The Barbershop Girl

by Georgina Penney

  ‘A dapper apple,’ he corrected, his mouth lifting at the corner.

  ‘You’re a prince, Ben.’

  ‘Aren’t I always? You know, once the media frenzy blows over you’re welcome to come stay with me in Perth for a few weeks. Bring Sharif. You were saying the other day that he doesn’t take enough holidays.’

  ‘Sharif would love that, but you know I really don’t like the heat.’

  ‘Build a bridge and get over it, my friend.’ Ben grinned at Colin’s grimace and patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll talk to you soon and no offence, but unless you take me up on my offer, I don’t want to see you or Dear Old Blighty for at least another six months.’

  The minute Ben settled himself on the plane, he truly began to relax for the first time in four days. In an uncharacteristic cock-up, Colin had managed to let Ben’s impending brief return to England slip out in conversation to a friend who just happened to work for one of the biggest muckraking publications in the country. Colin had then compounded things even more by leaving his phone at the table while he went to the restrooms, giving his Judas acquaintance a chance to get a hold of Ben’s private number.

  From the moment he’d returned to London, Ben had been beset by a barrage of calls from the baying British tabloid media demanding his response to Marcella’s tell-all vomit, which artistically painted him as a sexually deviant, misogynistic sadist who stole sweets from children on his day off. As it was, he’d barely been able to make it to Bright Star Studios to discuss another round of revisions to Power to the Devil. Or more to the point, to discuss the paltry amount they were planning on paying him for what was, essentially, a total rewrite now that they’d decided that it wasn’t just their movie star’s dialogue that needed fixing.

  He knew what their concerns were about. He knew they were on a tight budget, but that wasn’t his problem. It hadn’t been his decision to hire a Hollywood hack to work over his nuanced masterpiece, it had been theirs, and they could swallow their bitter pill and pay him to clean up their mess.

  It had been a vicious dogfight, but Ben had ultimately won the war. In return for his services, Bright Star would be paying the modest fee he’d negotiated and sharing a generous cut of the profits, if any, that eventuated if the film actually ever made it as far as the cinema. All he had to do was hold up his side of the bargain, which wouldn’t be hard. Unbeknown to his dear new friends at Bright Star, Ben already possessed a draft script for Power to the Devil that he’d written a few years before he’d sold the rights. At the time, he’d been harbouring grand plans to make the film himself before sanity had interjected. All he needed to do now was tweak it to best show off Cameron Bell’s acting prowess and hand it over. It would be a week’s work at most, which would free him up to spend his time on other, more pleasurable things – or more to the point, people. That’s if the particular person he was interested in was still talking to him.

  His little scheme to have Amy come to him hadn’t quite worked out as planned, thanks to this nightmare trip. He just hoped to hell she hadn’t been trying to contact him.

  ‘Fuck.’

  The word echoed off the walls of Ben’s house as he saw he’d missed not one but three calls from Amy. One on Friday evening, one on Saturday morning and one from the day before. Given that it was just after midnight, he’d have to cool his heels until a respectable hour.

  He ended up calling the minute he woke at ten the next morning.

  ‘Hello?’ Amy’s voice was almost drowned out by the sound of chattering females and the whirring of a hair dryer in the background.

  ‘Amy? It’s Ben. I’m a shit. I didn’t return your calls.’ Ben rubbed a hand over dry, tired eyes. He’d managed less than twelve hours’ sleep split over the past four days. He hadn’t been able to locate the off switch for his mind and now he was paying for it.

  ‘Ben? Are you alright? You sound strange.’

  ‘Yes. Fine. Exhausted but fine. I just flew in from London.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Yes. More’s the pity. I’d like to see you again. Preferably naked. Bear in mind I said preferably, not mandatorially.’ He grinned at her stunned silence. She didn’t take long to recover, however.

  ‘I got the boxed set.’

  Ben felt an acute rush of satisfaction. It had been an impulsive gesture but obviously the right one. ‘You liked it?’

  ‘I love it. Thank you.’

  ‘Just how grateful are you?’

