by Joss Wood
Determined, persistent and very, very smart. He’d have to watch this one, he thought. And that wouldn’t be a hardship either. God, she was lovely, Ross thought, standing in the doorway and watching as Ally’s hands flew over the keyboard of her laptop. Her mobile was still surgically attached to her ear.
Her hair had half fallen out of its knot at the back of her head and her make-up had faded, allowing him to see more of those delightful freckles and her lush, unpainted mouth. The top button of her shirt had come undone, and if he tipped his head just so he could see the swell of her breast, the edges of a pale pink bra. She looked tired, he thought as she massaged her temple with her right hand, her left still tapping the keyboard. Tired, determined, and sexy as hell.
He wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. It was a damn good thing that she was climbing onto a plane tonight, because if she wasn’t then he’d make another stab at sleeping with her. She’d probably shoot him down in flames but she was worth the risk...
He hadn’t felt this hot, this needful of a woman, in months—possibly years.
She glanced up at him, gave him a little wave and made an effort to get up from his desk. He waved her back down and grabbed his note pad.
Food? he scrawled, and slapped the note down in front of her.
Ally held up her finger, asking him for a minute, and he perched on the edge of his desk, waiting for her to finish her conversation. After she’d said au revoir she pulled her fingers away from the keyboard, yanked her headset off her ear and tossed it onto the desk.
‘Hi,’ she said, and he heard the weariness in her voice, saw it in the slump of her shoulders.
‘Hi, back. Tough afternoon?’
‘Brutal.’ She held up her hand in apology. ‘I don’t have an offer for you yet. I’ve spent the afternoon tracking Luc down; I can’t reach Justin. Luc is going to brief his father so I just have to wait for the decision.’
‘Okay. When do you think that will be?’
Ally looked at her watch. ‘Honestly...? Justin will want to do some research before throwing the foundation’s money at you. Probably not until Monday morning at the earliest. Luc suggested that I stay in Cape Town until we get an answer.’
‘Huh...’ Ross picked up the Rubik’s cube that he kept on his desk and idly turned a few layers, adding a red side to the green and yellow sides he’d already accomplished. ‘So—food. What do you feel like?’
Ally leaned forward in her chair—no, his chair—and held her face in her hands. ‘You don’t look worried at all,’ she commented.
What was there to worry about? he wondered. ‘That’s because I’m not.’ He put the Rubik’s cube down and folded his arms. ‘Your father is either going to go for it or not; I can’t influence his decision one way or the other. If he doesn’t I don’t get to dress up in poncey—’
‘Careful...’ Ally warned him.
He smiled before continuing. ‘Poncey clothing and goof around in front of a camera. On the negative side, I’ll have to do some fundraising. It’s all good, Jones.’
‘For you, maybe,’ Ally grumbled. ‘If he doesn’t say yes then I am still short of a face.’
‘Yet the world keeps turning.’ Ross stretched as he stood up. ‘Food! I’m starving.’
Pic’s ears pricked up and he lumbered to his feet.
Ross dropped his hand and rubbed Pic’s head. ‘And there’s the magic word. Come on—let’s go, Jones.’
Ally shook her head and gave him that brief, impersonal smile he was coming to hate. It was soulless, perfunctory, and very, very corporate.
‘Thanks but I am just going to go back to the hotel and order Room Service; I still have work to do.’
Seriously? On a Friday night? Who worked on a Friday night...? Ah, yes. Crazy people, workaholics and his father. And Ally Jones, apparently.
‘Seriously? You’re going back to your hotel to work?’
He deliberately made it sound like a different kind of four-letter word.
‘Yep.’ Ally closed down her computer, packed it into her laptop bag and refused to look at him. She stood up, shoved her feet back into her silly, sexy shoes and looked over his messy desk to see if there was anything she’d left behind. ‘Right—ready to go...’ She scrunched up her face in annoyance. ‘Dammit, I keep forgetting that I can’t step outside and expect a taxi to come whizzing by. I need to call for one.’
And that would take a while. ‘I’ll take you back to your hotel,’ Ross offered.
‘It’s too far, Ross, and I’ve taken too much of your time already. You probably have a date or something and I’ll make you late. If you can just call a taxi for me I’ll wait outside.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’ Ross waited while she preceded him out of the office, then switched off his lights and followed her down the stairs.
‘I should’ve just rented a car...now I’m going to put you out,’ Ally muttered. ‘That’s the problem with impulsive decisions—they just come back and bite you in the butt.’
‘Mmm... And imagine what would’ve happened if you’d slept with me—impulsively, of course!’ Ross said, his words as dry as kindling. He caught the look of horror that flashed across her face and rolled his eyes. ‘That’s a joke, Ally! Jeez! Do you always make a mountain out of a molehill?’
‘No. Maybe. Sometimes...’ Ally admitted, and Ross was surprised by her honesty.
‘So, pizza and then hotel?’ he asked, pushing his luck.
‘Just hotel,’ Ally said as they left the building.
Well, it had been worth a try.
