A Sunset in Sydney Page 6

  “Last year, I briefly dated a woman”—Whoa! Do I want to hear this? My smile vanished—“and one night in particular, there was a clear sky and a full moon, and I suggested we go for a late-night walk.” I thought about how magical that would have been. “There I was, thinking it was romantic, something enjoyable to do together, and she just looked at me as though I had lost my mind and said, ‘Why?’”

  “I wouldn’t have said that.”

  He shook his head gently. “No, you would have put your shoes on, and we’d have gone for the walk.” I nodded. He leant in and kissed me. “And that’s why you, Sarah.” He kissed me more deeply, and we put out our cigars and went back to bed.

  It wasn’t much of a sleepover, but I did get a few hours of shut eye.

  Chapter 6

  I woke up in a dreamy state of satiation, with just a hint of self-satisfaction. Yes, I’d just complicated my love life further, but I could take a moment to bask in the afterglow of the night before. James was a spectacular lover. Well done me.

  It wasn’t quite daylight outside, but there was a promise of morning in the thin light seeping into the room either side of the curtains. James was still soundly asleep next to me, his back a wall of lithe muscle. I looked around the bedroom, keeping still so I didn’t wake him.

  It was as tastefully and expensively decorated as his living room. There were hints of him—the man, the person—in the tight cluster of small paintings on the wall opposite the bed, all different styles, but all featuring the same hue of blue—“robin’s egg”, I think it’s called.

  On his dresser, minimally designed and in dark wood, was a framed black and white photo of a couple on their wedding day—his parents, I assumed—and another framed photo of two men throwing their heads back, laughing. I couldn’t make out their faces well enough to see if one of them was James. I’d sneak a peek later.

  I gently propped myself up on my elbows so I could see the clock on James’s side of the bed. It was 6:17am. I didn’t know if he had to be somewhere that morning, or what time he usually woke up on a weekday, but I wasn’t keen to just lie there, waiting. I also desperately needed a shower—all that ravishing, you know.

  I pushed back the covers, climbed out of bed naked, and quietly made my way into the bathroom. I’d left Cat’s evening bag in there the night before after I’d brushed my teeth and used my moisturiser to take my makeup off. This gal can be innovative when it comes to skincare. I’d also unpinned my hair from its fancy up-do before I went to sleep, and I saw in the mirror that it was taking advantage of its freedom. I looked like Merida from that film Brave—only a brunette.

  My phone buzzed from inside the evening bag and I dug it out. I hadn’t packed a phone charger, so it was telling me it was in the death throes of ebbing battery life at 18%. There were also two new text messages. The first one was from Cat:

  Woo hoo! Will leave a key with the concierge if I go out. Text when you’re coming home.

  The next one was from Josh:

  Hey, just home from work. Was hoping we could FaceTime later. Miss ya. Jx

  A twist of panic snaked its way through my stomach.

  WHAT. AM. I. DOING?

  Less than a week before, I’d woken up next to Josh, miserable about saying goodbye and asking myself if I loved him. And there I was in the silver fox’s bathroom after I had made love with him—made love!—practically all night long.

  I shot off a quick text to Cat:

  Just woke up. OMG. So much to tell. Home soon—def before lunch.

  Replying to Josh was more difficult. It was late at night in Chicago. What if I replied while he was still awake, and he wanted to FaceTime me right away? I decided to hold off until I was back at Cat’s and knew he’d be asleep. I turned off my phone. There was no sense in listening to it die completely. That buzzing could drive a person mad.

  James’s bathroom was perfection. As well as two sinks, there was a giant soaking tub and a separate shower with a rainwater shower head. I opened a cupboard under the closest sink and, as I hoped, there was a stack of fluffy towels. I pulled one out, hung it on a hook next to the shower, and stepped in.

  The water felt great, but when I turned it off, I realised James was knocking on the bathroom door. “Sarah?”

