Bryce laughed. ‘Of course everything’s okay. Why would you think otherwise? Chloe doesn’t bite, you know.’
‘Actually, she does,’ Nick said. And he smirked (and you know how I feel about smirking) as he rubbed his fingers idly over one shoulder. For one horrified moment, I stared at the spot he was rubbing. That spot. And suddenly it was there, in my head. Last night. I’d bitten him. Hard. His shoulder as well as his lip. I wished I’d bitten out his goddamn tongue while I was at it! What happened to keeping things confidential for Bryce, who wouldn’t risk losing a brother over me? That was letting me choose, was it? Smirking animal/beast/pig/bastard!
Bryce was looking confused – as well he might!
And there was only one way forward that I could see. I lowered my eyelids and looked up at Bryce through fluttering, mascara-laden lashes. ‘I only bite if you ask me nicely,’ I said.
And as Bryce laughed, exactly as I intended, I turned to Derek. ‘Get Nick miked up, will you?’
Split second of huh? from Nick. And then ‘What?’ Eyes going wide. ‘No.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Remember, I bite. And you don’t even have to ask.’
‘But I – No. No.’ Backing away.
‘Nick, are you not the reason we’re doing this story?’
‘Well, yes, but –’
‘Are you not the reason I’m in Manila?’
‘Ah. You in Manila. You know why I –’
‘Time to pay the piper, Mr Savage.’
‘Chloe, please.’ Eyes darting left and right, looking for an escape. ‘Not now, okay? Later. I’ve got concrete to pour now.’
Bryce made squawking chicken noises.
‘It’s not that,’ Nick said, looking daggers at his brother. ‘It’s just … the concrete …’
Bryce slapped him on the back. ‘I can pour the bloody concrete. It’s not rocket science.’
‘Excellent idea,’ I put in smoothly as Derek advanced on Nick with a lapel mike.
‘No,’ Nick said, looking past Derek to me as I pretended to consult the notes in my folder and bit my lip to stop smiling at this new, flustered side of him. ‘This … thing … isn’t about me.’
‘Hmmm?’ Me – aiming for preoccupied.
‘I can’t do this,’ he said, as Derek, inexorable, finished with him.
I closed my folder and looked at him. ‘You told me you rated best with female viewers. Joan told me you need more money to expand, so you can take in more children. Put those things together.’
He was rigid with discomfort as he looked from me to Derek. It was if he were waging an internal war – and both sides were losing! Swallow. Swallow. Eyes squeezed shut. Another swallow. Then he blew out a breath, opened his eyes, and nodded. ‘Fine. Where do you want me, Derek?’
Three minutes later – I dared not take longer than that to get it underway in case he bolted – I started with a super easy question. A throw away, to get him feeling more at ease, because we hadn’t had a warm-up chat. What did he think of the Philippines? Anyone could have answered that. It was a beautiful, friendly country. People who’d never been to the Philippines could have tossed out an answer!
But not Nick, who just stared at me, incapable of even blinking, apparently.
Hmmm. I tried another throw away – how long had he been involved with the Sunshine Children’s Home? I knew the answer because Joan had told me. Four years – almost inconceivable to me that a twenty-one year old would have shouldered such a responsibility, but there you go. All he had to say was ‘four years’.
Instead he said, ‘Er.’
‘Can’t remember?’ Me, a little stunned at how hopeless he was.
‘Two, no three. Ah hell.’ He looked a nanosecond away from a meltdown. ‘Four! Four years, dammit.’
I heard Derek choke on a laugh; Nick heard it too, because he did a weird smile/grimace thing and slapped himself in the head. Not joking – he actually slapped himself in the head. And, oh my God, I wanted to hug him – that’s how adorable tough-guy giant bastard Nick looked at that moment.
I asked two more easy questions. He stuffed up both answers, and started looking over his shoulder again, ready to flee.
But no way was I giving up. The interview with Nick really was the main attraction for viewers. I had to get him on camera; if I came home without it, my chief of staff would kill me. And it looked as though it might take the whole week to get something useable, so I figured I should get started without delay.
