Making Sense

Dedication

For Tony & Chris, my Kiwi boys.

Chapter One

“I’d throw my underwear at him,” said Freya, eyeing the singer on the stage, “but I’m not wearing any.”

Mia stared at her for a moment, startled, then collapsed into laughter at Freya’s mischievous smile. “Freya! Honestly?”

“Nope.” Freya rested her chin on her hand, watching the man croon into the microphone. “The only pair left in the drawer were the ones that come up to my armpits, and it’s too hot for those.”

“I’m shocked. I never knew you were such a hussy.”

Freya shrugged and sipped her wine. “I’m not going commando out of sexual deviance. I’m doing it because every other pair I own is in the laundry basket.”

“Since when do you not have any panties in your drawer? Normally they’re all washed, starched and ironed the same day you take them off.”

“I’m taking a leaf out of your book.
The
Slut’s Guide to Housekeeping
.”

Mia snorted. Freya laughed and sipped her wine again. She was on her third glass and knew she should slow down, but the bar was roasting hot, and the wine was icy cool. Besides, she hadn’t felt this relaxed for weeks.

Mia’s comment irked her, though. Why had her friend been so shocked to think she might leave the house without underwear? Was she really so staid and boring?

“Seriously though,” said Mia, unwilling to let it go, clearly stunned by Freya’s apparent laundry transgression, “what’s going on?”

“Just been too busy. Between night shifts and studying, I haven’t had much time to think about the state of my underwear drawer.”

“Oh…I forgot—you’ve got an exam next week, haven’t you?” Mia stretched out her legs in front of her. “You’re excused, then. Besides, I can’t talk, you’re right. I haven’t done my laundry this week, and
I’m
on vacation.” Mia was a teacher, currently living it up during the summer break. “Still,” she continued, “if you’re thinking about bumping uglies with our young Mr. Taylor up there, you might want to consider getting your underwear drawer sorted. You don’t want him to get his hand up your kilt only to find you’re sporting Magic Knickers.”

“True.” Freya studied the singer and lead guitarist currently breathing his way through a very sexy rendition of an old blues song and wished she were the sort of person who had the self-confidence to get down and dirty with someone like Nate Taylor. The deep tones of his low voice cut through the hum of the crowd, doing strange things to her nether regions. Or maybe it was just the three glasses of Sauvignon and the sultry ambience that were making her feel sexy.

She hardly ever went out on a Friday night, and the atmosphere of the downtown Wellington bar was both overwhelming and exciting. Her ears rang from the loud conversation and the throbbing music, and her nostrils stung from the smell of spilled beer and the acrid bite of the smoke brought in by those who’d snatched a quick cigarette outside. The hot and humid January air made sweat run down her back, even though she wore only a vest and a pair of light cotton cut-offs.

But the weather wasn’t the only hot thing around. Freya had to admit, Nate Taylor was possibly the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.

“Marks out of one?” said Mia.

“I’d give him one.” Freya winked at their shared joke.

“Well, he’s too young for me. I’m not into toy boys. We’ll have to ask Grace to see if she can fix you two up.”

“You’re only four years older than me. And don’t say a word to Grace or Ash, please. I’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.
Far
too much on my plate.”

Mia’s gaze left the moody singer for a brief moment to study Freya thoughtfully. “Work getting you down?”

“Work’s fine. Busy, but fine.”

“The exam?”

“All prepared. Pretty much.”

“Family, then, huh?”

“Yeah.” Freya finished off her wine, not wanting to talk about it. “Another?”

Mia reached out and rested her hand on Freya’s arm. The black-haired, bubbly Mia was outspoken and mischievous, but also caring and considerate, and the two girls had grown surprisingly close in the year they’d been sharing a house. Mia was one of the few people who knew about Freya’s problems with her parents, and even though she couldn’t do anything about it, her sympathetic manner had helped Freya through some bad times. “Don’t let it get you down, love, not tonight. You’re supposed to be relaxing and enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” said Freya, her gaze drifting back to Nate on stage. “He’s like aloe vera for the eyes. Very soothing.”

The song had reached a guitar solo, and they both watched as he focussed on the strings, making them sing to the audience, his brow furrowed with concentration. Tall and slender, but with a body that suggested he was no stranger to the gym, dark-haired Nate gave Freya the shivers. “He makes me think of words like ‘brooding’ and ‘mysterious’,” she said. “And possibly ‘scary’. Very
Wuthering Heights.
”

“Scary?”

“Oh yeah. Come on, Mia, he’s the complete opposite of the sort of men I’ve dated before.” A virgin until the ripe old age of twenty-one, for the last four years Freya had had precisely two relationships. “You could describe both my exes with words that end in ‘able’. Reliable. Dependable. Responsible.”

“That’s an ‘ible’.’”

“Well, you get the gist of it. I’ve never done mean and moody.”

“Mm. He’s certainly that. He has a naughty glint in his eye—or he did last time he saw you, anyway.”

Freya’s cheeks grew hot, but she put it down to the oppressive atmosphere. The girls had first met Nate when on their way home from a show. Their other flatmate, Grace, dated a gorgeous guy who happened to be a medium, and Nate was his chauffeur. Well, that’s what Freya had thought at the time—it turned out he was more like Ash’s manager, but that night Nate had doubled as chauffeur, and he’d driven them all home. She could still remember sitting in the back of the car and meeting his gaze in his rear-view mirror. His eyes had been intense, amused and interested, but since that evening over two months ago, she’d not seen him again. She’d been away on a course for a few weeks, and studying for her exams the rest of the time.

