by Nicola Marsh
‘I feel like I’m taking advantage of our friendship.’ She frowned, and the corners of her mouth turned down, making him want to kiss her into smiling. ‘I suck at my job. My clothes are wrong. My hair’s a mess. My make-up is a joke. And the only reason Andrina didn’t fire me on the spot back there was because you pulled a knight-in-shining-armour routine that I’m still not sure whether to be grateful for or not.’
To his horror, Ryder thought he glimpsed the sheen of tears in her expressive eyes. He’d only seen her cry once before, when she’d thought she was alone. She’d been about fourteen, sitting in the corner of the garden, flicking through magazines while casting longing looks at the house. He’d had no idea what was behind her tears and he’d wanted to barge over there and comfort her but she’d looked so forlorn he hadn’t wanted to intrude.
Now he was willing to slay dragons to make her happy. Go figure.
‘I only take her crap because I have to kick ass for three months so she’ll take me seriously when I pitch for a statistical analyst job.’ She sighed and blinked rapidly, hopefully staving off those tears he’d be hopeless with. ‘I’ve always loved fashion—not that you can tell by looking at me.’ She gestured at her shapeless navy shift. ‘I’m clueless when it comes to style but it makes me feel bloody brilliant to be surrounded by all that glamour.’
When she raised her stricken gaze to his, Ryder could’ve sworn the barrier around his guarded heart cracked. He’d never been in love and a big part of him wondered if the much-touted emotion existed. He’d certainly never experienced it, from family or otherwise. But when Polly looked at him with those big brown eyes filled with uncertainty and more than a hint of pain, he started to view her as more than a challenge...and it wasn’t good. If she was up for it, he’d enjoy shaking things up with her, getting dirty, indulging in his longstanding crush. But anything beyond a fling? No way in hell.
‘I’m still the same geek I was as a teenager. How’s that for pathetic?’
Ryder’s hand instinctively shot out and covered hers where it rested on the table. It was an inadequate substitute for how he’d really like to comfort her, obliterating her moroseness by licking her all over until she forgot her own name. ‘You’re working hard to get where you want to be. Nothing pathetic about that.’
She sniffed and he resisted the urge to slide along the booth next to her and distract her with the kind of hot, open-mouthed kiss that would take her mind off her work stresses. ‘Do you give style lessons along with your motivational spiel? Because I’d be your prime candidate.’
And just like that, an idea shimmered and coalesced. An outrageous idea Polly would never go for, but an idea all the same.
It would be shitty to take advantage of her when she was feeling this low, but technically he’d be helping her. She’d virtually asked for his help with that throwaway comment. Besides, getting to spend more time with her wouldn’t be a bad thing. They could reconnect. Strengthen their friendship. And if it turned into something more... Yeah, he was going straight to hell but this was Polly and he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything before.
‘I don’t like your boss,’ he said, leading into it gently.
‘That makes two of us,’ she said, staring at his hand covering hers as if she’d only just noticed it.
‘So what would you say to a makeover that would knock her stilettos off and ensure she took you more seriously when you made your pitch for your dream job?’
Polly’s gaze snapped to his. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Me, giving you the full consultation I reserve for the companies that hire me.’ He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her before she fled. ‘It’s what I do. See what needs to be done and subcontract out to experts. Part of that is often giving employees style makeovers to boost confidence. And I’m damn good at ascertaining how best to help people, if I do say so myself.’
The crease between her brows deepened. ‘Why would you do that?’
He wanted to say, Because I want you; I always have. But Ryder wasn’t a complete fool. If he told her the truth Polly would think he was taking the piss. He needed to couch this in more acceptable terms.
‘Because I need your help, so it’d be a quid pro quo agreement.’
She snatched her hand out from under his like she didn’t buy his bullshit for a second. ‘You need my help?’
‘Yep.’ Here went nothing. ‘I need someone to collate the facts and stats for my book. I’ve got notes and files up to here—’ he made a chopping gesture at his neck ‘—not to mention the documents saved in disarray on my PC.’
He steepled his fingers, hoping it made him appear more professional. ‘I was going to hire someone to do it but this way we both get what we want.’
When she continued to stare at him like he’d lost his mind, he continued. ‘It’s a simple business arrangement, Pol. Making good use of each other’s skills to further our careers. What do you say?’
‘You’re out of your mind,’ she said, but he saw her shoulders loosen and the tension ease around her mouth. ‘We’ll be in each other’s faces practically twenty-four seven.’
He was counting on it.
Linking his hands behind his head, he leaned back and grinned. ‘Consider it a perk.’
‘Perk, schmerk,’ she muttered, the corners of her mouth curving upwards into the smile he loved. ‘This is insanity.’
‘This is going to work and you know it.’ He lowered his hands and topped up their flutes with more champagne. ‘Do we have a deal?’
After what seemed like an eternity, Polly picked up her flute and nodded. ‘You’re nuts. You’ve always been nuts. But I guess we can help each other out.’
She clinked glasses with him and downed her champagne in three gulps. ‘How bad can it be?’
