Page 69 of Just Say Christmas
“Also, it has Jakinda in it.”
“Fair point. How do you feel about spending your wedding night in a tent?”
“I feel,” she said, taking his hand again across the Marmite, “lucky. That’s how I feel. Lucky.”
34
A Lot Like Love
KANE
Kane woke early. Before six, he thought it was, but his eyes were open, and they wouldn’t close again. Something nagging at the edge of his mind, that usually meant.
Victoria was still asleep. Not in her singlet and undies, because he’d taken them off her, sometime in the dark. A few hours after she’d played that piece in Isaiah’s bedroom last night with passion, and more than passion. With the memory of the night before in her mind, and in her bow.
She’d chosen music written for the most stylized dance in the world, a ballet number between a fella in tights and a woman in a tutu, because she’d thought it sounded like exploring outer space. It was the kind of leap only Victoria could make, because that was the kind of mind she had.
She kept that mind so regimented, normally. She thought she was already doing everything she could with it, as if playing the cello the way she did, like a dark angel was singing his heart out, so pure and true that it hurt, was just one more thing you did with study, and effort, and technique. She had no idea of how much more she could do.
He thought she was getting an inkling, though. He hadn’t just felt the gooseflesh rising on his arms as he’d listened to her playing that ballet music. He’d swear he’d felt it rising onhers.That meant something, surely. And so did what they’d done later, in the dark, with the shades drawn and the door closed, all alone in a world made for two.
The slide of his hands down the insides of her arms, the sharp little sound that was her intake of breath, and the smile on his face as he’d traced his way all the way back to her lips, explored them with a single finger until her mouth opened, and the gasp he felt, rather than heard, when he’d leaned over and kissed her, and sent that other hand down just as slowly, just as lazily, to brush over a taut nipple.
Her body moving over his, then, dancing in the dark, and the touch of cool cotton sheets under him. The soft caress of her lips on his shoulder, his bicep, and the gentle graze of her fingertips exploring him. The feather-light whisper of her hair, brushing its way down his body as she took her sweet, slow time. The way his hands closed over her hips when she was finally sliding over him, and he was finally sliding into her.
They’d made love in silence, and he’d heard absolutely everything. He could swear, at that moment when the pleasure was so sharp, you almost couldn’t stand it, when all your body needed was that release that was just . . . right . . . there, that he’d heard her voice, and it was that dark angel, singing from its soul.
Now, though, it was morning, and he needed to move. He couldn’t think sitting still. He didn’t necessarily think when he was moving, either, but he definitely thought better afterwards. He pulled on shorts, a T-shirt, and trainers, and slipped out of the house.
He didn’t make it back for a couple of hours, and when he did, Victoria looked up from one of the two white stools in front of the white island, where she was having a cup of tea, and said, “I thought you’d run. I didn’t realize you’d . . .run.”
She was smiling, but not really. He stripped off his T-shirt and shorts, because they were soaked, and said, “We need to do the washing.” Then he grinned at her, because he felt good, and he could make her smile for real. Surely he could.
He was right. She laughed, shoved her hair back—it was curling wildly this morning, because she hadn’t bothered with all the polishing—and said, “That’s the first thing anybody’s said to me all week that’s sounded like my real life. Good job I’m taking today off work, too. I’ve got to shop for that dress, andnotthink about what happens if I don’t find it. Which I’m notgoingto think about, because what does it matter? I’ll find something. Although it’s a pity to waste this gorgeous day shopping, especially when I still have you.” She eyed him some more. As he happened to be naked, and she happened to be wearing not very much, that suited him. He came over, put his hand on the back of the stool, leaned down, and kissed her, and she kissed him back, wound her arms around his neck, and finally said, “You’re pretty sweaty.”
He laughed again. “Yeh. I am. Right. Shower. And then breakfast. Ran about twenty-five K, I reckon. Definitely breakfast. But I’ll bung the washing in on the way, shall I?”
She got off her stool, and he said, “Never mind. I’ll get it.”
“You have to . . .” She was shoving her hair back again. “Separate the whites from the colors. I’ll do it.”
“I’m not actually a barbarian, you know, just because I look—well, yeh. Like a barbarian.”
This time, she was the one who laughed, but then she said, “You don’t want to separate my washing. It’s . . . dirty clothes.Mydirty clothes. You can’t.”
He stood there, enormous and sweaty and scarred, and said, “Victoria. Have another look. I’m basically Shrek. You could say that ‘fastidious’ is not in my vocabulary.” He put up a hand. “Got you before you got the words out. Yeh, if I said it, it’s in my vocabulary. It’s not in myactingvocabulary. I’ll do it. Back in a few minutes.”
* * *
VICTORIA
He came out twenty minutes later. She was doing French toast, because (A) she liked it, and (B) her bread was stale. They hadn’t just not done the washing. They’dalsonot done the shopping.
He was wearing a Crusaders T-shirt this time, and he took up about two people’s space in the little kitchen. She said, “You’re not going to blend, if you go out later,” and flipped the French toast.
He said, “I don’t blend anyway,” and she had to concede that it was true.
“Caramelized bananas?” he asked.
