by Robyn Grady
‘By that couple who wanted to spend their honeymoon jumping off cliffs with similar-minded friends,’ she clarified. ‘Needless to say, I declined.’
‘A bat suit not flattering enough?’
‘I have a problem with heights.’ As she explained more and they set off for the parking lot, he instinctively went to rest a palm on her back to help guide her through the crowd. At the last moment, he reconsidered. It might be the gentlemanly thing to do, the way he’d been brought up, but as Roxy had said: some risks simply weren’t worth taking.
Twenty minutes later, Nate swerved his car in front of Roxy’s quaint cottage of a house. The hedges were still maintained, the picket fence still upright and strong. Everything was just as he remembered from six months earlier. Including the sense of physical awareness cracking like an electric whip between them now.
Over the last few minutes, banter had ceased. He couldn’t say for sure what she was thinking, feeling. But the only thing rumbling through his mind was recalling how he’d felt the last time he’d driven her home. Hyped. Taut with anticipation. That night he’d known he was going to kiss her. He simply hadn’t known how darn good it would be.
But he’d already decided he and Roxy would not kiss again. He wasn’t ready to take a chance on turning into a hobbled married man overnight like Sparks men were wont to do. Although …
If Roxy was against the idea of settling down as much as he was, didn’t that make a difference? Even if the world went mad and he asked her for her hand in a matter of weeks, given what she’d told him earlier, it would only be for the competition. The marriage could be easily dissolved. She was not looking to get tied down. She was a career person, like him.
Nevertheless, when Roxy found the car door release, where he would normally have walked her to the door, Nate stayed glued to his seat. Etiquette was one thing, stupidity versus self-knowledge and survival quite another.
From beneath lowered lashes, she said, ‘Thanks for the lift.’
Gripping the steering wheel, he nodded once. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Nate, I am sorry but I—’
Anticipating her words, he cut her off. ‘Please. Think about my plan for Marla and Greg overnight. If you’re still not convinced, I won’t bother you again.’
Did she know he was stretching the truth? Not only was this a good plan, it was the only one he had. With persistence—some subtle persuasion—Roxy would come around.
In the street-lit shadows locked within the car’s cabin, her uneasy expression eased and their gazes held for a powerful moment. He gripped the wheel tighter, set his toes into their inner soles more, but that pleasant sensation burning high on his thighs didn’t leave him. If she tipped half an inch closer, the fight would be over. He’d have to kiss her—at least just once more. Hell, if she didn’t come right out and belt him, kissing her and staying with it might even help his cause.
But then the car door whooshed open and closed and in a blink she was gone, striding down a path that led to her door while the throbbing in all his main arteries pulsed on.
Still, as he watched her retreat, a small smile hooked up on one side of his mouth. He liked the way she walked, particularly in those black tailored trousers. That silk blouse was sexy too. And boots … he’d always been a fan. What kind of lingerie was she hiding beneath that ensemble? He’d bet French lace. White sexy-as-hell French lace.
A raucous laugh, loud enough to penetrate his window’s glass, grabbed Nate’s attention. On the other side of the street, two youths were strutting down the footpath, jeans falling off their backsides, bright coals from cigarettes dangling from their lips. A chill chased up Nate’s spine and he shot another glance Roxy’s way. Standing outside her front door, she was digging around in her bag for a key. And now those guys had stopped to check out his car. Or were they eyeing the babe standing alone among those convenient shadows?
His heart thudding low in his chest, Nate wrung the steering wheel and waited while Roxy fished around more. When the youths swapped hushed words, laughed again then ambled across to Roxy’s side—his side—of the street, Nate made an executive decision. He didn’t care if those guys were A-grade citizens out for a harmless stroll, which he doubted. He wouldn’t leave until Roxy was safe inside.
Nate shoved open the door.
The noise earned the boys’ attention. Standing in the cool night air, Nate challenged their wary gaze. After a few seconds, one flicked his butt at the gutter before both continued leisurely past and down the street. Nate almost bared his teeth. Good riddance and don’t come back.
