Читать книгу More Than One Night - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 9

RHYS SLIPPED HIS hand into hers and led her toward the next cab.

“Potts Point,” he said as he climbed into the backseat, pulling her behind him.

She wanted him to kiss her again very badly. Instead, he slid his arm around her and tugged her against his side.

“You smell good,” he said as the cab drove away from the curb.

“So do you.” She put her hand on his thigh, her belly tightening as she felt the firm muscle beneath her fingers. He had a beautiful body. She couldn’t wait to see it.

Rhys leaned close and started to kiss her neck, small, delicate caresses that made her limp with need. She let her head drop to the side and tried not to moan out loud.

She was aware that they’d arrived at their destination only when the taxi jerked to a halt. Rhys gave a surprised grunt and removed his arm from around her shoulders to pull his wallet from his back pocket.

“Keep the change,” he said as he handed the driver two twenties.

They slid out of the car.

“You realize you gave that guy an eighty percent tip, right?” she said.

“It was worth it.” He took her hand and led her toward the entrance of a modern apartment block. She felt light-headed with lust, all her thoughts concentrated on what was about to happen upstairs. In his bedroom.

His thumb brushed gentle circles inside her wrist as they rode to the sixth floor.

“This is me,” he said as he led her toward a nondescript gray door. He unlocked the door, flicking on a light as he led her inside.

“I’ve got beer or wine—”

Charlie pushed him against the wall and pressed her body to his. “I don’t want beer or wine.”

She kissed him, channeling years of frustrated desire into the meeting of their mouths and tongues. He responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding up her rib cage and onto her breasts. His thumbs found her nipples with unerring accuracy and she jerked her hips against his as he squeezed them gently.

“Man,” he muttered against her mouth.

She slid her hands onto his backside and urged his hips closer to hers, rubbing herself against his erection. He responded by pushing his hands beneath her top and cupping her bare breasts. He teased her mercilessly, to the point where she started to pant.

“Charlie, you are so damn hot,” he said, breaking their kiss to look into her face.

“I need to be naked.” She had no idea where the demand came from. She’d never been this sexually aggressive in her life, but there was something about this man…

“The feeling is totally mutual.”

He held her gaze as he slid a hand over the front of her trousers. She gave a small, needy whimper as he cupped her sex, his fingers pressing against the spot where she needed him the most.

“Are you ready for me, Charlie?” he asked, his voice very low.

She answered with her body, pressing herself forward, into his hand. She reached for the stud on his jeans at the same time, her fingers fumbling for the warm metal of his zipper. It gave readily and she felt him tense as she slid her hand into the opening she’d created. Her fingers found warm cotton over hard flesh. She gripped him firmly, stroking her hand along his length. He shuddered and closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds. When he opened them again his eyes blazed into hers.

“Let’s go.”

She removed her hand from his jeans as he pushed them both away from the wall. He led her into a darkened living room and up another hallway. She was too intent on the man walking ahead of her to pay much attention to her surroundings. As he entered what she assumed was the bedroom, she reached for the hem of her top and dragged it over her head. It hit the floor with a metallic hiss and Rhys turned to face her, his gaze dropping immediately to her naked breasts.

He mouthed a four-letter word, the appreciation in his eyes lifting her desire higher still.

“You’re going to have to help me with these stupid pants,” she said a she reached for the snap on her trousers.

“Those pants are not stupid. They’re a modern miracle,” he said as she lowered the zipper, revealing the plain black cotton panties she wore beneath.

She pushed her trousers down her legs and he helped her slide them past her knees.

“That’s better,” she said.

His gaze roamed her almost naked body. “It certainly is.”

Charlie had never had an easy relationship with her own body, but the way he looked at her made her feel like a goddess.

“Take your clothes off,” she said.

She moved to the bed, crawling onto the mattress before rolling onto her back and hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear. Her gaze locked with his, she slipped her panties down her legs.

