White Balance

by Paton, Ainslie

  “Got it.”

  Before he was aware of wanting to do it, it he reached out and stroked her glossy hair, she closed her eyes and purred his name. “Send it off and come and lie down with me.”

  He rolled a curl over his index finger. She was warm and soft and inviting him into her bed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, come and sleep.”

  It took less than five minutes to assemble the remaining documents, load them on the site and hit submit. He waited for the confirmation email all the while sliding his car keys though his fingers. They’d made the deadline. He should go. Did she really mean for him to curl up beside her? God he wanted to. The thought of being close to her; the comfort of that. To be able to sleep with a woman beside him again, with Bailey beside him, warm and close and safe together, it was enough to stir him into insomnia.

  He moved as quietly as he could, shut down both laptops, packed his away, turned off the gas and was at her front door when she came out of the bedroom. She had a pair of tiny cotton shorts and a t-shirt on and her hair was a luscious mess around her shoulders.

  “Don’t go. I don’t want to have to worry about you driving half asleep.”

  “I’m fine, Bails. Go back to bed.”

  “Aiden, please.”

  He was resolved to go, despite her sleep husky voice and the sight of her, until she held out her hand to him. It was like a code between them. He dumped his stuff in the hallway and let her led him into her bedroom. She flung back the covers and looked at him, said, “Lose the shoes,” and climbed into the bed.

  He toed them off and dumped his jacket and jumper too; under that quilt he’d only need his t-shirt.

  “Are you a boxers or briefs man?”

  He stilled and blinked at her, half ready to grab up his clothes again. “Does it matter?”

  “Only that you’d be more comfortable without the jeans.”

  “I’ll keep the jeans.” He went around to the other side of the bed and flicked back the covers. “I’ll be asleep five minutes after my head hits that pillow.” Which was the right thing to say to make this prudent, but it didn’t feel true. “Do you need to be anywhere in the morning?”

  “No, let’s sleep till we wake. You?”

  “I need to be in by 11am. I don’t think I snore but punch me if I do.”

  “Too tired to hear you.” She switched the bedside light off and the room went semi dark. The sun was thinking about getting up, and proper dark had already been banished.

  Aiden stretched out on his back in Bailey’s bed and felt his body uncoil, the heat and tension in the back of his neck ease, and his breathing slow as sleep whispered in his ears. Horizontal and warm was good. Knowing Bailey was close was comfort and ease. He needed to sleep. He thought she might already have slipped off when she spoke.

  “Aid, would it be wrong if I asked you to hold me?”

  She was on her side looking at him. “Sorry,” she blushed and he almost lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “It’s really stupid. It’s been a long time since I was held by someone.”

  It had been a long time since he’d held someone he cared about. He opened his arms and suddenly she was in them, her head on his shoulder, her arm over his chest. “Pretend I’m Willow. I won’t tell.”

  There was no pretending she was Willow.

  “Willow and I are not...”

  “Really? I thought...”

  “She’s a great girl but she can do better than me.”

  “That’s so not true, Aid.” She was looking at him through half closed eyes. “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

  “Bailey Wyatt!” He sniffed out a laugh, pretend outrage, and a real bolt of soaring anticipation.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Ah...” She didn’t let him finish. She kissed him on the cheek. It was pure and platonic and lovely, and this time not given out of pity. She had no idea how he was soothed by it.

  “Ah.” He smiled; he’d just been kissed by the delectable Bailey. He angled his head to look at her and found her face titled up to his and she kissed him again. This time on his lips. His arm tightened around her and he pulled her body closer and she came up on his chest to hold the kiss. It would’ve taken nothing to shift from platonic to passionate. She tasted of red wine and toothpaste. And he’d forgotten what it felt like to be kissed by a woman you liked so much, and to hold her in your arms, and kiss her back.

  It felt powerfully like the future.

  All too soon, before he could assimilate the experience, before he could do more than follow her lead, she broke off, repositioned herself in his arms, wrapping her leg across his. In seconds he felt her body sag into sleep.

