Making Headlines (21 page)

‘It's all probably a bit casual, isn't it?' He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I didn't want to jazz the place up in case it looked cheesy. But now it just looks shitty. Sorry.'

‘No, it's fine,' said Rachel. She looked at him and smiled. ‘It's a bit like I've just dropped in for coffee. As you said, very casual. No expectations.' She plopped herself down on the couch. ‘So stop apologising and just get me a drink, okay? But not coffee.'

‘Oh, sure. Of course. Here, do you want some of this?' He held up her bottle. ‘Or I have a red if you'd prefer?'

‘No, open the Sav. I feel like a white.'

‘No problem.' He started for the kitchen then turned around. ‘But you see, just then,
that's
my problem. Not knowing exactly what you like. For tonight, I mean. Like, what if I picked the wrong music and that put you off? Or dimmed the lights and you thought I was being sleazy?'

Rachel sat forward on the couch, stifling a giggle. He was quite cute when flustered and it made her relax. ‘Exactly. You've done the right thing. This is perfect because now I can be the bossy one and tell you what
I
want. You can put it all in place and then we can start the night again. Let's see . . .' She paused, looking around the room and smiling a cheeky smile. ‘Okay, dim the lights just a fraction and put on some music. You decide. I don't care. Then get the wine. Oh, and do you have some nibbles? I'm a bit peckish.'

He nodded. ‘Okay. I like a woman who knows what she wants. But you can't change dinner. It's already in the oven.' He went to work.

At least he'd gone to the trouble of cooking. The sounds of David Gray's ‘Sail Away' soon filled the room and Rachel nestled into the couch. A good choice. The lights dimmed, but still she felt edgy. She looked around the room, noticing for the first time a large painting on the opposite wall. It was a fiery landscape, hot reds and the dark embers of a burnt-out bush scene, a vivid blue sea in the distance. She tried to make out the signature of the artist, but it was hard to read. It could have been Mitch Allen. Then she remembered the beautiful card he'd drawn her the day she'd been promoted to weekend newsreader.

Mitch returned, bearing glasses and a bowl of chips.

‘Just admiring your artwork,' said Rachel. ‘Can't tell for sure, but that looks like it might be yours? I didn't know you were a painter as well.'

He sat down next to her, handing her a wine. ‘Yep, it's my thing. I
have
told you before, but you probably don't remember.'

‘No, you haven't.' She gulped her wine. That was better.

‘Yes I have. The night we were dancing at Tony's farewell. Asked you if you wanted to see the paintings in my van, but you thought it was just a line.'

‘Oh my God, I do remember. So you actually had paintings in there? How was I supposed to know?'

‘It's okay, I didn't expect you to believe me.' He smiled at her, his eyes wandering to her cleavage. ‘You wore that dress too. I always was partial to zippers.' He moved closer, reaching for the zip.

She smacked it away, laughing. ‘Way too early for that, buddy. Can I at least finish my drink?'

He drank half a glass in one go then wiped his mouth. ‘Sure. Just thought I'd continue with the inappropriate behaviour. Okay, where were we? Talking art? Right. So . . . ah, do you have any hidden talents?'

‘Oh, dozens. Don't know where to start really.' She sank back into the couch, tapping her glass in thought.

‘Come on, I'm serious.'

‘Well . . .' Rachel paused, wondering if he'd think she was a foolish romantic. ‘Occasionally I write poetry, but it's just something I do for myself.'

His eyes widened. ‘Really? Don't know much about poetry. Better with a paintbrush than words. Know any off by heart? Something to woo me with?' He leaned closer, stroking her cheek.

Her mind went blank as she took in the scent of his musky aftershave, his skin. She tried to remember something witty and modern, but the only poems that came to mind were the obvious ones she'd studied at school and uni. ‘Ah no, not really. Maybe later.'

‘Oh, come on, I'm sure you can remember something.' He placed a hand on her knee, generating a warmth that moved through her body.

She turned slightly, leaning in against the couch to face him more directly. ‘I've got a better idea. Why don't I teach
you
a poem to recite to
me
?'

‘I'll give it a shot.'

