Talking Sense (19 page)

She squealed and wrapped her legs around his hips. “What are you doing?”

He swept aside the net curtain the owner had insisted on putting up for him and pressed her up against the glass, resting her butt on the tiny window sill. “Is that a trick question?”

“Colm, seriously, there are people walking down there.” She glanced at the pedestrians strolling by a few floors down. “If they look up, they’ll be able to see
everything.
”

“So let’s put on a show.” He moved his hips until the tip of his erection parted her warm flesh, then let her slide slowly onto him.

“Oh my God.” She tipped her head back against the window, eyelids fluttering. “I will never get tired of that.”

“Me neither.” He touched his lips to her throat as he moved his hips back and forward. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She clasped his face in her hands and kissed him hungrily, and he responded with heartfelt desire, plunging his tongue into her mouth as he thrust inside her. He meant it—he’d never tire of doing this with her, of burying himself inside her. They fit together so well, moving like oiled machinery, slick and rhythmic. He wanted to make love to her a hundred different ways, in a hundred different places, but even if he could only ever have her in bed in the missionary position, he knew he’d never be bored.

“Oh, how do you do that?” she moaned, screwing her eyes up with pleasure.

“Do what?” Encouraged, he continued to rock his hips, grinding against her.

“Oh…that…” She clenched her fingers in his hair and bit her bottom lip. “God, Colm, how do you know exactly…what to do to me…”

“Instinct,” he mumbled, rapidly losing the power of speech. She clamped around him, warm and wet and soft, and he pushed his hips forward, pausing for a moment to sink deeper into her. “Fuck.”

She kissed him again, urgently now, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before she came. He was beginning to know the signs—the way her breathing turned ragged, and how she sank her nails into his shoulders as her muscles tightened.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, holding back his own climax so he could enjoy hers. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

She squealed as she came, tightening around him in pulses, and he watched her tug her bottom lip with her teeth and screw up her nose with pleasure, loving the fact that he was the one who’d brought her to the heady heights of bliss.

And then he let go and felt heat rush up, felt himself swelling inside her, and he gave small, shallow thrusts as he came. It was exquisite and heavenly, and he let it go for as long as he could, enjoying the feel of her wrapped around him, her breath warm on his ear.

When he’d finally done, he pulled back and kissed her. “You okay, love?”

“Mm.” A frown flickered on her brow.

“Your back?” he asked, somewhat guiltily. He hadn’t even given it a thought.

“No.” She dropped a hand between them to her abdomen, but didn’t say anything.

He withdrew carefully, alarm firing through him as he saw blood. “Mia.”

“Shit.” She shook her head at the look on his face. “It’s okay, it’s just my period. It’s early. I’m sorry, it wasn’t due for another day or so, but I’ve never been terribly regular.”

“It’s okay.” He walked across to the dining table and retrieved a handful of tissues, disposed of the condom and then handed the rest to her. “I’m sorry too—was I a bit rough?” He remembered how he’d thrust deep. Was it his fault?

“No, no.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll just nip to the bathroom.”

“Of course.” He followed her through to the bedroom, where she picked up her panties and purse and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

He slipped on his boxers and jeans then went back into the living room to give her some privacy in case she wanted to dress. He switched the kettle on again, more for something to do than because he was thirsty. Typical bloody Irish, he mused, thinking tea solves everything.

He ran a hand through his hair. So she wasn’t pregnant. Well, that solved all his problems, didn’t it? At least now he didn’t have to worry about her being a single parent, or leaving behind a child who’d never know him.

So why did he feel this awful, overwhelming sense of loss?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mia stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes glistened from the tears that threatened to fall.

“It’s a good thing,” she whispered to herself. “No baby wants to be an accident.” She wasn’t even in a permanent relationship—it would have been terrible to get pregnant when the father was due to move to Venus—or as near as dammit.

