by Madeline Ash
The only reason.
She kissed like the sweetest thing, trapped beneath layers of lip gloss and smoke, and he wondered whether she knew this was his first. Her body relaxed, breasts on his ribs and stomach pressing into the cash at his groin. Heat flared beneath that pressure, a sudden needy thrill. God help him if he grew hard over his best friend’s little sister, and may He throw in forgiveness, too, because for that Felix would never forgive himself. Felix’s hand sought her waist and ended up on the rolled excess of her skirt. He left it there.
One of her friends wolf-whistled and then he tasted salt at the corner of her mouth. She pulled back, wiping her cheeks and keeping her back to her friends.
Felix frowned around a shaky breath. Tears from a girl who seemed built exclusively of smart words and defiance.
Voice low, he demanded, “What the hell is really going on?”
“I’m trying to save us all.” Sadness darkened her eyes. “Make this worth my while.”
“I owe you,” he said, because ten grand put him irrefutably in her debt.
“Yeah, well, if all goes according to plan, I’m not going to see you again. But if it makes you feel better, you can live life knowing that you owe me,” she added, the cut of her sarcasm softened by the sight of her tear-smudged eyeliner.
“I will.” He would.
She didn’t answer as she turned her back to return to her friends. He looked after her, the girl who had weighted his crotch with the means to survive, who caused Stevie endless anxiety; the girl who was going to get herself into serious trouble one day if she didn’t sort herself out.
“Please come with us,” he said suddenly.
She halted, back still turned. A few smokers glanced over, leaning back on their hands.
“I mean it.” He lowered his voice. “Let us help you.”
He watched her inhale. Tuck stray hair behind her ear. Then she glanced back at him and her mocking smile came too easily. “I don’t need your help, Fee. And I never will.”
Chapter One
Christmas was game time for flight attendants at Melbourne airport. The game itself was simple. Pay special attention to the last person to disembark and guess why they didn’t want to be home for yuletide. At this time of year, the last person off the plane wanted to be last. The attendants witnessed many a downtrodden shuffle or feigned struggle with hand-luggage, for these poor souls would find any excuse to delay.
On this warm December night, with five days until Christmas, several attendants stood at the gate, wishing a merry festive season to all travelers who had endured the long flight from Vancouver to Melbourne. As the final passenger moped away, they leaned close and made their guesses. Dreads being in the spotlight to read out a bonbon joke and always puts effort into choosing presents and never gets anything thoughtful in return.
But he wasn’t the last.
“’Scuse me.”
They sprang apart, all smiles and curious looks for the young woman behind them. Large brown eyes stared back, bleary, unimpressed, and rimmed in thick, black eyeliner. White-blonde hair had long since slipped from its ponytail, and although she was short, petite even, she wore her red plaid jacket and black jeans with a hard edge that said she’d handled herself plenty so they’d want to be careful she didn’t feel the need to handle them.
She adjusted the duffel bag strap on her shoulder. “Which way to the airport hotel?”
One of the attendants pointed. “There’s a walkway from international departures.”
“Right.” With that, she carried on, unpolished boots scuffing the carpet tiles as if that small friction might slow her down and delay the inevitable.
“The black sheep,” one whispered to the other, receiving an emphatic nod of agreement. “Enjoy your Christmas,” she then called out.
The passenger glanced over her shoulder, raising a brow. When she turned and walked on, Regan Case muttered under her breath, “Yeah, that’s likely.”
Felix elbowed open his apartment door, arms loaded with groceries and the potted plant his workplace Kris Kringle had given him at their end-of-year drinks that afternoon. Clearly she’d witnessed his failed attempts to keep an office plant alive and found humor in sentencing the small kumquat tree to certain death.
“Sorry, little guy,” he said as he half-dropped it beside the couch. A smattering of soil rained onto the floorboards. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”
Moving into the kitchen, he dumped the bags on the bench. Enough supplies to last him several days of holiday mode before he flew north for Christmas. He planned to make the most of them, winding down, sleeping in, and not giving a damn about the outside world.
If he could manage it.
It was possible he worked too hard. He accepted six-day working weeks, viewed late nights as the norm, and voluntarily put in overtime to pursue his personal projects. His friends said he was fixated on success, but programming was a tough field that demanded a constant battle to stay atop the latest developments. He’d spent a hectic year doing just that, but he’d stayed focused long enough to receive a healthy end-of-year bonus and the promise of a promotion. Considering the multinational technology company was the global leader of internet-related services, it was no small feat.
The challenge would be turning his back on work and allowing himself to lose focus for a few weeks.
“Holiday mode,” he murmured. Time to figure that out.
He could banish work clothes from sight, but his office encouraged casualwear. Whatever made their bright minds comfortable and Felix hadn’t really considered a time when he’d want to separate work and home life with such symbolism, so he settled for knee-length shorts without a shirt or shoes.
He switched on the stereo, swiped to an upbeat album, and cranked it loud. Popping the bottle top off a beer, Felix slid open the door to his third floor balcony and confronted the sun. Summer hadn’t been shy this December, spilling hot over the city like a sticky latte, making the rendered outside wall almost too warm as he leaned against it, swallowing the cold brew and gazing down at the busy city street below.
