Just My Luck (28 page)

At least it had stopped raining, which was fortunate, because a group of women had come out from the sheltering roof to stand in front of the building, and the visitors had stopped some meters away.

One of the women facing them stepped slightly forward and began a . . . not a song, exactly, more of a call. She continued the call, or chant, or whatever it was, for some minutes, moving her hands in accompaniment to the Maori words. When she finished, Liam’s mother stepped forward and performed her own call in return, then took a pace back into her group. Silence fell for a few moments, until the woman in front of the building performed one final brief call and motioned them inside.

“The karanga,” Liam told Kristen quietly. “Greeting us, welcoming us. Mum thanking her in return. And both of them clearing a pathway for our ancestors to meet as well.”

The group of visitors stopped beneath the overhang, and everyone bent down to remove their shoes before stepping inside, where rows of chairs with ribbons on the back were set up, looking like any wedding anywhere. But the surroundings, Kristen saw as she took her seat with the rest of the visitors on one side of the aisle, were unlike anything she’d ever seen.

The roof was supported by beams, a carved, stylized figure at the bottom of each. Jutting bellies and big heads, faces and thighs marked with traditional tattoos, long-fingered hands on bellies, oversized tongues displayed. Each beam painted above its supporting figure with curving designs in red, white, and black. The space between the beams paneled with flax woven into geometrical designs of white and brown, every panel boasting a different but harmonious pattern. Kristen’s aesthetic sense was at once stimulated and soothed by the beauty of the woven designs, the contrast between their elegant simplicity and the elaborate carvings and paintings, the harmony of it all. Men carved, women wove, Liam had told her, and both skills were valued and proudly displayed.

She was diverted from her study of her surroundings by several men standing and moving forward from each side of the aisle, facing each other at the front of the room. Several rounds of speeches followed, host first, then guest, followed by a second man from each side, then a third.

Kristen let the melodious language wash over her. More welcoming, she guessed, part of the protocol Liam had told her was always followed at the marae. She was beginning to realize that Maori could
talk.

And sing, because as soon as the speeches ended, the entire group burst into song, everyone on both sides of the aisle chiming in with full-throated enthusiasm and smiling faces. One song, then another, both seeming to be perfectly well known to all present, including young children. And sung so beautifully, even without accompaniment, Kristen got chills.

The second song ended, and Liam got up with the rest of the men on the guests’ side and lined up before moving forward, one at a time, to greet the man Kristen guessed was the host. Each man placed his left hand on the host’s shoulder, the host placing his own hand on his guest’s left shoulder, touched foreheads and noses twice, then moved on. Marika pulled Kristen up by the hand with a smile and stood with the other female guests, where they got in line behind the men to greet the host in their turn.

Kristen couldn’t help feeling a little shy and awkward doing her own hongi, wondering if it could really be all right for such an obvious outsider to participate, but was reassured when the host smiled at her in welcome.

“Just don’t head-butt him, and you’ll be right,” Liam had laughed when he was explaining the process to her. And practicing with her too, which had felt . . . good. His big hand on her shoulder, and having an excuse to put her hand on his shoulder at last too, to feel all that solid muscle under her palm. And to touch her face to his, even if what she had wanted was to kiss him. To keep holding him, and to feel him holding her too.

She pulled her mind back with an effort, took her seat again. And finally the welcoming was done, the tapu was removed, and the ceremony could begin.

There was none of the solemnity she’d expected. Instead, it was joyous, and fun, and warm, and . . . beautiful. A Christian service conducted by a minister, with a few songs thrown in just because, Liam had told her, Maori needed to sing.

Kristen found herself tearing up as the couple exchanged their vows, looking so happy to embark on their life together with their huge extended families around them. How would it feel, she wondered, to be surrounded by all that love and support?

