Sexy in the City

by Alexia Adams, Galen Rose, Samantha Anne, Carolann Camillo, Nicole Flockton, Iris Leach, Olivia Logan, Nancy Loyan, Stephanie Cage (epub)

  Last night, the fundraiser had been such fun, Glory had been sorry when it was over. Outside her apartment, he’d kissed her, thanking her profusely for being the perfect partner. Then he kissed her again. Long and hard. Head, along with her heart, was reeling as she staggered her way into her apartment.

  At work he displayed a powerful presence, which could never be ignored but being with him constantly was proving overwhelming. She couldn’t allow herself to give into his sexual persuasion. His using of, she truly believed, a deceptive romantic approach.

  Edoardo simply couldn’t help himself where women were concerned.

  He played the game of love to the hilt, using his allure and magnetism to ensnare his unsuspecting fly into his web, and once captured, he’d set her free with gentle words and most probably an expensive gift, her head still reeling from the impact.

  She may be in love with him but she’d never be fooled by his sweet-talk. She was far too heavy-duty, too single-minded to give way to his persuasive allure.

  Her success as a lawyer kept her focussed and hard-headed. It was the one thing in her life she could rely on — other than Kate of course.

  She’d wondered if what was happening between Edoardo and her would affect their working relationship. She didn’t want to leave the practice under any circumstance as she loved her job so much. It wouldn’t happen; they were both far too professional to allow anything to interfere with their commitment to the practice and their clients.

  She made a light breakfast of cereal with sliced peaches, out of a tin of course, and a slice of toast which she somehow managed to burn. After scraping the toast, she thinly spread it with Vegemite and drank a large glass of icy cold orange juice. Afterwards, she set about thoroughly cleaning her apartment.

  Satisfied, she showered and now dressed in tight blue jeans and a pink Angora turtleneck jumper. She made a cup of coffee and settled down to work on the deposition she needed for Monday’s court.

  It was a particularly gruelling case where her client had been accused of stealing very important hush-hush data from the large conglomerate she worked for and covertly selling it to their opposition. Glory had Burt Mayebelle, one of their investigators, working on the case. Burt would suss out any and all skulduggery.

  She looked up and frowned at the sound of the doorbell. It was probably Kate and Aiden, insisting she come to their house for dinner, that Kate was cooking cheesy meatballs with spaghetti, followed by apple pie and vanilla ice-cream, Glory’s favourite meal, knowing Glory couldn’t resist even though she’d planned a quiet evening at home.

  Tossing down the pen, she made her way to the front door thinking Kate would most probably lure her by hiring a film or two. Dear John, she’d been busting to see, or her all-time favourite from the 1940s Her Girl Friday with Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant. She loved that movie. Okay, so she was a sucker for romance. She had to get her kicks from somewhere, didn’t she?

  Glory swung open the door. And he stood there, with his wicked smile and flashing bad-boy eyes. It suddenly occurred to her that he was the image of Cary Grant, a combination of virility, sexuality, and the aura and bearing of a gentleman.

  Dressed in a long-sleeved white polo shirt and blue jeans, which were moulded to his body as if he’d been poured into them and someone had forgotten to say whoa. He wore loafers without socks.

  His cologne smelled great, like vanilla beans. Glory liked it.

  Her eyes fluttered, tried to ignore the hot flush spreading itself, with impish delight, throughout her body.

  “Hi.”

  She folded her arms. “I didn’t know you were coming. What are you doing here?” She didn’t mean to sound so snappy. Why did he bring out the worst in her? Why was she always so darn defensive? And why in the hell was he here in the first place?

  He drew back from her, his hands held up as if he were under house arrest. “Hey,” he murmured, his blue eyes twinkling roguishly, “is that any way to treat your boyfriend?”

  She grinned. He was so hard to resist. “Oh, darn, come on in. I’ll put on a pot of fresh coffee.”

  “Where’s your house keys?”

  “On that table.” She jerked her head towards a small hall table standing near the front door. He reached around and grabbed the keys, shoving them inside his jeans pocket. Then quite slowly and intentionally, he drew her into him. “Come out and play.”

  Startled, she offered no resistance but her eyes grew wide and her breath caught in her throat as her breasts pressed flat against his solid chest.

  For one heady moment she knew he’d kiss her and she braced herself for the full impact. Half of her desperate for his kiss, the other half warning her of the staggering impact it would have on her emotions.

  She was in for vast disappointment as Edoardo didn’t kiss her, but almost carried her to the elevator. “Where are we going?” she managed to say.

  “For a long drive.” He pressed the down button. “Just you, me, and the birdies in the trees.”

  Ignoring the surge of excitement at being alone with him, she tucked her hand into her hip. “And so I have to go?” She looked around, feigning doubtfulness. “Can’t see any reporters. Can’t see any members of council. Is George in the car with a tape recorder and video camera to record a day of fun and laughter with Glory and Edoardo?”

  “Now, Glory that’s not nice,” he said, sounding not the least disconcerted by her outburst. “You’ll enjoy a day in the country, away from the city smells, to relax and not do a thing but have fun.”

