On the Same Page, page 16
I clearly hear the L in his pronunciation. And then he says my name again—even more slowly—and I’m hopelessly lost. He’s still kneeling in front of me. We sigh in unison, and our lips come together. Our tongues tangle up, search, find and promise. I tug at his tie and loosen the knot. He trails his hands up my sides, over my breasts, around my neck and through my hair. His mouth slides across my cheek to my earlobe. I rip open his shirt buttons and bite his neck. His skin is warm and smooth and he smells wonderful.
He runs his mouth over the sensitive spot beneath my ear and then trails open-mouthed kisses down my front. He fiddles with a daisy button, teasing until it slides free of the buttonhole. He looks up—hungry, questioning. I mumble, ‘Hurry up.’
He undoes my daisy buttons one by one. He runs his lips over the spot on my skin where each button lay. He stills, just for a moment. He sits back on his heels. His breathing is unsteady, just like mine. There’s an aching tingling trail all down my front.
‘Lars?’
He fingers the buttons and the holes. He opens the pyjama shirt wide. ‘Christ.’ He runs his mouth over my breasts while I clench his shoulders. He explores my cleavage, the sides of my breasts, stroking and caressing.
‘Please hurry up.’
When he smiles, I feel the movement of his lips against my skin. And finally he takes a nipple into his mouth, licking and kissing, gentle then firm. I tug at his arm with my good hand to try to pull him onto the bed.
‘Come up here.’
He shakes his head. ‘Not yet.’ He cups my breasts, his thumbs sliding over my nipples. He kisses them again to keep them wet. I’m writhing with lust when I grasp his hair and force his head back. The tiny grey flecks in his deep-blue eyes glisten silver.
‘Please,’ I say.
‘I am determined to take my time.’
He kisses a meandering path up my body. I yank his tie over his head. The only sounds either of us makes are breathy gasps and needy moans. Our lips meet again. His tongue feels so good in my mouth.
The door rattles. I freeze, my hands still on his chest. He lifts his head and frowns. Another rattle.
‘You put it in this way,’ Pippy says.
Lars nuzzles under my hair and kisses my neck. ‘Send her away,’ he mutters.
I touch his cheek, trace the line of his jaw. I don’t want to let him go. ‘Shhh.’
‘Wait till the light turns green, then you go in,’ Pippy says.
‘Ahhh,’ Grandma Myrtle says.
When we hear the door open, we stiffen. But then it closes again and he goes back to nuzzling.
‘Lars.’ I push against his shoulders. ‘They’re still there.’
He curses, resting his face against my breast. His breath is cool on my nipple.
‘The light was red when you did it,’ Pippy says. ‘So you must have done it the wrong way. Try again.’
When I wriggle backwards, Lars grabs hold of my waist. ‘No,’ he says, looking up. His eyes are the brightest blue. ‘Tell them to leave.’
‘We’re in!’ Pippy says.
Lars lets me go and I scurry to the other side of the bed, fumbling with my buttons. I’ve barely done them up when Pippy and Myrtle appear. They stare at Lars open-mouthed.
He’s managed to do up his buttons, tuck in his shirt and knot his tie, but his hair is a little disorderly. I run my fingers through my hair and put my hands behind my head to twist it into a bun.
‘Are you feeling better, Miles?’ Pippy says, peering at me. ‘Jack said you were very sick and that’s why you couldn’t do the reading.’
‘Yes, much better.’
Myrtle opens her arms and hugs me. ‘I do like your buttons, dear,’ she says, doing one of them up. ‘And I’m pleased that you’re resting. Fancy you and Emma, both being so unwell.’
‘Myrtle, this is Lars. He came to see I was all right, but now he’s going.’
She beams at Lars. ‘You gave a marvellous performance, dear.’
‘Performance?’ I say. ‘What do you—’
‘We were just about to leave,’ Lars says, giving me a look signifying, comply immediately or I shall kill you.
‘No, we weren’t.’ I study the plaster on my hand. ‘I’m having an early night. I … I have my pyjamas on.’
