Chapter Eleven
Fraser
Hallie and I lie in the semi-darkness, looking at each other. I’m still inside her, and our chests heave with our rapid breaths as our heartbeats struggle to return to normal.
Her eyes glitter in the moonlight. “Is it always like that?” she whispers.
No other woman, not Ginger, not any of the girls I’ve been with, have made me feel the way Hallie just did. But even as I go to reply that no, it’s not always like that, I know I can’t say the words.
The passion that overwhelmed me dissipates like early morning mist, and the realization of what we’ve done settles on me, thick and heavy as a weighted blanket.
I withdraw from her, angrily dispose of the condom, then move away and sit on the edge of the bed. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and bury my hands in my hair.
Fuuuuuuck.
I’ve slept with a work colleague, which was exactly what Whina Cooper told me not to do. But that’s not actually the problem. The issue is that it wasn’t just any colleague. It was Hallie, and I really like her, and now I’m going to have to go back to Wellington, and see her every day, and eventually watch her dating someone else. And it’s going to be torture, because all I’ll be able to think about is how it felt to be inside her, and to watch her come, knowing that I was the one to give her pleasure.
Holy shit . I’m such an idiot.
Hallie’s quiet for a moment. I don’t move, furious with myself, and filled with despair.
Then I feel her shift on the bed. Bringing the duvet with her, pulling it up over her breasts, she sits beside me.
“Fraser?” she says. “It’s okay.”
I rest my lips on my clasped hands. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She rests her hand on my back. I flinch, and she lowers her hand to the bed.
“It wasn’t all you,” she says quietly.
“I’m the man. And I’m the boss. It was my responsibility.”
“Well, that’s very noble of you, but this isn’t actually the Victorian era.”
I rub my face. I guess she has a point, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. No matter whose fault it is, we’ve done it, and it was wrong.
“It’s all right,” she says calmly. “It’s not the end of the world.”
I close my eyes. When I was young, my father made me learn a passage from Corinthians. ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.’
I’ve never known why he made me learn that, but now I wonder whether he saw a weakness in me that I didn’t know I possessed at the time. Because I am weak. Terribly so.
I don’t believe my weaknesses will make me strong. I don’t think Christ is going to swoop in and save me. I made the decision not to continue to attend church after Elora’s assault, but when we’re adults and something goes wrong, it’s impossible not to feel the sharp tug of the thread that will always connect us to our youthly experiences, and the words from the passage continue to circle around my head like tweety birds.
“Fraser,” Hallie says again, more firmly this time. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t make trouble for you. I knew this was a one-off. What happens in Tauranga stays in Tauranga, right?
I turn my head to look at her. The edges of her lips are blurred from our kisses. Her hair looks just-fucked, tumbling around her shoulders, which glow a milky white in the light of the moon. Her eyes are huge and dark. She’s stunning.
“You don’t have to worry,” she says softly. “Nobody need ever know. I won’t even tell Elora or Zoe. It’ll be our secret, okay?”
She thinks I’m worried about my job—that it might be in trouble if she makes problems for me. She has no idea it’s all about her.
She’s smiling, but there’s hurt behind her eyes. I’m not sure if she’s upset because she thinks I’m questioning her loyalty, or if she’d hoped I might declare that I wanted to do this again.
I can’t. Whatever else happens, I mustn’t sleep with her again. I need to end this now, or I’ll not only lose my job, but my heart, too.
“Don’t regret it,” she whispers, and her eyes shine in the moonlight. “You made me feel a million dollars, and it’ll kill me if I know you wish it hadn’t happened.”
That makes me melt a little. I sigh and cup her face. She tilts her head, leaning her cheek into my palm, looking up at me with her big brown eyes. They’re filled with such hope and longing, and such admiration, that I can’t help myself. I lean forward and press my lips to hers.
She opens her mouth to me, and I slide my tongue inside, and we exchange a long, luscious kiss.
My heart still hasn’t completely recovered from our lovemaking, and it picks up speed again, my body filling with heat as I think about being inside her. She moans, just a little, and it’s so sexy that I lift up and press her onto her back as I stretch out on top of her.
Then I come to my senses, and I lift my head.
