The special of the day sold out in the first hour. The only person who complained was Jack, when told that there was none left for him and he’d have to eat steak and chips.
The evening was one long torment. Viva watched Gabriela move around the kitchen with the same precision and economy of movement that she brought to her work. Viva longed to curve a hand around the back of Gabriela’s neck and draw her close for a kiss or smooth a palm down over a buttock, reaching down to trace the hem of her shorts.
There was a brief and glorious moment when Viva pressed against Gabriela’s back, her hands slipping around, up over her ribcage to cup her breasts. Viva closed her eyes and concentrated on how Gabriela’s nipples peaked under her fingers, on Gabriela’s rapid breathing and how it hitched when Viva touched Gabriela’s nipple over her singlet.
“The chips are burning!” Gabriela darted away to pull them from the deep-fryer. They were crunchy brown, too burned to serve to customers. Gabriela piled them into a bowl, and Viva grabbed two glasses of red wine from the bar, and they ate and drank as they continued working.
Viva added a scoop of ice-cream to a dessert.
On the other side of the kitchen, Gabriela stacked plates into the dishwasher.
Ice-cream forgotten, Viva’s gaze lingered on Gabriela’s lean, brown arms and the slight hint of breast visible through the armhole of her singlet.
Gabriela concentrated on her task with the same intensity she gave to a match point. Her short hair was flattened by the heat and humidity of the kitchen, and her shoulders were shiny with sweat.
Viva glanced at the clock. Meals were finished; this was the last dessert order. Soon. Soon she would be able to leave the bar to Jack, and she and Gabriela could retire for the evening. Such a tame way of describing what was going to happen between them. Viva grinned, suddenly glad that her parents were away.
Gabriela slammed the dishwasher closed and turned it on. She straightened, and her gaze locked with Viva’s. The promise of what was to come shimmered in her eyes.
“I’ll deliver this, and then we’re done.” Viva picked up the final dessert and took it out to the bar.
When she returned, the kitchen was in darkness. Gabriela stood in the doorway. She grasped Viva’s hand and pulled her close. Her body was warm against Viva’s, her singlet damp from the hot evening.
Viva ran her hands up Gabriela’s arms, to cradle her face between her palms. The kiss stole her breath, filled her head with the buzz of static so that her entire world was Gabriela and how she made her feel.
When she could breathe again, she linked her fingers with Gabriela’s, and together they ascended the wide staircase and walked down the darkened corridor to Viva’s room. The air conditioning made the room cool. Outside, the purple haze of evening moved slowly to the blackness of night. Viva drew the curtains across the glass door to the balcony. It made the room feel smaller, more intimate. There was only the slow turn of the ceiling fan, the quiet hum of the air conditioner. The wood-panelled walls absorbed the quiet sounds.
It was as though she were underwater, so heavy and dense was the air between them. Viva turned on the bedside light so that the room was pools of light and shadow. With this night in mind, she’d changed the sheets, and they were crisp and white in the muted light.
“Do you want a shower?” she asked.
Gabriela nodded. “Please. It was a hot day and a hotter evening.” Her smile broke over her face. “And I do not mean the heat of those commercial ovens.”
Viva threw her a towel. “Hold on to that heat a while longer. The showers are shared with guests.”
It was hard for Viva to concentrate knowing that Gabriela was naked in the next cubicle. As she soaped herself, the image of Gabriela’s hands running over her own compact body, then sluicing the soap from her skin made Viva hurry her own shower. She dropped the soap and then fumbled the shower control, accidentally turning it to cold, before she finally finished.
With a glance at the next cubicle, she wrapped herself in the towel and went back to her room. She frowned. Something was different. Her glance fell on an ice bucket on the bedside table, the neck of a bottle of sparkling wine sticking over the top. Two champagne flutes rested next to the bucket. It had to have been Jack’s doing. She would thank him later.
The door opened, and Gabriela came in, wrapped in a towel. Her olive skin glowed warm in the light.
Tears sprang into Viva’s eyes. This moment, this woman. Their time. How long have we got? She pushed the thought aside. This was for them and was not to be wasted on talk. That would come later. For now, their lips and bodies would say anything that had to be said.
