Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  No way was he taking that emotional journey with her. A fling with Olivia would necessarily involve more than hot sex, expensive dinners and a piece of jewellery. And he didn’t want more because he had nothing more to give.

  Olivia bit her lip, and his resolve faltered at the hurt that shadowed her eyes.

  Then she blinked and pulled her hands from his grasp. ‘Well, this is embarrassing,’ she said finally, with a brittle attempt at a laugh.

  ‘No. No embarrassment allowed,’ he said firmly. ‘Because there is nothing to feel awkward about. I promise. Now, come on. We deserve a beer, and after our excellent drumming performance there will be plenty of people who want to buy us one. Come on, Olivia. Let’s party.’

  She hesitated for a moment and then gave her small characteristic nod.

  They descended the double steps leading off the stage and returned to their table where two beers already awaited them, the frosted glasses a welcome diversion from their conversation. Perhaps the ice-cold drink would cool him down. His body sizzled with disappointment at being short-changed. Whilst his libido was calling him every sort of fool.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘To your first public performance.’

  She clinked her glass against his. ‘And likely to be my last.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I can’t see me taking up drumming once I get back home.’ There was an almost wistful note to her voice before she frowned and took another sip of beer. ‘I’ll buy a CD, though. That song—what sort of music was it? It didn’t sound like reggae.’

  ‘Calypso music,’ Adam said. ‘It’s Afro-Carribean and the songs tend to represent the voice of the people. In the past the lyrics have been used politically and historically.’

  This was ridiculous; the conversation was so stilted he might as well find some wooden sticks to prop it up.

  It was a relief to see Saru arrive with two more beers in hand. ‘Here you go. On the house, for a spectacular performance, Olivia.’

  ‘Thank you, Saru. I enjoyed every minute.’

  ‘Enjoy. I’ll be back soon with some food for you both. Beef phaenang. You’ll love it.’

  Once he’d gone, silence loomed and Adam strained his brain to find any topic of conversation, drummed his fingers on the tabletop in time to the jiggle of her foot on the wooden planks of the floor.

  She drained one beer and pulled the fresh one towards her. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said. ‘To solve our conversational vacuum.’

  ‘Go right ahead.’

  ‘Let’s play twenty questions.’

  Good grief. Had it really come to this? The type of games he usually indulged in with his dates were more the kind you played in the bedroom. Ah, but Olivia isn’t your date. And you vetoed the bedroom. Idiot that you are.

  ‘Twenty questions it is.’

  ‘Good. I’ll go first.’ Olivia wrinkled her nose in thought. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

  ‘Umm...’ Come on, Adam. It was an easy question and the answer didn’t even have to be true. ‘Blue.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘What type of blue? Navy? Royal? Turquoise? Aquamarine? Azure?’

  ‘OK, OK. I get it. And that counted as an extra question. Navy blue.’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘Dull, Masterson. That’s plain dull.’

  Adam tried and failed to remember the last time a woman had dismissed him as being dull.

  ‘Your turn,’ she said.

  ‘Where do you live?’ Hard to believe that he didn’t know, but he didn’t.

  ‘Bath. I love it. I moved there a few years ago and it’s such a great city. It’s steeped in history and it’s got amazing shops, as well.’

  ‘Where did you live before?’

  ‘Oh, here and there. We moved around a lot. That’s why I was so desperate to settle down properly. I think it’s why I love my flat so much. It’s not big, but it doubles as a work and home space and it’s mine.’ Animation lit her features, her skin taking on a luminosity that had nothing to do with the coloured lanterns. ‘Do you want to see some photos?’ she offered.

  Guessing that it might well be Olivia’s attempt to ground herself, to remind herself of home and work and the real world, Adam nodded. ‘Love to.’ Could be his resolve could do with a bit of focus, too.

  Without preamble she stood up and moved her chair around so she was sitting adjacent to him instead of opposite, and he braced himself for what he was beginning to think of as The Olivia Effect.

