She’d actually found herself making excuses to call him this last month just to hear his voice. He made her laugh too, telling her stories about what Boomba had gotten up to and asking her questions about her work. She’d enjoyed the attention. Well, up until tonight, when she’d arrived and realised how awful she must look, which just added one more reason for her to resent her current job.
As usual on long-haul flights, she’d been completely unable to sleep while hunched up in economy after being unable to get a business-class flight on the stack of air miles she’d accrued. She’d been left cursing her height as the person in front did his best to lower his seat to the point where she had no circulation left in her legs. It wasn’t an uncommon situation and left her wondering why the hell she bothered to come back to Australia when her employer wouldn’t foot the bill for business class, leaving it to her. Why didn’t she simply rent a house in London or Paris like Veronique, her only other female colleague in Mauritania? Even Canada or the States would be closer.
Come to that, why was she even doing the damn job? She didn’t enjoy it any more and had more than enough cash to quit and take as much time as she needed to work out what her options were. She rolled over and bunched up her pillow under her chin and sighed, ignoring Boomba’s surly rowl as she woke him up. Hell, she’d spent the previous fifty hours without sleep. What was another eight?
Nine more sleepless hours later, Jo was curled up on a chair on her small balcony, blearily watching the odd pleasure boat drift down the Swan River while inhaling the rain-tinged, salty sea air blowing in from the coast and sipping a coffee strong enough to corrode metal.
With luck she’d have the entire day to wake up and get herself looking respectable before Stephen came home from wherever she’d heard him go in the early hours of the morning. It was a massive relief to have the place to herself. One glance in the bathroom mirror earlier had clearly shown a face and form not currently fit for human consumption.
She’d only just decided her neurons had fired up enough for her to drag her backside off to the shower when the sound of a key in the front door stopped her. So much for having an entire day to get herself presentable.
‘Damn,’ she muttered, running a hand over her tangled hair and grimacing. Did she have enough time to run for the bathroom? Maybe. It would be worth a shot.
She almost made it.
Unfortunately, at the last moment, Boomba decided to weave in front of her legs, causing her to perform a truly spectacular face-plant on the living-room floor. Jo rolled onto her back, reaching up to see if her nose was broken. As a result, her first impression of the beautiful blonde woman who’d just walked into her apartment was upside down.
The perspective didn’t make the woman look any less intimidating. She had a perfectly styled head of shoulder-length blonde hair, an even gold tan that could only have come from a salon, and features straight out of a fashion magazine. From her vantage point Jo could even clearly see a set of perfect flared nostrils.
There was a stunned silence while the woman took in the scene with a completely blank expression and Jo did her best to act as if lying on the floor was the way she always greeted uninvited guests holding dry-cleaning bags and what looked like a man’s jacket.
‘Who are you?’ the woman demanded indignantly before Jo could find her voice.
‘Who am I? Shouldn’t I be asking that?’ Jo hauled herself upright with all the grace of a drunken giraffe. She was at least a half foot taller, but the look the woman was giving her made her feel like a midget.
‘What are you doing in Stephen’s apartment? Are you his sister, Rachael? You are, aren’t you?’ The blonde was obviously skilled in one-sided conversation. A hand on her hip, she scanned Jo with sharp eyes, no doubt processing her messy hair, lack of bra and unshaved legs.
Jo did the only sensible thing. She mumbled something unintelligible, gestured for the woman to sit and went to have a shower and clear her head.
‘So she took me for Rachael Hardy, then she lectured me once I got out of the shower about sponging off Stephen—while I stared at her like an idiot!’ Jo shook her head with bemusement.
‘Did you tell her who you really are?’ Amy asked, applying a conditioning treatment to Jo’s hair, clucking at Jo’s outrage.
‘She didn’t give me a chance. Just walked in like she owned the place then swanned out again. Thanks, Myf.’ Jo accepted a glass of champagne from Myf, who sat down in the plush pink swivel chair next to hers.
She leaned back in her seat, letting her eyes roam around the salon, and enjoyed her sister’s hands working their magic as Amy undid two months of damage to her hair wrought by brackish water and poor nutrition.
