Only We Know (33 page)

Rowdy flicked on the kettle. ‘Oh, c'mon. I could fade away from hunger. I mean, look at me.'

Sam didn't turn his head. Rowdy's idea of fun was a ten-kilometre run followed by a swim between the Henley and Grange jetties.

‘What's with the phone?' his mate asked. ‘You hanging on a booty call?'

Sam shot him another finger.

‘You? And a woman? You're kidding?'

Sam sipped his coffee. Damn it. He'd been staring at it so long it was stone-cold. And stone-cold coffee reminded him of Calla.

Rowdy studied his friend. ‘You getting laid? This is news.'

Sam sat silently.

‘Not going well, huh? A cat lady? A nutbag? A princess? A good one who got away?'

Sam lifted his head to shoot Rowdy a sullen glare.

‘Oh, shit. A good one who got away. That's the worst kind.'

The kettle whistled and Rowdy made himself a black coffee, shooting the shit the whole time. ‘You poor bastard. A blonde?'

Sam shook his head.

‘A brunette? I know you've got a thing for brunettes with big—'

‘Nope, not a brunette.'

Rowdy broke into a grin, planted a palm against his heart with a dramatic flourish. ‘The Holy Grail.'

Sam couldn't stop the grin. How had that happened? He'd barely said a word and Rowdy had figured out the whole story. Well, the headline at least.

‘Yeah, a redhead. With long legs.' There weren't enough words to describe Calla Maloney. He thought about her. She had a smile that made you forget your name. She could taunt you in a way that made you want to laugh and then tease her right back. She had a fierce loyalty that didn't waver, even in the face of anger and hurt and rejection. She had a way with Charlie that was completely unexpected and warm and kind. And she seemed to love everything about KI.

There were other things about her too. The way he felt when he held her, stroked her silky hair and caressed her soft skin. The way she'd whispered his name when they were making love; the way she held him all night and had still been there, spooned up against him, in the morning. It'd been worth every ache in his sore back to feel her there.

Rowdy drank his coffee down in a quick gulp. ‘You're off shift. You don't have to be back here for twelve hours. What are you waiting for?'

That was a good question.

Sam pushed back his chair and walked to the dishwasher, jammed his coffee cup in on the crowded top shelf. Then he walked to the doorway.

‘Hey,' Rowdy called after him. ‘I'm happy to be best man at your wedding. Again.'

Sam shook his head and laughed.

He had somewhere to be.

CHAPTER

41

When Calla opened her front door, a full-gushing fire hose couldn't have knocked the smile from his face.

‘Oh. Hello.'

God, it had been too long since he'd seen her. He took two steps and planted his lips on hers, bending her backwards. Her mouth had never felt so soft or so sweet. He would have lifted her off her feet if his hands hadn't been full of flowers and wine.

She pulled back. It wasn't welcome. Shit.

‘What are you doing here?' she asked and there was a nervous hitch in her voice.

‘You didn't get my text?'

Calla shook her head, swept the curls off her forehead. ‘No, I've had the music up really loud and I can't have my phone around me when I'm painting. I'd probably drop it in the tin.' She was wearing a plain white shirt, and it must have been missing a button or two because he got a good look down her cleavage where it gaped open. The sleeves were bunched up her forearms and it and the old jeans she was wearing were splattered in a rainbow of colours. Her curls were pulled up in a messy pony-tail on the top of her head. Her freckles were uncovered by make-up, her pale lips natural.

‘You're painting? That's great.'

She blushed. ‘Oh no, not that kind of painting. I'm changing the colour on the walls in my spare room.'

Sam handed her the gifts. ‘These are for you.'

Calla wiped her hands on her shirt, took them in her arms. ‘They're lovely. And wine.'

‘I know you like wine.'

‘Er … yes, I do.' There was a split second of hesitation that Sam noticed but didn't want to see. ‘Come in.'

