Flesh Series: The Complete Box Set (Flesh, Skin, Flesh Series: Shorts)

by Kylie Scott

  “Come on. Can’t you kiss me just once?”

  She swallowed and studied the ceiling above him. “No.”

  “Why not? One little kiss wouldn’t kill you.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Roslyn. Just one.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Her face screwed up tight, eyes thunderous. “Really, we’re back to this? And you say I’m immature.”

  She was right. It was a waste of time. Who was he kidding?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “No problem,” she said, voice bored. “I’m almost getting used to you sexually harassing me. Now, get off.”

  He shook his head and grinned some more with relish. This would be fun. “No, not for that …”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Yum,” the asshole enthused, shoving another pikelet into his mouth. This one was loaded down with sugar and lemon juice, just how she liked them. Of course, he knew this because he’d been reading her diary, the abysmal shithead.

  They were actually pretty good. The man could cook. But it would take a hell of a lot more than showing style with batter and toppings to make her smile.

  Roslyn sat on the big lounge opposite him, concentrating on the stunning view out the front. Hectares of pristine bushland and beautiful mountains rising in the distance. An awesome view, much more calming than watching the asshole eat. Her fingers tightened around her lukewarm mug of coffee in one hand, her reading glasses in the other. Their return along with the rest of her handbag did little to abate her pissy mood.

  “Ros, have some more.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.” She sat with her legs curled up beneath her and a hand discreetly covering the spot where her neck met her torso. Just above her collarbone.

  “It’s not that bad,” the asshole said around a mouthful of food. His eyes lingered on her hand.

  “Eat with your mouth shut, please.”

  The asshole grinned. With his mouth shut. That smile was pure pig—shelve him in 636.4—animal husbandry, swine. She’d tell him she hated him, but what was the point?

  Nick downed the last of his coffee and licked his lips. “I’ve never bitten anyone before. It was kinda fun.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I wish I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that.” He leaned forward and got busy topping up another pikelet with honey. “Actually, I don’t. What would be the point? Money’s useless these days.”

  She said nothing. She had nothing to say.

  “So, what do you want to do today?” he asked.

  “With you? Nothing. How are they doing at the school?”

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Did you talk to them?”

  “No. Just snuck in and grabbed your stuff,” he said.

  “Did you see any of them, up at the school?”

  “Ros, I was trying to avoid them.”

  “But you must have noticed if they were around. How were they going?”

  “Same as usual,” he said, his eyes all over the task to hand. No way could the surface area of the pikelet handle that amount of honey. What a disaster waiting to happen. “They were arguing about who ate the last tin of canned chicken or something. You need to eat more. Go on, have another.”

  He continued to stare at his well-laden pikelet. Honey dripped onto the side of his hand and he licked it up. Tongue lapping. Like a dog. Her belly did something odd. Because he revolted her. Not because there could be anything weirdly appealing about what he was doing with the sugary-sweet condiment coating his skin. The sure, strong swipes of his tongue were repugnant.

  She shifted on the lounge, trying to get comfortable. No position worked. Her sex was still swollen and sensitive from earlier. Everything felt uncomfortable and in need of relief. Apart from a quick pee break, he didn’t seem to be interested in letting her out of his sight. Bastard. Five minutes of privacy was all it would take and he knew it.

  She repositioned her arms so the overly obvious points of her nipples were concealed from prying eyes. Even her breasts felt heavy, awkward. Why was he still licking his damn hand?

  “You’re staring,” he mumbled.

  “I think you missed a spot.”

  “I like sweet things.” He winked.

  “Ooh, good one.”

  He tipped his chin at her and the hand still sitting against her neck. “Why are you covering it up? I’m the only one here and I know all about it.”

  Jerk. Though he did have a point. Just the same, Roslyn rather pointedly scratched the side of her neck with her middle finger.

