AbouttheBook

TelevisionreporterChloeMastersisawomanofcoolcontrol…exceptwhenCasanovarugbyleague
playerNickSavageisaround.Thencoolcontrolgoesoutthewindow.Herboyfriend,Marcus,is
everythingsheeverwanted–butit’sgettinghardertodenyherbody’sreactiontoNick…

NickSavagehasbeenhead-over-heelssincehefirstlaideyesonChloe–justamomenttoolatetostop
herconnectingwithhisteammate,Marcus.ButwhenthegoalpostsshiftandheandChloearethrown
togetheronaweekaway,Nickdareshertogetphysicalinwhateverwayshewants–withakiss,apunch
oranythinginbetween.AndifChloeclaimstofeelnothing,he’llleaveheraloneforgood.

HowcanChloesaynotoaweekofmindlesspassionwiththemanshehasn’tbeenabletogetoutofher
head?

Troubleis,alotcangowrong(orright)inaweek…

SometimesMrRightisMrWrong,andMrWrongisdefinitelyMrRight…

TheContract–AdandExtract

CopyrightNotice

RandomRomancead

Dedication

OneofthethingsIloveaboutthisbookisthestrongbondbetweenthethreefriends,Chloe,Drewand

Evie,soI’mdedicatingthisbooktothreeofmyownfriendsfrommyformativeschoolanduniversity

days–EuniceNoble,JoadyMcManusandCateCarrigan.

CHAPTERONE

NickSavagewaslikethehumanincarnationofaheat-seekingmissile.

Unfortunately,histargetwasme.Always,always,me.
IswearI’donlybeenaloneatthechampagnebarforoneminuteandtwentysecondsbeforeNick

lockedontomylocation,atwhichpointIestimateditwouldtakehimfivesecondstohithistarget.Sadly,
thatdidn’tgivemeenoughtimetothrowmyselfoverboard.Itwasbarelyenoughtimetoassumethebrace
position,readyforimpact–switchingmyregularaloofsmiletofull-scalehands-offmode,andlayering
onanextracoatingoffrost.

Asitturnedout,ittookNickawholetensecondstogettome–butonlybecausehe’dlostfive

secondsde-clingingabuxombrunettefromhisarm.

Hereachedaroundmetotakeapre-pouredglassofchampagneoffthebar.‘Onyourown,Chloe.

Why?’AsifbeingonamassivecruiserinthemiddleofSydneyHarbour,withawholerugbyleagueteam
andagaggleofhangers-on,couldtrulybeclassifiedas‘onyourown’.

Iraisedmyeyebrowsathim,aloofsmileintact.‘BecauseIwantedtobeonmyown.’
‘Ouch!PoorMarcus.’
Andtherewentmysmile.‘PoorMar–?OhforGod’s–!IwasnotsuggestingIneededtogetaway

from–’Stop.Rightthere.BecauseNickknewexactlywhatIwassuggesting.Whichhadnothingtodo
withMarcusandeverythingtodowithhim.‘Thatissofunny,Nick.Ialmostcan’tcontainmyhilarity.’

‘Oh,goon,letitout,’hesaid,oh-soindulgently.‘Repressionneverdidanyoneanygood.’
‘Ha,ha,h–.Oh,waitaminute.’Ipaused,didalittlefauxyawn.‘NowwherewasI?Oh,yes:Ha.’
‘Therenow,doesn’tthatfeelbetter?’
Iregardedhimwithhostility.‘WhatIfindinterestingisthatyou’rehereonyourown.Ithoughtwe

wereallinvitedwithpartnerstoday.’

Hemadeatsktsksoundthathadmypalmitchingtoslap.‘Now,Chloe,I’msureyou’vereadtoday’s

papers,goodjournalistthatyouare,andthatmeansyoualreadyknowAmandaandIarehistory.’He
pulledawoebegonefacethatheknewwouldn’tfoolmeforaminute.‘SohereIam,lonelyandlooking
forlove.’

Iflickedadisparagingglanceatthehoveringbrunette.‘Fastwork,inthatcase.What’sthepoor

girl’sname,andwhereissheintheharempeckingorder?’

Hedidn’tevenlookaround.‘Jane,andshe’saconsentingadultjoiningtheharemofherown

accord.’

‘LuckyJane!It’severygirl’sdreamtowinaplaceinsucharespectedestablishment,youknow.’
Therewasanalmostinfinitesimalpause,andthen,‘Nobody’shurtinganyone,Chloe.’
‘Hmm.I’mnotsureAmandawouldagree.’Ismiledthinly.‘Seeingthemanshelovesmoveonto

someoneelsetheverydayherownbreak-upmakesthenews.’

‘ExceptAmandadoesn’tloveme,’hesaid,unperturbed.
‘Oh,that’sright.It’slust,notlove,withyou.’
‘She’snotheretoseeit,either.’

‘Seeit,readaboutit,samething.’
‘Camera-freeboat,Chloe.’
‘Well,I’msureitwillbeagreatrelieftoAmandatohaveabreakfromthepublicity,inthatcase,’I

said,knowingIshoulddropthesubjectbutsomehowunabletodothesensiblethingandletitgo.‘Imean,
wasn’titonlylastmonthIreadaboutherbreakingupwithyourteammate?’Imadealittlemoueof
distaste.‘So…incestuous.’

Nickwasnodding,asthoughatamemory.‘Jed.Greatguy.Butnolongermy“incestuous”teammate,

sinceheswitchedteamsattheendoflastseason.’Heraisedhiseyebrowsatmethistime.‘Oh,youdidn’t
know?’Anotherofthoseaggravatingtsktsks.‘Don’ttellmeyou’velostinterestinyourboyfriend’sgame
sosoon!’

‘Notinthegame,onlyinthetawdryaffairsofitsplayers.’
Hiseyesnarrowedfractionally.‘Justtobeclear,Amandagavethestorytothepaper,notme.Soif

you’regettingoutthetissuebox,doitonmybehalf,nothers.’

Imanagedadismissivesniff.
‘Whatisit,Chloe?Idon’thavetherighttoresentgettingmysexlifesplashedalloverthepapers?

BecauseIcantellyou,mysponsorsaren’ttoopleased.Ontheotherhand,Amandatellsmeit’sgoodfor
hertelevisioncareertohaveherlovelifeinthegossippages.’

Istruggledtofindananswertothat,becauseitdidn’tsuitmyviewofNick.Nickwasn’tthetypeto

bemanipulated;hewasthetypetouseanddiscardwomen–andyes,Iknewwomenlinedupregardless,
butthatdidn’tmakehisbehaviouranymoreacceptabletome.

‘Sotellme,’hesaid.‘Isit?’
‘Iswhat?’
‘Isitagoodcareermoveforapersonintelevisiontodateafootballer?BecauseInoticeyougota

nicepromotiontoAroundtheGlobeafterthatpieceaboutyouandMarcusappearedinthegossippagesa
coupleofmonthsago.’

‘I’mnotastarlet,I’maseriousjournalist,’Isaidcoldly.‘AndI’mnotdatingMarcus-the-footballer,

I’mdatingMarcus-the-man-I-happen-to-love.’

‘Well,youlovesomethingabouthim,I’llgiveyouthat.’
Donotrisetothebait,Chloe,donot.‘I’llgiveyouahintaboutfindingtruelove,Nick,youpoor

lonelyman.Ittakesbeingwithapersonforlongerthantwoweeks.’

‘Hey,’heremonstratedwithagrin–anactualgrin!‘Amandawasathree-weeker.’
‘ButSheilawhocamebeforeher,andConstancewhocamebeforeSheila,weretwo-weeksapiece.I

alsorecallaBethandaSamanthaandaJesswhodidn’tevenmakeitpastoneweek.’Iraisedmyglassin
amocktoast,andtookasmallsip.

‘You’vebeenkeepingtrack?’heasked,stillgrinning.‘Sureyou’renotateensybitjealous?’
Ichokedonmychampagne.Thegallofhim.
‘Becauseyouknow,Chloe,allyouhavetodoissaythewordandI’myours.’
‘Fortwowholeweeks?’Ilaughed,eventhoughIwasfarfromamused.‘Er,nothanks.’
‘Whyputatimeframeonit?’
‘Becausethat’syourmodusoperandi.Lustnotlove,twoweeks,goodbye.’
‘Well,I’lltellyou,Chloe,I’lltaketwoweeks,ifthat’sallyou’llgiveme.ButyoucanbetI’llmake

themthebesttwoweeksofyourlife.’

AndIfiguredthatwasaboutasmuchasagirlcouldtakewithoutlettingflywithafist–whichI’d

promisedmyselfnevertodoagain.Ever.Itwastimetorelocate.‘Excuseme,’Isaid,preparingtoglide
pasthim.

NickgrabbedmywristbeforeIcouldeffectagetaway.Hisgrinhadfled.‘Whydon’tyougivethe

actarest,MissPerfectGirlfriend,andleaveMarcustoenjoyhimselfwiththeguys?’

‘Ibegyourpardon?’Isaid,andmyvoicewassoarctic,Nickshouldhavesustainedimmediate

frostbitetoatleastoneextremity.

ButNickwasapparentlyimmunetothecold;thebastardwasaneyeliddroopawayfromawell-

heatedsmoulder.

‘Beg,’hesaid,asthoughhewererollingthewordaroundonhistonguelikeadropofsyrup.‘Ilike

thatwordcomingoutofyourmouth.’

Isnatchedmywristfree.‘BegissomethingI’llneverdoforyou.’Anddamn,damn,damn,there

wasnothingarcticaboutthewayIspatthatout!

‘Butyoujustdidbegme,Chloe.Althoughit’snotmy“pardon”I’minterestedingivingyou.I’m

interestedingivingyousomethingelseentirely.’

Oh.My.God.‘You.Are.Ananimal.’
‘Asareallhumans.Mammals,tobeprecise.’
‘SomehavejustevolvedalittlefurtherthanNeanderthalssincetheIceAge.’
‘That’sme.Savagebyname,savagebynature.’Heleanedin,soclosehisbreathstirredmyhair,

settingoffatiny,unwelcomeshiver.‘ButthewayIseeit,you’retheonetrappedintheIceAge.Brrr.’
Pauseasheeasedbackenoughformetotakeanormalbreath.‘Atleast,that’swhatyouwantusallto
think,isn’tit,Chloe?’

Enough.Iwasgoing.AndIwasn’tbotheringwithan‘Excuseme’thistime.
Buthishandshotoutagain,detainingme.‘Don’tworry,thethingIwanttogiveyouisn’tanorgasm

that’llblowyourmind,ifthat’swhatyou’rethinking–althoughIcould.WhatIwanttogiveyou,atleast
atthismoment,isadvice.Loosenthereins,Chloe.Ifyouloosenthereins,youandMarcusmightbothfind
outwhereyou’resupposedtobe.’

Foramoment,allIcoulddowasblinkatNick,speechless.Blink,blink,breathe,blink–thewayI’d

trainedmyselftodo,asawayofmasteringtheurgetoscreamandthumpandclawwhenthingsfeltlike
theywerespirallingoutofmycontrol.

‘IknowwhereI’msupposedtobe,’Isaid.‘Withmyboyfriend.Youknow,yourfriend?Teammate?

Theteamcaptain?Thatguy?ButI’lltellyouwhat,Nick.IfyoureallythinkI’llspoilhisfunwiththe
guys,there’ssomethingverysimpleyoucandotokeepmeawayfromhim.’Inoddedtowardsthe
conglomerationofthick-neckedfootballerssurroundingMarcusontheothersideofthecruisercabin.
‘Justgooverthereyourself.That’sasurefirewaytokeepmeallthewayoverhere.Andwhileyou’reon
yourwayover,trytorememberit’snotnicetohitonateammate’sgirl.’

‘Exceptundercertain…conditions.’
‘Gettingakickoutoftormentingagirlisn’tavalidcondition.’
‘Thentellmeabetterwaytogetyoutonoticeme,Chloe,’hesaid,andforoncetherewasn’tevena

hintofataunt–notinhisvoice,hisfaceorthewords.

MybreathjammedinmythroatasIlookedathim.Hiseyes,sodarktheywerealmostblack,were

bothseriousandwatchful,andtherewasagrimsettohismouthI’dneverrecognisedbefore.Hishand,
grippingmywrist,feltlikeitwasbrandingme.Alittletrickleoffearetchedapathdownmyspine.‘I
don’twanttonoticeyou,’Isaid.

‘DoyouthinkIdon’tknowthat?Butcircumstancescanchange.’
‘Andareyougoingtoenlightenmeastowhatthosechangingcircumstancesmaybe?’
Anotherpausewhilehelookedatme.Hehalf-openedhismouth,asthoughtospeak…butthen

closeditandshookhishead.‘That’ssomethingyou’llhavetofindoutonyourown.’

‘ThenIsuggestyouletgoofme.Andstophittingonme–youlackthefinessetocarryitoff.’
Helookeddownatwherehishandengulfedmywrist.Inhisgrip,mywristlookedthinnerandpaler

thanusual.Vulnerable.Ormaybeitwasjustthathishandseemedgianttome,whichwascrazy,because
hewasthesamesizeasMarcus.Marcusjustdidn’tseemso…soHulk-like,somehow.

‘Ilackfinesse,doI?That’sokay,Chloe.Ihaveotherattributes.’Hisfingersloosened;hishandslid

upmyforearm,thenbackdown.

‘Whichyousharearoundalittletoofreelyformytaste.’
Adare-you-to-lose-itlookwasinhisheavy-liddedeyes.‘Idon’tshareallmytoys,Chloe.

Rememberthat,whenthetimecomes.’

Itriedtolaugh,triedtoscoff,tosneer,to…something.ButIwasn’tcapableofmakingasound.

Whatdidthatevenmean?Whenthetimecomes?Thetimewasn’tcoming,asfarasIwasconcerned.
Ever.

Then,suddenly,mywristwasfree,andNickwassteppingback,holdinguphishandasthoughtosay

‘bestbehaviour’.Ifoundmyselfrubbingmywristagainstmythighbecauseitwastingling,somehow.And
IdidnotwanttodoanytinglingaroundNickSavage.Infact,Ididn’twanttodoanyuncontrolled
tingling,period.

Marcus.IneededMarcustountingleme.
Ilookedoverathim,andImusthavebeenradiatingsomepowerfulkindofelectromagnetic‘save

me’rays,becauseImanagedtosnaghisattentionawayfromtheguys–notaneasythingtodooncethey
weredeepinfootballtalk.Hesmiledandwavedmeover,andIfeltinstantlysteadier.‘Thetimeyou’re
thinkingabout?’IsaidtoNick.‘It’sthetwelfthofnever.Butrightnow,myboyfriendwantsmetojoin
him.’

Nickturned,andIalmostgroanedasMarcusincludedhiminthewavetojointhegroup.Seriously,

couldMarcusnotseewhatwashappeningrightunderhisnose?

ButitseemedNickhadfilledhisdailyquotaofChloe-baiting,becausehedida

smile/headshake/handgesturepantomimeindicatinghewasgoingoutondeckinstead.

AndthenNickturnedbacktome,andhissmileslipped.‘Itwon’tbethetwelfthofnever,Chloe.I

won’twaitthatlong,’hesaid,andallthehairsonthebackofmyneckstoodup.‘Infact,time’salmost
up.’

AndasIstoodthere,stunnedintosilence,Nickthrewbackhischampagneandputtheglassbackon

thebar.‘Whatareyouwaitingfor,MissPerfectGirlfriend?Offyougo.Runaway.’

‘It’snotrunningawaywhenyou’regoingwhereyou’rewanted.’
‘You’rewantedhere.More.Byme.’
Istaredathim,desperatelytrying–failing–tokeepthepanicatbay.Itwasasthougheverything

wasstrippedawaywiththosewords.Nomoreinnuendo.Noambiguity.Nothingthatcouldbebrushedoff
orignored.Icouldn’tpretendtomyselfthathewasjustgettingakickoutofprovokingme,orthatIwas
beingoverlysensitive,orthatIwasreadingsomethingintohiswordsthatwasn’treallythere.

Blink,blink,breathe.‘Nick,youhavetostopthis,orI’mgoingtohavetotellhim.’
‘Gorightahead,Chloe,ifthat’swhatyouwanttodo.I’mnotscaredofMarcus.’
‘Youshouldbe.’
‘I’mnot.’
‘Thenthere’salittlethingcalledloyaltyyoumightliketoconsider,instead.’
‘Ihaveconsideredit.Iadmireyourloyalty,Chloe,Ireallydo.Ialwayshave.’
‘Notmyloyalty.Yourloyalty.Tohim.’
‘I’lltellyouwhat,youletmeworryaboutmyloyaltytoMarcus,andinthemeantime,trytopeerinto

yourownmurkywaters.Love,lust,loyalty.Whatdoyouwant,Chloe?Whodoyouwant?Andwhy?’

‘Youcanbesureofonething,atleast.Idon’twantyou.’Andonthoseflungwords,Istalkedoff.
‘We’llsee,Chloe,’hesaid,justloudenoughformetohear,andasmystepfaltered,justfora

fractionofasecond,hechuckled.It’spossiblythemosthideoussoundintheworld,achuckle.Only
villainsinmelodramaschuckle.Marcusneverchuckled,andcertainlyneveratmyexpense.

ThemomentIreachedMarcus’ssidehedrewmeunderhisarm,despitehisattentionhaving

wholeheartedlyreturnedtowhateverhisteammateswerediscussing.Itwasanatural,comforting,taking-
you-for-granted-in-the-nicest-possible-wayreflexaction,whichproclaimedtoanyonewhowas
interestedthatweweretogether.

Together.Thewaywe’dbeenforjustoverayear.Fifty-twoweeksandthreedays.Steady,strong,

united,sureofeachother.Nosniping.Notaunting.Noteasing.No…tempting.

You’rewantedhere.More.Byme.Ishiveredasthewordsplayedthroughmymind,andMarcus

rubbedmyarm.

‘Areyoucold,Chloe?Wantmyjacket?’Alwayssoconsiderateofmywellbeing.ThatwasMarcus,

theperfectgentleman.

‘No.No,no,no,’Isaid,androlledametaphoricaleyeattheoverkillofthat–notthatMarcus

seemedtonoticeanythingamisswiththosesurplus‘no’s;hetunedstraightbackintotheconversation.
LeavingmefreetoponderifperhapsIreallyshouldtellMarcuswhatNickhadsaid.

Theproblemwas,IsuspectedMarcuswouldjustshrugitoff.Hesimplywasn’tthejealoustype.

WhichI’dalwaysthoughtwasablessing,mebeingtheultimatekeep-it-cool,scene-free,no-conflict,
hold-the-dramatypeofgirl.

Butinthisinstance?IfItoldMarcus,andhedidnothing?
IhadanuncomfortablefeelingNickwouldtakeitasaninvitationtocomeandgetme.AriskI

wouldnottake.WhichmeantIwouldn’tbetellingMarcusadamnthingaboutCasanovaSavage’s
unwelcomeattentions.ScoreoneforNick.

Somethingshimmeredthroughme.Likea…apremonition,asIrecalledwhatNickhadsaid:It

won’tbethetwelfthofnever,Chloe.Iwon’twaitthatlong.

Change.Somethingwasabouttochange.Maybeitalreadyhadchanged.SomethingIdidn’t

understand.

Loosenthereinsandyoubothmightfindoutwhereyou’resupposedtobe.
Itwasthere,onthefringeofmyconsciousness,thesomething,ifonlyIcouldconcentrate.Blockout

everythingelse…

Ijumped,asIfeltatouchonmyshoulder.
‘…whereyougotit,Chloe?’
ItwasKelly,oneofthegirlfriends,andIquicklyputtogetherwhatitwasshe’daskedmefromthe

enviouslookshewascastingatthetinyhandbagdanglingfromachainovermyshoulder.

‘IgotitinMelbourne,’Isaid,asIoffereduptheglitterypinksphereforcloserinspection.‘Butit

onlyholdsalipstickandonecreditcard.’

‘Whocares?It’sthecolourIlove,’shesaid.
Andtheflickerofawarenesswassnuffedout.Leavingbehindonlyahintof…offear,almost.
Blink,blink,breathe,asIlookedaroundatourlittlegroup.Thegirlstalkingaboutfashion,

Marcus’smusculararmaroundme,oneoftheguysswappingmyemptyglassforafullonefroma
circulatingwaiter’stray…Allthosethingswereasperusual.Itoldmyselfthatnothinghadchanged.I
certainlydidn’twantanythingtochange.IthadtakenmelongenoughtowrenchthelifeIwantedfromthe
chaosofmyimperfectchildhood,andIlikedbeingexactlywhereIwas.ChloeMasterswasnolonger
thatlonelyfosterkid,beingpassedonfromhometohome,likeoneofNickSavage’sharemgirls.She
wasarespectedtelevisionreporter,thepoisedandstylishgirlfriendofoneofAustralia’shottestsports
stars.Shewaswhereshewassupposedtobe,andshewasgoingtostaythere.

AyearwithMarcus.Thatwasamilestone.AdmittedlynotaslongasKellyhadbeenwithRock,but

itdemonstratedstability,commitment,permanence.IlookedquicklyatKellyandRock,wonderingifthey
wereabouttomakethingstrulypermanent.Abigstep.Ahugestep.Buttheyseemedsohappy,surelyit
wasonthecards.KellywasnuzzlingintoRock,blushing,whisperingsomethinginhisearashe…he…
Oh.Ohhhhh!

RockwassqueezingKelly’sbutt!
Ilookedhurriedlyaway.Lookedbackatthem.Away.
Andfeltsomethinginmyheadgo‘click’.
Icouldn’trememberthelasttimeMarcushadsqueezedmybutt,oranyotherbodypart,forthat

matter.Inprivate,letaloneinpublic.

Icountedback,rememberingthetrainingsessions,thefootballfunctions,thepromotionalworkfor

sponsors,thecommunityengagements.Allmajortimesucks.Back,back,back,Iwent.Ithadtobe…two
months…?No.No,threemonths.

IfIhadn’thadsuchironcontrolovermyfacialmuscles,mymouthwouldhavedroppedopen.Could

thatreallybetrue?Anotherquickcount,tofindthatyes,itcould.Itwastrue.Ihadn’thadsexwithMarcus
forthreewholemonths.I’dsimplytakencareofanystraysexualurgesmyself.Whydiditseemworseto
realisethelastorgasmI’dhadwasself-produced?Infact,thelasttwo.Makethatthree.Four.Oh!

Aspurtofalarmhitme.Anddoubt.Horrible,cripplingdoubt.BadenoughthatMarcusandIweren’t

havingsex.UnforgivablethatIhadn’tactuallynoticeduntilnow.So…what?DidIneedhormone
therapy?DidMarcus?HadMarcussustainedasportsinjurytohissexorgansthathewastoo
embarrassedtotellmeabout?WastheresomethingIwasdoingwrong?Somethingoff-puttingaboutthe
wayIlooked,smelledorsoundedinthethroesofpassion?Surelynot!Iwasmeticulousaboutallthose
thingsbefore,duringandaftersex.So…what?

Clearly,Ineededtogethimintobedimmediatelyandfigureitout.
‘Marcus,’Isaidsoftly,tuggingonhisarm.
Helookeddownatme.‘Whatisit?’
‘Doyouknowifthere’s–?Imean,istheresomewherewecangoandbe…private?Ontheboat,I

mean?’

‘Whatdoyoumean,private?’
‘Youknow…’Meaningfullook.‘Private.’
‘Oh,private.’Hegavemeahalf-smile/half-grimace.‘Notontheboat,Chloe.Notwiththeseguys

allovertheplace.’

Andthatwasit.Well,thatandaquickkissonmyforehead,beforeheturnedbacktothe

conversationwiththeguys.

Marcushadkissedmyforehead;RockhadsqueezedKelly’sbutt.Therewassomethingnotquite

rightaboutthatcomparison.

ItwasnotagoodtimetocatchsightofNickSavagethroughthewindow,outonthedeck.Because

seeinghim,withablondeswooningathimoneitherside,mademewonderwhatNickwoulddoifa
womanaskedhimtotakehersomewhereprivate.

ButIknewtheanswer.Shewouldfindherselfcrowdedintooneofthebedrooms,thebathroom,a

semi-secludedpartofthedeck,evenjammedinsidethenearestlifeboat,prettydamnquick.Nick
probablyhadasixthsenseaboutwheretotakeawillingbedmate,honedbyyearsofillicitsexinpublic
places.

ThethingIwanttogiveyouisn’tanorgasmthat’llblowyourmind–althoughIcould.
Anorgasmthatwouldblowmymind…HowlonghaditbeensinceI’dhadamind-blowing

orgasm?HadI,infact,everhadone?

IwashorrifiedtofindmybodyclenchingatthethoughtofNickalonewithawoman…awoman

likeme…withnobodyelseinsight,blowinghermind.

No!Notgoingthere.IdraggedmyeyesawayfromNickandbacktoMarcus,whosmileddownat

meandthen,forgoodmeasure,gavemeanotherkissontheforehead.

Somehow,Ididn’tthinkNickSavagewasgoingtokisseitherofthoseblondesontheforehead.

Inexorablymyeyesfollowedmythoughts,backoutontothedeckwhereNickwasapparentlynotatallput

outthatthetwogirlshadnowphysicallyattachedthemselvestohim.Asthoughhecouldfeelmyeyeson
him,Nicklookedinthroughthewindow.Straightatme.Andhissmiledisappeared.

Thegirlonhisrightslidherhandsaroundhisbiceps.Itwasridiculous–evenwithbothhandsshe

onlymadeithalfwayround.Nottobeoutdone,left-handblondegotinontheact.Twohands,halfway
roundhisbiceps.

ExactlythesightIneededtowakeuptomyself.AsifIreallywantedtofindaprivatecornerwitha

girl-per-sidemanlikeNickSavage!Iwasnotabiceps-fondlinggroupie.Iwasaget-your-butt-squeezed-
in-privatetype.Iwasclassy,Iwasstylish.Iwasthegirlfriendyouhadforthelong-term,notfortwo
weeks.Aperfectgirlfriend–andtherewasnothingwrongwith‘perfect’,nomatterhowNicksneeredout
thatword.

Tossingmyhair,Iangledmyselfawayfromtheobnoxioussightofthebuddingménageàtrois.
Ilookedaroundatallthepartygoers.Thesurroundingswereglamorous,asbefittingthebrandof

GazFinaldo,thebillionaireownerofboththecruiserandtheSydneyScorpions.Champagnewasflowing
freely.Thepartyfoodwasexquisite.Peoplewerechatting,laughing;afewwereevenbustingoutsome
dancemoves.Hunkyguys.Gorgeous,fashionablegirls.ExactlythekindofeventI’dspentmyteenage
yearsdreamingof.AndIwasincluded.

Yep,I’dfinallymadeit.
AndIhadneverfeltlonelierinmylife.

CHAPTERTWO

Thecruiseprogressedthewaysucheventsusuallydid.Marcuswashisgregariousself,ensuringwewere
surroundedfortheduration.Therewerespeeches,duringwhich,Marcuswaspresentedwiththe
prestigiousteammedal,makinghimevenmorepopular.Therewasconversationandlaughterand
entertainment.And,ofcourse,thefreeflowingboozeresultedinasmatteringofincidents–onebroken
toe,aflaregunbeingaccidentallysetoff,andagirlstrippingtoherunderwearandthrowingherselfat
NickSavage.

Nothingunusualaboutanyofit(exceptthatforonce,Nickdidn’tseeminterestedinthenearly-naked

girl),butbythetimetheboatdockedIwaslongingtohaveMarcustomyself.Justthetwoofus,calmand
steady,soIcouldre-setmyequilibrium.

Marcushadbookedalimousinetopickusup.Oncewewereseatedinthebackandonourway,he

reachedformyhandinoneofthosetaking-for-grantedactionsIliked,holdingitlooselyashecheckedthe
textsandemailshe’dreceivedwhileonthecruise.Andjustlikethat,thingsfeltnormalagain.

‘Ah,Imeanttoshowyouthisbefore,’hesaid,passinghisphonetome.
Ireadtheemailquicklythenhandedthephonebacktohim.Itwasaninvitationtoleadaschool

holidayfootballclinicinaremoteruralcommunity.Agreatcause,butthetimingwashell–hotonthe
heelsofMarcus’send-of-seasontriptoHawaiiwiththeguys.‘Areyousureyoucanyoufititin?’Iasked,
eventhoughIknewitwasn’tinMarcus–acountryboyatheart–toturndownsucharequest.

Hesmiledatme,allconfidence.‘Tooeasy.’
‘Hawaii’sonlyaweekaway,andeventhat’snotnaileddownyet.’
‘I’llflyouttodoarecceattheschoolonTuesday,thendotandcrossthei’sandt’sforHawaiion

Wednesdaynightoverpizzawiththeguys,flytoHawaiiasplanned,tieupanylooseendsontheclinic
whileI’mthere,andwhenI’mbackIcanheadstraighttotheschool.AsIsaid,tooeasy.’

‘Wednesdaynight?’Isaid,withsinkingheart.‘Didyouforgetyouweresupposedtocomewithme

toEvie’sfordinneronWednesday?’

‘Ithoughtthatwastomorrow.’
‘No,shelandstomorrow.We’regivingheracoupleofdaystomoveintoJack’spenthousebefore

wedescendonher.’

‘Hangon,letmejustcheckwhatI’vegotcomingup…’Headbenttohisphone,hestartedlooking

throughhiscalendar,andmurmuringtohimself.‘Can’tmovethat.Maybethat…?Uh-uh,no.Howabout
…Nope,scrapthat.’

‘Drewaskedmeparticularlytogetyouthere,’Isaidmischievously,justbecauseIknewitwould

getareaction.DrewputMarcusalittleonedge.Inevitable,givenMarcuswaswhatyou’dcallablokey
blokewhileDrewwas…flamboyant,shallwesay?

‘Drew?’Marcusasked,lookingatmewarily.‘Why?’
‘Becausehe’sgotthehotsforyou,’Iteased.IsawthealarmchaseacrossMarcus’sface,andalmost

laughed.‘I’mjoking,Marcus.He’sgotthehotsforhalftherugbyleagueplayersinSydney,youknowthat.
Look,it’sjustalow-keycatch-uptohearaboutEvie’stimeinMorocco,butshe’llunderstandifyoucan’t

makeit.It’snotlikeithasn’thappenedbefore.’

‘HowaboutifIpoppedinforcoffeeafterwards?I’msureIcouldmanagethat.’
‘You’resure?’
Hegrimaced.‘I’lltry.’
‘Okay,you’lltry,’Isaid,resignedtothefactthatImightseehim…butIprobablywouldn’t.
Silencereignedforawhile,andthenMarcusputhisphoneintohisshirtpocketandtookmyhand

again.‘Chloe…?’

Hesoundednervous–whichmadethatshimmeringpremonitiontakeholdofmeagain.Wewere

sittingtogetherasusual,holdinghandslikewealwaysdid,havingoneofournormalconversationsabout
whohadwhatcomingup…butsomethinghadchanged.Whatwasit?What?

Marcusclearedhisthroat.SlightpauseasIwaitedforwhathewouldsay…andthenheshrugged,

andsmiled,andthemomentpassed.AndIwas…glad.

‘IsawyouandNicktalkingontheboat,’hesaid,andIstiffenedbeforeIcouldstopmyself.‘That’s

good.’

‘Isit?’Iasked,searchinghisfaceforsignsitreallywasn’tgood.
Buthisfacewascompletelyguileless.‘Ofcourse.Nick’sagreatguyandagoodfriend.’
‘Mmhmm.’
‘Mmhmm?That’sChloe-speakforIdon’tagreewithyou.Whatdidhedowrong?’
‘Nothing.Nothing…important.’Iforcedmybodytorelax.‘ItwasjustNickbeingNick.’
‘Whatdoesthatevenmean,Chloe?’
Ihunchedanawkwardshoulder.HowcouldIputintowordsthatNickwasjustalwaysthere?Just

…there.Oneeyebrowcockedinsecretchallenge.Thathalf-smilespecialofhisthatheseemedto
reservesolelyforme,likeawordlessIdareyou.Thewayhegrinned,whichwasbasicallyacome-onin
camouflagegear.Eventhewayhewalkedwasanaffront.Seriously,NickSavagecouldn’tseemtojust
walklikearegularhumanbeing;hehadtostrideorswaggerorsaunter,likehewasgenetically
programmedtobeacocky,infuriatingbastard.

Marcustuckedastrandofmyhairbehindmyear.‘EarthtoChloe,comein,Chloe.’
Iranmyownsmoothing,soothinghandovermyhair.‘Itdoesn’tmeananything.Nick’sjust…

confronting.’

‘Thathedefinitelyis.’Marcuslaughed,andsqueezedmyfingers.‘Especiallyforagirllikeyou.’
‘Whatdoesthatmean?’
‘Youknow.’
‘Notinthiscontext,Idon’t.’
‘Goddess-like,’Marcussaid.‘Thegoddess–that’swhatEvieandDrewcallyou.’
‘Butthat’sjustathingfromouruniversitydays.A–’
‘Ajoke,Iknow,’hesaid,raisingmyhandtohismouthtokisstheknuckles.‘Exceptthatit’snot

reallyajoke,andallthreeofyouknowit.You’reso…composed.Poised.Neverahairoutofplace.’He
laughedsuddenly.‘AndImeanthatthingaboutthehairliterally.DidyouevennoticethatwhenItucked
thatstraybitofhairbehindyourear,youhadtofixityourselfstraightawaytomakesureitwasasperfect
astherestofyou?’

Myhandpracticallyleaptformyhair,andMarcuslaughedagain.‘It’salltuckedaway,Chloe.’
‘Likeme,isthatwhatyou’resaying?’Iheardmyselfask–andirritatingly,Nick’swordsbounced

intomyhead.Goon,letitout.Repressionneverdidanyoneanygood.‘DoyouthinkI’mrepressed?’

‘Ithinkyou’reregal.’
‘Smoothtalker,’Isaid,butwhatwassupposedtocomeoutlightheartedcameoutdullandflat.
‘Ilike“regal”,’Marcussaid.‘It’sbetterthanthrowingjealoustantrumsthewayKellyandRockdo.

Anddon’tgetmestartedontheirPDAs.’Helaughed.‘We’renotlikethat,youandI.We’rebotheven-

keel,fullsailahead.It’swhywe’vebeensogoodtogetherforsolong.ButNickis–’

‘Oh,really,we’regoingbacktoNick?’
‘–different.Nickhasadifferenteffectonyou.Somethingmolecularhappenswhenyou’retogether,

likefireandice.’Anotherpause,duringwhichMarcustoyedwithmyfingers.‘Youcouldn’thavethekind
ofrelationshipyouandIhavewithNick.’

‘Icouldn’thaveanykindofrelationshipwithNick,’Isaid.‘NotthatIcanpicturehimthrowing

jealoustantrumslikeKellyandRockeither,givenhoweasilyheswapsgirlswithhisfriendseveryfew
weeks.’

‘Thatwillchangewhenthetimecomes.’
Imadesomenoncommittalsound.
‘Infact,Ithinkyou…’Hetrailedoff,lookedoutthewindowthenbackatme,andthenshrugged.‘I

thinkyou’reabittoughonhim,isall.Iwishyou’dtrytogetalongalittlebetter.’

‘Igetalongwellwithmostoftheguysontheteam,’Isaid,tryingtofeelmywaythroughthesubtext

ofthisverystrangeconversation.

‘Yes,Iknow.’
Itwasasimpleacknowledgement,butsomethingfeltoffaboutit,liketherewasa‘but’tocome.
‘Anyway,’Marcussaid,beforeIcouldbroodmoredeeplyonwhatthehellwasgoingon,‘canwe

getbacktothefootballclinicforaminute?IwantedtoaskyouiftherewasanychanceAroundtheGlobe
mightcoverit.’

‘I’llcheckwithLarry.’
‘He’sthechiefofstaff,right?Themanicsmoker?’
ThatwasLarry.‘Yeah.Hewastalkingaboutsomethinghe’sgotcookingwithGazFinaldijustthe

otherday,sohe’llprobablybeupforit.’

‘Canyouswingitsoyoucandothestory?Imeanyou,personally?OtherwiseIwon’tseeyoufora

weekonceI’mbackfromHawaii.’

‘Me,personally?Uh,no,Idon’tthinkso.’
‘Ithoughtitwouldbringusfullcircle.Youknow,becausewemetwhenyouweredoingthatstory,

andnow,ayearlater…’

‘Yes,butapuffpieceontheGingeroftheMonthcalendarshootinSydneyisalittledifferentfroma

footballclinicinWoopWoop.And…’Swallow.‘Andbesides,kidsarenotmything.Theydon’ttaketo
me.Youknowthat,Marcus.’

‘Iknowyousaytheydon’t,butthat’sallIknow.Infact…’Heleanedalittleawayfromme,as

thoughtobetterexaminemyface.‘HaveIever…?No,Idon’tbelieveI’veeverseenyouwithachild.
Notevenmynieceandnephews.You’vealwaysgotareasontododgethem.’

‘Yes,becausetheydon’ttaketome.’Whichwasbasicallyunarguable.
‘Ormaybethey’rejusttoomessy,’Marcussaid,andlaughed.
Iwasnot,howeverinthemoodatthatpointtolaughalongabouthowrepressedIcouldbe,so

fortunatelythecarchosethatmomenttopullupoutsidemyapartmentbuilding.Whichstartedawhole
othertrainofthought.

‘Areyoustayingatmyplacetonight,Marcus?’Iasked.
‘Icould,’Marcussaid,buthesoundeddoubtful.‘Ijusthavetocheckononething.It’sacallI’m

expecting.’

‘Youcantakeithere.’
Heshookhishead.‘It’savideocallfromHawaii.YouknowIprefertodothosefrommyplace,so

letmejust…’Pullingoutthephoneagain,frowningashepulleduphisschedule,shakinghishead.‘No,
it’snotgoingtowork.Butlet’stryforWednesday.’

‘Wednesday,’Iparroted,andthen,ashegrimacedapologetically,‘Yes,Iknow,you’lltry.’

Marcushuggedme,kissedmeontheforehead,huggedmeagain,wavedmetothedoor,watched

untilIgotinside…

Andthatwasit.
Iwalkedslowlytotheelevator,pushedthebutton,keepingittogether,together,together.Iletmyself

intomyapartment,putmymuchadmiredsparklypinkbagonthediningtable,tookoffmyshoes,and
pouredmyselfaginandtonic.Iwantedtothinkbackovertheconversationwe’dhadinthebackofthe
limo,totrytopinpointwhatwasbotheringmeaboutit.Theconversationhadbeensotypical,butIhada
sensethattherewerethingsthatweredeliberatelynotsaid.Andafewthingsthatdeliberatelyweresaid.
AboutNick.Nickandme.

Andsuddenly,Iwasbackontheboat,withNick.
ThethingIwanttogiveyouisn’tanorgasmthat’llblowyourmind–althoughIcould.
You’rewantedhere.More.Byme.
Itwon’tbethetwelfthofnever,Chloe.Iwon’twaitthatlong.
I’dmakethemthebesttwoweeksofyourlife.
AndIthrewmyglassatthewallandscreamed.

CHAPTERTHREE

IwasfeelingvulnerableasIpickedDrewupfromworkforthedrivetoEvie’sonWednesdayevening–
so,ofcourse,Iwasnotonlylookingprettydamnperfectinmywellcutdressandhighheels,butIwasat
mymostrigidlycontrolled,rightdowntothehintofamusedboredominmyice-blueeyes.

Thequestionwas,wouldmycarefullyexpressedimperturbabilitythrowDrewandEvieoffthe

scent,orarousetheirsuspicionsthatsomethingwasup?

DrewandEviegenerallyletmegetawaywithmyI-am-so-cool-I-could-freeze-you-with-a-glance

façade,becausetheyknewitwasthe‘me’Iwantedtobe.ButtheyalsoknewthemeIdidn’twanttobe,
thedown,darkanddirtyChloe,thehiddenChloe.Keepingsecretsfromthemwasthereforefraughtwith
danger.IfIoverdidtheice,they’dsuspectsomethingwasupandwoulddigunmercifullyuntilI’dspilled
myproblemintotheircommunallap.

AndGodhelpmeiftheydiscoveredtheproblemwasofaromanticnature(or,tobald-faceit,

somethingsexual).WithDrewbeingtheconsummatesexualoversharer,andEviehavingspentamonthin
Moroccobeingtwistedintoasexualpretzelbyhernewfiancé(Drew’smoviestarbrother,JacksonJ
Stevens–butthat’sanotherstory),Iknewthey’dgetallcarpediemonme,andurgemetocutMarcus
looseandheadintothewildswithacopyoftheKamaSutratuckedundermyarm.

Andtobeclear:Ididnotwanttodothat.Ilikedmylifethewayitwas.WithMarcusinit.There

wasnoneedforundignified,uncomfortablesexualpositions;allIneededwasMarcustobepeppedup,
asitwere.

Fortunately,onthedrivetoEvie’sDrewwassopreoccupiedwithtellingmeaboutJack’slatest

phonecalltohim,hedidn’tfocusonmeatall.JackhadthreatenedDrewwithaslowandpainfuldeath
shouldheletanyphotographers,anymedia,anyanyone,comewithincooeeofhispreciousEviebefore
hegothome.Havingenduredsimilarcalls,Iwasquicktosympathisebysharingthatmymostrecent
telephoneconversationwithJackhadincludedanextraspecialgrillingintheveinof‘youbastard
journalists’.JackwasdeterminedtobelieveIhadalevelofcontrolovermycolleaguesthatIsimplydid
nothave.

Itwaskindofhilarious,butonlyuptoapoint.AlthoughwewerewillingtocutJacksomeslack,

givenhe’dalmostlostEvieoncebecauseofmediaintrusionintheirlives,ifJackdidn’tgetoveritASAP,
weweregoingtohavetokillhimtosaveourownsanity.

AviewwithwhichEvietoldusshewholeheartedlyagreed,whenwerelayedourphonecall

experiencestoheruponarrival,overahastilypouredglassofwine.

‘Andit’sbeenevenworseforme,’Eviesaid,andtoldusabouthernightmarishtripfromMorocco

toAustralia,whichboreallthehallmarksofamilitaryblackop,suchwastheprecisionwithwhichJack
hadplannedit:Flownbyprivateplane,whiskedthroughairportsbymeetersandgreetersvettedin
advancebyJack,hustledinandoutofvehicleswithdarkenedwindows.Eventhesecurityguysatthe
apartmentcomplexhadbeen‘programmed’toshieldherfromundueattention.

‘Notfunny!’Eviesaid,asDrewandIhootedwithlaughter.‘IthoughtforawhilethereIwasgoing

togetanarmedescorttogotothebathroom!’Shesimultaneouslysighedandrolledhereyes–atypical

Eviemanoeuvre.‘WhatamIgoingtodowithhim?’

‘Wearit,’Drewsaid,whenhe’drecoveredhisbreath.‘He’llgetagripsoonerorlater.Eitherthat

or,yes,wewillreallyneedtokillhim.’

Iwavedmywineglassforarefill.‘ButIswearifIgetonemoreinstructionasyour“media

adviser”,Evie,I’mgoingtotakeashortcutandstabyouwithanicepickbeforehegetshere.’

‘Idon’tthinkwehaveanicepick,’Eviesaid.‘Mindyou,I’veonlybeeninthekitchenlongenough

toputtogethertherisottoandasalad.’

‘Risotto?’Drewasked,infailingaccents.
‘Yes.We’rehavingitfordinner.’
Drewshuddered.‘Chloe,don’twait.Gosearchthekitchen.Jackmusthaveanicepick.Evena

sharpknifewilldo.Nobodywillblameyou.’

‘You’resuchabastard,’Eviesaid,butshewaslaughingassheheadedforthekitchen.
Drewshotmehisinfamouswild-eyeasshereturnedafewminuteslateranddepositedourbowlsin

frontofus.

Onespoonfulin,Drewlaidhisspooncarefullyonthetable.‘Ihavetwowordsforyou,Evie,’he

said.

‘They’dbetternotbe“Arboriorice”,’shewarned.‘Becausethosewerethetwowordsyougaveme

lasttimeImaderisotto,sothat’swhatIused.’

Drewlookedather,athisbowl,backtoEvie.‘YouusedArborioriceanditstillturnedoutlike

that?’

‘Suckitup,Drew,’Isaid,slippingeasilyintomyusualroleofpeacemaker.‘Andpourmesome

morewine.’

‘Yeah,youjustaboutcouldsuckitup,withadamnstraw,’Drewgrumbled,butdulytippedahefty

portionofredintomyglass.‘Well,ifI’mgoingtogetthatdownmythroat,I’mgoingtoneedsome
conversationaldistraction.AndI’lltakeminewithaserveofhotguy.Socomeon,Chloe,tellusabout
Sunday’sharbourcruise.’

‘Whatharbourcruise?’Evieasked.
‘Marcus’send-of-seasonparty,onthebigman’sboat,’Isaid.‘Marcusgottheteammedalthisyear.’
‘Yes,yes,andlastyear,’Drewsaidimpatiently,andpickeduphisspoontoscoopupsomerice.‘But

getontothetestosteronepart.’

‘Oh,therewastestosterone,allright,’Isaid,andrealisedthetonewasn’taslightlyhumorousasI’d

intendedwhentheybothpaused,spoonshalfwaytotheirmouths.

‘Spill,’Drewsaid,ashisspoonlandedbackonthetable.‘Whatwentwrong–notthatIcanseehow

anythingcouldhavegonewrongonaluxurycruiseronaperfectspringeveningwithoodlesofhunkyguys
and,I’llwager,nogluggyrisotto.’

‘Hey.’ThatwasEvie.
‘Shutup,Evie.’ThatwasDrew.
‘WAGs.’Andthatwasme,pluckingarandomsubjectoutoftheair.Itwasabelievabledecoy;I

regularlybemoanedthestateoffeminismasitpertainedtothewomenwhothrewthemselvesat
sportsmen.‘WAGsandgroupies.’

‘Butweren’tyouthereasoneofthose?’Evieasked.
Drewwinced,readingtoperfectionmysharpinhale.‘Nowyou’vedoneit,Evie,’hesaid.
‘EvangelineParker!’Ihuffed.‘Iamnot–not–agroupie.’
‘Well,obviously,ImeantWAG,’Eviesaid.
NotthatIwaslistening.‘That’slikemecallingyouafangirljustbecauseyou’reengagedtoJack.

Anddon’tpretendthatafewmonthsagobeingcalledthatwouldn’thavesentyouintoanapoplexy.’

‘Okaaaay,’shesaid,lookingwary.‘ButIhadaphobia.Whereasyou…?Well,Ihonestlydidn’t

thinkyoumindedthewholecelebritycircusthing.’

‘Ididn’t.Idon’t.Imean–’Idoodledmyspoonthroughmyrice.‘It’sjust…’
‘Just…?’Evieprompted.
‘Justnothing.Only…’
‘Only…?’Drewasked.
‘Itfeltdifferent.Ifeltdifferent.Fromtheothers,Imean.’

Eviewasfrowning.‘Differentasin…?

Ishrugged,restless.‘Asin…different.’
Theywaitedexpectantly.Clearly,Iwasonthehook.
‘Asinoneofthemwasgettingherbuttsqueezedbyherboyfriend,’Ioffered.‘Canyoubelievethat?

Inpublic?’

DrewandEvieexchangedraised-eyebrowlooks.
‘Andanyway,’Iwenton,‘whyisitthatwivesandgirlfriendsofsportsmengetstuckwiththatsilly

acronym?WAGS!Whyisn’tthereanequivalentforguyswhoareboyfriendsandhusbandsof
sportswomen?’

‘It’sobvious,’Dewsaid.‘It’sallabouttheletters.Imean,howisBAHsgoingtowork?It’snot..Or,

inreverse,HABs?Nope.MaybeIcouldinventone.Whatabout–Ouch!Hey,nothrowingspoons.’

‘Drew,Iamawomanteeteringontheedge,’Iwarnedhim.‘Iwillthrowthebloodybowl,with

contents,atyouinaminute.’

‘Aimitathishead,’Eviesuggested.‘Lessmessformetocleanupifitlandsonthatmassivedome

ofhis.’Shereachedforthewinebottle.‘OrIcouldjustpouryousomemorewine,instead.Willthat
help?’

‘Yes,’Isaid,mollified,asshecalmlytoppedupourglasses.‘Andsorryaboutthespoon.’
Eviedismissedmyapologywithaforgetitwaveofherhand.‘It’snicetohaveanoccasional

reminderthatyou’vegotatemperintheresomewhere.’Pause.Andthen,carefully,‘So,Chloe,howabout
youteeterovertheedgeforonceandtelluswhattherealWAG/groupieissueis?’

‘I’mjust…justnotthekindofpersonto…’
‘To…?’sheprompted.
Ididalittlehairtoss.‘Look,Ijustdon’tgetmybuttsqueezedinpublic.’
Shepursedherlips.‘Okaaaay.’
‘AndI…I’mnotthekindofpersontoletsomeoneIdon’tevenknow–no,twopeopleIdon’teven

know,twogroupies!–slidetheirhandsaroundmybiceps,oohingandaahinglikebimbo-icmorons.’

Drewnoddedapprovingly.‘Bimbo-ic?Nice!Sowhodidthebicepsgropeandaretheysleeping

withthefishesinSydneyHarbour?’

‘Ifthat“sleepingwiththefishes”thingwassupposedtobeamafiaimpression,itsucked,’Isaid.
Drewwasunfazed.‘Allrightthen,ifyouwanttodelaytheinevitable–becauseyouknowyou’re

goingtotellusintheend–I’llfindanotherwaytoexpressthat.Andyouwillnotethatjustbysayingthat,
Ihavealreadygivenyoutwentyextrasecondstoformulatearesponse.So,arethosegirls’eyesstillin
theirheads,ordidyouscratchthemout?’Hewaggledhiseyebrows.‘NotthatIwouldn’tdoalittlebitof
slidingmyownhandsaroundMarcus’sbulgingbiceps,ifheeverhadthedecencytooffermethetiniest
encouragement!’

‘NobodytouchedMarcus’sbiceps,’Imumbled,andtookaquickgulpofwine,‘Not…his.’
Eviewaswatchingmecarefully.‘Ifitwasn’tMarcus’sbicepsgettingfeltup,whydoyoucare?’
‘Idon’t.Care,Imean.’
Thetwoofthemlookedateachother.
‘Okaaaaay.’Evie–soundingfartoogrownupandpontificatoryforatwenty-twoyearold.
Itriedagain.‘Itwasnobodyimportant,anditdidn’tupsetme.It’sjust…’Iwavedanineffectual

hand.‘Symptomatic.Ofeverythingthat’swrongwithfootballplayers.Theyearntoomuch,tooyoung.
They’reidolised.They’resurroundedbyadoringwomenwhoneversaynotothem.’Icouldfeeltheroar
andrushofbloodinmyears.Uhoh,uhoh,uhoh.Itwasgoingtocomeout.IknewitasItossedbackmy
wine,asIslammedtheglassonthetable,asmymouthopenedwithoutpermission.Andthereitwas:
‘Andthat’sprobablywhythey’relousylovers.Becausetheydon’tevenhavetotrytogetlaid!’

Silence.Completeandutter,foralong,longmoment.
Andthen,‘Okaaaay,’Eviesaid,rollingaWTF?eyeatDrew.
‘Whoexactlyisalousylover?’Drewaskedwithimpressivesangfroid.
Iwentbacktoricedoodling,usingmyonlyremainingpieceofcutlery,adessertspoon.‘Ihopethis

spoonisnotanindicationthatyou’vemadechocolatemousse,Evie.’

‘AndIhopethatremarkisnotanindicationthatyou’retryingtochangethesubject,’Eviesaid

calmly.AndohmyGod,itfeltlikewe’dswitchedroles.Eviewasnowthecoolonewithalltheanswers,
andIwasthecluelessoneneedingtobesoothed.

Iopenedmymouth,closedit.Doodled.
Drewstoodandstraightenedtohisfullheight–andhewastallandleanandstrong,soeventhough

hewasnoover-muscledleagueplayer,itwasanimposingsightwhenhedidthat.‘Chloe.Evie.Living
room.Now.Chloe!Stoppretendingtobeinterestedinthatinediblerisotto.I’mgoingtomixmyfamous
martinis.Ifthatdoesn’topenyourmouthniceandwide,I’mcallingthedentist.’

WhichwashowIfoundmyselfperchedontheveryedgeofthecouchinJackandEvie’ssunken

livingroom–which,incidentally,lookslikesomethingoutofHomeBeautifulmagazine.

‘I’vealwayslovedthiscouch,’Ioffered,myhandwaftingthroughtheairasthoughtracingthecurve

ofJack’sten-seatercircularcouch.Anotherhandwaftencompassedtheebonycoffeetable.‘That,too.’

‘Areyoufuckingkiddingme,Chloe?’Drewsaid.‘Enoughwiththegameshowhostess

impersonation.Justgetitout,fortheloveofGod!We’renottheenemy,youknow.’

Thejigwasup.Iknewit.‘Fine,’Isaid.‘I’lljust…getitout,then.’Isuckeddownahugeswigof

martiniandputtheglassonthecoffeetable.Onedeepbreath.‘It’squitesimple,guys.Mylovelifeis
dead.’AndfindingIneededanothergluggingslurpofalcoholthemomentthewordscameoutofmy
mouth,Iswipedtheglassbackupoffthetableandtookcareofit.

‘Define“dead”,’Eviesaid,sippingcautiously.
‘TheI-haven’t-had-sex-in-three-monthskindofdead.Isthatdeadenoughforyou?’Me,sipping

incautiously.

‘Oh,’saidEvie.
‘Oh,’saidDrew.
‘Oh,’saidI.
‘Isthat…?’Eviehesitated,takinganothersip,thenclearingherthroat.‘Isthatbad?Imean,

necessarily?’

Igapedather.Allright,EviehadgoneanentireyearwithoutsexbeforeshehookedupwithJack,

butshewasweirdlikethat.Thedon’t-touch-me-unless-you’re-donating-to-a-worthy-causekindofweird.
Butreally?‘Gee,Evie,Idon’tknow,’Isaid,allwide-eyedandinnocent.‘Howmanytimesdoyouand
Jackhavesex?’

Shefrownedasshethoughtaboutthat.Andthen,‘Pernight?’sheasked.
Wassheserious?OhmyGod,yes,shewas!‘Ohthat’sjustfabulous,’Isaid,andthrewtherestofthe

martinidownmythroatinonego.IheldtheglassoutforDrewtorefill.‘I’mtalkingperquarterand
you’retalkingpernight?’

‘Hey,JackandIarenewtothis,’Eviesaid,butshegiggled,waytoopleasedwithherself.
‘Nobody’sthatnew,’Isaid.‘AndcertainlynotJack.Justlookattheguy!Imean,just…justlookat

him!’Pause,asIthoughtaboutthat.BecauseMarcushadthe‘look’too.Whichhadtomeanthathotlooks

didn’tnecessarilytranslateintohottimesinbed.Butmaybetherewereotherelementsatplay…?

‘UnlessJack’sonViagra…?’Isuggested,andIconfesstobeingslightlyhopeful.
Eviechokedonhermartiniandalmostcoughedupalung.‘Viagra?’shegotout,andstartedlaughing.

‘JesusGodno.I’mexhaustedenoughwithoutanychemicalassistance.’

Puh-leease.‘Okay,that’sjustcruel!’
Drewwavedastop-it-immediatelyhand–notinterestedinhisbrother’ssexlife,unsurprisingly.He

downedhalfofhismartiniandthatobviouslygavehimthefortitudetocontinue,becausehisnextwords
were,‘Let’stalksize.’