“You’re my Kryptonite,” I say hoarsely.
“Sorry,” she says, looking anything but.
I push up and look down at her. Bend my head and kiss her. Kiss her again. Then groan and get up, and start getting dressed.
“I think I should go to bed,” I announce, pulling on my boxers.
She sits up, holding the duvet to her breasts. Ahhh… she looks amazing, luscious and good enough to eat, voluptuous and sexy, like a Renaissance painting. Oh my God, I want to taste her again…
Her eyes are huge, and her brows draw together. I pull on my trousers and shirt, leaving the buttons undone, collect my jacket, waistcoat, and tie, and pick up my socks and shoes.
I turn to face her. Man, she’s beautiful.
Her lips curve up, just a little.
With a growl, I turn and stride to the door. “I’ll knock on your door at eight for breakfast,” I say over my shoulder.
“Okay. Thank you, Fraser.”
I hesitate. Then, without looking back or replying, I go out, letting the door close behind me.
*
Hallie
I flop back onto the pillows with a groan, my heart fighting with my conscience.
Conscience: Oh. My. God. What have you done?
Heart: Had really, really hot sex with a gorgeous guy?
Conscience: No! You’ve slept with your boss! Holy fuck! Why on earth did you do that?
Heart: Because he’s handsome and charming, and he kisses like a god?
Conscience: No! Because you’re weak and stupid! You’ve put both your jobs at risk, and for what? One night of passion?
Heart: But it was such a night… You have no idea…
Conscience: You were drunk, and you made a foolish decision you’re going to regret.
But the thing is, I wasn’t drunk. Yes, I had enough cocktails to loosen me up, but I knew exactly what I was doing. I slept with Fraser because I wanted him, and whatever happens at work, I don’t regret a thing.
I look up at the ceiling as a wave of guilt sweeps over me. The problem is that it’s not just about me. Fraser’s job was already on the line after his relationship with Ginger, and now he’s risked it all again for me. Whilst that might be flattering in many ways, the last thing I want is to be the reason he loses his position.
I think he does regret it, and that makes me so sad, I want to cry.
I curl onto my side, looking out through the window at the view of the dark sea and the night sky. As a modern woman, I should have had more self-respect than to sleep with a guy who could then walk out with no intention of taking the relationship further. To some extent, he seduced me, because he knew I was vulnerable, and that I’d be unable to resist any form of attention he paid me.
But equally, I know him well enough to understand that he didn’t plan this, and that he did do his best to fight it. I could see how much it pained him that I hadn’t been loved the way he thought a woman should be loved. And now we’ve actually slept together, I understand why he was so angry.
I think about how he kissed me… for ages… and how he worshiped my body with his mouth and hands… how he went down on me and tasted me… how he took me in every position that must be in the Kama Sutra… and how he brought me to a climax so many times I lost count. If sex for him is like that every time, it’s no wonder he felt the need to show me.
Bringing down a pillow, I wrap my arms around it. My body feels well used, my muscles aching, the sensitive area between my legs a little tender, but that’s nothing compared to the dull ache in my soul at the thought that it won’t happen again. Not with Fraser, anyway.
I mustn’t feel down about it, though. I went in with my eyes open, knowing it was a one-off. What he’s done is show me what’s possible, and now I know, there’s absolutely no reason I can’t recreate it with another man. He was good, but I’m guessing he’s not an aberration. No doubt Joel and Linc and many of the other young men I’ve met enjoy sex in much the same way. It’s Ian who was the odd one out.
I give a long, heavy sigh as I think about how many years I spent hoping I could change him, and wishing he could love me and treat me the way I wanted. All that time when I could have been having rampant, hot sex with someone who appreciated me. I’ve been so na?ve, and so dumb. I’m ashamed of myself. Dee, Elora, Zoe, and other friends have told me either directly or by insinuation that I’m mad for staying with him for so long, and they were all right.
