Chapter Seven #3
The Northbys stood at the entrance, welcoming guests and making small talk, briefly, before moving on to the next person. They were both flawless and for the first time, looking at them from a distance, I could see a resemblance, which I realised had to do with their mannerisms.
Oliver was perfectly turned out, cream jacket gleaming against the lights. There was something modern and red carpet-esque about the look. I could see women in front of me murmuring appreciatively and adjusting their dresses.
The way Nick sensed me brought to mind a teen werewolf flick; I could have sworn he sniffed the air. I was still five or six people deep in a queue, but his eyes found me, and I saw genuine surprise. I had done the unthinkable and caught Nick Northby off guard. His face broke into a lupine smile.
As I moved closer, person by person disappearing between us, my heart pounded. I had taken off my jacket in the lobby of the hotel and checked it into the cloakroom, but the goosebumps that graced my arms had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.
‘Abigail Parker.’ Oliver gave a low whistle. ‘You are a triumph, and if I weren’t your boss’ – he gave Nick a quick side eye – ‘I would say something wildly inappropriate.’
He took my right hand, spinning me and then kissed me on the cheek, making me laugh. Why did it feel as if he was my brother?
Ollie released me and I moved towards Nick, who had shoved his hands in his pockets and looked like …
well, heaven, or perhaps more divertingly somewhere darker, lit only by flames.
His eyes were sharp, and they roamed over my body, and I swear to you I could almost feel them, as if his hands were travelling over me.
‘You found a dress,’ he said, holding tightly to keep the grin from spreading across his face.
‘Oh, what, this old thing? Just something I found at home,’ I said, sounding bored.
‘You didn’t RSVP.’
‘Is there a naughty corner?’ I raised an eyebrow at him.
‘Jesus, I hope so,’ he uttered.
I laughed, a sound neither of us had heard in weeks. We held eye contact for a moment more and then I moved into the room, but I could still feel his eyes on my back.
Inside, Mike waved to me and handed me a champagne before making delicious noises over my dress. ‘Is that Dolce?’
‘What? No,’ I lied, gulping my champagne. How on earth did he know that?
‘Fine, keep your secrets.’
We mingled for about thirty minutes, and I was thankful to have Mike there, keeping conversations flowing, as it allowed me to keep my eyes on the room, watching the Northbys circulate.
They’d split up and were working their refined charm on the who’s who of the Sydney social scene.
There was an endless supply of politicians, retired sports stars, and B-grade celebrities fawning over them.
Thinking I would not be here, I had assigned an assistant to each of them for the evening and they did me proud keeping the boys gently moving, whilst running interference on would-be admirers.
They eventually slipped away, as Oliver prepared to welcome everyone and launch the business, and I followed them into a little room behind the stage.
Oliver was more nervous than I would have ever imagined, and Nick shot me a look that begged for help. I stepped backwards and asked the waiter for a bottle of single malt and three glasses, then marched up to Ollie.
‘Oliver Northby.’
‘Ooh, I feel like I might barf, Abs.’
‘Nonsense. Remind me to take you to visit my grandmother Iris at some point.’ I fussed with his tie and pushed a strand of hair back from his forehead until the whisky arrived. Then I poured us a glass each, and we drank.
‘Iris would tell you …’ I paused. ‘Actually, she would say something incredibly inappropriate and hit on you. But she would say to me, “Abigail, do not be feeble,” and that is what I am going to say to you.’ I reached out to put my hand on his arm.
‘You are Oliver fucking Northby, and this company is yours. You are charming as fuck, handsome and rich. Don’t you dare be feeble. ’
He held my eyes and then nodded once and threw back the rest of the alcohol, and the three of us walked to the door.
Oliver entered the ballroom and I almost took one step through, but a firm hand pulled me back by the wrist. Nick’s lips were on mine.
It was swift, ephemeral and it felt so good to be in his arms again that I would have given up anything asked of me for one more minute.
He was not freshly shaven and his whiskers were not yet soft and, honestly, I would have scratched off my own face for more.