  He took a step towering over her. “You say I work you too hard, and you moan and groan when we have to attend an official function, so I thought, why not give her a special treat. Show her I’m not the workhorse she thinks I am.”

  She drew herself to her full height. “I do not moan and groan. I simply state the situation as it is.”

  His left eyebrow raised a fraction. “Or as you see it, maybe.”

  “Don’t twist my words, Edoardo,” she said. “You’re not in court.”

  She could control any situation, even a fire alarm situation, by calmly, with her co-workers in tow, leave the building. She could deal with an earthquake by yelling out “everyone under your desk,” but in this instance she was way out of her depth.

  She glanced down at what she was wearing. Oh my God, she was dressed for a backyard barbeque. And worse still, she was without a repair kit. He hadn’t given her time to grab her handbag with her compact and lipstick.

  “Couldn’t you have let me change?”

  His gaze travelled up and down her body. “You look great.”

  Breathless, she followed him out of the elevator, through the tiny foyer that was more an entrance walk than anything else, and into his waiting car.

  He had a different car. A Bufori Madison, a car that embodied the style and class of the 1930s roadster, coupled with the state-of-the-art technology.

  “Do you want the top down?”

  “That’d be great.” She glanced at the sky, and although the wind softly moaned, it was a milk-and-honey day, a day to be with someone you loved, a day to be young and carefree and forget about the whys and wherefores or the whether she should or shouldn’t codes of life.

  Yes, she’d make today hers, and not allow a thing to spoil it. Not even the fact that Edoardo would never love her. She understood the situation, accepted it with as much dignity as she could muster, and went along with it.

  He tossed a baseball cap into her lap. “Tuck your hair into this. Otherwise it’ll blow all over your face.” She did as he asked. “You look cute.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Cute?” she echoed, bowled over. “Me? I look cute. Ever considered contact lenses?” She laughed softly.

  He looked right into her eyes, kept his gaze steady and even. He gave a tongue-in-cheek smile. “Anythin
g wrong with being cute?”

  She merely arched a brow at him although her heart skipped a beat at his backhanded compliment. “Babies are cute, puppies are cute, and tiny little kittens are really cute — ”

  The engine roared into life. “I like babies, puppies, and kittens,” he said. He threw the car into gear and took off. “And I like you.”

  Oh, she didn’t doubt for a moment that he liked her, respected her as his colleague, but that was so ordinary. She wanted him to sit up and take notice. Drool from the corners of his mouth every time she came into view. She wanted all other women to fade into insignificance when she was with him.

  She wanted him to fall desperately, madly in love with her.

  She glanced over at him. His hair ruffled by the wind, his blue eyes glittery, almost iniquitous.

  She’d liked what he’d said about her being cute, and he really was sweet and she found him hard to resist. He radiated some kind of light. Okay, his nose bridge had a bump as if he’d been in a fist fight or two but that added rather than subtracted.

  He was, to put it meekly, a sex rocket ready and set to fire you to the moon. Question remained, would he bring her back?

  She nestled back into the soft leather of the car. She relaxed. A trip to the country was just what she needed.

  She couldn’t remember when she’d been out of the city. Always too busy with arranging suitable court dates, interviewing clients, taking dispositions, she’d almost forgotten there was solitude and nature not that far from the CBD.

  Although again, she couldn’t help wondering why he was taking her on an unofficial date? Did Edoardo have an ulterior motive? Although she couldn’t imagine what he’d want from her that he couldn’t ask outright. Hmm, had this outing somehow been George’s idea? And if so, why? If not, why did Edoardo want to spend time with her when he certainly didn’t have to?

  Darn, why did it matter one way or the other? This was extremely strange but totally divine.

  Until this moment everything had been so bureaucratic. George had arranged a dinner party, or a press conference, or cocktails with a visiting VIP. Always someone with them, never alone, never tempted, which, she reassured herself, was exactly how she wanted it to be.

  “Not too cold?” he yelled. “I’ve got a jacket in the back.”

  She was freezing. The wind whistled around her, plucked at her clothing as if seeking entrance. “No, I don’t need a jacket. I love it,” she cried, and he pressed the accelerator down.

  • • •

  Edoardo didn’t know what made him call by her apartment. He was just idly driving around, deciding where to go, what to do, when wham there he was outside her place.

  He had sat outside in the street for ages before he’d got the nerve to knock on her door. Why he should worry about calling on her baffled him even more. Hell, they had worked together now for over two years and he’d always been comfortable in her company.

  How much he enjoyed staying back with her at the practice, discussing and arguing how to handle a difficult case, sending out for take-away, and drinking hot chocolate out of paper cups.

  And yet now …

  He had nothing planned, no ulterior motive about seeing her, or even what he’d say to her. It had been an impulse he’d found difficult to resist, and not being a man to hold back on his urges, he’d simply gone with the flow.

  He couldn’t get this woman out of his head, right from the first moment he’d asked her to be his girlfriend. Well, before that actually. There was something about Glory. The magnificence of her hair, the beauty of her eyes and the way her pretty face lit up when she smiled.