  “Yes,” I called out. I reached for the towel and clutched it to me in an act of unnecessary modesty.

  “Tea or coffee?”

  Oh, how lovely! “Uh, tea please. White, no sugar,” I replied.

  “See you downstairs in a tick.”

  I dried off quickly. I didn’t really have much in the way of toiletries or cosmetics with me, so I brushed my teeth, slathered on some moisturiser, touched up under my eyes with concealer, dotted some lipstick on my cheeks and rubbed it in for that freshly flushed look, and pinned the curls around my face on top of my head, out of the way. Like I said, this gal can innovate with just a handful of products.

  But what to wear? I didn’t really fancy putting on my dress for a cup of tea. I opened the bathroom door and there on the bed, on the side I had slept on, was a folded-up bathrobe—a woman’s bathrobe. James was not only thoughtful and generous in bed, it seemed. I put on the robe and descended two levels to the kitchen.

  Now, I know I’ve raved about James’s house, but I nearly had another orgasm when I saw his kitchen. It was exactly what I would have designed if I owned my own house and had an unlimited budget. There was a giant island cupboard—bench space for days—a six-burner gas stove, two ovens, and twin sinks with draining boards on each side.

  And the fridge! It was massive! And it had some seriously fancy controls. Even from the foot of the stairs, I could tell it made sparkling water. I would have bet a million pounds he also had a great knife set, and that the best cookware you could buy was tucked away somewhere. He’d set two places, cloth napkins and all, at one end of the breakfast bar, which seated six.

  I managed to take in all these details in about seven seconds. That’s how much I love a good kitchen—even more than a dream bathroom.

  “Good morning,” James smiled, as he poured hot water into a teapot. It was probably from the Ming dynasty. I noted he was also wearing a robe.

  “Good morning,” I smiled back. “James, your home is really beautiful—all of it—but this kitchen!”

  “You like it?”

  “I could happily live in this kitchen for the rest of my life. Really, I would sleep on the floor.”

  He laughed heartily, throwing his head back. I thought about the two men in the photo in his room and realised I’d forgotten to take a closer look before coming downstairs.

  “Well, you’re most welcome to cook in here if you like, but as far as sleeping goes, I’d rather have you in my bed.”

  I blushed at that. I mean, how could I not? It made me think of all the things he’d done to me in that bed.

  “I made us some toast. My housekeeper, Janice, gets in the most exquisite bread from a bakery not far from here and she makes her own jam.” He pointed a knife towards several jars of jam on the countertop, then used it to butter the toast that popped up.

  I took a seat opposite him at one of the place settings. “It smells amazing.”

  “I’ve brewed us a pot of tea, too. I usually use teabags, but it’s nice to have someone to share a pot with. I also have an espresso machine if you’d like a coffee later”—of course he does—“but I prefer tea first thing.”

  “Me too. And I may say yes to a coffee later. Are you any good?” He cocked his head to the side, then added a bemused smile.

  “I couldn’t say. Am I?”

  Oh god! “No, I …” How embarrassing. “I meant coffee. Are you any good at making coffee?” I put my face in my hands and shook my head. “You’re laughing at me,” I said through my hands.

  He came around to my side of the counter and gently pulled my hands from my face, taking them into his. I couldn’t look at him.

  “I am laughing at you, yes. I am an utter bastard. Will you
forgive me?” I raised my eyes to his and my breath caught in my throat. “Please?”

  I nodded. He leant down and kissed my mouth with a quick smack. “Good. Now I’ll finish making breakfast, so we can eat, and then I shall have you at least once more before we start our day properly.” He waggled his eyebrows at me a couple of times.

  My stomach did a flip-flop and I giggled in response. As hungry as I was—and I was pretty much starving after all the physical activity we’d had the night before—I was very much looking forward to being in James’s bed again. He grinned at me from his post across the counter. I was starting to think he really could read my mind.

