‘Oh that!’ Drew threw out a dramatic hand. ‘Can you believe there is no red-haired Ken? Not that I could find, anyway.’ Drew sounded outraged. ‘I had to dye it that colour.’
Evie prodded the front of red-haired Ken’s pants, giggling. ‘I want one!’
‘You do not,’ Jack said, but he was laughing too.
‘And that’s not all,’ Drew said, snatching the doll out of Jack’s hands. ‘Now, Marcus’s pants are padded with a lock of his own hair. I snipped it off in the kitchen because I had a notion we’d be needing it. Nick’s …?’ Taking the doll from me. ‘I had to use a cotton ball, but you can get some chest hairs or a few pieces of fingernail or something off eBay, can’t you, Chloe? Don’t all those sports guys have illicitly obtained pickings for sale on there?’
‘And why would I need Marcus’s hair or Nick’s fingernail?’ I asked.
‘Well, duh, Chloe! They’re voodoo dolls.’ He presented me with a pin cushion that had been tucked in with the dolls. ‘Stick them with one of these pins, right where it hurts, and Bob’s your uncle.’
‘God,’ I gasped around full-blown hysterics. ‘Have I told you lately that I love you?’
‘I’m always up for a Van Morrison song,’ Drew said, laying the dolls lovingly on the coffee table.
Not a good time for the intercom to buzz, because all four of us were practically convulsing. It had to buzz three times before Jack recovered enough to answer the summons.
‘Hide the Ken dolls,’ he said, coming back. ‘Or at least, the black-haired one. Nick Savage is on the way up.’
‘Okaaaay,’ Evie said, and I threw a cushion at her – which she threw back, leaving the dolls where they were.
‘Does he know I’m here?’ I asked.
Jack gave me a WTF look.
‘Well he could be here to check out the view,’ I said, unconvincingly.
‘He knows you’re here,’ Jack said, and added a completely unnecessary, ‘You idiot.’
But I had no comeback. I was too scared to open my mouth in case the anxiety that was expanding in my chest took that as an invitation to burst out of me in a scream. Not one distinct thought seemed to be able to settle in my head. Only some amorphous how/why/what jumble, formed from equal measures of dread, fear, lust and indescribable joy.
Doorbell.
Door opening.
Oh God. God, God, God. I wasn’t going to look.
Drew, beside me, calling out: ‘We were just talking about you.’
‘Nice or nasty?’ came the rumbling response.
‘I’m on the fence,’ Drew said. ‘And believe me, that’s never been said of me before!’
‘That surprises me, given how nice and … pointy, shall we say? … a fence can be.’
‘So it’s going to be like that, is it?’ Drew said with relish. ‘In that case, let me ask you if it’s true what they say about your biceps?’
‘I don’t know, what do they say?’
‘That a normal human can only get its hands halfway round.’
Laughter from Nick. And at last, I risked a look to see Nick angling his shoulders so his biceps were held out chicken-wing style.
‘Want to try?’ Nick asked Drew.
Evie was rolling her eyes at me so crazily at that point, I couldn’t work out if she was trying to say something or having a fit. Drew was similarly wild-eyeing all over the place. It was basically off-the-charts nuts.
‘Okay, I’m off the fence,’ Drew said. ‘Nice and nasty – exactly how we like them around here. Chloe, you’re going to have to kiss and make up with him.’
‘I like that idea,’ Nick said, and then he smiled at me – that rarest smile, the shy one. ‘I heard it was your birthday, Chloe, so I brought you a present.’
I wondered what he would do if I melted in a puddle and told him to just mop me up and take me home, but was saved from that ignominy by Jack (clearly the only adult in the room), who calmly announced he was whisking Drew and Evie off to the deck for a wedding planning meeting.
‘Ooh, Jack, we’re going to miss the fun,’ Drew complained, but nevertheless allowed his brother to bundle him off.
‘Sing out if you need adult supervision, Chloe,’ Jack said, but the look he shot over his shoulder was at Nick, and there was a very clear warning in it: behave with our girl.
And then the three of them were gone, and I was on my own with Nick, and there seemed to be a whole host of Discovery Channel wildlife rampaging through my gut.