Her fingers clenched on the towel, holding it closed above her breasts. She took a step forward, bare feet soundless on the rug.
Gabriela echoed her movement, and then they were face to face.
“Please drop the towel. Let me see you,” Gabriela said, her voice husky and threaded with need.
Viva raised her chin, her heart beating as if it were match point, and her fingers loosened on the material so that it fell to the floor.
Gabriela followed suit and kicked both towels away to the side of the room. She fluttered her fingers over the distance between them to trace up Viva’s arm in the lightest of touches. Her face was intent as she outlined Viva’s collarbones and mapped a path down between her breasts before skimming underneath, over her ribs, and up the outer edge of Viva’s breast.
Viva’s breath caught as Gabriela flicked her a wicked glance before again focussing her gaze down to where her fingers moved in the slowest of concentric circles, around Viva’s breast, closer and closer to her nipple. It was the lightest of touches, almost lazy in its approach, advancing so slowly that every centimetre sent widening ripples of desire along Viva’s skin. The tingles coalesced until her body was one heated pathway of flame. When Gabriela’s fingers finally passed over Viva’s nipple, the magic her touch elicited was so great that Viva’s knees shook. She stiffened. Please don’t stop.
She glanced at Gabriela’s bent head. Her gaze was fixed on Viva’s breasts, on the slow movement of her own fingers. As if sensing Viva’s look, Gabriela raised her eyes, and their glances met.
“I love your body,” Gabriela said, her voice low. “I love the strength in your muscles, your flexibility. I love the power, the way you walk, graceful and upright, but coiled like a big cat about to spring. I love your war wounds.” Her fingers moved to Viva’s wrist, and she raised it and traced the fading scar with her fingertips. “I love your skin.” She pressed her lips to Viva’s neck.
When she straightened, Viva too leant forward, and then they were kissing again. Gabriela’s kisses were agile, somewhat restrained, like the woman herself. But then Gabriela’s lips opened under Viva’s, and the kiss moved to a new dimension, one of open mouths and the soft, slow, slide of tongues.
Somewhere outside, a shout of laughter from the bar downstairs drifted up, but Viva barely heard it. Being here, in her room, together in their own cocoon, was what was important.
“I love your body too,” she said. “I love the stillness you project when you’re in the umpire’s chair. The concentration, the calmness. And I love how you take such joy in movement. How light-footed you are when you run.”
Gabriela was heavy-lidded, her eyes slumberous as she looked up at Viva from under her thick lashes. “I think my body would move better in a horizontal position right now.”
Viva’s heart hammered in her chest. Oh yes. She drew Gabriela down onto the crisp, white sheet and aligned her body next to her. She slid her palm down Gabriela’s shoulder, along her arm to her breast, mimicking Gabriela’s movement of earlier.
Gabriela lifted her leg and rested her thigh over Viva’s hip.
The slide of her skin was a sensual torment. The movement drew Viva’s gaze downwards, to between Gabriela’s legs, to the dips and cur
ves of her body, to where her sex was hidden in the shadows thrown by the bedside light. She shuffled down, her lips unerringly finding Gabriela’s nipple, and she took the hard nubbin between her lips, swirling her tongue, opening her mouth over the small breast.
A pulse throbbed between her own legs, but Viva ignored it.
Gabriela’s hands tangled in Viva’s hair, taking her long plait and winding it around her fist. When she tugged down, the meaning was clear.
Viva moved down, her lips gliding over Gabriela’s belly, rigid with need. She rested her head on Gabriela’s thigh, and her nose nudged the soft mound in front of her. The sharp scent of arousal and the damp curls told their own story. Viva parted Gabriela’s sex with her fingers, and her tongue darted to taste.
Gabriela’s grip tightened in Viva’s hair, tugging the roots to the edge of pain.
Viva winced and withdrew. What was wrong?
Gabriela released her grip on Viva’s hair. “Please don’t stop. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Did the words mean more than just the grip on her hair? It was Viva who’d done the hurting. Both of them, circling each other, trying to balance love and conflicting careers. Sadness crept like a grey blanket over Viva, but she pushed it aside. Not now.