Evielookedconfused.‘YoumeanJack?’sheasked.
Thatgirlwascuteasabutton,butsometimesyoujustwantedtostrangleher.
‘Eeew.’FromahorrifiedDrew.‘Evie!Disgusting.’
‘Oh,soit’sokaytoaskmeaboutmypartner’spenis,butnotEvie?’Me–whowasnotanswering

thesizequestion,nomatterwhat!

‘It’sasiblingthing,’Drewsaidandforthefirsttimeinlivingmemory,hesquirmed.‘Eeew,God!

Anyway,letmere-phraseforalloursakes.Isitasteroidthing?BecauseMarcusisbuiltlikeabrick
shithouse.Sohashe…well,shrunk?Inproportiontothebrickstructure,Imean?Thosesteroidscan
playhavocwithaguy’ssexdrive,youknow.’

Gape,gape,gape.MeandEviebothatthatpoint.Wonderingifhewasseriousthistime.
Butapparentlyhewas.
‘One,’Isaid,raisingahold-it-right-therefinger.‘Heisatopathleteandtakesno–asinno–drugs!

They’retested,youknow,relentlessly.’

‘Ohyeah.Forgotaboutthat.’
‘Andtwo…’Icouldn’tresistasatisfiedsmileatthatpoint.‘Hehappenstobehunglikeahorse.’

Okay–soIwasansweringtheeternalpenissizequestionafterall.

Drewgrinned.SometimesIthinkhereallyisevil.‘Goodtoknow,’hesaid–orshouldIsay,

sniggered?

‘Drew,you’rebeingadick.’
‘Andisn’tthatthewordoftheday!’
‘Wordofthe…?’Istaredathim,kindoflovingthewayhismindworked,butalsowantingtothrow

somethingathim.‘Onlyyouwouldhavetheballstosaythat,’Isaid,asmylipstartedquivering.

‘Dickandballs?’hesaid.‘That’ssomewordassociationyou’vegotgoingonthere.’
AndthelaughterexplodedoutofmelikeMountVesuviuserupting.Whichmightnothavebeen

appropriate–becausetheparlousstateofmysexlifewasnolaughingmatter–buthowcouldInotfind
thatfunny?Drewwentoffbesideme,andEviewaslaughingsohardshewassnortinglikeacamel.

TheintercomsoundedandEvie,holdinghersidesandgaspingforair,couldbarelygetuptogofind

outwhowasdownthere.

DrewandIdidourbesttogetourselvesundercontrolwhileshewasoverattheintercom,butit

requiredsomediggingaroundforatissueonmypartbecauseIwasmorethanalittlesnotty.

Evie,however,wasnotonlycompletelyundercontrolbythetimeshecameback,butlooking

conscience-stricken.

‘Whowasit?’Drewasked.‘Pleasetellmeit’ssomeguyfromtheCongo–becauseIsawsome

rankingsiteonlinethatsaystheyhavethebiggestappendages!’

‘Cutitout,Drew,’Eviesaid,grabbinghersides–asthoughthatwasgoingtostopherlaughing.‘It’s

nobodyonanyonlinerankingsite.UnlessMarcusisonasitesomewhere.Ishe,Chloe?’

‘Marcus?’
‘Marcus,’Eviesaid.‘Ofthehorse-sizedappendage.AndhowI’mgoingtonotlookatitisanyone’s

guess.’

‘Whoops,’Drewsaid,andun-lounged,flickingavainhandthroughhisthickblackhair.‘Ithought

weweren’texpectinghim.’

Iautomaticallyneatenedmyownhair.‘Hesaidhemightdropby,butIdidn’treallythinkhe’dmake

it.Andbytheway,the“appendage”thing…?Nolookingathislap–eitherofyou!’

‘Ohhhh,Chloe,notfair,’Drewcomplained,buthiseyeswerepracticallydancing.Evil,I’mtelling

you,thatguy.

Butsomehow,Ifeltlikelaughingagain.Thetruthwas,Ididn’treallymindiftheylookedat

Marcus’ssizeablepackage.Thatwasjustthewaywewere,thethreeofus.Ididn’tknowmuchabout
‘real’family,butIknewthatDrewandEvieweremine.WewerethemodernequivalentoftheThree
Musketeers.Allforone,andoneforall.AndasfarasIwasconcerned,theycoulddowhateverthehell
theywantedandIwouldlovethemregardless.

‘Okay,lookathislap,’Isaid,‘buttrynottolethimseeyou.Especiallyyou,Drew.Don’tmakeit

obvious.Youfreakhimoutenoughasitis.’

‘Ormaybe,’Eviemused,‘wecouldlookattheotherguy’slapinstead.Becausehelookslikehe

mighthavesomeserioussizegoingonthere.’

Ifrozeintheactofsmoothingmydressovermythighs.‘Whatotherguy?’
‘He’sgotsomeonewithhim,’Evieadded.‘Cute,fromwhatIcouldtellonthecamera.’
Premonition.‘Cuteasin…?’
‘Hmm,yeah,maybenotcuteexactly.Big.Like…big.’Giggle.‘Shorthairbutnotbuzzcut.Dark.

Darkeverything.Kindof…thug?Yeah,sexythug.’

Drewperkedup.‘Sexythug?Iamsoreadyforapieceofthat!’
ButIknewDrewwasn’tgettingapieceofthat.BecauseIknewwhoitwas.
‘Forgetit,Andrew,’Isaid.
‘Youalwayssaythat.’
‘Believeme,NickSavageisnotforyou,Idon’tcarehowbighisbicepsare.’
Evie’seyeswidened.‘Biceps,huh?’
Groan.
Drewwasshootinghiswildeyemyway.‘Thosebiceps?Thebimbo-icones?’
‘Not.For.You.Gotit,Andrew?’
‘Youcan’tkeepthemallforyourself,’Drewprotested,laughing.
‘AllthestraightonesIcan.’AndthenIrealisedwhatI’dsaid.‘Hey,wait,no.I’mnotkeepingNick.’
Drewgrinned.
‘I’mkeepingMarcus,’Isaid.
Moregrinning–andanannoyinglysmugglancebetweenEvieandDrew.
Ithrewmyhandsup.‘Allright,goforit.Giveityourbestshot,Drew.Hitonhim,seeifIcare.

BecauseIdon’t.’

Moreofthatannoying,between-us,‘aha’glancing.
Iwasseriouslycontemplatingthrowingmyalmost-emptyglassatawall,butfortunatelythedoorbell

dingedbeforeIcouldbebetrayedintoanymoreun-goddess-likebehaviour.

Evielookedatme,asifexpectingmetoletthemin.
‘Hey,it’syourapartment,’Isaid.‘I’llwatchfromhere.’
‘Okaaaay,’shesaid,andwenttoanswerthedoor.
‘Welcomehome,Evie!’Marcussaid,ashesteppedinside.Andthenhedrewherinforahug,anda

kissontheforehead.

Andrightbetweenmytransfixedeyes,ithitmethattherewassomethingverywrongwiththat

picture.

MarcuskissedEviethewayhekissedme.Huggedherthewayhehuggedme.WhereasJacksonJ

Stevens,instarkcontrast,didnotkissmeandEviethesame,andneverhad.EvenwhenJackwasnot
kissingEvie,backintheearlydays,hewasdeliberatelynotkissingher–likehecouldn’ttrusthimselfto
eventouchher,letaloneputhismouthanywherenearher.ThedifferencebetweenthewayJacktreated
Evieandthewayhetreatedtherestofuswasclearasabell.

Feelingalittledisorientated,IwatchedasMarcusintroducedNicktoEvie.Nicksmiled–friendly

andstraightforward–atEvie.Thewayheshouldhavesmiledatme,withbothsidesofhismouth!

AndthenNicklookedintotheroom,andhiseyebrowedgedupandthesmilechangedtotheone-

sidedversionashe…helookedatme.Andsomethingweirdhappenedtotheair,somemysterious
compressionthatmademylungsfeelliketheywerebeingsqueezed.

Premonitionshivereddownmyspineandkeptshivering,untilNick’seyesshiftedtoDrew,andhe

smiledfullyagain,andtheaircleared,andIcould…breatheagain.

Marcus,EvieandNickallambledintothelivingroom.NicksatnexttoEvieonthecouchonthe

oppositesideofthecoffeetablefromme.Marcussmiledatmeashesatbesideme,andkissedmeonthe
forehead.

WhichcausedDrew,sittingsolo,topointathisownforeheadandmouthatmeWhatthefuckis

that?–unfortunatelyinterceptedbyMarcus,whothenlookedmassivelyuncomfortableasheasked,
‘Andrew,howareyou?’

‘IfIwereanyweller,Mark,I’dbeadangerzone,’anunblushingDrewsaidwithaplomb.
Nicklaughed.Marcus,however,stiffened.HehatedbeingcalledMark–thesamewayEviehated

thenameEvangeline.AndDrewknewhehatedit,becauseI’dtoldhim.

Adullachestartedthrobbingatthebaseofmyskull.ItwasbadenoughhavingNickintheroom–

andwhywasheevenhere?–butifDrewwasinmischief-makingmode,theeveningwasabouttogoto
hell.

DrewintroducedhimselftoNick–givinghimanaltogethertoo-appreciativeogle,whichwas

enoughtosetmyteethonedge.AndthenheturnedbacktoMarcus.‘Wewerejusttalkingaboutyou.’

Idirectedasubtleshut-the-hell-uplookatDrew,whoignoredmetosay,innocuouslyenough,

‘Congratulationsontheteammedal’.ButIdidnottrusthimasfarasIcouldthrowhim.

Marcussaidsomethingaboutitbeingbothasurpriseandanhonour.
‘Sortoflikeasurprisepresentdroppedinyour…er…lap?’Drewasked.
Andyes,DrewlookedatMarcus’slap,andIalmostchoked,holdinginasuddenlaugh.Although

whyI’dlaughwhenthesituationwassodireIdidn’tknow!IfMarcustwiggedthatDrewhadhispackage
underscrutiny,therewouldbeafreakoutofepicproportionsandImightnevergethiminthesameroom
asDrewagain.Drewreallywasanevilbastard!Evil,funnybastard,whomIwasgoingtohaveto
eventuallymurder.

‘Thesurprisewouldhavebeenifhedidn’tgetthemedal,’Nicksaidsmoothly,drawingMarcus’s

attentionjustintimetoavertcatastrophe.AndNick’sslightflickofalookfromDrewtometoldmehe’d
seenexactlywhatwashappeningwithregardtoMarcus’slap.Iwassensingdisasterallround.

‘Drew,weren’tyougoingtomakecoffee?’Iprompted,whichwasgoddess-speakforgetoutofthe

roomimmediately.

‘WasI?’heasked.
‘Yes,youwere.’
‘Icandoit,’Eviesaid,andstartedtogetup.
‘No!’DrewandIsaidtogether.
Drewgottohisfeet.‘Evie,Iloveyou,butyouknowyourcoffeeisontheofficialpoisonslist,soif

Chloeisdemandingcoffeeforsomegodforsakenreason,IguessI’mmakingit.’

Istood.‘I’llhelpyou.’
‘No,youwon’t,’Drewrepliedquickly.‘You’llstayandentertainNick,andMarkwillhelpme.’

‘Oh,um,okay,Iguess,’Marcussaid,lookingpanicked.
Yes,disasterwasdefinitelylooming.ItriedabitofmentaltelepathyasIsatagain–Drew,donot

perveathispackageinthekitchen.Donot,donot,donotperveathispackageinthekitchen.

ButDrew,immunetobothMarcus’salmosttangiblediscomfortandmyowntelepathicattempts,

clappedhishandsandrubbedthemtogether.‘Excellent,’hesaid,withalookinhiseyeIdidnottrustone
littlebit!‘YoucanseeifyoucangetyourheadaroundJack’sespressomachine–’(which,ofcourse,
Drewknewhowtooperatelikeachampionbarista)‘–whileImakesomemoremartinisforChloe,
who’sbeenchuggingthemdowntonightlikeJamesBondonabender.’

Really,itwasamiracleDrewhadn’talreadybeenmurdered.Nothinglikebeingmadetofeellikea

borderlinealcoholicwhenofthethreeofus,Iwastheleastlikelytogetdrunk,andcertainlytheleast
likelytoshowtheeffectsofitontherareoccasionsthatIdid.

Nickwaslookingatmecuriously.Which,ofcourse,Itookfordisapproval,givenhewastheonly

oneoftheSydneyScorpionsI’dneverseenroaringdrunk,apartfromMarcus.So,ofcourse,Ipickedup
mymartinianddrainedthelasttinydregslurkinginthere.Iwasseriouslyconsideringstickingmytongue
intheglassandgivingitalickforextraeffect.

‘Wantmetogetthatoliveoutoftheglassandgiveitasqueezeforyou,JamesBond?’Nickasked

me,andmyhandpositivelyitchedtoslaphim.‘There’sboundtobeadropofalcoholinit.’

Eviewaslookingfromoneofustotheother.‘She’snotreally…Imean…’
‘She’snothinglikeJamesBondonabender,’Nicksaidmildly.‘Iknow.’
Evieopenedherbright-bluekewpie-dolleyesathim.‘Howdoyouknow?’
‘Hedoesn’tknowanything,’Iputin.
Nickdidn’tbothertoacknowledgethatinterjection.‘I’veknownherforayear,andI’veneverseen

herdrunk.’

‘Huh,’Eviesaid–andIdecidedIwantedtoslapher,too.‘Knownherforayear?’
‘Yep.SincethenightofherfirstdatewithMarcus.’
‘Really?’Eviesaid,fascinated.
‘Iknowitdoesn’tsoundmuchlikeafirstdate,bringingagirltoadrinkingsessionwithhalfarugby

leagueteam…’Hegaveherawhat-can-you-do?styleshrug.‘…butatleastmostoftheguyshadtheir
significantotherswiththem,sotheywereontheirbestbehaviour.’

Igavehimmymosthaughtylook.‘Orinthecaseofthosewho’dbroughttheirinsignificantothers,

theirworstbehaviour.’

‘You’retalkingaboutbadbehavior?’Nickasked,thenturnedtoEvie.‘Shepunchedmeinafitof

temperthatnight.Whatkindofbehaviordoyoucallthat?’

CHAPTERFOUR

Evie’seyeswentsaucer-wide.‘Shedidn’t!’

‘Shemostcertainlydid,’Nicksaid,lookingallwoebegone.Woebegone!Asif.
Eviewasfascinated.‘Whydidshepunchyou?’
‘ItstartedwiththeWAGguide.’
‘WAGasinwivesand–’
‘Girlfriends,’Nicksupplied.‘Yep.’
‘Howfunny,’Eviesaid,andthrewinacompletelyunnecessarygiggle.‘Wewereonlytalkingabout

WAGstonight.WAGsandgroupies.’Sherefusedtocatchmylaser-beamglare,andbowledonwith,‘So
doyouhaveone?’

‘Wife,girlfriendorgroupie?’heasked,agreeably.
‘Any,Iguess.Althoughyoudon’tlookmarried.’
‘Whatdoes“married”looklike?’
‘Notlikeyou,’Eviesaidfervently.‘Butyoudolooklikeyou’dhavegroupiesuptheyinyang.’
‘Yinyang?’Helaughed.‘Isayinyangagoodthing?’
Oh,forGod’ssake!‘Yes,hehasgroupiesuptheyinyang,’Isaidthroughgrittedteeth,detestingthe

camaraderiethatwasbuildingbetweenthetwoofthem.AndthistimeEviecouldn’tavoidtheexcoriating
look(knowninourcircleasmygimleteye)Ithrewherway.‘Andno,inthisinstance,yinyangisnota
goodthing.’

Evie,completelyunrepentant,said,‘OnethingIknowfrombeingwithJackisthatNickcan’t

controlhavinggroupies.’BacktoNick.‘So,whataboutagirlfriend?Doyouhaveoneofthose?’

Iwasgoingtokillher,inanice-pick-wieldingfrenzy.BuryherbodybesideDrew’s.
‘Notyet,’Nickanswered,withthemerestglimmerofaglanceinmydirectionbeforeadding,‘I’m

notinthemarketforone.Atleast,notrightatthisverymoment.’

GoodLord,ithadtostop!‘Youhadagirlfriendthatnight,asIrecall,’Isaid,withlipwellandtruly

curled.

Nick’seyesnarrowed.‘Shewasn’tmygirlfriend.’
‘Oh,that’sright,shewasjustyourownpersonalgroupie,’Isaid.‘That’ssomuchbetter.’
Alittleextraeyenarrowing.‘Let’sdescribeitasourfirstdate.Justlikeitwasyourfirstdatewith

Marcus.’

‘Ha!’
‘That’sasimplefact,Chloe.’
‘That’snotafact.Unlessyoucallitdate-likebehaviourtosendagirlpackinghalfwaythroughthe

night,whichMarcusdidnotdotome,sodon’teventhinkaboutcomparingus!I’llbetyoudon’teven
rememberhername.’

Heclosedhiseyes.‘Er…’Icouldn’tbelieveit!Hewaspretendingtoconcentrate,asthoughtrying

torecallhername,whilesimultaneouslybitinghislipagainstalaugh.Shameless.Absolutelyshameless.
HewaslikethestraightversionofDrewStevens,onlyhewasn’tfunny.

IturnedtoEvie,whowaspositivelybug-eyed.‘HernamewasRuby,asheverywellknows.’Back

toNick,withaglare.‘Andallshewastryingtodowasmakeyoulikeher.’

Anditwaslikeasnap-freezemoment.Anyhintoflaughter–gone.Heleanedtowardsme,overthe

coffeetable,anditwason.‘Ididn’twanthertolikeme.Thatwasthewholepoint.Anyonewhoquotes
fromthatdumbassguide,whichshehadinherhandbag,ifyou’llremember,isnotforme.Anddon’t
pretendyoudidn’tfeelexactlythesameasIdidaboutthatguide.Isawyou,Chloe.Isawyou!’

‘Oh,Iagree,theguideisdegrading.WhatIdon’tgetiswhythenextgirlwaspractically

interchangeablewithher.Andthenext.Andthenext.Alwaysthesamegirl,andyetneverthesamegirl.’

‘It’snotaboutwhotheywere,Chloe,it’saboutwhotheyweren’t.’
Icouldn’thearthat.Wouldn’t.‘You’reeitheraslowlearner,oryou’refoolingyourselfaboutwhat

youlikeanddon’tlike.’

‘IknowIdon’tneedmygirlfriendcuddlinguptomeandsaying“welldone,honey”justbecauseI

kickedaball.Idon’tcareifsheknowsthegame,orevenifshehatesit–anddon’tpretendyoudon’thate
itbecauseIknow.Idon’twantherfeelinglikeshehastolearnmypracticeschedule,ormyteammates’
names,orhowmanytriesIscoreperseason.Jesus,howbigawankerdoyouthinkIam?’

‘BigenoughtotellpoorRubytogetlost.Whileshewassittingonyourlap,stickingherhandsunder

yourshirt.Niceone.Not.’

‘Ididn’ttellhertogo,Itoldhertostop.Sheinterpretedit,that’sall.’
‘It–You–Oooohhhhh.Ican’t–Ican’tbelieveyou.’
‘Sureyoucan.Youweren’tsittingonMarcus’slap,wereyou?Youcanbedamnsurehewouldhave

toldyoutostop.Youtalkaboutinterchangeablegirls,Chloe,butletmetellyou,MissRubydidn’treally
carewhoselapshewassittingon.Weweretheinterchangeableones.Me,Steve,Trevor,Gary.Anyone
ofuswouldhavedone.AndMarcus?’Helaughed–shortandhard.‘Rubywouldhavethrownyoutothe
wolvesandburiedyourbonesintheforestforashotattheteamcaptain,sowhyareyoudefendingher?’

‘BecauseIknowwhatit’sliketobethatgirl–theonelookingin.’ThewordswereoutbeforeI

couldstopthem.

‘Whatthe–?’Frown.‘Whatdoesthatmean?’
OhGod.God,God,God!WhathadIsaid?‘JustthatI–.That–.I–’Ilookedatmyhands.Shaking.

Closecall.Tooclose.Blink,blink,breathe,blink.Nothelping.IturnedagonisedeyestoEvie,whowas
sitting,inastateofshockatwhatwasunfoldingfromnowhere,drinkhalfwaytohermouth.

Eviegavemeasuperfastnod,understanding.‘Sheonlymeans–’
‘Chloe?’Nicksaid,cuttingheroff,keepinghiseyesonme.
Evietriedagain.‘Shemeans–’
‘Chloe?’
Blink,blink,breathe,andIshookmyheadatEvie.I’vegotthis.‘Imeaneverywherewego,I’ve

seenthegirlstyingthemselvesintoknotsforyou.It’ssickening,thewayyouguysuseanddiscardthem.’

‘Moresickeningthanonlybeingwantedforwhat’sinyourpants?Becausethat’sallshewanted,

Chloe–walletandjunk.’

‘Well,youbroughther!Youmusthavewantedtoshowheryour…yourjunk.Ihearlotsofgirlsare

interestedinseeingit,CasanovaSavage.’Icouldhearthejeer,seeEvie’sshock,feelthesweatoffury
popoutalongmyhairline.Thiswasnotme–andyetitwas.

‘I’lltellyouwhat,Chloe.YoushowmeyoursandI’llshowyoumine.’
‘ExceptIdon’twanttoseeyours,’Isaid,asthebloodracedtomyface.‘Yousee,you’renotall

interchangeableforme,Nick.Idon’tchoosepeoplebyoccupation.AndevenifIdid,Iwouldn’tbewith
oneofyourkind.’

Couldhiseyesgetanynarrower?‘Thenwhatkindwouldyoubewith?Whatdoesaguyhavetodo,

be?’

‘Easy,’Ishotback.‘Hejusthastonotbeamassivebastard!’
‘The“massivebastard”beingmy‘kind’?’
‘Ifthebigshoefits.’
‘Youknowwhattheysayaboutguyswithbigfeet,don’tyou,Chloe?Yousureyou’renotinterested

inmyjunk?’

Aaaaandwewerebacktothesubjectoftheday:size.
IheardastrangledsnortcomeoutofEvie,anddarednotlookather.ThankGodDrewwasinthe

kitchenorIwouldhavelostit.

‘Somethingaboutmatchingthesizeoftheirinflatedegos?’Imanagedtogetout,forcingmyeyesto

stayexactlywheretheywere.Donotlookathislap,donotlookathislap,donotlookathislap.

Heshrugged.‘That,too.’
‘SoIhear!’
‘That’sright.“CasanovaSavage”.Youreallyhavebeencheckinguponme,haven’tyou?’
‘Ha!Don’tflatteryourself.I’mnotthatinterested.’
Heleanedfurtheracrossthetable.‘ShallImakeyouinterested,Chloe?’
Imatchedhimleanforlean.‘Notpossible.’
‘Isthatagauntletyou’rethrowingdown?’heasked.‘Becauseyoucancomeoverhere,sitonmylap,

stickyourhandsundermyshirt,justlikeRuby,andproveit’snotpossible,ifyoulike.Butbecareful,
Chloe.I’mnotMarcus,andforyouImightmakeanexceptionandletyoutouchwhateveryouwant.No
stopsign.’

Howcouldhetalklikethat?InfrontofEvie?WithMarcusintheapartment?‘Animal.’
‘I’llwearthattag,ifitwillgetyouoverhere.I’llevenletyoupunchmeafterwardsifitmakesyou

feelbetteraboutit.Hell,I’llletyourboyfriendpunchme,too,ifyou’llgiveitago.’

Ireeledback.‘Stoptalkingaboutthatpunch.Idon’tmakeahabitofpunchingpeople.It’snot…not

excusable,thatIdidit.Ihatethinkingaboutit.AndIwouldn’thave…havelostitifyouhadn’tbeen…
been…beenlookingatmethewholenight.’

‘HowthehellwasIsupposedtonotlookatyou?Youwerebeautiful.Youarebeautiful.Everyone

waslookingatyou.Whydidn’tyoupunchanyoftheothers,ifthatwaswhatwasbotheringyou?Whydid
youonlypunchme?’

‘Becauseyoumademefeel–’Stop.Choke.
‘Goodstart,Chloe.Imadeyoufeel.Keepgoing.’
‘Likeher!’Outitcame,likeabullet.‘“Byebye,Ruby,it’syourturnnow,Chloe,howaboutyou

ditchMarcusandgivemeago.”Well,getitthroughyourthickhead–I’mnotlikethat.Iwon’tbe
interchanged,andIwon’tditchsomeonejustbecauseIgetabetteroffer.’

‘Betteroffer.IsthataFreudianslip,Chloe?’
‘Oh!You!Icould–’
‘Punchme?Gorightahead.I’lltakeit,Chloe,I’lltakeit.’
‘Nobodyshouldtakethat!Idon’tlikeitthatyousayyouwill.Just…justleavemealone!’
‘NowthatIcan’tdo.’
‘Whynot?’
‘BecauseIsawyou,thatnight.Isawyou,Chloe–andnowIcan’tunsee.Ijust…can’t.’
Silence.Deafening.Exceptformyharshbreathing.
‘Okaaaay,’Eviesaidwhenthesilencehadstretchedtoanalmostunbearabletension.‘Uh,speaking

about…aboutshirts,that’saniceoneyou’rewearing,Nick.I’mnotsureinvitinggirlstoputtheirhands
upthereisagoodthing.Itmightdamageit.Stretchit.Youknow?’

Ilookedather,incredulous.SodidNick.AndthenbothNickandIlookedathisshirt.Itwasaplain

greyT-shirt,notasilkdesignernumber.

Nicklookedatmeagain,lipstwitching.
‘Evieisn’texactlyafashionista,’Iexplained,inavoicethathadstartedtoshake.
‘Yeah,Igotthat,’hesaid,leaningbackatlast.
AndthenIwaslaughing,andNickwaslaughing,andsowasEvie.Asthoughthatdisastrousfight

hadnotjustoccurred.

WhichwaswhenDrewandMarcusfinallyre-enteredtheroom,withatrayloadedwithcoffee,

milk,sugar,acoupleoffrostylookingcocktailshakers,glassesandcups.

‘What,nofreshlybakedscones?’Iasked,andlaughedagain.Why,why,whywasIlaughing?
‘They’reoutofflour,’Drewsaid,andslidthetrayontothecoffeetable.‘Andwecouldn’tfindthe

aprons.’

‘Youhadenoughtimetogetoutthesewingmachineandwhipupanapron,’Isaid.‘Anicefrilly

one.’

‘Hmmm,enoughtimetomisssomethingamusing,atanyrate,’hesaid,regardingthethreeofuswith

asapienteye.‘So,whatdidwemiss?’

Thelaughterdriedup–snap–andsilencedescended.
Iclearedmythroat.‘Nothingconsequential.’
Drewsnorted.
‘Wewerejusttalkingaboutshoesize,’Eviesaid.GoodLord,ofallthethingstolatchonto!
‘Ah!’Drewnoddedsagely.‘Youknowwhattheysayaboutguyswithbigfeet,don’tyou?’
‘No,’Nickdeadpanned,‘whatdotheysay?’
Drewlookedhimupanddown–lapincluded.‘Nothingyouhaven’theardbefore,I’dwager.’He

turnedtome,eyestwinkling.‘Well,007?Martini?’

IheldoutmyglassandDrewfilledit.Marcuspickeduphiscoffee–aniceblokeydoubleespresso

thatcoffee-snobextraordinaireDrewcouldn’thaveadigabout–andEviepouredcoffeefromthepotfor
herself.ShelookedsidewaysatNick,gesturingtothetray,butheshookhishead.SowhatinGod’sname
washedoinghere,otherthaninfuriatingme?HewasobviouslytaggingalongwithMarcusafterthe
Hawaiimeeting,butifhewasn’tinterestedindrinkingacupofcoffee,whydidn’thejustupandleave?

‘So,’Drewsaid,pouringamartiniforhimself.‘Mark’shasbeenfillingmeinonacharityproject

theteamhasgoingon.It’srightupyouralley,Evie.’

Marcus–whoshouldhavebeenpointingoutthathisnamewasnotMark–pulledanapologetic

face.‘Iknowyou’reonlyjustback,Evie,soit’sprobablynotthetimetoharassyou,butthishascomeup
atshortnoticesoIthoughtthatsinceIwascomingheretonightanywayyoumightletus–me–explainthe
project,andmaybeoffersomePRideas.’

‘Whenyousayshortnotice,howshortdoyoumean?’Evieasked.
‘Fivedays,’Marcussaid,withanotherapologeticgrimace.‘It’shappeningthesametimeasour

Hawaiitrip.’

Eviesmiled.‘Well,Ilikeachallenge.’
Drewgottohisfeetandthrewbackhismartiniasthoughitwerewater.‘I’llleaveyouguystoit.

Saintlinessisnotmygig.’

IwaitedforthesimilarlyunsaintlyNicktomakeanexcusetoescape;hewassuretohaveagirl

stashedsomewhere,waitingforhim.Butinsteadhedidanabout-faceonthecoffee,reachingtopour
himselfacupasthoughheintendedtostayforhours.

Ohno!No,no,no.IwasnotgoingtomakesmalltalkwithNickonmyownwhileMarcusandEvie

thrashedoutapublicrelationsplan.

‘Youcan’tgo,’IsaidtoDrew.
‘Yeah,Ican,’hesaid.
‘Idroveushere,remember?’Isaid,onlyjustmanagingtocontroltheedgeofpanic.

‘Wellyou’renotdrivingeitherofusanywhereafterallthatwineandallthosemartinis,mygirl,’

Drewsaid.‘I’lltakeataxi.Andyou,leaveyourcarinthecarparktonightandMarkcandropyouhome.’
Half-turntoMarcus.‘Right,Mark?’

‘Ofcourse,’Marcussaid.
WhenDrewcompoundedhisinfamybyleaningdownwithgreatceremonytokissmyforehead,I

pinchedhim.‘Goingtokillyou,’Iwhisperedfiercely,andhehadthenervetolaugh.

‘Don’tforgetwe’remeetingforadrinkafterworktomorrow,’Drewsaid,loudenoughforallto

hear.‘You,me,Evie,atOldFashioned.I’msuddenlycravingthatcocktailspecialoftheirs.BigBoy’s
Brandy.Yum.Niceandcreamy.’

Heexecutedagracefulside-step,managingtododgemypinchingfingersbeforetheycouldinflict

anymorepain.ThiswasthefirstI’dheardofourfavouritebar,OldFashioned,offeringsucha
disgustinglynamedcocktail.Orthatweweresupposedtobecatchinguptheretomorrow.Andfrankly,I
didn’twanttowaituntilthentointerrogateDrewaboutwhathe’dfoundoutwhilehewasplayingBetty
CrockerwithMarcusinthekitchen.

DrewlookedoveratEvie.‘Wecandiscusstablesettingsforthewedding,tomorrow,too.AndIdo

notwanttohearanothermentionofagoldchairbow,I’mwarningyounow.’

‘Goldchairbows?’Nicksaid.‘Passé,I’mafraid.Don’tdoit,Evie.’
Drew,EvieandIallgotacaseofjawdrop.
ButMarcuslaughed.‘Nickknowsallsortsofweirdstuff!Askhimaboutwildanimals.’
‘Okay,’Drewsaid,clearlyenjoyinghimself.‘Whatistheair-speedvelocityofanunladenswallow?
‘AfricanorEuropean?’Nickasked,withoutmissingabeat.
Gasp–anactualgasp–fromDrew.‘HowdoyouknowaboutMontyPython?’
‘Howdoyou?’Nickcountered.
Andthat’swhenthemiracleoccurred:Drewsmiled.AtNick.Asinarealsmile!
IttookaminimumofeightmeetingstogetsuchasmileoutofDrew–hisbeliefinrequiringeight

meetingstojudgeaperson’smettlebeingabsolute–butNickhadmanageditinone.IthadtakenMarcus
ten,andIstillwasn’tsurehe’dcrackedit!

‘Okay,youmaypasstheBridgeofDeath,’Drewsaid.‘Now,spill.Howdoyouknowaboutgold

bows?’

Nickshrugged.‘I’vebeentofourweddingsinthepastyear,andthreeofthemweregold-bowedup

the…er…’HeraisedhiseyebrowsatEvie.‘Yinyang?HaveIgotthatright?’

Eviegiggledlikeagiddyschoolgirl,andIcametotheinescapableconclusionthatbothmyfriends

hadgonestark,staringmad.

‘Evie,’Drewsaid,tuggingherupoffthecouchwithoneofhiswe-need-to-talklooks,‘you’dbetter

seemeout.’

IstrainedtohearwhatEvieandDrewweresayingastheyheadedforthedoor,simultaneously

tryingtolistentowhatMarcuswassayingtoNick.

Endresult:Iheardnothing.
UntilthetenoroftheconversationbetweenEvieandDrewchanged,andweddingwordswere

floatingthroughtheair.Bouquet,Venetianlaceand…uhoh,bomboniere!Thingsweregoingtogetuglyif
Eviewasthinkingaboutweddingfavours.

Suddenly,therewasaloud,‘Overmydeadbody,’fromDrew.
Nextmoment,hewaszeroinginonNick.‘Nick,hasanyone,atthosefourweddings,offeredtheir

guestscandy-coveredalmondsinaswan-shapedvessel?’

‘Um…no,’Nicksaid,andstartedlaughing.
‘Thereyouhaveit,Evie,’Drewsaid,alldramatic.‘Dead.Body.’Igotthewildeye.‘AndChloe?

Youarenottogoallblancmangeandagreewithherifshetriestotalkyouintothem.’

‘Hey,’Iprotested.‘Idon’tgoallblancmange.’
‘Sureyoudo.Shecanwheedleanythingoutofyou.You’reasbadasJack,thewayyouindulgeher.’
‘Ohnowcomeon!Nobody’sasbadasJack.’
‘Youcomeprettyclose,’hesaid.‘Justremember,thisweddingisgoingtomakethenews,nomatter

whatwedototrytokeepitprivate,sonogivingin!Thinkofhowyou’denvisageyourownweddingand
steerherthatway.’

Myownwedding?Blink.Blink.Breathe.Themerethoughtwasenoughtomakemehyperventilate.
InthewholeyearI’dbeenwithMarcuswehadn’tevendiscussedlivingtogether,letalonemarriage.

Iwasn’treadytodiscussit.NotwithMarcus.Notwithanyone.IthoughtEviewasincrediblybrave,
signingherlifeawaytoonemanatthegrandoldageoftwenty-two.Bythetimemymotherwastwenty-
two,myfatherwasdeadandIwasinfostercare.Itwasn’texactlyacomparisonthatbroughtjoytomy
heart.So,nomarriageforme.Nomarriageanddefinitelynochildrentotiemeupinanxiousknots.

Ifoundmyselfreachingformyglassagainanddrinkingtooquickly,onlyvaguelyawareofDrew’s

finalfarewells.

‘Sowherewerewe?’EvieaskedMarcus,comingbacktositonthecouchbesideNick.
MarcuslookedatNick.‘Nick,doyou–?’
‘No,’Nicksaidquickly.‘Thanks,butnomorecoffeeforme.’
‘Oh.Okay.’Marcuspaused,obviouslythinkinghard.‘I–Um…yousure?’
‘Nomorecoffee,’Nicksaid,andhiseyeslookedliketheywereabouttoroll.Whatwasthedeal

withthecoffee?Andwhydidn’thejustbloodywellleaveifhe’dfinishedhiscupanddidn’twant
another?

‘Okaythen.’Marcusclearedhisthroat.‘SomeoneI…Iknowisinvolvedwiththischarity,andhe’s

hookedinavolunteergroupofpilotsandflightattendantsfromAustralAirtogiveitsomesupport.The
airlineguyscallthemselvestheDo-It-Rightteam,andtheydohands-onstuffwhenthey’reontheir…
theirlayovers,Ithinktheycallthem…?Ormaybetheytakeleave.Well,whatever,AustralAircomesto
thepartybyrosteringtheguystoworkcertainflightstogetherwhenthey’vegotaprojectcomingup,
whichtakescareofgettingthemwheretheyneedtobe.Andwhilethey’retheretheybuildstuff,orpaint
it,orplantit,ordigit.’

‘What’stheproject?’Evieasked.
‘It’saplaygroundforthekids.’
‘Whatkids?’Evieasked.
‘AnorphanageinManila,’Marcussaid.‘Sorry,didn’tIsaywhatitwas?’
Orphanage.Ireachedforthecocktailshakerandtoppedupmyglasstothebrim.
‘AndwheredotheScorpionscomein?’Evieasked.
‘Someofussponsorindividualkids,’Marcussaid.‘Othershavepitchedintohelpbuythestuffto

buildtheplayground.We’realsoonboardtobeambassadorsandhelpraiseawareness,ifthat’sofany
use.’

Eviewasnoddingmadly.Itwasthekindofprojectthattickedallherboxes–worthwhileendeavor,

buy-infromcorporateAustralia,andtheglossofcelebritytobringextraattention(somethingEviehada
newappreciationfor,thankstoJack).

Itwastickingotherboxesforme.
Orphanage.Forgottenchildren.Unwanted,abandoned,neglectedchildren.Sad,angry,desperate

children.

Imightnothavebeenanorphaninthestrictestsenseoftheword,butIwasallthoseotherthings.My

motherhadneverwantedme;she’dsimplyusedmeasabargainingchiptopunishmyfather–who,
likewisehadn’twantedme,butlovedtogettoherthroughme.Ithadbeenalightningfastdecisionformy
mothertodumpmeinfostercarethemomentmyfatherwasgone,leavingmeatthewhimofpeoplewho

mightcareforme,orjustaseasilymightnot.Andthenthecircusreallystarted.Beingmovedonwhenit
didn’tworkout.Andon.Andon.Hopingsomeonewouldwanttokeepme.HopingandhopinguntilI
learnednottohope.

Notthatitmatteredanymore.Iwasnolongerthatscared,unlovedlittlegirlwhodidn’tknowhowto

stopscreamingandhittingandbitingand…andraging.

SowhywasIsittingthereblink-blink-blinking,straighteningmydress,smoothingmyhair,tryingto

makemyselfcalm,controlledandperfect?Mychesttightening,squeezing,aching.Wantingtoscream.
Scream,scream,scream,thewayIhadthosefirsttwoyears,overandover,beforeI’dlearnedtoholdit
inbecauseitdidn’twork.Nobodywantedtokeepyouwhenyouwereangryandneedyanddemanding.
Whenyouscreamed,andlashedoutandcried.Soitwasbettertobe…someoneelse.

‘Don’tyouthink,Chloe?’
Ijerked,spillingsomeofmydrinkonmydress.‘Sorry,Evie,’Isaid,puttingdownmyglass,

brushingatthedampspot,thenfoldingmyhandsinmylap.‘Iwasmilesaway.Don’tIthinkwhat?’

IsawEvielookatmyhands.Theywereclenchedintofists,sotighttheknucklesshowedwhite.‘We

cancoverthatlater,’shesaidquicklyandsmiledblindinglyatMarcus.‘Beforewegettothat,I’vegotan
ideafor–’

‘No,tellme,’Iinsisted,andforcedmyhandstounclench.Justbecausemyboyfriendhadraisedtwo

projectsinvolvingchildreninthespaceofafewdayswasnocauseforarelapse,aregression,a
capitulationtothepast.ThesewerenotthebadolddayswhenIcouldn’tcontrolmyself.Iwouldnotgive
insoeasily.Iwouldnotgiveinatall.

Evielookedatme,gaugingmyresilience.Andthenshenodded.‘Iwasjustwonderingifit’sthekind

ofthingAroundtheGlobemightcover.’

Puttingmygamefaceon,Ishuffledpastandcurrentstoriesthroughmyhead.‘Yes,Ithinkso,’Isaid.

‘It’sbeenawhilesinceanyofthecurrentaffairsprogramshavedonesomethinginthatvein,soithas
noveltyvalue.But,Marcus,there’llhavetobeaplayerinvolvedoritwon’tpackthesamepunch,and
you’llbeinHawaii,sowho’sgoingfromtheteam?’

‘Nickis.That’swhyhe’shere.’
Iwassostunned,Ihadtoshakemyheadtoclearit.‘Nick’sgoingtoManila?NottoHawaii?’
‘Yes,Nick’sgoingtoManila,’Nicksaiddryly.‘Surprised?’
Ilookedhimstraightintheeye.‘Yes.’
‘Well,yousee,’hesaid,inathis-is-so-boringvoice.‘TheSydneyScorpionshaveafewPR

nightmaresontheirhandsandneedsomepositivespin.’

‘Rob’ssexscandal,’Isaid.‘That’sthemainone.PlusBennyandthedrugs.’
‘Andtheychoseyoutocounteractthat?’Iasked.‘Imean…you?’
‘Chloe!’Marcus,lookingshocked,grippedmyhand.‘Youdon’tknowwhat–’
‘It’sfine,Marcus,’Nickinterruptedsmoothly.‘Shecansaywhatevershewants.’
ButMarcus’sdisapprovalhadbroughtmeupsharp,soIforcedmyselftodialbacktheanimosity.I’d

alreadyshownafewtoomanytruecolourstonight,andalittleneutralbeigewascalledfor.‘Ijust…I
thought…IthoughtyouwerecommittedtoHawaii,Nick,that’sall.’

‘Someone’sgottotakeonefortheteam,’Nicksaid,andthencamethedareyouhalf-smile.‘And

apparentlyIratebestwithfemaleviewers.’

‘Oh,Isee,’Isaid,andI’mafraidIdidn’thavequiteenoughrestrainttokeepthescornoutofthat.
‘Doyou?’heasked.
Eviesteppedintothefray–possiblyafraidwe’dgetdowntoactualhand-to-handcombatifanother

fighterupted.‘Chloe,youcanjustgivemeyourchiefofstaff’snumber?Icantakeitfromhere.’

‘Right,’Marcussaid.‘Settled.Thanks,Evie.So,Chloe,areyoureadyformetotakeyouhome?’
‘Yes,please,’Isaid.AndasIrosegracefullyfromthecouch,ItriedtorememberwhatunderwearI

hadon.Redlace.Goodchoice.Notthatallmyunderwearwasn’tfabulous,butithadbeenthreemonths
sinceMarcushadseenanyofit,soIwaseagertomakeagoodimpression.

‘Nick,whataboutyou?’Marcusasked.‘Icandropyouafterwards.’
Afterwards.Thewordstuckinmyheadlikeaspear.Afterwards.
EviedartedalookatmethatIinterpretedas,Ohshit,nosextonight.Ormaybethatwasme

projecting.

Butforonce,Nickshowedsomesensitivity,bowingoutoftheoffer.‘I’llfindmyownway,’hesaid.

‘I’mhopingEviewillletmecheckouttheterracebeforeIleave.I’mthinkingaboutbuyinganapartment
inthisbuilding,butit’sgoingtocomedowntotheview.’

‘Ofcourse,’Eviesaid,latchingon.‘Goonout,Nick.Takeyourtime.Asloooongasyoulike.’
Subtlewiththe‘loooong’there.She’dbegivingusan‘okaaaay’anyminutenow.
‘Thanks,Evie,’Nicksaid,andturnedtoMarcus,whowashesitating.‘I’llcabit,nodrama.’
‘Butwecaneasilywaitforyou,’Marcusoffered.
Asageneralrule,Ididnotgoggle,butI’msorrytosayIgoggledatthatpoint.
‘Really,there’snoneedtowait,’Nicksaid,andhismouthtwisted,likehewastryingnottolaugh.If

IwasenvisaginganicepickforEvie,Iwasseeingadouble-sidedaxeforNick.‘AndChloelookslike
she’sreadyto…er…hitthesack.’

‘Yousure,Nick?’Marcus–atwhichpointIaddedabluntinstrumenttomyimaginaryarsenal,

suitableforbludgeoninghisthickhead!

‘Positive.’Nick,withhisstill-twistedmouth.
EvieusheredmeandMarcustothedoor,kissedusbothgoodnight,andgavemyarmanencouraging

squeeze.

ButIwasnotencouraged.Onthecontrary,Iwasextraordinarilydiscouraged.
Itwastimetofaceuptothetruth:Ihadlostmymojo.
AndIhadnofreakingideawheretofindit.

CHAPTERFIVE

Insilence,Marcusledmetothelittlesidestreetwherehe’dparked.HiscarwasamidnightblueJaguar
andIlovedeverythingaboutit–thelook,thefeel,thestatussymbolism.Everythingaboutitwasperfect.
Butwhenheopenedthepassengerdoor,Ihungback.

‘Chloe?’
Nope.Iwasnotgettingin.BecauseonceIwasbuckledin,Marcuswouldturnupthemusic,keephis

eyesontheroadandhishandsonthewheel.AndIneededmyvoicetobewhathewashearing,hiseyes
andhandstobeonme.Sonocar.Notyet.

Instead,withapictureofmygoing-to-wasteredunderwearinmyhead,Iwentoffscriptandafter

checkingtherewerenopassersbyincloseproximity,Ithrewmyarmsaroundhim.

Andhe…letme.
Heletme.
Myarmsdropped,andIstoodthere,lookingupathim,wonderingifRuby’sWAGguidewas

availableontheinternet,becauseIclearlyneededsometuition.

Marcusfidgetedwithhiskeysandglancedlonginglyatthecar.Buthedidn’tspeak,andhedidn’t

move.Hejust…waited.

Thiscouldnotgoon.Forgetaboutdwindlinglibido,mydwindlingself-esteemdemandedIfix

thingsbetweenus,becauseIcouldnotbeputinapositionwhereIwasflingingmyarmsaroundamanin
apublicstreetbeggingforlove.ChloeMastersdidnotthrowherselfatpeopleanddidnotbeg.

‘Marcus,what’shappeningtous?’Iaskedquietly.
‘What?’heasked,andlaughed–exceptitwasn’treallyalaugh.‘Nothing.’
‘Thenkissme.’
HeleanedinbutIcouldtellwherehewasheading,andIpushedagainsthischest.‘Notonthe

forehead,onthemouth.’

‘Chloe,I’mtired.’
‘Onthemouth.Withtongue.BecauseI’mtiredtoo,Marcus.I’mtired,butI’mnotdead.’
Hegavemealittlelook–whichhadmorethanatouchofloin-girdingaboutit–andkissedmeon

themouth,withtongue,asrequested.Thenhedrewback,lookingbothhopefulanddoubtful.

‘Soareweokay,Chloe?’Marcusasked.
IwantedtosayNo,wearenotokay.Iwantedtoscreamitathim.Blink,blink,breathe.But,‘Yes,

we’reokay,’Isaid,becausewhenpushcametoshove,thealternative–notbeingokay–wastoo
frightening.

Marcustookmyelbow.‘Thencomeon,getinthecar,andI’lldropyouhome.’
‘Areyoustayingwithmetonight?’Themomentthewordswereout,Iregrettedthem.BecauseI

couldreadtheanswerinhisguardedeyes.

‘Nottonight,Chloe.Ihave–’Hestopped,jangledhiskeysinhishandagain.‘Ihaveanothervideo

callaboutHawaii.’

Iopenedmymouthtospeak–butbeforeIcouldgetawordout,helaidhisfingersacrossmylips.

‘Tomorrownight,okay?’Andthenhewinced.‘Oh,no,nottomorrownight.I’vegotthe–’
‘Hospitalbenefit,Iknow,it’sokay,’Isaid,andmeantit.ItwasimpossibletoresentMarcus’s

extensivecharitableandcommunitycommitments.Impossibletoresentthepromotionalworkhedidfor
hissponsors.Impossibletoresenthisgruellingfitnessandtrainingregime.Itwasallpartofhisjob,and
myownjobinthecutthroatworldoftelevisionwasequallytime-consuming,whichhelikewiseaccepted
uncomplainingly.Reallyitwasimpossibletoresentevenhisvideocall,orthetriptoHawaiiafterthe
exhaustingyearhe’dhad.

‘Whydon’tyoure-thinktomorrownightandcomewithme?’Marcusasked.
‘No,Itoldyou,Beckyiscoveringitforthestation,andshe’smadeitclearanappearancebyme

willcrampherstyle.’Ismiledathim.‘Butmakesureyougiveheranon-cameracomment,won’tyou?’

‘Surething.AndI’llgethersometimewithGaz,too.’
‘Meanwhile,I’llcheckmyschedule,youcheckyours,andwe’resuretofindonenightthatwill

workbeforeyouflyout.’

‘Boundto,’heagreed,anddrewmeinforanotherkiss–thistimeontheforehead.‘Soareyouready

togo,Chloe?’

IstaredattheyawningdooroftheJaguarbutcouldn’tseemtomakemyfeetmove.Ididn’twantto

getinthecar.‘Actually,’Isaid,thinkingquickly,‘I’vejusthadanideaforManila.About…abouttyingit
inwiththatschoolclinicyou’redoingwhenyougetbackfromHawaii.I’lljustrunbackuptoEvie’sand
runitpastherand…andNick,whilehe’sthere.YougoonandI’llseeyou…’Igaveasmalllaugh.
‘Well,whenwesortoutourschedules,Iguess.’

‘Letmewalkyouback,’Marcussaid,andwenttotakemyarm.
‘It’sonlyafewsteps,’Isaid,controllinganimpulsetopullawayfromthetouch.Marcus’s

trademarksolicitousnesshadneverannoyedmebefore,butatthatmomentitseemedoverdone.Ahollow
gesture..Iwasastone’sthrowfromtheapartmentbuilding.Iwasalsowellabletodefendmyself–not
thatMarcushadanyideaofthewaymypre-perfectlifehadhonedmysurvivalinstincts;I’dtakendamn
goodcaretohideitfromeveryoneexceptDrewandEvie.‘Seriously,Marcus,itwillbefine.Look,you
canevenseetheentrancetothebuildingfromhere.’

Reluctantly,heletgoofmyarm.‘Fine,thenI’llwatchfromhere.’
‘It’sawhole…what?Hundredmetres?’
‘Humourme.’
Iswallowedasigh,andmanagedtosmile.‘Okay.’
‘Andwhileyou’rehumouringme…’Hehesitated.‘CanyoutrytotakeiteasyonNick?’
‘OnNick,’Irepeated.Nick,the‘greatguyandagoodfriend’.Nick,who’dbeenhittingonmeunder

Marcus’snoseallyear.TakeiteasyonNick.

‘It’sabigdeal,thisstory.Foronething,Gazisgung-hotogetusinthenewsfortherightreasonsfor

achange.Andforanother,Nick,is…’Anotherhesitation,andthenasmilethatlookedjustalittleforced.
‘Look,justtakeiteasyonhim,that’sallI’masking,okay?’

‘I’llbesunshineandlight,Ipromise,’Isaid,withmyownforcedsmile.‘Ifyouwillhumourmeand

getinthecar.’

Marcuslaughed.‘Okay,okay,I’llgetinthecar.ButI’mnotgoinguntilIseeyoubuzzedin.’
Iwalkedbacktothebuilding,pretendedtopushtheintercom,pretendedtospeak.AndthenIwaved

atMarcus,withmyhandstrategicallyplacedontheglassdooroftheapartmentbuildingtogivethe
appearancethatIwasabouttopushitopen.

Finallyhedroveoff,andthetensiondrainedoutofme.
Ofcourse,Ihadnointentionofgoingbackuptothepenthouse–notwhileNickSavagewas

ensconcedtherecharmingthewitsoutofEvie.I’djustneededMarcustogobecauseI’dfelt…
smothered.ItremindedmeofhowI’dfeltontheboat,hemmedinandyetsomehowdisconnected.Lonely,

withoutbeingalone.

Andthefeelingthatsomethinghadchangedwasgettingstronger,eventhough,ostensibly,nothing

hadchanged.Truthfully,eventhefactthatmysexlifehadbeengraduallywitheringonthevinewashardly
therevelationofthecentury.Ithadjustbeenhappeningsogradually,Ihadn’tnoticeduntilI’dbeenforced
toseeit.‘Gradual’couldhavebeenthewatchwordformyrelationshipwithMarcus.We’dmet,we’d
likedeachother,we’dstrolledratherthangallopedintoapartnership.Torridlovemakinghadneverbeen
ahallmarkofwhatwehadtogether,andseeingeachothersevennightsaweekhadneverbeenthepattern.
Butwecaredabouteachother.Welookedgoodtogether.Weweregoodtogether.

Nothing.Had.Changed.
Andonthatnote,itwastimetogohomeandchoosesomethingirresistiblefrommyunderwear

drawerincaseMarcusandIfoundamutuallysatisfactorynighttogettogetherbeforeheflewout.Maybe
thenwecouldreconsiderthetorridlovemakingaspect,andthenIcouldtellDrewandEviethat
everythingwasbackontrack.

Idugintomybagforthekeystomycar,whichwasparkedunderEvie’sbuilding–andthenI

rememberedthemartinis.JustbecauseIdidn’tfeelinebriateddidn’tmeanIwasfittodrive.Itwasgoing
tohavetobeataxi.Iturnedawayfrombuilding,tooktwosteps…andstoppedasIheardtwothings,one
aftertheother.

Theapartmentbuildingdoorsslidingopen.
Andaninfuriating,drawling,obnoxiousvoice:‘Waitingforme,Chloe?I’mtouched.’

CHAPTERSIX

‘Asif,egomaniac,’Isniffed.

Nicklookedrelaxedashemoseyedtowardsme,buthiseyesweresharp,intentonthekeysinmy

hand.‘Sowhyareyoustillhere?’

‘IwasgoingtogobackupandseeEvie,butthenIrememberedyouwerethere.SoIchangedmy

mind.Obviously.’

Smilingatmyanswer,hesteppedcloser.‘IthoughtyouweredraggingMarcushometobed.Wasn’t

thattheaim?’

‘Dragging?’Condescendinglaugh.‘Idon’tthinkso.’
‘Sowhereishe?’Nickasked,cuttingtothechase.
Itriedmyfamousgimlet-eyeonhim,butitseemedtohavelostitsdeadliness–eitherthatorthe

martiniswerehavinganimpactonmyfacialexpressions–becausehesimplyheldouthishand,palmup.

‘What?’Iaskeduncooperatively.
‘Keys.Handthemover.I’mdrivingyouhome.’
Iputmyhandbehindmyback.GoodLord,ifthatdidn’tprovethestateIwasin!Ifhewantedthe

keys,hidingthembehindmybackwasn’tgoingtostophim.Hecouldbendmelikeareedusingonlyhalf
ofonemuscle.

‘Chloe.’Anditwasawarning.
‘Iwasgoingtotakeataxi.’
Nickjuststoodthere.Implacable,handout,waiting.
Istaredathim,wishingIcouldtellhimtoshovemykeyssomewherethatwouldmakesitting

uncomfortable.ButIwasfairlycertainhewouldinvitemetotrytoshovethemtheremyselfifIwentthat
route.So,withahuffedout,‘Fine,’Islappedthekeys–hard–intohishand.

‘There,thatwasn’tsodifficult,wasit?’heasked,inasoothingtonethat,unsurprisingly,didnot

sootheme.

‘It’sinthecarparkunderthebuilding,’Isaid,andsteppedpasthimtopunchEvie’scodeintothe

keypad.

Isailedintothebuilding,acrossthelobby,wavingblithelyattheconcierge,andheadedforthe

elevatorthatledtothecarpark.I’llgiveNickcreditforhavingthebrainstostaysilentastheelevator
descendedandweheadedforthecar.HeknewIwasspoilingforafightandhewasn’tgoingtogiveitto
me.

ButwhenwereachedmyzippylittleMazdaroadster,hesighed.
‘Andwhatiswrongwithmycar?’Iaskedbelligerently.
‘Haveyounoticedthesizeofme?’heasked.
Size.Again.
Iwaspowerlesstostopmyselflookingatthefrontofhisjeans.
Uhoh.Hewasbig.Like,big!
Blink-blink-blinking,Iraisedmyeyestofindhimwatchingme–andhewasnotatallembarrassed

tobecaughtwithahard-on.Hewassmirking.Thenextworstthingtodo,afterchuckling.

‘Ididn’taskyoutodriveme.’Andhmmm,thatcameoutalittlebreathierthanIwouldhaveliked.

