by Nicola Marsh
She’d meant it as a funny jibe—he’d always looked good in whatever he wore, even as a kid—her dry humour a defence mechanism. She’d always needled him when she’d felt disconcerted, but she realised it had backfired when a spark of interest lit his eyes.
‘Is that an invitation?’
‘No, it was me trying to be snide.’ She glanced at the dark denim moulding long, lean legs and the navy polo shirt hugging his muscular chest, then wished she hadn’t when the heat in her cheeks intensified. ‘We both know your outfit cost more than my monthly wage so you definitely don’t need a wardrobe update.’
He tilted his head, studying her, the gleam in his eyes speculative. ‘In my profession, it pays to keep abreast of the latest fashion.’
‘What profession’s that? Winning women and influencing friends?’
He tsk-tsked. ‘Mixing metaphors and being snide? Not your style, Pollyanna.’
Polly huffed out a breath, annoyed she’d let him get to her yet again, and desperate for him to leave her alone. Physically, she’d always found him attractive but when he sparred with her, she wanted him even more. ‘Archie should be back soon if you want to wait in the kitchen.’
‘When I’m having so much fun here?’ He shook his head and grinned. ‘I’d rather see you climb that ladder so I can ogle your legs.’
Discombobulated by his sudden interest in her attributes—first having a quick perv at her boobs and now mentioning her legs—Polly muttered, ‘Yeah, a regular supermodel, that’s me,’ as she tried to brush past him on her way to the guest room.
But his hand shot out and gripped her upper arm, making it impossible to move. ‘Why do you do that?’
Her skin prickled where he touched her, every nerve ending on hyper alert, yearning for his touch all over.
‘Do what?’
‘Undersell yourself.’
His pupils dilated, almost obliterating all that beautiful hazel, and she glanced away.
He didn’t stop staring at her but she didn’t dare meet his gaze for fear of seeing what she’d glimpsed a moment ago.
Desire.
She must have imagined it. A result of years of pent-up sexual frustration, him touching her arm, and wishful thinking.
Because if she couldn’t handle Ryder teasing her, no way could she handle him wanting her.
Guys like him didn’t want girls like her.
Beauty and the Geek. And she sure as hell wasn’t the beauty.
‘You’re something else, Polly.’
His audible sincerity undermined her almost as much as the use of her name without the usual teasing addendum, and she couldn’t help but look at him.
What she saw blew her away.
Heat.
Pure, unadulterated heat that made her want to lean into him, stand on her tiptoes, and devour him.
‘You always have been,’ he added, so softly she barely heard, as his hungry gaze focussed on her lips.
Polly swore her heart stopped. Her chest felt tight. Her throat closed. Her eyes watered. Since when had their teasing turned sexual?
Something indefinable pulsed between them as he lowered his head. Every muscle in her body locked. She should flee but she was damned if she wanted to. She’d imagined how his lips would feel for so long that she wondered if the reality would surpass the fantasy.
Firm, commanding, a master who’d had more practice than she had. And in that moment, with a palpable electricity arcing between them and her body straining towards his, she knew kissing Ryder would be a dumbass idea.
He could have any woman he wanted. So what the hell was he doing toying with her?
Time to flee before she blubbered as well as pashed him.
‘Still a charmer.’ She patted his cheek for a moment, savouring the illicit thrill of stubble scraping her palm, before easing away. ‘Nice to know some things never change.’
She slipped out of his grasp, grateful when he let her go.
She only just caught his murmured, ‘I’ve changed,’ before she fled.
CHAPTER TWO
RYDER LET POLLY GO. He had to. Because he had a feeling his best mate wouldn’t appreciate it if he came home to find him fucking his sister on the lounge room floor.
That’s exactly what Ryder wanted to do right now. Fuck Polly. Repeatedly.
She was still the same geeky, awkward woman he’d secretly idolised years ago and had wanted with a ferocity that hadn’t dimmed—if the current situation behind his fly was any indication.
