Drowning (4 page)

Afterwards, when the crowd of fans surrounding him had finally thinned, I’d shyly approached him to ask some questions about his work. He’d looked me up and down with his deep, intense eyes and had pressed his lips together, giving a small nod before replying.

“Come on,” he’d said. “Let’s go talk about this over a whisky.”

To my amazement, I’d found myself bundled into a cab together with Vince’s publicist and the manager of the gallery, and we had headed off to a trendy club in Tribeca. Three hours and about five drinks later, the manager and publicist had left and we’d started dancing crotch to crotch on the crowded floor, where I had added “phenomenal mover” to the lengthening list of Vince’s admirable qualities.

A short while after that, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world, I had been certain I’d found my soul mate. I’d gone back with him to his Soho loft apartment, where we’d had coffee and he’d shown me more of his work. He’d told me I had a classically beautiful face and perfect cheekbones and that he’d love to take photos of me in the nude sometime. And then, as dawn had broken, we’d gone to bed.

“You nervous?” Vince had asked, his wiry fingers easing my panties down over my thighs as he leaned forward to accept my kiss.

“No,” I’d whispered, but it was not the truth. I’d done some reckless things in my past, but I’d never slept with anyone the first time I’d met them. This was unfamiliar territory for me, and I felt overawed by Vince’s celebrity status. There was no way I could say no to him, but what if I didn’t live up to his expectations? What if I became just another of his conquests?

His mouth met mine and the kiss quickly deepened. I forgot my fears, pressing myself against his toned body as I submitted to his sweet plundering.

“What turns you on?” I asked when we finally broke the kiss, my hand moving to his crotch and caressing the steely hardness I felt under his briefs. “Show me, Vince.”

He’d smiled, pushing me down onto his wide bed. He propped himself on one arm for a moment to stare down at my now-naked body, and pushed a stray lock of hair away from my face.

“You’re gorgeous, babe,” he’d murmured. “Exquisite. You’re gonna photograph like a dream.”

Then his body covered my own, his muscles taut, his skin smooth.

“I’ll show you what I want,” he’d whispered, his lips brushing my ear…

Nicholas’s response interrupted my thoughts.

“Three months? So tell me something else, Erin. Do you and your husband always travel in different vehicles when you go on holiday? Like the Royal Family?” he teased.

I gave a small shrug, staring at the crimson coals and blue-gold flames in the brazier and hoping I’d be able to fix what had gone wrong between Vince and me, and get our relationship back to the way it had been on that perfect, amazing spring night when we’d first met.

“No. Not always,” I replied softly.

There ended up being
eight of us for dinner, including Miriam, all seated around the table under the
lapa
. It was a merry gathering and to me, it felt like a celebration of life. Conversation and laughter flowed around the table as freely as the beer and wine, although Nicholas cautioned me that, given my brush with death the previous day, I should restrict myself to no more than two glasses of alcohol. The first glass went straight to my head, and as I sipped at the second while savoring the tasty food, I realized that I hadn’t felt so relaxed and at ease for a long time.

When morning came, it would most likely bring the return of cell coverage and with that, my worries and obligations would once again descend. But this night somehow felt like a holiday. More than that… it felt like a gift.

I was thoroughly enjoying conversing with Nicholas. In response to his questions, I told him about my love of art, and he surprised me with his knowledge of the subject. It turned out that we shared a liking for surrealism, Salvador Dali, and spent a good half an hour discussing the geometric, modernist works of Escher.

To my relief, he didn’t question me any further on my relationship with my husband—but nor was he very forthcoming about his own history. The closest I got to finding anything out about Nicholas was when I asked him if he’d studied art. He shrugged and said, “Not formally. But I’ve spent a lot of time on my own, with only books for company.” Then he steered the topic away from himself again.

I couldn’t help watching the way his pale eyes blazed when he spoke about a subject he loved, and I found myself a couple of times having to stop myself from putting a hand on his arm when we laughed together. As natural as the gesture would have been, I was still mindful about what had so recently gone wrong between Vince and me. I had to learn to behave in ways that didn’t hurt or anger my husband—even when he was not present.

But, thinking of that, I couldn’t help imagining how I would be reacting to Nicholas if things were different… if I were single… how readily the spark of excitement I felt in his presence would kindle into desire.

