Читать книгу His Permanent Mistress: Mistress Under Contract - Kate Hardy - Страница 13

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SHE woke with a start. The chill of pre-dawn hit her together with confusion. For a split second she couldn’t think, couldn’t remember where she was, who she was with. All she sensed was the smell of stale beer and the stifling weight of someone on her. Terror-struck, she flinched and pushed in panic. Memories—old and new—rushed back.

In the bar. Daniel. She was with Daniel. Real. Not the fuzzy stranger who invaded her sleep and gave her nightmares. She sucked in a deep breath and relaxed, safe. But then she realised she must have fallen asleep.

At her movement he jerked his head up. ‘What?’ He blinked, looking into her eyes. For a moment the same confusion flashed across his face. Then he closed it down, shuttering his expression, and their eyes locked, neither giving anything away.

For once she won the duel. He looked away, a small frown pleating his brow.

She wriggled, wanting to escape the intimacy. He moved so she could sit up. She was amazed at her lapse. She never slept with a lover. Had sex, sure, but never allowed herself to lose consciousness—that was too intimate, too vulnerable. Lucy didn’t do vulnerability. She refused to put herself in the position of giving someone else control over her heart, mind or body.

The scary thing was, she’d almost given Daniel exactly that. How much had she given away just now? Not just her body. Her heart was putting itself on a plate this very minute. She took it straight back to the fridge.

‘You’re getting cold?’ He clipped out the words as he moved away from her. ‘I’m sorry, I fell asleep.’

She flinched. She wasn’t the only one going cold; he was as icy as the moment she’d first met him—remote, detached, disapproving. Her whole body hit sub-zero temperatures. She didn’t know why his emotional detachment bothered her. He’d said once only. She already knew he didn’t do commitment. Hell, she didn’t do commitment—not at this point in her life. So much for no regrets. He looked as if he was itching to get out of here. Definitely not wanting to talk about it. Well, she wasn’t going to do a cringesome cling-on act. She needed to save face and reestablish a protective layer. She’d never expected him to be so potent, so passionate. Time to back-pedal—fast. She hid behind the curtain of her hair. ‘Well, I guess we got that out of the way.’

‘Out of the way?’

She flicked her hair back and bluffed indifference. ‘Yeah, scratched the itch. Quenched the curiosity.’

‘Curiosity?’

‘Mmm hmm.’ She swung her legs off the pool table. Oh, man, she was still wearing her boots.

His hand caught her arm and he turned her to face him. ‘What exactly are you saying, Ms Delaney?’

‘I’m saying, Mr Graydon, that that was fun.’

‘Fun?’ He stared at her, but she couldn’t figure a thing from the lights reflected in his eyes.

‘Sure. It was OK. But we won’t be doing it again.’

‘We won’t.’

She shook her head. ‘Too messy.’

He glanced at the felt of the pool table. She followed suit and felt her cheeks fill with blood. Her wet and his sweat marked it. Hell. She’d have to hand in her notice immediately. Frustration flooded through her. She’d just done this job so well. For the first time she’d actually aced something. Now she’d stuffed it by sleeping with her Type A boss who’d just been waiting for her to trip up. Any other gig and she’d be on the road, not willing to put up with that kind of pressure.

The frustration turned into fight. She was tired of starting over. She’d had her first taste of success and she wanted another. She wanted to show him three times over. Besides, she needed the cash.

Even more reason to blow the whistle on this little interlude. She’d do it as coolly as she could and ignore the way she was quaking inside. Block out that secretly she wanted more. No vulnerability allowed—not around Mr Ice.

‘Look, Daniel. I’m working for you. I was curious. It was nice but we’re done. Let’s go back to our business relationship, shall we? I’m sorry. Blame it on the heat of the night—the success of the relaunch went to my head.’

His eyes didn’t leave her face the entire time she spoke. She curled her fingers into fists and tried to ignore his superb nudity.

‘And caused you to ravish me.’

‘Ravish you?’ He’d done the ravishing. She sure felt like she’d been ravished. He’d broken down defences she’d been sure were insurmountable. But he didn’t know that and, even if he did, if his current expression was anything to go by, he didn’t care.

‘I wasn’t the one who ripped the buttons off this shirt.’ His muscles flexed across his back as he bent to retrieve it.

OK, so she’d been eager to get it started.

‘I wasn’t the one who couldn’t open the condom packet because of having the shakes so bad.’

There was nothing she could say to that so she went for the silent, avoid-eye-contact approach.

