by Abby Green
‘I don’t mind …’
He shook his head. ‘I want to be inside you.’
She slid the condom down slowly.
‘Bella.’ His lips barely moved, jaw locked, teeth clenched.
She slid herself down even slower.
His head fell back on the bed and the sound of his groan almost made her come. She bit her lip, the tiny pain keeping her sanity for her, stopping her from falling into an almost unconscious state of bliss. She wanted to remember this look of his forever. She wanted to savour the moment.
Heavy lidded, he looked at her body and then back to her face. She knew that right now he was incapable of speech.
She’d never felt more beautiful. More admired. More wanted. And she felt the power surge into her. She moved, slowly, tilting her head so her hair fell, twisting her hips so she rode him, watching him imprisoned by passion beneath her.
But then her attempt to keep in control failed and animal instinct took over. She moved, keeping the feel of him so delicious, and the tension drove her, making her work harder, faster until she suddenly stopped, locked into sensation. He took over, gripping her hips, moving only that little bit more to knock them both over the edge, to those timeless moments of brilliant darkness where muscles jerked and pleasure pulsed through every part of her.
His arms held her close. With supreme effort she lifted her head and looked at him—saw the lazy mix of satisfaction and humour, and madly her desire lurched into life again. She couldn’t stop herself seeking his kiss. And with a sinking heart she knew the only person she’d succeeded in trapping was herself.
CHAPTER TEN
THE next day Bella left Owen’s arms again, using all her will power. ‘I have a party on this afternoon. I have to get ready.’
She showered quickly, towel-dried her hair and then slipped into her underwear. She plugged in her hair curler.
‘A fairy always needs her wand.’ She grinned at Owen, who was still lying in bed but watching through the open doorway. She took a length of her hair and wound it round the rod. A few seconds later she released it and there was a bouncy curl. She did a few more, and then tied long sparkly ribbons into it.
‘You really go the whole hog.’ He’d rolled to his side, rested his head on his hand and was watching her every move.
She tilted her head, frowning at her reflection. ‘I’m in character. I have to look the part, fulfil the fantasy for the child.’
‘The perfect party princess.’
‘Oh, no,’ she corrected. ‘I’m not the princess. The princess is the little girl whose birthday it is. I’m the fairy godmother, there to grant the wishes.’
She started work on her face. ‘That’s why I’m not in pink—that’s their colour. I’m in silver and blue. I have pink wings for the girls, pink wands, tiaras. They get a unicorn tattoo and some glitter gel and then become part of the fairy princess network. I’m just there to help them tap into their imaginations.’ She paused. ‘Most of them don’t even need me really.’ Smoothing the glitter down her cheekbone, she paused. ‘But there’s always one. The shy one, the self-conscious one, the one who feels like she doesn’t fit in.’
‘So how do you get her to fit in?’
‘That’s always the challenge.’ She smiled. ‘Take it easy, gently. It can be hard when, for the others, you need to be effervescent. But I want to try to do it because I just know that inside she really wants to be up there and part of it all.’
‘How do you know?’
She turned from the mirror. ‘Because that was me,’ she said simply. ‘I was the self-conscious one.’
His eyes said, Yeah, right. So did his voice. ‘I can’t believe you were ever self-conscious.’
She smiled in triumph then. ‘And that’s how I know I’ll make it as an actress.’ One day. ‘I’m good at pretending.’
She turned back to her pots of powder and paint. ‘At the end of the day you just want them to have fun.’
‘All I ever wanted was the food.’ He burrowed back down in the bed.
‘Figures.’ She concentrated on her eyes, worked in silence for several minutes.
‘Do you do boys’ parties?’ he asked.
At that she slanted him a look, saw the mischief in his face.
He tried to deny it, raising his hands all innocent-like. ‘I’m serious. You’re missing out on half your market.’
