by Madeline Ash
She looked away, flushed.
This was definitely complicated.
“Don’t kick him out,” she said, managing to remember the conversation. “He was interested and I ran away. I didn’t want… him. And I’ve decided I don’t want to do it at all. Research is off.”
Silent, Parker sat on the sand beside her. Legs extended and crossed at the ankle. Nice legs, athletic and strong. If she were to reach out, her fingers would touch muscled thigh. He leaned back on his palms, one hand cutting in behind her.
Awareness skittered across Alexia’s waist, sensing him close.
Quietly, he said, “Can I ask why?”
“I just can’t. It feels wrong.”
“You’ll still get the part, though?”
Sexual confidence was the stipulation. Without it, “No.”
“That’s okay.” Alexia felt him look at her. It was a heady feeling. “One film can’t matter. You’ll have offers from all over.”
She lowered her face. True, she might, but she feared that she might not.
“If it’s so important to you,” he said next. “Go for a harder kind of sweet. Sex is sex.”
Alexia’s hollow mood answered for her. He knew half the truth; it hardly mattered whether he knew the rest. “The problem,” she murmured, “is that I’ve never had sex at all.”
Shock sucked air into his lungs. “You haven’t?”
Déjà vu.
“No.”
For a time, Parker stared at the water, saying nothing. Then, strained and serious, “Because of me?”
It took her a moment. “Did you scare me off sex?” She glanced sideways and saw that concern in the set of his features. “No. I just… haven’t.”
He exhaled forcibly.
“And I can’t do it like this,” she said. “Not for the sake of a character. It should be special, for me. Not like this.”
“Not like this,” he echoed, looking at her again.
The headiness returned, along with a single, hot pulse between her thighs. No, definitely not this. She pulled her knees to her chest. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I don’t treat sex the way I once did, but it’s never felt overly special.” He paused. “So I understand that it must come down to the right person. And I haven’t been with her yet.”
Someone he thought about more than himself. She’d be a rare woman indeed. “I hope you find her.”
“Yeah.” The waves tumbled onto the shadowed sand and after a while, he said, “Surely you don’t need to have had sex to act it.”
“I do.” The darkness hid her blush. “Apparently, I looked uncomfortable in the audition.”
“Did you feel uncomfortable?”
“Wrestling a man I’d never met onto a bed, not knowing where to touch him, or how to control a kiss, all with people assessing my every move? No, I felt horrified.”
And talking about it wasn’t going to change the fact that she’d have to call the casting director tomorrow and suggest he find someone else. The notion made her want to curl up with her head under a pillow.
“That’s it.” She tipped the rest of her lemonade onto the sand. “I’m going to bed to wallow.”
He stood with her, tall and glowing golden in the light of the bar. She watched his attention stray to her mouth, the unmistakable intent of that look burying itself deep inside her. There, desire thrummed, hot and irrepressible.
She swallowed. So, they were attracted to each other. Every sexually charged cell in her body ached for him and every career-driven impulse in her mind wanted him to touch and teach her. But every ray and shadow of her heart forbade it. She couldn’t sleep with a man like Parker. He’d just admitted that he bedded women who weren’t special to him.
She refused to be another.
A strange anger flared. It was Parker’s fault she thrummed; his fault she couldn’t sate it. Damn him. She turned away. If only she could believe that he was different.
Halfway to the bar, she glanced back, resenting the pull of distance. Parker stood where she’d left him, facing the waves.
Inside, the music continued. Deciding not to inflict her mood on Dee, Alexia went to her room and texted instead. “Upstairs. Really tired, going to crash. Have fun.”
Her phone buzzed moments later. “Fun has no meaning without you. Sleep tight.”
Alexia lowered the phone, standing with arms by her sides.
She’d given up.
What would she tell her mum? Her mother had moved to LA with her, loving Byron to her bones, but unable to be apart from her daughter. She’d supported, critiqued, and fed her, and for the first months, they’d been each other’s only friend.
Her mum didn’t know the reason behind this holiday. The plan was that she never would. The trick would be explaining why Alexia had lost the role, when Dee had already let slip that the part had been written especially for her.
As her throat tightened, threatening tears, she acknowledged that her tiredness was a breeding ground for out-of-proportion emotion. She took a deep breath.
Sleep now, think later.
With the balcony doors still open, the room was sultry with warmth and seaside air. She moved across the wooden-boarded floor, sand raining in her wake as she tugged out her braid. The bathroom offered coloured beach towels for showering, so she chose butter yellow for calm and washed beneath cool water, scrubbing the grit from her hair and salt from her pores. Cleansed, she tugged on her underwear and brushed most of the tangles from her hair. Most, because there was one stubborn knot, right at the back of her head that refused to play nice.
Her throat tightened again, so she sat on the bed and texted Dee. “I can’t get this knot out of my hair. It’s poking the bear, and this bear wants to cry. Whenever you come up… help?”
Not expecting assistance for a good while, she switched off the overhead light in favour of a bedside lamp. The night too warm for covers, she dragged the sheets to the base, refilled her water glass and sank into the pillows with a book.
Then the door flew open as Parker surged into the room.