  He didn’t follow her for a good while. His head was spinning with the sense of Bailey in his arms, and the memory of her mouth on his. God, he’d loved that kiss, he loved her being in his arms like this. It was worth any crazy deadline to end up here, even if he was battling unconsciousness to stay with the feelings. He knew she’d shift, roll away, but not before he lost the fight. He went to sleep with a smile on his face and it was long time since he’d done that.

  31: Inappropriate

  Bailey Wyatt kissed the talented, handsome, mysterious Aiden Riley. Properly.

  She’d lured him into her home, then her warm bed, wrapped her body around him and kissed him. It could hardly be more delicious if she’d premeditated it instead of it being the quirk of a demanding potential client, an unreasonable deadline and no office heating.

  And he’d kissed her back. Though he was obviously surprised, and the kiss was tentative and chaste, like young, first kisses should be. He’d held her in strong arms and she’d rejoiced in feeling his lean body and the scrape of his stubble, and she’d fallen asleep in his arms. And now with light flooding the bedroom, he was laid out beside her, still out of it, his breathing steady in sleep, his features relaxed in a way she’d never seen. Sleep stripped ten years off his expression, softened the crease between his brows and the crinkles at his eyes to nothing, drained the shadows from beneath them and relaxed his mouth. That clever mouth, that very kissable mouth.

  He had the longest black eyelashes and she twitched to run her fingertips over the arch of his eyebrow. The line of his jaw was strong and his nose ski jump straight. He had a scar that sat across his temple. His hair normally fell across it, so this was something new and she wondered at its provenance.

  God. What had she done? She’d wanted to kiss Aiden properly for weeks, and now he was in her bed. God. It was so inappropriate. The late night was no excuse. How he looked at her sometimes, as though she was fascinating to him, as though she was beautiful to him. No excuse.

  God. She’d told him her password.

  She eased herself out of bed cautiously. He was fabulous to look at sleeping, but she wasn’t ready to face him awake. She wasn’t ready to face him at all. She dragged Chris’ old dressing gown from the back of the door and left the bedroom, shoving her arms into it and belting it on the way to the kitchen, with a quick pit-stop in the bathroom, where it became immediately clear a scrub and brush wasn’t going to do much to improve her appearance. She needed litres of hot water, a blow dry and cosmetic help for that. And if she turned the shower on that might wake him, and she wasn’t ready for him awake, so no shower yet.

  Perhaps he’d forget the password thing. If he queried it she’d say she got the blog too. He’d think that was weird from the hard time she’d given him about it. But that was back in the days when they weren’t relating well, and certainly not working together, and definitely not kissing. And again, what were the chances he was one of her subscribers? It had to be trillions and trillions to one. Oh God.

  Wait a minute. Why not tell him? It would still be weird, but he could know she was White Balance without ever knowing she’d taken a picture of him. They’d laugh off the whole cosmic coincidence thing. She’d rejected that idea before because she couldn’t separate her identity from the pictures themselves. And that was a hell of a co
nvenient excuse. It was really because she felt guilty. Guilty for seeing his grief. Guilty for prying on his private despair.

  She should never have taken that picture, let alone kept it. She rarely took pictures of people, and would never use them without permission. And there was no way for her to have gotten Aiden’s permission that morning, with him out of reach across the beach, and Chris waiting in the idling car. And he would never have given it. Which meant she really had stolen something from him, and could never tell him.

  Oh, God.

  She put the kettle on. There was cereal and bread for toast and enough milk for two, just. Assuming she’d need milk for two and Aiden didn’t shoot though in horror the minute he woke. She used the stupid password to log on and sent out a pic from the guilt making backup file. She used one of the shots she’d taken in Sandology’s kitchen. A clear glass bowl filled with blueberries and raspberries. The shot was taken looking down into the bowl. Framed close, the berries looked fat, fresh and juicy, sweet and tart.

