“Nothing.”
“Fritha?”
I swallowed, willing my voice to be calm. “It’s…nice to have someone to care for.” Then I was pressing both hands against my mouth, and tears were welling up, rolling out. I shook my head. You are such a twit. But I couldn’t stop.
He just continued to gaze at me.
Eventually I called a halt to the sentimental nonsense and wiped my eyes with my fingertips. “What an idiot. I should get a cat.”
“I can be a cat.” He tried to smile. “If I get to sleep in your bed.”
I wiped my eyes again and frowned. “Big black alley cat.”
“But lovable,” he said, and for a spit second I saw a flash of vulnerability in those warm brown eyes, then they grew steadier and he added, “Hard work though. Always expecting their egos to be pandered to.”
I shook my head. Apart from the derogatory comments about my décor on his arrival, I’d seen nothing of ego at all. On the contrary, he’d been graciousness personified. “I think they lie sometimes, these alley cats. But not about anything important.”
He closed his eyes on a wince, then said, “Is it alright if I have some alone time, luv? Just till the doctor comes.”
“Sure.” I fussed with the quilt some more. “You know where the bathroom is.”
He nodded, but his eyes remained closed and I could only imagine he was dealing with the drama of internal volcanic reactions. I would seriously throttle Mitch, the vegetable delivery boy. He’d told me he caught that trout the day before, and I’d believed him. Sammie had sampled some and told me it was perfect, but it must have been old or not stored hygienically. And stupid me had fed it to Max Banks, of all people.
There and then I decided I was not fucking Mitch under any circumstances, despite the fact that he worked out at the gym and had a butt so hard you could crack nuts on it. Admittedly, I had been looking forward to getting my hands on that butt, only…
Max murmured and, as I stood over the bed looking down at him, I suddenly realized it felt wrong to be thinking about fucking someone else, which confused me totally. Yesterday I’d been fine with thinking about grabbing Mitch’s hard ass while he…but today, after what Max had said…
I went back to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of Banchee tea.
Max was right. It smelt terrible, like moldy weeds. But it tasted amazing—earthy and energizing and just what I needed to get my head around the fact that I was developing ‘relationship’ feelings about Max.
Which was nuts. No pun about Mitch’s ass intended.
I’d known Max personally for barely four hours, and already I was thinking about clearing my bedroom schedule because…what? I wanted exclusivity? He hadn’t told me to stop fucking other people. We’d only been talking about what he and I could do, and couldn’t do. Nothing had been said about our behavior when we weren’t together—which might be forever. He might leave today and, thanks to the trout, never come back.
And yet…for some completely crazy reason, I was thinking about not fucking other people.
Why?
It’s because you’re thinking with your heart and not your twat. You know that never ends well.
I swallowed the last of the tea in my cup and poured another. But I’d only taken a sip out of it before I realized that Traci was probably on the way, hopefully with a doctor. So I jumped up and padded around the house tidying. I’d left dirty clothes flung around the laundry and the kitchen sink was full of dishes, so I sorted that out quietly—taking the odd moment to peek in on Max who looked endearingly vulnerable tucked up under my rainbow quilt—so I had the house decent by the time a car pulled up outside.
I put away the last of the dishes and went to the front door. Traci was standing beside the white surgery station wagon talking on her phone. Todd was already on the verandah wearing jeans and a checked shirt, like a cowboy doctor. I opened the fly screen door and he leered at me in a disconcerting way, reminding me all too clearly that I’d fucked him too.
“Fritha!” He was obviously delighted to see me again. He leant in to kiss my cheek but I stepped out of his way.
“Dr. Roshin,” I replied formally, giving him a warning glance as I pointed down the hallway. “Your patient is in my bedroom.”
Not that he’d know where that was. I’d fucked him at his cottage in town, and I couldn’t even recall now what had instigated that particular link-up, although I had a vague memory of him sitting in the teahouse with food in front of him so he must have come in for a meal. I did remember him flirting in that over-eager way that men have when they know you’ll put out.
