Hold On to Me (36 page)

Stella saw the flash in his eyes.

‘But you know it's more than that now. This is real, Stella. Don't punish yourself by walking away from this. You deserve happiness, baby, just like everyone else. And maybe you deserve it more.'

Stella summoned every bit of strength she had and, on shaking legs, walked across the living room. ‘I'm going to take a shower. If you're still here when I'm finished, I'll probably cry. So,' she paused, trying to blink back the tears, ‘please go.'

Stella slid the glass shower door open and wrenched on the taps. She stripped off her clothes and reached around to unclip her bra, kicked off her knickers and stood naked in the bathroom as it steamed up. It felt like shedding a skin, like stripping herself of a costume. She stepped in and let the water sluice over her head and her cripplingly stiff shoulders. What she really needed was a cold shower. That might be the only way to get Luca Morelli out of her head. And to extinguish her aching need. She wanted him. Oh, how she still wanted him.

But she'd made the right decision. He'd said all the right words, said everything a decent man would have in his position, but it wasn't love. It was obligation. She knew herself and it was easier to be alone than to risk everything. She'd never let anyone get close. When she did, they hurt her. She thought Sully had loved her, but he'd screwed her over. Why had she never noticed he was using? She knew the signs of it, they were embedded in her DNA after all, and maybe that's why she hadn't wanted to know. Perhaps she'd been blind on purpose.

She angled her head back, let the water run on her shoulders, pounding and soothing. She reached for the soap, fumbling in the soap holder.

‘Here.' Luca dropped the soap in her hand and stepped into the shower, pulling the glass door closed behind him. He was naked, hot and angry.

‘You shouldn't be here,' Stella said through the spray of water.

Luca looked down at her with such heat in his eyes that she needed to blink. ‘If you thought for one fucking second that I was going to wait out there while you were in here, you are crazy.'

‘Luca—'

‘Don't end it. I know you want me.' He lifted his arms and rested his palms on the tiled wall either side of her. He moved closer. Pressed his body against hers and rested his forehead against hers.

‘I can't,' she said.

‘I love you, Stella.' Luca kissed her, crushed her lips with his and she opened them, desperate for him. She reached for his hips, held on. He tore his lips from hers and kissed the side of her neck, and she had to hold on to him to stay upright. He took the bar of soap from her hand and lathered it in his palms to create a hot slickness, creating a sudsy trail down her neck to her collarbone, down between her breasts, teasing a circle over the curve of her stomach and he went further, through her curls. The soap hit the floor and when she spread her legs apart, Luca began exploring her, his fingers caressing and slipping over her, inside her. She gasped, held his gaze, focussed on how he was watching her react to his touch. It was like being stung, branded. Set on fire. With his other hand, he caressed one breast, then the other, lathering bubbles against her, pressing his hard cock against her as he moved and stroked her. Stella let her fingers drift down to his arse, squeezed him and pulled him closer against her. Her breasts slid against his hard chest. She pushed her palms up his arse, teased them into the curve of his lower back, splayed her fingers as she moved them up over his shoulder blades to his neck.

She looked up at him, half stunned, half throbbing with heat and desire for him, scared to death.

This would be the last time, she told herself. This was going to be goodbye.

She took his cheeks in her hands, met his eyes, and pulled his mouth down to hers. He answered her, a dance of tongues and lips, and passion and purpose. He answered her kiss with every bit of her intensity, turned her away from the taps and urged her against the shower wall. She smoothed her hands down his face and wrapped them around his neck. Then he lifted one of her legs, hooked his arm under her knee and slid into her. She was so hot and wet and ready that he plunged right in and she gasped with the sheer force of it.

‘Stella,' he groaned into her mouth as he came.

‘Luca,' she moaned.

His breath was hard, heavy, sweet against her lips. ‘Don't say goodbye to this. Don't.'

Stella let go of him, her legs shaking, glad of the water so he wouldn't see the tears streaming from her eyes. And glad of the noise so he wouldn't hear her heart breaking.

