Читать книгу Pleasured in the Playboy's Penthouse - Natalie Anderson - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

OWEN felt a ridiculous surge of pleasure at finally having made Bella see the funny side. And, just as he’d suspected, she had a killer of a smile and a deadly sweet giggle. Her full lips invited and her eyes crinkled at the corners. He couldn’t decide if they were pale blue or grey, but he liked looking a lot while trying to work it out and he liked watching them widen the more he looked.

He’d been bluffing—if he really were some tiger in the jungle, he’d have died of starvation months ago. Sex was a recreational hobby for him, very recreational. But it had been a while. Way too much of a while. Maybe that was why he’d felt the irresistible pull of attraction when she’d walked into the bar. He’d been sitting at a table in the corner and almost without will had walked up to stand beside her at the bar. Just to get a closer look at her little hourglass figure. In the shirt and skirt he could see shapely legs and frankly bountiful breasts that had called to the most base of elements in him.

Then he’d noticed the droop to her lip that she’d been determinedly trying to lift as she’d read that menu. And he’d just had to make her smile.

The table he’d led her to was in the most isolated corner of the restaurant he could find. He didn’t want her family interrupting any sooner than necessary. Wanted to keep jousting and joking with her. Wanted a whole lot more than that too and needed the time to make it happen.

‘So,’ she asked, suddenly perky, ‘what sort of computers? You work for some software giant?’

‘I work for myself.’ For the last ten years he’d done nothing much other than work—pulling it together, thinking it through, organising the team and getting it done.

‘Programming what—games? Banking software?’

‘I work in security.’

‘Oh, my.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I bet you’re one of them whiz-kids who broke into the FBI’s files when you were fourteen, or created some nasty virus. Bad-boy hacker now crossed over to the good side or something—am I right?’

‘No.’ He chuckled. Truth was the actual programming stuff wasn’t him—he had bona fide computer nerds working for him. He was the ideas guy—who’d thought up a way to make online payments more secure, and now to protect identity. ‘I’ve never been in trouble with the law.’

‘Oh. So…’ She paused, clearly trying to think up the next big assault. ‘Business good?’

‘You could say that.’ Inwardly he smiled. He now had employees scattered around the world. A truly international operation, but one that he preferred to direct from his inner-city bolt hole in Wellington. But he didn’t want to talk about work—it was all consuming, even keeping his mind racing when he should be asleep. That was why he was on Waiheke, staying at his holiday home a few yards down the beach from the hotel. He was due for some R & R, a little distraction. And the ideal distraction seemed to have stepped right in front of him.

His banter before hadn’t all been a lie, though. He did believe in going for what he wanted and then moving right on. This little poppet was the perfect pastime for his weekend of unwind time. So he’d made sure she understood the way he played it. Spelt the rules out loud and clear. She’d got them, as he’d intended, and she was tempted. Now he just had to give her that extra little nudge.

She was studying the menu intently. And he studied her, taken by the stripe of sunburn that disappeared under her shirt. It seemed to be riding along to the crest of her breast and his fingers itched to follow its path.

When the waiter came she ordered with an almost reckless abandonment and he joined in. He was hungry. He’d splashed up the beach over an hour ago now. He hadn’t been able to be bothered fixing something for himself, figured he’d get a meal to take away from the restaurant. Only now he’d found something better to take back with him.

‘Oh, no.’ The look on her face was comical.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Some of my family has arrived.’

‘It’s time for drinks, then, huh?’ He turned his head in the direction she was staring. Inwardly cursing. Just when she was getting warmed up.

He saw the tall blonde looking over at them speculatively. When she saw them notice her, she strode over, long legs making short work of the distance.

‘Bella. So sorry,’ she clipped. ‘It’s your birthday and you’re here all alone.’

What? thought Owen. Was he suddenly invisible?

‘I can’t believe you didn’t remind us,’ the blonde continued, still ignoring him.

