Chapter Seventeen
Hallie
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
I turn from where I’m talking to Wiremu’s wife and smile at the man addressing me. He’s wearing a silver waistcoat and no jacket, so he’s obviously a member of staff.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Could I have a word, please, ma’am?”
Surprised, I nod, excuse myself, and accompany him to a space at the edge of the lawn, where we can’t be overheard. I glance at the veranda, looking for Fraser, but there’s no sign of him.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Bell has been asked to vacate the premises,” the guy announces.
I stare at him. “Pardon?”
“Mrs. Trenton has asked him to leave.”
Mrs. Trenton… oh, of course, he means Isabel. It’s her married name.
“Why?” I ask, astonished. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am, but he’s been escorted out. He asked me to tell you to stay and enjoy the rest of the evening.”
“Thank you,” I reply, “but I’ll go and see him. He’s still here?”
“Yes, he’s waiting for an Uber out the front.”
I nod, go over to our table, and collect my clutch. Ignoring the enquiring looks from the others, and Wiremu’s, “Hallie, is everything all right?” I run across the lawn, up the steps onto the veranda, and into the house.
Isabel is standing by the front door, arguing with Adam.
“…no right to do that,” he’s saying, gesturing angrily. “I invited him. How dare you tell him to go.”
“I have every right,” she says as I walk up to them. “This is my house, too, and I’m the eldest.”
“Oh, so it’s come to that, has it?”
I clear my throat loudly, and they both turn to look at me. “I’m so sorry,” Adam says, looking genuinely distraught.
I debate whether to ask what’s happened, but Isabel looks so furious that I decide retreating is the best option. “Excuse me,” I say softly, gesturing at where they’re blocking the door, “I’d like to go with Fraser.”
“You should steer clear of him,” Isabel snaps, moving aside. “The man is a menace. He’s nothing but trouble.”
“I appreciate he’s strong willed and determined,” I say quietly, “but he’s a good man, Isabel. You should remember that.” I slip past her, then run down the steps and up the drive toward the figure striding out toward the front gate.
It’s nearly dark now, and the estate is filled with dusky purple twilight. A ruru or morepork—a native owl—hoots from the elm trees lining the drive, and in the distance, maybe deep in the bush surrounding the house, I hear the high shriek of a kiwi bird looking for his mate.
“Fraser.” He’s walking so fast I’m having trouble catching up with him in my high heels. “Fraser!”
He looks over his shoulder, then stops and turns as he realizes it’s me. He’s half in shadow from the elms, and because he’s not smiling, he looks stern and forbidding.
“Go back to the party,” he says as I approach.
I stop, breathing heavily. “No, I’m coming with you.”
“Hallie—”
I walk past him, heading for the gates. After a moment, he joins me, and we walk in silence, going through the gates and out onto the road.
The Uber pulls up as we get there. Fraser opens the passenger door for me. “You’re sure?” he asks as I pass him.
I nod and slide in, tucking my skirt in. He closes the door, goes around the other side, and gets in.
The Prius slides away silently, heading for Tauranga and our hotel.
I look at Fraser. He’s leaning an elbow on the sill, his fingers resting on his lips, looking out of the window.
“Will you tell me what happened?” I ask softly.
“Not here.” His voice is curt.
I’ve never seen him like this. He’s normally so genial and laid back, so funny and warm, that I’m kinda shocked. I don’t know how to deal with him in this mood. Should I push him to talk to me? Or will he get angry? Ian could get into black moods for days, and I knew it was best to leave him when he was like that.
Depressed and upset that he won’t talk to me, I look out of the window too, fighting tears. What can possibly have happened to have caused Isabel to ask him to leave? I guess he tried to argue with her about the letters again, and she lost her temper with him. I’m surprised at him—as Whina pointed out, he’s a skilled diplomat, usually able to talk anyone into anything. Joel once said, “He could make the devil sign a prayer book,” which Fraser scolded him for, but we all thought was funny. So to hear that he’s pushed Isabel too far and upset her enough to throw him out is quite shocking.
