“Good morning, Mrs D.” She’d inherited Mr and Mrs Duval along with the Hunters Hill property from her late great-grandmother two years ago. They loved the house as much as she did, and she’d never dream of letting them go. But despite having known them all her life, to even think about calling them by their first names verged on sacrilege.
“Good morning, madam.” Mrs Duval’s reserved manner was belied by her warm smile. “Mr Wallis has just arrived. Would you like me to show him out here?”
Willow’s sense of serenity from her early morning yoga session vanished. What the hell was Seb doing here at this time of the morning? She hadn’t even had a shower yet. And while Seb was only her friend and there was no reason why she should give her appearance a second thought when it came to him, the problem was—she did.
“No, I’ll come inside.” It would be easy enough to dash upstairs and make herself look presentable. But she hadn’t even reached the French doors when Seb strolled out.
For a second she simply froze as she drank in the perfection that was Sebastian Wallis in the flesh. 6’4” of lethal masculinity, his toned body radiating raw sex appeal that she still found as irresistible as she had the first time they’d met nine years ago.
“Hi, Willow.” How could he make a perfectly normal greeting sound so sinfully suggestive? No wonder he had legions of groupies hanging breathlessly onto his every word. He leaned in, slid his hand over her arm and kissed her cheek.
She tried not to breathe in his evocative cologne, but as always the musky undertones sizzled through her blood and made a beeline for her pussy. It was so bloody unfair. He affected her as much now as he had when she’d been an awkward seventeen year old.
“I thought you were still in Melbourne.” Thank God she didn’t sound as though she wanted to shove him up against the nearest wall and shag him senseless. She swallowed and tightened her grip on her towel. Just lately her fantasies involving Seb were spiralling out of control. She obviously needed to get laid.
It had, after all, been a while.
His fingers trailed the length of her arm and goose bumps erupted, sending a thousand electric sparks skittering over her exposed skin.
“We wrapped up the current series yesterday so I hopped on the first plane back.” He offered her his trademark smile, the one that had helped boost the ratings of his bestselling syndicated In Your Hands self-help show by snaring the libidos of countless women across the world.
But she had seen that smile first. Before he’d become a hot commodity and darling of the celebrity set. Before he’d even sold his first international blockbuster at the crazy age of twenty-two; the catalyst that had catapulted his career on its current trajectory.
“I didn’t think you’d be coming back to Sydney before your book launch. It’s next week, isn’t it?” She knew exactly when the launch for his third book was. Next Tuesday in New York at three pm local time.
“Yeah. I was going to fly straight there from Melbourne but I had a change of plan.”
“Well, it’s always good to see you.” Despite her best intentions, her gaze slid over him. His shirt collar was undone, giving a tantalising glimpse of bared chest, and the casual pants hugged his tight butt and did nothing to disguise the mouth-watering vision of his hard thighs.
Not that Seb needed designer clothes to look good. She should know. The first time she’d seen him he’d been wearing paint-splattered shorts that had seen better years and a well-worn t-shirt that had showed off his ripped muscles as though he was an exotic dancer.
He was like no other guy she’d met before. From the wrong side of the tracks, barely twenty and lounging on one of her mother’s kitchen stools as though he had every right to be there, his easy charm and fascinating conversation had enthralled her.
Her stupid heart was half in love with him by the time her mother got home and she discovered Seb was more than just a labourer working on her mother’s renovations.
He was her mother’s latest plaything.
Even after all these years she couldn’t bring herself to think about that. It was gross and humiliating and so she turned and went inside the house, Seb by her side.
Every piece of furniture, rug and accessory in the room was aligned to allow the harmonious flow of chi, and Seb had been here together with her countless times in the past. But today, as his arm casually brushed hers, a rush of energy swirled around them both, sucking the air from her lungs and leaving her oddly light-headed.
She cast him a furtive glance. He appeared supremely unaware of the shift in the delicate balance of yin and yang that she strived so hard to maintain in her life. It was a crazy thought, but she had the strange conviction a powerful dragon had entered her ordered existence.
But then if anyone embodied the dragon’s powerful energy, it was Seb. She pushed the thought aside. She wasn’t going to start thinking of him as a dragon. Because that conjured up erotic images of chains and fire and a smoking hot dragon shifter that just so happened to have the wild black hair and tautly muscled body of Seb.
She smothered a groan. She was in desperate need of some sex. If only Sebastian Wallis wasn’t so totally off limits.
“I need a favour.”
Willow dragged her mind from the gutter, where it was enjoying itself far too much, and raised her eyebrows. “Sure. What is it?”
“To crash here until my flight on Thursday.”
She stared at him, trying to figure out if he was joking. He didn’t look as though he was. She cleared her throat and tried not to imagine him crashing in her bed. Because it would never happen, no matter how outrageously Seb might flirt with her on occasion.
“Isn’t that inconvenient for you?” He had an apartment in the city. Why did he want to stay here with her? For three nights? She wasn’t sure any amount of meditation would get her through the trauma of having Seb living with her 24/7. Not without him guessing she didn’t, and had never, looked at him in a purely platonic way.