  ‘So, these are the “before” pictures,’ she said, placing her tablet on the table between them. ‘When I bought it the place needed a whole lot of work.’

  She wasn’t kidding. The pictures showed dilapidated, damp-ridden rooms. Floorboards pushed through the rotten wool of threadbare carpets, dingy wallpaper peeled off the walls.

  ‘Now look at this. This is the work area.’

  Adam let out a whistle as he saw how she had transformed the bay-fronted room. Originally meant as a lounge, it was now a professional office space. The walls were a bright, clean white, embellished with pictures of stylish fashions through the years and fabulous prints of Bath throughout the ages. Comfortable and homely overstuffed armchairs and a brightly upholstered sofa surrounded a table complete with fashion magazines. The wooden floor gleamed and the bright and cheerful rugs that littered the floor screamed fun along with good taste.

  She beamed at him. ‘And this is the kitchen.’

  It was a fraction of the size of his but it looked way more personal. The blown-up photos showed a neatly put up shelf of eclectic cookbooks that covered the globe in cuisine, a row of brightly coloured mugs, and pottery jars labelled ‘Tea’, ‘Coffee’, and ‘Sugar’.

  ‘I’ll bet your fridge is properly compartmentalised.’

  ‘I’ll let you into a secret.’

  She leant forward confidentially, so close that he could see the light smattering of freckles on the end of her nose.

  ‘I keep my spices in alphabetical order.’

  ‘Whereas I don’t own any spices at all.’

  Which pretty much summed it up.

  A stray strand of her strawberry hair tickled his cheek and lured his fingers as she shook her head.

  ‘That’s just wrong,’ she declared slightly fuzzily as she picked up her glass.

  ‘Hey! Not owning spices is hardly a crime.’

  ‘It is from now. The Queen of Chill decrees it.’

  Another shake of her head and Adam placed his hands on the table, out of temptation’s way.

  ‘Seriously, Adam, it’s not right to live in a hotel room.’

  ‘Penthouse suite,’ he interpolated.

  She waved a hand. ‘Whatever. Point is, you never have to do anything real.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Cooking. Cleaning. Dusting.’

  Adam tipped his hands in the air. ‘And this is a problem because...?’

  ‘But that’s what us normal everyday types have to do. I think it would be good for you to get down on your knees and scrub a bathroom floor.’

  He couldn’t resist. ‘But I can think of so many more pleasurable activities to do on my knees. Can’t you?’

  Her face was tinged pink and her mouth smacked into a circle of surprised outrage, and Adam felt his lips quirk upwards into a smile.

  ‘I can’t believe you said that,’ she said, before emitting a sudden snort of laughter and staring into her glass. ‘Hey. It’s empty. How did that happen?’

  ‘I think you drank it.’ Adam glanced up. ‘Ah. Here comes our food.’

  ‘And more beer,’ Olivia said on a slight hiccup. ‘Good man, Saru.’ She beamed up at Saru as he placed two steaming plates in front of them. ‘This looks inc
redible.’

  Saru grinned. ‘Thank you, Olivia. The ingredients are all fresh. I bought them myself from the market today.’

  Leaning over the plate, Olivia inhaled. ‘It smells as good as it looks. What’s in it? And do you mind if I take notes?’ She indicated the napkin by her side.

  Adam blinked; there was a certain fascination in watching the animation on her face as she listed all the ingredients, the tip of her tongue protruding at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Kaffir lime, coconut milk, palm sugar...’

  Yet another first. Adam tried and failed to imagine any woman he’d dated taking recipe notes from a waiter.

  ‘What?’ she asked after Saru had left. ‘I can’t have sauce on my nose because I haven’t started eating yet.’

  ‘Nothing,’ Adam said, shaking his head and pushing away the urge to tell her she was adorable. ‘Just tuck in.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

  Adam had never witnessed anyone demolish a plateful of food with such ladylike dedication. Within minutes her plate was wiped clean.

