One Tiny Miracle... (11 page)

‘Back to your old one?’

‘No.’ Instantly she shook her head. ‘To Melbourne Central…’

‘That’s my old stomping ground,’ Ben said.

‘It’s much closer to home than here. Anyway, I’m going to be head down finishing the emergency grad year and then I’m going to do as many shifts as I can and save…’

She looked so young sometimes—she
was
so young, Ben reminded himself. Only that wasn’t what he meant. She seemed so fey and carefree at times yet there was a deep streak to her that enthralled him—an inherent resilience that belied her apparent fragility at times.

And she’d clearly given this a lot of thought.

‘You say you’re getting on with your parents now?’

‘It’s a lot better than it was.’ She’d chosen the movie and popped it in. ‘I can’t imagine living at home again, though. I couldn’t wait to leave the first time!’ She rolled her eyes and added, ‘They’re really strict.’ She gave him a smile and this time sat on the same sofa as him. ‘There’ll be none of this…’

‘What?’

‘Sitting in the dark with a man, drinking wine!’

‘You’re twenty-four.’ Ben grinned. ‘And we’re watching a movie.’

‘I don’t care how old you are, young lady.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘When you’re under our roof, you live by our rules.’

‘You’re serious?’ he exclaimed, half horrified, half amused.

‘Absolutely. It will be even worse this time around, given…’ She nodded in the direction of upstairs.

‘She can’t hear you!’ Ben laughed.

‘I don’t care whether she can hear or not. I’ve told Mum and Dad that there’s to be no talk of “the mess I’ve got myself into” or “accidents” around her—that’s
my
only rule if I move home. I’ll put up with anything for a year if it gives her a better start, but I’ll tell her her story in my own way, in my own time.’

‘That’s fair enough.’

‘It’s not her fault I didn’t know her dad was married…’ She stopped talking then, thankful for the dark room, because her face was red suddenly, not from embarrassment but near tears. They sat in silence for a while—the words that had never been voiced by Ben hanging there between them…

‘How, Celeste?’ he finally asked. ‘How did you not know?’

‘I just didn’t.’

‘What about nights like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like this.’ Ben gestured at the simplicity of it all. ‘Did you never wonder why it was always at yours?’

‘He didn’t come to mine.’ Her voice was shrill. ‘We went out, we were dating…’

He didn’t get it, but it wasn’t his place to push it, he’d already crossed that line, so Ben chose to leave it, surprised when it was Celeste who broke the strained silence between them.

‘I shared with two other students. I knew what we were doing was wrong…’ She stopped again and was staring unseeingly at the television screen.

‘Wrong?’ Ben frowned. ‘I thought you didn’t know he was married?’

‘It’s more than that. I can’t tell anyone about Willow’s father…it would cause so much trouble.’

‘You can tell me,’ Ben said, because though he could sense her indecision, he also sensed her burden.

‘You won’t say anything to anyone?’

‘Never.’

‘Because gossip…’

‘I don’t gossip.’

She looked over to him, at those guarded, remote features that occasionally softened into tenderness—and right now she was the lucky recipient of that emotion. She saw the honesty and integrity there too and it made her shame burn harder, so much so that she couldn’t look him in the eyes as she shared her truth.

‘His name’s Dean. He was my lecturer at university.’ When Ben didn’t say anything, she wasn’t sure if he understood the problem. ‘It’s forbidden for a lecturer to have a relationship with a student…’

‘I know.’

‘It happens, though,’ she attempted to rationalise. ‘All the time. I mean, it’s between two consenting adults, and it’s a stupid rule really…’ He could see tears squeezing out of her eyes, and, as she always did, she closed them, trying to keep it all in.

‘Not that stupid a rule, perhaps,’ Celeste admitted. ‘He must choose his targets—I mean, he had his story all set up. He said he shared a house with another lecturer—that was why we couldn’t go back there—and as I was sharing with students, we always went out miles away. Of course, I assumed it was so that no one
from uni found out about us. He told me that once I’d qualified, that we could go more public…’

‘You never suspected?’ He still didn’t get it. Even if he and Celeste were only a little bit in each other’s lives, that much of each other they already knew.

‘I’d never really had a serious boyfriend,’ she revealed, giving a tight shrug. ‘Like I said, Mum and Dad were really strict, and when I left home, I didn’t go wild or anything. Really, I didn’t even know if we were going out at first, it was just a drink, or dinner…’ She was squirming with embarrassment now. ‘And we went to a hotel a couple of times…it should have been obvious to me,’ Celeste admitted. ‘I mean, he never answered his phone—it always went to voicemail.’

