Mango Kisses (7 page)

‘Your turn,’ she said breaking the contact and holding up fingers covered in crushed strawberry. He obediently opened his mouth and she fed him the sweet red mouthful. Half the strawberry mess landed on his chin when she withdrew her hand and she snorted with laughter.

‘Sorry, I missed.’

‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to clean me up.’

‘I don’t think I can. I had a bad experience with strawberries recently.’ She grimaced. ‘I used to love them too.’

‘Made you sick?’

‘I think it was the tequila they were drowned in. A friend’s idea.’

Miles pointed to the glob of strawberry on his chin. ‘No tequila here,’ he said. ‘Clean me. You have to.’ He held her gaze and her eyes softened. She smiled.

‘I do, don’t I?’ she murmured and leaned forward slowly. Soft lips caressed his chin. He closed his eyes, willed himself not to react. She smelled fresh and wonderful, better than the sweet scented fruit, better than anything he’d ever smelled before.

‘I’m so glad you shaved,’ she whispered when she’d finished, her lips still close to his skin.

‘You don’t like beards,’ he managed to reply through dizzy clouds of rising desire.

‘Did you shave because I said I don’t like beards?’ Her blue eyes opened wide and innocent.

Miles hesitated. He did but she didn’t know he knew she’d be here.

‘Men have to shave,’ he said. ‘Fiorella insists.’

He chose a sizable chunk of pineapple. The juice ran down into the palm of his hand. Marianne’s eyes twinkled as he popped it into her mouth. She closed her teeth on his finger.

‘Ow!’

‘Sorry,’ she said. Juice spurted out and landed on his cheek. She started to laugh as more juice ran down her chin and dripped on to her throat. Her cheeks bulged with pineapple but she made a valiant effort and swallowed it without choking.

‘It’s going to take all day to clean you up,’ said Miles through his own laughter, which was as much from relief at her enjoyment as anything else. He kissed the juice from her cheeks and moved inexorably down to her laughing lips. All he wanted was to stay and taste the deep pineapple sweetness of her mouth. She moved her own mouth, caressing and nibbling his cheek.

‘Pineapple,’ she murmured.

He continued down her chin to her throat where drips had landed and were heading into the vee of her blouse. Her skin was satin smooth, dangerously addictive, and the swell of her breasts enticed him on. He could feel her pulse pounding as was his, her heart thudding as was his. A soft moan escaped her lips. She pulled away quickly, breathing hard. Miles studied her through eyes heavy with lust. If she hadn’t stopped he wouldn’t have been able to. Did she realise?

‘Hand me the towel.’ Her voice shook.

He gave it to her without a word. She wiped her fingers and her throat, dabbing under the white cotton where the buttons met and he longed to explore.

‘Feed me,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘It’s your turn.’

Marianne stared into his eyes for a long moment. She reached for the bowl, selecting a piece of mango. He opened his mouth and let his lips slide slowly around her fingers. Juice ran down his chin, sticky and sweet. He swallowed. Marianne leaned forward. He closed his eyes.

Her lips were soft but insistent. She started on the point of his chin, her tongue licking softly to catch a drip. Her kisses moved slowly up to the corner of his mouth and lingered. Then she moved across his lower lip to the other side. It took an eternity. He knew he couldn’t possibly be paired with her for any more sessions, not if he were to follow Fiorella’s rules and keep to acceptable public behaviour.

He pictured the scrawny legs and vacant expression of the real Boris, an image guaranteed to quell the lust of Don Juan, Casanova and any other would-be lover. When that failed he thought about the pile of papers stacked on the table at home. Hopelessly inadequate. He had to leave.

Tiffany swam in a haze of romantic delight. The surf shop guy, this clean-shaven ‘Boris’, was truly the man of her dreams. He kissed her as though he meant it, as though it wasn’t an exercise with a stranger. Inexpert she may be, but Tiffany was experienced enough to recognise desire in a man’s eyes and Boris desired her, without a doubt.

She could easily fall in love with this caring and tender man — such a good kisser. He’d done this course before, he must be good. This afternoon they’d do even more intimate things together. Their destiny was surely decided, their names must be paired. His eyes, inches from hers, stared, stunned. She knew he felt it too. He sat back, groped for the towel and wiped his face then handed it to her.

‘You’re supposed to kiss my fingers clean.’ Her voice came out low and sexy, surprising the heck out of her.

‘I already did.’