We’re silent for the rest of the journey. Fraser sighs several times, though, and gradually I see his shoulders release the tension they’re carrying, as he relaxes back into the seat. His anger is turning to melancholy, which, again, isn’t very Fraser-like.
The Uber finally pulls up outside the hotel, and we thank him and get out. Fraser stands on the pavement, facing the ocean, closes his eyes, and lifts his face to the stiff sea breeze. I watch it ruffle his hair, and observe the way the starlight plays across his features. I don’t need to ponder the issue anymore—I know I’m more than half in love with him. But I still don’t know if there’s a future for us.
“Come on,” I say gently. “Let’s go inside.”
He lets me lead him up the path and along to our suites. He doesn’t argue when I open my door, take his hand, and draw him inside. I let the door close behind us, and we go into the room. He takes off his shoes, then unbuttons his jacket and lets it slide off his shoulders. He hangs it over a chair and walks over to the window, looking out at the view.
Leaving the lights off so the room is lit by moonlight, I put my clutch on the table and ask, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you.”
Well, he came into the room—he didn’t go to his suite, or head to the beach for a walk on his own. He must want to talk, even if he doesn’t know what to say.
I walk up to him and rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling the satin of the back of his waistcoat beneath my fingers. “Tell me what happened,” I murmur.
He inhales, then lets out a long sigh. “I went to find Isabel, to try to talk to her about the letters again. I was sure I could convince her, if only I could have spent a few minutes alone with her. But I couldn’t find her, and I thought she was probably in one of the rooms they’d marked private. So I went into the dining room and thought I’d wait there to catch her when she came out. I was looking up at Pania’s portrait, and suddenly it just popped into my mind.”
“What did?”
“Hogarth’s A Rake’s Progress . Eight paintings hidden behind a secret recess in a London museum.”
“And you thought that might be the case with the paintings referenced in Richard’s letter?”
“Yes. The wall next to Pania’s portrait was oddly constructed of square panels bordered with wooden batons. I investigated them, and discovered a button at the base. When I pressed it, a panel opened out, and there was another portrait.”
My jaw drops. “What was it like?”
His lips curve up a little. “Provocative. Her gown hung off her shoulder, and she’d hitched the skirt up to show her thigh. It would have been very shocking at the time.”
“Did you find any others?”
“I didn’t have time. Isabel came into the room.”
“While the panel was open?”
He nods. “She was very upset.”
“Ahhh… Fraser…”
“I tried to explain that the paintings weren’t just works of art, that they were important historical documents. But she pointed out that Pania was only fourteen when Richard did the paintings.”
“Fourteen!”
“And she said it would still cause a scandal today if the paintings were seen, because Pania was so young, and Māori, and it could be argued that Richard coerced her into marriage against her family’s wishes.”
“But he loved her,” I protest, “the letters make that clear.”
“Well, we know that… But there are always people ready to cause trouble.”
I can’t argue with that because I know he’s right.
“She’s worried about the family’s reputation,” he continues. “About her father’s memory. That’s why she doesn’t want the paintings out there. And who am I to argue with that? She should be lauded for being honorable, not criticized.” He looks back out at the view, stiff and angry. And I realize then that he’s furious with himself, not with her. He tried to convince her to go against her principles, and he’s ashamed of himself for that.
And that’s the major difference between him and Ian. My ex would have been furious with me, or with the person who had upset him. But Fraser is angry at himself for not meeting the high standards his father instilled in him.
“And she asked you to leave?” I ask him.
“Yeah. She said she’d call the police if I didn’t go. She even had a bouncer escort me off the premises.” He runs a hand through his hair, turns from the window, and walks over to the bed. Then he sits and flops onto his back, covering his face with his hands. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, his voice muffled. “Such a fucking idiot. So incredibly arrogant.”
