His Until Midnight (11 page)

‘I really don’t see the point.’

‘Neither do I,’ she admitted. ‘Why have lovely things if you never see them?’

‘I’m surprised the bad guys haven’t tried to buy you off.’

‘Oh, they’ve tried.’ She smiled. ‘My sense of natural justice is just too strong. And I view the instruments a bit like children. Innocent victims. Stolen. Abused. All they want to do is go home to the person that loves and values them and keeps them safe and fulfils their potential.’

Because wasn’t that what life was all about? Fulfilling your potential.

The brown in his eyes suddenly seemed more prominent. And chocolaty. And much closer. Which one of them had moved so subtly? Or had they both just gravitated naturally together?

‘Want to hear something dumb?’ he murmured.

‘Sure.’

‘That’s how I feel about the companies I buy.’

She flicked an eyebrow. ‘The near-crippled companies you get for a song, you mean?’

He smiled. ‘They’re innocent victims, too. In the hands of people that don’t value them and don’t understand how to make them strong.’

‘And you do?’

‘I’m like you—a facilitator. I have the expertise to recognise the signs of a flailing business and I gather them up, strengthen them and get them to the people who can give them a future.’

‘That’s a very anthropomorphic belief.’

‘Says the woman who thinks of a cello like a trafficked child.’

She smiled. He was right. ‘You don’t ever break them up?’

‘Not unless they’re already falling to pieces.’

That was her greatest fear. Finding an instrument that someone took to with a sledgehammer rather than relinquish. Because some people were just like that: if they couldn’t have it, no one would.

‘I’m guessing that the people you buy them from don’t see it that way.’

He shrugged. ‘Hey, they’re the ones selling. No one’s forcing them.’

‘I guess I hadn’t realised how similar our jobs are. Though I get the feeling yours has a lot more facets.’ Like a diamond. It was certainly worth a whole heap more.

Oliver studied her as he finished the last of the watermelon. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

‘What?’

‘Having a conversation.’

‘We’ve had lots of conversations.’

‘Yet somehow that feels like our first.’

It did have that exciting hum about it. ‘I miss conversation.’

‘Blake’s been gone a while.’

‘I never really talked with him. Not like this.’ Not like Oliver. ‘So it’s been a couple of years.’

‘Did you move to Antarctica when I wasn’t looking? What about your friends?’

‘Of course I have friends. And we talk a lot, but they’ve all known me forever and so our conversation tends to be about...you know...stuff. Mutual friends. Work. Dramas. Clothes.’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s a lot!’ But those steady hazel eyes filled her with confidence. ‘I’m not... I don’t share much. Often.’ And she could never talk about Oliver. To anyone.

‘You share with me.’

‘Once a year. Like cramming.’ Did that even count?

Nothing changed in his expression yet everything did. He studied her, sideways, and then reached out to drag soft knuckles across the back of her hand. ‘You call me up whenever you want. I’d love to talk to you more often. Or email.’

The cold, hard wash of reality welled up around her.

Right. Because she was leaving in the morning. As she always did. Flying seven thousand kilometres in one direction while he flew twelve hundred in the other. Back to their respective lives.

Back to reality. With a phone plan.

‘Maybe I will.’

Or maybe she’d chalk tonight up to a fantastic one-night stand and run a million miles from these feelings. That could work.

A murmuring behind them drew Oliver’s gaze.

‘Hey, it’s starting.’

No need to ask what ‘it’ was. Her favourite part of December twentieth. Her favourite part of Christmas. Oliver pulled her to her feet and she padded, barefoot, on the luxury carpet to the enormous window facing Victoria Harbour. Below them Hong Kong’s nightly light show prepared to commence.

Both sides of the harbour lit up like a Christmas tree and pulsed with the commencement of music that the Qīngtíng suddenly piped through their sound system. Massive lighting arrays, specially installed on every building the length of both sides of the waterfront, began to strobe and dance. It wasn’t intended to be a Christmas show but, to Audrey, it couldn’t be more so if it were set to carols. She couldn’t see a light show anywhere without thinking about this city.

This man.