‘Let’s stop for a moment,’ I said.
Nick breathed out a big sigh of relief. ‘I told you I couldn’t do it,’ he said, and reached for the microphone Derek had clipped to him.
‘Hey, not so fast,’ I said, grabbing his hands.
He looked into my eyes, confused and unhappy, and my heart snagged painfully. The way he looked, the way he smelled, his big rough hands tensing in mine – something about that combination made me long for him.
‘Trust me,’ I said softly. ‘I’m not going to make you look bad.’
He looked down at my hands gripping his, and his shoulders slumped – as much as two veritable mountains of muscle can slump – and he nodded.
‘Right,’ I said, releasing him. ‘Just give me a minute, and breathe in and out a few times while you wait. And try to relax, okay?’
I buried my head in my red folder, formulating and discarding a full range of clichéd questions. I was almost about to give up and reschedule the interview, when the right approach darted into my head out of nowhere. I just knew how to work it.
‘Are we good to go, Derek? Right.’ I turned to Nick, watched him suck in another breath, then stiffen as the camera rolled. And I rapped out: ‘So, Nick Savage, you’re in Manila to “take one for the team”. It must have been difficult to give up the team’s end-of-year trip to Hawaii to make up for the latest Sydney Scorpions sex scandal.’
Nick looked shocked, then furious, in quick succession. Priceless. And then, ‘What the fuck kind of question is that?’
‘A simple one,’ I said. ‘Was it hard to give up Hawaii to cover for your disgraced teammate?’
Aaaand zing! Everything about him switched on. ‘Take a walk through the streets of Manila and see the way the kids live, homeless and hungry, with only themselves to rely on, and tell me if you’d choose a holiday in Hawaii instead.’
‘That’s all very well to say, but –’
‘I’ve seen children scavenging from rubbish tips for something to use or sell. I’ve seen them forced by poverty into prostitution. Kids who’ve become gangsters, because at least there’s some pride in it. What does that tell you, when that’s the only option you have to feel proud of yourself? What do you think this is all about here?’
‘You tell me.’
‘It’s about hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, a kid with no chance will actually get a chance. Get an education, the ability to make a life.’
‘Twenty-six children? That’s what you have here, right? That’s a drop in the ocean, surely. It’s futile, isn’t it?’
‘So … what? We do nothing? Tell our twenty-six kids that! Yes, we could take fifty times the number of children we have and still not scratch the surface. But it’s not just us here. There are other groups – and individuals – all trying to make a difference. That means we’re not the only drop in the ocean. Put us all together and there are buckets full of drops. But the Sunshine Children’s Home is … is …’ He flung out his arms, made some kind of frustrated, explosive sound that just worked. ‘The kids … I just … I love them, I guess.’ His hands went scraping though the short strands of his black hair. ‘I’m not putting this well, but … but … All we’re trying to do is make a little difference. That’s …’ Shrug. ‘All.’
‘But not everybody has the luxury of flying overseas and getting their hands dirty building something.’
‘No, not everyone has the luxury of flying in and doing something hands-on. But there are other ways to help. Sponsor one of our kids – h
ell, sponsor a kid from any of the great organisations here. It only costs a hundred and twenty dollars a month to house, feed, clothe and educate a child. You don’t have to come yourself and build a playground – there are lots of ways to help.’
‘So, the playground. Who needs a playground when there are kids hungry in Manila?’
‘In a perfect world, there wouldn’t be any need for anything. In a perfect world, kids wouldn’t be hungry. In a perfect world, they’d be loved and protected. In a perfect world, every kid would have a playground to go to. And I wouldn’t be on television, begging for help.’ He shook his head, and one of his hands went tearing through his hair again. ‘Oh, for a perfect world, hey?’
And then he squeezed his eyes shut, ripped off his lapel mike, and looked at me with eyes that were practically spitting. ‘Enough. I can’t believe –’ He whirled away. Then straight back. ‘Why did you do that to me?’
‘I don’t know how to break it to you, Nick, but your on-camera personality sucks.’