There had been oral sex, as I recall, and I’d savvied pretty quickly that when he was returning the favor, he didn’t want any directions. Some men thought they knew it all, and you had to let them do it, no matter how impatient you got. Eventually I had orgasmed, and you’d think he’d given me an unforgettable gift.
Remembering it now as I watched him walk down the hallway, I could see in clear retrospect that it hadn’t been a ‘warm’ experience. In fact, apart from the sweatiness, it had been downright clinical, which should have been funny, considering his profession. But in my current mood, I couldn’t see the humor.
Todd was the tip of my promiscuous iceberg, and if I compared all those sexual interactions with the platonic few hours I’d spent with Max, I couldn’t help realizing that I preferred talking to Max. Add my desperation at the wedding, and it seemed obvious that I was trying to fill an emotional vacuum with sex.
Max had—embarrassingly—nailed it succinctly when he’d said I suspect that because of your father, you have an all men are bastards program running in your subconscious which inhibits emotional intimacy. Hence, the history of one night stands.
He’d shocked me with those words, and now they were engraved in my brain. The connection I’d been craving wasn’t for skin against skin, it was emotional, being vulnerable, accepted, liked. All the things Max had given me so willingly, as if I deserved them, when in reality I was a flake.
I was shaking my head about that when Traci bounded up onto the verandah, her ponytail swinging.
“Ms. Wynde.” She nodded to me as she stepped over the threshold into the house with a black leather satchel—presumably Max’s change of clothes. When I’d shut the door, she said quietly, “How is he?”
“He’s stopped going to the toilet every ten minutes.” I shrugged. “Hopefully the worst is over.”
She glanced at her watch. “We’ll miss our flight—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter. So long as he’s okay. Flights can be rescheduled.”
“I guess Todd will tell us soon enough.”
Two beats of silence passed before she said, “Yes, Dr. Roshin is quite chatty. I had to warn him several times about confidentiality and protecting Mr. Banks’ reputation.”
A bland enough statement, but there was something going on behind her eyes and it took me several seconds to put two and two together. “He told you that I fucked him.”
“Actually, he said he fucked you.”
Typical.
“This is bad.” I glanced down the hallway. Was he bragging to Max about it?
Traci shook her head. “I’ve told Dr. Roshin to keep his conversation with Mr. Banks strictly medical.” We gazed at each other a moment, then she added softly, “He likes you, you know.”
“He liked fucking me,” I clarified. “He knows nothing about me as a person.”
Her habitual non-expression had slipped into wariness. “Are we talking about Dr. Roshin now?”
A heartbeat later I caught up with her. “Were you talking about Max?” She pressed her lips together, as if willing herself to be silent, but I couldn’t. “He likes me?” It was ridiculously girly to be demanding information, and I felt like a twelve-year-old in the school yard, but despite what he’d told me himself, I was desperate for confirmation. “Traci,” I pleaded. “Throw me a crumb.”
Her professional façade
slipped and I saw a very cute dimple in her cheek when she grinned.
“Honestly,” I went on. “I’m a klutz, an embarrassment to my girlfriends, barely tolerated in my own teahouse. How could he possibly like me?”
She was trying to shut down her smile as she shook her head. “You are none of those things, and although your charm is completely unconventional, I’m guessing that’s why he likes you. You’re not like other people.”
“Thank God,” I said, heartfelt. “But how can you know? Did he say something?” I wanted to grab her by her functional black vest and shake her, but she had muscles that bulged.
At last she said, “I’ve been with him a month and he’s very demanding. Of everyone,” she added. “Except you. He’s treating you differently.”
“Why?”
She frowned a little, then she said, “Perhaps he was moved by what happened with your father.”
“So he’s taking pity on me. Don’t kick the puppy when it’s down.”
“Perhaps. Although at other times, he was watching you very closely when you weren’t looking.”
“You were watching him.”