All three women were on to their second naughty midday glass of champagne and a third helping of Amy’s gooey chocolate-chip cookies. It had taken almost the entire day, but Jo was finally beginning to feel somewhat human. It had to be the sugar. Amy never skimped on the sugar.
‘You didn’t say anything?’ Myf asked disbelievingly.
‘No. No, I should have. It was just too surreal, plus she caught me completely by surprise.’ Jo wondered for the millionth time why she hadn’t corrected the woman’s false assumption. If she were really honest, she’d admit that while she could go toe-to-toe with any man in most situations, Stephen’s . . . ‘friend’ had intimidated her. It had just been such a shock to see the sort of woman he liked and depressing to realise how far short she fell of that mark.
‘So what did she look like, petal?’ Amy asked, tottering off on leopard-print platforms to pick up a hair dryer.
‘Blonde, thin,’bout five-foot-five with so much Botox in her face that it barely moved. Sort of like a mature playboy bunny in a business suit.’ Jo shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t even feed the woman to a pack of starving Dobermans. They’d probably choke on the small plastic bits.’
‘Hey! That’s a bit harsh,’ Myf exclaimed, twirling around in her chair, vivid red eyebrows lowered censoriously. Myf never liked hearing negative things about people. She was a mild-mannered pacifist, which no one would have guessed given the colour of her flaming red hair and the darkly violent paintings she produced. ‘It doesn’t sound like she did anything that bad. It just sounds like she’s gotten the wrong impression about your apartment being Stephen’s.’
‘Look, petal, you’re no fun.’ Amy threw a Velcro roller at her friend. ‘How can Jo and I get down and dirty with some bare-knuckle bitching with you around?’
‘Well, I can leave if you ladies are serious.’ Myf ducked another roller. ‘This woman mustn’t be that bad for Stephen to like her. I mean, from what you girls have said, Stephen’s a nice guy . . . with a cute arse. I was very impressed by its dimensions at my show a few months ago, not to mention his brother’s.’
‘He does have a nice arse, doesn’t he?’ Amy sighed with a dreamy expression. ‘Or do you disagree, given the fact you’re housing said item?’ she asked Jo, eyebrow raised.
‘No comment.’ Jo genteelly muffled a small burp with her hand and took another sip of champagne.
‘Well, I’ll comment for you since we’re being positive now. I propose a toast. To Stephen—what’s his last name?’ Myf asked.
‘Hardy,’ both Jo and Amy supplied.
‘Right. Right. To Stephen Hardy’s cute behind.’ Myf raised her glass, and just as Jo and Amy raised theirs, she added quickly, ‘And to being nice to his girlfriend,’ before drinking.
The Blaine sisters paused, glasses to their lips and eyes narrowed.
‘Hey, that’s not fair, you can’t whack on an amendment like that,’ Jo protested with feigned indignation. ‘That was low.’
‘I agree. Myf, you’re fired for being a Goody Two-Shoes prissy pants,’ Amy added. ‘I’m going to have to take over the job.’ She put down the hair dryer she was holding in her free hand. ‘To Stephen Hardy’s . . . trying to think of a word . . .’
‘Delectable?’ Myf suggested.
‘Delectable? I like
it. To Stephen Hardy’s delectable arse.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Jo responded.
‘To cute arses everywhere,’ Myf chimed in, and the three of them laughed and raised their glasses again.
‘Here, here.’ A deep male voice joined in, causing all three women to splutter on their respective mouthfuls of champagne. They turned as one to find Scott leaning against a pastel-pink wall looking the height of casual in knee-length khaki shorts and a pale blue T-shirt, a huge cheeky smile on his face.
‘Bloody hell, Scott. You trying to kill me?’ Jo spluttered.
‘Not at the moment. Although Stephen might want to. He’s just stepped outside to die quietly of embarrassment on the kerb. Any chance of one of those cookies, Amy?’
Jo blinked. ‘You’re seriously kidding me, right? Stephen didn’t just hear all that, did he?’
