‘Lucky we bumped into each other here, isn’t it, otherwise you might have been waiting for ages at Exit Four and thought I’d stood you up. But I’d never do that.’
He spoke softly, but she felt the light bite he intended. He knew she’d been going to bottle it and be the one to stand him up.
She just looked at him, at a loss for everything because he was wreaking havoc on her system again. As had happened the second she’d first seen him, nerves, hormones, needs began to shriek.
‘Shall we get going?’ He jerked his head towards the stairs.
Her mouth was gummed, so she couldn’t get the ‘sorry but no thanks’ out and he’d already cupped her elbow and started walking them down the stairs. Her response surged higher. Incredible how the sound of his voice and the lightest grip on her brought on such giddy anticipation.
She was melting—into a mess. This wasn’t going to work. She’d never spoken so suggestively in her life. In her last relationship it had been her ex who’d done the running; only at the end had she acted so desperately. Now she’d been more forward than she could believe, to someone so out of her league. Seth Walker was probably used to having women in his bed who did the splits five ways while swinging from a chandelier. She’d never been anything better than average in anything, not even sex. Her best course of action was a speedy withdrawal before she made more of an idiot of herself.
‘I’m sorry about your jacket,’ she muttered as they got to the entrance level.
‘No, you’re not.’ He laughed. ‘But that’s okay, it wasn’t a favourite.’
She walked with him across the car park, because she couldn’t decide how to phrase her escape and because he moved with such assurance it was easier to go with him than against him. He’d put sunglasses on and she couldn’t read his expression. She’d have put hers on, too, except she was holding her bag in a death grip and couldn’t relax her fingers enough to operate the catch.
‘This is mine.’ He stopped by a beautiful gleaming black car. Its design spoke volumes—not some flashy low-to-the-ground sports number with a huge stereo system like most of the rugby guys drove, but sleek, solid, offering extreme comfort. ‘You ready to go?’ he asked.
‘Actually, no.’ She tried to smile back but her mouth was too stiff. ‘This was such a… We don’t have to do dinner. I don’t know what came over me,’ she mumbled. ‘I was just being…being…’
‘Provocative?’
Yes, she had been. Only, now she’d provoked his reaction, she didn’t think she could handle it.
‘Stupid,’ she corrected, staring at the car rather than him. ‘Look, I’ll catch the bus. I’m sorry you had to come back here.’
‘You’re not catching the bus.’ He smiled, totally friendly and not at all wolfish. Well, she didn’t think so—she couldn’t see his eyes. ‘At least let me drop you home.’
Oh. Lena breathed. He’d capitulated easily—she’d been reading this wrong. He wasn’t that interested. And she refused to admit to that sudden disappointment. ‘No, I’m okay. I’ll get the bus.’
‘I’m here anyway, I’m driving back through town…’ He still looked friendly, but like he didn’t really mind either way. ‘Be silly to waste the gas.’
As she hesitated he flicked a button and unlocked the car. She shouldn’t refuse. She’d look silly and rude and hadn’t she been silly and rude enough to him? She didn’t want to look any more pathetic than she already did. ‘Okay, but I’m really sorry for wasting your time.’
She was even more sorry she didn’t have the guts she’d had an hour before. She slid into the car, felt the leather practically embrace her. He pulled out of the park instantly, the engine so smooth it was almost inaudible.
‘I’m disappointed,’ he said. ‘I was looking forward to cooking up something fresh for you.’
Despite the gentle airconditioning, Lena’s temperature surged and butterfly wings beat in her belly. But he’d spoken so blandly there wasn’t any undertone going on, right? ‘You caught me at a bad moment when I was…wasn’t thinking.’
‘Now I’m even more disappointed.’ His lips curved. ‘I thought I’d finally found a woman who’d hold her own with me. I was excited about that.’
Hold her own? Okay, the undertone was there and searing images filled her head—ones where pleasure was extreme and mutually exhausting. ‘I think we should forget about what happened this afternoon,’ she mumbled.