She’d lost the waist-length pigtails she’d persisted with until she was eighteen and the mid-back straight style she’d favoured the last time he’d seen her, which was over five years ago; now she’d opted for a modern layered shag that made him want to shag her. The softer style framed her face, made her caramel-brown eyes look impossibly huge, and drew attention to her mouth.
That mouth...how many nights had he lain awake as a teenager, fantasising about what Polly Scanlon could do to him with that mouth. Wondering what her soft freckled skin would feel like. Wishing he could see that adorable blush he never failed to elicit flush across her naked body.
It had felt wrong at the time, secretly lusting after his best friend’s sister. Guys knew the unspoken code—never screw the crew—and that included workmates and sisters. It’s a line he’d never crossed. Archie’s friendship meant too much to him. Yet Ryder couldn’t help but wonder how Archie would feel if he broke the code now. They were older, wiser, and his mate regularly mentioned how Polly rarely dated and how he wished she’d find a guy to make her happy.
But deep down he knew Archie would bust his balls if he so much as glanced at his little sis.
Archie had mentioned their bizarre sparring over the years but Ryder had laughed it off, implying he saw her as his little sister too.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Ryder couldn’t help his almost visceral reaction to Polly and seeing her after five years was like a roundhouse kick to the gut. He remembered the hollow ache well, from a martial arts class as part of his high school’s team-building initiative in his final year, when his sparring partner had aimed for a kick and ended up connecting with his stomach.
Back then he’d lain on the floor for a full minute, winded and gasping. And that’s exactly how he felt now, moments after he’d almost kissed Polly.
He’d wanted to. Damn, had he wanted to. She’d been so close, staring at him with those big doe eyes, lips plump and tempting, the same apple fragrance from the shampoo she’d used as a teen wafting over him.
In an interesting turn of events, she’d wanted it too. He’d expected her to shove him away when he’d focussed on her mouth, craving one illicit taste. Instead, she’d leaned into him, waiting, her eyes sparking fire, and he’d been powerless to resist.
He should be glad she’d had second thoughts because if she hadn’t shrugged out of his grasp when she had they would’ve kissed.
A kiss that would’ve changed everything.
He usually eschewed complications of any kind and kissing Polly would be one giant fuck-up. With his cock still pulsing from wanting to be buried inside her, he needed to remember it.
He hadn’t been short of a date for a long time, not since he’d swapped scaling cliffs for chasing skirt. Not that it had been a conscious decision but being robbed of his favourite extreme sports meant he’d sought the adrenaline rush in other ways and losing himself in a willing woman gave him a similar high.
But Polly was different from the women he dated and he damn well knew it. She was off limits, the kind of girl who wanted for ever, not for now. Wrong for him in so many ways. She was a challenge he had to walk away from no matter how badly he wanted to see how far he could push the boundaries between them.
He ached with wanting her even now and for the first time he’d seen her respond l
ike she wanted him just as badly. It was a heady thought—enough to make a guy run to the fridge in search of a lager—because if he didn’t slake his thirst with an icy beer he’d be following her into that guest room and taking her up against the newly painted walls, Archie’s renovations and his own reservations be damned.
‘Hey, pisshead, get your own beer.’
Ryder grabbed another lager, straightened and handed a beer to Archie. ‘Who you calling pisshead?’
‘You, butt-face.’ Archie popped the top off his beer and clinked bottles with him. ‘When did you fly in?’
‘This morning. Or, considering I’m still on London time, should that be yesterday evening?’ Ryder took a slug of beer, glad Archie had arrived home when he had. Another second with his disastrous thoughts and there was no telling what he may have done with the delectable Polly.
‘Did you see Polly?’
Ryder nodded and hoped to God his expression wouldn’t betray him. Then again, he’d managed to hide his lust for Polly from Archie all these years. Why should now be any different? ‘Yeah. She’s being your reno slave in the guest bedroom.’