“Fraser…”
“Looking at the letters without her permission, getting caught in the bathroom, and then finding the portraits she didn’t want anyone to know about. Why was she ever going to entrust me with the letters? I’ve lost the one chance I had to save the museum. I’d say that Whina will murder me, but I know she’s going to play the disappointment card, and man, that’s going to sting.”
He sees her almost as a mother figure, I think, and certainly as a kind of mentor. He looks up to her. No wonder he’s angry at himself.
“All right,” I say matter-of-factly, “let’s keep some perspective on this. You haven’t lost the only chance to save the museum. I don’t think Isabel was ever going to give us the letters. And anyway, something else will turn up, it always does.”
He just sighs, his hands still over his face.
I study him for a moment, my heart going out to him. He’s absolutely devastated. Tears prick my eyes again, because I understand why he’s angry, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t make Isabel change her mind, and I can’t force him to forgive himself.
The only thing I can do is try to make him forget.
I bend and take off my sandals and put them to one side. Then I go over to the bed. I lift my long skirt in both hands—which makes me think briefly of Pania, bearing her leg to her lover as he wields his paintbrush—and then I climb astride him.
The bed dips beneath my knees. He doesn’t complain or push me away, but he doesn’t move his hands either—he won’t allow himself the comfort of a kiss. So I touch my lips to them, kissing his fingers, then slowly down his arms.
Sitting upright again, I undo the buttons of his waistcoat, then pull the bow tie so it unravels. I fumble at the tight top button of his shirt, then work down, until all the buttons are undone, and push the two sides apart. His chest gleams in the moonlight. I admire it for a moment—the muscles of his neck and shoulders, the shape of his ribs, the hair on his chest that narrows to a thin trail leading down beneath his trousers. It’s like an arrow, suggesting the direction I need to go.
Obeying the instruction, I kiss his neck, then down his throat to the hollow at the base, touching my tongue there before continuing down. Slowly, I kiss over his ribs and down his belly, until I reach the waistband of his trousers.
I shift off him as I undo his belt, dropping to my knees on the carpet, and at that point he moves his hands, letting them fall onto the bed above his head as he gives another long sigh.
“Hallie…” he says, but I can’t tell whether it’s a warning or a protest or a caress, so I carry on, undoing the button and sliding down the zipper. He already has an erection, which strains against the fabric of his black boxer-briefs, as if it’s reaching out for me, begging to be touched. Fascinated, I run a finger along it, and I’m rewarded with a deep groan that brings goosebumps out across my skin.
Hooking a finger in the elastic of his underwear, I lift it carefully over his erection. It juts toward me, thick and hard, and my pulse pounds as I take it in my hand.
Unsurprisingly, my ex saw oral sex as distasteful, and the couple of times he gave in and allowed it, he came in less than a minute, then hated himself for it, so I learned not to initiate it.
It means that I’m unskilled in that area, but I know Fraser won’t mind. Confident that if I asked him, he’d just say that whatever I did was fine by him, I begin by kissing him, pressing my lips gently to the tip, then kissing down the shaft. I take my time, enjoying myself, exploring as I go, feeling the ridges and veins beneath my tongue, and inhaling his musky scent. When I return to the tip, I discover a bead of moisture has formed there, and I remove it with my tongue and taste him, murmuring my approval.
“Fuck,” he says, and sinks his hands into his hair.
Wanting to unravel him, to watch him come apart, I lick my hand so it slides easily over his sensitive skin and stroke him, then close my mouth over the tip.
He gives a long, deep groan, tilting his hips up. Encouraged, I proceed to lick and suck while I continue to stroke him. Mmm… he tastes amazing, and I’m surprised to find it turns me on too, not just the taste and feel of him, but the sound of his grunts and groans, and the fact that he’s obviously enjoying it.
He slides a hand into my hair, applying gentle pressure, and so I take him even deeper, as deep as I can. His fingers clench in my hair and he tenses, and for a moment I think he’s going to come, but then he sits up, grasps me by the upper arms, and lifts me up. In one easy movement, he picks me up and tosses me on the bed.