‘I didn’t want to say anything.’ For a second he saw the pain in Bella’s eyes. A surge of anger hit him.

He realised what she’d done. She’d tested them. And they’d failed.

‘Don’t worry.’ He spoke up. ‘She’s not alone. It’s just that we wanted to have our own private celebration.’

The blonde looked at him then, frosty faced. ‘And you are?’

‘Owen,’ he answered, as if that explained it all.

‘Owen.’ She glanced to Bella and then back to give him the once-over. He watched her coldness thaw to a sugary smile as she checked out his watch and his shoes. He knew she recognised the brands. Yes, darling, he thought, I’m loaded. And it was one thing Bella hadn’t noticed. He found it refreshing.

‘It seems you’ve been keeping a few things to yourself lately, Isabella.’

Owen looked at Bella. There was a plea in her eyes he couldn’t ignore.

The silence deepened, becoming more awkward as he kept his focus on her. And a tinge of amusement tugged when finally the willowy blonde spoke, sounding disconcerted. ‘I’ll leave you to your meal, then.’

‘Thank you,’ Owen answered, not taking his gaze off Bella. He was never normally so rude, but he could do arrogance when necessary. And when he’d seen the hurt in Bella’s eyes he’d known it was necessary. The irrational need to help her, to support her, had bitten him. Stupid. Because Owen wasn’t the sort to do support. Ordinarily he did all he could to avoid any show of interest or involvement other than the purely physical, purely fun. He’d made that mistake before and been pushed too close to commitment as a result. His ex-girlfriend had wanted the ring, the ceremony, the works. He hadn’t. But then she’d tried to force it in a way he totally resented her for. The experience had been so bad he was determined to make damn sure it didn’t happen again. He no longer had relationships. He had flings.

But now he simply hoped that his brush-off would be reported back to the rest of the family and they’d all stay away for a bit.

The waiter arrived with the first plates, breaking the moment. Bella was busy picking up her fork, but he could see her struggling to hold back her smile.

He waited until she’d swallowed her first bite. ‘Am I invited now?’

‘If I do, your job is to entertain me, right?’ Her smile was freed. ‘No eyeing up my beautiful cousins.’

He didn’t need anyone else to eye up. And he’d entertain her all night and then some if she wanted. But he played the tease some more. ‘How beautiful are they?’

She stared down her majestic nose at him. ‘You just met one of them.’

‘Her?’ he asked, putting on surprise. ‘She’s not beautiful.’

Her expression of disbelief was magic.

He laughed. ‘She’s not. So she’s tall and blonde. So what? They’re a dime a dozen. I’d far rather spend time with someone interesting.’ He’d done tall and blonde many times over in his past. These days he was searching for something a little different.

She ignored him. ‘No getting wildly drunk and embarrassing me. That isn’t why you want to go, is it? The free booze?’

‘No.’

‘Then why?’

The truth slipped out. ‘I want to see you have a really good time. A really, really good time.’

He did too. And he knew he could give it to her, and how. There was a baseline sizzle between them that was intense and undeniable. He’d seen the recognition, the jolt of awareness in her expression the moment their gazes had first locked. It was what she needed; it was what he needed. And he’d happily spend the weekend at her dull family wedding to get it. He’d put up with a lot more to get it if he had to.

On top of that primary, physical attraction, she was funny. Smart. Definitely a little bitter. And he liked her smile. He liked to make her smile.

As their dinner progressed it was nice to forget about everything for a moment as he concentrated wholly on her. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and flicked it to Vibrate, pushing work from his mind. He was supposed to be having a couple of hours off after all. Like forty-eight.

He saw her glance into the main body of the restaurant as it filled. Saw her attention turn from him to whatever the deal was about tomorrow.

‘It’s going to be a massive wedding,’ she said gloomily. ‘The whole family and extended family and friends and everyone.’

‘All that fuss for nothing.’ He just couldn’t see the point of it. Nor could he see why it was such a problem for her.