  Oh God. It was so inappropriate. And standing in her kitchen, unwashed, in Ugg boots and an old boyfriend’s dressing gown wasn’t going to make it any less so.

  She was making a pot of coffee when she heard him come down the hall. Figured she’d get an apology in first. Make it sound light and easy, hope he’d join her in laughing it off. Wow, she needed this coffee, because that was so not likely to happen.

  “Morning, Ms Wyatt.” She turned to find him leaning on her fridge, the way he did on walls in the office, his posture all casual, in complete contrast to what he was really doing—paying close attention. He looked incredibly rumpled in just his jeans and t-shirt, his hair askew and his stubble giving him a rakish air. His voice was slept in too, scratchy in his throat, but still capable of making a simple salutation, coupled with her name the sexiest words in the whole English language. He’d called her Ms Wyatt, was he trying to create some distance between them? Good pointer.

  “Morning, Mr Riley. Coffee?”

  He said, “Ah, please,” and it was a warm growl that made her toes grip the sheepskin inside her boots.

  “Did you sleep alright?” Well sure, that sounded like getting an apology in first.

  He came forward and sat on one of the stools at her bench. “That was the best four hours sleep I’ve had in years.” He wasn’t kidding. He gave her a look that would’ve fried eggs, and she turned back to the coffee pot to stop him seeing how that made her feel, like she’d been his personal sleep potion, bringing him sweet dreams. When she turned back with a full mug and the milk in hand, it was to discover he’d been watching her.

  “If you make any comment about how fetching I look, I’ll pour this on you.” He grinned, pushed his fingers though his hair, looked like he’d swallowed his words.

  “What?”

  “I’m not saying anything. I need the coffee.”

  Bailey put his mug and the milk carton on the bench and retreated till her back was resting on the sink. That put some space between them, that’s what she needed. And since he was short sighted, and didn’t have his glasses on, maybe she’d be in soft focus and he wouldn’t be able to see she’d assumed the physical proportions of a blimp in the too big dressing gown.

  He sipped and groaned with the pleasure of the caffeine hit. Then he pinned her with wide eyes that didn’t miss anything despite his myopia. “Do you let other all-nighter pulling colleagues into your bed or am I special?”

  Bailey’s mouth dropped open and her stomach flipped over. He might as well have called her a whore. She slammed her mug on the stainless steel draining board. He had it coming now. He was around the bench in front of her before she got a sound out.

  “Fuck. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m sorry. I have no idea what to say to you, but that sure as hell wasn’t it.”

  She couldn’t go anywhere, he was too big and she was hemmed in by the kitchen benches. A moment ago she’d been congratulating herself for helping him sleep soundly, now she wanted his every sleeping moment to be haunted by images of hellfire and damnation.

  “Bailey, last night, that can’t happen again.”

  No points for stating the obvious. “Don’t worry it won’t. That was a one-time only offer. Exactly like my other all-nighters get.”

  He winced but held his ground, exhaling roughly. “It can’t happen again because it’s inappropriate.” He pushed his hand through his hair and managed to look distressed. “I sacked a man for doing a lot less than I just did.”

  “You weren’t forcing me to put out. You weren’t hurting me. I made the idiot decision to throw myself at you entirely on my own.”

  “Bailey. Shut up and listen to me. That can’t happen again because we’re colleagues, because I value you as a professional, and because I want you as a friend.”

  She couldn’t get around him; she most certainly wasn’t going to hide from him. She folded her arms across her chest and tried to ice him with a stare.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Do I have a choice?” If she could cut him with her tone she would, anything to get him to pack up his platitudes and go.