Mortified at the direction in which I was letting my mind wander, I suppressed the idea hastily, relieved nobody would ever be able to know my wicked thoughts. It must be the influence of the wine, I decided, and pushed my half-full second glass away.

A lull in the now-mellow conversation allowed me to appreciate the silence of this mysterious place. Apart from the occasional crackle of the dying fire, all I could hear in the stillness surrounding us was the trilling of crickets and cicadas.

“The sky’s cleared at last,” Nicholas said. “Erin, there’s a platform a short way up the hill that’s a great lookout point. Do you want to see the Southern Cross? It should just be visible by now.”

“Oh, yes, please.” I leaped to my feet, nearly tripping over the leg of my chair. Then, stepping with more caution, I walked carefully with him up the paved track.

We left the flickering lights of the
lapa
behind and followed the winding path up a steep, rocky hill. My too-big sandal caught on something I couldn’t see, causing me to stumble.

“You okay?” Nicholas asked. In the darkness he reached for my hand and found it. His fingers closed around mine, his grasp firm. His touch sent a tendril of warmth through me. “Nearly there.”

Another minute and we were standing on a small tiled platform surrounded by a waist-high wall. I rested my hands on it, the smoothly plastered surface cool against my palms, and looking up, I
caught my breath at the brightness of the stars. The Milky Way was spread out above me in clear, dazzling detail.

“You can’t see it now, but the ground slopes away on all sides from this lookout point,” Nicholas said quietly. He was standing close behind me. “It’s worth coming up here in the daytime. The view is magnificent.

I found I was acutely aware of his presence and thought I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I caught my breath as I felt his hands touch my shoulders. Gently, he turned me to the right.

“Those two stars there, the ones near the horizon.”

“I see them.”

“They are the pointer stars, Alpha and Beta Centauri.” His breath tickled my hair. “Draw an imaginary line between them, and now follow that line upwards to those four stars. Those form the Southern Cross, and from there and the pointers it’s easy to calculate due south.” His warm palms smoothed sensually over my shoulders and I clutched the wall more tightly.

A sinful surge of heart-racing excitement dizzied me. I’d been slow to realize Nicholas’s invitation up to this lonely lookout zone had little, if anything, to do with his desire to educate me on the placement of the southern constellations.

This was a seduction. I could sense it in my heartbeat, suddenly fast and strong. I could feel it in every prickling fiber of my body. Worse still, I found that raw desire was flooding through me; the feeling both powerful and primal. For a moment it washed all logical reasoning away. I stood, immobile, the pulsing heat in the pit of my belly as pleasurable as it was forbidden.

I could not respond to him… I could not let myself fall.

But nor could I move away.

As if sensing my dilemma, he spoke.

“Erin.” His voice was like a caress. His fingers smoothed a stray wisp of hair away from my face before moving down, brushing so lightly over the throbbing tips of my nipples that if I had not sensed otherwise, I might have thought the gesture to be accidental. As it was, I caught my breath at the intense stab of pleasure that this brief
touch offered. His fingers smoothed down my forearms to caress my hands.

“You are a beautiful, very desirable woman. I am intensely attracted to you. And, since we’re both going to be together for another few days, maybe even a week, I would like to make a suggestion to you.”

I swallowed. “From the context, it sounds more like it might be an indecent proposal,” I said. My voice was slightly hoarse.

“Oh, yes. Nothing decent about what I have in mind.” He sounded as if he was smiling. “Erin, I want to take you to bed. I want to satisfy you sexually. Lots of times, in lots of ways. To make you come, and watch while you do.”

His body was pressed against mine now, steely and strong, but it was the explicitness of his words that left me suddenly without breath. His thumb rested on the two gold bands on my wedding finger.

“Nicholas, I’m…” My voice was unsteady.

“You’re married, I know. I’m fine with that. In fact, it’s what I prefer. You don’t have to worry about me pursuing you, or trying to stay in touch afterwards, because I don’t do that. What I’m proposing is just a few days of raw, lustful, passionate sex. We’ll keep it as discreet as you want. Play according to your rules, both in bed and out of it. And then, when the bridge is mended, you go back across it, to your husband and your life, and this will remain our secret.”