He closed the door behind him and followed her inside. It was a nice place. An old stone single-fronted cottage in Adelaide's west, about half an hour from where he lived across town. There was a hallway down the left side, with a carpet runner on the floorboards, and two rooms off to the right. He could smell paint and a quick look inside the second room revealed plastic drop sheets and a ladder. At the end of the hallway, the house widened to an open-plan living area with two sofas around a TV and a small, neat kitchen. Big windows overlooked the backyard and the sun shone into the house.

Calla unwrapped the flowers, sniffed them, and slipped the stems into a vase. She carried it carefully and placed it in the middle of the dining-room table, checking to see if it was centred. She looked so at home in her place. He realised it was really
her
. A riot of colour, from the paintings hanging on the walls to the cushions on the sofas. The rugs on the wooden floor were colourfully striped too, and yet the place didn't feel like a bombardment of noise. It felt peaceful. Quiet. A haven. He was crazily proud of the colourful bouquet he'd chosen. He'd figured that plain white roses wouldn't suit her. His choice of orange and yellow blooms had been just right.

Calla turned to him with a jittery smile. ‘Thanks for the flowers. They really are beautiful.'

It hit Sam like a fire flash. Nothing would ever be as beautiful as Calla. No view. No spray of flowers. No sunset. No meal or bottle of wine. No other woman.

He went to her, lifted her off her feet, crushed her against him and, judging by the way she gasped, he might have squeezed the air out of her lungs.

She looked at him with wide, confused eyes. ‘What are you doing?'

‘I've missed your mouth and I'm going to kiss you.'

Her lips parted and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She didn't blink but stared at him. And then he kissed her, fierce, hot, filled with all the loneliness he'd felt being away from her. She tasted sweet as a summer day. Her body was lush in his arms and her fingers were hot on the back of his neck.

‘Where's your bedroom?' he murmured into her throat, nipping the sweet nape.

‘Not a good idea,' she whispered. A hand teased through his hair.

‘If you want me to stop, I'll put you down right now. But I want to fuck you, Red. I've missed you and I want you.'

She sighed. ‘Well, when you put it like that …'

‘The bedroom?'

‘Second on the left.'

Sam strode up the hallway, pushed the bedroom door open gently with her body. All the while, Calla had her hands in his hair, her lips on his mouth, was kissing him and nibbling his bottom lip. He lowered her to the edge of the bed and she fell backwards. He stripped off his jumper with a quick flick over his head and then his jeans were crumpled on the floor. He climbed over her, tore the buttons of her art smock open and pulled up the skimpy singlet she was wearing underneath. He couldn't see a bra, just two hard nipples. He took one in his mouth, laved it with his tongue, sucked it into his mouth and watched her shimmer and arch her back. That's what he'd missed. The way her body reacted to his: intuitive, primal. They didn't have to think, didn't have to intellectualise anything about the way their bodies fitted together and pleasured each other.

‘Sam,' she moaned. He performed an encore on her other breast and then she bucked him off, pulling at her old jeans and knickers, shucking off her clothes, and then they were skin to skin, mouth to mouth, breath to breath. He was hard already and she pulled him closer. When he was safely protected, he pushed into her and, fuck it, she opened for him. She was hot and ready and he was at home, safe. He came in a rush of wanting and needing, and her name fell from his lips again and again as he rode the wave.

When he opened his eyes, her shining eyes were looking into his. Was he the luckiest man on earth?

‘
You
are spectacular,' he said.

She moved under him and, still inside her, he felt her clench and tighten her hold on him.
Don't worry, Red. I'm not going anywhere.

‘This sort of thing doesn't usually happen when a man comes to call in the morning,' she said, running her tongue over her top lip, slowly, from right to left.

‘You just haven't met the right man.'

Sam rolled off her and they lay side by side, flat on their backs. He propped a hand behind his head and Calla moved closer, resting a hand on his thigh.

Sam looked around the room. It was clean and simple, plain walls with framed paintings, drawings and sketches everywhere.

‘Are these all yours?'

‘Yeah.'

‘They're incredible. Not that I know much about art. But they're amazing.'

‘If you knew anything about art you wouldn't think they were so amazing.'

