One Hot Winter's Night (21 page)

She turned away from the view that was making her sad and started to walk back toward the Stone Store. And then stopped in her tracks. For a moment, she thought she was imagining him, had conjured him up through sheer need and loneliness. But she blinked and he didn’t disappear, and she realised it really was Heath sitting there, on the steps of the Stone Store, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely, watching her.

They studied each other for a minute. He was dressed for summer in navy tailored shorts and a white polo shirt, and he looked healthy, fit and good enough to eat.

All she wanted to do was go up, throw her arms around him and tell him how much she’d missed him. But something in his face made her hold back. She dug her fingers into her arms, forcing herself to stay where she was. Was he disappointed to see her there? He didn’t smile, and he certainly didn’t run up to her with delight.

Well she had to do something. She walked forward slowly, coming to stand before him at the bottom of the steps. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” For the first time he smiled, but his eyes were cool.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“You walked right past me when you came down.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” She tipped her head at him, her heart thumping. “You trying to avoid me, Roberts?”

He laughed then, stood and walked down the steps to stand before her. She wore flat sandals and he seemed all height and breadth, the polo shirt clinging nicely to his muscled arms and chest, his silver hair shining in the evening sunlight.

“You look nice,” she said. She’d meant it to sound sexy, but it came out kind of pathetic.

He sighed and pulled her into his arms. “Come here.”

She slid her arms around his waist and let him hug her. He rested his cheek on her hair and kissed it gently.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered. “But friends are allowed to miss friends, right?”

“Right,” he said. He pulled back and looked down at her. “I’ve missed you too.”

She moved her arms up around his neck, slid her hands into hair and kissed him. She couldn’t help it. For one brief, horrible second, she thought he wasn’t going to respond, but then his arms tightened around her, and he kissed her deeply and soundly, a kiss that made her feel as if she had come home.

When they finally drew apart, his eyes had grown warmer. He kept his arms loosely around her, stroking her back. “I suppose you’re here for the weapons?”

“Yeah.”

He glanced across the road at the building overlooking the inlet, from which low strains of jazz music had started to emanate. “Do you want to go for a drink?”

“Sure.” Now she was finally with him, she didn’t want to let him go.

He bought them both a handle of Speight’s lager, and they took the glasses outside, wandering along the bank past the skiffle group to a table under a large tree. He sat on the bench opposite her and leaned on the table, watching her as she sipped the drink.

“I didn’t know you liked beer,” he said.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” she teased. It was the wrong thing to say. His eyes turned cool again, and he looked away, across the river.

She twisted the glass in her hand. “I usually prefer wine, but a beer’s nice when it’s so hot.”

He nodded and took a swallow of his own drink but didn’t say anything else.

A few more minutes and he’d be finished and looking to leave. She could feel his reservation, his coolness, coming off him in waves. There was only one topic guaranteed to keep him interested.

“So what’s new at Te Papa?” she asked.

He met her gaze, and she thought she saw amusement in his eyes, as if he was well aware of her ploy. But he started telling her about a new exhibit he was setting up on the Incan civilization, and then she told him about the Saxon hoard of silver that had been unearthed in Yorkshire, and before long they were discussing all manner of archaeological sites and artefacts, and Heath started to relax.

An hour passed, the light gradually started to fade, and in the trees the cicadas began to call, a truly tropical sound.

“I like it here,” she said during a rare lull in the conversation.

“You surprise me.” He picked at the bowl of fries they’d ordered when it became apparent neither of them really wanted to leave. “I didn’t think you’d like such a new country.”

She shrugged. “I like that it’s new. I bet there are miles and miles of land here where no human foot has ever trodden. Some places, like England, are so crowded, both with people and with memories. I don’t know if I believe in the afterlife, or that we have souls. But the other day I was in Camden Market, and as I walked along the canal I had this sudden, vivid feeling that I was the millionth person to walk that path, and I could almost feel all the other people around me. I get that a lot at archaeological sites—I can almost feel their history. But I don’t get it here. It feels clean and fresh, like early morning grass.”