If half the raunchy thoughts pinging around his brain came to fruition during his one-on-one sessions with Polly, Ryder had every intention of being very bad indeed.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALLOWING RYDER TO take her home was a bad idea. Not because Polly didn’t appreciate chivalry, but if being confined in his car wasn’t bad enough during the fifteen-minute ride to her tiny studio apartment in Cronulla, having him walk her to the door and not inviting him in would really test her wavering resolve.
He’d bamboozled her over dinner, getting her to agree to collate his book research in exchange for makeover advice, ensuring they’d be spending more time together than necessary for however long he was in Sydney.
What had she been thinking?
She hadn’t been and that was the problem. Sitting across from him at an intimate table for two, pretending to be immune to his sense of humour and sexy smile while he’d teased reluctant responses out of her, had confused her to the point of making rash decisions.
Including this one, where he opened the passenger door and waited until she stepped out before placing his hand in the small of her back. An innocuous, gentlemanly gesture he’d probably done for other women a thousand times before, but any time Ryder got this close to her, let alone touched her, she wanted to jump him.
As if sensing her wayward thoughts, he said, ‘Everything okay?’
‘Fine,’ she muttered, sounding anything but as she strode towards her front door. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’ He matched her eager steps, waiting until they reached the door to lower his hand. ‘And in case you were under any illusions, I’m coming in.’
A lick of heat shot through her and she had to stab her key into the lock twice before it worked. ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to invite yourself in?’
‘Don’t you know it’s rude to lie to an old friend?’
Puzzled by his comment, she finally unlocked the door and opened it. ‘Lie?’
He waited until they entered her studio before reaching for her and kicking the door sh
ut with the back of his heel.
‘We can keep dancing around each other for however long I’m in town for, Pol, or we can treat each other with the respect we deserve.’
He gripped her upper arms, leaving her little choice but to raise her gaze to his. His eyes blazed with lust and her breath caught as she saw every raunchy, decadent thought she’d ever had regarding this guy reflected back at her tenfold.
Ryder wanted her.
In the same way she’d wanted him for years.
So what was she going to do about it?
Play it safe, like every self-preservation instinct insisted she do? He was Archie’s best friend; he wasn’t a keeper; he was used to supermodels.
Not to mention the salient fact he’d agreed to be the keynote speaker at the fundraiser on which her job promotion rested.
Sleeping with him would be a giant complication she didn’t need. But the key word in that sentence was ‘need’. When was the last time she’d given in to impulse to indulge herself out of pure need rather than necessity?
She rented this practical studio rather than splurging on the harbour view she craved. She wore comfortable clothes and practical heels rather than experimenting with the avant-garde fashion she lusted over in magazines. She still played the dependable, sensible sister to her impulsive brother, even though he was older than her and was happy in his life.
Could she say the same?
Staid decisions may lead to an even-keeled life but with Ryder staring at her with desire, maybe it was time to step outside her comfort zone and live a little larger?
‘What do you mean treat each other with respect?’ Her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip and his gaze riveted to it.
He muttered, ‘Fuck,’ as he reluctantly dragged his gaze from her lips.
Her heart pounded, the intensity behind that curse hinting at Ryder being barely able to control himself for wanting her, and it empowered her like nothing else could.
‘Does treating each other with respect mean we acknowledge there’s something beyond friendship between us and get this attraction out of our systems with one night of sex?’
She tilted her chin up, daring him to disagree, because she glimpsed wavering in his eyes: duty to Archie fighting lust for her; wanting to do the right thing battling with an urge to throw caution to the wind.
When he remained silent, she knew she’d have to make her feelings on the situation perfectly clear. She didn’t have as much to lose as he did. Archie would give her crap for mucking around with his best friend, but he loved her and he’d do it because he was over-protective. But Ryder could lose his friendship with Archie because of the bro code that guys had and she understood if he didn’t want to go through with this.
His tortured expression indicated exactly how torn he was over this so she’d have to give it to him straight, otherwise she’d regret not saying something.
‘Because I’m up for it if you are.’ She held up her index finger. ‘One night. No complications. No second-guessing.’ She made a zipping motion over her lips. ‘And nobody needs to know but us.’
‘You are...’ He shook his head, before hauling her closer and resting his forehead against hers. ‘I won’t sugar-coat this, Pol. If I see something I want, I go after it, and I get it. This morning, when you didn’t punch me in the nose for coming on to you, I knew something had shifted between us. I thought about putting the moves on you tonight because I’ve fantasised about you for years, but I still expect you to be the sensible one and tell me to go fuck myself.’
Buoyed by his admission, she eased back to eyeball him, leaving him in little doubt of her intentions. ‘Why, when it’ll be much more fun if you fuck me?’
She’d never said anything so raunchy in her life and it galvanised him. ‘Hot as fuck,’ he murmured, hauling her closer, his lips commanding hers, his hands everywhere.
Polly had imagined this moment for so long that she half expected to be disappointed.
She should’ve known better.
Ryder kissed in the same way he did everything else in his charmed life: with exquisite precision and an expertise that defied belief.
His tongue swept along her bottom lip, a long, strong stroke that made her knees go weak, taunting her, teasing her, and when she opened her mouth it swept in to command, slow and sinuous and sexy as hell.