Chapter Five
‡
Parker halted three strides in, expectation vanishing into reality and leaving him adrift.
He’d been expecting to haul some guy off Alexia.
Moments ago, Dee had found him at the bar and shouted, “Alexia’s having trouble upstairs, room four. Can you help her?”
Parker instantly assumed a man was giving her grief. Alarm shot him up the stairs, master swipe card letting him loose into her room without time for thought.
Now he thought, Holy hell, Alexia’s in her underwear. Alone.
With an abrupt squeal, she rolled off the far side of the bed. Now, her head popped above the mattress, face flushed and outraged. “Parker!”
He straightened, on the back foot.
Her eyes darted to the swipe card in his hand. Narrowed. “Venue owner privileges?”
Parker’s skin went cold.
He’d known she hadn’t witnessed him change, and so might be having trouble believing he was different now, but he hadn’t realised she still thought so very low of him. Somehow, stupidly, he’d assumed she was trying to treat him like the person he was now. Turned out she really was just being magnanimous.
Stonily, he said, “That’s disgusting.”
Her outrage flickered. “I agree.”
“Dee said you were in trouble.” He glanced around the otherwise unoccupied room. “I thought, foolishly, that you were actually in trouble.”
Discomfort took hold of her features. She shifted, sitting up so her shoulders rose above the mattress. Black bra straps rose with them. “You – oh. No. I have a tangle.” And she held up a handful of hair.
A tangle.
That didn’t ease the offense tightening his jaw. He held up the swipe card. “You really think I’d exploit this?”
She looked uncomfortable. “I can’t imagine you’d need to.”
“Meani
ng?”
Not meeting his glare, she said, “It doesn’t take a great mental leap to figure out why you’d open a bar. Fancy that, access to a steady flow of women, all passing through town. No strings, just flings.”
Parker stared as revulsion carved a hole in his chest.
“Am I wrong?”
Quietly, he said, “Yeah.”
Alexia swallowed. Uncertainty gathered between her brows. “So, you’ve never had sex in this room?”
“No.”
“Any of the rooms?”
“I take lovers home.”
“To your basement?”
Parker stilled, patience fraying. “You see me as seventeen,” he stated, neutral. “You see that I still have money; that I received this business on a silver platter. I’m still proud and sociable and privileged. I’m still that guy. But now I can spend a night alone without thinking I’m wasting an opportunity. I’m aware that other people exist and that I am really, seriously fortunate. I endeavour to think beyond myself.”
She frowned. “I want to believe that. I seriously do. But people don’t change that much, Parker, not deep down.”
“Okay.” Swiftly he turned, closing the door for privacy. The truth was the only way she’d believe him. And this tug in his chest was desperate for her to look at him without reproach. He faced her, arms crossed against the impending hurt. “All right. You want the catalyst? My mum died two weeks before I turned twenty-one.”
Her eyes pressed closed.
“She was camping with Dad – she always made him go hiking to keep him grounded.” Since twelve, Parker had refused to join them. “A snake bit her. They were two days from town. The flying doctors were stretched to the limit. They took too long.”
Gone, just like that.
He focussed on the graffiti-style painting above the bed. “Grief is like nothing else. It comes in different forms—numbness, anger, denial.” Three years later, grief still clung on. He’d simply become used to the dig of its claws. “It poisons your emotions. I loved my mother. But once she died, that love felt like sorrow. I can’t love her anymore, without being utterly devastated.”
“I’m sorry.” Alexia’s words were weak.
He inclined his head. “That love also feels like shame, because she’d already organised my twenty-first birthday present.” That had been the real kicker. “A three month trip overseas, alone, to the best of destinations. I left almost immediately, wanting to get out and forget. I had spending money, and I indulged, thinking nothing of it. The trip ended with three weeks in Africa. Liberia. Zimbabwe. Sierra Leone. I hadn’t looked that far ahead on the itinerary.” What a surprise, discovering he had to leave paradise for poverty. “By the end, I knew what my mum had done. Shown me what I could afford, met my expectations of life, and then shown me the reality of life for millions of other people.”
An unnameable emotion swamped him then, as it always did. It left him empty, a man with nothing worth keeping on the inside.
“She’d intended to give me a trip that would change my life. She succeeded.”
Alexia had lowered her forehead onto the mattress. She lifted it, meeting his eyes sadly.
It still devastated Parker that his mother had died knowing her son was selfish and thoughtless. That he’d been unable to apologise or show her he’d changed. And he had changed, on his personal tour through slums and shanty towns. Those people had done nothing more to deserve that life than he had to deserve his. There was no escaping that truth.
He heard Alexia’s inhale. Watched her trap words behind pressed lips.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s just… you imply that it was eye-opening. Yet you came back home and opened a hotel? Give accommodation and drinks to people who can afford to travel. I’m still missing the part where you changed.”
“I have the capacity to make money, so I have an obligation to make it and give to those who don’t.” He personally donated to housing and healthcare organisations for third-world countries. All Lullabyron materials were ethically sourced, labour paid fairly, and a percentage of clothing constantly went to disaster relief causes.
She paused. “That’s strangely logical.”
