by Anne Oliver
She absolutely refused to admit to being disappointed. This thing with Leo was only a flirtation. And now it was over.
When the phone buzzed a moment later, with his name on the screen, she ignored it. The next time his name popped up she muted all calls, tossed the phone onto her bedside table with a clatter and rolled over. The way she always handled unwanted calls.
Nobody lied to Brie and got away with it. Not any more. She wished Leo Hamilton to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
FIVE
Brie still wished Leo Hamilton to the bottom of the ocean the following morning. He wouldn’t have still been on her contacts list but for the fact that he owned the house next door and she was darn well going to pay him for his darn fire alarm.
So she was beyond angry with herself when she answered her phone the following day during her lunch break without checking the screen and heard his voice in her ear.
‘Don’t cut me off.’
Her finger hovered over End Call. How creative a liar was he? ‘You’ve got ten seconds.’
‘I’ve figured out why you—’
‘Five.’
‘Sunny’s my sister.’
‘Your sister was with you last night?’ Brie laughed. ‘You think I’m that naïve?’
‘No, but it’s the truth—we share a house.’
‘You share a house with your sister?’ He’d mentioned a sister. She really wanted to believe that he was telling the truth. But... ‘Why?’ What was wrong with him that he’d share a house with his sister?
She thought she heard him hesitate, then he said, ‘It’s a big house. Our separate living areas are off-limits to the other unless invited and we meet on neutral grounds in the kitchen for meals.’
‘You’d better not be lying.’
‘Why would I lie to you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, why would you?’ How about because you only have to smile or say one word and I want to believe everything you say? Just as she had with Elliot. Maybe she had to start giving guys a chance. It was too depressing to believe they were all Elliots.
His rich low chuckle flowed around her like melted chocolate. ‘I’m curious, Brie. Were you jealous?’
She rubbed a hand over the place where her heart had skipped a huge beat and coughed out a laugh. ‘You called me Brie.’
‘I guess I did.’ He sounded surprised. ‘So, were you?’
‘Jealous? I wouldn’t go that far.’ Moving right along. ‘I’ve read your email.’ She picked up a sandwich triangle but didn’t eat it. ‘I looked over your schedule and everything seems to be in order.’
‘Yes. You indicated as much in your emailed reply twenty-four hours ago. You don’t remember?’
Oh. ‘I only wondered if a busy man such as yourself would find time to check all his emails.’
‘If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have a business, would I?’
‘Right. Well.’ She checked the time and composed herself. ‘I run a business too. My next appointment’s a chest and back wax then I have an aromatherapy treatment and two Brazilians and I haven’t finished my lunch—’
‘Chest and back wax,’ he repeated, seemingly stuck on that next appointment.
‘Yep.’ She bit into her sandwich, spoke around it. ‘Huge, hairy, masculine—you get the picture.’
There was a choking sound followed by, ‘I’ll let you get on with it, then.’
He disconnected and Brie grinned, popped the rest of her sandwich in her mouth and went to check the temperature of her wax.
* * *
On Saturday afternoon Leo strolled around the corner and into West Wind’s back yard and did a double take. Breanna’s face was caked with a layer of dark mud, her hair swathed in a magenta terry-towel turban while she massaged some product into her toes, the nails of which were an electric blue. She wore maroon leggings under a loose green shirt.
He’d known it was a useless exercise over the rock beat hammering away inside her house, but he’d rung the front door bell anyway then sent her a text. She’d answered neither, so he’d made his way around the back to the atrium.
Leo preferred to think she’d simply lost track of the hour but it seemed more probable she’d forgotten he was coming today. The more he looked, the more likely it seemed she’d forgotten he was coming at all. She was wearing those ear buds again—in addition to her sound system—and there was no sign of any packing or urgency to do so. As he drew closer he saw that the wrought-iron table was covered in little make-up pots and bowls along with a tall jug full of cubes of watermelon and lemon slices and a bowl of chocolate mousse.
