Sexy in the City

by Alexia Adams, Galen Rose, Samantha Anne, Carolann Camillo, Nicole Flockton, Iris Leach, Olivia Logan, Nancy Loyan, Stephanie Cage (epub)

  When she looked up, Redmond was gazing at her intently as if waiting for her attention.

  “What?” She realised she’d sounded more snappish than she meant to, but decided against apologising. Knowing her, she’d only make things worse.

  “I hate to say this, but we really need to talk.”

  “Huh?” Lisa wasn’t sure whether tiredness was making her stupid or Redmond was just making no sense. “Talk? Why?”

  “The show. They’re going to be in filming us any day now, and they’re going to expect to find a couple. What if they ask us when we met? How we got together? We’re going to need to have some sort of a story ready.”

  Lisa considered this. It was true. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t thought of it before. Maybe she’d just been avoiding thinking about the idea of a relationship with Redmond any more than she had to. But she couldn’t avoid it forever.

  She capitulated with a sigh. “Tomorrow?”

  “OK. How about we meet at your place?”

  Lisa raised an eyebrow. So now he was inviting himself into her house. The one place where she’d thought she could retreat and gather her thoughts, safe from intrusive memories and daydreams. Trouble was, she couldn’t think of a decent excuse to refuse. Oh well, maybe she didn’t need one.

  “Why not yours?”

  Redmond grinned wolfishly. “Didn’t think inviting you back to my hotel room would send quite the right signals.”

  Damn. She’d forgotten for the moment that he wasn’t actually living back here. Just visiting. Long enough to turn her life upside down and send her crazy. Then he’d be back off to wherever he came from.

  “OK, sixish at mine,” she conceded, disdaining to respond to his predatory manner. “For dinner?” she added, in spite of her misgivings. If she had to start spending time with him, she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

  Chapter 3

  Lisa was making a final frantic attempt to hide the evidence of her scruffy and unsophisticated lifestyle when the doorbell rang. She shoved the last of the glass jars in the understairs cupboard and slammed the door, promising herself that she’d get around to putting the recycling out next week.

  Then she hurried to the door.

  Redmond was standing on the doorstep, uncharacteristically smart in trousers and a dark blazer.

  “These are for you,” he said, holding out an absurdly large red bouquet. As she took it from his hands, his fingers brushed hers, making her feel warm and fluttery.

  It seemed odd that the slightest touch could have this effect on her outside the studio, when they spent so much time on the dance floor hand in hand, or even body to body, with his strong hands roaming over her bare back. Maybe it was the suggestion of romance that came with the flowers. Or the fact that she couldn’t distract herself by concentrating on her footwork.

  Oh God, why had she asked him here? His tall frame filled her doorway and she realised she was getting in the way. She stepped aside, but his hand caught her shoulder and held her in place as he leaned down to brush her cheek with his lips. His breath was warm and teasing on her skin as he pulled away, and for a moment she caught herself imagining how it would feel if he kissed her properly, his lips insistently seeking hers and his arms pressing her close, disregarding the flowers crushed between their bodies.

  She hoped that in the dim light of the corridor he couldn’t see her blush as he released her and she stepped back to let him past.

  “In case anyone’s looking.” He grinned.

  Of course. They were supposed to be going out, after all. She’d have to get used to this. Keep reminding herself it didn’t mean anything. The flowers were a nice touch, though, and finding a vase and putting them in water allowed her to keep her back to Redmond until the blush had faded.

  When she turned back to him, he was leaning in the kitchen doorway. Without her high-heeled dance shoes on, she had to look up a long way to find his face. When she did, his eyes were fixed intently on her. Her cheeks prickled as if threatening another blushing fit, but she refused to look away, intimidated.

  “Do you want a drink?” she asked. The invitation was intended to sound casual but she suspected it just came out brusque.

  “What is there? Better make it something soft — I came by car.”

  That surprised her. As a teenager, Redmond had cycled everywhere and insisted that running a car was a sin against the environment. She supposed it was living in America that had changed him, since it seemed that everyone there drove everywhere, but couldn’t think of a way of making the comment that didn’t sound confrontational.

  Something in her expression must have given away her thought, though, or perhaps he’d just anticipated it, because he went on to explain, “Don’t worry, it’s not mine! The friend who it belongs to is away at the moment, so I’ve got the use of it. I can see how you could get used to having one, though.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Lisa said over her shoulder as she bent down to get the bread out of the oven. “I’ve never had the chance to — can’t afford to run a car and even if I could, it wouldn’t be much use with the amount of traffic round here. Buses are easier.”

  She’d said it so often she almost believed it, but now she wondered. Had she just been listening to the echoes of Redmond’s disapproving remarks all these years? Would it have made a difference to her opinion of cars if she’d been able to picture him easing through traffic behind the wheel of a sleek sports car?

