Page 61 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars
I can’t believe I kissed her again.
Fuck me. I’m doomed to keep kissing this girl inappropriately.
Of course it’s not as big a deal now as it was ten years ago. She’s a grown woman with a mind of her own, and as much as her father and brothers would like to continue to vet who she liplocks with, it’s none of their business. If I want to kiss her, I can damn well kiss her, and they can go fuck themselves.
Except I don’t mean that. Despite taunting Fraser, I respect him, Joel, and their father, and I understand why they’re looking out for Elora. Of course I do. She’s been through a horrific event that must have shaken them all, and it’s natural that they want to protect her.
The last thing I want to do is make things worse for her. I know she likes me, and I don’t want to break her heart, again. I also know that she needs careful handling, and I’m not sure I’m the man for the job. The pirate label is way off the mark, but the fact is that even if I do consider myself a considerate lover, I don’t have the time to treat Elora the way she needs to be treated. At the risk of sounding as if I come from the nineteenth century, she needs wooing, and I have no time to do that.
Maybe I could woo her a little, though. Do a mini woo.
But no. It’s not fair on her. I’m convinced that if I tried, I could seduce her. I probably wouldn’t have to try super hard. But I can’t. I have to be the bigger person here. I have to think with my head and not somewhere further south.
It’s super tricky when my brain seems to have slid into my boxers. But I need to try.
I go back to my hotel room, telling myself I need to leave her alone. I’ll be seeing her tomorrow anyway.
It’s strange how quickly we’ve fallen back into our teasing, friendly relationship, with the added sparkle of adult attraction. She makes me smile. I miss her.
I sigh, make myself a coffee, and stretch out on the sofa to read a book.
My phone buzzes, announcing a text. It’s from Elora. I read it and laugh. In that last year before I left New Zealand, she was studying poetry at school and announced that she was only going to speak in haiku—the Japanese poetic form of five syllables in the first line, seven in the second, and five in the third. Technically, she explained somewhat pompously, haiku expressed the writer’s feelings about the seasons, and contained a kireji or cutting word to juxtapose two images.
Not to be outdone, I started sending her badly written haiku of my own, and that led to us exchanging funny and sometimes rude poems which would no doubt have made ancient Japanese poets turn in their graves, but they never failed to make us laugh.
Today, hers reads:
When I kissed your lips
The scent of rum and coffee
Made my mouth water
Smiling, I compose my own and send it back.
Blonde waterfall hair
Cheeks pink as cherry blossom
Kissing you was fun
After a few minutes, I get another.
Sexy in civvies
Black denim jeans fit so well
I love your tight bum
That makes me laugh out loud. Oh, so it’s like that, is it? Mischievously, I compose another.
Voice of a songbird
Rare as a giant moa
Magnificent tits
I send it with a grin.
