Faking It to Making It

by Ally Blake

  He blinked at her. “You sure as hell feel real to me,” he ground out.

  “Would your friends agree?” she asked. He looked at her as if she was making no sense. While she felt more sensible in that moment than she had since she’d spied him slinking through the crowd. “I mean, do they know the truth about us?”

  He might have flinched, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “What does it matter?”

  “Do they?”

  He shook his head, as if clearing away cobwebs, before he looked at a point over her shoulder. “Gabe knows.”

  “And what does he think?”

  His eyes shot back to hers. Still hot, still rippling with desire. Only now there was a thread of desperation beneath. “He thinks I’m a fool. He’s love struck and out of his head. He’s not the man he used to be.” He pulled back. Ran a hand through his hair and swore, convincingly.

  “So if he knows then Paige knows?” Saskia said, not backing down.

  “Probably.”

  “Mae and Clint too?”

  “I don’t understand the big deal,” Nate said, exasperation tingeing his words. “I’m not going to gather them together and let them know we went home together, if that’s your concern.”

  “It’s not.” In fact it was the opposite of her concern. His friends assuming he was sleeping with the woman in his life was normal. “It’s fine that your friends know. Better, actually. Lissy knows. And, like Gabe, she thinks we’re crazy. And this...” She touched his chest, felt it heave against her palm, pulled away. “This is probably why. If we take this any further we’ll be blurring the lines so much we’d be the only ones who no longer knew the truth.”

  It was more than she’d meant to reveal about her nascent feelings for the guy, but she was scrambling.

  Then Nate had to go and turn his intense blue eyes her way and hit her with, “What if we weren’t faking it?”

  “Nate, don’t.”

  “A date. For real. You and me. We’ve done dinner. You’ve met my family. I’m not seeing anyone else, just like we agreed. So what do most women consider a perfect second date? Paintball? Paris?”

  “I’m not most women.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He looked so solemn. Hot, a little angry, and a whole lot turned on. But it was the solemnity that made her like him—and want him—even more. With a ferocity that stole her breath clean away.

  “We’d date. We’d end up in bed. But to what end?” Saskia asked, her voice gentling.

  The heat in his gaze gave her imagination some idea of his answer. But it wasn’t the one she was looking for.

  “This was all fine in theory, Nate. Getting to hang out with a hot guy for a few weeks and maybe even pretend to be like most women for a bit.”

  He opened his mouth to say something about that, but she held up a hand in front of his face.

  “But the truth is I’d like to meet a guy, date him, meet his family for real, swap keys, move in together, get married, have kids—”

  Nate came over all pale and swallowed as if his mouth was filled with sand.

  “And there we have it, folks.”

  “What?”

  “You look like you’re about to pass out!”

  “Do you blame me?” he asked, pacing. “You’re three steps from walking me down the aisle—which is exactly the kind of hell I was hoping to avoid in finding a date online.”

  “Thanks so very much.”

  The look he shot her was dark. Her heart thumped against her ribs. She was liking the darkness. She needed professional help. “Nate. Honestly. Do you want that? A wife? Calm down!” she said when he started to pale all over again. “Not me, per se, but someone? Some day?”

  “Are you really saying that if I said that I was all about the ‘Australian Dream’ you’d come home with me?”

  Ignoring his attempt to sidetrack her, Saskia said, “Have you even ever come close?”

  The darkness in his eyes deepened. Worse, it cooled. And right there she had her answer.

  He might be hot to the touch, but at his core Nate was untouchable. And Saskia had already spent more than half her life desperately doing everything at her disposal to make someone love her, never to be quite sure if he did.

  And Lissy’s postulations had been right; Saskia did keep repeating the same relationship pattern, over and over. But in that moment, she realised that for all the wrong he’d done her, Stu had changed that.

  She’d pretended not to notice that he didn’t really love her, that he was using her, because it felt better to have someone in her life than not at all.

  Never again. And if that meant steeling her heart against Nate Mackenzie—a man whose very kisses spun her emotions so far out of control she felt like flying—then so be it.

  “I like you, Nate.” More than is in any way sensible. “And once this is over I’d like to look back on our crazy caper with a laugh. I have enough regrets about my past relationships, and I’d rather not feel that way about you.”

  Even while she could see it physically pained him to do so, he listened. He really did. She had to give him props for that. But what she wouldn’t give him was her body. Her heart.

  “I like you too,” he said finally, with a physical effort obvious at admitting even that much. “But I have my reasons for not wanting to go down...that route. Good ones.”

  “I’m listening,” Saskia said, softening.

  His mouth twitched at that, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You women and your need to talk.”

  Saskia’s mouth twisted into a smile. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe they’d needed this moment to finally find their boundaries. They could go on from here as friends. Funny, though, it didn’t feel quite enough this time around.

  Nate turned to face the bar, his fingers gripping the edge, his gaze far away. “So what do you suggest we do from here?”

  “Maybe we stop renegotiating and stick to the plan?”

  “Yeah,” he said, propping his head between both hands.

