Miranda Lee - It Started With One Night

The sex. The sex between them had changed.

‘Why now, Max?’ she couldn’t stop herself asking whilst her stomach had tightened into a knot.

He shrugged. ‘Do you want the truth? Or romantic bulldust?’

‘Romantic bulldust, of course.’

He laughed. ‘OK. I love you. I love you so much that I can no longer stand leaving you behind when I go away. I want you with me, every day. I want you in my bed, every night. How’s that?’

‘Pretty good. Now how about the truth?’

Max looked at her and knew he would never tell her the truth, which was that he was afraid of losing her if he left her behind. He suspected she had never felt anything like she’d felt with him today. How, now, could he expect her to patiently wait for him to come home? She might not actively look for other lovers, but men would always pursue Tara…

‘The truth,’ he repeated, doing his best to look in command of the situation. ‘The truth is I love you, Tara. I love you so much I can’t stand the thought of leaving you behind when I go away. I want you with me, every day. I want you in my bed, every night.’

And wasn’t that the truth!

Tara tried not to burst into tears. She had a feeling that sobbing all over the place was not what Max wanted in a mistress. Because of course, if she did this, if she quit her job and let Max pay for everything whilst she travelled with him, that was what she would be. Possibly, that was all she would ever be. There was no guarantee their relationship would end in marriage, no matter how much Max said he loved her.

Still, there’d never been any guarantees of that. He’d never given her any. And he wasn’t giving her any now.

Tara thought of what her mother had said about how he would never give her what she wanted. Once again, she tried to pin down in her mind what she actually wanted from Max at this stage in her life. That ring business had rocked her a bit. Suddenly, she wasn’t at all sure. The only thing she was sure of was that she didn’t want to lose Max. Now more than ever.

‘I’ll have to give Whitmore’s two weeks’ notice,’ she said, her voice on the suddenly breathless side. Her heart was racing madly and her mouth had gone dry. ‘I can’t just leave them in the lurch. February is top tourist season for the Japanese.’

‘Fine. But what about next weekend? I have to go back to Auckland, negotiate with some owners there about a hotel. If I arrange plane tickets for you, would you join me there?’

‘I wouldn’t be able to leave till the Saturday morning. We’d only have the one night together.’

‘Better than nothing,’ he said, blue eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, a tremor ripping down her spine. By next Saturday, her body would be screaming for him.

She picked up her glass and took a decent swallow, aware that he was watching her closely.

‘Are you all right, Tara?’ he asked, softly but knowingly, she thought.

‘No,’ she returned sharply. ‘No, I’m not. And it’s all your fault. I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof.’

‘Aaah.’

There was a wealth of satisfaction—and knowledge—in that aaah.

‘Would you like me to have our meals sent up to the penthouse?’

Tara blinked, then stared at him. If she blindly said yes, it would be the end of her. She would be his in whatever way he wanted her. There would be no further questioning over what she wanted, because what she wanted would be what he wanted.

But how could she say no when she wanted it too? To be his. To let him take her back into that world he had shown her today, that dizzying, dazzling world where sensation was heaped upon sensation, where giving pleasure was as satisfying as receiving it, where the mind was set free of worry and all its focus was centred on the physical.

‘Can we take the champagne too?’ she heard herself saying, shocked to the core at how cool her voice sounded.

‘Absolutely.’ Max was already on his feet.

‘Will you still respect me in the morning?’ she said with a degree of self-mockery as he walked round the table towards her.

Placing one hand under her chin, he tipped up her face for a kiss which was cruel in its restraint.

He’s teasing me, she realised. Giving me a taste of what’s to come.

‘Tell me you love me,’ he murmured when his mouth lifted.

‘I love you.’

‘Let’s go.’

‘I’M BEING punished for last night,’ Tara groaned.

‘You’ve just got a hangover,’ Max reassured her, sitting down on the side of the bed and stroking her hair back from her forehead. ‘You must have had too much champagne.’

‘I’ll never touch the stuff again,’ Tara said, not sure which was worse. Her headache or her swirling stomach.

‘Pity,’ Max said with a wry smile. ‘You really were very cooperative.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

Max laughed. ‘I’ll get you a couple of painkillers and a glass of water.’

Max disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Tara with her misery and her memories of the night before. Impossible to forget what she had allowed. Ridiculous to pretend that she hadn’t thrilled to it all.

Tara groaned, then groaned again. She was going to be sick.

Her dash to the bathroom was desperate, shoving Max out of the way. She just had time to hold her hair back and out of the way before everything came up that she’d eaten the night before. It came up and came up till she was left exhausted and shaken. 84

It’s just a hangover, she told herself as Max helped her over to the basin, where she rinsed out her mouth and washed her face. Or the same virus I had yesterday morning. I couldn’t possibly be pregnant. Mum put that silly thought into my head. And it is silly. I had a period, for pity’s sake.

‘Poor darling,’ Max comforted as he carried her back to bed and placed her still naked body gently inside the sheets. When she started shivering he covered her up with a quilt and tucked it around her. ‘No point taking any tablets if you’re throwing up. I’ll go get you that glass of water. And a cool washer to put on your forehead. That helps sometimes. Take it from one who knows. I’ve had a few dreadful hangovers in my time. Still, you must be extra-susceptible to champagne, because you didn’t have that much. I think I had the major share. And we wasted a bit. On you.’

‘Don’t remind me about that, either,’ she said wretchedly. ‘Could you dispose of that disgusting champagne bottle? I don’t want to look at it.’

‘Come, now, Tara, you loved it last night. All of it,’ he said as he swept the empty bottle off the bedside table and headed for the doorway. ‘But I will tolerate your morning-after sensitivities,’ he tossed over his shoulder, ‘in view of your fragile condition.’

Her fragile condition…

Tara bit her bottom lip as the question over her being sick for a second morning in a row returned to haunt her. Max was right. She hadn’t had that much champagne. Hard to pin her hopes on the gastric virus going around, either. With that, Jen and her kids had been running to use the loo all the time. Then there was her sudden recovery yesterday afternoon and evening, only for her to become nauseous again this morning.

If she hadn’t had a period recently then she would have presumed she was pregnant, as her mother had. Was it possible to have a period and still be pregnant? Tara had read of a few such cases. They weren’t proper periods, just breakthrough bleeding, mostly related to women who’d fallen pregnant whilst on the Pill. Nothing was a hundred per cent safe, except abstinence. Her mother had told her that, too.

‘Oh, God,’ she sobbed, and stuffed a hand into her mouth.