Oliver slipped her in front of him between the window and the warmth of his body and looped his arms across her front, and she knew this was the light show she’d be remembering on her deathbed.

Emotion choked her breathing as she struggled to keep the rise and fall of her chest carefully regulated. Giving nothing away. The beautiful lights, the beautiful night, the beautiful man. All wrapped around her in a sensory overload. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted her whole life? Even during her marriage?

Belonging.

Never mind that it was only temporary belonging; she’d take what she could get.

‘I missed this so much last year,’ she breathed.

His low words rumbled against her back. ‘I missed you.’

The press of her cheek into his arm was a silent apology.

‘Let’s just focus on tonight.’

She wasn’t going to waste their precious time dwelling on the past or dreaming of endless combinations of futures. She had Oliver right here, right now; something she never could have imagined.

And she was taking it. While she could.

‘What time does Qīngtíng close?’

His body tensed behind her. ‘Got a flight to catch?’

She turned her head, just slightly—away from the light show, away from the other patrons, back towards him. ‘I want to be alone with you.’

‘We can go back upstairs.’

She took a breath. Took a chance. ‘No, I want to be alone, here.’

Okay, that was definitely tension radiating on the slow hiss he released as a curse.

Too much? Had she crossed some kind of he-man line? She turned back to the view as though that was all they’d been discussing. As though it were that meaningless. But every cell in her body geared for rejection and made her smile tight. ‘Or not.’

Oliver curled forward, lips hard against her ear. ‘Don’t move.’

And then he was gone, leaving her with only her own, puny arms to curl around her torso.

Ugh. She was so ill equipped for seduction.

And for taking a risk.

It was only moments before he returned, assuming his previous position and tightening his hold as though he’d never been gone. So... Maybe okay, then? It wasn’t a total retreat on his part. The show went on, spectacular and epic, but all Audrey could think about was the press of Oliver’s hips against her bottom. His hard chest against her back and how that had felt pressing onto her front not too long ago.

Light show? What light show?

At last, she recognised the part of the music that heralded the end of the nightly extravaganza and she tuned in once again to the sounds around her, reluctant to abandon the warm envelope of sensory oblivion she’d shared with Oliver in the dark.

Like insects scuttling away from sudden exposure, a swarm of staff whipped the restaurant’s dishes and themselves back behind closed doors as the lights gently rose. The maître d’ spoke quietly in turn to the six remaining couples and each of them collected up their things, curious acceptance on their faces, and within moments were gone.

‘Oliver—?’

‘Apparently your wish is my command.’

Her mouth gaped in a very unladylike fashion. ‘Did you throw them out?’

‘A sudden and unfortunate failure in the kitchen and a full return voucher for each of them. I’m sure they’re thrilled.’

‘Considering they were nearly on their last course—’ and considering what Qīngtíng’s degustation cost ‘—I’m sure they are, too.’

He led her back to his sofa.

Ming-húa appeared with a full bottle of white wine, an elegant pitcher of iced water and a remote control and placed all three on the table before murmuring, ‘Goodnight, Mr Harmer. Mrs Audrey.’

And then he was gone back through the kitchen and out whatever back-of-house door the rest of the staff had discreetly exited through.

She turned her amazement to him in the luminous glow of the dragonfly habitat.

‘Just like that?’

‘They’ll get it all cleaned up before the breakfast opening.’

Uh-huh. Just like that. ‘Do you always get what you want?’

‘Mostly. I thought you wanted it, too.’

‘Wanting and getting aren’t usually quite that intrinsically linked in my world.’

‘Have you changed your mind?’

‘Well...not exactly...’ Although her breathless words were easier to own in the dark with the press of his body for motivation.

He leaned back into the luxury sofa and threw her a knowing look. ‘You’re all talk, Devaney.’

‘I am not. I’m just thrown by the expedience with which that was...dealt with.’

‘Careful what you wish for, then, because you might get it.’

Alone again.

Audrey glanced around the stylish venue. Then at the door. Then at Oliver.

His eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

‘I just need a minute...’

She pushed again to her bare feet and strolled casually to the far side of the restaurant, and considered it before turning.

