I felt like a soda bottle that someone had shaken before popping the cap. Once the pressure was released, the story that had bubbled inside me spewed through the narrowing of my neck and out of my mouth. It left a sticky sordid mess coating everything between us.

Oliver just looked angry, then confused, disgusted, angry again. I couldn’t even look at him, now. The last inch of story sat inside me like flat swill and, without the pressure of the shaken fizzing contents, it lacked the oomph to get it out.

I wasn’t the wholesome person Oliver believed in. The professional. The nice, middle-class girl with second-hand clothes and a strong work ethic.

“Darcy, look at me.”

I glanced, but couldn’t meet his eyes.

“The minute I saw you, I wanted you,” he said.

Ah, God, bless his voice. Bless its balm, the way it soothed my raw nerves. Bless its strength for giving me something to hold on to. Bless the way it wrapped around me, gathering my frayed edges back together again.

I swallowed, choking back a sound I knew would make no sense.

“I’d never seen anyone so out of place as you were in the sports bar. I thought if I blinked, you’d vanish into the gloom so I had to go to you, immediately. You have no idea the power you have over me, and you can’t tell me anything that will change that. You’ve done nothing wrong, Darcy.”

“I should have gone to the police much earlier. I should have left him before he’d lost every morsel of respect for us. That made it easy for him to hit me.”

Oliver passed around the island to where I stood, took out a stool, sat, and pulled me to stand between his opened thighs. With his hands resting on my hips, our eyes locked. “You can’t change the past. Should have, could have, would have…they’re all wasted thoughts, things you dwell on, loaded with self-blame. That man doesn’t deserve any further consideration from you. Do you want to keep talking? There must have been quite an aftermath.”

I nodded. I wanted it all out. “I spent hours being questioned by police. First as a suspect, then as a witness. I was left with nothing. I lost my career, all of my possessions, the friends I’d made. Rob’s right. Mud sticks. Far more fun to gossip than to trust and support someone. I wanted to return to New Zealand until the trial began, but people would have found out, and that would have blown my chance of getting a decent job here. So I shifted out west in Sydney, and found a job at a crummy diner where they paid me cash. Got skills working the hotplate and the coffee machine. Gave my testimony at the trial and helped put a few people in prison.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

“I’m horrified I was that stupid to stick around. My parents barely speak to me, and won’t speak of what happened. I want my career back.”

“You have it back. With this fundraiser on your CV, they’ll be lining up at your door. I’m proud of you. You’re brave, Darcy, and you don’t have to keep this locked away. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Do you have any idea of how I panicked when you told me you were raising funds for a drug rehabilitation center? I wanted to run. But, I knew I could do a good job for you if I was given the chance. Only, I didn’t plan on sleeping with the boss.”

Oliver smiled. “I did. From that first time I kissed you on the cottage porch, I was hooked. Been craving you ever since.”

“What about now?”

“Still craving you, Miss Darcy. I don’t care what you tell me, the craving will never stop.”

That weight of the secret I’d carried with me had shifted with my confession to be replaced with something new. A different weight that involved trusting myself to love again.

“I’d prefer we kept this between ourselves, Oliver. In my experience, most people aren’t generous enough to listen the way you have. I’m not going to rescue my career if this sordid little story accompanies me to every interview.”

He kissed me. Quickly, firmly, telling me he’d keep me safe. “I know. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you. You came back early from Auckland.”

“I missed you. There was a dinner tonight, but I got out of it. Thank god I did.” He laughed. “Hell, Darcy, it’s impossible to say which of us has the worst ex.”

Suddenly, I laughed. It bubbled out of my chest unleashed and uncontrolled. Oliver joined me, and I ended up doubled over, my face buried in his chest. I finished, inhaling him in long gasps, his shirt sucking into my mouth, the scent of his skin, the trace of his cologne that reminded me of fjords and ocean and flowering manuka after summer rain.

His safe arms engulfed me and he rocked us as I gasped for breath.

“He’s not part of us. Neither is Annabelle. We’re fresh, and new, and we’re doing something good. We’re moving forward, Darcy, and the past can fuck off back to where it belongs. History.”

He claimed my mouth with his, and kissed away my past until I was liquid. His hand sneaked behind the waistband of my shorts, stroking my stomach, going lower until I quivered, and parted my legs for him. His mouth never left mine as he tugged down my zipper, and jerked my shorts and panties off. He stood, one hand on the back of my head holding our lips together as he got out of his slacks and underwear.

Joined together, we crab-walked across the kitchen to the seat built into the bay window. Oliver sat, and finally, he broke our kiss. I straddled his lap. His hand on my hip kept me up on my knees, hovering over his magnificent cock. He pressed it against my entrance, and took hold of my chin. Our eyes locked.

“You are not defined by something an asshole did in your past. Tell me you understand?”

