Her Playboy Crush

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘Now you’re going all life coach on me,’ she said, but her eyes had lost the haunted look.

  The waitress arrived with their order, a Greek salad for him, focaccia for her, with two chocolate milkshakes.

  She waited until the waitress left before pointing at his salad and smirking. ‘Girly food?’

  He pretended to be offended. ‘I treat my body as a temple.’

  A sly expression crossed her face. ‘As long as I get to worship at it, eat all the rabbit food you like.’

  He laughed, loving her sense of humour. ‘At the risk of souring the mood, I need to know details about the fundraiser so I can tailor my speech accordingly. What’s it for and how long do you want me to speak?’

  ‘As long as we’re not discussing Andrina I’m fine.’ She took a slurp of milkshake and visibly brightened. ‘There is absolutely nothing that a good chocolate hit can’t fix.’

  She took another sip before continuing. ‘The charity supplies clothes and essentials to women and children who are victims of domestic abuse. Often they’ve been forced to flee their homes with nothing but what they’re wearing, so the charity provides them with a new wardrobe, toiletries, that kind of thing.’

  ‘A worthy cause,’ he said. ‘Can I give a cash donation too?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  The admiration in her gaze made him feel like an all-conquering giant-slayer.

  ‘As for your speech, you’re the keynote speaker, but it doesn’t have to be long. Maybe fifteen minutes?’

  ‘Done,’ he said. ‘Any particular topic?’

  ‘You’re the expert, choose whatever you like, as long as it’s inspirational.’

  Ryder had given motivational speeches all around the world to various groups over the last few years but he’d never felt the pressure to perform as much as he did now. Polly made him want to be a better man, but he couldn’t tell her that. Fucking between friends didn’t foster heartfelt declarations. It would only lead to complications when he walked away at the end.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  Shit. She’d lulled him into a false sense of security. If she started rehashing last night, this wouldn’t go well.

  ‘Yeah.’ He sounded hesitant and they both knew it.

  ‘Why life coaching?’ She picked at a piece of lettuce poking out from the end of her focaccia. ‘You were jumping out of planes and scaling cliffs one minute, the next you busted your leg and completed your psychology degree.’

  ‘So Archie told you about the leg?’

  A faint pink stained her cheeks. ‘I used to ask about you. We’re all friends, you know.’

  He wanted to tell her about the accident and how it had changed him. He wanted to tell her about the ongoing nightmares and the implications of witnessing something so horrific and the never-ending guilt that he should’ve been in that car. He wanted to tell her about the anger, the unexpected bouts of rage at the injustice of being robbed of his passion and having to find new ways to get his adrenaline fix—most of them involving frequent sex with different women.

  But he couldn’t. On the heels of last night’s revelations about his upbringing, it would only lead to more questions and he couldn’t face that, not from her. Polly was uncomplicated and that was what he craved right now, a brief interlude that would clear his mind and remind him of the good of home to sustain him wherever his travels took him next.

  ‘Rehab for the leg took longer than expected, I got bored, so I decided to finish my degree.’

  ‘And leave the life of an adrenaline junkie behind?’

  ‘The leg has never been the same so I didn’t want to risk it. Not from any fear for myself but if you’re on a mountain or out on the sea, not being fully fit can put other people in danger and I didn’t want to do that.’

  It was a valid, trite response she approved of if the understanding in her eyes was any indication, but a broken leg had been the least of his problems back then. Bones healed, scarred psyches not so much.

  ‘Life coaching presents challenges of a different kind,’ he said, stabbing at a cherry tomato and spearing an olive. ‘I never expected to enjoy it as much as I do.’

  ‘You’re lucky.’ She sighed. ‘I’d give anything to do a job I love and I’m hoping that by suffering through three months of Andrina’s torture I’ll get the opportunity.’

  He hated to be a downer, but it had to be said. ‘Won’t that mean you’ll still be working with her? Is that what you really want?’

  ‘Moving into the financial side of things, using my statistical knowledge to improve the company’s bottom line, will garner a hell of a lot more respect from her than being her lackey.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘And I won’t have to do what she says. I’ll have a different boss. A sane one.’

  He chuckled and held up his hands. ‘Fine, as long as you’ve thought this through. Because that woman scares the hell out of me and working in the same building as her would be too close in my opinion.’

  ‘I have to give it a go,’ she said, hoisting her milkshake glass. ‘To following dreams.’

  ‘To following dreams,’ he echoed, tapping his glass against hers, leaning across the table to murmur, ‘Especially raunchy dreams involving you and me naked.’

  A crimson blush stained her cheeks. ‘You cut last night short and it left me...’

  ‘Horny?’ he supplied helpfully, and she nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘After dinner tonight, I think I can help you out with that.’

  She lifted her chin and eyeballed him. ‘Why wait until then?’

  His cock had subsided to half-mast during their chatter and it surged to life in a big way at her innuendo. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘This is mostly an industrial area but there’s a motel not far, probably for overseas workers who come to consult.’ Her blush intensified. ‘Or maybe for horny people like us who can’t wait until tonight?’

