A moment later a discordant blend of voices rose around her but Dee's unfocused eyes were mesmerised by Billy's back where muscles seemed to ebb and flow like ripples on a milk-blue sea. His hair was the soft foam topping the waves, and she was floating, drifting, forgetting the deadly undertow she'd been fighting for two days.
The undertow.
She tried to focus on it.
This morning it had been a palpable entity. She'd fought it for hours, dressing and then undressing in a emotional merry-go-round of guilt and recriminations. Yet strangely, in Billy's presence, the memory of that anguish was faint, and in its place a tranquil, almost euphoric bliss permeated her body, leaving her mind free of misgivings.
Even a memory image of her husband, with his benign face and leonine mane of grey hair wouldn't appear to her. James had been gone a mere two days and was apparently forgotten. She'd remember him tomorrow when he returned, but not now. Not when she was so close to Billy.
And that was the danger, of course. The proximity. It was addictive.
This morning as she’d lingered over make-up and perfume she'd told herself she only wanted to see him out of curiosity. Not to talk, or to touch. Just to see. And she'd accomplished that, with no damage done. But to stay longer would only be inviting trouble so she glanced around. The hymn, with its ritualistic drone, was lumbering to an end. This was the time to slip out, while the congregation was reseating itself. She bent and exchanged the hymn book for her purse, pausing to smooth down her tight, white linen skirt. Then she straightened, pushing back her shoulders to resettle the matching jacket. The hand that touched her throat trembled.
Should she risk a final glance at Billy? She'd probably never have the courage to see him like this again. Just quickly, she told herself.
So for a precious few seconds she drank the perfection of his body, imprinting his physiology on her brain, trying to encapsulate the emotions his presence evoked in her. The aliveness, so like the lightning of her youth. Then the moment was over. She was about to leave but before she could move, a car backfired outside the Chapel. The congregation jumped, and Billy turned.
Instantly, as though he'd known she would be there, his eyes locked on to hers and Dee couldn't break away. The fresh bruise on his forehead caused a flicker of distraction, a moment to wonder, and then she was lost in his eyes. Murmurs of annoyance rose from the people around her at the sound of another, quieter bang before the offending vehicle roared away, but they were all peripheral. Exactly as it had been in her office with her hand in his, the totality of her being was absorbed by his presence. The nexus was upon her again and she was just as unprepared for it as she'd been the first time.
The congregation settled back into their pews and the Minister cleared his throat, but Billy didn't move, and neither could she. Her palms grew moist. She knew people were staring but she was trapped in a waking dream where she wanted to turn, wanted to run, but was unable to move. It was terrifying, and yet wonderful because underlying the superficial embarrassment she was revelling in the sensation of being hypnotised by her own desires — of being out of control. And the look in Billy's eyes sharpened her hunger.
Then it was over. The Minister's voice cut through their visual intercourse as righteously as though it were God himself speaking.
'Let us pray,' he intoned, and Billy shuddered, snapping of the trance. His gaze dropped away from hers and he turned obediently back, but his shoulders remained rigid with the shock that had been written all over his face — shock, mixed with helpless desire.
Around her, people were bowing their heads, as though cowed by the Minister’s words, but Dee was experiencing a revelation. Billy couldn't challenge authority. That's why he hadn't pursued her. She was a woman he desired, but he also saw her as an authority figure, someone to obey, and that one factor created a vast shift of power in their tenuous relationship.
Except for one tragic occasion in her past, Dee had never let herself be dominated by anyone — James, the University Board, or even God himself. She'd been strong and she hadn't known it. But now she did. Her desire wasn't helpless. It was deliberate. She'd chosen to watch Billy, to fantasise about him, and now, to follow him. It had all been in her power and she could unchoose just as simply. If she wanted to.
Of course, freedom came with responsibilities, and she needed to consider the repercussions of any actions she might take. But there was no rush. James was coming home tomorrow. And besides, Billy wasn't going anywhere. He'd been smouldering along quite nicely for some time now. Another week or two wouldn't alter his feelings.
She needed to think this through first.
So not caring to wait for the end of the prayer, Dee edged past the family in her pew and stepped out into the dappled sunlight of the tree-lined carpark. There was no urgency in her now. No rush to escape.
Her black Jag waited patiently, but the thought of her empty house held no appeal. Voices from the church, now raised in song, drifted across to her and on impulse she offloaded her purse and jacket on the back seat and relocked her car.
Picking a direction, she strolled off down one of the bush paths, not for any reason other than that she simply felt like a walk. In her present mood, that was reason enough.
Taking deep lungfuls of the sweet air, still dewy and redolent with the crushed-green fragrance of decomposing leaves, she wended her way into the native forest. Cooler air touched her bare arms and budded her nipples into prominence, creating a delicious abrasion as the sheer silk of her camisole top adjusted to the movements of her body. Her breasts themselves, although not large, felt heavy and sensual.
She became aware of herself in a way she'd long forgotten. The gentle swaying of her hips as she strolled along and the rubbing of her inner thighs created a tingle that wormed its way upwards through her body like little internal fingers stroking her skin from the inside. She ached to be out of her clothes, to lie naked and still in the sun. Then to glide through silk-smooth water, feeling it caress her like a lover. A lover who would know how to please her.
She smiled, hugging her shoulders, feeling inordinately strong. That lover was herself. She'd do all those things later when she returned to the privacy of her home, but for the moment she was content simply to walk a while longer.
In the deepest section, where the sunlight was all but blocked out but the thick eucalypt canopy she paused to breathe the fragrance of a gum blossom, fingering the hard nut case that housed the delicate puff of yellow strands. It was sweet, almost cloying, and she closed her eyes the better to capture the scent. But as she opened them again, her eye caught a large brownish shape moving in the underbrush a few metres away.
A wombat? She'd never heard of one in the campus grounds before, but the movement she'd seen had been nothing like the lope of a koala or the scurry of a possum.
Leaving the track, she ducked under a branch, her high heels spiking into the leaf-litter as she skirted a pair of eucalypts to reach the bracken fern under which the shape had disappeared. Cautiously she reached forward and lifted a frond, then screamed in shock as a large, ugly feral cat poised to spring at her. It hissed loudly but Dee was already back-peddling, slamming into the tree and making loud fear-noises as the animal bolted in the opposite direction.
She was winded, panting, but trying to quieten down when Billy appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her shoulders. She screamed again.
'Dr Williams. It's me. Billy,' he was saying, staring into her wild eyes, looking almost as frightened as she was. 'Did something hurt you? Are you all right?'
Her breath came in short gasps and she couldn't think how to answer him. Her knees were buckling and he was leaning in to support her — then she smelt him, the fresh, golden smell that drifted off his skin and the decision was out of her hands. She plastered her body against his, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him, letting him taste the fierce emotions swirling inside her.
She'd remember later that there was no hesitation on his part, as though he'd been ready for anything she might do. But at the time she was only aware of him kissing her back, groaning against her lips, his body — the body she'd imprinted in her brain — imprinting itself against hers.
It was pagan, almost brutal the way she groped at him, without finesse, and she was on fire with it. Her hands were on his shoulders, then in his hair, cradling his head, holding it so she could plunder his mouth. And she felt his big hands on her back through the cool silk, pressing her against the length of him.