When the pair was a block away, he focused on Roxy again. Had she lost her keys somewhere? Did she have a spare for the house? He couldn’t leave until she was inside, which at this rate might take all night.
As Nate approached the house Roxy pulled her nose out from her bag and her expression opened in surprise.
She stammered, ‘Wh-what are you doing?’
‘Helping to find your keys.’
‘They slipped to the bottom, but I have them now.’ She withdrew a set from her bag and jingled.
‘Right. Good.’ Glancing over his shoulder, Nate craned his neck to be sure that unsavoury element was indeed gone. ‘You ought to get inside.’ He crowded her back towards the door. ‘It’s late.’
‘I’ve lived on my own for a while now.’
‘Be that as it may.’ He took the key she’d chosen from a half-dozen looped on the ring, then unlocked and fanned open the door. ‘Remember to lock up behind you.’
Her eyes twinkled with amusement, as if she was less irritated by his edict and maybe more touched.
That menacing laughter rang out again, distant but not nearly far enough away. Hackles rising, Nate headed towards the street to make his presence known again. The Sparks were a family who paid attention to hunches, good and sometimes bad feelings that were in no way limited to choosing a spouse. He trusted his instincts. This one made his gut clutch and the back of his neck go hot.
‘Nate?’
He dragged his attention back to where Roxy stood outside her now opened door.
‘It’s still early,’ she said, and her gaze dipped before meeting his again. ‘Would you like to come in for a drink?’
At her words, that earlier warmth rose to fill his chest and, for a moment, he couldn’t think of one reason he shouldn’t. He’d never met a woman he could speak with more easily. He liked her wit, her intelligence, the way that tiny dimple winked in her left cheek whenever she grinned. But if he took up her offer, the night might start with a drink but it sure as heck wouldn’t finish on one. Still, she knew now precisely where he stood. And he knew where she stood too. Neither of them wanted ‘serious’.
He didn’t have to go the whole way and actually sleep with her … although some pillow talk leading into the Outback scheme couldn’t hurt. But simple truth was—right this minute—he wanted that drink. Wanted that kiss.
‘How does coffee sound?’ she asked.
‘Just coffee?’
‘I have hot chocolate. Tea too, I think.’
‘Is that all?’
‘What else would you like?’
He took two measured steps towards her. ‘That’s up to you.’
She blinked twice and fast because there was nothing ambivalent about his tone or the intent he was certain shone in his eyes. A small smile quivered on her lips.
‘Well, this is a turnaround.’
‘Nothing’s changed. I wanted to come in that night six months ago too.’
‘Except you were dead certain I wanted to throw a rope around your ankles and drag you down the aisle.’
‘Now I know better.’
While she peered up uncertainly into his eyes, he soaked up the last of the anticipation, then reached out and took what he couldn’t deny either of them a moment more.
CHAPTER THREE
ROXY’S head was swimming. In a matter of seconds, a situation she’d had under control had spun a three
-sixty and now Nate was going to kiss her.
Of course, she’d felt the possibilities—the attraction—building between them all night. Perhaps she’d asked him in because deep down she wanted to face this irresistible force and get it over with. But was she truly game enough to see how long these sparks could fly before multiplying out of control?
She was still angry over the way he’d left her standing here on this very spot six months ago. Still secretly fuming over that photo taken of him enjoying himself with some other woman only a week later. On the other hand, she couldn’t deny she’d never felt this strongly about anyone before. She’d never known this kind of intensity existed. Maybe these kinds of feelings were the reason her mother had let her wayward husband come back again and again. Why she’d never had any sense where his obvious shortfalls were concerned. Roxy had been so annoyed by her mother’s blindness … her incurable weakness.
Nate’s mouth was a hair’s-breadth from hers when strength returned to Roxy’s legs, she spun around and, still light-headed but seeing more clearly, managed to step over the threshold. Working to catch her breath, she came up with a suitable throwaway line that sounded almost unaffected.
