Exotic Nights: The Virgin’s SecretThe Devil’s HeartPleasured in the Playboy’s Penthouse

by Abby Green

  But he put both lots of shopping on the conveyor belt. His was all connoisseur—prime beef steak, a bag of baby spinach, two bottles of hellishly expensive red wine. She couldn’t help wondering if he was cooking for a date. Then, as she helplessly watched, he paid for it all—hers as well as his—with a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills.

  Cash. Of course. But as he put the change back in his wallet, she saw the array of cards in there too—exclusive, private banking ones—and she really started to seethe.

  Owen didn’t glance her way once during the transaction. He tried to focus on getting the shopping sorted, but all the while his mind was screening the sight of her spilling out of that unbelievable dress.

  Bella Cotton. The woman who’d haunted his dreams every night for the last three weeks. He was mad with her. Madder with himself for not being able to shake her from his head.

  And now here she was—real and in the beautifully round flesh he couldn’t help but remember. She didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see him. In fact she looked extremely uncomfortable. Well, so she should, after fobbing him off with a false number like that.

  But her embarrassment only made him that bit madder. Made him feel perverse enough to drag out their bumping into each other even longer. Made him all the more determined to interfere and help her out because she so clearly didn’t want him to. How awful for her to have to suffer his company for a few more minutes. He very nearly ground his teeth.

  Well, he hadn’t wanted her to take up as much of his brain space as she had these last few weeks either. Night after night, restless, he’d thought of her—suffered cold showers because of her. During the day too—at those quiet moments when he should have been thinking of important things. He’d even got so distracted one day he’d actually searched for her on the Internet like some sad jilted lover.

  So he’d known she was in Wellington, but he hadn’t known where or why or for how long. He certainly hadn’t expected to see her in his local supermarket. And he sure as hell hadn’t expected her to be wearing the most ridiculous get-up—or half wearing it. And he most definitely hadn’t expected to feel that rush of desire again—because he was mad with her, wasn’t he? He was that jilted lover. He really wanted to know why she’d done it—why when even now, for a few moments, he’d seen that passionate rush reflected in her eyes.

  So while the rational part of him was telling him to hand over her shopping and walk away asap, the wounded-male-pride bit was making him hold onto it. The flick of desire was making sure his grip was tight.

  He was walking out of the supermarket already. Hadn’t looked at her once while at the checkout—not even to ask whether it was OK with her. He’d just paid for the lot, ensured their goods were separately bagged and then picked them up. Now he was carrying both sets of shopping out to the car park. She had no option but to follow behind him—her temper spiking higher with every step. And seeing him still looking so hot, casual in jeans and tee again, made every ‘take me’ hormone start jiggling inside. She stopped them with an iron-hard clench of her teeth and her tummy muscles. She was angry with him. He’d done a runner and insulted her with his payment choices.

  But she could hardly wrench the bag off him. Not in front of everyone—she was already causing a big enough scene.

  Her car was parked in the first row. She stopped beside it and sent a quick look in his direction to assess his reaction. He was looking at it with his bland-man expression. It only made her even more defensive.

  ‘She’s called Bubbles. The kids like it.’

  ‘Kids?’

  ‘I’m a children’s party entertainer. The fairy.’ People usually laughed. It wasn’t exactly seen as the ultimate work and as a result her credibility—especially with her family—was low. They thought it was the biggest waste of her time ever.

  He nodded slowly. ‘Hence the wings.’

  ‘And the frock.’

  There was a silence. ‘Do you do adult parties?’

  ‘That’s the third time I’ve been asked that today,’ she snapped. ‘You’re about to get the non-polite answer.’

  His grin flashed for the first time. And she was almost floored once more. Or she would have been if she weren’t feeling so cross with him—Mr I’ll-Pay-For-Everything-Including-You.

  Her ancient Bambini was painted baby-blue and had bright-coloured spots all over it. She quickly unlocked it, glancing pointedly at the bag he was carrying, not looking higher than his hand.

