Just Breathe (8 page)

Ethan looked in her face then led her eyes down to the place their bodies met at his chest. Dee gasped and hugged herself hard against him. While she’d been enjoying the moment, the plunging valley of her neckline had claimed some extra territory, revealing most of the ample curve of her breasts. Thankfully, her nipples were still undercover – well, one of them – but exposed for all to see were two handfuls of soft, pink breast.

He spoke in her ear. ‘I didn’t think it was by design. You don’t seem the type. Although, by the look of him, Brad was certainly hoping it was.’

She groaned. ‘Is he still there?’

‘Not after I told him to shove off.’

Dee put a hand over her eyes in embarrassment. ‘Maybe I could kind of straighten things up a bit while we’re … oh.’ Her words were cut off by the flash of a camera. Ethan Roxburgh in
a body wrestle on the dance floor was probably big news.

‘It might look a bit seedy caught on camera,’ Ethan said. ‘We could dance over to the stage. There’s a partition there you could duck behind and fix yourself up. What do you think?’

‘Sure.’ Dee thought it’d be much better if she disappeared in a hot blaze of spontaneous combustion. ‘I’m glad you wore a shining armour under your suit tonight.’

‘It gets a little hot but you never know when it’ll come in handy.’

Dee’s arms were around Ethan’s neck as he steered her across the floor, her wayward breasts hidden by his broad chest and the swing of his jacket. She could feel one small, rounded button on his dress shirt pressing insistently on the delicate edge of her nipple. It’d been a long time and she let out a slow breath, closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him, tripping on her hem again.

‘Looks like you forgot your ballroom dancing lessons, though,’ Ethan said.

He dropped his hand into the small of her back, holding her close as he turned her to bypass other partiers. The sensation was spectacular. No wonder there was a war being waged by Roxburgh Girls. But who cared about a photo? She had him all to herself under a mirror ball. If only the polished square of dancing space was a couple of football fields longer, she thought as they stopped at the partition screening the band’s electrical equipment. While Ethan stood sentry, Dee slipped behind, adjusted her dress, took a moment to reel in embarrassment amongst the power cords, and stepped back around.

Ethan held out his dinner jacket. ‘I thought you might like this.’ He slipped it around her shoulders, wrapping her in his scent. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He took her elbow and led her out of the ballroom by a side entrance.

In the hallway, Dee turned in the direction he was pointing, caught the hem of her over-
long dress on the toe of one skyscraper shoe and belly-flopped on the carpet.

Arms outstretched, flat on the floor, Dee felt like a sequined yoga mat. Why couldn’t she have knocked herself out? It would be far less humiliating if she was unconscious.

Ethan dropped to her side. ‘Dee, are you okay?’

The carpet smelled like dirty feet and old beer, and who knew where her boobs were now. She sat up slowly, pulling Ethan’s jacket around her, rubbing at the carpet burns on her hands. ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she lied. Her ego hurt. Then, just to cap it off, her chin began to quiver and tears welled. Great, not just falling-down-drunk but weepy-drunk, too. She blinked hard as he helped her to her feet.

She took off his jacket. ‘I think I’ve done enough tricks for one night. Probably best if I went home now.’

He wrapped it back around her shoulders. ‘Why don’t you wait a while, Dee? Have some coffee. Have a handkerchief.’ He pulled one from his trouser pocket. She took it and wiped at her eyes. ‘Come on,’ he said.

Too inebriated to protest, she let him lead her by the hand around the corner to a cosy group of chairs nestled into an elbow of hallway. A waiter appeared with a tray of coffee.

‘Milk and sugar?’ Ethan asked. She nodded, wondering when he’d organised sobering-up refreshments. He poured, stirred, handed her a cup and saucer. ‘Drink.’

It was hot and strong enough to clear the alcoholic fuzz in her head. Not completely but enough to dissolve the buffer around her embarrassment, which now flashed in her brain like a neon light. She dropped the fine china onto the table with a clatter.

‘I’m such an idiot for thinking I could blend in with all these fancy advertising, socialite-y,
executive-type people. I’m bloody hopeless at these things. I should’ve known a fancy dress and tripwire shoes don’t change anything.’

He waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. Drinking too much is standard procedure at these things and I guarantee at least fifty per cent of the people here are trying to blend in. It’s wannabe heaven.’

‘At least they
wanna
be. I have no desire to be at these things. And I feel like a traitor to my own social ethics in this dress.’

He laughed quietly. ‘Traitor or not, you look lovely.’ He topped up her cup and held it out to her. ‘Have some more coffee. It’ll make you feel better.’

She did as she was told but it didn’t diminish the embarrassment.

‘So why
are
you trying to blend in?’ Ethan asked.

Dee slumped back in her chair as though the truth of it was a crushing weight. ‘Because I’m broke. Because I wore a sparkly dress to Lucy’s Christmas party and scored the Health Life job, which, God bless it, paid off some very scary debts. But now I’ve got a car that’s at death’s door, no furniture, an irritating flatmate, a mother who wants to push me around and I stupidly thought I could come here and be assertive with my “earthy chic” and someone would say, “Do another ad, Dee, and I’ll pay you heaps of dough.” Crazy, huh?’

‘Not really. Plenty of business gets done at these things.’

‘Not when you drink too much, expose your boobs and fall on your face.’ She clapped her hands over her eyes.

Ethan said nothing for a long moment, which she was more than relieved about. In the darkness behind her palms, she could almost pretend he wasn’t there.

‘Are you good at what you do, Dee?’

Spreading a couple of fingers, she saw he was watching her with eyes that were suddenly businesslike and intense. She dropped her arms, cocked her head. ‘Well, I’ve studied in India with –’

‘I didn’t ask for a résumé. Are you a good yoga teacher?’

‘My students seem to think –’

‘I don’t want to know what your students think. What do
you
think?’

Dee opened her mouth then shut it again. What did she think? She sat up straight, forced herself to concentrate. Teaching wasn’t just about knowing the postures but understanding what the student was ready to learn, how best to challenge each person. She thought about Lucy being so excited when she got into the Lotus position. And about Emily, sick and in hospital again, practising the breathing she’d taught her. And about Patrick and his injuries.

She looked Ethan in the eye. ‘Yes, I am a good teacher.’

‘Then tonight won’t matter.’ He said it matter-of-factly, with a confidence that outweighed her embarrassment. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. It’s when you keep making the same ones that you fail.’ Then he raised a cheeky eyebrow. ‘Besides, by the time the night’s over, so many boobs will have been flashed that no one will remember yours in particular. No offence.’

She grinned. He grinned back. They were still at it when Lucy materialised from the hallway and stood, hands on hips, in front of them.

‘Here you are! I’ve been hunting for you everywhere.’ She took in their tête-à-tête, checking briefly from one to the other before stopping at Dee. ‘I hope my brother hasn’t been harassing you.’

Dee pulled the front of her dress closer together. ‘No, I had a bit of a, ah …’

‘I was rescuing her from Brad,’ Ethan cut in.

‘Good move. When he gets his hands on someone, you need a crow bar to prise him off.’ Lucy’s gaze flicked back and forth between them again before she shook her head just a tad. ‘Come on then.’ She scooped air with her hand. ‘That’s enough relaxing. There’s work to be done. Ethan, I need you to put in a good word with Trent. And, Dee, I found someone else who’s dying to meet you.’ She marched them back to the ballroom like an officer leading troops, calling over her shoulder before going through the door, ‘By the way, Ethan, your date’s looking for you.’

Of course, she only had to
look
, Dee thought. She didn’t need to throw herself at Ethan’s feet to get his attention.

Dee pulled up in the driveway of the Roxburgh family’s holiday house, trying to decide if she was too tired to eat or too hungry to sleep. Being assertive and finding the path to security and furniture was exhausting. Thanks to the ad and a lot of hard work and scrimping, she’d now paid off Leon, made the rent, kept the electricity on, put a few dollars aside for a sofa and bought four new tyres. It was a big step towards Shit Together but she still had a long way to go.

Unfortunately, the dinner hadn’t produced any more fabulous job offers, so for the past week she’d taught every class that came her way. The good news was that students were back from their Christmas/New Year hiatus and she had two new private pupils (yay!). She’d also taught extra classes to help out Arianne, who now had all-day morning sickness (poor thing but yay for the money!). The bad news was that the extra workload had caught up with her in a bunch of miscellaneous sore muscles and a stomach she couldn’t fill.