FIVE
Ally heard the knock on her hotel room door, pushed her chair back from the desk and wondered who was bothering her at five-fifteen on a Saturday afternoon. She hadn’t ordered Room Service and nobody but Ross knew she was in Cape Town.
Ross...it could only be.
Ally licked her lips and wished her heart would get the message and not go all fluttery and stupid and...and girly...whenever she thought of him. It was just...silly.
Ally looked down at her outfit: sensible beige Capri pants that finished midthigh and a black crop top that ended two inches above the waistband and showed off the straps of her purple and black push-up bra.
Not the most seductive outfit in the world.
He knocked again and Ally crossed the room to open the door. Ross, dressed in bottle-green board shorts, a white T-shirt and flip-flops that showed signs of being chewed upon, stood in her doorway. He looked rumpled and sexy and desire roared through her body.
He was standing in the entrance to her room and it was all she could to not yank him inside and climb all over him.
Ally folded her arms. ‘Um... Ah... I didn’t expect to see you here...I mean again—at least not until Monday when I...you know...’
Jeez, smooth. Like...not.
She took a deep breath and gathered her scattered wits together. It took a while because some of her wits were eyeing his mouth, others were imagining his ass beneath her hands and the sluttier wits were checking out his package, which looked very impressive indeed.
She eventually managed to string a complete sentence together. ‘What are you doing here?’
Ross’s mouth quirked up at the corners. ‘Grab some shoes and let’s go.’
‘Where to?’ Ally asked, and then twisted her lips. ‘I mean...I can’t, Ross.’
‘That wasn’t actually a suggestion. I’m going out to listen to a jazz band
and you’re coming with me,’ Ross countered.
‘Ross, seriously—thank you for the offer, but no.’
‘Okay, then.’ Ross pushed past her, sat on the edge of her bed and flopped backwards. ‘Let’s stay here and neck. That sounds like an even better plan.’
Ally flushed, unable to take her eyes off his large, masculine frame. That was the best idea she’d heard in weeks. She could just walk on up between his spread open legs, lower herself down onto his wide chest and sip at that stunning mouth. Those impressive arms would keep her anchored as she moved against his erection...
‘One of these days I’m going to be part of your daydreams, Jones,’ Ross promised, his eyes molten gold.
Ally snapped back at his words and silently screamed when a deep, dark flush spread up her neck and into her face.
‘Will you please leave?’ she demanded, her voice hoarse.
‘Go out or stay in—your choice,’ Ross countered. ‘I vote for staying in.’
Ally rubbed her forehead with her hand and wished that Ross had even a slight acquaintance with the word no. Devil and deep blue sea, she thought. If she went out with him then she’d have to talk to him, and she was already, very grudgingly, fascinated with the man. Spending more time with him, talking to him, would make her more so.
If they stayed here they’d end up having sex, which would be beyond stupid. He would, she just knew it, be an amazing lover, and she also knew that he had the potential to become deeply addictive.
And she couldn’t let that happen...
He crept into her thoughts more often than was healthy and they hadn’t even got to making love yet. She was trying to avoid being alone with him because it seemed to be the intelligent thing to do, but Fate was making this so damn hard! She was drawn to Ross in a way that scared her, because no penis-toting human had ever had the impact on her that he did.
Dear Lord... Ally swayed where she stood, befuddled and bemused. Ross snapped her out of her daze when he stood up, walked over to her and gently pushed a strand of hair off her face.
‘Look outside... It’s a stunning spring evening: warm and soft. Everyone is outside except you. We’ll take Pic for a walk along the promenade—at the moment he’s entertaining, or maybe terrifying, the reception staff downstairs. We can have a couple of drinks and some food, listen to good jazz. We won’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. Just take a break from the small screen for a while, okay?’
How was she supposed to resist that low, sexy voice and that tempting, charming look? Ally felt herself wavering. It was Saturday night and she’d had a hell of a week. She could probably do with some sunshine—and when last had she breathed fresh air?
Her brain capitulated but her entire body whimpered in protest. It wanted to stay in and play with the big girl’s toy in front of her...
‘Okay, maybe for a little while.’ Ally grabbed her bag off the couch and moved towards the door, needing to leave the room before she did something really stupid—like stripping naked and throwing herself at him.
‘Jones?’
Ally, her hand on the door handle, turned to look back at him. ‘Yeah?’
Ross pointed at her bare feet. ‘Shoes would be a good idea.’
* * *
Ally and Ross walked down to the promenade that ran from Sea Point past Bantry Bay and all the way up to Mouille Point. As Ross had pointed out, everybody was outside: pensioners, teenagers, cyclists, joggers, lovers and dog-lovers walking their fur people.
Pic ambled along next to Ross, and Ally wondered who was walking who as Pic explored the exciting smells on the boardwalk and they followed his zig-zag path.
Ross bought them ice cream and she licked and sighed, happy to feel the still warm dipping sun on her bare shoulders and face. ‘Where are the jazz players?’ she asked.
‘At a pub a little further down. What sort of music do you like?’
