A Mother for Matilda (13 page)

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘It’s Saturday night. I joined the guys for drinks. They left to go into a bar in Brisbane. I was just finishing up.’

‘I didn’t think you went to the club nights.’

Lawson shrugged. ‘I don’t. Not usually. But Matilda’s at a sleepover and I felt at a bit of a loose end.’

Vic nodded. She knew how he felt. The bartender placed the drink in front of her and she dipped her head to take a sip from the straw. ‘Hmm.’ She shut her eyes and savoured the alcohol-laced chocolate. ‘You should try this.’ She held it up to him.

Lawson looked at the lipstick-coated straw and felt
a little pull in his groin. Drinking from it seemed intimate. And he wasn’t about to cross any more lines with her. Especially with alcohol involved. ‘Thanks. Think I’ll pass.’

Vic shrugged. ‘More for me.’

Behind the bartender large porthole-style windows gave glimpses of the beach and they watched the waves roll in as they chatted about Bob and other neutral topics as they sipped at their drinks.

Lawson drained his beer glass. ‘You meeting some friends? Going to do some dancing?’ Maybe she was meeting a guy?

Vic shrugged. ‘I was going to see if I knew anyone. Maybe have a couple of dances. But this band’s not very good, is it?’

Lawson smiled. ‘I thought it was just me.’

Vic laughed. ‘You know what I’d really like to do?’

Lawson looked at her warily. ‘What?’

She nodded in the direction of the window. ‘I feel like walking on the beach. You wanna come?’

Lawson looked at the sandy vista and felt a tug at his soul. There was a three-quarter moon caressing the beach with milky fingers and it called to his inner restlessness. Except it screamed bad idea. His strange jumbled-up attraction had been put on ice the last couple of weeks, but he didn’t trust how quickly a tropical moon might melt it away. ‘I don’t think so.’

Vic nodded. She was disappointed. But it was probably for the best. ‘That’s fine. Think I will, though.’ And she slipped off her chair. ‘Thanks for the drink.’

He watched her hips sway in the black dress she wore that seemed to tie in a bow at the back. Her auburn
hair swung loose, brushing her shoulders, and she looked small and very feminine as she walked away.

He sighed. He couldn’t let her walk on the beach by herself. The island was a pretty safe place and he knew she had no fear about anything bad happening to her. She’d grown up here. She practically knew everyone. But assaults had been known to happen and he’d hate for anything to befall her.

‘Wait up,’ he called as he slid off his stool and headed in her direction.

A
STIFF
breeze caressed her face, blowing her hair back as Vic kicked off her strappy heels. She jumped down onto the soft sand, eager to feel the crunch of it against her soles. Huge rollers broke the surface of the ocean, curling towards the beach and dumping against the shoreline with crashing precision, and Vic felt them reverberate through her cells.

She looked behind her and watched as Lawson kicked his shoes off. Whether it was the incandescence of the moonlight or his greater elevation, his shoulders seemed broader, his legs longer. Her fingers itched to feel the fabric of his shirt beneath them, her dreams haunted by the swell of muscle beneath crisp cotton.

‘Come on, slow poke,’ she called as she set off without him. The tide was out and she walked towards it, suddenly impatient to get her bare feet in the Pacific Ocean.

Lawson shook his head, wondering why the hell he was here putting temptation firmly in his path. Bob’s heart attack had relegated his attraction to the back burner, but with her hips swinging in front of him it brought it all crashing back.

He should leave now. While his sanity was still intact. But something, maybe the moonlight, maybe the fact that he’d missed their old dynamic and it finally seemed normal between them, egged him on.

‘Do you have some direction in mind?’ Lawson mused as he caught up with her. ‘Or are we just going to wander aimlessly?’

Vic grinned. ‘I thought we’d paddle along the edge for a while and end up at the rocks.’ She pointed to the rocky outcrop a couple of kilometres away.

They walked side by side for a while without talking, letting the water lap around their ankles as it followed its age-old rhythm. Vic yearned to slip her hand into his but was too frightened he’d reject her again and break the ease they were sharing, so she contented herself with the occasional arm brush.

The water felt cool between her toes, the sand squelching and grainy. She inhaled deeply. ‘I
am
going to miss this.’

Lawson waited a beat or two. ‘They do have oceans in England,’ he teased. ‘Like us, they’re an island.’

Vic shoved him with her shoulder. ‘Yes, but they don’t have the mighty Pacific lapping their shores, do they?’

Lawson turned to face the force of nature before him. The night was reasonably cloudless and the moon shimmered across the surface. ‘No. That’s true.’

Vic shook her head. ‘Just think. I’ve never known another ocean. I’m twenty-six and the Pacific’s all I’ve ever known.’

Lawson started to walk again. ‘You wait till you see the Mediterranean. It’s…I don’t know if there are words for it. It’s calm…not like this. And the most incredible
blue. Like uncut sapphires. And then the sun sparkles on it and it’s like the Crown jewels.’