‘But...’ she began but Boris sprang to his feet.

‘Excuse me. Have to go to the bathroom.’

Tiffany’s heart contracted in her chest. What had she done wrong? She’d loved every slurpy, silly, sticky minute of the exercise and he had too, she was certain. Until the end. She’d obviously gone too far. Overstepped some boundary she hadn’t known existed. She was too eager and he sensed it. He was backing off fast.

‘All right, Marianne?’ asked Fiorella, who’d been prowling about watching the antics of her group.

She nodded. ‘Boris had to go to the bathroom.’ Miss Sexy Voice had been replaced by bewildered little girl.

Fiorella studied her for a moment. ‘Did you enjoy the exercise. It’s messy but tons of fun.’

‘Yes, great,’ said Tiffany brightly.

‘Good. Remember, these are simply exercises to allow you to learn about yourself and how to attune yourself to your partner, whoever that may be. It can become very intimate but at the same time, not personal.’

Tiffany nodded.
Point taken. Idiot!

‘We’ll break now,’ said Fiorella addressing the room at large. ‘Twenty minutes.’

Boris had disappeared. He didn’t have tea with the rest of the group. They collected their cups and straggled outside through the rear door of the house to the cool shade of the garden. Fiorella didn’t join them either. Jen wandered around with a teapot offering refills and homemade biscuits.

Tiffany almost asked her where Boris was, but a resurgence of the habitual Tiffany pride and reticence made her clamp her mouth shut. Instead she pretended an interest in a shrub with a bright orange flower although she knew next to nothing about gardening. But at least this plant didn’t want to chat. She touched one of the petals gently and a bee spiralled up startling her into spilling tea on the grass.

Why did Boris run away?

Marianne’s name didn’t suit her, Miles had decided. Fiorella wouldn’t tell him whether or not it was her real name but he suspected it wasn’t. Marianne was too sisterly for the girl who’d kissed mango and pineapple from his face and stirred his blood to such a fever pitch he had to get away from her to cool down.

‘Boris’ had cornered Fiorella in the break and asked, ‘Can I go home?’

‘Certainly not!’ Fiorella exclaimed.

‘Can I at least not be paired with Marianne?’

Fiorella gave him a penetrating look, which made his neck prickle uncomfortably.

‘If you’re destined to be with Marianne, you will be with Marianne.’

‘That’s rubbish and you know it,’ he said turning away from her shrewd gaze. He ran his hand through his hair.

‘Do I?’ she asked. ‘Why don’t you want to be paired with Marianne?’

‘She’s...’ He stopped. ‘I don’t even want to be here, Fiorella. I’m doing you a favour and you won’t do that one tiny thing for me.’

‘I think it might be a much bigger thing than you think. Relax. Enjoy yourself.’

He went to the kitchen and plopped onto a chair. Jen gave him a glass of iced water and a biscuit then left him to his traitorous male body and his muddled and murderous Fiorella-aimed thoughts.

Marianne, stony-faced, glanced at him when he came back into the room but quickly averted her eyes. He sauntered across to his tartan blanket and sat down in a careless sprawl. She sat with her arms hugging her drawn up knees, shutting him out, concentrating on Fiorella who stood by the small table, with the two wooden bowls sitting innocuously behind her.

‘We’re going to talk about the different reasons people kiss each other,’ she announced. ‘Anyone?’

‘Parents kissing children,’ said Rosemary.

‘Friends greeting or parting,’ offered Nathan.

‘Lovers,’ said Josie. ‘Making out.’

‘A kiss can also be a sign of respect and submission; for example, kissing the hem of a robe, the ring of a sovereign, or religious leader,’ said Fiorella. ‘We have the Romans to thank for the kiss as we know it. They kissed each other for all the reasons we’ve mentioned but the first recorded erotic kiss was about 1500 BC in India. The Romans soon discovered a kiss had many meanings and assigned words for the different types, such as
osculum
meaning friendship kiss,
basium
, passionate kiss, and
savium
, deep kiss, otherwise known as the French kiss.’

Fiorella beamed, ‘The kiss translates into every language and religion; anyone can do it. Kissing signals our brains to produce oxytocin, a hormone that gives us the good-all-over feeling we experience when kissing. It’s also known that biology causes one kiss to prompt another. When we kiss, the insides of our mouths and edges of our lips produce a chemical that shouts for more.