“Man, you are killing me here, Charlie.” He fumbled with his shirt buttons, then simply grabbed either side and ripped before shrugging the shirt off to reveal a broad, well-muscled chest. She eyed him avidly as he pushed his jeans down, toeing off his shoes at the same time. His belly muscles rippled as he shucked his own underwear and her gaze gravitated to his erection. Hard and proud, the sight of it made her want to purr like a cat.

He smiled, obviously enjoying her unashamed inspection. He strode toward the bed. The mattress dipped, then the hard, hot weight of his body was pressing against hers and pure instinct took over.

He lowered his head, sucking one of her breasts into his mouth. She hooked a leg around his hips, sliding a hand onto his erection at the same time. She stroked him confidently, greedily, while he sucked and kissed and gently bit her breasts. Within minutes she was panting, losing her own rhythm, aware only of the need to have him inside her. Now.

“Rhys,” she breathed.

He lifted his head from her breasts and grinned. “Don’t tell me you can’t wait.”

“Rhys.” She tightened her grip on his shaft.

He leaned across to the nightstand and yanked open the drawer. She closed her eyes, barely holding it together as she heard the rustle of a foil package being opened. She opened them again as she felt him pressing against her entrance.

She held her breath, waiting for him to push inside her. Instead, Rhys looked deep into her eyes while one hand traveled down her belly to between her thighs. She lifted her hips reflexively as his fingers delved into her intimate folds. She knew he could feel how wet she was, how ready for him she was. His gaze grew hooded and a muscle in his jaw ticked. He stroked her, monitoring the small catches in her breathing and the way she moved her head on the bed and the way her body trembled beneath his.

Just when she was about to scream with frustration he flexed his hips and slid inside her. Her body welcomed him as he buried himself to the hilt. She let out a broken little sob, almost tearful over how good it felt to be filled by him, how hard and thick and hot he felt inside her.

He started to move, and within seconds she’d found his rhythm. Every clumsy sexual encounter she’d ever had, every second of self-consciousness over her body or her own needs, every doubt she’d ever experienced went out the window as she gave herself over to the moment.

There was only him and her and the place where their bodies were joined and the suck of his mouth at her breasts and the feel of his back and shoulders and chest beneath her hands and the steady, deep thrusting of his body inside hers. All too soon her body tightened toward release and she curled her fingers into his backside and shuddered beneath him. He pressed kisses to her forehead and cheeks and mouth and then slowed his pace and inserted a hand between them. She gave a little gasp of surprise when his thumb found her and he began to coax her toward a second climax. She was shuddering, legs wrapped around his hips, his name on her lips by the time she peaked again, and this time he went with her, his body tensing as he rode out his moment of release.

He collapsed onto the bed beside her, his face buried in the pillow. They were both breathing hard and she could feel her heart banging away like a trapped bird inside her chest.

She blinked at the darkened ceiling as she slowly came back to awareness. She could feel the coolness of sweat behind her knees and beneath her arms, could smell the musky, earthy scent of sex. Her legs felt shaky, and when she lifted a hand to push her hair from her face it was trembling.

Beside her, Rhys stirred. He lifted his face from the pillow. She was gratified to see he looked as blown away as she felt. For a long moment they simply stared at each other. Then his mouth curled into a smile, and before she knew it he was grinning and she was grinning back at him.

“I’m going to give that a nine,” he said.

“Only a nine?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I think we can do better.”

“Really?” She could hear the incredulity in her own voice.

“Yeah. Really.”

He trailed a finger down her chest and onto her left breast. Her nipple beaded to hardness long before his finger arrived there. This man turned her on so much that the mere thought of him touching her was enough to make her crazy.

He stroked her nipple gently, drawing small circles around it before pinching it lightly between thumb and forefinger. Charlie shifted restlessly as she felt the pull of desire between her thighs again.

She frowned. How was it possible to want a man again so quickly, especially when she’d come twice?

“Sixty seconds,” he said, rolling away from her.

He disappeared into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and returned well within his own deadline. He settled beside her, resting on his side. His gaze ran over her body.