  Man, she blew him away. He never would’ve expected prim Polly would be up for an hour of afternoon delight in a motel.

  ‘How fast can you eat?’ He pointed at her focaccia.

  ‘We can take our meals to go.’ Her tongue flicked out to moisten her bottom lip and he gritted his teeth against the urge to splay her across the table and feast on her.

  ‘I’m not hungry any more.’ He snagged her hand and brushed his thumb across her pulse point, over and over. ‘At least, not for food.’

  She made an odd noise, half moan, half choke. ‘Let’s go.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  POLLY HAD FELT way too comfortable opening up to Ryder while they’d waited for their lunch. He was a good listener and unburdening herself regarding her job fears had made her feel...cherished.

  Which was exactly why she’d proposed they visit this motel with its rooms-by-the-hour policy.

  She needed to reinforce that they were about sex, and misreading his attention for anything more was setting herself up for disaster.

  She had to focus on the physical. Not such a hardship considering the dove-grey T-shirt moulding to his chest, the hip-hugging faded denim and those eyes that scorched her with a single glance.

  However, wanting to show Ryder she predominantly wanted him for his body hit a snag when they entered room six at the nondescript motel wedged between a foam factory on one side and an industrial warehouse on the other.

  ‘You sure about this?’ Ryder was propped in the doorway alongside her, surveying the room, his disbelief audible.

  Everything in the entire room was the colour of baby poo, an ugly mustard that hurt the eyes. The worn carpet, the faded wallpaper, a pilled bedspread—everything was awful and by the looks of the dip in the centre of the bed no way would Polly be going anywhere near it.

  But the room had one thing going for it. A sturdy desk—the only clean-looking furniture in the place. It had po
tential.

  ‘Come on, Pol, we can go back to my place after dinner tonight.’ He placed his hand in the small of her back to guide her outside but she baulked.

  She knew how tonight would play out. Dinner would be a repeat of lunch where they’d chat and laugh and grow closer, creating a false illusion of a relationship he didn’t want. He’d made that abundantly clear and sex after a dinner like that would reek of intimacy.

  The thought alone was enough to propel her forward into the room. She headed toward the desk and tapped it. ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’

  He hesitated, hovering in the doorway like he wanted to turn tail and run, so she took the decision out of his hands by sliding the top button of her black blouse through its hole, and the next, tugging the lapels open so he could catch a glimpse of burgundy lace.

  His eyes widened. ‘You’re wearing the lingerie I chose?’

  ‘Why don’t you come over here and find out?’

  In her most brazen move yet, she rested a foot on the chair in front of the desk, making her skirt ruck up, exposing the lacy crotch.

  ‘You’re just full of surprises,’ he muttered, finally stepping into the room and slamming the door.

  ‘That’s what happens when you underestimate someone,’ she said, managing to sound pragmatic and breathy at the same time as she popped the press-studs on the bodysuit’s crotch and peeled the lace away. ‘But as an FYI, I’m not going anywhere near that bed so you can do me here on the desk or not at all.’

  The corners of his mouth quirked as he advanced towards her. ‘Do you?’

  ‘You got a problem with my quaint language?’ She settled back onto the desk, splaying her thighs wide this time, giving him a view of how badly she wanted him.

  His gaze zeroed in on her pussy. ‘Fuck, Pol, you are something else.’

  Feigning bravado, she tilted her chin up. ‘Show me.’

  It had only been forty-eight hours since Ryder Beale had strutted back into her life and she knew all the self-talk in the world that this thing between them would remain just sex was BS.

  She wanted him for more than his body. Yet he’d made it perfectly clear that was all she could ever have.

  Time to start taking advantage of it.

  Her eyes never left his until he stood in front of her, between her thighs. He touched her, swiping a finger through her slick folds, sending a shock through her.

  She spread her legs wider and flung her head back, giving herself over to the pleasure of having him touch her. When his tongue replaced his finger, she moaned, vibrations of lust rippling over her.

  His tongue swiped her pussy over and over, slow, languorous strokes that stoked her desire quickly. He delved deeper, using his fingers and tongue in sync, consuming her until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, a moment before her muscles tensed and her orgasm crashed over her.

  He didn’t give her time to recover and she didn’t want it, barely aware of the tearing of foil before he was inside her, full and thick, filling her.

  He claimed her mouth, nipping her bottom lip, sucking on it like he’d sucked on her clit a moment ago, and she tasted herself and the chocolate milkshake he’d had at lunch as he deepened the kiss.

  Cupping her ass, he dragged her to the edge of the desk, changing the angle of his dick sliding in, setting her nerve endings alight.

  She broke the kiss, wanting to watch him fuck her, a reminder of what they were about. Placing her hands on the desk behind her, she eyeballed him, daring him to drive them both towards cataclysmic oblivion.

  As if sensing her need for raw sex, he gripped her thighs and drove into her, hard.

  She gasped, murmured, ‘More,’ and he obliged, thrusting into her over and over, driving her to the edge.

  When she circled her legs around his waist, his cock hit the sweet spot inside her and she gave herself over to the power of another breath-stealing orgasm that sent aftershocks through her.

