years.’
‘Grandchildren?’
‘What’s your position on that?’ he asked and Charlotte glanced back towards him to find his gaze more intent than ever.
‘On grandchildren?’ she said lightly. ‘I can see the appeal.’
‘On children,’ he said. ‘And you having them.’
‘Yours?’
‘Anyone’s.’
‘Again, I can see the appeal,’ she said. ‘And were I in a loving and stable relationship, I might consider children an option.’
‘What if your partner had a vocation that required travel? Would you consider joining him on his travels? You and the children?’
‘Are we talking about a partner much like yourself?’
‘Let’s assume yes,’ he said.
‘It’s not a question I’ve given much thought to,’ she said. ‘Mainly because the plan is to avoid becoming involved with such a man. I’ve a lot of experience when it comes to unorthodoxchildhoods, Greyson. I know what worked for me, and what didn’t. I’ll not be repeating what didn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t that make you the perfect partner for such a man?’ he said silkily.
‘That would depend on his ability to forfeit his needs and desires for the greater good of his family when the time came for him to do so,’ she said, equally silkily. ‘Could
you?’
‘Good question,’ he said blandly and peeked into the oven. ‘I think they’re done.’
They ate on deck, bypassing the perfectly prepared table in favour of a starry sky, a playful breeze, and balancing their plates on their knees. It fed Greyson’s need for freedom and Charlotte’s need for escape from difficult questions and impossible compromises. When they were done with the food she relaxed back against the moulded bench seating and stared at the sky. You couldn’t see the stars from where she was in Sydney. Not many, at any rate, and not often. ‘I’m not
against
travel,’ she murmured. ‘I’m very fond of new horizons and experiences.’
‘I see that,’ he murmured.
‘Just not as an ongoing way of life.’
‘Have you ever made love beneath the stars?’ he murmured.
‘Are you changing the subject?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve had enough of the old subject. I’m hunting a new one. Have you ever made love outside, under the stars?’
‘No.’
‘Want to?’
She rose and straddled him, pushing his shirt from his shoulders as she’d wanted to do all evening, glorying in his size and his strength and the lazy intensity he could bring to a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’
He didn’t mean to devour her. He hadn’t meant to bring up his mother’s dinner invitation or the subject of children either. Hadn’t meant to make love to her half the night and then again come sunrise because he couldn’t get enough of her. But he did all those things to Charlotte Greenstone and she matched him, passion for passion, and warned him that last time, before her eyes had fluttered closed, that if he didn’t want her committing mutiny, her breakfast had better be bountiful and could he please serve it some time after ten.
‘What did your last Sherpa die of?’ he’d muttered.
‘Boredom,’ she’d mumbled and promptly fallen asleep.
Greyson wasn’t bored.
Exasperated, at times. Astonished by thesexual pleasure he found in Charlotte’s embrace. But not bored.
He had a plan, formulated last night in between one bout of lovemaking and the next. A stupid plan, half baked and wholly crazy and one he wasn’t at all sure he’d be able to sell to Charlotte as a viable option, given her soul deep aversion to traipsing around the globe according to someone else’s whim. Still, he did have a habit of getting what he wanted. Eventually.
Grey waited until ten-thirty to wake Charlotte from her slumber. He used a mug of the finest highland coffee PNG had to offer to rouse her. He told her the pancakes would be ready by eleven, and that there were fresh towels and toiletries in the bathroom. He thought he heard the words
slave driver
mumbled by way of
‘Grandchildren?’
‘What’s your position on that?’ he asked and Charlotte glanced back towards him to find his gaze more intent than ever.
‘On grandchildren?’ she said lightly. ‘I can see the appeal.’
‘On children,’ he said. ‘And you having them.’
‘Yours?’
‘Anyone’s.’
‘Again, I can see the appeal,’ she said. ‘And were I in a loving and stable relationship, I might consider children an option.’
‘What if your partner had a vocation that required travel? Would you consider joining him on his travels? You and the children?’
‘Are we talking about a partner much like yourself?’
‘Let’s assume yes,’ he said.
‘It’s not a question I’ve given much thought to,’ she said. ‘Mainly because the plan is to avoid becoming involved with such a man. I’ve a lot of experience when it comes to unorthodoxchildhoods, Greyson. I know what worked for me, and what didn’t. I’ll not be repeating what didn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t that make you the perfect partner for such a man?’ he said silkily.
‘That would depend on his ability to forfeit his needs and desires for the greater good of his family when the time came for him to do so,’ she said, equally silkily. ‘Could
you?’
‘Good question,’ he said blandly and peeked into the oven. ‘I think they’re done.’
They ate on deck, bypassing the perfectly prepared table in favour of a starry sky, a playful breeze, and balancing their plates on their knees. It fed Greyson’s need for freedom and Charlotte’s need for escape from difficult questions and impossible compromises. When they were done with the food she relaxed back against the moulded bench seating and stared at the sky. You couldn’t see the stars from where she was in Sydney. Not many, at any rate, and not often. ‘I’m not
against
travel,’ she murmured. ‘I’m very fond of new horizons and experiences.’
‘I see that,’ he murmured.
‘Just not as an ongoing way of life.’
‘Have you ever made love beneath the stars?’ he murmured.
‘Are you changing the subject?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve had enough of the old subject. I’m hunting a new one. Have you ever made love outside, under the stars?’
‘No.’
‘Want to?’
She rose and straddled him, pushing his shirt from his shoulders as she’d wanted to do all evening, glorying in his size and his strength and the lazy intensity he could bring to a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’
He didn’t mean to devour her. He hadn’t meant to bring up his mother’s dinner invitation or the subject of children either. Hadn’t meant to make love to her half the night and then again come sunrise because he couldn’t get enough of her. But he did all those things to Charlotte Greenstone and she matched him, passion for passion, and warned him that last time, before her eyes had fluttered closed, that if he didn’t want her committing mutiny, her breakfast had better be bountiful and could he please serve it some time after ten.
‘What did your last Sherpa die of?’ he’d muttered.
‘Boredom,’ she’d mumbled and promptly fallen asleep.
Greyson wasn’t bored.
Exasperated, at times. Astonished by thesexual pleasure he found in Charlotte’s embrace. But not bored.
He had a plan, formulated last night in between one bout of lovemaking and the next. A stupid plan, half baked and wholly crazy and one he wasn’t at all sure he’d be able to sell to Charlotte as a viable option, given her soul deep aversion to traipsing around the globe according to someone else’s whim. Still, he did have a habit of getting what he wanted. Eventually.
Grey waited until ten-thirty to wake Charlotte from her slumber. He used a mug of the finest highland coffee PNG had to offer to rouse her. He told her the pancakes would be ready by eleven, and that there were fresh towels and toiletries in the bathroom. He thought he heard the words
slave driver
mumbled by way of
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