by Fiona Lowe
The sexual spark flaring between the two of them was so hot it scorched and Melissa wondered why Amy hadn’t acted on it. In the past, if a good-looking guy like Ben had been flirting with her like that, no way would she be holding out.
Ben said he’d “shout them a round,” which Melissa worked out meant he was paying for their drinks. Scott arrived with two beer sampler trays, which he set down in front of Ben and Amy. Then he placed a single glass in front of her.
His gaze sought hers. “I thought you might like to be one of the first to enjoy Johan’s newest brew, the Kaiser’s Kiss.”
Surprise and excitement flowed through her. Johan had been talking about this new beer for weeks. “I thought it wasn’t going to be available until next Saturday?”
“It’s a sneak peek.” He smiled at her, his face creasing into well-worn lines that made him look younger and slightly less serious. Then he winked at her. “I have connections, you know.”
Not even crossed legs and pressed thighs could stop the blitz of unwanted arousal that hummed through her as if she was an animal in heat.
I am not missing sex. I am not missing sex. I am no—
Oh, God, who was she kidding? She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed the weekend sex with those potential Mr. Rights until she’d stopped.
Scott was so not Mr. Right but her body didn’t seem to care.
“Thanks,” she finally managed to say.
“You’re welcome.” Tucking the tray under his arm, he returned to the bar.
Just as their meals arrived, the band started playing, making conversation difficult so they ate in relative silence. Her eyes kept straying to Scott. He moved around the room with unhurried grace, collecting dirty glasses and pausing now and then to chat with people when the bar was quiet. “Attention, everyone,” Keith’s voice boomed down the microphone. “Just a reminder that old-time movie night’s coming up. This time the theme’s the 1920s so girls, get out your flapper dresses and guys, it’s your turn to go gangster.”
Woots and catcalls bounced around the room and Melissa leaned toward Amy and Ben. “It’s lots of fun. You two should come.”
“What’s the movie?” someone called out.
“It’s the silent movie Gold Rush, staring Charlie Chaplin,” Keith said. “And...drumroll please.”
Lance obliged and then finished with a boom-tish on the cymbal.
“Scott’s going to play the score on the piano for us.”
Cheers ensured and Scott gave a flourishing bow from the bar, complete with the flick of a bar towel.
“And now back to regular programming,” Keith said, stepping off the stage and picking up Lindsay’s hand. They walked over to the table.
Melissa introduced them to Amy and Ben and the conversation instantly turned to vegetables. It wasn’t that Melissa had anything against produce, it’s just she’d rather talk about fashion or just about anything else. That and she’d been feeling a bit like a third wheel with Ben and Amy all evening. Excusing herself, she walked over to the bar with her now-empty beer glass.
“So what did you think?” Scott asked without preamble.
She slid onto a bar stool. “It’s a stout, right?”
“It sure is. And?” His expression was expectant.
“And it seems wrong but I can taste coffee and a hint of chocolate.”
“You’re absolutely correct, Ms. Bergeron.” He raised his hand for a high five. “Who knew you had the beer taster’s tongue?”
She met his gaze. “Are you saying I spend too much time here?”
“I’m the bartender so I wouldn’t dare.”
By the way his baritone voice rolled over the words in that low, rumbling way, it sounded like it was a one hundred percent dare.
Unasked, he poured her another beer and she sat watching people drift onto the dance floor as the band cranked out the tunes. It was another Saturday night and she was alone in a crowded room.
“Penny for them?” Scott asked.
She swung back to him, not having heard his question. “Excuse me?”
“You seemed far away watching the dancers. Do you like to dance?”
“I do.” She smiled, remembering all the way back to her prom where she and her friends had ditched the guys and just danced until they were wet with sweat.
“So do I.” Scott’s expression became thoughtful. “It’s been a while though.”
“Me too.” She studied him, seeking clues, but he didn’t give away much. She found herself wondering why he was so serious most of the time and yet humor and fun broke out when she least expected it. “Do you want to dance?”
One brow rose. “Are you asking me, Missy?”
Was she? “Only if you want to dance for the joy of dancing and you don’t read anything else into it.”
“Like dating?”
She remembered what she’d said the other day. “Exactly.”
He paused in his wiping down of the bar. “You coming out of a nasty breakup?”
“No, it’s just there’s no one in Whitetail who...” She let her voice trail off, not wanting to say anything else and offend him. Yet again, she wished she hadn’t even started answering his question.
“No one who meets your high expectations?” he said mildly, quirking one brow and giving her a look that said, I can read you like a book.
Irritation meshed with embarrassment and she tilted her chin. “Is there something wrong with having standards and expectations?”
“Technically, no. In real life, you sometimes have to be more flexible.” He set down the bar towel and winked at her. “This conversation is getting far too deep and meaningful and you wanted to dance so come on. Let’s dance for the joy of it.”