It was, quite possibly, the longest sentence she’d said to him, and he looked suitably surprised. Then he smiled. “I thought you said you weren’t romantic.”

“I didn’t think I was. I was just stating a fact.”

He met her gaze, and for a moment they studied each other. The incredibly warm and humid air had made his silver hair curl slightly around his temples, and the hollow of his throat glistened with moisture. She felt an urge to touch her tongue there, to slip her hands up his shirt and feel his damp skin. She wanted him, suddenly and urgently, wanted to feel his hands on her, his mouth on her breasts, wanted to taste him, have him inside her. She almost gasped, the need was so strong.

He looked away. Had he seen the desire in her eyes? He finished his Coke—he’d only had the one beer, protesting he was driving—and put down his glass. “I’d better get back to the motel,” he said. “I want to be with it for tomorrow, now I know I’m up against the Black Cat.”

“You’re giving me the brush-off,” she said.

He leaned back and surveyed her, cool again. “You didn’t return my calls. You sent back my presents. Any reason I shouldn’t give you the brush-off?”

“I thought we were friends with benefits,” she said, a little sharply. “We’re not having a relationship—gifts and lovey-dovey calls aren’t appropriate.” He’d suggested the arrangement himself, hadn’t he? Why did he have to try to change it?

“Where are you staying?” he asked, changing the subject.

“The motel by the top roundabout, opposite the garage.”

He nodded. “Did you walk down?”

“Yes.” They were suddenly awkward as strangers. “I’ll walk back. It’s not far.”

“It’s also nearly dark,” he chided, getting up from the table. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Chapter 27

They walked in silence to his rental car, and she got in the passenger side and buckled herself in. He did the same, turned on the engine and eased the car out of the car park and onto the road.

They hadn’t been in a car together before, and it was a curiously intimate environment. His muscular legs were only inches away from hers, and his arms looked brown and strong as he stretched them out on the steering wheel. She felt acutely conscious of his masculinity, of his height and weight, and just how different he was from her. Images flashed through her head of things he’d done. Turning to smile at her in the bar in Sweden, dressed in that absurd silver cape, winning her over even before he’d said a word. Propositioning her on the dance floor, promising her as many orgasms as she could manage in one night, knowing she’d never be able to resist such a guarantee. Making love to her slowly and sensually in the shower, showing her a world of sensuality and delight.

The town was quiet, free of the noisy revellers that would have graced the streets in the UK. The doors of the bar in the town centre were open, and there were a few couples sitting outside enjoying a drink under the palms, but other than that, it was relatively empty considering it was such a beautiful night.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Here people tend to go to each other’s houses to relax, rather than to bars.” He threaded the car through the one-way system, heading for her motel.

She studied him, curious. “You live in Wellington, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Is that area a lot different to up here?”

“Oh, Christ, yes—it’s very sub-tropical here. Down there the climate is several degrees cooler, although we have some beautiful summer days.”

So now they were reduced to talking about the weather. She wanted to ask him more about his life. Where did he live? In a house, a flat? Did he share with anyone? What friends did he have? Were his parents alive and did he have brothers and sisters? What did he do in his spare time? But she’d told him she didn’t want a more intimate relationship, and the cool, shuttered look had come over his face, so she kept quiet.

As they reached her motel, he indicated and pulled off the road. The driveway swept around the side of the owner’s house and she directed him through the orchard of lemons and mandarins to the cabins around the back. He pulled up by hers, and she could instantly smell the lemons through the open windows of the car.

He left the engine running. “Well, it was nice to see you again.”

She looked up at him. “You’re really not going to come in, are you?”

He scratched at some imaginary piece of dirt on the steering wheel. “I should get back.”

She glanced around the motel complex. The individual cabins were all quiet, and there was nobody about. Their car was in the shadows cast by her cabin, out of sight of the main house.

She glanced at him—he looked sad. She’d hurt his feelings when she’d returned his gifts. He really liked her.

