by Nicola Marsh
She’d called him out on the fact he kept withdrawing from her every time she got a glimpse into what made him tick, in the vain hope he might open up further. As if. It had been incredibly infuriating and rather than push him for answers she’d walked away before she said something she’d regret. Like, ‘Shove your fling up your ass.’
She didn’t back down from confrontations, not any more, but the intensity of her anger had surprised her. She’d wanted to throttle him for trusting her enough to open up one minute, then retreating into callous indifference the next. Typical guy.
So when Ky had texted her ten minutes after Brock left saying he was in town for a few days and would like to catch up she’d jumped at the chance. Not that his invitation was in the least romantic: he’d been dating the same woman in Sydney for the last three years. But she remembered Ky fondly as being one of the few kids of her parents’ friends that she actually liked.
In their teens they’d do bombs in the pool together, sneak vodka from their parents’ extensive bars and play nerdy board games. In a way, she’d been closer to Ky than any of her girlfriends at school because guys were less complicated than girls and didn’t bitch about who had the best horse, the most expensive designer jeans or the biggest tennis court. Or in her case, who had a skinnier ass than her.
Besides, she had an ulterior motive in agreeing to Ky’s dinner invitation. He had a sizeable fortune and she’d need a few good donations to kick-start her charity. He’d always been generous to her parents’ foundation in the past and the fact they’d stooged him along with many others stuck in her craw.
But she wouldn’t think about her parents now. She’d enjoy her evening and try to forget how damn used Brock had made her feel last night. Though he was probably thinking the same about her. He’d barely walked in the door when she’d jumped him, desperate to obliterate how shitty her mum had made her feel.
It was later, when she’d thought they were finally connecting after he’d revealed his family background before he’d shut her out, that made her feel...worthless, a horrible vulnerability she’d conquered but that still reared its ugly head on occasion.
Ky caught sight of her and waved, standing as she neared the table.
‘Hey, gorgeous. You look amazing.’ He enveloped her in a squishy hug that lasted a tad longer than usual. ‘Thanks for meeting me for dinner.’
‘Any time.’
He pulled out her chair and she sat, his manners as impeccable as always. Ky channelled the movie stars of old with his three-piece charcoal-grey suit, slicked-back hair and dazzling smile. Classically handsome, he had always seemed well put together and he reeked of old money. If she were attracted to him at all he would’ve been the perfect partner but, despite her folks’ best efforts to push them together, they’d never had anything beyond a playful flirtation.
Besides, guys as perfect as Ky only served to accentuate her old insecurities: would she be good enough for someone like him? The question didn’t come from a place of self-loathing—she knew she had her good points—but more an ability to see the kind of life she wanted and being some rich guy’s arm candy wasn’t it.
He sat opposite. ‘Hope you don’t mind, I’ve ordered the degustation menu with accompanying wines?’
‘That sounds lovely,’ she said, forcing a smile, hoping he couldn’t see that one of her pet hates was other people assuming they knew what was best for her. If she’d had her way she would’ve chosen a small piece of grilled salmon and a salad, not an interminable six courses of artfully arranged exotic fare. ‘What brings you to Melbourne?’
‘The usual. Business.’ He gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘And to see my favourite girl, of course.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t let Anya hear you say that.’
His expression blanked and his gaze darted away. ‘We broke up.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ She reached out to place a hand over his, where it rested on the table. ‘You two were a power couple.’
He turned his hand over and gripped hers. ‘We drifted apart. Happens to the best of us.’
When he didn’t let go, a sliver of unease wormed its way through her sympathy and she tugged her hand free. ‘You won’t be single for long.’
He fixed her with an intense stare. ‘What about you, Jay-Jay? Seeing anyone?’
Only two people had ever called her that, Sasha and Ky, and hearing the childhood pet name affected her more than she cared to admit. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away, but not before she saw his stricken expression.
‘Shit, I didn’t mean to make you upset—’
‘You didn’t. It’s nothing.’
She breathed a sigh of relief as a waiter approached to fill their first wine glass, a relief short-lived when her mobile buzzed with an incoming message and she saw Brock’s name pop up.
‘Sorry, I need to answer this. Do you mind?’
‘Go ahead.’
She swiped her home screen to open and read Brock’s entire message.
Urgent I see you. Possible glitch with your software.
Jayda’s heart sank. The last thing she needed when she was starting up her charity was any problems but after last night she’d wanted to put some distance between her and Brock.
But this was important...not wanting to give in but needing to hear what he had to say, she fired off a response, asking him to meet her here in a few hours. Dinner with Ky would be over by then and it would remove the temptation of her and Brock getting physical without addressing the problems between them. Namely, that this fling was in danger of becoming more complicated than either of them imagined.