“You were right. You’re definitely a woman out of uniform,” he said.

He surprised her into laughter. He glided a hand over her breasts and down her belly to her thighs. His fingers delved into her warm, slick heat and again she moved restlessly.

“Too soon?” he asked, even as he stroked her.

“N-no,” she breathed.

“Good.”

He took his time making love to her, caressing her until she was quivering and begging for him. When he did finally slide inside her, he worked her slowly and deeply and thoroughly, building her to a climax that had her arching off the bed, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He came not long afterward, and they lay panting, hearts racing. After a few minutes he went to the bathroom then came back to the bed and flicked off the bedside lamp.

“Give me an hour,” he murmured as he rolled onto his side and pulled her against his chest, her bottom tucked against his hips.

She was already mostly asleep. The last thought she had before she drifted off was that if the first day of the rest of her life was like this, then she was in for one hell of a ride.

CHARLIE WOKE with a start. For a long moment she had no idea where she was. Then it all came back to her—Café Sydney, lots of champagne, meeting Rhys, talking to Rhys, kissing Rhys. Finally, coming home with Rhys. Making love with Rhys. Again and again and again.

A headache accompanied her return to reality. She worked her tongue around her mouth. She needed water. In large quantities. And painkillers. And a trip to the bathroom wouldn’t be out of order, either.

A heavy arm lay across her belly. She lifted it gingerly, rolling from beneath it. She slid to the edge of the bed, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Rhys was still asleep.

He was, his dark lashes twin fans against his cheeks, his hair tousled.

It seemed impossible, but he was even more beautiful in the early-morning light than he’d appeared last night. His coloring, his bone structure, the rugged handsomeness of his face… And his body. She didn’t even know where to start with his body. She’d had two boyfriends who had been in the service, both of whom had done physical labor day in, day out. Neither of them had looked like Rhys. Through some accident of genetics and fate, he had the sort of body that exactly fit her notion of the masculine ideal. Broad shoulders. Defined chest, but not so much that he was in danger of having cleavage. Flat belly. Muscular thighs. Even his feet were perfect, long and sleek and strong.

She stood, putting a hand to her forehead as a wave of dizziness hit her. Moving slowly and quietly, she entered the en suite bathroom and eased the sliding door shut inch by silent inch. Once it was closed she made a beeline for the toilet. It was only when she’d taken care of business and was washing her hands at the vanity that she caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

And gasped with horror.

Her hair was matted to her head on one side, while the rest stuck up in a crazy haystack. All the makeup that Gina had so artistically applied last night had migrated down her face, leaving twin panda circles of kohl and shadow smeared around her eyes and on her cheeks. Her mouth looked red and puffy, the skin surrounding it red and irritated.

Her face pinched with dismay, she rubbed at the redness but only succeeded in making it appear even more irritated. It took her a moment to realize it must be whisker rash.

She had a similar rash on her breasts, as well as a small suck mark on the inner curve of her left breast. She ran the tap and used her fingers to try to comb her hair into submission. The only thing that seemed to work was weighing it down with water, so she kept patting her wet hands on her hair until it clung to her scalp in a sodden cap. She pumped liquid soap from the dispenser on the vanity into her hands and scrubbed her face clean, wincing when it stung her eyes.

When she’d finished, the woman in the mirror had been transformed from the slutty walking dead into a red-eyed, pale-faced drowned rat, about as far from the sultry vixen of last night as it was possible to get.

She mouthed a four-letter word. She looked terrible.

Really, really terrible. Without Gina’s clever makeup and saucy clothes, she was reduced to plain old Charlie—emphasis on the plain—and any minute now, the perfect god sprawled across the bed in the next room was going to wake up and she was going to have to watch the disappointment register on his face as he figured out who he’d really come home with last night.

She couldn’t do it.

Didn’t want to do it.

Last night had been one of the headiest experiences of her life. She’d felt sexy and confident and desired and bold. She didn’t want that memory tainted with the cold reality of today.

