by Abby Green
He pulled in front of one warehouse. On one side of it was a restaurant, the other a funky design store. But there was nothing in the ground floor of this one. The windows were darkened. His car window slid down and he reached out to press numbers of the security pad that stood on a stand in front. The wide door opened up and he drove the car in. In the dim light she saw a big empty space—save for a mountain bike and some assorted gym equipment. It immediately reminded her of his muscles. She looked away. There was a lift to the side and a steep flight of stairs heading up in a straight line. He stepped forward, tackling the stairs.
‘My apartment is on the top floor.’
Of course it was. On the third level there was another security pad, another pin number. The guy was clearly security conscious. Once inside she blinked—her eyes taking a second to cope with the transition from gloomy stairwell to bright room. It was huge. At first glance all she saw were wooden floors, bricks, steel beams. Half the roof had been ripped off and replaced with skylights—flooding the place in fresh, natural light. There was a huge table in the centre, surrounded by an assortment of chairs, but it was the long workbench that ran the length of one wall that caught her attention.
‘Is your computer screen big enough?’ She stared in amazement at the display of technology lined up on it. ‘Have you got enough of them?’
He grinned. ‘Actually most of them are in the office on the second floor.’
‘So what, these are just for fun?’
He gave her a whisker of a wink, a faint fingerprint of the humour he’d had that night on Waiheke. Then it was gone. He walked ahead of her, leading her to the kitchen area, and she watched awkwardly as he put items into the fridge and freezer.
‘Most of the apartment has yet to be done. After getting my room and the kitchen done I just ran out of—’
‘Money?’ she interpolated hopefully. Surely she couldn’t have been so far wrong about this guy.
‘Time,’ he corrected, smiling faintly. ‘Business has been busy.’ He looked about. ‘The basic design is there but I haven’t had the chance to get the last bits done yet.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’
It was on the far side of the living area. There were more rooms heading down the corridor next to it, but through their open doors she could see that they were empty. In the room he stopped at, there was just a bed and a chest of drawers.
‘Sorry it’s so bare.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m used to less.’
‘I’ll make up the bed.’
‘I can do it.’ She didn’t want him in the room any more than necessary.
She took a look out the window—it overlooked the street; she could see all the shoppers. There was a seriously yummy smell wafting up from the Malaysian restaurant next door. ‘You must eat out all the time.’
He answered from the doorway. ‘They do me take-out packages. But I try to cook a few nights a week. The downside is the rubbish collection—before six o’clock every morning all the bottles from the night before get tipped into the recycling truck. Makes a hell of a din.’
‘I’d have thought you’d be well up by then anyway.’ She shot him a look. ‘Working.’
That hint of humour resurged, warming her. It was then she fully recognised the danger—she was still hopelessly attracted to him. If he turned on the smile charm again she’d be his in a heartbeat.
She kicked herself. He wasn’t offering anything but a room, remember? And she didn’t want his sort of gratitude. Tiredness swamped her and the fairy dress slipped lower. She desperately needed a shower. Desperately needed to get dressed in something far more concealing. ‘Do you mind if I use the bathroom?’
The amusement in his eyes became unholy. ‘Sure. Follow me.’
He led her back into the main space, and across it. Her footsteps slowed as she spied what was through the doorway he was headed to—a very big bed with most definitely masculine-coloured coverings.
‘We’ll have to share the bathroom—is that OK?’
‘Um … sure,’ she mumbled. ‘That’s fine.’
She was in his bedroom. Her skin was prickling with heat.
‘The bathroom is one of the things yet to be finished.’ He was talking again. ‘There’s a loo near the kitchen, but the only shower and bath at the moment are the ones in the en suite for the master bedroom.’
The master bedroom—his bedroom—this bedroom. Oh, life couldn’t be so cruel.
He was watching her with that wicked twinkle faintly sparking in his eyes. ‘It’s a really nice shower.’
She was quite sure it would be. She wanted to ask if there was a lock on the door, but thought better of being so rude. She hurriedly looked away from him, only to get an eyeful of his walk-in wardrobe space—and all the suits that were hanging there.
Suits.
Completely thrown, she followed where he’d wandered into the bathroom. It was her turn to stop in the doorway.
He stood in the centre of the room. He turned towards her, his smile satisfied. ‘It’s something, isn’t it?’
She nodded. It was all she could manage.
‘When I get the chance I’ll get the rest of place up to standard too.’
It was beautiful. A huge wet play area that oozed with refined elegance. All the fittings were obviously expensive. The colourings were muted—dark grey, black with sparse splashes of red. A shower space with ample room for two and the biggest bath she’d ever seen.
She railed against her own appreciation of it. Materialistic was not her—there were other, more important things in life. And yet there was no way she couldn’t indulge in such classical luxury. No way she couldn’t stop thinking of him in there too.
‘Take as long as you want,’ he said, passing her so closely she shivered. ‘You’ll find everything you need in here.’
She sagged against the door after he closed it behind him. What she wanted and needed had just walked out.