  Oh, why did he have to come back and stir things up? Life on her own might not have been pleasant but it had been simple. Nobody to make her think about why she made the decisions she made. Nobody to make her acutely self-conscious about the mismatched plates and glasses she’d inherited with the flat and never bothered to replace.

  Glasses … that reminded her …

  “So what are you drinking?”

  “I wondered when you’d get back to that.” Even without looking, Lisa could tell Redmond was grinning. She could hear it in his voice. He probably thought she was a scatter-brained idiot. Or else he realised it was just the effect he had on her. She didn’t know which would be worse.

  “You could have reminded me.” She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but sometimes he was so infuriating. If he wanted a drink, why couldn’t he have just asked for one?

  “I could, but where would be the fun in that? Besides, you looked as if you had your hands full.”

  She couldn’t deny that. Pasta had seemed like such a simple meal, but the addition of little touches like the warmed bread and fresh basil had upset her routine and now she seemed to be trying to do everything at once.

  “Can I give you a hand with anything?” Redmond asked. She looked up from slicing the bread. She was all ready with a sharp remark if his expression was in any way patronising, but for once it was all seriousness.

  “Why don’t you pour yourself a drink?”

  Redmond obligingly poured apple juice for himself and a glass of wine for Lisa. He seemed thoroughly at home in her small flat — so much so that she wished she could pretend he was just there as a friend. But he wasn’t, and the complicated truth had to be confronted.

  “So,” she began determinedly as she set the pasta on the table. “About this programme.”

  Redmond waved a silencing hand.

  “Let’s enjoy dinner first. Shame to distract ourselves from it when you’ve gone to so much trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble,” she said dismissively, although a treacherous part of her mind reminded her that she wouldn’t normally have been at the supermarket so late the night before, and that when she cooked pasta for herself it usually came without all the trimmings. And as for when she’d last turned the oven on …

  Yes, well, she answered herself back, she didn’t often have guests, so when she did it was nice to pu
sh the boat out a bit.

  There was a pause, during which Redmond looked quite happy concentrating on his food, but Lisa felt awkward, sure that the sound of her chewing had suddenly become very loud. She wished she’d thought to put some music on, but now she didn’t like to suggest it. Music and dinner was too much of a suggestive combination. What with the roses Redmond had brought, all it needed now was a few candles.

  “So what brings you back to England?” she asked, hoping that the banal topic of conversation would dispel the romantic images that had crept into her mind.

  A frown crossed his face.

  “Sorry, shouldn’t I have asked?” Now she felt guilty. “I don’t mean to be nosy.”

  “No, it’s a fair question. A few things. Partly business and partly personal. And it’s been a long time since I was here last.”

  “You don’t say.” Lisa knew she was being sarcastic but it seemed safer than touching on the other aspects of his answer. He was obviously being deliberately vague. She didn’t know if he was sparing her feelings or his, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

  He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind the sarcasm. His eyes were distant and thoughtful.

  “We were such kids when I left.”

  Lisa didn’t remember it that way.

  “Twenty is hardly a kid. You seemed pretty grown up to me. And I’m sure you wouldn’t have taken kindly to anyone calling you a child then.”

  “True.” He grinned. “We thought we were so grown up.” And then he shook his head in bewilderment at the thought. “I had no idea!”

  Lisa laughed. It was true. She’d been so convinced that she knew everything. And she had known some things. The important ones. Like the fact that she’d needed to enjoy that last summer because things might never be so perfect again. Dancing and Redmond and what seemed like endless sunshine. What else could compare?

  It seemed such a long time ago and, remembering that summer, a thought struck her.

  “Have I changed?” She hadn’t noticed much change in him, apart from superficial things like the driving, and a slight thickening around the shoulders. What did he see in her now? Was she different to the teenager he’d left behind so long ago?

  “You don’t look a day older. Right answer?” He was laughing at her again, but his warm laugh was so infectious it was impossible to help joining in.

  “Be serious!”

  “Okay, you look a little bit older and ever so much better. More confident. You look like someone who can take care of herself. Will that do?”

  Lisa thought about it and decided that it would. It was certainly true. The year on her own, even more than her time with Brandon, had toughened her, though nothing since had hardened her quite so much as the first day she’d woken up knowing that Redmond was gone, not just for the summer, but for good. And now he was back and it was already beginning to seem as if all the time in between was just a hazy dream, or should it be nightmare?

  “You’re looking very thoughtful.” Redmond studied her face as if by looking hard enough he could ascertain the subject of her thoughts.

  “Not really,” she lied. She didn’t want to tell him she’d been thinking how very easily she could get used to having him back. “The wine must be going to my head more than I thought. Making simple things seem complicated. I was just wondering what we should do about dessert.”

  “Have some?” he suggested helpfully.

  “Ha, very ha.” That was something Lisa hadn’t said for years, though it had been trotted out at regular intervals when they’d been dancing together. Even then, she remembered, she’d bitten back laughter a dozen times a day, not wanting to show how easily he brightened up a dull practise session or a stuffy social event.

