Page 105 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

“You want to drive?” I ask, dangling the keys in front of her. I put her on the rental agreement, so she knows she’s covered to drive.

Her eyebrows rise, though. “Really?”

“Of course. Why are you surprised?”

“I don’t know… I guess because usually men prefer to do the driving.”

“You mean Fraser and Joel?” When she doesn’t answer, the penny drops. “You mean Atticus?”

Her lips twist as she reaches out and takes the keys. “He does let me drive. But he still instructs me as if I’m a learner. ‘Slow down, Elora…’ ‘Don’t get so close to the car in front…’”

I smile, because she’s trying to be funny, but as we get into the car and buckle ourselves in, something prickles inside me. I’m beginning to understand how she feels constricted. All the men in her life are well-meaning, and they want to keep her safe, which is commendable and understandable after what happened. But you can’t keep a person wrapped in cotton wool. Maybe straight after her assault it was important to look after her, and even now, it’s good that Fraser looks after her. But they treat her like a bonsai tree, planted in a shallow container, carefully pruned and trained so it doesn’t outgrow its pot. I know it wasn’t intentional. Fraser would be horrified if I told him my analogy. And maybe I’m being unfair; perhaps even if they let her spread her branches and flourish, she’d naturally be reticent to try new things and go to new places.

But I think about how she embraced the bungee jump; how, despite being scared, she leapt off that platform with me. She needs encouragement and support, a gentle, guiding hand, like a parent teaching a child to ride a bike. Eventually you have to take off the stabilizers and stop holding onto the back. You have to set them free.

“Penny for them,” she says.

I bring my thoughts back to the car. “Just thinking about what to do when we get back.”

“We could have sex.”

I blink. “Jesus. Subtle, much?”

“Aw, Lincoln. You need to be romanced a bit?” She’s mocking me now. As if to illustrate my thoughts, she’s already grown outside of her container; she’s spreading her branches to take in the rain and sun.

“Maybe a little,” I concede.

“Ah… okay. Here’s a beautiful line from Romeo and Juliet for you.” She performs it with a flourish of one arm. “‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep. The more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.’” She gives me a mischievous glance. “Now get your kit off.”

We both laugh, and she grins and returns her gaze to the road.

I look back out of the window, thinking about the quote she chose. I know it was a joke provoked by my mock indignation. But love is a dangerous word to throw around. I can’t afford to fall in love with Elora-Rose Bell, or to let her fall in love with me. This has got to stay strictly physical.

But how do I keep it physical when she brings me such joy?

I ruminate on that for most of the way back.

As she parks in the hotel car park, though, I attempt to push any deeper thoughts from my mind. She’s a clever girl, astute and self-aware, and she’s not going to let herself fall in love when she knows it can’t end the way she might want. She’s obviously keen to breach her boundaries and discover new things. She asked me for sex, so she clearly wants to learn how to share herself with men in that way. She’s not asking for marriage and babies. She’s asking me to help set her free. And if I keep that in mind, maybe everything will be all right.

Sex will have to wait, though, because we’re both hungry, the big breakfast and the chocolate snacks having finally worn off. So we head down to the restaurant, which is quiet at this hour, find a table for two near the window again, and settle down for an early dinner.

We decide to order the flatbread with cray butter and seasonal relish to share for a starter, then I choose the Lake Ohau Wagyu beef, while she opts for the Wild Shot West Coast venison, both served with duck-fat potatoes and seasonal vegetables.

“And to drink?” the waiter asks.

I glance at the wine menu—I’d love a glass, but I don’t like drinking when Elora doesn’t.

To my surprise, though, she says, “Um… Linc, I’d like to try a glass of wine.”

I stare at her. She flushes under the waiter’s curious gaze. I guess he doesn’t hear many people intimate they haven’t drunk before.

“Are you sure?” I ask gently.

She nods. “Just one. Can you suggest something for me?”

“Do you know whether you’d prefer red or white?”

“No idea.”

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