On the Same Page, page 23
I’ve never been so bone-meltingly turned on in my whole entire life.
Chapter 44
Adam, holding Adam Junior in his arms, surprises us by appearing at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the forecourt. The baby, a dark-haired cherub, smiles and bounces up and down when he sees Amy.
‘AJ wouldn’t sleep after his ten o’clock feed,’ Adam says. ‘And Annie has back-to-back cello classes tomorrow so wanted an early night. I thought I’d come and get you.’
Lars shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘I would have escorted them home.’
Adam smiles uncertainly. ‘Now you won’t have to.’
‘No,’ Lars says through his teeth, ‘I bloody well won’t.’
I reach for AJ and sit him on my hip. He grips the neckline of my dress with a pudgy hand and stares at Lars with wide brown eyes. When Lars carefully opens AJ’s fingers to release my curl, the baby’s lip wobbles, so I bend my knees and bounce.
It’s still drizzling as we make our way towards the carpark. Amy has her sandals back on, but as I’m still barefoot, Lars protectively walks by my side. Amy chats non-stop about the ballet and every two minutes Adam asks whether AJ is too heavy. Not having to speak gives me time to think. I have two options. One, I walk with Lars to his hotel. Two, I get a lift with Adam and watch Lars stride away. It’s hardly Sophie’s Choice, but tricky all the same.
What would Adam advise? He’d tell me I need financial stability so I should make sure Lars really does have a house with a lemon tree in Bloomsbury.
Caro would warn me to be careful because Lars might have slept around after breaking up with Cassandra, who incidentally, is a wonderful person and still in love with him.
Lucinda would counsel me to use my brain and be rational. ‘Lars is conventional and in control,’ she would drawl. ‘You are unconventional and out of control. Sleep on it.’
What would Pippy say? She’d tell me Lars didn’t mean it when he said he’d sell Emma’s books to anyone foolish enough to pay for them. And maybe he doesn’t really think Edward is a fuckwit. And he didn’t intend to make me a little hard up. And even though he’s arrogant and will ruin my life, he’s nice underneath.
And Jack? ‘Do you fancy him?’ he’d ask.
‘Like crazy,’ I’d say.
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Fuck him senseless.’
We reach the roundabout at the end of the forecourt. Amy faces me and points her toe as I write in the pad, Thank you for asking me to the ballet. I had a wonderful time.
‘Aren’t you coming in the car with us?’ she says.
I shake my head. And when Lars gives me a tentative lop-sided smile and holds out his hand, I take it.
Chapter 45
Lars pulls me close and rests a finger against the tip of my nose. He feathers a path to my forehead, traces my hairline to my ear, and detours around the rim. Then he finishes his journey, via my cheek, to just below my lip.
He’s very serious. ‘You are beautiful.’
I stroke one of the creases at the side of his eye and then run my fingers through his hair to the nape of his neck, resting my hand against his jaw.
‘You.’ I prod his chest with my other hand. ‘Tired.’
He turns his face into my palm and kisses the inside of my wrist. Then he laughs. ‘Exhausted. But, walk with me?’
We stroll through the Circular Quay crowds, weaving our way around other couples meandering like us. When we stop to watch a man chalking a unicorn onto the footpath, Lars drops an arm around my shoulders and I put mine along his back. I still don’t have my shoes on, so he bends down a long way to whisper in my ear. ‘Perhaps we should have something to eat?’
Lars doesn’t know I’m going with him to his hotel, so he’s trying to prolong our time together. I shake my head, take his hand and lead him further along the Quay and around the foreshore towards the Park Hyatt. When we see an Australian Navy boat, he tells me his cousin was the youngest commander ever in the Norwegian Navy.
It starts raining again just before we get to the hotel. I stop and gaze at the ocean anyway, pointing to the Harbour Bridge, silver and sparkling under the cloud-filtered moonlight. Then I gesture to the watercraft. There are no masted ships like Henry’s, but plenty of water taxis, ferries and other large boats.
He moves behind me, wraps his arms around my middle and rests his chin on my shoulder so his cheek is against mine.
I point to an enormous cruise ship moored at the overseas passenger terminal. ‘Describe,’ I say.