“I do.”

“Promise me you believe it.”

“I promise.”

“Say it for me.”

The head of his cock was wedged right at my entrance, but his fingers dug into my skin, preventing me from sliding him inside. He wanted my pledge. It was silly, really, bribing it out of me with the promise of a hot fuck. That’s one way you could look at it.

The other way? That was the way I chose. It wasn’t just another fuck, it was more. A joining of our bodies and our hearts, respect and trust and all the pretty words that layered upon each other until you were left with the big, all encompassing word that I wasn’t ready to think about. Love.

But I could make the first step and go live with the words he wanted to hear before he fucked me. “I, Darcy Austen Kennedy, am not defined by something an asshole did in my past.”

Oliver slid inside me with a long sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath while I made sense of the circus in my head.

“I’m going to remind you of that, every day. Open your eyes, I want you looking at me when you come.”

“It’s impossible, you know. Eyes close for sneezing and orgasms.”

“So much knowledge in this clever brain of yours, Darcy.”

We fucked slowly, building up, stopping, edging, until between us was thick, slick, soaked skin. Twilight was swallowed by night and still we fucked in the bay window in the dark. Finally, with his fingers wedged between us, he teased me enough to make me come. My eyes were closed, my head on his shoulder, hands gripping his hair.

In the warm, post-orgasmic ambience I wondered if I could trust him with my love, or if he’d be careless with it, too. I could have slept there, I was that relaxed, but as my body grew heavy, Oliver spoke.

“Darcy Austen Kennedy?”

“Mother is a fan. It could have been worse. If she’d loved Dickens I’d probably have been Cratchit or Fezziwig.”

* * *

By the end of the week we had signed contracts from Pearl and Reuben. I spent a day going back and forth between Pearl’s management and Luther, preparing a press release to announce her one-off performance. Reuben would remain as a secret guest unless he changed his mind. The ad agency guys in Auckland came to us, and we spent an afternoon at the Lodge, locked in a room throwing ideas around for promotions and ads. They wanted Oliver to have another try at convincing Reuben to go on the bill, but Oliver said we’d lose him.

In the end, we decided on Pearl + One.

This was where I thrived. I was in my element, and I finished the day on a pure high. We had dinner at the Lodge in a private room and all drank far too much.

Luther sang a Pearl hit, tapping out a rhythm with a pair of spoons. I don’t know if it was the amount of alcohol I’d consumed but I thought his effort was well on the mark.

“So many talents, Luther,” I teased.

“That’s just the start. You should see me dance.”

“The happy drunk,” Oliver said. “Remind him of this tomorrow and he’ll deny it with that famous surliness we know and love.”

I wondered if this was the side of Luther that Ginger saw, because this way he was funny, and charming, and most appealing. The agency team stayed at the Lodge and Oliver called someone to drive the three of us home.

Luther lived in what could only be described as a gothic mansion. It had an exterior skeleton of scaffolding, and the grounds looked like the aftermath of a disaster.

He lowered the window of the car and hung out. “My poor, scarred Ormidale,” he said, gazing at the building.

“Still living in the boatshed?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah. I should demolish this monstrosity. The boatshed is quite adequate for me.”

“Tell me that again when we get an easterly storm and a king tide.”

“I shall sleep wearing a life jacket.”

“This is why Luther is single,” Oliver explained. “No woman would put up with living in a boatshed.”

Luther held up a finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. My boatshed is very desirable. Marcus Truebridge stayed there recently and tried to buy it from me.”

“He probably wanted to knock it down and build a hotel. You do own the best piece of land in Waitapu.”

“Ormidale is the only woman I need. The behemoth is my mistress. She spends twice as much money as I earn.”

“I doubt that. You’re loaded. You’re also drunk. Go to bed.” Oliver leaned across me and popped Luther’s door handle. He tumbled out, stood, saluted us, and closed the door. “Careful on the path,” Oliver called as we sped off.

“Does he really live in a boatshed?” I asked.

“It was a boatshed, but he’s turned it into an incredible guesthouse. From the exterior, it still looks dilapidated. Inside is stunning. It’s on piles at the edge of the water and the sea laps around it at high tide. Ormidale is his family home, but it sat empty for about thirty years after his grandparents died. Luther bought it off the Trust. He’ll do a good job renovating, but then he’ll probably rattle around in it until he grows old and tiresome.”

“Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? His looks almost override his volatile temperament. There are a lot of women out there who’d love the drama.”

“He says he’s too busy. Are you getting ideas about him?”

“Are you jealous?” I teased.

“You’re mine, Miss Darcy. From your head, through your soul, across your heart and all the way deep, deep into that always-ready-to-fuck pussy.”

“Classy, Mr. Sackville.”

“We’re nearly home, sir,” the driver said, as if concerned Oliver had forgotten we weren’t alone.