The kitten heels of her slippers echoed on the wooden floors as she walked back through to the kitchen. She could smell the most delicious smell. So good it wiped the final traces of the rank burnt-egg odour from her senses.
He was barefoot and looking like that careless, gorgeous hunk of a guy she’d met that wild night. Again she was transported back to the moments when she’d felt the firmness of his denim-wrapped thighs between hers. When he’d pulled her close on the dance floor, even closer in her room … Somewhere inside she softened … and immediately she sought to firm up again.
This was the guy who’d been so keen to get away he’d sneaked out in the crazy hours.
This was the guy who wasn’t anything like she’d thought, who’d totally misled her—hadn’t he?
Now he was standing in his designer kitchen stirring something in a wok with a quick hand. She hovered near the edge of the bench and watched as he added the now diced beef into the mix. Another pot was on the hob and, judging from the steam rising, was on rapid boil.
He glanced up at her. ‘You must be hungry.’
Yes, her mouth was definitely watering. And it wasn’t the only part of her growing damper. She shifted further away from him. ‘How many?’
‘How many what?’
‘How many are coming to dinner? You could feed an army with a steak that size.’
‘Just me.’ He laughed. ‘And now you.’
‘You really are a tiger,’ she murmured, turning to look at the living area again, not really meaning for him to hear. ‘So your office is on the level downstairs?’ She tried to go for some safe conversation.
‘Yeah,’ he answered. ‘I’m not sure what I want to do with the ground-floor level yet. Not a restaurant, that’s for sure. Maybe retail?’ He shrugged.
He could afford to leave it untenanted? Inner-city space like this would be worth a fortune. He must be worth a fortune. Her heart sank lower.
How could she have been so wrong? Stupid. Most women would be thrilled to discover someone was actually a
kazillionaire. But it just emphasised to Bella her lack of judgment—and the fact she was so out of place here. She’d never be the girl for anyone as successful as this; she was too much of a liability, too much of a joke. Moodily she stared at the dream space again.
But like a bee to honey she was drawn to look back, watching as he poured in an unlabelled jar of the something that smelt heavenly. Intrigued, she couldn’t not ask. ‘What’s that?’
His wicked look was back. ‘The restaurant down the road gives it to me on the sly.’
‘It smells incredible.’
‘And that’s nothing on how it tastes.’ He nodded to a slimline drawer. ‘You’ll find cutlery in there. Put some on that tray, will you?’
She was glad for something to do. It meant she had to turn her back on him and not watch the impressive cook on display.
‘So how long have you been living in that flat?’ he called to her above the sizzling sound of the searing meat.
‘Two weeks.’
‘Really?’ He’d moved so he could see her and she could see the lift of his brows.
‘I’ve only just moved to Wellington.’
‘Why the shift?’
‘To further my career.’ The wedding had been the catalyst. The last push she’d needed to finally get out of there and turn her dreams to reality. Only, already it was falling apart.
‘Oh?’
‘There are good theatres here. The movie industry is based here.’
‘There are good cafés here,’ he added, full of irony.
She tossed her head. ‘There are.’
‘So why now?’ He was putting food on plates and she was so hungry she could hardly concentrate on what she was saying.
‘It needed to happen.’
‘You’ve got work already?’
She nodded and admitted it. ‘I’ve got a job at one of those good cafés. And I’m going to hit the audition circuit.’ She’d already scoped the talent agencies. Knew which ones she was going to target. Hopefully they’d take her on. And then it was a matter of keeping trying and hoping for Lady Luck to smile on her.
He lifted the plates onto the tray. Noodles with wilted spinach and slices of seared beef. Her mouth watered. She hadn’t had a meal as good as this in weeks.
‘Wine?’
She hadn’t noticed the bottle of red standing on the bench.
‘Thanks.’
He added the bottle to the tray, glanced at her, all irony again. ‘Can you manage the glasses?’
‘I think so,’ she answered coolly.
She followed him up the stairs she hadn’t even noticed earlier. They literally climbed to the roof—to a door that took them right out onto it.
The air outside was warm and not too windy. Most of the roof was bare, but there was a collection of plants in pots lined up close together. As he led her around them she saw they created a hedge. On the sheltered side a small table stood, with a couple of chairs, and a collection of smaller pots holding herbs, a couple holding cherry-tomato bushes. It wasn’t a huge garden, but it was well cared for. And the view took in the vibrant part of the city, gave them a soundtrack that was full of life.
He balanced the tray on the edge of the table, unloaded the plates with such ease she knew he’d done it countless times before. Just how many women had dined on his roof? It was, she speculated, the perfect scene for seduction.
Well, not hers. Not again.
But she sat when he gestured and he sat too. He seemed bigger than she recalled. His legs were close under the table and it would be nothing to stretch out and brush hers against his. She felt the flush rise in her cheeks and took a sip of the wine so she could hide behind the glass.
‘I’ve organised for your car to be taken to my local garage. I’ll get them to check the tyres too. A couple looked a little bald.’