He stepped back towards her as she sat on the edge of the table. ‘I wasn’t the one screaming the house down.’

Now that was below the belt. She looked away from the rippling muscles on show and swallowed back the desire. Let icy anger trickle in.

‘Come on. You were all over me.’

Well, of course she was. He was a god. He had the body of an Olympian and the technique of a master. She’d been weak just by looking and conquered with the first kiss. She had to pull back now because he was never going to be reciprocating her kind of stupidity. Once only. No analysis.

He took her silence in the way she intended. ‘Never again?’

She shook her head.

‘We’ve satisfied your curiosity and once was enough?’

She nodded.

He took another step forward and ran his finger from her neck to her breast—and she couldn’t control the tremor. ‘How long has it been?’

Oh, so he thought that was relevant? She refused to look at him. Maybe it was. Maybe that was why she felt so in danger of emotional investment. Honestly, she’d been without for so long even she could hardly remember.

‘That long, huh?’ A little laugh escaped him—whisker of humanity. That it was amusement at her expense made her mad. He ran his finger over her tightly shut lips, teasing them. ‘You know, you’re not so good with manners, Lucy. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to mind your “p”s and “q”s?’

She threw him a vile look. His smile faded and the mask of indifference that took its place was much better than hers had been—probably because it was genuine.

‘So we haven’t broken through your male-bravado layer. Maybe we never will. Whatever.’

He strolled from the pool table with casual ease. ‘Come on, let’s go.’ He collected his scattered clothing along the way.

She stood up and stared after him. Deflated. Well, she’d done it. Had she been hoping for more of an argument from him? Or wanting him to say, ‘No, babe, that was fantastic, we’ve got to do it again’? At least offer some clue to his thoughts? He was shut up tighter than a twenty-year-old jar of pickled peppers. She watched as he pulled on his boxers, then felt irritated as a feeling of loss hit her when his body was hidden from her again.

He pulled on the trousers but held his sodden shirt in his hand. ‘We’ll share a cab.’

Panic surged as a new threat occurred to her. ‘No, that’s OK. I can walk.’

‘No. It’s late. You’re tired.’

‘It’s almost light out. I’ll be fine.’

‘No argument. Get your jacket.’ Now he was doing the gentleman act? Terrible timing.

‘No, Daniel, I’m fine.’

‘OK, I’ll get it for you.’

‘Daniel!’

He didn’t listen. She hurried after him, stress giving her speed. She knew the job would be over the minute he saw her stuff there. He walked straight into the back room. Stopped. Saw her pack and violin case. Saw her sleeping bag on the two-seater sofa—unrolled with her sweatshirt rolled into a makeshift pillow at the head. He stared at it, then at her. ‘What the hell is going on?’

She didn’t have any clothes on—save her cowgirl boots. She didn’t have a home to go to. She’d just slept with her boss and then rejected him. She was in such a mess. It was so typical. She could always count on her innate ability to stuff things up.

‘What’s your address, Lucy?’

‘Daniel, I—’

‘Street address. Now.’

Would he give her a second to answer? Riled, she spat, ‘I’m not in a flat at the moment. I got to Wellington on Monday. I’ve been in a hostel but can’t stand sleeping in a room full of strangers. I struggle to sleep as it is.’

‘Insomnia?’

She nodded. ‘Terrible.’

‘Another thing we have in common.’ He might be acknowledging something they shared, but he sounded arctic.

She smiled in empathy, hoping it would help her case.

The glacier refused to melt. Not even a drop. ‘We should quit while we’re ahead.’

OK, so the empathy bid failed. She turned back to bolshy. ‘I thought I’d crash here until I set up a flat.’

‘You thought wrong. You can’t sleep here.’

‘It’s only for a night or two, Daniel.’Was he familiar with the concept of leeway?

‘This building is zoned commercial, not residential.’

Clearly not. ‘Rules and regulations, huh, Daniel?’

Green eyes met gold. His were flaming again—but not with hot lust. Now it was all cold anger. ‘You are not sleeping here, Lucy.’

Fine. She marched into the room beside him and bent—starting to roll her sleeping bag.

‘Lucy.’

If iron will could speak, it would sound like Daniel.

‘What?’ She snapped the question, while still stuffing her sleeping bag into its carrier.

‘Might I suggest you put some clothes on?’

She stopped then, suddenly aware of how she must look to him standing behind her. Naked. Cowgirl boots. Bending over. ‘Sure.’

