Free Fire Hawk by Geoffrey Archer

understood.
    â€˜Trespassers keep out,’ she murmured.
    â€˜What d’you mean?’
    â€˜Sometimes you draw a circle round yourself, Sam. A circle nobody’s allowed to cross.’
    She stood up and moved his plate to the sink. He watched her as she rinsed it. She was right of course. He
did
treasure his personal space. He was far from sure he could ever share his life fully with a woman. But whatever the qualities such a woman would need to have, Chrissie had come closer than any other – because of how they’d been in bed, and because of how it felt just to
be
with her.
    Watching her leaning forward at the sink, he couldn’t stop himself thinking about what was underneath the neat skirt and blouse. He pictured her firm, round arse and slender thighs; the long, downy back. He looked at her hair and knew that beneath its chestnut layers there were cirrus-cloud wisps of a paler colour at the nape.
    She finished at the sink and turned round. ‘What are you thinking?’
    â€˜What I always think when I look at you,’ he answered, smiling.
    â€˜Sam . . .’ She came round behind his chair and put her arms round his neck. ‘What am I going to do about you?’
    â€˜I could make a suggestion or two.’
    For a short while she remained still, holding her breath. Then she let out a long sigh and stood up straight again, her hands moving to his shoulders.
    â€˜You’re so tense,’ she whispered. ‘I can still feel thoseknots.’ Her thumbs kneaded gently at the base of his neck. ‘I suppose I could . . .’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜. . . give you a little massage. Purely therapeutic, you understand.’ But the tremor in her voice told him it might be otherwise.
    â€˜Of course.’
    â€˜You’ve got great, hard lumps that need seeing to. Don’t have to be a professional masseuse to feel them.’
    Too right, thought Sam.
    â€˜You’d have to try to empty your mind, you know . . .’
    â€˜Meaning?’
    It was a few seconds before she answered. ‘Meaning you’d have to forget it’s me.’
    He swallowed. What was she on about?
    â€˜And how do I do that?’
    â€˜I don’t know. That’s for you to work out.’
    He heard a rising excitement in her voice, as if caught up by some idea.
    â€˜Think of me as some professional therapist.’ Her fingers worked away as she spoke. ‘Hands touching you, but not
my
hands. Not
my
body . . .’
    He closed his eyes and tried to put his brain in neutral. If she wanted it to be a game then a game it would be – just so long as she understood where it was heading.
    Suddenly she stopped the movement of her hands. She slipped her arms round him again and kissed his neck. ‘The masseuse says you’ll have to get those clothes off, mister.’
    â€˜What are we doing, Chrissie?’ he murmured.
    â€˜Chrissie? I’m not Chrissie, remember? Chrissie’s the one who’s made a promise to her husband.’ She gave a little laugh. But a laugh with pain in it. ‘How long do we have?’
    â€˜Quentin said a couple of hours . . .’
    â€˜. . . about an hour ago.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    She kissed him on the top of his head.
    â€˜Then I don’t think we should waste any of it.’
    Back up in the child’s bedroom, her mouth opened to him and he kissed her. He felt the press of her stomach against his and smoothed his hands down her back and over the curve of her behind. Then, after a few seconds, she pushed him gently away.
    â€˜No. Not like that. It’s got to be my way.’ She put a finger to his lips.
    â€˜Chrissie, for God’s sake. Stop farting about.’
    She made a clicking noise with her tongue and walked out along the landing to the bathroom, returning with a dry towel and a bottle of baby oil.
    â€˜For the massage,’ she explained.
    He narrowed his eyes.
    â€˜Trust me.’
    She