by Nicola Marsh
She’s never been one to be tamed
But he makes her utterly wild...
He used to be Makayla Tarrant’s best friend, but five years after he broke her heart Hudson Watt is back. He’s hotter than ever—but now he can make or break Mak’s dance career. She wants to hate him. She wants to show him she’s immune to his sex appeal. But most of all Mak wants him...every night and in every way!
“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”
—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
NICOLA MARSH is a USA TODAY bestselling and multi-award-winning author who loves nothing better than losing herself in a story. A physiotherapist in a previous life, she now divides her time between raising two dashing heroes, whipping up delish meals, cheering on her footy team and writing—her dream job. And she chats on social media. A lot. Come say hi! Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—she’s there! Also find her at nicolamarsh.com.
WILD THING
Nicola Marsh
www.millsandboon.com.au
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Excerpt from Destroyed by Jackie Ashenden
CHAPTER ONE
MAKAYLA TARRANT HAD done some embarrassing things in her twenty-four years on the planet.
Falling off the stage as an awestruck seven-year-old at her first ballet recital? Check.
Flashing a nipple courtesy of a wardrobe malfunction during her stage debut at sixteen? Check.
Stripping in front of sleazy strangers at a dive bar in Kings Cross to ensure her mum had the funeral she deserved? Check.
But nothing came close to the mortification making her muscles spasm as she strutted into the most important audition of her life to date and discovered the casting director was Hudson Watt.
Her best friend growing up.
Her confidant.
Her go-to guy.
The only guy she’d ever really trusted.
Until that night five years ago when he’d seen her naked on stage and her world had imploded.
She hadn’t seen him since. Not after the hateful accusations exchanged. He’d misjudged her without giving her a chance to explain. She’d cut him from her life without a second’s remorse.
Okay, so that was a lie. At a time when she’d been reeling from her mum’s unexpected death, a time when she’d needed her friend the most, a time when she’d done the unthinkable to make sure she could afford a decent funeral, Hudson had morphed into a judgemental monster and she’d lost the best friend she’d ever had.
Back then, she’d pretended she didn’t care when in fact she’d grieved for her lost friendship almost as much as for her mum.
‘Next,’ Hudson said, impatience lacing his tone as he flipped pages on a clipboard.
Makayla didn’t move. She couldn’t, her feet heavier than her heart as she hovered left stage, wishing she had the guts to turn around and make a run for it before he saw her.
But she needed this job, desperately. Her roommate, Charlotte, was on the verge of leaving and Makayla’s pay cheque from working part-time at Le Miel, the hippest patisserie in Sydney, wouldn’t cover rent let alone anything else.
She’d auditioned eighteen times for various dance roles over the last few weeks. Nada.
Embue was the coolest nightclub in a city brimming with trendy hotspots and the moment she’d heard they were trialling live shows she’d applied, determined to nail her first dancing role in months. A determination that was rapidly fading when faced with the prospect of dancing for Hudson.
Crap.
What the hell was she going to do?
At that moment, he raised his head and her chance to flee unobserved vanished.
Shock widened his eyes, his lips parting in surprise before compressing into a thin line. A frown slashed his brows. No great surprise he wasn’t pleased to see her, considering what she’d called him the last time they’d met.
‘Hi, Hudson,’ she said, injecting enough fake enthusiasm into her voice to convey nonchalance, but her hand shook as she raised it in a wave. ‘Long time no see.’
She inwardly cringed at her blasé, clichéd greeting as she forced her legs to move, heading for centre stage. Where she’d be under the spotlight. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Hell.
After what seemed like an eternity of him pinning her with a laser-like glare, he nodded. ‘Mak. So you’re auditioning for the lead dancer?’
Mak...only Hudson uttered that one short syllable in a way that touched her deep, like a warm hand strumming her spine in a long languorous caress. His voice seemed lower, huskier, than the last time she’d seen him...when he’d hurled vile assumptions at her and their friendship had crumbled.
‘Mak?’
Damn, he’d caught her daydreaming. Now that the option to flee had gone—she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how rattled she was—she squared her shoulders.
‘Yes. I’d love to be lead dancer in Embue’s new production. Thanks for the opportunity.’
She didn’t give him a chance to respond, shooting the music co-ordinator a quick nod to start her track.
She’d be okay once the song started. The dread making her gut churn would fade. The nerves making her muscles seize would ease. It had to. Because she couldn’t fail this audition. Not with so much at stake.
As the first booming bass beat of a Lady Gaga hit blasted from the sound system, an instant wave of calm washed over Makayla.
She could do this.
Music and dance and moving to a rhythm, she understood.
Men who abandoned her when she needed them most, not so much.