His words, spoken in that low, caressing voice, were hypnotic. It would be so easy… so tempting, to abandon my morals. I wouldn’t even have to say yes to agree. I could sense he was waiting for any signal. The relaxing of my body against his. The upward pressure of my fingers, twining through his own. Any sign, however subtle, that I had succumbed to the powerful lust I felt for him. And, by doing so, offered tacit agreement to his audacious suggestion and to the shameful pleasures it promised.

Any signal, because I had done nothing yet.

I had done nothing yet.

And I could not. This was a test. Was I, a newly married woman, going to succumb so easily to the physical charms of another man—albeit one to whom I was intensely, viscerally attracted?

I’d never cheated on a partner in my life, not even when I was dating boyfriends. And now, after just three months of marriage to a man I believed to be my soul mate, I did not intend to start.

With a monumental effort, I stood straighter, squared my shoulders, slid my hands from under his even as he lifted his own away.

He stepped back, allowing me to turn and face him. The distance between us felt suddenly cold, and I wished for him near me again, but such thinking was far too dangerous.

“Thank you for the offer.” My voice sounded small and husky. “I am going to refuse it.”

“I understand,” he murmured.

My head felt suddenly clearer, and my eyes had adapted to the almost full darkness. I could see the path, a pale, curving track snaking down the hill and past the
lapa
where the coals of the brazier still glowed, to the faraway twinkling lights of the lodge.

“I’ll walk back on my own,” I told him. “Good night, Nicholas.”

“I’ll follow you back to make sure you get there safely. Good night, Erin,” he said in a more formal voice, as if we were suddenly strangers.

I set off on the path toward the lodge, going as fast as I could in case he was tempted to catch up with me and test my self-control a second time. Although he didn’t speak a word to me, I heard his footsteps behind me the whole way. Ten minutes later, I arrived back at the lodge. He opened the front door for me and while he was closing it, I hurried down the corridor to my bedroom, still feeling breathless and shaken by the storm of emotion, which my host’s shameless invitation had unleashed inside me.

Drifting in and out
of sleep the following morning, I relived the events of the previous night, which I was sure had also been part of my dreams. How Nicholas had greeted me, managing to turn a simple kiss on the cheek into a gesture that had felt decidedly unchaste. The way he’d smelled up close—musky and masculine, and how he’d laughed, his serious expression lightening up; the hard, chiseled angles of his face softening into a roguish appeal. I had watched his hands while he’d cooked, noticing they were square shaped, long fingered, capable looking but sensual, too.

I clamped my thighs together and pushed my face into the pillow, letting out a sharp breath as I remembered that single, exquisite moment when his fingers had moved down my body, just brushing the tips of my nipples, sending a bolt of sensation through my body that had been completely out of proportion to the lightness of that touch.

And the audaciousness of his proposal… offered in that deep, compelling voice.

Oh, God, what on earth would have happened if I’d said yes?

I slipped a hand down between my legs, remembering his breath, warm on my neck. Thinking about the words he’d said. How he’d wanted to pleasure me sexually. To make me come.

Well, he was doing it now… I gently stroked my clitoris, replaying those forbidden moments over and over again in my mind. I knew it was shameful and wrong to fantasize about this man’s wicked offer, but the crawling sense of guilt I felt at doing so was only adding
to the intensity of my pleasure. It had been a while since I’d made myself come—quite a long while. In fact, if I was going to be honest with myself, it had been far too long since I’d last climaxed with my husband. When we hadn’t been fighting, Vince had been either too tired or too busy for anything but the quick, rough sex I’d discovered he preferred. Now I was suddenly desperate for the unhurried release of orgasm, even if it meant lusting over what might have been with another man.

I thought of Nicholas touching my breasts again—this time, his fingers lingering there, caressing… I rubbed a hand over them now, realizing my nipples were achingly hard. He had said I was desirable. Did he have any idea of the desire he had awoken in me? What might have happened next, out there under those bright southern stars? Imagine if he’d started pleasuring me right then, just slipped my shorts down and slid his hands up my thighs and…

I gasped, writhing against my moving fingers, my breath quickening. I was at the brink of orgasm when there was a rapid knocking at my door. Miriam called, “Ma’am. Ma’am, can I come in?”

