by Abby Green
Success, huh? He thought of her tiny unfurnished flat, her barely road-safe car, the bad budget wine she’d been about to buy. He felt a twinge of sympathy for her father. ‘Maybe he just wants security for her.’
‘What sort of security?’ she scoffed. ‘It wouldn’t matter to him if he was a complete jerk, so long as he could check the right boxes he’d be happy.’
He sensed the hurt in her again. Figured he knew its source. ‘Let me guess—you had a boyfriend who didn’t measure up.’
‘Actually, no. He was exactly what my father wanted.’
A crazy spurt of competition flared through him. ‘How so?’
‘He had it all.’ She ticked off her fingers. ‘An accountant. Very successful. Has the car, the apartment. Really good at team sports, the works. The whole family loved him.’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘He wanted me to wear something more conservative.’
Owen stared at her, only just holding back the burst of laughter. He couldn’t imagine Bella allowing that in a million years. Not this woman who was currently wearing some huge flowing blouse and a skirt that was so long it practically dragged on the ground. And he was spending far too long mentally pushing the whole ugly lot off her.
She stared at him, all defiance. ‘Nobody tells me what I should or shouldn’t wear.’
‘That was it?’ he asked.
‘That was just the start.’ She stabbed another bite of meat. ‘I’m not interested in someone who wants to change me. Or who wants me to be something I’m not.’
Fair enough point. And he was pleased he’d been right. The guy must have been blind to not see how expression of her individuality was a cornerstone for Bella. ‘So what happened to him?’
‘He was the best man.’
His mouth dropped. ‘At the wedding?’
She nodded. ‘He’s Hamish’s best friend. But it’s OK.’ She smiled saccharine sweet. ‘He’s still part of the family. Probably will be part of the family because now he’s dating Celia.’
‘Cousin Celia?’ Owen felt the cold chill ripple through him. Was that why Bella had played so wildly with him? Because she’d wanted to show them all she didn’t need them? Just wanted a hot date to throw in their faces? He’d known at the time that that was part of it and he’d enjoyed playing along. But once they’d been behind closed doors there’d been a genuine, raw passion in her—an intensity that he hadn’t expected. And he’d found an answering need rising in him. A hunger that had been extreme and that hadn’t been fully fed. He’d wanted more and had thought she did too.
Now he knew better. So that wildness had purely been driven by rebound and pride? No wonder she hadn’t wanted to know him after and had given him a false number. He’d just been a convenient tool for the evening. His fingers curled tighter round his cutlery. Maybe he wasn’t going to bide his time after all. Maybe he would have a go for the way she’d treated him that night—right about now.
But Bella was still talking. ‘They’re all so pleased, because he is such a great guy,’ she continued. ‘But of course, they do feel for me. I mean, it must be so hard, seeing him with my cousin like that. After he broke my heart and all. But he just fell in love with Celia, you see. And she really is his perfect match.’
Owen stared at her for a second, not sure if she was being sarcastic or not. Then he caught the glint in her eye. And he started to laugh. Couldn’t help it, and the knot of tension loosened again.
Bella smiled too. ‘I can see the funny side. I can. But they all think he broke up with me. They just can’t believe that I’d have ditched him. It’s beyond their comprehension that someone like me would have thrown away a catch like him.’
It soothed him no end to hear she’d been the one to dump the jerk. ‘Does what they think really matter so much?’
‘Maybe it shouldn’t.’ She looked at her clear plate. ‘But it does.’
‘Why?’
‘I just want them to respect me.’ She pushed back her chair and stood. ‘I want them to respect what I do.’
Owen stood, picked up his plate and headed after her. He could see some of the problem. It might be hard, for the conservative type her family seemed to be, to respect someone who wore a Walt Disney dress and drove a car called Bubbles.
He followed her back inside, down the stairs, struggling with the fact his desire for her wasn’t abating at all. How was he going to manoeuvre this the way he wanted? Could he really do patience?