And she definitely didn’t want to hang around while Rhys said all the right things while ushering her toward the exit. The very thought made her stomach roll with nausea.

She moved to the door and opened it a crack. Rhys was still sleeping.

Thank. God.

She pushed the door open only enough to slip into the bedroom. Then she crouched down and started collecting her clothes.

She found her panties all rolled up in the corner, a darker shadow on the graphite-gray carpet. The mesh top was near the door, her satin pants at the foot of the bed, her purse next to the nightstand. For the life of her, she couldn’t find Gina’s stilettos, and she scurried around the bedroom on tiptoe, the bundle of clothes pressed to her chest as she searched for them. She was about to admit defeat when Rhys stirred. She froze in a half crouch, naked and utterly exposed, eyes riveted to his prone form.

Please, please, please, please, don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up.

He frowned, his mouth working. Then he pushed at the pillow before rolling onto his other side, his back to her.

She remained frozen for long seconds after he’d stopped moving, keen to ensure he really was still asleep. When his breathing evened out, her shoulders dropped with relief.

She turned toward the door and nearly stumbled over Gina’s shoes. Scooping them up, she stepped into the hallway and pulled the bedroom door shut behind her. She walked briskly into the living room and dropped her clothes onto a seen-better-days leather couch. Grabbing her panties from amongst the pile, she pulled them on, then reached for the trousers. Predictably, they fought her every inch of the way as she dragged them up her legs. She was almost sobbing with frustration by the time she’d yanked them over her hips, and she had to lie on the floor to get the fly zipped. She tugged the mesh halter over her head, grabbed her handbag and the shoes, and headed for the door.

She had her hand on the knob, ready to make her escape, when she remembered Rhys’s ruined shirt. Grinding her teeth at her own stupid conscience, she went back into the living room. A quick scan of the messy space located a memo pad by the phone. By some miracle a pen rested beside it and she scribbled a quick note.

Thanks for last night. I had a great time. Sorry about your shirt, and good luck with everything. Charlie

She reread it, displeased with the overly effusive tone. She tore the note free and crumbled it into a ball, stuffing it into her purse. She tried again but stalled halfway.

For God’s sake, what is wrong with you? You’re never going to see this man again. Write the note and get the hell out of here.

She scrawled a quick note. Then she pulled two fifty-dollar bills from her purse and left them and her missive on the coffee table. She had no idea how much a shirt cost these days, but if she gave him any more she wouldn’t have the taxi fare to get home. It would have to do.

Mission completed, she bolted for the door. Only when she was on the street, walking away from his building, did she allow herself to breathe easily.

It was cool this early in the morning and her wet hair didn’t help any. She leaned against a tree for balance while she tugged on her shoes, then wrapped her arms around herself as she walked slowly up the hill toward what looked like a coffee shop.

A woman walking her dog gave her a disdainful head to toe as they crossed paths. Charlie ducked her head and reached into her handbag for her phone. She dialed for a cab, only then realizing that she had no idea where she was. She asked the operator to wait while she walked to the nearest corner and found a street sign. Twenty minutes later she was in the back of a taxi that smelled of stale vomit and cigarette smoke, heading for Gina’s house in Balmain.

She felt as though she’d scaled Mount Everest by the time she paid the driver and climbed the two steps to Gina’s front door. Last night she’d had the good sense to take the key Gina had given her and she let herself in. Slipping her shoes off, she made her way to her room.

“Hey.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Gina standing in her bedroom doorway wearing a pair of shorty pajamas, knuckling her eyes blearily.

“Sorry. Did I wake you? I tried to be quiet,” Charlie said.

“No worries. You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Okay. Good. See you in the morning, then.”

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s morning already,” Charlie said, amused despite herself by her friend’s muzzy-headedness.

“See you in the afternoon, then. I plan on sleeping through my hangover so I don’t have to actually live through it.”