Just another casual Saturday afternoon prepping for the next social event on her calendar? Party babe Brie, she’d informed him last weekend, sassy-mouthed as Scarlett O’Hara on steroids. And tonight was Saturday night, after all.
Leo didn’t know what irritated him more: the fact that he’d been looking forward to this afternoon more than she obviously had or that she’d not even bothered to organise this arrangement that she’d suggested in the first place.
When he stopped in front of her, she glanced up, screamed and yanked out her ear buds at the same time. Her horror-stricken expression made him grin. ‘If it isn’t the party princess.’
‘Party princess?’ Covering her lower face with her hands, she glared up at him with those gorgeous black-as-midnight eyes and spoke through her fingers. ‘Why do you have a problem with that? I have a social life even if you don’t and you weren’t due till tomorrow. Why do you have to keep sneaking around and startling me?’
‘I tried the doorbell, and sent you a text. Our agreement was Saturday; you did read the schedule—didn’t you? And I distinctly recall mentioning Saturday the last time I saw you. In your kitchen. Remember? Pan on fire, no smoke alarm? That day.’
* * *
Oh peachy. Just peachy. Brie wanted to go some place dark and hide for the next twenty years. ‘You said a lot that morning but I don’t remember you saying Saturday,’ she said from behind her hands while she rose, stepped into her shoes.
‘It’s on the schedule,’ he informed her, obviously enjoying her discomfort. He had a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. At least she thought he did—she wasn’t looking too closely.
He waved an all-encompassing hand. ‘And I seriously doubt you’d have been ready by tomorrow in any case, judging by this confusion.’
She’d been testing her products before using them on her clients, and of all the days to get carried away, when a silver-eyed hunk in tight black jeans, snowy open-necked shirt and tan jacket came to tell her she’d misread his precious schedule.
‘Probably not,’ she admitted, struggling to keep it together. ‘I’ve been busy and a bit distracted this week.’
He gave an almost imperceptible nod, which had her wondering if he’d been distracted too, and for the same reason, then he grinned again and said, ‘By the way, mud’s a good look for you.’
‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’ she snapped. Embarrassment prickled and she was sure a rash was breaking out all over her neck. Snatching up a damp cloth, she swirled it in her bowl of cool water, turned her back on him while she cleaned off the mess in front of her little mirror on the table. ‘It’s not mud. It’s my chocolate and avocado mask.’
With her face cleansed of its rich goo, her skin naked and baby-soft, she turned back—reluctantly—to find he’d closed the distance between them. She leaned back, held up her palms. ‘Too close. I’m not wear—’
‘You’re stunning without make-up.’
‘I wasn’t angling for a compliment.’
‘It’s not a compliment, it’s a fact.’
The wonder of his gruff words filled her with light; she felt the glow to the soles of her feet. ‘I’m no make-up model but thank you anyway.’
But he was still seeing her at a disadvantage. To get even, she dipped a finger in the chocolate concoction. ‘How would you look with a moustache?’ She smeared it slowly just above his upper lip. ‘Made fr
om all natural products. Cocoa powder, avocado, coconut milk and oil.
‘More?’ she asked, when he didn’t move, just watched her as if he were made of stone. Leo Hamilton was no Sensitive New Age Guy. ‘Relax,’ she soothed. ‘Ever been out with a beauty therapist?’ She smeared another dollop on his chin, rubbing in a gentle circular motion, enjoying the feel of masculine stubble beneath her fingertips.
‘No.’
She smiled at his mouth. ‘You have the most irresistible cupid’s bow I’ve ever seen on a man.’
She reached out a finger but he grasped her hand and held it away. ‘I’ve been fantasising about kissing you again all week.’
Their eyes clashed, silver on black. ‘I know,’ she murmured.
Her pulse leapt as he slid his lips over hers. Once. Twice. Brushing back and forth in that unhurried way he had that she was fast learning to savour and appreciate.