‘No, you don’t.’ He suddenly laughed. ‘And I can’t. Anyway, I need to offer you a genuine apology and you do owe me for the jacket.’
Did he have to laugh? It was too seductive. ‘You can send me the bill and you don’t need to apologise, your assumption wasn’t that bad. Or surprising, considering how it must have looked.’
His grin widened, which wasn’t right, because she wasn’t trying to tease him, she was trying to engineer an almost dignified exit.
‘I apologise anyway,’ he said. ‘And as for your account, I’d prefer your time over your money.’
A smooth line. A turn of his head that spelt intimacy. Her hot-for-him hormones soared—turning her back into that malleable toy with ‘his to play with’ on the label. She took a quick breath and told herself to calm down. It was mad to feel his every word and glance so intensely.
He drove confidently, sliding along the thinnest of lanes with nerve-twanging speed, asking briefly for directions. She gave them as best she could, given her whirling thoughts and seesawing intentions.
‘How long have you worked at the stadium?’ he asked.
Easy conversation. Thank goodness. ‘Nearly eighteen months.’
‘And you don’t mind being the only woman among all that testosterone?’
‘There are women working there—in catering, front of house.’
‘But not with you.’
‘No.’ Admittedly she’d liked it that way at the start. She’d found that women judged more than men, their approval was harder to win and easier to lose and she’d been wary about making new friends. She’d steered well clear of the wives-and-girlfriends club and even further from the behind-the-wife’s-back mistresses. But now she was happier than she’d ever been and she’d love to find some girls to hang with. Trouble was now she was so busy at work she didn’t have much time.
‘So the guys don’t bother you?’ he asked, the tease apparent in his tone. ‘I imagine they can be pretty demanding at times.’
‘You mean like the baby oil request?’ She giggled. ‘I don’t mind them, they’re just goofing. My brother was a national basketball rep, my father the assistant coach.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve been surrounded by packs of competitive, sporting males my whole life, I know how to handle jocks and jerks.’
‘Yeah, you left your mark on a couple today, that’s for sure.’ He laughed, too. ‘So does your brother still play?’
‘He’s in the States now on a full scholarship at one of those Ivy League places.’
‘Impressive.’
‘Yeah, he’s pretty amazing.’ Her kid brother wasn’t just a stellar athlete, but a genius academic, as well. But even he couldn’t hold a candle to their super-gifted sister. Lena loved them both, was proud of them both. And wanted them to be even just a little proud of her. So she was working on it. ‘My place is next on the left.’
He turned the car into her driveway and she braced herself to begin the goodbye she’d been mentally practising. ‘Thanks for—’
‘You know, I was hoping you’d change your mind,’ he interrupted. Taking off his sunglasses, he swivelled to face her. He knew what he was doing. Anyone who looked into those blue eyes would be hypnotised into saying ‘absolutely’ to everything.
‘Invite me in,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’ll cook. Won’t take an hour and your debt’s paid.’ A so-easy deal from a wicked expression.
She didn’t answer. At that moment, she simply couldn’t.
‘It’s too nice a night to dine alone.’ He was shameless about using that gorgeous smile.
Seth Walker was a winner and she knew why. She also knew that if she let him in now, there was a very high chance he wouldn’t be leaving again ’til the next morning.
He knew that, too.
That was the decision.
He waited, holding her hostage with just that look. She couldn’t drag her gaze away. It hovered between them—knowledge, awareness, honesty. With his sunglasses off, she saw the hunger in him. Her hormones rejoiced and the sensible, safe, walk-away decision of twenty minutes ago got fried in the heat roiling inside her. This might be a first for her but that didn’t make it bad. Crazy confidence flared, coiled inextricably around recklessness. In that instant she knew she’d do whatever the hell she wanted.
He was what she wanted. She would be the vixen she’d once been branded. Just for one night.
She undid her seat belt. ‘Okay, you can cook dinner. But I’ll help.’
