Chapter Eleven

Izzy

At last, something I feel comfortable talking about.

I tell Hal about the ideas I’ve had for the veterinary center, about expanding the rooms, creating a bigger waiting room, and building another two or three dedicated surgery rooms out the back, with a bigger recovery room for the patients. We’re growing all the time, and sometimes we have to postpone operations or turn non-rescue patients away because we don’t have the room.

“I’d like to expand the non-rescue part of the center,” I tell him. “We’d still remain in the Animal Welfare Team, obviously, but it would be good to encourage more patients from town as well.”

He nods and looks away, out of the window, across to the blood-red sea. He seems thoughtful, and I wonder if he’s thinking about what I’ve just said or something else.

He looks nice tonight in his dress shirt. It has long sleeves, but he’s rolled them up a few times, and his forearms are tanned and muscled. He has wide wrists—he always has trouble getting watch straps and has to buy extra-long ones. His hands are strong, with long fingers—he can sew up a wound neater than a Regency lady’s embroidery. He’s had a shower recently, because the hair is still damp around his temples. He’s trimmed his beard. He smells nice. Not vanilla tonight—something spicy, sensual. He’s changed his aftershave because we’re on a date.

My heart gives a little jump at the thought. He started talking about the Ark because he knows I’m nervous. He’s so sweet. He’s trying really hard, dressing up, ordering a vegetarian meal. I think I know him well enough to understand when he’s bored, and when he’s sincere and enjoying himself. He likes being with me. I still can’t believe it, but his attention seems genuine.

I clear my throat. I can’t expect him to do all the work. If I’m not going to try at this, we might as well give up and go home.

“What was the last movie you watched?” I ask him.

His gaze comes back to me. His lips curve up, and for a moment I think he’s going to tease me. But instead, he thinks about it, then tells me the name of a thriller, not a very good one, judging by the face he pulls.

“No good?” I ask.

“I guessed the ending in the first ten minutes.”

I ask if he’s seen the one that’s in the cinema at the moment, and he shakes his head. “It’s had good reviews,” I say.

“Then maybe we should go together.” He smiles. We’ve gone to the cinema together with other people, but I know that this time he means we should go alone. On another date. A tingle runs down my spine. This is really happening. He doesn’t just want a one-off date. He wants a relationship. I feel a little breathless.

I can’t think about it now. “So come on then,” I say, “top ten thrillers. Go!”

He grins, showing me his Edward teeth, and we start talking about our favorite movies. He likes those that lean toward horror, I prefer the psychological ones, but we both watch them all, and we talk about our lists until our meal turns up. To be fair to him, Hal tucks into his lasagna with gusto, and I hide a smile as I eat my rather splendid goat’s cheese and spinach pasta. The expensive Merlot is so smooth it’s like drinking a warm sunset, and I have to remind myself it’s alcoholic, and I want to keep my wits about me. I’ve already had a whisky in my room for Dutch courage. I don’t want him to have to carry me out of here.

But it relaxes me, and after we finish talking about movies we move on to travel, and we’re soon exchanging stories about the places we’ve been and the things we’ve seen. We’ve both been on a Kiwi OE—Overseas Experience—at different times, and I went around Europe while he did the States and South America, so we have a lot to talk about.

I learn things about him that I hadn’t known before: he wants to go to Italy because he has an interest in Roman history; he was sick in Mexico City and couldn’t get out of bed for five days; he’s swum in the Pacific and the Atlantic; he paid for a trek through the Amazonian rainforest and nearly got eaten by a crocodile.

He doesn’t tell the tales I’ve heard him talk about with Leon, Albie, Stefan, and the other guys, about getting laid by a beautiful woman in Costa Rica, or the two girls he met in Rio de Janeiro who got him drunk and then did unmentionable things to him in bed, together. I don’t care that he’s been with other girls; I find it amusing more than anything. He might be a tomcat, but he doesn’t cheat, and he respects women, and that’s what’s important to me.

