Chapter Twenty
Fraser
I manage to make it to four o’clock before I give in and go down to the conservation office.
Hallie’s in there, alone, working on restoring the carved wooden waka huia or Māori ornamental box. She’s in her white lab coat, and I stand in the doorway for a moment, watching her where she’s bent over the table looking at the box beneath a magnifying glass as she scrapes away some minute traces of dirt.
Is it crazy that I find her sexy in that coat? That the first thing I think of is lifting it, tugging down her jeans, and sliding into her from behind?
I shake my head, mentally growl at myself, and walk into the room. Sunlight spills through the high windows, covering Hallie with thick yellow light. The sounds of the visitors in the museum are muted here, and she’s got the radio on, which is currently playing Crowded House’s Weather With You . I can smell the musty aroma of the aged wood, the acrid smell of the cleaning agent she’s using, and the nutty scent of the linseed oil she’s applying on the cleaned parts.
I lean on the table next to her. She hasn’t looked up.
“I wondered how long it would take for you to appear,” she says, carefully flicking away fragments of dirt from the wood.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I can smell your cologne. And I can tell by your walk.”
“Dragging my left leg again, was I?”
She giggles and sends me an amused glance before returning to her work.
I smile. “How’s it going?”
“Good, thanks. Should be done tomorrow.”
Unbidden, my gaze skims down her, taking in her curves, and the way the sunlight brings out copper tones in her brown hair.
She lifts her head a little from the magnifying glass, although she doesn’t look around. But her cheeks pinken a little, so she’s conscious of my gaze.
“Come to my place tonight,” I say.
She does lift her gaze to meet mine then, and her eyebrows rise. “What?”
“Please.”
Her lips part, but no words come out.
“I miss you,” I tell her.
Her lips curve up a little. Her big brown eyes are filled with affection. “I miss you, too.”
“I can’t promise anything,” I say with honesty. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen. All I know is that I miss you, and I’m not ready to let you go, yet. So come around this evening, and I’ll cook you dinner, and we can have a glass of wine, and…” I trail off.
“And…” she prompts, teasing me.
“Make out.”
She laughs. “What are you, sixteen?”
“We can snog on the sofa.”
She chuckles, dropping her gaze and rubbing at a mark on the box.
“Please,” I say again. “I’m not too proud to beg.”
“Fraser…”
I go to tell her that I’m in love with her, but hold back at the last moment. She’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t need me piling on unfair pressure when I have no idea whether I can offer her a future. I look away, at the motes of dust dancing in the sunlight. Suspended in time, like my dreams.
“All right,” she says softly.
I look back at her.
“Don’t be sad,” she says.
We’re a few inches apart, and we’re not touching, but I want to kiss her, so much. The intensity of that urge surprises me. I look at her lips, imagining how soft they’d feel beneath mine. How she’d sigh, her breath whispering across my lips. But I restrain myself. I’m not snatching kisses in secret with an employee again. She’s worth more than that.
“I’ll text you the address,” I tell her. “Six o’clock? It’ll give me time to get the ingredients and start cooking.”
“Okay.”
I hesitate, entranced by the longing in her eyes. Then I get up and walk out of the room without looking back.
*
I spend the next half an hour looking up recipes when I should be working.
I’m no chef, but cooking helps me relax. I find something easy and fresh for summer, then finish off the report I should have been working on before saying goodnight to Louise and heading out.
At the supermarket, I buy a couple of salmon fillets and a host of other ingredients. Then I drive home to my apartment in the suburb of Brooklyn, which is high on one of the hills surrounding Wellington, with a great view across the city and the harbor beyond. I open all the doors and windows, and set some music playing as I start preparing the meal.
First, I boil some new potatoes in their skins until just cooked, then place them on a baking tray and press them with a mug until they’re almost flat. After sprinkling them with parmesan and herbs, I drizzle olive oil over them. They’ll bake for twenty minutes in the oven and come out crisp and crunchy.
I make up a vibrant salad of baby greens that I’ll toss in a lemon-honey vinaigrette just before I serve it, and in a bowl, break apart some orange segments, sliced avocado, and a handful of toasted almonds to scatter over the top.
