by Nicola Marsh
‘Fine, I’ll do it,’ he said with reluctance.
George beamed, ignoring his begrudging response. ‘And, son?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You coming to visit means a lot.’
George held out his hand, his admission the closest thing to affection Brock had ever received from his father, and damn if his chest didn’t ache with unrequited emotion when he shook his dad’s hand.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ONE OF JAYDA’S pet hates back in high school was girls assuming she must over-eat in private due to her size, when nothing could be further from the truth. She’d always been a small eater and while she loved carbs as much as the next girl she watched her weight because she’d been naturally ‘blessed’ with curves.
These days, she rarely kept treats in the house because she’d rather resist temptation. But an hour after her mum left, when she’d showered and slipped into her favourite PJs, she was eternally grateful she had a stash of baking chocolate in the pantry. Not half as good as the real thing but this was an emergency.
She’d broken off three squares when her doorbell rang. Great. Saved by the calorie police. Though in reality she had no idea who would drop by unannounced at eight on a weeknight. The few friendships she maintained from high school were with women who were the epitome of polite and drop-ins were non-existent. Her mother wouldn’t have come back and if it was her father...this could get ugly and not even baking chocolate could save her.
Cursing under her breath, she stuffed the chocolate back into the pantry and padded to the front door. Wishing she’d installed a peephole when she’d moved in, she opened it a crack and instantly wished she hadn’t changed.
An incredibly handsome Brock, in dark denim and an olive polo shirt, stood on her doorstep.
‘Hey,’ he said. No apology for turning up out of the blue without warning her first. No smile. Just those almost ebony eyes boring into her as if he could read every secret in her soul.
‘Hey.’
She opened the door to let him in because in that moment she knew he would provide much better comfort than second-rate chocolate. And what she had in mind would burn calories rather than increase them. Win-win.
She’d barely closed the door when she was on him, pushing him up against the wall, dragging his head down to hers so she could kiss him.
He didn’t stop her. He didn’t hesitate. Sensing her need, he picked her up and stumbled into the lounge room before depositing her on the sofa and covering her body with his. His weight squished her and she revelled in his heaviness, raising her hips so she could rub her clit against his boner.
As his tongue swept into her mouth he wrenched open her pyjama top, sending buttons flying. Heat burned between her thighs as he kneaded her breasts with his hands, rolling the nipples between his thumb and forefingers, plucking at them until she writhed beneath him desperate for more. Damn, this man knew exactly what she liked.
Her hands found their way between their bodies, pushing down her pyjama bottoms and kicking them off before unzipping him.
‘Are you clean?’ she asked, already rubbing the head of his cock against her clit, drenched with needing him deep inside her.
‘Yes,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Celibate since last test six months ago.’
She didn’t have time to process that particular revelation because she was guiding him straight to where she wanted him most and arched her hips, burying him to the hilt.
He groaned and slid his hands under her ass, tilting her as he slid out and drove in again.
‘Oh, yeah, just like that,’ she whispered, clamping her legs around his waist, tightening her thighs better than any stair-climber at gym.
‘You feel so fucking good,’ he said, burying his face in her neck as he thrust into her, over and over, hitting her sweet spot every single time.
Her muscles tensed as wave after wave of pleasure swamped her and she bit down on his shoulder as she came. Her orgasm galvanised him as he thrust in and out, hard and fast; the friction between them grew so exquisite it bordered on pain until he stiffened and came on a moan that tweaked something deep in her soul.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t move.
Jayda didn’t care. As long as they stayed like this, joined in the most intimate way, she could forget every stupid complication in her life and live in the moment.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BROCK LAY ON his back, staring up at the art deco ceiling in Jayda’s bedroom. Her soft, snuffling snores should’ve comforted him. They didn’t. Instead, every inhalation and exhalation scraped across his nerves, making his jaw clench.
He wanted to wake her, to bury himself in her again because that was the only time he found any kind of solace.
Seeing his dad had left him rattled and out of sorts. George had seemed genuine in reaching out to him and Brock liked seeing his father’s vulnerable side. It gave him hope that his dad might be mellowing as he got older. He sure as hell hoped so for his mum’s sake.
It had been the first time he’d had any kind of normal interaction with his dad in a long time. Agreeing to help him with the awards night had taken Brock by surprise. In the past he wouldn’t have hesitated to refuse, citing work as an excuse. What had been so different about today?
Jayda gave a cute sniffle at that moment and he glanced at her, the tension that thinking about George elicited instantly abating.
Was she the reason he’d gone soft today and acquiesced to his father’s demands?
After the sex last night and breakfast at the quadrangle this morning, he’d felt...different. Lighter somehow. She made him laugh, she made him question himself, she made him...better, a better man. And it scared the hell out of him. Which was why he’d deliberately avoided her all day.
Even more revealing, when he hadn’t been able to shake the jittery feeling after visiting his dad he’d headed straight for Jayda’s. She grounded him in a way he hadn’t expected. How could that be possible when he didn’t really know her?
