‘Okay,’ he said. There was a silence as she took another step back and didn’t meet his eyes. He stood exactly where she’d left him, as if he was waiting—for what? There was nothing she could bear to give. And she couldn’t take anything more tonight either.
‘I have some dishes to do,’ he said eventually, quietly.
That hit her conscience. ‘Oh, I should—’
‘No, my mess, my shame,’ he answered with a brief facsimile of a smile. ‘You’re not seeing it.’
Now she looked at him—and with superhuman effort refrained from asking him to come up with her. For now, contrarily, she didn’t want to be alone. Now she wanted back in his arms. For a second there she’d glimpsed some
thing so sweet, but it was a mirage lasting only while the music played. If she took him now, she’d be vulnerable to investing too much as he’d warned her before their first time together. She couldn’t chase a dream that would disappear in a blink and a smile. Her bruised heart would be battered worse than ever. Exactly what she didn’t want. So she turned and took the stairs alone.
Frustrated, Gabe let her go, at a loss as to how else he could try to break through the defensive barriers that she could erect in the blink of an eye. Lying alone in bed, he watched the light at her window. It was after two in the morning before she switched it off. Less than four hours later he heard her flick the hose on in the garden. He was due at the airport soon and he’d be in Sydney for the next five nights and, damn it, he wanted to reach out to her.
He walked out of the house, saw her pallor and the dark rings beneath her eyes. She couldn’t completely hide her stress. The pipes would be nothing to fix, he’d already paid the plumber to come back later today and finish last night’s temporary patch, but as for the other hurts he suspected went deep? He didn’t know how to help with those, not when she wouldn’t admit to them—least of all to him. But he wanted to. He really wanted to.
She tossed the hose and strode to meet him. Her bruised eyes burned, feminine aggression made her slim frame strong—and made him unusually weak at the knees. She didn’t give him the chance to say anything. No, she led the dance and reverse cowgirl rocked. It really did. He loved watching her half-lightened, half-natural coloured hair swinging over her back. Loved tracing the curve of her butt. Loved sliding his hands around to her breasts, down her slender ribs and beyond to her hottest spot, teasing the ecstasy out of her. But he wanted to look into her eyes too. Wanted to know her—to connect so much more completely than this.
He knew she was determined and today more aggressive than ever—more hungry, more driven, more demanding. Her hands were so tight on his thighs he’d bear her fingermarks for days. For someone so slight she had gut-wrenching strength and she ripped what she wanted from him. He growled through gritted teeth, desperately holding back as she rode him. Glad there were no neighbours overlooking them—given they were outside, given it was six in the morning, given this was all screaming, sweaty, animal sex. But the best sex of his life wasn’t enough any more.
She arched as her orgasm hit, her piercing shriek loud enough to make the sparrows fly from the trees. As soon as she crumbled he moved, flipping her over and then rolling again so she was back above him, but facing him this time. He held her face so he could see into those sex-dazed eyes and pushed as deep as he could go.
He waited, breathing hard while he got it together. Because he refused to have sex with her now. Now he was making love. Now he was giving everything he could.
Her eyes widened, she shook her head, but he firmed his grip, holding her so she couldn’t escape his kiss. And slowly, so slowly he started all over again. Every movement, every touch filled with care and passion. His hands sweeping, fingers drifting, his heart bursting. He ached for completion, contentment—hers. He wanted to fill her, to treasure her.
She lay limp above him—as if she was sated already and could move no more. So he was gentle, slow. And then he felt the subtle change, her skin warming as muscle beneath became energised. She draped like silk now—her limbs curving, embracing. Her hands cupped almost shyly. And then he heard her breathy sob—it wasn’t an entirely sexual plea. He cradled her and kissed her, the simplest of caresses. Until that moment when she moaned, until she clung, until she murmured his name brokenly just that once. Until she was soft, warm, accepting. And his.
He groaned as words failed, emotion overwhelming him—the need for her, to care for her. But also, for her to care back. He wanted it all back from her. Oh, now he felt it—the yawning need that had never before been realised, let alone exposed. So vulnerable.
He pulled her closer, buried his face in her warm soft skin, and gave in to it.
Afterwards her eyes remained firmly closed. Apparently she was asleep. He sat up, managed to hook one arm under her legs, while supporting her back with the other. He carried her to the comfort of a soft mattress and cotton coverings and space. To his bed, not hers. She didn’t open her eyes as he covered her and told her to sleep. But he knew she was awake. He could feel the aware tension emanating from her body. But there was no time left to call her on it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GABE sat in his hotel room in Sydney and ruefully laughed about the plans he’d made only a couple of weeks ago about coming here and having some seriously debauched nights on the town. Had he honestly thought he could sate his sexual appetite with a one-night stand? The idea of sex with a stranger left him cold—and flaccid. He pulled out his phone and went online. Pointless given she didn’t have any kind of a phone, let alone a computer. So he did a search to find clips from Blades’ shows. Naturally some fan had uploaded the Blades’ on-pitch performance from the first week. He watched it. Watched it again. After three replays knew exactly when each shot of Roxie was with her long, slender legs lifting and her hair wild and her cheeks flushed and her smile huge. Roxie dancing only moments after he’d been pawing her in the corridor. The sexiest woman ever.