Tocompensate,Itriedanothergimleteye.‘You’rebasicallykidnappingme.’

‘Getinthecar,Chloe.’
Iwaitedforhimtotrytoopenthepassengerdoor,readytoriphisheadofffordaringto

commandeermyownvehicle,buthewasn’tstupidenoughtodoit.OrmaybehewasjustaNeanderthal
whodidn’tthinkhehadtoopenadoorforagirl…?

WhichiswhatIdecidedtogowith,‘Agentlemanwouldopenthedoor.’Withhairtoss,gettinginto

thecar.

Hedidn’tspeakuntilhewassquashedintothedriver’sseatandhadeasedtheseatbackto

accommodatehislonglegs.Andthen,‘Ithoughtyoumighthavehadalittletoomuch“gentleman”forone
evening,’hesaid.‘Aren’tyoureadyforsomethingelse?’

Okay,howwasIsupposedtorespondtothat?
‘Whatdoyousay,Chloe?’heaskedsoftly.
‘Isaylet’sgo.’
‘I’mreadyifyouare.’
Whichcouldhavemeant‘let’sdrive’,orsomethingelseentirely.Well,Iwasnotgoingtoplay

innuendogames.SoIjustsatthere,waitingforhimtostartthecar.

Silence,silence,silence.AndthenIsnapped.‘Well?’
‘Address?’
Grrrr–anditmayhaveactuallycomeoutofmymouth,thatgrowl,judgingbythewayhismouth

twisted.Howdidhemanagetokeepgettingundermynormallyimperviousskin?Idugintomybag,
grabbedmypurse,fishedoutmydriver’slicenceandhelditouttohimwithoutglancinginhisdirection.

‘Thankyou,Chloe,’hesaid,calmlyenoughtomakemewanttoexplode.
Ashepulledoutofthecarparandontotheroad,Itrainedmyeyesontheviewoutsidethepassenger

window,andkeptthemthere,watchingbuildingswhizzby,countingstreetlights.Anythingtotakemymind
offthefeelofhismassivethighpressingagainstmineeverytimeweturnedacorner.Yeah,allright,he
hadapointabouttheroadsterandhowhefitintoit.

‘Whatcardoyoudrive,anyway?’Iasked,disgruntled,asIinchedmylegawayforwhatfeltlikethe

thousandthtime.

Pause.Then,‘NotaJaguar.’
NotaJaguar.Notananswer.Inprotest,Iwentbacktolookingoutofthecarwindow.Bythetime

Nickpulledintotheundergroundcarparkofmyownapartmentbuilding,thesilencewasgnawingatme,
butIwasdamnedifIwasgoingtobreakit.

Wegotoutofthecarandhethrewthekeystometolockit.Definitelynotstupid.Butthen,he’d

probablyinfuriatedenoughwomenovertheyearstohavelearnedafewlessons.Hestrodeaheadofmeto
theelevators–wherehewasstupidenoughtokeepthedooropenforme.

‘It’smyelevator,’Isnapped.‘I’llpushthebuttons.’
‘Ihaveabuttonyoucanpushwheneveryou’reready,’hesaid.
Ijabbedonce,hard,atthebuttonforthegroundfloor.
‘Youliveonthegroundfloor?’heasked.
‘No,butthat’swhereI’llbelettingyououtofthebuilding,beforeproceedingtomyapartment

alone.’

Hewasbitinghislipagain,suppressingalaugh,which,ofcourse,completelysteamedme.Enough

tohavemestridingoutoftheelevatoralmostbeforethedoorsfullyopenedatthegroundfloor.Ihurried
overtohittheexitbutton,wantinghimtogetthehelloutofthebuildingimmediately.

Thedoorsopened.Go,dammit,go!Thedoorsclosed.

ButNickwasstillstandingontheinside.
Lipspinchedtight,Ihitthereleaseswitchoncemore.
Doorsopened.
Waiting,waiting.
Doorsclosed.
Nickontheinside.Withme.
Iturnedtohim.Tap,tap,tappedmyfootonthetiledfloor.
‘“Thankyoufordrivingmehome,Nick”,’hesaidinanattemptatagirlvoice.
‘I’mnotthankingyouforfoistingyourunwantedcompanyonme.’
‘“Thankyou,Nick,fornotlettingmedrink-driveandkillmyself”’.
‘I’mnotthankingyouforsavingmefromsomethingthatwasnevergoingtohappen.Taxi,

remember?’

Hesteppedcloser.SocloseIcouldsmellthesaltymalenessofhisskin.Hebreathedindeeply,like

hecouldsmellme,too.Ihopedhewasgettingtwonostrilsfullofgin!

‘Chloe,’hesaidsoftly,‘it’snotmyfaultMarcusisn’tgivingyouwhatyouwant,butifyoutellme

whatyoudowant,I’llgiveittoyou.’

Itriedtolaugh,butitcameoutchokedandfake.‘Whatwouldyouknowaboutacommitted

relationship?’

‘Iknowyou’dbeupstairsinbedwithMarcusifthat’swhatyouhadwithhim.’
Noanswertothat.Justthehollowringoftruth.
‘Iwatchedyoutonight,’hecontinued.‘AndIsawwhatIseeeverytime.Youwantsomethinghe

can’tgiveyou,Chloe.’

‘Stopwatchingme.’Throughgrittedteeth.
‘Orareyoutellingmethatakissontheforeheadisenoughtogetyougoing?Thatthat’sjusta

prelude,justthewayhestarts?Thatthenextkissisdifferent?Andtheoneafterthatstartsadominoeffect,
rightdownyourbodyuntilhegetstothatlusciouslittleplacebetweenyourlegs?’Hesteppedevencloser
andstareddownatme.‘Becausethat’swheremymouthwouldberightnow,ifyouwereinacommitted
relationshipwithme.’

Somethingflashedthroughme,vividandhot.No!Icouldn’t,wouldn’tfeel…that.‘He–.Hekissed

medifferently.Outside.Whentherewerejustthetwoofus.’ConvenientlynotmentioningthatI’dhadto
askforit.AndwhywasIevenresponding?NothingaboutmyrelationshipwithMarcuswasanyofNick’s
business.

‘Thenwhyaren’tyoutwoupstairsinbed?’heasked,relentless.
ButIcouldn’tbeartosaytheexcuseoutloud–avideocallaboutHawaii.‘Youknowhowto

operatethedoorrelease,nowI’veshownyoutwice,soseeyourselfout,’Isaidandmadeforthe
elevators.

Butnope–therewashishand,grippingmywrist.‘Runningawayagainratherthanfacingtheissue?’
‘Thereisn’tanyissue.’
‘GivemetwominutesandI’llprovethereis.’
‘Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingaboutandIdon’twanttoknow.Whatyouthinkyouknowisn’t

important.You’renotimportant.’

‘Thenstayherewithmeandyoucanprovethatinstead.’
Premonition.
No.Iwouldn’tacceptit.Nothinghadchanged,nothingwasgoingto.Iwouldn’tletit.‘Willyou

leavemealoneifIproveit?’

‘Yes,Chloe.I’llleaveyoualone.Ifyouproveit.’
Deepbreathin.Calm,calm,calm.Deepbreathout.‘Twominutes,’Isaid.‘Starttalking.’

Buthedidn’ttalk.
Instead,hereachedformyhand,helditflatagainsthischest,overhisheart.Atinglestartedinmy

fingers,andIknewrightthenI’dmadeamistake.Thiswasabad,badidea.Nicklooked–no,blazed–
downatme.Nolaughterinhiseyes.Nosoftnessinhisface.IcountedhisheartbeatsasIstaredintohis
darkeyes,wantingtoturnaway,butunabletomove.One,two,three,four.Icouldn’tspeak.Couldn’t
breathe.Andthen,heloweredhishead.Ithoughthewasgoingtokissmeandwaitedwhilemynerves
jangledandmyheadspun,tellingmyselfIdidn’twantthis.Did.Not.Want.It.

Butitwasn’takiss.Instead,henudgedhislipsagainstmine.Open.That’swhathewassaying.

Openforme.

Coffee.Salt.Somethingelse.SomethingIwanteddesperately.Andmylipsfellopen,gaspedopen.
Iwaitedfortherushofhistongue,thesmashofhismouth,longedforit.
But,again…no.
Hesuckedmybottomlipintohismouth.Keptitthere,hoveringbetweenpressureandrelease,as

everydropofbloodinmybodyrushedbetweenmylegsandpooled,heavyandpulsing.

‘Youfeelit,Chloe,don’tyou?’heeasedbackjustfarenoughtoask.‘It’salwaysbeenthere.Since

dayone.’

Awhimper.ThatwasallIcouldmanage.
‘Askmetokissyou,’hebreathedagainstmylips.‘Tellmeto.’
ButIcouldn’tspeak.Iwasbothhotandfrozen.Poised,waiting,wondering,caughtbetweenguilt

anddesire.Myhand,theonehe’dflattenedoverhisheart,wasclutchinghisT-shirtnow.Twistinginit.I
shouldnotbedoingthis.OhbutIwantit,Iwantit.

‘No?’heasked,andlaughedsoftly.‘Stubborn.’
Andthenheshiftedtomytoplip.Lickedit,overandoverandover,breathingoutwordsinbetween.

‘Comeon,Chloe.’‘Askme.’‘Tellme.’‘Sayit.’Andthen,hovering,hovering.‘Ican’tfinishituntilyou
do.’

Everythinginmecoiled.Iwaspanting,twistingbothhandsinhisT-shirtnow.
‘No?’heaskedagainagainstmymouth.
Ishookmyhead–thenwhimperedoncemore,asthatslightmovementrubbedmylipsagainsthis

andbroughthistastemoredeeplyintome.

‘Soifyouwon’topenyourmouthtome,openyourlegs.Justalittle.Ineedtobethere.’
AndforreasonsIdidnotunderstand–atall–Ididit.Ishiftedmyfeet,andheedgedintome,

betweenmythighs.Andboy,didhefit.Likeapuzzlepiece,slippingrightintothespace.

‘Ahhhhh.’ThetorturedsoundsighedoutofmeatthesametimeasIreachedmyhandsup,dragged

hisheaddown,andjammedhismouthontomine.

Itstillwasn’texactlyakiss.Itwasa…acrush.Mouthtomouth,breathtobreath,tonguesbattlingto

fillandlickandtaste.Itwasaboutheatandhardnessanddemand.Andasherespondedtothedesperation
ofmyhungrymouth,hegrowledlowinhisthroat,hisarmsclosingaroundmelikeavise,hispelvis
grindingagainstme.

MybloodwasroaringasIpushedmybodyagainsthis.‘God,God!Iamsohot.’
‘Youare,’hesaid,mouthbreakingfrommine.‘Hotashell.’Anotherdeep,darkkiss.‘Andcoldas

ice.’Kiss,kiss,kiss.‘Andthat’swhyIwantyousobadly.’

Click.Asound.Thereleaseatthebuildingentrance,doorsopening,avoice,‘Oops!Sorry.’
NickandIbrokeapart,eyeswide,chestsheaving.
Someone–whoknewwho?–scurriedpastwithamuffled,tittering,coughinglaugh.Pingofthe

arrivingelevator.Doorswhooshingopen,thenshut.

Wewerealoneagain.
AndIsawmyselfaswhoeveritwashadseenme.

Swooningatawell-knownrugbyleagueplayerwhowasnotmyboyfriend.Lettinghimdowhatever

hewantedtodowithme,inapublicspace.Worsethansittingonhislap,asRubyhaddone.Agasping
mess,spreadingmylegsandslappingmyselfagainsthim.

AgainstNickSavage!
Iwaseverybitaseager,pantingandpatheticaseveryothersportsgroupiewhonotchedtheir

bedpost.Sexforthesakeit,nevermindthenameoftheguy,nevermindtheguyIalreadyhad.

Iwipedthebackofmyhandacrossmymouth,andstartedbackingtowardstheelevators.‘Chloe,

youknowhowitis,’hesaidandtherewasanurgencythereI’dneverheardinhimbefore.‘Youjust
provedit.It’snotmyimagination.’

Shakingmyhead.‘No.Idon’twanttoknow.’
Hecameafterme.‘Everyone–everyone–knowswhatIwanttodotoyou.Everyoneontheteam.

Everyoneinthatapartmenttonight.DrewandEvie,theyknowIwantyou.Andyouknowit.Youwantme
too.’

Thewordsslappedatme.Ishookmyhead,morevigorously.
I’dreachedtheelevator,turnedtostabatthebutton.Stab,stab,stab.
‘DoyouthinkMarcusisblind?’hepushed.‘Hehastoseeit.AndyetMarcusleftyou,’hesaid,

relentless.‘Thinkingyouwerecominguptotheapartment,whereIwas.Whatdoesthattellyou,Chloe?
What?’

‘Ittellsmeyou’reabastard,Nick.’
‘Abastard?Okay,Icanwearthat.Iwillwearit.ButatleastIwon’twastetimekissingyour

forehead.I’llbekissingyourmouth,andyourbreasts,andbetweenyourlegswhereIknowyou’rehotand
wetandreadyforme.Areyouhotandwetandreadyforhim,Chloe?’

Ispunaroundlashingouttoslap.Buthecaughtmyhand,hard,andhelditafewcentimetresfromhis

face.

‘Arewebacktothat?’heasked,jerkingmeclose.
‘IwishI’dbrokenyournose.’
‘You’rewelcometobreakmynose,ortearmyskinwithyourteeth,orripmetoshredswithyour

nails.Markmeanywayyouwant–aslongasyou’recomingwhenyoudoit.’

‘Iwillnotcomeforyou.’
‘ThenI’llcomeforyou,Chloe.I’llcomeforyou.’
Theelevatordooropened,andhereleasedme.‘Askmeup,’hesaid.
Imadesomekindofscoffingsound.
‘Chloe.’
Isteppedintotheelevator.Straightenedmydress.Touchedmyhair.AndthenIlookedbetween

Nick’slefteyebrowandthewallbehindhim.

Astheelevatordoorsclosed,Iheardthe‘Fuck,’thateruptedfromhim.Andthen,louder,asIstarted

toascend,‘FUCK!’

Iimaginedhimpunchingawall–hopefullyshatteringaknuckle–andtooksomeperversekindof

comfortfromthat.

Allthosepremonitionsweren’tpremonitionsanymore.
Change.Itwashere,now.NothingIcoulddotopushitback.NotnowthatNickhadkissedme.A

shatteredknucklewasnothingcomparedtothegriefofknowingI’dbetrayedMarcus.KnowingI’druined
thelifeIhadwantedsobadly,foughtsohardtoget.TheperfectfutureIwasbuildingwiththeperfectman
wasruinedbecauseofonekiss.

IhopedNickhadfracturedeveryboneinhishand.
IheldittogetherasIopenedthedoortomyapartment.AsItookmyphoneoutofmybag.Tappedfor

Marcus.Waitedforthepick-up.

‘Chloe,Itoldyou,I’maboutto–’
‘IkissedNickSavagetonight.AndnowI’mbreakingupwithyou.’
Pause.IcouldhearmyownheartbeatinmyearsasIwaiteditout.Sevenseconds.
Andthenhesaid,‘Okaaaay.’

CHAPTERSEVEN

TherewasadeafeningsilenceasIfinishedtellingDrewandEviemybreak-upstorythefollowing
eveningovercocktails.

Andthen,‘Okaaaay,’saidEvie.
AwordofwhichI’dhadaboutenough,frankly!‘You’vebeensaying“okay”like“okaaaaaay”since

yougotbackfromMorocco,’Isaid.‘Andit’screepingmeout.Okaaaaay?’

‘Okaaaay,’Eviesaid,thengiggled.‘Allright,enoughwiththedeathstare!I’llaskaquestion

instead.DidNickcallyou?’

‘That’syourfirstquestion?’Iasked,incredulous.
‘Yes,itis.So?’
‘IfyouthinkI’mever,ever,goingtogettogetherwithNickSavage,letalonethedayafterIbreakup

withmyboyfriend,whohappenstobehisteammateandisthereforeinhissamesocialcircle,andwould
thereforebeofflimitsevenifIdidn’tdetesthim?Well,you’reinsane.Thatisall.’

‘So,didhecall?’AsthoughIhadn’tjustsaidallthat.
Ithrewmyhandsupindefeat.‘Yes,hecalled.’
‘Andwhatdidhesay?’
‘Hesaid:“It’sNick”.’
Sheleanedforward.‘Andthenwhat?’
‘Andthen…nothing.Hehungup.’
‘Hehung–’
‘Itwenttovoicemailbecause…Well,becauseIdidn’tacceptthecall.’
‘Sowhathappenedwhenyoucalledhimback?’
‘Ididn’tcallhimback.’Isquirmedinmyseatasshelookedatmereproachfully.‘Hedidn’taskme

to.NotthatIwouldhave,evenifhedidask.’

Eviewasfrowning.‘Hashetriedtocallyouagain?’
‘No.’
‘Areyousure?Becauseifyou’renotusedtothenumber–’
‘I’mnotanidiot,Evie.I…Isavedthenumber.Hedidn’tcallback.’
‘Oh.BecauseIcouldhavesworn–’Shebrokeoff,lookingsheepish.‘Well,Icouldhavesworn,

that’sall.’

‘Whatexactlydidyoutwotalkaboutupthereonyourownlastnighttomakehimyournewbest

friend?’

‘Oh,nothing,’shesaidairily.‘Justyouroldstreetdwellingbuddy,VodkaVern.’
Mybloodrancold.‘YoudidnottellNickaboutmytimesleepingrough.’
‘What?No!God,Chloe,ofcoursenot,sostoplookingatmelikethat.Nicktoldmewhathappened

thenighthemetyou,whenyouslippedVernthetwenty,that’sall.Hevolunteeredthestoryofhisown
accord.It’snotlikeIwaspumpinghimforinformation.’ShecastasuperiorlookinDrew’sdirection.
‘UnlikeDrewinthekitchenwithMarcus.’

IturnedtoDrew.‘Drew?’Stormcloudwarning.
Drewrubbedacautiousfingeroverhischin.‘AllIdidwascasuallysussoutwhethertherewas

someoneelseinthepicture.Imean,comeon,threemonthswithoutsex?Itfliesinthefaceofnature.It
seemedtomethemostlogicalreasonwasthathewasbangingsomeoneelse.’

‘Oh,youjustcasuallysussedthatout,didyou?AsifMarcuswouldn’tseewhatyouwereuptoand

clamthehellup.’

‘Subtleismymiddlename,I’llhaveyouknow.’
‘No,thatwouldbe“Dickhead”,’Isaid.
‘Well,there’snothingwrongwithabitofdick,Chloe.’
‘Dickhead,’Isaid.‘Head.’Butitwasnogood,Iwaslaughing.‘Andit’snotfunny.’
‘Sureitis.Butbeforeweallfallaboutinhysterics,letmereassureyouthattherewasnobodyelse.

Andseriously?Idon’tthinktwo-timingisMark’sstyle.’

‘Great!Thatmakesmefeelsomuchbetteraboutmyowntreachery!’
‘Treachery?’Drewlaughed.‘Talkaboutmelodrama.Itwasjustakiss,Chloe,notafull-blownlove

affair.’

JustakissthatIcouldstillfeel,stilltaste.IrealisedI’dputmyfingersuptomylips,andhastily

broughtthembackdowntocurlaroundthestemofmyglass.‘Anyway,Ialreadyknewthatwasn’t
Marcus’sstylesoIdidn’tneedyou’reallegedhelp.’

‘Howdidyouknow?’
‘Infidelityisnotthekindofthingthoseguyscankeepsecret.Someonealwaysblabstothepress.

Let’sjusthopethatguywhocaughtmeandNickinthelobbydidn’thaveachancetosnapoffapic.’I
frowned.‘Andbytheway,what’swiththe“Mark”allofasudden?’

‘I’vejustdecidedhelookslikeaMark,notaMarcus.Notthatitmatters,sincewewon’tbeseeing

himaroundanymore.Ashamebecausethatboywassomepieceofeyecandy.’

‘Boy?He’stwenty-five.Threeyearsolderthanyou.’
‘Ah,butintheschooloflife,Chloe,theschooloflife…’Hetrailedoff,lookingsuitablymystical.
‘Youaresuchawanker,’Isaid,unimpressed.
Drewgrinned.‘OnlyifIcan’tfindahunktodothejobforme.’
Igroanedoutalaugh,butEvie,who’dbeenrunningafingeraroundtherimofherglass,wasn’t

laughing.‘Soifhewasn’tbangingsomeoneelse,whatwastheissue?’sheasked.

Drew’sglassstoppedhalfwaytohismouth…andthen,withashrugthatwasalmostinfinitesimal,

heraiseditthewholewayandproceededtotossbackhalfofhisBigBoy’sBrandy–whichlookedalot
likeaplainold-fashionedBrandyAlexandertome.‘Whocares,nowwe’vecuthimloose?There’sno
chanceofareconciliation,isthere,Chloe?’

‘No,’Isaid,andstaredintomythirddrink–awhiskysour.Notmyusualdrink,butafterlastnight,I

thoughtitbesttolayoffthegin.Ginhadareputationforbringingoutthemaudlininpeople;evenworse,
backinthedayitwasconsideredalegopener(anuggetofinformationforwhichIhadVodkaVernto
thank).Oneithercount,clearlyitwasnotabeverageforconsumptionwhenthenameNickSavagewas
goingtofeatureintheconversation.Still,thewhiskywasgoingdownalittletoowell.Infact,Iwasa
drinkaheadoftheothers(whichwasquiteafeat,whenyouweredrinkingwithDrew).

‘So,movingrightalong,’Eviesaidbriskly.‘WhatareyougoingtodoifNickcalls?’
Istaredather.‘I’mgoingtonotanswer.Whattheactualhellisupwithyou,Evie?’
Sheshrugged.‘There’sjustsomethingbetweenyouandNick.Icanfeelit.Ithinkthat’sthereason

you’venevertalkedabouthim.You’vetalkedaboutalltheotherguysontheteam,youknow.’

‘Yeah,there’sdefinitelysomethingbetweenus,’Isaiddryly.‘It’scalledanimosity,asyousawvery

clearlylastnight.That’swhyI’venevermentionedhim.’

‘Okaaaay.’

‘Evie,’Isaidwarningly.
‘Oops,sorry,’shesaid,andgrinned.‘Butseriously,Ilikehim.Ilikethatherilesyouup,thathecan

getyourmasktoslip.Also,there’sthatlittlematterofyouwantingmoresex.Hottersex.’

‘Butnotwithhim,’Iinsisted,andpickedupmyglass,readytodownanicebigswallow.Was

alcoholismlooming?AnddidIcareifitwas?Notmuch.Ireallywaslosingit.

‘Whynotwithhim?’sheasked,asItookasip.‘BecauseifIeverIsawaguykeentogetintoagirl’s

pantsandstaythereawhile,it’sNick–inyours.’

Ispatthewhiskysourbackintotheglass.‘Evie!Nowlookwhatyoumademedo.Ican’tdrinkthat.’
Drewlookedattheglass,apparentlyseeingnothingamiss.‘Whynot?It’syourownsaliva.’
‘Becauseit’sgross.’Iwavedattheserverandpointedtomyglass,didasmiley,drinkingmime.

Messagegivenandreceived.Islidmybarely-touchedcocktailtothefarsideofthetable.

Drewtossedbacktherestofhisdrink.‘Grosserthanswappingspitwithaguyyoudetest?’
HedidhisownsignallingroutineforanotherdrinkwhileIstaredathim.‘OhmyGod,you

disapprove!Whathappened,Andrew?DidthePopecallyoulastnightforaheart-to-heartaboutmorals?’

‘Me,disapproveofalittledalliance?’heasked,allquellehorreur.‘Idon’tthinkso.ButIdon’t

relishtheideaofyoubleedingalloverthefloorwhenthatlittletrickleofconsciencethat’salready
botheringyoubecomesadeluge.Asyouknowitwill,Chloe.It’sgoingtoeatawayatyou,nibbling,
nibbling,nibbling,untilithalf-killsyou,andwe’regoingtohavetowatchithappen,andfunnilyenough,I
don’twanttoseeit.BecauseIloveyou.’

‘It’snot…likethat,’Isaid,andhadtoswallow.
‘Thenhowisit?’
‘Letmeputitthisway–Marcus’sreactionwhenIcoppedtothekisswassolukewarm,I’dsayNick

andIcouldhavetradedafewmoreinterestingbodyfluidsthansalivaandhewouldhavetakenitallin
hisstride.Infact,itwassolukewarm,itwasalmostaninsult.Seriously,Inotonlybetrayhim,butdoit
withonehisfriends,andthat’snotworthevenonetinyspurtoftemper?’Isighed.‘Nope,Icanonly
surmisethatsomewherealongtheway,Marcuslostinterestinmeemotionallyaswellassexually.
Gallingthoughitis,that’stheplain,unvarnishedtruth.SoI’vereallygotnothingtofeelguiltyabout,have
I?’

‘Exceptthatyouwillfeelguilty,soonerorlater,’Drewsaid,andsighed.‘LoyaltyisyourAchilles

heel.Andthat’swhyIwishyou’djustswitchedtheorder.Breakupfirst,thenthekiss.Nowearingofhair
shirtrequired.’

‘Youdon’tdoitinthatorder,’Isaid.‘Youhaveaffairsallthetime.’
‘I’mgay.We’resupposedtohaveaffairs.It’sintherulebook.IntheDNA.Inthe–’
‘Youaresofullofit,’Isaid,cuttinghimoff.‘You’reeverybitasloyalasme.Oryouwouldbe,if

you’dcommittosomeone.Butyoudon’tcommitbecauseyouhaven’tfoundtheone.’

‘Andneitherhaveyou,mydarling,forallyourdetermination.’HewavedasilencinghandatmeasI

openedmymouthtospeak.‘Yes,yes,yes,Iknow,youfeltlikeyouwerecommittedtoMarcus,butifyou
askmeit’sbeenheadinginthewrongdirectionforlongerthanthreesexlessmonths.Itwasallgettinga
littletooconjoined-twin-likewithyoutwo.Brotherandsistersharingtheonebrainandpersonality.Even
thesamehaircolour!Kindofcreepy.’

‘Wedon’thavethesamehaircolour.Hisisadeep,richauburn,notthis…thisfireenginered.’
Helaughed.‘Andthat’sthesumtotalofyourresponsetoeverythingIjustsaid?Wellifthatdoesn’t

provemypoint.Ifyouwerereallystarry-eyedoverMarcus,youwouldn’tbesittinghereinicegoddess
modedebatingyourrelativeshadesofredhair.You’dbepunchingsomeone,screaming,clawingtoget
himback,becausethatisyourtruenature.’

‘Yes,thepassionwasdefinitelymissingwithMarcus,’Evieputin,inhernewroleofpontificator

extraordinaire.

Drewnodded.‘Yeah,butit’salwaysmissing.That’sthewayshelikesit.’
‘Huh?Imean…huh?’Me–stunned.‘He’sright,’Eviechimedin.‘Youtalkagoodgame,Chloe

Masters,butyou’vegotthegoddesses-don’t-break-a-sweatthinghappening.Imean,lookatthatcream
leathercouchofyours.Lovelytolookat,butthereain’tnomisdemeanorhappeningonit.’

‘Don’tbelieveus?’DrewgrinnedacrossatmeasIsattherelikeastunnedmullet.‘Thentakea

chanceandplaywiththedarkthug.I’dlayoddshe’llmakeyousweat.’

‘Idon’twantthedarkthug.’
‘Sureyoudooryouwouldn’thavekissedhim.YouhadtowanthimplentytodothattoMarcus,no

matterwhatstateyoursexlifewasin.’

Myheadwasspinning–andithadnothingtodowiththewhiskysours.ItwasallaboutwhatI’d

done.Thesituationwasreallyblackandwhite,thewayDrewdescribedit.Icouldhavesaidyesornoto
thekiss.Ithadbeenachoicebetweenloyaltyandbetrayal,andI’dchosenbetrayal.I’dwantedthatkiss
morethanI’dwantedwhatIhadwithMarcus.Onespurofthemomentdecision,amomentarylossof
control,andI’dmadeachoice,thewrongchoice:NickoverMarcus.‘OhmyGod,’Iwhispered.

Justthreelittlewords,buttheypushedDrewintoastateofhighalert.‘Jesus,don’tstartyet,’he

said.

‘Startwhat?’
‘Theconscienceattack.Remember–Marcuskissedyouontheforehead,Marcusdidn’thavesex

withyouforthreemonths,Marcusletyougo.Heletyougo,Chloe.HedeservedforyoutofuckNick’s
brainsoutinfrontofhim.’Hegrabbedmyhand.‘Akiss?Pfft!Nothing.Atleastdosomethingworthyof
alltheangstbeforeyoustarttorturingyourself.’

‘Like…likewhat?’
‘Takethethugoutforaspin.’
‘Aspin?’
‘Asin,dothewildthingwithhim,’Drewsaid,asourfreshdrinksweredelivered,very

opportunely.

Itookanicebiggulp.‘Ican’tdothewildthing.’
‘Yesyoucan,ifyouputyourinnercontrolfreakouttopastureforalittlewhile.’
‘Buthe’sMarcus’steammate.Ican’tdothat.’
‘Nobody’saskingyoutopubliclydatehim,Chloe.Keephimadeep,darksecret.Thatway,ifhe

doesn’tperformtoyoursatisfaction,youcanreturnhimtothemanufacturer,andMarcuswillnever
know.’

ButIwasshakingmyheadbeforehe’devenfinishedspeaking.
‘Okay,ifthat’showwe’replayingit.’Drewtappedtherimofmyglasswithhis.‘I’vegottheperfect

personforyou.Someoneyoucanhavetotalcontrolover.’

‘Yes?’Iaskedsuspiciously.
‘You!’hesaid.‘Orgasmyourselfintooblivion,allonyourown.Nosweatinvolved.’
‘Beenthere,donethat,notsatisfying.’
‘Aha!ButI’mtalkinggadgets,’hesaid.‘Ofthebattery-operatedvariety.I’veheardofonecalledthe

VibratingRockChickthatsoundsawesome–ifyou’reagirl,atanyrate.Youwon’tevenhavetostepinto
thesexshopyourself.I’llbuyitforyou.’

Idrewinashaky,almost-laughingbreath.‘Ineitherwantnorneedavibrator.’
‘Whataboutamaleescort?’Eviesuggested.
‘Amale–?Whatiswrongwithyoupeople?’
‘Yousayyou’resexstarved,’Drewpointedout,hiseyestwinklinglikeamaniacaldiscoball.
‘Iwouldratherremainsexstarvedthanbuyavibrator.Anddon’teven,Evie–’Becauseshe’d

openedhermouth.‘IamnotinterestedineitheramaleescortorNickSavage.’

‘Okaaaay,’Eviesaid,pushingherluck.
‘I’mreallynotlikingyouatthemoment,’Isaid.
Drewnudgedmydrinktowardsme.‘Drinkup.’
‘Why?’
‘It’stimeforbreak-uphairandIhavejustthestylistforyou.’
Evieperkedrightup.‘Newlover?CanIcometoo?’
‘Yes,newlover.Reynoldishisname.Andyes,youmayaccompanyus.Comeon,Chloe–youknow

it’sderigeurtochangeyourhairstyleafteryou’vevisitedSplitsville.I’mseeingapixiecut.You’vegot
thecheekbonestocarryitoff–hell,youcouldshaveaguy’sbeardrightoffwiththosesharpedges.And
I’malittleoverallthatlong,straighthaircurtainthingyou’vegotgoingon.’

‘Afringe,’Isaid,unbending.‘That’sasfarasI’llgo.’
Drewsighed.‘Nowyousee,that’snotreallybreakuphair.’
‘Takeitorleaveit.’
Anothersigh.‘Okay–taken.’
Myphonestartedringing.
Evielookedhopeful.Drew,watchful.
IfishedmyphoneoutofmybagandcheckedthecallerID.‘Relax,guys,it’sLarry,’Isaid,and

acceptedthecall.Ithadtobeimportantformychiefofstafftobecallingatthishour.

Theone-sidedconversationmusthavesoundedverystrangetoEvieandDrew,buttheywere

certainlyontheedgeoftheirseatsforit.

‘HiLarry…Yes,Iknowhim…Yes,throughMarcus…Manila,yesIknow…No,Anita’sgotthat

…No,notme…Oh,heaskedfor…?Hesaidwhat…?SincewhenisNickSavagecallingthe…Oh,I
see.ButI’vegot…Allright…Buthe’snot…Yes,butIjustthink…OhforGod’ssake,it’s…Fine…
Fine,fine,fine!’

Idisconnected,satlookingatmyphoneforastunnedmoment.Blink,blink,breathe,blink.Andthen

IlookedatEvieandDrew.‘Guesswho’sgoingtoManila?’

‘WithNick?’Evieventured.
‘Yougotit,’Isaid.
‘Well,well,well,’Eviesaid,andblewoutabreath.‘That’sgreat.Except…’SheandDrewraised

theireyebrowsateachother.Andthenshelookedmerightintheeye.‘Howareyougoingtocope?With
the…youknow…’

‘Thechildren?’Isaid,andfeltthepanicreachingforme,tryingtosuckmeunder.‘Iguesswe’re

goingtofindout.’

‘Maybeit’sasign,’Eviesaid.
Ijustlookedather.
‘Nick…kids…thingsoutsideyourcomfortzone…?’sheofferedvaguely.
‘Whatitis,ismanipulation,’Isaid,cuttingoffthatlineofthought.‘Ican’tbelievehedidthiswhen

heknowsIdon’tlikehim.Whywouldhewanttobestuckwithmeforeightdaysexceptoutofsheer…
sheer…perverseness!’

‘Yeaaaah,’Drewsaid.‘Perversenessisn’tthefirstreasonthatspringstomind.’
Isuckedbackmywhiskysourandreachedformybag.‘Right.I’mgettingthefringe,andtakingsix

inchesoff,’Iannounced.

‘That’smygirl,’Drewsaid,rollinghiseyes.‘Let’sfreakthebastardrightoutwithashoulderlength

bob.Howrevolutionary!’

CHAPTEREIGHT

Drewwasbeinghisusualsarcasticself,butIreallywasmorethanhappytofreakthebastardout,
hairstylebedamned.

IwasgoingtostartwithaperfectlynuancedperformanceofunconcernwhenNickcalledtogloat

aboutgettingmeassignedtotheManilastory.Hewasnodoubtexpectingmetospitbileandfury;instead,
Iwouldbemycool,professionalself,readytotalkaboutwhatangleswecouldexplore,thewayIwould
withanymajorintervieweeforastorylikethis.I’dtellhimthatI’dalwayswantedtovisitthe
Philippines,thathe’ddonemeahugefavourbytwistingLarry’sarm,andthatIwaslookingforwardto
theexperienceimmensely.

Yes,itwasgoingtobeagoldenmoment,andIcouldhardlywaitformyphonetoring.
Allthroughmyhaircut,Ikeptmyphoneinmyhand,toopreoccupiedtocarethatsixinchesof

carefullycultivatedcoiffewerebeinghackedoff.Iwassopreoccupied,IhavenoideawhatIatefor
dinnerthatnight,orwhatIwatchedonTVafterwards.ItookthephonetothebathroomwhileIprepared
forbed,andthenactuallytobedwithmebecauseIdidn’tputitpastNicktocallintheweehourswhenI
leastexpectedit.

Overthenexttwodays,Ipulledtogetherasetofmyfamousredfolders,fullofresearchnotesand

interviewquestions.GeneralinformationaboutthePhilippines,andmorespecifically,Manila;statistics
onpovertyandhomelessness;thehistoryoftheorphanage,whichwascalledtheSunshineChildren’s
Home;detailsofothercomparablecharitableinstitutionsinthearea.Butwitheveryadditiontothefiles,I
foundmyselfcheckingandre-checkingmyphone.AndevenwhenIwasn’tspecificallycheckingfor
missedcalls,IkeptoneearcockedfortheringtoneI’dallocatedtoNick.(ButtholeSurfers’The
AnnoyingSong–atitlethatseemedappropriateforthemostannoyingmanintheworld.)OnceIwas
homefromwork,IpacedandIstewed,waitingforNicktocall,andchecking,checking,checkingmy
damnphone.

Iknewwhathewasdoing:playingchicken.Whowasgoingtocaveinandcallfirst?Well,itwas

notgoingtobeme.Iwasn’tgoingtogivehimthesatisfaction.Ipreferredtoimaginehimwaitingbythe
phone,agitated,likeme,wonderingwhatwasgoingthroughmyhead.

ThatnicelittlebitofdefiancegotmethroughtoSundayevening,whichwaswhenitsuddenly

occurredtomethatNickmightnothavebeenwaitingbythephoneformycall,agitated,wonderingwhat
wasgoingthroughmyhead.Hemight,instead,havebeenmakingcallstootherwomen,withwhomhe’d
probablybeenhavingsex.Oneaftertheother.Orperhapsingroups.Whilenotgivingmeasinglethought.

Somehowthememoryofthatmessagehe’dleftonmyvoicemailstartedreverberatingalongsidethe

imageofhimkissingtwobusty,blonde,biceps-grabbingbimbos.

‘It’sNick’.
Whatkindofmessagewasthattoleaveonagirl’sphoneafteryou’dkissedthebejesusoutofher?
It’sNick.
Twowords.
Twofreakingwords!Like,whybother?Especiallyifyouweregoingtostartindulginginorgies

withotherwomenassoonasyouhungup.

Well,Iwasgoingtodeletethosewords.Ididn’tknowwhyIhadn’tdeletedthemalready.
Igrabbedmyphone,calledmymessagebank,fingerpoised…
Andstoppedasmyeyecaughtsightofthoseredfolders,stackedonthediningtable,waitingtogo

intothebriefcaseIwouldtakeontheplanetomorrow.

Outofnowhere,IheardEvie’svoiceinmyhead.Didyoucallhimback?Myresponse,Hedidn’t

askmeto,suddenlyseemedlame.

Iwasajournalistandthiswasajobthathadbeenassignedtomebymyboss,regardlessofwho

waspullingwhatstringsbehindthescenes.Itthereforewasn’tuptoNicktocallme,itwasuptometo
callhim.DidIreallyintendtolandinManilacompletelycluelessabouthowweweregoingtointeract
onthejobbecauseofonestupidkiss?

Dammit,no,Ididnot!Itwasgoingtosting,callingNickSavage,but–deepbreath–Iwasgoingto

doit.

Iscrolledforhisnumber.Fingerhoveringoverthecallbutton,heartrateaccelerating,dreadingthe

firstcontact.

Riiiing.
Ilookedatthephone,notquitebelievingitwasmyphonethatwasringing.AndthenIsawthatit

wasMarcus,andIautomaticallytappedtoacceptthecall,slidinginabonelessheapontothecouch,
floodedwiththeoddestmixtureofreliefandguilt.‘Marcus!Hithere.’

‘Howareyou,Chloe?
‘Fine.Just…fine,’Isaid,andthenwebothlapsedintoanawkwardsilence.‘SoIguess…Iguess

youflyouttomorrow,right?’Iventured.‘Hawaii.’

‘Andyoutoo,Ihear.’
‘YouknowaboutManila?’
‘Nicktoldme.’
Pause.Moreawkwardness.
‘Chloe,I–’
‘Marcus,I–’
Strainedlaughter.
Itookadeepbreath,forcingmyselftogetittogether.‘Soyou’veseenNick,that’sgood,’Isaid.‘I

wasscaredyoutwomight…Notthatthere’sareasontofeel…Nothingtocomebetween…’Getit
together,dammit.‘I’mgladyou’restillfriends.Becauseitwasaone-off,justastupidmoment.I’m
blamingitonthemartinis.Gin,youknow.It’sdeadlystuff.’

‘It’sfine,Chloe.I…Iunderstand.InfactI…’
Isensedthehesitation,heardthebreathhetook,andwaited,wonderinginconsequentiallywhyI’d

nevernoticedbeforehowuncomfortablemyleathercouchwas.

‘Ijustwantedtocheckwe’reonthesamepagewiththeannouncementaboutoursplit,’hesaidat

last–andjustlikeinthebackofthelimoaweekago,Iknewtherewassomethingelsegoingonunderthe
surface.‘DidTomsenditover?’TomwastheScorpions’mediamanager.

‘Yes,’Isaid.‘I’vesignedoffonit.Hesaiditwillgooutoncewe’rebothintheair.Andnofurther

commentfromeitherofus,right?’

‘Right,’Marcussaid–andtherewasanothermomentofhesitation.‘I…Iwanttostayfriends,

Chloe.’

‘Metoo.’
‘Whateverhappensinthefuture,’headded.
Alarmbells.‘Whatdoyoumeanwhateverhappensinthefuture?You’renotdying,areyou?’
Helaughed.‘No.NotthatIknowof,anyway.’

‘Promise?’
‘Crossmyheartandhopeto–’
‘DonotfinishthatorIwillkillyou,Marcus!’
Morelaughter.‘Let’scatchupwhenI’mbackfromHawaii.’Heclearedhisthroat.‘Iloveyou,

Chloe.’

Iswallowed.Swallowedagain.‘Iloveyoutoo,’Iwhispered,butMarcushadalreadydisconnected.
Ithitme,then.Thiswasit.Flyingtodifferentplacestomorrow,theannouncementwouldgoout,and

wewereover.Really,truly,irrevocablyover.

Blink,blink,breathe,blink,asNick’svoicemailmessagestartedechoinginmyheadagain,likean

accusation.It’sNick.Ihadn’tallowedmyselftolistentoitsincethatfirsttime.HadImissedsomething?
SomethingthatwouldindicatethatkissingNickwasworthwhatI’ddonetomyself,toMarcus?

IstoodandstartedpacingasIcalledmymessagebank,strainingtohearoverthethrumofmytoo-

loudpulse.Okay,thereitwas.Theinfinitesimalpause.And…andbreathing.IcouldhearNick
breathing.One.Two.Andthen,It’sNick.Absolutelynoinflection.Anothertinypause.And,yes,one
morebreath.Hangup.

It’sNick.Twowords.Nothingelse.
I’ddecimatedmylifefortwowords.
Twowords…andonekiss.
Onestupidkiss,atwowordmessage,andhereIwas,whippingmyselfintoafrenzyoverasimple

phonecallIshouldbemakingtoaninterviewee,morelikeaninsecureteenagerafteranill-advisedmake-
outsessionthanajournalistfromatop-ratingtelevisionprogram.VisualisingNickwithotherwomen,as
thoughIcaredwhathedid!Unabletodomyjobthewayitdeservedtobedone,withmyundivided
attention,becauseIwastoobusyobsessingoverwhoshouldbecallingwhom.

Idon’tknowwhenI’dstatedshaking,butshakingImostdefinitelywas.Andthatwasthelaststraw.

ChloeMastersdidnotshake.ChloeMastersgotonwiththejob.NickSavagewasnotimportant,thejob
was.Simpleasthat.Itwasjustajob.Ajob,job,job,job,goddammit.Andnotevenadifficultjob.No
hard-hittingexposéofpoliticalcorruptionhere,nocorporatefraudexclusive.Evenacelebrityscandal
wouldhavebeenabiggerdeal.

Justajob.Andthenineredfolderssittingonmydiningtableprovedit.
Justajob.TheresearchforwhichI’dbeenthroughwithafinetoothcomb.
Justajob.Iknewwhotointerview,Iknewwhattoask.
Justajob.Afeel-goodstoryaboutaplayground.
Justajob.Whichrequiredmetonotbecomeanervouswreckovermakingonephonecalltoan

interviewee.

IwalkedovertothediningtabletoretrieveanotepadfrommybriefcaseincaseIneededtojot

downafewthingswhenIcalledNick.

ButasIlookeddownatthestackofredfolders,waitingonthetable,IrealisedIwasstillshaking.
Justajob.Butoneofthosefolderscontaineddetailsabouttwenty-sixchildren.
Justajob.AndyetIknewexactlywhichfolderoutofnineidenticalonesheldthecasestudiesI’d

toldmyselfIwastoobusytodomyself,andhadfarmedouttooneoftheresearchers.

Ifitwasjustajob,whyhadn’tIreadthatfile?
Isatatthediningtableandstaredatthefolders.Mymindwasawhirl.Thekiss.Thecall.Marcus.

It’sNick.Thejob.Thefolders.Thechildren.Icouldfeelthescreambuilding,andifIstartedscreamingI
hadnoideaifI’dbeabletostop.

Thiswaswhathappenedwhenyouletyourguarddown.Ifnotforthatkiss,Iwouldn’thavesplit

withMarcus,Nickwouldn’thaveengineeredasituationtogetmetoManila,andIwouldnotbetearing
myselfapartattheideaofreadingtwenty-sixcasestudies.And,ohGod,ifIcouldn’topenthedamn

folder,howwasIgoingtocopewhenIhadtoactuallymeetthekids,talktothem,filmthem?

Well,aguardthathadcomedowncouldgobackup,couldn’tit?Andmaybereadingthecasestudies

wasthefirstbrickinthatwall.Readingthemwouldbea…atest.Likedesensitisationtherapy.Focuson
thefactsandthedetails,becomesofamiliarwiththestoriestheylosetheirpowertoshockandhurt.

IgrabbedthefolderbeforeIcouldchickenoutandopenedit.Theretheywere.Twenty-sixpages,

onephotoandonebriefperpage.Takingadeepbreath,Istartedreading.

Honey,foundasanewborninaricefield.
Joseph,leftinahospitalafteracaraccident.
Grace,forgottenbyherfatherwhenhermotherwasplacedinamentalinstitution.
Paolo,leftatthegatesbyhispoverty-burdenedparents,alongwithhissisterandbrother–eachof

whomhadtheirownpage.

TwentyotherpagesthatIforcedmyselfthrough,examiningeveryimage,readingeveryword,telling

myselfifIcoulddothis,itwouldbeonemoremarkofmysuccessindetachingmyselffrommypast.I
coulddoit.Iwoulddoit.

WhenIfinallyclosedthefile,therewasanacheinmyheartandthestingofincipienttearsbehind

mynose.Iblinkedandbreathedthetearsaway,becauseChloeMastersdidn’tcry,notanymore–butthe
acheremained.Itriedtoputthefolderbackonthepile,butsomehow,Icouldn’tdoit.Myfingers
wouldn’treleaseit.Itfeltlike,ifIdidthat,Iwouldbelettingthechildrengo.Twenty-sixunwanted,
abandoned,unlovedchildren.

Iftherewasasilverlining,itwasthatmyanxietyoverNickSavageseemedtrivialbycomparison.

Pathetic,even.AndChloeMasterswasnotpathetic.

NickSavagewasnotthestory.NickSavagewasmaximumhalfanhour,minimumtenminutes,ofmy

eight-dayassignment.Oneinterview,andhewouldberelegatedtobeingnothingbuteyecandyforthe
camera,inthebackground,wieldingahammer.

IdidnotneedtocallNickSavage.IwouldnotcallNickSavage.
Instead,Iwouldreadtheprofilesagain.Iwouldreadthem,andthenre-readthem,andkeepre-

readingthem,overandoveragain,untilIcouldrecitetheminmysleep,dry-eyedanddispassionately,
buildingmydefencestoensureIdidn’tcrumbleonthejob.

Andtomorrowmorningattheairport,ifIsawNickSavage,Iwoulddomybesttocryogenically

freezehimoutofmylife,usingonlyonebalefuleye.

CHAPTERNINE

Asitturnedout,whenIarrivedattheairportthenextmorning,therewasn’ttheremotestpossibilityofmy
balefuleyegettingcloseenoughtoNickSavagetogivehimamomentarychill,letalonefreezehim.

Hewascompletelysurrounded,andIcouldonlycatchglimpsesofhisbodypartsasthethrong

aroundhimperiodicallyshifted.Abitofforearm,apeekathisbenthead,apeepofchestashesigned
autographsforkids,chattedtoparents,posedforselfieswithfans,andwasogledbywomenofallages,
shapesandsizes.

Forthefirsttime,Ideep-downunderstoodhowannoyingitmustbeforEvieeverytimeshestepped

outwithJack,andwhyshe’dtriedsohardtoavoidtakinghim,andeverythingthatcamewithhim,on.Of
course,I’dseenthephenomenonwithJackbefore.ButJackwas…well,Jack.Moviestarsexpectedit,
andhehandleditwithease.I’dexperienceditwithMarcustoo.Butagain,itseemedkindofnormalfor
him.Marcuswasthatkindofguy.Charmingandfriendly,graciousandsociable,andalsosomehow
humbledbytheattention.

ButNick?
Well,Nickwashardandchallengingandsardonic.Arrogant,ratherthanhumble.Hewasn’tthe

smiling/laughing/chattingtype.Itwasunnervingtoseehimbehavinginawaythatwassoatoddswithmy
perceptionofhim.

Andthenhecaughtsightofme,andlikeaswitchbeingflicked,hechanged.Oh,hestillsmiledand

chattedandsigned,buthiswholebodytensedandtheairintheterminalseemedtobesuddenly
impregnatedwithDareyou.WhichIinterpretedasDareyoutocomeoverhere.

Yes,wellno.IwasnotgoingtobedaredbyNickSavage.Ever,everagain.
Turningabruptly,Imademywaytothebusinessclasscheck-in,whereItookadvantageofthequeue

tocallmycameraman,Derek,tocheckhowfarawayhewas.

AsIendedthecall,Ifeltafizzintheair,andmyshoulderstighteneddefensively.Ididn’thaveto

lookbehindmetoknowNickwasthere.

‘Lookingnice,Chloe,’hesaid.
ImanagednottoturnaroundasIrespondedwithanoffhand,‘Thankyou,’butIwasdoingalightning

fastinventoryofthewayIlooked,becauseIcouldtellacriticismwhenIheardone.Criticisminallits
forms,veiledandunveiled,hadbeenaspecialtyoffostermothernumberthree–agirldidn’tforgetthat
stuff.

So.Redskirtsuit,sexyandexpensive;creamsilkcamisoletop;high-heeledpumpsinanunderstated

nude;newlybobbedhairswingingfreewithasharplycutfringe.Nothingtocriticise–butnevertheless,I
knewshoeonehadbeendropped.

Therewasatinyfingertipbrushagainsttheshoulderofmyjacket,whichIdidnotdeigntoflinch

awayfrom.‘Perfectbusinessclassattire,’Nicksaid.

Thelinemovedupbyoneperson.IsteppedforwardandNicksteppedstraightintothenewly

openedgapbehindme.‘Don’tyouwanttoseewhatwecharityworkersarewearinginEconomy?’he
asked.

Andthereitwas.Thesecondshoe,dropped.
Nickwasearningafortuneandwassittingincattleclass;Iwasearningapittancebycomparison,

butwasupthefrontoftheplane,courtesyofthetelevisionstation’sinternationalstafftravelpolicy.And
Nickwantedmetosquirmoverit.

‘Asithappens,’Isaid,turningslowlywithmyfreeze-eyeon,‘I’mwellacquaintedwitheconomy

classfashions,givenit’smyusualwaytofly.’ButIexaminedhim,headtotoe,inanycase.‘T-shirt.
Jeans.Oh–andisthatanerection?Again?’

‘Getusedtoit,’hesaid,andwinked.‘You’llbeseeingalotofitoverthenextweek.’
Seriously?Awink?
Ifacedthecounteragain.‘Let’shopeyou’resittingnexttosomeonewhocanhelpyouwiththat.It

wouldbeashametoletthatfinespecimengotowaste.’

‘Finespecimen?Whythankyou,Chloe.’
ItwasagoodthingIwasn’tfacinghimorhemighthaveseenthelaughbubblingupbeforeIcould

chokeitback.‘Andwhoknows,’Isaid,throughslightlytremblinglips,‘ifyoucangetalittleMileHigh
ClubactivityonthewaytoManilatotaketheedgeoff,maybeIwon’thavetoseeitforafewdays.’

‘Hey,I’mupforalittlemilehighifyouare,’hesaid,leaningcloseenoughtospeakrightinmyear.

‘Changeyourticket,Chloe.I’vegotaseatreservedforyou,rightnexttome.’

Ilaughedthen–butoutofdisbelief!‘Er…thatwouldbea“no”.’
‘Doit,Chloe.’Inmyearagain.‘Wehavethingstotalkabout.’
‘IhavealltheresearchIneed.Allyouneedtodoisstepinfrontofthecamerawhenyou’retoldto

andanswerafewquestions.That’satenminutejob.Itdoesn’trequireawholeflight’sworthof
discussion.’

‘I’mnottalkingaboutthestory.’
Itookamomenttogathermycomposurebeforeresponding.‘IfyoumeanMarcus,Idon’twantto

talktoyouabouthim.’

‘Whynot?Youtalkedtohimaboutme.’
‘Imentionedyou.Itwasn’texactlyadiscussion.Andthat’sdifferent.’
Iheardthebreathhetook.In.Thenslowly,slowly,out.‘Ifyousitnexttomeontheflight,you’ll

haveeighthourstoexplainexactlyhowthat’sdifferent.’

‘Anyway,givenyou’retheonewhowantstodothetalking,shouldn’tyoubetheonechangingyour

ticket?It’snotlikeyoucan’taffordit,footballstar.’

‘Ah,yes,butyousee,themoremoneyIspendonmyairticket,thelessmoneytheorphanagegets.’
Isqueezedmyeyesshut.
‘Soifyoufeellikemakingadonation,theoptionisthere,’hecontinued.
Goddammit!
‘ThinkofitasaVodkaVernmoment,’headded.‘Givingtothelessfortunate,onthedownlow,no

fuss.’

Thecheck-inagentbeckonedmeforward.Tick,tick,tick,tock.
‘Chloe?’
‘OhforGod’ssake,allright.’
Withafixedsmile,Ishookmyheadatthecheck-inagent–sorry,mymistake–andleftthequeue.

WithoutlookingatNick,Iheadedfortheticketdesk,briefcaseswinging,draggingmywheeliebagbehind
me.

HegrabbedmywristbeforeIcouldmakeacleangetaway.‘Ilikethenewhair,’hesaid.
Ilookedathimovermyshoulder.‘It’sbreak-uphair,soIhaveyoutothankforit.’
‘I’mnotsorry,Chloe.’
‘No,I’msureyou’renot.’

‘Andifyou’rethinkingyou’llfindawaytomakemehangmyheadinshameoverwhatwedid,you

canforgetit.Idon’tfeelguilty.’

ButlookingintohiseyesasIwrenchedmywristfree,Icouldseeaflickerofsomethingthattoldme

hedid.

Ihadonesmallrevenge.

WhenDerekagreedtodowngradewithme,ImadesurehegottheseatbesideNickinrowfifty-

three,whileItooktheonlyremainingseat,fourrowsaheadandacrosstheaisle.AndtoensureNickhad
noopportunitytouncovermydeviousnessandsomehowhavetheseatsswitchedagain,Iavoidedthe
boardinggateuntilthelastpossiblemoment,hurryingontotheflightjustbeforetheaircraftdoorsclosed.
WhenIreachedmyseat,ImadeabigshowofriflingthroughmybagsforwhatI’dneedduringtheflight,
simultaneouslycastingasurreptitioussidewaysspy-eyedowntheaisle,hopingtofindNickfuming.

ButNick,seeminglyoblivioustomyarrival,wasdeepinconversationwithDerek,whowas

pointingoutsomethingintheredfolderI’dgivenhimwhenwe’dmetattheticketingdesk.Whichwas
whenitsuddenlydawnedonmethatifIwantedtotalktoDerekduringtheflight,Iwouldhavetogoto
bothofthem,supplicant-style.

Isatandstaredblanklyatthevideoscreensetintothebackoftheseatinfrontofme,notfeeling

quitesopleasedwithmyself,afterall.AndthenIbegantohear…sounds.Atitteringlaugh…asqueal
…agiggle…Nick’srumblingvoice.Athief-likepeekaroundtheedgeofmyseatshowedagaggleof
flightattendantsaccumulatingintheaislebesiderowfifty-three.OhforGod’ssake!Didn’tthoseflight
attendantshavethingstodo?Checkingthatseatbeltswerefastened?Traytablesstowed?Bagsinthe
overheadlockers?WhatifIdidneedtospeaktoDerekaboutsomethingimportant?WouldIevenbeable
togetnearhim?