  “Nice.” He blew her a kiss over the top of his pikelet.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, still aware of her boobs screaming look at me!, and sank down in the chair. Maybe the neck of her sweater would do some damage control, bite-wise. It looked like a Rottweiler had been at her. Nice red teeth marks imprinted in her neck, with a bruise blossoming beneath.

  “I know about your perky nipples too,” he said, smiling lecherously. “I thought we could read some more of your diary later.”

  Not likely. “Where is it?”

  “Somewhere safe. I noticed you didn’t write as much after the plague hit.”

  Gently, she massaged the tender spot on her neck, wishing she could erase it. It and him. “There wasn’t much to say. Life sucked.”

  “There was a bit about that wanker bothering you.”

  She studied the view, quietly squirming inside. “That’s none of your business. Do you have any concept of what a massive invasion of my privacy your reading my diary is?”

  He puffed out his lips and blew hot air her way. “Yeah, I do. But if you were better at opening up and talking about yourself I wouldn’t have to, would I? So really, it’s all your own fault.”

  How badly did she want to beat him with a stick? Instead she crossed her legs and swung her foot, making the chain jiggle and sing. Because she knew it bugged him, and scowling got old after four days. Four. Long. Days.

  Shit. He really would give her wrinkles.

  He flicked her ankle a brief, irritated glance, thin lips flattening. “Communication is what relationships are built on.”

  “We don’t have a relationship, Nick. We’re not friends and we’re sure as hell never going to be lovers. So I’d really appreciate it if you’d give me back my diary.”

  “Lovers?” He stuffed the last of his honey pikelet into his mouth and chewed with what would have been a contemplative expression on anyone else. On him, it was more aggravating shit-stirring then anything. “I was thinking we’d be more ‘friends who fuck’. But ‘lovers’ does have a certain ring to it.”

  She bit her tongue to hold back the retort that sprang to her lips. Best not to encourage him, or contradict. He might take it as a challenge.

  “I thought we could talk about your daddy issues,” he announced.

  God, but she hated him. “I don’t have any daddy issues.”

  “Your diary says otherwise. Why don’t I grab it, so we can read over the stuff I’m talking about?”

  Her stomach roiled. Two years’ worth of her most personal thoughts and feelings laid bare. All her hopes and dreams, along with the occasional rant. Well, maybe more than the occasional rant. Secret things she would have never said to another living soul. He would smash the sanctity of that outlet for shits and giggles. Every tendon in her body tightened, fingers clenching closed. “Nick, please. Don’t.”

  “Hmm?” He busily licked his fingers clean.

  “Please. Don’t read my diary. Find some other way to mess with me. I can’t …”

  The man sat forward in his seat, his sudden focus on her unnerving. “You can’t what?”

  How to say it? She felt drained. He wouldn’t give her diary back. For all his little niceties, he wanted to fuck with her head as a way to get at her body. That much was obvious.

  Nick stood and moved over to her side, sat down. “Talk to me.”
<
br />   She opened her mouth but for once the words deserted her. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

  “Ros?” He waited, hovering.

  “Nothing.”

  Silence reigned supreme for a moment.

  He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we get out of here for a while? Go for a jog?”

  “A jog?” she asked, voice laced with disbelief.

  “Yes. A slow one. Come on, I’ll find you some sneakers. I think we could both use some fresh air.”

  * * *

  Nick loped along like a dingo. By putting in a minute amount of effort he would have left her for dead, easily. Instead he jogged along beside her, looking far too fit in his cargo shorts and T-shirt. A cap sat on his head, the tops of his ears stained pink from the sun. Definitely descended from English or Irish stock. He had a long-limbed, athletic build. She was more of a robust peasant, herself.

  Down the gravel driveway they went, heading toward the lonely stretch of road leading into the eco-lodge. It was nice to be outside. The scent of eucalyptus from the gums and some sweet nectar carried on the breeze. Not everything waited for spring to arrive. Warmth from the sun permeated her shirt. Sweat already dampened her back. Her cheeks felt like glowing braziers.

