Page 45 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

“It wasn’t all you,” she says quietly.

“I’m the man. And I’m the boss. It was my responsibility.”

“Well, that’s very noble of you, but this isn’t actually the Victorian era.”

I rub my face. I guess she has a point, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. No matter whose fault it is, we’ve done it, and it was wrong.

“It’s all right,” she says calmly. “It’s not the end of the world.”

I close my eyes. When I was young, my father made me learn a passage from Corinthians. ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.’

I’ve never known why he made me learn that, but now I wonder whether he saw a weakness in me that I didn’t know I possessed at the time. Because I am weak. Terribly so.

I don’t believe my weaknesses will make me strong. I don’t think Christ is going to swoop in and save me. I made the decision not to continue to attend church after Elora’s assault, but when we’re adults and something goes wrong, it’s impossible not to feel the sharp tug of the thread that will always connect us to our youthly experiences, and the words from the passage continue to circle around my head like tweety birds.

“Fraser,” Hallie says again, more firmly this time. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t make trouble for you. I knew this was a one-off. What happens in Tauranga stays in Tauranga, right?

I turn my head to look at her. The edges of her lips are blurred from our kisses. Her hair looks just-fucked, tumbling around her shoulders, which glow a milky white in the light of the moon. Her eyes are huge and dark. She’s stunning.

“You don’t have to worry,” she says softly. “Nobody need ever know. I won’t even tell Elora or Zoe. It’ll be our secret, okay?”

She thinks I’m worried about my job—that it might be in trouble if she makes problems for me. She has no idea it’s all about her.

She’s smiling, but there’s hurt behind her eyes. I’m not sure if she’s upset because she thinks I’m questioning her loyalty, or if she’d hoped I might declare that I wanted to do this again.

I can’t. Whatever else happens, I mustn’t sleep with her again. I need to end this now, or I’ll not only lose my job, but my heart, too.

“Don’t regret it,” she whispers, and her eyes shine in the moonlight. “You made me feel a million dollars, and it’ll kill me if I know you wish it hadn’t happened.”

That makes me melt a little. I sigh and cup her face. She tilts her head, leaning her cheek into my palm, looking up at me with her big brown eyes. They’re filled with such hope and longing, and such admiration, that I can’t help myself. I lean forward and press my lips to hers.

She opens her mouth to me, and I slide my tongue inside, and we exchange a long, luscious kiss.

My heart still hasn’t completely recovered from our lovemaking, and it picks up speed again, my body filling with heat as I think about being inside her. She moans, just a little,and it’s so sexy that I lift up and press her onto her back as I stretch out on top of her.

Then I come to my senses, and I lift my head.

“You’re my Kryptonite,” I say hoarsely.

“Sorry,” she says, looking anything but.

I push up and look down at her. Bend my head and kiss her. Kiss her again. Then groan and get up, and start getting dressed.

“I think I should go to bed,” I announce, pulling on my boxers.

She sits up, holding the duvet to her breasts. Ahhh… she looks amazing, luscious and good enough to eat, voluptuous and sexy, like a Renaissance painting. Oh my God, I want to taste her again…

Her eyes are huge, and her brows draw together. I pull on my trousers and shirt, leaving the buttons undone, collect my jacket, waistcoat, and tie, and pick up my socks and shoes.

I turn to face her. Man, she’s beautiful.

Her lips curve up, just a little.

With a growl, I turn and stride to the door. “I’ll knock on your door at eight for breakfast,” I say over my shoulder.

“Okay. Thank you, Fraser.”

I hesitate. Then, without looking back or replying, I go out, letting the door close behind me.

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