Thesquealsandtitterswaftinguptheaislewerereachingacrescendo,makingmegrindmyteethso

hard,Ihalf-expectedtobespittingoutatoothchipbeforetake-off.Butatlastitwastimeforthesafety
demonstration,andtheaislefinallyclearedofflightattendants,andIcouldatlastunclenchmynow-
achingjaw.

Itwasonlyabriefrespite,however,becausewhentheaircraftreachedcruisealtitudeandthe

seatbeltsignwasturnedoff,itallstartedagain–includingthegrindingofmyteeth.

IdecidedIneededadrinkifIwasgoingtogetthrougheighthoursofflightattendantflirtation.I

pushedthecallbuttontwice,andwascomprehensivelyignored.Ilookeduptheaisle,butsawnoflight
attendantinsight.Nodoubtbecausetheywerealldowntheaisle,clusteredaroundrowfifty-three,where
Iwasnotgoingtolook.Itseemedrowforty-ninewasgoingtohavetogoitaloneifitwantedanicestiff
…whisky.

I’donlytakentwostepswhentheplanedipped,andtheseatbeltsigncamebackon.Butohno,there

wouldbenoreturningtomyseatandbucklingup!IwasgoingtogetthatdamnwhiskyifIhadtopourit
myself.

Imademytotteringwayuptheaisle,grippingtheoccasionalseatbacktosteadymyselfastheplane

dippedandrolled.Ireachedthetoilets,andtherewasanother,strongerdip–butthegalleywassoclose
now,Iwasnottobedeterred.

Anotherjolt,andIreachedouttobraceahandagainstthetoiletdoor…butmyhandwasgrabbed

andheldagainstsomethingelse.Ahot,cotton-covered…chest?

I’mnotsureexactlyhowitallwentdownfromthatpoint,becauseithappenedsofast,butsomehow

therewasagrab,apush,astumble–andIwasinsidethesmalltoiletcubicle.

WithNickSavage.

CHAPTERTEN

Nicklockedthedoor,thenlookedatme.

Igapedathimforafullfiveseconds.AndthenIfoundmyvoice.‘Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?’
‘Gettingyoualone.’
‘AndifIdon’twanttobealonewithyou?’
‘Itoldyou,weneedtotalk.Preferablywithoutanaudience.’
‘Ihavenothingtosaytoyouthatcan’tbesaidwithanaudience.’
‘Ithoughtwe’dstartwithyoutellingmewhyyoudidn’tcallmeback.’
‘Because–readmylips–Ihadnothingtosaytoyou.’
‘Youkissme,thendumpyourboyfriendbecauseofit,butthatdoesn’tdeserveanydiscussion?’
‘It’shadallthediscussionitneeds–withtherelevantparty.’
‘SoMarcusisrelevant,butI’mnot?’
‘Bingo.’
Hesmiled.‘Nowyousee,that’sachallengetome.’
‘Theseatbeltsignison.’
‘Andyourpointis…?’
‘Weshouldbegoingbacktoourseats.’
‘Well,Chloe,Ilookatitthisway.Seatbeltsignison–thatmeansnobodyisgoingtodisturbusin

here.So…’Hesmiled.Dareyou.‘YousaidalittleMileHighClubactivityonthewaytoManilamight
takemyedgeoff.AndhereIam,ready,willingandable.GodknowsI’vebeenwaitinglongenoughtoget
thatedgeseento.Afullyear.’

‘Afull…?’Utter,astounded,disbelieving,laughinggasp.‘Youexpectmetobelievethat?’Because

Ididn’t.Evenifeverysinglegossipcolumninchabouthislovelifewasalie–asif!–guyslikeNick
Savageweren’tcelibateformorethanthreedaysatastretch.Hewaslikeaflashingneonsign:‘Sex
AvailableHere’.Hehadnotbeenwaitingforme,sex-free,forayear.

‘Whywouldn’tyou?’
‘Theménageàtroisthatwasgettingunderwayontheharbourcruise,forastart.Let’stalkabout

that!’

‘Idon’tkissandtell,Chloe.’
‘Kissandtell?How…quaint.’
‘Okay,Idon’tfuckandtell.’
‘Youdon’t–’Nope.Couldn’tfindaresponsetothat.
‘Sowhathappensinherewillstaybetweenyouandme,Chloe.’
‘Exceptthatnothingisgoingtohappeninhere.’
Hesmiled,fullofconfidence.‘We’llsee,won’twe?’
‘No,wewon’t.’
ButNickwaslookingaroundasthoughthatpartoftheconversationwasdoneanddusted.‘Hmm.

MaybeIshouldhaveupgraded.Thebusinessclassfacilitiesarealittlemorespacious.Butneedsmust.

Andyoulooklimberenough.’

‘Youknow,I’dbetemptedifitmeantIcouldflushyourhead.’
‘Well,well–that’saninterestingproposition.’
‘Flushingyourheadinanaircrafttoiletisinteresting?Really?’
‘I’mtryingtoworkoutthepositionthatwouldmakethatapossibility–andIhavetosay,Ikindof

likeit.’

‘Justbendover.’
‘Oooohhh,Chloe,Ithoughtyou’dneverask.’
Unbelievably,Ifeltalaughstarttogurgleup.Iforceditback.‘Oh,forGod’ssake!’
‘Hey,I’devenencourageyoutoflushmyheadifthatwouldgetyouacrosstheline.’
‘I’msurethebrunetteflightattendantwiththe…’gesturingtomychest,‘…wouldcrosstheline

withyou,andkeepyourhairdrywhileshedidit.’

‘I’msureshewould,too,’heagreed.Andthenheleanedinclose.‘ButifIwantedher,she’dbehere

withmenowandI’dalreadybeinuptothehilt.InsteadI’mherewithyouandwe’restillatthe
negotiationstage.’

‘You’resoarrogant,I’msurprisedanythingexceptyourswollenheadcanfitinhere,’Isaid,and

reachedaroundhimforthedoorlock.

‘Ifyouopenthatdoor,Chloe,Icanpromiseyouthere’llbeascene.Nowpersonally,Idon’tcare

aboutmakingascene.ButI’mprettysurethatwouldbotheryouanawfullot.’

‘Iwanttogetout.’
‘Beforewetakecareofmyedge?’
‘Idon’tcareaboutyouredge.’
‘Youwereinterestedenoughinitattheairport.You’retheonewhopointedoutthatIhadanice,

healthyerection.Youweresointerested,Ithoughtyouwereanglingtogetaclose-upview.’

TheplanedippedagainandIfellagainsthim.
‘Feelit?’heasked.‘Yes.’AsIsteppedbackfromhim.‘Andit’sgoingtogivemenightmares.’
‘Iwasaimingmoreforwetdreams.’
Anotherdangerouslaugh,throttledjustintime.
Hesmiled.‘Comeon.Time’sup,Chloe,andyouknowit.’
‘Yes,timeisup,soletmeout.’
‘Youdon’treallywantmetoletyouout,doyou?’heasked,andtookmyfacebetweenhishands

forcingmetolookathim.

Iwantedtoshutmyeyes,hidetheconfusionIknewwasinthem.Confusion.Apprehension.

Somethingelsethatwasflutteringeverynerveinmybody.ButIcouldn’tseemtomakemyeyelidsclose.
Itwasalittlemomentofsuspendedtime,andIwascaughtinit,helpless.

‘Doyouwantmetoopenthedoor,Chloe?Becauseifyoudo,ifyoureallydo,I’lldoit,andI’lllet

yougo.ButifIopenthedoornow,andwegobacktoourseatshavingdonenothinginhere,itwillbe
gameover.Iwon’tplayagain.’

‘Guyslikeyoudon’thavetoplay,’Isaid,allbreathy.‘Youdon’thavetotrytogetlaid.Itjust

happens.’

‘Oh,I’mtrying,Chloe.I’mtryinghard.ButasIsaid,time’sup.Now…ornever.’
Theaircraftlurchedagain,andIfoundmyarmsgoinghelplesslyaroundhim.Whentheplane

levelledout,Idrewback.‘Nick,wehavetogobacktoourseatsbeforewebothendupbatteredand
bloody.’

Hetookmyhand,putitoverhisheart,palmflat,thewayhe’ddonethatnight.‘Iwon’tletyouget

hurt.I’llkeepyousafe.’

IswallowedasIlookedupathim.‘Nobodycanpromisethat.’

‘Notifyouwon’tletthem.’Ifelthisheartbeat,strongandheavy,asoureyeslockedandheld.My

breathcaughtandIthought…yes.

Andthentheplanelurchedoncemore,Istaggeredbackwards,andthemomentwasgone.Icleared

mydrythroat.Managedalittledismissivelaugh.‘Yeah,you’renotactuallyasuperhero,Nick!’

Hegrinned.‘SureIam.ErectionMan.Andyoucanbe–’
‘VanishingGirl,that’swhatIcanbe,’Isaid,andreachedforthelockagain.
‘Whataboutbeingmygirl,instead?’heasked.
Ifroze,staringatthelock.Thewords‘Hellno!’formedinmyhead.ButwhenIopenedmymouth,

whatcameoutwas,‘Ionlyjustbrokeupwithyourteammate.’

‘Historyishistory,Chloe,whetherit’saday,aweek,ayear,orathousandyears.Thisisbetween

youandmenow.’

‘Theannouncement–aboutthebreak-up–isn’tevenoutyet.’
‘So?’
‘So,Icouldn’tdothattohim.’
‘Youalreadydid.Timetosuckitup,princess,becausethere’snogoingback.Youkissedme.And

thatchangedeverything.’

Iwasshakingmyhead.‘It’snotthatsimple.’
‘Yes,Chloe,itis.’
‘Thatkissshouldn’thavehappened.’
‘Exceptthatitdid.’
‘Itwasjusta…amoment.Alapse.Ijustneeded…ThatnightIneeded…’Iwasfloundering,

badly.

Theplanelistedsuddenly,andasIslipped,Nickgrabbedme,pulledmeinclose,andIclosedmy

eyesbecausesomethingweirdwashappeningtomyinsidesandIwantedtofeelit.‘Themartinis,’Isaid,
tryingtosounddismissive.‘Itwasthemartinis.That’swhyIkissedyou.’

‘Oh,themartinis,’hesaid.‘Inthatcase,thiswillbeeasy.I’llgetyouasmanymartinisasyouwant.

I’llgoanddrainthebusinessclassbarrightnow!Or–hangon–I’llringthecallbuttonandhavethem
bringinafullbottleofginandabowlofolives.’

Istartedlaughing.HowcouldInot?Untilhetippedmyfaceuptohis,andmyeyelidsflutteredopen.
‘Doyouneedamartini,Chloe?’heasked,
‘No,’Isaidshakily.
‘Sohowaboutwestartwithakiss,’hesaid.‘Andthenwe’llmoveontosex.Thewayweshould

havedone,thatnight.’

‘Andwhatwouldthathavemademe,whenIwasstillwithMarcus?’
‘Mine,Chloe,’hesaidsimply.‘Itwouldhavemadeyoumine.Thewayyoushouldhavebeenayear

ago.Thewayyouwouldhavebeen,ifI’dseenyoufirst.Butyouhavetoaskme.Youhavetochooseme.
ThewayI’vechosenyou.’

Ooohhhhh.Thewordshit,sopotent.AndwhatDrewhadsaidwasinmyhead.Keephimadeep,

darksecret.Ifhedoesn’tperformtoyoursatisfaction,youcanreturnhimtothemanufacturerand
Marcuswillneverknow.

‘Socomeon,Chloe,cardsonthetable.What’sitgoingtotake?
‘Confidential,’Ibreathed.‘Nobodycanknow.’
‘Done.’
‘And…Andit’sonlywhilewe’reinthePhilippines.’
‘No.’
‘Yes!OtherwiseIcan’tdoit.Ican’tdoittohim.Ijust–God,Ican’tbelieveI’meventhinking

aboutit.’Ipulledoutofhisarms.

‘Okay,’Nicksaidquickly,andhauledmestraightback.‘OnlyinthePhilippines.Ifthat’sthedeal,

I’lllivewithit.Butwe’resealingthedealnow,rightnow,whileI’vegotyou.Socomeon,Chloe.’

‘Whatarewegoingtodo?Play“youshowmeyoursandI’llshowyoumine”?’
‘Yousee?’hesaid,releasingmeandreachingforhisjeans.‘Iknewyouwantedtoseemine.’

CHAPTERELEVEN

Andholyshit–nopunintended,toiletproximitynotwithstanding–didheshowmehis!

Infivesecondsmax,beforeIcouldevenreachbehindformyskirtzipper,hisjeansandunderwear

weredown,andhewasstandingtherewithhisveryimpressivehard-onondisplay.Talkaboutsize!He
hadlengthandgirthandperfectscale–forafreakinggiant!Therewassomuchofit,nowaycouldhisT-
shirtkeepitunderwraps.Somuch,IwonderedhowIwasgoingtocope,havingbeencelibateformonths.
ButbyGodIwasgoingtogiveitago.Istartedfumblingbehindmeformyskirtfastening.

‘Notime,andnoroom,’hesaid,andrelievedmeoftheneedtoundressbygrabbingthesidesofmy

tightskirtandwrenchingupwards.Afractionofasecondlater,mypinksilkknickerswereshoveddown.

Andhewaslookingat‘mine’–freshlyBrazilianed,whichIwasthinkingwasagoodthing,goingby

thehungrylookonNick’sface.Hewasstaringsohard,Ithoughthewasdoingsomekindofmentalscan,
storingthesightinhismemorybanks.Anddespitestillhavingmyskirton,withmysilkcamisoletop
intact,myjacketbuttoned,myhighheelson,Ihadneverfeltmorenaked,ormoreopen.Ondisplay,and
justplainreadyforsex.

Itmayhavebeenthemostbizarremomentofmylife.Thetwoofusstandinginthetinytoiletcubicle,

lookingsointentlyateachother’ssexorgansIwouldn’thavebeensurprisedtoseelittlelaser-flares
shootoutofoureyes.Iwaslongingtotouchhim.Ihadneverfeltsohotandachyinmywholelife.Andit
bothscaredmehalftodeath,andexcitedmepastbearing.

Thesuddenin-flightannouncementstartledusintoliftingoureyes.TheCaptainhasturnedoffthe

seatbeltsign.Youarenowfreetomoveaboutthecabin,andourcrewwillshortlyrecommencein-flight
service.

Webothgrimaced.Ourprivacywasabouttocometoanend.
‘Chloe,’hesaid,andeverythinginmefizzedatthehuskyurgencyinhisvoice.‘ThereisnowayI’ll

lastthrougheighthourssittingoutthere,knowingwhat’sunderyourskirtwithouthavingit.AndIswear,if
someoneinterruptsusbeforeit’sdone,Iamgoingtokillthem.Sowe’regoingtohavetoskipthe
foreplay.Okay?Areyouwithme?Ihavetohearyousayyouwantittoo.’

‘Yes,yes,’Isaid,sookaywiththehardandfastoption,Iwouldhavejumpedhiminthenext

heartbeat.‘Hurry.Andifyoutellmeyou’renotpacking,I’mgoingtobetheonedoingthekilling.’

Helaughed,butthesoundwasstrained,andsowasthelookonhisfaceashereachedforhisjeans,

hikedthemupjustfarenoughtoreachintothebackpocket,andproducedacondom.‘Boyscout,’hesaid.
‘Alwaysprepared.Takeyourpantiesallthewayoff–that’sallyouneedtodo.I’lldotherest.’

SothereIwas,shovingimpatientlyatmyunderwear,stumblingalittleasthepinksilksnaggedon

oneofmyheelsbutreadytoripthosekickerstopiecesifIhadto.Halfhopping,skirtbuncheduparound
myhips,nottrulybelievingIwasabouttojointheMileHighClub,butstartingtoshakewithlustatthe
thoughtofit.

Thecrackleofthecondomwrappercausedanewhitofmoisturebetweenmythighs.Itwaslikemy

bodywassaying,Hello,we’rereadyhere,hurrythehellup.Eventheprospectofaqueueofpeople
outside,crossingtheirlegsbecauseweweredenyingthemaccesstothetoilet,wasn’tenoughtocontain

it.God,God,God,Iwantedsobadlytotouchhim.

‘Letmeputitonyou,’Isaid.
Heshookhishead.‘Nexttime.Iwon’tlastifyoutouchme,andIwanttobeinsideyouwhenIcome

thisfirsttime.’

Thisfirsttime.OhGod.Ihadeightgloriousdaysofsecretsexcomingmyway.
Threesecondslater,thecondomwason.AndthenNicksethisfeet,leanedhisshouldersback

againstthedoorforsupportorleverageorwhothehellcaredwhy,reachedformyhips,andasked,
‘Ready?’

Inodded–itwasimpossibletogetawordout.
You’dthinkitwouldhavebeenawkward.Elbowsknockingintowalls,headsbangingtogether,feet

slipping.Butnope.Asheslidhishandsaroundtomybottomandtuggedmein,Iknewitwasgoingtobe
solidandsafeandwonderful.

Thenheliftedmeup,hitchedmythighseithersideofhiships.‘Bringyourkneesupandbracethem

onthedoorbehindmeifyouneedto,’hewhispered.‘Dowhateveryouhavetodotofeelcomfortable,
moveanywayyouwant–I’llcatchyouandholdyounomatterwhat.I’llkeepyousafe.Okay?’

Safe.Thatwordagain.Anditwasmorethanokay,tohearitandknowitwastrue,thatIcouldtake

whatIwanted,howIwantedit,andletmyselfgo.SoIslidandscrunchedandwiggledinhismountain-
strongarms,knowingIcould.Andhedidn’tletmeslip,evenonce,notbyamillimetre.Hejustheldme,
waitingformetoaccommodatemyselfthebestwayIcould,andthen,aharshbreathagainstmyneck.
‘Chloe?’Aquestion,andhewaiteduntilInodded.Andasplitsecondlater,hewascrushingmecloser,
pushinginsideme,connectingsoeasily,sobeautifullythatIcouldn’thelpmoaning.

‘HolymotherofGod,you’reit,Chloe,’hegroaned,andthenhesuckedinabreathasIpushed

myselfharderontohim.Hemadesomeslightadjustmenttohisposition,shiftedhisfeet,grippedmy
bottomharder,slidfurtherin–again–andthen…alltheway.

Heaven.
Igroundmyselfontohimsohardandtight,healmostcouldn’tgetanyleveragetowithdrawand

thrustagain,butthefeelingofhiminsideme,ofbeingcompletelyfullofhim,wassodivine,Icouldn’t
helpit–Ijustwantedhimjammedinme,goingnowherebutthere.

Hekissedme,once,hard,onthemouth,andthenhisheaddroppedtomyshoulderasheinchedback

slowly,asfarasIwouldlethimwithdraw,andpushedintomeagain,slowly,luxuriously.‘Iknewyou’d
feellikethis,’hesaidinmyear.‘Hotandtightandwet.’

Igroaned,couldn’tkeepitin.
‘Ican’twaittogetyouintobedtonight,’hewhispered.‘Butrightnow,Ihavetotellyou,Iamgoing

tocome.Anysecond.Letmebringyouwithme.’Pause,ashetwisted,maneuveringhimselfatinyfraction
insideme,andhitaspotsoperfect,Ifeltthetell-taletremorsstartimmediately.There.There,there,
theeeeeere.

‘Oooooh.Ohhhhh.’Me,gaspinglikeacrazywoman,andwishingIcouldlayhimoutflatandthrow

myselfalloverhim.

‘Areyoucoming?’heasked.
Myanswerwasawailing,‘OhmyGooooood.’Hadmyeyesrolledbackinmyhead?DidIcare?

No,Ididnot.‘H–howdoyouknowhowtod–doth–that?’

‘It’sthefit.’Thrust.‘Perfect.’Push.‘Withyou.Ah,God.It’stoo–Toogood.Jesuuus.’Andhe

slappedhismouthonmine,mufflingbothourcrieswithamoltenkiss,whileIexplodedinthehottest,
brightestorgasmofmylife.

Hekeptkissingmeasthefirefaded,asmylegssliddowneithersideofhim,ashewithdrewfrom

me.AndthenIfelthimsmileagainstmymouth.AndIfoundmyselfsmilingback.Andwewerelaughing.
Anditwasperfect.

Hepulledmyskirtbackdown.Adjustedthelapelsofmyjacket.Ranahandovermyhairtoneaten

it.Onemorefastkiss,andthenhetrailedafingertipovermymouthasthoughhe’dsmooththatbackinto
placetoo–butitfeltbruised,andIknewitwouldbeswollen,unabletobemagickedbacktonormal.
Still,histendernesstookmebysurprise.We’djusthadsex,asbasicasitcouldget.Hands-free,sight-
free,knees-up,no-foreplaysexinanaircrafttoilet–possiblythebestsexofmylife,butcertainlythere
hadbeennothingtenderaboutit.Sowhywashetouchingmesogentlynow?

Ipulledaway,andbentawkwardlytopickupmypantiesoffthefloor,buthestoppedme.
‘Uh-uh.They’reminefortheflight.’
‘What?No.’Ibentforthemagain–buthegottherefirst.
‘Ineedtheproofthatitreally,finallyhappened,’hesaid,tuckingthemintothefrontpocketofhis

jeans.‘Iwanttothinkofyousittingclosebywithoutyourunderwear.Iwantyoutoknowthatthelittle
scrapofsilkI’vegotinmypocketismakingmerememberthefeelingofbeinginsideyou.Andwhile
you’resittingthere,knowingwhat’sonmymind,IwantyoutoimaginewhatI’mgoingtodotoyouin
Manilatonight,whenwehaveabedatourdisposal,andIcanusemytongueonyou.’Hepausedthereto
givemeagroanofakiss.‘God,Iamhardasarockagain,already.IfI’veonlygotaweek,I’mgoingto
bealloveryoueverychanceIget.Theminuteanyone’sbackisturned,wheneveryou’rewithintouching
distance.Iwanttomakeyoucomeathousandtimes,sogetreadytohavemyfingers,mymouth,mycock,
everything,alloveryou.Betterbookinforaweekataspaforwhenyougethome.You’regoingtoneed
therest.’

Onemorekiss,thenheopenedthedoor,pushedmethrough.
Thedoorre-closedandlockedbehindme.
Therewerethreepeoplewaitinginaline,allofthemstaringatme.TheyknewwhatI’djustdone.I

wasknickerlessinpublicforthefirsttimeinmylife.AndIjustdidnotgiveadamn,becauseIhadjust
beengivenanorgasmthathadblownmyfreakingmindandwasnowbusilypicturingNickSavage‘all
over’me.

Itwasgoingtobealoooongflight.

Loooong…andtorturous.BecausefrequentskirtreadjustmentswererequiredtoensureIdidn’tflashthe
elderlyladyintheseatnexttome.AndeverytimeItuggedmyskirt,IrememberedhowNickhadkissed
me,likeitwashislastkissonearth.Whichcausedalittleaftershocktoripplethroughme.Whichcaused
anotherskirtreadjustmentand…Well,yougetthepicture.Itwaslikeaneverendingalmost-orgasm
cycle.

EverytimeIsensedsomeonewalkinguptheaislefromtherowsbehindme,Isteeledmyselffora

touchonmyshoulder–Nick’stouchonmyshoulder–atwhichpointalmost-orgasmwoulddoubtless
morphintothefullonscreamingYes,yes,yesvariety.AndhowIwouldexplainthattotheladyinthenext
seat,Ididn’tknow!

Butthroughawholemealserviceandonein-flightmovie,myshoulderremainedunmolested.So…

whatwasgoingon?Ihadnoidea,butIcouldhardlybowlonbacktorowfifty-threeanddemandtoknow
whytheguywhosupposedlywantedtobeallovermeeverychancehegotnotonlywasn’tcoming
anywherenearme,butwasspendinghistimeflirtingwithaveritableseaofflightattendants.

When,finally,thetouchonmyshouldercame,therewasnothingorgasmicaboutit.BecauseIknew,

evenbeforelookingup,itwasn’tNick.Itwastootentative.

Sureenough,itwasDerek,wantingtotalkwork.Whichwasnotabadthing,becauseIreallyneeded

togetmymindoutofthe…er…toiletifIwastosurvivetheflight.

Ieasedoutofmyseat–withanewrespectforcommando-goingcelebrities(beingknicker-freein

publicwasn’tforthefainthearted)–andDerekandIdiscussedoptionsforinterviewingacoupleofflight
attendantsfromtheDo-It-Rightteam.Wedecidedthebestspacewasnearthewing,wheretherewasa
littleextraroom,andthendidaquickroamthroughtheaircraft–megoingforwardofrowforty-nine(for
obviousreasons)andDerekgoingbackward–forsuitablyphotogenicinterviewees.Wesettledon
Barnaby,anenthusiasticguyinhisthirties,andLeila,agorgeousblondefromthebusinessclasscabin
whohadimpressivegravitasforagirlwhowasallofabouttwenty.

Theinterviewstartedbeautifully,andmayhavekeptgoingthatwayifLeila’seyelidshadn’tpopped

openlikeacoupleofchampagnecorksshootingoutofthebottlehalfwaythrough.Something–no,
obviouslyitwasasomeone–wascomingupbehindme.Noprizesforguessingwhocouldmakeagirl
preenandpatherhairintoplacemid-interview,asLeilawasdoing.

Mypulsekickedandmyearsstartedbuzzingasthesaltyscentofhimslidintomynostrils,butat

leastmyfreakingeyelidsdidn’tpopopen!Ontheotherhand,Iwasn’tprocessingawordofwhatwas
issuingforthfromBarnaby’smouth–butsinceBarnaby’smouthwasdefinitelymoving,Iknewhehadto
besayingsomething.AndIwasgoingtohavetoaskhimanotherquestionwhenhestoppedspeaking,
hopefullybasedonwhathe’dsaid.

Gah!Thiswasnotgood.
AndthenNickbreathed,andIfeltitonthebackofmyneck,andIalmostdroppedmyredfolder.
Ilookeddownatmynotes,pluckedthreerandomquestionsoffthepageandbulletedthemout–two

toLeila,onetoBarnaby.Ididn’tcarewhattheyanswered;I’dfixanythingclumsyintheeditsuiteor
catchthemforanotherinterviewontheflighthome.IjustneededthethingwrappedbeforeImadeatotal
idiotofmyself.

Ialmostsaggedwithreliefwhenitwasover,apparentlywithoutanyonenoticinghowI’dwingedit

attheend.

‘Hey,Nick,’Dereksaid,allhaleandmatey,asheswitchedoffthecamera.
OnlythendidIallowmyselftoturnaround,anicefakeoh-I-didn’t-see-you-thereexpressiononmy

face.

ButNickwasn’tlookingatme.Hewaslookingat,smilingat,Leila–oneofthefewflightattendants

hehadn’tmet,becauseshe’dbeenconfinedtothebusinessclasscabin.

Businessclass.Wherethefacilitiesweremorespacious.
Spaciousenough,perhaps,forNicktousethateagertongueofhisonLeila!Whonodoubtwouldn’t

havetobetalkedintosexthewayIwas,judgingbythedroolpoolinginhermouth.(Andokay,Icouldn’t
actuallyseeanydrool,butIwassureitwasthere.)

ThecombinationofDerek’sfriendliness,Nick’ssmile,Leila’sdrool,andtheimageofthebusiness

classtoiletfacilitieszippingintomyheadirritatedmesomuch,IfoundmyselfglaringatNick.

WhichIdidnotwanttodo,soIturnedmybackonhim(somethingIseemedtobedoingalotof,and

whichwouldhavetostopbeforeitbecamenoteworthy)andpretendedtolistenintentlytothediscussion
DerekwashavingwithBarnabyaboutvantagepointsforfilminggeneralin-cabinfootage.Barnaby
interruptedLeila’sflirt-festwithNicktogetheropinion,andthenextmoment,LeilaandBarnabywere
leadingDerekawayforanaircrafttour.

LeavingNickandmealone.‘What’sbotheringyou,Chloe?’Nickasked,theinstanttheotherswere

outofearshot.

‘Nothing.’
‘Turnaroundandfaceme.’
Iturned.
‘Say“nothing”again.’
‘Nothing,’Isaid,raisingacavaliereyebrow.
Nickopenedhismouth.Closedit.Shrugged.‘Okaythen.Onlyafewhoursuntilweland.Seeyou

whenwegetthere.’

Andthatwasit.
Really?
Theguyhassexwithmeinapublictoilet,pocketsmyunderwear,andthendoesn’thavethedecency

toinvestigatewhat’sbotheringmepastonelousyquestion?Itmademerememberthatcompletely
inadequatephonemessage.It’sNick.Andthen,nothing.Nothing!

IblinkedasIwatchedNickmakehiswaybacktohisseat,stoppinghalfwayforachatandalaugh

withthewell-rackedbrunette.Andashelaughed,hedughishandintothepocketwheremyknickers
were.Myknickers.Withoutevenglancingmywayashedidit.Whatkindofbastardchatteduponegirl
whilehisfingerswereonanother’sexpensivepinksilkunderwear?

Therehadtobeamessageinthat.
Yeah–don’tletguystakeyourunderwear,numbskull.

Bythetimetheflightlandedatsixo’clockthatevening,Iwasamassofjumping,fragilenerves–butonly
ontheinside.Theoutsideofmewasallserenegoddess.

Duringthescrambletocollectluggage,whenthesubjectofhitchingarideonthecrewbustothe

hotelwasraised,ImurmuredsomethingvagueaboutmakingmyownwaybecauseIhadsomethingtodo
enroute.AndifNickdaredvoiceoneprotestaboutthatafterthewayhe’dignoredmeontheflight,I
wouldicehimtodeathwithalook.

Iwaitedforhimtosaysomething.Ready,eager,toannihilatehim.
ButNickdidn’tevenlookatme,letalonespeak.
Right,then.Right.Right!
Oneoftheflightattendantssuggestedagroupdinneratarestaurantablockfromthehotel.Theteam,

plusNick,plusDerek–andme,ifIcouldmakeit.Ihedgedmybetsandmadeavaguereferenceto
perhapsnotbeingabletogetthereontime,given‘thatthing’Ihadtodo.AndIfiguredNickwouldsurely
havesomethingtosayaboutthat,givenhisbodypartsweresupposedtobealloverminerightabout
dinnertime.

Andyeshedidhavesomethingtosay:thatdinnerwasagreatidea.Again,withoutlookingatme.
Thatwasit.
Endresult:Istoodaloneinthetaxiline,watchingthewholegrouplaughingandchattingasthey

walkedtothecrewbus.Isawthemboardthebus.Saw,throughthebuswindow,Nicktaketheseatbeside
Leila.Imaginedhimfeelingmyunderwearwhilesittingnexttothatperfect,ifsomewhattoothy,girl.

AndIthoughttomyself,Well,thisgenuinelysucks.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Somewherebetweenthetaxirideandtheendofmypost-flightshower,I’dconvincedmyselfthatIwas
professionallyobligatedtoattendthegroupdinner,andthatthatwastheonlyreasonIwasgoing.

Ofcourse,thatwasnotthereasonIwasdonningasupershortcobaltblueswingdressandtowering

heels,oroptingforatinymauveclutchinsteadofmyred-folder-holdingbriefcase;orlayeringonenough
mulberryeyeshadowIresembledanexoticallycolouredraccoon;orlamentingthelostsixinchesofmy
hairwhileIpinnedwhatwasleftofitinasex-me-upmessontopofmyhead.

ThatpartwasaboutgettingthatbastardNickSavagetonoticeme,andregretwhathewouldnotbe

gettingafterdinner.

IapproachedtherestaurantasthoughIwerepreparingtosashaydownacatwalk,andevenknowing

thateveryoneinsidewouldbecasuallydressedandprobablyalmostfinisheddinnerdidn’tdetermefrom
mymission.Foralltheyknew,I’dbeendelayedbyanassignationthatmademyglamour-girloutfitand
overdonemake-upderigeur.

Ienteredtherestaurantandpaused,feigningconfusionoverwhereIshouldhead,despiteitbeing

blindinglyobviousIbelongedwiththeonlynon-Filipinogroupintheplace.IwantedNicktogetthefull
effectofmyarrivalwhenhelookedoveratme.Iwantedhiseyeballstoleapfromtheirsockets.Hisjaw
todrop.Histonguetorolloutofhismouth.

Dereksawme,andsatisfyingly,therewasaneye-popandwhatappearedtobeasilentwhistlethat

hadmepreeningalittleontheinside.

Iwaitedafractionlonger,myeyesdartingtoNick,whowassittingbetweenLeilaandanempty

chair.ButNickdidn’tlookup;hejustkepttalkingtoLeila,whodidn’tlookupeither.

Disconcerting,butIcouldn’tkeepstandingthere,allMrDeMille,I’mreadyformycloseup

pitiable,soIglidedtowardsthetable,blink-blink-breathing,addinganextraswingtomyhips.Almost
there,comeon,Nick,almostthere,timetospeakup,Nick,almostthere,lookupnow,yourat…

Buthedidn’tsomuchastwitchaneyelidinmydirection,evenwhenIreachedthetableand

stopped.

Thereweretwoseatsfree.TheonebesideNickandonebesideDerek.
‘Here,Chloe,’Dereksaid,standingandpullingoutthechairbesidehim.‘Isavedyouaseat.’
Ihesitatedforatinymoment,waitingforthedoltattheotherendofthetabletogivemethe

opportunitytoturndowntheofferoftheseatbesidehim.

Andatlast,Nicklookedup.Istartedtosmileinaverysuperiorway–notthatNicknoticed,

becausehewaslookingpastme,smilinginanot-superior-at-allwayatsomeonebehindme.

‘Bryce,atlast,’hecalledpastme.‘Comesitnexttome.Iwanttotalktoyouabouttheflight.’
Bryce.HewantedtotalktoBryce,notChloe.
IsatinthechairDerekhadsavedme,asthoughtherewasneveranydoubtthatwasexactlywhere

I’dbeenintendingtositallalong,andcastacovertglanceatthisBryce,whowasstridingtowardsthe
table.

And…yowzer!That’sallI’msaying.

Okay,that’snotallI’msaying.
I’msayingthatBrycewastall,darkandhandsome.I’msayinghehadmuscles,buthealsohad

elegance.I’msayinghehadhairthatwavedperfectlyoverhiswell-formedhead.I’msayinghehadstyle.

AsBrycetookhisseat,LeilaleanedacrossNicktosay,‘Wemissedyouonthebus.’
‘Yeah,sorry.IsawamatefromQantasattheairportandgotcaughtup.’
‘We’regladyoumadeittodinneratleast,’shesaid.
Brycemurmuredsomethingabouthisowngladness,thenhewaslookingaroundthetable,

exchangingnodsandsmalltalkwithalltheairlinestaff.HewasreachingforthewineglassNickhad
filledforhimwhenhegottome.Therewastheslightestpause,anappreciativewideningoftheeyes,a
verybroadsmile.Then,‘Hi!’hesaid,withflatteringenthusiasm.Ha!That’swhatIwastalkingabout.

And–hallelujah!–atlast,Nicklookedatme.Nosmile.Nohello.Justacompleteabsenceof

expressionwhichmeant…well,whoknewwhatitmeant?

‘Bryce,meetChloeMasters,’Nicksaid,inavoiceasexpressionlessashisface.‘Thejournalist

who’sdoingthestory.Chloe,thisisBryceHaynes,whoflewustoManila.’

Bestillmyheart!Brycewasapilot?Thejobthattoppedthelist,yearafteryear,ofthemost

respectedjobsintheworld?Howperfectcouldaguyget?

BrycesmiledatmeandIpicturedit,picturedus.Aromaticcandlesinthebedroom.Astrewnflower

petalortwo.Me,wearingasilkypeignoir,myhairbrushedtoperfectionandmyfavouriteperfume
(whichisChloéincaseyou’rewondering–Iknow,it’sborderlinepiteous;whatwouldIhavedoneifmy
namewasErnestine?)dabbedbehindmyears,betweenmybreasts,andhighontheinsideofmythighs.

Brycewasaguyforwhomyoustrategisedyourunderwear.Aguywhowouldappreciatethe

strategising.You’dknowexactlywhereyourunderwearlandedwhenBryceremoveditandtossedit
somewhereintheroom.Knowhowtoswingyourhairjustso,eveninthethroesofpassion.Hewasaguy
youcoulddustoffyourtechniquefor,choosingtheexactmomentforusingthatlittletonguetwistyou’d
readabout,havingthewitstoadjustyourpelvicfloormusclesformaximumcontroloverthepaceand
timingofhisorgasm,usingthatfacialexpressionyou’dpractisedinfrontofthemirrorforthepinnacle
moment.

BryceHayneswasnotthekindofguywho’dhaveyouscrabblingaroundinatoiletcubicle,

skippingtheforeplayjusttogoforit,fast.Therewouldbenouncontrolledgroans,nostrangledbreathing,
notramplinguponexpensivepinksilkpantiesintherushtoimpaleyourself,nohangingonfordearlife,
ordeath,oranystateinbetweenasyouclawedtowardsthepeak.

DerekpushedassortedplatesoffoodtowardsmeandIhelpedmyselftoafewmorsels,althoughmy

appetitewasn’texactlyatitsbestrememberingthattoiletscene.

AquickglanceattheotherendofthetableshowedBrycedecliningasimilaroffering.Likeme,he

wasn’thereforthefood.ThenNicksaidsomethingtoBryce,andBrycelaughed.Anopen,joyous,
uncomplicatedlaugh.Istrainedmyears,channellingouttheconversationstakingplaceoneithersideof
mesoIcouldtuneintothatoneveryparticularconversation.

‘…nodanger–anddon’tpretendalittleturbulencescaredyou.’Bryce.
‘Actually,Ienjoyedtheearlierpatchofturbulence.EventhoughIwasstuckinthejohn.’Nick,with

themostinfinitesimalglancedownthelengthofthetable–makingmechokeonmywine.

‘Thatwastheworstofit,’Brycesaid,thankfullyclueless.‘Theflightwassmoothassilkotherwise.’
‘Silk,huh,’Nickmused,andlookedatmeagainashishanddippedunderthetable.Oh.My.God.

Hehadhishandinhispocketwithmypanties.Amomentlater,Nick’shandwasbackup,flatagainsthis
heart,andmyownheartwasjumpingaroundinmychestlikeaflailingfish,becauseIwasremembering
himholdingmyhandtherelikethatwhenhetoldmeI’dbesafe.

Brycewastalking,butallIcouldhearwasmypulsewhooshinginmyearsasthatwordranthrough

myhead.Safe.Somehowthatwordwasconnectedwithexactlythatsight.OfNick’shandonhisheart.

Likeapromise.Cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die.

ThenNickremovedhishandfromhischestandreachedforhiswine,andIcouldconcentrateagain.

HeturnedtoBryce.‘Iwascheckingourin-flightprogressontheIFEsystem.It’snotmyimaginationisit,
thatwethatwedivertedinthatlasthour?Becauseitlookedlikewewereoffplan,trackingtothewest,
anddescendedtoanonRVSMFlightLevel.’

Um…hello?
BrycegaveNickaplayfulpunchontheshoulder.‘Yeah,butnobiggie,tech-head.’
‘Whathappened?’Nickasked.
‘MountAponearDavaoeruptedandwehadtodiverttoavoidavolcanicashplume.’
‘Thatexplainsthediversionupwindwiththeprevailingwesterlywinds.Isthereanydanger–forus,

Imean?’

Bryceshrugged.‘Onlyiftheorphanagewerewithintwentykilometresofthevolcano,whichit’snot,

sowe’regood.’

‘Itseemedaratherbigdogleg.AnyproblemswithATCandcrossingairways?’
‘IthelpedthatATCgaveusdescenttoanonstandardRVSMFlightLevel.’
‘IhopeourTCASwasworking!’
Brycelaughed.‘We’rehere,aren’twe?’
Moreincomprehensiblediscussionfollowedaboutflightpaths,asItriedtocometotermswiththe

factthatNicknotonlyunderstoodpilottalk,butcouldalsospeakit.

Asin–whointhenameofallthat’sholyknew?
Nick,talkinglikeapilot?Nick?
Icouldn’tquitereconcilethatsideofNickwiththesideofhimthathadsaid,Iwantyoutoimagine

whatI’mgoingtodotoyouinManilatonight,whenwehaveabedatourdisposal,andIcanusemy
tongueonyou.

Andsomehow,Nickusinghispilot-talkingtongueonmewasalittletooeasytovisualise.Me

clutchingatthecoolsheetasNicksliddownmybody,histonguetracingalinerightdownthemiddleof
me,pastmybellybutton.Whisperingtomeinbetweenkisses,You’reit,Chloe.Iwantyou,wantyou,
wantyou,onlyyou.Andthen…arriving.Thatfirsthotlick,andIwouldbescreaming…

Icaughtmyselfhalfwaytohyperventilationandshiftedonmyseattotrytoeasethehummingache

betweenmythighs.AsIforcedmyselfbacktoreality,IfoundBrycelookingatmeexpectantly.

Igavehiman‘oops’smile.‘Sorry,Imissedthat.’
‘Iwasaskingifyouwereplanningonbeinghereforthewholeweek,’Brycesaid,pushingathis

hair,whichhadfloppedsexilyacrossoneeye.

‘Thatdepends,’Isaid.‘Youmean,ifwewrapitupearlyyou’llheadhome?’
‘Somethinglikethat.’
‘Thenlet’shopewedon’twrapupearly,’Brycesaid.Hesmiled,andraisedhisglassasiftoasting

me,andIdecidedtosupplantNickwithBryceinthathotlittlefantasyI’dbeenhaving.Bryce,areal
pilot,withhairlongenoughforyoutoactuallygrabonto,slidinghistongue…Histongue…His…Ah,
dammit!Thepicturewouldn’tform.Maybeitneeded…needed…Flowerpetals.Roses.Redrose
petals,thecolourofpassion.And…andthosecandles–vanilla,perhaps–surroundingthebed.

Butbeforetheimagewouldform,Nickwasthrowingabundleofnotesdownandpushingbackfrom

thetable,andtheneveryonewasstanding,gatheringtheirthings.Aswealllefttherestaurant,I
maneuveredmyselfclosertoBryce.Hesmelledlikesandalwood.Ilovedsandalwood.So,aquickre-set
ofthebedroominmymind…Crispwhitesheets–check.Rosepetals–check.Sandalwoodcandles
insteadofvanilla–check.Brycebetweenmythighs,lookingupatmethroughthatlockofsilky-softhair
…Iimagined…imagined…

Salt–that’swhatIcouldsmell.Spikyhair–that’swhatIcouldfeel.Andblackeyes,shooting

sparks,that’swhatIcouldsee.Andnofreakingrosepetals,that’sforsure.Justclothesindisarrayand
skinandstrainingmuscles.Clearly,somethinghadgoneseriouslywronginsidemyhead.

Wereachedthehotel,andalmostimmediatelyBrycedisappeared,pleadingfatigue,andIwastoo

annoyedwithmydisorderedbraintocareaboutthat.ButwhenIrealisedNickhadalsodisappeared,a
redhazestartedtoformbeforemyeyes.

WhenIgottomyroom,itoccurredtomethatIhadprobablyalreadybeenRuby-fied.Tradedinfora

newmodel.Aflightattendantmodel.Thebrunettewiththeboobs?Leilaofthetoo-whitesmile?Oneof
theothers?Alloftheothers,together,orgy-style?Myhandsweresotightlyfistedatthatthought,therewas
ariskI’dhavetobreakafingertounclenchthem.

OrperhapsIcouldjustgotoNick’sroomandloosenthemupbypunchinghim.
Ienvisagedmyselfknockingonhisdoor.Himopeningit,shirtoff,hastilydonnedjeansslipping

downhiships.Andbehindhim,anassortmentofnaked,tousledflightattendantsloungingonthebed.

And,althoughIamnotproudofthis,IactuallyscreamedbeforeIcouldstopmyself.
Irippedthecarefullyplacedpinsoutofmyhair,scrubbedoffmymake-up,setupmylaptoponthe

desk,connectedtoWiFi,typedBryceHaynes,FirstOfficer,AustralAir,intothesearchengine,andhitthe
returnkey.

WhenI’dfinishedsearchingforBryce,maybeI’dseewhatIcouldfindoutabouttheVibratingRock

Chick.TheymightbeavailableinManila,mightn’tthey?Notformyownpersonaluse.Buttoshoveup
Nick’s–

Knock.
Once.
Hard.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

Well,wasn’tthatjustgreat?Mycarefulmake-uphadbeendemolished,myfancyunderwearwasstowed
away,Iwaswearingthehotel’sunsexywhiteterrytowellingrobe,andIhadnoVibratingRockChick
shapedobjecttohand.

ButIwasgettingaheadofmyself.Justbecausethatwasthemostmachodoorknockintheworld

didn’tmeanitwasNick.

AndifitwasNick?Well,Ididn’tcarewhatIlookedlike.Infact,itwasmuchbetterforhimtosee

thatIwasnotalldolledupandwaitingforhim,readytoopenmyarmsandlegs.

Onthatnote,Iwipedmypalms(whichhaddecided,inconveniently,tosweat)onmyrobe,tooka

deepbreath,layeredonaveneerofunconcern,andwalkedregallyovertothedoor–whichIopened
cautiously,whilecleverlyknucklingoneeyeasthoughI’djustwokenup.

Yep.Nick.Smiling.
Andswingingmypinksilkpantiesfromafingertip!
Igaveupthesleepynonchalanceactinaheartbeat,grabbedmypanties,castaharriedlookupand

downthecorridor,yankedNickintotheroomandslammedthedoor.

Helookedmeupanddown,hisway-too-satisfiedsmileslowlyfading.‘YouthoughtIwasn’t

coming.’

‘Iassumedyouweren’t.’
‘Whywouldyouassumethat?’
‘Hmmm,let’ssee.Howaboutwestartwithyourattitudetowardsmeatdinnertonight?’And

althoughmyvoicewassupercool,Icouldfeelmytemperabouttorampagethroughmyeyeballs.

‘Myattitude?’
‘Onsecondthoughts,let’sexpandthetimeframetotwelvehoursago.Whichwasaboutwhenwe

exitedthatdisgustingtoilet.’

Heraisedstartledeyebrows.‘Disgusting?’
‘You’vebarelylookedatme,barelysaidawordtomeeversincethat…that…thing.’
‘Thatthing?’
‘StoprepeatingwhatIsay.’
‘Iwill,assoonasyoustartmakingsense.’
‘I’mmakingperfectsense.’
‘Whatattitudedidyouwantmetohave?’
‘Onethatdidn’tmakemefeellikeacastoffgroupie!’
‘Thenstopactinglikeone.’
‘Stop–’Choke–I’mnotkidding,Ireallymadealoudchokesound.Iwaspracticallyincandescent

withrage,coolbedamned.‘Stopactinglikeone?’

‘Uhoh,repeating.Isn’tthatano-no,Chloe?’
Ilookeddownatmyhand,nowfistedaroundthosepinksilkpantiesthatIneverwantedtosee

again.Withalowgrowl,Istalkedovertothedeskwheremylaptopwasandthrewthepantiesintothe

binunderneath.

‘IfI’dknownyouweregoingtothrowthemout,’Nicksaidmildly,‘Iwouldhaveheldontothose.’
‘Youdidquiteenoughholdingontothose!’
Hehadthenervetosplutteroutalaugh.‘What?’
‘Ididn’texpectyouto–To–Tofingerthemwhileyouwerechattingupotherwomen.’
‘Iwasn’tchattingupotherwomen.’
‘Ha!’
‘JustaskmewhatwasgoingthroughmymindwhenIwastalkingtothoseotherwomen,Chloe,and

I’lltellyou.’

‘Wordsarecheap.’
‘You’reright,theyare.Comehereandletmefingertheunderwearyou’vegotoninsteadandI’ll

showyouwhatIwasthinking.’

‘I’mnotwearing–’Stop,withasnapofteeth.
‘Not?’Hiseyeslit.‘Really?’
Blink,blink,breathe.‘Regardless,youwon’tbegettingwithinakilometreofanymoreofmy

underwear.Maybeyoushoulddigthosepantiesoutofthebin.Asouvenir.Togowiththetrunkfulyou
alreadyhavestashedatyourplacetoremindyouofallyouronenightstands.’

‘Idon’tkeepsouvenirsofonenightstands.’
‘Thenbyallmeans,pullmyunderwearoutofthebinandstartyourcollection.’
‘We’renothavingaonenightstand,Chloe,soyourunderwearcan’tbethestartofthatcollection,

canit?’

‘That’sright,itwasdaylight.Aone-day-standiswhatwehad.Afive-minutestand!’
Hestrodeovertome,hisowntemperstartingtoclimb.‘Youjustlovemisinterpretingme.Why

don’tyoujustcomeoutandaskmeaboutthedifferencebetweenyouandallthoseotherwomen?Aren’t
youinterestedinwhatwasgoingthroughmyheadwhenIhadmyhandinmypocketwiththatprettypink
silk?BecauseI’lltellyou.’

Myheartstartedbeatingwildly,warningmethatIdidnotwanttoknow.‘I’mnotinterestedenough

inyouto…tointerpretyou.’

‘ThenI’llmakethisbitniceandclear,soyouwon’thaveto.Myso-calledattitudewasaboutgiving

youwhatyouaskedfor.Confidentiality.Nobodyknowingwhatwe’ddone.WhatIwantedtodoagainthe
minutewe’dfinished.ThatmeantIdarednotlookatyouformorethanasecondatatime,letalonegettoo
closetoyou,becausewhatIwantedtodotoyouwouldhavebeenobvioustoanyonewitheyesintheir
goddamnhead.Andtonight?Well,yousee,Chloe,Ididn’treallythinkyou’dwantmetodragyouontop
ofthetableandfuckyourbrainsoutinfrontoftenotherpeople.Butyousureashelldidn’tmakeiteasy.
Thedress,thehair,theheels.Theywereallforme,weren’tthey?Alittlebitoftorture?Well,I’mnotinto
games,notatthispoint,whenit’spatentlyobvioushowIfeelaboutyou,sojuststraightouttellmewhat
youwant.Doyouwanttoditchtheconfidentialitybullshit?BecauseI’llgopublicrightnow.I’lllay
claimtoyoueverytimeI’mwithintouchingdistance,andI’lltalkaboutyoueverymomentI’mnotso
everyotherwomanknowsshe’swastinghertime.Thenyouwon’thavetowonderandneitherwill
anyoneelse.Howaboutthat?Justsaythewordandit’sdone.’

IfI’dthoughtmyheartwasbeatingwildlybefore,itwasafull-oncastanetclubintherenow,

ricochetingoffmyribcage.Somethingaboutwhathesaidwastakinghold,adarkdemon,daringmeto
demandthathelayclaimtomerightthatsecond.Madness.Absolutemadness.That’swhatIcouldseein
hiseyes–amadnesstomatchmine.

‘No,’Isaid,butitcameoutweakandthready.
Hegrabbedmebytheupperarms.‘Comeon,Chloe.Youdiditwithhim,allaboveboardandoutin

theopen.Whynotwithme?Whynotme?’

‘Him?’
‘Marcus.’
Marcus.Hisnamebouncedintomyheadandstuckthere.Remindingmeofjustwhythisthingwith

Nickneededtostaysecret.Itoremyselffree.‘Idon’twantasecondbreak-upwithafootballerinthe
newsaweekfromnow,makingmelooklikesometragicgroupiescrewingherwaythroughthewhole
team.’

‘Easilyfixed.Don’tbreakup.’
‘It’stoolate.OurjointstatementwasissuedtothemediafourhoursintotheflightfromSydney.I’ve

alreadyno-commentedfifteentimes.’

‘I’mnottalkingaboutMarcus.I’mtalkingabout–’Hebrokeoffwithanincoherentcurse.‘Jesus,

Chloe.Me.I’mtalkingaboutme.Youandme.Don’tbreakupwithme.’

Ilaughed…untilIsawthegrimsetofhismouth–andthelaughterdriedup.‘Youcan’tbeserious.’
‘Can’tI?Whynot?Explainthedifferencetome.HelpmefigureoutwhatitwasaboutMarcusthat

keptyouwithhimallniceandpublicforayear,whileIgeteightdaysintheshadows.’

‘I…I…Itwas…He’s…Look,he’sjustdifferent.Fromyou,Imean.’
‘Oh,he’sdifferentallright.Butwhatwaydoyoumean?Smarter?Richer?Betterjobprospectsafter

football?’

‘No!’Iburstout.Andthen,morecontrolled.‘No.’Ishruggedawkwardly,becauseIcouldn’texplain

it.‘Look,thisreallyhasnothingtodowithMarcus.’

‘IthaseverythingtodowithMarcus.Thewholekeytoyouiswhyyouchosehim,andwhyyou

stayed.’

‘That’sridiculous.’
‘Becauseyoucouldcontrolhim?’heasked.‘Isthatwhy?’
‘IfIcouldcontrolhim,we’dstillbetogether,becauseIsureashelldidn’twanttobreakupwith

him,’Isnapped.‘Ijusthadto,becauseofyou.’

Hehadn’ttakenhiseyesoffmeforasecond.Idon’tthinkhe’devenblinked.AndIcouldn’tbearit

foranothersecond,soIturnedaway,fiddlingwiththebeltofmyrobe.

‘No,’Nicksaidslowly.‘Itwasn’taboutcontrollinghim.Itwasaboutcontrollingyourself.You

couldcontrolyourselfwithhim,andhecouldcontrolhimselfwithyou.Thatmadeeverythingsmoothand
evenandcalmandnice.’Helaughed.Oneshorthootofit.‘Musthavebeendynamiteinthebedroom.’

‘Youdon’tknowadamnthingaboutmeandMarcus.Aboutme,period.’
Hespunmetofacehim.‘Iknowyoucan’tcontrolyourselfwithme.AndIknowI’msureasshit

hangingontomyowncontrolbyathreadwheneverI’maroundyou.Scary,right?ExceptthatI’mnot
scared.’

‘That’snot–.That’s–’Nope,couldn’tgetanotherwordtoform.
‘Itwon’teverbesmoothandevenandcalmandnicewithme,’hesaid.‘BecauseItakeyouwayout

ofyourcomfortzone.Iwanttotakeyouthere,Chloe,butI’mnotgoingtodragyou.Youhavetowantit
thewayIdo.’

‘WellIdon’twantitthewayyoudo.’
‘Proveit.Kissme.Trytocontrolit.Ifyoucan,I’llwalkoutthedoorandyou’llbefreeofme.’
‘Youkeepdaringme.Givingmeultimatums.Just…juststopit!’
‘I’mnotgoingtostopuntilwehavethefinalanswer.I’llkeephuntingyouuntilyouprovetomeyou

don’twantmeeverybitasferociouslyasIwantyou.That’swhyyouhavetochoose–sowebothknow.’

‘Allright,I’llproveit,’Icried,unabletotaketheintensityforanothersecond.‘I’llkissyou,andI’ll

controlit,andthenwe’llsaygoodbye.’

‘Whatwasthataboutwordsbeingcheap?Trysomeaction,Chloe.’
Swallowing,Iclosedmyeyes,tippedmychinup,andwaited.

Helaughedinthatsoft,amusedwayhehadthatmademewanttopunchhim.‘Ithoughtyouwantedto

controlit,’hesaid.‘Thatmeansyoukissme.Openyoureyes.’

Iopenedthem.
‘Beforeyoudothis,knowthatI’mnotMarcus.Oncewestart,therewillbenothingniceaboutthe

wayItouchyou.’