“I thought the kitchen renos would be finished by the time I got back, but it’s chaos.”
He was having his kitchen renovated? Why didn’t she know about that? She took a deep breath. If any of her girlfriends had turned up with the same request, she wouldn’t think twice about saying yes. How many times over the last three years had she told Seb he was just like a girlfriend to her? She wasn’t sure he’d ever believed her, but here was her chance to prove she meant it. Even though she didn’t.
“Of course you can stay.” She took a couple of backward steps towards the hall. “I’ll ask Mrs D to fix the spare room for you.” But which spare room? The one on the ground floor with its own private deck, or the one next to her own bedroom that shared her balcony?
Seb kept the laconic smile on his face until Willow disappeared from view. Then he heaved a sigh and raked his hand through his hair.
Stage one of his plan was in place. Now all he had to do was convince her they belonged together. This week was his last ditch attempt to make things work between them. He’d tried everything over the last three years, but clearly subtly was overrated. He had to make Willow face his past and accept him, faults and all. She might be able to carry on forever with them being nothing more than friends, but it was driving him insane.
He wanted it all, or they had nothing. How much longer could she hold one stupid juvenile mistake against him?
What horny twenty year old wouldn’t have fucked the glamorous socialite, Amber Fairview, when she handed it to them on a gold leaf plate? For a week he’d met her after the rest of the tradies working on her bathroom remodelling had gone home. For a week he’d enjoyed seeing how the other half lived. And not once had he dreamed Amber, eighteen years his senior, had a grown daughter. The only photos of Willow around the palatial mansion had been of her as a child. He’d barely glanced at them.
And then he’d met her.
It had taken him six years before he’d found the nerve to contact her again.
“If you’d like to
follow me, sir.” Mrs Duval appeared in the doorway and he grabbed his luggage and followed her up the stairs. He’d liked the house from the moment he’d helped Willow move in a couple of years ago. It wasn’t a mansion but there was no mistaking the quiet affluence that permeated the sandstone walls; and the location and established grounds that led down to the reserve were priceless.
As he passed the open door to her office he glanced inside. Willow designed her exclusive jewellery from home and her handmade pieces were coveted by the rich and famous for red carpet events. Then again, Willow had contacts that other designers could only lust over. She’d spent half her childhood growing up in Hollywood until Amber and her movie star husband divorced.
His gaze snagged on the delicate gold phoenix figurine he’d given her for Christmas. It was on her desk, in pride of place. He knew she liked it. She’d been thrilled when she opened it. But despite tracing her finger all over the exquisite piece he had specially commissioned, she had completely missed the significance of the curlicue swirls the phoenix stood on.
He tightened his grip on his holdall as he followed Mrs Duvall into the spare bedroom. For three years he had played by Willow’s rules.
Now it was time she played by his.
It was almost an hour before Willow emerged from her bedroom at the other end of the balcony. Forearms leaning on the timber rail, he turned and watched her slowly make her way towards him.
Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail, enhancing her aristocratic cheekbones and big hazel eyes that had haunted him from the day they’d met. Her skin was flawless thanks to her genetic heritage, and if she was wearing any make-up he couldn’t see it.
“All settled in?” She rested one hand on the railing next to his and her scent drifted in the warm air, a subtle hint of roses and jasmine. Her pale green dress clung in all the right places and her cleavage taunted him with promises of hedonistic delights.
His cock thickened and he battled the primitive urge to pull her into the bedroom and fuck her until she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone Amber’s.
Now wasn’t the time. He had a plan, and he would execute it or die trying.
Willow stared up at him, her beautifully shaped eyebrows raised in enquiry. What the fuck had she asked him? He couldn’t recall. Somehow he managed to locate his voice.
“You off out somewhere?” Shit, he sounded raspy, as though he had a sore throat. Instead of frowning at his random remark Willow’s eyes darkened and the tip of her tongue slid along the seam of her lips. With any other woman he’d take that as an invitation to taste those pouty lips. But Willow wasn’t any other woman. She stubbornly refused to act on the lust that simmered between them. If he kissed her now he could kiss goodbye to the steamy night he had in mind.
“No.” Was it his overheated imagination or was her voice husky too? Stealthily he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but it did nothing to ease the pressure of his erection. “Henriette’s coming over in ten minutes. It’s my turn to host the girls’ dinner this Thursday.”
Just his luck he’d picked the week she was hosting the dinner. She always got so stressed out about it. What did it matter if a flower was out of place or one course was a few minutes late?
And seriously, why did she give a fuck about being compared unfavourably with Amber? It was beyond his understanding how Willow could imagine anyone would think that in any case. But if there was one subject they never spoke about, it was her mother.
He wasn’t looking forward to that particular talk this week, but if they didn’t thrash out the whole Amber business he and Willow didn’t stand a chance.
“You should throw them a barbie. I could man the grill for you.”
“Thanks but no. It’s all arranged. Henriette and I are just double-checking the details.”