That night, however, was his first appearance in the band, and Ash had asked if she and Mia would go to the bar to show their support at his first gig, as he and Grace probably wouldn’t be there in time for the performance. Not that Nate needed their encouragement, Freya thought, watching the young women standing near the stage nudge each other and giggle as he gave them a smile. He wouldn’t be going home on his own tonight.

“He has very dark eyes,” said Mia. “I bet he’s good in bed.”

“One leads to the other, does it?”

“Usually. Oh, and he has big hands. You know what
that’s
supposed to mean.” Mia winked.

“Mia!”

“What?”

“Honestly.”

“Don’t go all Jane Austen on me. I know you were thinking exactly the same thing.”

“I was not,” Freya protested. “I was thinking ‘I bet he’s intelligent and a good conversationalist.’” She met Mia’s gaze, and they both started laughing. “Okay. Perhaps I
was
contemplating a part of his anatomy other than his brain. Those jeans he’s wearing are tight. But hey, I’m allowed to daydream. I’m growing cobwebs down there.”

Mia laughed. “So let me talk to Grace about him.”

“Talk to Grace about who?” The two girls turned as Grace flopped down in a chair, placing two fresh glasses of wine on the table for them. She fanned herself and rolled her eyes behind her Tina Fey glasses. “Man, it’s warm in here.” As usual, she wore her long brown hair in a bun, looking every inch the secondary school science teacher that she was.

“Nate,” said Mia. “Freya’s hot for him.”

“No, I’m not,” said Freya, her cheeks glowing as Grace raised her eyebrows.

“If you’re not, there’s something wrong with you,” said Grace, studying the oblivious guitar player. “He’s sex on a stick.”

“Who’s sex on a stick?” Ash took the seat beside her, placing a glass of wine in front of her and taking a swig from his bottle of beer.
 

“Nate,” said Grace, typically unembarrassed. “Freya’s got the hots for him.”

Freya glared at her. “Grace! Jeez.”

Ash grinned. “I see.”

“Come on,” said Mia. “Give us the low down. What’s he all about?”

Ash took a longer swig from the beer. He’d just finished a show and he looked tired, thought Freya, but he obviously wanted to be there for his friend. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching Nate sing. “I met him two years ago, in Auckland. I read for him at a show, asked him backstage afterward. We got on well, and the guy needed a break. I was starting to do more shows, so I asked him whether he wanted to drive me around, arrange flights, that sort of thing. Soon he was organising everything. Couldn’t do without him now.”

Freya studied him. That was clearly only half the story.

“Come on,” said Mia, “spill it.”

“Spill what?” he said, amused.

“The real truth. Why’d you ask him backstage?”

“To clarify some of his reading.”

“Like?”

He gave Mia a look. “You know all readings are confidential.”

Mia glared at Grace. “Why’d you have to pick a guy with principles?”

“No idea.” But Grace just smiled.
 

“The thing is,” Mia pressed, “we want to know if he’d be any good for our Freya here. Has he got a dark past with murdered ex-wives hidden under the floorboards or something?” She ignored Freya’s glare.

Ash tipped his head at her, exasperated. “Yeah, because I’d trust a murderer to drive me home in the middle of the night.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “Honey, I don’t think
you’ve
got any worries. A murderer would have to have a screw loose to pick on you.” Ash was six-foot-four and huge. Grace always insisted he’d been a Viking in his previous life.

“I think murderers by their very definition have a screw loose, and I don’t have a death wish.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mia. “Come on, I’m not asking for the codes to arm a nuclear missile or anything.”

Ash took another swig of his beer. The song was coming to an end, and as they’d been playing for over an hour, Freya guessed the gig was too. Ash leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Nate’s a solid guy, but he’s had a difficult time in the past, and it’s scarred him heavily. He’s private, reserved and defensive. He doesn’t date, and he’s not looking for a relationship, as far as I know.”

The girls all digested that information. “Damn,” said Mia.

Freya sipped her wine and shot Mia a glare. “Will you stop? I told you, I’m not looking for a relationship either.”

Mia ignored her. “Doesn’t date?” she asked Ash. “Is he celibate? Gay?”

Ash laughed. “No. I said he doesn’t date. I didn’t say he doesn’t sleep with women.”

“Ah, so he likes sex then.” She nudged Freya. “That’s something you have in common.”

“Mia, for Christ’s sake…” Freya’s cheeks grew warm again.
 

“What? So you use him for sex! Nothing wrong with a good, old-fashioned roll in the hay.”

“Don’t fall for that,” said Grace vehemently. “That’s what I told myself and look what happened to me.” Ash grinned at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Still,” said Mia, “could be the perfect solution to the cobweb problem.”

Freya met Ash’s gaze, growing even warmer as he smiled. She was still slightly in awe of him and usually found herself tongue-tied whenever he brought Grace home—which was growing rarer, as Grace tended to stay around his place most of the time now.

Ash tipped his head at her, and she saw his eyes shift slightly to the right, as if someone were speaking in his ear. Grace glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. “You’re going all Doris Stokes again. Who is it this time?”

He shook his head, sending her an amused look. Then he smiled at Freya. “I promised you a reading, first time we met. We must do that. Nag Grace to sort you out an appointment.”

“Okay.” Excitement flooded Freya. She’d wanted a reading for ages. “That would be great, thanks.”

He nodded and pushed his chair back. “I’ll get Nate a drink.” He glanced back at Freya and smiled. “I’ll introduce you properly when he comes over.”