Playing For Fun

by Tracey Alvarez

  Too late for that now.

  The best he could hope for was that he’d be strong enough to let her walk away.

  ***

  Writteninthestars.com Daily Horoscope.

  Pisces.

  Make a decision and commit to it 100%. Stand up for what you believe in and make your move while the stars are aligned. Carpe diem.

  An evening at the pub was the last thing Holly needed after eight long hours on her feet at the grocery store, then another two doing a shampoo and set for Mrs. Taylor and a root touch up for Claire Westlake.

  Mrs. Taylor, of course, had pumped Holly for information on Dixie since Mrs. T. hadn’t been well enough to take the trip to Invercargill this week to visit. Not to mention the gleam in the old woman’s eyes as she recounted the sudden appearance of at least a dozen eligible women who’d arrived on the island.

  A text arrived while Holly had blow-dried Claire’s hair.

  Need to talk about this shit-fest. Meet you behind pub ASAP? I’m playing in an hour.

  Holly had returned the phone to her pocket and continued blow-drying—thankful the roar of the hairdryer prevented any conversation. Her phone vibrated against her hip a minute later. Then again…and again. She ignored it.

  Later, she’d checked Ford’s messages, which were along the same lines of “hey I’m getting real desperate here” but without so many words. She took pity on him, agreeing to meet in twenty minutes. If she had to show up at Due South tonight, with a bunch of women vying for Ford’s attention, like hell would she look frazzled and ready for a Valium Happy Hour.

  Though she totally was.

  Ever since their night together, Holly had been running on low-grade panic, because after that one-time thing?

  She, wanted, more.

  Holly chose her outfit carefully. A simple cobalt-blue dress that clung to her curves and showed enough cleavage and leg to flatter and tease but stopped short of the skank-line. She paired the dress with her favourite leather jacket—and yes, smiled a little at the memory of Ford’s jacket wrapped around her—and she was off.

  She heard Due South before the brightly lit windows came into view. The pub was pumping, the sound of multiple raised voices a dull roar surging out into the night air and carrying down the road. Heels clicking on the damp pavement, Holly walked along the foreshore, the hiss of tiny waves crossing the sand soothing her jitters.

  She paused, leaning on the railing that separated the road from the drop to the beach below. Out in the harbor, boat silhouettes swayed as the island currents swelled around them. She breathed in a lungful of briny air, filling her lungs.

  “Suck it up while you can, Hol,” she whispered. “Swapping this for exhaust fumes and views of grotty student flats next month.”

  Which was what she wanted, of course. She’d said so again, when she’d stopped in at MacKenna’s on a break from the hospital in Invers earlier that week.

  Holly puffed out a sigh, the misty cloud drifting away into the star-speckled sky, and continued toward the pub. She turned down the street running along Due South’s side then followed the walkway cutting between the hotel and the low building housing extra accommodation behind it. She jumped when Ford stepped out of the shadows.

  Black jeans, black shirt, black eyes hot on her as he spun her around and backed her to the wall. He braced his forearms either side of her shoulders, lust-fuelled heat pumping off him in sexy, do-me waves. Her nipples instantly went on high alert, and she breathed in spicy cologne and testosterone.

  “You startled me,” she said, stating the damn obvious.

  Ford made a rumbly sound in his throat. It could’ve been an apology or even a Ford-ish version of a wolf-whistle, but either way, her body reacted as if he’d dialled her “turn-me-on” knob to full. He dipped his head, mouth only inches away.

  A woman’s laughter sliced through the darkness, coming from one of the nearby hotel rooms. Ford took her hand and led her down the path toward the kitchen door. On one side of the door, Donny, West’s ugly but adorable mutt lay sprawled in his bed, completely flaked out. He cracked open a bleary eye, recognized her and Ford and shut it again, letting out a huge canine yawn.

  “The text I sent you earlier?” Ford sat down on the staff bench opposite Donny. “About those three women?”

  Holly fixed her lips in a solemn expression and sat beside him. “Your fan club.”

  “Yeah.” Ford grimaced. “Well, there’s more than just those three waiting for me inside.”