Even as she spoke he could detect the slight tensing of her muscles. By the time Thursday rolled around she’d be wound up tighter than a spring.
Come to think of it, this could work to his advantage. It definitely gave him an added weapon in his arsenal tonight and he had no compunction in using it.
He turned away from her so she couldn’t see his grin and picked up a bag he’d left on a chair. “Here.” He handed it to her. “My latest masterpiece.”
Her face lit up. “Thanks. I’ve been looking forward to reading it.” She took the complimentary copy of his latest book from the bag and flicked through it. He saw her take a moment to read the dedication, and even though the sane part of him knew she wouldn’t connect any dots, disappointment stabbed through him when she didn’t comment.
He had the mad urge to grab the book from her and spell it out, but what good was that? It would make him look like a fucking try-hard. He could only hope one day she’d open up her eyes enough to see what he’d been telling her for years.
“Your fans are very lucky you dedicate all your books to them.” She cast him a mocking smile, and since he had no answer to that he once again leaned his forearms on the rail and stared down the hill towards the river.
When his second book was released just over two years ago the media had pounced on his cryptic dedication. Since he’d never clarified what he meant, they had started the myth that he dedicated his books to his legions of fans. They didn’t appear to attach any importance to the fact that his first book, with a similar dedication, had been written before anyone had heard of him.
“Well, I have to dash.” Willow patted his arm as though he was a puppy, although the way her fingers lingered before finally breaking contact only reinforced the sultry undercurrents that seethed between them and which she was so determined to ignore.
“Sure. Have fun.” He watched her stroll back to the French doors that led to her bedroom, her dress moulding the outline of her waist and arse with provocative intent.
He gripped the rail before pushing himself upright. It was time to set his strategy in motion.
Willow stretched on the massive circular daybed on the lawn and stole a sideways glance at Seb. He was sprawled on the nearby sun bed and in the evening shadows looked dark, dangerous and highly fuckable.
Instead of instantly squashing the thought, she savoured it, along with another sip of her cognac. Whether it was his presence, the brandy or both she didn’t know, but she was feeling happily mellow about life in general and tonight in particular.
Would he take it the wrong way if she invited him to snuggle up on the daybed? Could she be trusted to keep her hands to herself if he accepted her invitation?
Since that was debatable she consoled herself with another sip of amber heaven.
Seb stirred; all long limbs and lithe body. “Have the Duvals knocked off for the night yet?”
“Mmm.” They had their own flat above the detached garage block. “Why?”
He sat on the edge of the daybed and loomed over her. His black hair brushed his collar and the heat from his body enveloped her. She tipped the final drop of brandy down her throat in an effort to distract her libido from his overwhelming aura of raw sexuality. And failed with spectacular honours.
“There’s something I want to try tonight. I need your help and I don’t want any interruptions.”
“Sounds like fun.” Filthy images filled her mind. Thank God it was too dark for Seb to see how hot her face was. Whatever he had in mind, she was sure it didn’t involve sweaty sex. They might enjoy casual flirting, but they’d reached the unspoken agreement three years ago that friends with benefits wasn’t for them.
And what a relief that was. She’d rather die a thousand deaths than confess how she really felt about him. Because it was all far too complicated.
“I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.” He stood up and she waved her glass at him.
“Bring me another one when you come out, will you?”
He took her glass and his teeth flashed in a surprisingly predatory smile. “Not likely, Willow. You won’t be any good to me tonight if you’re pissed.”
S
he scowled in mock outrage at his retreating back. “It takes more than a couple of cognacs to get me pissed, Wallis.” She didn’t often use his surname on its own, which was weird when she thought about it. All his mates from before he became rich and famous still called him Wallis. Even her mother had referred to him by that name.
Willow sometimes wondered why he’d introduced himself to her as Seb, when it obviously wasn’t the name he went by at the age of twenty. It wasn’t even the name he went by now, most of the time.
She wriggled back into the plump cushions and crossed her ankles. The brandy caused a warm glow to slide through her blood and pool between her thighs. She sighed and shifted, but if anything that just made things worse.
She stretched her arms over her head and linked her fingers together before she was tempted to do anything else with them. She’d save that for later, when she was alone in her own bed and she could fantasise about Seb without fear of him catching her.
The hum of cicadas drifted on the warm breeze and Willow closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of lemon from the nearby eucalypts. She didn’t know how long she lay there before a warning prickle of awareness skated over her bare arms. She looked up and Seb stood at the foot of the daybed, watching her.
Her fingers froze in the process of stroking her erect nipple through her dress. How long had he been watching her? When had her hands moved? How long had she been playing with herself? She waited for a wave of mortification to crash through her, but instead scorching lust quivered through her wet pussy.
Shit. She was in trouble. “You perv,” she accused, but her voice sounded smoky, as though she was inviting him to join in. Double shit. Brandy had never affected her good sense like this before.
He crawled onto the daybed, his thighs cradling her hips, and planted his fists either side of her shoulders. He was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. Her lips parted and breath stalled. It was a bad idea, the worst in the world, but she didn’t care.
Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives - Extended Edition Page 29