actions did you brand me, Alan and umpteen other guys with?’
Her eyes clouded a second before she dropped her gaze.to his throat. She quivered, and sucked in a long breath. Feeling like a louse, he was about to tell her it didn’t matter.
Lauren blurted the first words out in a breathy rush then steadied as Matt soothed her back with rhythmic caresses.
‘Just after Christmas, the same year you and I...you know... There were often weekend barbecues in our place, crowded, noisy, lots of drinking. My brothers’ friends got a kick out of teasing me, and calling me little sister to make me blush and get tongue-tied. To them it was harmless fun. I hated it.’
The almost forgotten feeling of helplessness crashed back, clogging her throat, rendering her speechless. Followed just as suddenly by an empowering sensation. She was no longer a victim. She’d grown and moved on. Hadn’t she talked to them at Easter without any childish awkwardness?
‘I can see now it was thoughtless but never ill intentioned. If I’d been closer to any of my family I’d have been able to tell them how I felt. Instead I used to spend most of my free time with friends. That night the house was quiet inside when I was dropped off. I didn’t see my brother’s best friend leaning on the dining room door jamb until he lurched out and grabbed me in a bear hug.’
Matt pushed up against the bedhead, taking her with him. ‘Lauren, if you—’
‘He mumbled, “You’re pretty, li’l sister,” and kissed me. He stank of beer and sweat and to me it was gross. I remember kicking his shins, breaking free and looking over the top of the stair rail with revulsion. He was slumped against the wall, finishing off his can of beer.’
‘And you lumped our kiss on the balcony with that?’ His incredibility was tinged with anger.
‘No! You were...’ In her eagerness to appease him she almost divulged how special his kiss had been, how she’d created fantasies of him over the years.
‘Matt, I’m sorry, truly sorry. I let one drunken incident influence my judgement of certain types of good-looking men. From his attitude on the few occasions we’ve met since, I’m convinced he doesn’t remember it at all.’
‘Lauren Taylor.’
She recognised the corporate tone from their earliest meetings and squeezed her eyes shut as if that would prevent the coming declaration. He tilted her chin up, coaxing her to look into determined midnight-blue eyes.
‘You are very special and I intend to banish every skerrick of that image from your memory. In the best, most personal way possible. And I promise you won’t want to run from me.’
His kiss was sweet and tender, and, for her, much too short. Humour glistened in his eyes as he raised his head.
‘So you think I’m good-looking? Tell me more.’
THERE WERE FEW vehicles on the roads as Matt drove home after leaving Lauren at her hotel room in the early hours of the morning. Gently nudging her through her door and not following tested his resolve. Pulling it shut to enable him to walk away from her sweet smile, flushed cheeks and slumberous hazel eyes was the hardest action he’d ever taken.
He could still feel her soft lips responding to his in the longest, sweetest goodnight kiss he’d ever had. No holding back. No expectations.
He’d asked her to stay all night but understood her need for distance after their shared confessions and lengthy conversation after. It had been soul-searing for them both. They’d have distance all right, three days, two nights and who knew how many kilometres.
He parked in his garage, switched off the engine and clicked the remote to wind down the roller door. Didn’t move. Didn’t want to go into that empty unit where her tantalising perfume lingered and her presence was now indelibly implanted into the atmosphere.
Reclining the seat and pushing it back, he lay staring at the roof. New, clean, unmarked, like everything else he owned in Australia. Limbo land. Between the old and the unknown.
He closed his eyes—body weary, mind wide awake. His impulsive kiss so long ago had caused repercussions he’d never have believed, and distress for Lauren. He’d allowed his perception of his parents’ relationship to affect his attitude. Love might not be blind but maybe it blurred faults in those you cared for.
Lena and Mark, Duncan and Clair. There were other happy couples he knew too. Did his mother’s love override the pain of his father’s affairs?
He yawned, ought to go in, get a few hours’ sleep to cope with the long day ahead. He’d miss her in his bed—probably lie awake remembering the passion they’d shared. Had those harsh, ecstatic groans of release mingling with her joyful cries come from him? His lips curled, his body shifted as he remembered her kittenish mews. He slept.
* * *
Lauren woke early, a faint ray of daylight competing with the street lamps to dispel the night. She quivered as memories teased her from sleep, and grew stronger, more vibrant. More intimate.
She blushed as she recalled how forward she’d been, so unlike the compliant participant in her other relationships. Matt had gently encouraged her, kissed her until she was molten lava in his arms then taken her to the stars and beyond.
It was because of those new and tumultuous sensations, followed by the sharing of their innermost secrets, that she’d asked him to take her back to the hotel. Part of her had longed to stay, to sleep cradled to his body and make love in the morning as the sun rose. The other half had felt vulnerable, shocked by her ardent responses, and needing solitude to decipher why now? Why him?
A similar duel had her torn between knowing how much she’d miss him and feeling an inexplicable inclination to re-erect the defence shield round her heart. She had three days to...who was she kidding? Her surrender had been complete.
* * *
Thirteen hours later she pushed her dinner plate to the far corner of the table and opened the green patterned spiral notebook she’d bought in the quirky gift shop a few hours ago. Along with presents for friends’ future birthdays.
She’d never been one for writing copious holiday descriptions, relying on photos, brief notes and her memory. She’d kept Matt’s image at bay as she drove, forcing her mind into work mode where nothing was allowed to intrude on the task at hand. New vehicle, new roads, though there were fewer freeways than in New South Wales.
As she wrote and sipped delicious rose tea she noticed the small ceramic vases on the dining-room tables, each one unique and holding two fresh flowers and a sprig of greenery. Her vase with orchids was swathed in bubble wrap and secured behind the passenger seat of the car.
Laying her new special green pen down, she cradled her cup, recalling his tenderness and sensitivity, and the way his passion, matching hers, had overridden both. No one had ever made her feel so feminine, so aroused. She relived the evening from the initial eye contact across the road to his reluctant expression as he’d closed her hotel-room door.
Lost in reminiscence, she jumped when her mobile rang, rummaged for her phone with unsteady fingers.
‘Matt.’