I snatched my hand from between my now-moistened thighs. Wide-eyed, I sat bolt upright in the sunny room as adrenaline flooded through me. Then, realizing I’d gone to sleep in the nude, without even closing the blinds, I bounced down onto the mattress again and tugged the sheet over me.

“Yes,” I said. “Come in.” My face felt searing.

The door swung open and Miriam wheeled a trolley in.

“Good news, my dear. Our cell phone signal came back an hour ago. Mr. Nicholas told me to bring you this.”

The trolley contained a new-looking HP laptop computer and power supply, an Internet plugin device, a basic Nokia cell phone with charger, a hardcover notebook, a pen and a pencil, and a tray with coffee and a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Miriam set about offloading the trolley’s contents onto the large desk near the eastern window. The arousal I’d felt earlier was gone, thanks to Miriam’s well-timed knock on the door. Now I couldn’t
believe I’d almost masturbated to orgasm thinking of Nicholas de Lanoy and his outrageous proposal.

When I thought about what Nicholas had suggested—and of how close I had come to saying yes—I found myself flushing with shame. What was wrong with me that I could even have considered such an offer? That single moment of weakness could have ruined my marriage forever. How would I be feeling now, waking up in tangled sheets to find Nicholas sleeping beside me, knowing that I’d done something that could never be undone?

How dare he have made such a suggestion. And how dare I have come close to saying yes, if only for one misguided moment. Now, in the brilliant light of a sunny morning, I felt both cheap and insulted.

“Please tell Mr. Nicholas thank you,” I said. My voice sounded cool and self-possessed. It did not betray the anger that suddenly seethed inside me, directed both at him and at myself.

“I will do, my dear. If you are going to be busy, could I bring some breakfast to your room?”

“Thank you.”

“Pancakes? A waffle? Fruit salad? Lemon muffin?”

If she kept tempting my appetite this way that new bridge would need to be triple-reinforced.

“Fruit salad sounds perfect,” I told her and then, weakening, “Perhaps a waffle as well. I know I shouldn’t, but…”

“Good. I will make it for you with maple syrup and ice cream. You are too thin, my dear. You need to eat, so you can go home feeling strong.”

Looking pleased by my decision to stuff my face with fatty calories, she left. I got out of bed, dressed, and then began the task of setting up my mobile office on the elegant wooden desk.

I had gotten everything up and running, made a to-do list, plugged my phone into the charger, and was sourcing phone numbers when Miriam came back with the breakfast tray containing a fruit salad with strawberries, mango, melon, and kiwi fruit, and a crisp, delicious-looking waffle with a scoop of ice cream and maple syrup.

When she had gone and I knew I’d have some privacy for the next little while, it was time for me to make my first and most important call. I needed to phone my husband. To tell him that I was fine, and to try to apologize for what had happened between us before the accident.

It had been such a small thing, this time, and looking back on it, I felt so confused.

Vince and I had spent the day before the rainstorm exploring the museums and restored buildings in the historic gold mining town of Pilgrim’s Rest. We’d stayed over at an exquisite boutique hotel run by a delightful and clearly devoted married couple—Kevin and Byron. It turned out that Byron had an interest in photography, too, and the four of us had ended up having cocktails together and conversing before dinner.

I’d noticed that Vince had seemed to withdraw from the conversation, but had assumed he’d simply been getting tired of talking shop, so in the end it was I alone who had walked through the hotel with the slender, dark-haired Byron, admiring his work, and of course exclaiming about the loveliness of his wedding photos, before we had been served a splendid three-course meal prepared by Kevin.

It had been a wonderful evening. I’d felt so happy, and so welcome in South Africa after talking, sharing, and laughing with these two like-minded people. Vince had remained quiet, but I had innocently assumed he’d been tired.

It was only when he’d announced abruptly, before coffee was served, that he was going to bed, that I had realized too late that he was angry. He’d gotten up without acknowledging me, offering our hosts a terse thanks, and an icy knot had tightened inside me, quickly dissolving the warmth that had been there.

Whatever his problem was, I knew from his demeanor that he was blaming me for it. Somehow, inadvertently, I had done something wrong.

The coffee had been excellent, but I found I’d stopped enjoying it. As soon as my cup was finished, pleading weariness after the long drive, I’d hugged Kevin and Byron goodnight and hurried to join Vince in our bedroom.

