Faking It to Making It

by Ally Blake

  “How did he and your mother meet?” Her chin rested on her knee, her eyes the picture of innocence. But she’d forgotten, he had three sisters. Her nugget about her own father suddenly made perfect sense. She wanted to get inside his head. He almost felt sorry for her that she was going to waste her time trying.

  Nate said, “If it’s not in the dossier let’s consider it extraneous to the project.”

  Thwarted, she twisted her mouth.

  “So,” he said. “Tell me something about me.”

  “You’re testing me?” she said, sitting straighter.

  “If you can’t pull it off what good are you to me?”

  “Fine,” she said, crossing her legs on the couch, eyes burning into him, bright with challenge. “Bring it on.”

  “Favourite colour?”

  “Blue.” She looked around his white, silver and pale blue office and said, “But you’d have to be colour blind to miss that. Pick up your game, Mackenzie. You’re dealing with a pro.” She crossed her arms beneath her small breasts, pressing them up, creating swells above the neckline of her top.

  “Pets?” he said, his eyes lifting to stick to hers.

  She snorted out a laugh. “I’d bet my life savings that you’re not home enough to keep a cactus alive, much less a goldfish.”

  Considering he’d wire-transferred those life savings into her bank account only a couple of days before, he knew that wasn’t much. But she was right. “You?”

  “A dog.”

  “Really?”

  “You don’t like dogs?”

  “I like them just fine. So long as someone else is in charge of feeding, washing, walking, cleaning up after them. What kind of dog? Please tell me it’s not the kind that fits in a handbag.”

  “Ha! He’s an Airedale named Ernest. He belonged to an ex who thought he was going to be the next Hemingway. Turned out he was more opportunist than writer—he left Ernest behind as payment for the TV and stereo he took in his place.”

  “Ever get them back?”

  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. But he was a master of body language, knowing when to attack a deal and when to take a breath, and by the hunch of Saskia’s small shoulders it mattered.

  “Charming,” said Nate, his tone belying his sudden desire to find out the guy’s name and hang him from a balcony till he coughed up the goods.

  “I came out with the better end of the deal.”

  “Good dog?”

  “Sheds like nobody’s business, has a wonky ear, will take a man down for an Oreo. But he’s never gonna steal my TV.”

  Finding it hard to reconcile the woman before him being involved with the kind of man who could do that kind of thing, he moved on. “Family?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re a middle child—older sister, younger twin sisters.”

  “A psychologist’s dream.”

  “I’m an only child, remember, so get in line.”

  He laughed and settled back in his corner of the couch. She settled back in hers. Game on, her smile said as she spoke. “Your mother is still about. Your father died when you were fifteen. A day before your fifteenth birthday, in fact.”

  Nate’s throat closed over at that last part—a small fact he usually left out, as if it was one intimacy too far. But he’d brought up the subject of family. He’d asked for it.

  She opened her mouth as if to say more, but he quelled her with a look. Then she brought her knees to her chest and snuggled in against the cushions as if she belonged there.

  “Women?” Nate asked, even while he wondered instead about this woman, about the kind of men she normally dated. No doubt men with goatees and sandals swarmed around her in droves. Unless she preferred her men clean-cut in suits.

  “Your tastes run to brunettes,” she said, curling a lock of her own brown hair around a finger, “mostly. Though there have been blondes and the occasional redhead.”

  “I’m an equal opportunity date.”

  A flicker of a smile, then, “No serious girlfriend that I could find.” That got him a pair of raised eyebrows, meaning fill in the blanks, please.

  Instead he went with, “Until now.”

  When her brow furrowed, her sweet mouth turning down, he nodded towards her and saw the moment she got his meaning. Pink rose up the soft column of her neck.

  “Though we haven’t really touched on that as yet. Are we that serious?” he asked, watching as the pink moved north to land in her cheeks. His palms warmed, as if he could feel the heavy beat of her blood from there. “Or just messing about?”

  “A little serious,” she said, but only after licking her lips. “Or what would be the point?”

  Once his eyes had landed on her mouth there they stayed. And this time, as the memory of how she’d tasted, how she’d opened up to him and kissed him with such easy release came back to him, it did so with a great hot thud. “There’s something to be said for messing about.”

  “Nate,” she said. Her lips opened as she said his name.

  “Yes, Saskia?”

  “Maybe we should talk about the kiss.”

  With that, his eyes slid back to hers. When it came to his “feelings,” talk was a four letter word. But if she wanted to describe, in any kind of detail, the kiss, then who was he to stop her? “Talk away.”

  She carefully put her feet back on the floor, as if needing to ground herself. “What I’d like to talk about is limits.”

  “Limits.”

  “Requirements and...restrictions.”

  God, she looked so earnest he couldn’t help but grin. “My hand may brush your hip but must move no higher than your waist? Kissing allowed, but no under-clothes action?”

  Her resultant stare was understandably flat.

  “We’re both grown-ups, Saskia. You know what I want. I know what you want. I think so long as we both get what we want the boundaries can be fluid.”