Only their lips touched. His were rich and firm and promised pleasures yet to be explored and enjoyed. Pure pleasure. Physical enjoyment, nothing more, she told herself.
But it felt like a lot more and her body shivered though the afternoon sun shone warm on her skin. The fragrance of his freshly soaped skin mingled with the surrounding scents of basil and thyme and lemon verbena.
Then he nibbled on her lower lip with his teeth, so lightly she wanted to cry with the bewildering gentleness. She tipped her head back, arched her neck, silently pleading for more, but Leo wouldn’t be drawn. Not yet.
‘How do you know?’ he muttered against her mouth.
‘I just know.’ She also knew men like Leo—powerful men supremely confident in their sexual magnetism and charm—wouldn’t be entirely reassured by that cryptic wise-woman answer.
She tilted her head so that she could see his fine masculine features properly. ‘I’ve been fantasising about you too.’
‘I know.’ His mouth twitched with humour.
She reached out to touch the full bottom lip. ‘Why wouldn’t I? I’m a healthy single woman and you’re a single, attractive man. Right?’
He dipped a finger in her bowl of chocolate, dabbed a smudge on her chin, then licked it off with one unhurried swipe of his tongue.
Her eyes drifted to half-mast as her body ached in an unfamiliar way. He was good. Slow was good, slow was—
‘You could use some sweetener.’
Her eyes snapped open and she snorted at his grimace of distaste. ‘It’s not meant to be body paint.’
His eyes sharpened, the glint of a sword in sunlight, tempting her with its promise of silvery delight.
‘But it could be,’ she suggested, silkily. ‘Some other time.’
‘When?’
She smiled her best seductive woman’s smile at the sexual need in his voice and ran a finger from his Adam’s apple to the bottom stud on his expensive leather jacket, lingering tantalisingly above the growing bulge in his jeans. ‘I’ll let you know.’
But before she could step away, he dragged her against him with both hands, the promise in those sharp eyes morphing to impatience. His own reactive emotion obviously annoyed him. ‘I don’t respond well to being manipulated, Breanna.’
Biting back a grin, she blinked up at him. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’
His hands shifted from her arms to her spine to her bottom, where he crushed her against his body. ‘You know exactly what you’re doing.’
The hot, rigid length of him pressed against her and she let him know with a tiny subtle shift of her hips just how much she was enjoying it. ‘I’m not manipulating you.’ Smiling, she met his eyes and her hands hovered at the waistband of his jeans. ‘Yet.’
His nostrils flared, his jaw tightened, those eyes smouldering silver with honest-to-goodness lust. Warning her not to start something she didn’t intend to finish.
‘When I do,’ she continued confidently, ‘you’ll know about i—’
His mouth swooped on hers, snatching the rest of her words. Dominating, demanding, determined. She felt that tight leash of his slip a notch, as, with ruthless insistence, his tongue forced her lips apart and dived inside to duel with hers.
Heat sizzled along her lips, her veins, while images whirled through her mind. The two of them right there on the uneven bricks finishing this.
And even though she felt the urgency humming through him, through them both, even though he didn’t relinquish his tight grip on her bottom, he gentled his kiss, settled in. And, oh...the sweet, seductive flavour of him. His need hot, matching her own.
* * *
Leo was having a hard time staying upright as soft feminine hands tugged at the hem of his shirt and slipped beneath. His stomach muscles contracted violently. He hadn’t intended to kiss her; he’d wanted to teach her a lesson in...he couldn’t remember what...and now—hell—he was in all kinds of bother.
Somehow, he pried his lips from hers long enough to drag in air and relinquish his hold on her jersey-covered butt. She gazed up at him, cheeks flushed with desire, mouth damp and wide and wicked. He swore silently and hoped she hadn’t noticed his restraint was ready to snap.