‘Yes,yes,yes.Wordsarecheap,remember?’
Andashelaughed,IgrabbedhisT-shirt,usedittodragmyselfontomytoes,andputmymouthon

his.Threeseconds,Ifigured.Mymouthonhisforthreeseconds,andwewouldbesayinggoodbyeandI
couldstopthistortureandgetbacktomyinternetsearchofBryceHaynes.

One,two,three,Icountedinmyhead,anddrewback,awhisperaway.Letgo,mybraintoldmy

hands,butmyhandswereclingingliketalonsandrefusedtoobey.Icouldfeelhisheartbanginglikea
drum,hardandfast.Myheelswouldn’tdroptothefloor,soIwasstillonmytoes,mymouthhovering
nearhis.Icouldsmellhim,feelhim.Hiseyeswereboringintomine,hotashell.Somethingwasniggling
atme.Creeping,sneakingintome.Athought,aknowledge,afeeling.Andthenthewordforallofthatslid
intomyconsciousness–safe.‘Nick,’Iwhispered.

‘Don’tbescared,’hewhisperedback.‘Justdoit.Takeit.Anything.Anything.’
Andbeforethelastsyllablewasoutofhismouth,mymouthcrashedagainsthisandIwentwild.I

plasteredmyselfagainsthischest,throwingmyarmsaroundhim.IswearIwouldhaveclimbedrightup
hisbodyifIcouldhave.Andhewouldhavebeenjustfinewiththat.HewouldaccommodatewhateverI
wanted.He’dsaidasmuch,he’dshownmeso.

LongpantingmomentsasIthrustmytongueintohismouth,out,in,out,in.Icouldfeelthedrenching

moisturebetweenmythighs.Hot.Hot,hot,sohot.GodIhadtohavehimorIreallythoughtIwoulddie.
Aclashofteeth,andItastedbloodanddidnotfreakingcareaslongasourmouthsweretogether.Iwas
gasping,tryingtogetcloser,closer.Andhejuststoodthereandletme,holdingme,holdingon,shifting
onlytomakeiteasierformetotouchhimanywayIwantedto.

Andthentheshakingstarted,andIwasdesperate,arching,pushingagainsthiserection,needingto

haveitthere,justthere.I’dneverfeltlikethis.Consumedwithsomuchlust,mylegsstartedtogiveout.
‘Nick,Ineed…Ineed…’ButIcouldn’tseemtocompleteathought,letaloneasentence.AllIknew
wasthatIwantedhimthewayhesaidIcouldhavehim,anytimeIliked,alloverme,andIloved,loved
thestrengthofhimthatkeptmeuprightevenwhenIthoughtIwouldcollapseathisfeet.‘Something.I
needsomething,’Ibreathedagainsthismouth,andthenIkissedhimagain,longandhard.‘Tellme,help
me.Ineed…’

Andsomethingaboutmystupidgarbledwordsmusthavemadesensetohim,becausethenext

moment,hetookover,andIwasfacingawayfromhim,andhewasbehindme,propellingmeforward
untilwewereatthebed.

ItriedtoturnsoIcouldlandonthebedfaceup,becauseitwasclearhewasabouttopushmedown

andcomedownontopofme.Iwasanticipatingtheweightofhimpressingmeintothemattress,longing
forit,alreadypreparingtospreadmylegstomakeiteasierforhim.

Buthestoppedmeagain.Heleanedinclose,pulledmyhairtooneside,outofhisway.Helicked

myneck.Onelong,hardstrokeofhistongue.‘Wantmetostop?’heasked.

Ishookmyhead,whimpered.No,Ididn’twanthimtostop.
‘Thensayit,’hesaid.‘Ineedthewords,Chloe.’
Iclosedmyeyes,shudderingashelickedagain.‘Don’tstop.Pleasedon’t.’
Hismouthwasatmyear.Icouldhearhimbreathing.Choppy,draggedin,gaspedoutbreaths.All

overtheplace.

‘Nick…?’Andmyvoicewasasshakyastherestofme.‘Nowwhat?’
‘Shhh.Hearwhatyoudotome.Ican’tcontrolmybreathing,Chloe.Ormyheartbeat.Orthese

tremors.Canyoufeelthem?Yes,youcan,Iknowyoucan.BecauseIwanttobeinsideyousobadly.’

‘Yes,yes,please.’
‘Soyouknowwhat?’
‘What?’Iaskedbreathless.
‘I’mgoingtotakeyoujustlikethis,becauseIcan’twait.Ican’tcontrolthewayIneedyou.AndI

know,Iknowyouwantmethesameway.Sayit.Sayyouneedme.’

‘Nick,’Isaid,anditwasanentreaty,pureandsimple.
Hebitthesideofmyneck,lickedthere,sucked.‘Doyouneedme,Chloe?’
‘Yes,yes,’Isaid,surrendering.‘Ineedyou.’
Andwiththat,hepushedmeontothebed,facefirst,andcamedownontopofme.Icouldfeelhim,

allheavymuscle,themassiveerectionstrainingagainstmybottom.Itwasalittlebitliketheaircrafttoilet
alloveragain.Hisjeansbeingshoveddown,myclothes–inthiscase,theterrytowellingrobe–being
jerkedup.Acurseashegrabbedacondomfromhispocket–afewcondoms,becauseacouplelandedon
themattressnearmyhead–notexactlystrewnrosepetals!Thencamethesoundofthecondomwrapper
tearing.Andthenhewaspushinginsideme,sobigitshouldhavehurt…andyetitfeltjustright.Andthis
time,Icouldn’tcontrolthepressureortheleverage,sohewasfreetopullallthewayout,before
plungingallthewayin,hittingthatexactspot,overandover,untilIwascoming.Ifoundmyselfpanting
outhisname,thenscreamingit–andasifthatwasacue,Ifelthimjerkinsideme,oncemore,again–and
hewascoming,coming,coming,sohardandstrong,groaningmyname.

Andthen…silence.Exceptforourharshbreathing,graduallyslowing.
Nickrolledoffme,ontohisback.
Ilaythereonmystomach,shell-shocked,faceturnedawayfromhim.
‘I’msorry,’hesaid,andsighed.Ifeltthebeddipasherolledtowardsme.‘That’snotexactlyhowI

thoughttonightwouldgo.NothowIwantedittobe.’

Ieasedontomyside,facinghim.‘Meneither,’Isaid,andmyvoicewobbledslightly.
‘OhGod,Ididn’thurtyou,didI?Chloe?’
Ishookmyhead,reachedout,touchedhislip.‘Otherwayround.I’msorry.’
‘What?’
‘Ibityourlip.’
‘Idon’tcare,Chloe.Itoldyou,youcandoanythingyoudamnwellwant.’
Hepulledmyrobedownroughly,coveringme.‘Chloe?’hesaid.Ormaybeasked.Itwasthefirst

timeI’deverheardhimuncertain.‘Willyouletmetryagain?’

Iwantedtosaysomething,butmythroathadclosedover.Ihadnevercomewithsuchstrengthinmy

life.Neverhadsexlikeit–withnoconceptofhowI’dlooked,whatI’dsaid,thewayI’dmoved.I’m
tellingyou,I’mallabouttechnique,soitwasquiteajolt–anddon’tgetmestartedonthesweatquotient,
whichIhadn’tgivenathoughtto!

Trytocontrolit.Ifyoucan,I’llwalkoutthedoorandyou’llbefreeofme.
Itwasprettydamnobviouswhathadjusthappenedhadbeenoutofcontrol–forbothofus.Andyet,

hewasgivingmeanout.

Ihadasuddeninsightthathewasalways,always,goingtogivemeanout.Itwasalways,always,

goingtobeuptome.Justlikeeverythinghadbeen,uptothispoint.Howeveraggressivelyhelobbedthe
ballintomycourt,itwasuptomehow,when,if,Ireturnedit.

Andsomehow,thatsudden,inexplicabletruthchangedeverythingandmadethischoiceatleast,

easy,soIsaid,verysimply,‘Yes.’

Hekissedme.Long,slow,sweet.Andeverythinginmestirred,leaptagain.
‘Wait,’hesaid,asIgrabbedforhim.
‘Idon’twanttowait.’

‘Please,Chloe,letmedoitright,justthisonce.Afterthat,youcancrashandburnalloverme,I

promise.’

Hetouchedmyface,andmythroatclosedoveragainsothatallIcoulddowasnod.
Nickgotupfromthebedandstrodetowardsthebathroom,peelingoffthecondomashewentand

somehowmanagingtotoeoffhisshoesandkickthembackwards,towardsthebed,atthesametime.I
guessedthatwasexperienceondisplay,theabilitytodoallthreethingsatonce.IwasverycertainNick’s
sexualrepertoirewasmoresophisticatedthananythingI’deverexperienced.Thathe’dhadsexinmore
waysthanI’deverdreamedof.Inmorebeds,moreplaces,withmorepartners,invariousstatesofdress
andundress,atallhoursofthedayandnight.

Bycomparison,Iwas…well,notaVibratingRockChick!There,I’dadmittedit.DrewandEvie

wereright:Ididn’tliketosweat.AndNickwasright,too:Ilikedtocontrolmyself.Ididn’tlikethe
vulnerabilityoflosingmyselfinlust.Givenallthat,andtheobviousdisparityinourskilllevels,Iwas
prettysureNickwouldbeveryreadytomoveonwhenourtimeinManilawasatanend.Whichwas
good.Itwas…manageable,knowingyouwereonlygoingtobeoutofcontrolforafiniteperiod.WhichI
knowdoesn’tmakealotofsense,controllingyourlackofcontrol,butthat’showIrationalisedtheviolent
needinme.

Nickcamebackintotheroom,reefinghisT-shirtoverhishead.Hethrewitonhiswaytothebed

withoutbotheringtolookwhereitlanded.Hisjeansandunderwear,whichhadbeenshoveddownjustfar
enoughtofreehimselfforthatfirstboutofsex,werepushedoffnext.Hewaserectagain,whichwas
vergingonmiraculous,ifyouaskedme.Everypartofhimwashugeandperfectandmyfingerswere
itchingtotouchhim.

Naked,hecametome,kneltonthebedbesideme,untiedthesashofmyrobeandpushedthetwo

halvesopen.‘Jesus,Chloe,’hesaid,andhisvoicewasthickandhoarse,‘IthinkIcouldcomejustfrom
lookingatyou.Butthat’snotgoingtorepairmyreputation.’

‘Whatdoyoumean?’
‘Ididn’texactlycovermyselfinglorytonight.ButI’lldobetterthistime.’
‘Whatareyourfirstaidskillslike?’Iasked,onlyhalfjoking,‘Becauseifyoudomuchbetter,I’ll

probablyhaveastroke.’

Laughing,heliftedmeup,kissedmeasheeasedtherobeallthewayoffme.Headjustedthe

bedclothesbeneathme,sothatIwaslaidoutonthecleanwhitesurfaceofthesheet.Whenhepositioned
myarmsandlegs,spreadingthem,Ifeltlikeasacrificiallamb.ThewonderofitwasthatIwasperfectly
happytobeone.

Hepositionedhimselfnext,kneelingbetweenmythighs,nudgingthemevenfurtherapartto

accommodatehismassivethighs.Andokay,forgetthesacrificiallamb–thewayhewaslookingatme
mademefeellikeadessertbuffet.

Helookedatmeforsolong,sohungrily,IthoughtIwasgoingtoloseitandactuallytouchmyself!

AndIcertainlydidn’tneedanymoreself-gratificationinmylife!‘Nick,ifyoudon’ttouchmesoon…’I
couldn’tbelievethatwasactuallymyvoice,itwassounsteady.

‘Oh,I’mgoingtotouchyou,sweetheart.I’mgoingtotouchyouwitheverythingIhaveinme.’And

thenhereachedbetweenmylegsandcircledmyclitoriswiththetipofonefinger.Once,twice,again,and
justwhenIthoughtIwouldhavetograbhishandanddragithardagainstme,heedgedbackwards,lifted
myhips,loweredhishead,andusedhistonguetocirclethereinstead.

‘G-o-o-o-o-d,’Isaid,writhingonthebedlikeamadwomanandclutchingthesheetsohardI

wonderedifIwasgoingtoripit.Shocking,thathecouldmakemesowild,sofast.

Hestopped,loweredmyhips,andlookedupatme,eyeshotlikecoals.‘Thethingis,’hesaid,‘I

wantallofyouinmymouthatonce.Butlet’sstart…like…this,’hesaidanddrewmeupagaintokiss
mymouth.‘Youtastesogood,’hebreathedagainstmylips.‘Canyoutasteyourself?Havingbothtastesin

mymouthisdrivingmeinsane.Iamgoingtomakeyousowet…andthenI’mgoingtosuckyoudry.’

Ifmakingmewetwashisaim,hewasofftoarollickingstart.Nobodyhadever,everspokentome

likethatandIwasscandalised,butIfreakinglovedit.

Andthenthewhirlwindstarted.Somehow,hewaskissingmymouth,andusinghisthigh–histhigh!

–againstthecoreofme,andbrushinghischesthairjustsoagainstmynipples,allatthesametime.How
didheknowhowcrazythatwouldmakeme?

‘Touchmeharder,’Iurged,asIundulatedagainsthim,longingfortheacheinmynipples,thethrob

betweenmyknees,tobeeased.

HekissedmesohardIcouldn’tbreathe,Ididn’twantto,andthenIdidsomedesperatekindof

shimmyagainsthischest–seriously,Ididnotdothatkindofstuff,ever–andhegasped,hismouth
slidingoffmine.

‘God,yes,’hesaid.‘Keepgoing,Chloe,keepgoing…andknowthatIamgoingtosuckthosetight

nipplesofyoursuntilyou’rebeggingme.’

Couldhegetanyhotter?BecauseIwasatbeggingstagealready.
‘Iwanttosuckyoutoo,’Isaid,andreacheddowntotakethatsuperbhard-onofhisintomyhand.
Hegasped,thengroaned,andseemedtogrowevenharderItfeltsogoodtorunmyhandupand

downthelengthofhim,alittledisjointedinmyunfocusedpassion,Ididn’twanttostop.Didn’teverwant
tostop.

‘Chloe,wait,’hesaid.
‘Don’tyoulikeit?’
‘Areyounuts?Iloveit,’hesaidonashakylaugh.‘Everythingyoudoisrightforme.Everything.

ButIwon’tlastifyoutouchmeforevenonemoremoment.Andremember,thisoneisforme.Youdo
whateveryouwantnexttime.’

Andsuddenly,Iwasflatonmybackonthebedagain,andhewasstraddlingme.Thelookof

concentrationonhisfaceashishandsreachedformybreastswasanaphrodisiac;I’dneverbeforehad
someonesocompletelyfocusedonjustthesightofme.

Andthen,usingthetipsofhisfingers,Nickstartedcirclingmyareolae,circling,circlinguntilthey

weresoswollen,mynipplessotightwithneed,Iwaswhimpering.

‘DoyouhaveanyideahowmanytimesI’veimaginedtouchingyoulikethis?’heasked,andhis

voicewashoarse.

Yes.No.Shutup.Whocares?Justdoit!
‘SonowI’mgoingtodoitright,’hesaid,andhisfingertipswereatmynipplesnow,tiny,tiny

circlesoverthetop,thepleasuresointensemyhipsstartedrollingupagainsthim.Heloweredhishead,
andhismouthreplacedhisfingersatoneofmybreasts,suckingthenippledeepintohismouth,whilehis
fingerskeptupthatalmostunbearablyerotictouchatmyothernipple.Mylegswerewrappedaroundhis
hips,tryingtodraghimintomywetness,desperatetocome.Onehardlickofmynippleandheraisedhis
headtolookatme.‘You’renotmakingiteasy,’hesaid.Itightenedmylegsaroundhiships,andhe
groaned,buckinghelplesslyagainstme.Andyethestillmanagedtokeephimselfincheck,swappinghis
mouthtomyotherbreast,fingerspinchingmyfreednipple,rollingit.

‘Touchmehere,’Isaid,andthrustagainsthim.Buthejustkeptuptheincessantpressureatmy

breasts,untilmynipplesweresoengorged,sohard,itwasalmostpainful.‘Nick,I’lldieifyoudon’t.’

Helaughed,lowinhisthroat.‘Okay,’hesaid,andstartedhisdescent,kissinghiswaydownmy

body.Down,down,down,untilhewasbetweenmylegs.Heslidhisfingersalongthecreasesonthe
insidesofmythighs.‘Openwideforme,’hesaid–andIdid,althoughitwashardtodoitwhenIwanted
tosqueezehimwithmythighstokeephimthereandurgehimon,urgehimin.

Andthenheadjustedhispositionsothathisheadwasperfectlypositioned.Hismouth,God,his

mouth,justthere.Heheldstillforthelongest,breathe-you-inmoment–andthenheswooped.Onelush

lick,andthenheputhislipsaroundmyclitorisandsucked.

Bam!Twoseconds,thatwasallittookfortheorgasmtoslamintome.Itwaslikethespeeddating

oforgasms.BeforeI’drecovered,hismouthwasworkingmeagain,suckingwithmorepressure,tongue
flicking,fingersagainstmyslipperyfolds.Iclutchedathishead,dragginghiminassoft,desperate,
keeningcriesthatIcouldnotstopburstfrommylips,becauseitwasrollingaroundagain.

‘Ican’t,’Igaspedout.‘Nomore.’
‘Youcan,’hesaid,andsuckledgently.
‘Please,Nick,Ineedyouinsideme,’Ibegged.
‘Soon,’hepromised,andlickedmeharder,faster–andIwascomingagain.
In.Credible.
Hismouthkeptgoingatmewhilehewasfumblingaroundinthebedclothes.Condom,Irealised.

Hurry,hurry,hurry,hurry,getiton.Yes!He’dfoundit,doneit,readytogo.

Amomentlaterheslidupmybody,kissedmymouthagain,andwithanalmostbrutalthrust,hewas

insideme.Shovinghimselfinsideme.

‘Youmakemecrazy,’hebreathedintomymouth.‘Crazy,crazy,crazy.Iwantyoutocomeagain.I

wanttomakeyoucomeharderthanyou’veevercome.Betterthanever.’

‘Thendoit,damnyou,justdoit!’Ipantedagainsthismouth,andhelaughedandgroanedandpushed

sohardintomethebedjumpedbackwardsandhitthewall.

Timestoodstill.That’swhatitfeltlike.Myownharshbreathstearingaroundtheroom.Histoo.

Roughhandsgrippingmythighs,pushingthemwide,widerandupwardssohecouldgodeeper,mouth
attackingmine.‘Tellmewhen,’hedemanded.‘Tellmewhen,Chloe.’

‘Now,’Isaidastheorgasmtorethroughmeanditfeltlikefirecrackersinmyblood,exploding,

scorching.Onemoredementedpush,andeverythinginhimtensed.Hismouthslidovermine–any
pretenceatfinessegone–andasavagecryrippedoutofhim.

Long,longmomentslater,heraisedhisheadandlookedintomystill-startledeyes.
Therewerenowords.
Hepeeledoffthecondom,peeredoverthesideofthebedanddroppedit,withalaugh.Iscrambled

overhimtoseewhathe’ddoneandsawthathe’ddroppeditintohisshoe.(CanyoubelievethatIwasnot
grossedoutbythat?)

‘Notleavingthisbed,’hesaidsimply,andthenrearrangedus,soIwaslyingclosetohim,myback

tohischest.Henuzzledhisfaceintomyneck,movingonehanddownmybellyuntilitwasrestingover
mypubicmound.Talkaboutgraspingtheprize!

Itwastoomuch.Too…intimate.
Thesexwasover.Heshouldbegettingoutofbed,depositingthecondominaproperreceptacle,the

wayanormalhumanbeingwould,thengettingdressedandgoingbacktohisownroom.

Itriedtoedgeawayasanencouragementforhimtogetmoving,butNicktightenedhishold.‘Stay

there,Chloe.Just…please,staythere.’Hebreathedin,longandslowanddeep.Thenout.‘Ah,Chloe.’

Istilled,agargantuanlumpinmythroatformingfromthosetwolittlewords.Ah,Chloe.Because

theysoundedsadenoughtobreakaheart.

Ifeltasoftkissjustbelowmyear,andthenhebreatheddeeplyagain,likehewasbreathingmein.

Ah,Chloe.Echoinginmyhead.Iwantedtoturncompletelyintohim,andkisshim,andwraphiminmy
arms.NotbecauseIneededit,butbecausehedid.

‘Night,’hesaid.Andwithinmoments,hewasasleep.
ThreetimesduringthenightItriedtorollfreeofhisembrace.
Threetimes,inhissleep,hestoppedme,onearmsnugglingmeevencloser,theothershiftingsothat

hishandwasactuallyburiedbetweenmylegs.Remarkably,hisfingerswerestrokingme–andhewasn’t
evenawake.

AtthatpointIgaveup.PartlybecauseIwasenjoyingthefeelofhimbehindme,sobigandclose.

Partlybecausethetouchofhisfingersslidinglazilybackandforthwassobloodyfantastic–sexyashell,
butalsostrangelycomforting.PartlybecauseIthoughtonemoreattempttoeasefreemightactuallyresult
inhisfingersslippingrightinsideme–anditwasdisturbinghowmuchIwantedthe…theclaimofthat.

Becauseitdidfeellikehewasclaimingme.Oratleast,hisbodywasclaimingmine.
Iwonderedifhesleptthiswaywithallthoseotherwomenhe’dhadsexwith.Wrappedaround

them.Keepingthemcocooned.Keepingthemsafe.

Ah,Chloe…
Ah,Amanda.Ah,Sheila.Ah,Constance,Beth,Samantha,Jess,Ruby…
Iwassurprisedtofindmyfistsclenchingatthatidea.Ididn’tlikeit.Didnotlikeitonebit.Andthe

factthatIdidn’tlikeit?Well,Ilikedthatevenless.

Thewholesituationwasoutofcontrol.Ishouldberunningfortheexit.Notsnugglingback,closerto

Nick,runningmyfingersalongthearmthatwasholdingme.

Tomorrow.
I’dgetitallbackundercontroltomorrow.
Ah,Chloe…

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

IwoketoNickkissingthebackofmyneck.

Foronedeliciousmoment,Irelaxedagainsthim,mywholebodysighing,luxuriatinginhis

closeness.

AndthenIrememberedthatAh,Chloe,andstiffened.Itwas‘tomorrow’.Timetogetbackunder

control.‘Youshouldn’tbedoingthat,’Isaid.

Hekissedmyneckagain.‘Whynot?’
‘Becauseit’snotwhatwe’reabout.’Iwaitedforwhathewouldsay,holdingmybreath.Ifelthim

tense,buthedidn’treleaseme.‘Whatareweabout,Chloe?’

‘Youknowwhat,’Isaid.‘Sex,forsevenmoredays.Just…sex.’Pause.‘Right?’
Ifeltthestillnessthatcameintohim.Felthischestexpandashefinallytookinabreath.Hisbreath

againstmyneckonthehardexhale.Andthen,‘Okay,justsex,comingrightup,’hesaid–andbeforeI
couldcountanotherheartbeat,he’dsheathedhimselfinsidemefrombehind.

‘SocanIkissyounow,Chloe,sincewe’rehavingsex?’Andhemovedmyhair,bentmyhead

forward,andfirstkissed,thensucked,thebackofmyneck.Suck,suck,suck,intimewithhisslow,
voluptuousthrusts.Heliftedmyleg,pulleditbackoverhisthigh,whichmadethefitofuseventighter
thannormal,aswellasopeningmeforhisfingers,whichwentinexorablytothespot,rubbingand
pinching.

‘Saymyname,’hesaid,lowandfierceinmyear.
‘Nick.’Panting.‘Nick.’Andthistime,theorgasmcreptuponme,sighedoutofme,onalong,sweet,

‘Ohhhh.’

Hischoppybreathstoldmehewasclose,soItightenedaroundhim,urginghimwordlesslyon.I

wantedtofeelthepowerofbeingthecause,thereason,theonetodothistohim.Needingtotouchhim,I
reachedmyhandsupandbacktoholdthebackofhishead,archingmybacksohecouldslipmoredeeply
intome.Iheardthathitchinhisbreath.Recognisedit.Smiled.Hewasontheverge,abouttocome.Mine
…hewasmine…justforthismoment…

Andthenagroan,hisarmstighteningenoughtohurt.Freeze.Breath,breath,desperatebreath.And

then,‘Fuckthis.Fuckit.’Andpulledoutofmeeverybitassuddenlyashe’dthrustintome.

Huh?Irolledtofacehim,reachingspontaneouslyforhim.
Buthe’dthrownhimselfoffthebedandwasracingtothebathroom,astringofcurseshanginginthe

airbehindhim.

Whatthe…?Iscrambledoffthebedandfollowedhimintothebathroom.Hewasleaningaforearm

againstthewallashehunchedoverthetoilet.‘Nick?’

Hehadtohaveheardme,buthedidn’tturn.Icouldseehisarmworking.One,two,three–andthen

hegroaned,thencursedagain,lowandfluent.

Ijuststoodthere,stunned.
‘Control,Chloe,’hesaid,andlookedatme,darklyunhappy.‘Iwasn’twearingacondom.Youdidn’t

evennotice.’

‘ButIcouldhave–’
‘What?’hesaid,cuttingmeoff.‘Givenmeahandjob?Icandothatformyself–asyousee.’
Hewentbackintothebedroom,metrailingafterhim,andlookedaroundforhisjeans.Ashe

swoopedonthemandyankedthemon,Ireachedformyrobe,slippedintoitandbelteditextratight.For
thefirsttimesinceI’dletNickintomyroomlastnight,IthoughtabouthowIlooked.Longedfora
hairbrush,lipgloss,mascara.

NotthatNickwaslookingatme.HewasreachingforhisT-shirt,whichhadlandedontopofmy

openlaptop.

Andthenhestopped.WithhisT-shirtinonehand,helookedatthecomputerscreen,whichhad

jumpedtolife.Heleaneddownsohewascloser,eyesnarrowing,hardening.

Myheartfrog-jumpedintomythroatandstuckthere.Iknewwhathewasseeing.
ImagesforBryceHaynes
BryceHaynes–Twitter
BryceHaynes–Do-It-Rightteam
BryceHaynes–LinkedIn
BryceHaynes–Australian&InternationalPilotsAssociation
Helookedatme,T-shirtstillclutchedinhishand.‘What’sthatabout?’
Big,nervousswallow.‘Just…research.’
‘Forthestory?’
Iwantedtosay‘yes’butIcouldn’tforcethelieout.
‘Notforthestory,’hesaid,decipheringmysilence.‘Well,Chloe,ifyou’vegotquestions,I’vegot

answers,socomeon.Ask.’

‘I–Idon’t.Havequestions,Imean.’
‘No?Don’twanttoknowhowoldheis?Twenty-nine,istheanswer.Fourwholeyearsolderthan

me.Isthatabetterfitforyou?’

‘That’snot–’
‘Single?Yes.Neverbeenmarried.Recentbreakupafteralong-termrelationship,justlikeyou,so

you’llhavelotstotalkabout.Buthe’slookingforlove,notashort-termsexdeal,soyou’llneedtothink
aboutwhetheryoucangothere.Oh,wait!Youcangothere,withhim,can’tyou?Becausehedoesn’t
knowMarcus,youwon’thavetoexplainhimtoMarcus,andyouwon’tfeellikeagroupietrading
players,sothatmakesitokay.’

‘Idon’t–’
‘Height–fivefeeteleveninches.Fourmanageableinchesshorterthanme.’
‘Look,I–’
‘Salary–notasgoodasmine.Butnotshabby.Andofcourse,itwillclimbwhenhemakesCaptain,

whereasmycareerhasashortlifespan.’

‘Idon’tcareaboutmoney.’
‘Sureyoudo,’Nicksneered.‘I’llbetit’sonachecklistsomewhere.’Thatseemedtostrikehimas

funny,becausehelaughed.‘NowonderyouweredefendingRubythatnight.’

‘What’sthatsupposedtomean?’
‘Ruby’sguidehasaname–theWAGguide.What’syourscalled?’
‘Idon’thave–’
‘I’llbetit’sfulloflittleboxestotick.Looks,personalitytraits,job.Controllability.Bryceticksa

lotofthoseboxes.Niceandfriendlyandsteadyandrespectable.NotdissimilartoMarcusin
temperament.Fine,upstanding,responsible,charity-minded.Thekindofguyanyonewouldchoose.’

‘Idon’twanttotalkaboutMarcus.’
‘Ofcourseyoudon’t,becausethenyoumighthavetofacethefactthatyouhadeverythingyou

wantedinhim,butyoukissedme.YoukissedmethewayIalwaysknewyouwould,likeIwastheone
you’dbeenwaitingfor.’Hetookabreath,keepinghiseyesonme.‘Ormaybeitwasjustthatafterayear
ofhavingyourperfectmaninyourbed,youneededalittleexcitement.Andnow,havingbeenwelland
trulyfuckedbyyourstrulyyoucan–Whoa!’Ashecaughtmyswinginghand.

‘Animal,’Ispat.
‘I’mgoingtohavetobuyyouathesaurus.Alittlevariationwouldn’tgoastray.Beast,pig,bastard.’
‘Alloftheabove.’
‘Yes,alloftheabove.’Hejerkedmein,laidmyhandflatagainsthisheartandhelditthere.‘Sothe

choiceshouldbeeasyforyou.’

‘Whatchoice?’Iasked,quailingatwhateveritwasI’dunwittinglyunleashed.
‘Marcus–ifyoucangethimback,thatis–orme?’Nickjerkedhisthumbatthecomputerscreen.

‘OrFirstOfficerHaynes.Ifit’sBryceyouwant,it’sjustaswellwekeptthingsniceandconfidential.
He’snotananimalisticbastardpigofabeastlikeme.Hewon’trisklosingafriendjusttotoucha
woman.Andhecertainlywon’trisklosingabrother.’

Anotherjawdrop.‘BryceHaynesisyourbrother?’
‘Givethegirlacigar.’

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

BryceHaynes.NickSavage.

‘No,’Isaid.‘Hecan’tbeyourbrother.Youhavedifferentsurnames.’
‘Ah,wellyousee,Brycewasthegoodbrother,andgotadopted.Iwasthebadbrother,anddidn’t.’
OnesuddenlurchofmyheartasIloweredmyselftotheedgeofthebed.‘Youwereorphans?’
‘Definitelyacigarforyou,clevergirl.’
Isatthere,staringathim,tryingtomakesenseofthings.Notthattherewasreallyanythingtomake

senseof.Nickwasanorphan.Itwasafact.Nodeciphering,nointerpreting,required.Nickwasan
orphan.‘Pilot…brother,’Isaid–soundinglikeamoron,butthesynapsesinmybrainweren’texactly
firing.‘That’showyouknewthepilottalk.’Iraisedmyeyes.‘Atdinner.Becausehe’syourbrother.’

‘IknowthepilottalkbecauseIwasgoingtobeone.’
Staring.ItwasallIcoulddo.
‘SomehowIdon’tthinkit’sacomplimentthatyou’resurprised,’hesaiddryly.‘What’sthematter,

Chloe?Don’tyouthinkI’msmartenough?Accordingtomyaptitudetest,Iam.Ijustwasn’trichenough
backthen.Yousee,whileBryce’sparentswerepayingforhistraining,Iwaswashingplanesoutatalittle
dumpofanaerodrometoearnthemoneyformylessons.’

‘Soyou’rereallyapilot?’
‘No.Sadly,therejustweren’tenoughplanestowash.’
‘Soyoujust…what?Gaveup?’
‘Sometimesthat’swhatwehavetodo,Chloe.Wehavetogiveup,evenwhenwewantsomethingso

badlyit’slikeadarkache.’

Darkache.Premonition.Whenthis–we–ended,that’swhatitwouldfeellike.
‘Idon’tagreewiththat,’Isaid,shakingmyhead.‘The…thepilotthing.Youcouldstilldothat.’
‘Wouldyouletyourselfhavemethen,Chloe?’HeaskedthequestionbutwhenIopenedmymouth

andnothingcameout,hebowledon.‘Really,Chloe,it’sthatsimple?’Buthedidn’tgivemetimetofinda
response.‘Un-bloody-believable!’

Hepacedaway,thenback.‘No.Iwillnotbecomeacommercialpilot,orajournalist,ora

cameramanlikeDerekyoucanbossaround,oragoddamnastronaut,oracorporateCEO,oranythingelse
thatmightbeonyourchecklist,justtomakeyouchooseme.YoutakemeasIam,becauseyouwantmeas
Iam,oryoudon’ttakemeatall.Thechoiceisyours.Yesorno.And,Chloe?Icanlivewithano–I’ve
livedwithitallmylife–sodon’tthinkI’llkeepdanglinginthewindnowwe’vereachedthispoint.I
won’t.AndIwon’tbeg,either.Never.Youeitherwantmeoryoudon’t.AndIcanlivewithno.Gotit?
Hell,Icanchooseitmyself.’

Hedidn’twaitforananswertothat,either.
Instead,hereachedforhisshoes,shovedthemonhisfeet.One,thentheother.
Isawhiseyeswiden,thencloseandrememberedhimdroppingtheusedcondomintoonelastnight.
‘Andisn’tthattheperfectfuckinggoodbye,’hesaid–andthenslammedoutoftheroom.

Iwasn’tsurewhattoexpectwhenIcamecautiouslydownstairstoboardtheminivanthatwasbookedto
takeustotheorphanage,butitwasn’ttofindNickin‘autograph’mode,laughingwiththeteam.Nobody
wouldhaveguessedhe’dstormedoutofmyroomwithsparksshootingoffhimandausedcondomstuck
tohistoesameresixtyminutesago.

Whenhesawme,hetookadeepbreathandheadedmyway.Hewaswearingwell-wornjeans,a

lightblueshirtandworkboots.Hisshirtcollarwasupononeside,andIwantedtosmoothitdown,and
theawarenessofwantingtodothatterrifiedme.IfItouchedNick,andhedecidedtotouchmeback,what
wouldIdo?OhGod,what?

ButwhenNickreachedme,hejammedhishandsinhisjeanspockets.Notouching,then.Ibreatheda

sighofrelief.Orperhapsitwasdisappointment.Ijustdidn’tknowanymore.

‘I’msorry,’hesaid,low,sothatnobodycouldhear.‘AboutthethingsIsaid,thewayIsaidthemthis

morning.’

‘Doesthatmean…?Whatdoesthatmean?Thatyoutakeitback?’
‘Whatisthis,highschool?No,Idon’ttakeitback.Youhaven’tgivenmeareasontotakeitback.’
‘Soyoureallywantmetochooseyourbrother?Justlike–’fingersnap‘–that?’
‘Whynotjustlikethat?’heasked,narrow-eyed.‘Youdidn’tcomerunningaftermethismorningto

tellmeyou’dalreadychosenme,didyou?Youweren’tabouttocomeovertomejustnowtotellmethat
either.Youlookedlikeyouwereabouttoboltrightoutofthelobbyforaminutethere.I’mstillasecret,
aren’tI?Andyou’restillthinkingabout–Ah,fuckthis!’

Thatlastlittlecursealmostcutacrossthe‘Morning,all!’thatboomedoutfromacrossthelobby.
Nicksteppedawayfrommeandgavehisbrother,whowasheadingtowardsus,astrainedsmile.

‘Cuttingitfine,Bryce,’hesaid.‘Whathappenedtoon-timeperformance?Orarepilotsexempt?’

Acrackoflaughtergreetedthat.‘We’renotlate.Yet.ButIsuggestyoudoyourchattinguponthe

bus,buddy!Here,I’llshowyouhowit’sdone.’Heturnedtome,eyessparkling.‘Chloe,youlooksogood
today,I’mhopingforextraredlightssoIcanstareatyoualittlelonger.’

AdartingglanceatNickshowedhimdoingafineimpressionofablockofgranite.Therewasno

signofthemanwho’dwhisperedallthosewonderfulthingstomeashetouchedme,andheldmecloseall
night.No,thisstone-hardmanwastheonewhocouldlivewithno,whocouldchooseithimself.Who’d
saidgoodbyethismorninglikehe’dmeantit.

Blink,blink,breathe,blink.Allrightthen,ifthatwashowitwasgoingtobe.IgaveBrycemy

warmestsmile.‘Tellme,Bryce,youbeingapilot.’AdigIhopeNickappreciated.‘Doyouknowwho
inventedtheaeroplane?BecauseyoulookWrightforme.’

Brycelaughed,delighted.‘Agirlwhoknowsthehistoryofaviation?Ohyou’regood,Chloe.Very,

verygood.’

Heheldouthisarm,Itookit,andheledmeoutofthelobby.

AssoonasNickfollowedusintotheminivanandsatbesideLeila,however,mybravadostarted
disintegrating.

AfterNickhadstormedoutthismorning,I’ddoneagoodjobofpreparingChloeMasters,journalist,

forthedayahead:dressinginmybeigelinenpantssuit,stylingmyhairintoasmoothponytail,choosing
theperfectshoes,therightearrings,packingmybriefcasewiththoseall-importantredfolders.But
regardlessofmyunruffledfaçade,I’dbeenbadlyshaken.ThescenewithNickinthelobbyshookmea
littlemore.AndseeinghimsitnexttoLeilashookmeharderagain.Ifoundmyselfpluckingarandom
folderfrommybriefcase,justtoholdit,togivemyfidgetinghandssomethingdo.AllIcouldthinkabout
wasthefactthatIwasthesexualequivalentofpilotlessons.Givenup.Afteronlyoneday.

NickhadsaidIhadtochoose,buthehadn’tgivenmethechancetodoit.Itwaslikehe’dhadabrain

snapthemomenthe’dseenwhatwasonmycomputer.Andthatwasit.Nochoiceformetomakebecause
he’dmadeitforme.Despitemylongandintimateexperienceofbeingpassedonfromoneplacetothe
nextduringmymiserableyearsinthefostercaresystem,ithithard,veryhard,beingpassedontoNick’s
brotherlikeacoffee-centredchocolate.Youknow,thoseonesinthecorneroftheboxthatpeopletakea
biteoutofbeforedecidingthey’vemadeamistakeandit’sthestrawberrycreamtheywant?

HowImanagedtoholdaconversationwithBryce,Idon’tknow–anddon’taskmewhatwewere

talkingaboutbecauseIhavenoidea.Butwhentheminivanswervedtomissamotorbikeandthered
folderonmylapslipped,spillingitspages,Isnappedtoattention.Thecasestudies.Ofallthefoldersto
choose,I’dhadtogoforthatone!

Imadeagrabforthepages,butBrycebeatmetoit.‘Arethesethechildren?’heasked.
‘Yes,’Imanagedtosay,andreachedforthem.
Heheldon.‘CanI…?’
‘Oh.Yes.Yes.Ofcourse.’
‘Who’sthisgirl?’
‘Honey,’Isaid.‘HernameisHoney.’
‘Whataboutthislittleguy?’
AndwhatcouldIdo?Ihadtotellhimaboutthechildren,onebyone.
Hearingmyvoicedispassionatelyrecountingtheirhistoriesdidn’tseemreal.ItwasasthoughI’d

switchedtoaspecialpartofmybraintodealwithwhatIwassaying.Apartthatwasnumbandalmost
soullessandthereforeabletogetthewordsout.IknewIshouldbetryingtosoundinterested,animated,
asbefittingthestoriesoftwenty-sixorphanedchildrenwaitingformetoshinealightonthem,butit
seemedasthoughtheonlywayIcouldcopewastogointoanemotionallockdown.

I’dthoughtI’dprocessedthis,thoughtIwaspreparedforthis.Ajob,justajob,andthosepageswith

thefacesandlifestorieswerejustphotosandwordsonpaper.Butatthatmoment,thesituationIwasin
finallyhithome.ThosephotosandwordsI’dprogrammedintomybrainlikeanautomatonwerechildren,
andIwasabouttoentertheirworld,andIdidn’tknowifIwasready.Twenty-sixcasestudieswereabout
tobecomereal.

ThewayNickhadsuddenlybecomerealtomethismorning.
Nick,who’dbeenabandonedjustlikeIwas.Nick,whoneededtobechosen.Becauselikeallofus

coffee-centredchocolatestossedasideinfavourofastrawberrycream,heoncehadn’tbeenchosen
either.

Whenwefinallypulledupoutsidealargewhitebuilding–themainbuildingoftheSunshine

Children’sHome–Ifeltspirituallybatteredandunabletogetoutofmyseat.

Nick,bycontrast,boundedoutoftheminivanandhurriedupthestepsandontothelargeverandah

thatwrappedaroundthebuilding,whereamiddle-agedwomanwaited.Andthenhewas…hewas…
huggingher?Yes,huggingher.

BeforeIcouldassimilatethatremarkablefact,everyonewasjostlingtogetoutoftheminivan,Bryce

wastuggingmeoutofmyseat,andIwasbeingsweptalongwiththegroup.Isteeledmyselfforthatfirst
sightofthechildrenasIfollowedtheothersupthestepsontotheverandah,pep-talkinginmyhead.You
candothis,Chloe.Youcan.It’sjustajob.Eyespeeled,bodystraight,ready,ready,ready.But…no
children.Ireleasedalong,silentbreathasthetensioneased.Reprieve.Butforhowlong?

Nick,wideninghiseyesatthewomanhe’dbeenhugging,inclinedhisheadinmydirection.Her

responsewastohurryovertointroduceherselfasthemanager,Joan–mymaincontactfortheweek.I
gesturedforDerektojoinus,andasthethreeofusdiscussedfilmingoptions,Idecidedthebestwayto
dealwithmystresslevelswastogetstraighttowork.SoasJoanmovedontointroduceherselftoeach
teammemberindividually,DerekandIfollowedher–Derekfilming,whileIaskedanoccasional

questiontoelicitusablegrabsfromtheteam.

AndthenIheardthem.Theywerecoming.Thechildren.Feetonfloorboards.Doorsopening.Oh

GodohGodohGod.Afewseconds,that’sallIhadtocomposemyselfbeforethekaleidoscopicspillof
childrenontotheverandah.Automatically,IlookedforNick–ridiculous,asthoughhecouldsaveme!–
buthe’dtakenhimselfoutoffilmingrange,downoneendoftheverandah.

AndthenNickcalledout,‘Whoathere,kidlets!’andstartedmakinghiswaybacktothegroup.No,

tothechildren.Hewascomingtothechildren.

Halfway,hewasstoppedbyoneofthemgrabbinghisleg.‘Monty!’hesaid,laughing,andreached

downtoliftthelittleboyontohisshoulders.Hekeptcoming,andtheykeptgoing,untilhewaswalking
withfourotherchildrenattachedtohim.Twowerestandingonhisfeet.Anotherhadagriponthehip
bandofhisjeansandonemorewasdraggingonhisbackpocket.Nicklookedevenmoregargantuanthan
usualwithanarrayofkidshangingoffhim.AcrossbetweenLandOfTheGiantsandanEnidBlyton
FamousFiveadventure.

Themusclesofhishugearmsbunchedasheadjustedthelittleboyonhisshoulders,andmymouth

wentdry.Hewassobeautifulinthatmoment.Surroundedbychildrenwholookedliketheybelonged
exactlywheretheywere,withhim.

Nick’seyescaughtmine,andhesmiled,butitwaslikenoothersmileI’dseenonhisface.Itwasa

self-deprecating,apologeticshrugofasmile.Itwas…shy,almost.

Aaaand…tilt.Therewentmyworld,aseverythingcrystallised.
Nickknewthechildrenbyname.Thechildrenknewhim.Nickhadhuggedthemanager.Nick’s

brotherwastheconduittotheDo-It-Rightteam.

Thisproject,starttofinish,wasNick’s.
HewasnotinManilato‘takeonefortheteam’.Hewasherebecausehewantedtobe.He’dalways

plannedtobehere,notHawaii.

Whooooooaaaah.Haditonlybeenyesterdaythatwe’dleftSydney?BecauseI’dlearnedmoreabout

NickinonedaythanIhadinthewholeprecedingyear–andyetIstillknewnothing.

Iwassostupefied,ittookmeamomenttobecomeawarethatsomethingwaspullingatmyjacket.I

lookeddownandsawher…Honey.Blackhaircutinabowl-shape.Eyes,hugeandblack,blinkingatme.
Missingafronttooth–Icouldtellbecauseshewassmilingsobroadly,Icouldhavegivenheranon-the-
spotorthodonticcheck.

InstincthadmykneesbendingsothatIwascrouchingbesideher.‘Hello,Honey,’Isaid,andshe

smiledevenwider.‘I’mChloe.’

Shepattedmycheekwithonetinyhand,likeshewasreassuringme,likesheknew,andmyheart

shreddedonthespot.Itwasjustajob–butIwantedtograbHoneyandhugherandneverlethergo.
Never,never,ever.MyeyessoughtNickagain.Nickwasoneofmybreed,oneoftheunwantedkids.
Howcouldhebearit?Seeing,touchingthesechildren?Ineededtoknow.BecauseIcouldn’t.Icouldn’t
bearit.

Nickfrownedatme,andIknewImustbelookingathimstrangely.Getittogether,getittogether.

ButIcouldn’t,notwhileHoneyhadherhandonmycheek.Ohhhhhh.Itwasjustsohardknowingthere
weretwenty-sixHoneyshere,andtheycouldn’tbemine,shewasn’tmine.Itwassohardtostandandsee
herhandflailforamoment,feelherfingersre-clutchthebottomofmyjacket.Don’ttouch,don’ttouch
meorI’llcry.

IcouldfeelNick’seyesonme,sharpandcurious.Ihadtogetmyselftogether.Now.Orhewould

seethatIwasoneofthem.Anymomentnow,hewouldknow,likehealwaysknew,thatsomethingwasn’t
right.Thatsomethingwaswrongwithme.AndIcouldn’tbearthateither.

Blink,blink,breathe,blink.
IplasteredonaprofessionalsmileasIsteppedaway,dislodgingHoney’sgriponme.‘Derek,can

yougetsomefootageofNickwiththekids?I’mgoingtoaskJoantogivemeatour,andI’llseeyouatthe
playgroundinanhour.’

Anhourandtenminuteslater,Ireachedtheplaygroundsitetofindworkwellunderwayandeveryone
sweatingupastorm.Derekwasroamingwithahandheldcamera,butwhenhesawme,hecameoverto
runmethroughthetimetableforturningwhatlookedtobeachaoticmessofbuildingmaterialsintoa
playground.Therewouldbeafort,slipperydips,swings,monkeybars,climbingropesandatyre-strewn
obstaclecourse,aswellasatrackcirclingtheareaforridingbikesandscooters.

‘Great,huh?’Dereksaidattheendofhisenthusiasticrecital.
‘Yes,’Imurmured,butmyeyeswererovingtowardsNick.Hewasdoingsomethingwithahammer.

Somethingthatmadehisarmslookliketheywereabouttoburstthroughhissleeves,IncredibleHulk
style.Somethingthatmademewanttowhimper.

‘Doyouwantmetogethimforyou?’Derekasked.
‘Hmm?’Me–tryinghardnottowhimper.
‘Nick.Doyouwantmetogethim?Tointerview?’Wavingahandinfrontofmyface.‘Hello,anyone

home?’

‘Oh.’Getafreakinggrip–it’sanarmandahammer,notanakedpenis!‘No,no.No.’
‘Okaaaay,’Dereksaid.(Ugh,someoneelsewithasuddenpredilectionformassacringtheword

‘okay’.)

‘Bryce,’Isaidcrisply.‘IwantBrycefirst.’Evenif‘Bryce’and‘Iwant’didn’tfeellikethey

belongedinthesamesentenceanymore.

ButwhathadNicksaid,thismorning?Icanlivewithno.Hell,Icanchooseitmyself.Well,socan

I,Itoldmyself.AndmaybeIwouldchooseBryce.MaybeI’dturnouttobeBryce’sstrawberrycream.
Andthenwe’dseehowMrI’ll-keep-hunting-you-until-you-prove-to-me-you-don’t-want-meSavagefelt
aboutitwhenIwentniceandpublicwithhisbrother.Ha!

ItriedtobeobjectiveasBryce,trailedbyDerek,approached.Hewasaverygood-lookingman,

betterlookingthanNick.Andwhat’smore,Icouldwatchhimapproachwithoutgettingjittery.Thathadto
beaplus,didn’tit?Yes.ScoreoneforBryce.

Hestoppedbesideme,andIdraggedinagreatlungfulofhim,expectingsandalwood…andmy

eyesalmostwateredathispungenteaudesweataroma.Okay,sotheguywasabitsweaty.Itwasn’t
surprising,wasit?He’dbeendoingstrenuousphysicalworkinthesunforanhour.Everyonewassweaty.
Imightevensweatatsomepoint.IfIsqueezedmynostrilstogetherandmouth-breathedeverysecondtime
Itookabreath,Icouldgetusedtoit.AsIranthroughtheinterviewprocesswithBryce,usingthat
brilliantbreathingtechnique,Iwasrewardedwithalittlehintofsandalwoodcuttingthrough.

Sandalwood,Iremindedmyself,asIstartedtheinterview.Youlikesandalwood.Scoretwo.
Withinthirtysecondsofthecamerarolling,Brycehadathirdscoreontheboard.Ialreadyknewhe

wasintelligent–hello,hewasapilot!–butsometimessmartpeoplecameacrossasnot-so-smarton
camera.ThatwasnotthecasewithFirstOfficeHaynes,however.Hewassharpandclever,reelingoff
soundbitesthatwerepithyandperfect,completelyum-and-ahfree.Intheonetenminuteinterview,Igot
everythingIneededonthegenesisoftheDo-It-Rightteam,theprojectsBrycehadbeenpersonally
involvedwithandthebackgroundoneachofthevolunteers.Heevenhadthesmartstogivehisemployer,
AustralAir,aplug,aswellaspraisinghisbrothertotheskies.Nicejob.

Hewasverysmooth,verycharming,veryconfident.Hewasavery‘very’kindofguy.Aperfect

kindofguy.Mykindofguy.Well,Nickhadsaidthechoicewouldbeeasy.Andhewasright.Itwaseasy,
whenyoulookedatitobjectively.

ButthenNickcametowardsus,swipingaforearmoverhisforehead,andthreethingshappened:my

heartleapt,mythroatdried,andmykneeswentweak.Whichmadenosense,becausehewasnotasgood
lookingashisbrother.Thesightofhimshouldnotdothattome,whenIhadBrycestandingbesideme.I
wasnot–not–givingNickanequalscoreonvisualcriteria.

Withanyluck,Nickwouldsmelllikethecrotchofathousandcamels.Hewasboundto,withthat

sweat-soakedshirt.Bryce’ssweatpatches–thecirclesunderthearms,anicedignifiedVarrowingdown
fromtheneckofhisT-shirt–werealmoststylishbycomparison.IfI’dhadtopinchmynostrilsforBryce,
Iwouldneedaeucalyptus-scentednoseplugforNick.Anymomentnow,anysecond.Hewasgoingto
pong,reek,stink.Singethehairinmynostrils.Iwasgoingtogag,Iwasgoingto…goingto…Ahhell.

Swoon.Iwasgoingtoswoon.Withlust.BecauseNicksmelledearthyandsalty,andtheliquid

warmththathitbetweenmythighstoldmeIwantedtohavesexwithhimrightthatsecond.Iwantedto
draghimtotheground,tearopenhisshirtandlickhim.

Thiswassonotfair.
Brycewassmiling,Nickwasnot.Infact,Nickwaslookinglonginglyoverhisshoulder,asifhehad

noideawhyhe’dcomeovertousandwishedhewasbackwieldinghishammer.

‘Isityourturninfrontofthecamera,Nick?’Bryceasked.
‘No,no,’Nickbattedthequestionaway.‘Ijustwantedtomakesureeverything…’Hepaused,

clearedhisthroat,lookedatme,thenoverhisshoulderagain,backatme,andthenatBryce.‘Just
checkingthateverything’sundercontroloverhere,beforeIgetontopouringtheconcrete.’

Brycelaughed.‘Ofcourseeverything’sokay.Whywouldyouthinkotherwise?Chloedoesn’tbite,

youknow.’

‘Actually,shedoes,’Nicksaid.Andhesmirked(andyouknowhowIfeelaboutsmirking)ashe

rubbedhisfingersidlyoveroneshoulder.Foronehorrifiedmoment,Istaredatthespothewasrubbing.
Thatspot.Andsuddenlyitwasthere,inmyhead.Lastnight.I’dbittenhim.Hard.Hisshoulderaswellas
hislip.IwishedI’dbittenouthisgoddamntonguewhileIwasatit!Whathappenedtokeepingthings
confidentialforBryce,whowouldn’trisklosingabrotheroverme?Thatwaslettingmechoose,wasit?
Smirkinganimal/beast/pig/bastard!

Brycewaslookingconfused–aswellhemight!
AndtherewasonlyonewayforwardthatIcouldsee.IloweredmyeyelidsandlookedupatBryce

throughfluttering,mascara-ladenlashes.‘Ionlybiteifyouaskmenicely,’Isaid.

AndasBrycelaughed,exactlyasIintended,IturnedtoDerek.‘GetNickmikedup,willyou?’
Splitsecondofhuh?fromNick.Andthen‘What?’Eyesgoingwide.‘No.’
Iraisedaneyebrow.‘Remember,Ibite.Andyoudon’tevenhavetoask.’
‘ButI–No.No.’Backingaway.
‘Nick,areyounotthereasonwe’redoingthisstory?’
‘Well,yes,but–’
‘AreyounotthereasonI’minManila?’
‘Ah.YouinManila.YouknowwhyI–’
‘Timetopaythepiper,MrSavage.’
‘Chloe,please.’Eyesdartingleftandright,lookingforanescape.‘Notnow,okay?Later.I’vegot

concretetopournow.’

Brycemadesquawkingchickennoises.
‘It’snotthat,’Nicksaid,lookingdaggersathisbrother.‘It’sjust…theconcrete…’
Bryceslappedhimontheback.‘Icanpourthebloodyconcrete.It’snotrocketscience.’
‘Excellentidea,’IputinsmoothlyasDerekadvancedonNickwithalapelmike.
‘No,’Nicksaid,lookingpastDerektomeasIpretendedtoconsultthenotesinmyfolderandbitmy

liptostopsmilingatthisnew,flusteredsideofhim.‘This…thing…isn’taboutme.’

‘Hmmm?’Me–aimingforpreoccupied.
‘Ican’tdothis,’hesaid,asDerek,inexorable,finishedwithhim.
Iclosedmyfolderandlookedathim.‘Youtoldmeyouratedbestwithfemaleviewers.Joantoldme

youneedmoremoneytoexpand,soyoucantakeinmorechildren.Putthosethingstogether.’

HewasrigidwithdiscomfortashelookedfrommetoDerek.Itwasifhewerewaginganinternal

war–andbothsideswerelosing!Swallow.Swallow.Eyessqueezedshut.Anotherswallow.Thenhe
blewoutabreath,openedhiseyes,andnodded.‘Fine.Wheredoyouwantme,Derek?’

Threeminuteslater–Idarednottakelongerthanthattogetitunderwayincasehebolted–Istarted

withasupereasyquestion.Athrowaway,togethimfeelingmoreatease,becausewehadn’thada
warm-upchat.WhatdidhethinkofthePhilippines?Anyonecouldhaveansweredthat.Itwasabeautiful,
friendlycountry.Peoplewho’dneverbeentothePhilippinescouldhavetossedoutananswer!

ButnotNick,whojuststaredatme,incapableofevenblinking,apparently.
Hmmm.Itriedanotherthrowaway–howlonghadhebeeninvolvedwiththeSunshineChildren’s

Home?IknewtheanswerbecauseJoanhadtoldme.Fouryears–almostinconceivabletomethata
twenty-oneyearoldwouldhaveshoulderedsucharesponsibility,butthereyougo.Allhehadtosaywas
‘fouryears’.

Insteadhesaid,‘Er.’
‘Can’tremember?’Me,alittlestunnedathowhopelesshewas.
‘Two,nothree.Ahhell.’Helookedananosecondawayfromameltdown.‘Four!Fouryears,

dammit.’