‘Oh?’ Ben frowned. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’

‘He never answered his phone when he was with me either.’

‘Okay…’ Ben said, not that he really understood it.

‘You’re too honest.’ Celeste managed a watery smile. ‘So am I, I guess, because I never assumed he was lying. He never answered his phone in case it was another of his women—or even his wife.’

‘How
did
you find out he was married?’

‘He was away one day, another lecturer came in—explaining that he was taking over because apparently Dean’s wife was ill…’

‘Oh, Celeste,’ Ben groaned softly.

The commercials for the film were over so she put her feet up on the table because that was what Ben was doing and took a sip of her wine and sat there, trying to
watch the film while remembering the hurt—the very real hurt—and the fear a few weeks later when she’d found out that she was having Dean’s baby.

It was a funny movie that she’d chosen, or it had been the first time she’d watched it—only it didn’t seem so funny now. Instead, it was a romantic comedy of errors that just made her feel like crying.

Ben was on the sofa next to her, big and solid and so reassuring.

And there was a picture of Jen by the television.

She couldn’t see the image, just the outline of the frame—but that made her feel like crying too.

As if the universe had got something terribly wrong, had tossed them all up in the air and they’d landed in the wrong places, the wrong rooms, with the wrong people.

Except she liked being here with him.

She needed a tissue, Celeste realised, had sniffed four times in the past fifteen seconds and it was getting embarrassing now, except she had to reach over him to get them, so she didn’t bother. ‘Here.’ He pulled a wad out of a box on the coffee table and Celeste managed a wry laugh.

‘Do you sit here crying at films often?’

‘Nope…’ Ben smiled at the image she conjured up. ‘Jen’s sister was over earlier.’

Oh, God!

She didn’t say it, but she flinched at her insensitivity. Wallowing in her own problems, he just seemed so together, it was so easy to forget all he’d been through. ‘Just for a quick hi, but she hadn’t seen the house.’

‘It must have been hard for you,’ she said.

‘Yes, it was,’ Ben admitted. ‘Thankfully I was called into work.’

‘Thank you.’ She stared over to him. ‘I mean, really, thank you for everything.’

‘I was glad to help.’

‘And I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’ Ben asked, but was just a touch uncomfortable as to how she might answer.

‘Because of how difficult things are between us…’

‘They’re not difficult,’ he lied.

‘Yes, they are,’ Celeste contradicted, ‘because I
want
to be friends with you, Ben, but I don’t know how to
be
one…’ He could see the tears rolling down her cheeks now. ‘And please don’t feel guilty when I tell you this, but it’s part of the reason I’m moving home too—maybe things will be easier, maybe we might even manage to be
friends.’

‘I don’t think so.’ His fingers wanted to touch her hair again, he wanted to hold her, to kiss her, but it would be too cruel to them both.

But then she looked at him, looked right at him, and said the words that sometimes he’d wished too, stuck her toe in that closing door and kept it wedged that little bit open.

‘I wish it could have been you. I wish Willow was yours.’

She meant it, she really meant it, and her nose was running because she meant it so much.

She wished it had been Ben, that he had been the one who’d made love to her.

Wished, wished, wished for so much more than the little they’d had.

‘It would never have been me,’ Ben said then. ‘Because I’d have taken so, so much more care of you than he did.’

He couldn’t stand that she was moving away, couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing her again, couldn’t stand not to touch her some more. ‘Come here.’ He pulled her at her wrist so she was right up against him and it was like climbing into his boat.

Sort of away from everything.

It was nice to have a cuddle with him while she cried—he was so big she
had
to lean against him, or she’d topple overboard! Nice when he hooked his arm around her and secured her there.

Just really, really nice.

It was for Ben too.

So rarely was he indulgent—but next week she was going somewhere she didn’t really want to go.

Leaving him somewhere he didn’t really want to be.

Tonight they were here.

And it was nice.

Nice to lie on the sofa with
her
.

Nice to hear her sobs recede and to feel her chest move as she laughed at the film.

It had been a hell of a day. Showing Abby and her husband Mick around the house, with Abby tearing up every five minutes, he’d even offered to take them out on the boat.

Except Abby looked too much like Jen and there would be three in the boat instead of four—so he’d been glad when he’d been called in to work.

It had just been one of those days, and it could have been one of those nights too.

Except Celeste was here and all it felt was right.

He was hovering on the edge of indecision, scared but almost ready to really make a new start.

A very new start.

Certain films shouldn’t be watched with a supposed friend who was actually a whole lot more.

