* * * *
Left staring at the door, Cain examined his ego for bruises. He'd never been on the receiving end of the bum's rush before. Surely that sobering morning exit was “male only” territory. And, Jesus, that last look of Olivia's left him feeling like she'd have gnawed her arm off at the shoulder to get away from him. Still, she hadn't looked like that last night. Last night she'd been positively stunning.
When she accepted his invitation to stay, Cain had thought he might explode right there in the lobby. The very thought of all her creamy skin against his had sent blood to all the most important parts of his body, yet somehow he'd managed to restrain his flaming libido. Over top of the chemistry sparking between them, he'd known what she needed. She was a woman in need of some serious loving. And he'd thought what they'd done had been serious. Christ, more than once last night he'd thought he'd died and gone to Heaven.
With her gorgeous voice washing over him, he'd looked to see her face, the tiny frown between her brows, the teeth gnawing on her bottom lip while she tried containing herself, and wondered if he'd found some kind of wicked angel. Her willingness to let him play with her and the light sheen of perspiration on her moonglow complexion had all conspired to be his undoing.
In an instant, he'd known he wanted more than a single encounter. During the rest of the night he'd decided that Olivia could well make an eternity seem too little. In the cold light of morning, his response to her was tempered with intrigue. If she was “the one,” a term his sisters delighted in using, then there were a few things he needed to know. For starters ... who the hell was she?
CHAPTER THREE
Cool, misty morning air met Olivia's face when she exited the foyer of the Hyatt. Thank God the doorman was different than the one who'd seen her last night. For some reason, she was desperate not to have anyone know what she'd done. No one, not even Charlotte. Especially not Charlotte—her best friend, boss, and the woman who would kick her backside if she found out. Besides an ass-kicking, if Charlotte found out, she would know something was up and Olivia didn't feel like sharing Cain. She wanted to keep those memories to herself, afraid that like photographs, they'd fade with exposure. Maybe that was why her final confrontation with Cain had sapped so much of the joy she'd gleaned from their encounter. His parting comment left a cloud of shame hanging in her chest, squeezing at her heart, threatening to force moisture from her eyes.
Her tram arrived on time. Everything in Melbourne ran on time, punctuality was almost a citywide fetish. Momentarily forgetting she wore high heels, she leapt over the first step, landing incongruously on the second, her ankle buckled beneath her. She swore under her breath. No one, not even the men, stood to offer the woman with the twisted ankle a seat. Typical! For a morning after a night of passion, things really weren't going as planned. Shouldn't she be smiling at strangers and whistling like a bird? Why then this morose mood?
Really, Olivia, she berated her bad mood while grabbing an overhead rail on the tram, why do you care what he thinks? You don't know him and, more importantly, he knows nothing about you. Who is he to judge? His opinion is worthless. Less than nothing! Dwelling on the numerous positives that had sprung from last night, by the time she executed the perfect hop off the tram at her stop she was again humming happily to herself.
The sky threatened rain but she knew better than to take it seriously. The song “Four Seasons in One Day” had been written for Melbourne and every day the city proved the song true. Cloud-filled skies in the morning might well mean a heat wave by lunch time. Most Melbourners knew enough to carry a jacket and an umbrella with them everywhere. The unpredictable climate was probably the reason for the city's reputation as the food and fashion mecca of the country—so much weather to dress for, such varying temperatures to affect the appetite. Food and fashion were definitely her primary reason for loving Melbourne more than any other city she'd ever visited or lived in. Even Paris.
Her apartment in South Yarra didn't hurt her opinion of the city either. Bougainvillaea and wisteria vines twined about the arch leading to the courtyard at the centre of the small complex. White wrought iron chairs and a table placed off to the side provided a place for tenants to sit chatting or reading when the weather got hot. Everyone knew everyone here. All the inhabitants in the block were either long-term tenants or owners. Olivia was an owner. Her parents had purchased the apartment long before South Yarra had become “the” suburb for trendy, up-and-coming thirty-somethings. Repainting and redecorating had been a madness when she'd first moved in, but now the house was her haven. A quiet respite in an otherwise busy world, an otherwise frantic life.
Olivia met with the smell of gardenias when she opened the door and stepped into her living room. They were her favourite flower, and sat in the centre of her coffee table, filling the entire apartment with their heady scent. Dropping her keys and handbag onto the squat antique, she belted through her bedroom into the bathroom. A clawfoot bath begged for her company. Looking at it, she almost decided to give up on today, miss lectures, call in sick for her tutorial, avoid a training session with her Sensei, and just stay at home. Luxuriating in her bath, a book and the pleasant lethargy engulfing her would be bliss. Bits of her body still felt tender.
God, he'd been big. Just the thought of Cain inside her had breath shivering past her lips and her pulse galloping wildly. She was really going to have to get a grip or today could prove impossible.