IheardDerekchokeonalaugh;Nickheardittoo,becausehedidaweirdsmile/grimacethingand

slappedhimselfinthehead.Notjoking–heactuallyslappedhimselfinthehead.And,ohmyGod,I
wantedtohughim–that’showadorabletough-guygiantbastardNicklookedatthatmoment.

Iaskedtwomoreeasyquestions.Hestuffedupbothanswers,andstartedlookingoverhisshoulder

again,readytoflee.

ButnowaywasIgivingup.TheinterviewwithNickreallywasthemainattractionforviewers.I

hadtogethimoncamera;ifIcamehomewithoutit,mychiefofstaffwouldkillme.Anditlookedas
thoughitmighttakethewholeweektogetsomethinguseable,soIfiguredIshouldgetstartedwithout
delay.

‘Let’sstopforamoment,’Isaid.
Nickbreathedoutabigsighofrelief.‘ItoldyouIcouldn’tdoit,’hesaid,andreachedforthe

microphoneDerekhadclippedtohim.

‘Hey,notsofast,’Isaid,grabbinghishands.
Helookedintomyeyes,confusedandunhappy,andmyheartsnaggedpainfully.Thewayhelooked,

thewayhesmelled,hisbigroughhandstensinginmine–somethingaboutthatcombinationmademelong
forhim.

‘Trustme,’Isaidsoftly.‘I’mnotgoingtomakeyoulookbad.’
Helookeddownatmyhandsgrippinghis,andhisshouldersslumped–asmuchastwoveritable

mountainsofmusclecanslump–andhenodded.

‘Right,’Isaid,releasinghim.‘Justgivemeaminute,andbreatheinandoutafewtimeswhileyou

wait.Andtrytorelax,okay?’

Iburiedmyheadinmyredfolder,formulatinganddiscardingafullrangeofclichédquestions.Iwas

almostabouttogiveupandrescheduletheinterview,whentherightapproachdartedintomyheadoutof
nowhere.Ijustknewhowtoworkit.

‘Arewegoodtogo,Derek?Right.’IturnedtoNick,watchedhimsuckinanotherbreath,thenstiffen

asthecamerarolled.AndIrappedout:‘So,NickSavage,you’reinManilato“takeonefortheteam”.It
musthavebeendifficulttogiveuptheteam’send-of-yeartriptoHawaiitomakeupforthelatestSydney

Scorpionssexscandal.’

Nicklookedshocked,thenfurious,inquicksuccession.Priceless.Andthen,‘Whatthefuckkindof

questionisthat?’

‘Asimpleone,’Isaid.‘WasithardtogiveupHawaiitocoverforyourdisgracedteammate?’
Aaaandzing!Everythingabouthimswitchedon.‘TakeawalkthroughthestreetsofManilaandsee

thewaythekidslive,homelessandhungry,withonlythemselvestorelyon,andtellmeifyou’dchoosea
holidayinHawaiiinstead.’

‘That’sallverywelltosay,but–’
‘I’veseenchildrenscavengingfromrubbishtipsforsomethingtouseorsell.I’veseenthemforced

bypovertyintoprostitution.Kidswho’vebecomegangsters,becauseatleastthere’ssomeprideinit.
Whatdoesthattellyou,whenthat’stheonlyoptionyouhavetofeelproudofyourself?Whatdoyouthink
thisisallabouthere?’

‘Youtellme.’
‘It’sabouthope.Hopethatmaybe,justmaybe,akidwithnochancewillactuallygetachance.Get

aneducation,theabilitytomakealife.’

‘Twenty-sixchildren?That’swhatyouhavehere,right?That’sadropintheocean,surely.It’sfutile,

isn’tit?’

‘So…what?Wedonothing?Tellourtwenty-sixkidsthat!Yes,wecouldtakefiftytimesthenumber

ofchildrenwehaveandstillnotscratchthesurface.Butit’snotjustushere.Thereareothergroups–and
individuals–alltryingtomakeadifference.Thatmeanswe’renottheonlydropintheocean.Putusall
togetherandtherearebucketsfullofdrops.ButtheSunshineChildren’sHomeis…is…’Heflungout
hisarms,madesomekindoffrustrated,explosivesoundthatjustworked.‘Thekids…Ijust…Ilove
them,Iguess.’Hishandswentscrapingthoughtheshortstrandsofhisblackhair.‘I’mnotputtingthis
well,but…but…Allwe’retryingtodoismakealittledifference.That’s…’Shrug.‘All.’

‘Butnoteverybodyhastheluxuryofflyingoverseasandgettingtheirhandsdirtybuilding

something.’

‘No,noteveryonehastheluxuryofflyinginanddoingsomethinghands-on.Butthereareotherways

tohelp.Sponsoroneofourkids–hell,sponsorakidfromanyofthegreatorganisationshere.Itonly
costsahundredandtwentydollarsamonthtohouse,feed,clotheandeducateachild.Youdon’thaveto
comeyourselfandbuildaplayground–therearelotsofwaystohelp.’

‘So,theplayground.WhoneedsaplaygroundwhentherearekidshungryinManila?’
‘Inaperfectworld,therewouldn’tbeanyneedforanything.Inaperfectworld,kidswouldn’tbe

hungry.Inaperfectworld,they’dbelovedandprotected.Inaperfectworld,everykidwouldhavea
playgroundtogoto.AndIwouldn’tbeontelevision,beggingforhelp.’Heshookhishead,andoneofhis
handswenttearingthroughhishairagain.‘Oh,foraperfectworld,hey?’

Andthenhesqueezedhiseyesshut,rippedoffhislapelmike,andlookedatmewitheyesthatwere

practicallyspitting.‘Enough.Ican’tbelieve–’Hewhirledaway.Thenstraightback.‘Whydidyoudo
thattome?’

‘Idon’tknowhowtobreakittoyou,Nick,butyouron-camerapersonalitysucks.’
‘Iknow.I’mnot…Look,Iknow,Iknow.WhydoyouthinkIdidn’twanttodoit?Andthenyougo

andask–’Hebrokeoff,threwhishandsup.‘Ican’tbelieveyoudidthat.It’ssupposedtobeafeel-good
storyaboutanorphanage.We’resupposedtogetmoneyoutofthis.AndyouhadtogoandgetallSixty
Minutesonme.’

‘I’mnotusingthequestions,Nick,justyouranswers.We’refilmingmyquestionsseparately.And

thatwasperfect,whatyousaid.Ijustneededtoshockitoutofyou.’

‘Youcan’tusemyanswers,Chloe.Iwasn’tperfect.Isoundedlikeafuckwit.I’mnotlettingyoudo

thattotheorphanage.’

‘Weneedyouoncameraorthestorywon’tair.’
Hewaslookingmutinous.‘ThenI’llreadoutastatement.’
‘Andputeveryonetosleep?’Ishookmyhead.‘Nothappening,Nick.’
‘ThenyoucanuseBryce.Yeah,Bryce.Hecanbethemainspokesman.OrJoan–she’sbrillianton

camera.And…and…Marcus.I’llgetMarcustodoaninterviewbackinSydneytocoveroffthe
Scorpionsangle.Youknowhe’sbetterthanme.’

‘Buthe’snotyou.Andyou’rethedrawcardhere,’Isaid.
Nickjustshookhishead.
‘AndifMarcusisbetterthanyou,’Iwenton,‘it’sonlybecausehe’shadplentyofpractice,whereas

you…?Nick,answermethis–notforthecamera.Whydidn’tyoufrontupaboutthisatEvie’slastweek
insteadofpretendingitwassomethingyouwerebeingdraggedinto?Whydoesn’tanyonebackhome
knowaboutthis?Afterfouryears?’

‘It’snotaboutme,that’swhy,’hesaidshortly.‘Look,ifyouneedmeoncamera,justfilmme.Idon’t

havetoopenmymouth.Derek–youcanjustfilmme,can’tyou?’

ButDerek,who’dtakenthecameraoffthetripod,mutteredsomethingalongthelinesof‘leaveme

outofit’,andbeatahastyretreattofilmtheactionoverattheconcretepouring.

Backtome.‘Chloe,itwillworkbetterifyoujustgetmedoingstuff,themanuallabourstuff,and

someoneelseansweringthequestions.I’mfinewiththat.’

‘Itdoesn’tworklikethat,Nick.Icalltheshots.’
‘Somaybeyoucantellmehowyou’regoingtocalltheshotswhenitcomestointerviewingthe

kids.’

Frozenmoment.‘I’mnotsurewhatyou’regettingat,’Isaidcautiously.‘I’msayingthechildren

scaredyouandIwanttoknowwhy.’

‘Iwasn’tscared.’
Ashort,disbelievinglaughgreetedthatfeeblepronouncement.
‘I’mnotusedtothem,that’sall,’Isaid.
‘Soyou’renotgoingtotellme?’
‘There’snothingtotell.’
Long,probinglook,andthenheshookhishead,disgusted.‘I’llsendBrycebackover.Heknowsthe

rightthingstosayoncamera.’Andhestartedtostrideaway.

No.Hecouldn’tleave.Notlikethat,withmelying,andhimknowingIwaslyingandgivingupon

me.Givingup.‘Nick.’

Pause,buthedidn’tturnback.
‘Idon’twantBryce,’Isaid.Whichwasn’twhatI’dintendedtosay,butthereitwas,said.
Heartbeat,beat,beat.Andthenhekeptgoing.Didheevenhearme?
IsawhimreachBryce,clapahandonhisshoulder.Thedifferencesbetweenthemseemedsogreat

atthatmoment,itwashardtobelievetheywerebrothers.

‘Idon’twantBryce,’Isaidagain.Awhisper,anacknowledgementtomyself.BecauseIknewI

reallydidn’twantelegant,sandalwood-smelling,camera-readyBryce.Iwantedraw,tough,strangelyshy,
endearinglyawkward,exasperatingNick.

AsIwentaboutmyworkandthedayprogressed,IsawNickgetsweatier,moredishevelled,

grimier.Sawhimhithisthumbwithahammerandswearhisheadoff.Sawhimgetscrapedandbruised.
Bleedfromanassortmentofnicksandcuts.AndIstartedtowonderifIhadatouchoftheStephenKings
aboutme,becauseIwantedtosuckeverydropofthebloodheshed.Itwasn’tnormal,towantsomeone
likethat,surelytoGod.

Ormaybeitwas.
Becausewhenourtired,dirtygroupgotbacktothehotelanddisbanded,andthatonehardrap

soundedonmydoor,almostbeforeI’dhadachancetogetintomyroom,andIopeneditandsawNick’s
face…?

Well,IknewthatifIwantedtosuckhisblood,hewasgoingtoletme.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

‘Didyoumeanit,Chloe?’heasked.

Iwasn’tgoingtopretendtomisunderstand.‘Yes,Imeantit.Idon’twantBryce.’
‘Good,’hesaid,andturnedtoleave.
‘Wait!Whereareyougoing?’
Half-turnback.‘I’mfilthy.I’mgoingtogogetcleanedup.Ijustdidn’t…Imean,lastnight,you

thoughtIwasn’tcomingtoyou.Tonight,IwantedtomakesureyouknewthatIwas.ButfirstIhaveto–
What?’

BecauseIwasliterallydragginghimin.Andassoonashewasin,Islammedthedoorshutand

threwmyselfathim.

Iknewhewouldcatchme,thathewouldholdme,thathewouldletmedowhateverthefuckI

wanted.Grab,climb,burrow.Scratch,wrench,bite,punch.Iwasn’tgoingtowaitforhimtotakeanice,
civilisedshower,becauseallthosethingsIwantedtodo,Iwantedtodonow.Immediately.Itwaslikea
feverinmyblood,asickness,andIcouldn’thelpmyself.

Hisarmsclosedaroundme,heldme,liftedme,adjustingthewaytheyalwaysdidtomyslightest

movement.Hardassteel…andyet,nothardatall.

‘Helpmegetcloser,’Isaid,tryingtowrapmyselfaroundhim.‘Ineed…need…’
‘Me,’hesaid,andkissedmewithsomethingclosetobrutality.‘Me.Youneedme,Chloe.’
Amadscrambleoflimbs,clothesbeingdraggedoutofthegoddamnway,condomwrappertorn

open,roughshovesatmypants,hisjeans.Andjustlikethat,Nickwasinsideme,Iwascoming,hewas
coming.OrgasmCentral,I’mtellingyou.Feral,hard,driven.

Done.
Silence.Itseemedthatpost-coitalsilentmomentsweregoingtoberoutinewithNick.Awed

moments.Waitingformysensestosettle.NotbelievingwhatI’djustdone.NotbelievinghowI’ddoneit.
‘Sorry,’Isaid,buryingmyfaceagainsthischestandsuckinginthesalty,sweatysmellofhimthatIstill
couldn’tseemtogetenoughof.

‘Sorryforwhat,Chloe?’
‘Forbeinglikethat.Rough,and…and…’ButIcouldn’tfinish.Becausetherewasalumpinmy

throat.

‘Sweetheart,’hesaid,andhishandwasstrokingmyhairsogently,Iwantedtocry.‘Youcancrash

andburnalloverme,asmuchasyouwant,andI’lltakeit.’

‘Crashandburn.Yousaidthatlastnight.’Ieasedback,enoughthatIcouldlookupathim.‘Isthat

whatIdo?Isthatwhatitfeelsliketoyou?’

‘Itfeels–youfeel–likeeverythingIwant.’
‘That’snotananswer,Nick.’
Long,sighingmomentwhileheresettledmeagainsthischest.‘Ifyoureallywanttoknow,itfeels

likeyou’repunishingme.’

‘Forwhat?’

‘Idon’tknow,Chloe.MaybebecauseyouwantmeasmuchasIwantyou.BecauseIknowyoudon’t

wanttowantme.It’swhyyoupunchedmethatfirstnight.’

‘No,thatwas…different.Thatwas–IwaswithMarcus,youwerewithRuby,and–’
‘Iwasn’twithRuby,Chloe,notfromthemomentIsawyou.Youwalkedin,andIwantedonlyyou.I

wantedyourhandsonme,anywayIcouldgetthem.’Ifeltthelaughrumbleinhischest.‘Ijustdidn’t
expectthefirsttimeyoutouchedmetobeapunch.Buthey,Ilikesurprises.’

‘Idon’twantittobelikethat.Idon’t…Idon’tpunch.Notanymore.’
‘Whatdoyoumean,notanymore?’
‘Iusedtohaveangermanagementissues.WhenIwasakid.’
‘Oh,whenyouwereakid.’
‘Yes,allright,Istillhaveafew,’Iconfessed,rollingmyeyes.‘Butthat’snotreallyme.It’sthe

blackswanversion.Sometimesshetakesover,butnot…notoften.’

‘Ilikeblackswansbetterthanthewhiteones,soI’mcoolwiththat.’
Isnorted.‘RememberwhathappensinSwanLake?Theloversdiebecauseofthatevilblackswan.

Theprinceshootstheniceswan,theperfectone,withanarrow;shediesinhisarms;hedrownshimself.’

‘Chloe,there’sonlyoneyou.Blackandwhite.Fireandice.It’sacombinationthatseemstobe

irresistibletome.’

‘You’recertifiable.Nobodyliked–’Oops.‘Nobodylikescrash-and-burners.Notforlong.’
‘Notforlong?It’sayearandcounting,Chloe.IjustwishI’dtakenyouoffhimthatfirstnight.We’d

bealotfartheralongnow,andmaybethecrashandburnwouldbeaSaturdaynightspecialbynow.You
know,alongwiththelatexnurse’suniformandthefluffyhandcuffs.’

‘Saturdaynightspecial?’Iasked,andstartedtolaugh…untiltherestofwhathe’dsaidsankin.That

waswrong.Hadtobewrong.‘ButNick,youcouldn’thavejusttakenmeoffMarcus.Like,bam,thetime
isnigh,let’sdoit.’

Pause.Then,‘Couldn’tI?’
‘Um–no!’
Anothersmallpause.‘Sowhydidyoupunchmethatnight,Chloe?’
Anditallcamebackinarush.Thatfirstnight.Marcus,withme.Nick,withRuby.Theotherguys

withtheirpartners.Andyes,okay,itwasn’texactlyeverygirl’sideaofadreamyfirstdate,butithad
beenfriendlyandfun.RightupuntilthemomentRubyhadshownmethatWAGguideofhers.Startled,I’d
lookedtoNick,wonderingifthatwassomerequirementforhim,andfoundhiseyeswerealreadyonme,
hotandheavy.He’dshrugged,andupwenthiseyebrow.Andhe’dsmiled,thehalf-smile.

Andthatwashowithadstarted.Onesharedmoment.
Thenallthosethingshappened.VodkaVern,Rubyleaving,NickwaylayingmewhenIcameoutof

thebathroom,askingmeaboutMarcusandwhyIwaswithhim.

Andmepunchinghim.Punchinghim!
Because…OhmyGod.No,no,no,please.
Buttherewasnoholdingitback.Itwasroaringinmyhead.Becausepunchinghimwassaferthan

whatIwantedtoreallydotohim–whichwasslamhimagainstthewallandkisshim.Punchingwaslike
somebizarreself-defencemechanism,bornoutofaneedtomakehimnotwantme.Aneedtonotwant
him.Aneednottofeelwildandjealousandangry,thewayIfeltwhenIlookedathimwithRuby.Ididn’t
likethatwildness,Ididn’ttrustit.IneededstabilityifIweretomaintaintheselfIhadconstructed.I
needed…

‘Marcus,’Isaid,andpulledoutofNick’sarms.‘BecauseIneededMarcus,that’swhy.’
‘Whateveritisyouthinkyouneeded,youwantedme,Chloe.Youwantedme!’
‘Yousaythatlikeit’ssomethingtobeproudof.’
‘Whatthefuckdoesthatmean?’

‘Justbecauseyouwantsomethingdoesn’tmeanyoujust…justtakeit!Youtalkaboutwhiskingme

outfromunderMarcus’snosewithoutevenathoughtforhim.ButdoyouknowwhatMarcustoldme?He
toldmetotakeiteasyonyou.Andthat’sthedifferencebetweenyoutwo,isn’tit?’Ilookedaroundthe
room,disgusted.‘“TakeiteasyonpoorNick!”SomehowIdon’tthinkacrudeaffairinahotelroomis
whathehadinmindwhenhesaidthat.’

Instantlyhiseyesnarrowed,mouthtightened.‘Idon’twantyoutotakeiteasyonme.Iwantyouto

behowever,whoever,whatever,youwanttobe.Nowcomebackhere,Chloe.’

‘Ican’t,Nick,’Isaid.‘Idon’twanttobetheblackswan,Iwanttobethewhiteone.’
‘Okaythen,I’lltakethewhiteone.’
‘Thewhiteonewouldn’thavedonethistoMarcus.Doesn’titbotheryou,evenalittle?Whatwe’re

doing?’

‘No,’hesaid,shortandsharp.
‘Idon’tbelieveyou,’Isaid,becauseIsawthattinyflickerofdoubtinhiseyesagain.
‘There’sonlythingI’dchange–I’ddoitsooner.Andfrankly,I’dtellMarcustogofuckhimselfif

hehadaproblemwithit,insteadofdancingaroundhimformonths.’Iopenedmymouth,buthecutmeoff
beforeIcouldformaword.‘Imeanit,Chloe.I’dchooseyouoverhim.Ididchooseyouoverhim.I’ve
wantedeverycool-headed,hot-temperedinchofyousincethatfirstnight.AndIdon’tneedtositthrough
SwanLaketogetintothatpoordrownedschmuck’shead.Frankly,I’mgettingtiredofdrowning.’

‘Whatdoesthatmean?’
‘Itmeansit’sabouttimeIknewifIwaswastingmytime.So,I’vetoldyouIwouldchooseyouover

him.Now,howaboutyoutellmeifyouwouldchoosemeoverhim?’

‘Whywouldhewantmeback,afterwhatIdid?’
‘That’snotthequestion,Chloe.’
‘There’snochoicetomake.’
Hereachedformyhand,helditoverhisheart.‘Surethereis.’
‘Thenhelpme,’Isaid,wailed,begged.‘Tellmeaboutthosecircumstances.Theonesyousaid

wouldmakewhatwe’redoingnowokay.’

Throb,throb,throb.Hisheartundermypalm.‘Can’titbeenoughthatIwantyousomuchit’skilling

me?’

Itestedthatinmyhead.Nick,wantingmethatmuch.Morethananyonehadeverwantedmebefore.

Itsoundedsobeguiling.Butjustthismorning,he’dbeenreadytopalmmeoffontohisbrother.Justlike
Rubyandallthosegirlswhocameafterher,farmedouttohisteammates.Onethinggoeswrong,thegirl
doesn’tfit,orshesaysordoesthewrongthing,orthenoveltyhaswornoff,andbam!She’spackedoffto
thenextguytotryagain.I’dthrownMarcusawaytobecomeagroupie.Itwasabitterpilltoswallow.

‘Well,Chloe?Isn’titenough?’hedemanded.
‘It’senoughfortherestofourtimehere,Nick.That’sall.’
‘Marcusgotayear.’
‘Yes,buthelovedme.Andlovehastobemore,beworthmore,thanhavingthehotsforsomeone.’
Hismouthtwisted.‘AndwhenwasthelasttimeMarcusexpressedthisgrandloveforyou?Tellme

that!’

‘Sunday,’Isaid.‘Hecalledme,andhetoldmethathelovedme.Thathelovesme.’
‘HecalledyouonSundayandsaidhelovedyou?’Nick’shandslidoffmine,likehe’dsuddenlylost

thestrengthtokeepitthere.‘Whatelse?Whatelsedidhesay?’

‘Wetalkedabouttheannouncementofoursplit.Timing,wording…’
‘Andhetoldyouhelovedyou.’Astatement,likehewasgettingitclearinhishead.
‘Yes,’Isaid,butIwassuddenlyuncertain.Somethingfeltwrong.
‘AndcanIassumeyoutoldhimyoulovedhimtoo?’

Iliftedmychin.‘Whywouldn’tI?’
‘Oh,onlybecauseyoubrokeupwithhim.’
Islappedmyhandsovermyears.Icouldn’tbeartohearthosewordsjustthen.
Nickyankedmyhandsdown.‘Hearit,Chloe.Faceit.Youbrokeupwithhim.Andheletyoudoit.’
‘Ican’tbeartohearit–notfromyou.’
Hestaredatme.‘Notfromme.Because…what?It’sallmyfault?Thebreak-upisallbigbad

Nick’sfault?’Andthenhelaughed–harshandcold.‘Un-fucking-believable.’Anotherlaugh.‘Youlove
eachother,butonekissandit’spfft,sayonara,haveanicelife,andthat’smyfault?’

‘Tounderstandit,you’dhavetounderstandtheconceptof…ofloyaltyand…andcommitment.’
‘Oh,Isee.Loyaltyandcommitment.Huh.Gofigure.’
Idrewmyselfup.‘There’snoneedtobesarcastic.’
‘No?You’reabouttoflytoManilawiththelust-crazedanimalwhocamebetweenyouandbrave,

loyal,committedMarcus.Ourlovingherocallstowishyouafriendlybonvoyage.Hedoesn’tdemand
thatyoutellmeandyourbosstofuckoff.Hedoesn’tinsistyoustaywithhiminSydney,orflywithhimto
Hawaii,andmakeitworkbetweenyou.Somehow,despitethatcosyandromanticphonecall,you’renot
onlystillbrokenup,butyou’reaworldawaywiththeguywhodidthebreaking.’Anotherofthoselaughs.
‘That’slove,isit?’

‘Youwouldn’tunderstandthefirstthingaboutlove,’Isaid,foolingmyselfthatthesneerinmyvoice

coulddothejobofrepudiatingwhathe’djustsaid.

‘No,IguessIreallydon’t.’Hiseyeswenthardasstoneasheunbuttonedhisshirt.Thenheallbut

toretheshirtoff,turninghisbacktome.‘Youdon’tdothattosomeoneyoulove,doyou,whiteswan?’

IsuckedinabreathandheldoutashakinghandtotouchthescratchmarksI’dmade.‘Oh,Nick.’
Hespuntofaceme,throwingtheshirtaside.‘Idon’tsupposeyoueverdidthattoMarcus,didyou?’
‘No.I…No.’
‘Ofcourseyoudidn’t.Becausehedidn’tneedtobepunished.Andhewouldn’thaveletyoudothat

tohim,anyway,wouldhe?Wouldhe,Chloe?’Pace,pace–away,back.‘Well,youcankeepthattepid
thingyoucalllove.Idon’twantitfromyou.Ever.I’dprefertomate,thewaywe’vebeendoing,thanto
haveyoulovemelikeyoulovedhim.’

Myteethhadstartedchattering.‘M–Mate?’
‘Yes,mate.Likethoseswansofyours.Theymateforlife.Eagles,wolves,too.’Hesmiledatme–

andheactuallylookedlikeawolf.‘Doesthatscareyou,Chloe?Theideaofmating,forlife,withme?’

Itriedtolaughbutitdidn’tquitework.‘Whatisthis,theDiscoveryChannel?We’rehumanbeings,

Nick.Humanbeingsdon’t“mate”.’

‘Wantmetoshowyoumybackagain?’
No!‘Andanimalsdon’tnegotiateeightdays’worthof…ofmating.Theyjustdoit,once,andit’s

over.’

Pause.‘Sojusttobeclear…JustsoI’mnottheonemisinterpretingthistime…SoI’mnot

disrespectingyourundyingloveforsomeguywho–’Stop.Breath.‘AmIstillgoingtogettherestofmy
allocatedtime?Imean,I’massumingifit’snotlove,we’refreeandcleartokeepgoing,right?Nothreat
toMarcusifthere’snoloveinvolved.Andhe’llneverknow,sohecan’tbehurtbyit.That’swhyitwas
onlyevergoingtobewhileweweresafelytuckedawayinthePhilippines,whyithadtobestrictly
confidential.Forhim,right?’

Oneofthosesilences.DuringwhichIbecamealmostunbearablyconsciousofeverysound,every

scentintheroom,theslightrawnessonmyfacewherehisunshavenfacehadraspedme.Tension,thick
anddrowning.

‘Yes,forhim,’Isaid,butIknewdeepdownthatwasonlyhalfthetruth.Theotherhalfwasall

mixedupwithmyowndesperateneedforcontrol.Iwasn’tthatlittlegirlbeingpassedalongeverytimeI

madeamistake,notanymore.Thistime,Iwasincontroloftheenddate.

‘Sevennightsincludingtonight,’Nicksaid,asthoughhewereunderliningaclauseinacontract.

‘You’reminefortheweek.”

‘Yes,’Isaid,andmarvelledthatwithallthosethoughtsofguiltandbetrayalandcontrolandfear

twistingintothickskeinsinmyhead,Icouldstillfeelathrillatthethoughtofthat.

‘Andwekeepgoing,nomatterwhat?’Nickpushed.
Dosomethingworthyofalltheangstbeforeyoustarttorturingyourself…‘Yes,wekeepgoing,

asagreed,’Isaid.‘Unlessyou…Doyou…Doyouwanttostop?’IhadnoideawhyI’daskedthat,
givinghimanoutwhenIwantedhimsomuch,mybodywaspracticallyweepingforhim.

‘Yes,Iwanttostop,’Nicksaid,andtheshockofthatalmoststoppedmyheart.Untilheadded,‘ButI

can’t,Chloe,’andmybloodflowedagain.

‘So…what?’Ibreathedout.
‘SoIguessyoukeeppunishingme,andIkeeptakingit.’
Istartedtoshiver–whichofcourseNicksaw,andthenextmoment,hewaspullingmeintohis

arms,sighingashesettledmeagainsthischest.‘Justonestipulation,’hesaid.‘Wedoityourwayfirst–
andIpromiseyou,Icanhandleabitofroughifthat’swhatyouneed,sogiveitallyou’vegot.’Thenhe
tightenedhisarmsaroundme.‘Aslongas,onthesecondgo,youletmedoitmyway.’

‘Whatifthere’snosecondgo?’
Thistimewhenhelaugheditwaslowandalittlebittortured.‘Icanprettymuchguaranteethere’s

goingtobeasecondandathirdgo.Ifitdoesn’tkillme,afourth,too.Everynight,everymorning.AndifI
couldworkoutawaytosneakyouoffduringthedayforafifth,believeme,I’ddoit.’

Iwonderedifhecouldfeelmysmileagainsthisbareskin.‘So,what’syourway,Nick?’
‘Comewithme,undertheshower–becauseI’mnotsurehowyoucanstandthesmellofmeright

now–andI’llshowyou.Wordsarecheap,remember?’

Andthenhetookmymouthinthedeepestkissofmylife.AndIwasglad,becausethatmeantIdidn’t

havetothink.Ionlyhadtofeel.AndwhatIwasfeelingwasperfect.

Thenexttwodaysfollowedapattern.

Nickwouldarriveatmyroom,Iwouldattackhim,whichwouldbefollowedbysex‘hisway’–

whichmeantslowandthorough,withsomethinghappeningtoatleastthreeofmyerogenouszones
simultaneously.Sleep.ThenI’dwakeinthemorningwithNickwrappedaroundme,hisfingersbetween
mylegs.(Iknowthissoundsperverted,butIcan’tbegintoexplainhowlovelyitwastoknowthatwas
exactlywherethey’dbewhenIopenedmyeyes.)We’dhavesexagain‘hisway’,followedbyashower
togetherwhereheinvitedmetoattackhim‘myway’ifIwasupforit–which,ofcourse,Iwas.Then
Nickwouldhurrybacktohisroomand,separately,wewouldarriveinthelobbyfortheminivantransfer
totheorphanage.

Duringtheday,Ispentmytimebetweentheplaygroundandtheorphanageproper,doingprogress

reportstocameraandinterviewingorphanagestaffandmembersoftheDo-It-Rightteam–allwhile
pretendingIdidn’tseethechildren,pretendingHoneywasn’teventhere.IknewIwasgoingtohaveto
interviewthechildren,butIseemedtohavegoneallScarlettO’Haraoverit–thewholeI-can’t-think-
about-that-right-now,tomorrow-is-another-dayroutine.

ButwhentheteamdownedtoolsonourfifthdayinManila,Bryceannouncedworkonthe

playgroundwasaheadofscheduleandwouldfinishtwodaysearly–andthatmeantitwastimefor
ScarlettO’Haratoexitstageright,andforChloeMasterstostoppushingthechildrenoutofher
immediateconsciousness,stepontothestage,anddoherdamnjob.ItalsomeantIhadonlytwonightsleft

withNick.AndIwasshockedtofindthattherealityofsayinggoodbyetohimpanickedmeasmuchasthe
ideaofgettingupcloseandpersonalwiththekids.Thethingis,Nickhadbeenmyownpersonalbuffer
zone–notonlytakingmymindoffthechildren,butalsosomehowblockingthoseshimmerypremonitions
ofuncontrolledchangethatIdreaded.WhenIwaswithNick,therewasbarelytimetobreathe,letalone
thinkaboutanyoneoranythingelse.ButwhenIwasalone,mypastcaughtupwithme.

Notonlythedistantpast,whichwasfrontandcentreeverytimeIopenedthatparticularredfolder,

buttherecentpast,whichmanifestedthroughquicksilvermemoriesofMarcus.ThewayMarcussmiled,
soeasyanduncomplicated;howitusedtofeelwhenhetookmyhandorputhisarmaroundme,sosteady
andcomforting;howhe’dlookedandsoundedwhenhe’dtoldmetotakeiteasyonNick,sokindand
understanding.AndwiththoseincreasinglyfrequentmemoriescamethefeelingthattherewassomethingI
shouldknow,somethingIshoulddo,ask,see–allwrappedupwithdeep,distressing,horribleremorse.

TwomorenightswithNick,andIwouldhavenochoicebuttofacewhatI’ddone.Twomorenights,

andI’dbeflyingbacktoSydneytoconfrontthegiantholeI’drippedinmylifewhenI’dbrokenupwith
Marcus.

Buttwomorenightswasnottonight,andnoteventomorrow.
AndsoIbargainedwithmyconscience,Scarlettstyle,tokeepthattormentatbay,atleast.Tolet

myselfbeconsumedbyNickfortwomorenights.TotakewhatIcould,beforeIdealtwithwhatI
couldn’t.

Butthatnight,oursecondlast,Nickdidn’tknockonmydoor.InsteadIgotatextmessage:Needto

goouttonight.Maybebacklate.N.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

Sowhatdidthatmean?Thathewouldcometomewhenhegotbacktothehotel?Orthathe’dseemein
themorning?Iwasgoingwiththeformer,onthebasisthatwithonlytwonightsleft,therewasnowayhe
wouldn’tturnup.Ijustdidn’tknowwhat‘late’meant.

Butwhateveritmeant,Ineededsomethingtodotoescapemydarkthoughtsaboutthechildren,about

Marcus,aboutNick,andwhatitwouldbelikewhenhewasnolongerinmylife.

First,Igrabbedtheredfolderwiththeprofiles,butIalreadyknewthewordsbyheartandthe

children’sfaceswereetchedintomybraindeeplyenoughtohavemeseeingtheminmysleep,so
revisitingthecasestudieswasapointlessexercisethatwouldstressmeouttonopurpose.

Next,Istarteddoingalittlesuitcasereorganisation,butwithinminutes,ithitmethatpackingwasan

acknowledgementthatmyPhilippinesidyllwasending,andtherealityofthatwastakingonincreasingly
nightmarishproportionsthelongerNickwasawayfromme.

Idecided,instead,toconcentratemyenergyoncontrollinghowthissecondlastnightwithNick

wouldgo.HowIwouldlook,smell,act,be.SoIshowered,washedandstyledmyhair,perfumedmyself,
trowelledonsomemake-up,thendecidedtodonsomefancyunderwearforthesimplereasonthatNick
stillhadn’tmanagedtoactuallyseeanyofmyfineandfabulousunderthingsonmybody.Iscrutinisedeach
piece,wonderingwhathadinducedmetobringsomuch(seriously,itwasasthoughmysubconscioushad
knownI’dbehavingahotaffair)anddecidedonabodysuitinsheerforestgreenmesh.Iintendedtoopen
thedoortoNickwithoutcoveringup.Andthenwe’dseewhoattackedwhom.

Bythattime,itwaseleveno’clock,butacheckofmyphonerevealednonewmessages.
Iwasenteringblink,blink,breathe,blinkterritory,soitwaswithagrimkindofdeterminationthatI

grabbedatinybottleofginfromtheminibar,fixedmyselfastiffdrink,andturnedonthetelevision.

Ahundredchecksofmyphonelater,itwasmidnight.
AndthatwaswhenIdecidedNickwasn’tcomingafterall.Itwasahardtruthtoface,thathewould

willinglyforgooneofourlasttwonightstogether.Iwasn’tsurehowIshouldfeelaboutthat,butI
certainlydidn’tfeelgood.

Objectively,Iknewitshouldn’tmatter.Verysoon,Iwouldn’thavetherighttowonderwhereNick

was,orwhohewaswith.ThesamewayNickwouldn’thavetherighttowonderwhatIwasdoing,with
Marcuswhenwemetupagain,oranyoneelseforthatmatter.

Butthosethingswereinthefuture,theydidn’tbelongtothehereandnow.Inthehereandnow,Nick

Savagewasmine.Mine,allmine,dammit!AndIwantedtoknowwherehewasandwhohewaswithand
whatthehellwasgoingon!Inshort,Iwasjealous.

Jealousywasanunwelcomeemotionforagirlwhopridedherselfonherself-control,soItriedhard

tothrottleitback.Whateverhappenedtonight,bythemorning,Ihadtobeabletopretendtherewas
nothingbetweenmeandNickasidefromprofessionalcourtesy.

Andtobehonest,drawingademarcationlinebetweenourprofessionalrelationshipduringtheday

andourtotallyunprofessionalrelationshipatnighthadbeengettingsteadilymoredifficult,soIreally
neededtogetittogetherASAP.I’dcaughtmyselfstaringatNickacrossthehotellobbythatverymorning,

andonlyDerekwavingahandinfrontofmyfacehadsnappedmeoutofit.Andthisafternoon,onsite,I’d
almostgrabbedNick’shandwhenhewalkedpastme–itwasinstinctive,areflex,dangerous.

Rememberingthatwasmycuetostartworryinghowmuchmoredifficultitwouldbetomaintainthe

charadeofbusinesslikecourtesyafteranightwithoutNick.WouldIbemoreorlessinclinedtotouch
him?AndifImessedup…

Hmmm.WoulditreallybesobadifImessedupandtouchedhiminfrontoftheothers?Just…

touchedhim?Like,say,ranmylittlefingeroverthatpatchofskinbehindhisleftearwhereI’ddiscovered
hewasticklish…?Ismiled,rememberingwhathe’ddonelastnightwhenI’dtouchedhimthere.He’d
pickedmeupandwrappedmylegsaroundhimand–.

Okay,maybeIwouldn’ttryexactlythatinpublic.
Maybeafleetingbrushagainsthisforearmwouldbesafer.Orwhatabouthisthigh,ifIsatnextto

himinthevan,justatouch,asthoughtogethisattention?Nobodyevenneededtoseethat.AlthoughI
wasn’tsureatthisstagethatevenaperfectlyinnocentshoulderbumpwouldn’thavemelaunchingmyself
athimandlickinghim.Thatwasanewhabitofmine,wheneverIhadamillimetreofhisskinclosetomy
mouth.Lickinghim.Licking!

Imean,comeon,wholickedpeople?Hewasn’tafreakingcandyapple,washe?Hewasn’teven

sweet.Hewassalty.Andnobodyinterestedintheirhealthlikedanexcessofsalt.Toomuchsaltwasbad
foryou.NottomentionhowmanygermsI’dtransferredfromhisskintomytastebuds.

Butitwasnogood.Istillwantedtolickhim.Rightnow.Right.Now.
Buthewasnotheretolick!
Thatwasaninescapablefact.SoIshouldstopthinkingabouthimandgotobed,alone,andsleep,

alone.

Iscrubbedoffmycarefullyappliedmake-up,removedthebodysuit,andflungmyselfontothebed,

whereIcouldn’tseemtogetcomfortable.Athumpofmypillowdidn’tdoanythingtoimproveeithermy
stateofcomfortormytemper,soIthumpedNick’spillowinstead.Itwasn’tuntilaboutthetenthwhackof
thatpoorabusedobject,whenIsawafewfeathersfloatingintheair,thatIrealisedIwascompletelyout
ofcontrol.Thisdidnotbodewellforthenextmorning’sprofessionalcourtesy,soItookalong,deep
breath,andforcedmyselftogetupandgotthebathroomtosplashwateronmyface.

AsIlookedatmydampandangryfaceinthemirror,Ididmybesttoarguemyselfintoastateof

greaterserenity.

Iwasn’tanymphomaniac.Onesex-freenightwasn’tgoingtokillme.
Evenifitwasthesecondlastnight,goddammittohell!
No,seriously,afterhavinghadsuchanunaccustomedamountofsexoverthepastfewdays,mybody

coulddowitharest.

EvenifIwassowiredIcouldscreammylungsout.
Whichofcoursebetrayedanappallinglackofself-discipline,andifthatwaswhatIwasreducedto,

itwasforthebestthatNickwascallingitquitsaheadofschedule.Itwasn’tasthoughIweresome
desperategroupiewhocouldn’ttellwhenheruse-bydatewasup.I’djustmakesureheknewIwasn’t
goingtobeavailabletomorrownightshouldhehaveasuddenchangeofheart.

Thedeal-breaking,reneging,welchingBASTARD.
Itwasdefinitelytimetogetbacktoreality.ImighteventakeDrewuponhisoffertotakeme

shoppingforaVibratingRockChickwhenIlandedinSydney.

Avibratorwasmuchmorereliablethanaheartlessbeastwhosentyouatextmessageleavingyou

upintheairwhilehewasoutwithanotherwoman,awomanyouwantedtocrush,kill,destroy,rightafter
yousmashedhisheadin!

Okay,soitseemedthetalking-toIwasgivingmyselftocoaxmyselftowardsserenitywasanabject

failure,soItorebackintotheroom,threwmyselfonthebedagain,reefedNick’spillowup,heldit

againstmyface,andscreamedsatisfyinglyintoit.

Andthensmellofthepillowinfiltratedmysenses,andIscreamedagain–notsosatisfyingly.
Okay–throwthepillowsoffthebed.Done.
Hmmm.Thesheets.Hewasonthesheets,too.
Ripthemoffthebed.Done.
Cleary,Ishouldhaveditchedtheenvironmentalconsciousnessandgotthehoteltochangethedamn

beddingeverydayinsteadofeverysecondday.Iwoulddothatfirstthinginthemorning.Meanwhile,I
would–

Knock.
Once.
AndeverywordIhadjustsaidtomyselfbecamemeaningless,andIwasracingtothedoor,flinging

itopen.

Nickwasslumpedagainstthejamb,lookingexhaustedandsomehowmelancholy,andmyinsidesdid

someweirdswirling,melting,psychedelicthingthatmadeeveryvestigeofangerinmedrainaway,
leavingmelightheaded.

‘Idon’tsupposethere’sanychanceyouconsideredcomingtomyroomtowaitforme?’heasked,

steppinginsideashereachedintohispocketandpulledoutahandfulofcondoms.

Iclosedthedoor.‘Yousaidyouwereout.’
‘I’mbacknow.’
‘Nokidding,’Isaid,andalthoughmyvoicewasdry,happinesswasbubblingupinmelikeabroken

fountainongushmode.

Nicktossedthecondomsontothebed,thenfrowned.‘Whathappenedtothebed?’
‘Icouldsmellyou.Itwas…frustratingme.’
‘Thencomeon,’hesaid.Buthiseyeshadshuttered.
Hetookadeepbreath,thenbracedforattack.
AndIsurprisedusbothbydroppingtomykneesbeforehim.
‘Chloe,whatareyoudoing?’heasked.
‘Figureitout,’Isaid,undoinghisjeansanddraggingthemdown.
‘No,’hesaid.
‘Yes,’Iresponded,andeasedhisunderwearoverhishipsanddownhisthighs.‘Wow.’Iwasalittle

daunted,I’llfreelyadmit.‘Youaresodamnbig.’

‘Thendon’t,’hesaid,andhishandsreachedformyunderarms,tryingtoliftme.
‘Iwantto.Iwanttosuckyoudrythewayyoudotome.’
Hegroaned,hisfingersmovingtomyhair.
‘AlthoughI’mgoingtowarnyou,Imightnotbegreatatit,’Iadmitted.‘Idon’tdothis.Often,Imean.

Andyouhaveawayofmakingmeforgetallabouttechnique.’

Alow,incredulouslaugh.‘YouthinkIcareabouttechnique?’
‘I’mhopingtomakeupforitwithenthusiasm.BecauseIlovelickingyourskin…’Ilickedthetipof

him.‘AndIhavetotellyou,IwantyouinmymouthsomuchI’mreadytocomejustthinkingaboutit.’I
ranmytonguefromthebaseofhimtothetip.

‘Chloe,Imeanit,youdon’thaveto–Fuuuuuuuck.’
I’mguessingthatlastbitmeanthelikedthewayIeasedhimintomymouthandsucked.Hiships

buckedonce,twice,beforehecouldcontrolhimself,andIshiftedsothatIcouldholdhimmoresecurely
atthebase,andsuckedharder.

‘Jesus,Chloe,I…Aaahhhh.God.God.Godhelpme.Ahhhhh.’
Okay,soheseemedtohavelostthepowerofasensiblespeech.Ifeltalittledrunkatthat.Drunk

too,withthefeelofhim,thetasteofhim.Iwantedtomakehimhotter,makehimloseitcompletely,sweat

andbuckandspill.Icouldfeelthebattlegoingon,throughtheclenchandstrainofhisthighmuscles,his
restlesshandsinmyhair–hewantedtograbandtwistandthrust,butatthesametime,hewastryingso
hardtobegentle.

‘Chloe,’hetriedagain,hisvoiceraw.
Iignoredhim,andinstead,tookhimmoredeeplyinmymouth,increasingthepressure,playing

aroundthebaseofhimwithmyfingers.Cuppinghim,strokingbetweenhislegs.Theneverythinginhim
tightened,andmynamerippedoutofhim.Hewascoming,andcursingtoo,asIcontinuedtosuckhim.
Anothersound,asurrenderinggroan,andhiswholebodyrelaxed.

Ireleasedmyhands,lethimslidefrommymouth,andlookedupathim,smiling.Onelaststrokeofa

fingeralongthesofteninglengthofhim.Hereachedformeagain,andthistimeIlethimdrawmeupand
pullmein.Ikissedthesideofhisneck,andfelthimtremble.

‘Chloe,’hewhisperedagain.
Iwaitedforwhateverhewasgoingtosay–butitseemedthatitwasonlymynamethatwasgoingto

beforthcoming.

Ifoundmyselfwantingtocry,andIhadnoideawhy.SoIoptedforamood-breaker.‘Iwonderif

you’reevergoingtoactuallyseemeinmyunderwear,Nick.Ithinkyou’dlikeit.It’sexpensive,you
know.’

Andwebothstartedlaughing.Laughing,laughing,laughing…andthen…nolaughter.JustNick

smoothinghishandthroughmyhair.

‘It’snotyourunderwearI’minterestedin,Chloe,’hesaid.‘Oryourperfectmakeup.Oryourperfect

hair.Oryourclothes.Weareverythingorsomethingornothing.Putitallon,takeitalloff.I’llwantyou,
whetheryou’reinallofitornoneofit.’AndthenIfelthimtakeadeepbreath.‘So,’hesaid.‘Roundtwo,
right?Crashandburn.’

‘Okay,roundtwo,’Isaid,raisingmyselfontomytoes,drawinghisfacedownandkissinghischeek.
Heflinched.‘Notlikethat,Chloe.’
Ikissedtheothercheek.
‘Chloe,comeon,’hesaid,soundingalittlefreakedout.
Ilickedhistoplip,flutteredtherelikeabutterfly.
‘Whatareyoudoing?’heasked.
‘Kissingyou,’Iwhispered,andmanagedakisstohisneckbeforehejerkedmeawayfromhim.
‘Youcan’tdothistome,’hesaid.
‘Dowhat?’
‘Changetherules–whenyou’regoingtoflyoutandleavemeintwodays.Youcan’tgetall…’He

wavedahand.‘Youknow,tender.Andstuff.Youcan’tdothat.’

‘Can’tI?’
‘No,’hesaid,andswooped.Draggingmein,loweringhishead,mouthdivingontomine.Long,long

momentsofsucking,draggingkisses.‘Comeon,Chloe,comeon,’heurged,whenIstayedpliantinhis
arms,lettinghimravagemymouth.

Thenhewasliftingme,spinning,somybackwasagainstthedoor.‘Comeon,Chloe,’hesaidagain,

franticnow.‘Fuckme,likeusual.Doit.’

Instead,Ikissedthecornerofhismouth,ranmyhandsintohishair,undulatedagainsthim.Icould

practicallyfeelthepanicsteamingoutofhisporesashepulledmeroughlyawayfromthedoor,started
backingmetowardsthebed,fumblingwithmyrobeanddraggingitoff.

AndthenIwasfallingbackwardsontothebed.Nick’sbreathingwasraggedashefollowedme

down,kneesbetweenmythighs.Handsscrabblingoverthemattress,feelingblindlyforacondomashe
kissedme,slidingiton–seriously,hecouldgethardinananosecond.Anotherkiss,deepanddark.
‘Chloe,’hesoundedalmostdespairingashesankhimselfinsideme.‘Doit.Biteme,scratchme,hitme.’

ButtheonlythingIdidwasenvelophiminmyarmsandclingtohim,squeezingeverythinginside

metighttomakethisgoodforhim.Ididn’tneedtopunishhim,didn’twanttohurthimtonight.Itwas
gone,thaturgentneed.Ijustwantedtoholdhimandacceptthatwewereconnected,thewayhe’dalways
said.

‘Chloe,’hebreathedintomyhair.‘Whatisthis?’
‘Shhh,’Iwhisperedback.‘Please,just…just…Ahhhh,’asheslidintomeagain.‘Perfect.’Andit

was.Theconnection,thefit,theeverything.‘Nick.Ilovewhatyoudotome.Loveit,loveit.’Hetwisted
slightly,crushingmecloseenoughtocrackarib.Hismouthslidoffmine,gaspingforairlikehecouldn’t
breathe.Long,beautiful,voluptuousthrusts,overandover,silentexceptforhisraggedbreaths.Iwantedit
togoonforever,neverstop,never,butatlastIfelthimclench,readytocomebutholdingback,waiting
forme.One,two,threemorethrustsandIwasthere.Coming.Withhim.Sobeautifullyinsynch.

Silence.Again.Andthenherolledsothathewasnexttomeonthemattressandpulledmeintohis

side.Westayedlikethatuntilourheartbeatssettled.Andthenhekissedme,butnotonthemouth.He
kissedme…waitforit…ontheforehead!Andtherealshockofitwasthatitquiveredallthewaydown
tomytoes,inawayMarcus’skissesneverhad.

‘Yousaidyou’dneverdothat,’Isaid,andmyvoicewasalittlewobblyasItriedtomakesenseof

myreaction.

‘Isayalotofstupidshit,’hesaid.Thenhewasoffthebed,headingintothebathroom.
Ifollowedhimin.‘Wherewereyoutonight,Nick?’Iasked,asheturnedontheshower.
Hegotunderthesprayanddrewtheshowercurtainaround,blockingme.‘Whydoyouwantto

know?’

‘I’mjustinterested,’Isaid,leaningagainstthesink.
Pause.‘Okay.’Anotherpause.‘Whenyouinterviewedme,Italkedaboutthekidslivingonthe

streetsinManila.Tonight,that’swhereIwas,withapriestImetonmylastvisit.’

‘Ididn’tknowyouwerereligious,’Isaidcautiously.
‘I’mnot.ButFatherMulvaneywalksthetalk,andI…Ilikehim,respecthim.Iwantedtoseewhat

heseeswhenhegoesintotownthreetimesaweektobuydinnerforoneofthegangs.’

‘Whatdidyousee?’Iasked,asmypalmsstartedtosweat.
Silence.Stillness.AllIcouldhearovermyownheartbeatswasthewaterrunning.Nosoapy

scrubbingwashappeningontheothersideofthecurtain.Andthen,hesaid,‘Rugbyboys,theycallthem.’

‘Iwouldhavethoughtplayingsportwas–’
‘It’snotrugbyleagueorrugbyunion.’Anotherpause.Andthenthesoapsoundsstartedupagain.

‘Rugbyisasolvent,aglue.Thekidsaregluesniffers.’

‘Oh,’Isaid.‘Oh.’
‘Ithelpsmoderatetheirhunger.AndIguessitgivesthemsomekindofescapefromtheircrappy

livesasasidebenefit.But,ofcourse,thentheyneedtosupporttheiraddictionandthatleadsto–What
…?’

BecauseIwasopeningtheshowercurtain.
‘Chloe?’
Steppingunderthespraybesidehim.
‘I’msorry,Nick,’Isaid,andputmyarmsaroundhim.‘There’snothingtobesorryabout,’hesaid,

soundinggruff–buthisarmsclosedaroundme,thewaytheyalwaysdid.‘It’sjustthewayitis.’

‘Iknow,butI’mstillsorry…foryou…thatyouhadtoseeit.’
‘AndifIdidn’tseeit?Itwouldn’tchangethefactthatitexists.Someonehastoseeit,Chloe.It

mightaswellbeme.’

‘It’sjust…Idon’tthinkyou’reastoughasyoulikepeopletothink.’Ilookedupathim.‘Infact,I

thinkyou’resoft.’

Helaughed.‘I’mnotsoft,’hesaid,andnudgedmewithhisburgeoningerection.‘Feelthat?It’s

gettingharderbythesecondwithyouinhere.’

ButIwasn’ttobesidetracked.‘Nick,whydoyouliketopretendyou’reanogre?’
Hestartedwashingmewiththesoap.‘It’snotpretence.’
‘SunshineChildren’sHome?Feedingthehomeless?’
‘Theorphanage–that’sjustmoney,easytogivewhenyou’remakingafortune.Andfeedingthose

kids?I’mhere,sowhynot?’

‘Becauseithurtsyou,toseethem.’
‘Ah.IsthatwhyIgottheblowjob?Sympathy?’
‘No!Ijust–’
‘Don’t,Chloe.’Heturnedoffthetapsandlookedatme.‘Just…don’t,okay?’
‘No,it’snotokay.’
‘Thenmakeitokay.Thewayyoumakeeverythingelseinyourlifeokay.’
‘Whatdoesthatmean?’
‘Youknowwhatitmeans,whiteswan.Hideit,buryit,paperoverit.It’swhyyouspentawhole

yearnotwantingtoknowadamnthingaboutme.Ornothinggood,atanyrate.Onewaytokeepmeatbay,
right?’Thetapswentbackon,andherecommencedwashingme.‘Andthat’sokay.Igetit.Ido.’

‘ButIwanttoknowaboutyounow.’
‘Why?Whenwehaveonlytwomorenightstogether?’
ButIdidn’thaveananswertothat,soItookthesoapoffhimandstartedwashinghim.‘Sauceforthe

goose,right?’Isaid,whenhetriedtosnatchthesoapback.‘Hmm,cookedgoose.AndIhaveanidea
whereI’dliketoshovethecookingthermometer.’AndIletmysoapyfingersdrift.

Nickgrabbedmyhand,laughing.‘Youknow,I’dletyou–aslongasyoupromisedtogoinafterit.’
Istartedlaughing,‘YouaresomuchlikeDrew,it’sdisturbing.’
‘I’mokaywiththat.IlikeDrew.’
IfrownedbeforeIevenknewIwasdoingit.
‘Whatisit?’Nickasked,smoothingawetfingeroverthecreasesinmyforehead.
‘Nothing,except…Marcusdidn’tlikehim.’
‘Well,eachtotheirown,’Nicksaid,andturnedoffthetapsagain.Hepushedtheshowercurtainout

ofthewayandreachedforatowel.

‘Idon’tthinkit’ssomuchthathedidn’tlikehim.Morethathedidn’tfeelcomfortablearoundhim.

Weird,whenIthinkaboutit,because–’

‘ArewereallygoingtotalkaboutMarcus?’Nickinterrupted,wrappingthetowelaroundhiships.

‘BecauseIhavetotellyou,Chloe,I’mnotuptoit.Nottonight.’

Iswallowed.‘Butit’snearlytimeto…to…’
‘Seehimagain?’Hesighed.‘Iknow.Just…nottonight,okay?’
Igrabbedatowelformyself.‘Fine.Whatdoyouwanttotalkabout,then?’
‘YoucouldtellmewhereyouthoughtIwastonight.Outwhoring,Isuppose.’
‘Thatthoughtdidcrossmymind.You’rewellknownforsleepingwitheveryavailablewoman.And

therearesixjustontheDo-It-Rightteamwho’dtakeyouoninaflash.’

Hetouchedmyface.Thetiniestgesture,andonethathadtremorsrunningthroughme.‘Forthe

longesttime,I’veonlywantedtosleepwithone,andshehasn’texactlybeenavailable.I’vebeenfeeling
likeoneofthosehyenasontheDiscoveryChannel,huntingdownthezebraseverynightwaitingfora
showofweaknesssoIcanmakemymove.’

Ilaughed.‘Ahyena?You’renotexactlyterrifyingmewiththatimage.’
‘Hey,thosehyenasarescarybastards.They’relikemachines.Theycangoforseveraldayswithout

water.Didyouknowthat?’

‘Oddlyenough,Ididnotknowthat.’
‘Andinjustonefeedingfrenzy,theycaneatuptoathirdoftheirbodyweight.’
Istaredathimasthetruthdawned.‘OhmyGod,youreallydowatchtheDiscoveryChannel,don’t

you?’