He hauled her to her feet and led her out onto the compact dance floor where people were paying homage to John Travolta and the Bee Gees in a retro set. He spun her out into a partnered hustle, moving to the music with a style and fluidity she should have expected given his musicality.
As the song came to an end, Henry Letterman called out, “Enid and I want to waltz.” The band obligingly changed tempo.
Melissa turned to thank Scott before leaving the floor but he pulled her into the perfect waltz position with the regulation amount of space between them and with his right hand resting on her left shoulder blade. He steered her with ease around the floor and she didn’t need to worry for her toes or her new shoes.
Lost in the movement and the music, she was suddenly bumped from behind and found herself splayed against Scott’s chest, her face buried just under his shoulder.
The firmness of his chest against hers was like a spark to gunpowder and her body exploded. Her breath dropped to short, ragged jerks and she had the overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless.
Holy crap.
“You okay?” he said, looking down at her, his eyes darkening into honey-caramel again. “You look like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you.”
She stepped back quickly, trying to slow her racing heart and to sound like her normal self. “I’m fine. Thanks, that was fun. I’ll see you around.”
“You’ll see me on Monday, Missy.”
His quiet voice washed over her, setting off another round of delicious shimmers she didn’t want to be feeling. She slapped a hand on her hip and shot him a killer look. “Where I’ll be paying you so you’ll have to call me Melissa.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said seriously.
It should have given her some relief. Instead she just felt prickly and uncomfortable and hellishly confused.
* * *
As Amy crawled around on the floor, carefully cutting out the pattern for Janey’s gown, almost every muscle in her body ached. This was an improvement on how she’d felt four days ago w
hen she’d just ached, period. Once a taunting, burning ache, which reminded her of how unfit she’d allowed herself to become, now it was slowly changing to a “things are improving” ache. She was gradually getting in better shape, although most of her gave thanks that Ben was forced to walk, because if his power walking—her jogging speed—was him going slow, there was no way she’d be able to keep up if he was able to run.
She couldn’t say that she loved getting up early to jog or that she didn’t roll over with a groan when the alarm went off. In fact, the sound of the alarm set off one hundred excuses in her head as to why she should delay or just not do the run but then Ben would pound on the door. If she was slow to appear he wasn’t above coming in and pulling the quilt off her. So despite her innate dislike of exercise, she knew she was better off for it.
You enjoy that time with Ben.
She did. She’d stopped trying to tell herself she didn’t. He was good company. He made her laugh and he did genuinely seem to want her to get fit. She’d never experienced a supportive relationship with a guy. Not that this was a relationship but being friends with Ben was one of the easiest and hardest things she’d ever done. She knew neither of them was in a place in their lives where a relationship was wise but her body still craved him. On Saturday night, sitting next to him in the Udder Bar, she’d gone hot and cold so often she thought she’d caught a cold.
Her phone started ringing, the vibrations sending it spinning on the table. She reached up, grabbed it and saw who was calling, prevaricating for a moment on whether or not to answer it. Avoiding it only delays the inevitable.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Amy, honey, how are you?”
Her mom’s voice sounded strained and Amy bit on her knuckle before replying. “Great. Busy, you know, the usual.”
“How was Ohio?”
“Ohio?”
“Your business trip.”
Her heart took off faster than when she was jogging. Shit, shit, shit. She remembered too late that she’d told her mom she couldn’t meet her last week because she was going to Ohio.
If you’re going to lie, at least learn how.
She tried for a joke. “What can anyone say about Ohio?”
“I believe they’re very proud of their Rock and Roll Hall of Fame,” her mom said with a trace of reproach.
“I didn’t see much outside of my hotel room and the business center,” she said, rushing over the words. Change the topic now. “How are you and Daddy?” She walked outside onto the veranda, needing to see the lake for a shot of much-needed tranquility to slow her heart rate.
“We’re thinking of taking a trip.”
Ben appeared on the lake path giving her a wave and a smile. Her already racing heart flipped and her mind blanked, leaving her mother’s statement hanging.
“Amy, are you still there?”
“Um, yes, Mom. What had her mother been saying? Talking about her grandson? “How’s Aiden?”
Ben glanced down at his feet and then bent over to pick up whatever he’d just seen. Amy didn’t even try not to stare. Ben was like an exclusive store window display—beautiful, tempting and out of reach, so watching was all that was available to her.
“Growing fast. You sound distracted, honey. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Take the chance. “Sorry, Mom, it’s a little crazy.”
“Okay then, I’ll say goodbye. See you soon.” The line went dead.
Amy stared at her phone slightly discombobulated. Her mother usually never got off the phone without having asked a lot more questions. Questions which would vary around the themes of work, friends and possible men in her life but the one that always got asked without fail was “when are we going to see you next?” Today, her mom hadn’t asked it.
Take it for the win.
Relief trickled through her that she hadn’t been forced to lie again to her mother about why she couldn’t meet her in Chicago or come for Sunday lunch in Bloomington, where her parents lived. Where she’d grown up. She was about to slide her phone into her pocket when she noticed Ben and his drop bear T-shirt had disappeared from sight.