Gabriela’s palm curved around the back of Viva’s head. “Please…”
The angle was difficult, but it was what Gabriela wanted. Viva tilted her head and parted her lover’s sex with careful fingers. Her tongue followed, and she circled Gabriela’s clit, pressure on one side, a flicker over the tip, then the flat of her tongue on the other side. Circles, more circles, led on by Gabriela’s cues, the clench and release of her fingers on Viva’s hair, the tilt of her hips, the firmness of her belly.
And then Gabriela’s thighs tightened around her, making it hard to continue, but the clench of her belly under Viva’s hand, the long, low keen of pleasure urged her on as her body arched in orgasm.
“Mi corazón.” Gabriela’s whispered endearment fell softly on Viva’s ears.
My heart. Viva rested her head on Gabriela’s thigh, while Gabriela’s fingers smoothed the dishevelled plait she’d been tugging so hard on earlier.
Viva’s heartbeat slowed, soothed by Gabriela’s fingers. The night wasn’t over, but there was no rush. No rush for Gabriela to work her own magic on Viva’s body, to bring her to the same shattering climax that had wracked her. For the moment, she was happy to lie in the dim room, her heartbeat slowing from its frenetic race, the softness of Gabriela’s skin under her cheek.
Later, she lay, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The bar was quiet; it must be very late. Viva turned her head to see Gabriela. She lay on her side facing Viva, body relaxed in sleep. Her hand rested palm up on the pillow, fingers loosely curled. She looked utterly at peace, so different from the tension that had shimmered in her body when she arrived.
One week, Gabriela had said. They had one week. Why? What had changed to give them the week—and only that time, no more? At the time, Viva had grabbed at the offering. But she wanted more. So much more. Gabriela must be taking a huge chance to be here at all. And she was doing it to be with Viva.
She’d told herself she wouldn’t push Gabriela, wouldn’t demand answers or reasons. She would simply take what was offered and be grateful. But she wasn’t sure she could keep to that anymore. The uncertainty ate at her, whittled away at her happiness until she could barely think of anything else.
If it came to it, her own career or Gabriela, what would she do? Careful not to wake Gabriela, she rose, wrapped herself in the discarded towel, and went out onto the balcony. Waggs Pocket was peaceful. There were no lights in the few houses, no traffic or people on the street. Somewhere, a frog chorus trilled, and a hare ran across the quiet road. Viva sat on the balcony couch and propped her feet on the table.
If it came to it, could she stop all competitive tennis? No doubles, no exhibition matches? Her shoulders hunched at the thought, and she instinctively rejected it. It would remove her from life as she had known it for the past twenty years.
Twenty years. Wasn’t that time for a change?
Her thoughts skittered to Jelena. She hadn’t seen Jelena since the final, but her face and Marissa’s were still in the news, the poster children for love. Jelena had it all.
Why couldn’t she?
But Jelena had gambled a lot for that love. Because it was worth it.
Viva sighed. Love. Was that what this was? Even if it destroyed their week together, she would talk to Gabriela tomorrow.
Despite the pleasures of the night-time hours, Gabriela woke early. Cracks of daylight seeped through the blinds, and magpies warbled their liquid song. Gabriela rose quietly from the bed and found a towel to cover herself before she padded barefoot down the corridor to the bathroom.
When she returned, Viva was awake. The sight of her long, lean body stretched out on the bed, arms behind her head, legs crossed at the ankles, brought back memories of the night before. Of her mouth travelling new and exciting patterns along that body. Of the taste and feel of Viva under her lips and tongue.
Gabriela dropped the towel and lay on the bed next to her, resting her head on Viva’s shoulder. Her cheek rose and fell with Viva’s breathing.
“Is it unromantic to say that I’m starving?” Viva’s words vibrated through Gabriela’s skin.
“No. I’m imagining bacon.” She raised up to see Viva’s face. “Well, I’m also imagining you and the things we’ll do again in this bed. But breakfast is slightly winning.”
“Coffee.”
