Sweet Seduction Sacrifice (9 page)

This was not easy to contemplate, so I chose for the moment to ignore my misgivings about his unusual intimacies, about my need to seek more tactile moments with this man. In an effort to drown out the increasingly loud voice inside my head warning me this was not normal, not right, I concentrated all my efforts on the conversation.

But that only led to me being in a worshipful daze of not only his god-like appearance and sexiest smile and name I had ever laid eyes on, but also of his sense of humour, his ability to carry the conversation with such apparent ease. He asked copious amounts of questions about me, my life, my childhood, my dreams and passions. And for some strange reason I answered them all.

The food was lovely, the wine delicious, but the company was out of this world. For so long I have had one dream consume me. I had set a goal and I achieved it, all the while enduring a relationship that was not in any way sweet or fulfilling. I had decided that one dream was it. I'd dreamt it, I'd accomplished it, there would be no more. Yet as I sat there, staring into the amazingly blue-blue eyes of Dominic god-like Anscombe, I felt I was living a dream.

For the most part I went with it, but there was this niggling thought that simply would not go away. That this wasn't meant to be my dream at all, this sort of thing didn't happen to Kiwi girl Gen Cain. I was usurping someone else's dream, I was an interloper, a fake. There was no way this would last.

But as Dominic traced patterns over the back on my hand as it rested on the table between us, I decided that whilst whatever this was with Brett played out, I'd take this chance offered me. I'd enjoy this dream, this someone else's dream, and pretend - for however long this lasts - that it was mine. I knew I shouldn't, I knew I should be protecting myself, preparing for the worst, but looking at the man beside me, the incredibly handsome, accomplished, amazingly gorgeous, intelligent man, I couldn't say no.

I just simply could not say no to him.

We finished dinner and took a longer route back to the loft, down to Quay Street and the wharves, and then back up Britomart. A stroll, hand in hand, as the sun began to set. The word surreal was becoming a permanent fixture inside my head.

We'd just left Britomart and crossed over to Emily Place when his cellphone rang. He didn't release my hand, simply pulled his phone out of his suit jacket and flipped it open one handed. I chose to use the moment to prepare myself for what was going to happen next. Did I invite him in? Was that wise, with the way things were progressing at lightning speed? Did I let him kiss me at my doorstep? Could I kiss a man on the first day I met him? Could I not? This was god-like Dominic Anscombe, in little more than twelve hours I was losing myself to him.

The implications of that thought were impossible to digest.

We were getting close to my apartment building when I felt Dominic stiffen. I wondered if he'd seen something or someone, maybe one of the very bad men who wanted Brett and now knew I
belonged
to him. But it became clear he wasn't stiffening at a threat approaching, but at whatever was being said to him over the phone. He'd barely said a word, just his name on answering the call and little else. The conversation was definitely one-sided, and the longer it progressed the more uptight he got.

Dominic may have acted like he had known me for years, but I was still trying to piece together the man at my side, so I'm not sure why I could tell that something had made him mad. He didn't look mad, he looked cool and calm and collected. But I felt something in the air between us, something tangible and heavy. And it scared the crap out of me. It was as though I could literally feel his anger washing off him and I was just enormously happy it wasn't directed at me, but whoever was on the phone.

"All right, I'll be there in ten minutes," he finally spoke into the phone, in clipped, angry words. He may have been able to hide his anger in his expressions, but he wasn't inclined to when he talked.

We stopped in front of my apartment as he finished the angry-inducing call, with a repeated, "Ten minutes," and a firm slamming of the phone shut.

He took two long breaths in before he turned to face me. I almost didn't want to look up and see what his features would show, but forced myself to confront the angry bear beside me.

"Sweetheart," he said in a soft voice, so at odds to the anger still rolling off him. "I'll see you to your door, but something has come up I must attend to. I am sorry. I had hoped we'd share a nightcap together."

For some reason I was thinking he was using "nightcap" as a metaphor for something else. I was suddenly relieved he had to rush away, despite feeling enormously let down. I couldn't say no to this man and doing anything else, other than holding hands and allowing him to brush his lips against my temple on the first day we met, seemed like a really bad idea.

I nodded, he leaned forward and then reached up and cupped my face, his eyes intense as they held mine.

"Don't think for a second I wish to be anywhere else," he whispered. I thought he'd kiss me there and then, but he simply held my gaze for a moment and then pulled back and punched in the access code the building, pulling me behind him as he went in.

We were both silent as we waited for the lift. Silent as the lift went up to my floor. And silent while he unlocked the door to my apartment and gave it a quick search after deactivating the alarm code. Every single thing he did was caring, but the more he slipped into my life as though he was meant to be there, the harder my heart beat. By the time he returned to my side - I was still standing immobile at the door - my heart was pounding in my chest, threatening to explode all over the floor.

He took one look at me and frowned. Then without a word pulled me towards his chest and wrapped his arms around my back, one hand rubbing soothingly at the base, the other slipping up into my hair and tilting my head gently back. He looked down at me, his eyes flicking over my entire face as though he was memorising it. One last look before he left. It was so sweet, so unbelievably sweet, that my heart ceased its pounding and simply skipped a few beats instead.

Dominic Anscombe was a dream come true. Shame I'd lived my one dream already and this was only a loan of someone else's, I was sure.

His face dipped closer, when his eyes returned to mine, then I watched in a daze as they flicked down to my mouth, his intention so very clear. I couldn't help it, I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted another touch from this man. I licked my lips, watched stunned as his eyes slid to half mast and a soft breath escaped from somewhere deep within.

And then his phone rang again.

He stilled, cursed under his breath and then brushed his lips against my temple, in amongst my hair. I think he might have inhaled, while his nose was buried in the strands, but I was too disappointed to care. He pulled back, gave me a long look and then slipped silently out the door without a word.

