Making Sense (22 page)

She moaned, feeling her orgasm building, and then he stripped the panties off her, moved on top of her and slid inside her in one easy thrust of his hips, making her cry out as he stretched her, filling her to the brim.
 

Then he paused, however, looking down at her with an expression of such affection that she melted, wanting to cry at the thought that this strong, sensitive, powerful man loved her and found her beautiful. She lifted her arms above her head and let him study her, tingling at the mixture of fondness and desire in his eyes. Wrapping her legs around him, she tensed so she could feel him inside and relaxed to let him slide deeper, wanting to take him all.

He kissed her, soft butterfly kisses across her lips, cheeks and eyelids, supporting himself on strong arms above her, and then he began to move, slow, sweeping thrusts that made her sigh. He seemed to want to watch her, enjoying her pleasure, and she tried to forget her self-consciousness as involuntary gasps and moans escaped her lips, recognising that her arousal turned him on. As her orgasm built and everything began to tighten, she was aware of him watching her, and as her climax swept over her and she cried out, she felt his soft kisses on her cheeks and lips and knew he’d observed the height of her pleasure.

And now it was her turn to watch him as he moved inside her, and she slid one hand into his hair and held his hips with the other, meeting him thrust for thrust. And as his body tightened, she watched his face crease with a fierce frown of pleasure, waited for the wave to wash over him, and stroked him as he floated back to earth, sated and content.

“Now tell me we don’t make sense,” she said, breathless, kissing his face.

He gave a short laugh, returning her kisses for a while before finally withdrawing.
 

Afterward, they didn’t say much. He curled around her, pulling the duvet over them in spite of the warmth of the night, and she nestled into him, comfortable with his nearness, at ease in his arms.

Her mobile phone rang at just after seven the following morning.

It jolted her awake, and for a moment she lay there, confused and disorientated by the window being on the wrong side of the room and the curtains being blue instead of lilac. Then she felt Nate’s arm heavy on her waist and remembered.

Sliding out of bed as he stirred, she walked sleepily along the hallway to where she’d left her handbag. Taking the phone out, she checked the screen. It was her mother.

Dread sank deep into her stomach. Part of her was tempted to turn it off and thrust it back into her bag, but even as the thought entered her head, she knew she wouldn’t do it. She wasn’t that sort of person, and it was useless to pretend she was.

She opened the phone and put it up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Freya? Where the hell are you?”

“At a friend’s.” She hadn’t told Sarah about Nate, and she wasn’t about to open up to her now. “What’s up?” She glanced over as Nate appeared in the bedroom doorway, naked, same as her, scratching his hair and wincing at the early morning sun streaming in through the living room window. He looked sleepy and ruffled and gorgeous, and she smiled at him, glowing as he smiled back and blew her a kiss before disappearing into the bathroom.

Sarah was quiet for a while. Then, eventually, she spoke, her voice little more than a whisper. “We’re in trouble.”

Freya wrapped her free arm around her waist and every muscle in her body tensed. “What’s happened?”

“Dad was out all night. He…he only came back an hour ago. He was angry—he smashed the house up.”

“Are you all right?” Freya asked, glancing up as Nate came out and leaned against the doorjamb, frowning at the look on her face.

“We had a terrible argument and…well, things got thrown and…anyway, that’s not important. I’m okay.”

“What happened? Why was he angry?”

“He played cards last night—he was on a good streak, and he got carried away. He thought he could get the money back, but it just got worse and worse…”

“How much did he lose, Mum?” She was only vaguely aware of Nate disappearing into the bedroom and reappearing with his shorts on, carrying a bathrobe that he held up for her to slip into.

“I…” Sarah burst into tears.

Freya clenched her fists. Nate took her hand and led her into the living room, pushing her into an armchair. She sat on the edge, watching him sit opposite her. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands linked, and waited.

She ran her hand through her hair. “Calm down,” she said irritably. “Tell me. How much?”

There was the sound of Sarah blowing her nose. Then, faintly, she said, “Almost eight thousand.”

“Eight thousand!” Freya stood up, rage flooding through her. “You’re fucking kidding me!”

Nate closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, they were full of pity.

“I’m sorry,” said Sarah.

“Mum, that’s more than I’ve got in the bank. That’s all my savings and most of this fortnight’s paycheck.”

“I know.”

Freya walked over to the window. She was surprised to find it sunny. She wanted thunder and lightning, torrential rain, floods and hurricanes. “Mum…I can’t keep doing this…”
And yet I do
, she thought miserably.
Time and again.

She turned, surprised to see Nate standing behind her. “Tell her you’ll ring her back,” he said.

“Who’s that?” Sarah asked. “Was that a man? Are you with a man?”

“So what if I am?” Freya snapped, looking down.

“Nothing, honey, nothing. It’s good. I’m glad.”

Tears slid down Freya’s face. “No,” she said, “you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to be all motherly and affectionate and caring after you’ve just dumped that bombshell on me.”

“Freya…”

“I’ll be around later,” said Freya. “I’ll bring the money then.”

She hung up.

Nate put his hands on his hips.

“Don’t,” she said, walking past him to put her phone back into her bag.

He followed her, still in the same pose, waiting for her to turn around and face him. She did so, folding her arms, glaring at him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I think we should talk.”

Chapter Eighteen

“I don’t want to talk.” She pushed past him to the bedroom, letting the bathrobe drop to the floor and starting to pull on her skirt.

“Freya, wait.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“We need to talk about this.”

