Authors: Nicola Graham
Matthew extends his hand again. I feel myself cave in, and I know he’s right. Twelve hours is all we have left together. Do I want to behave this way? I reach out and take his hand as relief washes over his face. We start walking together toward the first class lounge.
“Thank you,” he says, lifting my hand to his lips and deeply kissing the inside of my palm.
I am thankful that the first class lounge is quiet, with only a couple of people relaxing. Matthew and I find an empty seating area in a private corner and sit together on a comfortable couch. I slide up next to him and his arm pulls me closer. I lay my head against his chest. I close my eyes and breathe him in, allowing his scent to fill my lungs and sink into every corner of my body.
“My wife doesn’t wear perfume, Kate.” He breaks the silence, speaking softly. “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“Your mistress, then?” I say, teasing. “Why would you buy two, Matthew?”
“For me, Kate. I purchased one for me. I can keep it tucked away at my office, and every time I smell it I’ll think of you.”
I’m speechless; that thought had not entered my head. I wouldn’t take back the past two days for anything in the world, but I’m beginning to wonder how I’m going to survive without him.
“What are we going to do, Matthew?”
“Kate, you already know the answer to that. You have Allie, and I have Emma and Rosie. My girls are my world. I will always stay in Australia; I won’t leave them, just like you won’t leave Allie and California. We’ve had a once in a lifetime chance to be together again. I can’t explain it, Kate, but we were meant to be here, to share something beautiful. No one can ever take that away from us, and we don’t have to share it with anyone. We’ve finally been able to lay those bad memories to rest, heal those wounds from so long ago, and find answers to
those questions. We can move on now, knowing we loved each other, that we still love each other.”
I weep silently as I listen to Matthew, my head resting against his chest. I feel his calm and steady breathing. Each word echoes within him, as if he is making sure I understand.
“I’ll wake up every day knowing that on the other side of the Pacific, you’re going to bed thinking of me. I’ll know that every time you touch your tattoo, you’ll think of me, and when you smell this perfume, you’ll think of me, and I of you. For whatever reason, we’re not destined to be together in this lifetime. Perhaps in another one, we’ll find each other and reunite. Maybe we’ve lived many lifetimes together, Kate, your soul and my soul.”
He goes on, “We’re going to spend the next twelve hours filling ourselves completely with one another to make it bearable to part in Los Angeles and walk away without any regrets. We can’t exchange emails or phone numbers; we’re not going to make our lives complicated. I don’t have any social media accounts, and I don’t plan to. I promise not to compromise your life, and hope you’ll have the same respect for me. You have a good husband, and I have a good wife. We both have good lives, and we love our spouses. ”
“Yes,” I numbly agree. “Do you feel guilty?”
“Never, Kate.” I feel his lips kiss the top of my head. “What I feel is immense love in my heart for you. There is no room for me to feel anything else.”
“What if circumstances change?” I ask.
“What do you mean, change?”
“I don’t know. What if something happens? Shouldn’t we have some kind of plan if something
significant happens? You know, for in the future, when the kids are older.” I try to clarify my thinking, hoping Matthew doesn’t think I’m planning to divorce my husband and show up in Australia. “What if in ten, or even twenty years, we both find our marriages have fallen apart, and our kids have grown and moved away? What then?”
He hesitates, carefully choosing his response. “Fate, Kate, I leave it to fate. But … I suppose there will always be Terry and Diana. I promise I’ll remain in contact with Terry, and you will always be in contact with Diana. We can communicate through them in the event something major happens.”
“Agreed.” I am fairly satisfied with that.
“But only under extreme circumstances, Kate. As long as what we’ve shared is between the two of us, no one gets hurt, but the moment we involve others, people will get hurt, Kate. Innocent people get hurt, our children get hurt, and that damage is irreversible. I never want to be that dad, and I am pretty confident that you never want to be that mum.”
“Understood.” I surrender to his terms, knowing there is no other way.
Hurting Dave or Allie is not something I plan to do; neither of them deserves that. I don’t want Matthew to be in constant fear, looking over his shoulder, thinking I will show up and disrupt his life. Matthew’s right. He and I have righted a wrong, and we have brought closure for ourselves and managed to heal a wound in both of us that had dramatically affected our lives. We’ve written a new ending for our love story. How can we not find great happiness in that?