‘All that money for just one day.’ She shook her head. Her hair feathered out; shoulder length, it was a light wavy brown. He wanted to lean over and feel it fly over his face.

‘Do you know how much she’s spent on the dress?’

So money was some of it. ‘I hate to think.’ His drollery seemed to pass her by.

‘And I’ve got the most hideous bridesmaid’s dress. Hideous.’

‘You’ll look gorgeous.’ She was such a cute package she could wear anything and look good.

‘You don’t understand,’ she said mournfully. ‘It’s a cast of thousands. Celia—the gorgeous cousin—is one too. And there are others.’ The little frown was back.

Her every emotion seemed to play out on her face—she was highly readable. If she could control it, learn to manipulate it, then she’d make a very good actress.

‘The dress suits all of them, of course.’

‘Of course.’ And she was worried about what she looked like—what woman wasn’t? He’d be happy to reassure her, spend some time emphasising her most favourable assets.

She looked up at him balefully. ‘They’re all five-seven or more and svelte.’

Whereas she was maybe five-four and all curves. He’d have her over ten tall blonde Celias any day.

‘Did they go with a gift list?’ He played along.

‘Yes.’ She ground out the answer. ‘The cheapest item was just under a hundred bucks—and you had to buy a pair.’

Money was definitely an issue. He supposed it must be—fledgling actresses and café staff didn’t exactly earn lots. And this resort was one of the most exclusive and expensive in the country. To be having a wedding here meant someone had some serious dosh. Was she worried about not keeping up with the family success?

He laughed, wanting to keep the mood light. ‘Lists are such a waste of time. They’d be better off leaving it to chance and getting two coffee plungers. That way when they split up they can have one each.’

Surprise flashed on her face. ‘Oh, and you call me cynical.’

‘Marriage isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.’ He’d been witness to that one all right—hit on the head with a sledgehammer. It was all a sham.

‘You think?’

‘Come on, how many people make it to ten years these days, seven even? What’s the point?’ Because at some point, always, it ended. Owen figured it was better to walk before the boredom or the bitterness set in—and it would set in. The feelings never lasted—he’d seen that, he’d felt it himself. Now he knew it was better not to get tied into something you didn’t want—and certainly not to drag the lives of innocents into it either. He wasn’t running the risk of that happening ever again. No live-in lover, no wife, no kids.

Bella sat back and thought. She had to give him that—one of her older cousins had separated only last month, a marriage of three and a half years over already. But other marriages worked out, didn’t they? She had high hopes for Vita and Hamish. She had faint hopes for herself—if she was lucky.

She frowned at him. ‘Yes, we already know it’s not on your agenda.’ He couldn’t commit to marriage—the monogamy bit would get him. He was too buff to be limited to one woman. Smorgasbord was his style. Well, that was fine. She was hardly at a ‘settle down’ point in life. She was still working on the ‘get’ a life bit.

‘That’s right.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m not averse to helping others celebrate their folly.’

‘So you can flirt with all the bridesmaids?’ A little dig.

‘Not all of them. Just one.’

The shorter, darker-haired, dumpier one with the long straight nose? He was just being nice because he hadn’t actually seen all the others yet. When he did, it would be all over. She looked up from her cleared plate and encountered his stare again. The glint was back and notch by notch making her smoulder.

His stare didn’t waver. And the message grew stronger.

Pure want.

She curled her fingers around her chilled wine glass. She felt flushed all over and had the almost desperate thought that she needed to cool down. Her fingers tightened. Then his hand covered hers, holding the glass to the table.

‘I think you’ve had enough.’

She narrowed her eyes, unsure of his meaning.

He lifted his hands, spread his fingers as he shrugged loosely. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re drunk. Far from it.’ His smile flashed, and it was all wicked. ‘But the more you drink, the duller your senses become and I wouldn’t want you to lose any sensation. Not tonight.’

‘I’m going to need my senses?’ She was mesmerised.

‘All of them.’

OK.