‘I do. But admittedly it’s more girls’ parties than boys’. But there are often boys there—especially the preschooler ones. I have a pirate queen routine that I do for them.’
‘You’re a pirate?’ He was back up on his elbows.
‘I make a really good balloon sword.’
‘You do?’
She giggled.
‘The depth of your talent never ceases to amaze me,’ he drawled, then watched her majestic nose wrinkle.
‘Yeah right.’
She stood in front of the mirror, clad only in bra and panties, and he was having a hard time concentrating on stringing more than two words together.
‘Where is the unicorn going today?’
‘Where do you think it should go?’ She grinned.
He knew exactly where it should go. On the slope of one of those creamy breasts, where it would peek out from the ruffles of the silver-and-blue dress, drawing the eye to the treasure beneath—not that his eyes needed any more pointers.
She glanced at the clock and gave a little squeal of horror. ‘Stop distracting me. Lie there and be quiet. I can’t be late.’
He didn’t stay lying down but he did stay quiet. He stood, wrapped a towel round his hips to try to be a little decent, and then came right up behind her to watch more closely while she finished her make-up. Silently he studied her as she fixed the tattoo with a damp flannel, as she smoothed glitter gel across her shoulders and chest.
Her eyes met his in the mirror for a moment, then they skittered away, then back once more. He felt his tension—his everything—rising. He needed to know it was the same for her, this crazy, unfettered lust. He drew a breath and blew lightly over her shoulder, down onto the spot below her collarbone where the unicorn tattoo was drying. She shivered. He watched her nipples poke harder against the lace of her bra and he was about to pounce. But speedily she turned, left his space, went into the wardrobe where her dress was hanging. All too soon it was on and zipped and she was walking away.
‘Right.’ Her voice was high-pitched. ‘See you later, then.’
He said nothing, just walked beside her all the way to the door, barely curbing his frustration.
As she reached to open it he reached for her—slid his hand round the nape of her neck, fingers wide so they caught in the curls of her hair. He pulled her to him for a hard, brief, melting kiss that didn’t relieve him one iota.
‘Later.’ He basically growled.
He prowled around the apartment like a caged animal. Wished like hell he’d had her before she went to the damn party. But she’d been insistent on getting there on time. Now, three hours later, he was at bursting point. He’d never known a passion as intense as this. Never known a woman who could take up so much of his brain space either. He thought of her all the damn time. Thought up things he could do for her. Crazy stuff, silly stuff, irresistible stuff. He didn’t much like it. Wanted to burn it out—blow it out with one big, hard puff.
Finally he heard the slam of the door downstairs. He went to the top of the stairs and waited. She was trotting up them, the silver fairy dress floating up towards him. His body tightened harder with her every step closer. He was filled with the urge to reach out and grab, to hold onto her in complete caveman style. He wanted to possess. He wanted to brand.
She got to the top and raised her brows as she saw him standing there. He watched the smokiness enter her eyes as she got his unspoken message. He watched as her breathing didn’t ease at all—accelerated, in fact.
He took her arm and pulled her inside. The door shut behind them but he hardly heard it because by t
hen he’d got his mouth on hers and he was asking for everything. She opened for him immediately and the rush of need overwhelmed him. He had to have her right now; he couldn’t reclaim anything until he did.
He got them as far as the big table, pushed her against it, kissing her deeply while yanking up her dress. He pulled her panties out of the way while with his other hand he undid his jeans.
Her hands were in his hair and she leaned back, kissing him, taking him with her. He broke the seal of their lips briefly, to breathe and to thrust and then he was there and she was wet and hot and moving beneath him, full of life and heat and making him so welcome with a sigh and a murmur of delight. And then there was nothing because he kissed her again—hard and long and fierce while he possessed her with his body, pressing her against the hard wood. Trapping her, claiming her as the passion he had for her trapped and claimed him. He wanted to fight it, but pushed harder against her, into her. Harder and harder until suddenly there was everything bursting through him—colour and light and heat and the taste of her pleasure.
