Training Days (17 page)

“Ha ha!” For the first time that day Ally not only smiled but laughed out loud. James may very well be wearing his knee-length overcoat, but she couldn’t quite picture him in a midst of a romantic twirl. Romantic or not, it would definitely be nice to see him again though.

Nice
. Ally screwed up her nose at her repeated use of that benign word. She really ought to find a more descriptive adjective.
Extremely exciting.
Yes. That was better. Ally thought it
extremely exciting
to be seeing James again.

She held on to that term until the announcement came over the PA system that they were due to arrive at Sydney’s Central Station in five minutes. She could hear lots of movement in the corridor—probably the same passengers who’d been desperate to board the train were now just as desperate to alight—and so she stayed seated, with her door locked, until the train had ground to a complete halt and most of the shuffle of feet past her door had ceased. Even then she waited for a minute or two before rising from her seat and unlatching her door. On a sudden impulse she bent to the floor and picked up the screwed-up piece of paper. She shoved it into her handbag as she hurried down the empty corridor, peering out of the large windows as she walked, hoping to catch a glimpse of . . . of James.

She saw him as soon as she alighted from the carriage. He was standing back from the crowd, head slowly turning from side to side as he scanned the platform looking for her. “James!” she called, holding a hand up in the air and waving. She saw him smile and nod in recognition as he moved sedately through the crowd to greet her.

“Alison.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her on the cheek. His skin felt raspy against hers. If she didn’t know better she’d have assumed he’d left the house unshaven. But she did know better. James’s skin—apart from the first hour immediately following his fastidious morning shave—was always like that.

Strangely, it had never bothered her as much as it did right now. Nevertheless, Ally ignored the scratchy sensation that spread around her mouth and kissed him back, not on the cheek, but on the lips. She pressed against him, feeling the strength of his body and breathing in the familiar spice of his aftershave. She held onto him, laying her cheek against his chest and feeling his heartbeat against her ear, regular and even. She hadn’t got her flapping coattails or her platform twirl, but she did get his arms around her. Most importantly, she got a feeling of reassurance that this was how it should be. That order had been restored. Ally clung onto him even more tightly.

James’s hands moved to her shoulders, pushing her away to hold her at arm’s length, an expression of bemusement on his features. “Are you okay, Alison?”

“I’m fine.” Ally laughed a little at her very uncharacteristic clinginess. She let him take her bag then latched onto the crook of his arm, steering him in the direction of the exit. “Just take me home. I want to have a bath and then I want to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

The smile that spread across James’s features displayed he was not averse to that idea at all. “Right, then. Let’s go.”

They walked arm-in-arm across the platform, and because Ally had no checked luggage to collect, they steered well clear of the crowded baggage-claim area. Despite her attempts not to, she could not help but cast a quick glance in the direction of the throng of people waiting to collect their suitcases. The small group on the periphery was unmistakable. Two men, one tall and lanky. Two women, one pacing around talking into her mobile phone. The other, a tall brunette with a melting mouth . . .

Ally touched her fingers to her lips, the tingly feeling that ran through them no doubt a residual effect of James’s whiskers. She leaned farther into him, resting her head against his shoulder and squeezing his arm. Suddenly aware the tall brunette had turned and was looking straight at her, Ally tilted her head up to James and smiled. And she hoped, not just for James’s sake but for the sake of anyone who happened to be watching, that it was a look of absolute devotion.

Two hours later—one of which had been spent sitting in Sydney’s abominable traffic—Ally was home. She’d unpacked her case while the bath was filling. James had brewed a pot of Earl Grey tea while she organized her clothes, so she drank that while she soaked. Now she was in her bedroom, applying her moisturizer. She applied it in long, slow strokes, her mind attuned to the feel of her own body under her hands. Her legs: soft and smooth, with only the finest traces of hair appearing since her last date with a tub of wax. Her stomach: also soft and not quite flat, but with a gentle curve that led to another, that of her Venus mound. On the upward stroke she could feel the rigid outline of her ribs and the contrasting pliability of her breasts. Ally held one in her hand as she applied the moisturizing cream. She’d given her breasts lots of attention over the years, but always with a critical eye. She’d judged them for their size, their shape, how they looked in this bra or that, this bikini, that bathing suit. Now she closed her eyes, running her hand over the soft tissue, cupping it, stopping with her palm across her nipple and feeling it react under her own touch. She dropped the tube of moisturizer to take her other breast in hand, caressing it, feeling its weight, watching the skin pucker as she traced her fingertip around the areola.
They’re beautiful
, she realized, fully appreciating their uniqueness for the first time. A flash of memory—of a similar womanly softness pressing just above hers—caused Ally’s breath to catch in her throat. She stopped what she was doing and bent down to frantically rub some moisturizer into her feet.

“Don’t stop.”

“Wha—?” Ally jerked her head around to find James at the entrance to the bedroom. His shirt was off and he’d loosened the buckle on the belt of his trousers.

“I said”—James took a step toward the bed—“don’t stop what you were doing. I liked it.”

Ally watched him approach, her cheeks hot in the knowledge she had been seen. She also felt somewhat affronted. Her moment had been private and nonsexual. But from the telltale bulge in James’s trousers he had seen it in a very sexual manner indeed. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” she asked tightly, pulling her light cotton bathrobe over her shoulders.

James rounded the bed and stopped right in front of her. From her seated position all she could now see was the bulge in his pants. “The door was open, Alison.”