He pressed a ‘Thank you,’ into my ear and I wiped lipstick off his mouth with my thumb before we walked out to take our seats.
I sat next to Mike and Nick took his at the head of a table of VIPs, including the mayor of Sydney and his daughter.
I swear to you I listened to what Oliver said, but I did not hear a word.
I clapped at the right times and then ate the food when it came around, but my eyes kept gravitating towards Nick.
His eyes were drawn to mine, and I had the odd sensation that I had the power to compel them to me.
But I had competition, and she was right next to him.
Miss Mayor was a renowned Sydney socialite and occasional model.
She travelled in a pack of kids her age who had as much of a leg-up in life as she had.
She was twenty-five years old, stunning and blonde, with legs that came up to my ears.
And she had her eyes set on the good-looking, rich, English guy in the nice tux.
Nick Northby. He was busy talking to her father until Oliver joined them.
After that, she had his undivided attention.
I watched as she coaxed reluctant smiles from him, listened enraptured as he spoke and put her hands on his arm or his thigh when she tittered.
He laughed at one point, surprised by something she had said, and I had the feeling I was watching a successful first date.
All I could do was to drink through it. At least, I congratulated myself, I was managing to drink the champagne from the glass this time.
Music started after the dinner was cleared, and the party hit the dance floor.
Little Miss Mayor dragged out a reluctant Nick and I was one thousand per cent certain an Ed Sheeran song was around the corner.
I knew he was doing his job; I just didn’t want to watch it.
We were in this grey place, somewhere between former lovers and lovers, which was …
hard. And I’d thought I could feel him taking a step, emotionally, towards me. And more than anything, I wanted that.
‘Come dance, Abbey,’ Mike said.
‘I’m just going to get some air, I think,’ I said, smiling at him.
At the very least, the night had been successful, especially for something that was short notice. It showcased both our restaurant and our wines, as well as our real trump card, our charming new owners.
The balcony was empty due to the coolness of the evening, and I walked slowly to the balustrade, breathing in the sea smells of the harbour.
Underneath us, Sydney sang; horns honked, crossing lights pulsed, and the sound of voices laughing and having a wonderful Friday night filled my ears like a favourite band.
What was I doing? Why was I here?
‘Ah, someone else avoiding the dance floor?’
I turned to find a handsome guy in his early fifties in a plain black tux. I smiled politely.
‘You’re Abbey, right?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry. Do we know each other?’
‘I’m Patrick Conlon. Umm, the mayor’s assistant. We spoke on the phone the other day.’
‘Oh, right, hi! Nice to meet you.’
‘You too.’
‘It’s cold out here.’
‘Yeah.’ He looked out at the view and then down to his hand on the balustrade, before meeting my eyes again. ‘Do you, uh, I know we are both avoiding that dance floor by being out here, but you wouldn’t want to dance with me, would you? At least it’s warm in there.’ He smiled.
A handsome man in a nice suit wanted to dance with me. Maybe I should take Gran’s advice for me this evening. Maybe I should stop being feeble.
Nick
This glamorous young person was all over me like a rash.
There was a time in my life where I would have been flattered, but that was a lifetime ago and, at the moment, all I could think was that she had picked the wrong guy.
Why not choose Oliver? He was so much lighter than I was.
Same childhood, but considerably less adult trauma.
And even if I could have somehow mustered the energy to say she was very attractive, my head would not let me, because all I wanted to do was to ascertain the whereabouts of a particular girl in a particular gold fucking dress.
I caught a glimpse of the dress from behind and spun the pretty blonde, whose name had vanished from my head – Alicia? Alison? Fiona? – so I had a better view.
And there she was. Abbey. Dancing with a solid, attractive bloke.
He looked older than me, stronger than me and possibly taller than me.
He was annoyingly handsome in that ‘I got handsome as I got older’ way, which I am not certain is happening with my looks.
Not that I think about that sort of thing.