‘Lost something?’

‘I’m just seeing how the other half live.’

She peered out of the glass. Their view was definitely better in the dragonfly corner. Although it was, of course, exactly the same. Except Oliver was part of her view over there.

He chuckled and settled back to watch her. She hiked the sensuous fabric of her loaned dress up her legs slightly and then
cantered
—there was no other word for it—around the restaurant usually bustling with people.

‘You’re mad,’ he chuckled, struggling to keep his eyes off her bared legs.

‘No, I’m snoopy.’

She stuck her head inside the servery window and checked out the glamorous kitchen. No food left out overnight but definitely a clean-up job for someone in the morning. An industrial dishwasher did its thing somewhere in the corner, humming and churning in the silence.

On a final pass by his sofa, Oliver stretched up and snagged her around the waist, dragging her, like the prey of a funnel-web spider, down into the lair of his lap. Her squeal of protest was soaked up by the luxurious carpet and furnishings.

‘Do they have security cameras?’

‘Do you imagine they’re not fully aware of why I sent them home early?’

The idea that they were all stepping out into the street, glancing back up at the top of their building and imagining—

Heat rushed up where Oliver’s lazy strokes were already causing a riot. ‘There’s a big difference between knowing and seeing. Or sharing on YouTube.’

‘Relax. Security is only on the access points, fire escape and the safe. The only audience we have are of the invertebrate variety.’

Her eyes went straight to the pretty dragonflies now extra busy in their tank, as though they knew full well when the staff left for the evening and were only just now emerging for their nightly party.

Oliver reached with the hand not doing such a sterling job of feeling her up and pressed the small, dark remote control. The restaurant lights immediately dimmed to the preset from the light show.

‘There you go. We’ll be as anonymous as your Testore thief on their flight.’

Lying here in the dark, lit only by the dragonflies and the lights of Hong Kong outside, it was easy to imagine they were invisible.

‘So—’ he settled her more firmly against his body and made sure that they were connecting in dozens of hot, hard places ‘—you were saying? About being alone?’

‘We have such a short time,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t want to share you with a crowd.’

A shadow ghosted across his eyes before they darkened, warmed and dropped towards her. ‘The feeling is entirely mutual.’

His lips on hers were as soft, as pliable as before, but warmer somehow and gentler. As if they had all the time in the world instead of just a few short hours. She kissed him back, savouring the taste and feel of him and taking the time neither of them had taken upstairs. He didn’t escalate, apparently as content to enjoy the moment as she was.

She hadn’t indulged in a good old-fashioned make-out session since her teens. And even that hadn’t been all that good, truth be told.

But neither of them were superheroes. Before long, her breath grew as tight as the skin of her body and a suffusing kind of heat swilled around and between them. Oliver shed his dinner coat and Audrey scrunched the long, silk dress higher up her thighs in a sad attempt at some ventilation where it counted.

‘I feel like a kid,’ he rasped, ‘making out in the back of his parents’ car.’

‘Except you know you’ll be scoring at the end of the night.’ And he already had, twice.

He smiled against her skin. ‘With you I’m not taking anything for granted.’

She levered herself up for a heartbeat, let some much-needed air flush in between their bodies and then resettled against him. ‘Come on. We both know I’m a sure bet.’

His head-back laugh only opened up a whole new bit of flesh for her to explore and so she did, dragging aching lips down his jaw and across his throat and Adam’s apple. He tasted of salt and cologne. The best dish yet.

They lay like that—wrapped up in each other, all hands and lips, getting hot and heavy—for the better part of an hour. Long enough for the ice in the wine bucket to mostly melt away and Audrey to drink the entire contents of the still water Ming-húa had delivered.

‘I hope you’re not going to get too drunk to be any good to me,’ she teased, when Oliver reached for the wine bottle. But he just winked, placing it on the table, and then dunked his glass straight into the fresh, melted ice in the bucket.

‘Someone’s drunk all the water,’ he pointed out. ‘And you have to stay hydrated in a marathon.’

‘Is that what we’re doing? An endurance event?’