The world came to life slowly.

Stella blinked her eyes open against the thudding behind them and saw an empty space next to her in the bed.

He'd gone after all.

She stretched an arm out and the bed was cold. There was no beautiful man next to her. She'd asked him to leave and he'd left. He'd respected her decision. That was what she wanted. It was what would be best for him, for both of them, but that didn't make it easy. That didn't make it anything other than heart breaking.

Stella propped herself up on one elbow and reached for her phone.

When she saw the time—1 pm—she sat up with a panicked jolt. It was Saturday and she was supposed to have opened the shop two hours earlier. Her feet hit the bedside rug with a thud and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it would stop the pounding.

She needed to get to Style by Stella. She needed to open up and get her life back to normal. What passed for normal in her life.

For weeks, everything had been upended and rearranged and her foundations now felt shaky and uncertain. The damage to her shop. Luca. Employing Molly. Her birthday. She felt as if darts had been tossed at her and she'd spent so long dodging them she hadn't even taken the time to feel their sting. Until now.

The hurt she carried inside felt like the weight of a thousand bad memories.

Stella plodded to the bathroom and hastily swallowed another couple of paracetamol. Whatever happened in her private life, her business had to go on.

Her business.

Her labour of love.

Her whole life.

It was all she had.

Fifteen minutes later, Stella rounded the corner of her street and crossed the train line slowly and cautiously, every step feeling like an earthquake in her head.

She sipped some more water from her water bottle and willed herself to keep going. Style by Stella wasn't far. Just a few more steps and she could flip over the
Closed
sign on the door and open.

A few more steps.

She lifted her sunglasses to peer into the distance. Two women were walking out of her shop carrying bags. The sandwich board was propped on the footpath.

Style by Stella was open.

Stella couldn't comprehend what was going on and the closer she got to her shop, the more confused she became. How was it possible that it was business as usual without her?

When she stepped gingerly inside the shop, the bell tinkled above her and she could see Molly behind the counter serving a customer. Summer was over by the change rooms handing a hanger to another customer and Anna was, naturally, by the shoes, deep in animated conversation with a grey-haired woman holding a leopard-skin stiletto.

Stella didn't want to cry but her chest clenched in an unfamiliar spasm and she couldn't take another step.

‘What are you doing here?' Summer had spied her across the shop and was by her side in a hot second. ‘You're supposed to be in bed.'

‘What's going on?' Stella couldn't raise her voice above a whisper.

‘Stella?' Anna's stilettos clickety-clicked across the painted concrete floor and she placed a palm against Stella's forehead. ‘God, you look terrible. You need to be in bed. Drink plenty of fluids and sleep, for god's sake. Everything here is under control.'

‘I don't understand what's going on.'

Summer reached for her friend and placed a gentle hand on her arm. ‘Luca called me this morning. He tried to wake you, apparently, but you were dead to the world.'

Luca had been there this morning? He hadn't left the night before? But he'd said goodbye, she remembered, he'd kissed her on both cheeks and said goodbye. She'd heard the front door close before she'd drifted off.

‘And then he called Summer and she called Molly and we're here. I've even sold four pairs of shoes,' Anna announced proudly. ‘Go home. We've got this.'

The bell over the front door tinkled and Stella slowly looked over her shoulder.

It was Luca. Her angel. When he saw her, his smile transformed into a hard grimace. He was carrying four takeaway coffees in a cardboard holder and without a word he placed them on the counter. Then he turned, ran a hand through his hair and glared at her. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘I could ask you the same thing,' she answered weakly.

‘I'm taking you home. To your place,' Luca clarified. ‘There are the coffees I promised. And Molly, your tea. Ring me if you need anything.'

‘We will,' Summer said earnestly.

‘And you ring me if she gets worse, Luca,' Anna called. ‘Promise?'

