Off Limits

When she didn’t have a ready answer she would procure it easily and without fuss. She was honest about what she didn’t know and she stared me down when I tried to imply that her inefficiencies were a result of a flaw in her preparation.

She worked late, travelled to Paris with me on a minute’s notice and never once complained.

And then one day I went into her office and found her asleep, just like she is now. Her head dropped on the desk, her hair like golden silk across her keyboard.

That was the first time I told myself she was off-limits. I wanted her even then. My body responded instantly, and in my mind I fantasised about acting on my desire. Making her mine. But it would have been a transient pleasure. And even then, when I hardly knew her, I knew she was a rare, fascinating object—someone I could never touch. Never hurt.

Yet here I am.

Here she is.

At some point during the night, after I’d fallen asleep, Gemma must have stirred and taken herself back to her room, respecting those unspoken boundaries we’ve erected even after I told her more about myself than I ever have another soul.

And that angers me. It angers me that she accepts those limitations even now.

It is not yet dawn, but the sky is glistening with the promise of morning and a hint of golden light steals through the blinds, marking her cheek and her arm. I wonder what it would be like to lift the cover and lie beside her. To wrap her to my chest and kiss her awake softly. To stir her body with mine.

But the day is breaking, and she is just as off-limits to me now as she was two years ago.

Chapter Eleven

My plane lands at seven. How soon can you be at my place?

I SMILE AT the text but my heart sinks. A week after I returned from Australia and Jack is almost home. A problem with the winery in New Zealand required his urgent personal attention, and as a result I have been in sexual purgatory for seven days and nights.

I am aching for him physically and, yes, I miss him. I miss him so much I can no longer doubt just what form my feelings take.

I love him.

I am in love with him.

And, just like Grandma described, it has hit me out of nowhere. It is a realisation and it is also an incontrovertible law of nature now, as unquestionable and rock-solid as gravity, helium, oxygen and rain.

I run a hand down my pale green sheath dress, feeling its silkiness and wishing like hell it was his hands, not mine, on my body.

Tomorrow morning...?

I wait for a moment, but he doesn’t reply. Jack has Wi-Fi enabled on his jet, and he’s always in contact, so I don’t doubt he’s got the message. I imagine his lips drawing down at the corners as he contemplates the fact that I’m not simply fitting in with what he’s suggested.

By ‘tomorrow morning’ do you mean 7.05 p.m.?

I laugh and shake my head, reaching for my bronzer and giving my face one last flush of colour. My make-up is exquisite—I didn’t do it, so I can say that. My hair has been styled into a rather vintage crimp, and a diamond clip is tethered just above one ear, adding to the Great Gatsby look.

I grab a stole and slip into my shoes, then scoop up my phone.

I wish. It’s my parents’ anniversary party, remember?

I thrust the phone into my bag and press it beneath my arm.

My driver is waiting. Not Hughes. My driver. The one I use when I have family stuff on and Mum and Dad like to know I’m observing the little rituals that matter to them. Like being chauffeured.

‘Hey...’ I smile distractedly, sliding into the back seat. I look at my phone.

Shit. I forgot. Skip it?

I laugh.

I wish.