  Silently he handed it over. ‘Thanks.’ She aimed for blitheness over bitterness but wasn’t entirely sure of her success. ‘Nice to see you again.’ Saccharine all over. She got in the car before she lost it, ending the conversation, and hitting the ignition.

  Nothing.

  She tried again. Willed the car to start. Start before she made even more of an idiot of herself.

  The engine choked. Her heart sank. Had the long drive down from Auckland finally done the old darling in? She tried the ignition once more. It choked again.

  He knocked on the window. Reluctantly she wound it down.

  ‘Having trouble?’

  She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the fuel gauge. The arrow was on the wrong side of E. Totally on the wrong side. It was beyond the red bit and into the nothing. As in NOTHING. No petrol. Nada. Zip.

  Man, she was an idiot. But relief trickled through her all the same. She had real affection for the car she’d had for years and had painted herself.

  She took a deep breath. She could fake it, right? At least try to get through the next two minutes with a scrap of dignity? She got out of the car.

  ‘Problem?’

  Did he have to be so smooth? So calm, so damn well in control? Didn’t he do dumb things on occasion?

  ‘I forgot something,’ she answered briefly. Now she remembered the warning light had been on—when was that? Yesterday? The day before? But it had gone off. She’d thought it was OK, that it had been a warning and then changed its mind. She mentally gave herself a clunk in the head—as if it had found some more petrol in its back pocket?

  Clearly not. It had completely run out of juice. And the nearest garage was … Where was it exactly? The only one she could think of was the one near her flat—the one she should have filled up at this morning, had she had the funds.

  ‘What?’ he asked—dry, almost bored-sounding.

  But she was extremely conscious that he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. And she was doing everything not to have to look into them, because they were that brilliant blue and she knew how well they could mesmerise her.

  She tugged her top up again. ‘Petrol.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looked away from her then, seeming to take an age looking at the other cars. She realised he was barely holding in his amusement. Finally he spoke. ‘The nearest service station is just—’

  ‘Uh, no, thanks,’ she interrupted. ‘I’ll go home first.’

  There was no way she was having him beside her when she put five dollars into a jerry can so she could cough and splutter the car home and leave it there until her cheque cleared. After this final splurge it was going to be a tin of baked beans and stale bread for a couple of days. No bad thing given the way she was spilling out the top of the fairy frock.

  ‘How far away is home?’

  ‘Not far.’ A twenty-minute walk. Make that thirty in her sequined, patent leather slippers.

  There was a silence. She felt his gaze rake her from head to toes—lingering around the middle before settling back up on her face. Heat filled her and she just knew he was enjoying watching her blush deepen. She stared fixedly at the seam on the neckline of his tee shirt and refused to think of anything but how much she was going to appreciate her ice cream when she got the chance.

  And then he asked, ‘Can I give you a ride?’ Mockery twisted his lips, coloured the question and vexed her all the more.

  Get a ride with him? Oh, no. She’d already had one ride of sorts and that was plenty, right? She could cope with
this just fine on her own.

  She’d call the breakdown service. But then she remembered it was her father’s account and she refused to lean on him again. Independence was her new mantra. They wouldn’t take her seriously until she got herself sorted. Until she proved she was completely capable of succeeding alone. She frowned; she’d have to walk.

  ‘You trusted me enough to sleep with me, I think you can trust me to run you home safely.’

  She looked straight at him then, taken by his soft words. With unwavering intensity, he regarded her. She’d known she’d be stunned if she looked into his eyes—brilliant, blue and beautiful. Good grief, he was gorgeous. So gorgeous and all she could think about was how great he’d felt up close and every cell suddenly yearned for the impact.

  Her own eyes widened as she read his deepening expression—was there actually a touch of chagrin there? Why?

  ‘Thanks.’ It was a whisper. It wasn’t what she’d meant to say at all.

