Matts lies on his side behind me—his arm warm and heavy on my waist. His forearm is between my breasts and his hand is held tightly in mine. Moonlight casts shadows on the walls and in the mirror that stands in the corner of the room.
Long term.
I haven’t had relationships that last much more than a weekend. Does long term mean the months that he’s here—or something else?
I love him.
He breathes gently against my back. I lift his hand and kiss his thumb. ‘We’ll sort things out when you wake up,’ I whisper.
He nuzzles through my hair and kisses my neck. ‘Sapphie,’ he mumbles.
‘Shh.’ I stroke the soft hairs on his arm and he goes back to sleep.
My foot aches. I should ice it.
When I slip out of his arms and wriggle to the edge of the bed, he mutters, but then he quietens again. I don’t think he’d mind if I stared at him naked, but I draw the sheet over him and pick up my pyjama shorts.
‘I’ll be back soon.’
He rolls onto his back as I hop to the door, but by the time I peek through the crack, he’s fallen asleep again.
As I hobble across the living room, Tumbleweed uncurls from the couch. He follows me through the kitchen door and waits by the fridge, rubbing against my legs as I take out the milk and fill his bowl. I sit on a stool at the kitchen bench and rest my foot on another stool, positioning the icepack on my instep. My phone is on the bench.
Cassie has sent a message.
From: Cassie
To: Sapphie, Chambers, Luke, Gus, Matts
Confirming Sapphie is back in Horseshoe. I’ll circulate draft blog posts and press releases by the end of the weekend.
There’s a text from a number my phone doesn’t recognise.
Dear Sapphie. I hope that you are well. Did you receive my email of two days ago? Regards, Gabriel Garcia
My heart flutters nervously as I open my laptop.
Dear Sapphie,
I have been called to give evidence to the inquiry into the Hernandez group of companies. My legal representatives inform me it is likely I will be questioned about the deposit box linked to your parents. If this is the case, I will be forced to reveal more about this matter than I would wish.
As I have returned to Argentina, could we speak by video call? May I call at 8pm on Monday evening (Sydney time)?
I request that, for now, communications between us remain confidential. Involving others, specifically your father and Matts Laaksonen, would complicate matters and could cause harm. You will understand my dilemma after we speak.
Kind regards,
Gabriel
By the time I’ve read the email for the tenth time, Tumbleweed is sitting on my lap and the icepack has softened. I hold my cat to my chest as I hop two steps to the freezer and open the door.
Tumbleweed settles back in my lap as I sit at the bench again.
Gabriel,
Thanks for you messages. It’s early Saturday morning here. Could we talk earlier? If not, I’ll speak to you on Monday night.
Sapphie
He responds immediately.
Dear Sapphie,
This is the earliest time I can arrange. I’ll call by Skype on Monday. Kind regards,
Gabriel
When I silently open the door, Matts, still lying on his back, looks directly into my eyes. Dawn creeps through the gaps beneath the curtains, casting soft golden stripes across the sheets. A rooster crows the morning.
‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’
He sits and holds out his hand. ‘What’s wrong?’
Matts has a sixth sense about Sapphire.
I push the thought out of my head, aiming for a smile as I sit on the side of the bed. I take his hand. ‘You always think something is wrong.’
You will understand my dilemma after we speak.
My father has blamed Mum. If I tried to defend her, things could get worse. Sending a child to pick up drugs. There’s no defence to that. I can’t turn my back on the one person who hasn’t condemned my mother. I owe it to her to listen to what Gabriel has to say.
After that, I’ll tell Matts everything.
‘You loved Mum too, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He puts hair behind my ear. ‘You were a long time.’
‘I iced my foot.’
He hesitates. ‘I heard you typing.’
‘I checked my emails.’ I sandwich his hand between both of mine. ‘My foot’s a little stiff.’
‘But that’s not what’s worrying you. What is it, Sapphie?’
‘You didn’t approve of what my father did, did you? Talking to the media?’
He turns his hand and captures both of mine. ‘They’re not likely to clear Kate. You know that?’
I pull my hands free. ‘Even if she did take a bribe, I want to know the truth.’ I inch away when he reaches for me.
‘Don’t, Sapphie.’
I clear my throat as I fold my hands neatly in my lap. ‘You want me to trust you, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘There are some things I don’t want to tell you, but that doesn’t mean …’ I undo the bottom button of my shirt. ‘I can show you this.’
He puts his hand over mine. ‘That’s not about trust, Sapphie. You don’t have to show me anything.’
‘You don’t want me to?’ My voice is too high. My fingers tremble under his.