I hug the pillow tighter as I think about Fraser again. I wonder what he thought of how I was in bed? Did he think I was bad, too? When we started, I felt very shy showing him how I felt and what I enjoyed, but I flush to think of how, by the end, I was sighing and moaning out loud at his touch. Of how I said his name when I came. And how I even took the initiative once or twice, encouraged by his groans and exclamations of, “Oh yeah!” Hopefully he thought I was okay. Well, it doesn’t really matter. The important thing is that I learned so much about both sex and myself, knowledge I can carry forward when I eventually reach Mr. Right.
If we didn’t work together, would he be interested in seeing me again? In dating me properly? I suppose I’ll never know. But we can’t risk it happening again. He obviously feels drawn to me out of some misguided desire to educate me, and I’m sure it’s also because he likes me and he wants to help me. So I need to make sure I don’t lead him on, because that’s not fair to him.
I need to get to sleep. First, I rise and go to the bathroom. As I wash my hands, I look up, and I’m startled to see my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my face is flushed, and my lips look all bruised. I touch my fingers to them, shocked. I look as if I’ve had wild monkey sex, which is kinda what’s happened, I guess. I don’t look like me at all.
Continuing to stare at myself in wonder, I dry my hands, then go out, climb back into bed, and curl up under the covers. I think of Fraser next door, and wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s lying awake, staring out at the sea, too.
I fall asleep, my mind filled with memories of his lips on mine, and him moving inside me.
*
The next morning, I’m ready and sitting there waiting when he calls for me at eight.
I open the door and discover him leaning against the door jamb. He’s wearing a light-blue tee, cargo shorts, and Converses. He’s showered and shaved. His hair is ruffled, and he smells of the fresh air—I think maybe he’s been for a walk along the seafront.
“Morning,” he says. He looks a tad sheepish.
“Morning, boss,” I reply, coming out and closing the door behind me.
He gives a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a very tired, exhausted log. I have no idea why.” I give an impish smile back.
He runs his tongue over his teeth. Then he says, “Breakfast?”
“Mm. I’m starving.”
“Come on, then.”
We begin walking toward the restaurant. We walk quietly, not speaking, because I don’t think either of us knows what to say. I’m convinced he’s about to apologize, and that’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to know how much he’s been lying there in the darkness cursing himself for what happened. I don’t need to understand his regret and how disappointed he is in himself. I’m sure he’ll be a gentleman and take all the blame, and it’ll leave me feeling as if I’ve been seduced and then abandoned, and that’s not how it was. I saw an opportunity and I took it, and I only have myself to blame for any negative emotions or results that may arise from it.
He takes a breath as if he’s about to say something, and I decide the best thing I can do is dodge the bullet.
“I’m excited about the ball,” I say. “I can’t wait to wear my new dress. I’ve never been to anything like this before. I’m disappointed to have missed the museum opening last year. Was that black tie? I can’t remember.”
“No,” he says, “but the guys on the staff all wore suits, apart from Joel. You know what a struggle it is to get him even to brush his hair.”
I giggle. “Actually, he wore black tie to the ANZAS Awards Dinner on Sunday. I think Zoe actually fainted when she saw him.”
He grins. “You’ve heard from her?”
“Just a few texts. Sounds like they’re having a good time.” I lift my eyebrows.
We reach the restaurant, and he gestures for me to precede him as he says, “Good time? Are you implying…”
“Oh, they’re totally at it.”
That makes him laugh out loud, which he tries to cover as the waitress comes up. She takes our room number and shows us to a table, gives us a menu, then quickly runs through how the Gourmet Breakfast Buffet works.
We both ask for a latte, and she goes off to tell the barista.
Fraser chuckles. “You really think Joel and Zoe are getting it on?”
“Oh yeah. Or at least, I’m sure they will by the end of the week. They’ve been heading toward it for a while, I think.”
“Yeah, they’re always flirting. And now she’s not with Charles, I guess he’s going to make his move.” He looks down and adjusts his cutlery.
“Easier when you don’t work together,” I say softly.
“Yeah…”
“Fraser…” I sigh. “Don’t regret it. Please. I meant what I said. I won’t make trouble for you at work. You don’t have to worry.”
He looks up then. “I don’t regret it,” he says. “And I didn’t lie awake for half the night because I was worried about work.”
I frown. “Then what…?”
He holds my gaze for about ten seconds. Then eventually he clears his throat. “Maybe we should get some breakfast.” He gets to his feet and walks over to the tables.