She marched out of the room and back to the bar, pulling on her top and skirt—not bothering with either bra or panties. When she got back to the room, less than a minute later, he’d finished packing away her sleeping bag. Her violin case was at his feet and he carried her pack on one shoulder. He held her jacket out to her.

‘Come on.’

She didn’t take it. ‘What do you mean come on?’

‘You’re coming home with me.’

‘In your dreams.’

‘Right home. Right now.’

She stared at him. Stunned at his words.

‘I’m not kidding, Lucy. I have a perfectly good spare bedroom. It is almost six in the morning. I have a load of work to do later and I am not going to spend hours standing here arguing with you. You won’t have to sleep with strangers. And certainly not me, as you’ve made it clear you couldn’t think of anything worse. Let’s move on.’

For once in her life Lucy was struck speechless. He was so cool about it. He wore that remote expression that had her wanting to leap up and do something drastic to get his attention again. Hot attention. But he’d come over all clinical.

The warm air of the early morning contrasted sharply with the chilly silence in which they walked along the bay to his apartment. He’d insisted on carrying her pack. She’d insisted on carrying her violin. There was where the conversation ended.

His apartment was as swanky as she’d expected. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows gave splendid harbour views. Stylish, minimalist, obviously designer-done, the whole place screamed suited bachelor—one who spent too many hours at work. He showed her to her room. Big bed, white spread. She walked away from it. ‘Thank you.’ She hoped to dismiss him immediately.

His response was even cooler. ‘No problem. Stay as long as you like.’

She thought about taking him up on that—a good six months? That would serve him right. But then she turned and saw him there in suit trousers and no shirt and desire rose again—together with the panic. ‘It’ll be a couple of nights tops.’

He shrugged. ‘There’s an en suite through that door,’ and he left the room.

She breathed out and went straight to the bathroom. It was a wet room—a large shower space and central drain. Multi shower jets pointed at her. It was too good to ignore.

She stripped off, savoured the scent of Daniel on her skin and quickly turned the water on hot.

Lucy didn’t sleep a wink but made a show of staying in her room until well after midday. She waited for the muffled sounds to disappear and then finally she ventured out. Opened her door to peek and listen again. Silence. She walked out and, following the hall, found the main living area, taking her time to actually notice the surroundings this time. Beautifully decorated—perfect paintwork, the furniture expensive and comfortable looking, but the whole place was so, so…boring was the only word for it. The entire apartment could be a display in a posh furniture store. She looked about for some element of personality. Something to tell her a little more about Daniel. But there was nothing. She figured that told her as much as anything.

The colours were warm—chocolate blended with neutrals and greys. Totally tasteful. The kitchen showed no sign of life—no notice board with scrawled numbers, no pile of paperwork on the desk in the corner. Magnificently minimalist.

Lucy liked maximalist. Colour and chaos and life.

Even his bookcases were unnaturally neat—stacked with big hardback books that looked as if they’d take a lifetime to read. Then she found it. One solitary photograph framed in a dark wooden frame standing in place of some books in one of the bookcases lining the wall opposite the windows. She picked it up.

Daniel in full legal regalia—wig and gown, standing next to an older man also in wig and gown. It had to be his father. Had to be. They had the same jaw, same nose, Daniel stood only an inch or two taller, the old and the new. The similarities were striking—except for the eyes. His father’s were brown—plain brown. But Daniel’s were that wild tawny colour, with those amber lights hinting at the warmth and passion and humour that he seemed so determined to hide. In the photo his expression was serious, veiled. All remote austerity again—just like this apartment. She frowned.

Daniel watched her, screened behind the fine light curtain half drawn across the open balcony doorway. She was taking her time over that photo. He stood, his discomfort at having her in his apartment finally impelling him to move. Daniel didn’t entertain here. He far preferred to stay at his lover’s place so he could leave early in the morning and avoid any moments of intimacy over breakfast—moments that might lead the lady to think a relationship may be in the offing. Daniel didn’t do relationships.

But Lucy wasn’t such a lover. They’d had sex but that was it. Supposedly. He’d said himself it would only be the once. But he had to admit he’d really, really enjoyed it. She’d been wild. And his body had revelled in the heat and softness of hers.

He felt keyed up—as he had all night, knowing she was under his roof. For a moment there, after they’d had sex, he’d slept as comfortably as if he were in a bed made with pure cotton sheets and soft coverings, not on top of an old scarred pool table with scratchy felt.

