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I slide out the Maori bone comb. Then, one by one, I take out the Bobby pins holding my bun in place. There are a few, but I don’t hurry, informed by the heat in his gaze as it skims down me that he’s enjoying the view.
Now I’m here… now I know where this is going, and that he still wants me… a strange calmness descends on me. He’s right—I know what I want. Cam’s muddied the waters over the past few days, but the surety I felt in the bathroom on Christmas Day—the moment where I knew I could only build my life with Henry once I let my old relationship die—returns to me now. I’m not cheating on Cam, because this is my new life. My body wants Henry, and my mind wants him too. It’s foolish to believe anything else.
Gradually, I release the strands of hair, and I let them unfurl and fall to my waist in waves. Henry moves forward again and sinks his hands into it, then returns to kissing me, his fingers weaving through the strands.
“So soft,” he whispers, pressing kisses up to my ear. “So silky.” He touches his tongue to the lobe and then sucks it gently, making me shiver. “Ka nui taku aroha ki a koe.” It means ‘I love you so much.’
“Ko Hinemoa, ko ahau,” I reply softly. It’s a Maori proverb that means ‘I am just like Hinemoa, I’d risk all for love.’ Hinemoa was the daughter of a great Maori chief who fell in love with a man called Tutanekai. Because he wasn’t rich or powerful enough to ask for her hand in marriage, he loved her from a distance. Neither realized their love was reciprocated until eventually she swam across the lake to be with him.
He lifts his head to look at me, obviously realizing the way our story kind of mirrors the tale.
“I’m swimming,” I tell him. “I will get there.”
His eyes shine as he slides one hand onto my hip and holds my other hand, and then he softly sings the first verse of the well-known folk song that tells their story, called Pokarekare Ana.
“Pokarekare ana, nga wai o Waiapu, whiti atu koe hine, marino ana e.” ‘They are stirred, the waters of Waiapu, but when you cross over, girl, they will be calm.’
He twirls me in a circle, then brings me back into his arms for the chorus. “E hine e, hoki mai ra, ka mate ahau, I te aroha e.” ‘Oh girl, return to me, I could die of love for you.’
Oh God, this guy is killing me.
Bending, he lifts me in his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. Suddenly full of joy that I haven’t felt in so long, I crush my lips to his. I run my hands through his hair, loving the feel of the short strands on the back of his head and the way the top bit curls slightly beneath my fingers. Then I cup his face and brush my thumbs across his cheeks, adoring his manly stubble.
“You’re going to give me bristle rash on my thighs,” I tell him, and he laughs with the same unadulterated joy that I’m feeling.
“Presumptuous,” he says, taking me over to the bed. He pulls back the duvet, then climbs on and lowers me onto my back.
“You’re not going to go down on me?” I pout.
He lowers on top of me, deliciously heavy, and touches his nose to mine. “You really think I’m going to finally get you into bed again, and not taste you?” His voice is low and sultry; I can hear the hunger in his words. I shiver, and he groans. “Every time you do that, I get a little bit harder.” He kisses down my neck to my breasts and covers one of my nipples with his mouth.
I arch my back with a moan. I’m not sure I believe he can get any harder. His erection is already like an iron bar pressed against my thigh, and I shudder at the thought of it sliding inside me.
“I’ve dreamed about this,” I whisper as he swaps to the other breast. “Every night. You haunt me, Henry.”
“Good.” He sucks hard.
“Ooh!”
He leaves my breast and kisses back up to my mouth—big, hard, wet kisses. “I want you to have no other thought in your head but me,” he demands. “During the day, and in your dreams. When someone says my name, I want it to make you clench inside as you think about me making you come.”
“Jesus.” I think I’m going to faint.
“I’m going to give you so many magnificent orgasms, you won’t be able to look at me without thinking about climaxing,” he says. “I’m going to make you sound like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally for ninety-nine percent of the day.”
“Only ninety-nine percent?” I ask, panting, as he kisses up my neck.
“You’re allowed a one-percent lapse of concentration in a dire emergency.” He chuckles and kisses my lips again. “Once you’re mine,” he says fiercely, “I expect to be a part of every thought you have.”
“I’m already yours,” I say, meaning it.
He moves back and looks at me. “No, you’re not. Not yet. But you will be. And it’s going to be amazing. Just me and you, out at Sumner Beach, making love on the deck and on the kitchen table and in the bath and on the bed.” He kisses my nose. “Or wherever else you choose to live with me. I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”
My head spins. I purposely haven’t drunk much for the past few days, wanting to try and keep a clear head, so it’s not alcohol—it’s Henry talking about us living together. If I’ve given any thought past leaving Cam and putting that relationship behind me, it was to presume I’d have to find a place of my own and live there for a while, as I dated Henry and we got to know each other more intimately. But he’s talking as if he wants me to move in with him right away.
Wow, talk about fast forward. Is that what I want? I can barely catch my breath. I’ve never been to his house, but I’d love to see it. Alex told me it cost Henry five million bucks. I bet it’s magnificent. But to live there, with him? Right now?
We get on well, but working together isn’t the same as living together. Maybe he’s untidy, or has lots of irritating habits. And I’m hardly perfect; perhaps after a few months of getting to know me he’ll grow to hate all the things he thinks are quirky and amusing right now. I can’t just move from one relationship to another without stopping at the border to show my passport.