‘I think I have some chocolate to go with the coffee.’
‘Something sweet sounds good.’
His deep sure tone sent her pulse rampaging all the more. But she didn’t want Nate to know the tumult she was in, although by the confident smile she saw smouldering in his eyes when she flicked on the light, she supposed he already knew.
Bolstering herself up, she closed and locked the door, then headed for the kitchen, which was part of the open-plan living area.
‘Guess you bring your work home,’ he said as she found the coffee grinds and he strolled into a lounge room littered with a designer-slash-seamstress’s ware.
‘Some might call it messy,’ she told him. ‘I prefer the term inspiring. I have a sewing room here as well as at the shop. Fabric, patterns, lace and buttons … It all kind of spills out around the place.’
Edging around two partially dressed mannequins, he pretended to shudder. ‘I feel like I’m being watched.’
‘Wait till they start talking to you.’
He shot her a wry glance. ‘Just assure me you don’t talk back.’
Roxy didn’t admit that, late at night on a deadline, sometimes she thought they did.
While she thumbed on the kettle and worked to rationalise her feelings—what she truly wanted from tonight, why she wanted it, whether she was in any way like her mother—Nate wandered around more.
‘Where do you get your ideas?’
‘I keep abreast of present fashions as well as past.’ She flicked the tap and rinsed the plunger out. ‘When I’m commissioned to design a dress, I try hard to get inside the bride’s skin, so to speak. Understand what tone she wants to relay and capture it as closely as I can.’
Looking larger than life in her usually uncomplicated space, Nate had stopped to study a magazine spread on spring brides opened on the couch. He ran a hand through his coal-black hair as he leaned forward to focus more on the page.
‘Ever get it wrong?’ he asked, leaving the magazine to head for the kitchen where she was pouring boiled water.
‘I had a client once who wanted to look like a bunny.’
‘As in Playboy or Bugs?’
‘As in big front teeth, carrot loving, fluffy ball of tail. We talked extensively and I came up with sketches and ultimately a gown I thought captured her dream about her walk, or should I say hop, down the aisle.’
‘Then she decided to go as Bambi, right?’
‘Oh, no. This woman was focused. Picture it. A winter theme. The bolero jacket lovingly sewn from imitation fur. A veil that, as best I could manage, resembled bunny ears. A fluffy ball secured the train at the back.’
‘And she hated it.’
‘She loved it!’ Roxy set the mugs, sugar and some cream on a tray. ‘In fact, it wasn’t enough. She wanted whiskers attached to the veil. You know, the part that covers a bride’s face before the groom kisses her.’
‘Forgive me for saying, but, Wacko.’
She plunged the coffee. ‘I said I could do the whiskers … somehow. But then she had another brilliant idea. A bouquet of fresh carrots and she wanted all the guests to wear carrot buttonholes and corsages.’
‘Like I said …’ He wound a finger around near his temple before moving to help with the tray.
She indicated he should set it on the coffee table and admitted, ‘The groom had had enough.’
Roxy lowered down on one side of the three-seater while Nate took the couch’s other end—a relatively safe distance from each other, although given how close he’d come to capturing her on the doorstep a few minutes ago, she wasn’t certain that would last, or whether she really wanted it to. With a remarkably steady hand, she poured his coffee and handed it over.
‘This guy said he loved her carrot cake and fluffy bunny feet slippers, but no way was he wearing carrots. Enough was enough. The disagreement escalated. The wedding was called off. The bride wouldn’t blame her fiancé or herself so she blamed me for not delivering.’
He frowned before his gaze filled with disbelief, then compassion. ‘You’re serious.’
‘It’s not up to me to tell a bride what her expectations of her big day should be—’ she had her own ideas … romantic, tastefully unique ‘—but I’ve learned that sometimes it’s best to follow instinct and suggest perhaps another designer.’
