The omelettes tasted wonderful. Hints of thyme and marjoram lifted the earthiness of the truffle. Kiara cut another piece as she thought how best to describe her childhood. She knew it had shaped her. Unusual experiences generally did. She was more independent than most.
‘Until I was twelve, I travelled with Mum and Dad to wherever their work led them. I’ve lived on every continent.’ She grinned. ‘Including Antarctica, if you stretch it to include the Subantarctic.’
‘I’ll stretch it.’
‘I grew up interacting with all sorts of people, in all sorts of situations. Mum and Dad were careful to keep out of war zones and other dangerous places until I went to boarding school.’
‘Here in Australia?’ And in response to her raised eyebrow. ‘Your accent.’
‘Yes. I went to school in Sydney. Dad’s family lives there. I spent my holidays and odd weekends either with his parents or my aunts and uncles. One thing my childhood gave me was adaptability. I sussed out the written and unwritten rules of boarding school life and made them work for me. I actually enjoyed the discipline of the timetable and the fact that I knew what to expect the next day, month, year. It made me feel safe.’
‘Safe.’ Neutral tone. He finished him omelette and studied her.
‘I know. You’re wondering how I can be Gary and Diana’s daughter. Once I turned eighteen they dived into working in the worst refugee camps. It was as if they were free of the burden of worrying what would happen to me if something happened to them.’
‘They love you.’
‘And I love them. I’m just glad they’ve accepted more adviser roles these days.’
***
Selwyn ate his roast beef and mused on the puzzle that was Kiara. He’d met a thousand more beautiful women than her, but none who had fascinated him or proven unforgettable, as she had. There was an honesty in her that compelled him. Although how she could think of herself as risk-averse, he didn’t know. People who worried about their safety didn’t spend seven months next door to the South Pole.
Across the table, she ate chicken in cider with a healthy appetite. The silence between them felt comfortable. The sexual tension remained, but it was like the champagne they drank. When the bottle first opened, it fizzed, but now the bubbles were just a tingle on the tongue and in the blood. Although it wouldn’t take much to re-ignite the passion that had flared on the balcony.
He’d sensed the passion in her from their first meeting. It had drawn him across the crowded conference foyer, filled with dedicated NGO workers and activists, and into conversation. After two days of hard networking and polite tedium, she had been blazingly real, alive with energy and purpose. Enthralled, he’d shamelessly manipulated the seating on the dinner cruise that followed so that he’d sat beside her as the ferry travelled slowly down the Yarra River. Conversation had flickered with light and colour, depth and passion. They’d talked about everything and nothing.
He couldn’t remember what they’d eaten, but he’d remembered the moment of the crash and how Kiara didn’t drop her coffee cup, but had replaced it quietly on the table — its saucer gone — in the middle of the screaming chaos.
A speedboat had hit the ferry, driven by a drunken idiot who had survived the impact with barely a bruise. Inside the ferry, others weren’t so lucky. Cuts and bruises from flying objects abounded, but worse were the injuries of people who’d been standing up, chatting to others during dessert and the after-dinner coffee. A number of them were senior representatives of their organisations and senior in years, too.
Kiara had worked beside him as he assessed their situation and helped up those he could, passing them on to willing hands to be lifted out of the stricken boat. Fortunately, the Yarra River was narrow enough that the crash drove the ferry against the bank, and its quick-thinking crew lashed its mooring ropes to parking bollards.
The boat had sunk fast. They’d barely gotten the injured boosted up onto the car park before he and Kiara and the others who’d stayed to help had to face reality: the way the boat was listing, it was safer to jump and swim than to try to scramble off.
Kiara had shed her jacket and kicked off her shoes.
He’d done the same before grabbing her hand. She’d grinned and he’d reacted on impulse, kissing her; a kiss full of adrenaline and heat.
Then they’d jumped.
‘Selwyn?’ Kiara prompted.
The waiter was there, trying to take his plate.
Selwyn leaned back. ‘Sorry. I was thinking of the boat crash in Melbourne, the night I first met you — and your courage.’
‘Doing what had to be done isn’t courage. And you were right there, beside me.’
Beside her sounded good.
Her gaze flickered from his eyes to his mouth. He wondered if she was remembering their first kiss on the deck of the sinking boat, and the kiss tonight.
‘Is it worth it?’ she asked.
‘What? Our dinner? If we had room service, I’d —’
‘No. Not dinner. The hotel. Us, sitting here. Why did you fly to Hobart to meet me? I’ll be in Sydney in two months to take up my position at the university. My parents must have told you. I’ll be living in their flat. We could have caught up then.’
‘We wouldn’t have.’ He paused to thank the waiter for their servings of apple pie and for him to retreat, allowing them privacy.
Kiara jabbed her spoon into the pastry, then sighed with bliss at the first mouthful. ‘This is heaven.’
The apple pie was redolent with cinnamon and nutmeg and sprinkled with brown sugar that had melted to a syrupy crust. Generous scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream and fresh cream from a local dairy accompanied it.
Selwyn focussed on her question. ‘If I’d waited till Sydney to catch up with you, we wouldn’t have connected. You’d have been wrapped in starting your new life and I…’ He allowed himself to be brutally honest. ‘I’d have kept prioritising work until the potential between us faded into regret.’
‘Won’t you still do that? If this is time out from life, once you’re back in the office, it’ll be old habits.’
‘No.’
She blinked, ice cream sliding off her suspended spoon.