‘I know. I’m not … Look, I know, I know. Why do you think I didn’t want to do it? And then you go and ask –’ He broke off, threw his hands up. ‘I can’t believe you did that. It’s supposed to be a feel-good story about an orphanage. We’re supposed to get money out of this. And you had to go and get all Sixty Minutes on me.’
‘I’m not using the questions, Nick, just your answers. We’re filming my questions separately. And that was perfect, what you said. I just needed to shock it out of you.’
‘You can’t use my answers, Chloe. I wasn’t perfect. I sounded like a fuckwit. I’m not letting you do that to the orphanage.’
‘We need you on camera or the story won’t air.’
He was looking mutinous. ‘Then I’ll read out a statement.’
‘And put everyone to sleep?’ I shook my head. ‘Not happening, Nick.’
‘Then you can use Bryce. Yeah, Bryce. He can be the main spokesman. Or Joan – she’s brilliant on camera. And … and … Marcus. I’ll get Marcus to do an interview back in Sydney to cover off the Scorpions angle. You know he’s better than me.’
‘But he’s not you. And you’re the draw card here,’ I said.
Nick just shook his head.
‘And if Marcus is better than you,’ I went on, ‘it’s only because he’s had plenty of practice, whereas you …? Nick, answer me this – not for the camera. Why didn’t you front up about this at Evie’s last week instead of pretending it was something you were being dragged into? Why doesn’t anyone back home know about this? After four years?’
‘It’s not about me, that’s why,’ he said shortly. ‘Look, if you need me on camera, just film me. I don’t have to open my mouth. Derek – you can just film me, can’t you?’
But Derek, who’d taken the camera off the tripod, muttered something along the lines of ‘leave me out of it’, and beat a hasty retreat to film the action over at the concrete pouring.
Back to me. ‘Chloe, it will work better if you just get me doing stuff, the manual labour stuff, and someone else answering the questions. I’m fine with that.’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Nick. I call the shots.’
‘So maybe you can tell me how you’re going to call the shots when it comes to interviewing the kids.’
Frozen moment. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at,’ I said cautiously. ‘I’m saying the children scared you and I want to know why.’
‘I wasn’t scared.’
A short, disbelieving laugh greeted that feeble pronouncement.
‘I’m not used to them, that’s all,’ I said.
‘So you’re not going to tell me?’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’
Long, probing look, and then he shook his head, disgusted. ‘I’ll send Bryce back over. He knows the right things to say on camera.’ And he started to stride away.
No. He couldn’t leave. Not like that, with me lying, and him knowing I was lying and giving up on me. Giving up. ‘Nick.’
Pause, but he didn’t turn back.
‘I don’t want Bryce,’ I said. Which wasn’t what I’d intended to say, but there it was, said.
Heartbeat, beat, beat. And then he kept going. Did he even hear me?
I saw him reach Bryce, clap a hand on his shoulder. The differences between them seemed so great at that moment, it was hard to believe they were brothers.
‘I don’t want Bryce,’ I said again. A whisper, an acknowledgement to myself. Because I knew I really didn’t want elegant, sandalwood-smelling, camera-ready Bryce. I wanted raw, tough, strangely shy, endearingly awkward, exasperating Nick.
As I went about my work and the day progressed, I saw Nick get sweatier, more dishevelled, grimier. Saw him hit his thumb with a hammer and swear his head off. Saw him get scraped and bruised. Bleed from an assortment of nicks and cuts. And I started to wonder if I had a touch of the Stephen Kings about me, because I wanted to suck every drop of the blood he shed. It wasn’t normal, to want someone like that, surely to God.
Or maybe it was.
Because when our tired, dirty group got back to the hotel and disbanded, and that one hard rap sounded on my door, almost before I’d had a chance to get into my room, and I opened it and saw Nick’s face …?
Well, I knew that if I wanted to suck his blood, he was going to let me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Did you mean it, Chloe?’ he asked.
I wasn’t going to pretend to misunderstand. ‘Yes, I meant it. I don’t want Bryce.’
‘Good,’ he said, and turned to leave.
‘Wait! Where are you going?’