‘I like the hair.’ That was Nick’s opener.
‘It’s break up hair,’ I said flatly. ‘Ah, I see.’ Pause. ‘Must have been some break up.’
‘It was brutal.’
Silence.
Then, ‘Is that a martini?’ he asked me, nodding at the drink clutched in my rigor mortis fingers.
‘Yes.’
‘Does that mean I’m going to get into your pants tonight?’
I tried to squelch my laugh, but couldn’t manage it. ‘That depends,’ I tried to say.
‘What about if I do this?’ he asked, and strode over to me, dropping to his knees, taking the cocktail glass and putting it on the coffee table, then grabbing my hands.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I think it’s called begging.’
‘You said you’d never do that.’
‘I say all kinds of stupid shit.’
‘You said you’d never forgive me.’
‘Stupid shit, I’m telling you. I’d forgive you if you slept with the whole Sydney Scorpions team and put the sex tape on YouTube, if you’ll forgive me in reverse for being a complete dickhead and take me back.’
‘Yeah, right!’
‘Is that a reference to my forgiving you or your forgiving me?’
‘Your forgiving me.’
‘Well, I admit, I wouldn’t be happy about a sex tape.’
‘Didn’t think so.’
‘The thing is, I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said, in the truck. About me being a coward. You were right, I was a coward – scared of what I’d do if you chose someone else and I lost you. But I know that’s stupid, because I’m the lost one, now that I don’t have you, and it hurts like crazy, and I just don’t think I can live without you.’
My heart was squeezing painfully, fearfully, hopefully. ‘So …?’
‘So I’m going to be the Nick you want. The one who fights for you, no matter what you do or say. The one who believes you when you say you will never, ever touch another guy – and please, God, let that be true, at least when it comes to the team and the sex tape thing, because that would really try me. But basically, sex tapes aside, what I’m saying is that I’m giving you a blanket “I forgive you” for the rest of our lives. I’ll not only let you walk all over me with high heels, I’ll buy you the shoes to do it. I’ll do anything, say anything, take anything … as long as you’ll say just once that you love me.’
‘You said you didn’t want me to say that. You ordered me not to.’
‘Hello? Stupid shit?’
I laughed again, but the tears were there too, stinging behind my nose.
‘Can’t you say it, Chloe? Just once? You don’t even have to mean it.’
‘Oh, Nick.’
‘Just once.’
I dragged him up, off the floor, and stood with him, slotting into my favourite position, in his arms, head under his chin. ‘We’re eagles, remember?’ I said. ‘Eagles soar, they don’t grovel.’
The kiss on top of my head was both fierce and gentle as he tightened his arms hard enough to cause spinal injury. ‘So the whole mating for life thing. Is it … Is it on? Despite the fact that I’m a fuckwit?’
‘It is so on, it’s welded on,’ I said. ‘You know, I think we’ve cornered the market on fuckwittery between us, and I like it like that,’ I said. ‘Here – I’ll show you. Evie? Drew? Jack? We need you guys in here.’
Three seconds – that’s all it took for them to tumble into the room. Which led me to conclude there had been
not one word uttered about the wedding, because their ears had been straining to hear what was going on. Even not-so-adult-after-all Jack was looking caught-out.
‘I need witnesses,’ I said. And then, to Nick. ‘Turn around.’
Nick was smiling. And then he started laughing, as I grabbed his butt with both hands and squeezed. ‘Now that,’ I said over my shoulder to my friends, ‘is a public butt squeeze. It means I’m committed.’
‘Or maybe that you should be committed,’ Drew said. ‘To an asylum.’
I snorted. ‘Yeah, in a bed next to you and your voodoo dolls.’
‘Is that what these are?’ Nick asked, picking up his Ken doll.
‘Yes,’ I said, and waited to see what his reaction would be when I added, ‘That’s you.’
He examined it more closely, then shook his head. ‘Needs more stuffing down his pants in that case. And that –’ nodding to the other doll ‘– is a horrible dye job. Marcus’s hair is a much deeper red than that.’