Melbourne bustled with a pre-Christmas panic that frayed tempers and loaded bags with impulse buys. Horns blasted more often than usual, tram drivers dinged wildly, surely cursing the merry sound, and mania fueled the general mood seething up from the streets.
With no family, no kids, and nowhere else to be, Felix cleanly dodged this particular seasonal torture.
He could relax.
He’d achieved just that, lying on his back with his feet propped on the balcony railing, when he realized the beat of the music wasn’t quite right. Someone was knocking on his door. Dragging himself up, he thought how nice the world would be if his local pizza shop made deliveries on a hunch.
Turning the volume down as he passed the stereo, Felix reached the front door and swung it wide. Then he froze, struck dumb, and almost dropped his beer.
The woman stood casually, weight resting on one leg, as if she knocked on his door all the time. A bag hung from one shoulder and she wore too many layers against the heat. In a startled glance, he took in black jeans, grasping lean thighs and curving hips, and a red-and-black jacket that would have left the rest up to his imagination if it weren’t for the fullness of her breasts pushing against the tailored fabric.
She had long fair hair that fanned over her shoulder from a ponytail. Large lips that puckered from dry cracks. Skin so pale, it was as if she’d never been touched by light. Add to that her small frame, big eyes, and general air of imminent challenge, and there was no mistaking her.
Regan.
She gave a quick smile. “Hey, Fee.”
He stared, too stunned to answer.
She’d been off the radar for eight years. Cashed up and messed up, she’d run away from home the same night he had. Seeking escape and a new life, no doubt, and he’d always prayed she’d managed it. Little else could have been worth cutting herself off from her family. Stealing the cash her foster
father had kept at the back of his desk drawer, according to Stevie in the days that followed; money he’d saved for his son’s upcoming gap year of travelling abroad. Guilt running high, Felix hadn’t mentioned that same cash had afforded the unit he and Stevie had rented while hunting for work—because about that, Regan had been right. Stevie had accepted his offer to move out with him within days of her sister’s abandonment, and he’d paid back his conscience by keeping her safe.
“Been a while,” she said, shifting the strap on her shoulder. “Is it usually so insane out there?”
Felix had always hoped Regan had dragged herself back on track. That she was doing okay. Now, dismay drenched him.
Her new life clearly hadn’t come with a helping hand. She looked tough, guarded. Bags hung dark beneath her eyes. Her jaw sat tighter than he remembered, and her words were deeper. A woman now, grown since she’d vanished like a thief in the night and contacted no one since.
Regan peered around him, sliding a hand into her back pocket. “Can I come in?”
Silently, stunned, he stepped back and she strode passed him. Long strides that took her to the far side of the couch before she stopped, feet planted wide. A fighter’s stance. The bag stayed on her shoulder, but he got the impression that she’d leave when she was ready, and not before.
She looked around, taking in the entertainment system opposite the couch, his three-screen computer set up in the far corner, and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves he’d installed to create a wall between this space and the kitchen.
Felix watched, torn between confusion, outrage, and the torrential force of sheer relief.
She was alive. Well. And she’d finally come home.
She must have found Stevie. Finally returned to her sister. Strange his friend hadn’t called the instant Regan knocked on her door, but after eight years and no word, Stevie was probably in shock. He envisioned a tear-filled reunion and that Stevie had forgiven her everything on the spot.
Felix refused to do the same. Not after the pain Regan had caused his oldest friend. She had some serious explaining to do.
“Cute tree,” she said, finally facing him.
He felt the power of her stare fasten into his ribcage like a bolt. The kind of gaze that rarely acknowledged people directly, because she couldn’t care less what their eyes had to say, but when she did care, there was no hiding from her.
“Guess you want to know what I’m doing here.” A slight accent curled her words. He couldn’t place it.
“Casing the joint,” he murmured, pushing the door closed.
She tensed, but didn’t bite. “I’ve come back to Melbourne for a while.”
He slid a hand into his pocket. “Came back when?”
“Last night.”
Fresh off the plane. “How long’s a while?”
“We could measure a piece of string,” she said, raising a shoulder. “Try to figure it out.”
He frowned. No set plans. Good or bad, he wasn’t sure.
“You look good.”
“And you’re changing the subject,” he said, ignoring the way she’d backed up her statement by eyeing him over, gaze toying around his abs and then sinking lower. Felix didn’t perpetuate the computer nerd stereotype. Honestly, he knew few who did. A desk job necessitated a gym membership and he made the most of it—much to Regan’s apparent surprise. “Why’re you here?”
“Well,” she said, meeting his stare again. “I’m not interested in seeing my family, so I’ve come to the next best thing.” She raised her hands in a surprise gesture and finished dryly. “Merry Christmas.”
“Wait.” Anger lurched in him. “You’ve come to me before Stevie?”
She gazed back, silent. If emotion crossed her face, it was so fast he missed it.