Not so flaccid now.
He might have dated a couple of dancers before, but he’d never been reduced to watching vids of any woman over and over. He pushed the button so the screen went black. Lay back on his bed, the phone pressed to his chest. He hated that she’d not said a word this morning. That she’d used him. He had more to offer her than that and he wanted her to realise it, want it, accept it. Only now distance brought doubts. Had he imagined the warmth and caring in her return embrace? He needed to know her emotions were as entangled as his.
He sat up, frustrated with his impotence. Surely there was something he could do? He glanced at the phone in his hand and smiled at the obvious. He scooped up his wallet and hotel keycard, thankful that the shops in this city were open all hours.
Roxie worked late at the shop, avoiding the emptiness back at the Treehouse. She knew the science of it. The way humans were programmed to respond to a prospective mate. Women the world over—regardless of their culture or background—displayed the same available signals to the potential male—innate, instinctive, unstoppable. So why wasn’t she having any of those normal responses to any of those other guys? There were a ton of them in that stadium, several were gorgeous, certainly virile and fit. Couldn’t get fitter. And yet there was none of that softening deep inside; she didn’t catch herself giving any a second look. Hadn’t been compelled to. Not that she’d been compelled to with Gabe. He’d been the right guy in the right place at the right time, that was all. There was nothing any more special about him than anyone else. Right?
But then there’d been this morning. And there’d been nothing scientific about this morning. It had been all terrifying, out-of-control magic.
So she was relieved he’d gone away. She had time to remember her goals for her future—to travel and be independent. A free spirit with an unencumbered heart.
Finally she walked home, bypassing the heavy machinery that had trucked into the street some time during the day—diggers making mud and noise as they replaced broken waste water pipes. She understood the need, since the earthquakes that had decimated so much of the city, the repair and renewal work had been intense. She’d got off relatively lightly—her home mostly okay, her workplace mostly okay, so she wasn’t going to complain about the roadworks now.
She went through the garage, planning to go straight upstairs, except she was drawn to the Treehouse. It looked sad somehow, as if it knew it was empty. Even the windows seemed sad. Then she realised that was because the one at the front was on a lean—sagging towards the tree. She put her head on an angle; it didn’t help. She reached for her keys and opened up. Walked into the main room, to that window nearest the tree. Three quarters of the way there, the floor creaked alarmingly. She could see the tipping angle of the floor with h
er bare eyes. Under her weight it actually sagged an inch more.
She jumped back to a more secure part of the room. Oh, that could not be good. She raced outside again. She didn’t need a spirit level to be certain that corner of the house had sunk. She couldn’t believe it—not when it had survived all those earthquakes. Why was it crumbling now?
She looked up at the three-quarter-century-old branches and then down at the roots. She didn’t know how bad it was yet, but she already knew she didn’t have the money to fix it. She went back to the gift shop and called an engineering firm. They sent an engineer first thing next morning. She stood beside him, trying to keep a grip as he did his assessment. The foundations had gone. The tree roots had rotted, causing a giant hole beneath the house. It was possible the vibrations caused by the heavy machinery out on the road had exacerbated the rapid sink, but it would have happened soon anyway. And if it wasn’t fixed, the whole house could come crashing down.
Roxie looked up at the branches—the thing that gave the house its beauty, its point of uniqueness, was the thing that would ultimately cause its destruction.
The engineer apologised as he explained—especially when she asked how much repairs could cost. He promised to send another engineer for a second opinion, but for now he was classing it as unsafe—uninhabitable—until the remedial work was done. Roxie’s blood froze as she processed the info. Uninhabitable meant she’d lose Gabe as her tenant. Which meant she’d lose her income. The engineer left a brief report for her then and there. Black inked words leapt off the blinding white page—extensive, damage, cost …
Anger surged. She’d fought so long and still been defeated—in everything. She turned to the garden she’d tended for so long in the hope it could help her grandfather. But it had ultimately failed her too. The tall, fruitful plants mocked her, growing so strong when there was nothing left in her life. Furious, she lashed out with her bare hands. She tore the nearest tomato plant, swearing when the leaves ripped through her palms. She clawed until the whole thing was out, leaving a square of bare brown earth. She stopped, breathlessly stared at the small empty space that had been exposed.