He filled her
kettle for her while she searched the cupboards.
‘Um, no need to
put that on,’ she advised, turning towards him in the confined space. ‘I don’t
appear to have any coffee. Or tea for that matter.’
‘That’s okay,’ he
said and reached for her hand, ignoring the small voice shrieking
don’t
touch her!
‘I think we should sit down.’
He meant to pull
her gently towards the magnificent Art Deco dining table but underestimated his
strength and her precariousness. She crashed bodily into him and instantly
overwhelmed his every sense. She was soft and slight and almost feline. Her
hair smelled like the jasmine growing on Nana Gwen’s front fence that heralded
the oncoming spring. He breathed her in. Heaven help him.
With a will of its
own, his hand drew hers up and placed it against his chest. He took her
perfectly pink face in his hands and cooled her warm cheeks. She allowed herself
to be led, gazing quietly at him with her grey eyes. He watched her lips part
as he lowered his own. When they connected, he was lost, completely consumed by
his sudden need for her.
Her hand snaked
its way up into his hair and pulled him closer as, with a small moan, she
surrendered her mouth and her body. He moved his hands down and around her,
pulling her closer and moving them across her back and down to her hips, seizing
what he’d been craving all night.
She made enough
room between them to slip off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He
tugged at his tie while she unbuttoned his shirt, her lips never leaving his. He
wrenched the tie off and shrugged himself out of his shirt, then pulled her close
to his bare chest. Pressed firmly against him she still seemed too far away. Thwarted,
he broke away to hiss, ‘Where’s your bedroom?’ and followed her there, nipping
at her clicking heels.
He virtually
tackled her on to the bed, and she laughed playfully. Easing himself above her,
he placed a knee between her thighs. She wriggled herself further on to the
bed, reaching out to pull him with her. He ran a hand down her neck, across her
breast and down to her waist, watching it as it travelled over her.
‘You’re
incredible,’ he whispered.
She stilled. He
returned his gaze to meet hers. ‘Are you okay with this?'
‘Yes,’ she
breathed and pulled him to her lips once more. He pressed his full weight
against her and kissed her back. She wrapped herself around him but still he
couldn’t get close enough. He lifted her shirt and slid his hand up, up, up
until he found the softness of her breast, still covered by the delicate lace
he’d glimpsed earlier. She gasped and threw her head back, opening her neck to
his lips. He kissed a path down, down, down while he reached behind her arched
back and expertly unclasped her bra. He pulled it aside and claimed her with
his mouth.
She moaned softly
and let him devour her before starting to wriggle out of her clothes. He moved
to do the same with the remainder of his and then stopped.
‘What? What is
it?’ she exclaimed, almost panicked.
‘Condoms?’ he asked,
stricken.
‘Yes,’ she laughed
and rolled across the bed to reach in to her bedside table.
He virtually leapt
out of his trousers and finished removing her skirt for her while she dug
around in the drawer.
‘Ta-da!’ she
triumphed.
And then she was
back in his arms, pressing herself against him, crushing those hips against his.
She filled his senses, and he was razed by the taste of her, the feel of her,
the sound, smell and sight of her until finally, finally, he had her as close
to him as he needed.
He lifted himself
slightly so he could watch her underneath him. Her eyes were closed and her
head thrown back. Her lips were swollen and slightly parted, and small delirious
sighs escaped her. They intensified into gasps as he moved against her until
she eventually groaned, loud and astonished.
After a moment, her
eyes opened slowly and she pulled him to her before rolling them and pinning
him underneath her. She moved her knees up to either side of his waist and
placed her hands on his chest, pushing herself back until she hovered above him.
Guiding his hands up from her hips to her breasts, she watched him beneath her.
She rocked him, steadily and rhythmically until, like she had before him, when
he peaked, it was loud and overwhelming. He continued to shudder as she
collapsed against him, pressing her soft breasts against his chest.
He put his arms
around her and held her there. She nibbled on his earlobe, making him chuckle.
‘You’re
incredible,’ he repeated.
‘You’re just
saying that because you came,’ she teased, climbing off and stretching out
bedside him.
‘No, I said that
before I came. I was just repeating it for emphasis.’
Craig rolled onto
his side to face her. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. She closed
them as he ran his finger down the side of her face.
‘Can I use your
bathroom?’ he asked.
‘Sure. It’s just
there,’ she said, eyes still closed; hand waving loosely.
In the bathroom,
Craig cleaned up and sobered up. Shit! Shit! Shit!
That
was not
supposed to happen. He’d completely lost control the moment she stumbled into
him. All rational thought had utterly cleared out of his head leaving only her
and her smoky eyes and hypnotising hips. Holy crap, how did he tell her now? ‘
Hey,
you know how we shagged each other senseless just now, did I mention I’m the
developer who’s about to demolish your gallery?
