Look to His Like

Chapter Three

I put all thoughts of Adam Drake and his thighs out of my mind. As I strolled down the broken pavement towards my house, I turned my attention to my need to be married.

How does one go about quickly finding a husband, I wondered, especially when one has certain non-negotiable requirements? Did I walk up to a suitable-looking man in the food hall of the Queen Victoria Building and start to interview him? Did I turn up at a singles bar after practising my own CFM looks, and assess whoever would heed the invitation? Did I join a ballroom dancing class? Place an add in the singles columns?

It all seemed so sordid and depressing that I began to wonder if being a partner of Gilden Hawke was worth it all; but the notion that my years of hard slog could all be for nothing was so frightening that I pushed that traitorous question away at once.

The street down which I walked was dark and dimly lit, the only sounds the swish of cars as they passed me and the occasional shout, laugh or conversation, and other domestic noises, emanating from the row of terrace houses on either side of the road. Being so absorbed in my thoughts, I did not at first register an out-of-place sound - the tread of soft footsteps behind me. At once, thirteen years of living in this part of Sydney goaded me to instant wariness. I stopped short and spun around, my heart giving a frightened lurch.

It was with chronic relief that I saw Drake close behind me, his thumbs hooked in his front trouser pockets, drawing his trousers tight over the front of his loins, his expression at the same time watchful yet casual.

Conflicting emotions beset me as I watched his approach. He had an extremely alluring walk and I nearly drooled at the way his trousers moulded his nice package; at the same time, nervousness battled with relief at the realisation he was following me. My confusion made me frown and snap at him.

"Are you stalking me?" I dealt him my impaling glare. He did not wither beneath it.

"No, I'm not," he said quietly. "I think you've attracted some attention of some hoodlums - take a look across the road. I thought I would make sure you get home - or wherever you're going - safely."

My startled gaze darted across the road. True enough, a group of about five or six young men with buzz cuts, crudely emblazoned tshirts and tattered, over-large jeans were sauntering down the street. A few of them carried liquor bottles and staggered as they walked. All of them had their eyes pinned on me, and leering, anticipatory expressions. One groped his crotch meaningfully when I looked at him.

I swallowed. I was pretty much used to seeing the more unsavoury element in this part of Sydney, and had had a few disturbing encounters in time of living here. As a result, I now rarely ventured outdoors alone at night and I had state of the art security in my house - although even then, some nights I lay awake, listening to all the night time sounds around me, tense and wondering. If I had not been in such a disturbed state when I left the recital and then the cafe, I would have hailed one of the many cabs careering down the street. Although the ride would have been short - less than a minute in fact - I knew most cabbies would have been happy to accommodate me; I was after all, a woman alone in a dangerous part of the city.

"Come on," said Drake, seeing my nervous hesitation. He swung an arm around my shoulder and drew me to his side. As we resumed walking down the street, I knew I had just as much reason to distrust this man as I did the hoodlums; however, I detected in him such genuine concern, and something so comforting and caring in his demeanour, that I felt safe with him.

Trusting my instincts, I slid my arm around his waist, registering despite my tumult that he stood at least six inches taller than me - and I'm no shrimp - and that he bore no body fat that I could detect. After a few minutes, I snuck a look behind us. The hoodlums had dropped back, their interest in me abandoned.

"Where am I walking you to?" Drake asked after a while.

"Home," I said. "I live just down here."

He nodded. His arm was relaxed about my shoulder, his hand swinging freely, just missing my left breast. It felt good, walking with him like this. Safe and companionable - and very, very sexy. It was with a feeling of reluctance that I stopped at last outside my front gate.

"Nice," he said, looking up at my house appreciatively. His approval pleased me. After Auntie Ag had died and I had bought her home, I had thrown a lot of money into renovating and restoring it. It's now a genuine Federation sandstone terrace house, tall and narrow, on three stories with two upper balconies and neat, postage stamp-sized garden in the front. The low front fence and gate is of white wrought-iron trellis work, the same design as the balcony railings. The bars at the lower window, the security door and an alarm system are some concessions to the twenty-first century. As I have no garage, my car is parked wherever I can find a spot nearby on the street. My car is a Holden Astra, '96 model. It doesn't do to have too flash a vehicle around these parts, regretfully.