Knowing that had happened made him tense, wary, and more determined to push her away than pull her close. Despite his basic instinct telling him to have her again. Right now his muscles and his mind were strung out from warring with each other, and with analysing why she’d been pushing too—away.

‘Seen enough?’

She jumped a clear foot. Stared as he walked in from the balcony. ‘I thought you weren’t here.’

‘Clearly.’ He pointedly looked at the picture still in her hand.

But it seemed she had no qualms about her inquisitiveness. ‘This your dad?’

He nodded. Regular Sherlock Holmes, she was.

‘Did your mum take the photo?’

He froze, blood colder than a snake’s. ‘No.’

‘Is it your graduation?’

So she’d moved on from the family questions. Excellent. ‘Admission to the Bar.’ Having secured his law degree, he’d then had to take some professional papers to be able to practice law. This was the formal presentation of that achievement.

‘Your mum wasn’t there?’

Damn. ‘She was there.’ Second to back row. She’d been late and almost not got a seat.

Lucy was silent as she looked over the shelves again. He counted the beats before her curiosity won.

‘No other family photos?’

Eight. Not bad—he’d been starting to think she’d be able to contain it. Should have known better. Lucy lacked control. He already knew that. ‘No other family.’

‘What about your mum?’

No stopping her now.

‘My mother left my father after fifteen years of marriage. She remarried and has two other children.’ Brief summary of fact. She’d cheated. Found herself someone else. Daniel had never been able to understand it. What the hell had the woman wanted? His father was rich, successful, driven to achieve—for her—and she’d thrown it all in his face.

‘Did you go with her?’

‘No.’ He could see her now, standing at the door, calling his name, just the once. He’d shaken his head. He’d been so angry with her for breaking up what he’d thought had been a perfect world. She’d turned and walked away. She hadn’t even fought for him.

‘How old were you?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘Your dad’s a lawyer?’

‘Yes.’ He answered in the way he instructed his defendants to—honest but brief. Never offer more than you were asked for.

‘He works long hours?’

‘Yes.’

Her frown was growing. ‘So what did you do after school?’

‘After swimming I would go to his office and do my homework in the library.’ He was heartily sick of this interrogation and irritated with himself for putting up with it this long. He had the horrible impression pity had just crossed her face. He certainly didn’t deserve that. He and his father had established a good life. Both had launched further into work. His dad had hired a housekeeper and given up on women—instructing Daniel never to bother with them, never to trust.

Daniel had worked hard at his studies, hard at his swimming and, when older, hard at playing the field. He’d found a happy balance—of enjoying what women had to offer without risking his heart.

Because nobody, but nobody, was walking out on Daniel again.

His greatest lesson had been self-reliance.

He took the photo, put it on the shelf and turned the questions back on her. ‘What about you—your parents split up?’ They all seemed to, eventually—in spirit, if not physically.

She looked surprised. ‘No, not at all. They have a really happy marriage.’ A look of rue crossed her face. ‘But they didn’t do such a great job of parenting.’

‘Marriage and children inevitably end in disaster,’ Daniel replied crisply. ‘I don’t intend ever committing to either.’

Lucy froze, meeting his wintry gaze squarely—and saw the implacable set to his jaw. That was her told, then. He really meant it too. Crazily, she felt sorry for him. Despite what he’d said at the temp agency, Lucy knew they differed. Sure, she didn’t commit to long-term work, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want a long-term relationship, or children even—in the future. A long way in the future. Maybe. Assuming she met someone who’d actually fall for her. Who’d actually believe in her—warts and all.

Her ‘feeling sorry for’ vibe turned inwards. She shrugged it, and the soft thoughts of him, off. ‘I have to get going. Thanks for the room. I’ll try to get a place sorted as soon as I can.’

Not waiting for a reply, not wanting to take in just how fine he looked at the moment, she left. Walking briskly towards town, she realised she was starving. She figured she’d head straight for the club and eat there. One take-out Thai curry later, she was temporarily warm on the inside again and kidding herself she’d moved on. Being with Daniel had definitely been a huge mistake and she’d totally done the right thing by breezing over it and putting it behind them. But she couldn’t shake him from her mind completely. Instead she slowly digested the info. Ruminated for several hours, in fact. She’d caught a glimpse of one very angry young man. His mother had left his father—and him. And though she knew he’d deny it, he’d been hurt and had frozen over as a result. Well, Lucy didn’t have the reserves to warm him through. She had issues of her own to deal with. Past demons that popped up when you least expected them, a permanent feeling of idiocy and inferiority, and the doubt that she’d ever find the place where she’d fit in.