  ‘Grateful enough to cook you dinner. I’ll come to you. Tonight okay?’

  ‘Tonight?’ It was Ben’s turn to be caught off-guard.

  ‘I’ll see you at seven.’ She hung up.

  Ben stared at the phone for a good few seconds with a bemused expression as the stress of the past few days flitted away. He then rolled out of bed and yanked open the heavy black bedroom curtains to reveal a spectacularly clear blue winter sky before making his way downstairs for a desperately needed coffee.

  Despite his present state of exhaustion, he was feeling remarkably inspired to work. Not on the film script, of course. He didn’t even want to think about that for another few days, but maybe Ross’s idea of a travel book wasn’t such a bad one. He could ask Amy to be his local guide to deciphering the peculiarities of Australian culture. He had a feeling she was something of an anomaly, but that didn’t matter. That just made her all the more interesting.

  Ben’s latest column featuring his experiences with the outdoor toilet in a post-sex daze had certainly gone down well if comments on the Enquirer’s website were anything to go by. His readers loved Amy and he’d loved sharing her with them. He worried momentarily that she wouldn’t be comfortable with the intimate details he’d alluded to, but squashed the feeling dead. He hadn’t said anything that would identify her and besides, she’d no doubt be flattered and touched he’d devoted so much line space to her. His other lady friends would certainly have been ecstatic for the publicity – or understanding, at the very least.

  He made a considerable part of his living off anecdotes from his private life and any woman getting involved with him knew that. Okay, so Amy didn’t know much about his career other than what he’d shared, but was that his problem? One search on Google would reveal all there was to know about him. Come to think of it, one search on Google at the moment would bring up Marcella’s tell-all story. If anything, that’s what he needed to worry about.

  Later that afternoon, Ben answered the door to a five-foot-tall, double-dimpled ray of sunshine. He blinked as he processed the sight of Amy in a pair of loose white linen pants and a soft yellow jumper cinched at the waist with narrow pink belt. He glanced down. As usual she was wearing heels. This time they were a yellow that matched the jumper. He’d never had a thing for women’s footwear before, but he definitely liked the idea of seeing her clad in nothing but those shoes and her birthday suit. Sometime in the next five minutes preferably.

  ‘Nice to see you, too. I missed you as well.’ She stepped forward and kissed him. Apples and bubblegum greeted his senses.

  ‘I’m being terribly rude, aren’t I?’ he murmured with a self-deprecating smile against her lips.

  ‘Yep. Although I gotta say I’m feeling flattered by the attention. Can you take this?’ Amy pulled out of his grip and pointed to a wicker basket covered with a red gingham tea towel resting at her feet. ‘You’ve got an oven that works, I hope?’

  ‘Last time I checked. Mind you, I’ve rarely used it.’ Ben hefted the basket. ‘What’s in here? A couple of bricks and a bowling ball?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  ‘A good one, I hope. I’m terribly fragile.’

  ‘You poor flower.’

  ‘It’s a trial.’ He led the way into the kitchen and watched with amusement as she rubbed her hands together, surveying her surrounds with obvious glee. Her perky platinum ponytail swung jauntily as she kneeled to peer into the oven.

  ‘This looks brand-new. Do you ever cook at all?’ She stood and ran a fi
nger over the immaculate stainless-steel stovetop.

  ‘Never,’ Ben said with relish. He lifted the towel off the basket and whistled at the array of fresh herbs and loose vegetables surrounding something that looked like lamb marinating in a Tupperware container with a cherry-red lid. Lurking off to one side was a large blue and white striped tin.

  ‘Don’t even think of opening that,’ Amy warned, walking over and nudging him out of the way with her hip before beginning to unpack the goodies.

  Curiosity roused, Ben reached over her shoulder and lifted out the item in question. It was heavy. ‘What’s the penalty if I do?’

  ‘You’ll get sent to your room.’

  ‘Oh well. If you insist.’ Ben reached for the lid.

  ‘Without me.’

  He heaved a dramatic sigh. ‘Do I at least get a proper kiss now?’