* * * *
Being late for lectures was hardly a crime. In fact, many students made a ritual of it, arriving bleary-eyed, carrying coffee as though to advertise the hardship of existence. Olivia, on the other hand, was rarely late for anything. On a personal basis she had a ten minute waiting limit. If a date couldn't phone with an explanation, she didn't wait. Feeling uncomfortable while sitting at a table constantly checking her watch was both unproductive and discomfiting. As a consequence, she was uncertain of the protocol for entering a full lecture theatre after the doors had been shut. Inching open the door, praying it wouldn't creak or let in so much light people couldn't see the lecturer's slides, she sneaked into the darkened lecture hall. Hunched over, she crept along the back aisle until she found an empty seat. In the cover of darkness, she flipped open her notebook and pen and flicked off her mobile, hoping to avoid any further rudeness to the man already droning on at the front of the room.
Assiduous note-taking in class led to a porthole of time in which Olivia could run from the lecture she paid to attend to the maths tutorial she was paid to run. Having topped her class in Introductory Engineering Mathematics, getting a job as a tutor in the first year subject had been a cinch. Math was possibly her favourite subject. There were no “ifs", “buts” or “maybes” involved in formulae, only the definitive rules allowing the clever manipulation of numbers for a solution. It thrilled her that she was capable of solving complex numeric problems.
With a mother who had been a dreamy artist and a father in the legal arena, she should not have been hardwired for mathematical aptitude. Apparently, there had been a glitch in her programming, though, because her senior year in high school had seen her blitz exams in all math subjects as well as physics and even chemistry. Teaching others offered the opportunity to pass on not only her knowledge, but also her love of the entire subject. “God is in the details,” Sister Marie had once told her, attempting to convince her heathen prodigy of the deity's existence. If that were true, then the one true god of all engineers should have been maths.
Despite mild feelings of euphoria—obviously great sex was fantastic for the psyche—for the rest of the day, details consumed Olivia. Details of students, lectures, assignments and, most importantly, exam details. All provided fine distractions from the infinitely more delicious details lingering in the back of her head. The finer points about the taste of Cain, the look of him, definitely the smell of him. How he'd made her feel small and protected, even cared for. If she was lucky, those finer points, the physical reality of him, the craving h
e created, would fade over time leaving her with only memories ... of the best sex of her life.
Exiting the university gates, Olivia reached into her bag to turn on her cell phone. Instantly it beeped at her, complaining about missed calls and messages left. Two of the missed calls were from Charlotte. Deciding it was both quicker and easier to walk to the martial arts center today, she pushed the button that would dial her best friend's mobile.
"Bonjour, comment faites-vous, cheri?"
"Je suis bien, et tu"
"Merci, bien."
Dispensing with the small, friendly formalities of life in French, Charlotte flipped automatically to her boss voice and English. “Olivia, Cain Warner has rung already today. He wants you to meet with him and his clients tonight."
Standing at the door of the dojo, she frowned, biting her lip. “I don't know, Charlotte. It might not be a good idea."
"Really, why not? Did something go wrong last night? Are you busy?"
"No, nothing went wrong.” Nothing I'm ever telling you about anyway. “I'm not busy ... I just don't know."
"Tres bien! I'll tell him you're coming. He wants you to meet them at Seven."
"Seven o'clock, right.” Fumbling through her bag, Olivia fished out her diary and a pen. Lid between her teeth, she began filling in the seven o'clock space.
"No, cheri. Seven the club."
Well, of course. Only the best, hottest, most exclusive club around. Perfect place for a business meeting ... Ha! “Time?"
Charlotte giggled, presumably at Olivia's sudden numeric confusion “Ten."
Ugh, a late afternoon nap was definitely going to be necessary. One night and the man was already messing with her cushy lifestyle. She barely refrained from stamping her foot. This wasn't meant to happen. One night stands were only meant to last one night. There was not meant to be an encore!
* * * *
Walking into the gym turned training dojo, Olivia felt the weight of worry lift from her shoulders. Here there was focus and no room for distractions. Training was hot, sweaty and exhilarating. She loved the challenge of sparring with people bigger and more skilled than she was. Got a real buzz from sneaking in an unexpected throw or kick, just to keep them busy. She especially liked the physical and mental discipline necessary to excel. As with her studies, she thrilled to the challenge, enjoying the very real possibility that she could be excellent.
"You're well and truly ready for your grading. Are you stoked?” Her sensei sounded almost more excited about her promotion to brown belt than she was.
"I won't get excited until it happens.” She smiled. “If I don't get my hopes up, I won't be disappointed."
"Not a chance of disappointment, honey. You're doing great!” Her Sensei was barely her height but built like an armoured car. He'd been her first sensei, been the one to hand over her yellow belt the day of her first grading and knew she used her martial arts training as an escape hatch rather than a form of self-defence. He knew when to push and when to leave her be. Over the years they'd developed a rapport that allowed for casual interaction rather than the often terse instruction many senseis provided. Still, he never paid undue compliments, so his encouragement was enough to keep Olivia smiling all the way home.
At home, she ate slowly, retiring after dinner to her beloved bath. Warm water and bubbles worked almost as well as a massage after a workout. With her hair pinned up, her eyes closed, she leaned back against the bath and envisioned Cain and how he might feel in a bath with her. Would she let him take her to bed again tonight? Probably. Why not? It was bound to be a fantastic experience. If she was going to do something stupid, she might as well make it worthwhile. She grinned, sinking lower into the bubbles. A two night stand just meant twice the pleasure, didn't it?