As I opened the gate, Wolf slunk out to weave between my legs.

"Oh, g'day there!" said Drake, squatting down and holding out his hand to my cat. To my astonishment, Wolf left my legs to cat-kiss the outstretched hand. Wolf is usually very picky as to who he decides to like. However, in paroxyms of pleasure, he rolled over, exposing his belly. Drake obligingly rubbed silky fur there, before standing and regarding my cat fondly.

Wolf took a flying leap upwards. Drake thrust out his arms at once and clutched Wolf to his chest, where the creature proceeded to purr like a motorbike, as my jaw inched slowly downwards in surprise.

Over Wolf's blissful face, Drake met my eyes, grinned and shrugged. "I like cats," he said.

I stared at him, every requirement on The List forgotten but one.

"Do you want to come in?" I blurted out.


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Fortunately, as soon as Drake was seated on my couch cradling a beer, a modicum of my good sense returned.

By the way he kept touching his shirt pocket, I knew he missed his cigarettes. He yawned frequently and widely, eyes growing glassy, reminding me of why he had flown in from London - to appear in a play, for Pete's sake. His sexuality was so overpowering, it left me breathless and nervous. He was so completely an imperfect candidate for my future husband, it wasn't funny.

Well, not completely imperfect. Wolf adored him, and that accounted for a lot in my estimation. While Beethoven played on the stereo, my cat lay curled in Drake's lap, purring fit to raise the dead. Even I felt my tension seeping away at the sound of primal contentment. Drake himself sat with gradually drooping shoulders and eyelids. I almost felt sorry for him.

"What hotel are you staying at?" I asked in an effort to rouse him.

He looked up at me blearily. "The Kensington - in Surrey Hills. Bit of a dive, but it's near the theatre and it will do for now. I'm looking for a place to stay, though. Know of anything?" he asked hopefully.

"No-o-o." It was a measure of my uncharacteristic insensible state that I hesitated while thinking of my spare room gathering dust upstairs. And it must have been those happy hormones, which had been partying for the past hour, which goaded me into imagining Drake in my bathroom, using my shower ...they could not however quite conjure up a vision of him naked in the spare bed, instead insisting on substituting an image of my own ...

Despite his weariness, Drake had all too readily perceived the train of my thoughts. "You're looking for a boarder," he stated. Before I could make a blustering denial, he cajoled, "I could be quite useful to you in your husband-hunting. Not only do I know quite a few blokes who you might see as eligible, but I could be a good sounding board for you as you go about your search - a marriage consultant in fact!"

"No doubt," I murmured dryly. As I beheld another puppy dog look in velvety brown eyes - this time eager and excited - I sighed. "I'm not looking for a boarder right now," I said. "And even if I was, I wouldn't make a decision like that when I don't even know you."

He laid his beer bottle on the ground. "Here's my story," he said, not wasting time. "I'm thirty-five, born and raised in Dunedin, New Zealand. I have a father and a mother who still have run the same sheep farm for fifty years, and am the second eldest of five siblings - I have two brothers and two sisters. I went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in Wellington when I left high school, and have been working on the stage ever since, except for a few guest appearances on TV in England. I'm not married, although I was engaged once when I was in my twenties, and have no children, as far as I know. I like cricket, and play it when I can, and country music. I ---. "

"Okay, okay, I get the picture!" I gave a snort of laughter. "I just said I wasn't looking for a boarder. And besides, I may as well come right out and say it - I really don't think you would be suitable even if I was - for the same reason I couldn't marry you."

"Because I smoke, and the music and the sexiness and all that, right?"

"Right - although you being a itinerant actor doesn't matter as much in those circumstances of course."