  ‘Oh.’ Amy’s drill sergeant demeanour melted. ‘Sorry.’ She turned and closed the space between them until they were only an inch apart. Damn but she smelled good. He decided dinner could wait.

  ‘You know, I never did get to see you wearing my present the other day,’ he said huskily, leaning down to lick at a delectably soft bottom lip. He’d been imagining her in that slinky scrap of lace every night since he’d bought it.

  ‘No?’ Amy breathed, leaning into him until her breasts pressed against his chest.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, I did bring it. It’s in my bag.’

  His eyes widened. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yup.’ She ran her hands down the sides of her thighs; it was an unconscious gesture that drew Ben’s attention to the curves he’d like to be touching in the very near future.

  ‘Do I get to see?’ Ben reached out and gently grasped her hands in his, bringing them to rest on his chest, where they felt right.

  Her eyes twinkled. ‘You want me to put it on?’

  Ben schooled his features into a serious expression. ‘Only if you want to. If you really insist, we can just hang it on the wall and I can imagine you wearing it. However, I may have to see you naked for my imagination to truly do it justice.’

  ‘You’d have to be naked too.’ Amy smoothed her hands from Ben’s chest down to his stomach.

  ‘It would be a trial, but I think I could manage it. From memory we didn’t get around to a few things last time. Terribly remiss of me.’ He leaned forward, rubbing his stubble over Amy’s baby-soft cheek as he whispered in her ear. ‘This time I get to make you come.’

  ‘What?’ Her breath hitched as he caught the hem of her jumper in his fingertips.

  ‘Lift up your arms, sweetheart.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Amy raised her arms and he unbuckled the belt at her waist, then swept the jumper over her head, revealing charming little breasts lovingly hugged by a buttercup-yellow bra.

  ‘That’s better.’ He raised his hands to further extend his appreciation but Amy took a step back, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.

  ‘Turn about’s fair play. Strip.’

  ‘If I must,’ he sighed. His pullover hit the floor within seconds, along with the grey T-shirt he’d been wearing underneath it, leaving him in a pair of low-slung jeans. ‘Now where were we?’ He hooked a finger in the waistband of her trousers. ‘You know . . . I think these can go too.’

  The flush that spread from Amy’s chest to her cheeks was utterly adorable, as was the way she pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘You first.’

  ‘Oh no. I remember where that got me the last time you were here.’

  ‘I liked where it got you.’ Amy ran her eyes down his torso with obvious appreciation until they rested on the fly of his now rather uncomfortable jeans.

  ‘No. I’m afraid I insist.’ Ben undid the top button on her pants, then took his time pulling down the zip. He smiled widely at the sight of more yellow lace, slowly running his thumb over the petal-soft skin just below her navel. Her trousers slipped off her hips and pooled at her feet.

  Amy’s breath hitched. ‘I can’t draw this out, Ben.’

  ‘Neither can I. Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart,’ he commanded, drawing her hips against his and hiking her up his body. They shared a charged moment, revelling in the contact, before Ben swiftly walked to the sofa by the window and collapsed backwards with a groan as Amy straddled him. She trailed a string of warm kisses along his jaw, then sweetly fitted her mouth over his, promptly stealing his sanity.

  ‘You know,’ he said, coming up for air, hands flexing on her hips, ‘I believe I was supposed to turn the tables on you this time.’

  ‘You talk too much,’ Amy moaned.

  ‘You wear too many clothes,’ Ben countered against her lips. ‘Take them off.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Amy’s fingers flicked over his nipples and he groaned.

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Alright.’ Amy reluctantly slid off his lap to stand between his splayed knees. Her eyes met his as she first unclasped her bra, letting it drop to the floor before skimming those ray-of-sunshine panties down her thighs, kicking them off with a flourish and a grin.

  ‘Leave the shoes on,’ Ben purred as his eyes licked over lush little coral-tipped breasts, the adorable curve of her stomach, then lower. He opened his mouth to say more but Amy chose that minute to slide back onto his lap and the words flew away, along with what little was left of his sanity.

  Without preliminaries, he pounced.

  ‘Ben!’ she shrieked when he drew one nipple deep into his mouth, sucking, biting, thoroughly enjoying the texture of her, the taste of her and the way she was squirming against him.