“I would like scrambled eggs and a pile of toast with that bacon.”
Viva’s lips caressed her hair, and her fingers ran down Gabriela’s arm.
Thoughts of breakfast receded.
Viva reached for her phone. “It’s nearly seven. How about a run before breakfast?”
The path along the creek was quiet. They passed two dogs out exploring by themselves and disturbed a pair of wallabies grazing on the greener grass by the water, but otherwise there was nothing. They ran side by side, keeping a gentle pace that still saw the kilometres flash past underneath their feet. The soft thud of their shoes on the gravel path and the rasp of synchronized breathing was the only sound.
The run ended with a race to the back door of the pub. Viva touched first and bent double, trying to catch her breath.
Gabriela grinned at her. “That was close. You’re losing fitness fast if I could nearly catch you.”
Viva raised her head. “Not too fast, I hope. Michi and I are playing doubles in a few weeks in Indian Wells. That should be time enough for my wrist to recover from the Open.”
Doubles. Some of the light went out of the morning. Gabriela turned away. “Is that coffee I can smell?”
It was. Jack sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of him. “The lovebirds awaken.” He grinned and ducked as Viva aimed a pretend slap at his head.
Gabriela spied the commercial coffee machine in the corner. By the time Viva had joined her, she’d figured it out, and the second mug was brewing.
“If my brother loved me,” Viva said loudly, “he’d offer to cook bacon, scrambled eggs, and a toast mountain. With Vegemite.”
“If my sister loved me,” Jack retorted, “she’d make her own breakfast, knowing that her brother had had a late night working the bar by himself while she was getting loved up with her girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. Gabriela’s hands stilled on the mug. Is that what they were? How could they be, when they now had only six more days together? It wasn’t enough. Last night had shown that, binding them closer. In the background, Viva and Jack’s banter raged on, their voices rising and falling with their good-natured insults. Six days.
She pushed the thought away. She and Viva needed to talk, but if talking and the setting of boundaries destroyed what they’d fou
nd again, then Gabriela could wait.
As if sensing her stare, Viva turned. “Jack’s just offered to make us breakfast.” She grinned. “So, let’s sit outside, out of his way, while he does it.”
“I did not offer—” Jack rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it. Off you go, sister dear. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”
Viva picked up one of the mugs and added milk. “Let’s go before he changes his mind.”
“You’re cleaning up,” Jack shouted after them. “Frying pans and everything. Greasy and disgusting.”
They found a bench in the shade overlooking the camping area. There were few vans. Most had probably moved on to the coast, where there was at least the chance of a cooling sea breeze.
“I love it here.” Viva tipped her head back. The gum leaves above created patterns of light and shade on her face. “I’m looking for a block of land where I can build a house. Not too much to look after, as I’ll still be away a fair bit.”
“Around here?” Gabriela sipped her coffee and pushed down the envy that Viva’s words had brought. What a beautiful place to live, to come home to, as Viva intended doing.
“Ideally. Within the town or at least close outside. Close enough that I can help in the pub if needed. Not next door that they call me in every five minutes.”
“How much land?”
“Maybe a couple of acres. Enough that I can have chickens, maybe a horse. Space and privacy. But I don’t want to spend all my spare time going around on a ride-on mower or mending fences. That narrows it down a bit. Blocks around here are either huge, or they’re house lots in town.” Her face was wistful as she gazed out over the dry ground. “It will be nice not to be travelling fifty weeks of every year.”
“That’s why I stop in Queensland every year. I need the longer break.” Would she continue to come to Brisbane? Or would it be awkward after she and Viva had gone their separate ways? But Brisbane was a big city, and if Viva was based in Waggs Pocket, well, their paths would not intersect too often.
“I’m supposed to be looking at a property later today,” Viva said. “It’s three acres, with a creek frontage, on the edge of Waggs Pocket. It’s part of Max’s land. If I like it, he’s offered to subdivide the block from his land for me, and I’ll build a house. It’s by itself, no neighbours. I think it might work.” She peeped at Gabriela from under her lashes. “Want to come?”
Code of Conduct Page 27