“Oh!” I bounce, then gasp as he climbs on and tugs me down beneath him. “Was I not doing it right?” I ask, disappointed.
He gives a short laugh. “Ten seconds more and I’d have come,” he says.
“Aw… Didn’t you want to?”
He looks down at me, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Very much. But I also want to fuck you in that m-magnificent dress.”
My eyes widen.
“Sorry,” he says, pushing up my skirts. “Make love to you, I mean.”
My heart races. “Fuck is fine. More than fine.”
He laughs, meeting my eyes, and I smile back, relieved that I seem to have lifted his mood. He hesitates, and for a moment I think he’s going to say something, but he drops his gaze and continues trying to reveal my legs. There’s so much material that I have to help him scoop it up. He rests both hands on my knees and slides them up to the top of my thighs, hooks his fingers in my underwear, and pulls my lacy knickers down my legs, then tosses them away. Sliding his hands back onto my shins, he tosses the reams of chiffon up, half of it falling on my face, then sinks down between my legs. In seconds, his tongue is buried inside me.
I give a heartfelt moan, sliding my hand into his hair and clenching my fingers there, tilting my hips up the same way he did. “Ohhh…” I groan. “Mmm… that feels so good…”
“You taste amazing,” he says gruffly. “Ahhh… I could do this all day…” He gives long swipes of his tongue right up my core, then swirls his tongue over my clit before beginning to tease it with the tip. At the same time, he slides two fingers inside me and strokes them in and out, pressing up slightly. His tongue and fingers are a magical combination that stirs me inside, and my breaths begin to speed up. Oooh, I feel the first glimmers of an orgasm, way off in the distance—that was quick. It’s such an amazing sensation, the warmth of his tongue, the slick strokes of it through my sensitive flesh, the way he sucks gently on my clit, the skilled press of his fingers… Oh God, if I had someone like Fraser in my bed, I’d never want to leave it…
My climax is approaching at a rate of knots, but just as I feel it’s within reach, he slides his fingers out, lifts up, takes out his wallet, and extracts a condom. In seconds, he’s ripped off the foil and rolled it on.
I shift beneath him, making myself comfortable, and the material of the dress tumbles down over my hips. “Sorry,” I say as he tosses it aside.
“It’s cool,” he says, “I like a treasure hunt.” He finally finds what he’s looking for, and he pushes up my knees and positions the tip of his erection at my entrance.
Leaning either side of my shoulders, he pushes his hips forward, and in one smooth thrust he’s all the way in, right up to the hilt.
We both inhale, looking into each other’s eyes. Holding my gaze, he begins to move, giving long, slow thrusts, almost pulling out before moving forward again, sinking deep into me. It makes me groan and tip back my head, and he gives a satisfied growl as he does it again.
“Ahhh… you feel fantastic,” he says, pushing his hips forward and burying himself deep inside me.
“Are you trying to spear me to the bed?” I ask as he circles his hips, our bodies completely flush.
“Maybe.” He does it again, pulling completely out this time, then teasing my entrance with the tip for a few thrusts before sinking all the way back in again. “Ahhh… Jesus… you feel so good…” He pauses, then repeats it, and I realize then that he’s so turned on, he’s trying to make it last, to draw the moment out.
“Fraser,” I whisper, wanting to make him feel good after what happened this evening, “that feels so amazing… ahhh… don’t stop…”
“Never,” he says, slowing down even more. “I want this to go on forever. I want to fuck you to the end of time.”
I groan, lifting my arms above my head, and he bends and kisses my neck, my throat, and up to my mouth. His kisses are hot and wet, taking, not asking, punishing in their ferocity, and they leave me breathless, gasping as he plunges his tongue into my mouth. His hips are moving faster now, despite the fact that he obviously wants to take his time, and the notion that he can’t help himself, that he’s getting carried away, fills me with excitement.