She felt the familiar wrench of her heart at the memory of her own wedding, nobody but Hannah and Drew, her brother Matt there to represent her family. A winery wedding, the ceremony conducted beneath a rose arbor in a vineyard she’d never been to before, by a celebrant she’d never met before, in front of people who’d mostly meant nothing to her. A hundred or so of Marshall’s business contacts, with a few of her own friends sprinkled in. Marshall’s parents, his younger sister too, none of them seeming all that enthusiastic about her entry into their family. They must have known, she’d thought later, that there would be no point in getting attached, because it wasn’t going to last.

What she would have given, that day, to have been part of a family like this. To have had a father to walk her down the aisle, maybe cry a little at the thought of his baby girl growing up. A mother to help her get dressed, to reassure her. Parents and grandparents to tell her that they were proud of her, that they loved her. She’d had Hannah and Matt, and that was all. She’d thought she had Marshall too, but she’d been so wrong.

She reached for a tissue in her bag, wiped the tears away as the bride and groom walked down the aisle, husband and wife now, and the entire congregation began to sing a song she recognized.
Pokarekare Ana,
the most famous Maori love song, a song of the love of a man for a woman. A man who thought he could die if he wasn’t allowed to marry his beloved. A man who would love her forever. A man who would die for her.

Liam’s big hand, then, coming around hers as she continued to cry. Not demanding anything of her, just holding it. And it was as if all the strength and comfort she felt every time she was with him was passing from his hand into her own. As if he were holding her close, holding her tight, exactly the way he held her rope at the gym. Letting her know that he was there, that he had her. That he would never let her go. And that he would never, ever let her fall.

Self-Control: Sadly Overrated

Ally awoke early on Sunday morning, stole quietly out of the bedroom. Nate was still sleeping, but she was feeling so energized, she had to move. It had rained on and off all throughout the previous day, and she’d woken at night to hear more of it, drumming hard on the roof of the bach. Perfect weather to stay indoors and be Nate’s sex slave, she thought with a happy shiver of remembrance as she stepped off the porch and ran across the road to reach the break in the dunes that offered access to the beach on the other side.

Today, the clouds had parted, the sun was shining, even if not warmly, and she was on a kilometers-long, deserted stretch of beach, feeling like the only person in the world. She kicked off her jandals, chose a direction at random and began to walk. And when that wasn’t enough to release her fizzing spirits, began to run. The sand was firm under her feet near the edge of the surf, and when a lone wave came up higher on the beach, she didn’t run away from it. She embraced it, letting the cold water wash over her feet and ankles, glad she had worn her shorts so she was free to play.

She turned at last, began to run back the way she’d come. Still nobody else around, she saw with pleasure, none of the little town’s few hundred residents fancying an early-morning beach walk. She ran past the spot where she’d entered, then gradually slowed. Put her head back, into the wind. Listened to the pounding of the surf, stretched her arms wide, and twirled. Around and around, feeling six years old again, able to surrender herself completely to the magic of the moment.

She took a final spin and saw Nate coming through the break in the dunes towards her. She waved at him, an extravagant gesture, her arm sweeping above her head. Laughed out loud. Saw him start to jog towards her, the economy of motion, the controlled power, as always, impressing her. Thrilling her.

She wasn’t quite ready to give up on her outdoor fun, though. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to move. She started to run. But not towards him. That would be too easy. No, she ran away from him.

Faster and faster, loving the feeling of stretching out, skimming along the sand. And of teasing him, she realized as she looked back over her shoulder, saw that he was chasing her, gaining fast. She began to sprint, putting all her effort into it. Cast another quick glance back, and saw that he was closer still. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming hard. And still she ran, until she could hear his footfalls behind her.

One moment she was running. The next, she was off her feet, his arm around her waist. A few more slowing steps, and they were falling to the sand. She felt him twisting in midair to take the impact, the breath leaving her lungs with a
whoosh
all the same as they landed, rolled until he was on top of her, his arms still around her.

