Untamed and Irresistable

by Rosie Miller

  Bethany laughed loudly, shaking her head.

  But they both knew it wasn’t funny.

  “It’s not like that. Don’t say that. No. No.” Bethany shook her head again. “I wouldn’t—not after—after you and him—well you know…”

  “So you’re not seeing him then? No. I know you wouldn’t. You’re too good a friend for that. I mean, you’d have to be a real bitch to do something like that.”

  Justine smiled at Bethany, and Bethany smiled back.

  They both knew that Bethany was seeing Alistair—and they both knew that Justine had just called her a bad friend and a bitch.

  But Justine didn’t really blame Bethany—not completely anyway. She knew Alistair was very persuasive—and very rich—and very handsome —and very, very used to getting his own way.

  “Enough of boring old me. Let’s talk about you. Have you met anyone? Anyone sexy in your office?” Bethany sounded tense and miserable, despite her big smile.

  Justine relented and let her change the subject. “You don’t know what it’s like Bethany. I don’t even wear heels, or a push-up or proper lipstick in case I get burned at the stake.”

  “No handsome clients either?”

  “Do you know who we deal with? It’s pretty much all charity work. I mean, some of them are handsome, in a hipster kind of way, but I don’t know. They’re too dedicated. It’s like if you don’t share their passion for the cause, they aren’t interested. It doesn’t matter what you look like.”

  “What a nightmare. Men who care about what you think and what your values are, instead of judging you on your appearance. Poor you.”

  Touché. Point taken. Justine gave her grudging look of respect. Perhaps she was a bit superficial, and perhaps her new colleagues and clients weren’t. It just wasn’t what she was used to. The rules of the game had changed, and she wasn’t ready for it. She wanted to go back the old game, the one she was good at.

  Bethany tried to sound sympathetic. “Really though, is it that bad?”

  “Yep.” She sighed. “But it’s only for a couple of months. Who knows—by then Alistair might have been caught out with some other dumb girl. Although surely no one would be stupid enough to get involved with him now that everyone knows what he’s like?” Justine knew she was turning the knife. But Bethany had broken the number rule of friendship—you just don’t date your friend’s ex. Especially not if he’s just ruined your friend’s life.

  She watched Bethany’s face carefully—but she refused to look up and meet Justine’s gaze. Justine knew she’d get to the truth soon enough. One more drink and Bethany would tell anything to anyone.

  “So, there’s no one?” Bethany asked, desperately trying to keep the focus on Justine.

  “Well, there is someone, but… he’s a client. And you know where that ends. But he is interesting.”

  Bethany perked up, almost as if a new man would make Justine forget that Bethany was dating her ex. “But is he interested?”

  Justine shrugged. “We had a moment. He sent me flowers. Now he’s disappeared to the back of beyond and is being all mysterious and tight-lipped about it. So, it’s a non-starter.” She laughed, like it meant nothing, but the thought of Jackson not wanting her actually hurt.

  Still—she rationalized—if experience had taught her anything, his sudden lack of interest was for the best. She’d have a good time tonight and forget all about him.

  “You’re looking all dreamy and love-struck! You really like him.”

  “No, I don’t. I’m not even thinking about him,” Justine protested. But she was. “And I am definitely – definitely—not going to get involved with a client again. I’m not that dumb.”

  “Another hot guy. It’s not fair. You get everything.”

  Justine stared at her. She had a no hope job with a no hope firm. The only attractive man in her life was up and down faster than a rollercoaster and obviously had some secret other life that he wouldn’t tell her about. “I don’t think so.”

  “I wish I was you.”

  Had Bethany heard anything she’d said? Had she remembered anything about how pathetic Justine’s life was right now? “You must be crazy. I’d way rather be you.”

  “But it’s been horrible since you left. The office bitches hate me. They won’t do anything I ask them too, even though I’m their boss now. And…” She stared at Justine woefully.

  “And what? Go on. You might as well tell me.” Justine wanted her to say it, even though she knew what was going on.

  “It’s Alistair. He—I—we— “ Bethany paused, then took a deep breath and it all tumbled out. “I started seeing him. I didn’t mean to. It was just a one-off after a night out. I was drunk and he’s persistent. And now he won’t leave me alone. He says if I don’t keep doing it, then he’ll get rid of me like he did you. It’s my big break and it’s all going wrong.” Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Justine. And now you hate me too.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do. You called me a bitch.”

  “You deserved it. You called me superficial.”

  “I know. But you deserved that.” Bethany smiled through her tears. “But we’re still friends, right?”

  “Of course we are. Always.” Justine meant it. For some reason, she wasn’t angry with Bethany for taking over her life.

  They had another cocktail and compared notes on Alistair. Justine didn’t feel jealous anymore—in fact she was pleased that it was Bethany and not her who was getting booty calls at inconvenient times.

  She was pleased it was Bethany who had to spend half an hour going down on Alistair in the back of his car. And she was definitely pleased it was Bethany who always had to play second best to his wife’s schedule. Yes, she was better off without him. And Bethany was welcome to him.