‘I will wait outside while you dress.’
‘No, thank you.’
He’s only just holding on to his temper. ‘Miles,’ he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, ‘I came to your room to discuss Emma Browning. Now there is an additional matter.’
‘I said no.’
‘You’d prefer an alternative time and place?’ He narrows his eyes. ‘In Lucinda’s office, perhaps?’
‘Yes, please.’ My voice is squeaky. I clear my throat. ‘After the conference.’
‘You are in no position to make demands!’
Myrtle clasps her hands to her breasts. ‘That was Rupert.’
Lars frowns. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Myrtle nods. ‘The way you spoke, it was exactly like Rupert.’
‘Gran,’ Pippy says, taking Myrtle’s arm. ‘I don’t think Lars wants to talk like Rupert.’
‘Yes, he does,’ Myrtle says. ‘Or he wouldn’t have done the reading.’
My heart jumps. ‘You did it?’
His gaze snaps to mine. ‘Someone had to.’
Myrtle fans her face with her hands. ‘He read Chapter 28 extremely convincingly.’
I was going to read Chapter 1, where Evangeline and Rupert meet for the first time. In Chapter 28, which is taken from Rupert’s point of view, he compromises Evangeline so she’ll marry him. He undoes the laces of her petticoat, kisses her breasts and …
‘Did Lars wear a ripped shirt?’ Pippy asks.
‘We imagined he did,’ Myrtle says, smiling at Lars. ‘Didn’t we dear?’
‘Lars isn’t really Rupert.’ My voice is low and shaky.
‘Then why is he in the poster?’
Oh, God. Please don’t do this to me. Please.
Lars sounds a little uneasy. ‘What poster?’
‘The one in the foyer downstairs.’ Myrtle opens her large floral handbag, takes out the conference program and points. ‘This is a different picture, but it’s good as well. As soon as you started reading, I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.’
Lars stares at the depiction of Rupert, looking at it as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His eyes swing from me to Pippy, and back to me. His voice is a husky whisper when he asks, ‘How many pictures are there?’
‘I tried to tell you when you were in Japan.’ My voice is strangled.
‘I asked how many.’
When I don’t say anything, Pippy says, ‘Just a few more.’
‘Tell me!’
Pippy smiles uncertainly as she counts on her fingers. ‘There’s the one in the program and the one in the foyer and … and …’ she speaks in a rush, ‘the one on the cover of Cupid’s Chariot.’
Lars is perfectly still.
Myrtle beams. ‘How delicious! I can’t wait to see it.’
When Lars clenches the program in his fist, Pippy tiptoes up to him, tugs it out of his hand and gives it back to Myrtle, who carefully smooths out the creases and fans herself.
I step backwards when Lars walks towards me, until my shoulder blades touch the wall. His face is only centimetres from mine. My feet are bare, so he seems even taller than usual.
‘You vindictive little—’
‘Lars!’ When Pippy takes his arm and pulls him away, he shrugs her off and stands with his hands clenched by his sides. ‘It wasn’t her fault.’
‘Yes, it was, Pippy. Or at least, I should have told him.’
He reaches for his suit jacket, puts it on with jerky movements and stalks to the door.
‘Goodbye, dear,’ Myrtle says as he passes.
He pulls up short. ‘I presume you’ve read Cupid’s Trap?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Cupid’s Arrow?’
‘That’s my favourite.’
‘Cupid’s Revenge?’
Myrtle purses her lips. ‘Edward is a scoundrel, but fascinating all the same.’
‘Do you find Emma’s books compelling?’ Lars checks to see I’m paying attention. My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps.
‘The characters are wonderful,’ Myrtle says.
‘You have faith in Emma’s voice?’
‘Oh, yes.’
My legs go wobbly, so I walk to the bed and sit down. I’m certain my face is white and for the first time in my life I want it to be red.
‘You enjoy Emma’s authenticity?’ Lars says.
Myrtle nods.
Pippy sits next to me and puts her arm around my shoulders. ‘Are you feeling all right, Miles? You’re a bit peaky.’