‘Well,yeah,’hesaid,andshrugged.And…blushed.
Anditwaslikealightturnedoninsideme.Onemoment,Iwasstandingthere,relativelynormal,

surprisedthatNickdidanythingasmundaneaswatchnaturedocumentaries.

Thenextmoment,Iwasinlovewithhim.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Itwasn’tsupposedtohappenlikethat,wasit?

Whenyourhairwaswetandratty,yourfacebareofmake-upexceptforafewleftovermascara

smudges,whenyouwerewrappedinahoteltowel,talkingabouthyenas,which(apologiestohyena-
admirers)havetobetheugliestanimalsonearth.

Yetthereitwas.Ithadhappened.Iwasinlove.Nothingelsemattered.NotthewayIlooked.Not

thefactthatwewereinabathroom,minustherosepetals,candlesandchampagne.NotMarcus–whatI’d
hadwithhim,orwhathe’dthinkofwhatIhadnow.AllthatmatteredwasNick.Thesure,deep
knowledgeofhimthatwaswindingitselfintomyheart.Thewayhelookedatme,andbreathedmein,and
heldmelikehe’dneverletgo.Theorphanage.Howhebracedforme,andtookwhateverIdidtohim.
Therugbyboys.Thethingshewhisperedtomewhenhewasinsideme.Wakingupwithhisfingersin
theirfavouritespot.Eventhefacthe’dthrownausedcondominhisshoeratherthangetoutofmybed.
Thiswaslove–andeverythingI’deverfeltbeforewasnothing.

‘What?’heasked,alldefensiveandutterlyadorable–whichItooktomeanI’dbeenstandingthere,

probablylookinglikeastunned,love-struckidiot,forquitesometime.

Iraisedoneeyebrowandgavehimahalf-smile.Dareyou.‘Justthinkingabouteagles.’
Helookedsuspicious.‘Eagles?’
‘Eagles.Andthewaytheymate.’
Hestaredatme.Blink,blink,blink.‘I’mtryingnot–’Hestopped.Frowned.‘Chloe.’Stop.‘Idon’t

wanttomisinterpret,but…’Anotherstop,ashescrubbedahandthroughhiswethair.‘Okay,justtellme,
whatdoyoumean?’

‘ImeanI’minterestedinexploringthatmatingthing.Theonewhereit’sdoneforlife.’
Iwaitedforhimtograbmeandkissme.Insteadheheadedoutofthebathroom.
Ifollowedhim,startledtofindhimgettingdressed.‘Whereareyougoing?’
‘Backtomyroom.’
‘Wait,andI’llcomewithyou.’
‘No,Chloe.Youstayhereandthinkcarefullyaboutwhatyou’regettingyourselfinto.’
‘Whydon’tyoujusttellmewhatI’mgettinginto?’
‘I’mnotasaint.’
‘Okay,wellthat’sashock!’Eyeroll.‘Notasaint.Gotit.’
Jeansbeingzippedup.‘I’mnot…nice.WhatIdidtoRuby…?I’ddoitagain.’
‘Tome?You’ddoittome?’
‘What?No!I’ddoittogetyou.’
‘Okay,inthatcaseIcanlivewith“notnice”.’
T-shirtgoingoverhishead.‘I’mnotMarcus.’
‘NotMarcus.Tick.’
‘Imeanit.I’mthejealoustype.Youkissanotherman,anditwillnotbeacaseof“okaysowe’ll

breakupbutIloveyouandhopeyouhaveanicetimeoverseaswiththemotherfucker”.Gotit?’

‘I…thinkso.AlthoughIgottheimpressionyoudidn’tthinkitwasworthbreakingupoverakiss.’
‘Iwon’tforgiveyouifyoukissanotherman,Chloe.Iwon’t.Imeanit.’
‘Okay!Sheesh!Nokissingothermen.Viceversaappliestoo.’
‘You’renotgettingit.Onceyouchooseme,that’sit.I’llgoballisticifyouchangeyourmind.I’ll

neverforgiveyou.Never.’

‘God,Nick,doyouwantmetochooseyouornot?’
‘Iwantyouwithyoureyeswideopen.Sodon’tgetallcaughtupin“Oh.Nick’ssosweet,looking

afterorphans,feedingstreetkids”andallthatbullshit.Justremember.Iditchedthatgirlthenightwemet
becauseIsawsomeoneIwantedmore.Iwouldhaveditchedanyandeverygirlyou’veeverseenme
with,onthespot,ifyou’dcrookedyourfingeratme.I’vefuckedathousandgirlsbeforeyouandhaven’t
caredaboutanyofthem.Itriedlikehelltogetyouintobedbehindyourboyfriend’sback.Imadeyour
bosssendyouherejustsoIcouldgetintoyourpants.’

‘Iknowallthis.It’sgettingboring.’
‘Chloe,openyougoddamnears.Iwasastreetkid.I’vesniffedglue.I’vestolen,andfoughtand…

and…Whatareyoudoing?’

‘Takingoffmytowel.’
‘Wellputitbackon,I’mnotfinished.’
‘Okay,towelgoingbackon.Butcanyouspeeditup?’
‘I’mtheanimalyoualwayssaidIwas.Iwasarottenkid.AndI’mstillrotten.’
‘Whosaysyouwerearottenkid?’
‘I’maSavage,notaHaynes,remember?’
OhGod,thathurt.That…hurt.Enoughtostealmybreathforamoment.‘Wellthat…thatfamily,

theonethatdidn’ttakeyou?They’restupid.And…andcruel.Andjuststupid.Splittinguptwobrothers.
Ican’teven–Can’timagine.Horrible.Unfair.Inhuman.’

‘Theyweresmartnottotakeme.Iwasatroublemaker.Ican’tfaultthem.’
‘Howoldwereyou,Nick?Howold?’
‘Whatdoesit–?OhforGod’ssake,six.Iwassix.’
‘Asixyearoldisnotatroublemaker,’Isaidfiercely.‘Asixyearoldisagrievinglittleboy,that’s

all.’

‘Youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.’
Tearsinmychest,mythroat,cloggingthebackofmynose.‘Idoknow,Nick,becauseIwasa

grievinglittlegirl.Andnobodywantedme,either.’

Onesteptowardsme,thenhestopped.‘Areyousaying…?’Heshookhishead,asthoughtryingto

clearit.‘No.’

Isaidnothing.‘No.’hesaidagain.‘Tellmeit’snotwhatIthink.’
‘W–Whatisityou’rethinking?’Iasked,breathless.
‘You’renotadopted.’
‘No,I’mnotadopted.Ihadamother,butshedidn’twantme.Andneitherdidanyoneelse.’
Andwham,Iwasinhisarms–itwasasifI’dbeenteleportedthere,itwassofast.‘Ican’tbelieve

…Howcouldsomeone,anyone,everyonenotwantyou?’

‘Itwasmorelike,howcouldthey?Iwasangry,alwaysangry.WhenIwasfirstplacedinfostercare,

Iscreamedallthetime.AndIwasviolent.Ihit,andslappedandbitandI…Ipunched.Ha!Imaginethat!
Andtherewereotherthings.Lotsofthings.Iatetoomuch.OrIwastoosmart-mouthed.Toobrainy.A
show-off.IlikedreadingsoIsnuckthebooks–stolethebooks–fromtheotherkids,whichmademea
thief.AndthenIwasgettingtooold,andpeoplepreferredthelittleones.Toooldandtoo…toopretty.A
temptationtosons,fathers,uncles,friends.Eventhoughitwasonlyaproblemonce.Justonce.’I
shuddered,rememberingthat,andNicktightenedhisarms.‘Itdoesn’tmatter.’

‘Yes,itdoes.Iwanttokillthemall.’
Ilaughedsoftly.‘Yeah,well,Iwantedtodothat,too.Instead.Istartedtwistingmyselfinsideoutto

beperfect,butitneverworked.Icouldn’t…fit.Nobodyeverwantedtokeepme.So,IguesswhatI’m
sayingis,Iknowwhatit’sliketonotbechosen.Iknowwhatit’sliketobeastreetkid,too,Nick,so
don’tthinkthatscaresme.’

‘What?’
‘Afterthatonetime,whenoneofthefatherstriediton,Ibolted.Isleptroughforawhile,andthat’s

whenIfinallymetacaseworkerwhocaredenoughtogetmeonthepathtoascholarshipforuniversity.’I
peepedupathim.‘HowdidyouthinkIknewVodkaVern?Notthatherecognisesmethesedays,butIstill
givehimmoneywhenIseehim,becauseIknowhowwonderfulitfeelstohavesomethingtospendany
wayyouwantto.Freeandclear.Noquestionsasked.Iwastryingtobediscreet,butyoucaughtme.’

‘Iwaswatchingyoulikeahawk.OfcourseIcaughtyou.’
‘Andyousaid…’
‘Isaidhewasjustgoingtobuyboozewithit,andyouaskedme,veryfrostily,ifIlikedbeingtold

whattodowithmymoney.’

‘Andyousaidno,’Isaid,andtuckedmyselfbackintomyspot,mycheekagainsthischest.‘Andthen

youone-uppedmebygivinghimafiftyonhisnextgo-by.’

‘Marcusnevertoldmeabout…about…’
‘Marcusdoesn’tknow.Onlythreepeopleknow.Drew…Evie…you.That’sthewayIwantit.

Becausethat’snotmeanymore.Not…me.Iwon’tletitbeme.’

‘Ah,Chloe,’hesaid.Mywords,thewordsthatwerejustforme.Hekissedthetopofmyhead.‘The

kids.Isitgoingtobehardforyou,tomorrow?’

‘Yes,it’sgoingtobehard,’Isaidaroundthelumpinmythroat.
‘I’llbethere.’
Inodded,andhekissedthetopofmyheadagain.Andthatwasall.Thestorywasout,overwith,

movingon.Easy,becausehewasoneofmykindandhejustknew.

IturnedmyheadsoIcouldkisshischest.‘Thankyou,Nick,’Iwhispered.
‘Hey,youcankissanypartofmeyouwant.Higher…lower.’
Ichokedonalaugh.‘YouknowwhatImean.’
‘Yeah,Iknow.’Silence,ashejustheldme,strokinghishandupanddownmyback.Andthen,

tentatively,‘So…whathappensnext?’

‘Wegopublic.’
Tinypause.‘Whatdoyouhaveinmind?’
‘Hmm,somethingIsawonGaz’sboat,thateveningontheharbour.’
‘You’renottalkingabouttheménageàtrois,areyou?’
‘What?’Ispluttered,andthumpedhimontheshoulder.‘No!’
‘Good,becauseI’mnotintosharing.’
‘Youwerethatnight!’
‘Notsharingyou,’heclarified.
Isighed,likingthesoundofthat.
‘So…?’heprompted.‘Whatareyougoingtodo?’
‘Oh,wellI’membarrassedtosayitnow,it’ssotamebyyourstandards.’
‘Hey,Icanbetamed!’
‘Likehell.Butallright,ifyouinsist.I’mgoingtosqueezeyourbutt.’Andthen,‘Hey!’ashegrabbed

mybackside.‘IsaidIwasgoingtosqueezeyours!’

‘Squeezeitnow.’
‘No,that’snotpublic,I’mgoingtodoittomorrownight,whenwe’reoutforthosecelebratory

drinksBrycehasorganised.’

Nicklaughed,andstartedbackingmetowardsthebed,peelingoffthetowelontheway.‘Comeon,

youcandoapracticerun,can’tyou?’

‘Butthesheets.Ishouldputthembackonthebedfirst.’
‘Fuckthesheets,’Nicksaid,andpushedmeontothebed.Hedroppedtohisknees,tuggedme

towardshimsomybacksidewasontheedge,andnudgedmylegsopen.

‘Whatareyoudoing?’Iasked.Stupidly,becauseitwasobvious!
‘Kissingyou,’hesaid,andputhismouthonme.
AndasmyeyesrolledbackImyhead,Ithought,Fuuuuuckthesheets.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

Thenextmorning,Iwaswokenwithadeep,lusciouskiss.

‘What?’Iaskeddrowsily.
‘Yousaidyouwantedmetoseeyourunderwear,sogetupandletmewatchyouputsomeon.’
‘Ugh.’Thatwasme–pullingapillowovermyhead,becauseIwasbasicallywornout.Orgasmed

totheedgeofdeath.

Laughing,Nickdraggedthepillowoffmyface,kissedmeagain,andwrenchedmeup.‘AndI’min

themoodtohavemybuttsqueezedinfrontofeveryone,soIthoughtwe’drenegotiatethetiming.’

‘Towhen.’
‘Thelobby,beforewehittheroad.’
‘No.’
‘Thenhowaboutoncewe’reintheminivan?’
‘No.’
‘Howaboutattheplayground?’
Istartedlaughing,‘No,no,no,youdesperado!’
‘Dammit.’Grin.‘Well,inthatcase,canyousqueezeitnowtotidemeover?’
Iwasstilllaughing.‘Okay,turnaround,bendover.’
Buthedidn’tturnaround.Instead,heclutchedmecloseandkissedme.‘Noregrets,right?’
‘Didn’twesettlethis?’
‘Yeah,butI…’Hetrailedoff,andtuckedastrandofmyhairbehindmyear.
‘You…?’Frown.‘Youwhat,Nick?’
Littlefrozenmoment,andthenhesmiled.‘Youknow,IthinkI’llcheckoutyourunderwearnexttime.

Fornow,comeon,showertime.I’mnotgettinginwithoutyou.’

Igroaned,floppedbackonthebedanddrewthepillowovermyfaceagain.
‘Comeon,Chloe.Buttsqueezingahoy.Don’tmakemehurtyou.’
‘Yeah,asifyoucould,’Isaid.
ButIhadasudden,horriblepremonitionthathewould.
Andyouknowwhat?Beingpsychicisnotallit’scrackeduptobe.

WhenwedisembarkedattheSunshineChildren’sHome,Nickturned,stuckouthisbacksideandgaveita
pat,andIstartedlaughingagain.

Notthatitgothisbuttsqueezedforhim,butatleastNick’sincorrigibilitygotmesmiling–amuch

betterfacialexpressionthanarictusofterror,whichwasmyotheroptionfortheday,giventheinterviews
withthechildrenwerehangingovermyhead.

ImanagedtokeepsmilingwhenIcollaredJoantodiscusswhichchildrenwouldbebestforthe

camera.Ikeptittogetheraswewhittledtwenty-sixdowntofive.ButIslippedupattheend,whenJoan
suggestedaddingonemoretothelist:Honey.

‘Honey?’Me–instantalarm.
‘Yes.Whynot?I’vealreadyclearedit.’
‘Cleareditwithwhom?’
‘Hernewparents,’shesaid.
‘Oh.’Itwaslikebeingdousedwithicewater.‘Ididn’tknowaboutthe…the…’
‘Adoption?Thenewscamethroughovernight.She’llbeofftoAmericanextweek.’
‘That’s…brilliant.’
‘Yes,we’reallveryhappy.’
Butmyhandswereclenchinginmylap,andthatshockoficywaterwasspreadingthroughmyveins.

ButIwanther.Thethoughtwasthere,asthoughithadformeditself.Iwanther.Ido.Mine.Hands
unclenching,clenching,unclenching,clenching.

‘Chloe,areyouallright?’Joanasked,concerned.
‘Yes,’Isaid,andforcedmylipstostretchwider,justincaseI’dstoppedsmiling.ButhadI

stopped?Ididn’tknow.Imightbelookinglikeadementedclown,stretchingthatsmileunnecessarily.

‘Areyousure?’
‘Yes,’Isaid,andaddedalaugh.Happy,happy,happylaugh.‘Yes.So…um…’Breathe,breathe,

dammitbreathe.‘Let’s…Let’srearrangethings.’Rackingmybrain,needingtofindawaytoavoida
closeencounter.Groupactivity.Group,group,group.Racking,racking,racking.‘Iknow,let’sgetallthe
kidsdownattheplayground.We’ll…paint.Yes.Allthosetyresneedtobepaintedandkidslike
painting,right?Brightcolours.Goodforthecamera.Fun.Kidslikefun,don’tthey?Yes,I’msurethatwill
work.ButI–Ineed–Ineed–’

‘Chloe?’Shewasstartingtoworry,Icouldhearit.
‘Clothes.Ineedtochange.’Ismiledagainanditfeltlikemyfacewascracking.‘I’mgoingtogo

backtothehotelandgetchanged.’Gettingoutofmychair.‘AndthenI’llbeback.I’llbe…back.’Laugh.
Laugh.Yep,Iwasheadingforastraitjacketandcouldn’tseemtohelpit.‘LikeArnoldSchwarzenegger.’
Gettingmythingstogether.‘Youknow.Arnie.TheTerminator.’

‘Okaaaay,’Joansaid–andthatstruckmeassofunny,Istartedtolaughharder.
IwasstilllaughingasIleftJoan’soffice.AndthensomehowIwasontheverandah,lookingoutat

thelushgarden,atthisplacethatwasfulloflifeandcolourandhope,andIstoppedlaughing.

BecauseIwasnotfullofthosethings.Iwasfullofangerandbitterness.Iwasselfish,and

desperate,andstupid.GrievingbecausealittlegirlIhadn’tevenletmyselftouch,alittlegirlI’dbeen
tryingtoignore,wouldneverbemine.

Ifeltmyeyesstarttostingandblinkedfuriously.Iwouldnotcry.Cryingneverhelped.Iknewthat.

I’dlearnedthat.Andthiswasn’tatimefortears.Honeyhadanewlifewaitingforher.Someonewanted
Honeytobetheirfamily.Shedeservedthat.Everychilddeservedthat.Tobewanted.Tofindahome.I
knewwhatitwasliketowantexactlythat.Itwasn’tHoney’sfaultI’dneverfoundit;itwasmyfault.
BecauseIwasn’tsweetandcharmingandadorable.Iwasjust…me.Hurtandangryandmistrustful.The
girlnobodyeverwantedforlong.

IcouldseeNickcomingtowardsme,runningatme,andknewinsomedimrecessofmyfractured

mindthatJoanmusthavecalledhim.HewasgoingtoseehowimperfectIwas.Soconsumedwithgrief
formyself,Icouldn’tbehappythatonegorgeous,innocentlittlegirlwasgoingtohavethewonderfullife
I’dneverhad.Wouldhewantme,whenhesawmelikethis?

Itriedhardtopullittogether,butbeforeIcouldevensquaremyshoulders,hewasthere,pounding

upthestairs,reachingforme,pullingmeagainsthischest.‘I’mhere,’hesaid.

AndIburstintotears.Notpretty,delicatetears.Thiswaslikearoar,arush,throughthefloodgates.I

couldn’tstopthem,allIcoulddowashangonandsobasNickrockedme,soothedme.Aminute,anhour,
foreverlater,itstartedtopass,butIwasshaking,myheadaching,myheartbruised.

‘Arewegoingtotalkaboutit?’Nickaskedatlast.
‘Idon’thavetherightclotheson,’Isaid–asthoughthatfactwereathreeacttragedy!–andstarted

cryingagain.

‘Okay,’hesaid–likeanormalpersonwould,onewhodidn’tthinkyouwerelosingyourmarbles.

Nookaaaayshere.‘Whatclothesdoyouneed,andwe’llgetthem.’

‘Jeans.Ineedjeans,’Isaid,stillcrying.‘Andashirt.And…andsneakers.Becausewe’regoingto

paint.Withthech–children.We’regoingtop–paint.’

‘Right,sotheminivanwilltakeyou–us–backtothehotelsoyoucangetchanged.’
‘No,notyou.Youneedtofinishthework.WeneedtofinishsoIcango.BecauseIcan’tbearit,

Nick.Ican’ttakeit.Notforonemoreminute.Notwhenshe–OhNick,she’sbeingadopted.’

‘Iknow,sweetheart.’
Morecrying.Wasitevergoingtostop?‘Soyouhavetostay.’
‘Okay,I’llstay,andgetitallfinished.Ipromise.’
Ilookedupathim.‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’Andhetuckedmebackinmynormalposition,underhischin.‘Andtomorrow,we’llgo

home.’

Istayedinhisarms,takingdeep,shuddery,going-to-stop-crying-nowbreaths,whileheranhishand

overmyhair.

‘Wecan’tgohome,’Isaidatlast.‘Becausetherearetheothers.’
‘Theothers?’
‘Theotherchildren.Weneedtofindfamiliesforthem,too.Howarewegoingtodothat?’
Hesighed.‘Thereareprocessesforthis,Chloe.’
‘They’renotworking.Theydon’twork.Theyneverwork.Youknowthat.’
‘TheyworkedforHoney.’
‘Butcan’twe–?Imeandon’tyoueverwantto…toadoptoneofthem?’
‘Why?Becausenobodywantedtoadoptme?’Hesighedagain.‘Chloe,it’sjustnotpossibletoadopt

everychildintheworld.’

‘But…one?Whataboutjustone?Becauseyousaid…Yousaid,whenIaskedyouaboutthisplace

beingjustadropintheocean,yousaidtherewerealotofdrops.Andyou–I–couldbeadrop,right?’

Hetiltedmyfaceup.‘Howisthatgoingtowork,Chloe?’
‘Idon’tknow.Butthere’saway,isn’tthere?’
Hewasshakinghisheadbeforethewordshadevenleftmymouth.‘Youdon’tjustpickakidand

headtotheairportwithher.Thechecksandbalancesareintense.Andhere,inthePhilippines…?Inyour
specificcase,thefirstobstacleisthatyou’retooyoung.Next,you’renotmarried.Andno,there’sno
shootingofftoVegasandcomingbackforher.Youhavetobemarriedforatleastthreeyears.Eventhen,
itcantakeyears.IttookHoney’snewparentstwelvemonths,andthey’reFilipino.’

‘ButJoansaidAmerican.’
‘TheyliveinAmerica,butthey’reFilipino.Andthey’reCatholic,veryreligious.That’simportant

here.They’vebeenmarriedforeightyears,andareunabletohaveababy.They’vespentalotoftime
withHoney,andthey’remadlyinlovewithher.Youcanseehowthat’sperfect,can’tyou?’

‘I–I–Yes,’Isaid,butmyvoicewaswobblingperilouslyagain.
Nicktookmyfaceinhishands.Wipedatmytearswiththepadsofhisthumbs.‘It’snotgoingto

happenforyouthistime,sweetheart.Youcanseethattoo,can’tyou?’

AndIburstintotearsagain.
‘Ah,Chloe,’hesaid,andhuggedmeclose.
‘ButIwanther,too,’Isaid–well,sobbed–intohischest.
‘Iknowyoudo.’Thatwasall.Noarguments.Nopersuasions.Justacceptance,andawillingnessto

letmebawlmyeyesout.‘Butsometimeswehavetogiveup.’

‘Yes,’Isaid.Andbecauseitwasoddlycomfortingtohearthat,Imanagedtostopcryinglongenough

totakeanotherofthoseshudderingbreathsandcalmdown.‘Isee,Ido.I’mokaynow,Nick.’

Hereleasedmeslowly.‘Areyougoingtobeabletodothefilmingthisafternoon?’
‘Ihaveto,’Isaid,andtriedtosmile.
Hetouchedmylips.Itremindedmeofthetimeintheaircrafttoilet,whenhe’dtriedtosmooththem

backintoplace.‘Well,I’llbetheretoo.Soifitgetstoomuch…’

‘Icandoit.Ican.’
Helookedatmeforthelongestmoment.Andthenhesmiled.‘Yes,youcan.Okaythen,let’sfindthe

van.’

BythetimeIreturnedtotheorphanage,suitablyattired,Ihadmyselfwellundercontrol.Andmytiming
wasperfect.FifteenminutestocheckthepreparationsNickandDerekhadmade–thetyrespositioned,
paintcanslinedup,paintbrusheswaiting–andthenthechildrenarrived.

Asthechildrenchosetheircoloursandstartedpainting,Iroamedfromonetothenexttothenext,

wieldingmyownpaintbrushandaskingabouttheirfavouriteschoolsubjects,hobbies,whattheywanted
tobewhentheygrewup,howtheyfeltabouttheplayground–adifferentquestionforeachchild.Someof
theanswerswerefunny,somethoughtful,someheartbreaking.Anddespitetheacheinmysoul,Imanaged
tosmile,andencourage,andpaint,andnobodycouldtellthatmypalmsweresweating(hey,everyone
wassweating)andmyheartwasbeatingadrumsolo.

Yep,Iwasholdingitalltogether.RightupuntilHoneycameovertomeandwavedherpaintbrush.

Andthatdrummingheartofminebecameatimpaniorchestra.HowwasIgoingtotalktoheroncamera?

IwasquakingasIbeckonedtoDerek,butasIstartedtocrouchbesideHoney,Nickwasthere.‘I

thoughtyouwantedmeoncameraagain?’hesaid.‘HowaboutifIaskHoneythequestions,justtomixit
upalittle?’

Mythroatwastootighttotalk,soInodded,andtriedtosmile.Andjustlikethat,asthoughNickhad

noissuewithsteppinginfrontofacamera,hetookover.AndIlovedhimlikeamaniacatthatmoment.

NickkneltbesideHoney,whileIheldtheboommikeandDerekfilmed,andaskedheraboutice

cream,andfavoritecolours,andthegamesshelikedtoplay.Andthenhelookedatme,noddedonce–
likehewasgivingmeabitofhisownstrengthinthatonemovement–andreturnedhisattentiontoHoney
toaskifsheknewwhereshewasgoingtobelivingsoon.

Honeysmiledwideenoughtolightupauniverse.‘MummyandDaddytakingmehome.’Andshe

touchedthelittlegoldcrossthatwashangingonachainaroundherneck.‘See?’sheasked,whichI
assumedmeantthecrosswasagiftfromherparents.

Itwasourclosingshot.Ithadtobe.Theperfectending:hope.Animagethateasedthecrushing

weightaroundmyownheart.

Blinkingbackafreshroundoftears,ImotionedtoDerekthatweweredone.
‘Right,MissHoney,’Nicksaid,andmadetostandup,butHoneyturnedintohimandsnuggledinto

hischest–accidentallypaintingaredstreakonhischeekatthesametime.

Nicklookedatme,hiseyessuspiciouslybright.AndIthought,Somuchforthetoughguy.Because

itwasbecomingincreasinglycleartomethathewasnottough.Atall.

HoneyglowedupatNickandtouchedtheredmarkonhischeek.‘Isredyourbestcolour?’she

asked.

‘Yes,socanyoupaintsomemore?’Nicksaidinstantly,andshegiggled,andpaintedamatching

stripeonhisothercheek.

AndIthoughtifNickstoodandturnedhisgorgeousbutttomerightatthatmoment,I’dbesqueezing

wellaheadofschedule.

ThebarBrycehadchosenforthecelebratorydrinkswasinMakati.Thegroupwasleavingthehotel
together,butIoptedtomeetthematthebarinstead,becauseIhadsomeseriousprimpingtodo.NotthatI
wasgoingtobewearingashortswingdressandnonsensicalheels–notthistime.Well,allright,Iwas
wearingnonsensicalheels,insilver,butatleastIwasinjeans(supertightones,Iconfess).Andifmytop
wasprovocativelysmallandredandspangly,sowhat?Justbecausethedresscodewascasualdidn’t
meanIcouldn’ttrytoknockmyboyfriend’ssocksoff,didit?Myboyfriend.WordsIcouldn’tquite
believeIwasabouttosayaboutNick,outloudandincompany.

ButjustasIwaspreparingtoleavemyroom,IgotacallfromLarry,mychiefofstaff,soundingme

outaboutstayinginManilaforacoupleofdays,eventhoughwe’dfinishedfilming,becauseofastorm
warningthathadbeenissuedforthePhilippines.

‘Ofcourse,’Iagreed.‘Butit’snotatyphoon,isit?’
‘Notyet.Butitmightturnintoone,anditwouldbegoodtohavesomeoneonthespotiftheshithits

thefan.’

Wedebatedatwhatpointwewouldmakeadecision–apparentlyanovernightupgradetostorm

warningsignal#3(whichwouldpredictwindsofupto185kphwithineighteenhours)wouldbeworth
theexpenseofkeepingmeinManila–andbythetimewe’dfinished,Iwaslate.

Iarrivedatthebartofinditwasgoingtobealet-your-hair-all-the-way-downnight.Thebarwas

lively,vividlylitinblues,purples,pinksandreds,themusicwasthumping,andtheteamhadputa
seriousdentinwhatlookedanendlesslineoftequilashots.

ThelookNicksentmywayasIcalledoutanall-inclusivegreetingtotheteamwasindecentenough

totelegraphtoeveryonewithinatenkilometreradiusthathe’dseenmenakedatimeortwo.Itmademe
wonderifhe’dbeentossingbackafewtequilashimself,becausehelookedsuperedgy,almostfeverish.

Infact,somethingabouthimwasmakingmenervous–enoughtoreachforoneofthoseshotsand

downitashestartedmakinghiswaytowardsmelikeoneofhisblastedhyenasonthehuntforzebra
blood.Itwasalmostarelieftofeelmyphonevibrateinmyjeanspocket.

Idugitout,doingaquickscanforaquieterarea,andspiedanoutdoordeck.Withanapologetic

grimaceforNick,Iheadedthatway,answeringwithoutcheckingthecallerID.‘Oneminute,’Iyelledinto
it.Then,‘Whew,’steppingoutintothenightair.‘Sorryaboutthat.’

Laugh.‘That’sokay.’
‘Marcus?’
‘How’sitgoing,Chloe?’
‘Oh…fiiiine.’Slowly,becauseIwasn’tsurewhyhewascalling.Ididn’twanthimtocall,not

tonight,whenIwasabouttogopublicwithNick.Twodays,justtwomoredays,wasallIneeded.

‘Ihearit’sallfinishedsoyou’recominghomeearly,’Marcussaid.
Iblinkedinsurprise.‘Whotoldyouthat?’
‘Oh,sohehasn’t–?ImeanIjust…Thatis…Nobody,really…Ijust…thought…’
‘Nick?’Iasked,tryingtounderstand.AnditwasasthoughI’dsummonedNick,becausetherehe

was,steppingontothedeck,lookingforme.Premonition.Somethingwasabouttochange.‘Whendidyou
speaktoNick,Marcus?’

‘Anhourago.Ijustwondered…Imean,IthoughtIshouldcheckinwithyou,too.Toseehowthings

…Um…’Butthewordstrailedoff.AndthenMarcusclearedhisthroat.‘Iwantedtoseehowthings
weregoing.Betweenyoutwo.Beforeyougethome.BeforeIgethome.Before…well,before.’

Thedeckfeltlikeitwastippingbeneathme.Ineededtoholdontosomething.Blink,blink,breathe.

‘I’llseeyouwhenwe’rebothbackinSydneyandwecantalkaboutitthen,’Isaid.

‘Chloe,it’snot–’
ButIdisconnectedbeforehecouldfinish,becauseNickhadreachedme.
‘So,isitbutt-squeezingtime?’Nickasked,alljovial.
AndIknew,rightthen,thatheandMarcushadcookedupaplanbetweenthemtomovemeon.
‘Ithinkyouknowthattimehascomeandgone,Nick,’Isaidcarefully.

CHAPTERTWENTY

‘What–.Whatdoesthatmean?’

‘ItmeansthatwasMarcusonthephone.Butyoualreadyknowthat,don’tyou?’
‘Oh.’Nicklickedhislips–somethingI’dneverseenhimdo.Nerves.Hewasnervous.
‘Marcusknowswhatwe’vebeendoing,doesn’the?’Iasked.
‘Notexact–’
‘Marcusreallydoesn’tcarewhatwe’vebeendoing,doeshe?’
‘He–’
‘Marcusandyoudecided,together,whatwe’dbedoing,didn’tyou?’
‘It’snotlikethat,’hesaid.
‘Youinterchangedme.Likeoneofthosegroupies.’Mybreathswerecomingfastandfurious,my

handsclenching,mypulsethrumminglikeahummingbird’swings.

Hismouthtightened.‘Ifyouwereagroupie,Chloe,Iwouldhavehadyouayearago.’
Iwasblinkingagain.‘You–?’Choke.‘Sothat’swhyittookayear?BecauseIwasn’tagroupie?

Thankyou.Thankyousomuch!’

Oneofhishandswentscrapingthroughhishair.‘No,ittookayearbecauseyouwouldn’topenyour

goddamneyesandseeme.Seehim.’

‘Oh,myeyeswereopen.Theywereseeingyouveryclearly,CasanovaSavage,tradinggirlswith

yourteammates.ButIneverthoughtMarcus–’Myvoicebrokeonhisname.‘Ican’tbelievehedidthis.I
can’tbelieveIdidthis.Iknewbetterthantodothis.’

Ispunaway,wantingtorun,butNickgrabbedmebyoneswingingforearmandspunmerightback.

‘Betterthantodowhat,Chloe?’

‘Betterthantofuckoneofyou…you…players.’
‘Fuck?Really?Isthatwhatweweredoinglastnight?Fucking?’Hisjawwassotight,itlookedlike

itwouldcrackifItappeditwithafingernail.‘Maybeyoushouldbeaskingwhichplayeryourprecious
Marcuswantstobefuckinginsteadofyou,’hethrewatme.Like,actuallythrewit.Andthenhiseyes
widened.‘Holyfuckingshit.’

I’dsuckedinabreath,preparingtospitoutalittlemorevitriol,butitstuckinmychest.Blink.Blink.

Breathe.Blink.Imagesflashingthroughmyheadoneaftertheother,likescreengrabs.Me,mystifiedafter
thefirsttimeImadelovewithMarcus,becauseitwasn’tasearth-shatteringasI’dexpectedittobe.
Marcus,kissingmyforehead.Marcus,cringingthattimeI’dlap-dancedhim.Themultipleunderwear
fails.Marcustiredandbusyand…andtiredagain.Videocallskeepinghimhome.Marcus’sflareof
panicasheheadedintothekitchenwithDrewthatnightatEvie’s.

Click,click,click,andthereitwas.Thepicture,infocus,atlast.
‘Chloe!’Nickcried,asIwrenchedmyarmfree.‘It’snotasbadasyouthink.’
ThatbreaththatwasstuckinmycheststartedwheezingthinlylikeIhademphysema.‘SoMarcus

wantstofuckaplayer?Like,generally?Oryou,specifically,Nick?’

‘He’snot–Hedidn’t–Chloe,listen.Hedidn’tevenknowhimselfuntil–’

‘Threemonthsago,’Isupplied.‘Whenhestoppedwantingtohavesexwithme.’
‘Onemonthago,’Nickcorrectedme.‘Onemonth,that’sall.That’swhenheknewforsure.’
‘Oh,onemonth,that’sall,’Isaidwithabrittle,humourlesslaugh.‘Tellme,didyouknow,one

monthago?’

Hestoodthere,silent,lickinghislipsagain.‘Didyou,Nick?
Didyou?Tellme,goddamnyou.Tellmenowifyouknewamonthago.’
‘No,’hesaid,andIthought,ThankGod.ButIthoughtittoosoon,becauseheadded,‘Iknew

eighteenmonthsago.Beforeheknewhimself.Oratleastbeforehelethimselfknow.’

Icouldn’tbreatheforamomentthroughtheshock,thepain.
Hesteppedtowardsme.‘Don’tlookatmelikethat.’
Iheldupmyhands,stavinghimoff.‘Soyouknewevenbeforehe…?We…?OhmyGod.Ohmy

God,myGod,myGod.How?Howdidyouknow?Areyou…You’renot…Areyou?Areyougay,too?’

‘AmI–?Jesus,Chloe,youknowI’mnot!’
‘WhatwouldIknow?Idatedagayguyforawholefreakingyearanddidn’tknow!’
‘ComedowntothedarkendofthedeckandI’llprovehowstraightIam.’
‘Thenmaybeyou’llbekindenoughtodothedecentthingandtellmejusthowyouknewbeforehe

did.’

Helickedhislipsagain.‘Hegotdrunkonenightand…’Shrug,awkward.‘Youknowhedoesn’t

drinkalot,soit…itaffectedhim.Andit…He…Look,Idon’tthinkheevenremembersthathetouched
me.’

‘Hetouchedyou.Hetouchedyouandyouknew.Hetouchedme,andIdidn’t.’
Mykneesstartedtobuckle,butNickgrabbedmebeforeIcouldcollapseandhauledmeupright.

‘Youcanhandlethis,Chloe.’

‘No,’Isaidtohischest.‘No,Ican’t.Ican’t.’
‘Youcan.Youcan.Lookatme.Look.’
ButIkeptmyeyesonhischest.‘Soeighteenmonths…buthedidn’tknow…onlyyoudid.Andthen

…onemonthago…buthewasstillwithmeamonthago…’Ilookedupthen,almosttoodazedtofocus
onNick’sface.‘Whenwashegoingtotellme?’

‘WhenyoubothgotbacktoSydney.’
‘Isee,’Isaid,butIreallydidn’t.‘Buthetoldyoufirst.’
‘Hecametoseemeafteryoubrokeup.Thekiss,youtoldhimaboutthatkiss,andhewantedmenot

tosweatit.Wetalkedaboutit,aboutyou.ItoldhimwhatIwasgoingthrough,howIfeltaboutyou.And
he…hetoldmewhathewasgoingthroughinreturn.’

‘Sohedidn’ttellme.Andthenyoudidn’ttellme.’
‘Chloe,befair.He’sarugbyleagueplayer,asportsstar.Comingoutisgoingtobeabigdeal.He’s

onlyjustgettingusedtoithimself.’

‘So…what?HewasscaredI’dstealhisthunderandouthiminatell-all?Orwasityouwho

thoughtthat?Therehastobesomereasonyoudidn’ttellme.Itwouldhavemadegettingintomypants
easier,youknow.’

‘Ididn’twanttotellyoubecauseIwantedthisthingbetweenus–betweenyouandme–tobeabout

us.Iwantedittobebecauseyouwantedme,notbecauseyouwantedto…toprovesomethingtohim.I
wantedyoutochooseme,Chloe.Andyoudid.Iwantyoutochoosemeagainnow.Nowthatyouknow
everything.Chooseme,Chloe.Chooseme.’

Hetookmylifelesshandandbroughtittohischest,overhisheart.Andthetearsstartedtowellin

myeyes,becausethatgesturedidn’tmakemefeelsafeanymore.

‘Don’tcry,Chloe.Please,pleasedon’t.’
Ishookmyhead,tearscascading.‘Ididn’tcry.Notforyearsandyearsandyears.Itrainedmyself

notto.Andthenyoubroughtmehere,andnow…Now,lookwhatyou’vedonetome.’

‘Shhh,shhh,’hesaid,pullingmein,wrappingmeup.‘Oh,God,I’msorry.’
‘Youcutadeal,didn’tyou?Howdiditgo?Whatdidhesay?‘I’mgay,sotakeheroffmyhandssoI

don’thavetobreakittoher?’Somethinglikethat?Didhetellyouhe’dalreadypavedthewayforyou,by
tellingmetobenicetoyou?Didyouthinkitwouldn’tmattertomewhichoneofyouIwaswith?Justlike
allthoseothergirlsintheharem?Theharem,whereeveryone’sanadultandnobody’sgettinghurt?’

‘Ah,Chloe.Don’tdothistoyourself.’
‘Don’tsaythat!Ah,Chloe!Likethat.Just…don’t!Anddon’ttellmenottodothistomyself.I

didn’tdothistomyself.Hedidittome.Andyoudidittome.Canyoubelievehesaidhelovedme?He
saidthat,lessthanaweekago.AndItoldyouwhathesaid.Itoldyou,youbastard.’Mybreathhitched,
painfully,asItriedtostruggleoutofhisarms–noluckthough,heheldmesotightly.‘Andyousawwhat
itwasdoingtome,the…theguiltofbeingwithyou,ofwantingyou.Andyoucouldhavehelpedme,you
couldhaveletmeoffthehook,youcouldhavesaid,Don’tfeelguilty.Chloe,becausehe’sgayandhe
can’tloveyou,butyouneversaidaword.’

‘Hedoesloveyou,Chloe.Andyouknowyoulovehim,too,justnotlike…likethat,notlikeus.

Andifyou’djuststopandthink,stopandthink,Chloe,justforaminute,you’dseethatnothing’s
changed.’

Istoppedstrugglingandstaredupathimasmyminddidalittleboggle.‘You’redefendinghim

now?’

‘Hecan’thelpthis,Chloe.Heshouldn’thavetohelpit.It’sjustthewayitis.Hedidn’twanttohurt

you.Heneverwantedthat.’

‘Yep,defendinghim.Funny,youweren’tdefendinghimwhenItoldyouhecalledmeandtoldmehe

lovedme.’

‘Hewasn’tsupposedtocallyoubeforeweleft.Hewasn’tsupposedtoconfuseyou,ever.Hewasn’t

supposedtocallyoutonighteither.Buthegotanattackofconsciencebecausehe’smetsomeoneandhe
wantstoexploreitandhewantedtomakesureyouhadtimetocometotermswithitbeforehedoes.I
toldhimtoleaveittome.Itoldhimweweregoingpublic,thatI’dhandleitafterthat.Butyouwerelate
gettinghere,andsohecalledbeforeIcould…’Hestopped,lookedatme,andclosedhiseyes.Opened
them.Swallowed.‘AndI’mnotputtingthisright,amI?’

‘Ohyou’reputtingitright,Nick.It’sallmakingperfectsense.’Somethingwasstartingtosputterto

lifeinsideme–replacingmaudlinself-pitywithicyfury.I’dbeenplayed,wellandtruly.IwasRuby,
passedon,tradedtothenextplayer,nobigdeal.Interchangeable.‘NowhowaboutIstopstrugglingand
youjustletmego?’Isaidcoldly.‘Letmegorightnow.’

AndImusthavesoundedlikeImeantbusiness,becausehisarmsdroppedfromaroundme.
Isteppedback,smoothedmyhairintoplace.‘Rememberwhatyousaid,Nick?Sometimeswehave

togiveup,evenwhenwewantsomethingsobadlyit’slikeadarkache?That’showIwantedyou,Nick.
Likeadark,averydark,ache.Alltwistedaroundwithguilt,becauseofwhatI’ddonetoMarcus,and
fear,becauseyoubroughtouttheoldme,thesavageme,theexplosiveme,theblackswan,themeIdon’t
like.Butnow…’Istoppedtotakeacalmingbreath.‘Well,now,becauseIreallydon’tlikethatblack
swan,andIreallydon’tlikeyou,I’mgivingup,thatwaywesometimeshavetodo.’

Itwasasthoughtheblooddrainedrightouthisface.‘Youcan’tdothat.’
Iraisedoneeyebrow.‘Ialreadyhave.’
ButNickwasshakinghishead.‘What’sitgoingtotake?’heasked,andIcouldhearthepanicinhis

voicenow,feelitashepunchedafistagainsthischest.‘Comeon,doit.Hands,fists,feet.Slapme,punch
me,kickme.Whateverittakestogetitoutofyoursystem,Idon’tcare.Justdon’tlookatmelikethat.’

‘Goddessesdon’thit,’Isaidunemotionally.‘You’renotagoddess,Chloe.You’reagirl.Mygirl.

Andmygirlcandoanythingthehellshewants.’

‘Exceptkissanotherman,right?’Isaid.‘Theonethingthatyouwon’tforgive.’Andwhenhe

flinched,IknewwithcertaintythatitwasexactlywhatIwasgoingtodo.Itwouldhurthim,thewayhe’d
hurtme.Anditwouldsetmefree,freeofthedarkachethatwasjusttoopainfultokeep.‘Whynot,right?
Imean,allit’sgoingtotakeisahottergirlandyou’llditchmethewayyouditchedRuby.’

‘RememberwhatIsaid,Chloe.Idon’tsharemytoys.’
‘SeemstomeyouandMarcus–Marcus,fortheloveofChrist–havedoneabitoftoysharing,so

don’tbeahypocrite.Ifyouwereokayaboutakissendingmylastrelationship,surelyit’sappropriatethat
akissendthisonetoo.’

‘Iwon’tforgiveyou,’hesaid–buthewasn’treachingforme.Hejuststoodthere.Lettingmego.He

wasn’tgoingtotellmehelovedme,thathewouldfighttokeepme,thatwewerematingforlifeandI’d
damnedwellbetteracceptitandstaywithhim.Eagles,wolves,swans–blackandwhite.

Andmyheart…broke.Itbroke.
SoIpastedonasmileandstrodeindoors,refusingtocheckifNickwasfollowingme,makingfor

ourtable,whereeveryonewasstilllaughinganddrinking.

One,two,three–that’showmanyshotsIdowned,oneaftertheother.Andstillnobodypaidmethe

slightestheed.

Comeandgetme,Nick.Comeandgetme,claimme,tellmeyouloveme,sayyou’rekeepingme.
Iwaited,reachingforafourthshot.Nohandlandedonmyshoulder.Noarmsdraggedmeback.

Fourthshotdowned,Ilookedaroundme,spottedBryce,andheadedstraightforhim.

BrycelookedstartledasIstoppedinfrontofhim.Andthenstartledbecamefearfulashelookedpast

me–theNickSavageeffect.Nickwaswatching.

Good!BecauseIwasabouttogopublic.
IputmyarmsaroundBryce’sneck,pulledhisheaddownalmostviolently,andkissedhim.Icounted

outthekiss,feelingnothingbutrageandhurtandwrong.Sixseconds.That’showlongittookforBryceto
overcometheshockthatkepthimimmobileandpushmeaway.

Sixseconds.Anditwasdone.
IturnedtoseewhatNickwasgoingtodo.Hewascomingtowardsthetable,butnotlookingatme.

Bryceracedovertohim,startedtospeak,butNickstoppedhim,huggedhim.Aheadshake,atightsmile,
andthenNickhandedoverawadofcashtoBryce,turnedhisbackonallofus,andheadedfortheexit.

ThenoiseinthebarfadedtonothingasIwatchedhimleave.Therewasadullringinginmyears.It

wasacomfort,almost,becauseitmeantIonlyhadtoconcentrateonthat,notonNickleaving,oronBryce
headingbacktowardsmelookingreadytotearmelimbfromlimb,orontherestoftheteam,Derektoo,
staringatme.AndthenBrycewasgrabbingmyelbow,draggingmeoutontothedeck,whirlingmetoface
him,andIstiffenedmybackbone.

‘That’syourversionofgoingpublic,isit?’Brycespatatme.
‘Didhetellyouthat’swhatwewere–’
‘Yes,hedid.’
‘Ididn’tgivehimpermissiontotalktoyouaboutme.’
‘Idon’tgiveashit,’Brycesaid.‘I’mhisbrother.’Asthoughthatwereenoughofanexplanation.
‘He’llfindanewgirlfriendwithintwodays,’Isaid,andtriedtowalkpasthim.
Brycegrabbedmyarm,heldon.‘Really?Isthatwhatyouthink?’Hislipcurled,melodramastyle.

‘Thenmaybeit’sjustaswellit’salloff.’

Alloff.All…off.AndalongcamethefirstinklingthatI’djustmadeahugemistake.‘Whywouldn’t

Ithinkit?’

‘Well,Chloe,yousee,Nickhasneverhadagirlfriend.Youare–sorry,were–hisfirst.’
Isplutteredoutadisbelievinglaugh.‘That’snottrue,hehas–’
‘Sex?’hefinishedforme.‘Hehassex?Ofcoursehedoes.He’stwenty-fiveyearsoldandhasa

dozenwomenanightthrowingthemselvesathim.Didyouthinkhewasgoingtoletitshrivelandfalloff
waitingforyou?’

‘I–I–No.I–’
‘Jesus,heprobablywouldhaveletitshriveloffwaitingifhethoughtheeverstoodachance.Buthe

neverthoughthedid.’

‘H–Hetradesgirlsin,fast.Maybeyoujustdon’trealisewhat’she’slike.Thathedoesn’tcareabout

anyofus.’

Brycesnorted.‘Iknowhimlikethebackofmyownhand.Hecouldn’tevenbeartotradeinDad’s

rustbucketcar.Dadhadafriendwhowaskeepingitforus–specificallyforme.ButwhenIdidn’twant
it,Nicktookit.He’sstilldrivingit.That’showloyalheis.Andit’snovintagePorsche,letmetellyou.’

‘OraJaguar,’Isaid,aswhatI’ddonehitmefullforce.‘It’snotaJaguar.’Stricken,Ilookedinto

Bryce’sunsympatheticeyes.‘WhathaveIdone?’

‘Well,Chloe,ifIwereabettingman…?I’dsayyou’velosthim.’

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

I’dlosthim.

Ittookfourhourstoacceptthat.BecausefirstIhadtorushbacktothehoteltoseeifhecame

knockingonmydoor,thewayheusuallydid.

(Hedidn’t.)
ThenIhadtoaskatthefrontdeskifhe’devencomein.
(Yes–andthencheckedstraightout.)
Next,Ihadtocallhim,andtexthim,andcallandtext,anddoitagain;thesamemessageeverytime:

Please,Nick,letmeexplain.

(Noresponse.)
Andafterthat,Ihadtositontheedgeofthebed,huggingNick’spillow,tryingtoworkoutexactly

howI’d‘explain’things,ontheoffchancehediddecidetocallmeback.

Payback–betrayalforbetrayal,forconspiringwithMarcusbehindmyback.
Rage–atbeingmadetofeellikeagulliblefool,thinkingIwasactuallygoodenoughforsomeoneto

wanttokeep.

Pride–becausehavingaguytellyouhe’dwaitedforyouforayeardespiteyourcommitted

relationshipwithanothermanlostsomeofitswowfactorwhenyoudiscoveredyourex-boyfriendwas
re-giftingyoutohisfriend.

Fear–thatthelifeI’dbuiltformyself,theimageI’dcrafted,theverypersonI’dbecome…those

thingswerenothingbutlies.

Need–toknowthathewouldacceptme,evenatmyworst,andforgivemewhetherIwasperfector

not,wellbehavedornot,blackswanorwhite.

Defensible,allofit.AndmaybeNickwouldhaveunderstood.Exceptthat,one–hewasn’tgiving

meachancetosayallthat;andtwo–theguyI’dchosentokisswashisbrother.Thesamebrotherwho’d
beenchosenoverhimasachild.Thebrotherwho’dgotthosepilotlessonsthatNickhadmissedouton.

Onethingwasforsure.Weweretwobrokensouls,NickandI.Damaged.Toughontheoutside,

fragileontheinside.Flawedtothebonemarrow.Itwasnorealsurpriseourbreak-upwasahot,chaotic
mess–sodifferentfrommybloodlessbreak-upwithMarcus,whichI’dcalmlytalkedoverwithEvieand
Drewovercocktails.

DrewhadsaidifI’dreallybeenstarry-eyedoverMarcus,Iwouldn’thavebeensittingthereinice

goddessmode,calmlydebatingourrelativeshadesofredhair,butpunching,screaming,clawingtoget
himback,becausethatwasmytruenature.I’dneverconsideredmyselfstarry-eyedoverNick–andGod
knowshe’dbeenatpainstomakethatanimpossibilitybypointingouthisflawstome–butthewhole
punch,scream,clawthingfeltaboutright.Iwouldhavedoneanything.

NothingmatteredbutNick.SowhenLarrycalledmeinthesleeplesshoursofthemorningtotellme

thestormwarninghadbeenupgradedandI’dbestayingoninManila,itwasn’tthereportingopportunity
ofmylifethatIthoughtabout.Instead,IwasconsumedbyimagesofNick,ononeofthelastflightsoutof
Manila,beingattendedtointhebusinessclasstoiletbyflightattendantswithglow-in-the-darkteethand

perkybreasts.

‘Goddessesriseabovejealousy,’Isaidtomyscratchy-eyedreflectioninthebathroommirror.
ButgiventhatIcouldvisualiseknockingoutatleastoneofLeila’sperfectteeth,Iknewthateither

thatwasbullshit…orIwasnofuckinggoddess.

Doingnewsupdatesoutdoorsduringincreasinglycrazyweatherwasnotexactlyapicnicoverthenext
twenty-fourhours,butthewildnesssuitedmymood.

TheonlythingthatreallybotheredmeaboutthejobwasLarry’sconstantremindersto‘colour’my

reportsmorevividlywithhorrifyingstatistics.TyphoonHaiyan–morethansixthousanddeaths.Typhoon
Bopha–morethansixhundred.TropicalStormWashi–morethanathousand.TyphoonFengshen–more
thanfivehundreddeaths,andmorethanninetythousandaffected.

ThatwasLarry,nothappyunlesssomeoneelse’smiserywasbringinghimratings,andallout

thrilledwhenthestormwasofficiallyupgradedto#4,whichmeantatyphoonwouldhitManilaintwelve
hours.Andokay,Iunderstoodhowthemediaworked,butitwashardtobeobjectivewhenyouwere
talkingaboutacrisisthatdirectlythreatenedpeopleyoucaredabout–inthiscase,thechildrenandstaff
attheSunshineChildren’sHome,whichwasatanelevationthatmadeitpronetoflooding,inadditionto
verylikelyhavingitstreesuprootedandbuildingstornapart.

EverytimeLarrycalledme(whichwasoften!)andeverytimeIgotatimingupdate(alsoalot),I

calledJoantomakesureshewasreadytoevacuatethemomentitwascalledfor.IknewIwasdriving
poorJoannuts,butIjustcouldn’thelpmyself.

Eventually,outdoorreportingbecameimpossible.Theairwashazywithcloudandrainandwinds

wereatracingspeed.Soofcourse,IcalledJoan.Andatlast,shelostit.

‘Chloe,weknow!’shesaid.‘Weareprepared.Thestormshuttersareonthewindows,ourutilities

areturnedoff,thetreesaretrimmed,theguttercleaned.WeareevacuatingassoonasIhangup.So
please,let’sallsaveourphonebatteriesforimportantthings.Ipromiseyou,Nickhasitallunder
control.’

Blink.Rewind.‘But…Nick’sinSydney.’
Therewasaslightpauseattheotherend.‘Ihavetogo.’
‘No!Don’thangup!Justtellme.Ishe…Isheevacuatingwithyou?’
Joansighed.‘Whatdoyouthink?’
‘Ithinkno.’
‘He’sattheplayground,seeingifthere’sanythingleftthathecansecureordismantle.’
Heartinthroat.‘Andthen?’
‘Thenhe’sstayingtokeepaneyeonthings.’
Isignedoff,andstartedlookingforavehicle.

Iendedupwithanancienttruck,whichIhadtodriveonmyown.AndI’mnotashamedtosayIwas
terrified.Thetruckhadabenchseatandlooseseatbelts,andgustingwindsmadecontrollingit,asI
bouncedandslidalongtheseat,quiteafeat.Iwascursingandprayingandcursingsomemore,promising
myselfthatifNicksufferedsomeinjuryjusttosaveaplayground,Iwouldkillhim,andifhewasn’t
injured…?Well,I’dkillhimanywayjustformakingmethinkhemightbe.

BythetimeIreachedtheorphanage,myheartwasinmythroatandpoundingthere.Inevertheless

threwmyselfoutintothestormandheadedfortheplayground.Fivewater-logged,wind-buffetedstepsin,
Iknewthiswasaverybadidea.Howlongdidittaketosecureaplayground?Nowherenearaslongasit

hadtakenmetodrivethere,Ihadashrewdnotion,whichmeantNickhadprobablyfinishedandgone
elsewhere.Hemighthaveoptedtoescorttheotherstosafety.Orhemayhavebarricadedhimselfinside
thebuildingwithnoideaIwasouthere.Andevenifhesawme,bysomemiracle,hewouldlikely–.
‘Aaaaaarrrrggghhhhh.’

Yep,thatwasascream,comingfromme.Idefyanyonenottoscreamwhenthey’regrabbedfrom

behindinaty-fucking-phoon,withthewindyowlinglikeawerewolfandmakingit’simpossibletohear
someonesneakinguponyou.

Butonejerkbackwards,acollisionwitharock-hardchestandIrelaxed,becauseIknewitwas

Nick.

