More Than a Fling?

by Joss Wood

  ‘You still alive, Jones?’

  ‘Mmm...’ Ally slid down his legs and leaned against him, relying on him to take her weight. ‘Je suis heureux comme un poisson dans l’eau.’

  Ross leaned her against the wall and stepped into the tiny toilet next to the stairs to rid himself of his soiled condom. Finally a reason for that stupid room made for gnomes.

  ‘Say again?’ he asked.

  ‘Fish...water...happy as...’ Ally looked down at her naked body and shrugged. ‘Of course I’m still waiting for the feeling to come back into certain parts of my body.’

  Ross stepped back into the room and grinned at her lazy eyes, her tousled hair. It was the most relaxed he’d ever seen her and he liked it.

  And he’d loved the sex. So much so that he planned on doing it again. Very, very soon.

  He walked over to Ally, held her fine jaw in his hand and kissed her gently, his tongue sliding into her mouth. She tasted like excitement and need and he felt himself rise to the occasion. Ally’s hand reached down between them and her hot hand encircled his shaft. He went instantly, surprisingly hard.

  It seemed that ‘very, very soon’ would be now. He could live with that.

  ‘Bed?’ Ally whispered against his mouth.

  ‘Lead the way. I am, literally, in your hands.’

  * * *

  Later—a lot later—Ally lifted Ross’s hand off her bare bottom and peered at the expensive watch on his wrist. A quarter to six. In the evening. Jeez, Louise.

  Sighing with regret, she slid her leg up as her hand drifted over his flat stomach.

  ‘Jones...’ he groaned, and his eyes remained closed. ‘I honestly can’t. Hell, we haven’t moved from this bed since lunchtime.’

  Ally moaned as his thumb rasped her nipple. ‘Can’t handle it, huh? Simply no stamina!’

  Within a second Ross had rolled her onto her back and was laughing down at her. ‘Lack of stamina, my ass.’

  ‘You have a very nice ass, but I’ll save you from proving it because I have to get back to my hotel. I still have work to do tonight.’

  Ross lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘It’s nearly six, Jones. Most people are about to call it quits for the day or already have.’

  ‘Most people didn’t waste the entire afternoon having sex.’

  Ross placed a hand on his heart and looked wounded. ‘Waste? That’s harsh. An afternoon having sex is never wasted. In fact I think it’s a damn good use of one’s time. Half the population of the world would agree with me.’

  ‘The male half,’ Ally replied. ‘Before your ego drops to the floor and starts crying, I’ll admit that it was the best time I’ve ever wasted.’

  ‘Nice save. Where are you staying?’ Ross asked, his hand exploring the curve of her butt. ‘Not the Riebeek? That’s on the other side of the mountain in Hout Bay.’

  ‘Just for tonight.’ Ally pushed at his shoulders and Ross moved off her. ‘Luc has a friend who owns a flat in Camps Bay. I’m staying there for the next couple of weeks. I’ll pick up the keys tomorrow and move in.’

  ‘Camps Bay, huh? We’re practically neighbours. This is Bantry Bay, then there’s Clifton, then Camps Bay. Straight down Chappies.’

  ‘Chappies?’

  ‘Chapman’s Peak Drive. As I said—a perfect commute.’

  A perfect commute for a booty call.

  Why did she feel irritated by the words that she knew he thought but didn’t speak? Ally asked herself as she walked into his large en-suite bathroom, carrying her very crumpled dress and underwear in her hand. Sex, a booty call, a pleasure run...whatever they wanted to call it, it was exactly what they were indulging in, what they’d agreed to, what she wanted.

  Wasn’t it?

  Ally splashed some cold water over her face in an effort to wake up her dozy brain cells. Of course it was... She was having a no-strings affair with a man who seemed to enjoy her and her body—a lot! He was successful, good-looking, had a rockin’ body and knew what he was doing in bed.

  It was all good. She wasn’t here for conversation or cuddling. She was here primarily to get this campaign filmed and wrapped up, and ‘doing’ Ross was just a very nice side benefit.

  Don’t confuse good sex with affection, Jones. You don’t have the time, the energy or the inclination for a relationship. You stand on the outside and look in...that’s what you do...it’s your thing.

  Ross pounded his fist on the closed bathroom door. ‘Hey, it looks like it might be quite a sunset. Do you want to take a walk to the beach and watch the sun go down? We could take a bottle of red and some glasses. I’ll drive you back to your hotel afterwards.’

  A sunset, red wine and a good-looking man? People got to know each other over red wine and sunsets; confessions were made and secrets were revealed. Ally, knowing that she was more susceptible than most to the ambience—having never been romanced in her life—knew that she had to refuse. She simply couldn’t trust herself to keep her distance.

  And whose fault is it that you’ve never been romanced? Ally heard Sabine’s spiky voice in her head. Yours, you imbecile! You’ve never allowed anyone to romance you—never opened yourself up enough to be romanced.

  Ally tossed back her head, put a polite smile on her face and opened the door. She managed to send Ross an impersonal smile. ‘Thanks, but no. I think I should get going. I’m kind of tired.’