  We ate side by side at the breakfast bar, chatting about Paddington and what he liked about living there. He was right about that bread, too. It was grainy and delicious, and he’d toasted it perfectly. I can’t abide people who would wave a piece of bread over a candle flame and call it toast.

  It was also impossible to choose between Janice’s fig, strawberry, and rhubarb jams, so I had some of all three. With several slices of toast and more than my share of a giant pot of tea, I had managed to make quite a pig of myself.

  “Yum!” I said, wiping toast crumbs from my mouth with a cloth napkin.

  “Happy?” he asked, as he got up and took my plate. He’d asked me that before, the week before at lunch. And like then, I knew he was just asking if everything was okay. I realised, though, that I was happy being there with him eating toast and drinking tea.

  “Deliriously.” All I needed was to move the whole thing upstairs to the window seats and I’d be living out my fantasy. I got up and started helping to clear away the detritus of breakfast.

  “Good.” He took the mugs from my hands and placed them in the sink. “Let’s leave all that for now.” Then he kissed me deeply, his hands on the small of my back pulling me towards him.

  He broke off the kiss and I bit my lip. “Bedroom?” I asked.

  He nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Bedroom. Now.”

  I have no idea what got into me, but I replied with, “Race you there.” Then I turned and ran up two flights of stairs, James fast on my heels. In his bedroom he captured me around the waist, flinging us both onto the bed. I dissolved into giggles, breathless from running up all those stairs. James’s face, just inches from mine, broke into a broad smile. I sighed, contentedly.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” he said. Then he enveloped me in his arms and kissed me. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and happily let him ravish me again—twice.

  *

  I was lying on my side, my head on James’s chest while he stroked my hair. I pushed myself up onto one elbow and our eyes met. “I meant to ask you something earlier, but only just remembered.”

  “What’s that?” His hand continued to play with my hair. I had no idea how bad it looked unfettered and sex-mussed—most of the hairpins had flown out during my run up the stairs.

  “The photo over there …” I looked towards the photo of the two men. “Who is that?” He must have known exactly what I meant, because he didn’t even glance towards his dresser. “That’s me with my brother, Christian.”

  “Oh, you have a brother? Are you close?” I thought about Cat, how she was my bestie, and that I always felt sorry for people who didn’t have that kind of relationship with their siblings.

  “We were, yes, very close. He was my dearest friend.” The past tense of his words and the shadow of grief that momentarily crossed his face prefaced an awful “but …”.

  “What happened?” I whispered. “Did you have a falling out?”

  “No.” His eyes glistened, and he sighed out heavily. “He died. Just a few years ago now. Car accident.” He pushed a thumb into his eyes, one after the other. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, no, James. I’m sorry. I …” I felt like crap and wanted to say so, but that was unfair. No matter how badly I felt for putting my foot in it, my feelings paled in comparison with James’s grief, which was palpable.

  “You did nothing wrong, Sarah.”

  I stroked the side of his face and pressed my forehead against his cheek. “I am sorry, though. I’m sorry you lost someone so precious to you.” There were tears in my eyes. James pulled me tightly to him and I snuggled up against his chest.

  “I guess I don’t really talk about him very often, and it’s been a long time since anyone else was up here.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “But I want to.” He paused and I held my breath waiting for him to speak. “My father died more than ten years ago, so when Christian died, it was just me and my mother to deal with the grief together. But she couldn’t be there for me. It was overwhelming for her. She loved my father, and he’d gone. She loved Christian, and … well, I think I was too much of a reminder of what she’d lost.” I hugged him tighter. “I think it hurt her more to see me than not to.”

  “You both look really happy in that photo,” I said, barely more than a whisper.

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “We were.” Then he laughed, a quiet but warm chuckle, almost to himself. “We were at Valentina and Marcus’s place, some party in the summertime, and he’d just told me the most pornographic joke. God, he was a character.” I smiled to myself. “I didn’t even know there was a photo of that moment until Tina gave it to me, framed, right after Christian’s service.”