Half-turn back. ‘I’m filthy. I’m going to go get cleaned up. I just didn’t … I mean, last night, you thought I wasn’t coming to you. Tonight, I wanted to make sure you knew that I was. But first I have to – What?’
Because I was literally dragging him in. And as soon as he was in, I slammed the door shut and threw myself at him.
I knew he would catch me, that he would hold me, that he would let me do whatever the fuck I wanted. Grab, climb, burrow. Scratch, wrench, bite, punch. I wasn’t going to wait for him to take a nice, civilised shower, because all those things I wanted to do, I wanted to do now. Immediately. It was like a fever in my blood, a sickness, and I couldn’t help myself.
His arms closed around me, held me, lifted me, adjusting the way they always did to my slightest movement. Hard as steel … and yet, not hard at all.
‘Help me get closer,’ I said, trying to wrap myself around him. ‘I need … need …’
‘Me,’ he said, and kissed me with something close to brutality. ‘Me. You need me, Chloe.’
A mad scramble of limbs, clothes being dragged out of the goddamn way, condom wrapper torn open, rough shoves at my pants, his jeans. And just like that, Nick was inside me, I was coming, he was coming. Orgasm Central, I’m telling you. Feral, hard, driven.
Done.
Silence. It seemed that post-coital silent moments were going to be routine with Nick. Awed moments. Waiting for my senses to settle. Not believing what I’d just done. Not believing how I’d done it. ‘Sorry,’ I said, burying my face against his chest and sucking in the salty, sweaty smell of him that I still couldn’t seem to get enough of.
‘Sorry for what, Chloe?’
‘For being like that. Rough, and … and …’ But I couldn’t finish. Because there was a lump in my throat.
‘Sweetheart,’ he said, and his hand was stroking my hair so gently, I wanted to cry. ‘You can crash and burn all over me, as much as you want, and I’ll take it.’
‘Crash and burn. You said that last night.’ I eased back, enough that I could look up at him. ‘Is that what I do? Is that what it feels like to you?’
‘It feels – you feel – like everything I want.’
‘That’s not an answer, Nick.’
Long, sighing moment while he resettled me against his chest. ‘If you really want to know, it feels like you’re punishing m
e.’
‘For what?’
‘I don’t know, Chloe. Maybe because you want me as much as I want you. Because I know you don’t want to want me. It’s why you punched me that first night.’
‘No, that was … different. That was – I was with Marcus, you were with Ruby, and –’
‘I wasn’t with Ruby, Chloe, not from the moment I saw you. You walked in, and I wanted only you. I wanted your hands on me, any way I could get them.’ I felt the laugh rumble in his chest. ‘I just didn’t expect the first time you touched me to be a punch. But hey, I like surprises.’
‘I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t … I don’t punch. Not anymore.’
‘What do you mean, not anymore?’
‘I used to have anger management issues. When I was a kid.’
‘Oh, when you were a kid.’
‘Yes, all right, I still have a few,’ I confessed, rolling my eyes. ‘But that’s not really me. It’s the black swan version. Sometimes she takes over, but not … not often.’
‘I like black swans better than the white ones, so I’m cool with that.’
I snorted. ‘Remember what happens in Swan Lake? The lovers die because of that evil black swan. The prince shoots the nice swan, the perfect one, with an arrow; she dies in his arms; he drowns himself.’
‘Chloe, there’s only one you. Black and white. Fire and ice. It’s a combination that seems to be irresistible to me.’
‘You’re certifiable. Nobody liked –’ Oops. ‘Nobody likes crash-and-burners. Not for long.’
‘Not for long? It’s a year and counting, Chloe. I just wish I’d taken you off him that first night. We’d be a lot farther along now, and maybe the crash and burn would be a Saturday night special by now. You know, along with the latex nurse’s uniform and the fluffy handcuffs.’
‘Saturday night special?’ I asked, and started to laugh … until the rest of what he’d said sank in. That was wrong. Had to be wrong. ‘But Nick, you couldn’t have just taken me off Marcus. Like, bam, the time is nigh, let’s do it.’
Escaping Mr Right Page 15