by Nicola Marsh
His thoughtfulness impressed her as much as his powers of observation. She’d woken incredibly stiff today. Must’ve been all that excessive tension involved in clenching her muscles to keep her body from falling apart as she plummeted towards the ground.
‘You’re very tense,’ he said, his hand straying from the small of her back lower, lingering over her butt.
‘You’re not helping,’ she muttered, her admonition undermined by the little purr in the back of her throat as he caressed the curve of her butt.
‘I intend to, later.’ He bent to murmur in her ear, ‘By answering each and every one of your questions. Forgiven?’
She removed his hand from her butt with regret. ‘Not really. You need to stop arranging things for me. First the jump, now this.’
‘Don’t forget the bath package last night.’
He had her there. How could she admonish him for something so wonderful?
‘You’re lucky I don’t extend the massage into a full-day retreat.’
He shook his head. ‘You couldn’t stay away from me that long.’
‘Is that a dare? Because you shouldn’t tempt me, I—’
He silenced her with a kiss.
‘You do that a lot,’ she murmured against the corner of his mouth when they finally came up for air.
‘Do what?’
‘Distract me with a kiss.’
‘Does it work?’
She tapped her bottom lip, pretending to think. ‘Not sure. You’ll have to keep doing it so I can give you a fully researched answer.’
He laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder as they stepped into the Salus Per Aquum.
‘Wow,’ they both murmured at the same time, catching sight of the pool and spas.
Deep indigo and rich emerald shimmered off the tiled walls, a dark, tempting grotto that beckoned with its tranquillity.
‘I’d like to get you alone in there,’ he whispered against her hair, his arm tightening around her shoulders.
‘Why? So you could give me another concussion like the last time we were in a pool together?’
‘Just think of what came after the concussion.’
Excitement rippled along every nerve ending at the memory.
‘I’m off to have this massage, then we’ll work later.’
‘Sure thing.’
His lingering kiss almost made her forget the all-important work part of later.
Impressed by his ability to consistently surprise her, she followed her therapist into a candlelit room where the woman proceeded to blend a lavender essential oil with a warm oil base and kneaded and stroked her body with masterful hands.
She should’ve relaxed at the perfect pressure, but all she could think about was why Roman continued to distract her rather than answer her questions.
For a guy who was in this for the publicity, and who’d gone out of his way to help her secure this trial, he seemed strangely reluctant to actually sit down and get started.
She’d mentioned conducting the interview yesterday: he’d organised the scenic plane ride.
She’d pushed to do it today: he arranged this spontaneous massage.
She couldn’t figure him out.
‘You’re very tense,’ the therapist said, kneading her shoulders with a firmness she needed.
She wanted to respond with, ‘You’d be tense too if you had a roguish charmer twisting you into knots.’
She settled for, ‘Occupational hazard.’
‘You spend time on a computer, right?’
‘Yeah.’
And loved every second of it. She used to resent the hours spent in front of a PC screen number crunching. Now, over the last few days, she’d happily typed up her research on extreme sports and her interview questions and a whole host of other stuff just because it felt good.
‘You need to relax to enjoy the full benefits of the massage.’
Okay, no more mental ruminating over Roman’s motivations. But as soon as she’d finished here she’d bail him up and ensure he answered her questions.
If Roman had any more ideas to distract her, she’d remind him of her deadline.
And of the benefits of finishing work early.
The thought of those benefits turned her muscles to mush.
‘That’s better.’
She smiled, wondering what the therapist would think of her relaxation method and not particularly caring.
Roman’s research portfolio was bursting at the seams. He’d discovered many new places around Australia to add to his employer’s growing list of extreme-sporting hot spots around the world.
Towering cliff faces and challenging waterways he’d test run himself: scaling, climbing, jumping, wake-boarding, he’d packed in as much as he could into his fortnight here, travelling from South Australia across to Victoria and now here, Queensland.
With every jump, every twist, every leap, he’d obliterated that final confrontation with his mum.
He’d let adrenalin do the job of soothing him as it had always done, seeking escape in dizzying heights and bone-jarring speeds.
Now he had a different distraction in the form of a beautiful, intelligent woman who was slowly but surely creeping under his guard.
It was why he’d put off the interview so long.
It was why he was contemplating calling it off completely.
For if she’d succeeded in getting this close to him simply by spending time together, what would happen if she started delving?
He couldn’t tell her about Estelle yet there was nothing surer than her asking about his family. Any good journo would. He’d fielded personal questions in the past by glossing over them or supplying a trite, superficial answer before following up with his next stunt to distract.
He had a feeling distraction wouldn’t work with Ava. She had a way of looking at him, as if she could see deep down beneath his gung-ho, adrenalin-addicted cowboy façade, as if she could see the real him.
And it scared him to death.