‘Depends what else you were talking about. We walked in around the time Amy declared his arse was delectable. Was there anything better? Care to fill me in?’ he asked and then doubled over with laughter at the way all three women turned red and glared at him.
‘Bastard,’ Jo muttered.
‘Hear, hear,’ Amy and Myf chorused.
It turned out Scott had dropped by with Stephen in tow to invite Jo, Amy and Myf to a Shakespearean play that evening in Kings Park, a massive patch of green real estate in the middle of Perth, elevated on a hill overlooking the city and the river. Every year a Shakespearean theatre company set up shop and tackled one of the bard’s plays outdoors in direct competition with the kookaburras sitting in the surrounding trees, who sometimes cackled so loudly that the actors had to stop the show until they finished.
Forgetting their discomfort, or more to the point, Stephen’s, all three ladies agreed the play was a good idea after Scott finally got around to welcoming Jo home, pulling her into a bear hug.
‘So. I’ve got six tickets,’ he said a few minutes later. ‘Which means one spare. Mike was gonna come, but he’s busy.’ He rolled his eyes at Amy’s disappointed frown. ‘Any ideas who else to bring?’
‘You know, considering how much we’ve just embarrassed Stephen, it’d only be fair to offer the spare ticket to him for his girlfriend,’ Myf said perkily.
Scott, Amy and Jo scowled at her.
‘Well, it would,’ Myf said defensively.
Jo noticed Scott’s reaction. ‘I take it you don’t approve of the girlfriend?’
Scott pulled his best Japanese gangster poker face. ‘Jury’s still out.’
‘How long has this jury been deliberating?’ Amy asked.
‘Since I met her a couple of weeks ago,’ Scott said, then heaved a sigh. ‘I hate to admit it, but it’s a good idea, Myf. I think you girls owe it to him. The man might not be able to show his face in public again, given the way he caught you lot carrying on.’
‘Or his arse,’ Amy added cheekily.
‘Now that would be a tragedy,’ Myf said before bursting into another round of giggling.
‘Think you’ll be ready soon?’ Stephen leaned against the door frame of Bridgett’s marble-and-gold bathroom of her Cottesloe Beach home, watching her getting ready to go to the play.
‘I’ll be ready when I’m finished putting on my make-up.’ Bridgett frowned in irritation, or at least Stephen thought she was frowning. It was sometimes hard to tell with all the Botox.
‘We’re running pretty late. By about twenty minutes now,’ he said, quelling the spark of irritation he felt at the knowledge that Bridgett knew precisely how late she was running and was doing this on purpose.
She was one hell of a woman, but he didn’t have the patience for this kind of power play and he’d been seeing it a lot more frequently lately.
‘I said that I’ll be ready when I’m ready,’ she snapped, rifling through a drawer full of pricey cosmetics, pulling out a tube of mascara and beginning to apply it to her lashes.
‘All right, then. I’ll meet you downstairs,’ he said, hoping to hurry her up.
‘I had a little run-in with your sister at your place this morning.’
‘Rachael?’ Stephen stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowed. ‘Rachael’s on holiday over east. She was in Sydney at the wine expo I told you about, last I checked.’
‘Sydney,’ Bridgett repeated, carefully pursing her lips and applying some peach-coloured gloss. ‘So who was the nearly naked brunette in your apartment this morning?’
‘Naked?’ Stephen asked, an image of a naked Jo Blaine flashing through his mind. His mental picture was pure imagination, only augmented by what he’d seen when he’d come across Jo and Scott messing around at a dam on Evangeline’s Rest when she was sixteen, but that didn’t really hamper his body’s reaction. He shifted uncomfortably.
‘Hmm?’ She picked up a bottle of perfume and sprayed her wrists before dabbing them on to her neck.
He decided to go with a polished version of the truth, not comfortable discussing Jo in this situation but wanting to smooth things over, since they’d all be watching a play together in a couple of minutes. ‘Jo’s a friend. We’ve known each other for years and I’m doing her a favour by looking after her place for a couple of months.’