We’ll be able to move on from this and embrace the beauty of what we’ve discovered and what we’ve shared. In Los Angeles, we can go our separate ways and never look back. I have managed to survive most of my lifetime without Matthew, always assuming he never truly cared for me. Now, knowing that I have held his heart for all these years, that we share this incredible connection, surviving the future should be easy. I have Allie to think about; her happiness is my greatest concern, and she’ll be the one who will get me though this. I will not make the mistakes my parents made. Truth be told, even if Matthew wanted to be with me, I would not uproot Allie and move her away. I would never put a child through that experience, especially as a teenager.
As for Matthew, I understand how important his girls are; his own father abandoned him and his mother for another woman. It doesn’t matter if we are soul mates, his children’s happiness comes first, and he will not repeat his father’s mistakes. My soul is at peace, my heart overflowing with love for Matthew; there is no room for guilt or regret. It’s impossible to feel guilt when you believe you have done nothing wrong.
CHAPTER 20
Lovesong
I have a far greater understanding of Matthew’s reasoning about the plane seating when we board a couple of hours later and I catch sight of the first class area. Indeed, there are miniature cubicles zigzagged throughout the extravagant front area of the aircraft, perfect for travelers wishing to have some space and the luxury of lying down—alone. They are not designed for lovers, or romance, or even to be social. These personal pods are strictly designed for solitary personal space and function.
I am enormously relieved as I climb into my wide, plush, fully reclining leather seat in row seventeen. Matthew secures all our shopping bags and carry-on items in the overhead compartment and settles into his seat beside me, resting his hand on my thigh.
Leaning toward me, he reaches for my face,
turning my gaze his way, and whispers, “See? In first class, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” He pulls me to him, his lips close on top of mine in a gentle kiss. I close my eyes, savoring his taste. “And I wouldn’t be able to do this.” His hand slides farther up my thigh, his long, lean fingers disappearing into the gap between my legs. His shocking, brazen public show of affection causes me to ache for his touch, and I feel my cheeks burn as I pray no one sees.
“I do love to make you blush, Kate.” He smiles and places an innocent kiss on the tip of my nose.
I scout the area and realize no one is paying us any attention; Matthew’s assault on me has gone unnoticed. I grab the magazine from the seat pocket and start flipping through the pages, redirecting my thoughts, attempting to calm myself, trying to block out the man next to me who is driving me insane. Matthew extends his legs and continues to stare at me, a playful smile dancing across his lips. He looks very much like a man with a plan.
Dinner is served as soon as we reach our cruising altitude of 33,000 feet, followed by drink service. Then the cabin is cleared, the lights are dimmed, and most of the passengers settle down to watch movies. My eyes are growing heavy, a combination of four days of travel, very little sleep, and physical exertion. I rest my head against Matthew’s shoulder, pulling myself in as close as possible, my only obstruction the small table that divides our seats. Reclining my seat, I pull up my legs, tuck a thick purple blanket around me, and absorb the smell of him and the feel of the warmth radiating from his skin.
I open my eyes some time later to find Matthew working on his iPad, the overhead light shining
down on him like a spotlight from heaven. I am surprised to see glasses resting gently on the end of his nose, making him look mature and sophisticated. He rolls his index finger along the screen, obviously focused, deep in concentration. He appears to be working on a design of some kind, drawing with his fingertip. I watch quietly, fascinated, not wishing to disturb him.
Somehow sensing that I am awake, Matthew turns toward me. He removes his glasses and sets them on his tray table in a fluid motion. His lips come toward me, covering mine softly in greeting as I hear his iPad case flip closed.
“You’re awake,” he mutters against my lips, turning his body toward me.
“Yes, Mr. Sullivan. You somehow have the ability to make me fall asleep in your presence.” I rest my head against the soft leather of the seat, admiring his beautiful face a few inches from mine.
“And you have the ability to turn me on in your presence,” he replies unabashedly, waking the sleeping butterflies in my stomach.