‘Hel-lo Mr L’Oréal,’ Drew said admiringly.
‘Shut up, Andrew.’ That was me.
‘Yeah shut up,’ Nick echoed, but then flashed him a smile. ‘Or you won’t be able to hear Chloe cough up those three little words she was on the verge of saying.’
Drew gave me a tut-tut look. ‘She hasn’t said them? Chloe!’
‘She was waiting until she could do it in public,’ Nick explained.
‘Fine,’ I said, ‘but you need to give me a piece of fingernail, Nick.’
‘To go with the piece of yours still stuck in that scratch on my back?’ he asked.
‘Hey,’ I said, blushing and laughing simultaneously. ‘Not in front of the guys.’
‘Why not? I thought that was how we rolled in this group?’
Drew looked at Evie. ‘If she doesn’t want him, I’ll take him,’ he said.
‘Oh, she wants him all right,’ Evie said. ‘Just like I said all along,’
‘Yes, she wants him,’ I concurred, as Nick looked down at me, hope and glory in his eyes, and love and wonder and everything my hungry soul had wanted for so, so long.
‘So that means …?’ he prompted.
‘We really, really don’t need to say all this stuff in front of my friends.’
‘What about the butt squeeze?’
‘I was making a point.’
‘Well, I know you’ve had the “size” discussion. Doesn’t that make them my friends too?’ I threw my hands in the air. ‘All right, I give in. I love you. In public. Done.’
‘Say it again.’
‘Once! You said once.’
‘Yeah, but this is not the time to be stingy. And I was thinking, for the first week or so, once an hour would be appropriate after the hell you’ve put me through.’
‘You put me through a little bit of hell too, you know.’
‘For less than one lousy week! That’s nothing.’
‘I’m not saying it once an hour.’
‘What about if I let you punch me?’
‘I’m not doing that anymore. You see, I met this guy in Manila, and he kind of cured me of that bad habit.’
He kissed me, so passionately, I half-wondered if I was about to get nailed on Evie and Jack’s couch.
‘Is it getting hot in here?’ I heard Jack murmur, and then laugh as Evie punched him. ‘I thought we weren’t punching anymore.’
‘No, Chloe’s not punching,’ Evie said.
‘So, Evie,’ Nick said, tucking me under his arm and turning towards her. ‘What do I look like now?’
‘Huh?’
‘You said last time that I didn’t look married. What do you think now?’
Evie giggled. ‘Well, I’d have to say, you kind of do.’
‘Good,’ Nick said, ‘because it’s how I feel.’ He glowed down at me. ‘So, Chloe, if we’re going to get onto the adoption thing we need to start getting runs on the board. And I guess that means …’ Digging in his back pocket and pulling out a ring. ‘… I have to give you your present.’
‘Really. We’re doing this in public too?’ And then I looked at the ring, which had a diamond the size of a boulder in it. ‘And you drove here sitting on that?’
‘It’s a diamond, they’re tough.’ He took my hand and slid it on my finger. ‘Tougher than my backside, as it turns out. But you know, Chloe, you can kiss my arse if you want. You owe me for the one in the truck. Want me to bend over now?’
I waved a hand at the purple monstrosity on the coffee table, laughing too hard to speak.
‘What?’ Nick asked.
‘Vibrating Rock Chick’ I gasped out. ‘For when you bend over. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it once or twice.’
He winced, but he was laughing too. ‘Ouch. Not exactly what I had in mind. But hey, if you say it again, that you love me, who knows what I’ll let you do?’ And then he stopped laughing, and took my hands in his again, and kissed the finger with my engagement ring on it. ‘I love you, these guys know it, so say yes, throw in that extra “I love you”, and we can all go out on the deck and talk weddings. Because if anyone knows how to throw a wedding it’s me, and I’ll even let you have gold chair bows and candy-covered almonds in swan-shaped vessels.’
‘You will not.’ I smiled up at him. ‘The vessels will be eagle-shaped.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘That’s a yes, let’s get married.’
‘It’s not official until you saaaay …’
‘I love you?’
‘Minus the question mark.’