When he laughs, the warmth of his body radiates through mine. ‘White,’ he finally replies. His voice is husky. ‘Large. Numerous windows. Funnel.’
I turn and wrap my arms around his neck. Our lips almost touch. ‘Awful,’ I mumble, thinking about Henry’s ship as it undulates on the swell and how, when they make love, Georgiana and Henry’s bodies will move together in perfect harmony with the rhythms of the ocean.
He smiles into my eyes. ‘Would you like a drink at the bar?’
I step out of his arms, pointing towards the upper storeys of his hotel. He must understand, because he grasps my hand tightly in his and marches me through the doors and across the foyer. A grey-haired concierge approaches, blinking in disapproval at my bare feet and damp and clingy dress. Lars doesn’t care about the concierge. He pulls me into a lift, presses his pass against the control panel and stabs a button. And as soon as the doors close behind us he spreads his legs far apart so our bodies match up. He holds me close, burying his face against my neck, before kissing his way towards my mouth. He whispers. Miles, Yes darling. Christ.
After the lift doors open, he guides me down the corridor and into his room, shutting the door and securing the latch. It’s bigger than a normal hotel room, with a sitting room off the entry as well as a bedroom. The bed has a stark white coverlet and about twenty matching pillows.
‘No interruptions,’ Lars says, taking me into his arms again.
‘This,’ I say, touching his cheek.
He takes a breath and rests his forehead against mine. ‘Yes, Miles. Finally. This.’
I want to make sure he understands, so I sit on the end of the bed, open my evening bag, and pull out Amy’s pad and pen. Then I point to the list of things he’s promised not to talk about.
‘Not that,’ I say.
‘No.’
I swallow, hold my fingers against my bottom lip so I can speak more clearly, and stare into his eyes. ‘Just this …’
He kneels on the floor and takes the pad and pen out of my hand, shoving them into my bag. Then he presses his body against mine and kisses a trail to the base of my throat. When he stands and pulls me to my feet, he feels for the zip at the side of my dress and eases it down to my waist. Threading a hand in his hair, I gaze into his ocean-blue eyes. He kisses my forehead.
‘Miles?’
‘Mmmm?’
‘May I help you undress?’
His hands aren’t quite steady as he inches my dress over my head. He admires my bra and then cups my breasts, gliding his thumbs over my nipples through the lace. My knees go wobbly. I put my hands over his.
‘Bathroom?’ I say.
He tells me where it is, but before he lets me go he holds my face in his hands. ‘You will come back, won’t you?’
The bathroom is enormous, with an oval-shaped freestanding tub on clawed feet, and matching twin sinks. I’m still wearing my underwear when I return to the bedroom. But now that I have to make an entrance, I’m more self-conscious than I was before. Lars is lying under a sheet, propped up on pillows with his hands behind his head. When I join him under the sheet, we lay on our sides, facing each other. His chest is bare and I must be red again because his smile is hesitant.
‘It’s late,’ he says, scooping my hip and pulling me closer. ‘Your mouth must be painful. And your toe. We can go to sleep and wake up together tomorrow morning.’
I slowly shake my head. Then I sit up and draw the sheet down until it bunches at the foot of the bed. He’s naked, just as I expected. He reaches for me, but I shake my head again, and put my hand on his chest to keep him where he is. Then I lean over him and trail my fingertips over his smooth, broad chest. I stroke his flat brown nipples with the pads of my thumbs. His abdomen has muscles like Rupert’s, and when I push my palms against them he closes his eyes. The feel of his body as it responds to my touch is fascinating. He holds his breath when I run my fingers down the narrow line of dark hair from his navel. He clenches his fists when I explore him with my hands. And when I touch him with the tip of my tongue, he grabs my shoulders and mutters, ‘I’m afraid I’ll hurt your lip.’
I nudge his hip with my elbow. ‘Turn?’
He grumbles as he lies on his stomach, and then mutters softly as I run my hands over the muscles of his shoulders and back. I rest my chin against the base of his spine and trace the long narrow scar that runs across his shoulderblade. I sigh and press my breasts against his bottom. He swears and twists, sitting up like a jack-in-the-box. He wraps his arms around me and buries his face against my neck.