He knew calling off the interview was out of the question, when her potential new job depended on it.
He also knew he couldn’t fob her off with any more distractions; there were only so many times she’d submit to a jump and massage.
Only one thing to do.
Mentally rehearse his answers.
Focus on his extreme sporting lifestyle.
Stay clear of personal stuff.
Stuff like how he’d berated himself for years over his mum’s coping strategies, how he blamed himself for her condition.
Stuff like how maybe if he hadn’t left home early to escape the nightmare, maybe she wouldn’t be the way she was.
Stuff like how he continued to fall into her passive-aggressive trap, how he still wanted to help, how powerless he felt.
Over time he’d learned that no amount of self-recriminations or self-flagellating would change Estelle and he’d do better focusing his energies on being there when she needed him rather than lamenting a situation he couldn’t change.
He’d often wondered whether having a dad around would’ve changed the outcome, whether Estelle would’ve been a different person.
As a kid, during his mum’s worst bouts, he’d hide under the covers, squeeze his eyes shut and daydream of having a happy family like most of the kids at school. He’d dreamed of a mum who paid attention to him all the time, a mum who baked cookies and helped with his homework and attended his sports days.
He’d dreamed of a dad to wake-board with, a dad to speed ski with, a dad with the same daredevil streak he had.
When neither of those dreams came true he constructed a new dream, one where he was admired for his achievements, where people respected him, where they acknowledged him all the time and not only to lash out or play emotional games.
And he’d done everything in his power to make the last dream come true. Extreme sports had saved him, had given him a purpose, a focus and no way would he let his mother’s threats ruin that.
&
nbsp; Escaping to Australia might be a temporary solution but he hoped by the time he made it back to London she’d be out of her latest funk, the one that threatened to destroy him.
His phone beeped and he checked the text, his heart instantly lightening when he recognised Ava’s number.
Doing more research before your interview.
Rain check on this afternoon.
C U 2nite?
Oh, she’d definitely see him tonight. Maybe he could distract her long enough to put off the interview another day?
His thumb hovered over the keypad while he composed a suitable response. When it came to him, his face eased into a grin.
2nite OK.
Looking forward to researching your other project, the erotica novel,
R XXX
He bet she’d get the triple-X reference and laugh.
Oh yeah, as far as he was concerned, tonight couldn’t come quick enough.
Ava had no idea what Roman had in store tonight. The guy was just full of surprises and if last night was any indication it’d be something special.
Not that she needed the trappings. She’d be happy to curl up on the comfy couch in her room and order room service, as long as he was by her side. He made her laugh, he made her relax, he made her comfortable and for a girl who’d spent a lifetime feeling uncomfortable that was saying something.
Not that she could get too cosy. She had a few nights left and then their idyllic fling would be relegated to her memory, filed under ‘incredible and unbelievable and unforgettable’.
And she wouldn’t forget; Roman was that kind of guy. Besides, how could she forget the man who’d given her a part of herself back? A major part, if the genuine smiles and easy laughter were any indication.
When she’d smiled in her previous life, it had been for cameras or people watching. As for laughter, there hadn’t been much in her dreary, fake life to laugh about.
Not that it had been all bad. She’d got along well with Leon, always had, but being good friends was no substitute for a passion-filled marriage some of her uni friends had chosen. If she could call them friends. She’d always wondered if people drifted to her because of her name and who she was.
Hell, she’d even thought that of Leon: had he married her to curry favour with her dad and his political party? Had she been a convenient, useful means to an end?
She’d asked him once, after a fine bottle of Shiraz, and he’d merely reiterated the reasons he’d given her when he proposed: they moved in the same circles, they were highly compatible, their families were close and their friendship was strong.
He’d said he loved her too and back then she’d thought it’d be enough. But she’d known all along his love had been more platonic than fireworks and like everything else in her life back then it was easier to go with the flow.
Where would she be now if Leon hadn’t broached a separation? Would she still be trapped in a dead-end marriage and a mindless job, smiling on the outside while screaming on the inside wishing things could be different?
She liked to think she would’ve cracked eventually and blurted the unhappy truth to him but in reality she didn’t have the guts.
Not like Roman. He had guts and determination and threw himself off high stuff in his spare time. He lived in the moment and embraced everything life offered. And for this brief interlude she’d become that person too.
She had so much to thank him for. But she didn’t want to get all deep and meaningful. It wouldn’t be his style and she’d vowed it wouldn’t be hers for the limited time they had together. Besides, what could she say?
You changed my life.
You made me realise what I’ve been missing all these years.
You helped me discover what I want in a man.
If she took a chance on a relationship some time in the distant future. And she would. While her independence was all important now, there’d come a time ten years down the track, give or take a few years, when she’d be ready to risk her heart again.