I stood there for several minutes, wondering if in fact Dominic Anscombe
was
a dream.

It was only just after nine, so I flicked the TV on for some background noise and began to make myself a coffee. We have an enormous, behemoth of an espresso machine at Sweet Seduction. If you're serious about coffee, you need a serious coffee machine.
Rancilio
is my preferred, so I have a mini
Rancilio
at home. There is just no way I'd consume primo coffee during the day and subject myself to crap at home.

The only problem with serious coffee machines is they take a few minutes to warm up. Whilst my mini-primo-espresso-maker did its thing, I let my mind wander over the day's events and the evening. How could 24 hours contain so much? My head was actually beginning to hurt and my heart had decided to beat like bongo drums all over again, as I catalogued the surreal events of my day.

It was during this mental ticking off of the long list of never-before-happened-ohmigod-moments that made up this day, that there was a soft knock on the door. I had a moment to excitedly think it might be Dominic back, having already miraculously sorted his phone call issue out in the past five minutes he'd been gone - Kelly did say a lot could happen in five minutes - and then panic set in. If it was Dominic then he wanted something more. Could I handle more? On the first day we met? I seriously doubted it, so for second I chose to ignore the knock and pretend it hadn't happened at all. It was a soft knock, I could be excused for missing it if I was, say, in the bathroom, soaking the day away in the tub.

Then the person knocked again. This time louder and longer. There'd be no missing that.

I sighed, ran a hand through my hair and then walked to the door, stretching up on tip-toes to look through the peep hole. Why do they place them so god-damned high on the door? I'm only five foot five, it was designed, I was
so
sure, by someone's Dominic's height - over six feet.

I didn't recognise the person on the other side of the door, he was dressed in a nondescript grey suit, had brown short curly hair and a clean shaven face. His hands were clasped casually in front of him and he was looking down at his shoes, which I could not see through the warped vision the peep hole gave. He seemed relaxed and patient, but wasn't stepping away even though I still hadn't answered the door. There was nothing for it, I'd have to see what he wanted.

I have a chain on the door, its pretty thick, not one of those piddly little things that could snap with a good shoulder shove in the right place. The apartments might have been converted on the cheap, but the maintenance department did a good job of ensuring we felt safe. Including changing the code on the front of the building once a month. Which made me believe, someone must have buzzed this guy up or he was a resident here, either way someone knew him, because he wouldn't have come straight up to my door, unless he belonged. Right?

I still attached the chain before I cracked the door the few centimetres it allowed.

"Ms Cain?" The guy asked, his head coming up the second the door opened.

"Yes. How can I help?"

"We've just a got a few questions for you, Ms Cain." He flashed what looked like a police identification card, still in his wallet. He even let me read it, not moving it until I got a good look. It had his picture on the ID as well as his name and title. Detective Constable Ewen Beckett.

My eyes flicked up to his. "What's this about, Detective Beckett?" I asked, thinking I had a pretty good idea. Too much of a coincidence not to.

"We're looking for your boyfriend, we're hoping you can help us out."

He kept saying we, but I couldn't see anyone else. Maybe it was just how cops talked, the collective "we" of the police force.

"He's not my boyfriend anymore," I pointed out, not releasing the chain on the door. He may be a cop, but I still didn't know him. And who visits after nine at night to ask questions such as these? I'm not that stupid.

"That may well be, Ms Cain, but his last known address is here."

Ah crap, Brett hadn't changed any of his details yet.

"Not for four months," I provided.

"Even so, you may know of something that could help us and we very much need to get in touch with your boyfriend, Ms Cain."

"Ex-boyfriend," I semi repeated.

He didn't acknowledge my correction. "He could be in danger, you would be helping him by helping us."

I was unsure how I felt about Brett being in danger, my emotions about everything that had transpired today making it impossible to pin my reaction to that statement down. What I did know, was I had nothing that would help the cops out, they were wasting their time. I didn't tell Detective Beckett that though.

"I'm sorry, Detective, but I have no idea where he is, I have a Trespass Notice out against him and I haven't spoken to him in four months."

"But you have had contact from him," the good detective offered, unfortunately correctly.

"He sends me flowers from time to time," I admitted reluctantly. "I've destroyed or got rid of them all. I don't want anything to do with him."

"But he wants something to do with you," he countered.

I was starting to get a little annoyed. It was late, I was beginning to feel exhausted from the emotionally packed day I had just had. All I wanted to do was climb into bed, even the idea of a coffee was no longer on the cards.

"Look, I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can be of any help."

"Can we at least come in and ask a few more questions?" he said reasonably. "We may be able to jog your memory, anything you say could be of great assistance to us. You'd be doing us a favour, Ms Cain. We really need to find your boyfriend before anyone else does."

"Ex-boyfriend," I repeated automatically. "And it's getting pretty late. I have to work tomorrow." God help me, but I was lying to a policeman. I didn't normally work Saturdays, even though they were busy for us - untold number of shoppers on High Street - I had extra staff who normally covered for the weekends. But I had intended to go in and finish off the accounts, so it was only a little white lie, not a big old nasty fib.

"Ms Cain, this is important, we don't normally knock on people's door this late unless it means life or death."

Oh boy, that got me biting my bottom lip. It's not as though I had completely stopped feeling something for Brett. Most of the good feelings had been replaced with something a little bad, but I still remembered when things were great between us. When he'd spend time with me because he wanted to hear me laugh. When we'd lounge in bed all day Saturday and only get out to grab food or use the bathroom. Otherwise our bed was our raft in a storm tossed world and we were each other's life preservers. There had been good times, they just got less and less as the years passed.