He closes his eyes and when he opens them, I can’t read them at all. He’s frowning and tense and …
‘I don’t know what you want,’ I whisper.
‘I want you.’
A tight knot of need unfurls in my heart. When I kiss his mouth, he groans and kisses back. I put my hands on his chest and pull back a little.
‘I want to get this over with.’
I undo the next button and then two more. When I reach the top button, I fumble.
He covers my hand. ‘You’ve told me how you were hurt. I don’t care about the rest.’
My breasts are still hidden. ‘How do you know that?’
He pulls me down so my head is on the pillow. His tongue strokes and caresses and curls around mine. The kiss is possessive. He gathers me closer, his erection pressed between us. He runs his hands across my shoulders, his touches whisper soft. I’m warm and needy, aroused.
He rolls me onto my back again. Keeping his eyes on my face, he puts his hands inside my pyjama top and trails his fingertips down my sides.
I freeze.
He buries his face in my hair and talks against my neck. ‘Tell me how to touch you.’
I swallow. ‘That was okay.’
His palms glide softly. On my right, the skin is smooth. On my left, it’s rough and bumpy. I breathe deeply as he strokes.
‘Sapphie?’
When I look up, he stares into my eyes. Grey and blue. Blue and grey. He kisses me again, short and hard. He undoes the final button, opens my top and eases it back. I look at the ceiling as he looks down. He cups my cheek and puts his thumb on my chin, turning my face towards him.
‘How long before you got help?’
‘Two days. That’s why the scars are so bad.’
He dips his head. He kisses the nipple of my good breast, an open-mouthed kiss.
I almost shoot off the bed in surprise. ‘Matts!’
He holds me firmly by the tops of my arms and kisses my nipple again. He sweeps his tongue around it. He looks at me innocently. ‘What?’
‘You … you—’ I glance down at his erection. ‘Nothing.’
This time I watch him. He cups my right breast. And then he cups my left. The scars end a millimetre from my nipple. He circles the areola with the pad of his thumb.
I squirm. ‘Matts?’
‘Is that uncomfortable?’
‘It’s embarrassing, but … No.’
He licks the nipple and sits back. ‘Tell me when to stop.’ He puts the pad of his thumb on the dampness. He frowns and kisses my nipple again, this time with his tongue. Afterwards, his thumb glides easily.
‘What—what are you doing?’
He kisses my right nipple and my left. His lip lifts in one of his almost smiles. He looks from one breast to the other. He kisses them again like he’s known me this way forever.
‘Beautiful.’
By the time he kisses my mouth, I’m hot and shaky with lust. I yank down my shorts and he eases them over my bandage.
‘You okay?’
When I lie on the pillows, he fans out my hair and props my bandaged foot on the cushion he finds on the floor. He kneels at the foot of the bed and kisses my ankle above my bandage. He kisses my other ankle. He kisses my calves. He lifts my good leg and bends it so he can access the back of my knee. He kisses up the insides of my thighs with soft, wet lips.
‘Matts.’
He smiles. ‘More?’
My toes curl into the sheets. The rooster starts up again, pealing long and loud. I groan. ‘It must be getting late.’
He mutters appreciative sounds as he kisses the insides of my legs. He makes patterns with his tongue as he kisses higher.
I moan his name. I stroke his hair. ‘Please.’
He kisses around me and inside me, teasing and playing until all I’m aware of is the movement of his lips and the strokes of his tongue, the rumble of his voice and the touch of his hands. I groan and I pant and I climax.
‘Matts!’ I reach for him.
He crawls up my body, puts his hand between my legs. He nibbles my neck as if pleased with the tremors. When his fingers slide inside me, I tighten my thighs around them.
‘Please, Matts.’ My voice is husky. ‘Do it properly.’
Making love last night was falling over a waterfall and plunging down a river —exciting, dangerous, intoxicating. This morning is a stroll by a gently flowing stream. We hold hands and face each other. Our eyes are wide, our mouths are soft, our movements slow. When he climaxes, he mumbles words into my mouth. I wrap my legs around his hips and hold on to him firmly. He carries me into the sunshine.
Honey, dandelion, bumblebee, butterscotch. Gold.
The edges of his face are softer when he sleeps. I trace the arcs of his brows. I trail my thumb across his cheekbone.
‘You’re beautiful, too,’ I whisper.
The front gate squeaks on its hinges.
Children’s chatter. Footsteps on the stairs. A tap on the door. ‘Miss Brown.’ A girl’s voice. ‘Are you awake yet?’