Chapter Four
Henry
I can see the exact moment the penny drops. It’s as if someone’s struck a match behind her eyes, and they flare with understanding.
“Of course it’s you,” I say. “It’s always been you. Don’t tell me you had no idea.”
She shakes her head. “I thought maybe… but I didn’t know…” She couldn’t have looked more shocked if I’d stripped naked and run around the apartment with my tackle hanging out.
Ah, shit. She really hadn’t guessed. And now the toothpaste is out of the tube, and it’s not going back in.
We stare at each other for a long, long time. I have no idea what’s going through her mind. Over the years I’ve seen her upset, puzzled, amused, indignant, and furious, but I can’t tell from her expression now which of those she’s feeling. Maybe all of them. Will she throw the gin in my face? Get up and leave? Cry? Laugh at me?
She doesn’t do any of those things. She drops her gaze to her glass, finishes off the martini, then slides it over to me. “I think I’m going to need a lot more of those.”
Trying not to show my relief, and conscious of her watching me, I mix her another, pour it into her glass, then top up my whisky. We both have a big mouthful, our gazes meeting again. We’re sitting closer than we were before, not touching, with only six inches or so separating us. At least she hasn’t slapped me.
“Are you serious?” she asks eventually. “You’re not having me on?”
“No.”
“You… have feelings for me?”
“I’m in love with you,” I clarify. “I have been since the first time we met.”
Her eyebrows rise, and she inhales. “You’re in love with me?”
“Yeah.” I let that sink in for a moment.
I shouldn’t have told her. But although I’m blaming it on the alcohol, it’s not the whisky’s fault. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. Eventually, I add, “Why else do you think Shaz and I broke up? She knew. She’s always known. I tried to ignore it because you were with Cam, and I’d already proposed to her, and I knew you and I couldn’t come to anything, but Shaz always knew.”
Juliette looks so shocked it makes me laugh.
“Don’t mock me,” she says indignantly.
“I’m sorry, but your face is a picture.” I force the smile away. “You really had no idea?”
She swallows hard. “I suppose I wondered, but I wasn’t sure. You never made it obvious.”
“Of course not. Alex would have hung, drawn, and quartered me. And…” I sigh. “You deserve better than me. I know you want children, and I can’t give them to you.”
Her expression softens. “So why have you told me now?”
I hold up the whisky glass and admire the amber Jameson. “Too much truth serum.”
She brushes a hand over her face. “I wish you hadn’t told me.”
It wasn’t what I expected her to say, and my heart sinks. She’s about to be kind to me, tell me thank you, and she appreciates the sentiment, but that she doesn’t feel the same way. Fuck, I think. Fuck, shit, arse. I’ve ruined everything.
Oh man. Alex is going to kill me.
But instead she says, “I’ve only coped because I’ve been able to tell him there’s nothing between us.”
My eyebrows rise. “What?”
She lowers her hand. “Cam’s jealous of you. He’s accused me of having feelings for you lots of times. That was what tonight was about, partly.”
I stare at her. “Do you? Have feelings for me?”
She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue and doesn’t reply.
She does. My heart soars. Why else would he accuse her? Even if she doesn’t want to admit it to herself, he obviously picked up something in the way she talked about me.
So why isn’t she admitting it now?
“You and Cam,” I say softly. “Is it over?”
She covers her face again. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
It’s not the reply I wanted. But I can’t force her to say the words I want to hear. I can’t force her to do anything.
I want to get angry, tell her how resentful I feel, how furious I am that she’s still with this guy who treats her so badly. But she lowers her hand then, and there are tears in her eyes again, and my fury fades away.
“What happened with him?” I ask gently. “You seemed happy for a long time. What went wrong?”
“I’ve never talked about this,” she says. “He made me swear not to tell anyone, and if he knew I was talking to you about it… of all people…”
“I won’t say anything. You know I won’t.”
Her lips curve up a little. “I know.” She swallows hard. “But… I’m still not sure I can tell you.”
“Why?”
“It’s very personal. Are you sure you want to know?”
She means it’s about sex. Ah, jeez. I hate to think of her sleeping with anyone else. But I have to know, or how can I make it better?
I nod. I hope I don’t regret it.