Archie chuckled. ‘Thought she might be hiding out in there, trying to avoid you giving her a hard time.’
‘She loves it.’
‘You both do,’ Archie said, locking gazes with him. ‘If I didn’t know you guys any better I’d say it’s foreplay.’
Ryder’s laughter sounded incredibly forced. ‘You know me. I’m like that with all the girls.’
Archie’s speculative stare didn’t waver. ‘Yeah, but you two have been at it a long time now. Ever thought about it?’
Ryder didn’t like where this conversation was heading. Not one frigging bit. ‘About what?’
Archie snorted. ‘You and Polly getting together, dickhead.’ His eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Or are you playing dumb because you know I’ll beat you to a pulp if you go there?’
‘Like to see you try, pee-wee.’ Ryder downed the rest of his beer. Guess that answered the question of how Archie would feel about him dating Polly. Not that there’d be dating involved. He wanted a woman, he charmed her, he slept with her. Short-term fun guaranteed to obliterate the memories of what he couldn’t have any more. With Polly, he envisaged having a hell of a lot of fun.
Eager to change the subject, he said, ‘You still keen for me to throw you the biggest thirtieth Sydney has ever seen?’
‘As long as you’ve got scantily clad women lined up, I’m there.’ Archie finished his beer and lobbed it into the recycling bin. ‘Want to grab a paintbrush and help?’
Ryder winced and flexed his knee. ‘You know how bad this is.’
Archie snorted. ‘Mate, just because you broke that leg five years ago and managed to fool everyone into feeling sorry for you it doesn’t mean you can’t do some manual labour for once in your charmed bloody life.’
‘Harsh, but true.’ Ryder grinned. If Archie only knew how breaking his leg, and what had happened afterwards, had changed his life. ‘Sorry, got to see a man about a party.’
‘Flaky as well as lazy,’ Archie muttered, making an L shape with his thumb and forefinger against his forehead. ‘Pub dinner tonight?’
Ryder wanted to say yes. But if he had his way he’d be otherwise occupied. He had every intention of taking Polly up on her offer of visiting her workplace this afternoon. After that? The night was young.
Logically, he knew starting anything with Polly was idiotic. But he’d never backed away from a challenge and after the spark of interest he’d seen in her eyes earlier, he knew she felt the attraction between them as much as he did. He’d pushed the boundaries by nipping at her ear, a startling reaction to her proximity after years of pent-up sexual frustration. At best he’d expected her to ask him what the hell he was doing, at worst to slap him.
Instead, she’d looked seriously turned on and at that moment he’d known he had to go for it. Life was too short and if she wanted this as much as he did... They were both adults who knew the score. Little Pollyanna was all grown up and more tempting than ever. It would be fun seeing how far they could take this thing between them.
‘Rain check? Jet lag’s a bitch.’
‘Yeah, must be real tough sleeping in those first-class flatbed compartments.’ Archie snorted and shooed him away. ‘Get out of here and let me get back to work.’
‘I’m gone.’ Ryder rarely faked anything in his life but he summoned his best acting skills now. Because he had to make a date with Polly and there was no way in hell he’d leave here until it was done. ‘Once I say bye to Polly.’
‘Knock yourself out.’ Archie waved, already turning his attention to the bag of hardware paraphernalia he’d bought. ‘Text me if you want to catch up tomorrow, doofus.’
‘Done,’ Ryder said, grateful that no matter how many countries he visited, no matter how many auditoriums he packed for his motivational presentations, no matter how many five-star hotels and functions he attended, he could rely on his oldest mate to make him feel grounded.
Archie had been there for him throughout everything: moving in next door while he’d still been reeling from the death of his grandfather, being ignored by his grandmother who didn’t know how to grieve and acknowledge he was still around, coping with a new school where the pricks only valued mansions and portfolios.