  “Ah. This would be the shit-fest you mentioned.”

  “Dad had to shut the roller doors after the third group of women rocked up.”

  Holly crossed her legs, a flash of warmth curling through her as Ford tracked the movement. “Sucks to be you. All these gorgeous women arriving on the island just to have a shot with you.”

  “They’ve no shot, and you know it.” He laid a hand on her knee, sliding it up her bare skin, dipping his fingertips under the hem of her dress.

  Tingles didn’t stop where Ford’s hand did at mid-thigh. No, they streaked up farther, sparking a forest fire in Ladytown.

  Ford’s brow crinkled. “You do know it, right? You’re not thinking—”

  Holly placed her hand over Ford’s and squeezed. “No, I’m not thinking you’re a player who’d take advantage of women hoping to meet a nice man.”

  “That’s something.”

  “What are you going to do about them?” she asked.

  Ford dragged a hand through his hair. “Kinda hoping they’d go away if I ignored them.”

  “The ostrich treatment?”

  “My signature move,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

  “That would work with some women. You do cool disinterest well.”

  The kitchen door banged open. “Yo, Ford, you out here?” West stepped outside, did a double take when he spotted Holly sitting next to Ford. “Oh. You are—and with Holly.” He gave her a distracted smile then turned his attention to Ford. “Natives are getting restless in there. Especially that group of women front and center to the mic—they’re looking hungry, you know what I mean.”

  “Damn.” Ford’s head thunked against the wall.

  Holly patted his leg. “Tough crowd, huh?”

  West chuckled. “Suck it up, sunshine. The pub’s packed. Standing room only.”

  “At least one of us is bloody happy about it.” Ford stood with a sigh and held out his hand to help Holly to her feet. “Let’s see how long they stay when I kick off with Barry Manilow.”

  “Try it, and I’ll personally beat you senseless.” West flicked a hand at them both and said, “Go ‘round front. The kitchen’s slammed, and Shaye is in a boil-your-balls mood.” He disappeared inside and slammed the door.

  Ford and Holly retraced their steps down the side of the hotel until they reached the sidewalk.

  “Are you nervous?” she asked as they walked closer to the brightly lit pub windows.

  “About playing to a full house?”

  Holly nodded, even though she’d been thinking more along the lines of “nervous singing in front of women who are imagining you naked and covered in chocolate sauce”.

  Or maybe that was just her…

  “Nah.” He slanted her a glance shot through with male appreciation. “Though I won’t be able to look at you tonight. I’ll forget the lyrics.”

  “You never forget the lyrics.”

  “I’ve never thought about taking you to West’s office and banging you on his desk, either—but I will tonight.”

  Since they were now right outside the pub’s windows, Holly couldn’t climb him like a tree and kiss the hell out of him. But that’s all she could think about.

  Ford opened the door leading into the pub, lowering his mouth to the level of her ear as she moved past him inside. “Later?”

  A warm hand rested on the curve of her hip. White heat swam through her veins like a thousand tiny, incandescent fish, lighting her up from the inside out.

&
nbsp; People jostled past them, carrying bottles and wine glasses, edging their way through dozens of warm bodies to their tables—if they were lucky enough to have one. Noise from two dozen conversations swirled around, and her small sound of agreement disappeared into it.

  Ford patted her hip. “Go grab yourself a drink. Tell Kip to put it on my tab.”

  Then he was gone, ploughing through the crowd, calling out to the locals, sliding into his Ford the amicable Maori fella here to entertain persona as easily as donning a jacket.

  Holly spotted Piper at a table, a spare seat between her and Mrs. Taylor. The elderly woman glowered over the chair like Donny protecting a bone. Stomach too full of butterflies at the moment to risk dumping alcohol on top, Holly headed over to them. Mrs. Taylor spotted her approach, and her scowl transformed into a grin.

  “Saved you a seat,” she said. “Piper and I fought folks off with my walking sticks, haven’t we, dear?”

  Expecting snark from her friend, Holly frowned, her stomach getting another jolt of adrenalin when Piper’s worried eyes met hers.