Abbey was dancing and there was this glorious radiant smile on her face, which was flirty and earthy and – fuck me – if she was not the only woman in this room. I am lost. I had allowed my control to slip earlier, and I had kissed her. Now that was the only thing I could fucking think about.
Not this party, not this woman in my arms, nothing but her.
And there she was dancing with this other guy because I couldn’t be the man she deserved.
But what am I doing? I would not be living here beyond a couple of weeks.
I do not want a relationship. I don’t want to hurt her.
This is the last work function I have on.
The last duty I need to fulfil for Delacqua.
Tomorrow I am just Nick. Just Nick in old Sydney town for two weeks, just in case Ollie needs me.
Just Nick ignoring the callings of home. Holiday Nick.
I have two weeks. And if that is something she might want, I wonder if … Why wouldn’t we? It felt as if something had shifted and the heat we’d been ignoring for the last few weeks was finally breaking free. It felt as if the two of us crossing boundaries tonight was inevitable.
I should leave her alone. I could not offer her what she wanted. I think she has feelings, and I am definitely having feelings. I absolutely do not want her hurt. Abbey is sweet, generous and kind. I do not want her to feel pain. It would be better if we stopped. If I stopped …
I excused myself from the blonde and walked to the DJ with purpose, insisting that the next song was an Ed Sheeran song, and then I waited by the door.
The song switched. I watched as she listened and then shook her head at the handsome stranger and extricated herself from him. She grabbed her bag, took one last look around and walked towards the door.
I had a quick word with our security guy and had him hold the lift I walked into.
I listened from the back corner, out of sight, as he ushered another couple towards the other lift.
She walked in and, gorgeously, just smiled and rolled her eyes as she saw me.
I pointed towards the camera. She nodded.
Her face became serious as her eyes met mine and locked.
I saw her breathing change and watched as her chest rose and fell.
That dress on the lady from the kitchen department had looked good, but I had no idea what the perfect dress for the perfect woman would look like, and it was so much better than I could have ever imagined.
Abbey is small and curvy. Perfectly curved.
Soft, supple, silky. My hands remember exactly how she feels and the memories haunt me.
I remember how she feels every single night; I remember her mouth and the curves of it.
I remember her sounds. I very much wanted to hear them again.
It was the longest fucking lift ride in the world.
She had more makeup on than I had ever seen on her and when she bit gently on a red lip I thought I’d combust. Thankfully, the lift dinged, and we walked out.
I waited as she grabbed her coat, and we left the building, walking about a block.
Finally, we were far enough away from that fucking hotel, and I dragged her into an alleyway and kissed her much harder than that stupid, mad kiss in that little room.
Her lips fit perfectly to mine and we found an instant rhythm.
She tasted like champagne and crème caramel, and I wanted to devote myself to the combination.
My hands started exploring her in that dress, what it felt like around her waist and how it felt over her arse.
I pulled her hips into mine and I knew there was a fucking split there somewhere and that I could get to skin, but it evaded me at first and then she moved her leg a little as she pressed her body into me and there it was, her warm soft skin under my palm, where it should be.
Dangerous thoughts, Nick. Very dangerous thoughts. What would it look like? The two of us?
Her hands were in my hair then and I’m pretty sure the first noise came from me.
My hand was roaming over her breast and the other was climbing under her skirt.
She whispered, ‘Nick,’ into my ear and I kissed her harder, silencing her before I gave in to the desire to fuck her against this wall.
I have never wanted anything more in my life than this woman at this moment.
She was vibrating. No, she wasn’t vibrating, her phone was.
‘Abbey, your phone.’
‘Oh,’ she said, dazed.
I waited for a second as she found it in her purse and then I started kissing her neck and her collarbone as she squinted to read it.
‘Oh, fuck. It’s Gran’s nursing home.’ She put her hand into the nook on my chest to get me to stop.
I placed my hand over it and pulled away.
She took the call.
‘Speaking.’
She listened.
‘Oh. Okay.’ She swallowed. ‘Is she okay? I’m on my way.’