I can barely breathe.
‘May I have a word, Pippy?’ Lars says.
Pippy walks him to the door. She’s back in a minute, sitting next to me with the room-service menu. ‘Lars said to get you something to eat.’
‘That was thoughtful of Rupert,’ Myrtle says, opening the zips of Pippy’s case.
Pippy cups her hand around my ear and whispers, ‘He said he hopes you choke on it.’
Chapter 29
It’s been a week since Lars and I kissed. Should I mark time by the event? I’m staring at my laptop calendar when Crystal opens the office door and slaps a file on my desk. She’s wearing a tight T-shirt and the sort of black pencil skirt Pippy favours, only shorter.
‘We need a letter for Amber,’ she says. ‘Someone has stolen her ebook and put their own name on it. It’s piracy, isn’t it?’
‘It’s breach of copyright. And it’s Tuesday morning. Why aren’t you at school? Where’s Pippy?’
‘Pupil free day. I told Pip to go to Iconic because she’s more useful there than here. She lets you get away with murder.’
Crystal is razor-sharp and disciplined, and Pippy is sweet-natured and flexible. They both have dysfunctional families. Like bookends, they complement each other.
‘Do your schoolwork, Crystal. I’ll handle the calls.’
‘But what about Amber’s letter?’
‘I’ll do it next.’
She puts her hands on her hips. ‘You said that yesterday, Georgiana. Stop wasting time with Emma’s crap and do some proper work.’
‘Are we at the community centre, or in my legal practice? You’ve promised to be nice to my clients and civil to me whenever you’re here.’
‘Just reminding you, that’s all.’
I don’t only think and rethink what Lars might do about Emma on Tuesdays, it happens on other days of the week as well. Because it’s clear from his messages that he and Lucinda know my secret. But all Lucinda will say is that Lars is ‘considering his options’ and will let me know which one he decides on when he’s back in Sydney.
I’ve tried to forget what happened in my hotel room. His seduction was obviously premeditated, or he wouldn’t have asked me to tell him I was Emma before he kissed me. He only said please forget I said that because he’d overplayed his hand and was worried I’d back out. Lars’s arousal was purposeful. We’re attracted to each other and he attempted to use that attraction to get me to confess. We kissed. That was all. It’s over.
By lunchtime I’ve written the letter for Amber, looked over Clinton’s contract, ordered property searches for a conveyance, and sent out four overdue-account reminders. I’m about to make a self-congratulatory pot of tea when I check my emails. Lucinda’s is the only one with red exclamation marks next to it.
To whom it may concern:
I understand you attended the recent Historical Romance Readers’ Association Conference. Please be advised that Iconic International Limited will have no hesitation in supporting defamation proceedings against any person making an assertion, verbal or written, that suggests, explicitly or implicitly, that the fictional character Rupert, Lord Devlin, from Emma Browning’s upcoming novel Cupid’s Chariot, bears any resemblance whatsoever to Lars Kristensen, Chief Executive Officer of Iconic.
Yours faithfully,
Lucinda Middleton
General Counsel, Iconic Australia
On the bright side, it seems Iconic will keep the promotional material and book covers for Cupid’s Chariot, meaning they won’t be claiming the costs of creating new ones from me. On the dark side, Lars will be faced with constant reminders that he is Rupert and that will make him even crankier than he is already. I tiptoe around Crystal’s textbooks, neatly piled up to the side of the sofa in reception, and reach for the teapot.
Crystal looks up from her laptop. ‘What’s defamation?’
‘Have you been reading my emails again?’
‘Pippy told me where you keep your passwords.’
‘She shouldn’t have.’
‘How am I supposed to do my job if I can’t keep an eye on you? What’s defamation?’
I humour her while waiting for the jug to boil. ‘In simple terms … if someone publishes material that has the potential to bring the reputation of another into hatred, ridicule or contempt, an action will lie in defamation. The purpose of Lucinda’s emails is to keep people quiet. Iconic, on Lars’s behalf, have probably sent personal letters to anyone who has said anything so far. Now they’re taking a blanket approach.’