  “What’s wrong?” Holly slid into the empty seat, her gaze immediately dropping to Piper’s rounded belly. “Are you okay?”

  Piper waved a dismissing hand. “I’m fine.” Then she leaned in and lowered her voice. “But I’m worried about Ford. Check out the duo two tables from our usual spot.”

  Holly lifted her butt from the chair again and craned her neck. In the corner, with a clear view of Ford tuning of his guitar, sat a blonde in trendy spectacles talking rapid-fire into her phone.

  “Isn’t that…?” she began.

  “Yeah,” said Piper. “Charlotte Cooper, bitch-in-a-can reporter who threw me under a bus when those whales got stranded last year. She got the boot from the TV station, but she’s working for the Invercargill Tribune, writing community features. Least that’s what she’s telling anyone who’ll listen.”

  Holly sat down, thigh muscles quivering. “Think she’s here because of that blog post?”

  “Catching wind of Harley Komeke’s twin brother desperate to find a woman via online dating? Just the kind of small-minded, sensational drivel Charlotte would devour like candy.”

  “Oh, God.” An avalanche of icy rocks squashed Holly’s stomach butterflies flat. “She’s going to make Ford’s life a living hell with all this unwanted publicity.”

  Mrs. Taylor rapped the hook of her walking stick against the table. “What’re you two on about? Ford can have his pick of women once blondie does a feature on him.” Then her lip curled. “Not one of them tarted-up dollies up the front, though. He needs a proper girlfriend.”

  Piper gave Holly a long stare that would’ve had a lesser woman—or a criminal—spilling their guts. Then she addressed Mrs. Taylor. “Betsy, I think what Holly is trying to say is that Ford should have a woman who wants him for him. Not because of some publicity stunt set into motion by a second-rate reporter who wants to capitalize on Harley’s celebrity status.”

  Mrs. Taylor harrumphed. “Harley’s not a celebrity here; he’s just one of our boys.” Then she sighed. “You’re right, though. We don’t want some little tramp chasing Ford for the wrong reasons.”

  Up front, Ford tapped the mic. “Kia ora, everyone. I’m Ford, for the few of you who don’t know me. Everyone having a good night?”

  Whistles and hollers erupted through the crowd. Yep, everyone was having a great night.

  Especially the women in front, their gazes locked and loaded on six feet of denim-wrapped male hotness, who fingered his guitar in a way that made Holly go all lightheaded.

  “How about some Clapton to start us off?” Ford picked out a few notes, his lips curving as his gaze swept through the crowd and settled on Holly.

  Movement in the corner of Holly’s eyes, and then—

  “Ford, before you start—” Charlotte had moved out from their table and edged closer to the mic, her phone extended in his direction. “Charlotte Cooper, Invercargill Tribune. Could you make a quick statement for our community interest section?” Charlotte continued.

  The smile on Ford’s face vanished, replaced with a blank mask.

  Charlotte chose to interpret his silence as encouragement.

  “Tell us how the whole search for love is going.” Charlotte oozed through the crowded tables to stand behind the front row of women. “If having such a famous”—a throaty chuckle—“or should I say infamous brother makes it harder for you to find a woman?”

  Holly left her chair and wove through the tables toward the front before her brain finished sending an order to her legs. She didn’t know whether to tackle that nasty little parasite Charlotte first, or go three shades of crazy on the three smirking women in the front row—but she had to do something.

  Charlotte touched the shoulders of two of the women. “Would you like to give any of these lovely ladies here tonight your bachelor rose, Ford? See anyone you’d like to take home?”

  Ducking around the mic stand, Holly wrangled herself into position at Ford’s side. She snugged herself up to his hip and wrapped an arm around his waist.

  Ford’s gaze locked with hers, and she forgot about every, single, other, person, in-the-room.

  Rising on tip toe, she bunched his shirt in her fist and dragged his mouth to hers. Their lips collided, adjusted, melted…all to the background explosion of alcohol-fuelled applause. She’d planned—if you could call mindless instinct planning—to kiss him for a couple of seconds. Proving a point. Somehow, that couple of seconds spun into ten before she dropped down on her heels and pulled away.