Chills roll over my skin, and I pull the blanket tighter around me, knowing full well I am not cold. The aircraft is dark and quiet, with only the hum of the engines and the occasional sound of whispered conversation. A few overhead lights illuminate the ceiling like scattered stars. TV screens glow softly, like moonlight, through the cabin.
Matthew pulls himself closer, and leaning over the small table between us, he slips his hand under my blanket. His hand skims over my hip and down my thigh as his lips tenderly seek out mine in the dark. He tastes like wine as I slowly open my lips
and our tongues welcome each other, joining in an unhurried game of seduction.
My body burns with desire for him, longing for him to touch me; his hands continue roaming my hips and thighs. I pull myself up slightly, trying to get closer to him, but we are separated by the table. I reach toward him to touch his chest and belly, longing for more. I dip my hand toward his hip, playing with the waistline of his jeans. His tray table is conveniently shadowing his lap, so I drop my hand farther, to his hip, along his thigh, and back up, deliberately brushing the firm swelling in his jeans. Matthew’s hand envelops mine, and at first my heart leaps as I think he is going to lead me to him, guide me to touch him. Instead, he secures it beneath his on the table. Frustrated, I settle back down and return my concentration to his kiss. I surrender to the pleasure of his magical tongue as he continues his leisurely expedition.
After some time, his kiss becomes lighter, his tongue less persistent. His lips graze mine with soft, tender pecks, trailing across my cheeks to my neck and ear.
“Slide down your jeans and panties,” he whispers in my ear as his tongue plunges deep into the crevice.
Untamed throbbing pulsates between my thighs as my heart leaps and my face burns like the sun. Matthew’s free hand sinks into my hair as his tongue urges deeper. The sound of his words echo in my head, the smell of him overpowers my senses, and the feel of his hand tugging at my jeans forces me to execute his every command.
Sliding my legs off the seat, I roll onto my back,
lifting my hips slightly, and unbutton my jeans. I skim them and my thong down slowly, without making too much movement. Matthew is rearranging his tray table, setting his iPad between us, plugging in some ear buds, and spreading a blanket over himself. To any onlookers it would appear that he is preparing for a nap, his demeanor calm and unrushed. I am so hot and turned on I feel like I might slide off my seat. My mind struggles desperately in anticipation of what he is about to do to me. The electrified area between my thighs quivers as I recall his words in my ear.
Relaxing back into his seat, Matthew extends his legs in front of himself, resting them slightly apart, his feet disappearing underneath the seat in front of him. He reaches for my left leg, which is closest to him, and casually drapes it over his knee. We both lie back in our reclined seats, appearing to be tranquil and calm.
Matthew’s right hand disappears below the blankets and slides up my thighs, dipping between my open legs, finding me deliciously hot and wet. He runs his middle finger down the center of my inner lips, applying flawless pressure to my sensitive core. His pace is meticulous, painstaking, as he moves up and down, taking his time. I work hard to keep my breathing calm and even, fighting every nerve within to remain still and relaxed. I roll my head toward him; I want to watch him as he touches me. His head is resting against the headrest, his profile shadowed in the dull lighting. His eyes are closed. Always so beautiful, I think as I engrave his image into my memory, never wanting to forget his face. I swallow hard as the burning deep within me
radiates in my belly, the pressure starting to grow between my hips.
Sensing my arousal, Matthew abruptly sits up, takes an ear bud from his iPad, and slides it into my left ear, then does the same to his right. He taps the tablet, and the soft light of it awakening illuminates his face. He touches the screen, and a second later, I hear the sweet sound of a violin in my ear. He leans over and kisses me tenderly as the song begins to play, filling my ear, invading the silence. His finger masterfully returns to its rhythm, and I listen as a cello blends in beautifully with the harmony playing in my head. The song sounds familiar, but I am finding it difficult to concentrate as Matthew thrusts his tongue deep into me and slips his finger inside my warm, welcoming core.
A woman’s voice starts to sing, and I recognize the song as a cover of The Cure’s “Lovesong.” Her vocals melt in perfect unison with the accompanying strings, her voice hauntingly melancholy. The lyrics seem to be saying everything Matthew needs to say to me. His kiss is deliberate and steady, yet passionate. His touch matches the slow tempo of the song, masterfully playing me like the instruments resonating in my head.