‘So what was the best bit of the day?’ He put his plate on the bench, near where she now stood, filling the sink with hot water and detergent. ‘Assuming there was a best bit.’
She turned and smiled then, a brilliant, genuine smile that made him snatch a quick breath.
‘Seeing my sister so happy.’
Bella could see she’d surprised him. She rinsed the plates and pots and stacked them in the dishwasher. She felt a bit embarrassed about all she’d just unloaded—but once she’d started babbling she couldn’t stop and it meant there weren’t those heavy silences. The last thing she’d wanted was to sound like some little girl whining about her family not taking her seriously. She was hard to take seriously because she did tend to make stupid mistakes. But that didn’t mean that what she did contribute wasn’t worthwhile.
She certainly hadn’t meant to harp on about Rex. Celia could have him. She honestly didn’t want him. He wasn’t her type at all. And based on what she could see around she was determined to think Owen wasn’t either. People who had this kind of success were conservative, weren’t they? They worked hard, played safe, climbed to the top—from the looks of things Owen was definitely at the top. And conservative people just didn’t ‘get’ Bella. No wonder he’d skipped out as soon as he could. No wonder he was Mr Reluctant now. She refused to embarrass him by throwing herself at him. She would be nice, polite, not make a fool of herself—any more than she already had. But she couldn’t help appreciating his closeness as he sorted out the dishwasher and switched it on.
‘I’m really tired,’ she said. ‘It’s been quite a day.’
‘Sure has,’ he agreed—those soft, gentle tones again like on the beach as they’d headed to her studio.
Heart thudding, she turned, quickly, awkwardly, to head to her room. But just as she was about to leave it hit her how kind he’d been. He hadn’t lectured her about her many mishaps of the day, hadn’t teased her mercilessly as her family and friends would have. He’d just accepted it. Dealt with it. Helped her.
And she really appreciated it.
She turned back, still feeling completely awkward. ‘Owen, thank you,’ she began formally.
He walked up to her then and, now she’d looked up at him, he captured her gaze with his—with the vivid intensity of it. He put a finger on her lips and she was held fast.
‘Leave it. It’s not a problem.’
Like a statue she stood, mesmerised once more, filled with the memory of how well they’d fitted together. How wonderful his body had felt. How much she’d like to feel it again.
His focus dropped, flickered over her face and then lower. His finger followed, leaving her mouth to touch the hollow just below her collarbone, brushing back her blouse to reveal the skin. ‘Is this new?’
What? Oh, the unicorn, the fake tattoo she always wore for parties. She put one on all the kids too. It was part of the fairy ritual.
‘It’s temporary,’ she whispered. She didn’t know why she was whispering, it was just that her voice wouldn’t go any louder as his thumb smoothly stroked the small spot.
And at her words a touch of seriousness dulled the gleam in his eyes. A half-smile curved one side of his mouth, but it wasn’t one of tease or wicked intent. He stepped back. ‘Sleep well.’
Disappointment wafted through her. So he wasn’t interested. It had been a night of craziness for him and not one he wanted to repeat. For now she was back in his life but only, like her tattoo, temporary.
What had happened today mi
ght not be a problem for him. But it was for her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OWEN sat back in his chair, letting the debate wash over him as two of his young design team warred over the best way to progress a new program they were working on. They had a meeting with the client in just an hour’s time and they had to decide before then. He watched disinterestedly as they both tried to secure his vote with impassioned speeches aimed in his direction. He wasn’t really listening.
He hadn’t seen Bella leave this morning. Figured she must be on an early shift at the café she was working at. The fairy dress that had haunted him all night was slung over one of the chairs so he knew she hadn’t skipped out on him already. Although he suspected she wanted to. He studied the fabric, saw her in it in his mind’s eye. The outfit was demure, no parents would object, and yet she looked so damn sexy, so edible. Like a silver-wrapped bon bon—one that he wanted to unpeel and devour in one big bite. No wonder she was asked if she did adult parties. He’d been awake all hours, still seeing her in it—and the curve of her breast almost not in it.