Vic inspected his profile. It’d become quite expressive as he grappled with finding the exact description. It should have inspired in her a lust to see it. To dabble her toes, to witness its glory. But it didn’t.

He turned to her. ‘Italy is amazing. You have to go there. Venice is a must.’ He turned to her. ‘Promise me you’ll go to Venice.’

She looked up into his face. His eyes were in shadow and hard to read. Wind whipped stray hair across her face. ‘I promise,’ she whispered. Even though the thought of going there alone had no appeal.

Lawson nodded and moved on, his feet dragging through the shallows, sand gritty and viscous between his toes.

‘I’m glad you’re still going,’ he said after they’d walked some more.
He was, really
. ‘Your dad’s been worried you’ll decide to stay. He wanted me to talk to you about it.’

Vic stopped in his tracks. ‘Did he…did he set us up tonight?’

Lawson laughed and continued walking. ‘If you’re asking me did I know you were going to show up tonight, then the answer’s no.’ He looked behind him. She was standing with her hands on her hips like a petulant child. He turned so he was facing her, walking backwards. ‘Did your father know I was going to be at the club? Yes.’

Vic shook his head. ‘That wily old…’

Lawson laughed. ‘Yes. I don’t think his down time affected his brain any.’ And then he turned back so he was facing the way he was walking and trudged on.

Vic caught him up. ‘I
am
going, Lawson. But…’

He looked down at her. She was looking at her feet, her face screwed up, her cute cherubic cheeks pronounced. ‘But?’

‘It’s complicated. I can’t just leave when he’s had a major heart attack. And what if—?’

Lawson waited a beat. ‘What if what?’

‘What if I’m gone for two months and get a phone call in the middle of the night to say he’s had another one? A massive one. One he…’

The ocean beat against the shore as she grappled with the unthinkable. One wave. Two. Three. It was too hard to say. To give voice to. She stopped, her feet sinking as the waves eroded the sand around them. She took a deep breath. ‘Couldn’t be revived from?’

Lawson stopped too, feeling her pain. Bob Dunleavy was like a father to him. The old man had taught him respect and hard work. He’d shown him the difference between going through the motions and getting invested. He’d turned him from the punk he’d been to the man he was today. ‘I’ll watch out for him, Victoria.’

She felt tears prick her eyes. ‘You have Matilda, Lawson. You have other priorities.’

He grabbed her hands. ‘If Matilda and I have to move in with him, I will watch over your father. Like he did for me when I was a rookie. I promise.’

Vic felt a wave of emotion swell in her chest. It built like the breakers crashing against the shore until it clogged her eyes and choked her throat. Before she could stop herself she snaked her arms around his neck, raised herself on her tippy-toes and pressed her mouth to his.

It was a kiss of gratitude. Of thanks. She felt his re
sistance, his mouth closed. But then, like the push and pull of the tide, his hands travelled up her back and pulled her closer and the kiss took on a life of its own. The waves crashed around them as the kiss deepened and she clung to his shoulders, opening her mouth to him, baring her soul. His tongue stroked against hers and she felt a heat spread from deep inside her to the tips of her toes.

Lawson wrenched his mouth away, his breathing ragged, his head spinning. He looked at her for a long time, his hands gripping her upper arms. ‘What was that for?’

‘Because you know how to say the right thing at exactly the right moment. And because I’m tired of pretending I’m not attracted to you and we didn’t nearly have sex on my couch.’

Lawson’s fingers tightened around her arm. The fantasy of throwing her against the sand and having their own
From Here to Eternity
moment warring with his responsibilities. Warring with his innate sense of propriety. ‘We should go.’

Vic laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Any other man would have flipped her on her back and had her half naked in the sand right now. She linked her arm through his. ‘C’mon, I want to show you something.’ And she pulled against his resistance, pleased when he gave in and followed her.

Lawson walked beside her, aware of the rub of her side against his as he’d never been before. Her kiss—their kiss—still burrowed into his groin and sung like a heavy-metal guitar sonnet in his blood. It felt mind-altering like vodka and tasted like chocolate—sweet and addictive. The chocolate martini of kisses.

He could feel the beat of the waves pounding in time with his pulse. It was as if the wildness of the ocean had given him permission to be himself. To be the primal man that lurked beneath the surface, the one he’d tried so hard to suppress.

So he followed her. They didn’t speak, their bodies communicating without words. The heat building inside as the friction from their occasional body contact tantalised and seduced.

When they reached the rocks at the end of the beach, Vic used the light from the moon to guide her to a place she hadn’t been in years. Lawson followed, her behind bending and shimmying tantalisingly in front of him as she scampered and twisted to navigate the rocks. With the tide out, they were dry but still dangerous in the reduced light.

‘Where are we going?’ he grouched when she unknowingly shoved her butt close enough for him to lean forward and take a bite.

‘Patience, grasshopper.’ She grinned as she spotted her destination.