  She breathed in long and deep, and he felt himself breathing right along with her.

  “So, kissing...” she said, her voice husky as all get out.

  “Needn’t be off the table. Unless you want it to be.”

  Did she? He’d live if she put a kibosh on it, but he found himself going very still as he awaited her answer.

  A few long moments later she sat up straighter, shook her hair from her face and with a small shrug said, “Never say never.”

  That’s my girl.

  “So whatever happens...”

  “...happens.”

  “Till the wedding.”

  “Right.” Nate jerked a little at the fact that she’d been the one to say it. Then he shifted closer. “No point knowing about one another’s childhood pets if basic chemistry isn’t believable.”

  She sat stock-still, as if they’d been forced together by a fateful turn of Spin the Bottle. She frowned at his smile, which only made him smile all the more.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, her voice husky, giving her away.

  “You.”

  “If the thought of kissing me is that funny, maybe we ought to cut our losses right now.”

  “Sweetheart, the thought of kissing you is out there now, like a flashing red light right in the middle of my forehead. I can’t stop thinking about it. As far as I know there’s only one way to fix that.”

  “Right...” she said.

  He moved closer again, till his thigh touched hers. Her bare feet curled into the couch. Her scent shifted in the air around him—soft, natural, making his nostrils flare and his blood pump so hard through his body he could hear it behind his ears.

  He slid a hand into her hair, the softness spilling over his fingers. He turned her head till she was looking at him head-on, to find her lashes at half-mast, her eyes darkened with ant
icipation. Not a flicker of light was to be found in their bottomless brown depths.

  He leaned towards her and smiled as she did the same, till her breath washed across his mouth, hot and ready.

  Her chest lifted and fell quickly, as if her breath was getting away from her.

  And then he pressed his lips to hers.

  Such sweetness, sweeter than he’d even anticipated, as he fed her slow, aching, gentle kisses. And then there was her taste. He’d somehow forgotten that part; the lush, wholesome taste of her that was familiar and unique all at once. Her small hands lifted to grip his shirt. Soft sighs escaped her hot lips.

  As her tongue slid across the seam of his mouth his brain turned to wild red mist. He returned in kind, their tongues dancing, chasing, creating the most delicious friction, and wave upon wave of heat rained through him.

  Her arms wound around him and her body lifted to his, as if she couldn’t get close enough. He felt trembling, though it couldn’t possibly have been him.

  When he wound his hand deeper through her hair, tugging it back, she opened to him as if she’d been unlocked, and all that sweetness was swept aside beneath the flood of heat that erupted between them. Her sweet, hot mouth was like a drug, pulling him under. When one bare foot ran down his leg it was all he could do not to come then and there.

  Needing air, he moved his mouth to her jaw, to her sweet neck. God, she tasted like cupcakes with butter icing—sweet and decadent all at once. He slid a hand up the curve of her hip, then beneath her top to her waist. Her mouth opened on an intake of breath as he found skin. Such warmth, such satisfying softness.

  When he circled his thumb beneath her ribs she writhed beneath his touch. Hell, the woman was all response. She made his blood pump too fast through his body, until kissing didn’t seem like nearly enough—

  He heard the phone ring in the outer office and remembered where he was: the company he owned was humming uncompromisingly on the other side of an unlocked door.

  He pulled away with less haste than he’d intended. His hands took their time to leave her body. His mouth trailed back to hers for one last taste.

  Then, using every ounce of self-control he was able to muster, he leaned back on the chair, as far away from this strangely compelling creature as possible.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at the ceiling, her legs twisted, her clothes askew. “Well,” she said. “I’m sure glad we got that sorted.”

  He laughed. Then laughed some more. And thanked his lucky stars he’d found Saskia Bloom.

  She pulled herself up to sit, ran a hand through her hair and only managed to make it look more rumpled. Provocative little thing, she was. He wondered if she had a clue.

  “We done for today?” he asked.

  “And then some,” she said, shooting him a smile still lazy with lust.

  While Saskia heaved herself from the couch Nate glanced at his watch, saw it wasn’t even four. He had hours of work left to do, but knew without a doubt he’d be lucky if his concentration strayed above fifty percent capacity.

  “I’ll walk you to the lift,” said Nate, picking up the dossiers.

  “Keep them,” she said, grabbing her hat, her cardigan, her huge bag. She was soon lost inside them again. “Some light reading for you. And if you feel like I’ve missed out any important details in your file feel free to jot down notes.”

  Nate pressed his thumb into his temple.

  “You do that a lot,” Saskia said. “Rub your temples. Or run a hand up the back of your hair. I wonder if you keep your hair so short so you don’t tear it out.”

  She sat to retie her shoes, crossing the straps over her small ankles. When Nate found himself staring, imagining himself dropping to his knees and undoing them all over again, he distracted himself with his dossier, opening it to a page labelled “Identifying Marks.”

  Hello!