She had this whole slightly incompetent thing going—she had a car that looked as if it had a bad case of multicoloured measles and tyres so bald you could practically see your reflection in them. As for the hard-boiled eggs … He could still feel the mortification that had emanated from her in great waves. It hadn’t been hard not to laugh. Unlike her neighbours and the firefighters, he’d seen under the blushes to the hurt beneath, and the fear. The clarity of it all surprised him. He wasn’t usually one to tune into the deep feelings of others, but with her it had been so acute he’d almost felt it himself. And crazily he didn’t want her to feel alone. He didn’t want her to be alone. Alarming, when being alone was the one thing he liked best.
But she’d been faced with a situation where she’d been feeling desperate—desperate enough to come home with him, because he knew she hadn’t wanted to. And that, despite those occasional signs pointing the other way, made him keep the brakes on.
She hadn’t wanted to see him again—had deliberately given him the wrong number—and then had been forced to accept his assistance. Assistance he’d been careful to offer casually—knowing instinctively that if he’d come on strong she’d refuse and he hadn’t wanted that. Because he was certain there was still a strong attraction there—she might not like it, but the chemical reaction between them was undeniable.
Now, somehow, he was going to find out why she didn’t like it, and then he was going to get rid of it.
It slowly dawned on him that the room had descended into silence. They were all looking his way. And then he saw that the attention of his team wasn’t on him or the lack of conversation. They were all fixated on a spot over his shoulder.
He heard slightly laboured breathing and turned to look behind him. And he was glad he was sitting down. Because the zip on his trousers was instantly pulled really tight. If he were to stand it would be obvious to all the world what this woman did to him. As it was he might have given it away with his mouth hanging open for the last—how long was it already?
She was standing only a few paces into the room, the door to her bedroom open behind her. She was wearing an old, thin, white tee shirt. It was oversized, the sleeves coming to her elbows, the hem only just covering the tops of her thighs. Good thing it reached even that far because that, it seemed, was it. Her only other adornment was a thin white cord coming from each ear, in her hand the tiny MP3 player. Even from this distance, in the silence of his colleagues, he could hear the faint strains of the music playing in her ears.
He clawed back the ability to move and glanced at the table, catching the surreptitious smiles between his workers and saw Billy openly staring at her. He couldn’t blame him. He swung his face back towards her himself, unable to look away for long.
Her mouth had opened. She might have apologised but it wasn’t audible. He saw her take in another deep shuddering breath. And then she turned, and walked back into the bedroom. As she’d moved her breasts had moved too, making it more than clear that there was no bra on under there.
‘Excuse me.’ Her voice was louder that time, her profile fiery as she darted back into the bedroom.
Owen stared after her. She had surprisingly long legs for someone who really wasn’t that tall. He remembered them around his waist and wanted to wrap them there again—preferably now.
Instead he turned his head back to his team.
‘One sec, guys,’ he managed to mutter. He swivelled his chair right around before standing so his back was to them as he rose. Gritting his teeth and praying for self-control, he headed after her.
She was across the other side of the room, but turned back to the door as he entered. He glanced about for a moment to buy some more control time before looking at her again. The glance took in her rumpled bed. It didn’t help his focus.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled, cheeks still stop-sign red. ‘I was listening to my music and didn’t hear you all out there.’
‘I should have warned you, but I thought you’d gone. We have meetings up here every so often.’
All he wanted to do was slide his fingers under the hem of that ratty old shirt and find out for sure if her bottom truly was as bare as her legs were. Looking down, he could see the outline of her nipples. Her glorious, soft warm breasts that he longed to cup in his hands and kiss as he had that magical night on Waiheke.
He was twisting up inside with the effort of trying to control his want, knowing he had to get back to that meeting when all he wanted was to back her up against the bed and take her. The way he was feeling right now it wouldn’t take long. Just a few minutes. Fast and furious.