  They danced and drank some more and had a good time. Bethany declared that she was going to dump Alistair.

  Justine tried to forget all about Jackson. The bar was full of single men. She didn’t need Jackson. She had plenty of other guys to choose from.

  But at midnight, Bethany surreptitiously checked her phone. “I’m beat,” she announced. “Hey, Justine, do you mind if I get going now? I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep. Do you want to share a cab?”

  Justine shook her head. “I’ll stay and finish my drink, then get going. There are plenty of cabs outside. I’ll be fine.”

  Bethany waved goodbye.

  Justine was sure Alistair had just texted her. He wanted to meet, and Bethany had dropped everything and gone running. Would she never learn?

  Justine cruised the guys again. She wondered if any of them would do for the night—or whether she should be sensible to and go home before she did something she might regret. But wasn’t that the whole point of coming out to a bar like this? If you didn’t do something—or someone—you regretted, you might as well stay home.

  A man caught her eye. He was tall and fit looking. His hair was slightly too long and swept back from his face.

  He was looking at her and she flashed a smile at him. Why not? He was sexy. He reminded her of someone—Jackson. But he wasn’t Jackson. He was someone new and attractive—and more importantly, he looked interested and available.

  She glanced at him again. He was still watching her. She smiled and turned away. Would he have the balls to come up and talk to her?

  She didn’t have to wait long. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around.

  He was standing close to her and she raised her head to look up at him.

  “Hi,” he said, simply.

  “Hi,” she replied, thinking she really ought to work on her small talk. She looked into his eyes. They had that same golden green tint that Jackson’s had. She was going to stop thinking about Jackson.

  “You want to dance?” he asked.

  She nodded. Sometimes talking was over-rated.

  The cocktails, the insistent beat of the music, and the way he looked
at her, all made her feel like he could be the man—for tonight, at least.

  After a while, the music slowed and when he put his hands on her shoulders, she stepped closer to him. His arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her in even closer. They were pressed against each other and she could feel his hard, muscular body through his clothes.

  She rested her head on his chest as they swayed to the music. He felt good—he smelt good—and he was doing all the right things. And that included not talking. She’d had enough of talking—the flattery, the compliments—and the lies. And she definitely wasn’t going to think about Jackson.

  She let her new man pull her hips tight up against him.

  She smiled to herself—he was very interested. The proof of that was rubbing against her belly as they danced. But was she going to take him home with her? That was the question. He wasn’t Jackson, but he looked a bit like him. Damn. There was that name again. Why couldn’t she just forget all about him for one night? Perhaps she just needed to try harder.

  The man was looking down at her. He lowered his head and she closed her eyes, waiting for the feel of his lips on hers.

  But it never came.

  She lurched backwards as someone grabbed her arm and pulled hard.

  “What the hell—” she exclaimed. It was him—Jackson.

  Jackson was standing in between her and her new man. He glared at her and the man. The rage seemed to pour from his body. He held up his hand as if he was going to push her back. The gesture made her flinch and she stepped away. Jackson was facing up to the taller man.

  The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

  Justine could feel the tension. She wondered if there would be fight.

  Then the stranger smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. He didn’t seem fazed by Jackson’s abrupt arrival. If anything—he seemed faintly amused.

  “Go! Go now,” Jackson commanded.

  The man hesitated, and locked eyes with Jackson again. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken battle going on between them. Were they sizing each other up, working out who was the most dangerous—the most crazy?

  Justine looked from one to the other, wondering which one would win in a brawl.

  But then her new man broke the moment and turned to her. “We have some unfinished business. I’ll see you again, Justine—soon.”

  She felt a shiver down her spine. Was that a promise or a threat?

  Then he left.

  She stared at Jackson. She could feel the anger still coming off him in waves.

  But he wasn’t the only one who felt angry. “What’s going on? Why are you even here?” she demanded.

  He gripped her arm tightly and walked her off the dance floor.

  She shook herself free. “What the hell is going on?”

  “He’s bad news—that guy—really bad news. You need to stay away from him.”

  “What’s it to you? Are you some kind of vigilante—or stalker? Have you been hanging around waiting for someone to make a move on me?”

  “Not someone. Him. You could have gone with anyone else in here, anyone else in the city. But not him.”

  “Why? And why do you even care?”

  He pulled her towards him. His hands gripped her upper arms tightly. “Because I do care. I care about you. And because he’d hurt you. I know him.”

  “Were you following me? How did you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t. I was following him. It’s complicated. It’s part of my job. And when I saw him with you, I…”

  “This doesn’t make sense Jackson. You don’t make sense.”

  He rubbed his hand over his face.

  She could feel some of the tension leaving him now.

  “I know.” He smiled briefly. “I’m sorry. Can I take you home?”

  Even though she was still angry and confused, her heart lifted. Did he mean see her home or come home with her? Either way it seemed like a good idea. She didn’t have the energy to try and pick anyone else up. And now Jackson was here, all the other guys looked somehow less interesting.