  Funny that in all these years she’d never thought to wonder if things could have been different if she’d admitted quite how much he meant to her. Would he have stayed? Maybe if she’d begged or pleaded, but she wasn’t the begging type. And besides, what if he’d gone away and left her feeling not only abandoned but also doubly a fool?

  No, better this way. He was a good dancing partner, but that was all. And he was bound to have a girl in America by now. In fact, there was the small matter of those phone calls, and the letters she’d seen him stuffing into his pocket as they left the café. Definitely a woman’s writing — she didn’t know how you could tell, but you could.

  Redmond was staring at her, and after a moment it came back to her that she was supposed to be fetching dessert.

  She did so, although moving in a straight line to the fridge required some concentration.

  “What did you put in that wine?”

  “Just a drop of seventy percent proof. Why do you ask?”

  She stared, aghast, then realised he was joking.

  “You bastard!” She took a swing at him, intentionally missing but unintentionally sending his glass of apple juice flying. She grabbed a cloth and began mopping the drenched table. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment at her clumsiness, but thankfully the action allowed her to turn her head away until the worst of the blush subsided.

  “What?” Redmond demanded. “You knew I wouldn’t really. Didn’t you?”

  Now he sounded worried.

  Lisa considered this for a moment. Had she really thought he would spike her drink? She supposed not. Redmond was unpredictable, a bit of a joker, but he was basically a decent guy. If she’d thought otherwise, she wouldn’t have given him a second thought after he left.

  “Well, not once I thought about it.”

  “I should hope not.” For a moment he sounded stern. Then he went on in a gentler voice, “You should know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say bitterly, “Except leave me.” If she’d had even half a glass of wine more, the words might have burst out instead of melting away on her tongue.

  As it was, there was an awkward pause, and then Redmond began again in a more everyday tone, “If you’ve finished, we’d better get on with thinking up a story while you’re still sober enough to remember it once we’ve agreed on it.”

  “If I’m not, it will be your fault,” Lisa snapped back automatically. Half her mind was still mulling over his comment about not doing anything to hurt her. It almost sounded like the remark of someone who cared. If he meant it, then was it possible that he didn’t know how his leaving had hurt her? Not to mention the unanswered letters and the way he’d disappeared without leaving an address, so that for years her only news of him had been scraped together from gossip on the dancing circuit.

  If he hadn’t known he was hurting her, did that make it better or worse? It was hard to believe he could be so completely unaware of her feelings, so insensitive to the love that had always been the core of her life. But if he hadn’t seen it, how could she blame him, when she’d fought so hard to hide it?

  Maybe, she thought with a faint flutter of hope, she’d been equally blind. Could there be another reason for his leaving? Maybe it wasn’t because he didn’t care. But travelling halfway across the world from someone and ignoring them for years because you cared about them … what kind of sense did that make?

  If only Redmond wasn’t such a mystery. Sometimes she longed to just come out and ask him, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you did, and certainly not when you had a dancing competition to think about. It was something to say when it all came to an end and if she made a fool of herself she wouldn’t have to spend hours the next day in his arms or gazing into his eyes.

  It was a question for another time.

  Right now, the question, as Redmond was saying, was what they were going to answer to all the standard “couple” questions the TV crew were bound to ask. Redmond pulled out a pen and paper and began listing questions with ruthless efficiency.

  How long hav
e you known each other?

  How did you meet?

  When did you start dancing together?

  When did you first realise you were going to be more than just dancing partners?

  Where did you have your first kiss, and what was it like?

  What are your plans for the future? Marriage? A family?

  That one made Lisa wince inwardly. She’d never thought of Redmond as the marrying type. He seemed so restless and footloose. But the picture of him at home with a child in his arms suddenly seemed strangely believable. Had he changed? Or had Lisa been misreading him all this time? Or was she fooling herself now? Maybe the answer to the question was going to be, “Not in a million years.”

  Redmond chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pen. “Any more?”

  None Lisa would dare to ask.

  “Let’s start with those for now,” she suggested. “We can always add more later.”

  “Okay. I guess the trick is to keep as close as possible to the truth. We met at school. I took up dancing when a knee injury kept me out of football for a term. We were paired up by our teachers and never looked back.”

  “Were we going out together before you went to the States?”

  Redmond thought about it.

  “Maybe not going out. Too many questions about why I went. We were always close but we only started going out when I got back into the country.”

  “Three days ago? Won’t that look a bit suspicious — we already knew about the programme by then.”

  “I’ve been back a week,” Redmond said, looking deeply injured. “You mean you haven’t been counting the days?”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun,” Lisa countered.

  “But if all I’ve been is fun … ” Redmond picked up the song as she’d half expected him to. She’d always enjoyed the way he sang along to his favourite dancing tunes, but she’d forgotten quite what a strong voice he had. His rich tenor carried her along for a moment on a wave of melody, so that when he trailed off, she had to think hard to recall what they had been talking about.