She turned from his victory smile and got out of the car to unlock her flat. She was halfway across her lounge when she heard her front door shut with a thud.
She paused; her sense of intimacy screamed higher. So did her pulse. So did her until-this-afternoon-dead sex drive. Blood rushed and hunger pooled, relentless in its demand. She turned to look at him. Yes. This wasn’t a desire to fill an emotional need—a renowned playboy wasn’t the guy for that. But she was sure he could satisfy the physical void she was suddenly acutely aware of. He was the most impressive man she’d ever met. And given where she worked, that was saying something. It seemed she’d been stabbed with an adrenaline injection. Okay, a lust injection.
‘Nice place.’ He carelessly dropped his keys onto a table near the door.
‘You sound surprised.’ She watched him slowly turn full circle in the centre of her room. The opportunity to ogle him was too tempting. Just looking made her more restless. A tall man in suit trousers and a cotton shirt—how could so simple be so sexy?
Erotic urges clamoured for her to act. In part because she couldn’t believe this actually might happen. It was as if she was driven to push it fast now, for fear he’d change his mind—that this was all a joke or something. But she could hardly jump his bones two seconds after letting him into her house. She tensed her pelvic muscles to get the hot, hungry feeling under control, only that made it worse.
It was sick. And, frankly, sensational.
‘No flatmates?’
‘Not right now,’ she squawked an answer. She’d been thinking about getting a flatmate to help expand her woefully small social life but hadn’t had the time to advertise yet.
‘It’s very comfortable.’ His attention lingered on her big sofa. It faced a big TV screen. Yes, she had a sub to the satellite sports channel.
Dazed by the rushing feeling, she half managed to keep the conversation going. ‘You didn’t expect that?’
‘For some reason I thought you’d have a more minimalist approach.’
Lena laughed. This was no cool, clutter-free room; instead almost every area could be sprawled on. The oversized sofa and big armchair were covered with rich fabrics, rafts of cushions and a couple of soft wool throws tossed over for good measure. Which was the point. She wanted her home to offer comfort, not be filled with the trophies of siblings, or photos of other people’s success. The house where she’d grown up had been filled with mementos of family glory—none of which had been hers. It had been the environment where success and achievement were all that mattered. Here there were no tick charts or training programmes or study guides pinned to the walls. This place was her sanctuary.
‘I just wanted a place to relax, you know?’ She tried to joke but sounded too husky.
He faced her directly, his blue eyes bright. ‘If I get onto that sofa, I don’t think I’ll get off it again.’
‘Then no sofa just yet.’ She flicked her tongue over her hot, tight lips. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Hungry is good,’ he said softly. ‘Because I’ve got lots to offer.’
O-o-okay. So the entendres were appalling. And irresistible.
‘But, you know, I didn’t get to the shops.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘Didn’t get anything fresh.’
‘You were waiting at the stadium the whole time?’ She had only just worked it out now. It had been Dion she’d heard leave.
He looked softly amused. ‘Well, I didn’t want you to change your mind and disappear on me.’
She felt the now familiar heat burn hotter in her cheeks. Yes, he’d known she’d been going to. She turned towards the kitchen. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have much in my pantry.’
‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’ He brushed past unnecessarily close, the slight touch sizzling that tiny patch of skin.
Oh, hell, were they still talking with double meanings?
Smiling at her insane need and even more insane thoughts, she counted to three before following him to the kitchen. She perched on one of the stools by the bench and tried not to stare.
Clearly he’d noted the nothing much in the fridge because he was now frowning into the small freezer, obviously not a fan of the microwave meals she usually existed on. She nipped her lower lip, stopping herself from justifying their tragic existence, but she often worked late and was tired when she got in…. Yeah, so much for fresh.
‘You like pizza?’ He slammed the freezer door and spun to face her. ‘I know a great place that does delivery.’
‘Your world-famous crusts?’ She knew it was the pizza business he’d launched then sold when still in his teens that had netted him his first million.