As the tempo increased, she began her routine. Steps and twirls and kicks, a high-energy routine designed to dazzle. She let the music take her, her feet pounding to the beat, her arms slicing through the air in perfect synchronisation.
It had always been like this, from the moment she’d seen her mum dance on stage in a nightly Kings Cross revue, a wide-eyed three-year-old mesmerised by the glittery costumes, the make-up and the applause.
She’d adored her mum, had wanted to be exactly like her. Emulating her grace and elegance and vibrancy on stage. But Makayla also wanted more. More kudos. More recognition. More.
Broadway. The pinnacle. Her dream.
But unless she scored a leading role soon, her dream would be in tatters, like her bank account.
The song drew to a close and Makayla threw herself into the finale, a run across the stage complete with high scissor split, befo
re landing nimbly on her feet, arms flung high in victory.
The music cut off, the silence deafening.
At some auditions, she’d seen directors clap for outstanding performances.
Hudson didn’t move a muscle.
Swallowing the burgeoning lump in her throat, she stepped to the edge of the stage, out of the spotlight.
He scribbled something down before glancing up at her, his face unreadable.
Her heart sank but she forced a smile. A smile that wavered the longer he stared at her through narrowed eyes.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ he said, and, with a curt nod, dismissed her.
Disappointment made her knees wobble, but she’d be damned if she gave him an insight into her devastation.
Mustering what little courage she had left, she strode offstage.
And flipped him the bird behind the plush gold curtain.
CHAPTER TWO
HUDSON BIT BACK a guffaw.
Mak had flipped him the bird when she thought he couldn’t see. But Embue was renowned for its many mirrors and he’d seen her, clear as day, as she’d exited the stage.
Feisty. Bold. Confident. Still the same old Mak. Yet she wasn’t the same, not by a long shot.
It had been five years since he’d seen her in that Kings Cross strip club, naked in front of a room of slobbering Neanderthals. Five years since he’d fucked up. Big time.
She’d matured since then, her curves more womanly, her legs a tad longer, her eyes a deeper blue, her hair a rich glorious auburn. She’d always been a stunner growing up but now Mak could knock a guy to his knees and make him grovel to get back up.
When he’d seen her name on the audition sheet, he could’ve sworn his heart had skipped a beat; she had that kind of impact on him. Always had.
He’d clamped down on his initial reaction to score a line through her name. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t erase that night he’d seen her strip and the resultant fallout.
How many times had he picked up the phone afterwards to apologise? To see if she was okay? To talk her out of heading down a nefarious path that he’d seen first-hand resulted in tragedy?
Countless times, when he’d tried to formulate the right words yet had been lacking. He’d wanted to lecture her against the dangers of scoring easy cash via stripping. He’d wanted to warn her of the potential to spiral out of control. He’d wanted to tell her the truth behind his funk in the hope she’d understand why he’d freaked out.
Instead, he’d hung up the phone each and every time, knowing nothing he could say could erase the damage he’d done that night.
He’d said awful things, hateful things, in his shock-induced rage. Sadly, there’d been no coming back from it.
A week later he’d left Kings Cross, moving into a small Manly apartment and into the manager’s job at Embue. He’d deliberately avoided going to clubs in the Cross for fear of seeing Mak performing. He couldn’t face it, couldn’t face seeing her innate innocence tainted in that sleazy world.
Not that he hadn’t thought about her over the years. Some women were unforgettable and Mak was one of them.
Seeing her name on his audition sheet had given him a jolt. Could he really face seeing her dance again, when the last time he’d seen her gyrate and shimmy she’d been naked? He feared it would bring back all the old feelings: anger, disgust, with a healthy dose of jealousy. Crazy, out-of-control emotions, when he had no right to feel any of them.
He’d dithered for two days before the agency had called and demanded a list of potential dancers he’d like to trial. Before he could second-guess his decision, he’d added Mak’s name to the list.
After seeing what she could do a few minutes ago, he was glad.
Mak could dance. Really dance. Exhibiting the kind of talent that would establish Embue as the venue for live shows.
He’d been worried that when she moved on stage, he’d be catapulted back to that horrible night five years earlier and his impartiality as a producer would be shot.
Thankfully, it hadn’t happened. He’d been mesmerised by her lithe movement, her ability to command a small space, her stage presence.
Quite simply, as a dancer, Mak was a knockout.
It made him regret all the more that he’d missed out on seeing her come of age the last five years. In a world where he didn’t trust easily, Mak had been a good friend. One of the best, next to Tanner.
‘Auditions done?’ Tanner slumped into the seat next to him and braced his hands behind his head. ‘Because Abby is getting angsty with the endless trail of long-legged babes strutting their stuff through here.’