While stirring in sugar, he cast another curious look around and Roxy forced her focus away from the rhythmic motion of his hand and how that smattering of dark hair filtering down one side made her feel a little weak and definitely wanting. Which was a far cry from the stand she’d taken over the preceding six months when she’d sworn they would never lock lips again.
Concentrating to fill her mug and contain her seesawing feelings, she passed another look over the fabric samples and mannequins, and frowned. They really were everywhere.
‘This must look incredibly unnecessary to someone who doesn’t know how to thread a needle.’
‘So you presume.’
About to sip, she arched a brow. ‘Don’t tell me you know how to sew?’
‘My mother tried to teach me to hem once. She said domestic chores weren’t purely women’s work.’
‘What did your dad say?’
‘I think he was busy ironing at the time.’
Roxy chuckled. ‘Did you learn to hem?’
‘I’m relieved to say she gave up on me. Threading that eensy-weensy needle near drove me mad.’
A common dilemma. She set down her mug. ‘Let me introduce you to a common trick of the trade.’
After sourcing a needle from a nearby sewing box, as well as a length of thread and her trusty needle threader, she moved to sit on the padded arm of the couch nearest Nate, but then stopped. Wasn’t she inviting trouble?
On the other hand—if she put a zipper on the voice inside her head—wasn’t a teeny taste of trouble what she wanted?
Implements in hand, she shored herself up and set her behind down on the padded couch arm. She angled slightly so that her doubtful student could see every step.
‘You slot this looped wire through the eye of the needle, like so.’
His head going back, Nate squinted. ‘See. Right there. Already I need a magnifying glass.’
‘You’ll never thread a needle any other way after this.’
‘I’ll never thread a needle again, period.’ Gifting her a dazzling grin that made her insides squeeze and quiver, he took the needle, the threader. He shut one eye, pulled his mouth a certain scrumptious way and poked the wire through. Chuffed, he sat back. ‘Now what?’
‘Run the thread through the opening of the looped wire.’
One eye closed again, he guided the thread through, then let out a deeply satisfied sigh. ‘Next?’
‘You pull the threader back through the eye of the needle and
it’s done.’
‘It can’t be that simple.’
She’d been concentrating on the threader, on the process. But now she felt her hand lightly touching his—or, more precisely, that sexy smattering of dark hair—and a tingling bright sensation fell through her middle, settling into an all too pleasant heat at her core. Had Nate noticed that her breathing was coming slightly faster, that she was leaning that bit closer?
As her heartbeat rushed in her ears, carefully she lifted her gaze.
Nate was looking not at the needle and thread but at her. From the smoke in his usually clear blue eyes, he’d guessed at her avalanche of feelings. When a pulse beat once low on his cheek and he tipped closer, his gaze gravitating to her lips, the brushfires coursing through her blood threatened to turn into an inferno. A knowing grin lifted a corner of his mouth while his gaze stroked her like a lover’s touch.
‘Nope. I still can’t quite seem to get it …’
Short on air, Roxy managed to swallow. Damn the man. Neither could she. Did he want to kiss her or not?
He must have read her mind. Blindly he set the needle and thread on the coffee table, then one big palm curled around her nape while the other cupped her shoulder, winging her gently in. His head angled and gaze intensified as if he was giving her time to truly grasp what was about to unfold, then his essence seemed to fill every part of her, her eyes drifted closed and his mouth at last met hers.
That familiar drugging warmth filtered through her system as Roxy slipped into a state of both blessed relief and spiralling passion while the wet tip of his tongue traced over her lower lip, then slid past her teeth to wind deep and hot inside. With him holding and exploring her, her arms went out to draw him in at the same time any oxygen left in her world evaporated and she surrendered without reserve. As much as she’d like to deny it—deny him—wasn’t this the moment she’d been waiting for?
As she savoured the embrace and his chin grazed her cheek, he manipulated her around until she’d drifted to lie near horizontal, draped over his lap. With one palm cradling her head and his chest rumbling with satisfaction, he proceeded to kiss her more thoroughly than she’d ever been kissed before. Still she needed more.