I rise and follow him, puzzled as to what he was going to say. For the moment, though, it’ll have to wait as I peruse the options. You can order special hot dishes including Eggs Benedict; breakfast hash with crispy potatoes, pulled pork, and vegetables; Shakshuka, which turns out to be poached eggs in a spiced tomato and pepper sauce; Portobello mushrooms stuffed with spinach, tomatoes, and melted cheese; or ‘breakfast strata’—which is a baked egg casserole layered with bread, cheese, spinach, and mushrooms.
You can create your own cooked breakfast with piles of crispy bacon; pork, chicken, or vegetarian sausages; grilled asparagus, sautéed mushrooms and potatoes, and roasted cherry tomatoes; a vat of baked beans; and a chef waiting to cook your eggs any way you like—scrambled, poached, or fried.
There are also buttermilk pancakes, Belgian waffles, and crepes with assorted toppings like fresh berries, whipped cream, honey, and maple syrup, or creamy spinach and ricotta.
Next is a table with numerous rolls and breads: white, wholemeal, seeded, rye, sourdough, and brioche, and a toaster, and miniature jars of gourmet jams, honeycomb, and specialty butters. There are several different types of breakfast cereals, half a dozen milk options, a variety of yogurts, and fresh fruit platters with melon, pineapple, kiwifruit, bananas, strawberries, and blueberries.
There’s a baked goods table, with plain, almond, and chocolate-filled croissants, pain au chocolat , and Danish pastries; gourmet muffins including blueberry, lemon poppy seed, and chocolate chip; and bagels served with smoked salmon and cream cheese.
A smoothie station offers customizable options like spinach, banana, mango, and protein powders; freshly squeezed juices including orange, grapefruit, apple, and Spirulina; about a hundred different types of tea; and finally a barista serving any type of coffee.
“Oh my God.” My eyes are popping out of my head. “I want it all.”
“Where do you want to start? I’m going to have a full cooked breakfast. Need to keep up my strength.”
I giggle, and he sends me a wry look before picking up a plate and starting to help himself.
I honestly don’t know where to start because it all looks amazing. In the end, I return to the table with a small bowl of the breakfast hash and a glass of orange juice.
I’ve taken so long to decide that Fraser is already sitting there with his large cooked breakfast, and he stares at my bowl and says, “Seriously?”
“I decided small portions of everything was the way to go,” I tell him. “This is just a starter.”
He laughs and pours some ketchup on his plate. “Glad to hear it.”
I have a sip of the latte that’s waiting for me, then tuck into the hash. It’s amazing, piping hot, the potatoes crunchy and the pulled pork juicy and soft.
We eat quietly for a bit, looking out across the waterfront to the sparkling Pacific Ocean. It looks as if it’s going to be a fantastic day, with the sky mostly clear apart from a few small fluffy white clouds, and it’s already warm.
“Should be nice weather for the ball,” he says.
“Mmm.” I have another mouthful of the hash. I know he doesn’t want to talk about it, but I’m so curious that I know I have to ask. “Fraser? If it wasn’t work you were worried about, why were you lying awake last night?”
He eats a forkful of bacon as he studies me. Gradually, his expression turns puzzled. “You really have no idea, do you?”
“Um, no. Were you thinking about Ginger? Missing her, maybe?”
He stares at me. Then he leans back and looks out of the window.
I watch him, thinking how handsome he is, and wondering if I was close to the mark. Maybe he felt disloyal to Ginger by sleeping with me, or it awakened memories of her that upset him. Perhaps he’s finally regretting letting her go.
For some reason, the mouthful of food I’ve just eaten sticks in my throat, and I have to take a big swig of orange juice to wash it down.
I expect him to look regretful when his gaze returns to me, or sad even. He doesn’t, though. Instead, his bright-blue eyes are hot, like the center of a Bunsen burner flame.
“I lay awake last night thinking about you, Hallie,” he says. “Our t-time together was magical, amazing. I’ve wanted you since the moment I m-met you. And I’m absolutely gutted to think that I can’t have you again, when all I can think about is tasting you once more, and watching you c-come beneath me.”