in a tiny corner of his still-functioning mind he knew she didn’t want that any more than he. Somehow he peeled off his jumper, tossed it away.
When she overbalanced he compensated and they slid to the carpet together in a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing. ‘You okay?’ He pushed up on his elbows.
And was seized by a primitive possessiveness at what he saw. Her skin glimmering pale and pearlescent in the glow from the kitchen. Glossy black hair, mussed from his hands, flowing across the floor like an ebony lake, her cherry-dark nipples puckered and erect.
She arched her back against the carpet, her legs shifting restlessly. ‘I will be. Soon.’
‘Soon.’ He pushed her thighs apart and knelt between them. Just where he wanted her. Where he’d dreamed of having her—awaiting his touch, her woman’s flesh waxed and naked and glistening with arousal.
His breath stalled in his chest. How many times had he woken rock-hard and sweating with this image burning behind his eyeballs, the taste of her sex hot on his tongue, her scent filling his head? ‘You’re all I remember and more.’
There was an instant of absolute stillness, as if he stood with her on the rim of a volcano about to erupt. But only an instant. Then molten pewter eyes met his, his skin blistered with their heat and ignited, and he was hurtling towards that precipice.
Melanie surrendered to the longing snaking through her body and gave herself up to the moment. The heated carpet felt abrasive against her bare back, the backs of her legs, Luke’s hands hard and uncompromising on her thighs as he pushed them wider.
Her exposed flesh quivered beneath his gaze. Every pore tightened, every beat of her puls
e echoed through her body. She was remembering too—every sexual encounter of their short relationship flashed through her mind.
How he could turn her inside out with one look from those hot toffee eyes, one glide of his finger over wet, slippery skin.
How they’d turned each other inside out, again and again. Sex with Luke had always been a sunburst of fierce and frenzied energy. And flying too close to the sun…
But he gave her no time to ponder the past. Leaning down, he blew a stream of warm air over that tight, trembling woman’s flesh. So light yet so potent; she felt herself splintering like fragile glass, shattering helplessly beneath his gaze. She cried out, something mindless as he blew again and sent her spinning to climax.
‘You’re amazing, you know that?’ he said, watching her as she opened her eyes to look down her body at him. Still watching her, he slid down between her thighs. Passion blazed in his eyes, turning them dark toffee. Then his tongue plunged into her, a wicked, delicious torture to her still-spasming body, his fingers digging into her flesh as he clenched her hips to hold her still.
‘Luke…’ She clutched at his hair, his jaw, to centre herself, to drag him up and over her. Felt the slide of firm muscles and hairy masculine skin, then his hands on her breasts, tweaking her throbbing nipples into shamelessly jutting points.
Hard, hot denim chafed her lower body. Abruptly, she reached between them, flicked the stud of his jeans undone, diving her hands beneath the elastic of his briefs to find him hot, damp, hard as steel.
His stomach muscles tightened under her hands and he muttered something harsh, his breath shuddering out against her mouth.
She darted her tongue out to soothe the tight line of his mouth and tasted her passion on him. ‘I’ve got it,’ she told him when he would have lowered his hands to his waistband. ‘You just keep doing what you’re doing.’
The sound of the zipper being wrenched down elicited a groan that brought a similar response to her own throat. Her pulse danced impatiently. ‘Hurry.’
‘Doing my best,’ he muttered, shoving the offending garments down. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans to grab a foil packet from his wallet, rip it open with his teeth and sheath himself. He tossed the foil packet over his shoulder.