Having her spend the night with him had messed with his head, but a small part of him had to admit, in a good way. He’d liked noticing the changes in his dad and deep down he’d puffed up with pride when George had asked for his help.
Yeah, Jayda was definitely a good influence on him, as long as he didn’t get used to it. They’d stipulated two weeks and he’d stick to it. Anything more was asking for trouble.
Interestingly, he hadn’t expected her to jump him when he arrived. He’d envisaged them talking for a while, long enough for him to get his uneasiness under control, then ask her to help him with the awards night. But she’d been wild-eyed when she’d opened the door to him and he’d known in an instant that she’d needed him as much as he’d needed her.
The sex had been frantic and being inside her without a rubber...phenomenal. With every slide in and out of her wet pussy he’d lost his mind, using every ounce of self-control not to come as quickly as a teen.
She hadn’t said much afterwards and sensing her need for quiet he’d followed her into the bathroom where they’d showered together in an oddly sweet, platonic way before climbing beneath the frilly covers on her bed.
Her bed... An elaborate four-poster with cream chiffon draping from the corners, it looked like something out of a fairy tale, but if she was looking for a Prince Charming he sure as hell wasn’t it.
In fact, everything about this bedroom screamed romance and he hated it. From the fancy perfume bottles arranged in a circle around a sparkly jewellery box to the mauve colour scheme that cast everything in a rich glow, it felt like the bedroom of a woman wanting a happily ever after.
The thought had him sliding carefully out from under the covers and reaching for his clothes. She didn’t stir as he dressed and padded silently from the room, carefully closing the door behind him.
He
couldn’t leave, not when she’d seemed so out of sorts when he’d first arrived and he really did need her help, so sneaking out wouldn’t endear him to her.
Feeling like an intruder, he did a quick reconnaissance of her place. Opulent. Beautiful. Glamorous. Jayda all over.
While her bedroom channelled something out of a luxe fairy tale, the rest of her house was sleek and affluent. The lounge room had highly polished honey floorboards, with artfully arranged geometric accent tables next to the bold crimson suede sofas. A fireplace took pride of place in a slab of black marble that would’ve cost as much as an entire house in this suburb.
The kitchen, all glossy grey cupboards and black stone bench tops and gleaming high-end appliances, led into a lavish sunroom with low-slung leather daybeds and a giant slate rug with slashes of ochre, purple and turquoise.
A spare bedroom had the latest model treadmill and a bench designed for lifting the neatly arranged weights running along one wall. As for her home office in a separate area adjacent to the front door, it had a state-of-the-art computer and printer, ergonomically designed furniture and trendy plantation shutters that would allow light to flood in during the day.
While he loved his penthouse and all it stood for—how far he’d come from a pauper and how hard he’d worked for everything he had—there was something about Jayda’s place that screamed home. The interior might represent her expensive tastes but she’d somehow taken the glitz out of it and made the whole place appear elegant and refined.
And the longer he stood around admiring it, the harder it would be to leave.
He had to do something to keep his mind occupied. Work. He’d begged off it earlier when he had to visit his dad but it would give him something to do now. He fired up her computer, frustrated yet pleased when it was password-protected. Any IT person worth their coding would always have a password but that put paid to doing any work.
She had a pile of documents and brochures stacked neatly next to her computer, most of them featuring educational programmes in poorer countries around the world. She had a good heart and it didn’t surprise him she wanted to honour her sister’s memory by raising money. But it angered him that her parents had taken advantage of her kindness when she didn’t deserve it.
‘What are you doing in here?’
He jumped and spun around, the brochures falling from his fingertips into a messy heap on the floor. ‘I thought I could do some work while you slept.’
He gathered the brochures and placed them back on the desk, surprised she didn’t seem at all fazed by him rifling through her business.
‘I’m awake now,’ she said, her soft voice making him want to pick her up and carry her straight back to bed.
But that bedroom gave him the heebie-jeebies and he couldn’t go back in there, not when it might give her the wrong idea: that he’d happily spend many nights in there with her.
‘Good. You can unlock your computer for me, then.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘It’s eleven and you have a wanton woman willing to acquiesce to your every command.’
She cocked a hip beneath the burgundy satin robe that ended below her knees. ‘You sure you want to work?’
‘I don’t want to, especially with a willing, wanton woman, but I’ve taken on an extra job while I’m in Melbourne so the more time I spend on yours, the better.’
She took his refusal with good grace but he saw the questions in her eyes and he sure as hell didn’t feel like giving her answers now.
‘Does this new job have anything to do with you giving me the brush-off earlier today?’
So much for not giving her answers; but rather than shutting her out as he had other women in the past, he found himself wanting to share something of his private life, albeit a snippet.
‘I visited my dad in hospital.’
She grimaced and swiped a hand over her face. ‘I’m such a bitch.’