She has a mouthful of martini. I turn a little and lean on the back of the sofa, propping my head on a hand. My knees are almost—but not quite—touching hers.
“When he was a kid, Cam was sexually abused,” she says.
I close my eyes for a moment. Oh fuck. It’s worse than I thought.
When I open them again, she’s looking into her drink, lost in thought. She gives a big sigh, exhaling as if she’s been holding it in for a lifetime. “It was an uncle,” she continues, “his mother’s brother. It went on for three years, and nobody knew.”
“Was it just him, or did it happen to either of his brothers?”
“Just him. He’s the youngest. When his dad left, his uncle helped his mum out with money, and he threatened to stop helping if Cam told anyone.”
“Christ.”
“When he was eleven, his mum caught his uncle in the act, and she went ballistic. She took the boys and ran to the nearest police station. The uncle was arrested and eventually put away. This was in Dunedin, and she moved to Christchurch with the boys and started again. Took Cam to counseling. She was supportive and did everything she could to put things right. He doesn’t blame her. But he’s damaged, Henry. Terribly damaged.”
I’ve never liked Cam much, mainly because I don’t think I’d have liked anyone who was with Juliette. He’s a bit lacking in the sense of humor department, he’s superior, and he’s often rude to Juliette, which I detest. But at this revelation, my heart goes out to him. It’s already a horrific story, and I know there’s more to come.
“Did you know from the beginning?” I ask.
She shakes her head and finishes off her drink. Without asking, I make us both another. I’m feeling the alcohol now, so I know she must be too, but you can’t talk about this kind of thing if you’re sober.
“For the first few years, things were okay between us,” she says slowly. She takes the new martini from me and has a sip. “I mean… in bed. I wasn’t his first, but he was mine, and I didn’t know any different. Sometimes… he struggled to get an erection. But I assumed that was normal. Men aren’t robots, right? He used to get frustrated and even angry, but I just said it didn’t matter, and that we’d try again later. I figured it wasn’t his fault, and that I had to be patient.”
I lean on the back of the sofa again and sink my hand into my hair. Her face has reddened—she’s embarrassed to admit this, but she obviously needs to talk.
“It got worse as time went on,” she admits. “And gradually I began to realize that he couldn’t get an erection unless I was…” Her gaze flicks to me, then away again. “In control,” she continues carefully.
I have a big mouthful of whisky, half wanting to hear it all, half afraid to listen.
“I think I knew deep down that something was wrong,” she continues, “but he wouldn’t talk about it. Then, six months ago, he went away on a course in Auckland. When he came home, he said he wanted to talk. And he admitted he’d slept with someone else.”
I didn’t expect her to say that. My eyebrows rise.
She gives me a small smile. “I knew you wouldn’t like that bit.”
“He cheated on you?”
“Technically? Apparently not. He said he’d been talking to a sex therapist online, and she put him in touch with a surrogate partner.”
“Sorry, what?”
“It’s another kind of therapist who helps people who are uncomfortable with sex.”
“Okay… And what did she do? I presume it was a she?”
She nods. “She was a specialist.”
“A specialist in what?”
She hesitates. Then she says, “Stuff.”
Outside I can still hear the people down below and music from the bar, but silence falls between us. She looks at me cautiously, obviously embarrassed about going into detail.
“Can you be more specific?” I ask eventually, when it’s clear she’s not going to elaborate.
She fiddles with a pleat of her sari. She’s silent for a long time. And then eventually she admits, “In intimacy issues. They talked about how he felt out of control in bed. And she said she could help by showing him some things…”
“That was nice of her.”
“So they went to bed.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. And she showed him… things.” Her gaze flicks up to mine, then away again.
I think about why she could be nervous about telling me. “Is he into pain?”
“Um… not really. Apparently she called it service-oriented submission.”
We fall quiet again. I’m not shocked. Sex is often about the balance of power, and I understand how Cam might find it helpful to regain control over his past by exploring BDSM roles.
But I’m not concerned about Cam. I’m concerned about Juliette and the effect this is having on her.
“Did he use a condom?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Well, that’s something.
“He said he needed to know whether she could help him get an erection,” she says.
“And did she?”