But he’s never related those stories in front of me, and for the first time I think maybe it’s because he does like me, and he hasn’t wanted to flaunt stories about other women to me. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

We talk about music for a while, and we discuss the Ark but in a different way from before; we talk about the people there—except Rosie—and not in a business sense, but in the way that a couple talks about their friends. I’ve relaxed, I realize; I don’t feel self-conscious or nervous anymore. Hal’s done that, he’s worked his magic on me, with a little help from the Merlot.

We finish our meals and decide to order desserts. I’m full, but I can’t turn down the chance to try a real Italian Tiramisu, and I eat it dreamily, enjoying every mouthful.

“What’s it like?” Hal asks.

“Gorgeous. You want to try some?”

“Mm.” He leans forward, arms on the table.

Normally he’d dig his own spoon into the dessert, but he doesn’t move. He wants me to give him some.

There’s a line that we’ve drawn in the sand over the years, and I realize we can both see it, and we’ve both chosen not to step over it. There’s best friends, and there’s intimate, and the two don’t cross. We touch, but only in certain places—hands, arms, the occasional hug. He’ll take a bite out of my pie when I’m not looking, pinch a slice of my pizza, or finish off my coffee. But this… is different.

I scoop up a small portion of the Tiramisu and hold it out for him. I expect him to take the spoon and eat it, but he doesn’t, he leans forward on the table and closes his lips around the spoon and takes the dessert from it. His eyes are on mine, and there’s heat in them as he licks his lips and swallows. He knows what he’s doing. He’s like David Attenborough; he’s skilled in the understanding of creatures, of their mating rituals, and this is sexual, it’s foreplay.

I return the spoon to my dessert, pick up another mouthful, hesitate, then close my own lips around the spoon that’s just been in his mouth. He gives a little smile. I know he’s thinking about sex. That in itself isn’t surprising. He’s a guy, and I know it’s said they think about sex every seven seconds. I’m sure Hal does anyway. But this is different. He’s thinking about having sex with me.

Heat rushes into my face, and for the second time in as many days, I blush.

Hal can’t resist a small chuckle, but he doesn’t tease me. He leans back in his chair, his elbow on the arm and his fingers on his lips, watching me.

I finish off the Tiramisu, self-conscious with his gaze on me. I feel like a piece of metal and he’s Superman, his laser eyes turning it white-hot. We haven’t talked much about intimate things this evening, we’ve kept the conversation light, but I feel as if he’s flipped a switch inside me. Nothing’s changed, and yet he’s stripped off the costume of best friend to reveal the naked man underneath.

And now I’m thinking about Hal naked. I can’t help it. The dress shirt is undone at the neck, and it’s warm in the restaurant—moisture glistens in the hollow of his throat. If I were to undo the buttons and push them apart, his skin would be warm and brown, the muscles defined. I want to touch his abs and that fascinating six-pack, to run my nails down his ribs and see if it makes him shudder.

He’s got great legs. When he plays rugby, he wears these tight shorts that cling to his powerful thighs. I scorn other women for commenting on players’ legs instead of watching the game, but the truth is that there’s something sexy about a guy in a rugby kit, especially when they come in from a game, covered in bruises, bumps, and scrapes, their hair standing up, sticky with mud and sweat. I’ve had to fight not to think of Hal climbing into a bath with all the other men, of him lathering himself up, his big hands rubbing at his skin. I’m so pale because I rarely expose my body to the sun. His hands would look mahogany-brown on my milky-white skin.

His smile has faded, and his eyes have turned sultry, and I know he has an idea of what’s going through my mind. I clear my throat, finish off the Tiramisu, and push the dish away.

“Would you like a coffee?” he asks softly.

I’ve had two glasses of wine, and I’m full of the good food. But I don’t want the evening to end. I’m enjoying myself, being out with my best friend, having him all to myself. I hesitate, and he must understand because he says, “How about we go for a walk instead?”