“It’s my job.” Presumably to jump when he raised a finger. How exhausting. He certainly didn’t expect that from me. “And,” she went on, “I saw interest in his gaze. I know that much about men.”
I could tell her there was more than ‘interest’. There was definite chemistry between us. I’d felt that. I’d seen it in his eyes. But maybe the something more that I’d thought of as heart, was more like friendship on his side. Sympathy. And even if it was something of the heart, should I get excited about that when he’d be walking out of my life in the next ten minutes?
“It can’t go anywhere,” I said dismissively, even when my stupid heart was hoping it might. “He is who he is. And I’m a girl who fucks everyone in town.”
“There is that,” Traci said, her expression prosaic. “If there’s one thing celebrities want, it’s discretion. And he nails that—nothing for the press to make a meal of in his life, excuse the pun.”
A million things in mine. Talk about opposites attracting.
I had no idea where to go from there, so I pointed at the kitchen. “Banchee Tea?”
She smiled. “Anything but trout.”
“Ouch.” I led her to the table and we were half way through a cup of tea that she’d winced over and then politely sipped, when Todd came in.
“Mr. Banks would like to speak to you, Traci.”
She nodded and put down her cup, looking relieved. I told myself that was simply because Max was on the mend. Nothing to do with the fact that she didn’t have to finish my Banchee Tea.
“So,” Todd said as soon as she was gone, “Tomorrow night?” He leant back against the sink and crossed his arms, all lanky limbs and lean cowboy hips in those tight jeans. “We could cut straight to dessert.” He licked his lips and despite his curly blond hair and pretty eyes, I felt a shudder of revulsion trickle down my spine.
That hadn’t happened before, and in that moment I knew my change of heart wasn’t theoretical. Something had really happened. I suddenly wasn’t angling for hot-and-sweaty whenever I could get it. In fact, I was adverse.
“Or Friday?” he added, when I hadn’t answered.
“Thanks, but I’m in a relationship.” I took another sip of my tea. When he stared at me blankly, I added, “I met someone at my friend’s wedding.”
“Oh.”
This was clearly something he’d never imagined, and he didn’t seem to have a response, so I said, “Tea?” and pointed at the ancient Wedgewood teapot I’d found in a yard sale years before. “It’s refreshing.” Nothing like inflicting Banchee on the unsuspecting.
Unfortunately, he shook his head and it was only a few seconds later that Traci walked into the kitchen. Her back was straighter than it had been when she’d left me and there was a narrowness to her gaze when she looked at Todd.
“Dr. Roshin, could you meet me at the car? I need to speak to Ms. Wynde in private.” As if he needed clarification on what that meant.
When I’d heard the front fly screen bang closed I stood up. “Can I say goodbye to Max before he goes?”
“He’s not going.”
We stared at each other across the table, and when my fluttering heart had settled enough to speak, I said, “Pardon?”
“I suggested a transfer to a local hospital or a hotel in a nearby town, however, he wants to stay here overnight.”
She didn’t sound thrilled by the idea, and I was so shocked by it, I needed several seconds to find my manners and say, “Of course. You can stay too.” Although I had no idea where anyone was supposed to sleep. “Does he want me to leave?” I belatedly realized he might be trying to rent my house overnight so he didn’t have to move when he was ill.
She straightened, and with her hands clasped behind her back, she looked like a soldier on parade. “His request is that you accommodate his overnight stay as your guest, but only if it doesn’t inconvenience you. The doctor has checked him out. He has painkillers. He probably just needs sleep.”
Painkillers?
I pushed past that query to say, “Of course. But what about you?”
“I’ll find something nearby.”
We both knew there was no accommodation in Belandera because of the Permaculture Festival, so I said, “Look, you guys stay here and I’ll bunk in with—”
“Mr. Banks has been quite clear about what he wants,” she interrupted crisply. “You here. Me gone.”
Fuck.