  ‘Hmm?’ He moved to the other breast, worshipping it with just as much fervour.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I thought it was obvious. Quality control,’ he murmured against a tightly pebbled nipple. ‘Have to check they both taste like apples and bubblegum.’ He delighted in the way she writhed on top of him, pushing her naked warmth against the fly of his jeans until he suspected he was going to embarrass himself right then and there.

  Raising his head, he looked up into her eyes just as he moved a questing hand to that delightful little patch of curls hiding his own personal nirvana. Her moans and the dampness that met his fingertips were the source of instant gratification. ‘Nice to know I’m wanted.’

  ‘You really do talk too much.’ Amy reached down between them and fumbled with his fly. Seconds later her hand was wrapped around him, drawing him out of his jeans. A moment after that, all rational thought left him as she hiked herself up, braced her hands on his shoulders and, without preamble sank down, hot, wet, tightness engulfing him.

  ‘Christ,’ Ben groaned as his head fell backwards. Grasping Amy’s backside with two hands, he braced his bare feet on the floor and raised her up, seeing white flashing light behind his eyelids as she sank back down with a slow undulation of her hips. She repeated the movement and Ben tightened his grip, losing himself in the wet glide and the sexy little whimpers she made each time she took his full length.

  He allowed the torture to go on for as long as he could handle it, then moved his hands to cover her breasts, pinching her nipples hard enough for her movements to turn erratic as she ground against him, moving faster, slamming down on him harder.

  Breath rasping, his control slipping, Ben reached down between them, placing a finger directly over her clitoris.

  Amy wailed and tried to twist out of his reach, but he leaned forward and gently bit her shoulder, gripping her hip with his free hand just hard enough to let her know he meant business.

  ‘Not this time, sweetheart. Faster.’ He bumped his hips against hers, burying himself deep again and again. She tightened around him, fighting it until the last second then threw her head back, making keening cries, hips moving jerkily. He felt, rather than heard, her orgasm slam into her as she screamed, going wild in his arms, clenching down on his cock, shoving him into the abyss.

  Feeling an unbelievable sense of accomplishment, Ben gave in to his own release, shou
ting triumphantly, his entire body wracked with pleasure.

  He was still smiling smugly minutes later when Amy pushed herself away from his damp, sweaty chest.

  ‘You look pleased with yourself,’ she said in a kittenish, accusatory tone.

  ‘Oh, I am.’ Ben’s expression was positively smug. ‘This is where you tell me you enjoyed yourself.’

  Amy narrowed her eyes and then yawned massively, pink tongue curling. ‘Awful. I had an awful time.’

  ‘So I noticed. About the time you were screaming my name.’ He tenderly smoothed her hair away from her eyes. ‘You were beautiful, you know.’

  ‘Oh damn.’ Amy’s eyes watered up as she looked at him accusingly. ‘I was doing well until now and then you had to say something like that.’

  ‘Oh damn.’ Ben pulled her back against his bare chest, loving the feel of her soft little body pressed against his, the feel of still being inside her. ‘Is there some Australian etiquette I missed? Should I have insulted you?’

  ‘Yes. No.’ Amy burrowed her face against his neck. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Ben rubbed his cheek against her hair. ‘Although I’d like to know what you’re thanking me for.’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I’m completely ignorant.’

  ‘The thingy.’

  ‘Thingy?’

  ‘You made me thingy.’

  ‘I did nothing of the sort. I believe I helped you come spectacularly but I never made you thingy. Sounds positively obscene.’ Ben laughed when Amy began giggling.

  She snuggled closer against him before tensing, rearing backwards in a sudden movement, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘Oh bugger.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘We didn’t use anything.’

  Ben stifled a groan.

  ‘You don’t have any nasty bugs or diseases do you?’

  ‘Bit late to ask that now, sweetheart.’ Ben internally berated himself for his colossal stupidity but kept his tone light. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t have been able to resist me.’ His expression turned serious. ‘I’m all clear. Not that you should trust the word of a man who makes things up for a living.’