‘It's a classic. By Andrew Marvell. A man trying to seduce his mistress.'

Their eyes met and she could feel the energy binding them. His hand moved slightly up her thigh and Rachel stifled an intake of breath.

‘Sounds good,' he said softly.

‘So, it goes like this
.
“Had we but world enough and time, this coyness Lady were no crime
.
And then . . .”'

He edged closer and kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘And then?'

‘Um . . .' Her heart thumped. ‘I can't remember the middle. But you'll like this bit. “A hundred years should go to praise thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze. Two hundred to adore each breast; but thirty thousand to the rest”
.
'

‘Two hundred to adore each breast . . .' he repeated. He began to unzip the top of her dress and do as the poem instructed, planting dozens of small kisses over the top of her bra, his lips teasing the plumpness above the lacy fabric. Then he moved up, kissing her mouth again. This time deeply, passionately.

Rachel pulled away. It was difficult to concentrate, yet she wanted to prolong the yearning. ‘And the next bit is very persuasive
.

“But at my back I always hear

Time's winged chariot hurrying near:

And yonder all before us lie,

Deserts of vast eternity.”'

Her voice disappeared into huskiness.

‘I love it,' he whispered in her ear, warm breath tickling her neck. ‘Had no idea this tough little journo carried a poet's soul.'

She smiled inside as they kissed, their bodies pressing together. She was glad she'd worn the zip dress. It came off quickly.

Hands flew feverishly, unable to feel enough of each other. Their skin was moist with need. His hands hungering for her breasts, lips devouring her nipples. Then a pause as his hands cradled her face, their eyes reciprocating a depth of feeling, intensifying the physical need. She reached for him, feeling his erection. Fingers moved between her thighs, dipping and teasing, leaving her wanting. Then he was between her legs, pushing and seeking. She squeezed him with her thighs, delaying entry—the friction rousing them further. But her need was too strong. She released, and in an instant he was inside her. Moving in time together, she could feel him holding back, trying to make the
moment last. An exquisite churning began. All the pent-up desire from the past weeks poured into an electric moment where neither cared for anything but being led to a sweeping togetherness.

They rested — breathless, tremulous. Then still not sated, they began again.

When they were finally spent, they lay on the rug among the littered clothes and continued to kiss and caress. Neither of them cared about the smell of burnt casserole floating in from the kitchen.

***

On Friday, after two days off, Rachel couldn't wait to get to work. She was rostered on as a reporter and had been assigned a story later in the afternoon. That meant she could sit at her desk keeping an eye out for Mitch. Although by midmorning, her neck was aching from straining this way and that, trying to see if he'd arrived. She didn't want to ask anyone or look at the roster. They'd agreed it could be detrimental to both their careers if their relationship became office gossip, so they decided to keep it under wraps for as long as possible. Only Julia and Gerard knew and had promised to be discreet. But Rachel hadn't seen Mitch since their night together, and she yearned to be near him again.

She'd decided against staying at his house on Tuesday night. He had an early start the next day and the thought of a rushed morning after their near-perfect evening felt awkward. So she'd woken in her own bed to stretch luxuriously and lie there, reliving the night. Then she'd enjoyed a dreamy day, floating through some light household chores and a gym workout, before sitting at a café in the sun, sipping coffee and reading poetry.

That afternoon, her heart raced when Mitch's name flashed up on her phone. He started to say lovely things about their time together but was called to edit an urgent story, so their goodbye was rushed. She was disappointed they hadn't made plans to see each other again.

But that hadn't quashed her joy. Dressing for work that morning had been easy. First choice was a soft floral dress in keeping with her romantic mood. Even Rob seemed to have picked up on her energy, assigning her to a feel-good story about the upcoming Good Friday Appeal for the Royal Children's Hospital. It made her think of Liam, so she'd called his mum and was delighted to hear he was making good progress after his trip to the United States. She made a date to visit him the following week.

When it was time to head off, she still hadn't spied Mitch. The children she
interviewed at the hospital were full of hope and smiles despite their illnesses. But it was a time-consuming task and Rachel ached to return to the newsroom. She kept checking her watch, silently urging the film crew to hurry. When she finally got back, she typed up her story in record time and raced to the editing booths, only to find Mitch already tied up on a political piece slated for lead story. He mouthed ‘sorry' and their eyes connected with mutual regret.

