Only We Know (28 page)

He dropped his voice. ‘You'd get lost if you did.'

She was already lost. Lost in him, in how it felt to be with him. In his eyes and that voice and in who he was. She had no choice to make now. It had been made for her. She wanted this one night with Sam, wanted this accidental and mysterious connection between them to play out to its logical conclusion. This was what it was, something mysterious and accidental. And maybe, in that same mysterious and accidental way, that was why she'd met Sam in the first place. Tonight could be the real turning point of her life. What better way to wipe the slate clean than to have sex with a beautiful stranger? A kind stranger who kissed like a demon and melted her bones one by one. There was nothing wrong with letting that happen. They were adults. This could play out and then they could say goodbye and go home.

Couldn't they?

‘I know exactly where I am, Sam Hunter.'

‘Yeah?'

‘And I know exactly what I want to do.'

‘Good.' Sam stood, pulled her to standing. He lifted his hands and began stroking her hair, softly, gently. All around them it was quiet, as dark as pitch, private. The night air was frigid but neither of them wanted to go inside. Calla put her hands on his chest and an entirely new tension flickered to life in her stomach and lower, a glowing ember about to ignite. He cupped her cheeks and brought her closer until their lips were a sigh away from touching.

‘I want more than good, Sam Hunter,' she whispered into his mouth and she could swear he swallowed her breath.

‘Just you wait, baby,' he said as he nipped her bottom lip. ‘It'll be spectacular.'

CHAPTER

35

Sam's lips, cold in the night, burnt against hers, and Calla fell into his kiss and his power over her. She opened her mouth and their tongues met, fiercely and desperately. His hands tangled in her hair and she tugged at his jumper, pushing it up so she could feel his skin against her fingers. Smooth and hot, she slid her hands up his chest and around to his back, pressing her nails into him, clinging to him as their mouths and tongues danced. They kissed like teenagers, there on the veranda in the dark, not a sound in the night except the panting breath and moans of two people who really wanted to have sex.

But the kissing, oh the kissing. It was the best entrée to sex she'd ever had. When Calla came up for air, Sam searched her face. Her eyes, her lips, her neck where he'd nipped her. He traced a line from her ear down and around the curve of her left breast, to the hem of her jumper. And then his fingers were on her skin, searching upwards again, seeking, cupping her breast in his big, strong hand and rubbing a nipple with his thumb. His tongue danced with hers in rhythm with his fingers and Calla simmered despite the winter night. She dug her fingernails into his back, harder, and when he moved his hands lower, found the button on her jeans and undid it, she couldn't breathe. He slowly unzipped her, then slid a palm against her stomach, and then down inside her knickers.

‘Sam,' she whispered, half disbelief, half desperate agony.

‘Hold on,' he growled, as he held her in his left arm and sent her to heaven with his right. He pushed her backwards, pressed her against the wall, and she hoped like hell it would help hold her up. And then he was teasing through her curls and feeling her, caressing her clitoris with his skilful fingers, the pressure intensifying with every exhaled breath. With every stroke, he kissed her harder, inside her, around her, his tongue doing the same dance as his fingers, and she shimmered and tensed as the waves built and built, and when he set fire to her, Calla felt her legs buckle. She threw her arms around his shoulders, held on as she came with an electric shock and a cry at the back of her throat.

Then there was her panting breath and his voice, saying her name. ‘Calla …'

She was burning up despite the chill wind. He'd lit a fire in her that was still raging, squeezing the breath from her lungs, melting her bones.

‘You were right,' she said, her eyes squeezed shut. She was afraid to look at him, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. ‘That was spectacular.'

She felt for him, grabbed the belt loops on his jeans, pulled him against her. She wanted more, so much more. And she could feel that he was ready to give it to her.

‘I want you, Sam.'

‘You got me, baby.'

Sam took Calla's hand and pulled her through the house. He knew the way in the dark, past every other door, the bathroom, the laundry, and out the back to his old bedroom. He urged Calla inside and locked the door. Once he heard the familiar click, he took two steps and flicked on the bedside light.