  “I’ll race you to that tree.” He pointed to a big old jacaranda gracing the side of the road about twenty meters away.

  “You’ll win,” she puffed.

  “I’ll give you a head start. Go.” His hand drew back and then swung. Too late she realized his intention. The palm of his hand collided with her jean-clad ass in a flesh-shaking smack. Her left butt cheek howled bloody murder. “Go!”

  “Ow!” She took off to elude his hand more than anything, throwing herself in the general direction of the tree. “Damn it. This is not a fair competition.”

  “Keep going.”

  She’d covered half the distance when he started after her. Attempting to run and look over her shoulder at the same time slowed her down, but keeping an eye on him had become second nature. Who knew what he’d get up to next?

  A wide grin split his face, appearing alarmingly wolfish. His long legs ate up the distance with ease. Her heart raced faster than her feet could manage.

  “I’m gonna catch you, Ros,” he taunted, as though stating the obvious was clever. Fingers hooked into the back waistband of her jeans and tugged her to an abrupt halt. His arm snaked around her waist, steadying her before her forward momentum could put her face first in the dirt. “Got you. See that tree?”

  She squirmed and pushed at his arm, out of habit more than anything else. He wasn’t hurting her.

  “The one we were racing to?” she asked.

  “I’m a zombie and you have to climb that tree to get away from me.”

  “No. You’re delusional, and I’m not climbing the tree.”

  His breath warmed the side of her neck. “If I catch you I get to bite you again. That’s what infected do.”

  Teeth snapped beside her ear in warning and she recoiled with a grimace. “Get off me, Nick.”

  “Go. Climb. You said you’d be fine without me, so show me.” He released her with an overly dramatic moan. “Grrr …”

  “Nick.”

  “Argh.” He curled his top lip and snarled. “Hungry for girl flesh.”

  “Infected can’t talk.”

  “I’m special. Climb.”

  “Oh, you’re unique alright.”

  “Better move.” His hand landed again on her rear with an almighty crack. It stung like nobody’s business. Like he’d lit a fire in her bloody jeans.

  “Ouch!” She rubbed at her aggrieved butt with both hands. “Stop doing that!”

  “Climb. Or I’m biting.”

  She hated him so hard.

  The tree stood a good three stories tall, a majestic old beauty. Come spring it would be ablaze with purple blooms. Today it was mostly bare. The fork of the tree’s big branches sat about a meter off the ground, just high enough to be a problem. A suitable handhold branch stretched out a bit above her head. Ros wrapped her hand around it and tested. Good and solid. It should hold her weight.

  “You’d be dead twice over by now,” Nick said from behind her. “What’s taking so long?”

  “I’m getting there.” She secured both hands around the trunk and raised a foot. Fitting it to the break in the branches was harder than it looked. Muscles in her legs stretched and strained. Her sneaker hovered high above the ground.

  Nick sighed. “Have you even climbed a tree before?”

  Probably, but damned if she could remember. The toe of her sneaker slid against the bark, seeking purchase and failing. “Crap.”

  “Grrrr.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  He snorted. “I’m not here to help. I’m here to eat you. As unpolitely as possible.”

  “It’s ‘impolite’, and shut up.”

  “Impolite. Sorry.”

  She flinched as a stream of air stirred the fine hairs on the back of her neck. “Stop it, Nick.”

  “Just tenderizing the meat.”

  She ignored him and focused solely on forcing her foot into the fork. Tendons strained and bones creaked. She could do this, yes she could. But a meter off the ground was pretty damn high when it had been so long between Pilates classes. Then … yes, success! Her legs were not happy. Neither were her arms, as she pushed off the ground with her other foot in a bid to have it join the first. Sweaty hands slipped against the bark.

  “Shit!”

  Nicks grabbed her hips, stabilizing her as her foot flailed against the tree trunk. “Hang on. I’ve got you.”

  “This is stupid,” she snarled, hanging from the tree like a defective ape.