  “Sure. You can explain what you’re up to on the way home.”

  His car was parked around the corner. It was a low-slung sports car with tinted black windows.

  “Nice wheels,” she said appreciatively. She wondered why someone who could afford a car like this was going to a two-bit charity operation like her own for his legal advice.

  “It’s not mine,” he said shortly, opening the door for her.

  “I hope you’ve not been stealing cars,” she teased.

  “No,” he answered seriously, like it was an entirely realistic possibility.

  She relaxed against the leather seat. It still smelled new. She glanced around, wondering if there were any clues about his wife or kids in here, but it was like it had just come from the showroom. She opened the glove box, looking for a stray lipstick or a pack of baby wipes inside. Something solid, black and heavy slipped out and into her lap. She froze. It was a gun. She stared at Jackson. “Yours, I presume?”

  He nodded and picked it up carefully and replaced it in the glove box.

  He drove swiftly through the empty streets. The radio was on low and she watched him through half-closed eyes. He seemed so alert—so tense—like he was still expecting trouble.

  “What’s going on? I mean, what’s really going on?”

  He glanced over at her briefly. “I’m not going to tell you,” he said simply. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

  “Great,” she muttered. “Thanks for the vote of trust.”

  He didn’t speak again, but just followed the directions she’d given him until they were outside her building. He parked the car. “I’ll walk you up to your door. And if you don’t mind, I’ll check inside too.”

  “You’re a bit paranoid, aren’t you? You don’t think that guy from the bar has somehow followed us here and already broken into my apartment?”

  He gazed at her steadily. “Yes, he might have done.”

  Perhaps Jackson was the psycho, she wondered briefly. Perhaps all this ‘protecting’ her was a ruse for stalking her and getting into her apartment. She smiled to herself. A dinner and a ‘can I come in for coffee’ would have done just as well. He didn’t need to go through all this drama. But—she reminded herself—no clients. No involvement. And he might be crazy. For some reason Justine just found him all the more intriguing.

  In the elevator, her heart began to speed up again. There was something about being in a confined space with him that made her pulse race. What was it? The sense of his barely contained energy? Pheromones? Or was she just desperate? It had been weeks since she’d had a man—and that man had been Alistair. She hated even thinking about him. She squeezed her thighs together and glanced at Jackson.

  He was staring into the middle distance.

  Why couldn’t he be the one to grab her hand and rub it over his crotch? He looked at her. She immediately felt embarrassed. Surely he couldn’t read minds as well? She smiled at the thought. If he could, he’d being seeing some pretty pornographic images right about now.

  She stood at her door, fumbling with her keys, wishing she’d not had that last cocktail. Or the one before. Or the one before that.

  So who was that guy?” she asked again.

  “No one. But if you ever see him again, do not get involved.”

  ”That doesn’t sound like no one to me. How did he know my name? I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell him anything.”

  Jackson just gave her an ‘I told you so’ look.

  It didn’t seem fair. Jackson had chased away the only man she could have had. It was only right that he should take his place. She giggled, thinking about suggesting it.

  Finally, she got the door open.

  He flung out his arm and stopped her from going in. He stepped in front of her and flicked on the lights, and paused—alert and listening. Then he wrenched open her hall closet as if he expected someone to leap out at him. But there was not
hing except the pile of coats, shoes, umbrellas and other crap in there.

  Great. He’s going to look round everywhere and I haven’t cleaned up for ages. If this is some kind of peculiar ruse to see if I’m a good homemaker type—I’ve failed—big-time.

  She followed Jackson as he explored her apartment. She tried to ignore the newspapers and magazines on the couch—the empty coffee cups on the table—the unwashed pots in the sink and—she counted, disbelieving—four pairs of panties abandoned on her bedroom floor. She really had to start picking up after herself.

  Finally Jackson seemed satisfied. He’d checked her windows and made sure they were all locked. He’d examined the locks on her door and said they were fine.

  She pointed out that single women in this city tended to have decent security, but he ignored her.

  She took a bottle of wine out of the fridge and poured herself a big glass of it. She poured one for Jackson too. If he didn’t want, she’d drink it.

  She passed it to him.

  He held it, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  “Everything okay then? I’ll be safe in my bed tonight—all alone?” she added, with a smile.

  He coughed and took a sip of wine.

  “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “You seriously still think the guy from the bar might turn up here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? I mean I know I’m hot,” she grinned. “But there are other women out there.”

  “But not women that I …” He paused and gazed into his wine glass.

  “That you what?” Had he been going to say that I like? That I want?

  “That I know,” he said carefully.

  “Great. So just ‘knowing’ you is a bit of death sentence. Don’t you think you should kind of tell people that before you meet them?”

  “I didn’t know I’d meet someone like you when I went to your firm. I was surprised.”

  She giggled. “Yep, they are a bit of a type. So what do you mean—someone like me?”

  He stepped closer to her.

  She was still leaning against the kitchen counter. Suddenly the room felt very small.