‘The living room isn't safe. Charlie could go wandering. It's my old bedroom or my car.'

‘Here. Now,' she demanded.

‘Get naked then,' Sam said.

When Calla met his eyes and stripped off her clothes, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. He did the same, would have ripped off his jeans if he'd had to. She looked him up and down, reached out for him, spread her fingers over his pecs. Her fingers were like silk and he breathed deep, trying not to go too fast. But fuck, since the second she'd come against his fingers he'd been desperate to be inside her. He cupped her left breast, flicked her nipple with a thumb and it peaked again in a hot second. She reached up, ran a tongue over each of his nipples and then lifted her head, her gaze a challenge. When she wrapped her fingers around his cock, he groaned.

‘Condom?' she murmured.

‘Two seconds. If I can wait that fucking long.' He found one in his wallet and almost exploded when Calla rolled it on. When she was done, the backs of his calves hit the mattress. She pushed him, and then climbed on his lap, pressed her breasts into his chest, and crushed her lips against his. His hands were in her hair, urging her closer. She spread her legs wider, opened herself up to him and met his thrusts with her own until he slid inside her — and felt alive for the first time in so fucking long he couldn't remember. They found a rhythm, of bodies and tongues and lips and hands, and when he came, he called her name and forgot his own.

Afterwards, they lay skin to skin in the cool sheets and scratchy blankets. Sam was on his back, an arm around Calla, and she was curled up at his side, pressing a thigh against his very satisfied cock. She nuzzled into his neck, breathed against his skin. He didn't want to move for about a hundred years.

Calla pressed her lips to his neck. ‘You were right.'

‘I'm right about a lot of things. Which one are you talking about?'

She chuckled against his skin. ‘You
are
an arrogant arsehole.'

‘Hey, didn't I make sure you came first?' He chuckled, played with a nipple and loved the sound of her breath catching in her throat. That moaning thing she was doing was pretty fucking hot too.

Calla laughed and pressed her body closer. ‘And third.'

‘I told you it would be spectacular, Red.'

‘See? You're doing it again. It's all about you, you, you. My only problem is that …' Calla kissed his chest. ‘Damn you, Sam Hunter.' She pressed her lips to his neck. ‘You've got a lot to be arrogant about.'

‘I've never had any complaints.'

Calla jabbed a finger into his armpit and he squirmed, wrestled with her and pulled her on top of him.

‘This happen every time you meet a seasick woman on the ferry?' It was meant as a joke but he could see the doubt in her eyes.

‘Only the redheads.'

‘Didn't think you'd be so selective. You must have to beat women off with a stick, being so spectacular and everything.'

‘No comment.'

‘C'mon,' Calla teased. ‘The firefighter thing? Isn't it one of the perks of the job? Doesn't every woman love a man in uniform?'

Sam hesitated. She was right. He'd been offered sex in too many places to remember, by women whose faces he'd immediately forgotten. It came with the job, and if women wanted him to tick off a number on their bucket lists he'd always been happy to oblige. Some fun, no strings. He'd been a single man, after all, with no interest in getting tangled up in anything. No one got hurt. Everyone got their rocks off. What was the big deal?

‘You get turned on by a man in uniform?'

Calla splayed a hand between his pecs, teasing the dusting of hair on his chest. ‘I prefer a naked man, myself.'

‘Lucky I happen to have one right here.'

‘I noticed.' She moved her hips and he got hard again.

‘You're beautiful, Red.' He cupped her bum with his hands and pushed himself against her.

‘So are you.' He could feel Calla's smile in his chest.

He kissed her again. Harder this time.

‘This is your last night, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' she breathed. ‘Let's make some memories.'

Sam moved her, filled her with a thrust. ‘Who needs a fucking postcard?'

Later again, they lay entwined. Calla listened to the soft sounds of Sam's breathing as he slept next to her. She didn't want to fall asleep, didn't want this night to end.

Sam had promised that having sex with him would be spectacular. She bet he got a kick out of being right all the time. It had been spectacular. Incendiary. And it made her reflect sadly on her own experiences up to that point. Like what the hell she'd been missing.

