by Anne Oliver
‘But you did, and we should probably talk about it.’
‘No, we shouldn’t.’ Brooke stood to leave.
‘Brooke, I know why you’re here. For your family’s business. I’ve noticed that you wear Wright Sports clothing most of the time.’
Brooke watched his face. Was he angry? Did that mean he wanted her off the show? For some reason that didn’t make her as happy as she’d thought it would. She didn’t like the way this show was changing her, the fact that it was making her angry and aggressive, but she liked the other girls. And who would stand up for them against Jack and his outrageous demands if she wasn’t there? He’d apologised to her just minutes ago—maybe she was getting through to him. What if she left and he just went back to his old ways?
‘What...what are you going to do about it?’
‘Nothing. If you come and have a drink with me.’
Brooke wanted to have a drink with him. She wanted to be alone with him. But she wasn’t sure if that was such a great idea. Maddy had said this show would be good for her, that it would take her out of her comfort zone. Having a drink with bad-boy Jack Douglas was certainly that. Maybe she should do it.
‘Will the cameras be there?’
‘No!’ he answered emphatically. ‘No. It’ll just be me and you.’
Her and him. And a drink. In a dark bar. This was dangerous, and so out of her comfort zone. But she wanted to do it. That kiss had made her feel something she hadn’t felt in so long. Alive. Excited. No longer numb. Maybe this was just what she needed.
‘I’ll send someone to pick you up. You might get lost.’
‘I don’t need an escort and I never get lost.’
Brooke still wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. She still didn’t know what he wanted or how he felt, and she certainly didn’t want any witnesses. No cameras, no one else. Just him and her.
‘No, I bet a good girl like you always checks Google Maps.’
‘That’s right. I’m good, but when people screw with me I can get very bad.’ She wasn’t sure of that, but it annoyed her that he’d pegged her as a good girl. She’d been bad before. He had no idea.
Another lazy smile spread across his face. He slipped his hands into his pockets. ‘Good girl gone bad? I’m looking forward to that.’
Brooke didn’t say anything. He didn’t deserve any more of her time and he looked too hot right now, all crumpled and lazily sexy, so she turned and left. Before any more bad thoughts could creep their way into her good head.
SEVEN
The night was hot and still. Laughs rang out from the restaurants that lined the footpath. The smell of the sea lingered in the air and Brooke breathed it in.
Brooke had spent almost her whole life living in Sydney, but she’d never spent much time in Manly. Her family lived in the inner west and she worked in the city and there just weren’t that many reasons to cross the bridge. But she liked it. She liked the laidback, casual charm of the coastal suburb. She liked the feeling that it was trapped in holiday mode. No one seemed to work in Manly—they just went to the beach and jogged with their dogs.
But she was missing her sisters and she was missing her work. The Perfect Match contract said they were to have no contact with anyone other than each other for the six weeks of taping. No internet, no smartphone. Which was harder than it sounded.
Although Brooke got along with the girls, she missed the comfortable ease of having her sisters on hand. It had been eight days now that they’d been holed up in the penthouse and, although the days had been filled with briefings and hair and make-up sessions and various staged tapings, Brooke was starting to feel very anxious and a little lost without her sisters.
Lottie’s was one of those new Sydney bars. One of those discreet hole-in-the-wall places with almost no signage at the front—because signage was, like, so five years ago. It took Brooke a few laps around the Corso to find it. She almost wished she’d taken Jack up on his offer of an escort, but the more she thought about it the more she thought the escort would have been a spy.
She didn’t know what to make of Jack. He was so confusing and he made her so angry. All she wanted to do was go back to the way things had been. Predictable. Easy. Dull. Dull? Where had that thought sprung from? Her life wasn’t dull. She had her sisters and her friends and she had fun.
But as her heels clicked on the cobblestones she was remembering how she’d felt before she’d come on this hideous show. Numb. But she didn’t feel numb any more. She felt anything but numb. She was on some mad, out-of-control rollercoaster and she was sure she wanted to get off. She had to concentrate on not letting her emotions get away from her and on not getting angry. And she had to concentrate very hard on not letting Jack get under her skin.
But as she slipped through the heavy wooden door and spotted Jack in the corner, sipping on a short glass of something dark, her focus went out of the window.
In the darkness of the bar, with the slow sexy beat of the music in the background, Jack was looking...delicious. There was no other word. This wasn’t work Jack—this was night-time Jack. And all those rumours about all those women suddenly became so much more believable. He had on a dark shirt, open at the neck but not too far so as to seem sleazy. As she got closer she noticed his black pants were pulled tight at his knees to expose some very nicely developed vastus lateralis muscles. She’d been trying to develop those muscles for two years, but her knees were still knobbly and the muscles there pathetically small. His were anything but small. Hard, muscular thighs.
He saw her and smiled and she steeled herself against the anxious flutter in her chest.
Don’t look at his smile, look at his teeth. White, straight—perfect. No, not helping. Look away.
His hair. Look up. It looked thick and wavy and he was holding it up over his forehead. Very nice hair. Don’t look at his hair.