  I lifted myself up, so I could meet his eyes. “Really?”

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  “That’s the most thoughtful thing ever. You know, I kind of have a crush on Valentina.”

  “We all do, darling,” he said, pulling me close for a kiss.

  “James?”

  “Yes.”

  “I really am sorry about Christian.”

  “I know.”

  “But I’m also glad you were close, that you had that kind of relationship with him. My sister is …” How could I even begin to describe what Cat meant to me? Tears prickled my eyes and I swiped them away with the back of my hand, annoyed that I couldn’t articulate my thoughts.

  “I know, Sarah. I know just what you mean.”

  And there it was, James making me feel understood without me having to explain.

  I snuffled and looked around for a tissue. James reached for the box next to his side of the bed and handed it to me. Then we each took a handful and cleaned ourselves up.

  “James.”

  “Sarah.”

  “I have one more question.”

  “Uh oh,” he teased.

  “Whose bathrobe is that?” I pointed to the item in question, which was lying on the floor where James had flung it earlier.

  He laughed—heartily this time.

  “Why, darling, that would be yours.” I looked at him and my confusion had to be obvious. “Just think of it like the toothbrush you popped into your evening bag.” He was teasing me. “There was a brand new one under the sink for you, by the way.” Make that, seriously teasing me. Not that I minded, not really.

  “Right,” I said. “Well then, as it’s mine, where do I hang it up?”

  *

  “He actually bought you a bathrobe?” Cat really did home in on the most bizarre details.

  James had driven me back to Cat’s mid-morning, holding my hand as much as it was possible while navigating the narrow, winding streets of London. When we pulled up, he came around to my side of the car to open the door and to kiss me goodbye properly—that’s what he’d said, “properly”.

  Swoon.

  I’ll admit, though, even after having the most amazing time with James, I’d been looking forward to talking it through with Cat so I could get her take on things. But after the bathrobe quip, I was beginning to question her ability to debrief properly. I needed my best girlfriend, not an annoying little sister.

  “Everything I just told you, and that’s what you get hung up on?”

  “I’m not hung up. I’m intrigued. It’s very Pretty Woman.”

  “Except the
part about me not being a prostitute.”

  “Well, yes, obvs. So, are you falling in love with him?” I spat out half a mouthful of tea. So far, this conversation was not going as planned. I was glad it was too early for us to have cracked a bottle of red—much harder to get out of the carpet. Cat jumped up to grab a dishcloth.

  “Well, are you?” she persisted.

  Was I falling in love with James? The truth was, I didn’t know. I had certainly fallen in lust with him—he was gorgeous by anyone’s standards. I’d thoroughly enjoyed all the sex, and we’d had some interesting conversations, but love? Surely, it was way too soon to be thinking along those lines, especially as half the time I was with him, I felt like an unrefined pretender.

  Cat finished cleaning up the tea I’d spat out, then brought a packet of chocolate digestives from the kitchen. She knew me so well. Without thinking, I took a biscuit out of the packet and ate half of it in one bite, chewing pensively as I considered Cat’s question.

  And then I remembered what James had told me about Christian—how he’d opened up to me, and that I’d desperately wanted to take away the hurt I saw in his eyes. Was that falling in love, or something close to it?

  I swallowed and popped the second half of the biscuit into my mouth. More pensive chewing. But even if I set aside what we’d shared about our siblings, there were all those lovely things James had said about me. Apparently, I was a “breath of fresh air”, and if I was completely honest with myself, it felt wonderful to be appreciated like that.

  I swallowed again and looked at my sister, who was curled up on an armchair watching me. “Perhaps I am falling for him.”

  She nodded, seemingly to respect the weight of what I’d just said. “And you also think you might be falling for Josh,” she said simply.

  I bit my lip. Oh god, she was right. I had serious feelings for two men. I could no longer kid myself that this was all just a bit of fun.

  And then I burst into tears.