her hand and Hannah accepts it.
“Hannah Essex, nice to meet you. The pieces are very…thought-provoking.”
“Thank you.” Celina smiles. She’s a striking woman, barely more than five feet two and wearing flat shoes. She’s dressed in red to match the theme of the event—a dress that looks as avant-garde as her work. Two large diamonds glitter in her ears. “I take a lot of inspiration from my own relationships.”
“Looks like you have some good relationships,” Hannah comments. Then she looks up, as if the comment had slipped accidentally. “I mean…the sculptures are beautiful.”
That’s my Hannah. Smooth as sandpaper.
Celina laughs. “Being comfortable with one’s sexuality is a very pure thing, despite what society might lead you to believe. Sex is when we are at our truest and most vulnerable.”
I watch Hannah inspecting the sculpture. This one is two pieces of twisted material—a shiny black that’s so glossy it looks like there’s a fine layer of ice over it, and a matte, velvety black.
“You can touch it,” Celina says. “This is meant to be an interactive exhibit.”
For some reason Hannah’s eyes flick to mine as her hand comes slowly—hesitantly—down to the sculpture. At first she brushes her fingertips over the sweeping curve of the matte black material, but then—as if enjoying the feeling—she presses her palm flat over it and moves it along in one smooth but firm stroke.
This shouldn’t turn me on. It’s a sculpture that looks like nothing. An adult version of Play-Doh. But watching her hand move, growing bolder with Celina’s encouragement, has all the blood in my body rushing south. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Try it.” Hannah holds her hand out to me, tempting like the devil herself.
I step forward and allow Hannah to take my hand. The sculpture is strangely soft beneath my fingertips. As I glide my hands back and forth, it changes from smooth to rough.
“It feels so strange,” Hannah says.
“It shows the dual-edge of a toxic relationship,” Celina says. “The very thing that can feel good and comforting, can become painful when turned on us.”
I watch as her eyes drift across the room. There’s a man standing by himself, his long figure encased in a black suit. He’s fair-haired and when he turns, I recognise Matt instantly.
“Some people are no good for you, even if you want them to be.” Her hand toys with one of her earrings, the large clear stone looking almost pinkish from the red spotlight above. “But it looks as though you two don’t have that problem at all.”
“We have our ups and downs,” Hannah says, winking at me. “Right now, I’d say we’re up.”
Who is this woman? The Hannah I know is prickly and has a tongue that could slice bone. But now she’s soft and flirty. It’s part of her act, of course—Hannah Essex rather than Hannah Anderson.
“Well, you should think about getting one of the sculptures for your bedroom. Never helps to inject the room with more sensuality.” Celina smiles and her hand drops away from her earring. “If you’re interested, I can help you pick one that will be a good fit.”
“Thank you. We’ll definitely consider it,” I say.
Celina moves on to the next cluster of people. The room is moderately full, but there’s still plenty of space to move around. I notice more people interacting with the sculptures now—touching and getting close. Hannah sticks by my side as we drift on to the next piece—it’s a harder and more aggressive shape made of gold and silver. The two pieces of metal bow away from each other before coming back to twist into a small spire at the top.
This time Hannah doesn’t hesitate to reach out and touch it. “Do you think it’s true what she said?”
“About what?”
“That sex is when we are at our truest and most vulnerable?” Her eyes don’t meet mine and I wonder what game she’s playing—is this about our cover…or something more?
My memory drifts back to the night she propositioned me. We’d graduated from the academy and there was a huge house party—one last hurrah before we were all scattered across the state. Many new constables work in rural areas for a period of time, finding their feet and helping communities that don’t have much police coverage. Hannah had never been a big drinker, so the champagne had hit her hard. She’d been falling all over me, giggling with her cheeks and ears pink and hair mussed and eyes wild.
I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in all my life.
Don’t you want to kiss me? she’d asked. I’ve seen you look at me and I never knew if it meant anything but I hoped it did. I’m not supposed to like you because you’re dangerous for a girl like me…but I do.
Dangerous. The funniest thing about it was that if anyone was dangerous in that scenario, it was her. Because she was smart and beautiful and courageous and so kickass it made me want to burst. But I’d been with a girl like that before—where I’d loved as hard as my teenage heart knew how. The day I’d lost it all I’d broken into so many pieces no one knew how to put me back together.
“Owen?” Hannah cocked her head. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I guess it’s true.” I shrug. “I’m not sure I would say it’s a vulnerable thing, though.”
It never was for me…not after the first time. These days, sex is blowing off steam and scratching an itch. It’s fun and enjoyable, but it’s never about vulnerability. In fact, being vulnerable is the thing I avoid most in life. Because getting close to someone has never worked out well for me in the past—I’ve lost a mother and father and a brother and a grandfather and the girl I loved.
That’s a whole lot of loss for one heart to handle.
“Yeah, me either.” She looks as though she’s seriously considering Celina’s words. “Sometimes it’s just about fun, right?”
Hannah
GOD, WHAT AM I saying? This whole event has my head mixed up. I’m wearing a revealing dress, touching erotic sculptures and talking about sex with my colleague. This is not who I am.
I should have my eye on the prize. I should be hunting out Dom and Rowan and trying to figure out if they’re part of the jewellery theft ring we’re supposed to be tracking down. But it’s like I’ve inhaled some kind of drug and my brain is in a lusty pink fog.
The way he looks at me, with those intense blue eyes, makes the rest of the room evaporate. I’ve wanted a lot of things in my life—to climb the ladder at work, to have the respect of my father and brothers, to one day have a family of my own. But I’ve never wanted another man as much as I want Owen right now. The years have grown my desire for him, making it stronger and more unwieldy.
He encircles my wrist with his fingers and tugs me closer, as any husband in love with his wife might do. I tilt my face up, trying to read him. But Owen’s poker face is world class. He’s a master joker, a friend to all…and known by none.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
The heat from his body melts me and I pull my hand away from his grip and press it to his chest. His mother’s ring glimmers. “Making conversation.”
I’m not, though. I’m dancing around something I know I shouldn’t be doing. A suggestion which has occupied me with increasing strength from the very second we were left alone in our apartment at 21 Love Street.
“It’s not a smart conversation,” he