His eyes. Dark and velvety. Chocolaty. Sexy. Bedroom eyes. Definitely don’t look there. Especially not now he’d said she was gorgeous. Stunning. She remembered the way he’d said it. The word had rolled off his tongue like a thick, sticky liquor and she’d become stuck in it. Even now the word stuck in her head and wouldn’t get out.
A lazy layer of dark stubble sat on his jaw. Good—she preferred clean-shaven. Except on him... She liked the stubble. She didn’t want to but she did. It made him look a little rougher, a little more manly—maybe even a little dirty.
Oh, crap.
Movement rattled her core. Annoying hot, sexual movement. She tried to force it away but it swelled and intensified—as did her confusion about Jack and what she was feeling about him. She wasn’t into all that He-Man stuff. Sensitive. Caring. That was what she liked. Stubble was not her thing. He was not her thing.
Focus on something else. His hands. They were resting on his knees as he sat in that wildly confident way some men did. Knees apart. On show. Boasting. No! Don’t look there.
Concentrate. His hands. His fingers were long and his hands looked solid. As if they’d never let go. She imagined he’d have a great grip for rope climbs. She wondered if he worked out. He raised his hand to wave and his shirt pulled at his shoulder. Yep. Definitely worked out. So definitely not her type.
Brooke swallowed hard and pulled at the collar of her shirt. She’d undone a few buttons so her bra just peeked out. She’d wanted to look sophisticated, in charge and in control. But now all she felt was exposed. She tried to cover herself up a little before pushing her lips into a wide smile and attempting to saunter towards him.
He didn’t get up. Bad, bad man. He just smiled and said, ‘You look incredibly sexy tonight. Hot date?’
Thank God it was dark, because a hot blush spread up Brooke’s neck and into her cheeks. Of course he’d think she’d dressed provocatively for him. For him to enjoy. But that wasn’t why she’d done it. She’d wanted
to look like a woman in charge—she’d wanted to look stunning.
‘No. I’m meeting an arrogant player who thinks he can win me over with a few free drinks.’
He smiled. Slow and sexy. And lust licked up around Brooke’s body.
‘Well, if I see him I’ll get rid of him, because I want you all to myself tonight.’
Brooke stopped. What was that? A line? She didn’t want a line. Anger mingled with the lust and her lust for him made her angry. Brooke felt her emotions bubble to the surface again. Nope. Zen didn’t exist when she was around Jack. She needed to fix this. She needed to find out why he made her so angry. Tonight. She had to stop this and go back to the way things had been. However dull that was. She couldn’t keep getting angry. Anger never solved anything.
‘Jack, why am I here? What do you want?’
He turned his head and smiled at her. One of his fake smiles she was so used to.
‘Why do you assume I want something?’
‘You think it’s amateur hour? I know all about you. I know the kinds of things you get up to.’
‘Sounds like you Googled me. You’re someone who graduated with a high distinction in marketing and business management—I would have thought your research abilities were better than that.’
‘I can do more than use Google, Jack. You’d be surprised at the things I manage to dig up about people.’
‘Would I? You graduated in the top ten per cent of the state six years ago, then studied at uni by distance because you started working for the family business the day after you left school. One of five highly competitive and athletic sisters. Mother Mandy, a former Commonwealth hurdler, and father Mark, head coach at the Australian Institute of Sport. You run marketing for the company, which has a current annual turnover of almost a million dollars—a turnover that is mostly due to your sisters’ bravery and your marketing skills. Your favourite restaurant is La Galleria on Norton Street and your favourite bar is Tio’s Tequila Bar in Surry Hills. You drink green tea, never coffee, and your cup size is thirty-two B.’
Brooke knew her mouth was open but she couldn’t shut it. He was good. Very good. But clearly he didn’t know everything. Although he did know her cup size? Really? How had he found that out?
‘The internet does not give out information on cup sizes.’
‘No...’ Jack’s eyes moved to her chest. ‘That one I figured out by myself.’
Heat. More heat. Spreading across her chest and up her neck. She suddenly wondered if he liked small breasts. What was she thinking? Jack Douglas would like all breasts.
‘Fine. You know all my secrets. Time to tell me yours—why am I here, Jack?’
The waitress arrived back with her drink and made a show of setting up a napkin and making sure the straw was facing the right way. She was taking an awfully long time.
‘Thank you.’ Brooke looked up into two very large breasts. Definitely not thirty-two B. The waitress was leaning forward, her eyes fixed on Jack. Brooke turned to see Jack smile back at her. Right. Sleazebag. So not her type. She needed to get this over with.
When the waitress finally moved away, swaying her hips ridiculously as she walked, Brooke spoke. ‘When you’re finished lining up your next conquest, I’d like to know what you want from me.’
‘You’re a pushy little thing, aren’t you?’
She hated being called little even more than she hated being called pushy. Even though she knew she was. But it was condescending and rude, and coming from Jack after the way he’d just ogled their waitress it made her even angrier.
‘Yes, I’m pushy. Because I’m suspicious. I’m suspicious about why I’m here and what your motives are. But don’t worry, Jack, it’s not you. I’m pushy and suspicious with everyone.’
