Page 74 of Kiwi Gold
He said, “Changed my mind. I can’t talk about this now,” and picked up both bags.
“Give me mine,” I said, and when he did, I set off up the boardwalk. The sand and salt were gritty on my legs and feet, the cold had seeped all the way into my marrow, and I needed a hot shower before I changed back into my trousers and T-shirt.
The thought made me stop. “Wait,” I said.
Lachlan, whose face looked grimmer than ever, stopped and said, “What?”
“It’s not that I look too sexy,” I said. “It’s that I look ridiculous. That’s what you’re really saying. Why you can’t tell me. That’s why you said the thing about the stretching, too. Because maybe I did it, on some level, to try to be that way with you. To be … seductive, maybe.” I burned at saying it, but I needed to say it. “And it embarrassed you.”
He had a hand in his hair again. He was also frowning again. “Would you just …” he said, then muttered, “Bugger it,” dropped his bag on the boardwalk beside him, and took hold of my shoulders. Then he bent his head and kissed me.
It was gentle, nothing but a brush of lips, but I felt the tingle of it the same way I’d felt the cold hit me under the waves. Like it was punching into me, taking my breath.
When he stood back, I didn’t know what to say. I had a hand at my face, and I could still feel him on my mouth. He said, his chest rising and falling, his navy-blue eyes burning into mine, “I was going to wait until you asked. I couldn’t.”
I said, “I … I …” Then I reached up and pulled his head down.
Both of his hands went around my head, and the kiss wasn’t nearly as gentle anymore. I’d dropped my own bag, my mouth was opening under his, and my own hands were at his shoulders now, against his bare skin. Cooled by the water, the muscles shifting under my palms as he moved.
When he dropped a hand to my lower back, I gasped into his mouth. When he pulled me up hard against him, I did it again. His hand was under my knot of hair, now, holding the nape of my neck. The spot I never showed, that my mother had told me was “only for your husband to see.” An erotic spot, she’d meant, an erogenous zone, but how could that be?
Like this, she’d meant. Exactly like this.
32
A RUBBISH POSITION
Lachlan
Her skin was cool, there at the back of her neck, and so were her hands on my shoulders, but her mouth was so warm. It had opened under mine, and it was all I could do not to take that invitation. Then she made a noise in the back of her throat, her hands pulled me closer, and I’d lost that battle, too. My tongue was in her mouth, she was on her toes, the lust had its claws in me, and all I wanted in the world was to lay her down, strip those togs off her, pull her hair loose, and love her sweet and hard and dirty and forever.
“Pardon me,” a voice came from behind us, and Laila’s eyes opened wide. A dog walker, it was, because we were blocking the boardwalk.
“Sorry,” I said, setting Laila down and stepping to one side, but keeping my arm around her, keeping her against me, possibly because I wasn’t suitable for public viewing just now. My hand was still stroking the nape of her neck, then holding her there, and it was what she’d said.
When he came home at night, the first thing he did was to take her in his arms and kiss her, all this tenderness and passion and heat, and the second thing was to touch her hair, in this really … greedy way, because he was the only man who got to do that, and he just … he reveled in it.
The bloke headed off, and I said to Laila, “So.” I tried to smile, and couldn’t.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” she said. “Obviously.” Trying to be brisk, and failing completely. Her voice still had that huskiness, and now, it was breathy, too. Her pupils were dilated as hell, and she still had her hand on my shoulder, as if she’d forgotten it was there. Or as if she couldn’t help but touch me. I hoped it was that.
“Neither did I,” I said. “But I’ve wanted to ever since I met you. Full disclosure.” It wasn’t like she couldn’t tell.
She said, “I need to … I need to take a shower.” And headed off ahead of me. But when she got to the door of the Ladies’, she turned back for a look at me. Just for a moment, frozen there.
Wet hair, dark and shiny as a tui’s wing. Eyes as gold as sunset on the water. A pink, parted mouth. Confusion, and desire, and uncertainty.
My heart actually hurt. Or maybe that was my chest. Something was hurting, though.
You’re completely wrong for her,I was still telling myself five minutes later, as I cranked the water in the rough concrete shower as hot as it would go, which wasn’t much, and sluiced myself down. But I couldn’t make myself believe it.
I had time to think about it, because I had to wait for her. When she finally came out, her face composed again, but her eyes wary, she said, “Sorry it took me so long. Long hair.”
“No worries,” I said. “Ready for that burger now? Or we could go a bit better and try the Esplanade. A glass of wine, eh. A bit of quiet.” You see how I was trying for calm. Trying for casual. This emotion, this intensity—it wasn’t me. It was ridiculous.
She looked away, looked back at me, and said, “I think I should pay, and I can’t afford the Esplanade this month. I don’t want to tell you that, but you must suspect by now, after everything the girls have shared.”
I took a breath. Calm was always better, and I was a pretty calm bloke. Normally. “First,” I said, “that’s rubbish, your paying. What possible reason would there be? That I will have bought you, if I pay? Thought I’d made that clear. You don’t owe me a bloody thing. Not a kiss, and not anything else. If you don’t want me to touch you, if you don’t want me to kiss you—tell me so.” Not so good on the “calm” bit, possibly.