They were watching a passionate on-screen kiss—and it seemed to go on a lot longer than Celeste remembered from the last time she had seen the film.

It was like the time when at fourteen she’d been watching a serious documentary with her parents and suddenly they had been watching full-on sex.

Just exquisitely uncomfortable—but for all sorts of different reasons tonight.

His hand was hovering over her stomach, but she was too near the edge of the sofa, needed a little shift, a little hoist from him to bring her closer, which he didn’t do, so Celeste wriggled back a bit.

Just a bit.

Ever the gentleman, he moved back a fraction and secured her, his hand on her stomach, and she felt like pulling up her knees, because she’d felt him touch her.

She couldn’t remember how to breathe, because there was this feather-light stroking from his fingers on her stomach, just these almost indistinguishable caresses and a slight irregularity to his breathing as they continued to watch the kissing on the screen.

‘When you move home….’ His voice was hesitant, slightly gruff. ‘Suppose we take things slowly…’ She could hardly breathe, hardly dared to hope, scared to move in case he stopped talking. ‘Suppose we go out…?’

‘I won’t have a babysitter—Mum only said she’d do it while I worked,’ she whispered back.

‘You could come here, we could have dinner, just start at the very beginning, get to know each other properly…’

‘And Willow?’ Her heart was in her mouth.

‘If we take it slowly enough, maybe…’ He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he offered so much more than he had sworn he ever would. ‘Maybe in time…’

He was offering her hope—offering
them
hope—that the impossible might just happen.

C
ELESTE
suddenly didn’t care about the film, she wanted to see him, so she wriggled around and his legs had to trap hers to stop her falling off the sofa. He could see her lovely eyes shining in the darkness and he wanted to protect her, even from herself, but, God, he also wanted to kiss her, to just dive straight into that pleasure, but he had to make it very clear too.

‘We’ll just take things slowly.’

‘I know.’

And then he could kiss her—properly this time—and she could kiss him too, a lovely slow kiss that wasn’t awkward, just took a little adjusting to, because she was lower than him and rather precariously balanced, so he pulled her in a bit so that her bare thigh had to be clamped by his denimed ones, and as his tongue slid into her mouth, as their lips pressed harder, if she wanted to stay on the sofa, her other leg had to wrap around his.

He smelt like Ben…like the kiss from the first time, except she felt sexy now rather than tired, she felt alive rather than weary, and she felt wanted rather than looked after.

It made her feel dizzy.

She was sucking on his bottom lip, her little hand on his broad back and with the roughness of his jeans in her groin.

‘Celeste…’ He pulled back a bit as she pressed hard into him. ‘I thought we were taking it slowly!’

‘Not with this part,’ she murmured.

Like teenagers, with no real intent, they kissed, except, unlike the rest of his body, his arm was going to sleep, so he pulled her onto her back and lay on top of her, his elbows sinking into the sofa as he kissed her deeply.

It
was
a kiss that was safe, because they weren’t going anywhere more serious at the moment. At some level they both knew that, but it had to be verbally confirmed.

‘We can’t,’ Ben said as her thigh slid between his legs and her hand slid up the back of his T-shirt, feeling the silk of his skin, the firmness of muscle, and she arched towards him. ‘I haven’t got anything.’

‘I know,’ she breathed. ‘But I had a coil inserted…’

‘No.’ He stopped then, because she was just too precious to risk it. ‘You’re not to rely on just that.’

‘So just kissing, then…’ Her mouth was on his, her body this writhing mass of want beneath his. It was already more than a kiss but, God, it felt nice.

‘I think we can manage a little more than that,’ he promised. His hand was creeping up her top now, her breast soft and warm beneath his fingers. This was
so
much more than a kiss as his fingers skilfully caressed her nipples.

She’d considered her breasts useless, shrunken little failures, having not been able to breastfeed Willow, but
now they swelled beneath his fingers, and the feel of his mouth and his tongue on them was sublime.

She was pressing into him, could feel his erection, and she wanted it closer…

‘Ben…’ she murmured softly. She could feel these little licks of pleasure in her stomach and it startled her, for he was turning her on her side, with nowhere to go except the back of the sofa and the gorgeous weight of Ben pinning her. Her hand crept to the front of his jeans; she felt the lovely solid length of him and heard him moan. ‘Ben…’ She didn’t know why she kept saying his name, but she couldn’t help it. Her fingers started working the heavy buckle of his belt, but his hand stopped her.