But she still wanted him. Her body wanted more of the ecstasy he’d unleashed. She couldn’t look at the pool table without a tide of heat to her face. Grimacing, she reached across the bar and felt muscles stiff from a workout they hadn’t had in quite a while. Or ever.

Thankfully the doors opened and she became too busy to dwell on it further. There was no sign of Daniel the entire evening and she was glad, glad, glad.

She got home a little after four. She knew she was too pumped to have any chance of sleep and so, after stripping to her sleeping attire of singlet and panties, headed to the kitchen. She stood in the doorway of the fridge and nearly jumped a foot when she heard the front door opening. Daniel appeared. In full tuxedo. Oh, my. James Bond was nothing on this guy. His jacket sat snug across his broad swimmer’s shoulders. Clean lines. The black and white suited him, damn it.

She stared, wondering for a moment if her insomnia-addled brain was playing tricks on her and this was some sort of heavenly hallucination.

‘Can’t sleep?’

No. He was real.

She shook her head. ‘Just getting some warm milk.’

He nodded. ‘Put enough in for me, will you? I think I’ll be needing it too.’ His tone was bland but she risked a quick glance. With the only light in the kitchen coming from the open fridge door, those gold-tinged eyes were giving nothing away. She looked over his tux again. Tried not to be attracted to it but failed.

She reminded herself that people in power—and Daniel was on his way to that—didn’t listen. Didn’t care. Daniel would be no different. She poured some milk into a jug. Painfully aware of how little she was wearing, she turned her back to him, keeping an eye on the milk in the microwave, compelled to make small talk to slice through her heavy awareness. ‘Good night?’

‘Yes. How was the club?’

‘Good. Busy.’

‘Good.’

End of conversation. Beginning of surreptitious looks. She encountered his gaze every time. Her stress level increased, and her body temperature soared as wicked wants started whispering in her mind. Too scary. She flashed back to the moment on the pool table when she’d come to—where after the initial terror she’d relaxed completely in his arms again. Too vulnerable. Thankfully the microwave pinged and she grabbed two mugs and filled them. Snatching one from the counter, she clutched it to her and headed away quickly. Her mind had latched onto the one thing that she knew would be an instant cure for insomnia.

Rampant sex.

‘Hope you get some sleep.’ His voice was low and a little husky and he didn’t move as she walked away from the kitchen, meaning she had to brush past just that bit too close. She squawked some sort of unintelligible reply and practically ran to her room. The recovery time was a good two hours.

Nights passed as Lucy worked in the bar. She worked hard and slept little. Tiredness made every bone creak but she refused to acknowledge it—she was determined to work harder than ever. She’d show Daniel exactly how good she was at this job—that she was mediocre no more. For once in her life she was going to shine.

The staff told her the bar was busier than usual. She’d love to think it had something to do with her, but probably it was a result of the incredibly warm weather they were having this week. The idea that she was influencing the success of the bar would be too good to be true.

Yet Isabel suggested otherwise. ‘Lara just liked having a place to hang with her mates. It was never a serious business venture for her. She never bothered with that side of it; she left it to the manager and he was useless.’

Lucy had figured that—given the state of the office. The club had only been open a year and the paperwork was in a mess. She rolled up her sleeves and discovered putting things in order was actually enjoyable. She must have inherited more of her father’s accountancy gene than she’d realised. She worked late night after night and hid in her room until she was sure Daniel had gone to work for the day. Really she should be moving out, but until she saw the first pay cheque she had little option but to stay where she was.

She didn’t see him again until after one of her shifts later that week. This time he was the one raiding the fridge and not wearing enough clothing.

‘Warm milk?’ The thread of humour was so thin she wondered if she’d dreamt it.

She shook her head. Unable to speak at the sight of him in his boxers. For a few days there she’d thought she’d got over him. It only took one second of seeing him again to return her pulse to agitated state and her desire to fever pitch. The worst thing was he knew—he saw the flame in her face before she established the control to cover it. His eyes narrowed. They engaged in one of their silent staring duels—and she was first to look away.

The following night she let Isabel and Corey finish up, getting herself to the apartment by eleven p.m. Vainly hoping for a decent sleep. Impossible. She listened for signs of Daniel—none. By midnight he still hadn’t walked in the door. He worked way too hard. She felt irrationally irritable and there was only one cure for that. She rifled through her CD file and, with favourite in hand, marched to his state-of-the-art stereo system. She put in the disc and pressed the button. The music blared. She smiled. Dancing was her answer to everything—freedom on her terms. Alone, wild and crazy—giving up control, just letting her mind go and her body move to the music. Safe. She didn’t go dancing to pick up a guy, she went to be free. To have fun. And that was why she found herself loving this job, because she could create the environment for others to do the same.