Taking some peaches, I halve and then quarter those, ready to be grilled. In a bowl, I beat some mascarpone cheese with vanilla extract until it’s all soft and fluffy to serve with it. I’ll drizzle some honey over, and I chop some pistachios ready to sprinkle on top.
I chill a bottle of Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, and make sure two wine glasses are clean and sparkling. Then I open a bottle of beer and have a mouthful or two before I tidy up the house.
I’m nervous, I realize with some surprise. Sometimes we all meet in a bar or the cinema, but Elora still gets anxious about being in busy public places, so we usually meet at her and Zoe’s apartment, and it’s the first time Hallie has been here. I want her to like it. I have a cleaner come in once a week, plus I’m a tidy guy and Joel—who’s the untidy one—is away, so there’s not much to clean up. But still, I place any books and magazines in a neat pile, straighten the cushions on the sofa, make sure the bathroom is clean, and then—feeling slightly guilty because of the assumption—I take the beer into the bedroom and tidy that too, straightening the duvet and ensuring any dirty clothes are put away.
When I’m done, I go over to the window, having another mouthful of the cold beer. Normally, the whole of Wellington is visible, right across the harbor to Petone on the other side, but tonight I can only see Hallie in my mind’s eye.
I can’t assume she’ll want to go to bed with me, I scold myself sternly. But in my heart, I know she will. I’m not nervous because of what she’ll think of the house. I have butterflies because I’m excited to see her here, alone, where there’s nobody to judge us.
Part of me thinks I can’t wait until we’ve eaten, and I fantasize that as soon as she walks in the door, I’ll push her up against the wall and kiss her senseless for as long as I can bear it. Then I’ll drop to my knees again and give her an orgasm with my mouth before I lift her, pin her against the window, thrust into her, and take us both to the peak of pleasure again.
I turn and look at the bed. Or maybe it would be better to spend ages kissing her. Undress her slowly, kissing every inch of her skin as I reveal it, sucking those beautiful light-brown nipples, pressing my lips down between her legs and licking her there, until she’s groaning and begging me to be inside her. Then I could take her super slow, while she looks into my eyes with that wonderful yearning expression that suggests she doesn’t ever want me to stop.
Hmm.
After finishing off the beer, I return to the kitchen. Move the salad from one side of the breakfast bar to the other. Get out the cutlery. Move the salad back.
Jeez, now I can’t concentrate on anything. All I can think about is Hallie and her soft skin and her hot mouth. The way she went down on me, so tentatively, shy and hesitant, but clearly wanting to give me pleasure. How she’s now not afraid to let me know if she’s enjoying what I’m doing with moans and sighs, which turns me on more than anything. The smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of all that soft, silky skin…
For fuck’s sake. I can’t sport a hard on as soon as she comes through the door. Briefly, I consider ducking into the bathroom and doing a little DIY so I can alleviate the ache inside me, but even as I take a few steps, there’s a knock at the door, and I know it’s her.
I inhale and blow out a breath, trying to calm myself, and willing my erection to go down. Then I run up the steps to the front door and open it.
My heart leaps at the sight of her. She’s changed from her work jeans, and now she’s wearing a navy jacket over a maxi dress, light yellow with orange flowers. She’s braided her hair and pinned it up with a daisy clip, and her makeup is light and natural—she looks like áine, or Bridgid, a Celtic goddess of summer and fertility, making me think of the hot sun beating down on the wheat growing in the fields, fish jumping in the slow river, and the young women of the village carrying armfuls of flowers on the fertility festival of Beltane while they creep off into the hedgerows to get laid.
Oh dude… you’ve got it bad.
“You look nice,” she says. Her gaze slides down me, then stops.
I’m wearing a new white tee and a smart pair of black Adidas track pants with white stripes down the side. I look down at myself. My erection strains toward her through the thin fabric as if begging her to touch it.
I lift my gaze to hers. “Homo erectus strikes again.”
She giggles.
