Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

DARKNESS AND LIGHT

W e are darkness and light; ash and sand. We shouldn't mix but we do, perfectly. It's all I can think as I lie pressed against him, in the early hours of the morning. He got in about twenty minutes ago. I heard the door, even though I was asleep.

Was I always like this? Or is it a by-product of That Night?

By the time I realised it was Alex and not an intruder, I was wide awake. I listened while he showered, and when he came to bed, I rolled over to kiss him. We'd made love that evening. I'd come back to his place, as instructed, and he had taken me in the lounge room and then the kitchen, and then he'd gone away again. I'd stayed... His schedule is demanding but I think I am more so, for only hours later I want him again.

"Hey." He had kissed me back, but it was a kiss of exhaustion. My beautiful, usually tireless lover was fatigued beyond belief. I pressed my head against his shoulder while he stroked my hair and then rolled onto my side. He spooned behind me, his hand transferred to my hip, moving lightly in time with his breath.

"How was your day?"

My eyes flutter open. The moon is casting a lovely creamy line into the room. It's not like we don't talk. It's just that we don't talk much. At least, not with words. God, that's so cheesy, but it's true. I've told him nothing about who I am yet I believe he knows me intimately. "Good. And yours?"

"Were you working?"

He does know I have a job, even though he seems to find it hugely inconvenient when it means I'm not available to be at his beck and call.

"No." I reach down and squeeze his hand. "Go to sleep."

I feel him tense and wonder if he takes exception to being told what to do. "I thought you were coming straight here." He nuzzles into my shoulder and I'm so, so awake now. But compassion for him and his exhaustion keeps me still, despite the stirrings of lust.

"Why?"

"You didn't set the alarm when you left this morning. I presumed you were here. When I got back this afternoon and found you were gone, I was concerned." He says it without a hint of admonishment but I sit bolt upright anyway.

"Oh my God." I turn to face him. He's watching me, those intelligent eyes of his cloaked in curiosity. I must look strange because he's scanning me and processing whatever it is he reads in my features. "I'm so sorry, Alex."

"It doesn't matter," he's quick to reassure me. But I know the truth. Alarms are there for a reason. I'm always careful.

"I was in a hurry," I say, even more apologetically. "I wasn't concentrating."

"It's fine," he promises.

"I feel like such an idiot."

"Over an alarm?" He pushes up on his elbows and the sheet falls lower down his body. I can't help it. I stare at his abs. He's so beautiful it hurts. "It was just an accident."

"Yeah, but accidents are…" I zip my lips. I have to deal with my guilt on my own time. He's too attentive; too watchful and if I'm not careful I'll reveal my own hang ups about security and alarms. Accidents are how they find you. I am careful, always.

"I wanted to see you. I expected you to be here, that's all." He changes the subject and the compliment, as vague as it is, does funny things to me. I can't hide my smile. I don't want to.

"I wish I'd been here."

"So you weren't at work." He puts an arm out, forming a void that I am only too happy to fill.

"No." I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but to me, it is. I'm used to keeping secrets, remember? Separating one part of my life from another is more than a habit; it's a survival technique. "Uni's back now; I had a lecture."

I've surprised him. I hear it in the words he doesn't say. His fingers run over my back while he digests this statement. Does he think it's strange that we've been sleeping together for a month and he didn't know I'm a student?

His question is measured, calm. "I see. What do you study?"

I prop my chin on his chest, so our eyes lock. "What do you think?"

His smile makes my tummy flop. "That's a hard one. I gather burlesque isn't a tertiary subject?"

I punch him jokingly but perhaps he thinks I'm offended, because he catches my fist and lifts it to his mouth. His kiss is an apology. "I was kidding." He laces his fingers through mine, tangling them in a way that makes my heart burst. "If all my fortune were riding on this guess, I would say something like law."

I lift my brows, breath-taken by his acuity. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

"You're smart. Inquisitive. Ever-cautious about what you say, as though you need to weigh every word before it leaves your perfect, delectable lips." He kisses my lips, lips he finds perfect and delectable, and I kiss him back hungrily even though my heart is hammering in my chest at the danger inherent in his perceptiveness. He shifts away. "The only people I know who are so reserved with how they phrase answers are lawyers."