He inclined his head to the large bi-folding doors that opened out to the deck. A small jazz ensemble was playing. She hadn’t even noticed them set up. Too focused on her companion—the most casual customer in the place yet the one who commanded all her attention.

‘Dance with me.’ He stood. ‘We can see how well we move together. Make sure we’ve got it right for the big day tomorrow.’

Why did she take everything he said and think he was really meaning something else?

He grinned, seeming to understand her problem exactly, and silently telling her that she was absolutely right. He held out his hand.

For a split second she looked at it. The broad palm, the long fingers, the invitation. The instant she placed her hand on top, he locked it into his. There was no going back now.

They walked out the doors together, to the part of the deck by the band where people were dancing. The waves were gently washing the beach. The evening was warm and for Bella the night seemed to exude magic.

‘I like this old music,’ he muttered, curling one arm around her waist while holding her hand to his chest with the other. ‘Made for my kind of dancing.’

‘Your kind?’

‘Where you actually touch.’ His hand was wide and firm across the small of her back as he pulled her towards him, and she went to him because she couldn’t not. Because in reality she wanted to get closer still. Her head barely reached above his shoulders, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t focus much further than on the material right in front of her anyway, and on the inviting, warm strength beneath it.

His fingers feathered over her back, skin to skin. She trembled at the sensation, nearly stumbled with the need that rose deep within her. She masked the craziness of her response with some sarcasm. ‘I said yes to dancing, not having your hands up my shirt.’

‘I thought up your shirt might be quite good.’ His low reply in her ear made her need heighten to almost painful intensity.

Good was an understatement. He pressed her that little bit closer, so her breasts were only a millimetre from the hard wall that was his chest. Not quite close enough to touch, but she could almost, almost feel him and her nipples were tight.

She dragged in a burning breath. ‘Owen, I—’

‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Your family is watching.’

He danced her away from the others and into the farthest corner of the deck, where the darkness of night lurked, encroaching on the lights and loud conviviality of the restaurant. Gently he swayed them both to the languid music, talking to her in low tones, telling her just to dance with him. Was it one song, was it three, or five? Time seemed suspended. He muttered her name, his breath stirring her hair, then nothing. And as she moved to his lead she fell deeper into his web.

When the band took a break, she took a moment in the bathroom to try to recover her aplomb—cooling her wrists under the rush of water from the cold tap. She shouldn’t have had those shots. She’d barely drunk a drop since, but she felt giddy. And as she looked at her reflection—at her large eyes, and the heightened colour in her cheeks and lips—she knew she didn’t want to recover her aplomb at all. She wanted to follow this madness to its natural conclusion. Nothing else seemed to matter any more—nothing but being with Owen. Just for while she was on this fantasy island.

She stepped out of the bathroom and saw him straighten from where he’d been leaning against the wall, eyes trained on her door. She walked over to meet him, but her path was intercepted by Vita, her sister.

‘Bella, where have you been all night? More to the point, who is that guy you’re dancing with?’ Vita looked astounded.

‘Owen is an old friend.’

‘How old?’ The disbelief on her sister’s face was mortifying.

‘Well, not that old.’ Bella looked up to where he stood now looming large and close, right behind Vita, his eyes keen. She just kept slim control of her voice and the hysterical giggle out of it. ‘You were born what, about thirty years ago, weren’t you?’

‘Somewhere thereabouts.’ He took the last couple of steps so he stood beside her, circling his arm around her waist as naturally as if he’d done it a thousand times.

Then he smiled at her, a glowing, deeply intimate smile that had Bella blinking as much as Vita. His fingers pressed her slightly closer to him and inside she shook. He held her even more firmly.

When he turned his head to Vita, the smile lost its intimacy but was no less potent. ‘You must be Bella’s sister, the beautiful bride. Congratulations.’

Vita blinked and took more than a second to recover her manners. ‘Thank you…er…Owen. Will we be seeing you tomorrow? You’re more than welcome.’