A tear finally tipped over her lashes and trailed down her cheek. She studied it absently, sullenly, for a moment. She had to be honest with herself. She’d hoped that if she was pregnant, it might force Colm to stay with her in New Zealand. But it was just a fantasy, and an unfair one at that. What sort of relationship would it be if he felt he
had
to stay? Because knowing Colm, he’d want to do the right thing, even if that did mean living in a strange country and being apart from his family. But that wouldn’t stop him being homesick. Things would deteriorate between them as his resentfulness grew, and then one day he’d grow to hate her. And she didn’t think she could bear that.

She wiped the tear away, got her makeup bag out of her purse and quickly applied some powder and a bit of mascara. She hadn’t lost a child, or an opportunity. She’d started her period, and that was why she was feeling a bit emotional.

A slick of lip gloss completed the look. She left the bathroom, found the bedroom empty and saw his jeans gone from the back of the chair. So she pulled on her shirt and skirt before walking back into the living room.

He stood in the kitchen, leaning against the worktop in much the same position as he’d been in when she’d walked out half an hour earlier, only this time he wore jeans on top of his boxers. She paused, catching her breath at the sight of him. Shirtless, arms folded, his biceps bulged, and she could see the trail of hair travelling down from his flat stomach below where his waistband hung on his hips. He was a fine figure of a man.

He also looked very sad again.

She walked into the room and he glanced over, pushed himself off the worktop and came toward her. Wordlessly, he put his arms around her.

Surprised, she rested her head on his chest and tried to take comfort in the warmth of his embrace. It was difficult, though.
Why does it feel like things are coming to an end?
Was he about to say it would be best if they didn’t see each other again? Panic swept through her. She didn’t want it to end, not yet. Obviously it couldn’t last beyond the year, but they could have fun up until then, couldn’t they? Maybe he’d realised how knotted up she’d been about the baby thing—maybe he’d read her using his strange ability, and it had scared him. If she wanted to keep him a bit longer, she was going to have to lighten the mood a little.

She pulled back and gave him a big smile. “Are you making tea again?”

“It’s our answer to everything.” He cupped her face. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry about that, it was a little embarrassing. But it was a huge relief, actually. I was so panicking I was pregnant, and that would have been a nightmare.”

He continued to stroke her cheek with his thumb, but all he said was, “Yes.”

“I don’t want babies yet,” she said breezily. “Plenty of time for all that. For now I just want to have fun.”

“Sure,” he said, “who doesn’t?” He turned away and went back to the mugs. “Do you want another coffee?”

“Actually, I wondered if you wanted to catch some breakfast out.” Maybe, she thought, if they left the bedroom, things would become less intense. “Then we can go on to see that road.” She was nervous about that. The name had rung a bell, and she had her suspicions about it.

“Sure. Let me get dressed then.”

He went into the bedroom, and she heard him moving about choosing a shirt. Was it her imagination, or was there an atmosphere between them? He’d hugged her, but his eyes had been cool. She sighed. She’d never been very good at guessing people’s moods and always wished they said what was on their minds. That was why she got on so well with Grace, who always said the first thing she thought and somehow lacked the ability to vet her words. That suited Mia just fine, and she loved being with Grace and never having to puzzle about what she was thinking.

That made her think about the fact that Grace was due the following day. Mia had been excited about becoming an auntie—that’s what Grace had insisted she be called even though she wasn’t Grace’s sister. But for the first time since she found out Grace was pregnant, she felt a sweep of envy. Grace had it all—a husband who adored her, a baby on the way, even a ready-made babysitter in Jodi, Ash’s daughter.

How had it happened? How had Mia got to thirty without finding the man she was supposed to be with for the rest of her life? She wasn’t sure she’d believed in soul mates in the past, but she couldn’t help thinking that maybe there was one man out there for her, and she’d missed him. They’d passed each other in the street, and she’d been looking one way and he’d looked the other, and that was it, their chance had gone.

