Just Not Mine (24 page)

She’d
had a quick image of doing just that, of him in her bed, every beautiful naked bit of him sprawled there while she worked on him, while she drove him wild. And then he’d kissed her in her dressing room, and it had been exactly the other way around, and she’d been lost.

What was she meant to do now, though,
turn up at his door tonight and ask him to finish the job? She’d got reckless today, but he was still her neighbor, and this was, suddenly, going much too fast. All the arguments that had made sense yesterday still did. It was just that their voice was being drowned out by something else. By the sound of his voice, low in her ear.

Be good.

She didn’t have a clue, so she went to the gym, did her workout and took a quick shower, and picked up a takeaway salad at the café afterwards.

“Thirteen-fifty?” the girl behind the registered prompted.

“Hmm?” Josie looked up, startled, from her mobile.

“Thirteen-fifty,” the girl said again with a sigh, and Josie swiped her card, punched in her PIN, took her salad out to the car, and sat and looked at the text again.

Still going to do it.

Five words on a screen, and
her body had gone on Full Alert. The problem of her professional future had been shelved, because she wasn’t thinking about it anymore. But then she drove home, saw his car in the driveway, the lights on in the house, knew he was with his brother and sister, doing the washing-up, probably. And again … now what?

She let herself into her own
dark little villa, switched the lights on, sat at the kitchen table and ate her Thai chicken salad, for once not noticing the hunger that remained afterwards, the yearning for one of her mum’s roast meals, kumara and potatoes and lamb that stuck to your ribs. Which was why she didn’t eat it, because she didn’t need anything sticking to her ribs.

And by then, i
t was after eight-thirty, and it was time to get ready for bed, because no matter how many sexy rugby players she kissed in her dressing room, the alarm was still going to ring at five o’clock the next morning. And Hugh was with his family.

She went into her bedroom,
raised the blind all the same and looked across at what she knew was Hugh’s window. Dark. Of course it was, because he didn’t have to be asleep by nine.

They could go out
, she thought, switching on the bedside light and switching off the overhead one. He could ask her to dinner. She could start dating again. She could start with Hugh. As long as they kept it … friendly, what was the harm, after all? He was decent, she was sure of it. And as for her, she never lost her head, and she wasn’t going to start now. If it didn’t work out, it didn’t, and they could move on.

She
walked across to the closet, pulled the T-shirt over her head and tossed it into the hamper, undid the side zip on her skirt and clipped it onto its hanger. Unfastened the back clasp on her bra, wriggled out of the undies, and couldn’t help feeling his fingers sliding over the lacy scallops with a deliberation, a delicacy she’d never have imagined, leaving a trail of tingling nerves in their wake.

When she was naked, she pulled
her dressing gown off its hanger and shrugged it on, then walked across the room to sit at her dressing table, where she pulled the pins out of her hair one by one, dropping them into the green pottery bowl with its koru design that she’d made in primary school, and began to brush her hair.

She didn’t really need to, but she liked to. She loved
the long, rhythmic strokes, the sensuous grace of it, liked to watch herself in the mirror while she did it. The one time she allowed herself to look in the mirror and not worry that that was a wrinkle developing beside an eye, a spot forming on her chin.

At night, she gave herself a pass.
So she sat and did her hair, taking it slowly, then set the brush down and massaged lotion into her face, her neck, her chest, focused on the touch of her fingers, the silkiness of the cream dissolving into her skin. And the memory of Hugh’s mouth on her neck, of his hand whispering up her thighs, over the tops of her breasts.

When she was relaxed, her body humming, she
stood up again, went over to the bed, unfastened her robe, dropped it at the foot of the bed, and crawled under the duvet. Crawled under it naked, because she loved the feel of the cotton sheet against her skin, the freedom of nudity in this one place where it was just her and her body. And because she and her body were going to have a long, slow, delicious date tonight, while she thought about Hugh, about what had happened today and all the things she hoped would happen next.

She heard her phone ding
, because she’d forgotten to switch it off, sat up again, picked it up from the bedside table and read the words.

Unlock
your back door.

Her eyes flew to the window. To the blind that, she realized, she hadn’t shut
again. To the figure she could barely make out, a shadow against the shades of black behind him. To the man who’d been standing there watching her this entire time, because he’d thought she’d meant to do this, that she’d been inviting him to watch her, asking him to come to her.

She wa
s frozen, sitting up in bed, the sheet around her waist, the phone in her hand. And the figure still standing there. Waiting. Watching. The phone was silent, and all she could hear was the sound of her breathing, audible in the stillness.

She slid out of bed
, pulled on her dressing gown, and left the room.

She hit the light switch in the kitchen, then wished she’d left it off, because she could see nothing beyond the glass sliders but the reflection of the room and the impenetrable blackness beyond. He could be standing outside right now, looking at her, and she wouldn’t even know it. The thought made her breath come shallow, her body tighten with shivery nerves. But this wasn’t really some demon lover she was waiting for, some anonymous visitor in the dark. This was her neighbor. This was Hugh.