“Oh, so suddenly we’re bosom buddies?” She turned to face him, furious, not caring that she was still topless. “Only hours ago, I told you ‘If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you don’t…’” She didn’t finish the sentence. “I didn’t push you. Why do you think you have the right to push me?”

“I want to help.”

“I don’t want your help.” She picked up her vest and pulled it on.

“Freya.” His voice was gentle. “Let me help.”

“How can you help?” She almost yelled it at him. “What can you do to make this better? It’s my problem, Nate. I’m weak, and I always will be.”

“You’re not weak. You love your father, that’s all.”

“I need to stand up to them. I know I do, everyone says so, Ash told me I have to. But I can’t. I just can’t, and that makes me weak. I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want to cave every time I hear my mother crying on the phone, but I can’t help it.”

Her eyes burned. She needed to get away, to think about it alone. She went to walk past him, but he put his arm across the door, stopping her exit. She pushed it, but it was like trying to push a brick wall. “Let me go.”

“No. We’re going to talk.”

“Let me go!” she yelled.

“No.” He closed the door behind him. “You’re not running away. I can help. Just talk to me.”

Tears of frustration and resentment coursed down her face. “How can you help me?”

“I can lend you the money.” He spoke calmly. Glancing around the room, he said, “You might not guess it from where I live, but I’m a rich man, Freya. When I left the Northland, I took a good half of the bank account with me—the money that my dad had taken from the sick people I’d healed. I felt I was owed it, but I’ve not been able to spend it. It’s just sitting there. But I’d be happy for you to take some of it.”

She stared at him, wiping away her tears. “I can’t take your money,” she said incredulously.

“It’s yours, Freya, if you want it.”

She shook her head, her anger growing. “I’m not going to give your money to my father! What would that solve?”

“I don’t want you to give up your savings.”

“Why? What’s it got to do with you?”

“I love you, honey.”

“Love!” She spat the word at him. “We don’t even know the meaning of the word. Love is commitment and devotion, trust and loyalty. We’ve slept together what…three, four times? Both of us are afraid of a relationship. We’re both weak, Nate, shadows of real people. What have we got to offer each other, really?”

“Maybe nothing,” he said hoarsely. “Maybe we’re not meant to be together. But I don’t want you to give up your plans. I know you want to work abroad. I want you to be happy.”

“It was just a dream,” she said, suddenly exhausted with all the emotion. She sat on the edge of the bed, her head drooping. “It was never going to happen. I have responsibilities. Children have supported their parents for millennia—I’m no different. I’ve got to swallow my indignation and get on with it.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said firmly. “If you won’t take my money, you’ve got to tell him you’re not giving him yours. If you keep on giving to him, he’ll keep on taking. You’ve got to stand up to him.”

She met his gaze then, ironic laughter bubbling to her lips. “Oh, you really think you’re the one to lecture me on how to deal with parents?”

His eyes hardened. “Don’t even go there.”

“Oh, so the rules change when it’s
your
father who’s the topic of conversation. Where do you get off telling me to stand up to mine when you’re still running from yours?”

He glared at her. “It’s not the same at all. Your problem can be solved with a simple word—no.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” she said, cheeks burning.

“It really is. But what you do have to do is accept that you’re not responsible for your parents, and you can’t do that, because you feel responsible for the world. You’re a nurse—of course you’re going to feel like that. It’s in your nature. But there’s a touch of ego to it, Freya. You’re not the centre of the universe.”

She gave an incredulous laugh. “This is supposed to be helping me?”

“I’m just saying, you have to accept that the world isn’t yours to fix. Just because you think in a particular way doesn’t mean everyone does. You think you have all the answers, well, maybe it’s time for you to realise you don’t.”

Hurt twisted her insides. “This is supposed to be helping me?”

“I’m being honest. Ash once told me that being a good friend isn’t about sweetness and light. And it’s not always about saying what the other person wants to hear. I want to help you.”

“This isn’t helping!” she yelled.

He glared at her. “Freya, you
can
make this right, with a little bit of courage. I can’t ever fix my problem.”

She frowned, confused. “What are you talking about? Your father hurt you—I get that, but it’s only your own stubbornness that’s standing in the way of you moving forward. I understand why you don’t want to forgive him, but maybe if you met him and talked…”

“No,” he snapped. He shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching his jaw. “You don’t know everything.”

“Don’t I?” Hurt stabbed her again. “This is what I meant about love. We’ve only been playing at it. We’re not close. We’re not confidantes. You don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“So prove it!”

He said nothing, the muscles in his jaw working.

“What are you afraid of?” She wanted to cry again at his reticence. “Are you afraid I’ll sneer at you, or laugh?”

He shook his head. “I’m scared of the look I’ll see on your face when I tell you.”

Fear rose like bile in her throat, but she swallowed it down. He was being dramatic, playing on her heightened emotions, trying to make his problem worse than hers. “Stop being such a bloody drama queen. It can’t be that bad, for God’s sake.”

He studied her. The anger faded from his eyes, and they dulled as the emotion bled from him. “It is. I killed someone, Freya.”
 

Nate wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected from Freya. Shock. Horror. Disgust maybe. But she just surveyed him thoughtfully, a slight frown between her eyes.

“Bollocks,” she said eventually. “There’s no way you could kill someone.”

He studied her blue and green eyes that held no hint of fear, just curiosity, and felt a surge of relief at the thought that he’d finally told her. He sat on the bed, worn out with all the emotion.

She sat beside him. “What happened?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I was having more and more success with cancer patients, and people came from all over the North Island to see me. A couple visited from Palmerston North with their son. His name was Michael.” Nate looked at the floor for a moment, struggling to keep his emotion reined in.