Play Thing

by Nicola Marsh

  She’d asked him to stay.

  He’d cited work.

  Yep, a coward. A lily-livered, low-bellied coward who couldn’t face seeing her any longer tonight in case he blurted the truth.

  How seeing her dream house scared the shit out of him.

  He’d acted like a real prick too, spouting all that crap about her settling down too soon before experiencing life. Then had to backtrack when he’d seen how badly he’d hurt her.

  He should have taken her home then. Instead, he’d been the recipient of the best head of his life. She’d blown his mind, literally, yet while he’d been coming down from his high all he’d been able to think about was her in that damn house without him.

  Or with him.

  And that was what had him in such a funk he’d hightailed it away from her flat so fast his tyres had spun.

  Because the moment she’d shown him that damn Californian bungalow with its garish blue picket fence, he’d pictured her on the front step and him coming home to her. Or maybe the other way round.

  She’d be a kickass manager when he promoted her so maybe he could stay home for a while and stop flitting. Whip up gourmet meals for his hard-working woman. Have an open bottle of red on the dining table waiting for her at the end of a long day. Be a supportive sounding-board. Draw her a bath...

  He couldn’t have any part of that.

  When he reached his hotel in record time, he showered and dressed, slapped some aftershave on his cheeks and ran a comb through his hair.

  He knew what he needed to get him out of this funk.

  He needed to remind himself of why he chose this kind of life and how good it made him feel.

  So he headed for the one place that could guarantee him a shot of reality anywhere in the world.

  The hotel bar.

  It didn’t matter where he stayed in Australia or the UK or Asia, he always frequented the hotel bar. Not because he had a drinking problem but for the special brand of camaraderie that could only be found among fellow nomads.

  People who loved to travel. People who had wanderlust in their veins. People who valued adventure over stability.

  Right now, he needed to be with his people.

  Entering the bar, he headed for a vacant stool smack bang in the middle of the trendy stainless-steel bar running the length of the room. His vantage point offered him an uninterrupted view of the bar and a glittering Sydney Harbour Bridge casting sparkles on the water.

  Pretty, but he wasn’t here for the view. He needed to talk to fellow travellers, swapping tales of their wanderings, desperate to be distracted from the crazy thoughts that seeing Charlotte’s dream house had conjured up.

  A young barman sporting enough facial piercings to make him wince stopped in front of him. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘A glass of your best Shiraz, please.’

  The barman’s eyebrow rose, elevating three rings higher than the rest. ‘It’s four hundred a glass?’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  A good red would soothe his soul and loosen his tongue. Because now that he was here he didn’t feel like talking all that much.

  A fellow businessman in a designer suit sat on his right while an older woman in a severe black dress sat on his left. They both stared at their cells, their thumbs flying as they tapped out messages. The guy had an untouched Scotch in front of him, the woman a G&T. He recognised their harried expressions well. He usually wore one himself, striving to get deadlines done before moving on to the next challenge.

  The barman didn’t take long to deposit his wine in front of him and after the first sip Alex relaxed. The rich flavour of aged grapes slid over his tongue, the perfect end to a startling day.

  Why had Charlotte shown him her dream house?

  It was the one question that continued to bug him and raised a whole heap of other questions he’d rather not contemplate.

  Did she have a hidden agenda?

  Was she mistaking sex for something more?

  Or was she trying to prove that, no matter how sizzling their encounters, ultimately he wouldn’t be good enough to be the man she settled down with?

  The latter shouldn’t bother him, but it did. He’d known that feeling of worthlessness before, with his parents, where nothing he did or said seemed enough to vanquish the pall of sadness that hung over their household.

  And he’d tried, boy, had he tried.

  He’d got the best marks, trained hard to be chosen captain of the football team in winter, the cricket team in summer. He’d started working at the local ice-cream parlour at age fourteen to take financial pressure off them. Hell, he’d even helped shear sheep to help his dad during a busy season, when he hated those smelly woolly things.

  He’d busted his ass in an effort to make his parents happy. Nothing had worked, and in the end his dad had killed himself anyway.

  ‘Man, what a day.’ The businessman on his right flung down his cell and picked up his Scotch. ‘Ever feel like you’re a hamster running on one of those goddamn wheels?’

  Alex nodded and raised his glass. ‘All the time.’

  The businessman clinked his glass. ‘To hamsters.’

  Alex grinned and took another sip as the businessman tossed back his entire glass. He stuck out his hand. ‘Alex.’

  ‘Richard.’ They shook hands before his new bestie gestured at the barman for a refill. ‘You travel much?’

  Alex nodded. ‘All the time. I’m an accountant by trade but these days I take ailing companies and get them back on track.’

  ‘Impressive.’ Richard raised a fresh Scotch in his direction. ‘This is my fifth hotel on the eastern seaboard in ten days and, as much as I like a change, I’m exhausted.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘CEO of my own security company. We protect anyone and anything.’

  ‘Is that your motto?’

  ‘It should be.’ Richard took a healthy slug of his Scotch. ‘Let me ask you something, Alex. Do you ever take a vacation?’