There'd been messy and awkward teenage encounters and then some pretty good sex after that with boyfriends from uni. But all the time she'd been with Josh, it had been quick and empty. In his back seat in a remote car park in the Hills. Plenty of phone sex and furtive conversations by their cars before they both went home, he back to his wife and she back to her lonely house. Not once had they spent the night together. Not
once
in the two years they were involved had she been able to lie next to him in bed, wrapped around his naked body.

Meeting Sam might just have been about the best thing that could have happened to her. Something had awakened inside her, a spark of the old Calla, the honourable person she had been before she'd let her heart be used and crushed by a man who didn't deserve her.

In the rosy afterglow of spectacular Sam sex, she realised Josh had never looked her in the eye when they were fucking. He'd never given himself to her completely. He was a cheater. He had a foot in each camp and was on rocky ground in both. She'd been a willing party to a situation that had left her hurt and humiliated. She looked back on her behaviour with shame and mortification, at the realisation that she'd believed that's all she'd been worth. That that's all his wife had been worth.

Calla moved against Sam's strong arm and pulled the sheet and blankets up to her nose.

That was the difference with Sam. She felt as if she had all of him, even if it was only for one night.

CHAPTER

36

Calla woke the next morning shivering. It was cold enough in Sam's old bedroom that her breath clouded in front of her face like cigarette smoke. There was so little room in the bed that she was crushed up against Sam, had been forced to cling to him like a limpet to get any sleep. And she was still in the same position. One cheek against his shoulder. Her breasts squeezed into his back. Her thighs curved around his perfect arse. Her toes pressed against his calves.

Absolutely, positively the worst night of her life.

And there they were, still naked, still together. There were no regrets fogging her brain or her heart. She felt released, free. In the words of that song she used to love: man, she felt like a woman. A woman who'd had spectacular sex. And that feeling had been a long time coming. Sam had been the perfect antidote to her shitty love life. He kissed like a demon, looked at her like she was a supermodel, and fucked like an expert. All of that with no strings attached. He might well be the perfect man.

Absolutely, positively the best night of her life.

She relished the warmth of his body against hers; his smooth skin pulled tight over his muscled back and shoulders. She lifted her cheek, turned slightly and closed her eyes, pressed her lips against his shoulder blade. His skin was smooth and cool and tasted like salt and Sam. She wanted to remember every minute of this awakening. She wanted to remember what he tasted like, what he felt like, wanted to remember every minute of her night with him. Every inch. Every kiss. Every caress. The exact way she felt when she was close to him, when he was inside her. When he said her name in the dark, the way she swallowed the sound whole and kept it inside her like a precious breath. She listened to it over and over and over in her head.
Calla. Calla. Calla …

If she could remember every second, she would be able to carry those memories back to Adelaide, back to her ordinary life, when the magic of the island had worn off. When she had said goodbye to Sam.

Because she had to say goodbye to Sam. Sam the Spectacular had been a magical diversion on her island adventure. But there was nothing holding her there any more and it was time to go home. She'd done her best with Jem. The rental on her cabin was almost up. All the signs were there: it was really, finally, time to go home.

Sam moved in her arms. She could feel his shoulders rise and fall, and he reached for her hand, which was tucked under his arm, and kissed the back of it.

‘Good morning.' His voice was sleep-groggy and husky. It did mysterious things to her still taut and tingly insides. She pressed herself tighter against him in response.

‘Good morning,' she whispered.

‘I've been waiting for you to wake up.'

‘You have?' Please god make him be a morning-sex person. She kissed his shoulder, left her lips there against this warm skin.

‘Yeah. It's my back. I need to turn around.'

‘Oh.' Calla's heart plummeted. She whipped her hands away from his delicious body, scooted out of bed, scrabbled around on the floor for her clothes and began pulling them on. The single bed squeaked behind her and, when she turned, she saw Sam slowly repositioning himself, first onto his back and then on his side facing her. His face flared into a grimace as he sucked in a breath. He looked white and she felt terrible and guilty and sad all at once.