‘It’s my turn now,’ he says.
He lays me on my back and teases me by kissing my breasts through my bra. He reaches for the clasp and says, ‘I’d rather this was off.’ When I undo it myself, he laughs. Then swirls his tongue around my nipples and complains that just the thought of them makes him hard, which has the potential to be damned embarrassing because he often thinks about them while sitting at his desk in the London office.
He kisses a languorous open-mouthed path across my stomach, over my hip and down the inside of my leg. I’m panting even before he peels off my underpants, grips my bottom to keep me steady and kisses between my thighs. He’s methodical and thorough and will not be hurried. When I moan and squirm he looks up and grins, before dipping his head and starting all over again. Before long, the only thing that could possibly feel as good would be having even more of him inside me.
I push against his shoulders. ‘Up.’ He raises his head. His breathing is just as shallow as mine. I pat my chest. ‘Here.’
He slides up my body and props himself up on his elbows. ‘You’d like me up here?’
I nod.
He leaves me for a moment to put on a condom and then he’s back, stroking my hair from my face. ‘You have a wonderful body,’ he says. ‘I love everything about it.’
I have to press my fingers against my lip so I don’t smile. My tummy is soft, my left breast has four silvery stretch marks, my thighs are bruised from pole dancing and my bottom is covered in dimples. ‘Fib,’ I say.
He nuzzles my neck and positions himself between my legs. Then he softly nudges and slips in a little. When he turns his face to the side and looks over his shoulder, I think he’s being careful not to bump my toe with his leg. I bend my knees and raise my hips, relieved when he pushes further inside.
‘I only ever speak the truth,’ he says.
My hands freeze against the muscles of his shoulders. A single tear slides down the side of my face. And then another tear slides down the other side. I know his words have nothing to do with me telling lies about Emma, but they remind me about what he’s threatened to do. My breath catches in my throat and I make a hiccough sound. His body tenses and he looks into my eyes.
‘Emma,’ I say.
He gives me an incredulous look, expels a huge shuddering breath and pulls out. He rests on his elbows, puts a hand on either side of my head and wipes my cheeks with his thumbs.
‘Miles,’ he says, ‘you are without doubt the most impossible woman in the world.’ When he kisses my eyes and my top lip, I taste salt. He rolls onto his back and pulls me against him, so my head is on his chest. I have to wriggle around because his muscles are hard and uncomfortable to lie on; I finally find a resting place in the dip between his neck and collarbone.
I sniff, take a deep breath, mumble sorry.
‘Hush.’ He kisses the top of my head and pulls me even closer. Then he sighs. ‘I suppose this is as good a time as any to deal with it.’
I can’t believe what I’ve done. Talking about Emma will ruin everything. He frowns when I sit up, put my hand over his mouth, and point towards my evening bag. Although he can’t see it from where he’s lying, he knows I’m referring to the lilac pad, and the promises he’s made.
He lifts my hand away and kisses my fingers, one by one. ‘Please, Miles, we must talk.’
We wouldn’t talk, we’d argue. And I can’t talk anyway. I like Lars. I like his amusing emails and his lop-sided smile. I like that, even though it’s against his better judgement, he wants me—just like the Duke wanted Viola. I lie on top of him and wrap my arms tightly around his neck. My breasts rest against his chest and my stomach presses up against his, and we’re just as aroused now as we were before. Maybe even more so.
‘This,’ I say, brushing my lips over his.
***
Much later, after we’ve made love not only on the bed, but in his fancy bath, we put on posh hotel bathrobes and Lars gives me the room-service menu. When he sits on the floor in the sitting room and leans against the sofa, I curl up between his outstretched legs and rest against his chest. He wraps his arms tightly around me and nibbles my neck. I try to communicate that I want the fresh seasonal vegetables and the fruit platter, but they have to be julienned like sticks because they’ll be easier to eat like that. When he doesn’t understand what I mean, I draw shapes on his thigh with a fingertip.
‘They say they can’t julienne the squash or the strawberries,’ he tells me after he places the order, ‘but they’ll do their best with the rest.’