“Oh.” Mollified at what she knew to be true, she leaned back a little so she could meet his glance instead of talking to a big protrusion. “Well, you should have come in and asked if you could put some cream on my back for me, instead of sneaking around like a randy schoolboy.” She held out the tube of moisturizer.

He took it, smiling indulgently. “Lie down and turn over.”

Hmm.
So no flapping coattails, no platform twirls and no silken lover’s language. Pretty much par for the course. Ally saluted him before turning over to lie facedown on the bed. “Yes, sir!”

It was just as well James had decided on a career in architecture, since he would never have made it as a masseur. Ally yelped at the shock of cold, him squeezing a huge dollop of the very cold cream directly onto her back. His application technique was reminiscent of his dishwashing technique—fast and furious. “Good?” he asked, placing the tube onto the bedside table and lying down next to her.

Experience had taught Ally that, if one wanted a male to repeat a certain task—such as the dishes, or a load of washing— it was wise not to criticize the current effort, no matter how crude. Right at this moment however, Ally was not certain she ever wanted him to do that again. She felt more like a scrubbed pot than anything else. And—she glanced to the bedside table— he hadn’t put the cap back on the tube of cream. So her tone was rather sarcastic as she reached to the table and groped around for the cap. “Oh, yes. Very good, thanks.”

James wouldn’t have gotten far in a career in human behavioral sciences either, since her tone seemed to have sailed right over his head. Instead he sounded rather pleased with himself. “I’m glad to do it for you.” He followed Ally’s trajectory to the bedside table, pressing his chest against her bare back and rubbing his lips along the side of her neck. She could feel his erection against her buttocks. “Baby, you smell so good.”

Ally shunted across the mattress a little, not yet ready for full body contact. She also moved her head away, finding James’s whiskers, which seemed to have sprouted farther since their last embrace on the train platform, increasingly irritating. “That tickles,” she lied.

“Do you want me to shave again?” James asked as he stuck his tongue into her ear.

“No.” Ally flipped over to face him, his question triggering a realization that she was being unduly hard on him. And she couldn’t pinpoint why. He was no different than normal. Maybe it was she who had changed?
No!
Ally told herself firmly.
I’m exactly the same as I was before she . . .
She grabbed James’s cheeks and kissed him hard on the lips. “I like you exactly the way you are.”

Even before the embrace she knew she wasn’t in the mood. Now, feeling his bristles scratch across her cheek and the hardness of his body against hers, she was sure of it. She knew from previous declinations of his advances that James would accept her decision without argument. But still, she
had
kind of promised. And there was a portion of her consciously pushing her onward, telling her this was something she had to do, and do
now
. So she closed her eyes and began working her lips down his chin, to his neck. She curled her fingers through the dense covering of chest hair and trailed her nails farther down, across his stomach and past his navel, where a snail trail of dark, coarser hair began. James was breathing harder, in anticipation of what was to come next. He loved it when she slid her hand into his trousers and exclaimed over what she found.

“Alison?” he said a moment later, when her hand still rested, unmoving, on his abdomen. Getting no reply he repeated, “Alison?”

Ally just shook her head against James’s chest, unable to speak. She had no words to describe the sensation that had gripped her. It wasn’t just a case of not being in the mood. It was more than that. It wasn’t quite fear. It wasn’t quite dread. It wasn’t even quite distaste. It was a . . .
wrong
kind of feeling. She was lying beside the man she declared to love and it felt . . . wrong.

She rolled off the bed and grabbed her bathrobe, which she had thrown onto the floor just before James attacked her back with moisturizer. “I’m not feeling well,” she said as she dashed, with head down, into the toilet.

James knocked on the locked door a few moments later. “Alison? Are you okay?”

“Not really,” she said weakly. She was sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, her head in her hands. She felt a little nauseous. Maybe she actually
was
ill and it was stopping her from thinking straight. Or maybe she was suffering a delayed hangover from all the gin she knocked back last night. “I think I might have caught something on the train.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Nothing at the moment,” Ally said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

There was a short silence, then, “Does that mean you want me to leave?”

Ally’s head was awash with contradicting thoughts. She wanted to be alone to think, but she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts.

“Alison?”

Ally flushed the toilet, not out for need, but for effect. “I think maybe it would be better if you did. You don’t want to catch anything I might have.”

Another silence, then, “I’ll give you a call later tonight, okay?”

Ally could hear the disappointment in his tone. And no wonder either. This wasn’t exactly the homecoming she had planned, or that he would have been hoping for. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault you are unwell.”

“I’ll be fine tomorrow, I promise.”

“We’ll take tomorrow when it comes. I’m going to put a glass of water by the door here, and then I’ll get going. And I’ll call you tonight.”

James’s concern almost made Ally want to cry. How could she be such a bitch to such a nice man?
Nice?
Jesus, there was that word again. “Okay,” she replied, her voice small.

Less than a minute passed before Ally heard the clink of glass against the tiled floor. “There you go. I’ll be off now.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Alison.”

Ally opened her mouth but no more words would come out. She pulled a wad of paper off the roll and blew her nose loudly. It wasn’t entirely a ruse, since she could feel tears threatening. They appeared in a flood the moment she heard the door to her apartment open and close.

“What the hell have you done to me, Morgan Silverstone?” Ally threw open the toilet door, returned to the bedroom and threw herself on the bed. In the next moment she was off it again and dashing through the apartment, to her handbag, which she’d left on the kitchen bench. She emptied the entire contents onto the granite-look laminate and rummaged through them until she found the piece of screwed-up paper with Morgan’s number on it. She smoothed the paper until it was again readable then stared at the number for a very long time.