It was the
Hugh who’d kissed her the way he had in her dressing room, though. That Hugh had been a different animal from her friendly, helpful neighbor. That Hugh unnerved her.

She
hesitated a moment more, then turned the lock and slid the door open, her heart pounding.

To find
… nothing. Nothing but the darkness of her back garden, the looming bulk of Mt. Victoria beyond, the musical trill of the cicadas.

And, after a moment,
the movement at the top of the fence. A dark shape suddenly appearing above it, then dropping to the grass. Hugh, coming across to her. Coming fast.

“You know,” she started to say, “some people would have just walked around.”

She didn’t finish the sentence, because he was on her. One arm wrapping around her shoulders, the other hand at her waist, his big body backing her through the door.

His mouth was hard on hers
already, forcing her lips open, his tongue invading. She was dimly aware that she was whimpering with surprise and excitement, that her hands were at his shoulders, grabbing at him, and still he pushed her backwards, until her back hit the wall and there was no retreat. One hand was behind her head, cushioning it, threading through her hair, the other was at her waist, and she was on her toes, his body pressing into hers.

“I need to do this,” he groaned
, his hand between their bodies, pulling at the sash of her dressing gown. He yanked the edges apart, and then both hands were cupping her breasts, his thumbs moving over them, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. His mouth was at her throat, his teeth closing over her skin, and she was gasping, her hands pulling his shirt up, sliding over the skin of his sides, his back, greedy for him.

When
he lifted his mouth from her neck and took his hands from her, it took a moment for it to register. He was yanking the dressing gown from her shoulders, dropping it to the floor, and she pulled his T-shirt over his head with desperate haste, ran urgent palms over the heft of his shoulders, down his broad chest, around to his back while he shoved his shorts over his hips, kicked them aside, then reached for her again, hauling her up against him with one arm, the other hand sliding down her back, and down further still, gripping her, holding her even closer. The wall was cold against her upper back, and he was hot against the rest of her, hot and urgent and big and hard.

His mouth trailed
over her cheek, biting her earlobe, his teeth scraping the skin beneath, and she was shuddering. He shifted her in his arms, and his hand wasn’t on her leg anymore. It was over her, moving, stroking, and he had her bent backwards a little over his arm, and her gasps had turned to moans.

“Take me to bed,
” he told her, his voice coming out strained, “or you’re on the floor.”

She didn’t answer, because she barely heard him, and he didn’t ask again. He was pulling her with him, down onto their knees, laying h
er down on the rag rug in front of the kitchen sink. Coming down over her, his hands on her breasts, and then his mouth was moving over her throat, down her breast, settling on her, teasing out a response her body was completely willing to give, while his hand roamed, dove, held her, and began to stroke, finding the perfect spot, the perfect way to touch her.

Her
head thrashed, her hands reached for his shoulders, and she clung to him so tightly as he worked on her, drove her higher.

“
That’s right,” he said as she began to cry out, her hips bucking into his hand, because she couldn’t help it. “Come on, Josie. Arch that pretty back for me. Show me how much you want it.”

He
kept on until all rational thought had left her, until every bit of her had become pure need, pulling her toward a peak she needed to climb with everything in her. And then he let go of her, lifted his head, and she trembled and jerked against him.

“More,” she
begged, opening her eyes to look at him, her hands pulling at his shoulders. “Please. More.”

“You’re going to get more,” he promised, moving down her body
so she lost her grip on him. “Right now.”

T
here was nothing subtle about it. He had a thigh in either hand, had spread her legs wide. He set his mouth to her, the rasp of his beard providing a delicious friction against the tender skin, his mouth and tongue doing the rest. Doing so much, she could barely stand it. Her breath was coming in loud sobs, her hands were scrabbling, reaching for a hold they couldn’t find, until she gave it up and her fists clenched shut, pressed against the cold linoleum, and began to slide back and forth in a frantic rhythm.

He slowed down, and she r
ose into his mouth and begged again.

“Please,” she gasped. “Pleas
e. Don’t … stop.”

“I’m not going to stop,” he
promised, his hands under her now, lifting her into him. “I’m never going to stop. I’m going to make you come so hard. And then I’m going to make you do it again.”

He sped up
, and she got louder, then slowed down until she was begging again. Over and over, cranking the tension up so deliciously slowly, and she’d forgotten that she was lying on her kitchen floor, was aware of nothing but his hard mouth on her, his strong hands gripping her.

“I can’t
… I can’t …” she got out, straining against him as the flames licked her, consumed her, devoured her.

He
wasn’t listening, though. He held her tight, kept on and on, merciless, until her back was arching so strongly she was bent like a bow, until her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her arms flung out from her sides, and she was gasping for air.

He made her
shake. He made her burn. And then he made her howl.

She was still
trembling, her legs parted, her body limp, when he came back over her, took her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss. Her eyes were closed, and then he slid home, and they weren’t.