We looked at each other for a few more seconds, before she said, “I’ll leave the Range Rover so you can drive him back to town in the morning—”
“No problem.” I’d left my orange Kombi at the back of the shop, so it made sense to go in with Max and pick it up. But my brain was having difficulty focusing on that because it was still snagged back at the overnight equation of me and Max alone in the house with only one bed.
“—and it would be helpful if you could park his vehicle undercover or at least around the back of the house.”
She was frowning as she made this request, so I hurried to nod. “Yes. Anything.”
“I’ll leave then.”
But before she could turn, I hurried around the table, suddenly frightened. “Is this…sensible. Him staying here,” I clarified, although I wasn’t quite sure what I was asking because I had no idea of the ramifications. Was it sensible for me? For his reputation? For Bohemian Brew being featured by his television series?
She shook her head, mouth tight as that stiff blond ponytail slapped her shoulders. It couldn’t have been clearer that she disapproved, but all she said was, “I can only advise him. When he orders, I obey. That’s what I’m paid for.”
“So you advised him to leave?”
She stared at me a moment longer, as though wondering how much she could say. Then she lowered her voice. “I’m paid to be near him, ready for anything that might occur. You aren’t ready, and you have no idea what might occur.”
“What might occur?”
We were both whispering now, but she shook her head, and the last thing she said before she left was. “Good luck. I’ll phone in the morning.”
Wait!
But there were only footsteps and the fly screen clicking shut behind her. It was eerily silent after that as I stood with my hand on the back of a chair, listening to the surgery station wagon start up and drive off, a low grumble in the distance and then…nothing, which wasn’t surprising because my nearest neighbor was over a mile away.
I breathed through my nose, listening for anything, but all I heard were leaves rustling in the trees outside, a cow mooing in the distance, and then the sound of my own loud swallowing.
Alone with Max Banks. Miles from anywhere.
It sounded like the blurb from a crime novel, but I wasn’t starting to tremble because I was frightened for my safety. Oh no. I was frightened about what I might do.
That wa
s the danger.
And it was suddenly, and inappropriately, thrilling…
CHAPTER FIVE
“No Banchee Tea, okay?” Max stood in the kitchen doorway, looking adorably mussed, and yet somehow also one hundred and fifty percent gorgeous male. His shirt was creased and as he rubbed his neck and then his cheek, I could hear the faint abrasive sound of his stubble.
“What, then?” I pushed aside the book that I’d been completely unable to read for hours, just sitting at the table, wondering what the hell I was doing with Max Banks in my house. And moreover, what the hell I could do if I had the courage.
Which currently, I didn’t.
“Food?” I hitched a thumb at the fridge.
He tilted his head and winced. “Maybe? Toast?”
“Vegemite?”
He raised an eyebrow. “No vegemite.”
What was it with foreigners not liking our national spread? “It’s that or cheese. I don’t have any jams—”
“Nothing fatty.” His mouth contorted in distaste, and I supposed that made sense. Food poisoning wasn’t a hangover.
“Okay. I’ve got honey.”
“Done.” He pulled out a chair and gingerly sat while I got up and busied myself with the toaster, trying not to feel awkward, but it had been a very long time since I’d had a man in my kitchen, especially one that I wanted this badly.
Maybe never.
So it was a relief to have my back to him. I’d be fine if I could stop fixating on those soulful eyes or that prim mouth that I wanted to kiss so badly…
“And thank you,” he said. I forced myself to turn and looked at him. “For letting me stay. It was gracious of you.”
I waved a knife about. “My fault. You wouldn’t be stuck here with me if—”
“It’s not your fault.” I opened my mouth to argue but he held up a hand to stop me. “Please. Just let me be grateful. It’s stopping me thinking about how sexy you look barefoot in your kitchen with your hair all…” He stopped talking to stare and I put a hand up selfconsciously.
I’d pulled it up into a bun, but as usual those slippery curls had misbehaved and half of them were falling down my back. We stared at each other, and despite the fact that night was falling and the air outside was cooling, the room seemed warm.
Husband Rollover (Husband Series Book 4) Page 8