Waving goodbye, Gina shuffled into her room. Charlie shed her clothes and grabbed her towel, then went straight to the bathroom. Stepping beneath the shower, she leaned against the tiled wall and bowed her head, simply letting the water roll over her. After long minutes she stirred and soaped herself down. She felt infinitely better by the time she toweled herself dry.

Returning to her room, she dressed in the pajamas she’d purchased yesterday and pulled her laptop from her carry-on. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep but her head was whirling and she knew herself well enough to know sleep was out of the question. She opened up the folder for her first client, a boutique stationery business that had been set up by a former comrade in arms, and spent the next three hours refining her design concepts and building a template for the landing page.

She heard Gina stir at a certain point, and at midday there was a tap at her door.

“You awake?” Gina asked quietly.

“Yep.”

“Good.”

The door swung open to reveal Gina with a tray bearing two tall glasses of orange juice and a big pile of buttered toast with Vegemite. Her friend had wet hair from the shower and was wearing a pair of cotton pants and a tank top.

“Oh, hey, thanks,” Charlie said, touched by the thoughtfulness. She put her laptop to one side.

Gina set the tray in the middle of the bed, sitting cross-legged on the other side. “So?” she asked as she reached for the first piece of toast.

“So what?”

“So, did you have a good time? Is he going to call? Are you going to call him?”

Charlie shifted uncomfortably. This being her first one-night stand and therefore her first morning-after debrief, she wasn’t sure what the protocol was. She didn’t want to offend Gina by telling her to butt out, but she wasn’t about to spill the intimate details of what she’d shared with Rhys, either. It may have been a one-off, it may mean nothing in the larger scheme of her life, but right now it felt far too immediate and fresh for her to share with anyone else.

“It’s okay, I don’t want gory details,” Gina said, apparently reading her reluctance. “Just tell me if he passed the I-want-to-see-him-again test.”

“I’m not seeing him again,” Charlie said firmly.

Gina pulled a face. “Really? That bad, huh? And he looked so promising. Don’t tell me he was one of those good-looking guys who figures that all he has to do is lie there and be gorgeous and he’s done his bit?”

The need to correct Gina’s misinterpretation overrode Charlie’s natural modesty. “He didn’t just lie there. That part was… fine. But I realized this morning that there was no future in it, so I left.”

Gina paused, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. “The bastard. What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything. He was sleeping and I figured that I should probably get out of there before he woke up. So I did.” She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could as she reached for a piece of toast.

“Wha-huh? You left before he woke up? Am I getting this straight?”

Charlie chomped into her toast, eyeing her friend stubbornly. Gina’s eyebrows rose toward her hairline.

“Why would you do that if last night was fine? Don’t you want to see him again, see if it goes anywhere? You seemed really into him last night.”

“Last night was last night. This morning is this morning.”

“I don’t really know what that means.”

No way was Charlie about to give a blow-by-blow accounting of the reasoning behind her decision to flee. She knew Gina well enough to know that if she pointed out the fundamental disparity between godlike, perfect Rhys and plain-Jane her, her friend would spend the next hour trying to convince Charlie that she was beautiful and desirable and Rhys’s equal in every way. Last night, with the aid of good lighting, great makeup, a sexy wardrobe and generous quantities of alcohol, she’d allowed herself to be sucked into the same illusion. This morning, in the brutal light of a new day, she knew better.

“It’s really not a big deal. I had a nice time, it was what it was, and now it’s over,” she said firmly.

“So he’ll simply wake up and find you gone?”

“He’s going to wake up and heave a huge sigh of relief that I saved him an awkward morning-after conversation.”

“You don’t know that, Charlie.”

Charlie smiled grimly. She knew that, absolutely. She’d seen herself in the bathroom mirror. She knew how the world worked. She’d known how the world worked ever since Billy Hendricks had refused to go into the closet with her during a game of Spin the Bottle when she was thirteen years old.

“I was thinking that we could go car shopping today, if you’re up to it,” Charlie said. “Is there some area around here with lots of car yards?”

“I take it that’s your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Bingo.”