‘If we become a couple, you’d be the most important thing, person, in my life.’ Words were clumsy. He rolled his shoulders. Sometimes it seemed that for the whole of his adult life he’d used words to protect himself, to shut himself off from other people and their demands. As a model and celebrity, he’d deflected attention or directed interviews away from his private life to funny stories or a question about the interviewer. Now he wanted a relationship deeper than sharing the same social celebrity circle and pleasures — and he was finding it hard put that desire into words. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable. ‘Once I make a commitment, I keep it.’
‘No pressure, then,’ she muttered as she chased ice cream around her plate with the spoon.
He smiled, amused by her uncertainty since he shared it. These were unchartered waters. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not contemplating the fastest proposal in history. It’s simple. I wanted time with you, just us. This seemed the easiest way to eliminate all distractions.’
She looked at him, her gorgeous hazel eyes clear and curious. ‘And when we get back to our rooms. By ourselves. What then?’
‘Not sex.’ He guessed her suspicions and echoed her words of the afternoon, his own mood lifting. ‘I thought, television.’
‘TV?’ She put down her spoon. ‘The perfect end to a romantic dinner with the world’s sexiest bachelor.’ She laughed.
He grinned. ‘What could be more real than a guy more interested in late-night sports than in sex with his girlfriend?’
She was laughing too hard to answer.
***
Kiara scrubbed off her make-up, grimaced at her reddened skin and smoothed on a night cream. She wrinkled her nose at her reflection. If Selwyn wanted reality, here it was. She changed into her faded tartan flannel pyjamas, veterans of the Subantarctic expedition, and padded barefoot out to the living room.
He’d lost his jacket and tie, and undone the collar of his shirt. He had bare feet, too, propped up on an oversized ottoman as he lounged on the sofa. He patted the seat beside him.
She settled in and his arm went around her. It felt good. She curled up, getting comfy. She’d expected to feel a bit awkward. Instead, she focussed on the television and discovered that a game of rugby league had just started; two New South Wales teams. Awesome. ‘My cousin used to play professionally.’
‘I know.’ Mischief vied with smugness in his expression.
She tore her attention from the game to study him. ‘How do you know?’
‘Your dad mentioned once that a nephew had played for New South Wales — and that you were a huge rugby league fan.’
‘You’ve been getting inside information.’
‘Shh.’ He looked straight at the television. ‘Game’s on.’
She shook her head in disbelief at his nerve at telling her to shh, even as a warm, cared-for feeling crept through her. The rugby league game on television proved that he truly wanted her to be comfortable and to share experiences with him. Moreover, and despite his teasing hush, the great thing about football was that — unless you were watching with a fanatic — you could talk while play went on. Something she suspected Selwyn had factored in. It meant that they could continue to get to know each other while the game provided a safe background distraction. Although, after how he’d shared his difficult transition from famous model to perhaps equally famous do-gooder, her trust in him was already high. She smiled. ‘Do you know why I’m such a rugby league fan?’
‘Family loyalty?’
‘Huh. Caleb didn’t care if I watched him play or not — but the girls I went to boarding school did.’
‘Clever, Kiara.’
She laughed, pleased he’d caught on so fast. Her older cousin’s footy status had been her entrée to acceptance at school. ‘But once I started watching the games, I enjoyed it. I find the controlled violence relaxing,’ she teased.
‘Blood-thirsty wench.’
‘Did you play?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thought so.’ He had the strong body and fitness of an athlete, and the competitive edge.
The difficulty, as the game progressed, was her growing awareness of just how warm and solid Selwyn was all along her right side. She twisted and her breast squashed up against his ribs.
‘You do know you’re killing me here,’ he said, eyes still on the television.
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to be suffering alone.’
He laughed under his breath and turned fully to her. He slid a hand under her pyjama top and up along her rib cage to cup her breast.
They both sighed at the contact.
‘Right.’ Abruptly he dragged her up and onto his lap, her back to his front, so that they both faced the television. Her legs fell either side of his thighs and he pushed up her top to play with her breasts.
‘Um.’ She wasn’t sure how she felt about the position.
‘Quiet. Game’s on.’
She rolled her eyes at that bit of hypocrisy. Like he was interested in the game. But his hands felt wonderful. She relaxed into the spice of naughtiness that was watching football while he played with her breasts.
And then it was half-time.
She stood, turned and settled astride him.
He was hard under her and his eyes a dark, stormy blue. He put his hands on her hips while she ran hers over his chest and shoulders, pushing aside his shirt.
Their kiss was thunder and lightning, the summer storm that broke with electric drama after the long, sultry build-up.
She ached for him.
His hips jerked beneath her and she ground down as his fingers dug into her butt and their kiss went wild and raw. Her teeth scraped his lower lip and he growled.
He flipped her down onto the sofa.
She cried out at the excitement of his weight pinning her there, arching up not to throw him off but to get more contact.
‘How far?’
She didn’t understand, only knew that his mouth was tantalisingly close, but not on hers.
He drew back a fraction more. ‘I promised no sex.’
But she was an equal partner here, inciting him, demanding her own and their shared satisfaction. She had a responsibility to control the situation, too. She blinked, trying to think, trying to remember why she’d demanded no sex.
‘I want to get you off,’ he said.
Her whole body shuddered.
‘May I?’
She shoved down her pyjama pants and put his hand there.
Big, gentle fingers slicked with her wanting.
Incredible intimacy invaded the passion burning between them. He held her gaze as he rubbed and teased, then slid a finger inside her.
She’d been so aware of him all evening, half-aroused, that her orgasm claimed her fast.
‘You are beautiful.’ He caressed her.
Little shivers detonated under her skin.
‘I’ve never wanted a woman as badly as I need you.’