‘Where'd that come from?' He'd seen Calla doubt herself before. He'd met the glass-half-empty girl and had thought she'd put all that behind her. Where had this sudden jolt to her confidence come from?

‘They're not very good. But I went to all the trouble to have them framed so I have to hang them somewhere.'

‘Don't you have exhibitions and sell them?'

He could feel her stiffen in his embrace.

‘God, no.'

He moved his arm from under his head and reached around her shoulder, pulling her closer. He liked her bedroom. You could fade away in the middle of all the colours, in the crisp sheets, with a woman like Calla in your arms.

‘You been here long?'

‘A year and a bit.' Sam looked around. After the chaos of her family, he could understand why she'd want a haven of her own. A peaceful place with no fighting or hurt seeping out of the walls to poison the atmosphere and the minds of children.

‘That was a good decision. It's nice to have a stake in something,' he said. ‘Gives you some security.'

‘That's what I like about having a place of my own. I've just realised I've never asked you where you live,' Calla said and, as she spoke softly, she traced a finger across his chest, from one nipple to the other, in and out the dips of his pecs. ‘It didn't seem important when we were on the island.'

‘On the other side of the city. Not far.'

‘When did you get back?'

‘What's today?'

‘Monday.'

‘I got back yesterday and went straight on to a night shift. Or I would have been here earlier.' Sam kissed her forehead.

‘Did you bring my things from the cabin?'

‘Shit. Yeah. I got distracted when you answered the door. It's all in the back of my car.'

‘Thanks,' she murmured. When she pressed her lips to his chest, Sam forgot what the hell he was going to say next. Calla was probably thinking he'd lost the plot. If she was, she'd be right. It was too nice, this leisurely post-sex haze they were in. They didn't have to be anywhere on this sunny Monday morning. Everyone else in the world was going about their business while they lay dreamily, happily, lazily, in each other's arms.

‘When do you go back to work?' Sam asked sleepily.

‘One week today.' Calla lifted her eyes to meet his. ‘Do you have to work again tonight?'

‘Yep.'

‘That must be tiring. Working shifts.'

He shrugged. ‘You get used to it.'

‘I guess you do.'

‘I can be ready to go at all hours of the day or night.'

‘Oh, really?' Calla murmured with a tease.

For fuck's sake.
This small talk was driving Sam crazy. Why couldn't he just say what he'd come there to say? He turned on his side to face her. ‘Listen, I came here to say something, not just to have sex with you. The flowers, the wine. They're my way of saying thank you.'

‘I thought the sex was a thank you.'

He grinned. ‘Well, that too. But I wanted to say something about Charlie, how you helped me with him.'

Calla looked at him with a question. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

‘You said something to me the other day on the phone. About Charlie. And it helped.'

One mention of the old man and her eyes lit up. That set off a small fire in Sam's gut.

‘How is he? Did you have the big talk with him? How'd it go?'

‘Yeah, I did. That thing you said, about listening to what he wants? You were right. Although I had to sit through the whole story again of how he met Mum—'

‘The bikini and the broken dance floor?' There was the killer smile he'd been waiting to see. It hit him like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. Calla turned on her pillow and laughed. The light streamed through the front window and lit up her hair, so red and magnificent against the white pillow.

Sam chuckled. ‘Yeah, that. We came to a mutual understanding. I won't hassle the crap out of him about selling Roo's Rest and he won't get pissed off at me any more for worrying about him.'

Calla spluttered and covered her mouth with a hand. ‘Oh no. He got his own way, didn't he?'

‘Of course he did. And because I listened to you, and then actually listened to him, he finally told me the truth about why he doesn't want to sell.'

‘He did?'

‘It's my insurance policy, apparently, in case I ever have to leave the fire service.'

‘Oh, thank god.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘He told me. That day we went to Hidden Bay to see Jem and you got the call from Ben when we were at … Vivian Bay?'

‘Vivonne Bay.'

‘When we got to the pub, and I took Charlie outside to wait for you, he begged me to convince you to keep the place.'