  ‘That was amazing,’ Olivia said, as she pulled her glass towards her. ‘Now, where were we with twenty questions? Why don’t you tell me your hobbies?’

  To Adam’s surprise, the next time he glanced around the bar had emptied, the music had been turned off, and he and Olivia had swapped a mountain of information. Favourite films—hers: Breakfast at Tiffany’s; his: The Great Escape. Favourite book—hers: too many to count, so Lord of the Rings and all of Austen; his: Lord of the Rings and anything detective.

  ‘I think it’s time to go before Saru kicks us out,’ Adam said.

  Olivia nodded and then winced, placed her hands on the table and levered herself up. ‘I may be ever so slightly...tipsy,’ she announced. ‘Not inebee...inebril...in...drunk, you understand. Just tiddly. Like in winks. That’s what we should play next. Tiddlywinks.’

  ‘Next time,’ Adam said.

  ‘Itsh a deal.’ Olivia looked down and then dropped back onto the chair. ‘We can’t go.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Cos I haven’t got my...you know...my thingy. The thing that I wrote thingies down on.’

  ‘The napkin?’

  ‘Yup.’ Olivia folded her arms on the table. ‘Can’t go without that. It’s like a souvenir...you know?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘You’re a prince.’

  Fifteen minutes later a diligent search had located the scrawled upon napkin and Olivia had very carefully folded it up and tucked it into her tablet case.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and wended her way towards the door.

  There was nothing for it—no choice but to snake his arm around the slender span of her waist in order to steer her straight across the moonlit sand. His body reacted all too predictably as she tucked herself next to him, leant against him with a small, satisfied sigh.

  ‘There we go. Easy does it, Olivia.’

  ‘Call me Liv.’

  ‘I’d be honoured.’

  She looked up at the sky. ‘So beautiful,’ she said. ‘All black and glittery and...and starry. Like your eyes.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Adam suppressed a grin; Olivia...no, Liv was going to regret this the next day.

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I ask you another question?’

  ‘Question twenty-one? Sure.’

  ‘What do you think about love?’

  Ah. Talk about sliding in the knock-out punch right at the end. Glancing down at her, he acquitted her of intentionally wanting to catch him out. Her nose was simply crinkled in thought as she waited for his answer.

  ‘I believe in it for other people but I know it’s not for me.’ He hitched his shoulders as she tilted her head, the movement casing a friction against his chest.

  ‘Well, I don’t like love. Because...’

  She stumbled slightly and he tightened his grasp around her waist, his gut clenching with renewed desire.

  ‘Because,’ she continued, ‘love is an illusion.’

  If only the stirring of his body was a delusion. Focus on the conversation, Adam. Although it didn’t really matter what they said because it was unlikely that Olivia would remember.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Olivia slid to a stop and turned to face him, held onto his arms as she peered up at his face. ‘Cos it’s true. Men cheat, dazzled by a beautiful face or the thrill of the forbidden, and they hop out of the marriage bed—’ she snapped her fingers as she gave a little jump, scuffing up grains of moonlit sand ‘—just like that. Or they say they love you to get into your knickers. It’s an illusion to romanticise sex.’

  ‘Not all men are like that. Think of all the happily married people in the world.’

  ‘Nah.’ Her wave dismissed half the population. ‘Another mirage. Most of them have compromised. For a lifestyle or a child. They’d all betray each other given the right price.’ She heaved a great sigh. ‘It’s verrrry sad.’

  ‘Would you compromise?’

  ‘Never.’ She slammed her shoulders back. ‘Never give up. Never surrender. That’s me. I’m not the compromising sort. And I know the truth. Remember the truth, Adam. Love is an illusion.’

  ‘I’ll remember, Liv. Now, let’s get going. We’re nearly at the hotel.’

  Minutes later Adam surveyed the bedroom and gusted out a sigh. Gan must have assumed they were sharing a room—more to the point that they were sharing a bed.