Archie had kept him grounded through it all and later, even after he’d left Sydney behind without looking back and had suffered the leg break that had shattered his confidence and the near fatality that had made him re-evaluate everything, he’d been there remotely. After the accident, Archie had been the one to encourage him to finish the part-time psychology degree he’d started in his late teens overseas. He’d been floundering, lost in a sea of guilt and recrimination, and finishing his degree had been the best thing for him.
After he’d got his head on straight with the help of a shrink, his new career had been born and he’d been motivating people ever since. He’d been a life coach and consultant to major companies around the world, utilising the fame he’d acquired as an extreme sports enthusiast who’d survived a major accident and combining it with the psych research he loved. His bottom line? Employee morale often made or broke a company and once his methods had got results, he’d been invited to speak at countless conferences and beyond.
He liked his life. Liked the freedom and the privileges he could afford. Liked being on the move and not being stuck in one place for too long, outrunning his demons. Liked his varied dating life courtesy of his fame.
But he also liked a petite brunette with freckles dusting her nose, and after all this time she’d finally responded to him as something more than a friend and that gave him the impetus to pursue her. Besides, he was used to getting what he wanted.
Traversing Archie’s light-filled Southbank apartment, Ryder imagined Polly’s reaction to what he was about to say and grinned. She’d totally unsettled him with that flash of interest earlier. Time to return the favour.
By the time he reached the guest room, he had a plan: ascertain if she’d be at work this afternoon; organise a visit; ensure she’d have dinner with him.
However, his plan hit a snag when he paused in the doorway, his gaze riveted to her butt as she knelt on all fours, sanding a skirting board.
There was nothing remotely sexy about the denim overalls she wore over a frayed grey T-shirt but seeing her in that position, with her cute ass in the air, had him hard in an instant.
‘Nice view,’ he drawled, and she jumped so fast she toppled over.
‘Haven’t you left yet?’ She glowered at him as she stood and dusted off her hands, another delightful blush staining her cheeks.
‘Why so eager to get rid of me?’
‘Because I don’t like you,’ she said, her dart-away glance making a mockery of that declaration.
‘Liar,’ he said, stalking
across the room towards her, not surprised when she backed away. ‘You like me just fine and the feeling’s mutual.’
‘Piss off.’ She held up her hands. Yeah, like that would stop him. ‘I need to finish up here, head home to clean up, then go to work.’
Ryder snapped his fingers. ‘Perfect.’
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘What?’
‘I’d planned on taking you up on your invitation to update my wardrobe and this afternoon seems as good a time as any.’
Her blush faded, leaving her pale. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘Dead serious.’ Knowing she was likely to slug him—it had happened before in a not-so-friendly game of touch rugby—he tweaked her nose. ‘And once we finish up at Sizzle, you’re having dinner with me.’
‘I’d rather eat dirt,’ she blurted, her chest heaving with indignation, providing him with a very nice image of what that would look like sans the tatty overalls and T-shirt. Generous C cups for his hands and mouth to explore in erotic detail...
‘Then I’ll make sure to bring you a doggy bag from the garden,’ he said with a jaunty wave, aiming for a light-hearted tone to defuse the mind-numbing lust slamming through him, making him want to flip the lock on the door, tear those overalls off and do more than kiss. ‘See you around three.’
‘I don’t work in the showroom,’ she shouted at his retreating back.
‘I’ll find you.’
He chuckled as he strolled out of the bedroom, the sounds of her kicking something echoing in his ears.
CHAPTER THREE
POLLY WAS IN HEAVEN.
Surrounded by cast-offs of last year’s spring collection in Sizzle’s sample room, touching the softest silks and shiny satins, the plush velvets and finest lace, the sheer chiffons and crisp linens, made her feel glamorous in a way she could never achieve any other way.
She often ducked in here at the end of a long day when her feet ached and her head throbbed from running errands for her boss, Andrina. It was her new go-to place and far removed from the comfort she usually derived from numbers.