“I can’t believe this.” Outraged, he scanned the room for his phone. “I’m calling her.”
“No!” She stepped forward, darting eyes betraying that she’d wrestle him for the phone.
“If you’re not here to make amends with your sister, you can get going.”
Stevie had some serious Regan-shaped scars. One night she’d gone to bed under the same roof as her only blood relation—distracted by thoughts of Felix’s own escape—and the next morning she’d found her sister gone and a note that said “Sorry” taped to her door handle. No explanations or goodbyes. And no contact since.
Regan’s expression had flickered. “So you do still see her?”
“Yes.” He picked up a low blow and wielded it without hesitation. “I only ran away from the person who deserved it.”
He heard her breath hiss. She turned away, giving him her shoulder. “You took her with you, right?”
“Yes,” he said again. “But for the record, with you gone, I’d have asked her to move in with me anyway.”
Quietly, she said, “I had to be sure.”
“I never told her you paid me to take her off your hands.” He adjusted his glasses as his eyes burned holes in the side of her head. Eight years he’d buried that truth, even as Stevie had mourned her sister’s abandonment. Regan didn’t seem remotely apologetic of the damage she’d caused and his anger burned brighter. “That was to protect her feelings, by the way, not the memory she had of you.”
Regan ignored that as she turned her back completely, facing the open balcony door and the cityscape beyond. Shoulders rigid, stance obstinate...Felix’s gaze snagged lower. Even her butt was firm, toned curves showed off by snug jeans. He forced his gaze aside.
“I’ve missed Melbourne,” she said.
“Not sure it would say the same.”
That earned him a narrow-eyed glance. “You’re more snide than I remember.”
“You’re colder.”
She crossed her arms, facing him again, a frown replacing her scowl.
“How did you find me?” Clearly Stevie hadn’t given Regan his address.
“Social media.” She reached out to pick a kumquat leaf. “My boy’s become a programmer for real. I’m so proud.” She only sounded half-mocking. “Your profile said you worked in Melbourne. Your employer’s only got one office here. I waited across the street until you came out.”
Unnervingly simple. “And then followed me home.”
“And then followed you home,” she agreed, breaking the leaf apart and glancing at him. “Slipped in with some guy and knocked on all the doors. Took me a while to get up here, but I’m liking this apartment.”
“Thanks,” he said slowly.
His head hurt with knowledge he didn’t want. She’d tracked him down instead of Stevie. He didn’t understand it, but knew he’d have to tell Stevie regardless, and at that, his heart clenched like a traitor’s fist. She’d be hurt, confused. And if Regan pulled another vanishing act between now and then, it would prove she never intended to make amends with her sister.
And Stevie really didn’t need that.
“What’s this about, Regan?”
“Don’t sound so grim. I just want to see how my good deed turned out, that’s all.” A harmless statement that made everything clear.
This visit was to remind him that he owed her.
“Seriously, I really like this apartment. Inner city, newly refurbished,” she said, stepping away to poke her head into the kitchen. “White walls and stainless steel. You’ve got to have money for a place like this, yeah?”
“And a mortgage.”
“But to keep up,” she said, “you must be doing well.”
So she was angling for dollars. He couldn’t deny he owed her that. But he could still be royally pissed that her return wasn’t driven by more than money. “Yes, I am.”
“Mm.” She was still looking around. “Anyone with half an ear to the ground knows your employer only hires the best—and pays to keep them. I’d say you’re doing better than well.”
“Maybe.” Okay, so he was rolling in it, but he didn’t like to shout that fact.
“Modest.”
“I didn’t get here on my own
. Wouldn’t have come close without your leg up.”
Regan paused. “Better that we’ll never know otherwise.”
He had to agree with that.
Her brown gaze softened and her voice along with it. “I’m glad you’ve made a life doing what you want, Felix.”
His decency cringed. Okay, so she’d broken the heart of his best friend. He’d be mad to welcome her, insane to trust her. But she was still Stevie’s sister and she’d been as good as missing since sixteen. His resentment slipped, making way for concern.
“Thanks,” he acknowledged quietly. “Are you doing all right?”
All softness fled as her features shut down. “Sure.”
“You’ve got a life somewhere?”
“Somewhere,” she said.
Would she slink back to that hidey-hole after she got what she came for? Probably, and the wrongness of that rang loud in his ears. She had to see Stevie and that meant he couldn’t let her run this time.
He managed an easy tone. “You can put your bag down.”
She didn’t move. “I’m good.”
“You must be boiling,” he said, indicating to her jeans and jacket. “Can I get you a drink?”
Her lips twisted, cautious. “Yeah. Okay.”
Dropping the tension in his shoulders, he led the way into the kitchen and set his beer on the bench. She followed him around the bookshelves and kept the bag on her shoulder as he opened the fridge.
“Ice water?”
She raised a brow. “Is that rhetorical or the start of multiple choice?”
“Tea. Coffee.”
The brow rose higher. “I’ll go with D.”
Smiling slightly, he drew out a brown bottle, popped the top, and held it out.