Especially bad because the house-party guests would be expecting the inspiring TV yoga girl, not hungry, tired, irritated Dee. She practised an inspirational smile in her rear-view mirror and wondered whether it was worth locking the car, surrounded as it was by expensive-looking four-wheel-drives and a little sporty number.

‘Come on in,’ Lucy called in answer to her knock.

Dee opened the door, raising eyebrows at Lucy’s ‘old weekender’. It was a multi-level palatial home on the edge of Lake Macquarie and from a two-storey-high window she could see the dark water almost lapping at the back door and the lights of the opposite shore twinkling prettily in the distance.

‘Down the stairs,’ Lucy instructed.

Dee glanced over a railing and saw a table of dinner guests peering up at her from below. She took in the half-dozen empty wine bottles and little glasses filled with amber liquid and thought: hungry, tired, irritated – and sober.

‘Hi, Dee!’ came the alcohol-charged chorus as she walked down the spiral staircase.

She stood at the bottom, mat, straw basket and pillow in hand: yoga-teacher-cum-bag-lady.

‘Just dump your stuff over there for now,’ Lucy told her, waving her arms around. ‘Have a drink, join the discussion. Bart thinks Shakespeare would’ve loved Eminem.’

‘The chocolate or peanut?’ Dee asked and they laughed raucously. Way too sober.

A chair was pulled up to the table, a glass set in front of her.

‘Let me introduce everyone.’ Lucy reeled off names like a class roll. There was Rob and Len – or maybe it was Glen – and a woman with perfectly rounded breasts (could have trouble lying facedown on the floor). She was relieved to see a couple of familiar faces – Lucy’s husband, John, Gina of the fabulous dresses, and Trish, whom she also taught at the school. Then there was Bart, who knew Shakespeare and Eminem, and another woman whose name she missed when Bart started quoting Shakespeare – or maybe it was Eminem.

Dee raised her glass to their toast and took a gulp she hoped might start to close the sobriety gap.

The guy opposite – Len or Glen or maybe Rob – leaned heavily across the table. ‘So you’re the TV yoga girl?’ He smiled with teeth stained red from the wine. ‘Are you going to be wearing the same hot little number from the ad when you teach us?’

She ordered her eyes not to roll back in her head. Inspiring is what pays the bucks, Dee. ‘No, I wouldn’t want it to distract you from the yoga.’

‘That kind of distraction would hold my attention, if you get my drift.’ He managed to
wink and leer at the same time.

Dee’s face screwed up slowly. ‘Lucy, is there any food left?’

‘You were so late, I thought you must’ve eaten already. In the kitchen. Let me show you.’

‘No, no. Don’t get up. I’ll help myself.’ Dee followed the smell of food, sunk her teeth into a hunk of garlic bread as she dished up a plate of gnocchi and tried not to moan too loudly as she gobbled it down. With a slice of leftover mud cake, she went back to the table.

‘The Porsche might not handle quite as well as the Merc but it’s so much more fun to drive.’ It was Bart again, definitely not doing Shakespeare but possibly Eminem.

Dee smiled politely, having nothing to say about cars that didn’t relate to replacing something.

‘So, are you giving private lessons this weekend?’ Len/Glen or maybe Rob asked with a suggestive waggle of his brows.

Yeww. Not for you, buddy. ‘No, sorry.’ It wouldn’t matter how much she drank tonight, she’d always be a bottle and a half behind. She made a show of yawning to attract Lucy’s attention. ‘Sorry to be boring but I want to be fresh for our morning class so would you mind if I went to bed?’

‘Sure.’ Lucy’s eyes swam alcoholically. ‘Don’t make it too early.’

‘Seven okay?’

There were groans around the table.

‘How about eight then?’

‘Eight it is.’

Len/Glen or maybe Rob slid a hand over hers, his wedding ring scraping across her knuckles. ‘Need a hand unpacking your yoga mat?’

There was not enough wine in the Hunter Valley.