  His car sat low to the ground, gleaming black and ultra expensive. The little badge on the bonnet told her that with its yellow background and rearing black horse. He unlocked it, opened the door. She started as the door and seemingly half the roof swung up into the air.

  She sent a sarcastic look in his direction. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘No, Bella, that’s ridiculous,’ he said, pointing back to her Bambini.

  She bent low and managed to slide in without popping right out of her top. The interior was polished and smooth and impeccably tidy and also surprisingly spartan. She tried to convince herself the seat wasn’t that much more comfortable than the one in her own old banger. But it was—sleek and moulding to her body.

  Owen took the driver’s seat, started the engine—a low growl. ‘He’s called Enzo.’

  ‘I’d have thought it would be more plush.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s the closest thing to a Formula One racing car you can drive on conventional streets.’

  ‘Oh.’ Like that was fabulous?

  Her feigned lack of interest didn’t stop him. ‘I like things that go fast.’

  She looked at him sharply. He was staring straight ahead, but his grin was sly and it was widening with every second.

  Coolly as she could, she gave him her address. The sooner she got home and away from him, the sooner she could forget about it all and get on with her new life.

  The fire vehicle outside her house should have warned her—nothing ever went smoothly for Bella. There was always some weird catastrophe that occurred—the kind of thing that was so outrageous it would never happen to other normal people. Like being caught in a ripped fairy dress in the supermarket by her only one-night stand—the guy who’d given her the best sexual experience of her life.

  ‘Looks like there might be some kind of trouble.’ He stated the obvious calmly as he parked the car.

  She stared at the big red appliance with an impending sense of doom intuitively knowing it was something to do with her. She’d have done something stupid. But behind the truck, the house still stood. She released the breath she’d been holding.

  ‘I’m sure whatever’s happened isn’t that major.’

  So he figured it had something to do with her too. She might as well walk around with a neon sign saying ‘danger, accident-prone idiot approaching’. But her embarrassment over everything to do with him faded into the background as she got out of the car and focused on whatever had gone wrong now.

  As she walked up the path, one seriously bad smell hit her. The couple from the downstairs flat were standing in the middle of the lawn. A few firemen were standing next to them talking. Silence descended as she approached, but they weren’t even trying to hide their grins. It was a moment before she remembered her fairy dress and quickly put her hand to her chest. Wow, what an entrance.

  ‘You left something on the hob.’ The head fire guy stepped forward.

  She’d what?

  ‘I think you were hard-boiling some eggs.’

  Oh, hell—she had been, the rest of the box because they’d been getting dangerously close to their use-by date and she hadn’t wanted to waste any. She’d decided to cook them up and have them ready for the next day, and then in the rush to get to the café and pack all her party gear, she’d forgotten all about them.

  Isla, her neighbour, piped up, ‘They had to break down the door—we didn’t have a key.’

  The doors to both flats were narrow and side by side. Only now hers was smashed—splinters of wood lay on the ground, and the remainder of the door was half off its hinges.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled.

  She trudged up the stairs and almost had a heart attack when she saw the damage to the door up there too. The whole thing would have to be replaced as well as the one downstairs. Bye bye bond money. And she’d probably be working extra hours at the café to make up the rest of it.

  She stared around at the little room she’d called home for a grand total of two weeks. Her first independent, solely occupied home. There was almost no furniture—a beanbag she liked to curl into and read a book or watch telly. But it had been hers. Now it was tainted by the most horrendous smell imaginable and she couldn’t imagine it ever being a welcome sanctuary again. She’d spoilt things—again—with her own stupidity.

  ‘You can’t stay here.’

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when Owen spoke.

  ‘No.’ For one thing the smell was too awful. For another it was no longer secure with both doors broken like that. She wouldn’t sleep a wink.

  She saw him looking around, figured he must be thinking how austere it was. When his gaze came to rest on her again, concern was evident in his eyes. She didn’t much like that look. She wasn’t some dippy puppy that needed to be taken care of.

