Sweet as Honey (The Seven Sisters) - By Caitlyn Robertson Page 0,24

had touched a nerve—she’d hit on his deepest innermost fear—that Honey had seemingly coped fine being single for a long time, and maybe her ex had been right and she wasn’t interested in sex. He’d tried to fight it—she always reacted well enough to his kisses, but the worry had eaten away at his brain like a maggot in an apple. How would he cope if she didn’t like sex, or only wanted it once a month? With the lights off, in the missionary position? If he asked her to do something and it disgusted her? He’d planned to let her dictate the pace at which they explored their sex life, only suggesting one thing at a time, taking it carefully to make sure he didn’t overstep the mark. But he didn’t think he could bear it if he frightened or hurt her, and he worried that she’d go along with something she didn’t want to do just to please him.

Cathryn had reminded him how suited they’d been sexually. They’d got up to all sorts of things he’d never have dreamed of before he met her, although he knew she’d never understood that even though they’d been good in bed together, after sex with her he’d always felt tainted. She would never understand how much he loved being with Honey because of the way she made him feel—clean and unsullied, renewed.

But the fact was that he hadn’t changed—deep down he was still the same man with the same faults, even though he tried to hide them. He’d been stupid and briefly given in to his libido, which wasn’t hugely surprising considering how long it had been since he’d had sex—it didn’t make it okay by any means, but it was understandable.

And then shame swept over him and he sank his head into his hands, clutching his hair. Understandable? He was the pits, the worst kind of man that ever existed. He didn’t deserve Honey Summers, who was an angel on earth, who’d been treated badly herself and who needed a good man to look after her, someone who wouldn’t hurt her.

He wasn’t that man. He’d kidded himself he could change, but he was an old dog and that was a decidedly new trick. At that moment, Dex hated himself. And he wished he’d never been born.

Chapter Ten

“You’ve been so long in that bath I’m surprised you haven’t turned into a prune.”

Honey looked over her shoulder to see Cam walking toward the deck, coffee in hand. “Hiya.”

“Can I join you?”

“Of course.” She cupped her hot chocolate in both hands and smiled at him as he sat beside her. She had indeed spent over an hour in the bath, soaking until the water turned cool, and now she wore her favourite pink pyjamas and soft white fluffy robe, her feet—stuffed into matching white fluffy slippers—propped on one of the wooden garden chairs.

He sipped his coffee, and they looked out across the lawns to the darkening gloom of the Waitangi Forest. Although it was nearly April and therefore officially autumn, the sub-tropical Northland hung onto its summer jealously. The air had not yet cooled enough for Cam to don a jacket, and cicadas still called from the bush.

Cam placed his mug on the table between them. “Missy told me you rang Dex before you got in the bath.”

“Yes.”

“But he was busy tonight.”

“Yes.” She looked at her hot chocolate and picked out a tiny fly that had attempted to go for a swim in it.

“Everything all right?” Cam asked.

She sighed. “I think so. Probably. I don’t know. I rang him at lunch today and he was…weird. And tonight he was…” She trailed off, not knowing how to voice it. “Distracted, I suppose.”

“Work?” Cam suggested.

“Maybe.”

“He’s a busy man. He has a lot on his plate,” Cam said. “And he’s probably nervous about Saturday.”

“I know.” That didn’t explain his irritated tone, she thought. His curt, clipped sentences. The awkward silences. Something had changed, and it wasn’t just her imagination.

“Did you tell him about the court case?” Cam asked.

“No…” she said slowly. “I told him I wasn’t allowed to discuss it outside the courtroom.”

“You discussed with me.”

“I know.”

He sipped his coffee as he waited for an explanation.

She watched a pair of pukekos walking across the lawn, their blue feathers bright in the late evening sunshine, their red feet comical as they strutted to the pond. “I didn’t want to mention it,” she said tiredly. “I didn’t want to have the conversation, because I’d talk about Sarah Green