  Holly plucked the microphone out of the stand.

  “Ms. Cooper—ladies,” she said, wincing as her voice came out breathier than she’d anticipated. No freaking wonder, considering her heart was lodged in her throat. “Ford Komeke is off the market. And the only woman he’s taking home tonight, and every night from now on, is me.”

  “You hear that?” crowed Mrs. Taylor from their table. “So back off, bitches.”

  Cue the pub erupting…and Charlotte Cooper stomping back to her table.

  Holly glanced up at Ford, who stared at her with a mixture of appreciation, affection and…sadness? The emotion, if that’s what it was, evaporated in an instant, replaced with Ford’s cat got the cream grin. He kissed her cheek then swatted her butt.

  Holly slid the mic into the stand and left the stage, the blush heating her cheeks spreading into a full-body-rash as locals got busy with the standard fare of teasing and ribald comments.

  Ford found his voice again. “She’s right. I’m claimed. And this one’s for her,” he added, and launched into a cover of Bryan Adams’ I Think About You.

  Chapter 16

  “We should’ve just stayed in bed.” Seated across from Ford in Due South’s restaurant, Holly stabbed her scrambled eggs with a fork. “I like your bed.” Her brown eyes went misty. “Scratch that—I’m in love with your bed.”

  Ford upended the tomato sauce bottle over his bacon, sausage, eggs, mushrooms and hash browns. “I like you in my bed, too.” He kept his voice low and intimate.

  And he intended to keep her there as often as possible.

  Her dark lashes lowered, a small smile curving her lips—lips a few shades pinker this morning since not even lip balm could soothe away slight stubble rash. Last night was one for his mental scrapbooking collection.

  He’d taken her to his place, and they’d made it half way down the hallway before limbs and clothing ended up in a tangle. She’d surrendered against the wall beside his bathroom, and he’d claimed the hell out of her right then and there, leaving them both a trembling, sweaty mess…a conveniently located sweaty mess, because he’d then instigated round two in his shower.

  They made it to the pillow-topped mattress eventually and spent the rest of the night keeping each other entertained between the sheets. Neither of them had enough energy this morning to cook breakfast.

  “And I seem to recall breakfast at Due South was your idea,” he a
dded.

  Lani bustled by with a loaded breakfast special in each hand and another plate balanced on her forearm. She lifted her chin in acknowledgement, rolling her eyes to the left, where Charlotte Cooper had sat down at the last available table.

  Holly leaned forward once Lani moved out of earshot. “I can’t be held responsible for my bright ideas when I’ve only had two hours sleep the night before.”

  “Two hours, but how many orgasms?” he whispered.

  “Lost count.”

  He smirked, and she stomped on his toe under the table.

  “Hey.” He grinned at her. “Most girlfriends would play footsies with their man.”

  “Most would,” she agreed. “But I’m not most.” She slanted a look sideways.

  Two tables over sat the trio who’d first arrived in his workshop—all of them sending wave after wave of eviscerating glances in Holly and Ford’s direction.

  Holly’s mouth twisted in a grimace before settling into a neutral line. She stabbed her eggs again. “This is just about appearances for your fan-girls, right?” Holly lowered her voice, so only he could hear. “Because we both know I’m not really your girlfriend. I’m just playing the role of your girlfriend until this stupid publicity dies down.”

  “And until you move to Invers.” The words felt wooden in his mouth, and his gut clenched.

  The tines on Holly’s fork screeched on china as she laid the fork down on the plate. Ford stuffed a chunk of hash brown into his mouth to keep his tongue occupied. Otherwise, he’d blurt out that the thought of her leaving was like a nail bomb explosion in his gut. Or the suspicion that his bone-deep weakness, the part of him broken and scarred, already needed Holly way beyond reason. And if he needed her so much, if he allowed that need to bind his hands and drag him kicking and screaming over the edge to falling in love with her…well. That kind of thinking required a padded cell and a cosy white jacket with wrap-around sleeves.