Though had she really risked it to begin with? She certainly hadn’t given her heart to Leon. Not in the same way she had with Roman.
She stopped dead and slammed her palm against the nearest wall for support as the realisation crashed over her.
She’d given her heart to Roman?
Impossible.
This thing between them was a fling, nothing more, nothing less.
Then why the sinking, leaden feeling in her chest that she’d gone ahead and done just that?
Dragging in a steadying breath, she glanced at her watch. Ten minutes late already.
She couldn’t beg off tonight, not when she’d worked all afternoon; caught up in her article she’d missed dinner too and had called up a belated room service.
He’d been so great to her and made her promise to meet him at the front of the hotel at eight.
As much as she’d rather hide in her room where she could convince herself not the tiniest bit of her heart was involved, she had to face him and probably have the fact she’d fallen for him rubbed in.
Assuming the stoic mask she’d used to great effect when in long greeting lines, she took the final few steps to the monstrous glass entry doors, noticing Roman outside.
He had his back to her, giving her time to check out the way the faded denim clung to his butt, his long legs, his muscular shoulders encased in soft white cotton.
A small wistful sigh escaped her lips and as if he had supersonic hearing, he turned.
He eased into a smile as he caught sight of her and her heart flipped.
Oh yeah, she was in way over her head with this one.
He held out his hand and she placed hers in his.
That was when her newly created world detonated.
CHAPTER NINE
MOMENTARILY blinded by the flashes, Ava gripped Roman’s hand like a life buoy.
She blinked, hoping every one of the paparazzi’s stupid photos would be spoiled by her closed eyes.
Microphones thrust into her face and she leaned away, inadvertently stepping closer to Roman, who’d positioned himself on an angle to protect her.
‘Okay, folks, settle down and we’ll answer your questions.’
Her eyes snapped open at his proclamation. Answer intrusive questions from the vultures? Like hell.
She ignored the microphones waving in front of her face and glared at him, hoping to convey her distress with a glance.
To her shock, he had a confident grin on his face, as if he was lapping up the attention.
Right then, it hit her how different they were. He loved the adulation of a crowd, any crowd by the looks of it, while she couldn’t get away quick enough.
With good reason, considering the hatchet job she’d recently weathered, but to see Roman with his shoulders squared and relaxed posture, seemingly beckoning the reporters closer, annoyed her more than their unexpected intrusion.
‘Miss Beckett, is this your new man?’
‘Is he the reason behind your recent divorce?’
‘What does your father think about you flaunting a new romance so soon after your divorce?’
‘Have you left Canberra for good?’
‘Any comment to make?’
The questions peppered her from all angles and she shrank away, grateful when Roman released her hand to slide a protective arm around her waist.
‘No comment for now,’ he said, ushering her back into the hotel.
‘We’ll camp out here ’til she does give us one,’ someone shouted and she inwardly shuddered.
How long had they camped outside her Canberra house following the divorce? Four whole days until she’d had a gutful of being a prisoner in her own home and had ventured out, mistakenly thinking that giving a statement would send them away.
How wrong she’d been.
It’d been like throwing a bone to a pack of rabid dogs and the frenzy that had ensued in every magazine and newspaper had been horrifying.
They’d twisted he
r words and had written vile things, had mistaken the reserved mask she’d presented to the world in the past for self-protection as an arrogant aloofness; said that she looked down on everyone not in her social circle.
While it had been lies, it had hurt. A lot. The sting only exacerbated by the angel they’d made Leon out to be. Not that she begrudged her ex his stellar standing in the press, but when they mistook his constant smiles and readiness to answer their questions as anything other than a politician doing his job, it rankled.
Now they’d found her and the horrible intrusion would start all over again.
Clamping her lips together to stop the sudden sob bubbling up from within, she allowed Roman to lead her towards the lift.
When he risked a glance her way she studiously ignored him, staring straight ahead, waiting for the urge to bawl to subside before she said anything.
Smart guy, he remained silent until they reached his room and he held the door open for her.
‘I’m not staying.’
He frowned and shook his head. ‘We need to talk in private, that’s why I brought you here.’
Ashamed she’d allowed her anger to taint their conversation before it had begun, she swept past him, waiting until the door shut before turning to face him.
‘Did you know about them?’
‘By them I’m assuming you mean the paparazzi?’
She bit back her first response of, ‘Don’t play dumb with me.’
Antagonising him wouldn’t be conducive to getting the answers she needed; and the interview she still needed for a shot at a freelancing job.
‘Were they here for you?’
His eyes narrowed at her abrupt tone, the faint crease between his brows deepening. ‘Looks like they weren’t interested in me.’
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she snapped, the tenuous hold on her patience straining to breaking point.
‘You’re overwrought. Have a seat.’
He crossed his arms and propped against a table, his blasé act grating as much as his deliberately blank expression.