She clambered over the last few rocks and jumped down onto a sheltered area of sand bordered by a crescent-shaped rock formation that had been partially eroded into an overhang. It was like a half-cave with a completely exposed opening, but hidden amidst the rocky outcrop.

‘Mum and Dad and I used to come here before the twins were born,’ she said, turning to watch him leap down into the sheltered area. ‘It was like our special place.’

She looked out at the vista before her, the ocean lapping the sand in the distance as it continued its tidal march away from the island.

‘Dad would build a bonfire and we’d toast marshmallows as the sun went down.’ She looked at the pile of charred wood, cold and dead now, just inside the entrance to the overhang. Someone else had found the secluded spot.

‘We came here a few times when the boys were little but…it just wasn’t the same without her and we stopped coming.’

Standing in this special place, it finally hit her. She wasn’t just leaving the island and her family and friends and everything she’d ever known, but she was also leaving the place that connected her to her mother.

Lawson watched her closely in the moonlight, her features plaintive. She looked melancholy and utterly lovely. ‘She was a wonderful woman, your mother.’

Vic felt his voice draw her out of her reverie. She looked at him, leaning against the rock, his hands in his pockets. The moon blazed behind him, leaving his eyes hooded in shadow. ‘I forget sometimes that you knew her too.’

‘She used to bake me cakes. Your father would bring them to work with him and tell me it was a sin to refuse such divine cooking.’

Vic smiled. ‘Yes. She was a great cook.’

‘She’d want you to go.’ It was surprising how much it hurt him to say it, but Lawson knew it to be true. Mary Dunleavy had always wanted a life bigger than the island for her little girl.

‘What about you?’

Lawson shifted uncomfortably against the rock. ‘Of course.’

The rock formation sheltered them from the wind and muffled the raw power of the ocean, but she could still
see and hear the waves crashing down the beach. She listened for a few beats as she sought the right words.

‘Is that because you want me to fulfil a lifelong dream or is it because of the guilt you feel over what happened between us? Will it be easier to bear if you don’t have to look at your
mistake
every day?’

Lawson shut his eyes. ‘Victoria.’ He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He could still taste her on his lips. ‘I really don’t want to talk about this.’

Vic nodded. Of course. His policy of denial had served him well until now; why change? She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender before turning away from him and plonking herself down under the overhang.

The sand was cool but dry beneath her. She raised her knees to her chest, pulling the material of her dress down over them until just her bare toes peeped out. She scooped up a handful of sand and let it drift between her fingers and slide over the sides.

She raised her face to him. He seemed a long way away, leaning against his rock. She patted the sand beside her. ‘Come sit next to me.’

Lawson shook his head emphatically.
Did he look insane?
Their kiss still hummed in his blood and a moonlit beach and a melancholy mood were not good deterrents. ‘Thanks. I’m good here.’

Vic could see the waves pounding the shore from her vantage point. She could see the moonbeams playing tag with the waves. ‘You have your back to the ocean. You’re missing the view.’

That was what she thought
. The moon was aligned perfectly, capturing her in a milky beam of light. It fell softly against her features, caressing her full cheeks and
her cute nose, and glistened in her lip gloss. ‘It’ll be there tomorrow.’

Vic sighed. There was no way she was going to break him. His will was all-powerful. Even caught up in their kiss he’d been the one to step away. She rested her head on her knees for a while, her gaze watching the push and pull of the tide, her mind as restless.

She stirred from her reverie. ‘I never did thank you. For that day. With Dad.’

Lawson shrugged. ‘I was just doing my job, Victoria.’

She shook her head. ‘No. Without your pep talk on the way there…I would have fallen apart. I would have been useless. Dad owes his life to you. Had it been up to me I don’t know if I could have kept it together.’

‘He’s your father. No one, least of all me, expected you to be able to separate from that.’

Vic nodded. ‘Sure. But I forgot it amongst all my anxiety about your feelings.’ She stood and brushed sand off her dress as she approached him. ‘I know you and my father have a…bond. It can’t have been easy for you to have seen him like that either.’

Images of a grey Bob Dunleavy assaulted him. The lifeless form of his friend as his daughter pumped his chest, silent tears streaming down her face, her heart shattering with each compression. It was a day he never wanted to see ever again. ‘I’ve had better days.’

Vic felt laughter bubble in her chest. Lawson’s face was impassive as he delivered the understatement. Why was it so bloody hard to squeeze an emotion out of him? He’d been absolutely professional that day and then super efficient in the days after when she’d leant on him and politely supportive ever since.

For once she’d like to see some extreme of emotion. She knew he was capable. She’d seen how animated he could become around Matilda. How great he’d been with the little croup boy. But stepping back from their kiss just now was a classic example. Even when she’d been half naked in his arms he’d managed to restrain himself. Was it so hard to show her something other than rigid control?

What exactly did she have to do to get him to show himself? The real man? The one who had made a stupid mistake at sixteen, the one who had a two-week-old baby dumped in his arms, the one who had kissed her so passionately for a brief few seconds not even half an hour ago?