She was packing up for the day when her phone rang. Mitch.

‘Think you could pop into my edit suite for a moment?'

She was there within seconds.

Mitch swung around in his swivel chair, grinning. ‘No zips today?' he said as she shut the sliding door behind her and locking it. ‘That's inconvenient.'

He pushed her up against the wall and they kissed gently, tentatively. Then their embrace grew stronger, hands moving quickly over bodies, the heat rising.

Rachel pulled away. ‘Okay, I think that's about all I can deal with.'

‘Me too.' His voice was deep as he kissed her on the nose. ‘Are you sure you have to go to your mum's tonight?'

‘Yep, sorry. You can come next time, if you like?'

‘Sure. I'd like that.' He kissed her on the neck.

‘Mmm, that's good.' Too good. ‘Stop, that's enough. Maybe we can see each other over the weekend?' She looked at him, wondering if she was being too pushy.

‘Absolutely.' He stroked her hair. ‘Why don't we do an early dinner tomorrow night at the Stokehouse as soon as you've finished the news, and then just spend hours and hours in bed?'

She smiled happily. ‘A perfect plan.'

Returning to her desk Rachel touched the side of her neck, wondering if people could tell what she'd been up to. She was pleased to see Helmut's office empty. Perhaps he'd left early for the day? She was in no mood for Friday drinks after last week's episode. His conversation about pornography had put her off for good. An early night after dinner at her mother's was all she wanted, so she'd be fresh for her date with Mitch tomorrow. She stood up, humming to herself while she gathered her belongings.

Whack
. Something hit her on the bottom.

She swung around to see a grinning Helmut with rolled up newspaper in hand. He was standing a fraction too close and she could smell alcohol on his breath.

‘Just had a sensational lunch. Now all set to launch into our Friday drinks fest.
Ready?' He winked and nodded towards his office.

‘Ah, sorry, Helmut. Got dinner at Mum's and it's an early start. Maybe next week.' Maybe not. She would be happy if she never saw the inside of his office on a Friday evening again.

‘Come on, love. Just a couple. It's a tradition.' He tapped her on the arm with the newspaper.

‘But I have to drive to Mum's, and if I have a drink there it'll put me over the limit. You don't want me to get caught drink-driving do you?' She smiled brightly then froze.

His face was dark and still, eyes narrowed, staring at her. At least when he'd unleashed his fury over the fashion parade he'd been animated. This was worse. His mouth stretched slowly, faintly resembling a smile. ‘Sure. Family comes first. For you.'

‘Okay then, see you next week. Have a nice weekend.' She turned to pick up her bag.

‘You won't see me next week. I'm off to Noosa for a bit of R and R.' His voice still held a steely edge and he hadn't moved.

‘Oh. Right then.' An embarrassing flush crept up her neck. ‘Well, have a great time and we'll see you the week after.' She gave a half-hearted wave and started for the door.

Rob Kingsbury stood in front of the COS desk, beer in hand. ‘What? Leaving already, Rachel?'

She sighed and walked over. ‘Yes, Rob. Do I have your permission? The news
is
over, you know.'

‘Oh, I know that, darlin'. But that's when the fun starts, isn't it? And what about your regular Friday cosy-up with Helmut? You shouldn't let that one slip if you've got half a brain.'

‘Got an early dinner, so I have to dash.'

Turning serious, he stepped forward, grabbing her forearm. ‘Rachel, I don't think you quite understand what you're doing here, what you're passing up. Helmut is the
director
of news. Your boss. Don't get on the wrong side of him.' He kept his voice low.

A shiver coursed through her. ‘It's just a drink, Rob.'

‘No, it's not, you silly girl. That's your problem, you have no idea.' He dropped her arm and went back to the others drinking by the main television in the producers' area. Thumping his stubby on the table to silence the crowd, he called, ‘Attention,
everyone! Just before some of you lot start leaving, I have a short announcement.'