Hedonistic, hot kissing that went on for ever, addling her brain and making her crave more with every cell in her body.
He backed her up against the wall, plundering her mouth over and over as his hands slid under her skirt and kneaded her butt.
She let out an embarrassingly loud moan as he toyed with the elastic of her panties and for a second she wished she went in for those racy lacy numbers in all the magazines rather than sensible cotton.
Not that Ryder seemed to care. He tugged them down regardless, leaving her wet and ready. He found her clit with unerring precision, exerting the right pressure with his thumb as he slipped a finger inside.
She wrenched her mouth from his, gasping for air. ‘Ryder, please...’
‘Only because you asked so nicely,’ he said, holding her chin with one hand so he could watch her come as his other hand picked up speed, pushing her higher and faster until she tumbled into an orgasm that made her knees buckle.
‘Sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen,’ he said, brushing a surprisingly soft kiss across her lips. ‘Bedroom?’
‘Here,’ she said, breathless and wobbly but not wanting to wait. ‘Now.’
His eyebrows rose but he didn’t move. Instead, he slipped his wallet from his pocket, extracted a foil packet, and slid the wallet back before reaching for his fly.
‘Let me.’
This was her fantasy come to life and she intended on making the most of it.
She cupped him through the denim, empowered by his guttural groan. Her fingers traced him, the size of his bulge making excitement pool deep within.
‘Pol, you’re killing me.’
Emboldened by his audible desperation, she popped the button on his jeans and toyed with the zip, before easing it down slowly. The sound of metal teeth unfastening mingled in the air with their shallow breathing, and when she finally had him unzipped she slipped her hand inside his jocks.
He groaned again, louder this time as her fingers wrapped around his hard length and slipped him free. Thick, long, hard, velvet. Perfection.
She slid her hand towards his balls, then up again, her thumb brushing over the tip.
‘Fuck me,’ he muttered, stilling her hand and sheathing himself in record time, before backing her up against the wall again. ‘You are... This... You and me...’
‘Never heard you lost for words before,’ she said, hooking her leg around his waist, holding her breath as he nudged at her entrance. ‘First time for everything.’
‘You got that right,’ he murmured, a moment before he slid into her to the hilt, filling her in a way she’d never anticipated but gloried in.
Then he slid out and did it again, over and over again, slow, smooth, seductive, until her muscles pulsed with the pleasure of it.
‘You are divine,’ he said, a moment before his mouth claimed hers again, and he pounded into her with a ferocity that left her clinging to him, craving more.
He gave it to her, pushing her towards another orgasm so fast her head spun. This time he joined her, his fingers digging into her butt as he lifted her clean off her feet. The back of her head thumped against the wall as he cried out her name, but if her head hurt she didn’t register it.
Because she’d just had mind-blowing sex with Ryder Beale, the guy she’d wanted for as long as she could remember, and all was right with the world.
For now.
She’d leave the inevitable self-analysis and recriminations for later.
CHAPTER SIX
RY
DER HAD DONE some dumbass things in his lifetime.
Bungee jumping off a rickety platform in South America, race-car driving on rain-slicked, windy roads in Monaco, abseiling down cliffs in Thailand with ropes that had seen better days.
But none of those rivalled fucking his best friend’s sister.
No, that took a special kind of stupidity and he had to own up to it. He’d never shied away from the hard stuff, but coming clean to Archie made his gut churn. They’d been best buds for a long time and while they never discussed the nitty-gritty emotional stuff—most guys didn’t—he’d been there for Ryder in a way nobody ever had.
He remembered the day he moved in next door to the Scanlons. He’d been reeling from his grandfather’s death and the way his gran had operated on autopilot most of the time since. A financial company had taken care of selling their old house—a mansion akin to a mausoleum that he’d hated—and assisted in purchasing the one next door to the Scanlons. He’d liked the new house on sight, its cream rendered walls, duck-egg-blue trims and bright, cheery feel compared with the dark grey of their old place.
His gran had barely looked at the exterior before stomping inside, leaving him to watch the removal team carefully extract the few pieces of furniture his gran had kept. Most of them were ugly pieces his pop had owned, like a mahogany grandfather clock, a rolltop desk and a sideboard where he’d kept his whiskey. Ryder had hated that sideboard the most, because his grandfather would drink half a decanter of whiskey every night and that was when he’d get really mean.
While Ryder had been watching their furniture being taken into the new house, Archie had stuck his head over the fence between their houses and brandished a cricket bat. ‘Want to play?’ his new neighbour had yelled, and that had been that. They’d bonded quickly, being the same age, become inseparable, and Ryder had grown to like the new place even if his gran moved around the house like a ghost.
He’d met Polly that day too, a shy, nerdy eight-year-old who’d sat on the front step with her nose in a book, only glancing up if the ball came near her and Archie insisted she throw it back. Her quietness had struck him the most that day. She had emanated a kind of peace he craved in his topsy-turvy world and he’d found himself sitting next to her after the cricket game ended, asking questions about the pony book she was reading because he wanted to listen to her soft, soothing voice.