‘Oh?’ Bridgett asked, but before he could say anything else, she interrupted him. ‘What time did you say we had to be there?’ She presented her back to him, lifting up her hair. ‘Zip me up, will you?’
He slid the zip of her butter-yellow sundress up her back, and for the first time since he’d met Bridgett, didn’t enjoy himself in the process.
Normally, he loved helping a woman dress, loved watching her make up her face and brush her hair. It was a guilty pleasure and probably had a lot to do with never knowing his mother, who had died when he was still a baby. The undressing was good too, but there was something so sexy about watching all the good bits being covered up. Sort of like wrapping up a present for later.
‘We were supposed to be there at seven.’ He answered Bridgett’s earlier question and rested his hand on her lower back, meeting her eyes in the mirror. ‘You ready to go now?’
She pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. ‘I have to make a couple of calls. I won’t be long.’ She turned, patted him on the cheek and swiftly walked away, her lethal stilettos clicking over the bathroom tiles.
Stephen rested both his palms on the gold marble bathroom counter, feeling frustration turn into genuine anger as he met his own eyes in the mirror. The fact that he was copping this kind of thing from yet another woman didn’t escape him. He knew this was Bridgett’s revenge for him asking her to wait the other day, but the difference was that he’d only been asking her to wait for a couple of minutes and there had been no genuine rush. This was different. His friends were waiting for him and he was letting them down.
He’d never had patience for games. He didn’t understand them and didn’t want to understand them. All he knew was that this wasn’t a game he wanted to play.
He heard Bridgett talking on the phone, looked down at his watch and made a decision.
He had a choice. He could break things off with Bridgett tonight, now, or he could do it later. If he did it now, it would be too rushed and unfair to her. He believed in doing things the right way and that meant a nice dinner somewhere expensive and a conversation tailored to keeping things friendly and fair. He knew the kind of woman Bridgett was and knew she’d accept nothing less.
No, he’d do that later. For now, he had some Shakespeare in the park to see.
Chapter 7
Forty minutes later, Stephen searched for his cousin in the large crowd sprawled on picnic blankets over a lush patch of lawn in the middle of Kings Park.
Luckily, he’d arrived between the first and second acts. Unluckily, he was late and fuming. Bridgett had stayed on the phone, deliberately ignoring him when he’d tried to talk to her and tell her that he was going to the play without her.
In the end he’d simply gathered the few things he had at her place and left.
He caught h
imself scowling as he joined Scott, Jo, Myf and Amy.
‘Where did you come from?’ Scott peered up at him from where his head was resting on Amy’s lap, while Myf sat next to them, sipping a glass of wine and tickling his nose with his thick plait of hair. All in all he looked like some benevolent sultan being waited on by his women. The image would have struck Stephen as humorous if he wasn’t still worked up.
‘Bridgett got held up,’ he said, more curtly than he’d intended.
‘Everything all right?’ Jo asked distractedly while going through a picnic hamper in front of her to successfully retrieve a can of Coke.
He took a couple of seconds to focus on chilling out before answering her with a reassuring smile, feeling his mood lighten a thousandfold. ‘Yeah. Fine. Fine.’
On autopilot Stephen’s eyes ran over the hip-hugging blue jeans and tight white T-shirt she was wearing as he sat down next to her. There were large silver hoops in her ears. Stephen had noticed she had a thing for jewellery before and these were even flashier than the last pair. He knew he’d seen a million women wearing earrings, but there was something sexy about a tomboy like Jo wearing them.
She nodded and pulled out a Tupperware bowl containing fresh cherries.
If Stephen was honest, now that he’d relaxed a bit he was feeling a little mischievously vindictive. He wanted to see if he could embarrass her as much as she had him earlier on in the day at Amy’s shop. As much as he’d enjoyed light-hearted attention from the ladies over the years, he’d never come across them discussing him so frankly.
Keeping his voice casual, he said, ‘Bridgett told me you two had a bit of a run-in this morning. Said you were naked.’
With a surprised exclamation, Jo twisted around then reared back and fell onto Scott when she saw how close Stephen was sitting.
Unforgettable You: Destiny Romance Page 10