We share a bottle of water with a straw as we eat. Then he finds a tiny bottle of brandy in the bar and empties it into a glass. He sits behind me again, spearing mango strips with the straw, dipping them into the brandy and feeding me. And when the mango is finished, he turns me around so I’m facing him. He’s trying to hide his I’m ready to have sex with you again look.
‘It was only last night that you split your lip and hurt your toe?’ he says.
I nod.
He frowns as he gestures to the bed. ‘You should sleep.’
I pick up the glass, dip my finger into the brandy and draw sticky circles around his nipples. Then I use the tip of my tongue to lick the brandy away. And as I lick I stroke his erection until he makes little noises in the back of his throat. That makes me laugh, so I hold my lip until he’s quiet, and then start licking and stroking again. By the time I’ve finished he’s flushed and shaky.
‘Fuck, Miles,’ he says, taking my face in his hands. ‘Enough.’
He nuzzles his way under my robe and gently caresses my nipples, increasing the pressure as my breaths quicken and my fingers dig into his back. We’re both trembling when I climb onto his lap. He grasps my hips, slides inside me and we find a rhythm.
‘Darling, want you, fuck,’ he says.
His diction is poor. He’s mumbling. His words are grammatically incorrect. But I don’t care because I want him too. We stare into each other’s eyes. We move together as one.
And we slip over the edge at just the same time.
Afterwards, he kisses me so gently I hardly feel it, but just for a moment our tongues touch. He pulls back and looks at me as if…
I think I shock myself as much as him when my eyes fill with tears. I swallow hard, but can’t keep in the sobs, big wrenching, tragic sobs that hurt my lip and cramp my lungs. He rubs my back and talks calmly, but it’s not too surprising that he doesn’t know quite what to say. So he makes up silly things.
‘I want to kiss you instead of shaking your hand. Would you consider that unprofessional in a business context?’
I nod.
‘Damn. I wish you smiled at me half as nicely as you smiled when we were at Centennial Park and Lucinda introduced you to Georgie and Henry.’
I shrug.
‘I didn’t hurt you before, did I?’
I shake my head.
‘May we go to sleep now?’
I nod again.
He picks me up off the floor as if I weigh nothing, and carries me to bed. It dips when he lies behind me, leans over my shoulder and whispers a kiss on my mouth. When he nudges one of his legs between mine and drapes an arm over my side to keep me close, I bring his forearm between my breasts and hold his hand.
He kisses the nape of my neck. ‘Good night, Miles.’
I kiss the soft skin at the base of his thumb. ‘Good night,’ I mumble.
Chapter 46
Lars is fast asleep and lying on his back, and I’m gazing at him through the pale morning light. His chest rises and falls evenly when he breathes. I feel each of his ribs before running my hand across the planes of his stomach and tracing around his navel with my thumb. I rest my hand on the sheet-covered bump of his hip and close my eyes.
Steam rose lazily from the copper tub. Henry laid Georgiana on the bunk and stripped off her clothes. Her teeth chattered and she was blue around the mouth. He scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing and eased her into the water. She gasped and cried out as it lapped against her skin.
‘Hush, Georgiana,’ Henry said. ‘This will warm you.’ He held her head above the water by placing an arm behind her shoulders. The water caressed her tummy, her breasts and the delicate skin of her throat …
Opening my eyes, I study Lars again. He may be conventional and bossy, but he’s also considerate and generous. He likes children and he’s funny and passionate. Does he know me any better now? When he wakes up will he realise that even though we couldn’t talk about Emma, she’s a part of me that I need to hang on to?
Lars hasn’t read Cupid’s Trap, but if he had, he’d find many similarities between Victoria and me. The physical ones are straightforward—we both have brown hair, hazel eyes and curvy figures—but we share personality traits as well. Victoria has a stutter and says nothing much, and I keep my feelings to myself. A few months ago, Jack characterised me as enigmatic—secretive and introverted are more to the point. Up until Chapter 54, Victoria drives Dominic crazy because he has no idea how she feels about him. She communicates her love for him in Chapter 45, but he doesn’t see it at the time. Will Lars ever see what I feel? I lean over him and kiss his cheek, enjoying the way his morning bristles scratch against my skin. Am I prepared to let him see something so new that I’m not entirely sure of it yet?