And then there was nothing.
He lifted his head, looked down at her and felt the tinge of embarrassment and guilt as he saw her bruised lips and the dazed look in her eyes. He’d just taken her rough and ready on his table, she still had her dress on, they were still joined and already he was tightening with anticipation about their next encounter.
He still wanted her. How he wanted her. He couldn’t get enough.
Irritation, self-disgust, flared. Just sex. That was all this could be.
But just now had been more intense than anything. And here he was doing things, wanting things, thinking things … and it was madness because he knew, ultimately, he couldn’t see this through. He didn’t want complicated. He didn’t want to be committed.
Her gaze ducked from his. She pushed gently at his shoulders. He left the warm embrace and instantly felt cold.
‘The party was good, thanks.’ She’d pulled up her knickers and was walking to the kitchen.
He grunted then, unable to stop the spurt of laughter bubbling through his annoyance.
‘I think I’ve got another booking.’
He leaned on the table and tried to get his breath back, watching her as she moved around, completely at home in his kitchen. He needed to back out of this, but instead he walked over to her, ran a gentle hand down her arm. Quelled the urge to pull her back into his embrace. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. Self-conscious wasn’t really him. But it was flushing through, heating his cheeks now.
She looked surprised.
‘I’m sorry, that was a little—’
‘Barbarian?’ she suggested.
He smiled again, still a little uncertain.
She put her glass down and a naughty twinkle lit her face. ‘You can ravish me any time, Owen, you know that.’
He did know it. She welcomed him any time, every time. That didn’t mean he should take advantage of her. Not any more. Guilt ripped through him. It trebled when he saw the tinge of vulnerability suddenly shadow her eyes. He’d got himself into a mess.
This was why he didn’t do live-in anything. This was why he was better off alone. He just didn’t have it in him to be the kind of guy a woman like Bella needed—any woman needed. He couldn’t promise that he’d be there through thick and thin, or that he’d even see the thin patches. He sure as hell hadn’t with his parents.
He didn’t want to become bored and careless, as he had with Liz. He didn’t want to wake one day and see the lust in Bella’s eyes had been replaced with disappointment and bitterness. And he definitely didn’t want to be there to see her turn from his arms to someone else’s.
His whole body clenched. It was time to push away. It was way beyond time, because it’d hurt—until now he hadn’t realised it would. But better now than further along when it would only hurt more.
Then he thought of something else. Something so painful it twisted inside, becoming bitter anger. ‘Bella, I didn’t use anything just then. I didn’t have a condom on.’
He’d just lost it. Seen her. Kissed her. Taken her as fast as possible. And now—what if? He could hardly bear to look at her. He already knew he’d make a lousy father.
Bella carefully kept her weight back against the bench; her legs still weren’t working properly and at the expression in his eyes they were going even weaker. But it wasn’t from lust. It was from fear. Because it was fear she could read in his eyes. Fear and regret.
‘I know.’ She’d had the thought in her head for a split second, but it had gone as she’d been swept away in the chaos and bliss of the moment.
‘You didn’t stop me.’ His eyes had narrowed.
‘You didn’t stop yourself,’ she reminded him. She’d wanted it as much as he had—and he had wanted it. She’d never seen that expression on his face before—that naked need. The desire that he could scarcely seem to control. It had turned her on—for a moment she’d felt nothing but power and then she too had been totally lost. But he still wasn’t willing to recognise the strength of it. Right now he looked as if he wanted to run.
‘Is there a chance you might.’ He didn’t even seem able to say it.
‘Have a baby?’ She wanted to use the b-word. Not just say pregnant. She wanted to see how he’d react to the mental image of a tiny little life—real. A child that shared their blood, that breathed because of them.
The loss of colour in his cheeks was almost imperceptible, but she was watching closely.
His ‘Yeah’ was drawn out and low.