  ‘Rarely,’ Alex said, surprised the admission saddened him when he usually couldn’t care less. He spent enough time on the road not to care but it struck him that sitting in hotel bars swapping stories with strangers wasn’t the same as lazing by a pool reading for pleasure not business.

  ‘You should.’ Richard frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Or you’ll end up like me. Wealthy but wiped out. Single and hating it.’

  Alex reckoned Richard couldn’t be more than fifty-five. Would that be him in another twenty-odd years, cynical but burned out, rueing his bachelorhood?

  So much for bonding with fellow travellers. Richard was a real downer.

  Richard wiggled his ringless third finger. ‘I take it you don’t have a ball and chain waiting for you at home?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘Footloose and fancy-free.’

  Usually, he revelled in his singledom. So why did his proud declaration sound so hollow?

  ‘I was you once, a good-looking young buck taking on the world.’ Richard shrugged and downed his second Scotch in as many minutes. ‘Never would’ve thought it’d ever lose its appeal.’

  Shit. Dear old Dick was a real killjoy. ‘I like being a nomad, travelling when the whim takes me, making a cool million or two.’

  He threw it out there defiantly, daring Richard to disagree.

  Alex liked his life. He liked living on his terms, not someone else’s. As for the future, it would be solid because he’d have financial security to see him well into old age, without having to dwell on the unhappiness of his partner dragging him down.

  Richard rolled his eyes and half leaned across him. ‘What about you, honey? Are you a nomad too?’

  Alex tried not to cringe at Richard’s casual use of ‘honey’ for the austere businesswoman now looking down her snooty nose at the two o
f them.

  But to his surprise, she didn’t fling her drink in Richard’s face as Alex half expected. Instead, she smiled and it softened the severity of the lines bracketing her mouth and eyes. ‘I travel a fair bit for work but I have a doting husband waiting for me with my slippers and cigar when I get home.’

  Alex laughed and Richard managed a rueful chuckle.

  ‘Don’t mind him.’ Alex jerked a thumb in Richard’s direction. ‘I think he’s had a long day.’

  Richard grimaced. ‘Make that a long two weeks. Hotels suck.’

  The woman raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t like travelling?’

  ‘It lost its appeal a long time ago,’ Richard said, studying her with open curiosity. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I love it.’ Her eyes brightened with enthusiasm. ‘There’s nothing like a pristine hotel room at the end of a long work day or a hotel bar like this one for meeting interesting people.’

  Richard grunted his disapproval and Alex nodded. ‘I agree.’

  ‘To fellow wanderers.’ She tapped her wine glass against his and they both took a sip as Alex wondered if he’d stumbled into some kind of alternative reality, where the woman was the angel perched on his left shoulder and Richard the devil on his right.

  The woman had a similar mind-set to him, Richard the opposite. And rather than mixing with these people bringing him the clarity he sought, he couldn’t help but feel even more confused.

  He could have been holed up in Charlotte’s flat right now, with an armful of warm, willing woman.

  Instead, he’d blown her off to reassert his independence.

  What kind of an idiot did that make him?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHARLOTTE DIDN’T WANT to be alone tonight.

  With her emotions pinging all over the place after the odd evening with Alex she knew she’d be up all night, brooding and mulling.

  She needed a friend. But when she’d reached out to Abby she hadn’t anticipated having to meet her at the nightclub owned by Abby’s boyfriend Tanner.

  As she entered Embue, the doof-doof beat pierced her eardrums and she wished she’d stayed home after all.

  This so wasn’t her scene.

  Beautiful people mingling, beautiful bodies dancing, making her feel decidedly ugly in her plain black dress, the only fancy outfit she owned. Like she needed a reinforcement of how average she looked on a good day.

  She’d begged off going out with Mak and Abby so many times until they’d finally left her alone. They gently teased her for being a nerd, for ending up a spinster unless she got out there and met guys. She’d laughed along with them but little did they know the real reason she remained a social hermit.

  She felt lacking in all areas of her life.

  Sure, she could hold her own at work, but socially she didn’t know how to act or make small talk or flirt.

  She’d never learned how.

  Being an introvert at school ensured she’d never had friends. She’d spent the bulk of her downtime around her aunt’s motley crowd: artists, musicians, flamboyant transvestites. She’d loved mingling with these interesting people but they too had made her feel insignificant. Not deliberately, but because she couldn’t help but compare herself to their ostentatious lifestyles while she toiled away at her homework ensuring she achieved the dream: becoming an accountant. Woo-hoo.

  But it had been more than that. She’d seen these people drift in and out of her aunt’s life and figured that if her vivacious, charming aunt couldn’t hold onto friends, what hope did she have?

  In her experience—with her parents, with her aunt’s friends, even Mak—people ultimately walked away. So it became easier to shut herself off, expecting little, giving the same.

  Somewhere along the line, her self-worth had become wrapped up in this lack of serious bonding and it had spiralled out of control ever since.

  She hated being a loner and feeling this unworthy but until Alex she’d felt powerless to do anything about it.

  As she watched lithe, sinuous bodies wind around each other on the dance floor, a yearning so strong it took her breath away made her light-headed.