‘No, this is just for you,’ he said. He didn’t mean it in a martyred way, he was lost too, but somewhere inside he wanted her to know that it could be about her, that it could just be about this…

He was kissing her hard, this lovely wet kiss that was so deep she didn’t want to move or breathe again.

Was there any place nicer to be than on a sofa with her?

He was eighteen again—only it hadn’t been that good then.

He was peeling open the zipper of her shorts, wriggling them down over her bottom. As he pressed her body against his, his mouth was on her neck, kissing her, trying to remember not to leave any marks, because it was the last thing she needed with her mother. He was glad he didn’t have a condom in the house because he so badly wanted to dive into her. He was holding her hips now, guiding her along his hard length still safely under his jeans. He thought he might explode from the
delicious pressure building, but was determined that he wouldn’t—because even now it was still about her.

For Celeste was lost within herself, savouring and catching up on everything she’d ever missed—those little licks of pleasure inside her were building to a crescendo. She could hear humming, and realised it was her; she was humming as she coiled her legs around him, coming just to his kiss, coming just for Ben.

‘Willow…’ she gasped, feeling as if she’d been drinking as the piercing tone of her baby’s cries brought her back down to a rather nice place. His kiss welcomed her back slowly as she worked out that she could, in fact, breathe, and then on wobbly legs and dishevelled she stood there in front of him, hauling her shorts back up her legs, more than a little embarrassed but at the same time not.

Then she gave him that wonderful smile and he smiled back and she decided that even if that embrace was all it could be for now—it was more than enough.

Quite simply it was the nicest thing that had happened to her.

Ben had never expected to feel again.

Over the years he had tried and over the past few weeks he had resisted, but feelings didn’t listen to logic.

Finally, he was starting to believe.

There were two glasses on the draining board, her footsteps were on the stairs as she came back down from soothing Willow and there was this delicious presence that filled each room. For the first time in years he was glimpsing a future—not in bricks or gardens, or hours filled with work, but hours and—later on—nights with her.

Maybe he
could
get used to this.

‘Hey!’ She was standing at the kitchen, hands behind her back, her dark brown hair black in the low living-room light. Her eyes were glittering and she was wearing a provocative smile that demanded caution.

‘How’s Willow?’ he asked.

‘Asleep again,’ Celeste said. ‘How are you?’

‘Good,’ Ben said, because he was. Having Celeste here was making him feel wonderful.

God, she was gorgeous, standing there just smiling, her cheeks all flushed, eyes glittering, the top button of her shorts undone.

He was hard again so he turned away, made a big show of washing the two glasses, just to give himself time to recover.

She walked over and kissed him on the lips and he kissed her back, his arms wrapping around her, wet, soapy hands holding her, but she didn’t hold him back, she just kissed him.

‘Which hand?’ She pulled her lips away and smiled up at him wickedly.

He frowned. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Which hand?’ she repeated.

He was smiling and frowning simultaneously. He was beginning to get a hint of an idea as to where this might be leading, but he dismissed it, because he’d determinedly discounted it.

‘Left or right?’ Celeste prompted.

‘Left.’

She pulled her hand from behind her back, and offered it to him but didn’t reveal what was in it. ‘Open it.’

Ben prised open her fingers and saw the little silver package, the key to heaven, and he was
so
tempted to reach out and take it.

‘Celeste…’

‘Before you say anything…’ she laughed ‘…I didn’t even know that I had them—I got a free bag of samples from the hospital, and I was looking for some nappy cream for Willow…’ She didn’t have to explain any more, so he smiled and interrupted her, reaching for her other hand and opening it to reveal the same contents.

‘That’s cheating,’ Ben said.

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t lose.’

‘Maybe you deserve to win.’

God, since Jen had died, sex had been just that—sex. Good, bad or indifferent, that was all it had ever been.

But with Celeste?

He stared into those amber eyes, his body charged with the memory of before and the possibility of after, her kiss still wet on his lips.

‘I don’t want to rush you,’ he said gruffly.

‘I
want
you to rush me,’ she murmured back. How could she explain how different he made her feel? Sex had been a mystery for Celeste before Dean, yet how it had been for them was completely different from what she’d so far experienced with Ben. For her and Dean it had been a logical, preconceived act. Booking into a hotel on a Friday night, she had prepared for the occasion all week, nervousness mounting like the waxing moon and disappointment waning after the event.

But tonight, pressed into him, kissing him, ignoring
the film like two teenagers necking in a cinema, it had been the closest she had ever come to her body—to the bliss of a kiss and the intimacy of two people blocking out the world and letting someone else in.

It was neither logical nor preconceived.

And she certainly wasn’t smooth and spraytanned!