  He didn’t take the hint. “I want the kind of friendship with you that you have with Blake. And I thought we were going down that track.” He shook his head as if he was having trouble focusing. “But this, you and me.” He swallowed hard and she sucked in a breath, what was he saying? He was gesturing between them. “We can’t do this. And if you want to call all that a rationalisation,” he threw up a hand, “go ahead. The reason that can’t happen again is because I’m attracted to you, and that’s all kinds of unexpected and wrong, and unfair, and inappropriate.” Aiden was breathing quickly; his eyes were scouring her face. “You kissed me and I didn’t want you to stop.”

  Something stopped, was it her heart? She felt suspended between everything and nothing.

  “I’m messed up, Bailey. I don’t have my life together. You’ve seen it. I talk a good game.” His voice was a low down rasp of loathsome. “I’m fucking good with the sleight of hand, but you’ve caught me out. You know I’m a pretender.”

  Suddenly her hand was in his, holding tight. Did he make that happen? Did she?

  “I miss Shannon like I lost her yesterday. I am not past losing her. I might never be past it. Outside work I don’t have control over my emotions. I don’t have anything in me to give anyone. And the last person I want to hurt is you.”

  All the air in Bailey’s body steamed out through her skin. She was too tense to take a new breath. Her eyes got hot and she had to close them.

  He said, “Can I hold you?”

  Her nod was the tiniest of movements, a flutter like the wings racing around her heart. He reached for her. She came into his arms and let him crush her against his body. He smelt of coffee and sweat and stale skin, and she wanted to hold him until he wasn’t so hurt and angry. She stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, tucking her face into his shoulder.

  He was shaking, his breathing shuddered. “I can’t hurt you, Bailey. I can’t lose you too.”

  They stood like that a long time, till their coffee was cold, till Aiden’s phone started ringing and wouldn’t stop. Till both of them felt a little more in the world and secure on their own feet, and Bailey thought she might be able to look at him without crying.

  He released her, but didn’t step back. “Are we going to be able to do this?”

  “Work together, of course.”

  “That’s good. Because we are going to pitch that proposal, and we’re going to win the job, and I need you to work with me on it all.”

  Her throat felt tight. He needed her. He was attracted to her. She hadn’t imagined it, and she wasn’t wrong about it being something he didn’t want. The only difference was he wasn’t being cavalier with her affection. He was still half mad with grief.

  “Are we going to be able to do this?” he repeated. She knew he meant be friends.

  She took his hand and squeeze
d it. “If I can tell you when you’re being a dumbass?”

  He laughed, surprised by her response. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “If I can shout at you and you’ll forgive me.”

  He pulled one of her curls, then trailed his hand from her shoulder to her free hand and claimed it. “I suppose I can manage that.”

  There was one more thing she needed to do this—to be his friend, openly, honestly and consistently. It was the one thing that didn’t work with Blake. “If I can change and you’ll accept me.”

  He squeeze both her hands, yanked her forward till she was leaning on him, all dressing gown bulk and nerves. He spoke low against her ear, “Now you’re pushing your luck.” She felt his lips curve in a grin and she smiled too, but inside she prayed she’d find the strength to be what he needed, and not want too badly for what he couldn’t give.

  32: Monkey in a Tutu

  Blake rubbed his hands together and grinned at her. “Like old times, Bails.” He inclined his head towards Aiden sitting in front of the laptop. “Do you reckon he cuts it on the team?”

  She considered Aiden. He wore a very faded pair of jeans with the knees torn, scuffed boots and a long sleeve t-shirt with the sleeves pushed up. He had glitter in his hair, tiny bits of pink, green, blue and silver. He had no idea about the glitter and no idea what seeing him weekend casual and watching him fiddle with the Bitters’ presentation document made her feel. Way more nervous than she felt about presenting to the Bitters team with him and Blake the next morning.

  She’d managed to hold it together during the week between submitting the proposal and now by focusing on the work to get the presentation document ready. She and Aiden had spent time together, but luckily there was always a third party around, Blake, Cara, Evan or Kathryn, helping to prepare for the meeting. And he’d been all about the work. That made it easier to stop thinking about the attraction thing, and denying the attraction thing, and thinking about the attraction thing—again.