Pleased that he doesn’t want to go yet either, I nod. He calls for the bill, I offer to pay half, and he gives me his For God’s sake, woman, look and hands the waiter his credit card. I don’t argue, because I know what he’s like, and once it’s done we rise, thank the staff for a lovely meal, and go out into the balmy evening.

With some surprise, I check my phone and see it’s nearly ten p.m. We’ve been there for nearly two and a half hours. The time’s flown by.

He holds out a hand. This time I slip mine into it without prompting, and he smiles and curls his fingers around mine, and we begin to walk.

It’s dark now, but the moon’s waxing, casting a silvery path on the ocean. There’s hardly any breeze, and the waves wash up the sand with a whisper. It’s humid, and the air smells of cooked food from the restaurants, the salty sea, and the scent of jasmine.

We walk in silence for a while, and I flex my fingers in his, conscious of how much taller he is than me, even though I’m wearing heels for once. A car goes past and toots it horn—I don’t know if it’s a friend or just someone acknowledging a couple out for a romantic walk, but Hal smiles, and I tremble at the thought of us as a couple.

We haven’t gone far before I stop walking. Hal takes a step or two, then stops as well and turns to face me.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask him.

His eyebrows rise. “Ah… yeah. Sure.”

“Oh. I just wondered. When?”

“Let the dog see the rabbit,” he says with some amusement, referring to greyhound racing. Trust him to use an animal metaphor. “I was going to, Izzy. It’s polite to wait for an appropriate moment rather than just grabbing the girl when you feel like it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” I tell him desperately. “I know we’ve got to do it, and I’ve thought about it so much that I’m terribly nervous now that I’m going to screw it up, and I think it would just be better to get it over with.”

His expression turns to mild exasperation. He glances around, then moves toward the edge of the pavement and says, “Come over here.”

Puzzled, I follow him onto the grass, to beneath a huge pohutukawa tree. It’s just coming out of season, but a few of its bright-red flowers remain on its branches, turned to shades of gray by the moonlight.

He leads me beneath the tree, then puts his hands on my hips and turns me so my back is against the trunk. He moves a little closer to me, tucks a finger beneath my chin, and lifts it so he’s looking into my eyes. His often look black, but tonight they’re like shining silver discs.

“First,” he says firmly, “you can’t screw up a kiss, Izzy.”

“You’d be surprised at what I can do.”

“Then don’t do anything. Let me do the kissing. I’ll make sure there are no disasters.”

I swallow hard.

“Secondly,” he continues, “I’ve waited a long time for this, and we’re not going to just ‘get it over with.’ And anyway, why are you nervous? It’s only me.”

“That’s why I’m nervous, Hal. That’s why I’m terrified. It’s you.” I don’t know how to make him understand. “You’ve… kissed a lot of girls. It’s… been a while for me. And… I want it to go well. I’m worried that if I do it wrong, you might—”

I stop, because he’s moving closer, and now our bodies are brushing, and he’s sliding his hands to cup my face.

“Shh,” he whispers, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. I’m being Dog Whispered again. “I may have kissed a few girls before, but I’ve never kissed you, Izzy. And I’m not nervous. You know why?”

I give a tiny shake of my head.

“Because I know it’s going to be amazing.” His breath whispers across my lips. “It’s not about technique or angles or trying to impress each other. It’s about the fact that we’re best friends, and we’ve had a long, secret fascination for each other, and for the first time in our lives, we’re taking that step. You know the one I mean.”

I do. We’re about to step over that line in the sand. From friends to lovers. Even though it’s just a kiss, it’ll mark the next phase of our relationship. It’s momentous enough that it should be marked by a comet in the sky.

We’ve had a long, secret fascination for each other. I really fascinate him?