Vince had his back to me and when I’d tentatively stroked his lean, sinewy shoulder he had not responded, nor offered any sign he was awake, even though I knew from the tension I could feel in his body that he was.

I’d spent a virtually sleepless night, and in the morning, when I was feeling sick with exhaustion and dread, the fight had started.

“How could you do that?” Vince had snapped angrily.

“What are you talking about? Vince, I don’t know what I did!” I blinked tears away, my stomach twisting with nervousness. Damn it all… why did he have to get into one of his moods now, of all times?

“That makes it even worse,” he’d told me. He’d stared at me, his handsome, expressive face and dark eyes showing only the bitterest contempt. “That you don’t realize.”

“That. I. Don’t. Realize.
What
?” I had snarled back at him, finally losing my temper, and the next moment I let out a shriek as Vince grabbed my upper arm hard, digging his fingers brutally into my skin as he’d yanked me towards him. In that moment, I could see he was so angry he didn’t know how badly he was hurting me. I’d tried to grab hold of the bed frame to keep myself on my feet, but I hadn’t managed, and I’d ended up stumbling sideways and smashing my hip agonizingly against a sturdy mahogany desk.

“You were flirting. Damn it, Erin, do you think only of yourself? How do you think I felt last night, sitting there like a fool and listening, watching, while you basically threw yourself at that guy? It was disgusting. Humiliating.”

“But… but he’s… he’s gay,” I stammered out. That was one of the reasons I’d felt so easy, so safe, interacting with Byron. I knew there were strict rules regarding other men. I’d learned the rules fast over the course of our whirlwind relationship. I understood now how to modify my behavior to avoid these problems, because I knew Vince could become illogically jealous at times. It was, unfortunately, the
flip side of his artistic, talented personality—the deep creativity and the passion we shared for our work that had first drawn me to him, and him to me.

“How do you know they’re gay? Both of them could be bisexual.”

“In any case, I wasn’t flirting. I was…” God, what could I say that wouldn’t make things worse? I couldn’t say I was acting normally or he’d never trust me again. “I was so excited about the photography. It just made me… more expressive than usual.”

“So that’s what expressive means to you, does it, Erin?” His grip tightened again, his fingers clawing agonizingly into the flesh of my arm.

My breathing was coming fast. This was a bad one. I could see it in the hardness of his eyes, the set of his mouth. I wished, I prayed, for the old Vince back, the one that I’d had yesterday, who’d felt like my twin, discussing our relationship as he’d sped along the rough terrain in the hired Land Rover. Who’d taken it all in his stride without losing his temper when the Land Rover’s tow hitch had sheared off after the trailer had hit a deep pothole, damaging the trailer slightly but luckily not the contents.

Within a couple of hours, my dynamic husband had organized another car as well as a driver—Bulewi—to transport our excess luggage, as I had not obtained an international driver’s license before coming out here. He’d said this was a more practical alternative than trying to find somewhere that could repair both the Land Rover and the trailer while we were out in the middle of nowhere.

Now, I wished for the resourceful, upbeat Vince that I loved to come back again and for this unfamiliar, jealous stranger to be gone. Preferably, before he made me scream from the pain of his grasp.

“Vince, I’m so sorry. You know I love you…” I began in a low, pleading voice, but although his grip finally loosened, I could see my efforts were too little, too late.

“I’m driving on my own today,” he’d told me, his eyes narrowed. “I need some space to think about this, and decide what I should do. You can go in the other car.”

“No, damn it!” I was boiling with frustration at the unfairness of all of this, but at the same time I was starting to second-guess myself. Perhaps I had behaved inappropriately. Perhaps I had not realized how hurtful my actions had been. I had never been married before, although Vince had. I was afraid of being the failure; the one who was unable to make things work with this complicated, talented man. Clearly, I needed to be less proud, to be big enough to apologize—to beg, if that was what it would take. “Please! Look, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. We can talk it through…”

My mind was racing, desperately planning how I would come across as cool and distant to our two hosts when we bid them goodbye, how I would show Vince that I really did mean what I had said and that I was anxious not to let the same situation happen again. Maybe I could manage to leave the hotel without speaking to Byron at all. I hoped so.

He’d opened the windows and stared out at a sky that looked as grey and stormy as our relationship felt.

“I’m driving on my own today,” Vince repeated.