With that thought in her mind, Olivia dressed for him. She kept her hair up—all the better for him to nip at her neck—wore a dress easily undone—finicky buttons were so distressing in the heat of the moment—and painted her toes, just in case he should see them.
* * * *
Cain felt Olivia's presence before he saw her. Standing outside Seven opposite the yellow brick building of Flinders Street Station, it was a wonder he had any neurons left to sense her. At night Flinders Street was floodlit. The sandstone building became a spectacle of yellow, red and dark shadowy curves standing out from the night sky. Here, where the old buildings were as famous as the new, where European style meshed with cocky Australian attitude, he remembered why he always came home. Hair rising on the back of his neck, he spotted her looking for him. Watching her stand in the circle of white light shed by a streetlight, he could well imagine that she would keep a man coming home forever. Apparently, she was unaware of the fact every male within a block and a half radius was watching her, too. If she knew, she obviously didn't care.
"Bonjour encore."
A jolt of recognition caught his breath. Between the proximity and the smell of her, he was nearly crawling out of his skin, never mind the French. The accent brought flashbacks he didn't need while standing in a public place. Her dress was a printed silk, seemingly held together only by the string around her neck. A bow in the string was the only thing keeping the blue-grey fabric on her body. His fingers itched to pull on the tail of that bow.
It was not going to be an easy night.
Gritting his teeth, mentally bringing himself back under control while she greeted the Turkish entourage in German, he watched the incline of her head when she responded to their welcome. The way she laughed shyly at their frank admiration of her appearance was another contradiction. From the confident way she stood, the daring way she dressed, she obviously knew she was stunning. Why the coy behaviour in the face of a compliment then?
Olivia led them into the club, where even the bouncers paid admiring attention to her form. Cain noted the way she changed her stride to suit the music ... Ms. Maigret could strut! Every one of her footfalls landed in time with the beat, causing her divine body to sway with the rhythm. The Turkish women obviously thought they'd found a kindred spirit. They flocked about her, encouraging her closer to the dance floor. Catching her elbow, he indicated that he and the men would be upstairs in the soundproofed lounge area while she and the women danced.
"You are not thinking business tonight my friend.” Ali bey commented toward the end of their conversation, when Cain's gaze once again drifted to Olivia on the dance floor. “It is good to see. I would not waste any time with business at all if such a woman was on my horizon."
"My apologies. Shall we order a drink and continue this later?"
"There is nothing to continue my friend. I agree with all your suggestions. Now shall we settle to watching your prey?"
Cain's gaze shot across to the man and all three of the foreigners laughed at his consternation. “The women say you hunt her like a wolf. Good hunters never lose sight of their prey."
The words hit him like a punch in the chest. Was that what he was doing? Hell, yes! The scene below him changed; Olivia had a male partner. He felt himself, and all the men in the room with him, tense in reaction.
* * * *
On the dance floor, Olivia was having a great time. The Turkish women were teaching her some of the dance moves popular in Turkish nightclubs. Involving a great deal of hip and hand movement, the women reminded her of belly dancing harem girls, and copying them made her feel extraordinarily sexual. Apparently one of the latest hit songs on the Australian scene had been done in Turkish first. It had just begun, as per her request, when male hands slid down her hips. She knew instantly it wasn't Cain—he was more electric than this. Looking back, she found Shae, a guy from her fourth year marine studies class.
"Well, who would've thought I'd find you here, Miss Priss?” He leaned down, speaking directly into her ear, so she could hear him. The boys from the marine class had referred to her as Miss Priss constantly. Her innate desire for preparation, conscientious study habits and failure to attend any of the parties organised by the “in crowd
” participating in the course had led to her become the class enigma. In classes with them, she felt like an insect—interesting to look at but not really welcome at a party.
Smiling back at the guy, she teased, “Who would have thought you could dance at all."
"Oh, I can dance all right. Why don't you get a little closer and let me show you."
Laughter died in her throat, when Cain's angry expression appeared over the younger man's shoulder. “Do you mind if I cut in? I need to speak with my date."
Shae's smile and posture wilted in the heat of Cain's glare. Cain's fingers bit into Olivia's forearm as he dragged her closer. “According to our Turkish friends...” his jaw tilted in the direction of the men now observing them carefully, “I either need to punish that boy or I need to discipline you. Seeing as I have no desire to lay my hands on some poor child, I think I'll choose you."
Dragging her out the front door, he led her to the park behind the club. While the grassy area was well lit, the edges close to the building were black as ink. Olivia would have protested if he were anyone else. If he were anyone else, she might well have thrown him right off his feet. But, in truth, she liked that he reacted to her this way, already her body was zinging with anticipation.
"Cain, what are you doing?” He'd turned, catching her mid thought, grabbed her by her upper arms and pushed her backward into the blackness, up against the wall.
"What am I doing?” Olivia couldn't tell if it was anger or just tension making his voice so tight and terse. His query made her question sound ludicrous. “What were you thinking, playing with someone else when I've paid for the pleasure of your company?"
Not For Sale Page 4