'
Back in the
bedroom he found Charlotte passed out and purring like a kitten. He should wake
her up and talk to her, or leave a note and call her in the morning. But as he
was trying to decide which, he gazed at her for longer than he should have. And
then, because she was warm and soft and her hair smelled like Nana Gwen’s front
garden, he climbed in next to her and pulled her into his arms.
Charlotte
stretched lazily and contentedly. Disorientated from travelling halfway around
the world, she wondered where she was. Remembering she was home, a gratified
grin spread across her face. No wonder she'd slept so well.
She rolled over,
and something sharp dug into her naked hip. She reached down to retrieve it.
‘Shit!’ she
exclaimed, bolting upright and glaring at the empty condom wrapper. Her memory
of the previous night gradually returned, and despite the initial shock, she
quickly became aware of the sated feeling between her legs.
Was he still
here?
There were no sounds of movement coming from the bathroom, kitchen
or living room. She wrapped her sheet around herself and tiptoed out of the
bedroom just to make sure. Confirming she was indeed alone, she returned to bed
feeling a mixture of relief, shame and disappointment.
She was relieved
Craig was gone because she would have died of embarrassment if she had to face
him. Oh my God. She never,
ever
did one night stands. Well, there was
that one time in that backpacker’s hostel in Hanoi, but it had been so
dreadfully awkward and humiliating that she swore herself off that kind of misadventure
for life. It had seemed like a good idea when she was drunk, but waking up next
to a smelly stranger and discovering he was not the demigod she'd thought him
to be had been mortifying.
Last night, while
she'd felt drunk, she was really just jetlagged. Her common sense may have been
off kilter, but her hotness radar was certainly not. Craig Carmichael would
have been as delicious this morning as he'd been last night. And she was
disappointed that he was not here for her to wallow in that.
She couldn’t
remember him leaving. Now she was wide awake, she could certainly remember him
coming. She could very clearly remember coming herself.
It had been a surreal
night. Craig had her swooning from the moment he tinkled his way into the
gallery. Tall, solid and so sure of himself, his presence filled the room. His clothes
hung from his broad shoulders like a work of art, and without clothes, he was a
sculptural masterpiece. He also seemed to be magnetic. She was pulled towards
him whenever he got close; which was probably how they ended up in bed together.
The attraction was
irresistible, but even without the physical stuff, Craig was exceptionally
charismatic. He was cool, calm and collected, confident and smart. How
refreshing it had been to finally, after a long, long time, talk to a man with a
brain! It was all well and good for Emily and Ben to suggest she had a
commitment phobia, but she'd never been lucky enough to meet a man like Craig.
The last time she'd
attempted to talk about film with a man, Jackson had grunted something
unintelligible about only liking big-budget Hollywood blockbusters for their
awesome CGI. It had seemed at odds with someone who danced like him, but
Charlotte soon discovered there wasn’t much more to Jackson than his footwork
and lifts. And she was pretty sure he’d only perfected those in order to
sustain his sex life. He might be drop dead gorgeous, but he couldn’t get by on
his looks alone.
Thinking some more
about Craig, Charlotte also recalled how he'd surreptitiously looked over her
apartment before they collided in the kitchen and made the mad dash for the
bedroom. She’d seen appreciation in his eyes. Not only was he educated and
cultured, he also appeared to have a pleasantly refined palate. And apparently
he was all this and heterosexual too.
Yes, definitely
heterosexual. Charlotte couldn’t recall ever having sex like that. Was it unnatural
for something so overwhelming to come from a one night stand? It should have
been all sloppy and clumsy, but it was far from it. Magical sprang to mind.
Charlotte lay back
and indulged herself by reliving the experience. His hands on her skin had lifted
her to new heights of pleasure, his mouth driving her over the edge. When he’d
entered her, she'd felt herself evaporate, and when she climaxed, it was like
an implosion. Surely they had recreated the universe last night.
But apparently he
hadn’t felt that way; otherwise he might still be here. It smarted some that
the bliss hadn’t been mutual. If the choice had been hers, she certainly didn’t
think she could have slipped out unnoticed. She actually wondered if she would've
ever been able to tear herself away from him again. So it was probably a good
thing he'd disappeared before she turned all clingy and creepy.
Pity, she thought,
thinking some more about his tongue on her skin.
Charlotte dragged
herself out of bed and washed the regret away in the shower. Discovering there
was nothing edible in the fridge, she resolved to rely on Ben for breakfast
again. As she threw on her favourite maxi-dress with the big, bold hot pink
flowers, she added grocery shopping to her mental list of things she needed to
do today. Although she was feeling mildly more human that yesterday, she was
still a bit dopey.