But in Daniel’s apartment right now she felt restricted—by her attraction to him, and the feeling of vulnerability that came with it. She was stunned she’d slept in his arms. It scared her. What scared her more was the feeling of safety she’d had in them. But her instinct had been well wrong on that count. He’d backed off faster than a hirsute man offered a chest wax.

She pushed the worry from her mind, turned up the volume and focused on the beat. Dance crazy and she’d wear herself out so she could sleep—that was the aim, and nothing beat dancing wildly to her favourite group. Stomping her feet and slapping her thighs, she was having a fine old time working out pure frustration.

Then the music suddenly stopped. She whirled around and saw Daniel standing at the stereo. He was impeccably dressed as ever except for the curious expression on his face. At least he wasn’t flat on the floor laughing.

‘You always do what you want, when you want to?’

She cleared her throat nervously. ‘No.’ If she did she’d be over there and on him about now. If he didn’t look so disapproving.

‘Music’s a little loud for my neighbours downstairs. It’s late.’

She snatched back her mettle. ‘Wouldn’t want them thinking you were having fun, Daniel.’

‘It’s not possible to have fun to country music, Lucy.’

‘You think? You should try it some time.’ She cast a disparaging look over him, flicked her hair with an air of studied nonchalance and hoped she could saunter to her bedroom.

‘What’s with this attitude towards honest, hard-working men in suits? Don’t you like the work ethic it represents?’

‘It doesn’t represent work ethic. It represents power, authority, status.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘I have an aversion to authority.’ He stood for everything she couldn’t stand—arrogance and an inability to understand.

‘Really.’ He laughed. ‘Do tell.’

‘I prefer an individual approach to life. I don’t like being told what to do—by anyone.’

‘So you’re the arty, flaky type through and through.’

She stopped her bad saunter and glared at him.

He strolled towards her. ‘You think you’re so cool, don’t you? No boring office wear for you in your funky, feathery clothes.’ He gestured to her multi-layered look. ‘You couldn’t possibly be so dull as to hold down a nine-to-five kind of job, couldn’t bear to be in an office, behind a desk. Take on responsibility. How awful that would be.’ He moved a little closer. His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Well, let me tell you something, Trouble. There is nothing remotely cool about country music.’

Lucy stared at him. ‘You’re so wrong.’ About everything. She stepped a little closer to deliver her parting shot. ‘I am cool, cool like funky. But you know what? You’re cool too—cool like frozen.’

A great white shark had nothing on his smile. ‘You think?’

‘Yeah, you’re so “in control”.’

Daniel watched her hightail it to her room. In control? Hardly. He was on a knife-edge. Dangerously close to acting on emotional impulse and grabbing her to him and kissing her sense-less—until the biting backchat was replaced by the soft sighs and the screams of satisfaction he’d wrung from her last week.

She was the one who was wrong. About everything.

He prowled through his lounge feeling like an intruder. Her shoes were parked at the end of the sofa. Her sarong was draped across the cushions at the end. A magazine lay upside down in the middle of the floor. He picked it up to put it on the coffee table. His eyebrow rose at one of the headlines on the cover—TEN WAYS TO DRIVE HIM WILD. She didn’t need the magazine. She could write the authoritative book on that in ten minutes. He sat on the sofa and flung the magazine out of sight. Stared straight ahead for a minute, but the bright sarong leapt out at the corner of his eye. He sighed, gave in, and picked it up. It was vividly coloured but soft to touch. Just like her. Beautiful, outrageous but with a hint of vulnerability—the chink he had yet to figure out but knew was there.

He’d honestly thought being with her once would be enough. He was dedicated to his work and ordinarily he refused the distraction of a monogamous series of dates, let alone an actual relationship. He’d never be humiliated the way his mother had humiliated his father. He wasn’t ever going to be left for anyone or anything. And his drive to succeed was for his own satisfaction—no one else’s.

But he wanted Lucy again and knew she still wanted him. It was apparent every time their paths crossed. Maybe he should take time out to ensure their paths crossed frequently. She was only going to be around a fortnight or so anyway. He wanted another experience with that hot, wild woman he’d discovered on the pool table.

Wanted, not needed. Just once more.