She reached across him and turned off the engine. Instantly the sounds of the evening filled the car—the cicadas singing their tropical song, and the long, low hoot of a morepork.

He sighed. “Catherine…”

She slid her hands up her skirt and wriggled to get her bikini bottoms off. He stared at her. “What on earth…” She unclipped her belt, and, lifting herself up in the seat, moved to sit astride him. It was a bit of a squeeze fitting herself in front of the steering wheel, and reminded her of when she’d sat on his lap in the Swedish bar. She had to snuggle quite near to him. Only as she wriggled her hips close to his did she realise how turned on she was making him.

He sighed again. “This isn’t a good idea.”

She ignored him, grasped the bottom of her halter-neck and pulled it off, dropping it onto the passenger seat.

“Catherine…” he said again, giving her an exasperated look.

She reached behind her neck and untied her bikini top, pulling the ties down. The cloth peeled slowly off her breasts to reveal her nipples. They looked dark and soft in the moonlight.

“Oh Christ.” He tipped his head back onto the headrest and sighed.

Almost in tears at the fact that he was struggling to fight his desire, she took his hands in hers and brought them up to rest on her breasts. He looked at her, his hazel eyes dark and helpless and, with relief, she could see he was lost.

She kissed him hungrily, moving her hips to rub herself against his erection. She sighed as he stroked her breasts and brushed her nipples until they hardened, then rolled them between his fingers.

He moved one hand down to her thigh and slid his fingers up her leg, then underneath her skirt to move around and cup her butt. “God, you’re so…”

“So what?” She moved her hips, arousing herself against him.

He groaned. “Irresistible.”

She slid her hands under his top and skirted his ribs, brushing his nipples. “You’re the one who’s irresistible,” she whispered, running her tongue around his ear. “I’ve been thinking about this all evening.”

He exclaimed as she began to pull at his shorts. “What are you doing? Come on, let’s go inside.”

“No, I want you here.” It was as if the moonlight was stirring her blood. She had to have him before another minute passed.

“Control yourself, woman, it will take us ten seconds to get indoors…”

“Now, Heath.” She pushed his hands away, unzipped his shorts and pushed down his boxers to release his erection, which was so hard and long she gave a heartfelt sigh of relief that he obviously wanted her so much.

He made a half-hearted attempt to stop her again. “For fuck’s sake—”

She caught his hands, moved on top of him and, with a satisfied sigh, wriggled her hips until she felt him enter her.

He gasped. “Wait—I haven’t…”

She hesitated and realised she’d forgotten all about a condom.
Oops.
She was so inexperienced at this, so bloody naïve. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She paused. “Do you want me to stop?”

His fingers dug into her hips. “We have to be careful,” he whispered.

“I’m on the pill for medical reasons,” she whispered back, as if they were afraid of being overheard. “And you know I’ve never been with anyone else.”

“I’ve never had sex without a condom before,” he admitted.

So it was unlikely they’d have a problem with disease. She was desperate to sink down onto him, but made herself wait, not wanting to push him into something he didn’t want.

She did, however, experimentally tighten her internal muscles.

He gave her an exasperated look and nodded.

She lowered her hips, taking him deep inside her. “Oh…that feels good…”

“Catherine…” He closed his eyes and finally gave in, pushing up into her further. “Oh Jesus…”

She began to move on top of him, small thrusts as there wasn’t much room in the car with the steering wheel behind her butt, but it was enough to make them both sigh loudly. She released his hands and he ran them lightly up her back and closed them over her breasts.

“Oh God…” She tipped her head back as he kissed her neck, and she arched her spine, pressing her breasts against his hands. She’d missed this so much. She slipped her hands into his hair, dropping her head to kiss him, and his hands slid to her butt as she began to move more urgently. Her passion built, reflecting in his eyes as he pulled her closer to him with each thrust, driving deeper inside her.

Before long the orgasm claimed her, and she cried out at its intensity, mirroring his answering groans as he swelled inside her, driven to the edge by her erotic sighs.