‘No, you’re not.’ He stood and opened his arms to her, relieved when she stepped into them and wrapped hers around his waist. ‘I hadn’t intended to but when I stopped by the car yard to check on his accounts I had an attack of the guilts thanks to our long-time receptionist.’
‘Car yard?’
His rueful chuckle sounded forced. ‘We really don’t know much about each other, do we?’
Her eyes darkened with passion. ‘I know the important stuff.’ She pressed against him and slid her hands down to grab his ass.
His cock shot to half-mast but for the first time since they’d hooked up he wouldn’t obliterate the tough stuff with fucking. Jayda wasn’t some one-night stand he wanted to remain closed off from. She’d trusted him with some of her innermost secrets and if he was going to spend the next few weeks with her and enlist her help for the awards event, he couldn’t treat her as if she meant nothing. Because deep down, in a place he didn’t want to acknowledge, he knew nothing could be further from the truth.
Planting a soft kiss on her mouth, he disengaged her hands, holding onto one of them as he led her to the two-seat sofa beside a colour-coded bookshelf opposite the desk.
‘You know I attended uni on a scholarship?’
She nodded, her expression sombre.
‘High school, too. My folks were dirt poor but I was smart so I got into a respected private school in Essendon.’ Where every one of those privileged bastards had never let him forget he came from nothing. ‘I made dux in my final year and was offered a scholarship to study IT at uni.’
‘Good for you,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘You were the smartest guy in our year.’
Little good it did him when he finished his degree. Companies valued connections and in every job interview they chose those rich pricks who weren’t as clever as him because they’d be able to advance the business with their old-school networks.
In a way, the constant rejections had fuelled his determination to make the IT world sit up and take notice so he’d spent eighteen months developing the software that now powered many of the top companies in the country. He hadn’t looked back and being a self-made millionaire ten times over helped him sleep better at night.
But he never forgot those rejections and how those same bastards sucked up to him now because he had six zeroes tacked onto figures in his bank account.
‘My dad runs a second-hand car yard in the western suburbs and Mum helps out.’ He screwed up his nose. ‘I had to work in that dump since I was a kid and I hated it.’
She cupped his cheek with her free hand. How did she do that, sense his need for comfort? ‘He’s your dad and he needs your help. You’re doing the right thing.’
He muttered, ‘Yeah,’ not prepared to tell the rest, the whole convoluted story wrapped up in guilt and resentment and bitterness.
‘Thanks for sharing.’
Her sincere smile gutted him and he needed to push her away before he did something foolish, like tell her the rest.
‘I only told you about the car yard so you understood why I didn’t turn up as promised today.’
He withdrew his hand from hers, desperate to dispel the intimacy he’d created with his stupid revelations. He’d felt as if he owed her some small insight into his life to repay her trust in him, but the result, with her staring at him with pity, made him wish he’d kept his big mouth shut. ‘I value my stellar business reputation and I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea.’
‘And what’s that?’ She stood so abruptly their knees banged and she stalked towards the desk, where she squatted to gather up the brochures, her back to him. ‘That we’re growing closer by sharing parts of ourselves? That we might be doing more than fucking?’
She slammed the brochures back onto the desk and swivelled to glare at him, her lush mouth pursed in disapproval and fire shooting from her eyes.
‘It’s not that,’ he said, searching for the right words to make her unders
tand how much of a screw-up he was, particularly when it came to trusting women.
‘I think it’s exactly that,’ she said, her frigid tone clipped. ‘Think what you like but we’ve moved beyond fuck buddies, no matter how much you deny it.’
He’d fucked up. Big-time. ‘Jayda, I—’
‘I’ll let you get stuck in to work.’ Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she entered her password and the screen lit up. ‘Everything you need is in the folder marked Educational Charity Business.’
She didn’t look at him as she headed for the door. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
He should call her back. Apologise. Explain.
But he’d avoided confrontation his entire life. Witnessing it on a daily basis, living through it, had done that to him.
So he let her walk out of her home office and slam the door behind her.
Belatedly realising he hadn’t asked her to help him with the awards night.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JAYDA STRUTTED INTO the trendy South Wharf bar and immediately spotted her dinner date. Not that this was a date, per se, but when Ky Gaskin had contacted her late last night she’d immediately agreed to meet him. The fact Brock had spent an hour scouring the software for her business then bid her a brief, impersonal goodbye had absolutely nothing to do with it.
But it did have something to do with her wearing a fitted sheath in the deepest purple with a V neckline and capped sleeves that made her look and feel sensational. She’d blow-dried her hair to sleek perfection and applied smoky eye make-up, with a lipstick to match her dress. She looked bold, confident, and at complete odds with how uncertain Brock made her feel.
She hated that he had the power to play into her softer side, the side she’d strived to hide under a confident veneer the last few years. Having him open up to her and reveal vulnerabilities about his upbringing had made her want to cuddle him and not let go. He must’ve seen some of that urge to protect on her face because he’d pulled away so fast her head had spun.