It’s very intimate and a first sexual contact between couples who would like to explore each other further. If that kiss is not appealing the relationship can crash and burn right then and there.’

‘What constitutes a good kiss?’ Marianne asked quietly. She said it in such an anxious little voice, Miles almost flung his arm around her and hugged her to him, to demonstrate exactly what constitutes a good kiss.

‘Anyone?’ Fiorella asked.

‘Start gently, test your partner’s reaction, feel what she’s thinking through the way she responds and take her lead until you know she wants what you want,’ said Miles, without taking his eyes off Marianne sitting so still beside him. ‘Then you go on together.’

Her cheeks changed colour from pale pink to deep rose but she didn’t once glance his way. She kept her eyes focussed on the carpet in front of her.

‘Exactly.’ Fiorella threw him a pleased smile. Miles acknowledged it with a raised eyebrow.

‘What do you do about the saliva?’ asked Wanda.

‘You have to develop little strategies for swallowing the excess water without letting on that you’re doing it. Move from the lips to the cheek or throat for example. Gaze deeply into your partner’s eyes and swallow. They won’t even notice. We also need to breathe deeply during kissing.’ Fiorella paused and looked around the room at her students. ‘On your feet everyone! Deep breathing exercises to get our lungs working and the oxygen pumping.’

Miles stood up and offered his hand to Marianne but she bounced to her feet. He did the various exercises but his heart wasn’t in it. His heart had decided, all by itself, to attach itself to the girl who was doing her best to ignore him.

Disappointing as that was, it was probably a good thing. If by some chance they were paired again, and that’s all it would be — chance—she would be annoyed. He could keep that in mind when his desire became rampant, as it surely would if he was forced to kiss her.

The breathing exercises ended and Fiorella reached for the wooden bowls. Everyone waited expectantly. He saw the tension creeping into Marianne’s body. Her jaw slowly tightened and she clutched her fingers together. What was she thinking? Please don’t pair me with that rude local man?

Fiorella looked at the first names.

‘Domenic and Wanda.’

‘It’s our destiny,’ said Domenic. Wanda grinned.

‘Andrew and Josie. Nathan and Marianne.’

Had Fiorella rigged it? He couldn’t possibly tell. Miles saw Marianne’s shoulders droop but her head came up and she joined Nathan who was positively beaming in anticipation. Who wouldn’t be, the lucky bastard? But that left...for the second time.

‘Boris and Rosemary.’

Miles saw the little start of surprise and the pleasure Rosemary couldn’t hide. He returned her smile dutifully and her face glowed pink. She glanced across at Marianne. Marianne looked at him.

Something crackled between them, a spark of knowledge, an awareness carried on invisible waves through the sultry air. It lasted a mere fraction of a second before Marianne turned to Nathan and Rosemary was there beside him saying, ‘Hello again,’ in a breathless little-girl voice.

Miles dragged his attention to Rosemary and tried to concentrate on Fiorella, who was explaining about taking a mouthful of water then kissing and swallowing. Rosemary took to the exercise with abandon. Miles acted on autopilot and wished he could go home.

Never in his life had he been in such a torturous situation. He couldn’t stand kissing Marianne but on the other hand, he couldn’t stand her kissing someone else, even that poor bastard Nathan, who he knew she’d only just met. He could hear her groaning and Nathan moaning. He groaned himself but not from pleasure. Rosemary gave a little whimper of delight.

Hard to tell a groan from a whimper of delight fortunately or Fiorella would be furious with him.

The exercise lasted an eternity of wet slurpy kisses, interspersed with giggles from Rosemary which turned to full-blown laughter. Water sprayed across his face and she sprawled across the blanket laughing uncontrollably.

Miles seized the opportunity for a breather. Marianne and Nathan were getting along far too well. Their mouths were stuck together like two halves of an oyster. Her eyes were closed and it was obvious she was loving every minute of it. They weren’t rolling about dripping wet and roaring with laughter like a couple of four-year-olds.

‘Don’t forget to breathe,’ Fiorella cried enthusiastically. ‘Excellent work everyone. Come on Boris, practice makes perfect.’

‘I think Rosemary’s too far gone,’ he said pointing at the floppy laughter-ridden woman now crushing his legs. For such a thin girl she was remarkably heavy when she relaxed.

‘It’s lunch time, anyway,’ said Fiorella, giving him the benefit of the doubt after summing up the Rosemary situation. ‘We’ll stop there, folks. The afternoon session will start at two.’