He nodded.
Then she said nothing else and neither did he.
Until, “I’m so sorry, Parker.” Said softly, muffled with regret.
He knew too well that regret didn’t disappear with an apology. Action helped, putting change between the mistake and the present. He’d take action over words any day.
Done with this conversation, he said, “How about I deal with that tangle?”
The remorse didn’t quite leave her face as she said, “How about you pass me that dress?”
It was draped over her luggage. The dress she’d been wearing earlier, with all the holes. He liked those holes, even more the skin visible beneath. Snatching it up, he threw it in her general direction and retreated to the balcony.
Heat pulsed beneath his skin; desire stung his blood. She’d stood too soon. He’d seen the swells of her breasts in midnight lace, the curve of her hips in cotton. The rest of her in nothing at all. Nothing less than he’d seen on the beach earlier that day, but underwear was for a lover’s eyes only and she wasn’t the careless type to let him see by accident. No, she’d stood precisely when she meant to.
Fingers around the railing, Parker told himself to brush her hair and get out. She’d made her stance on sex clear earlier – she wouldn’t do it with anybody. It had to be special.
He’d not done special before. Didn’t know if he had it in him.
“You don’t have to, you know.” Alexia spoke from the doorway.
Parker turned, brow raised.
“Brush out the knot,” she finished.
The lamp illuminated her figure, landing on the cream dress and the black of her underwear. Long loose curls fell to her waist and she held a hairbrush and spray bottle by her side.
Smiling slightly, he gestured to the brush. “It looks like I do.”
Alexia inhaled to answer as her gaze slipped over his shoulder. Sudden interest sharpened her features and she stepped in close, pointing over the railing. “Is that Dee and Josh?”
He followed her finger. No mistaking the couple departing hand-in-hand along the beach, bodies close. “Yes,” he murmured, turning his face towards her and hearing her breath catch. Her hand was on his shoulder, her side grazing his. The gentle pressure of her palm seemed to reach right through him, stirring up greed like fingers raked through sand beneath the ocean.
Dark eyes met his, cautious, knowing. Her hand didn’t move, nor did her body.
That’s it. He was naming this. “So there’s this attraction,” he murmured.
Her teeth dug a groove in her bottom lip. “Mm.”
“Feels mutual.”
He got a nod of agreement.
“But you’re not interested.”
“That’s not it.” She lowered her lashes. “My body is insanely interested. But you were right. I’ve been stuck on the way you used to be.”
The beat of Parker’s pulse intensified as Alexia’s hand shifted, skimming over his shoulder and down his back. The rest of him yearned for her touch, desperate for it. He battled against his inherent certainty that he deserved whatever he wanted, Alexia included. With great effort, he remained still.
“But I was wrong about you,” she continued under her breath. “That trip would have been life-changing for anyone. I’m so sorry.”
Parker warned himself not to move and ruin it all. “I’m not perfect,” he felt it important to say.
Her lips parted, amused. She twisted a little, her side brushing against his, bringing her face closer to his. “Like I didn’t know that.”
“You want your first time to be meaningful,” he reminded her, unable to stop himself from brushing her hair behind her shoulder. His hand settled on her shoulder blade, a light touch that made her tremble.
“I really just want attraction
to work both ways. I didn’t want any of those men.” She looked down, cheeks darkening. “I’ve always wanted you.”
He frowned at that.
“I wasn’t ready back then,” she murmured. “And I didn’t like you. But I did want you.”
“You like me now?”
Her gaze remained low. “I like that you haven’t even hinted that we sleep together, despite knowing why I’m here.”
Parker held his silence. In case he hinted. Or straight out begged.
“I like that you’ve stopped to talk whenever you’ve seen me. And that you don’t resent me for having resented you.” She looked up, face close. “I’d also like it if you kissed me.”
With a turn of his body and a slant of his head, Parker obliged. One hand was already at her back and the other in her hair when Alexia’s mouth parted beneath his and confided a secret, sweet and sure, that the nectar of the gods was right here on her lips, offered only to those she deemed worthy. So he proved his worth and said nothing, told no one, sliding his tongue deep and revelling in the power her taste put in his blood. It burned with each pump of his heart, pummelling heat downwards, clouding his thoughts of everything but the woman in his arms.
Alexia. Sexy and grounded. Her arms around his neck and her chest against his. Arousal had his hand moving to grasp her side, thumb finding the edge of her breast and stroking. Gasping, she broke away, and greedy, he followed, mouth catching hers again and kissing harder.
She liked that. With a soft sound of pleasure, she let him inch her against the balcony wall. Pinned firm, her body strained as his fingertips pressed through the loose holes of her dress and onto the soft skin of her sides. Parker could’ve torn the dress off her. It wouldn’t put up a fight. He could touch her fully, lose himself in her body. But speed wouldn’t make this special; wouldn’t make him matter to her. Her hips pressed firmer against his and she kissed like it might grant her the release her body sought.
No kiss alone was capable of that.
“Okay,” he murmured, pulling back. His breath came fast. “Okay.”
“I want,” she breathed, not finishing the sentence as her lashes parted slowly.