“Yes. I asked him if he wanted to break up. He said no. But he asked if I’d be prepared to do some of the things she did to him.”
She looks away. Her face is scarlet. She looks embarrassed and humiliated. Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk about what he asked her to do in detail.
“I’m guessing you said yes,” I reply.
She nods tightly. “I didn’t want to lose him. I wanted to help. So I made him go into detail. I wanted to know why he’d visited this woman, and what he wanted—what he needed. He told me everything. We talked for hours and hours. It was the most open conversation we’d ever had. He explained how, when I was in control, it helped him because being out of control was then his choice. Does that make sense?”
“Kinda.”
“And it worked… for a while.” Her gaze comes back to me then, though, and she looks utterly miserable. “But it’s just gotten worse and worse. He can’t get an erection at all now unless he’s being…” She hesitates, unsure how to phrase it.
“Dominated?” I suggest.
She nods. “On my birthday we had this big argument because he asked me to do something, and I did, and he got so turned on he sort of got carried away, and he ended up finishing inside me without a condom even though I was asking him to stop, and I was really angry with him.” She blushes scarlet—she doesn’t want to tell me, but she can’t stop herself. “Then, last night, he asked me to…” She trails off again. “Do something I didn’t want to do,” she says lamely. “I said no, and it blew up into another major argument. He ended up sleeping on the sofa. And this morning, when I attempted to talk about it, he was embarrassed and angry, and he said I obviously didn’t love him, or I’d help him more. He called me names, said things that hurt me. But the thing is, it’s all about him now. What he wants, what he needs. He never talks about what I want. What I need.”
“Ah, Juliette…”
She’s crying again now, tears running down her beautiful face. “And I don’t know why but he’s angry with me now, all the time, as if he’s upset that I know his secret. And I have to do all these things I don’t want to do, and in return he’s resentful and cross with me all the time.”
I sigh.
“He’s so broken and inwardly focused that there’s nothing left for me. I can’t remember the last time he touched me lovingly.” She dashes tears from her face. “His therapist told him that if I loved him I’d be understanding, and I do love him, or I did, anyway, but I can’t cope anymore. I’m just not good enough for him. I’m not a big enough person.”
“Stop it.” I lean forward, slide a hand beneath her chin, and lift it so she has to look into my eyes. “It’s not you. It’s not your fault.”
“But—”
I lower my hand, but I keep my gaze fixed on hers. “I’m not going to talk about Cam. What he requires in bed is his own business. I understand the therapist saying that a loving partner might wish to try things to help. But you shouldn’t have to change yourself to please him, or do things you don’t want to do. That’s not fair.”
“I’ve tried.”
“I know.”
“I really have.” She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. “But I don’t want to do those things anymore.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I just want to have ordinary sex without worrying. Does that make sense?”
“Of course it does. I understand, because I’m the same.”
She lowers her hands and wipes her face. “What do you mean?”
“Sex with Shaz became all about making a baby. For two years we had charts marked with fertile periods and ovulation days and temperatures… And all the fun went out of it. There was no question of doing anything that didn’t result in… ah… fluid ending up where it shouldn’t, if you get my drift. It got to where I wanted to refuse to perform on the necessary days out of spite. And that’s not me. It made me into a person I didn’t want to be.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.” Her big brown eyes stare up into mine, pleased I understand.
We study each other for a long moment.
Eventually, she looks at her glass on the table, picks it up, and drains it. “I’m tipsy,” she says. I think it’s an understatement—we’re both quite drunk.
“Yeah, me too.”
She puts the glass down and wipes her face. Then she looks up at me again. Her gaze lingers on my mouth. “I used to think of you,” she whispers. “I used to think that Henry wouldn’t ask me to… do those things.” She swallows hard.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“In the real world, I’m confident and capable, and I don’t like being told what to do. I know you all think I’m bossy, and I don’t mind that. But in bed… I like to give up control. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” My heart is pounding, and my voice is husky with desire. I want to touch her, but I’m not going to do it without her permission.
“I don’t intimidate you?” she asks.
That makes me laugh. “I’m six-foot-four. I’m not easily intimidated.”
“I just want to be…” She sighs.
“Worshiped?” I ask.
Her lips curve up. “Maybe a tiny bit.”