  Those couples exuded sex. They wore their sexuality like a badge of honour, while she’d just given her first blowjob in the back seat of a car and skedaddled, overjoyed when Alex hadn’t pushed to spend the night.

  Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly. Coming here had been a mistake. But falling for her fling was a much bigger one.

  That was what had her so melancholy.

  Pining for Alex.

  Ridiculous, as she barely knew the guy and he’d made it more than clear he wasn’t interested in anything more than a fling. Heck, the way he’d reacted when she’d shown him her dream house should have served as a stark warning that he could never be the guy for her.

  He’d bolted because of it, had cited work as an excuse not to come home with her. Ouch. But even his obvious reticence in getting too close hadn’t served to give her the wake-up call she needed.

  She wanted him.

  For more than a few weeks.

  For the simple fact he made her feel like a different woman. A woman who could take charge in and out of the bedroom, a woman willing to step outside her comfort zone, a woman not afraid to take risks.

  But it would be beyond foolish to pin her hopes of evolving into a new woman on a guy destined to leave without a backward glance. Which explained her current funk.

  ‘Screw this,’ she muttered, spinning on her low heels to head out, when she glimpsed Abby waving at her from an alcove tucked behind the main bar.

  She glanced at the exit longingly, but she’d reached out to her friend and it would be poor form to ditch her now.

  Squaring her shoulders, she marched through the crowd of beautiful people as if she belonged. She wished.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Abby squealed and enveloped her in a hug. ‘I can’t believe it’s taken you this long.’

  Charlotte remained silent as they disengaged and Abby waved her over to a plush gold velvet chaise longue. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  She bit back her first response of ‘soda’ and decided to live a little. ‘A vodka and lime, please.’

  ‘Coming right up.’ Abby spoke into a Bluetooth-thingy clipped onto her collar.

  ‘What is that?’

  Rueful, Abby shrugged. ‘Tanner sets me up in here so I don’t have to fight my way to the bar.’

  ‘And fend off the inevitable guys who’d flock to you,’ she said drily, garnering a laugh from her friend.

  ‘You might think he’s possessive, I prefer to think of him as protective.’

  ‘He’s a good guy,’ Charlotte said, though she wouldn’t admit in a million years that she found Tanner intimidating.

  With all those tattoos and that perpetual glower she found him formidable. Sexy, but scary. She could never handle a guy like that but her friend did it with ease.

  ‘Yeah, he is.’ Abby’s eyes gleamed whenever she mentioned her boyfriend. She got this glow, the kind that could never be emulated by any skincare. ‘So what’s happening with you and that dishy boss?’

  ‘We’re hanging out,’ Charlotte said, and promptly burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, no, honey.’ Abby pulled her into her arms, squeezing tight, while Charlotte cried out some of the tension making her feel so confused.

  She rarely cried. She’d learned from a young age that tears were futile and did nothing but make her look puffy-eyed. She’d cried a lot when her parents had first left her with Dee but her aunt had never mentioned her red, swollen eyes.

  Instead, Dee would ply her with sodas and cupcakes, and cuddle her incessantly to make up for her parents’ callous disregard of a child’s tender feelings. In the ensuing years, when her parents hadn’t come back no matter how hard she’d sob
bed into her pillow at night, her tears had eventually dried.

  So finding herself in the midst of a crying jag was as disorientating as discovering she might be falling for her fling.

  Abby didn’t say anything, just held her, until her sobs petered out.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Charlotte said, when her friend released her. She scavenged for tissues in her handbag and tidied up her face as best she could, knowing she must look a fright but was too drained to care. ‘Must be that time of the month.’

  Abby’s raised eyebrows implied she didn’t buy her pathetic excuse for a second. Their drinks appearing saved Charlotte from having to say anything for a moment but the second the waiter disappeared Abby swooped.

  ‘Okay, start talking and don’t stop ’til you’ve told me everything.’

  ‘Not much to tell.’ Ha. Understatement of the year.

  ‘Last time we spoke, you’d had sex with him at that warehouse before you knew he was your boss.’ Abby pinned her with a probing stare. ‘I’m assuming you’ve done the dirty again?’

  Charlotte sighed, hating the inevitable twang in her chest whenever she thought about the connection she shared with Alex. ‘Several times.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I said I was okay with a fling but I don’t think I’m built that way.’ She ended on an embarrassing hiccup and squeezed her eyes shut to stave off more tears.

  ‘Oh, Char.’ Abby draped an arm over her shoulders and squeezed before releasing her.

  When Charlotte opened her eyes, Abby stared at her with determination.

  ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I’m your friend and I’m going to be blunt, okay?’

  Even the mention of blunt had her remembering Alex saying that was one of the traits he liked about her. She wondered how much he’d like it when she channelled that signature bluntness into dumping his ass before she got in any deeper.

  ‘Do your worst.’

  ‘For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been out with a guy. You don’t date. You don’t socialise. Don’t you think letting go a little with this guy, who obviously pushed your buttons enough you had sex with him on first meeting, is a good thing?’ Abby hesitated, plucking at her bottom lip, before continuing. ‘I know you envisage the grand happily-ever-after. We all do. It’s in our DNA or something. But having a fling before you settle down can be the best thing for you.’