  Most women were bowled over when he spread on the charm, but not Glory Sandrin, and it seemed to him that no matter what he did, or how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t please her.

  One minute he had her worked out and the next she confounded him until his head swirled.

  His hands gripped the steering wheel. She was the type of woman he could become a fool over and he didn’t like it.

  So why did he carry this desperate need for her? It made no sense.

  After all, he was dating this gorgeous fashion model. Bunny didn’t spin his mind out of control. She didn’t argue with every single word he uttered and was happy, content even, to see him and no strings attached.

  Maybe he should call on Bunny. Maybe that’s what this was all about. Forget all about a little girl who could twist his emotions around her little finger, and send his temperature soaring at the blink of her lashes.

  All he needed was a night with Bunny and everything would come up smelling like roses.

  So why he didn’t go to Bunny’s apartment was far beyond him.

  Yet somehow, and call this stupid because it was beyond dim-witted, it was as if he were cheating on Glory, even thinking about another woman. How preposterous was that?

  He took a quick glance at her.

  He’d been burned and the scars still throbbed.

  He’d never take a chance on love again.

  He could act out this little charade no problem and, when it was over, no regrets.

  They left the sounds of the city far behind them. He took the Princes Highway and for the next couple of hours or so they drove in relative silence except every now and then Glory broke into a song when the radio played one of her favourites.

  He didn’t know any other woman who had sung to him when they were in the car. Glory was so natural, the girl next door, the girl you’d grown up with.

  He slowed down at Terang and did a sharp right turn.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Noorat.”

  She furrowed her brow, concentrating on the name. “Never heard of it.”

  He flashed a frown. “Come on, Glory. Noorat. Alan Marshall. The man who wrote, I Can Jump Puddles — ”

  “Story teller and social documenter,” she cried excitedly. “I read his entire three-book autobiography. When he was six years old he contracted polio leaving him with a physical disability that grew worse as he grew older.”

  “See, you do know about him. Marshall was born in a shop, which is still a mixed business. Dalvui homestead,” he said. “I believe the gardens are magnificent. Designed by William Guilfoyle, who designed the Botanical Gardens.”

  “William who?”

  “Guilfoyle.” He sighed — loudly. “In 1873 he became director and changed the style of the Gardens by adding tropical plants.”

  She gasped loudly. “You’re unbelievable. How do you know all this?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve read extensively on the state of Victoria.”

  • • •

  Glory laughed softly, amazed at him and how he surprised her every time she was with him. “Let me hang my head in shame,” she said. “I’d be lucky if I could recite the main streets of the city.”

  His lips twitched with amusement. “Don’t be. Most people don’t know enough about their home states.” His mouth broadened into a grin. “I was showing off.”

  Like a schoolboy trying to impress his teacher, and her heart warmed to him. “Were you? Showing off, I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  A thrill raced through her. “Why?”

  She liked his thick hair tapering neatly to his collar; the contrast against the stark white of his shirt startling. “To impress you.”

  It excited her knowing he wanted to please her. “Well, you succeeded.”

  He pulled over to the side of the road and braked. She sat upright. “What is it?”

  “A fair?”

  She looked around. “What?”

  He pointed. “A county fair. I haven’t been to a fair since I was in knee pants.” He opened the car door and got out. “Come on,” he said, and she hastened to oblige because he was halfway across
the highway as it was.

  Glory threw a quick look left and right. She had to run to catch up with him.

  They followed the metallic music of the carousel and the bright lights of the fairgrounds.

  As they entered the fairgrounds, he took her hand and they walked together, like — well, if not like lovers at least friends.

  She couldn’t remember ever coming to a county fair. She supposed she must have in her youth, but the memory escaped her.

  She glanced around at the screams from the riders of the Ferris wheel and the barkers enticing you to ’ave-a-go and win a celluloid doll or a stuffed toy or enter the sideshows to see the bearded lady, the half-man half-woman, or the man with two heads.

  A pulse of excitement came from being in this different world, a world of holiday-time and utter pleasure, forgetting about law books and statements and court calendars and just being young and free and living life to the full.

  A kiosk sold crispy cones of ice cream and sugar floss spun onto sticks and twisted into crazy twirls of candy pink and a memory of its taste stung her tongue and she recalled a time at the Melbourne Royal Show with her parents, when she had been around six or seven. How excited she had been to see the carousal and begged to be allowed to ride it three or four times.

  She remembered now how her father had enclosed her mother to him, his large arm wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing her affectionately, and when Glory had complained of being tired how he had swept her up high upon his shoulders.

  She had loved her dad desperately, almost a hero worship, and he had left her alone with her mum who, bewildered by the loss of the only man she had ever loved, had faded away like an old photograph.

  She glanced at Edoardo. He was the same type of man as her father. He was a man who enjoyed life to the hilt, a man who went after what he wanted, a man who had no compunction to love and leave, without consequence, the same as Kate’s husband, Greg. He’d just dumped his wife and child like they meant nothing to him. Poor Kate, alone now with a broken heart and memories of a man who loved another woman more than his wife.

  Edoardo was a man who loved all women, and who would never give his heart to just one woman.