‘I love you,’ I said, and then took a deep breath, and smiled up at him. ‘I really, really love you.’
Almost before the last word was out of my mouth, Nick was kissing me like the madman he was. And then, as the others broke out in spontaneous applause, he smiled against my mouth, then slowly released me and turned to them. ‘Did you know she propositioned me in the aircraft toilet on the flight over?’
‘That’s not how I remember it,’ I said. ‘But you keep going, Nick Savage, and I’ll tell them about the time you wore a shoe with a used condom in the toe.’
‘Bring it on, my little black swan,’ Nick said, and laughed. ‘Bring. It. On.’
And as he kissed me again, Evie, Drew and Jack looked at each other and said in unison, ‘Okaaaay.’
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge, with thanks, the assistance of Phill Rosen, who contributed the pilot talk that is incomprehensible to the rest of us.
I’d also like to thank my journalist friends, who double-checked that I had Chloe doing her job properly.
The Contract
by Avril Tremayne
Lane Davis has never had time for love. Hard work, dedication and focus got her through uni and now she’s a successful economist with qualifications in all areas – except the bedroom.
When a colleague airs those bedroom sheets in public, Lane decides it’s time to upskill. She’s always studied her way to success, so why not hire a teacher to help her out now? It’s just a business deal – three months of private tutoring, no strings attached. Easy – or it would be, if the lessons didn’t make her weak at the knees …
Her proposed teacher, Adam Quinn, has his own agenda. His sister – one of Lane’s best friends – wants him to scare Lane into giving up her crazy scheme. But once he meets Lane, he can’t quite bring himself to reject her.
If Adam’s going to teach Lane just one thing, it’s that love can get in the way of even the best intentions …
Learning the art of seduction has never been so much fun.
Available now!
Read on for an extract …
CHAPTER ONE
Where was he?
Thirty minutes late was too late.
Late enough for Lane to wonder if, perhaps, Adam had changed his mind and wasn’t coming.
Lane swallowed, trying to get her head around that. Around the idea she might have to go back to the drawing board. She didn’t want to fa
ce that possibility. It had been excruciatingly embarrassing getting to this point; the thought of starting again was enough to make her feel faint.
She took a deep, calming breath as she looked around her living room, checking again that nothing was out of place—which she’d already done a dozen times—and calculating how long it would take Adam to drive from his house in out-there Newtown to her house in not-so-out-there Mascot. Fifteen minutes, tops.
Still … he may have been caught up on a building site. Or stuck in traffic somewhere – it happened sometimes, people getting caught up near the airport, when they were driving to her place.
She took another deep breath. Settle down, Lane. There’s no reason for him to back out.
Any man would jump at the chance—that’s what her friend Sarah had said. Sarah had told her that he, specifically, had jumped. He knew the score, and had already agreed. Tonight was just a formality. Signatures on the page.
Lane felt her hands start to clench, and wiggled her fingers to ease the tension.
Nerves. She hated nerves. Had perfected the art of not letting them show, no matter how much her insides rioted, because the flustering, dithery fluttering of them made her look like a twit.
Logical, rational financial economists did not flutter. Or pace floors, or chew fingernails. They crunched numbers and analyzed data and predicted trends so high-yield decisions could be made, built on a sound base.
A sound base. That was one way of looking at the succinct checklist she’d prepared for tonight, to review with Adam before they signed the contract she’d drawn up.
The checklist. She would just have one more read. That would help calm her down.
She walked swiftly to the glass-topped coffee table, bent to reach into the briefcase beside it and slid out the paper-clipped pages. Three of them. Neat. Error-free. Black type on white paper.
He’d already agreed, she reminded herself, drawing in another one of her silent, secret, calming breaths, as she skimmed the words she knew practically by heart. It was a straightforward arrangement—nothing to panic over.
Adam didn’t even have to like her. Liking wasn’t a prerequisite on either side. Although, of course, it would be easier if they did like each other. And really, they probably would. Lane liked his sister, Sarah. Sarah liked Lane. And Sarah adored Adam. Logic suggested there would be a mutuality of liking in there that would encompass Lane and Adam in some way, right?
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