It reminded her that ever since he’d first told her about drop bears, she’d been going to look them up. Bringing up a browser on her phone, she typed drop bears into the search engine and clicked on the first suggestion. The Australian Museum page opened with a brief introduction and the following general information was much the same as Ben had told her.
As she continued scrolling, she came across a distribution map that showed in red where in Australia drop bears could be found. There was almost continuous red coloring up the eastern seaboard and then, in the middle of the map of Australia, which she knew was desert, there was a combination of red-and-white splotches. She looked at it twice before she recognized the configuration of colors formed the shape of a koala’s head.
She half laughed and half moaned. There was no way this distribution map was real and she didn’t need to continue reading the information that said Vegemite smeared behind the ears or the wearing of a fork in the hair might help ward off drop bears to know that they didn’t exist. Ben had scammed her.
Her and no doubt a bunch of other easy-to-fool Americans.
Oh, God. She’d asked all sorts of questions and the whole time he’d been yanking her chain, telling her the Aussie version of a tall tale like Paul Bunyan. She blushed at her gullibility. She was a lawyer for heaven’s sake—she should have spotted his game.
Why? It didn’t stop you missing what Jonathon was up to. He got you and your job.
The half-formed scab over that particular wound peeled back fast. She waited for the protective balm of anger and regret to hit her in the exact same way it did whenever she thought about how she’d allowed Jonathon to undermine her. Ben had tricked her, damn it.
Only anger didn’t come—just a dribble of self-righteous embarrassment. She dug deep, wanting to be furious with him but all she found was laughter at herself. Unlike Jonathon, this was a bit of harmless fun.
Fun. It had been a long time since she’d behaved like a child and had fun. Maybe it was the fact she was at the lake but she suddenly remembered something she and her sisters had done to an annoying cousin. She grinned as she walked directly to the kitchen. Ben Armytage was toast.
* * *
Ben had been having some geological fun, studying the different rocks around the lake when Amy had texted him with the message, I’ve made you tea.
He smiled and two minutes later walked into the kitchen to find her with two steaming mugs on the counter. A pen was stuck in her chaotic hair, held in place by a tight curl. Amy still hadn’t gone clothes shopping and today she was wearing shorts that were covered in white fluff and the button-up blouse she’d worn with her business suit the day she’d taken him to the E.R. He instantly noticed that she’d left the top two buttons undone. Sadly, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t see even a hint of creamy breast. He’d gotten used to her zany, mismatched clothes but today she looked different. He tilted his head.
“What?” she said, passing him his tea and glancing down at herself. “Am I more of a mess than usual?”
“You’re much the same. Are you planning on doing some clothes shopping?”
She shook her head. “I’m unemployed, remember. Besides, I’m sort of on vacation and I’ve decided it’s fun not having to always be dressed in corporate work clothes.”
And that’s when he worked out why she looked different. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked relaxed.
“So, how’s the...” Why had he even brought up the subject of the damn wedding dress? “...the project coming along?”
She gave a wry smile. “I’m getting close to the scary bit.”
“Everything to do with weddings is scary.”
This time, s
he studied him and he could see the unasked question hovering brightly in her eyes. Why did Lexie jilt you? Even if she asked, he wasn’t prepared to tell her.
She blew a curl out of her eyes. “I’m talking about the moment I cut into the very expensive silk and organza. It’s terrifying.”
He knew what she meant. “It’s like pouring the foundations of a big project. Everything has to be right or the rest—”
“Is a nightmare. Exactly. Although you have far more at stake with the foundations of a bridge or a building than I do with material.”
“But as well as being scary, it’s also exhilarating.”
“It totally is.” She sipped her tea. “Oh, I meant to tell you, while I was working, I was listening to the radio and I heard a news report from Australia.”
“Yeah?” It had to be a mass murder or an election to make the American news services.
She nodded. “A drop bear mauled a man and he’s fighting for his life.”
He scanned her face looking for laughter but her big, gray eyes held only concern. He wondered if the joke had crossed the Pacific on Twitter given it had been picked up by the news. Who was he to ruin a good story?
“It was probably a tourist,” he said, shaking his head in fake despair. “You tell people about the dangers, you put up signs but do they listen?”
“Actually, they said on the radio he was an Australian.”
“I doubt that,” he said firmly. “Avoiding drop bears is the first thing they teach us at school, fast followed by how to ward off croc attacks. The guy must have been drunk. Drop bears can’t stand the smell of booze.”
“You mean rum, right?”
This time he was pretty sure he saw her eyes sparkle. “Especially rum. It makes them go troppo. Sends them into a rage.”
She shivered and brought her hand up to her mouth, biting her knuckle in the exact same way she did when she was anxious. “Stories like this make me glad that we don’t have things that drop out of nowhere here.”