Bella’s nerves jangled. The wine tasted sharper. She swallowed it down hard. She couldn’t afford new tyres and the last thing she wanted to be was even more indebted to him. A night in his spare room she could deal with. But nothing more. And fixing up her car was well beyond her at the moment. She didn’t want to be dependent on anyone. Certainly didn’t want to be beholden to him.
‘I’d really prefer that you didn’t,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘I can take care of it myself.’
And she would. She was over having people interfering and trying to organise her life for her, as if they all thought she couldn’t. As if they thought the decisions she made were ill judged.
He didn’t reply immediately—coolly having a sip of his wine and seeming to savour it while studying her expression. ‘At least let me arrange to have it brought here. It’ll be a sitting duck left in a supermarket car park like that.’
She bit the inside of her lip. He was right. It was the ideal target for teenage joyriders—irresistible, in fact. And she loved Bubbles, would hate to see her wrecked, which she would be if any boy racers decided to have a laugh in her. Besides, she suddenly remembered all her party gear was in the back. She certainly couldn’t afford to replace all that in a hurry. She knew that once again she couldn’t refuse him.
‘OK,’ she capitulated in a low voice. ‘Thanks.’
She sampled some of her dinner. He was right, the sauce was divine—and so was the way he’d cooked the meat in it. But she couldn’t enjoy it as much as she ought—the day’s events were catching up with her and she realised just what the small fire in her flat had meant. The silence grew and while she knew she should make the attempt she couldn’t think what to say. It was like the white elephant in the room—that subject she was determined to avoid. How did people play this sort of thing? How would some sophisticate handle it? How did she pretend bumping into the guy she’d had the hottest sex of her life with was no big deal? But it was a big deal.
Because she wanted it again—badly. Only he’d walked away so quickly, so easily and seemingly without thought to where it had left her.
And now, seeing him in his home environment, she knew he was nothing like the guy she’d pegged him as. He was way out of her league and, judging by the blandly polite way he was dealing with her, he was no longer interested anyway.
He rested his fork on his plate and looked at her. ‘So tell me about the wedding.’
She lowered her fork too. So he did remember about that—did he remember he’d offered to be her date too? She shrugged the question off. ‘What’s to tell?’
Owen lifted his fork again and determinedly focused on his food. It was just like that night on Waiheke—one glance and all he wanted to do was take her to bed. For that time in the bar he couldn’t have cared less about work and the commitments he knew were burdening him. Not until he’d had her. But then those commitments had pulled. He’d cursed it at the time, mentally swearing as he’d worked through the early hours answering the questions his client had been struggling with.
He’d walked from her. He’d had to work—that was his first priority. It was the one thing he knew he could be relied on to do, and all the while he’d been doing it he’d been thinking of her—of the most spectacular sex of his life. But then, only a few hours later, he’d tried her number, wanting to apologise for letting her down about the wedding and for walking out so fast, but found it rang to someone who’d never heard of her.
Stung, he’d decided it was for the best—a one-off, as most of his encounters were. It was the way he liked it—simple, uncomplicated, with no threat of someone wanting something more from him, emotionally or financially. He’d been appalled to discover years ago that he didn’t have the ‘more’ emotionally to give. When Liz had tried to force a commitment, he’d realised damn quick how much he didn’t want the burden of it. He couldn’t meet high needs, high maintenance, high anything. He didn’t want the responsibility of family and forever and all that. Casual, brief, fun. That was all he offered and all he wanted.
But it still niggled. She’d cut at his pride. Tony’s Lawn Mowing Service. He wouldn’t
forget that low point in a hurry.
‘Was it fun?’ He wanted to see if she’d refer to it. Would she even apologise? But instead she was looking at him as if he were the one who had something to be sorry about. Well, he didn’t think so.
But he didn’t want to challenge her—not yet. He’d bide his time—see if the sizzle was still there for her as it was for him. Because if it was, and he was pretty sure it was, then he wanted to rouse it. He wanted her wanting him again—and not hiding it. That would be the moment to strike. And once he’d heard her reason, had her apology, he’d have her.
He figured it couldn’t be as good again—it had been a unique set of circumstances leading to that explosion between them on Waiheke. Sex that good definitely wasn’t possible a second time—it would be fun, but it would be finished. Maybe then he’d get some sleep again.
‘The wedding was nice.’ She spoke in a resigned voice. ‘Beautiful food, fabulous setting.’
And a beautiful bridesmaid—he knew that for a fact. ‘And the company?’
Her smile was filled with rue. ‘Was as expected.’
‘You didn’t enjoy it.’
She screwed up her face. ‘Not parts of it, no. But some things were great.’
‘Your family approves of the groom?’ He got the impression family approval was something of a major in Bella’s life.
‘Oh, yes.’ The answer came quickly. ‘Hamish is a nice guy. He loves Vita. He makes her happy. But that’s not why Dad was so happy to have him marry her.’
‘No?’ He couldn’t stop the questions, found he was more and more intrigued as her face grew even more expressive.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Money. It all comes down to doing the maths and in the spreadsheet Hamish has it all. He has the right job and went to the right school. Drives the right car, lives in the right suburb. That’s the measure. Visible, measurable success.’