  He came a moment later, grunting her name, and in that moment she knew this was exactly what she’d needed: a potent reminder of what they were together. Combustible. Wanton. Hedonistic.

  It would have to be enough.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AS POLLY LEANED back on her elbows, surveying the shimmering azure of Sydney Harbour and watching mauve, sienna and pink streak the sky as the sun dipped towards the horizon, she felt like she’d entered some kind of alternate universe.

  She didn’t go on sunset picnics in the Royal Botanic Gardens with a gorgeous guy unpacking all her favourite foods, a guy who had a decidedly wicked glint in his eyes signalling he wanted her for dessert.

  She didn’t feel gorgeous and wanton in her plain denim knee-length skirt and blue singlet top.

  She didn’t envisage asking the guy back to her place to spend the night.

  But this was happening to her and she resisted the urge to pinch herself.

  It made her wonder: what would’ve happened if she’d revealed her crush to Ryder years ago.

  Probably nothing, considering the minute he’d finished school he’d hit the road and hadn’t looked back, while she’d been a studious sixteen-year-old wishing she were two years older and could go with him. It was wistful thinking, because she never would’ve done something like that. She’d had plans to go to university and she’d followed through. Chasing after Ryder on a whim would’ve been beyond foolish and she never did impulsive things.

  After he’d left he’d popped home regularly for the first few years and she’d yearned for him even more as he acquired a worldliness she could never hope to emulate. He’d treated her the same though, teasing, taunting, driving her insane, and she’d reciprocated.

  She’d never indulged in spontaneous actions back then. Now? The memory of their motel antics that afternoon made her flush from head to foot. She’d never been so bold but they were still worlds apart in savviness. He’d travelled all over the world; she’d never left Sydney. He’d conquered mountains; she was lucky if she conquered a step class once a month. He inspired people for a living; she loved juggling figures and avoiding awkward conversations.

  They were true opposites in every way but one, which was why she intended to drag him back to her place later to have her wicked way with him.

  Her impulsiveness this afternoon, along with the resultant sex in that motel, had empowered her like nothing else. She liked this strong, invincible version of herself, even if it was only for a short time. She intended to make every second count.

  ‘Cider?’ He held out a glass to her and she took it, smiling her thanks as she surveyed the spread he’d laid out, stunned he’d remembered all her favourites.

  Camembert, rosemary crackers, dolmades, prosciutto, stuffed baby bell peppers, along with jam doughnuts, caramel swirl chocolates and Turkish delight for dessert.

  ‘I can’t believe all this,’ she said, emotion unexpectedly clogging her throat. ‘How did you remember? I mean, back then you and Archie would fall on any food Mum served...’

  ‘This was the birthday feast you requested Babs serve for your fifteenth,’ he said, tapping his temple. ‘I guess I have a memory for trivial stuff.’

  But it wasn’t trivial, not to her, and the fact he’d remembered every one of the foods she loved reinforced why she had to focus on the sex. Because thoughtful stuff like this had the power to undo her.

  For a fanciful moment, she wondered if this gesture meant he’d liked her as much as she’d liked him back then. Before reality intruded: more than likely his crappy home life had ensured whatever happened at their place stuck in his head.

  Though she wouldn’t make the mistake of asking about that again, not after the way he’d shut down last night. She had no intention of cutting this evening short. Not when she was wearing the blue satin bra and panties he’d picked out beneath her plain skirt and singlet.

 
‘This is incredible, thank you,’ she said, pushing off her elbows so she could lean up and give him a kiss.

  ‘You deserve all the good things in life, Pol.’ He captured her chin and stared into her eyes, trying to convey a message she had no hope of understanding.

  The intensity of his stare, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words, left her reeling.

  Ryder wasn’t a keeper. He’d warned her off expecting anything more. He was her friend, who she was mucking around with. And while this may be the most romantic date she’d ever been on, she was under no illusions. He probably wanted to make up for last night and she was more than willing to let him. They had to keep things light and away from fraught topics like their pasts.

  Starting now.

  ‘You know what would take this evening to the next level?’

  He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘What?’

  ‘You taking me up against a tree.’

  ‘You are bad.’ He brushed his lips against hers, slow and sensual, a promise of more. Her skin tingled as his fingertips skated down her arm, a feather-light touch that had her moaning a little.

  But as she pressed her mouth harder against his, he eased away with a soft ‘Tut-tut.’

  ‘We’re in a public place, Pol, and I’m hard for you, so please don’t torture me.’

  Her gaze dropped to his lap, where he’d strategically draped a napkin. ‘Why not, when it’s so much fun?’

  He waggled a finger at her impish smile. ‘You’re driving me insane.’

  ‘Good,’ she murmured, with an exaggerated lick of her lips. ‘I plan on torturing you plenty later.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ She rested her hand on his thigh and the napkin twitched.

  With her free hand, she edged a singlet strap to one side, revealing a hint of bra and his gaze was riveted to it in an instant.

  ‘Fuck, you’re wearing that sexy get-up?’

  ‘Just for you, baby.’ She readjusted the strap and patted his cheek. ‘So how fast can you serve me this delicious food?’