Her fingernails scraped over his nipples, sending darts of lust twanging through his body. His breath hissed out and he shuddered, capturing and restraining her hands.
* * *
Brie thanked her stars he’d had the willpower she seemed to be lacking. It made it marginally easier to pull her hands out of his grip and step back and...breathe, Brie.
How could she have got so carried away? It was just a kiss. Just a kiss. And she had a zillion things to do. On the top of her list was organising West Wind for her new tenant. ‘No body painting today.’ Forcing casualness into her voice, she inhaled a long breath while she waited for her pulse to slow. ‘Or tonight. I have a previous engagement.’
The frank transparency of lust faded from his eyes as he stuffed the front of his shirt back into his waistband. He glanced at her make-up stash on the table. ‘A previous engagement?’
She glared at him, annoyed at the ridiculous question she saw in his gaze. Annoyed that he obviously assumed tonight’s engagement was a party. She could clarify, but why should she when he was ready to assume the worst?
‘I would not have kissed you if I was dating another man tonight, let’s get that clear.’ She should not have to explain herself. Not to him, not to anyone. She turned away and began stacking her pots back into plastic containers, glad she had something to do. More than annoyance, his doubts and assumptions tore at a vulnerable place inside her. The place Elliot had helped sculpt, the place she’d taught herself not to acknowledge.
The place she reminded herself now that did not exist.
‘That didn’t come out the way it was meant to.’
‘Is that an apology?’ She waved a hand in his general direction as she packed then thought better of it. ‘Forget I said that and we’ll call it even.’
A few heavy seconds passed, then he asked, ‘Are we good?’
‘We’re good.’ Picking up her box, she headed for the back door, leaving him to follow. At the door she turned to him. ‘Really. We’re good.’ She smiled, impatient to demonstrate he couldn’t get to her emotionally but not quite able to meet those eyes. ‘I apologise that the house is still a mess. I’ll get right on it.’
‘I can see if there’s a room available in town for this evening.’
‘No.’ Plonking her box on the kitchen table, she heaved an inward sigh at the mess in front of her. ‘You will have a place to sleep here tonight.’ Somewhere.
‘In that case, I’ve got a few errands in the city. I’ll need a key if you’re going out before I get back.’
‘The spare’s on the hook next to your fire blanket if you want to take it now.’ She gestured to it while she cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.
The moment he left, she slammed the dishwasher shut, grabbed water and detergent and set to work with a scrubbing brush.
Annoyance turned to severe aggravation, made worse by hi
s lingering scent in her nostrils, which in turn lent her speed and energy as she moved like a dervish through the kitchen chores. He assumed too much and too frequently and so far his assumptions had been unreasonable and way off the mark. Her house party and sick guest confrontation for starters. She also had a gut feeling he’d turned up at her party last Saturday in the first instance because he’d assumed they were boozy affairs and wanted to check. Yep, that would fit his personality profile.
She loved to party and she loved to flirt and did so regularly and often. But when friends or others, even people she didn’t know, needed her help or support, as with Megan and her migraine, there was never any question—they were her priority.
Hands fisted on hips, she scanned her kitchen, rarely tidy, now sparkling like new beneath the down-lights. Ready for Mr Hamilton to use—if he ever cooked. He probably had a personal chef-cum-housekeeper.
They had this extraordinary attraction thing going on but, away from the fantasy world they seemed to be playing in, who was Leo Hamilton? She did know he was quick to criticise. Ready to assume the bad. She dusted off her hands. So for tonight, let him assume.
* * *
Staying out of Breanna’s way was the wisest course so Leo didn’t return until seven o’clock. In case she hadn’t had time to eat, he’d bought her a pizza when he’d bought his own.
He needn’t have bothered because she was long gone. He found a note addressed to him on the kitchen table.
Leo, I’ve made up a bed in the bedroom at the far end of the passage. Apologies, the bed’s a bit small but it’s only for tonight. B
PS Don’t wait up xx
