Four Weddings. Fiona Lowe
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moved fluidly across his shoulders.
An image of her hands exploring taut, rippling muscles bombarded her, a pool of yearning welling up deep within her. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. This unwanted physical attraction was getting harder and harder to control.
Throwing her head back, she gazed up into the night sky at the bright pinpricks of the early rising stars. The beach was blissfully quiet, all the hawkers having retreated for their own evening meal. Bright blue and red fishing boats were heading out to sea for the night, their lights glittering in the reflections of their wakes.
She stood up and walked down to the water, leaving Tom to have the space he obviously wanted. She stepped into a small wave, welcoming the warm water as it rolled across her feet. It may be seven o’clock at night but when the difference between the maximum and minimum temperature was only five degrees Celsius, any time was hot. She stared out into the night and thought about all the things she’d experienced in such a short time. She thought of Minh, whom she’d visited again earlier in the day, and the joy she’d experienced when he’d smiled at her. She’d been doing some stimulation work with him and the other babies. How on earth was she was ever going to settle on one project idea?
‘Dinner.’ Tom’s voice brought her back to the present and she jogged up the beach. They sat crossed-legged, eating the steamed fish and rice with their fingers.
She threw her banana leaf into the fire. ‘That was absolutely sensational. The flavours of coriander and chilli go together so well.’ She licked a few grains of rice from the corner of her mouth.
Tom’s eyes followed the movement. ‘All we need is the moon and it would be perfect.’ His voice, deeper than usual vibrated around her as he lay back on the rug, resting on his elbows.
Glorious rivers of liquid heat wound through her. Tom and moonlight. The idea appealed and appalled simultaneously, making her dizzy.
She wriggled her toes in the sand. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. I love cooking a barbecue.’
Now would be a good time to apologise for being so snaky at the village.
She turned and lay on her side, facing him. ‘No, I don’t mean for dinner.’ She could feel his heat caressing her skin, creating minitornadoes of sensation thudding through her. Muddling her thoughts. ‘Well, yes, of course, I do mean thanks for dinner but not just dinner.’
Flustered, her words jumbled and tumbled over each other. ‘I mean, thanks for everything. I foisted myself on you and over these last few weeks you’ve looked out for me. Like you said, it’s what people do and I haven’t been very good at being part of the team.’
She tugged at some burrs caught on the rug. ‘I’m really sorry I snapped at you yesterday. I appreciate all you do. I guess I’m just not used to people taking the time to check up on me. So, thanks.’
He gave her arm a quick squeeze. ‘It’s no biggie.’
His brief touch made her ache for more. ‘No, really it is. Most men I know are completely selfish.’ The moment she’d spoken the words, regret heaved through her.
His smile morphed into a quizzical expression demanding more information ‘Really? As a species, we’re not all bad. Perhaps you need to get out more and meet the less selfish ones.’
‘Nah, staying in is a lot easier.’ She kept her tone light and sat up, facing back out to sea. ‘Relationships only end in tears.’
‘Someone break your heart, Bec?’ She heard his soft words from behind her.
She thought of those dark few months in a tiny apartment in Perth when all her childhood dreams of a handsome prince changing her life had vaporised. ‘He tried to break my heart and me. But I got wise and left with some bruises and my heart battered but not broken. Determined but intact.’
A shudder ran the length of his body and he was quiet for a moment. He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve got contacts, you know, I could have him taken out. I’ve done it for other girls.’ His humour wrapped her up in supporting comfort.
She laughed. ‘You’re just the sort of friend a girl needs.’
‘I’ve got lots of friends who are women.’ His voice suddenly became serious as he sat up next to her, imitating her position of knees drawn up to chin.
‘Just friends, not girlfriends?’
He shrugged. ‘Girlfriends are high maintenance. I don’t have time for that right now. They want to settle down and I can’t do that yet.’
‘Ah, the typical Generation X male, the commitment-phobe.’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ A tick appeared in his jaw in complete contrast to his bantering tone.
She didn’t believe his words.
He leaned in, his shoulders playfully bumping hers. ‘I make a good friend, Bec. Trust me. Let me show you the joys of friendship and redeem the image of men.’
Trust me.
If only it were that easy.
His heat called to her. His arm touched her arm, his side flanked her side, his knees caressed her knees. Tingling sensations exploded the full length of her body.
He’d just admitted he didn’t want anything from her or any woman except friendship.
He’s offering friendship. Friendship is safe, right?
She pushed him back with her shoulders, gently nudging him. ‘Friends, eh?’
He grinned, his eyes dancing in the firelight as he raised his palm to hers. ‘It’s a pact. Friends.’
‘Friends.’ She ignored the streak of heat that raced through her at his touch, challenging the word.
BEC STOOD DWARFED beneath the thirty-seven-metre flagpole, the distinctive red flag with the central yellow star fluttering high and proud above her. She turned one hundred and eighty degrees and stepped back in time.
Built high atop a gated wall, Yin and Yang ceramic roof tiles gave the building its distinctive Chinese-style roof line. Intricate ceramic dragons and phoenixes draped the pitch of the roof, protecting and bringing prosperity. A temple flag, with its distinctive square shape, flew from the middle balcony, surrounded by carved ironwood balustrades. Bec could imagine an emperor in golden robes, holding court.
They were on their way back to Hanoi and Tom had said, ‘No way could you miss Hué.’ Way being the pronunciation of Hué, he’d chuckled at his play on words. He seemed to be very content with his metaphoric tour guide hat on. ‘The citadel was the home of the Nguyen dynasty, the last imperial family of Vietnam. The defending wall encloses ten kilometres and is two metres thick.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘over the centuries, dynasties got rolled quite often by other war-lord families.’
‘My head’s spinning with temples, pagodas, tombs, dates, people and names.’ Bec fanned herself with her hat as the indefatigable heat sapped her concentration.
Tom laughed. ‘That happens to everyone the first time they come here. There’s so much history and fabulous architecture to see. Hué was the central pulse of Vietnam for a long time, full of political intrigue and coups, as well as being the religious and educational capital. It’s a fascinating place but it can wear you down.’
She smiled wanly. ‘I think I just went into temple overload.’
He grabbed her hand. ‘Must be time for ice cream.’
Five minutes later they sat by the Perfume River, sharing the biggest banana split Bec had ever seen. ‘This vanilla ice cream is to