“Yes,” I tell him, hooking my legs around his waist and meeting each thrust with one of my own. “Ah yes, come on… harder…”
Obediently, he lifts up onto his hands and thrusts with purpose. Oh my God, it’s so different from last time, when he took me in a dozen different positions, completely in control until right at the end. This time, he’s feral and aggressive, completely in charge. I know it’s all tied up with feeling out of control and powerless in the rest of his life. The public side of him is passive and mellow, and I feel a thrill at this glimpse into the real Fraser, the secret part of him that he keeps hidden from the world. The uncivilized part of a man, which is seen as unacceptable by the rest of society—the part of him that takes what he wants, that’s unrepentant and demanding.
He thrusts hard, and it’s all I can do to hang on for the ride. He angles his hips so he’s grinding against me, and I’m helpless to fight against the ripples of ecstasy.
“Are you going to come?” he demands, not stopping.
“Yes…”
“Tell me.”
“I’m going to come,” I whisper, my chest heaving with the blissful sensation building inside me.
“Tell me again.”
“I’m going to come for you, Fraser. It’s all for you…” I can’t say anymore, and I close my eyes, frowning as all my concentration focuses on the fantastic, exquisite sensation of everything tightening inside me.
“Open your eyes,” he says. “Look at me.”
Oh God, I don’t think I can, I’m coming, but I force my eyes open a crack and stare up at him with blurry vision as the pulses sweep over me and everything clenches deep inside. “Oh, oh, oh,” I cry out, and all I can see are his blazing eyes as he watches me, drinking in my pleasure.
I gasp and fall back onto the pillows, my body spent, but there’s no time to relax as he continues to thrust, reaching for his own climax. Carried away on a wave of bliss at the thought of him finding his own pleasure in my body, I stroke his body, draw my nails lightly down his back, and lift my face to accept his punishing kisses. I nip his lips with my teeth, and meet each thrust of his tongue with one of my own, feeling exultant as he groans.
Reaching down, he holds the condom as he withdraws, and then he rolls me onto my front. Enjoying myself now, I laugh as he struggles to find his way beneath my skirt, and soon we’re both chuckling as he tosses the layers of chiffon around, trying to bare my legs. Eventually he discovers them, and then he pushes up my knee, and seconds later he’s buried inside me from behind.
“Hallie,” he says, his voice little more than an exhalation. He wraps his arms around me, sliding a hand into my bodice to cup my breast, and I suck my bottom lip as he squeezes it and tugs on the nipple.
He fastens his mouth on the delicate skin where my neck meets my shoulder and sucks, and I shudder.
“That’s to show everyone you’re mine,” he says, his voice hard.
His? I blink, not sure what to make of his possessive tone. I’m not his—he doesn’t own me. I think then about the champagne that flowed like water, and wonder whether it has anything to do with him losing control with Isabel, and again with me.
But there’s no time to think more on it, because he’s lifting up again, and I clutch hold of the pillow as he begins to thrust with purpose. I widen my thighs, giving him better access, and it doesn’t take long before it’s obvious he’s losing control.
And then he stills, his hands clenching the duvet beside my shoulders, his body turning to rock as he spills inside me, his hips jerking with each jet. I bury my face in the pillow, and it’s impossible not to think about what it would be like if he wasn’t wearing a condom. He’d be filling me up right now, his little swimmers heading inside me for the finish line. I’ve never felt broody before, never really given much thought to getting pregnant or having children, but at that moment it’s all I can think about—his seed joining with mine, creating a spark like Venus in the sky, the miracle of life.
Then he gasps and lowers on top of me, and the mad mist that had descended on me dissipates. Babies? Really? Get a grip, Hallie.
He kisses my back, my neck, my shoulder, the place where he bit me so tenderly. He withdraws and disposes of the condom. Then he comes back and wraps his arms around me.
“Can I stay?” he mumbles.
“Yes,” I reply.
And we lie there looking out at the moon, as we slowly drift back to earth.