“Okay. All right. If you want to drop it, we’ll drop it. But I’d like it on the record that I think it’s a damn shame. He seemed like a decent guy and he was really into you.”

“Duly noted. So, tell me, who did you buy your car from? Should I go private or dealer? What do you think?”

This time Gina followed her lead, and by the time the plate of toast had been cleared, they’d formulated a plan of attack. Gina took the tray to the kitchen, while Charlie dressed. She spotted her borrowed clothes scrunched in the corner as she was about to exit the room and took the time to rescue them, smoothing the cool mesh of the top with her hand before folding the satin trousers neatly.

She felt an odd sense of… not quite regret, but something similar to it as she remembered those few heady hours when she’d felt amazing and invincible and glamorous.

It may have ended with a whimper, not a bang, but seeing how the other half lived had been fun while it lasted. But as she’d said to Gina, last night was last night, and today was today.

She set the clothes on the end of the bed, collected her handbag and headed for the door. She would get the outfit dry-cleaned on Monday, then she would hand back her borrowed plumage and get on with carving out a new life for herself. After all, she was a grown-up and a realist. She knew the score.

RHYS WOKE with the mother and father of all hangovers beating down a door in his brain. Rolling over in bed, he pressed his hands against his aching skull for long minutes before making his way to the en suite to stick his mouth beneath the tap. He gulped enough water to fill a wading pool then sluiced a couple of big handfuls over his face. It was only when he lifted his head to inspect his bleary-eyed reflection that he remembered he hadn’t come home alone last night.

“Charlie.”

He stepped into the bedroom. The bed was empty. Frowning, he grabbed a towel and slung it around his waist.

“Charlie?” he called, walking into the living area.

It was empty. Which meant she really had gone without waking him up to say goodbye or leave her number or anything. Unless she’d left him a note…

It only took him a few seconds to spot the piece of paper and the two fifties sitting on his coffee table. He crossed the room and collected the paper.

I had a nice time. I hope this covers a new shirt.

Thanks, Charlie

He read the note three times, but each time he reached the same conclusion: she’d blown him off.

After one of the hottest nights of his life, she’d sneaked away in the early hours and left him a hundred bucks to cover his shirt. As though he was some down-on-his-luck gigolo who needed a handout.

Wow.

He screwed the note into a tight little ball. He’d thought they’d had a good time last night. A great time. He’d thought they’d really connected.

Sure, he’d been a little worse for wear, but not so drunk that he was making things up. He could remember it all.

The interested, engaged light in her eyes.

The way she’d stroked the stem of her glass unconsciously as she talked to him.

The way she’d tasted.

The smooth, warm satin of her skin.

The needful, heated rush of making love to her.

Yet she’d simply rolled out of bed and out of his life without so much as a backward glance. And no, the money for the shirt didn’t count.

I had a nice time.

That was what she’d said. Nice. Was there a more lukewarm, halfhearted word in the English language? She might as well have patted him on the head and given him an elephant stamp for effort.

He strode into the kitchen and hit the button on his coffee machine. It would take at least forty minutes to warm up—the price he paid for his addiction to café-quality coffee—so he killed some time banging cupboards and drawers as he emptied the dishwasher. Then he stomped around a little more until his sense of humor reasserted itself.

Can you see yourself? You’re acting like an outraged virgin. What’s the big deal, anyway? You had sex and she left without turning it into a big production. You should be thanking her, buddy.

It was true. Except he didn’t feel grateful. He felt disappointed. As though he’d been promised something spectacular and special, and instead had been given a big fat raspberry. And it wasn’t just about the hot sex, either. Not entirely.

He liked her.

Yeah, well, get over it. You had a great time, she had a nice time. She’s gone, and life goes on.

Another undeniable truth. He was on a roll, apparently.

He stood in the middle of his living room, mulling it over. Then he shrugged. Charlie had made her decision when she’d left his apartment without leaving him some way of contacting her. Whether he liked it or not, messages didn’t come any clearer.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. Then he went to check on the coffee.