"And me."

"So? Am I right?"

My voice emerges a little strangled. He's so perceptive. It's a red flag; a warning. I must be more careful or secrets will spill, lives will be ruined. "Fourth year."

"And I was your summer project."

"Yeah. Kinda."

He grins. "And now that you're back?"

I wait, not quite understanding.

"I presume you'll be a lot busier. Maybe there won't be the time for this?"

A pit opens before me. Is this how it starts? The beginning of the end? A casual suggestion that perhaps things might have changed, and the relationship might no longer work? Does he want me to end it? Is that why he's asking?

My doubts are a fast-running river, swallowing and churning me and I am directionless suddenly. I've never been with someone like Alex, but I can imagine he'd have a bulletproof way to end relationships without causing drama. A way of almost making it seem like it had been his lover's idea, rather than his. Is he doing that now? The worry comes out of nowhere. He needs me like I need him. But for how long? The feeling that this relationship is a time-bomb hounds me. I take a breath. I need to calm down.

"Actually, I don't know," I say, sounding him out. I'm rewarded by a narrowing of his gaze that speaks of deep displeasure. Relief leads to courage and daring. "It's a pretty full-on schedule and I'm very, very dedicated to my studies."

It's not a lie, either. Though I'm saying it to get to the bottom of how he feels about me, and where he wants me in his life, I am being truthful about my dedication. Until I met Alex, university occupied almost all of my thoughts. Will loving him derail that? Can I find space in my life for him and law?

He catches my wrists and rolls me onto my back. He's straddling me, pinning my arms to my side. "Perhaps you should consider giving up your job then."

I shake my head from side to side. "Can't. Need rent money."

"Then you're going to have to work out how to juggle a job, university, and me."

In terms of what I want him to say it's not even one-hundredth of the way there, but it's a start. It assuages the nasty doubts that were drowning me a moment ago. "You might prove detrimental to my studies."

"I won't be." His kiss now is a warning and I heed it. He's not finished with me, and I'm nowhere close to finished with him. Certainty brings with it relief. The end is nowhere in sight. There is a force that ties us and it is unrelenting.

My hands are ripping at his boxers, pushing them away with a desperation he creates in me. I ache to feel him and his own need is as just as marked. I'm only wearing a silk nightie and he doesn't bother to remove it. He just pushes it up, balling it in his hands at my side. God, I need him. "Condom," I whisper, surprised I'm able to remember such a detail when I'm flicking with fire.

He swears—I love the way he does that. It's so animalistic and dark. When finally he enters me I'm so ready that I cry out on an actual sob of relief. I wrap my legs around his waist; he's so deep, I can already feel myself losing control. He moves quickly, and I throw my head back, crying out into the stillness of his apartment while pleasure engulfs me. It is everywhere. It is the air I breathe; the coldness I feel. It haunts me with his touch.

We make love like that until finally his control wavers and I have no comprehension of how many times I come. The concept of multiple orgasms was foreign to me until I met Alex and now I feel ripped off if I don't climax three times, at least. How could I possibly give that up?

The next morning, I wake up smiling, but he's gone. Disappointment is a pit in my stomach when I reach for him and find only expensive organic cotton sheets. I run my nails higher and they hit a card. I blink my eyes open, swallowing my furry morning breath.

Send me your uni timetable. A.

I flop back against the mattress. It's so like him. And yet, it's a concession of sorts. An agreement to work within the confines of my life. But I don't have any intention of falling in with his plans so easily. The card is thick and expensive, printed on good-quality card stock. His whole apartment is luxe. But I am sick of being here without him. It's as though, with university resuming, I'm remembering that I'm my own person. That I have a life and that I need to pursue it. Another survival technique? Definitely. On some deeply instinctual level I've become terrified of how much I'm willing to give of myself to this man.

I shower, lathering myself in his beautiful bath products and spending time blowing dry my hair. It's the wrong thing to do though because I smell like him all over. He's going to be on my mind all day.