Hudson snorted and placed a thumb in the middle of Tanner’s forehead. ‘Your girlfriend is well aware you idolise her and that you’re right under this.’
‘She’s the best.’ Tanner swatted away his hand, his friend’s goofy grin making Hudson want to puke.
Not that he begrudged his best mate and boss a little happiness. If anyone deserved it, he did, after the shit Tanner had tolerated growing up. But ever since Abby had come on the scene a month ago Tanner had been a shadow of his former self. Staring into space at the oddest of times. Leaving the nightclub early to watch chick-flicks with Abby. Refusing to go out on the town like they used to.
Relationships were for suckers.
Tanner steepled his fingers and rested them in his lap. ‘So? Am I wasting my time, giving you a shot at making this live gig fly?’
Hudson sure as hell hoped not. He needed his idea to work. He owed Tanner and he always paid his dues.
‘Once I finalise the lead, rehearsals can start.’
Tanner nodded, thoughtful. ‘How did Makayla go?’
Hudson startled, immediately followed by a sinking feeling deep in his gut. The kind of feeling that made him want to punch something, preferably Tanner, if he’d slept with Mak.
Women fell at Tanner’s feet, always had. Not that Hudson was jealous. He did okay. But the thought of his Mak with anyone...not that she was his. Not any more. Not that she ever had been, really. His outburst that night five years ago had seen to that.
‘Mak did well.’ Keeping his voice steady with effort, Hudson pretended to study the call-back sheet. ‘How do you two know each other?’
Tanner laughed so loud it echoed around the club. ‘Man, you should see your face. You look like you’ve sucked a lemon.’
‘Fuck off,’ Hudson growled, that urge to thump Tanner growing by the minute.
‘I think a more pertinent question is how you know Mak?’ Tanner’s laughter petered to chuckles. ‘By your thunderous expression, I’m assuming you know her a hell of a lot better than me.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question, dickhead.’
Infuriatingly calm and determined to make him sweat, Tanner linked his fingers and stretched forward. ‘Makayla works at Le Miel with Abby. So when I filled in there while Remy was in hospital, I got to know her a bit then.’
‘Oh.’ Hudson deflated in relief, feeling like an idiot for allowing jealousy to cloud his judgement.
He had no right to be jealous of Mak. She could’ve slept with the entire north shore of Sydney and it still shouldn’t bother him. But it did. Deep down in that place where a part of him still missed her dreadfully, he cared. A whole damn lot.
‘If you call her Mak, you’ve known her longer than me?’ Tanner’s smirk didn’t hide his blatant curiosity.
Hudson could lie. But he didn’t bullshit Tanner. They’d been through too much together, from the time they were at Kings Cross High, two misfits without mothers, trying to do the best they could with asshole fathers.
‘Mak and I go way back,’ he said, rubbing the tension cramping his neck muscles. ‘When I was working the clubs at the Cross, our paths crossed constantly because her mum danced and waitressed there. We became friends.’
Because Mak had been all his. The one bright spot in his lousy world. Someone he could confide in, someone who understood the daily battles of growing up in the Cross, because she faced them too.
But he didn’t say any of this to Tanner. Instead, Hudson shrugged. ‘I didn’t want you giving me shit. She’s younger than me and I wanted to protect her.’
‘A regular Sir Galahad,’ Tanner scoffed, the lame-ass grin returning. ‘What happened?’
‘We had a falling out.’ Massive understatement considering the blowout they’d had the night he’d stumbled upon her stripping. ‘Haven’t seen her in years.’
A speculative gleam made Tanner lean closer. ‘So you two haven’t...you know?’
‘No.’
Not that he hadn’t wanted to. But Mak had been off-limits due to her age—and her naivety, if he were completely honest. She’d radiated an innocence that shone bright in an otherwise grimy world. A world of pimps, prostitutes, drugs and strippers. A world he’d worked in out of necessity but had done his damnedest not to let taint him.
It was one of the many reasons he’d flipped out that night he’d seen her gyrating naked on stage.
That, and because of his mum.
‘Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, man. Makayla’s a bombshell and if I were single I’d take a shot at—’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
‘Whoa, easy, big fella.’ Tanner held up his hands. ‘Just giving my opinion. And if you overreact like that to a simple suggestion, I advise you to get laid, pronto.’
Hudson wouldn’t give his doofus friend the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t far off the mark. What with getting this show off the ground, he hadn’t had time to date lately. In fact, it had to be at least three months since he’d had sex. Maybe that was the reason he’d wanted to bound onto the stage and drag Mak into the nearest dressing room when he’d first seen her up there ten minutes ago?