  “You have a tattoo?” His eyes drifted over her lean form, landing on spots that might sport a tattoo of some breadth. “I should probably know what it is. And where.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. Then she set her feet on the floor, walked around the table. She turned away from him and lifted the loose top to reveal a small tattoo at the top of her shoulderblade.

  A swathe of her hair was in the way, giving him no choice but to move it to one side. Her skin contracted under his touch. His gut tightened at her reaction. And the urge to kiss her, right there, came with a powerful push.

  “A rose?” he said.

  “My mother’s name. Rosetta, actually. She was holidaying from Spain when she met Dad.”

  Her mother—who had died giving birth to her.

  Losing his father had been horrific. Life-altering. Every dynamic in his life had shifted overnight. Even while Nate’s mother drove him crazy he couldn’t imagine not having her in his life. And yet Saskia Bloom, was, for all intents and purposes, an orphan of the world.

  She lifted her shoulder away from his touch and let her hair fall back to her shoulder. “Not what you expected?”

  “I was all prepared for a Chinese symbol for...something.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Unless I know a language intimately I’m not letting some biker with a needle write it on my skin.”

  A biker? Who was this woman?

  Whoever she was, she was smiling at his shock. And in a flash he saw fearlessness behind that smile. A girl without a mother. A woman without a father. Alone in the world. And yet she was bright with effervescence, drive, gumption, humour and fearlessness. Looking into her lovely brown eyes for a moment, he could feel wind in his hair, the sun on his face as he left the world behind.

  “Do you have any tattoos?”

  He blinked, came back to the real world. “I do not.”

  “Want one?” She leaned forward, grabbed her bag and a grape, popping it into her mouth, where she rolled it around with her tongue before her teeth sank into it with an audible pop.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “A tattoo,” she said, licking grape juice from the corner of her lip. “I know a guy who’d just love to get a hold of all that nice clean skin of yours.”

  “You think I have nice skin?” he asked, his voice dropping a notch.

  Her head tilted, as if she was considering answering. Fearlessness won. “I think you could do with some ruffling.”

  “Ruffling?”

  “You’re so clean-cut. Even your background is pristine. No parking tickets.”

  “I fob those off on my driver.”

  She laughed—a husky sound he felt as a tightening in his gut.

  “No restraining orders.”

  All she got for that was a raised eyebrow.

  “I’ve taken out three. Two of them against the same guy.”

  Again Nate found himself sideswiped by the sudden urge to tear a complete stranger limb from limb. Time to call this meeting over. He pointed a hand towards the door. She hitched her bag and headed that way.

  “You’ve clearly been dating the wrong kind of men.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He got a knowing grin over her shoulder for his efforts.

  “I certainly have a type.”

  “What type is that?” he asked.

  She thought about it a moment, her mouth twisting. “Men with needs I can’t help but fulfil.”

  He gripped the doorjamb to stop himself from fulfilling his own rabid need to dive his hands into her hair and ravish that mouth till she could no longer feel her legs.

  When she hitched up her big bag again Nate slid a finger under the strap and tucked it over his own shoulder instead. Then he stepped through the door, dragged in a lungful of air filled with the scent of cleaning product and money and inside his head started listing stock exchange codes...alphabetically. />
  “Anyway, that’s by the by,” she said, smiling at his assistant as they passed by her desk. “I’m with you now.”

  Nate’s assistant raised her eyebrows at Nate, who mouthed, Get back to work.

  They walked companionably towards the lift. Nate nodded to any staff they passed, each one casting glances at Saskia, no doubt desperate to know who she was. He wondered if any thought they might be a couple.

  “How about you?” Saskia added as they hit the vast foyer.

  Nate put a hand to her back to ease her around the scattered chairs. “Do I intend to fulfil your needs?”

  “Identifying marks,” she said with a smile.

  For once it didn’t seem too much to ask. “I have an appendix surgery scar and a birthmark on my inner thigh.”

  “Shape?” she asked.

  Her eyes slanted to his lap. Nate had never had cause to wonder about death by abstinence, but in that moment he was beginning to imagine the possibility.

  “Texas,” he lied, and thanked God when her eyes shot back to his. “Kidding. It’s roundish.”

  “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  The lift door opened and she held out her hand. He was half a second from taking it, using it to drag her in for one last kiss, before he realised she wanted her bag back.

  He waited till the lift was clear bar anyone but her before saying, “So, next is my family lunch on Sunday.”

  Her shoulders flicked to her ears. “Nervous?”

  “Not a bit,” he said as the lift doors began to close.

  “Liar.” She grinned.

  His laughter continued even when he was looking at nothing but the lift door.

  “So that’s your date?”

  Nate turned to find Gabe leaning against the reception counter, his eyes on the lift. Nate made a beeline for his office, not keen on having this conversation in the foyer.

  “Not what I expected,” said Gabe, falling into step.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Not a thing. She just seemed...normal.”

  And even though Nate knew he was being baited he rose to it before he could stop himself. “What she is is cool. And funny. And mouthy.” He pictured her standing in his window, hands on her hips, opened to the city view, the light shining through her clothes. “But mostly she’s got this level of contentment I never even knew was possible.”