She’d always been that way. Sometimes she wished she was more trusting and easygoing, like her little sister Melody. She wished she could put on rose-coloured glasses and expect people to treat her with respect and be gentle. But people weren’t like that. They were selfish. And most of the time they were too concerned with what was happening in their own little bubble to worry about hurting the feelings of those around them.
Jack smiled slowly. He leaned back, putting the heel of his shoe up to his knee. His muscles bulged. Brooke looked away. Muscles meant nothing to her. She spent hours in the gym with muscle-heads, and most of them had less between their ears than she had numbers in her little black book. Although she wasn’t sure Jack was one of those guys who spent the hours they worked out taking selfies of their muscles. Jack seemed a little more worldly—a little more aware. Which made him infinitely more dangerous.
‘That’s interesting. Tell me more.’
Brooke smiled. ‘Why would you think I’d tell you anything?’
‘Because you’re alone and you miss your sisters. Because you’re feeling abandoned and you’re angry and you need someone to talk to.’
Brooke opened her mouth to deny it but she couldn’t. He knew exactly how she felt. How did he do that?
‘Maybe I should be more like you and talk to no one about anything? Totally independent. An island.’
Jack’s eyes hardened. ‘No man is an island—haven’t you heard?’
‘You are.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Brooke.’
Something in his tone stilled her. Something was different. He was different. As if he wanted to say something he wasn’t saying. As if he wanted her to know something but couldn’t tell her.
‘Why can’t you stand being touched?’
‘What?’
‘It’s fairly obvious. Your eyes get all shifty whenever someone gets too close to you. You cross your arms and step back, and if anyone touches you I can practically see the hairs on your arms stand on end.’
Jack shifted, moving his leg back down. He moved forward, then back, before reaching for his drink again. When he’d sculled the last of it he motioned to the waitress. ‘We’re going to need a bottle of tequila, some lemon and some salt. And beers. Lots of beers.’
‘I’m not drinking.’
‘Yes, you are. You and I are getting ridiculously drunk tonight.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, Brooke, you make me uncomfortable. And the only way I can tell you what I want to tell you is if my brain is swimming in tequila.’
That statement sounded almost honest and it took Brooke aback a little that he’d admitted a vulnerability. A weakness. It seemed so off for Mr Cool to admit he was uncomfortable. Which was probably why she threw back two shots with him as soon as the tequila arrived a few minutes later.
After a long sip of beer Jack shifted back and Brooke shifted with him, resting her head on the cool leather cushioning of the bench seat. She turned her head to watch the side of his face.
‘So are you going to tell me why I’m here? What you want from me?’
‘I know why you’re here, Brooke. I know you’re trying to promote your family business.’
‘So you mentioned.’
‘Every person on this show has an agenda. Most are fame junkies, some are attention–seekers, and I suspect there are one or two who really are looking for love. But your motivation took me a little longer. Until that day on the beach and the red bikini. Which you looked unbelievably hot in, by the way.’
‘I’m too skinny.’
‘Your body is perfect. Strong. Healthy. Athletic.’
‘I have no boobs.’
Jack turned to look at her breasts. He stared at them. Brooke felt heat rise up her throat as he studied her chest. His head moved and his eyes narrowed. Then—to her surprise—he lifted a finger and used it to pull her shirt aside. She slapped his hand away and shot him a horrified, disgusted look which he held. Steady. Her eyes against his.
No words were spoken but a conversation
went on regardless.
How dare you touch me without permission?
You wanted an honest opinion on your breasts. I have to see them to give you one.
But I don’t even know you and I definitely don’t trust you. It’s weird.
It’s not weird.
Don’t touch my skin.
I won’t.
Don’t check me out...sexually.
I will. But I won’t touch your skin.
Brooke sighed, which meant, Do it.
So he did it, and even though he didn’t touch her skin every cell on her body throbbed. Small bumps formed on her skin as the fabric slid away from her body. She felt the heat of his finger as it slowly traced her shirt, opening it wider so he could look inside. She watched his eyes—they were so close now. Dark and mysteriously unreadable. Then his lips parted slightly and her core throbbed even harder.
She wished he’d touch her skin. Accidentally. His closeness reminded her of how long it had been since she’d been with someone. Since Mitch. Almost twelve months. Twelve months since a man’s hands had made their way over her skin. Twelve months since she’d felt a man’s lips on the back of her neck. Too long.
Jack’s bottom lip stuck out and he moved his head from side to side before letting his finger drop from her shirt. But he didn’t say anything.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked, anxiety bubbling in her chest. What the hell did that movement mean? Did he not like her breasts? What was wrong with them?
‘Eh...’ He shrugged and poured another two shots before settling back onto the leather seat to throw one back.
‘Eh? Eh? That’s what you have to say about my breasts? Eh? What the hell does eh mean?’ He thought her breasts were eh? They were small, yes. But they were better than eh. Pig. Sexist pig. Knuckle-dragging, Neanderthal pig.
Brooke grabbed a shot and flung it back, enjoying the burn as it flew down her throat and into her stomach. Her head shifted. She hadn’t been drinking much lately as she’d been focussing on training and the booze was going to her head. Good. She’d be able to say what she was thinking.