But life went on,
and Charlotte soon found herself back in the gallery with a takeaway coffee, a piece
of fruit toast and three weeks of mail spread out over the desk before her. Yesterday,
she hadn’t dared to touch it, for fear of where she might have filed it. Today,
she worked through it methodically. Much of it went in the bin, including the
invitation from the Moorehouse Gallery, which Gareth just sent in order to rile
her.
Gareth Moorehouse
liked to consider himself her rival, but it was one-sided on his behalf because
Charlotte didn’t engage in specious competition. The Moorehouse Gallery was much
more established and catered to a different crowd to the Evans Gallery. Charlotte
supposed it was a sign of respect that Gareth considered her a competitor, but
in her mind, there was no contest.
About one third of
the way through her pile of mail, Charlotte’s heart stopped as she read:
“Following
the recent purchase of the building located at 165 Boundary Street, Morgan
Carmichael Property Developments wishes to advise tenants that plans are being
prepared to redevelop the site. As the plans are developed, there will be ample
opportunities for the local community to get involved in shaping the new
development. The first of these opportunities will be at a community forum
scheduled for 6:30pm on Wednesday 3 November. The CEO of Morgan Carmichael and the
Director of our Infill Development Division will be in attendance to answer any
questions about the proposal and seek community input into the design.”
Charlotte was
aghast. What the? Where did this come from? She had no idea the building was
even for sale, let alone that it had been sold to a developer. She checked the
date on the letter. It had been posted two weeks ago.
She searched
frantically through the remaining mail for further clues and found a letter
from the building’s property manager.
“We wish
to advise you that ownership of the building at 165 Boundary Street, in which
you are a tenant, has changed hands. We remind you that your current tenancy
agreement concludes in December. Should the new owners wish to make any changes
to this agreement, you will be advised in due course.”
Well, they
certainly
were
making changes to her agreement. Her gallery was about to
be bulldozed. Why hadn’t Ben said anything yesterday? Bean Drinkin’ was part
of the same building. As was Hoang’s Restaurant next door.
An instant later,
Charlotte was striding into Bean Drinkin’ waving the letter from Morgan
Carmichael at Ben. ‘What the hell is this?’ she exclaimed.
Ben raced around
from behind the counter and escorted her to a table outside. ‘Sit down and stop
scaring my customers,’ he commanded.
‘Why didn’t you
tell me about this yesterday?'
Ben took the
letter from her and glanced at it. ‘Because you were so bloody spaced out, it
wouldn’t have registered anyway,’ he answered.
Fair enough.
Hang on a minute.
‘Is this what you
and Emily were whispering about?’
‘Yes it was. But
like I said, Charlotte, you wouldn’t have been able to digest this yesterday.' Not
sure what to think of that, Charlotte glowered at him for a moment.
‘What the hell do
we do?’ she eventually asked.
‘I don’t know. I
was hoping you’d have the answer to that. Li and Jin are completely freaked. We’ve
all kind of been waiting for you to come home and figure it out.’
‘Why me? What do
you expect from me?’
‘I don’t know. I
thought maybe with your architecture background you’d have some knowledge of
planning and development processes.’
‘Not in Brisbane I
don’t.' She'd done planning as an elective as part of her unfinished Bachelor
of Architectural Studies, but it was in a different state and a different time.
Though thankfully, she did have some idea of where to begin researching. She
began making a new mental list: of websites to visit.
‘That guy who came
around yesterday was blithering on about community input and designing the
development to fit in with the local culture, but you can bet all that was
bullshit,’ said Ben as she tuned back in.
‘What guy that
came around yesterday?'
‘That guy from the
developers. Didn’t he come to see you?’
‘No…’ Then
Charlotte suddenly felt nauseous. ‘What did he look like?’
‘I don’t know, a
guy. Tallish, light brown hair.’
‘That’s really
helpful Ben. So descriptive.’
‘I don’t know. He
was just an average guy.’
Okay then, thought
Charlotte, and she released her breath. That description surely didn’t fit
Craig Carmichael. He was anything but average.
Hold on.
Craig…Carmichael. Oh. No.
Charlotte snatched
the letter back from Ben and looked at the letterhead. Morgan Carmichael
Property Developments. Slowly her eyes moved down the letter to the signature
block.
No. No. No.
Charlotte leapt up
from the table so fast that she knocked her chair over. ‘What the hell?’
exclaimed Ben.
Not bothering to
explain, or pick up her chair, she raced back to the gallery and fired up her
laptop.
Please let it be a coincidence, please let it be a coincidence
,
she chanted to herself as the machine slowly came to life. After three
excruciating minutes, she was looking at Craig Carmichael’s handsome face
smiling at her from the screen. All suited up and ‘I’m a serious contender’
looking.
Charlotte slumped
into her chair.
‘You prick,’ she
said.