He slides his hands into my hair and caresses it, wonder on his face. “Like silk ribbon,” he murmurs, slipping a strand through two fingers. Then he lowers his lips to mine.

I inhale sharply, then hold my breath. His lips are warm, firm, and dry. He presses them to mine and holds them there for a moment while my heart bangs on my ribs, then lifts his head a fraction and smiles. “All right?”

Behind his head, a shooting star falls through the darkness, and I laugh and lift my arms around his neck.

His hands slide down to my hips, and he moves even closer so he’s pinning me against the trunk. He’s all height and breadth, and he smells gorgeous. My pulse rate increases, and I slip my hands around his neck and up into his hair.

His lips touch mine again, and this time he presses light, soft kisses across my mouth, then continues over my cheek, up to my eyebrows, over my eyelids as they flutter closed, down my nose, and then back to my lips. Once he reaches them, he hovers there a moment, and I get the sensation he’s enjoying the moment, enjoying being this close to me, the anticipation of touching, of the sweetness of the kiss. His gaze scans my face, and I look into his eyes, the heat in them like a shot of neat whisky, searing through me. This man can see right into my heart, I’m sure of it. It’s like I’m naked around him, with no barriers, and no way of hiding.

Getting naked with Hal. Oh my.

This time when he kisses me, his lips part and he touches his tongue to my bottom lip. It makes me inhale, my own lips parting, and I close my eyes and let him press me against the tree as he slides his tongue into my mouth and kisses me properly.

Ohhh… Hal King kisses like a god, as I knew he would, tilting his head to the side so he can deepen the kiss, his tongue teasing mine, his hard body touching me from my breasts to my thighs. My nipples tighten in my bra, and I feel an answering sexual tug deep down, between my legs. I tighten my fingers in his hair, and he purrs, low in his throat, a sound so sexy it makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck. He’s like a big cat, a saber-toothed tiger with those incisors of his, all muscles and bristling fur, powerful and sensual.

Unable to stop myself, I lower my arms, bringing my hands to his chest, and I do what I’ve wanted to do for so long—run my fingers across his pecs and down to his abs. Holy shit, there they are, the oddly named rectus abdominis, the six-pack muscles, all hard beneath the pads of my fingers. I drop my hand to the bottom of his shirt, slip beneath it, and rest my hands on his warm skin, brushing those sexy muscles with my thumbs.

He lifts his head, and I whisper, “Do you mind?”

“Help yourself.” He nips my bottom lip gently with his teeth, then kisses me again, this time sliding his arms around me and pulling me tightly to him. I move my hands beneath the shirt to his back, loving the feel of his skin and the effect it has on him, because he groans against my mouth and pushes against me, and holy fuck, Hal King has an erection and it’s because of what I’m doing to him.

It’s the hottest, sexiest, most sensual kiss I’ve ever had in my life, and I want it to go on forever. Hal does his best, keeping his arms tight around me, refusing to let me go while he kisses and kisses me, while the moon rises slowly in the sky and the waves tease the sand with long fingers.

But he has to stop eventually, and we both sigh as he lifts his head and finally loosens his grip.

“Jesus,” he mutters, and he runs a hand through his hair. “You kiss like a diva.”

I swell at the thought that I didn’t make a fool of myself. “You too, Hal.”

He lifts his hands back to my face and brushes my cheek with his thumbs. “You’ll go out with me again, won’t you?”

I feel a flicker of relief that he’s not expecting me to ask him in when we get back. I’m not ready for that yet. But I do want to see him again. I nod, and there’s real relief in his eyes.

“I’m glad.” He kisses me one last, long time. Then he takes my hand. “Come on, I’d best get you home or the sun will come up and we’ll still be standing here, lip-locked.”

I’ve been lip-locked with Hal King. I’ve kissed my best friend. And it wasn’t the end of the world, as I’d feared.

In fact, I think as I watch another shooting star pass through Centaurus to the south, it hopefully marks the beginning of something wonderful.