“You should be.”
“I want to be wanted. To be desired. Just once, for it to be about me.”
“It should always be about you.”
She blinks. “You said ‘If you were my girl, I’d treat you like a queen.’ Did you mean it?”
“One hundred percent.” I move a little closer to her, still not touching.
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “I can’t imagine what that would be like…”
We’re both breathing fast. Oh Jesus, this girl… I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want her right now. I put my arm on the back of the sofa so it’s almost—but not quite—around her. The air between us is almost sparking with electricity.
She swallows, and then her eyes meet mine again. “I love the way you look at me,” she whispers.
“How am I looking at you?”
“As if you want me.”
“I do want you.”
“As if you need me.”
“More than I need air to breathe.”
“Henry,” she says, exhaling, and my name in her mouth is a soft caress that sends the hairs rising all over my body. “Would you… would you kiss me?”
I give a triumphant, short laugh. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Sliding my arms around her, I lean back, pulling her on top of me, but twist at the last moment, and now she’s half under me, pinned against the back of the sofa. She squeals, then laughs and looks up at me with eyes ablaze with desire.
Without further ado, I crush my lips to hers.
She moans against my mouth, her lips parting, and I slide my tongue against hers in a kiss that sends fire shooting through my veins. She wraps her arms around me, and I feel her fingers slip beneath my top and fan out on my back, eager to touch my skin, and I get an instant erection.
Whoa… steady, tiger. I have no doubt that she wouldn’t complain if I thrust us both to a climax in minutes, but that’s not what I want, and it’s not what she needs. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I need to make the most of her while I have her right here, right now.
I lift my head and look down into her big brown eyes. When she tries to kiss me, I move back a little, out of her reach.
Her smile fades. “Are you having second thoughts?”
I laugh at how preposterous that statement is. “No. But we’re not going to rush this.”
She blinks a few times. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that we’ve got all night, and I have a lot of worshiping to catch up on.”
Her eyes light up. We’re tangled together, my legs between hers, one of my arms beneath her.
“You have an erection,” she says. Her obvious delight at such a basic reaction makes my heart ache.
“And it’s all down to you, baby.” It’s the first time I’ve used an endearment like that for her, and she looks at me almost bashfully.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks.
I kiss her. “I don’t want you to do anything. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to kiss you for a long, long time. Then I’m going to take your clothes off, slowly, and find out exactly how to unwrap you from that beautiful sari, so I can kiss every piece of skin as it’s revealed. Then I want to see what you taste like, because I’ve fantasized about it for years.”
“Oh,” she says faintly.
“I’m going to take you to bed and make you come with my mouth. And then I’ll make love to you for as long as I can manage it, until you can’t think about anything but me.”
She lets out something like a little squeak. I bend my head and brush my lips against hers, just touching.
“How does that sound?” I murmur.
“I don’t want to be on top,” she says. Her eyes glisten.
“Okay.” I kiss slowly across her mouth, from one corner to the other. “I can think of plenty of other positions we can try.”
That makes her laugh. “Just one will be amazing.”
“Oh, I have lots more than one planned.”
“You’ve thought about this way too much.”
“You have no idea.”
She giggles, then lifts her arms around my neck, her brows drawing together. “Just make me forget,” she whispers.
“You’re not even going to be able to remember your name when I’m done with you.”
“Promises, promises.” She sounds breathless with excitement.
“Absolutely, it’s a promise. But first things first. Would you let your hair down?”
“My hair?” Her eyebrows lift. “Um, okay.” She releases the two butterfly clips holding it up and tosses them onto the coffee table.
I watch as she unfurls the long, brown locks. She never wears it down, and so I had no idea how long it was. It’s luxurious, like a strip of chocolate-brown silk, and as she pulls it straight, it reaches all the way to her hips.
I lift a strand, inhale the scent of it, then run it through my fingers. It’s soft and silky. Ahhh… for some reason it really turns me on.
Her lips curve up. “You like?”
“I like. A lot.” I slip my hand into it while I study her mouth. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Okay.”
“Try to remember to breathe. It’s going to take a while.”
She gives me a helpless look. And then, as I lower my lips to hers, she sighs, her breath mingling with mine.