She had no idea how long she’d been asleep but the house was quiet, the bedroom was as black as the inside of her eyelids and Dee could tell she wasn’t alone. There was a shooshing on the carpet and the unmistakable smell of old wine and impending hangover.

‘Who’s there?’ she whispered.

One side of the double bed sank under a weight and she was on her haunches in an instant, backed up against the wall, heart in her mouth, pillow in her hand. It was unlikely the intruder would challenge her to a pillow fight but she was ready anyway.

The voice was slurred and groggy. ‘Where’s my swami?’

Shit. It was Len/Glen or maybe Rob. What a pig. He’d left his wife sleeping somewhere nearby to chase up a bit of flexible sex.

Shit
. His wife was sleeping somewhere nearby. The same wife she was meant to teach tomorrow. The one who’d be paying her lots of money to teach. The one who was friends with all the others who would be paying her lots of money.

Len/Glen or maybe Rob pulled the sheet back and slid under the covers. ‘Let’s play, swami.’ His voice was more sleepy than slurred as he rolled towards her, his arm reaching across the bed and patting around to find her.

Dee pressed into the wall. House parties were a pain in the arse.

The body in the bed went still. Now what? Dee felt around in the dark, rapped a knuckle against him, shook him hard, tried rolling him over. Damn he was heavy.

She slid off the mattress and went around the other side. By then he was flat on his face, snoring in a continuous stream. Great. Terrific. If she did manage to move him, what then? She’d never drag him across the floor and where would she put him? Outside her door? She shuffled
around in the gloom till she found a pillow and tip-toed out of the room.

The house was silent and a huge moon lit the sky like a street lamp. In the kitchen, the microwave said 1.45 a.m. Did that make it too early or too late? She opened the fridge, scooped out more gnocchi, took her midnight snack to the sitting room and curled up in an armchair.

It seemed like a long time later that she heard someone calling her name. She wanted to open her eyes but they were glued shut. Anxiety stirred in her chest.

The voice was close now. And familiar. Ethan Roxburgh floated into her head. She was dancing in his arms, her nipple pressed against his button, his hand on her lower back.

Fingertips caressed her face.

‘Dee.’

The word was whispered but went off in her head like a bomb.

Her eyes flew open. She sat bolt upright. Gasped.

She sensed movement, twisted her head, gasped again and shot out of the chair. Ethan Roxburgh was standing beside her. Creased shirt, no tie. What the …? She rubbed her eyes, tried to breathe. ‘I … um … what …?

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just got here. I thought you might want to go to bed.’

‘Yes. No. I mean no.’ She remembered the caress on her face. Had she groaned? Had he guessed? Not that going to bed with him was on her mind. Just the dancing. And his fingers. Breathe, Dee.

‘I mean, you looked so uncomfortable in the chair. All kinked up.’

‘Oh. Oh yeah. Course.’ Her face burned. She turned to leave then looked back at him ‘I can’t. There’s a man in my bed.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘Well, I don’t know who it is. It’s Len or Glen or maybe Rob. He just kind of climbed in and went to sleep. Passed out, I think. And I couldn’t wake him up or get him out, so …’ She shrugged.

His mouth curled just a touch. ‘Which room are you in?’

He followed her finger down the hall, disappeared through her door, reappeared a few moments later half-carrying a sleeping man. ‘Dee, meet Glen.’ He deposited him in a heap on the lounge. ‘You should be safe now.’

As if to confirm it, Glen released an enthusiastic snore. Dee’s eyes met Ethan’s and they laughed quietly.

‘I didn’t know you were coming this weekend,’ Dee whispered.

‘Then it’s just as well you didn’t look for another bed or I’d have been climbing in with you.’

Her mouth went dry at the thought. ‘I would have offered you a place on my very comfy chair.’

‘I’d be much better company than Glen.’

Without a doubt. Beside them, Glen knocked a cushion to the floor and grunted loudly. ‘Hmm, I don’t know. He’s got such a lot going for him.’

Ethan’s shoulders rose and fell with suppressed laughter. ‘’Night, Dee,’ he said.

‘’Night,’ she replied. ‘And thanks.’

At her door, she glanced back down the hall. Ethan was still standing by the chair, watching her with that bemused look of his.