And he is. I have two subjects at uni and a short shift to cover lunch breaks at the bookshop, and all day I think of Alex. He's under my skin, in my blood, and God, I'm hungry for him. I get a break sometime around three o'clock and, holed up in the back of the store, I check my phone. There are three emails from him. Rather, there are three subjects from him, because he writes nothing in the body of the emails.

11.23 am. Did you get my note?

1.45 pm. I want to see your schedule, Sasha.

I smile at that. He's chastising me. I can just hear the way he's saying my name.

2.57pm. Not playing, huh? I need to speak re tonight. Call me.

Call me. The invitation was there but I have to read it a few times to believe that it's real. I've never done that before. He's called me, but only sparingly. My finger hovers over his name in my phone, ambivalent to make the final press.

"Sash? I know you're on break but we're slammed out here. Do you mind….?"

"Of course not." My manager Annie is a total doll. "I'll be right there."

I open the last email and begin to type: No time to talk. Can you email me?

I send it with a smile, imagining his scowl when he sees it. Why do I enjoy provoking him so much?

Annie hasn't exaggerated. The store is flat out. I help an eight-year-old pick the perfect David Walliams book and an eighty-two-year-old find the Royal Horticulture Society calendar she's been looking for. There's a man hovering around the self-help section and when I offer him assistance his lip begins to quiver. Turns out, he's in the midst of divorce and wants books on starting over. I find what looks like a good one and hand it to him but he's evidently decided I'm more helpful than a book and begins using me as free therapy. I nod and make sympathetic noises until I can extricate myself. I do feel sorry for him, and when he shuffles to the counter ten minutes later, his nose pink and eyes red-rimmed, I go so far as to offer him a tissue. I think he's holding out for a hug so it's a slightly awkward exchange.

Being on the register is what I need. It makes the time go fast. My eyes creep to the clock several times and I wonder if Alex has written back. It's on my eyes' perhaps tenth foray to the timepiece when a familiar face looms into view.

Holy Shit. My heart is about to beat its last. Alex is here. He's scowling. I laughed earlier when I thought he would react like that, but seeing his face now I feel a little bit remorseful. To my surprise, he joins the back of the queue. I smile at the customer I'm serving and mumble my way through the transaction, and then serve the next customer, and the next. By the time he reaches the counter, there are four people behind him. "Yes, sir?"

His expression is deliciously stern. "I'm looking for a book. Can you help me?"

I'm tempted to tell him to shove off, but I can see he's trying to talk about something important and I'm more than a little bit interested. "Sure."

The woman behind him huffs loudly and I send her a saccharine smile. "If you'll just wait over there, I'll be with you as soon as I can."

I really don't get any pleasure out of keeping him waiting now. Especially not when I can feel his eyes on me the whole time. I can't tell if he's impatient or cross, but his expression is dark—at least, to me it is: I'm good at reading people, remember, and Alex isn't just ‘people'. "Annie?" I flag her attention just when I worry he might lose patience altogether and leave. "Can you take over?"

She's more frazzled than I've seen her outside of December and the pre-Christmas mayhem, but to her credit she comes right over. "Thank you," I whisper, squeezing past and making my way to Alex.

"I don't know why we're so busy today," I mutter.

He says nothing, which is not, in my limited experience, a good sign.

I try another tack. "What book are you after, sir?"

His eyes are staring at my lips. God. He's going to kiss me. And I'm desperate for him to. That alone scares me so I step away a bit, but he immediately brings a hand around my back, holding me where I am.

"What time do you finish?"

I scan his face, trying to understand why he's in such a foul mood. Even for Alex he seems weirdly pissed. Surely this isn't about my uni schedule? "Um, I don't know. I'm here for as long as they need me." I cross my arms, a sure sign of defensiveness, I know.

He expels a short, sharp breath, his nostrils flare, and inexplicably, my temper rises.

"Why are you being so weird?"

"What about me is weird?"

"Everything." At night, in his apartment, I know where I stand and what we both need, but this encounter throws me. "Look, I have to get back to work. Are you just here to be all grouchy?"

His smile is a perfect example of how unpredictable he is; it is beautiful and rewarding, lightning flashing through the darkness of a storm, and my gut aches for more. "I have a thing tonight."