  Ross, who’d pulled on a pair of jeans, nodded once before reaching for a shirt. Muttering a curse, he walked over to her, lifted her chin and kissed her nose. ‘You are the most stubborn, contrary woman I’ve ever met. Just because we’ve had sex it doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends, Ally.’

  Ally pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She stared at the black and white photograph of sand dunes on the wall behind his shoulder. ‘I think it’s just...better—safer—if we don’t.’

  Ross looked at her for a long minute and Ally tried not to flinch under his scrutiny. Eventually he dropped his head in a curt nod and gestured her to walk out of the room first. ‘I’ll take you back to your hotel now.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  * * *

  Ross drove her in his Jeep, leaving the top off so that the balmy spring air could blow through their hair. He loved Cape Town in spring, with the smell of the jasmine creeper that covered the wall at the bottom of his property filling the air with its sweet scent. His neighbours were starting to barbecue again after the cold, wet winter, and the lawns and gardens were lush and verdant. Spring was flower season in the Western Cape, and soon the countryside would erupt in colour.

  He hoped that Ally stopped working long enough to take it all in. To appreciate the beauty. To stop and literally smell the flowers.

  Ross thought that a drive along Chapman’s Peak Drive at sunset was nearly as good as sitting on the beach watching the sun going down. The road was magnificent, and it was his favourite route to drive his Ducati. He stole a glance at Ally, who was looking down the sheer drop to the sea below, switching her gaze between the sea and the mountains looming above them. Ross kept one hand on the wheel of the car, easily negotiating the twists and turns in the road as the orange sun tossed sunbeams like petals on the green-blue-aqua-purple sea.

  Ross pushed a button on the steering wheel and flipped through a playlist until Macy Gray’s husky voice drifted over them. They didn’t need to talk, Ross thought, but he’d like to. He wouldn’t mind knowing what drove her incessant need to work—why she found it
so difficult to make friends, be a friend, and why, when she’d been sick in Geneva, she wouldn’t ask her family for help.

  She was a tightly wound ball of contradictions, he thought, his finger tapping to the beat against the edge of the steering wheel. Wild, passionate, giving with her body, but the exact opposite with her mind. He’d meant what he said about being friends—he’d always managed to be and stay friends with his previous lovers, and friendship added an element of fun to sex...a lightness that stopped it from being mechanical.

  Sex with Ally had been anything but mechanical, Ross admitted, conscious of the party still wanting to happen in his pants. It had been a long time since he’d had sex that was that explosive. And once hadn’t been enough. He’d reached for her again and again and she’d responded, each time getting bolder and braver.

  He really had to fight the temptation to turn the car around and take her back to bed.

  Ally thought that she was emotionally self-sufficient, but he’d never seen anyone more in need of a mate—someone to make her take a deep breath, drink some wine on a beach at sunset, make her look at the flowers.

  He’d be that mate—he was good at it—and when they weren’t being friends he’d shag her senseless because he was good at that too. He wouldn’t become attached—what was the point?—and he would make sure that she didn’t either.

  Ross pulled up in front of the imposing entrance of The Riebeek and a red-liveried doorman stepped forward to open her door. Before she undid her seatbelt Ross grabbed the back of her neck and gently pulled her head so that he could look into her face.

  ‘I had a great afternoon.’

  Ally darted a look at the doorman, blushed, and Ross shook his head. If the man hadn’t already realised that they’d spent the afternoon in bed, Ally’s blush and embarrassment flashed it in six-foot-high neon. The doorman, to his credit, kept his face impassive. Good man.

  Ally pulled her seatbelt off and reached for the bag that she’d placed at her feet. She shoved her hand into her windblown, messy hair and pushed it off her face. ‘It’ll take a week or so before we have everything in place for the campaign.’

  ‘Why so long?’ Ross asked, unhappily reminded that he’d committed himself to being on the wrong side of a camera for the Bellechier campaign.

  ‘The creative director and I need to scout locations, hire extras, models, et cetera. I have to get the collection you’re wearing out of Customs. Things to do...busy, busy.’ Ally pulled her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’ll try and give you a date for when we need you as soon as possible.’

  Ally climbed out of the Jeep and stood there, looking a little nonplussed and trying hard to be businesslike. Not so easy when they both knew that he’d had his head between her thighs just hours before.

  Ally tapped the edge of the door. ‘I’ll see you.’

  ‘Yeah, you will.’ Ross looked at her mouth before his eyes clashed with hers. ‘Sooner than you think.’

  And he’d make damn sure that it was a lot sooner than she felt comfortable with. Jones, he decided as he drove off, needed to be kept off balance to keep that busy mind of hers from thinking too much.

  NINE

  Ross walked out of his front door and watched Ally climb out of the small car she’d hired for while she was in Cape Town, her hair pulled back and her nerd glasses firmly perched on her nose. They’d hooked up twice already this week and he was trying not to push for more—that body! That face!—but, hell, it was the end of the working week.