  “You’re doing great.” He laughed against her back, his chest shaking. Big hands cupped her butt, taking her weight off her poor aching arms. Hard to object to the manhandling when it was the only thing keeping her off the ground.

  “I’ll give you a push up,” he said. “Okay?”

  “No!”

  “Calm down. You can do this.”

  “Wait.” With his support she managed to wedge her other foot into the divide. Someone had lit her shoulders on fire. How did people do this shit? Why did they? Idiots.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Okay.” And up she went. With his hands all over her ass, splayed out, steadying her. She wrapped her arms around one of the big branches and hung on for dear life. Rough bark scratched at her cheek. She clung on like a koala, but with less style.

  Nick looked up at her from where he stood on the ground, hands on his hips and a broad grin on his face. Delighted with her again, apparently. She tried not to smile back. The corner of her mouth twitched in betrayal.

  “There we go. I said you could do it. Move over,” he said. “I’m coming up.”

  “What? Hang on.”

  Nick grabbed at her handhold branch with one big hand, propped the end of his foot beside her and swung himself up. That damn easy. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  “Nice view,” he said, staring into her eyes.

  Unease slid through her. Their noses almost touched. He didn’t have to be crowding her again. She looked at all the elsewhere over his shoulder. Anywhere but him was good. Her gray T-shirt clung to her in patches, nice and sweaty. Strands of hair stuck to the side of her face. Catching her breath took time. The idiot just kept staring. She leaned back a little, but there wasn’t anywhere to go and he just followed. Like it was a game, damn it.

  “Stop it,” she mumbled.

  “Stop what?”

  She probably smelled fantastically bad. He smelled like a man who’d been jogging. Clean male sweat and all that, the same as the other day when he’d been chopping wood. Her heart capered around inside her chest due to the physical exertion. Nick grabbed at another branch stretching out from the tree beside his head. The sleeve of his blue T-shirt rode up a little, stretching around his bicep.

  “Wanna go higher?” he aske
d, looming over her.

  “Um, no. This is good.”

  “Zombies could chew on your ankles at this height.”

  “Fortunately, you seem to have lost your appetite.”

  “Have I?” His eyes darkened perceptively, never once leaving her face. “Bet you can guess what I’m thinking right now.”

  “Yeah. I bet I can too.” She gave a small, reluctant smile. “That one was a little too easy.”

  “Hmm.”

  The silence that followed was not comfortable.

  Eventually he took a deep breath. “Right. Let’s go find another tree to climb.”

  Shit. “Another?”

  Effortlessly he jumped back down to earth, turned and held his hands up for her. “Yep. Best of three.”

  “And if you win?”

  He smiled and eyed up her neck like it was a tenderloin he intended to baste with his tongue. “Come on.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I hate you so hard.”

  “You know, in my head, every time you say that I substitute ‘hate’ for the word ‘love’.” Nick exhaled on a sigh and watched Roslyn limp toward the bed, chain trailing behind her. Apparently she’d pulled some muscles today. The woman was seriously out of shape. They needed to fix that. He was so used to working with other fit people it hadn’t occurred to him how behind she was. What if something happened? “Lie down on your stomach and I’ll rub you down.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He rose from his seat at the table, forgetting about the last of the creamy salmon pasta he’d cooked for dinner. Not a bad effort for tinned ingredients, if he said so himself. He’d spent the time drying out from the drug and alcohol binge developing new hobbies. He’d actually found he enjoyed cooking. “Please come and lie down.”

  “You’re only saying please to pacify me.” Her forehead crinkled and she crawled onto the bed with achingly slow movements. Damn it, he shouldn’t have pushed her so hard. She’d washed up and changed into comfortable clothes after they’d gotten back. Thank goodness she’d gotten it out of the way before her muscles seized up.

  “Sure. If it makes you feel better.” He had body oil in the bedside table. Just like he had sex toys and shit to tie her up with. Nice to know that this time the use would be for her pleasure. “Lie face down.”