S
ize mattered. Oh, it mattered. She was filled so completely, even her eyes stretched wide at the astonishing sensation of it. He began to move, slowly at first, and that was even better, and she grabbed the bunched muscle of his shoulders, wrapped her hands around his biceps, flexed to support his body weight, and held on for the ride.

He
was so solid over her, inside her, around her, and she drew her legs up, twined them around his broad back, and urged him on. He was on his palms, driving so hard he was moving her across the floor, and all she could do was hang on and keen out the hot pleasure of it.

It was
fast, and it was hard, and it was all the way over the top. They rode the dark wave together, more and more, higher and higher, until it pulled them under, tumbled them, rolled them. Until it very nearly drowned them both.

“Whoa,” Hugh exhaled when he’d got back enough
breath to say it, had rolled off her so he wouldn’t crush her. “Bed, don’t you think?”

“Yeh
. Bed.” She sounded about as shaky as he felt.

He stood, reached a hand down to pull her to her feet, grabbed his clothes and her dressing gown off th
e floor and let her lead him down the hall.

He came out of the bathroom
once he’d got rid of the condom he’d barely managed to remember in the heat of the moment, followed the pathway of light to her bedroom, and found her. Sitting up, the white sheet pulled to her waist, the heavy waves of her dark hair streaming over her golden skin.

“What a view,” he said, sliding in beside her. “Thought so earlier tonight, and I haven’t changed my mind.”

He leaned over, pushed her hair away from her face with a gentle hand, and gave her the soft kiss he hadn’t managed yet that night, then sat back and smiled into her eyes, his hand still on her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek, feeling her leaning into it.

“Have I mentioned,” he asked her, “how beautiful you are? And what a lucky man I feel tonight?”

“Mm, I don’t think so,” she sighed. She was smiling too, soft and sweet, sliding down to lie against the pillows, and he was going with her, as if he’d ever had a choice. He got an arm under her so he could pull her into him, stroke the skin of her shoulder, and she settled against his chest, and it was exactly where he needed her.

“But
, Hugh,” she asked. “What about the kids?”

H
e had to laugh. “What about them? Was I meant to be thinking about them? I realize I don’t know all the rules, but I’m pretty sure that’s not one.”

“No,” she said
. He could feel the curve of her lips as she smiled against his skin, and that was good too. “But you shouldn’t leave them alone too long. Even to come here. Even to be next door. Not at night.”

“Ah. Means I get points,” he told her.

“You already got points,” she said, and she was smiling again, he could tell.

“More points, then, because I left a note on the kitchen table and put my phone in my pocket. On second thought, considering the
kind of pressure I was under, I reckon that earns me a medal.”

“Could be,” she said
, sounding a little sleepy. “More thinking than I was doing.”

“Oh, I thought you did some
fairly good thinking. That was a pretty good invite you sent me.”

“Well, actually,” she
said, “it wasn’t. Not exactly, because that wasn’t … it wasn’t the result of thinking. When you texted me, when I saw you at the window … well, you startled me. That’s putting it mildly.”

He pulled away, looked down at her with a frown. “What?”

“Because I didn’t mean to do that,” she said. “I didn’t know you were watching.”

“Aw, shit.” He lay back down again with a groan, his arm flung up over his eyes. “I’ve been a bloody Peeping Tom.”

“No, you haven’t,” she assured him. “I think you just gave me a real-life Demon Lover fantasy, that’s all.”

“A
what?”

“You know
. A stranger coming out of the shadows without a word. Rushing me, taking me over the way you did.”

“You saying I attacked you?”
He pulled himself up to sit, an icy chill replacing the hot blood in his veins, and stared down at her. “That doesn’t sound like a demon. That sounds like a rapist. You were allowed to say no. You were allowed to text me back and tell me to get the hell out of your bedroom. All you had to say was no.”

“And if I’d wanted to, I would have
.” She was sitting up too, her hand on his upper arm. “Hugh. No. That wasn’t what I meant, not at all. I’m saying, when you texted me, when I saw you, I realized that I must have wanted you to watch. I raised my blind to look for you, and then I didn’t close it again, because I must have wanted you to see, and then I wanted you to be my Demon Lover. I wanted you so much. I wanted you to come.”

She leaned over, kissed him softly on the mouth.
“And you did, didn’t you?” She’d pulled back a little, had herself propped over him, her body so irresistible, her smile so slow, so seductive, and he was falling again. “And so did I. How many times was that? You had me so far gone, the last thing I was doing was counting.”

“Three
,” he told her, smiling back, the relief filling him. “Because I
was
counting. And next time, it’ll be more. Now that I know what you like.”

“Oh, big promises
,” she mocked, and her eyes were sparkling, her gorgeous mouth was curving, and he laughed, rolled her over, got her under him again.

“Well, maybe,” he said, “
just one more. For tonight. Going to rock you nice and slow this time, just because I want to. Because your Demon Lover isn’t done with you yet.”