Luca nodded and took Stella's hand. Without saying another word, she followed him out the door and along the street. A couple of minutes later, they found Mouse meowing on the front veranda; when Luca opened the door the cat streaked inside.

‘She must be starving,' Stella said quietly, glad to have something to say at last, wishing every footstep didn't pound in her head quite so much.

‘She shouldn't be. I fed her last night and this morning.'

So he'd still been there that morning? Nothing was making sense. Mouse slipped in and out of Stella's legs as she stood in the living room, obviously craving her attention, but Stella ignored her. She watched Luca instead. His lips were pursed together and there was tension flickering in the muscles of his jaw. If he was wanting to say something, if he wanted to talk about last night and about what she'd done and said, he was holding it in. Barely.

‘I'll just …' Stella pointed to her bedroom.

‘Good,' he replied, following her. Once they were in the bedroom, he lowered the roman blind and pulled back the covers on the bed. They shared a glance as his eyes darted from the crisp sheets to her.

She'd been getting in and out of bed by herself for almost thirty-six years but she didn't want to argue. Luca was there. He'd stayed. He'd fed her cat. And now he was helping her out of her clothes in an entirely new way. He unbuttoned her white shirt and slipped it gently down her arms. He found the zip at the side of her Capri pants and lowered it, and then helped her step out of them, bearing her weight as she held his arm to steady her shaky knees. When he reached around and undid the clasp on her bra, she let him, and then he put all her clothes neatly on the chair next to her bedside table. She watched him as he slid open the second drawer of her wooden chest and found a silk nightie. He held it out to her and she raised her arms so he could slip it on over her head.

When his palm grazed her breast as he lowered it, her body betrayed her. She wanted him all over again. Ached and yearned for him, wanted to be in his arms so she could slow her breathing and let sleep come. But she'd crossed that bridge and there was no going back. Without saying another word, he urged her to the bed and, when she'd gingerly slipped in between the sheets, she turned to face him. Luca pulled the cotton blanket up to her shoulders and tucked her in.

Their eyes met and he gently pressed his palm against her forehead. He softly pushed her hair back, stroking it as his dark eyes met hers, and then he kissed her, so soft and tender, his full lips pressing just at her hairline, and Stella swore the pain went away at the spot where his mouth touched her skin.

She watched him walk out without looking back.

The room was quiet but there was a whoosh in her ears and a pain in her jaw so intense Stella thought her teeth might crack.

He'd stayed.

He'd looked after her.

He'd tucked her in.

She pressed her head into her pillow and squeezed her eyes closed, hard and insistent, to stop the sobbing, but they betrayed her, and the tears flowed like a river.

Luca settled in on the sofa in Stella's designer living room and Mouse joined him, circling until she found just the perfect spot nudged up against his left thigh. He grabbed a soft drink from the fridge, rustled himself up something to eat and planted himself in front of the TV.

He was still there.

Sure, he'd got the message, confused and sex-crazed as it had been, that Stella wanted to end it.

So he wasn't staying to beg or convince her otherwise.

He was there as someone who cared about her. He was there as a friend. A friend. He hated that word, but if that's what he had to do, he'd do it. Anyone who was sick deserved to have someone watching her back. And anyway, Luca thought as he absentmindedly stroked the cat, Stella was sound asleep and therefore in no position to argue with him.

What the hell was he going to do now?

He thought over all his options. He could continue his renovations and, since he wouldn't be driving to the south coast every five minutes, he'd complete them earlier than he thought. He could spend more time with Francesca. Yeah, that would be good. And he really should get back into soccer, now that the summer was nearing its end. The season proper would be starting soon and, as well as going to watch a few A League games, he could resurrect the scratch matches he'd been organising in the Adelaide parklands. A few guys got together every week to have a run, shoot the shit and kick the hell out of a soccer ball.

Yeah, that's what he needed. To kick the hell out of a soccer ball. He wanted to kick the hell out of something. He'd made it clear what he wanted; he'd said the words. He'd told Stella he loved her. More than once.