  She held out a hand, making sure to keep an arm’s distance from the guy. “Deal?”

  His eyes slanted to hers. Beautiful, blue and a little bit tortured. Poor love had probably never been turned down for sex before. She steeled herself and even managed to conjure up a smile.

  “Deal,” he grumbled, taking her hand in his. His heat skittered through her. She knew he felt it too. Struggled to contain it. Whatever it was. But this time he didn’t do anything about it. Till he said, “At least you have to let me see you home.”

  “The two of us? In the back of a cab together? How do you think that’ll turn out?”

  “Yeah,” he said again, his voice a growl.

  He downed his beer with three large gulps. Then he shook his head at her.

  And after one long last sweep of his hot blue eyes down her body and back up again, leaving her feeling as if he’d stripped her bare right there in the middle of the bar, he turned and walked away.

  Leaving Saskia shaking all over.

  Feeling as if she’d won some kind of battle.

  And lost it all at the same time.

  * * *

  It was a couple of hours before Nate took a cab back to the office. Another again before he slid behind the wheel of his car and headed home.

  As he slowed before a red light he switched on the radio, clicking past Tom Petty singing about bad boys and breaking hearts till he found Duran Duran singing about hunting and hunger, and his mind spun through the hours spent trying to be charming, and gracious, and the perfect host to his new client.

  It shouldn’t have felt like so much hard work. He’d been to more client dinners, celebrations, parties, all out raves than he could remember. He’d lived them, rocked them, until t
hey’d gone down in legend.

  But that night, when Nate had pointed out that Gabe had spent more time talking to Paige than to their star client, the two of them had near come to blows. And it had taken for Gabe to tell Nate to calm the hell down, as Bamford—with Lissy on his lap, hand-feeding him pretzels—was having the time of his life.

  The light turned green, and when the car in front didn’t pull away instantly Nate’s fist landed on the horn. He overtook the first chance he had, the gears shifting hard and fast, the sports car rumbling deep and throaty beneath him.

  He was so damn tense, if he didn’t do something about it, soon, he’d get into fisticuffs with his best friend. Or tell a client what he really thought of them. Or do something really stupid, like join an online dating site for real.

  Taking a corner a little sharper than safe, he eased his foot from the accelerator.

  He’d start small. Take a day off. Go fishing. He and his dad had loved fishing. The peacefulness. The contentment. There was that word again, only this time it had context. Was the last time he’d felt content? Could it really have been when he was twelve years old? That had to be fixed.

  Problem was, he knew exactly how he wanted to get loose. With Saskia Bloom beneath him. Up against a wall. In the back of a car. So long as she was hot, and naked, and making those sweet gasping sounds she made whenever he kissed her neck.

  Saskia, who’d put on the brakes.

  The city lights swept across his windscreen in time to the beat.

  It made no sense to him why they shouldn’t explore that in the short time they had. In fact the natural end to their relationship made taking every advantage of their chemistry seem the most uncomplicated decision possible.

  He turned into his street, where large homes nestled behind imposing fences. He pressed the remote to his wrought iron gate, before gliding up the curved drive and pulling to a stop outside his front doors.

  He rolled his hands over the leather steering wheel as the car ticked and cooled beneath him.

  He was not known for backing down at the first hurdle, and just because he was considering dropping a line in the ocean at some point in the future, didn’t mean he’d gone soft.

  It was a little under three weeks till the wedding. That gave him twenty days to charm the pants off her. Literally. To show Saskia that a man and a woman could like one another just fine, and could also tear each other apart in bed, and it didn’t have to mean anything other than a good time.

  He was the best damn negotiator in town, and if he couldn’t negotiate that he didn’t deserve the title.

  Feeling better about things than he had an hour ago, Nate pulled the key from the ignition, leapt from the car and jogged up the front steps. Whistling “Fame.” Or maybe it was “Footloose.” Whatever it was it brought a smile to his lips, which had to be a good thing.

  SIX

  Another week or so went by before Saskia and Nate saw one another again.

  He was busy; she was hiding out. Or maybe she was busy and he was hiding out. Either way, Saskia kept herself busy.

  With Stu’s debts all paid—and, oh, what a liberating feeling it was finally to put that whole sordid business firmly in her rearview mirror!—she had real money in her bank account for the first time in months. Money with which to get back to turning her crumbling little house into a home.

  And, like a woman who’d been kept away from chocolate for months, and then been given the key to the Cadbury factory, she might have binged. Just a little.

  Furniture. Paint. Fixtures. Tiles. Her house smelled like a hardware store. And she couldn’t have been happier!

  Spring was a little over two weeks away, and it was pouring outside. Typical of Melbourne’s contrary weather. At least it gave Saskia the excuse to start a fire in the brand-new fireplace she’d helped fit the day before. Music played softly through her new wireless speakers. And she switched on a couple of her new lamps: leadlight and ridiculously romantic. She’d fallen in love with them at first sight.

  Looking around at the eclectic, bright, functional, vintage pieces mixed in with state-of-the-art electronics, emotion swelled in her throat.

