CHAPTER 20
Archie’s lips dip within a millimetre of mine before he pauses fractionally, eyes questioning.
A reckless charge shoots through me.
I nod.
Before I can compute what’s going on, his lips graze mine. They’re warm and light like mist, or the faintest sprinkle of sugar on a fresh cinnamon donut. A ripple of exhilaration rolls down my core but before I can fully enjoy it, his mouth vanishes. His hands slide off me.
He grips the edge of the bench as though he’s bracing himself, and exhales deeply. So do I. I feel cheated. That kiss was so insubstantial it was practically non-existent.
I’m suddenly conscious that this is a very dangerous game we’re playing. This is where we either prepare for landing or jump out of the plane.
My hands move without conscious thought. There’s nothing rational about what I’m doing but I can’t stop myself. I grab his shirt and tug him back. We’re plummeting. No parachute. The earth is a tiny speck below us. We can freefall forever.
He pulls my hips flush against him; my thighs tighten around his butt.
I press my mouth against his and instantly, my body feels the weightlessness of a rollercoaster drop.
His lips part and the sensation of his tongue against mine sets off fireworks behind my eyes.
His teeth glide along my lower lip, his fingers weave into my hair; my breathing is suddenly shallow and I can’t help but smile because it’s hilarious.
Of course Archie would be an excellent kisser.
I run my fingers up his back and arch into him as his hands roam up and down my sides.
With every movement of our lips, the heat builds until it feels like there’s electricity firing to all my nerve endings.
He’s caressing, then firm, and the push and release is so agonisingly perfect, I feel a strange compulsion to congratulate him.
This doesn’t mean anything, this doesn’t mean anything, I remind myself.
This is a game of chicken, nothing more.
We’re two people who like to win and whose bodies happen to fit together remarkably well.
Tomorrow, I’ll email him the NAPLAN data and sign it Best, Camilla, and everything will go back to normal. This doesn’t mean anything.
My emerald dress moves like silk beneath his hands. His chest pushes against mine and I match him for pressure.
We’re swimming against the tide, waves crashing over our heads, but still, we’re not coming up for air. His palms spread wide around my ribcage. I weave my hands under his shirt and my fingernails graze his skin. When his thumb strokes the curve of my breast, I can’t help the gasp that escapes me.
I need to shock him too. My fingers lunge for him, pulling him closer, as though we can melt together like dual-flavour soft-serve. His teeth catch my lip a little harder this time and my breathing wavers.
Archie pulls away slightly, panting as though he’s paused mid-race. ‘I’d like to alter the terms of our truce.’
‘Is that what this is?’ His hands are in my hair and my fingers are laced through his beltloops.
Archie shifts his head back and takes a long breath. ‘We extend the truce. We keep playing the New Friends Game.’
I hold his stare and my neck pulses with heat under his hands. ‘It’s a hard no from me.’
‘Bad decision,’ says Archie. His mouth moves back to mine. For the millionth time I have to remember: This doesn’t mean anything. His fingers settle on the zipper that starts at my lower back and I do not want to think about the possibility of that zipper being undone.
‘Imagine the fun we could have,’ he breathes between kisses.
Fun. Typical. That’s all he wants with women. Well, too bad. I am not one of his Tinder girls. I am a woman of substance! I am a woman of ambition! I am a woman of … oh, who am I kidding?
‘What kind of fun?’ I mutter.
His fingers move around to stroke my inner thigh.
‘Archie!’ It’s meant to be a rebuke but it comes out like a tiny moan.
‘The best kind of fun,’ he murmurs, dragging a warm breath across my bare shoulder. ‘In the press room, the elevators … I’m sure the new ABC studios have some dark corners …’
I cannot let my mind wander down such ludicrous paths, especially when his hands and lips are all over me. I’m already losing focus—imagine what would happen if I submitted to this every day. I know I’ve got an addictive personality but I try to channel it in positive ways.
Spin class = good.
Archie = bad.
I can just imagine it now. A major live broadcast is about to kick off and the media director and the state’s most prolific political journo are holed up in a sweaty broom cupboard, missing the action.
Unless …
‘We could have a time limit!’
Archie’s body stills. ‘What do you mean?’
I pull away slightly to defog my brain. My body is still humming at the memory of his lips on my skin. I take a deep breath. ‘Say we keep this New Friends Game going for, um …’ I do some quick calculations in my head. ‘… seven days. A week.’
We’ve already established that the New Friends Game can escalate quickly, but this might be the high-stakes strategy I need to distract Archie, to help Boss win the election.
Archie brings his forehead back to rest against mine so our lips are a hair’s breadth apart. ‘And during that week …’ he trails off. ‘What does that mean?’
My mind pinballs at the possibilities. ‘Physical contact is allowed.’
Archie’s fingers tighten around my waist. ‘Okay.’
‘Kissing is allowed too,’ I offer.
‘Really?’
My face warms ten degrees. ‘Yes, but don’t make me over-think that.’
‘Whatever you say.’
With the slightest flex of his forearm, he tips me towards him and our mouths meet in another messy tangle. I can hardly stand how the heat rushes from his lips to between my legs.
I pull back, attempting some semblance of authority. ‘Th-they’re the rules,’ I stammer.
‘Love them,’ mutters Archie, kissing my neck.
‘For one week only.’
‘So that would be right up until …’ He pauses and straightens. ‘The election debate?’
I nod, and I see the crease form in his forehead.
Dammit. He’s on to me.
But then I see something else. It starts in his eyes, like it always does, then moves to his lips—those surprisingly warm, firm lips—and stretches across his cheeks to light up his entire face. It’s a smile.
‘Okay, Ms Hatton. You’ve got yourself a deal.’
I beam at him. ‘Perfect.’ I shift back on the bench and offer my hand.
He shakes it once, looking at me in a way that makes me feel both irrationally embarrassed and foolhardy.
‘And one more rule,’ I say, lifting my chin as I smile. ‘No one finds out about this.’
Archie chuckles, tugging me back to him. ‘Who would I tell?’