Okay, that wasn’t too personal. Music....what did she like? She had to think for a minute. ‘Modern country,’ she said eventually on a huge sigh, knowing that she was about to be mocked.
She wasn’t wrong. Ross looked as if he’d just found a dairy worm in his cone. ‘Dear God, why?’ he asked, utterly pained.
‘The songs normally have a story; I like stories,’ Ally replied.
‘Frig, you need help. Hard rock, indie, even house—but country?’
Ally was about to tell him exactly what he could do with his help when her mobile rang. She pulled it out of the back pocket of her Capri pants and squinted at the display. ‘Tante Sabine.’ She sighed.
‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ Ross demanded.
‘Maybe later.’ Ally said, tucking the phone away again. She and Sabine both had the latest smartphones and all the Bellechiers liked the video calling facility. Ally hated it, because they could tell when she was where she shouldn’t be—mostly in her office, but on this occasion with Ross. She was in the company of a good-looking guy on a Saturday afternoon and that would raise a lot of pesky questions from her nosy foster mum.
Ross ate the rest of his ice cream and didn’t refuse when Ally offered him her half-eaten cone to finish. ‘How long have you known your foster mother? How old were you when you were fostered?’ he asked between bites.
Ally licked the top of her lip. ‘I was fifteen when they fostered me, but I’ve known them my entire life. Their second oldest son and I are the same age and we were in the same class. I spent most afternoons in their house with them.’
‘And you call her Tante? That’s aunt, right?’
Ally wished the world would open her up and swallow her. While she’d kept lecturing herself about not probing into Ross’s life, she hadn’t considered that he might probe into hers.
‘Why hasn’t she been upgraded to Mum, Ally?’
She had asked her to, about six months after her dad had died, but she hadn’t been ready to make that step. She hadn’t ever asked her again, and Ally had been too scared to raise the subject in case they were happy to keep the status quo.
Her mobile rang again, and of course it was Sabine...
‘Where are you?’ she demanded in French.
‘Walking along a promenade in Cape Town,’ Ally replied in the same language, looking down at the screen and seeing her face.
‘By yourself?’ Sabine demanded.
Ally’s eyes flew to Ross and she didn’t see Sabine’s quick smile of delight. ‘I’m with Ross Bennett,’ she said eventually, and turned the phone so that Sabine could see Ross. Ross grinned down at her and Sabine smiled slowly.
The flirt.
As she’d thought, Ross could melt any woman’s panties, regardless of age, at fifty paces. This was why his was the best face to launch the new Bellechier line.
‘Bonjour, madame.’
The words were polite but the inflection was pure, Hey, sweetheart...
‘Ross Bennett. Thank you for showing my...’ Sabine’s eyes flicked to Ally and quickly away again. ‘...Alyssa Cape Town.’
He’d like to show her a lot more than just Cape Town, but Ross was pretty sure that Sabine Bellechier didn’t need to know that. On the other hand, judging by her approving look and the twinkle in her eyes, she might approve and cheer him on.
As Ally and Sabine chatted away—in English, for his benefit—he wondered what the deal was between these two. They acted like mother and daughter, had the same crazy, jump around, finish-each-other’s-sentence conversations that he remembered his
sister and his mum having, and they very obviously adored each other. So why were they both so damn scared to take the step and acknowledge the mother-daughter bond that was so tangible he could almost taste it?
Families were...weird, he thought. And he couldn’t judge—his was as screwed up as any.
He turned his concentration back to their conversation when he heard his name mentioned.
‘Ross, my husband Justin would like me to pass on the message that he has no problem making a donation on behalf of the Bellechier Foundation to your think tank project in exchange for you being the face of the new campaign. I trust that is acceptable to you?’
‘It depends how much he wants to give Crazy Collaborations, madame.’
‘I think you will be happy with the amount he intends to offer, Ross,’ Sabine said, her face serious. ‘You will have a formal offer on your desk first thing Monday morning. If you accept it, Alyssa will bring it back to Geneva with her and the contracts will follow.’
‘Let me see what the offer looks like and we can take it from there,’ Ross said, totally unfazed. ‘Thank you.’
Ally and Sabine chatted for a minute longer and then Ally disconnected, pushed her mobile into her pocket and slipped her sunglasses back onto her face. ‘Sabine— matriarch of the Bellechiers.’
‘She seems nice.’
‘She is. What’s your mother like?’
Ross jammed his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts. ‘Bubbly...loving...fussy. Lonely.’
Ally’s eyes sharpened at that comment and Ross hissed a mild curse for letting the words slip out.
She was too sharp to let it slide. ‘Lonely? Why?’
Ross stared out to sea. ‘My dad is very driven, very ambitious. He’s a compulsive workaholic and, while he loves my mum, work always comes first with him. My mum gets the crumbs of his attention.’
As we did. All our lives. Unless we joined the family business. Then we were golden until we left and became nothing.
Harsh, but true. And that was why he would never allow work to consume him or become emotionally involved with anybody who allowed work to consume her life. He was never, ever going back to playing the cymbals in the orchestra of his life again.