"A thing?" I prompt.

"It's a cocktail party at this place in the West End. Will you come with me?"

I'm staring at him, hoping his words will start to make sense. But they don't. Because that's not what we are. Besides the occasional coffee at the place around the corner from his apartment, we don't do ‘out'. "Um…why?"

He grins. My skin prickles all over. "Because of your wit and conversational skills, obviously."

I'm tempted to punch his arm but Annie's already sending us curious looks which I think she believes to be covert. "On a Wednesday night?"

"Yes, Sasha. Believe it or not, people do go out through the week."

My heart is rabbiting angrily. "But … why?"

He's not expecting that. He was sure I'd jump at the chance to go on a date. Is that what this would be? A date? A normal couple thing? Is it a threshold I can bring us across that will infinitesimally yet vitally change who and what we are? Say yes ! But self-preservation is my stock in trade, remember, and nothing about dating Alex LaMar is safe nor wise.

"It's a cocktail party," he says softly, and his fingers move over the curve in my back. "Food, wine, music. It's supposed to be fun. You'll enjoy it."

"I'm familiar with the concept." I can feel myself furrowing my brow in a way that my mum (my real mum) used to tell me, even as a child, would lead to wrinkles and premature ageing. Always rub your sunscreen UP, Bianca, not down. You don't want to drag your face to your ankles at your age. "I mean, why now?"

"Because it's tonight."

I shake my head. Annie's got a queue forming and the teenager she hired a few weeks ago is barely capable of scanning a book without asking for help.

"I mean why are you asking me now? You've had heaps of these things since I met you."

"True." His eyes narrow, giving nothing away. "So?"

I'm quiet, thinking this through a moment.

Apparently he takes my non-response as a ‘yes'. "I'll pick you up at eight."

It's instinctive to reject that idea. "I'll come to you."

His eyes flash with the searing pleasure of victory and I realise he's out-manoeuvred me. I'm so keen to avoid him knowing where I live that I've acquiesced to the party invitation when I had no intention of doing so. He nods, confident once more. "It's black tie."

"Black tie?" My disapproval is contained in the tone in my voice.

He nods. "You have clothes that are suitable?"

I bite back a smile. "Yes. Why? Are you going to go all Edward Lewis Pretty Woman on me and give me a credit card to take on a shopping spree?"

I suspect he has no idea who Edward Lewis is and what Pretty Woman means. But he shrugs. "Do you want that?"

I gape for a moment, surprised he would think for a second I was serious. "Like a hole in the head," I mutter, shuddering as I say it because I know just what holes in heads look like. "I have lots of suitable dresses."

"Good." He lifts a finger then and runs it down my cheek, as though he can't not touch me. "Wear one."

I lift my hand to my forehead in a mock military salute which brings a smile to his face.

He leans close to my ear. "Forget your underwear."

I blush to the roots of my hair. I can feel my face burning.

"I want to imagine you naked beneath your dress. I want to know that I can touch you any time I want to."

A shiver runs down my spine. I find some inner-strength. "Don't push it. You're lucky I'm even coming to this thing."

"But you will be coming." It's an intentional double entendre and it serves its purpose. I'm speechless.

He straightens and smiles.

That's it.

He's walking away just as quickly as he arrived. I stare after him, knowing I must look like a bemused buffoon. It takes a good ten seconds before a customer realises I'm free and approaches me for aid. She's getting divorced, and she hopes if I can recommend a self-help book on rebuilding her life. Absentmindedly, I wonder if she's the other half of the customer I dealt with earlier. If not, perhaps I should introduce them?

I smile at the thought as I lift a book out for her and turn back to the registers. I practically float through the rest of my shift. Alex has asked me on a date. And it is a date.

What does it mean? If anything? And how long can I let this go on before I really absolutely have to cut him free?

Even here, he is with her. Amongst the books and the browsers there is Bianca and there is him. Does he know that I am watching? Does he know about the professor she spends time with? Will he care when she is gone?

The rest of Sasha and Alex's story (or the first two books of it, at least!) are available on Amazon.