‘There’s a chance.’ It was a slim chance, very slim as her period was due in only a day or two. But she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook just yet. She was hurt from that look, the dread and fear in it. And she wanted to know what it was he was going to say.
He exhaled. ‘Whatever happens, you know I’ll support you.’ His gaze slid from hers. ‘Whatever you decide.’
Whatever she decided? So it would be her choice and hers alone. He wanted no part in anything that might be? She squeezed her fingers hard on the bench behind her. Still said nothing, but only because her heart was ripping.
‘Whatever you want to do,’ he was mumbling now. ‘I don’t …’
What, he didn’t—mind? Care?
She’d known, hadn’t she? He’d told her that very first night. And, no matter what she fantasised, the reality was exactly as he’d told it. She’d been warned.
But she hadn’t paid attention—had just had the bit between her teeth and gone along for the ride. And the consequences were going to be more serious than she’d ever thought possible.
She’d never had her heart broken before.
So much for independence. She’d gone and got herself totally dependent on someone who could never offer her anything like all that she wanted. She wished he’d go away and she could lick her wounds in private. Regroup. Gather up her shredded pride. But at that her pride came racing back, fully armed.
She crossed the room, picked up the little bag she’d dropped by the door and thanked the heavens that the family today had paid her in cash. She opened the envelope and flung the dollar notes down on the bench next to Owen.
‘What’s that for?’ He looked at it, distaste all over his face.
‘That’s the money for rent, for the four new tyres that Bubbles has—don’t think I haven’t noticed them—for the petrol, for the groceries, for all the dinners, the wine, for the website and for the hotel bill in Waiheke.’ She stopped for breath. It wasn’t nearly enough to cover all that, but it sure felt good to say it.
‘I don’t want it,’ he said flatly.
‘I won’t have you paying for things for me.’ She tossed her head. ‘It makes me feel like a who—’
‘Don’t you dare!’ he shouted then, his step closer shutting her up. Anger flushed his cheeks and flashed in his eyes. ‘I have never paid for sex, Bella, and I don’t intend to start now.’
‘Really?’ she said scornfully, sounding a whole lot braver th
an she felt. ‘But isn’t that what’s happening here?’
‘You know damn well it isn’t.’ He spoke through his teeth. ‘It’s just money. It’s meaningless.’
Like the sex? Not to her, it wasn’t.
He seemed to read her face and growled. ‘Why are you so damn keen to label everything?’
‘Why are you so keen to deny everything?’ The attraction between them wasn’t anything ordinary—surely he could sense that?
‘This is just sex, Bella.’ His words came like the cracks of a whip. ‘I like it. You like it. That’s all there is to it.’
Bella blinked. Bit the inside of her cheek as she absorbed the shock of what he’d said and the depth of his scowl. Humiliation started to seep into her very core.
‘Why did you pay for that night in the hotel?’ She winced. Did he hear that slight cry in her voice?
‘I don’t know,’ he answered irritably, stepping away. ‘It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. I knew you were tight for money. I just wanted to help you out.’
‘Well, I don’t want your help.’ She spoke quickly, marched to the bedroom, unzipping her dress and walking right out of it, leaving it on the floor. She’d never be able to wear it again without thinking of this moment—the time when he’d taken her so passionately and then turned on her.
‘Don’t you?’ He was right behind her. ‘Well, you’re certainly not helping yourself.’
‘What does that mean?’ Furious with the way she felt tears close by, she picked a skirt and pulled on the nearest top she could find.
‘You won’t let me help you. You won’t let anyone help you.’
‘That’s right, Owen. I won’t.’ She grabbed a flannel and scrubbed her face hard, blocking the sight and sound of him with water from the tap, stopping any stupid tears from even starting.
When her face was bare and reddened, but masked once more, she turned and headed for the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have an audition.’
‘Now?’
She sent him a glare while slipping into her sandals. ‘Yes, now.’
‘And you’re going like that?’