I scratch my cheek. “Sorry. I was… ah… thinking about l-later and what might h-happen when we g-go to b-b-b…” I give up.
Her face lights up with amusement, and she presses her lips together. Then her gaze turns sultry. “Glad it wasn’t just me.” She takes my hand and leads me down the stairs and through to the kitchen, and turns me so my butt is against the worktop. Then she lifts up onto her tiptoes and throws her arms around my neck as she kisses me, pressing her body up against me.
I groan with relief, slide my arms around her, and tighten them, flattening one hand on the base of her spine so I can pull her toward me. She sighs, tilting her pelvis up so she’s moving against the base of my erection, and gives a little moan against my lips. I touch my tongue to them, and she opens her mouth, allowing me to delve my tongue inside. We exchange a long, slow, luscious kiss that soon has me tingling all over.
I lift my head and murmur, “You unravel me, Hallie.”
She looks up at me with her big, brown, melted-chocolate eyes that are filled with affection. “And you me.” She glances past me, at the salad on the counter, at the oven, which is heating up, and the pan with its olive oil, ready to fry the salmon. “Is dinner nearly ready?”
“No, I was going to start cooking when you turned up.”
“Then I know what I want for a starter.” She takes off her jacket and hangs it over a chair, then, eyes sparkling, she takes my hand and leads me across the living room.
Chuckling, I follow her, and she says, “Bedroom’s this way, I guess?” as she heads for the door on the other side. “This is a fantastic apartment.”
I admire the way her butt moves through the soft fabric of the dress as she walks. “Yeah, I love it.”
“So much light. Mine is so dark. I keep thinking that I want to get somewhere with windows.”
My eyebrows rise—was that a hint about moving in with me? She just laughs, though, so I don’t think it was, but it does make me think about what it would be like to have her living here.
I’ve never lived with a girl other than my sister. Elora, Joel, and I shared an apartment closer to the museum, but when she got her own place with Zoe, I bought this place, loving the space, the view, and all the large windows that let in the light.
Joel travels a lot, but still stays here when he’s in Wellington. We’ve both known that eventually he’ll want his own place, probably when he meets a girl, but it was always something for the future, and we were content to share so it didn’t mean him leaving a flat empty while he was away and wasting money on rent.
It would be odd sharing with a girl, though. I gesture down and to the left, and Hallie leads me along the corridor. I don’t know how I’ve managed to avoid it for so long. Ginger, of course, was married and had a house, but we never met there. Once or twice she came to my apartment in town, but usually we met in hotel rooms, wanting privacy from family, friends, and colleagues. And although I had a few relationships before that, none of them lasted more than six months, or were serious enough to even raise the discussion of living together.
But of course there’s no point in thinking about it with Hallie, or even considering dating her, until we sort out the problem of working together.
My spirits sink a little, but I push the thought to the back of my mind as we go into the bedroom, and Hallie turns to face me. She pulls up the skirt of her dress, and as I watch, peels it up and over her head before dropping it to the floor.
My pulse immediately doubles in speed, blood thundering through my veins at the sight of her tiny cream lacy panties and matching bra, and all that light-brown skin. As she reaches behind her to unclip her bra, I grab a handful of my tee at the back of my neck, tug it over my head, and toss it away. She pulls the straps of her bra down her arms and lets it drop, while I push my track pants down and kick them off. We remove our underwear together, and then we’re both naked, and in seconds we’re crushing our lips together in a sizzling kiss, while our hands roam over each other’s bodies.
Sex with Ginger was fast and fun, but I discover it’s completely different when you’re in love with someone rather than just in lust. Yes, it’s sexy and hot and physical, but my heart is engaged in a way it’s never been before. When Hallie sighs and moans, I don’t just feel smug at the thought that I’m turning her on. I feel pleasure at our obvious connection; I feel warm and content and happy to be making her feel good.
But it’s getting harder to form thoughts; my brain is turning to mush, and my heart feels as if it’s swelling inside me. I haven’t eaten much today, and the beer has gone straight to my head; at least I think that’s what’s making me dizzy. Maybe it’s desire, and the fact that all the blood in my body is rushing to my groin.