She was gasping from the effort of her sprint, the shock of the fall. And then his hands were around her head, his mouth was on hers, and he was stealing her breath entirely. Kissing her fiercely, the hunger in him like a tangible thing. He was at her mouth, her throat, and he was popping the button on the waistband of her shorts, yanking the zip down. Reaching inside then, his hand hard against her, and it was as if all the effort, all the excitement of her run, of the chase were here, at her core, because she was gasping for a different reason now. The heat rising higher and higher as he rubbed her, kissed her, bit her. Nothing gentle about it. This was pure physical, animal excitement, and it had her caught in its grasp. She was almost there already. And then she was crying out, her back arching as the delicious spasms overtook her.

He didn’t stop until the last shudder had left her. Then rolled again so she was lying on his chest, breathing hard against his neck.

“That’s what I do to girls who run away from me.” His voice sounded uneven, his breathing harsh. She could feel him against her, how much he wanted her, how much he needed her. And knew that he wasn’t going to do anything about it, not here. Because somebody might see them. Because he couldn’t let himself lose that last bit of control, couldn’t risk the exposure.

“That’s all?” she asked, doing her best to control her breathing. To sound disappointed. “When you went to all that effort to run me down and catch me?”

“What?” he asked, his gaze arrested on her face. “You want more? That wasn’t enough?”

“It was pretty good
,”
she hastened to assure him. “It was fine. It just wasn’t as much as . . . It wasn’t completely . . . exciting, was it?”

“It wasn’t exciting,” he said slowly, brows coming down in his intense, intimidating frown.

“Well, not quite what . . . But good,” she added hastily, trying to look reassuring. She put a hand on his arm. “It was very exciting. Forget I said anything.”

“Right,” he said grimly. Stood up, pulling her with him. Grabbed her around the hips and, in one quick, smooth movement, shoved his shoulder into her waist and lifted her, his arm firm around the sandy backs of her thighs. Then started back along the beach, moving fast.

Oh, yeah. This was it. The blood was rushing to her head, and she was bracing her hands against his back, holding on, feeling the sand there too. She could sense the purpose in every stride, and was shivering with it.

“Nate,” she managed to get out through the bumps as she bounced against him. “I didn’t mean anything. You don’t . . .”

“Be quiet. You want exciting? I’ll give you exciting.” They’d reached the break in the dunes now, and she spared a thought for her jandals, at the mercy of the tide, then decided to sacrifice them to the cause. Because Nate was crossing the road, pushing through the door of the little house, and dropping her on the bed.

“Get those clothes off,” he ordered, stripping off his own T-shirt, his shorts. She looked up at him. Raised her hands hesitantly to her own sweater, then stopped and bit her lip.

“Now. Move,” he told her. He was naked now, grabbing in the drawer for a condom, but still watching her as she scrambled to the other side of the bed, got to her feet.

“It’s not your day anymore,” she protested.

“Oh, it’s my day,” he assured her. “Take off your clothes.”

She kept her eyes on him as she reached slowly for the hem of her sweater and shirt, pulled them over her head, tossed them aside.

“The rest of it,” he said. “Now, Ally. You make me do it, you aren’t going to like it.”

Ooh. She was really scared now. She bit her lip again, looked up at him questioningly, then slowly unfastened her bra and let it drop, pulled her shorts and underwear all the way off.

He sat on the end of the bed. “Come here,” he ordered. And when she wasn’t moving fast enough for him, reached for her arm and pulled her the rest of the way. Pulled her down, all the way to her knees, grabbed her head in both hands. And at that moment, or long minutes later, when she was bent over the bed, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress, her arms shaking with the effort of holding herself up, hearing herself keening out the hard pleasure of it, she couldn’t have said, even teasingly, that it wasn’t exciting. Or that it wasn’t enough.

“Aw, geez,” he said when they were lying together on their backs, catching their breath. “What did I do?”

“You got everything awfully sandy, is what you did,” she said, brushing ineffectually at the duvet. “I’m going to have to take this outside and shake it out. And I need a shower.”

“Ally,” he said determinedly. “Don’t change the subject. I need to tell you that I’m sorry.”

She turned her head on the pillow to look at him. “Sorry? Why?”