Or maybe it was her—maybe she had some fatal flaw that prevented her from being happy. She’d had plenty of chances at it, she had to face it—lots of boyfriends, most of whom had been decent men who would have made great husbands and fathers. And yet for some reason she’d not settled for any of them, always finding fault, having this strange, impractical feeling that they weren’t The One. And because she was so picky, she’d ended up alone. Maybe she’d never get married, never have children. What was the word? Spinster. An ugly, damning word. It made her think of wrinkled stockings, false teeth and that strange smell that old women often had.

She bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry! What the hell was wrong with her? She was only thirty, not fifty. There was plenty of time to find herself a partner. Once Colm went back, she’d start dating again, and this time she wouldn’t be so particular.

And then Colm came out of the bedroom. He wore a snug navy T-shirt. He’d brushed his hair, although it still looked like he’d just got out of bed. He looked younger in jeans than he did in his school clothes, and more delicious. Her heart missed a beat in a way it had rarely done with any of her previous boyfriends. She had to face facts. She’d fallen for him, big time. And he wasn’t going to be easy to get over.

“Ready?” he said, and smiled.

“Yes.” She grabbed her shoes and coat, biting her lip hard so the tears didn’t fall. She just had to make the most of the time she had with him, that was all.

They breakfasted in a lovely café and had eggs Benedict and lattes while the rain continued to patter against the window. Colm seemed back to normal and held her hand while they waited for their meal to arrive, got up and ordered her another coffee when she wanted one, fetched her the salt, told her she was beautiful, and kissed her in full view of the waitress, who grinned when he knocked over the salt grinder as he did so.

Mia continued to try hard not to cry.

Afterward, they went to his car, and Mia directed him north out of the city toward Old Karori Road. Before long, the city streets began to melt away, turning to the longer, more winding tree-lined roads heading toward the country. Her nerves got worse the nearer they got. She had to be wrong.
Please let me have made a mistake
, she begged anyone who might be listening.

She suggested he park at the top of the road, and he pulled over in front of a childcare centre.

“I don’t think he’s here,” Colm joked. “He’d be a bit young to be my dad.”

She smiled nervously, and they linked hands as they began to walk down the hill. Ahead of her she could see a side road leading to the left, and the red-brick building on the corner. Her heart pounded.

As they neared the junction, she stopped and turned him toward her. He looked at her, eyebrows rising, emphasising his bright blue eyes.

“Colm,” she said, taking his hands, “I…I hope I’m wrong. But I think you should prepare yourself for a shock.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She led him down the side road to the sign outside the building. It said
Karori Cemetery
.

He stared at it. “You think he might work here?”

Emotion flooded her, and she bit her lip. She gave a shaky smile and shook her head. “No, love.”

To her surprise, anger darkened his face. “No. I don’t believe it. I haven’t been brought all this way only to find out he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He turned without another word and marched into the office.

She followed him in and listened while he spoke politely but furiously to the woman behind the desk. She searched the computer records for him and confirmed that there were three Robert Greens noted in her records. One had been buried in 1921, one in 1973.

The last one had been cremated, in 2005.

“He has a plaque,” the woman said. “On a bench. I can show you if you like.”

Colm had turned white, his eyes icy cold. When he didn’t say anything, Mia said, “Yes, please,” to the woman and took his hand to lead him outside.

The woman led them down to the chapel. “The stained-glass windows were made by the Dublin glass-making studio
An Tur Gloine
,” she said helpfully. She’d obviously picked up on his accent, thought Mia. Colm nodded, but didn’t say anything.

They walked around the chapel a little way through the gardens, and there facing them was a wooden bench in the centre of which shone a small metal plaque. The woman left them alone to read it, saying if they needed anything else she’d be happy to help.

They stood before the bench and read the words together.
In Memoriam Robert Green, husband to Raewyn and father to Susan and Neil, b. 1954, d. 2005, aged 51. R.I.P.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Mia watched Colm turn and sit on the bench. Around them graves radiated out in circles like the trilithons at Stonehenge. She tried not to look at them, refusing to let her mind travel down the road of whether the boy who had died in the accident was buried here. This was about Colm—not her.