‘You can really sue people for something like that? For money?’
‘For hundreds of thousands of dollars sometimes.’
‘Even though Rupert is hot?’
‘A man like Lars doesn’t want to be seen as hot. He could argue that his professional reputation has been tarnished as the result of the publication of images that may be seen as sexually suggestive.’
‘Like the poster of Rupert at the conference?’
‘And…’ my hand isn’t as steady as I’d like as I spoon tea leaves into the pot. ‘The cover of Cupid’s Chariot.’
Chapter 30
I leave work early on Friday afternoon to meet Jack at the Spanish wine bar. The coffee isn’t very good here, but Jack likes to recline against the burgundy velvet cushions. Which is precisely what he’s doing as I make notes on the lease for the community centre. Each week we think up a new legal problem, so Jack has an excuse to talk to Jules.
‘I can pay for your advice,’ Jack says, wincing as he sips his coffee.
‘Don’t be stupid. You know just as much as I do about leases, it’s just that my imagination is superior.’
‘You’re broke.’
‘That doesn’t mean I’ll take your money.’
‘How about a loan?’
I grimace. ‘Would you mind?’
‘How much?’
‘Two thousand dollars?’
He laughs. ‘Sure.’
‘It’s just for my rent and phone and things. Sorry to ask.’
Jack shuffles along the booth and bumps my thigh. ‘Do you need more?’
‘Careful of my quads. No, that will tide me over.’
He pats my leg. ‘Poor Miles.’
‘Because I’m broke? Or sore from stretching?’
‘You only stretch on Thursday nights in anticipation of Friday. You should stretch every day.’
‘I’ll pay you back by Christmas, provided Lars doesn’t sue me for defamation.’
‘Why draw attention to his resemblance to Rupert if he’s trying to hush it up?’
‘He’d have a strong case. I was responsible for the photos being taken and I didn’t tell him about them even after I knew what Iconic was planning.’ I take the piece of chocolate from Jack’s saucer. ‘I feel pretty guilty about it really. I’d be mortified if something like that happened to me.’
‘He’ll live. And maybe you would have told him about the photos if he didn’t refer to Rupert fucking the horse.’
‘Is provocation a defence to defamation?’
‘Doubt it. I was just trying to make you feel better. How’s your hand?’
I hold it up for his inspection. ‘It’s fine now.’ When I run my finger over the newly healed skin, it reminds me of how Lars traced the outline of the plaster. And all of a sudden I blush. That happens rarely with Jack.
‘Whoa,’ he says. ‘What’s that all about?’
‘Nothing!’
‘It’s something to do with Lars, isn’t it?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Fess up, sweets. What’s going on with Rupert? You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof ever since the conference.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Lars’s flight arrived in Sydney last night. I’m worried what he’s going to do now that he knows I’m Emma. All Lucinda has told me is that he’s “considering his options”, whatever that means.’
‘We’ll think through the legalities before you meet up. But that’s not all that’s worrying you. It’s something else.’
‘Maybe it is. But you respect my privacy too much to ask about it.’
‘No, I don’t. And you’ll feel better if you tell me.’
‘It’s personal.’
‘With you, I specialise in personal.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Did he use a condom?’
‘Jack …’
‘Okay, I’ll be subtle. We’ll gradually build up to you and Rupert having sex. You fancy him, don’t you?’
I liked the way Lars poured the tea at Maurice and April’s house. And I liked the funny emails he wrote to Emma about Cupid’s Revenge and Cupid’s Arrow. I also liked the way he touched my bottom lip with his tongue, as if asking whether I was sure I wanted to kiss him.
‘He’s arrogant and controlling, like Petruchio from The Taming of the Shrew.’
‘Yeah, like that’s relevant. Anyway, didn’t the shrew fall for him in the end?’
‘I think it was Stockholm syndrome.’
‘What?’
‘Where the oppressed person becomes what the oppressor wants.’
Jack rolls his eyes. ‘Back to Lars. He has a great body.’