  Except for Ally... Frig, she was still in work mode and, judging by her tight mouth, she was not amused that he’d interrupted her at six-thirty on a Friday afternoon and told her to haul her ass up to his house.

  Seeing him, Ally put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘I do not appreciate you summoning me here, disconnecting, and then not answering my return calls.’

  Well, if she came willingly then he wouldn’t have to summon her, would he? ‘If I asked you to come for a meal, like I have the last couple of times, you’d just give me a song and dance about having work to do and brush me off.’

  ‘I do have work to do! You insisted that I come to Cape Town, but that doesn’t mean that the rest of my work has gone away. This isn’t all I have to concentrate on!’

  Ross glared at her. ‘BS—you’re just looking for a way to avoid spending time with me. You’re okay with us sleeping together, having incredible sex, but talking is another story.’

  Ally didn’t make a move to come to the door. ‘We don’t have to talk! That was the deal.’ She looked confused. ‘Wasn’t it?’

  Ross massaged his forehead with his fingers. ‘God, Jones, stop being a pain in my ass and come and have some dinner.’

  ‘I don’t know, Ross...’

  ‘It’s lasagne, not a bloody marriage proposal. Wine, food, and hopefully—but I’m not holding my breath—conversation.’ Ross threw up his hands at her mutinous face. ‘You know what? Do what you want. I’m going inside.’

  He was halfway to the kitchen when he heard footsteps on the wooden floor and he turned to see her in the doorway, the sunlight turning her hair to a deep shade of gold. When she stepped inside, he could see her troubled face, the tension in her shoulders as she crossed her arms across her chest.

  ‘I don’t talk so well.’

  He made sure to keep his voice even. ‘I’ve heard you talk—you seem to string sentences together in a coherent way.’

  Ally scrunched up her face. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t, actually.’

  She looked at the floor. ‘I don’t open up. I want to but I can’t. And if I do then we’ll go from being just a hook-up to something else.’

  Ross stroked his chin. ‘We’d go from a hook-up to being friends, Alyssa. There is nothing wrong with us being friends.’

  ‘I don’t have many friends,’ Ally said.

  From what I gather you don’t have any friends, and that’s not healthy, Ross thought. What had happened to make her so scared of opening up? To make her feel that it was important to be so emotionally independent? ‘Maybe it’s time to try.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Progress, Ross thought. ‘Just do me a favour, please?’

  ‘What?’ Ally looked wary.

  ‘Don’t keep fighting every move I make, okay? If it’s the end of a workday and I invite you out, say yes now and again—please. Begging for your time sucks.’

  Ally was brave enough to meet his eyes and he saw the embarrassment and apology in them. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Okay. Want something to drink?’

  Ally nodded and he walked into the kitchen to pour them each a glass from the bottle he’d opened earlier.

  ‘I like your house,’ Ally said, taking the glass he held out to her.

  ‘Thanks,’ Ross replied, sipping the Merlot. He stood for a moment and tried to see the very familiar space with new eyes. If he looked straight ahead the passage past the stairs took him to the kitchen and a small TV lounge; to the left was the main lounge, its walls lined with glass-fronted bookcases and its ceiling a soaring double volume. The wooden doors at the far side of the room framed the sea view perfectly. Outside those doors was an outside living space and a heated lap pool that he tried to make use of most days.

  With three bedrooms, and a study on the second floor, it was a ridiculous amount of space for one guy but he loved the openness, the flow, and the fact that he could more than swing a cat if he wanted to.
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br />   ‘Where’s Pic?’

  ‘Guy took him for a run on the beach. He was going anyway so he stopped by to pick Pic up,’ Ross answered.

  Unable to wait any longer to touch her, he settled his hands on Ally’s shoulders and pulled her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. She was so slight, so girly, so soft and fragrant, but so damn complicated.

  Ross kept himself from doing anything but rubbing her back—okay, he copped a quick feel of her ass, but that was it. If he started he wouldn’t be able to stop, and hauling her off to bed, to the couch, the floor, would undo all the good work he’d done earlier.

  He stepped back, took her hand and led her to the kitchen. ‘Come and help me get the food on the table.’

  Ally shot him a coy look. ‘I’d much rather help you with what’s happening in your pants.’

  His hand tightened around hers as he considered her offer. ‘Oh, no, you’re not getting out of conversation that easily.’

  * * *

  At least she’d eaten some lasagne, Ross thought as Ally pushed her plate away and lifted her wine glass. And she’d promised not to give him a hard time about his invitations. That was a win...kind of.

  On another point... Frig, she could rock a sundress, he thought. Today’s outfit was a tangerine number, warm against her olive skin, with a bare back and tied at her neck. One little tug...

  Ross shifted as the fabric of his solid black board shorts tightened against the festival in his pants and rolled his eyes at himself. It was embarrassing to admit that around her he had the control of a fifteen-year-old.

  While he was utterly relaxed—okay, except for down below—Ally was now acting as if she had ants in her pants. They’d taken a walk on the beach before supper and when they’d come back to the house she’d made a salad, and then they’d taken the food to the dining table on the veranda and tucked in.