"Of course." His brief energy spurt abandoning him, he yawned widely again. "Well," he said, rubbing his eyes, "for what it's worth, I can give up the smokes - I've been looking for a reason - and I like what you're playing now. What is it?"

"Beethoven," I said, feeling as proud as if I had composed the sonata myself.

"Just think - you could be the saviour of my health, and responsible for my conversion to Beethoven, Samson and company."

"Samson?" I asked, puzzled.

"The music at the recital."

I looked at him witheringly. "It's Saint-Saens."

He laughed and shrugged. "See? You've educated me already."

I couldn't help laughing in response, and shook my head. "You're hopeless."

He gleamed at me. "Actually, I think you'd find me quite good."

A wave of heat swept upwards from my loins and radiated through my neck and face, while Drake watched with absorbed interest and a renewed alertness in his expression. "Therein lies the problem," I murmured.

"That you think we would become more than roomies," guessed Drake. When I nodded, he said, "I know the proprieties of being a roomie," he said. "I can guarantee you I will not share your bed unless you ask me to. Even then, I would probably have to think about it - although not for long." He winked.

I didn't repeat that therein lay the problem - in my ability to resist him. I rose to my feet.

"I'm going to make an omelette," I said, in dismissal of the subject. "I can make you one too, and then drive you to your hotel if you like?"

He nodded. "Thanks, blossom. Do you need a hand?"

"I'm fine, you stay there," I said hastily, my disordered imagination conjuring up visions of the delights his hands could provide me with. I rushed to the kitchen, but not before I perceived his flashing, knowing grin.

My omelettes usually turn out like scrambled eggs and this time was no exception. It was with a rueful expression that I emerged from the kitchen a short time later, bearing two plates.

"Sorry about this, I -."

I stopped short. Adam Drake was prone on my couch, sound asleep. I hesitated and slowly lay down the plates. On tip toe I approached the couch and looked down at him. At once the happy hormones chorused a sighed "Awwww!" His facial features were slack and vulnerable in sleep, his lashes dark crescents on his cheeks. His arm was thrown around Wolf, who lay against his chest in apparent seventh heaven.

"Come on, you," I whispered to Wolf, feeling jealous of him. I leaned down to slip my hands under his belly and extract him from Drake's hold. At once, Wolf's claws sprang out and flexed on Drake's shirt. Perceiving his threat, I sprang back. Wolf's tail began to swish at a fast pace, back and forth across Drake's groin. As I hesitated, my gaze drawn to the movement, an unmistakable reflexive action occurred there beneath the dark red cords.

I gaped, as the swishing continued, albeit at a slower pace, and Drake's erection grew larger. I shot a look of suspicion at his face. However, he still appeared to be sleeping - his breathing slow, deep and regular, eyelids still and fast closed, mouth slack. His erection drew my rapt attention again, my thoughts racing.

As a hostess, it was my duty to make Drake comfortable, especially given his jet lag suffering, I reasoned. I moved to his feet and removed his socks and shoes. My next task, of course, was to undo his belt. Naturally, it couldn't be helped that my hand brushed his body as I fumbled with the buckle - it was very stiff. The buckle, I mean. I also thought the zipper looked to be straining uncomfortably. It was my duty to ease it down, wasn't it?

Drake stirred then. I sprang back, my fingers scorched, feeling guilty. I was a big advocate for sexual equality, and I knew I would be annoyed if some man took advantage of me while I slept ...although, if it was Adam Drake ...I pushed that qualification away at once.

While Drake slept on, and the room seemed to pulse with sexual tension, Wolf looked at me, half in sympathy, half gloating, as his tail continued to swish languidly.

"You're a perverted cat," I muttered to him. I picked up the plates and, after a quick regretful glance back at the couch, I switched off the lights and left the room.

That night, I woke once - to one of those 3am, clear-thinking epiphanies: Being an actor, Adam Drake was more than likely highly adept at feigning sleep.

Smiling, I turned over and returned to my pleasant, erotic dreams.