‘And buns.’ He chuckled. ‘You’ve tried them before?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t usually do fast food or take-away.’
His grin widened. ‘Didn’t think so.’ Still that damn doubletalk. ‘Means we’ll have half an hour or so to wait for it,’ he noted with a teasing lilt. ‘What do you think we should do?’
His gaze met hers and held it firm. Time expanded…. It might have been an hour or so before she answered.
‘Have a drink,’ she croaked eventually. ‘Chat.’
They had to talk. Even just for ten minutes. That meant they’d have talked for about fifteen minutes before flinging into bed together. ‘So—’ she fought for some kind of conversation starter ‘—you’re not even Italian and you sold everyone pizza.’
‘Pizza’s a universal thing.’ He reopened her fridge and pulled a bottle of wine from the depths with a pleased smile. ‘I wanted to see if I could take an already established product and compete against the big corporates in a new way.’
‘But then you sold out to them.’ She set two glasses on the bench between them.
He chuckled as he poured, seeming to appreciate her challenge to his entrepreneur credibility. ‘I’d proved my point and was ready to move on.’
‘Oh, right.’ She lifted her glass and jabbed a little more for the fun of it. ‘You don’t just get them to a level of success so you can then sell, make the money and bail before they crash and burn?’
His gaze went rapier sharp. ‘No. If they crash and burn that’s because the management that took over was incompetent.’
She smiled wickedly. ‘So it’s not that you’re dealing in smoke and mirrors? Making something look amazing when really there’s very little there. Nothing that has durability.’
‘Well, the tee shirts are still going. The pizza, they took the marketing concepts and made them their own. The buildings are increasing their value—what’s the basis for all this doubt?’
‘The fact that you always move on,’ she said simply. The guy never stuck at anything for more than a few years, frequently less, which was why the property game suited him—acquire, improve, sell. ‘Isn’t it that you don’t actually believe in your own products?’
‘No, it’s because I have a low boredom threshold.’ His eyes glinted with naughty undercurrents. ‘Once something’s up and running, I’m no longer interested. It’s the challenge of getting it together and out there that I
like. And I like to keep my independence.’
She gripped her glass tighter. ‘So you’re not interested in the challenge of continuing growth or developing depth in any of your projects?’
‘No.’ That glint flashed even brighter. ‘That’s not really my thing.’
There was the subtext. He loved the initial challenge, but was so a no to seeing it grow to something bigger. Just like his relationships with women? Well, that was fine. She already knew there could only be this, right now….
She didn’t want a relationship. She was doing well—loving her job, loving her freedom out of the family shadow. She didn’t want any slide backwards into neediness and she feared that if she let a guy in for too long, she’d lose her hard-earned independence and confidence. But one night wouldn’t be too long.
She realised he was watching her with that intense focus again.
‘So what about you?’ His glint became an all-out blaze. ‘Let’s get to that killer sofa and you can tell me more about how you handle those rugby stars.’
She led the way back to the lounge. ‘There’s not that much to tell. I’m only the PR administrator.’
‘Slash team organiser slash wardrobe mistress slash stadium Girl Friday.’
‘You got me on a good day.’ She shrugged it off with a smile. ‘Most of the time it’s the usual running around chasing people and paperwork.’ She stopped to put her empty glass on the low table in front of the sofa and turned.
He was right behind her. With the quickest movement she’d ever seen he ditched his glass on the table and took the last half step to be within breath-mingling distance.
She swallowed. ‘This probably isn’t a good idea.’
‘No, it’s a fantastic idea,’ he assured her.
She moistened her lips. But it didn’t cool them—nothing could stop the temptation bubbling over. Purely sexual. Blatantly provocative. Honestly, if she didn’t have an orgasm soon she was going to go insane. She was halfway there now. Who knew that nymphomania was actually some flu-like virus you could be struck down with in a matter of minutes? Well, now Lena did, because all she could think about was sex—him and her and heat. Touching and skin and tongues and other body parts merging and teasing and satisfying.
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