But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He needed longer with her—he needed a whole night.
‘I’ll be on my way in a moment.’ She was still mumbling.
He looked into her face then and the hunger in it jolted him. She was staring—as if she hadn’t seen him before, her silvery blue eyes wide. He wondered if she knew how transparent they were. The desire shone in them, the dazed surprise as she looked him over. But at the back of them he could also see hesitation. And that was the bit he didn’t understand. What had happened that night? And how could he right it? Nothing could happen until he did. He wanted her as willing and as wild as she’d been at the beginning.
So with sheer force of will he turned away, and, acting as normally as he could, went back to his incredibly boring meeting.
When she emerged from the bedroom the next time she was clothed in the black trousers and shirt he figured was her work attire. He rose and walked her to the door, shielding her from the overly curious stares of his colleagues. He bet they’d be curious. They’d never seen a woman here before. He was glad she’d emerged from one of the spare rooms. He knew he had a reputation for short term, and that was a reputation and a reality that he wanted to keep. It was a good way of keeping gold-diggers at bay. But he wasn’t glad about the way Billy was still eyeing her up.
‘Are you going to the café?’ Of course she was, but he wanted to have some sort of conversation with her, wanted to hold her there for just a fraction longer.
She nodded, still not looking at him, clearly eager to escape.
‘But you haven’t had breakfast.’
‘I’ll have something at work.’
She’d slipped out the door before he could think of anything else stupid to say.
He usually worked most of the day up in his apartment, liking the light and the space to think freely—away from the phones and noise of his employees. But today, after the meeting, he stayed down on the second floor with them. Keeping away from the sight of that damn dress and the scent of her.
He was going to have to win her over again. How? Make her laugh? Do something nice for her? He had the suspicion he needed to be careful about that—she’d got huffy over his offer to take care of her car. So what, then?
Annoyed with himself for spending so long thinking about her, he forced himsel
f to work longer and harder. And when that failed he went out and got physical.
Bella had had a long day. She was well used to working in a café but was more tired than usual from standing and smiling for so many hours. She’d spent the whole time seeing Owen looking the ultimate stud in that suit. Devastating, distracting, delicious—and totally beyond her reach.
Now she was sitting at his big table, desperately trying to sew the sleeve back onto the offending fairy dress. She’d had a call from one of the parents who’d been at yesterday’s party. She had a four-year-old niece who was having a party this weekend and would she be able to attend? Of course she would. She needed the money too badly to say no. She needed to get out of Owen’s apartment before she threw herself at him desperate-wench style.
Sighing, she tried to thread the needle again. She was having more luck with her party entertaining than she was with her serious acting. She’d phoned up one of the theatres and had felt totally psyched out when the artistic director started asking about what training she’d had and so on. She’d stumbled, like the amateur she was. He’d said they had nothing now but to keep an eye out in the paper for the next auditions call. She didn’t know what else she’d expected, but it was disheartening all the same.
Then Owen got home. She stared as he gave her a brief grin and headed to the kitchen. He’d been to the gym or for a run or something because he was in shorts and a light tee and trainers and there was bare brown skin on show. He was filmed in sweat and breathing hard. She was fascinated. Her own pulse skipped faster, forcing her to take in air quicker too.
He reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. Seeing him swigging deeply like that, Bella totally lost her stitch. She struggled once more to rethread the needle.
He wandered closer, staring just as hard back at her with an expression she couldn’t define. The thread slipped again.
‘Repairs not going so well?’
Major understatement. She’d scrubbed so hard at the hem to get the wine stains out and had only partially succeeded. She was gutted because it was a one-in-a-million dress and if she didn’t get it sorted she wouldn’t be able to work. She couldn’t afford a new one and she couldn’t afford to get this one fixed. She was going to have to do it herself. She squared her shoulders. Determined to do it, refusing to send an SOS to her father, refusing to give up.