‘Whatareyoudoinghere?’wasshoutedinmyear.
Itwistedtolookathim,andbrieflyconsideredscreamingagain–helookedterrifiedenoughtofreak

merightout.ButIhadtotellhimthatitwasmyturn,now.So,‘Comingtoyouforachange,’Ishouted
back.

Somethingfierceflashedacrosshisface,andthenhegrabbedmyhandandranwithme,backtothe

truck.Heyankedthepassengerdooropenandallbutthrewmysoddenselfinsidebeforestridingaround
totheotherside.

‘Bucklethefuckup,’heordered,jumpingintotheotherseatanddashingtherainfromhiseyes.
‘ButI–’
‘Andshutthefuckupwhileyou’reatit.’Heyelledthat–unnecessarily,becausethenoiseofthe

windandpeltingrainwasmutedinsidethetruckandtherewasnoreasonnottospeakinanalmost-
normalvoice.

Jawclenched,hestartedthetruckandspunthewheels,turningittoexittheorphanagegates.
Mynervesweredonningtheirriotgearastheminutestickedby,preparingforafight.Nickwas

lookingstormierthantheweather.ThiswasnotgoingtobeaHallmarkcardmomentofloving
forgiveness,Iwasfairlycertain.

I’mblamingnervesforthefactthatIwentwith,‘Niceweatherwe’rehaving,’asaconversation

starter,completewithsicklysmile.

Formytrouble,Nickshotmealookthatcouldonlybedescribedasincendiary.
SoIdecidedtotrysomethingmoredirect.Attackbeingthebestformofdefence,etcetera.‘You

didn’tcallmeback.’

Anotherincendiarylook,withasnortofdisbeliefthrowninforgoodmeasure.
‘Well?’Idemanded.‘Whydidn’tyoucallmeback?Iwouldhaveexpl–’
‘Shutup,Chloe,orIwillopenyourdoorandthrowyouout.’
Okay,weweregettingsomewhere.‘Nowyousee,Idon’tbelieveyou’dreallydothat.’
Incendiarylooknumberthreecamemyway,withabarelyrestrainedgrowl.
‘It’stheDiscoveryChannelinyou,’Iaddedbravely.‘Yourinstincttosavethezebrasfromthe

hyenas.’

‘DiscoveryChannelletsthezebrasgeteaten,Chloe.That’sthenaturalorderofthings.’
‘WellIdon’tlikethenaturalorderofthings.’
‘No,’hesaid.‘Youhavetocontrolthenaturalordersothateverythingisperfect.Nobasicinstincts

allowed.’

Thatwasn’tsoundingtoohopeful,andalesserwomanmighthavebeendauntedbythescorninhis

voice.Butfiguringthatatleasthewasn’ttellingmetoshutup,Iwasreadytopersist.‘Youknow,Nick,
I’mnotsogoodwithultimatums.’

‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?’
‘YousaidIhadtoshutuporyou’dthrowmeoutofthetruck.That’sanultimatum.’
‘Thanksforremindingme.Now,shutup.’

‘Oneofmyfostermothersonceservedmethesameplateofslicedtomatoesforbreakfast,lunchand

dinner,threedaysstraight,’Isaid,notshuttingup.‘SheknewIhatedtomatoes,butshe’dservedthemup
fordinneranyway,andwhenIleftthemonmyplateshewasfuriousoverthewasteoffood.SoshesaidI
wouldn’tbeeatingagainuntilI’dswallowedthem.’

IsawNick’seyesclose,justforacoupleofseconds.Sympathy?Iwasn’taboveusingittomy

advantage.ThiswasnotaSaintsAnonymousmeeting.

‘WanttoknowwhatIdid?’NotthatIintendedtowaitforhisanswerbecauseIsuspecteditwould

be‘no’.‘Iatethemfordinneronthethirdday,andthenIwenttothebathroomandvomitedthemstraight
backup.’

‘What’syourpoint,Chloe?’
‘Youkeptservingmeupplatesoftomatoes.Ultimatums.Ikepthavingtochoose,whetherIwas

readytoornot.Youhadayeartothinkaboutme,yetyougavemelessthanaweektothinkaboutyou.
AndI…Ivomited.’Okay–notthenicestanalogy,buthehadthrownthatusedcondominhisshoe,soI
knewhecouldtakeacertaindegreeofgrossness.

‘Soit’smyfault?’heasked,alittletoooutragedformetomistakehisattitudeforpoor-little-foster-

girlsympathy.‘Whatyoudid?Myfault?’

‘No,butyouknowmytemper.WhatdidyouthinkIwasgoingtodowhenIfoundoutyouand

Marcushadbeentradingme?’Andokay,bothofuswereraisingourvoicesunnecessarilybythen.

Thenextsecond,hewaspullingovertothesideoftheroad,screechingtoahalt,turningtome.‘And

whatdidyouthinkIwasgoingtodo?Doyouthinkitdidn’tbotherme,wantingyouthewayIdid,
knowingwhatIknew?Ikepttryingtogetyoutoopenyoureyesandseehimbutyouwouldn’t.Ayear,you
hadtogether,andyetyou’retellingmeitwasmyjobtoouthim?Onceheactuallygotupthegutstocome
outtome,doyouthink,doyoureallythink,Ishouldhavecomerunningtoyoutoblab?Wasthattheonly
waytogetyou,bythrowinghimunderabus?Icanonlyimaginewhatyouwouldhavethoughtofmefor
doingthat.Afrienddoesn’ttellanotherfriend’ssecrets.Ithoughtyou,ofallpeople,wouldgetthat.’

‘That’sthewholepoint!Loyaltyand…andfairness.Theminute,thesecond,Ikissedyou,Icalled

himtotellhim.Whycouldn’thehavedonethesamething,theminuteheknewhecouldneverwantme
thatway?It’snotaboutbeinggay,youidiot.Idon’tcareifMarcusisgay.Bringiton,bringitrighton!He
couldhavetoldmeanything–hedidn’tloveme,he’dmetsomeoneelse,hewasgivingupsex,whatever
hewanted–aslongashesetmefreewhenheknewhecouldneverwantme.’

‘Thatstilldoesn’tmakeitmyfault.Doyouremember,whatItoldyou,thatnightwekissed?I’dsat

there,inEvie’sapartment,watchinghimnotwantyouallfuckingnight,whenIwouldhavekilledtohave
you.Andyourippedintomebecauseheleftyouformetodrivehome.Isaidtoyou,It’snotmyfault
Marcusisn’tgivingyouwhatyouwant,butifyoutellmewhatyoudowant,I’llgiveittoyou.AndI
wouldhave.Iwouldhavegivenyouanything.’

Hishandcamedown,bang,onthesteeringwheel,makingmejump.‘Itwasn’tmyfault,Chloe.But

you’veblamedmeallthewayalong.NotlookingtoohardatwhatwasupwithMarcus,becauseyou
wantedtheillusion,thatfuckingillusionofperfection,butnottellingmewhatyouwantedeither.Instead,I
hadtoguessandhopeandtry,andyoukeptpunishingmeeverytimeIgotitwrong.Why?Whydidyou
keeppunishingme?’

‘BecauseIthought–Ithought–Oh,God.’Istopped,becausemybreathwashitchingandIcould

feelthosebloody,bloodytearsbuilding.

Nickshookhishead,disgustedatmyinabilitytotellhimeventhen.Hewenttore-startthetruck,and

Ireachedoverandgrabbedhiswristtostophim.Thiswasit.Lastchance.‘BecauseIcould,Nick,’I
said.‘BecauseIcould.Youletme,soIdidit,becauseIthought–Ithoughtyouwouldsomehowstillwant
me.Everybad-temperedinchofme,youoncesaid.Theblackswan.’Icoveredmyfacewithmyhandsas
thetearsshookme.‘BecauseIcould.’

‘Butwhendoesitstop,Chloe?Whendoyourblackandwhiteswansfigureouttheywantthesame

thing?’heaskedtiredly,andhishandwasthere,inmyhair,justforamoment,givingmehope.‘WhendoI
getmyturn?Toknowthatyou’llwantme,nomatterwhat?Ithoughtwewerethere.Thatlastnight…I
thoughtwewerethere,butweweren’t,werewe?Notifyoucoulddothattomeonenightlater.’

Idroppedmyhands,lookedacrossathim,blinkingthetearsaway.Mybottomlipwastrembling,but

Icaughtitbetweenmyteethandcontrolledit.SomethingabouthisvoicetoldmeIneededtohearwhat
wascominginallitsunadornedglory,likeitornot.

Nickbrushedatmytears,smilingsosadlyIalmostcouldn’tbreathe.‘Chloe,Inevermadeasecret

ofhowIfeltaboutyou,notsincedayone.Everything–everything–Isawthatnight,Iwanted.Theway
youlooked,obviously.You’resobeautifultome.Icyeyes,fieryhair.Hotandcoolontheinsidetoo.
Tough,butnot.Slippingmoneytoahomelessguy,andthengettingsnippyaboutitwhenyou’recaughtout.
IadmiredthewayyoustuckupforRuby,crazythoughthatsounds.ItwasthefirsttimeIsawmyselfthe
wayyousawme,likeaheartless,whoringbastard,andIadmitIdeservedeverynameyoucalledme,and
afewmoreIcalledmyself.Butmostofall,IwantedthegirlwhopunchedmewhenItriedtoenticeher
awayfromherdate.Youweren’tgoinganywherewithaguywho’dditchhisdatethewayIdid,andyou
weren’tditchingMarcus,notforanything,andcertainlynotforaguylikeme.Ilovedthat.Iwantedthat.
Forme.Allofit,forme.Theclear-eyedwayyouchoseasideandjust…stuckthere,becauseitwas
right,andpeopledeservedthatrespect.’

‘ThenIdon’tunderstandtheproblem.’
‘Theproblemisyoudidn’tsticktome.Ittookyouayeartokissme,Chloe;ittookyoulessthanone

lousyweektokissBryce.AndIjustcan’tliveknowingyou’regoingtochoosesomeoneelse.’

‘Butwewerematingforlife.Swans,wolves,eagles,us.’
Here-startedthetruck,pullederraticallyoutontotheroad.‘Ah,butthere’sabuilt-inloophole,

Chloe.Whenonedies,theothercangoonandfindanewmate.’

‘Butwe’rebothstill–’
‘I’masgoodasdead,Chloe.’
‘Letmeprovethatyou’renot.’
Heshookhishead.
‘Idareyou,’Isaid,tryinghisowntactic.‘Pulloveragainandkissme.Andifyoustillsayyoudon’t

wantme,I’llbelieveit.’

‘ButIdowantyou,Chloe.Sometimes,however,wehavetogiveup,evenwhenwewantsomething

sobadlyit’slikeadarkache.’Hesmiled,lookinginfuriatingly,disgustinglybraveandromantic,ashe
saidthosewordsInever,everwantedtohearagain.‘SoI’mgoingtosaythisnow,becauseIwantitoff
mychest,andthenwe’llletitgo.Iloveyou.Anddon’tsayitback.’BecauseI’dopenedmymouthto
blurtitallout.‘Justdon’t,Chloe.Idon’twanttohearyousayit.Youplayittoosafetobeinlovetheway
Iam.Youcraveperfection,andI’mnotperfect–asItoldyou,andtoldyouandtoldyou.Iscrewedupon
theMarcusthing,butI’dalreadytoldyouI’ddowhateverIhadtodotogetyou.Itjusthappenedtobea
shittythingtodoandIknewitallalong.Butitdoesn’tchangethefactthatIdidit.I’dprobablydoitall
overagain.Inotherwords,Iamnotwhiteswanmaterial.I’llwearthat.Now,please,canyouwearwhat
youdidtome?’

Hepulledintothekerbandstoppedwithajerkofthehandbrake.‘Andonthatnote,thankGodwe’re

here.’Hepointedtotheright.‘Seethatbluedoor?Throughthereandyou’llbesafe.’

‘Whataboutyou?’
‘I’mnotyourconcern.’
‘I’mnotleavingyou.’
‘Yes,youare.’
‘Ifyoudie,I’llneverforgiveyou.’

‘Well,we’rerackingupallthosethingswewon’tforgive,sojustaddittothetally.’
‘Whereareyougoing?’
‘Backtotheorphanage.’
‘Whathappensifthebuildingsaredestroyedinthetyphoon?’
HelookedatmelikeIwastalkinggibberish.‘Thenwerebuild.’
‘So…you’llgivemeup,butnotabuilding?’
‘Ididn’tgiveyouup.Youchose.’
‘Andnowyou’rechoosing.Youaresuchadamnhypocrite.SoIkissedyourbrother.Ididn’tenjoy

it,youknow.Andhecertainlydidn’t.Andthat’swhatyouchoosenottogetover?That?TheNickIwant
wouldn’tsaysayonara,haveanicelife,becauseImadeonemistake.TheNickIwantwouldfightforme,
andletmetellhimthatIwillnever,evertouchanotherguy.TheNickIwantisnotsomepatheticone-
strike-and-you’re-outbastard,notwhenheknowshowimportantitistome,tobeso…so…OhGod,
forgetit.Thiswholethingispathetic.You’repathetic.’

‘Chloe…’Warning.
‘Don’t“Chloe”me,youcoward,’Ishoutedathim.‘Allthistalkaboutwantingmeandwaitingfor

meforeverisallverywell,butaswe’vesaidatimeortwo,wordsarecheap.Whatyou’rereallydoing
ispassingmeon,justlikeeveryotherpersoninmylifehasdonebecauseI’mtoomuchtrouble.Well,
here’ssomenewsforyou–Icanlivewith“no”justlikeyoucan.Andnexttimeyoutakeoneofyour
groupiestobed,youthinkaboutallthatbullshityoufedmeabouttakingtheblack,thewhite,theygrey,the
whatever-the-fuckswan.Iwillmoveon,andIwon’tpickaguywhogivesupatthedropofahat.And
meanwhile?Well,youcankissmyarse!’

IreachedforthedoorhandlebutbeforeIcouldgetitopen,Nickwasthere.Hello,eatyourheart

out,UsainBolt.That’showfasthewas.Wrenchingopenmydoor,unbucklingmyseatbelt,shovingme
acrossthebenchseatandsomehowmanagingtoyankmebackatthesametimeuntilmylegswereoutof
thetruckandhewasbetweenthem.

Thewindwasraging,therainpeltinghishead,hisback,mydanglinglegs.
‘Doyoureallywantmetokissyourarse,Chloe?’hedemanded.‘Doyou?Doyou?’
‘Yes,’Isaid,andraisedatremblinghandtotouchhischeek.‘Iwantyoutokissanypartofmeyou

want.’

Hejerkedhisfaceawayfrommyhand,andsomehowturnedmesoIwasflatontheseat,onmy

stomach.Myjeanswerewrencheddown,myunderwear,tornoff.Notjoking–eightydollars’worthof
powderbluelacerippedandremoved–wooshka!AndIdidn’tgiveagoodgoddamn.

Hebit,thenkissed,thenlickedtheleftcheekofmybottom,thentheright.Icouldhearhimbreathing,

soraggedeachdragged-inpieceofairwaslikeacry.Oneroughshove,andmylegswereasspreadas
muchasmybunchedjeanswouldallow.AlmostbeforeIcouldcomputethat,histonguespearedinside
me.Once,twice,threetimes.Thenhisfingersweretheretoo,rubbingthatfavouriteplaceofhis,thumb
andforefingerrolling,rolling.Thewildnessoftheweather,thesensationshewasbuildinginme,thefact
thatitwashim…everythingfeltferal,elemental,excitingbeyondbelief.Abreath,agroan,andhismouth
replacedhisfingers,sucking,kissing,licking.AndIwascomingandcryingandcallinghisname.

Butalmostbeforethelastspasmrolledthroughme,hewastuggingupmyjeans,draggingmeoutof

thetruckandbackintotherain.‘Wetenoughforyou?’heasked–aloud,grotesquefacsimileofmy
openingconversationalgambitabouttheweather.

Therainwaseverywhere,drenching,slapping,suffocating.IrealisedIwasshaking–emotion,

reaction,despair–andwrappedmyarmsaroundmyselftotrytostopit.‘W–Whatwasthat,Nick?’Fora
moment,Ithoughthewasn’tgoingtoanswerme,thathehadn’tevenheardmeovertheroarofthewind
andhisownheavingbreaths.‘Nick?’

Hebreathedin,shovedtwohandsintohissoddenhair,breathedout.Hisfacehadgoneblank,his

eyesshuttered.‘Thatwasmekissingyourarse,Chloe.’Hesmiled–wolf-like.‘Now,youthinkaboutthat
whenyoumoveontothatguywhodoesn’tgiveupatthedropofafuckinghat.Andmeanwhile,consider
yourselfkissedgoodbye.That’showmykind–animal-beast-pig-bastards–doit.Worthyofthe
DiscoveryChannel.Thishyenahaseatenitslastzebra.’

WhatcouldIdo?Shakinglikealeaf,inshock,drenched,heartsick,Imademystrugglingway

throughthewind,towardstheshelter.Handonthedoor,Iletmyselfturnback,heedlessoftherainthat
wasmixingwithmyhorribletears.

Therainthatdidn’tquiteblockthesightofNick,backinthetruck,slumpedoverthesteeringwheel,

hisheadonhisarms.Hisshoulderswereshaking.

Hewascrying.
Andmybrokenheartshattered.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

‘Whatthefuckhappenedtoyourhair?’

ThatwasDrew,twodaysafterIlandedinSydney,asIsteppedintoJackandEvie’sapartmentfor

mybirthdaydinnerandwaspassedaroundthethreeofthemforakiss.

Ishrugged.‘Youtoldmeapixiecutwasrealbreak-uphair.Andonthesubjectofbreakups,

Andrew,youmighthavementionedyou’dgivenReynoldhisconge.Andwelcomehome,Jack,bythe
way.’

‘Conge?’Drewasked.‘Howsophisticated.’
‘Reynoldisheartbroken,incaseyou’reinterested,’Isaid.‘I’mmoreinterestedinwhatmadeyougo

thefullchop,’Drewsaid.

Itossedmy…head.‘Ibrokeup.’
‘Yeaaah,Irecallthatwarrantingafringeandsixinches.’
‘Itdid,whenIbrokeupwithMarcus.ButnowI’vebrokenupwithNick.’
‘Okaaaay,’Eviesaid,andIgavehersuchagimleteye.‘Wellyou’veonlybeengoneelevendays,so

that’squickwork!’shesaid.

‘Actually,theaffairitselfwassixandahalfdays,’Isaid,forthesakeofaccuracy.‘Itwaspre-

typhoon.’

‘Andhowdoesameresix-point-fivedayaffairwarrantapixiecut?’Evieasked.
‘Let’sjustsayitwasanintensesix-point-fivedays,’Isaid.‘Actually,thewholeelevendayswas

intense.’

Talkaboutunderstatement!Mywholelifehadchangedinthoseelevendays.I’dbeenthroughtwo

typhoons–aphysicaloneandanemotionalone.I’ddonesomeofmybestwork–onefeel-goodstoryand
onenaturaldisaster.I’dbeenupcloseandpersonalwithchildren,notonlyattheplayground,butalso
recordingtheirstoriesonmyphoneintheshelterasasolooperator,likethegrown-upprofessionalIwas
supposedtobeinsteadofthebasketcaseI’dbeenupuntilthatpoint.I’ddiscoveredIdidn’thavetobe
theoldChloeorthenewone,thatifIhappenedtobebothChloes,theworldwouldn’tstopturning.I’d
learnedwhatitwastobewanted,reallywanted,totheedgeofmadness,andthatthatwasexactlyhowI
likedit.I’dfalleninlove…thenthrownitawaybecauseI’dlearnedthatlessontoolate.

Diditshow,Iwondered,whenJacklookedsearchinglyatmeashehandedmeadrink?
‘Whatisit,Jack?’
‘Ijustlikethehaircut.’
Ilaughed,asIlookedintomyglass.Agoodoldmartini,whichhadstarteditall.Well,whatthehell,

Ithought.Makememaudlin,openmylegs,whocares?It’smybirthday–adatenobodyexceptthesethree
hadeverbotheredtocelebrate.Whynot?

IlookedupatJack.‘I’mglad,’Isaid.‘Butifyoureallythinkthatscantfewinchesofginisgoingto

dragoutthedetailsofmydisastrousloveaffair,youhavealottolearn.’

‘Oops,sorry,’Jacksaid,andremediedthedrinksituationbytoppingmeupfromtheever-present

cocktailshaker.

‘Well,’Drewsaid,almostrubbinghishandsinanticipatoryglee,‘Ithinkmybirthdaypresentis

goingtocomeinveryhandygivenalltheintensitythatisbuzzingaroundtheroom.Comeon,let’sopen
presentsbeforedinner.’

Sowesettledinthelivingroom,andasIsankintothatgorgeouscoffee-colouredsemi-circular

couch,Iwasmovedtoconfess,‘Youknow,Ireallydon’tlikemycouch.’

‘He-llo!’Drewsaid,‘Nobodydoes.It’sdeathtothecoccyx,thatcouchofyours.IpreferEvie’s

lumpyoldblackcorduroynumbertoyourcreamleatherconfection.’

‘Hey,’Evieprotested.
‘Heyyourself,’Drewsaid.‘Iseethatyouhaven’ttransportedthatmonstrositytothepenthouse.’
‘Iwasn’tgoingtolether,’Jacksaid,andtwirledoneofherringlets.
Allthreeofuslookedathim–andinunison,burstoutlaughing.
‘What?’Jackasked,butasmilewaslurking.
‘YouletEviedowhatevershewants,’Isaid.
‘Well…yeah!’Jacksaid,anddraggedEvieinforalingeringkiss.
Blink,blink,breathe.RecallingNickdraggingmeintohisarmsasthoughhe’dprotectmefromthe

universe.JustlikeJackdidwithEvie.

Drewcametositbesidemeandclaspedmyhandtightly.‘Bleedingalloverthefloor,darling?’
‘Yes,althoughasitturnsout,thatguiltyconscienceyouweresoworriedaboutwastrumpedby

somethingmuchmorepainful,’Isaid.‘Tellme,Drew,didyouknow?AboutMarcusbeinggay?Youdid,
didn’tyou?’

‘Ididn’tknow,butIguessed.Thatnightwhenwewereallhere,therewasjust…something.’
‘Well,canyoutuneupyourgaydarbeforeIlandanewguy?’Iasked.‘Itwillsavemeasexlessthree

monthsattheveryleast.’

Laughing,hepulledmeinforahug.‘Openthosepresents.’AndthentothecanoodlingJackand

Evie,‘Oi,youtwo.Presents.AndnotthatgodawfulscarfEvieboughther.’

‘Hey!’Evieagain.
‘WellforGod’ssake,Jack.’Drew.‘Can’tyougetherastylist?’Withoutwaitingforananswer,he

gesturedtothetwowrappedgiftsonthecoffeetable.‘Minearemuchmoreinteresting.Therapy,almost.’

Ireachedforthefirstone,andstartedlaughingasIuncoveredmyveryownVibratingRockChick.

‘I’mnotsureaboutthepurple,’Isaid.‘Idon’tknowwhy,butIthoughtitwouldbeflesh-coloured.’

‘Justuseitwithpride,’Drewsaid.
Halfwaythroughunwrappingthesecondpresent,Istartedlaughingagain.TwoKendollsemerged.

Onedarkhaired,onered-haired.Well,sortofred-haired.

‘SoyoualreadyknewaboutmeandNickbeforetonight?’Isaid,smoothingmyfingeroverdark-

hairedKen’shead.‘Whotoldyou?’

‘Icannotrevealmysources,’Drewsaid.‘Thejournalisticcode.’
‘Hmph.Idon’ttrustyou,’Isaid,butreally,Icouldn’tgetuptheenergytointerrogatehim.
Henodded,lookingsage.‘Verywise.’
Jackhadpickeduptheotherdoll.‘Wheredidyoufindared-hairedKen?’
‘Ohthat!’Drewthrewoutadramatichand.‘Canyoubelievethereisnored-hairedKen?NotthatI

couldfind,anyway.’Drewsoundedoutraged.‘Ihadtodyeitthatcolour.’

Evieproddedthefrontofred-hairedKen’spants,giggling.‘Iwantone!’
‘Youdonot,’Jacksaid,buthewaslaughingtoo.
‘Andthat’snotall,’Drewsaid,snatchingthedolloutofJack’shands.‘Now,Marcus’spantsare

paddedwithalockofhisownhair.IsnippeditoffinthekitchenbecauseIhadanotionwe’dbeneeding
it.Nick’s…?’Takingthedollfromme.‘Ihadtouseacottonball,butyoucangetsomechesthairsora
fewpiecesoffingernailorsomethingoffeBay,can’tyou,Chloe?Don’tallthosesportsguyshaveillicitly

obtainedpickingsforsaleonthere?’

‘AndwhywouldIneedMarcus’shairorNick’sfingernail?’Iasked.
‘Well,duh,Chloe!They’revoodoodolls.’Hepresentedmewithapincushionthathadbeentucked

inwiththedolls.‘Stickthemwithoneofthesepins,rightwhereithurts,andBob’syouruncle.’

‘God,’Igaspedaroundfull-blownhysterics.‘HaveItoldyoulatelythatIloveyou?’
‘I’malwaysupforaVanMorrisonsong,’Drewsaid,layingthedollslovinglyonthecoffeetable.
Notagoodtimefortheintercomtobuzz,becauseallfourofuswerepracticallyconvulsing.Ithadto

buzzthreetimesbeforeJackrecoveredenoughtoanswerthesummons.

‘HidetheKendolls,’hesaid,comingback.‘Oratleast,theblack-hairedone.NickSavageisonthe

wayup.’

‘Okaaaay,’Eviesaid,andIthrewacushionather–whichshethrewback,leavingthedollswhere

theywere.

‘DoesheknowI’mhere?’Iasked.
JackgavemeaWTFlook.
‘Wellhecouldbeheretocheckouttheview,’Isaid,unconvincingly.
‘Heknowsyou’rehere,’Jacksaid,andaddedacompletelyunnecessary,‘Youidiot.’
ButIhadnocomeback.Iwastooscaredtoopenmymouthincasetheanxietythatwasexpandingin

mychesttookthatasaninvitationtoburstoutofmeinascream.Notonedistinctthoughtseemedtobe
abletosettleinmyhead.Onlysomeamorphoushow/why/whatjumble,formedfromequalmeasuresof
dread,fear,lustandindescribablejoy.

Doorbell.
Dooropening.
OhGod.God,God,God.Iwasn’tgoingtolook.
Drew,besideme,callingout:‘Wewerejusttalkingaboutyou.’
‘Niceornasty?’cametherumblingresponse.
‘I’monthefence,’Drewsaid.‘Andbelieveme,that’sneverbeensaidofmebefore!’
‘Thatsurprisesme,givenhowniceand…pointy,shallwesay?…afencecanbe.’
‘Soit’sgoingtobelikethat,isit?’Drewsaidwithrelish.‘Inthatcase,letmeaskyouifit’strue

whattheysayaboutyourbiceps?’

‘Idon’tknow,whatdotheysay?’
‘Thatanormalhumancanonlygetitshandshalfwayround.’
LaughterfromNick.Andatlast,IriskedalooktoseeNickanglinghisshoulderssohisbicepswere

heldoutchicken-wingstyle.

‘Wanttotry?’NickaskedDrew.
Eviewasrollinghereyesatmesocrazilyatthatpoint,Icouldn’tworkoutifshewastryingtosay

somethingorhavingafit.Drewwassimilarlywild-eyeingallovertheplace.Itwasbasicallyoff-the-
chartsnuts.

‘Okay,I’moffthefence,’Drewsaid.‘Niceandnasty–exactlyhowwelikethemaroundhere.

Chloe,you’regoingtohavetokissandmakeupwithhim.’

‘Ilikethatidea,’Nicksaid,andthenhesmiledatme–thatrarestsmile,theshyone.‘Ihearditwas

yourbirthday,Chloe,soIbroughtyouapresent.’

IwonderedwhathewoulddoifImeltedinapuddleandtoldhimtojustmopmeupandtakeme

home,butwassavedfromthatignominybyJack(clearlytheonlyadultintheroom),whocalmly
announcedhewaswhiskingDrewandEvieofftothedeckforaweddingplanningmeeting.

‘Ooh,Jack,we’regoingtomissthefun,’Drewcomplained,butneverthelessallowedhisbrotherto

bundlehimoff.

‘Singoutifyouneedadultsupervision,Chloe,’Jacksaid,butthelookheshotoverhisshoulderwas

atNick,andtherewasaveryclearwarninginit:behavewithourgirl.

Andthenthethreeofthemweregone,andIwasonmyownwithNick,andthereseemedtobea

wholehostofDiscoveryChannelwildliferampagingthroughmygut.

‘Ilikethehair.’ThatwasNick’sopener.
‘It’sbreakuphair,’Isaidflatly.‘Ah,Isee.’Pause.‘Musthavebeensomebreakup.’
‘Itwasbrutal.’
Silence.
Then,‘Isthatamartini?’heaskedme,noddingatthedrinkclutchedinmyrigormortisfingers.
‘Yes.’
‘DoesthatmeanI’mgoingtogetintoyourpantstonight?’
Itriedtosquelchmylaugh,butcouldn’tmanageit.‘Thatdepends,’Itriedtosay.
‘WhataboutifIdothis?’heasked,andstrodeovertome,droppingtohisknees,takingthecocktail

glassandputtingitonthecoffeetable,thengrabbingmyhands.

‘Whatareyoudoing?’
‘Ithinkit’scalledbegging.’
‘Yousaidyou’dneverdothat.’
‘Isayallkindsofstupidshit.’
‘Yousaidyou’dneverforgiveme.’
‘Stupidshit,I’mtellingyou.I’dforgiveyouifyousleptwiththewholeSydneyScorpionsteamand

putthesextapeonYouTube,ifyou’llforgivemeinreverseforbeingacompletedickheadandtakeme
back.’

‘Yeah,right!’
‘Isthatareferencetomyforgivingyouoryourforgivingme?’
‘Yourforgivingme.’
‘Well,Iadmit,Iwouldn’tbehappyaboutasextape.’
‘Didn’tthinkso.’
‘Thethingis,Ihaven’tstoppedthinkingaboutwhatyousaid,inthetruck.Aboutmebeingacoward.

Youwereright,Iwasacoward–scaredofwhatI’ddoifyouchosesomeoneelseandIlostyou.ButI
knowthat’sstupid,becauseI’mthelostone,nowthatIdon’thaveyou,andithurtslikecrazy,andIjust
don’tthinkIcanlivewithoutyou.’

Myheartwassqueezingpainfully,fearfully,hopefully.‘So…?’
‘SoI’mgoingtobetheNickyouwant.Theonewhofightsforyou,nomatterwhatyoudoorsay.

Theonewhobelievesyouwhenyousayyouwillnever,evertouchanotherguy–andplease,God,letthat
betrue,atleastwhenitcomestotheteamandthesextapething,becausethatwouldreallytryme.But
basically,sextapesaside,whatI’msayingisthatI’mgivingyouablanket“Iforgiveyou”fortherestof
ourlives.I’llnotonlyletyouwalkallovermewithhighheels,I’llbuyyoutheshoestodoit.I’lldo
anything,sayanything,takeanything…aslongasyou’llsayjustoncethatyouloveme.’

‘Yousaidyoudidn’twantmetosaythat.Youorderedmenotto.’
‘Hello?Stupidshit?’
Ilaughedagain,butthetearsweretheretoo,stingingbehindmynose.
‘Can’tyousayit,Chloe?Justonce?Youdon’tevenhavetomeanit.’
‘Oh,Nick.’
‘Justonce.’
Idraggedhimup,offthefloor,andstoodwithhim,slottingintomyfavouriteposition,inhisarms,

headunderhischin.‘We’reeagles,remember?’Isaid.‘Eaglessoar,theydon’tgrovel.’

Thekissontopofmyheadwasbothfierceandgentleashetightenedhisarmshardenoughtocause

spinalinjury.‘Sothewholematingforlifething.Isit…Isiton?DespitethefactthatI’mafuckwit?’

‘Itissoon,it’sweldedon,’Isaid.‘Youknow,Ithinkwe’vecorneredthemarketonfuckwittery

betweenus,andIlikeitlikethat,’Isaid.‘Here–I’llshowyou.Evie?Drew?Jack?Weneedyouguysin
here.’

Threeseconds–that’sallittookforthemtotumbleintotheroom.Whichledmetoconcludethere

hadbeennotonewordutteredaboutthewedding,becausetheirearshadbeenstrainingtohearwhatwas
goingon.Evennot-so-adult-after-allJackwaslookingcaught-out.

‘Ineedwitnesses,’Isaid.Andthen,toNick.‘Turnaround.’
Nickwassmiling.Andthenhestartedlaughing,asIgrabbedhisbuttwithbothhandsandsqueezed.

‘Nowthat,’Isaidovermyshouldertomyfriends,‘isapublicbuttsqueeze.ItmeansI’mcommitted.’

‘Ormaybethatyoushouldbecommitted,’Drewsaid.‘Toanasylum.’
Isnorted.‘Yeah,inabednexttoyouandyourvoodoodolls.’
‘Isthatwhattheseare?’Nickasked,pickinguphisKendoll.
‘Yes,’Isaid,andwaitedtoseewhathisreactionwouldbewhenIadded,‘That’syou.’
Heexamineditmoreclosely,thenshookhishead.‘Needsmorestuffingdownhispantsinthatcase.

Andthat–’noddingtotheotherdoll‘–isahorribledyejob.Marcus’shairisamuchdeeperredthan
that.’

‘Hel-loMrL’Oréal,’Drewsaidadmiringly.
‘Shutup,Andrew.’Thatwasme.
‘Yeahshutup,’Nickechoed,butthenflashedhimasmile.‘Oryouwon’tbeabletohearChloe

coughupthosethreelittlewordsshewasonthevergeofsaying.’

Drewgavemeatut-tutlook.‘Shehasn’tsaidthem?Chloe!’
‘Shewaswaitinguntilshecoulddoitinpublic,’Nickexplained.
‘Fine,’Isaid,‘butyouneedtogivemeapieceoffingernail,Nick.’
‘Togowiththepieceofyoursstillstuckinthatscratchonmyback?’heasked.
‘Hey,’Isaid,blushingandlaughingsimultaneously.‘Notinfrontoftheguys.’
‘Whynot?Ithoughtthatwashowwerolledinthisgroup?’
DrewlookedatEvie.‘Ifshedoesn’twanthim,I’lltakehim,’hesaid.
‘Oh,shewantshimallright,’Eviesaid.‘JustlikeIsaidallalong,’
‘Yes,shewantshim,’Iconcurred,asNicklookeddownatme,hopeandgloryinhiseyes,andlove

andwonderandeverythingmyhungrysoulhadwantedforso,solong.

‘Sothatmeans…?’heprompted.
‘Wereally,reallydon’tneedtosayallthisstuffinfrontofmyfriends.’
‘Whataboutthebuttsqueeze?’
‘Iwasmakingapoint.’
‘Well,Iknowyou’vehadthe“size”discussion.Doesn’tthatmakethemmyfriendstoo?’Ithrewmy

handsintheair.‘Allright,Igivein.Iloveyou.Inpublic.Done.’

‘Sayitagain.’
‘Once!Yousaidonce.’
‘Yeah,butthisisnotthetimetobestingy.AndIwasthinking,forthefirstweekorso,onceanhour

wouldbeappropriateafterthehellyou’veputmethrough.’

‘Youputmethroughalittlebitofhelltoo,youknow.’
‘Forlessthanonelousyweek!That’snothing.’
‘I’mnotsayingitonceanhour.’
‘WhataboutifIletyoupunchme?’
‘I’mnotdoingthatanymore.Yousee,ImetthisguyinManila,andhekindofcuredmeofthatbad

habit.’

Hekissedme,sopassionately,Ihalf-wonderedifIwasabouttogetnailedonEvieandJack’s

couch.

‘Isitgettinghotinhere?’IheardJackmurmur,andthenlaughasEviepunchedhim.‘Ithoughtwe

weren’tpunchinganymore.’

‘No,Chloe’snotpunching,’Eviesaid.
‘So,Evie,’Nicksaid,tuckingmeunderhisarmandturningtowardsher.‘WhatdoIlooklikenow?’
‘Huh?’
‘YousaidlasttimethatIdidn’tlookmarried.Whatdoyouthinknow?’
Eviegiggled.‘Well,I’dhavetosay,youkindofdo.’
‘Good,’Nicksaid,‘becauseit’showIfeel.’Hegloweddownatme.‘So,Chloe,ifwe’regoingto

getontotheadoptionthingweneedtostartgettingrunsontheboard.AndIguessthatmeans…’Digging
inhisbackpocketandpullingoutaring.‘…Ihavetogiveyouyourpresent.’

‘Really.We’redoingthisinpublictoo?’AndthenIlookedatthering,whichhadadiamondthesize

ofaboulderinit.‘Andyoudroveheresittingonthat?’

‘It’sadiamond,they’retough.’Hetookmyhandandsliditonmyfinger.‘Tougherthanmybackside,

asitturnsout.Butyouknow,Chloe,youcankissmyarseifyouwant.Youowemefortheoneinthe
truck.Wantmetobendovernow?’

Iwavedahandatthepurplemonstrosityonthecoffeetable,laughingtoohardtospeak.
‘What?’Nickasked.
‘VibratingRockChick’Igaspedout.‘Forwhenyoubendover.Don’tthinkIhaven’tthoughtaboutit

onceortwice.’

Hewinced,buthewaslaughingtoo.‘Ouch.NotexactlywhatIhadinmind.Buthey,ifyousayit

again,thatyouloveme,whoknowswhatI’llletyoudo?’Andthenhestoppedlaughing,andtookmy
handsinhisagain,andkissedthefingerwithmyengagementringonit.‘Iloveyou,theseguysknowit,so
sayyes,throwinthatextra“Iloveyou”,andwecanallgooutonthedeckandtalkweddings.Becauseif
anyoneknowshowtothrowaweddingit’sme,andI’llevenletyouhavegoldchairbowsandcandy-
coveredalmondsinswan-shapedvessels.’

‘Youwillnot.’Ismiledupathim.‘Thevesselswillbeeagle-shaped.’
‘Isthatayes?’
‘That’sayes,let’sgetmarried.’
‘It’snotofficialuntilyousaaaay…’
‘Iloveyou?’
‘Minusthequestionmark.’
‘Iloveyou,’Isaid,andthentookadeepbreath,andsmiledupathim.‘Ireally,reallyloveyou.’
Almostbeforethelastwordwasoutofmymouth,Nickwaskissingmelikethemadmanhewas.

Andthen,astheothersbrokeoutinspontaneousapplause,hesmiledagainstmymouth,thenslowly
releasedmeandturnedtothem.‘Didyouknowshepropositionedmeintheaircrafttoiletontheflight
over?’

‘That’snothowIrememberit,’Isaid.‘Butyoukeepgoing,NickSavage,andI’lltellthemaboutthe

timeyouworeashoewithausedcondominthetoe.’

‘Bringiton,mylittleblackswan,’Nicksaid,andlaughed.‘Bring.It.On.’
Andashekissedmeagain,Evie,DrewandJacklookedateachotherandsaidinunison,‘Okaaaay.’

Acknowledgements

Iwouldliketoacknowledge,withthanks,theassistanceofPhillRosen,whocontributedthepilottalkthat
isincomprehensibletotherestofus.

I’dalsoliketothankmyjournalistfriends,whodouble-checkedthatIhadChloedoingherjobproperly.

AvrilTremayne

Afterahighlysuccessfulcareerincorporatecommunications,AvrilTremaynedecidedsheneededalittle
moreromanceinherlife.

Andhavingtriedherhandatshoeselling,nursing,teaching,andshort-ordercooking,beforebravingthe
corporateladderasahighflyingexecutivemixingitupwiththebusinesseliteandanoccasional
celebrity,Avrilhasgatheredmorethanenoughrawmaterialtokick-startaswagoftalltales.

ShelivesinSydney,Australia,whereherhusbandanddaughtertrytokeepheroutoftrouble–notalways
successfully.

She’samadkeentraveller,withmorefavouritecitiesthanshouldbestrictlyallowable,andlovesgiving
traveladvicetoanyonewhoasks–andagoodfewwhodon’t!

Whenshe’snotwritingorreading,Avrilcangenerallybefoundeating–althoughshedoesnotcook–
drinkingwine,andobsessingaboutshoes.

IfyouenjoyedEscapingMrRight,you’lllovetheseotherstoriesbyAvrilTremayne…

TheContract

byAvrilTremayne

LaneDavishasneverhadtimeforlove.Hardwork,dedicationandfocusgotherthroughuniandnow

she’sasuccessfuleconomistwithqualificationsinallareas–exceptthebedroom.

Whenacolleagueairsthosebedroomsheetsinpublic,Lanedecidesit’stimetoupskill.She’salways

studiedherwaytosuccess,sowhynothireateachertohelpheroutnow?It’sjustabusinessdeal–three

monthsofprivatetutoring,nostringsattached.Easy–oritwouldbe,ifthelessonsdidn’tmakeherweak

attheknees…

Herproposedteacher,AdamQuinn,hashisownagenda.Hissister–oneofLane’sbestfriends–wants

himtoscareLaneintogivinguphercrazyscheme.ButoncehemeetsLane,hecan’tquitebringhimselfto

rejecther.

IfAdam’sgoingtoteachLanejustonething,it’sthatlovecangetinthewayofeventhebestintentions…

Learningtheartofseductionhasneverbeensomuchfun.

Availablenow!

Readonforanextract…

CHAPTERONE

Wherewashe?

Thirtyminuteslatewastoolate.
LateenoughforLanetowonderif,perhaps,Adamhadchangedhismindandwasn’tcoming.
Laneswallowed,tryingtogetherheadaroundthat.Aroundtheideashemighthavetogobacktothe

drawingboard.Shedidn’twanttofacethatpossibility.Ithadbeenexcruciatinglyembarrassinggettingto
thispoint;thethoughtofstartingagainwasenoughtomakeherfeelfaint.

Shetookadeep,calmingbreathasshelookedaroundherlivingroom,checkingagainthatnothing

wasoutofplace—whichshe’dalreadydoneadozentimes—andcalculatinghowlongitwouldtake
Adamtodrivefromhishouseinout-thereNewtowntoherhouseinnot-so-out-thereMascot.Fifteen
minutes,tops.

Still…hemayhavebeencaughtuponabuildingsite.Orstuckintrafficsomewhere–ithappened

sometimes,peoplegettingcaughtupneartheairport,whentheyweredrivingtoherplace.

Shetookanotherdeepbreath.Settledown,Lane.There’snoreasonforhimtobackout.
Anymanwouldjumpatthechance—that’swhatherfriendSarahhadsaid.Sarahhadtoldherthat

he,specifically,hadjumped.Heknewthescore,andhadalreadyagreed.Tonightwasjustaformality.
Signaturesonthepage.

Lanefeltherhandsstarttoclench,andwiggledherfingerstoeasethetension.
Nerves.Shehatednerves.Hadperfectedtheartofnotlettingthemshow,nomatterhowmuchher

insidesrioted,becausetheflustering,ditheryflutteringofthemmadeherlooklikeatwit.

Logical,rationalfinancialeconomistsdidnotflutter.Orpacefloors,orchewfingernails.They

crunchednumbersandanalyzeddataandpredictedtrendssohigh-yielddecisionscouldbemade,builton
asoundbase.

Asoundbase.Thatwasonewayoflookingatthesuccinctchecklistshe’dpreparedfortonight,to

reviewwithAdambeforetheysignedthecontractshe’ddrawnup.

Thechecklist.Shewouldjusthaveonemoreread.Thatwouldhelpcalmherdown.
Shewalkedswiftlytotheglass-toppedcoffeetable,benttoreachintothebriefcasebesideitand

slidoutthepaper-clippedpages.Threeofthem.Neat.Error-free.Blacktypeonwhitepaper.

He’dalreadyagreed,sheremindedherself,drawinginanotheroneofhersilent,secret,calming

breaths,assheskimmedthewordssheknewpracticallybyheart.Itwasastraightforwardarrangement—
nothingtopanicover.

Adamdidn’tevenhavetolikeher.Likingwasn’taprerequisiteoneitherside.Although,ofcourse,

itwouldbeeasieriftheydidlikeeachother.Andreally,theyprobablywould.Lanelikedhissister,
Sarah.SarahlikedLane.AndSarahadoredAdam.Logicsuggestedtherewouldbeamutualityoflikingin
therethatwouldencompassLaneandAdaminsomeway,right?

Still,themostimportantthingwasthathehadthecredentialsforthejob.
SarahhadassuredLanethatAdamwasthequintessentialalphamale—aconceptLanedidn’tquite

believein—withhordesofwomenmakingbootycallswithimpressivefrequency.

Twenty-nineyearsold.Builder.Nounmanageablecharacterflaws.Nodisgustinghabits.Clean,

handsome,notapsychopath.

WhatmoredoyouneedLane?
AndLanehadbeensohappytogetherproblemsortedout,shehadn’tgivenmuchthoughttoAdam

asaflesh-and-bloodbeing.She’dbeenrelieved,ofcourse,aboutthe‘clean’and‘notapsychopath’bits,
butshedidn’tcareabout‘handsome.’Shehadn’tbeenparticularlyinterestedinwhathelookedlike,
whichwaswhyshehadn’tbeenworriedthatthephotoSarahhademailedherhadbeengrainyandoutof
focus.

Now,though,thinkingofthatdarkshadowyimagewhenshewasontheveryverge…Therewent

herfingersagain,tensingup.

Stopit!
Sheslidthechecklistbackintoherbriefcase.Walkedtotheentrancehallway,listenedcarefullyfor

soundsofarrival.Nothing.

Shecheckedherwatch.Shewouldgivehimtenmoreminutes.
Shecaughtsightofherfaceinthemirrorabovetheglass-toppedhalltable.Pale—butthatwas

normal.Blueeyesalmosttoocalm—sodeceptive.Lipsveryfaintlysmiling—nicelycontrolled.Hair
pulledoffherface—nostraywisps.

Perhapsthehairwastoosevere.Shetuggedafewcopper-redstrandsfreeoftheconfiningbandand

triedtoarrangethemaroundherface.Hmm.Messy.Unattractivelymessy.Sheremovedtheband
completelyandretiedherhairintoaponytailathernape.Itwouldjusthavetodo.

Shegaveuponthemirrorandranhereyes,asbestshecould,overtherestofher.
Shehadn’thadacluewhatsheshouldweartonightandhadendedupstayinginthesquare-cutnavy

suitshe’dworntowork.Plain.Businesslike.

Boring.
Shesighed.Itwassohard,theclothesthing.Andtonight,harderthanusual.Howdidyoumanageto

lookattractive,butnotflirtatious?Appealing,butnotdesperate?Likeyouweren’ttryingtoohard,even
whenyouwere?

Allright,sheofficiallyhatedthis!
Shewascallingitoff.Hewastoolate.Itwastoolate.Whathadshebeenthinking?
Shewalkedpurposefullybacktoherbriefcaseandwrenchedoutthechecklist,thecontracts,ready

toripthepagestoshreds.

Andthenitcame.Thesound.Acarpullingup.
Staycalm.Breathe.Breathe.In—out—in—out.Maybeit’snothim.
Herfrontgatesqueaked.
OhGod,he’shere.He’sactuallyhere.
Somethingbeingmutteredoutsidethefrontdoor.Acurse?
Oh.Oh,oh,oh.
Theknockwasloudandshort.Tworaps.
Laneclosedhereyes,justforamoment,gatheringhercourage.Tocalmherself,sheneatenedthe

edgesofthepagesthatwerethankfullyunripped,thenpositionedthemononeendofthecoffeetableand
headedforthedoor.Hewouldn’tnoticethetremorsinherfingers,shetoldherself,asshereachedforthe
doorhandletolethimintoherhouse.

Andthenthedoorwasopenandhewasthere.Shestaredathisworkbootsandscanneduppasthis

bluejeansandfadedblackshirt.Chest.Neck.Face.OhhhhhhhGod.Shewaslookingup—andshewas
fivefeetten!

Hermindwentblank.Shewasstaring.Sheknewshewasstaring,butshecouldn’tseemtostop.He

looked…helooked…good.

Notconventionallyhandsome,but…oh,my,itseemedthealphamaleconceptwasrealafterall.
Hewaited,unsmiling.
‘Oh,’shesaid,feelingbreathless,andthrustoutherhandtoshake.‘Youmustbe—’
‘Yes,Imust,’hesaid,andtookherhand—nottoshakeitbuttoholdit.Assheblinkedupathim,he

drewherclosetohim.CloseenoughthatLanecouldsmellthesoapyscentofhisskin.Hesmelled
wonderful.

Hedrewheralittlecloserandshestumbled,catchingherheelonthehallwayrug.Hereachedout

hisotherhandtosteadyher,grippingherarm.Twohandsonhernow,reelingherin.‘Careful…Lane,’he
saidsoftly,lingeringoverhername.

Herheartlurchedandstartedbeatingfastastheireyeslocked.Hiseyesweredark.Blackalmost.

Withlaughlinesfanningoutfromthecorners.Hemustlaughallthetime,Lanethought.Buthewasn’t
anywhereclosetolaughingnow.Heseemedabouttopullherevencloser—couldshegetanycloser?—
thenstopped.Frownedasthoughhe’dlosthistrainofthought.Releasedherandwalkedinside.

Lanerubbedatherarm,justabovetheelbow,wherehishandhadgrippedher.Hehadn’thurther,

butshehadfelthimrightthroughthedermisanddowntothebone.

Squaringhershoulders,Laneturnedtofacehim.Hestooddeadcenterofthelivingroom,looking

aroundwithoutanyindicationhelikedwhathesaw,whichwasbasicallyhermother’scast-offfurniture.

Lanesawhimglanceatthecanapésshe’darrangedonawhiteovalplatterinthecenterofthecoffee

table.Shefoughtablush.Itwassoobvious,nowshe’dseenhim,thatAdamQuinnwasn’tacanapéeater.
Andsuddenlyshefeltlikeshewaspretendingtobeagrown-up.Bluesuit.Canapés.Whatwouldhe
expectnext?Scrabbleboard,laprug,andcupofhotcocoa?

Heturnedandfacedher.Hislipsweresmilingbuthiseyeswerenot.‘Nowwherewerewe?Ah,

yes,Imustbe—’Thesmilevanished.‘AdamQuinn.Reportingforduty.’

Reportingforduty?Anotherdeepbreath.‘Iwashopingwecouldapproachthissituationwithsome

…sensitivity.’

Adamlookeddownatthecoffeetable.‘Itwilltakemorethansmokedsalmononryetoachievethat,

don’tyouthink?’

Lanefeltherstomachdip.‘Sarahsaidyouwerewilling,’shesaid.
‘Iknowwhatshesaid.’Adam’svoicesoundedalmostlikeagrowl.
Somethingwasn’tright.
Sheranhereyesoverhim,tryingtoworkoutwhatitwas.Herheartbeat,whichhadn’tyetrecovered

fromhisentrance,kickedupanextranotch.Blackhair,close-croppedinadon’t-mess-with-mestyle.
Stubbleonhisjaw.Hewasn’tonlytall;hewasincrediblybig,too.Hefilledherlivingroomthewayan
armytankmight.Thefactthathewaswatchingherjustasintentlyasshewaswatchinghimmadeafunny,
jitteryfeelingthatwasn’texactlynerveseruptinherstomach.

Washedisappointed,nowthathe’dseenwhathe’dbeworkingwith?Wasthatthethingthatwasn’t

right?Her?Couldhetell,justbylookingather,whatamassivejobhehadaheadofhim?Perhapsshe
shouldletthepoorguyoffthehook.Tellhimthanks,sorryfortheinconvenience,I’vechangedmymind,
goodbye,givemylovetoSarah.

But…hewashere.Andhesmelledwonderful.Andhelookedlike…well,likehecouldteachher

thingsshe’dneverevenimagined.

Shecouldfindsomeoneelse,herrationalbrainargued.
OrmaybeshecouldjustbuyabookoraDVD.
OrlookituponGoogle—andgetthreetrillionsuggestionsshecouldspendthenextfewyears

sortingthrough.

Hernostrilsflaredasshecaughtthatsoapyscentagain.
No—shewasnotgoingtoresorttoGoogleorabookoraDVD,andshewasnotgoingtofind

someoneelse.Shedidn’twanttotakeanymoretime.Shewoulddothis,andshewoulddoitwithhim.
He’dalreadyagreedandshewasholdinghimtoit!Hewouldjusthavetosuckitupandmakedo,
regardlessofwhathethoughtabouther.Shedidn’tcarewhathethoughtofher;shewasn’tpayingforhis
thoughts.

Shesetherjaw.‘Adam,haveyouorhaveyounotagreedtohelpme?’
‘Yes,but—’
‘Good.Regardingthesmokedsalmon,IwasawareoftheinconvenienthourIchoseforthismeeting,

soIthoughtyoumightlikesomerefreshments.Butofcourse,you’relate,andIimagineyou’veeaten.
Fine.I’mhappytogetdowntobusinessstraightaway.’

AdamcrossedhisarmsoverhischestinwhatLaneconsideredavery…well,‘alphamale’pose.

‘Byallmeans,Lane,let’sgetdowntobusiness.Oh,sorry,shouldIcallyouLane?Perhapsyou’dprefer
MissDavis?Ms.Davis?It’snotDr.Davis,isit?BecauseIknowyouweresomeaceuniversitystudent,
right?’

Lanedidnotalloweventheflickerofoneeyelidasshepickedupherbriefcaseandretrievedthe

all-importantpaperworkoffthecoffeetable.‘It’sMs.,butLaneisfine.’

‘Allright.Lane.’Hedrewoutthesoundofhernameuntilitwasthickandhoneyedandbeautiful.
Lanecaughtherbreathbeforeitcouldhitchinherthroat.Checklist.Checklist.Concentrateonthe

checklist.Buthereyesdidn’tseemtowanttofocusonthatperfectdocumentinherhand.‘Thenlet’s
moveon,’shesaid.‘Wecansitatthediningtableandgetawayfromthesmokedsalmon.Followme,
please.’

Shecouldfeelhimfollowing,thoughhelaggedseveralstepsbehind.Theknowledgeofhimwasas

pervasiveandintimateasalayerofmuskoilonherskin.

ShewasabouttocontractAdamQuinnforthreemonthsofsex.
Godhelpher.

TheContractisavailablenowonebook–clickheretoreadon!

Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedortransmittedbyanypersonorentity,

includinginternetsearchenginesorretailers,inanyformorbyanymeans,electronicormechanical,

includingprinting,photocopying(exceptunderthestatutoryexceptionsprovisionsoftheAustralian

CopyrightAct1968),recording,scanningorbyanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystemwithoutthe

priorwrittenpermissionofRandomHouseAustralia.Anyunauthoriseddistributionoruseofthistext

maybeadirectinfringementoftheauthor’sandpublisher’srightsandthoseresponsiblemaybeliablein

lawaccordingly.

Version1.0

EscapingMrRight

9781925324198

FirstpublishedbyRandomRomancein2016

Themoralrightoftheauthorhasbeenasserted.

ARandomRomancebook

PublishedbyRandomHouseAustraliaPtyLtd

Level3,100PacificHighway,NorthSydneyNSW2060

www.randomhouse.com.au

RandomHouseBooksispartofthePenguinRandomHousegroupofcompanieswhoseaddressescanbe

foundat

global.penguinrandomhouse.com/offices

NationalLibraryofAustralia

Cataloguing-in-Publicationentry

Tremayne,Avril,author.

EscapingMrRight/AvrilTremayne.

ISBN9781925324198(ebook)

Man-womanrelationships–Fiction.

Lovestories.

A823.4

CoverdesignbyIsabelKeeley-Reid

EbookbyFirstsource

Document Outline

About the Book
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgements
About the Author
The Contract – Ad and Extract
Copyright Notice

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