  ‘I’ll go and sort out another room.’

  ‘No. Itsh OK. Really. We’re past the attraction, remember? It’s all over and done with.’

  Clearly Olivia was suffering from selective memory and/or delusion.

  She surveyed the bed. ‘But just in case we’ll build a barricade.’

  With great precision she leant over the mattress and Adam’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her heart-shaped bottom.

  Very carefully Olivia arranged an armful of pillows in a straight line down the middle of the bed. ‘Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy. Sleep well, Adam’

  Somehow that seemed unlikely.

  But it would be another first. Sharing a bed with a woman and a barricade; he must be losing his touch.

  * * *

  Olivia squeaked her eyelids open and hurriedly closed them again. Sunlight. That was definitely a clue. So was the whirr of air-conditioning.

  Enough to tell her that she wasn’t tucked up nice and safe and warm in her bedroom at home in the middle of a Bath winter.

  Then there was the flower-sweet scent borne in on the sunlit breeze.

  She was in Thailand.

  Memories surfaced. Of a bar on the beach. Golden sand crunching underneath her toes. A fantastically beautiful sunset. Drums... A napkin scribbled with notes... And beer...lots of beer.

  And there had been Adam.

  ‘Rise and shine, Liv.’

  ‘That’s a joke, right? And who said you could call me Liv?’

  ‘You did.’ His deep tone was tinged with amusement. ‘So, rise and shine, Liv.’

  Olivia hauled her eyes open again and turned her head, wincing. ‘Rising is a faint possibility. Shining, not so much.’

  ‘I’ve brought tea,’ he said, and stepped forward to place a steaming mug on the bedside table.

  Bedside.

  The word was ominous, opening the floodgates to the next wave of memory.

  Olivia braced her hands on the mattress and hoisted herself up gingerly, wriggled backwards and leant against the padded headboard. She reached for the life-saving cup of tea, devoutly hoping that everything could be cured by a nice cuppa.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her tongue thick and fuzzy, but soothed by the strong brew,
and her parched throat grateful as the reviving liquid slipped down her throat. ‘So...’ Gripping the folds of the blanket, she forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Hit me. How embarrassed should I be?’

  ‘How embarrassed do you want to be?’

  She very rarely got even so much as tipsy, and even then only if she was with someone like Suzi, whom she trusted implicitly. Alcohol was a known inhibition-destroyer and a sure-fire route to loss of control. So what had she been thinking last night? Somewhere along the line she had quite clearly dropped the ball.

  Please let that be the only ball-associated activity that had gone on. What a crying waste it would be if she’d slept with Adam and didn’t remember it. No. That wasn’t possible. Every molecule of her would retain every second of the experience. This she knew.

  ‘Just tell me, Adam. What did I do?’

  ‘Nothing so terrible. Honest. I like sleeping with a barricade down the middle of the bed.’

  His eyes glittered, and the glints of amusement were oddly reassuring. Adam was teasing her, and he wouldn’t do that if she’d done anything spectacularly daft. Like climbing over the barricade and jumping his bones.

  Trepidation returned and Olivia licked suddenly dry lips, heat shooting through her as his eyes followed the movement, snagged on her mouth ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Yes, it worked.’ His face was suddenly unreadable.

  For heaven’s sake. She was being an idiot. Of course the barricade had worked; it hadn’t even been necessary. Not only had she drunk enough beer to knock out a football team, she’d also passed out. That was enough to kill off any attraction.

  And should any lingering tendrils have remained he’d now been treated to her in all her morning glory. A surreptitious glance down showed she was still in the grey top and trousers, now rumpled beyond repair. The strong tea had at least obliterated the fuzzy taste in her mouth, but Olivia could only imagine the state of her face. The remnants of yesterday’s make-up; her hair back in bird’s-nest mode. So one thing was for sure: any attraction Adam might still have retained for her would have been killed stone-cold dead.