  The truth was she couldn’t have done it without Nate. For that—for him—she’d for ever be thankful. As for the fact that she wondered where he was and what he was doing several times a day and dreamed her raunchiest wishes into existence at night...that was something she’d have to hope would fade in good time.

  She downed the last of her coffee, covered her usual attire of multi-coloured tights, oversized sweaters and ugg boots with a smock, and was halfway up a ladder in her bedroom when her phone beeped.

  It was a message. From Lissy.

  Chinese or Indian?

  Lissy had been fixing a client’s website on site all day and was coming for dinner.

  Whatever goes best with scent of paint thinner.

  Indian then. See ya about seven.

  With Lissy out, Saskia had painted the bedroom earlier that day. The wall above her bed was now dry, so she measured for the picture she’d had leaning against a wall for months. Tape, spirit level, pencil in hand, she measured vertically, horizontally, then stood back and looked at the dot with a view to the wall as a whole. Her tummy gave a happy flutter. Symmetry was a beautiful thing.

  Yin and yang. Balance. Not just in art, but in life. In love. She was the active participant in her relationships, drawn to people who were content to be more passive. It made mathematical sense. At least she’d always thought so.

  Till Stu.

  The taking of all her things had been a pretty proactive thing for him to do. The hurtfulness entirely deliberate. As evidenced by the note he’d left on her kitchen bench. In ten short lines, including three spelling mistakes, he’d taken apart everything she’d done for him and thrown it back in her face like a bucket of acid.

  “Emasculating,” he’d called her. “Bossy...stubborn...a pain in the ass.”

  She’d only been trying to help. Believing that was what he’d wanted. What he’d needed. Believing he’d love her for it. If he’d just told her, asked her to back off... She’d probably have been so shocked her brain would have short-circuited.

  Had all the men in her life thought that way about her? That she was stifling? Unbending? That she was so used to taking care of herself she didn’t know how else to be?

  She was still staring at the dot on her wall, the pencil in her mouth, when there came a soft knock at her door.

  Cursing softly around the pencil, she rid herself of the smock, washed her hands then, with one final pointless run of her hand over her hair, which was curling madly in the heat of the now roaring fire, she opened the front door with a flourish.

  And there stood Nate, a day’s worth of stubble covering his hard jaw. A few sparkling drops of rainwater stuck to his short hair. A few more dried on the grey T-shirt stretched across his impressive chest. A casual jacket gripped his broad shoulders and faded jeans clung so lovingly to his thighs she couldn’t even allow herself to notice properly for fear she’d start to hyperventilate.

  For the first time since she’d known him, he looked...ruffled. And, boy, did it suit him. It made him seem more accessible, somehow. Her perverse heart gave a happy little thumpety-thump.

  Then Ernest bounded out of nowhere and stuck his nose in Nate’s crotch.

  “Easy,” Nate said, laughing, surprise crinkling his eyes.

  “Ernest!” said Saskia, lunging for his collar.

  But Nate was down on his knees at that stage, rubbing behind Ernest’s the collar in the spot he liked best.

  “He must smell these,” Nate said, tossing her a small blue box which—miraculously, considering her lack of dexterity—she caught.

  She stared for several seconds at the box of Oreos. Then at Nate. Then at wiry Erne
st, who was by now staring into the middle distance, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, back leg slapping against the floor in ecstasy.

  “You’ve done that before,” Saskia said.

  “I’m a man of hidden depths.”

  Don’t need to tell me, she thought, while trying not to appear as flummoxed as she felt. “Come on, kiddo, you’ve taken advantage of the man quite enough.” Saskia clicked and Ernest gave Nate’s hand one last lick before trotting back into the lounge room.

  “Bossy,” said Nate.

  After her trip down amnesia lane she felt her eye twitch at Nate’s choice of that particular word. “I find it gets the job done.”

  Nate pulled himself to standing, his eyes creasing into a smile as he said, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Saskia said back, hating that she had to clear her throat afterwards. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  He broke eye contact as he reached down for the dossier he’d dumped on the floor so he could pat Earnest. “I finally got around to adding some bits and pieces. Thought you might like a look.”

  He held it out. She took it. And flummoxed didn’t even begin to name how she felt at that. It was a small miracle.

  “Now?”

  “Unless you’re busy?” He glanced over her shoulder and she realised she was blocking the entrance as if he was trying to sell her something.

  “No. Nothing that can’t wait. Come on in.”

  He squeezed past, his scent—hot, spicy—washing over her till she had to grip the door handle for support. And she couldn’t help thinking of the last time she’d seen him, the look he’d given her, as if it had taken every bit of civility in his arsenal not to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to his cave.

  “Coffee?” she asked, her voice husky.

  His eyes crinkled again. “Why not?”

  She turned towards the kitchen, leaving him to follow, and couldn’t deny the little thrill scooting down her spine at the sound of the door shutting softly behind him. “What gave you the sudden urge to dive into shark-infested waters?” she asked, waving the dossier over her shoulder.