‘Well…’ he glanced back to Bella and she saw the laughter dancing in his eyes ‘…I’d love to be there, but Bella wasn’t sure…’

‘Oh, if you’re a friend of Bella’s, of course you’re welcome.’

Bella turned sharply, narrowed her gaze on Vita. Did she stress the ‘if’?

‘Thank you.’ Owen closed off the conversation smoothly. And with a nod drew Bella back outside and threaded them through the dancing couples.

Bella went into his arms hardly thinking about what she was doing. Melancholy had struck. Vita had seemed stunned that Bella might actually have a gorgeous guy wanting to be with her. They were probably all watching agog—amazed at the development. Oh, why did she have to be here with her perfect sister and her perfect family—when she was so obviously the odd one out?

He must have read her thoughts because he pulled her close and looked right in her eyes. ‘She’s not that perfect.’

She didn’t believe him. Her little sister, by a year, had always been the one to do things how they were supposed to—the way her father wanted.

‘She didn’t wish you a happy birthday,’ he said softly.

Bella sighed. ‘She’s preoccupied.’ And she was. This wedding was a mammoth operation.

Owen frowned, clearly thinking that it wasn’t a good enough excuse. Warmth flooded her. He was so damn attractive.

‘So how many candles should you be blowing out tonight, Bella?’

‘Twenty-four.’ She hadn’t the energy for joking any more—she was too focused on her feelings for him. And all of a sudden the giddiness took over—she couldn’t slow the speed of her heartbeat; her breath was knocked from her lungs. She stumbled.

His hands tightened on her arms. ‘You’re tired.’

Tired was the last thing she was feeling.

But he stepped back, breaking their physical contact. ‘I’ll walk you to your room.’

Disappointment flooded her. She’d been having a wonderful night and she didn’t want it to come to an end. But it had—with Vita’s interruption the fantasy had been shattered. And Owen was already moving them across the deck, towards the stairs that led to the sandy beach.

She glanced up into his face, hoping for a sign of that glint, only to find it shuttered. Blandly unreadable. The sense of disappointment swelled.

As they reached the steps, Celia stepped in front of them.

‘You’re not leaving already?’ she asked, full of vivaciousness.

‘It’s a big day tomorrow. Bella needs to turn in now,’ Owen answered before she had the chance.

Celia turned her stunning gaze from him to Bella and the glance became stabbing. ‘You’d better put some cream on that sunburn or you’ll look like a zebra tomorrow.’

Oh, she just had to get that jibe in, didn’t she? Bella smarted.

Owen turned slightly. Slowly, carefully, he gave Bella such an intense once-over that she could feel the impact as if he were really touching her, a bold caress. But it was his eyes that kissed—from the tip of her nose all the way to her toes. And then he did touch her. Lifting his hand, with a firm finger, he stroked the red stripe on her chest—from the top of it near her collarbone, down the angled line to where it disappeared into her blouse. His eyes followed the path, and then went lower, seeming to be able to see everything, regardless of the material.

‘Don’t worry.’ He spoke slowly. ‘I’ll make sure she takes care of it.’

Bella stared up at him, fascinated by the flare in his eyes. The flare that had been there from that moment when she’d turned her head to his voice as she’d sat at the bar. It had flashed now and then as they’d talked and laughed their way through dinner. But now it was back and bigger than before and she couldn’t help her response. Every muscle, every fibre, every cell tightened within her. As he looked at her like that, his hunger was obvious to anyone. She’d never felt more wanted than she did in that moment and she was utterly seduced. The whole of his attention was on her and the whole of her responded. But she wasn’t just willing, she was wanting.

She dimly heard a cough, but when she finally managed to tear her gaze from his, Celia had already walked off. Bella managed a vague smile after her general direction, but then, compelled by the pull between them, she walked with Owen—barely aware of her cousin’s and her sister’s gazes following her. She no longer cared. She was too focused on the burn of her skin where his finger had touched, and the excitement burgeoning now as he held her hand and matched her step for step.