But all it felt was right.

‘You know I’m moving back home, Ben, so we won’t be able to see each other that much, but just for tonight…’

‘Are you sure?’

She was about to say something flip, but she stopped, looked into those lovely green eyes and there was no question—this was how it should have been, this was what it was all about, because this was Ben, and always, always, she’d wanted him. Now, finally, she could have him. That he wanted to forge some kind of a future with her—however that might turn out—just blew her mind.

‘Absolutely,’ Celeste said. ‘Except…’ She screwed her eyes closed.

‘Say it,’ he urged.

‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’

“You could
never
disappoint me,’ he said emphatically.

‘Oh.’ She gave a very wry laugh. ‘I might just surprise you.’

A mother she may be but she had little more sexual experience than an amoeba—and most of that had been gained tonight in Ben’s living room.

He kissed her to the bedroom and beyond—only that didn’t quell her nerves.

As Celeste dashed to the bathroom, Ben took a moment too…quickly turning over Jen’s photo.

Celeste stood in front of the mirror, talking to herself and berating her lack of preparation for what was about to happen. Her bikini line stopped at all stations and as thin as she might be, thanks to Willow, bits of her wobbled in a way they never had before. Even if Ben assured her that he wasn’t comparing her to his wife, Celeste was—imagining Jen’s perfect white sports bras versus her rather faded maternity one.

She sighed heavily, girded her loins and went back into the bedroom, to where Ben was waiting for her. She jangled with nerves and cellulite for every second of the disrobing, torn between shame and want, but then Ben started kissing her again, hands stroking her, seemingly not fazed at all by her post-pregnancy body.

Rather liking it, in fact, Celeste soon realised. So why waste two hands covering yourself when there was six feet three of male pressed against you?

‘We’ll take it really slow…’ he said, laying her down on the bed carefully. He lay down too, facing her, and then he kissed her. His legs without jeans were right up against hers—scratchy, big, muscly legs—and she was suddenly quivering with a mixture of excitement and fear, feeling as if she were about to turn over the page of an exam and hoping to hell she’d studied enough…

‘What are you scared of?’ he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered back, closing her eyes once again.

Ben hated the man who had taken her confidence even before it had had the chance to bloom. Hated her
self-doubts, but he had assurance enough for them both. But that she was scared of something so very, very wonderful saddened him too.

She was shaking with nerves as he took her in his arms. It felt so very different from before, because this time she knew where it was leading. He was so lovely to lie with, so big and male…and all hers. While they kissed she explored his body slowly, her hands running down his arms, feeling them solid and strong. Then she progressed to his chest—hard and flat and smooth. Her mouth moved there and she kissed the skin as his hands stroked and soothed her. Wrapped in this warm cocoon of skin and muscle and Ben, her hands slid over his hips and met solid thighs. She could feel him caressing her waist and over her hips, and it was Ben’s mouth exploring her now, kissing her pale breasts, one hand moving to the front and making tiny circles on her soft stomach. Had there been a muscle working there, maybe she’d have thought about it and held it in, but there wasn’t and anyway Celeste wasn’t really thinking, her throat too tight with nerves as his hand crept downwards. Then he was stroking her and she made little noises, pretending to like it, but was too embarrassed to really. He kissed her again, so she stopped making all the right noises and kissed him back, concentrating on that, and tried not to resist his fingers slipping deep inside her, as his thumb stroked her softly and rhythmically.

She suddenly couldn’t breathe, so she pulled in air and pulled it in again, and made the same sort of noise she’d been making before except now it came from a different place, this involuntary place that also made her
sigh and moan and forget everything except Ben and how he was making her feel.

She held a man in her hand for the first time, exploring him, feeling him slide beneath her fingers, just touching and exploring, delighted with what she found. Ben was patient till he couldn’t be patient any more. Her inexperience worried him, not for himself but for her—she was far too trusting and naïve—so he handed her the condom, which was something she should know how to do. But he ended up guiding her clumsy fingers as she rolled it down his length but, too eager, too nervous, she ripped it.

‘We’ve only got one more!’ she cried, embarrassed with her clumsiness. She wished he’d just do it for her, but Ben was insistent.

‘I’ll go to the petrol station if I have to and get some more if you rip this one,’ he growled. God, he hoped he didn’t have to! Practice may not make perfect, but a patient teacher helped and Celeste heard his moan of pleasure as she slipped it on slowly. Terrified of her nails, she unfurled it with her palms and then she was holding him lovingly for a moment, proud of her handiwork, as his fingers slipped deeper into her slippery warmth.