Heartbeats in Moonlight

Chapter 93

Their gazes locked.

"Are you going to admit how you feel?" His thumb coasted over her palm. A gentle caress with the impact of a nuclear bomb. "Do you trust me?"

"Trust you?" Her fingers trembled.

He announced softly, "Yes. Are you going to pretend there is nothing going on between us? Something that is more than just sex."

"Of course not. It is not just sex." She murmured. " I wouldn't make love with you, unless I trusted you." She'd been thinking about her options ever since she'd clambered into bed with him. On one side she was really happy, but on the other side she was scared.  

Having sex with David was a huge moment for her. Everything she had stored for the last ten years, her feelings, her wishes, her wants,  her weaknesses, resurfaced with a vengeance, because, with that, it left her vulnerable. She couldn't continue to live her life without acknowledging her feelings for him, either within her own mind and heart, let alone telling him. She was used to looking after herself. Making any decisions was her decision. Now, if she wanted a real relationship with him, she would have to learn to compromise and her decisions would be the outcome of their discussion. It gave him power, she thought. It wasn't just about trust, it was about being vulnerable.

"Will you come back home with me?" He asked quietly. "Do you want us to have a relationship?"

"Yes. Do you?"

He smiled. "Yes." He looked at her. "I told you, I want you in my life."

She got to her feet. She walked over to the balcony, leaned on it as she looked out, "You probably feel guilty about us, I ..."

"That's the biggest load of bullshit I've heard you speak."

She lifted her shoulders. "I'm saying we take it slow. We don't rush into this. What if you change your mind..."

"What?" He practically bellowed. "Rushing in? Gaby, sometimes you are so," He attempted to rein in his temper, ran his fingers through his hair and lost his battle. He grated, "I'm not going to fucking change my mind!"

"You don't know that. You don't know me."

Exasperated he ran a hand over his face then glared, "I know you are bloody stubborn, too bloody independent, that you will want time to think this over, I get that!" He got to his feet, stormed toward the railing, planted both hands on her shoulder and leaned in to whisper against her ear, "Fine. We'll do this on your terms. But my time will come," He told her, "And sweetheart, I'm going to tell our children that you tortured me!"

They arranged to meet up every weekend. But by the Tuesday he was ropeable. He didn't want weekend sex. He wanted her, in his life. He wanted to come home to her, talk to her, know that she was there. By Friday, he was desperate. On the drive up to the bach he rehearsed his argument, if she wasn't coming back to home soon, he was moving up here.

She looked younger. That was his first impression as he watched her make her way across the sand. Her hair was being tossed in every direction going, by the shore breeze. Her halter-necked crop top was showing off her tanned, toned waist. Her shorts were short, way, way too short, showing off the long legs he remembered locked around his waist. She had her flip flops in one hand and a sweatshirt in another. Carefree, relaxed, at ease. When she reached the pathway she stopped, dropped the red flip flops onto the ground and stepped into them. She draped the sweatshirt across her shoulders and carried on up the pathway. She looked unkempt and unaffected. And very, very sexy.

In the last two years he'd seen her with her hair up, usually platted or coiled into a loose chignon at her neck. He remembered threading his hands through that hair last weekend. But he liked the way it looked now, what it looked like down, free, as it was now, being caught by the wind, and tossed around her face. She made no attempt to restrain it. Occasionally she'd push it off her face.

She was usually primly dressed. Conservative. Neat. Designer wear. Her clothes were always immaculate, coordinated and boring. She never had anything out of place. Usually very prim. Carefully made up. Her eyelashes coated usually with a layer of mascara, her lips with a neutral lipstick, a trace of eye shadow on her eyelid, she always looked perfectly composed. Beautiful. Untouchable. Nothing ostentatious, nothing wild. She always looked like she was trying hard. Too hard. Perhaps she had been trying hard to cover up her true nature.

For here she was, no make up, hair in disarray, clothes that were well worn and totally mismatched. This was the way he remembered her when she'd come down to that training session. Amongst all the women and girls standing around watching, she stood out. She hadn't worn a scrap of makeup then, and her jeans were perfunctory rather than designer. Her t shirt had been tight, he remembered that, but he hadn't thought it was deliberate, just uncaring. Her shoulder length hair had been tied in a pony tail. Even now he was surprised by the fact that he hadn't realised she was only seventeen. She had stood and talked to him as they had tried to stem the blood from the split lip he'd got. He knew she was trying to take his mind off the sting, and had liked her for the way she simply sat beside him, held his hand and talked to him, while they attended to the cut.

Of course she saw him as soon as he got to his feet, and for a second he could see the hesitation as she thought about whether to turn and leave or keep coming. He knew when he'd gone back last Sunday that she would start questioning this.

She shucked off her flip flops and left them on the top step.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself." He told her as he spun her around, picked her up, and draped her over his shoulder. Her sweatshirt fell off her shoulders He clamped an arm against the back of her thighs.

"David!" She cursed, but her laughter was not helping.

"Bedroom." He muttered as he walked into the house, and through the open plan lounge, could see the kitchen through the arch so headed in the opposite direction. He pushed the first door open, it was a bathroom. She kept pounding his back. "These shorts are indecent." He told her as he patted her butt. She told him none to politely what he could do. He laughed. Pushed open a door and decided that it must be the one she was using as it had an unmade bed, "Perfect." He looked around, noted some clutter. "You're not a tidy person are you."

"I told you, you didn't know me!" She attempted to remind him. "Hence this arrangement. To get to know us."

He growled. "Rubbish. We know us." He nodded at the unmade bed. "This is just trivial."