  ‘Can I drop you somewhere else?’

  Her heart sank even lower into her shiny slippers. The last thing she wanted to do was call on the family. Having finally broken out she wanted to manage—for more than a month at least. If she phoned them now she’d never get any credibility. The two months’ deposit on the flat had taken out her savings, but she didn’t care. She’d wanted to be alone, to be independent, and she’d really wanted it to work this time. She could check into a hostel, but she had no money. She had nowhere to go. She’d have to stay here, put a peg on her nose and her ear on the door.

  He took a step in her direction. ‘I have a spare room at my place.’

  She looked at him—this stranger whom she knew so intimately, yet barely knew at all.

  ‘Grab a bag and we’ll get out of here. Leave it and come back tomorrow.’ He spoke lightly. ‘It won’t be nearly so bad then.’

  She knew it was a good idea but she felt sickened. It was the last straw on a hellish day and her slim control snapped. Anger surged as she stared at him. Irrationally she felt as if he were to blame for everything. ‘Is your name really Owen?’

  He looked astonished. ‘Of course. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I asked at the hotel reception for you.’ She was too stewed to care about what that admission might reveal. ‘They had no record of any Owen staying there.’

  He paused, looked a touch uncomfortable. ‘I wasn’t staying at the resort.’

  She stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘I have a holiday house just down from it.’

  A holiday house—in one of the most exclusive stretches of beach on Waiheke Island? Who the hell was he?

  He looked away, walked to the window. ‘No strings, Bella,’ he said carelessly, returning to her present predicament. ‘All I’m offering is a place to stay for a couple of days until this mess gets cleaned up.’

  Bella pushed the memories out and internally debated. She didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions—nothing of any great value anyway. The most important stuff was her kit for the parties and that was in her car. It wouldn’t take five minutes to chuck a few things into a bag. And maybe, if she took up his offer, she could keep this latest catastr
ophe to herself? Her family need never know.

  Slowly, she swallowed her remaining smidge of pride. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course.’ He shrugged, as if it was nothing. It probably was nothing to him. ‘I work all hours. I’ll hardly notice you’re there.’

  She knew she could trust him; he certainly didn’t seem as if he was about to pounce. He’d gone running away in the night, hadn’t he? Humiliation washed over her again. But she had little choice—her family or him. She picked him—she’d lost all dignity as far as he was concerned already. Maybe she could keep the scrap she had left for her father. ‘OK.’

  Owen failed to hide his smile, so turned quickly, heading down the stairs to deal with the fire crew. He fixed the bottom door enough to make it look as all right as possible from the outside and gave a half-guilty mutter of thanks for her misfortune. He wasn’t afraid to take advantage of this situation—not when she’d so coolly cut him loose that night. Because that flick of desire had blown to full-on inferno again—from a mere five minutes in her company. And now he had the perfect opportunity to have even more of her company—one night, maybe two. Enough to find out what had gone wrong, and then to finish what had started.

  Bella stuffed a few clothes into a bag—not many—while dwelling on the glimpse of that wide, wicked, Waiheke smile he’d just flashed. It would only be one night. Two, tops.

  Not taking sexy black lingerie. Not taking sexy black lingerie.

  Somehow it ended up stuffed at the bottom of the bag.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THINGS came in threes, right? And Bella had had her three—her dress, the wine and now her flat. Surely nothing else could go wrong with this day?

  ‘Is there anyone you should call?’ Owen asked, opening the car door for her.

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll take care of it later.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  She sat back and tried to relax as he turned the car round and headed back towards the centre of town. He slowed as they hit what had once been the industrial district with lots of warehouses for storing the goods that came in on the harbour. Only now most of the warehouses had been converted—restaurants, upmarket shops and residential conversions in the upper storeys. It was the ultimate in inner-city living with theatres around the corner, Te Papa the national museum, the best film house in the country and shops, shops, shops. All less than a five-minute walk away.