Hallie seems as hot for me as I am for her, and that’s such a huge turn on. I push her toward the bed, we both climb on, and then, still kissing, I lower her onto her back and stretch out by her side, half leaning on her.
We kiss for ages, not speaking, just connecting in that beautiful, intimate way, tongues tangling, breaths intermingling, and our sighs fill the room as a darker urge to claim and possess her rises inside me. I want to make it last for hours, but we’re running hot, and there’s no way either of us is going to be able to wait.
I lift my head and look at her. Her eyes are half-lidded and hazy. Strands of her hair have come loose and lie spread out on the pillow. Her lip gloss has vanished, and her lips are blurred from kissing.
“I want you inside me,” she says.
“First things f-first,” I say, my voice hoarse with desire. I’m always careful to make sure a girl is ready for penetration as I can only imagine how uncomfortable it is if there’s no lubrication.
To my surprise, she shakes her head, takes my hand, and moves it down her body between her legs. I discover that she’s already swollen and moist, and my fingers slide easily down into her.
“And… um… I have a Mirena coil,” she says. “It’s up to you, and I don’t mind if you want to use a condom, but if you don’t… You can trust me.”
My heart bangs against my ribs, and I’m sure she can feel it racing. “You can trust me too.”
“I know.”
We look into each other’s eyes. Then, without another word, I move on top of her. I maneuver the tip of my erection down into her, she lifts her legs around me, and I push forward gently, sheathing myself in her hot, glorious, velvety softness.
We both groan, and I rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes. I’ve never had sex without a condom before, and the sensation of being inside her, skin on skin, is fucking amazing.
My eyes still closed, I start counting to ten out loud, and Hallie giggles, then cups my face and kisses me. I return it, beginning to move, and she tightens her legs around me and moans her pleasure as she moves to meet each thrust I give.
Ahhh… this is blissful, and I wish I could do this for the rest of time. The late sun is spilling across the bed, covering us in a layer of toffee-colored light, and its warmth on my skin feels sensual and erotic. I feel that I should change positions, make it interesting, take my time, but the truth is that I love missionary because I can look into her eyes, control the pace, and change the angle to make sure I’m arousing her as I thrust. I’ll take my time later, I promise myself, and have her in fifty different positions; right now, I just want to be inside her, and watch her as she comes apart.
My hips are moving faster, and Hallie says, “Oh God, yes, harder,” and so I thrust deep into her, pushing us both toward a climax with effortless ease. I can feel my body wanting to give in, craving that ultimate fulfillment, and it takes every ounce of strength and willpower I possess to keep it at bay, to wait for her to come first. I don’t have long to wait; her cheeks flush, her eyes close, and she sucks her bottom lip, which tells me she’s focusing on the point where her muscles are starting to tighten… and her breaths are coming in ragged gasps… and then she screws up her eyes and nose and squeals as she comes, clenching around me with numerous hard pulses.
No way am I going to survive that, and I give in and let myself come, heat rushing up from my balls, which contract as they squeeze out every last drop inside her.
We finish together, our chests heaving, and look into each other’s eyes, our bodies locked together for a moment. She looks fantastic, sprawled beneath me, red-faced and with hair mussed.
I kiss her, thinking about how so much of my life is about keeping and staying in control. How I fight against losing it, hanging onto it with my fingernails. And how magnificent sex is because it’s the one moment I can let go, forget I’m a complicated human being, and just be , and give in to my physical urges with abandonment.
“That was amazing,” she says, trying to draw air into her lungs, and I laugh and kiss her again, conscious of how wet and sticky we are at the point where we’re still joined. I came inside her without barriers, an act so primal it makes me shiver. Early man, lying with his woman in front of the fire a million years ago after having sex would have been feeling exactly how I’m feeling right now. It connects me to him, as if his DNA is stirring inside me, as if he’s reaching across the millennia, and my head spins at the thought of how little has really changed in all that time.
Jesus. I really shouldn’t have had that beer on an empty stomach.