‘Problem?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ She picked up her wine glass and raised it in his direction. ‘Here’s to old friendships.’
‘To us,’ Ky said, clinking her glass softly, his intent eye contact making her a tad uncomfortable. If he was looking for a one-night stand to ease the pain of losing Anya he had the wrong girl.
But over the next few hours he was nothing but a gentleman. They reminisced and laughed and Jayda let her guard down over six exquisite courses of crab arancini, grilled octopus with fennel and saffron, five-spiced lamb fillet, sticky duck with sambal, fondant au chocolat and imported cheeses.
When she took a sip of her dessert wine, savouring the pleasant buzz it gave her, she grinned at Ky.
‘That meal was incredible. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’
She couldn’t read the glint in his steady stare. ‘Fancy a nightcap in my hotel room?’
Crap. She’d let the wine and food and trip down memory lane dull her senses. Her first instinct had been right. Ky wanted to screw.
Struggling to hide her disappointment, she shook her head. ‘Sorry, I’m meeting someone here shortly.’
She shouldn’t apologise. She wasn’t sorry at all. Having one of her oldest friends trying to put the moves on her after lulling her into a false of security really irked.
‘I don’t appreciate you double dating.’ His eyebrows rose, making him look like a supercilious jerk.
‘And I don’t appreciate an old friend wanting a sympathy fuck because his relationship imploded,’ she snapped, regretting her outburst when he reeled back as if she’d slapped him. ‘Look, I’m getting a charity business off the ground and my IT specialist sent me that message earlier saying there could be a glitch so I asked him to meet me here.’
‘I understand.’ He stood and held out his hand, his hangdog expression soothing her anger. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve always made me feel good about myself. You’re fun and sweet and talking to you tonight...’ He shrugged. ‘I guess I wanted to see if we had something more between us.’
‘We don’t,’ she said, her emphatic shake of the head making him laugh.
‘In that case, is it
too much to ask an old friend for a goodbye hug?’
Appeased by his genuine apology, she placed her hand in his. He tugged her to her feet and enveloped her in his arms, his expensive aftershave tickling her nose and she stifled a sneeze.
When he showed no signs of letting her go, she gently disengaged. ‘Take care, Ky, and thanks for dinner.’
‘You’re welcome, Jay-Jay, and if you need a donation for your charity, you know who to contact.’
Pleased their awkward interaction hadn’t affected their friendship, and that he’d opened the door to her approaching him for a donation when she had everything up and running, she smiled. ‘Thanks, I’ll hold you to that.’
He cupped her cheek for a moment and brushed his thumb across her chin. ‘You’re one in a million. I hope you know that.’
Exactly what she needed to hear, from the wrong guy. Stupid, to want more from Brock than he was willing to give, knowing he persisted in holding her at arm’s length. Last night had been the worst, his cool dismissal after finally opening up still stinging despite Ky’s attention over the last few hours going some way to soothe her bruised ego.
He planted a kiss shy of her mouth, before walking away.
Relieved, she turned to watch him go.
Only to find Brock standing three feet away, glaring at her as if she’d made a monumental mistake.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BROCK HAD BEEN incredibly relieved when Jayda had suggested they meet at a restaurant to discuss her IT problems. Until he walked in and saw some sleazy prick touching her, and by how close they were standing before the jerk folded her into his arms, she liked it.
An all-consuming, insidious jealousy made his fingers curl into his palms as he stood there and watched the woman he cared about being held by a creep with greasy, slicked-back hair. He mentally counted to ten before he did something stupid, like cross the few feet separating him and them, wrench them apart and punch the guy.
He’d experienced jealousy before. Growing up, he’d always wrestled with the green-eyed monster when the wealthy kids around him had had the latest video-game consoles, the high-end sneakers, the overseas holidays. He’d had to make do with a second-hand PC he’d repaired himself for games, old sneakers that had pinched his feet when he’d outgrown them and a yearly weekend to Rosebud if he was lucky. But that yearning to have what other kids had was nothing on this out-of-control feeling now.
Thankfully, they pulled apart and he had to watch the sleaze kiss Jayda before walking straight past him. He stank too, his overpowering aftershave making Brock want to wave his hand in front of his nose. Yeah, more petty jealousy and he’d better get it under control before he confronted Jayda.
But she turned at that moment and spotted him, leaving him little time to wipe the bitterness off his face. Busted. Her eyes widened in surprise before a disapproving frown dented her brows. What did she have to be annoyed about? He was the one who’d witnessed some guy pawing her.
Then again, he had no dibs on her. They might have laid out plans for a short fling but stupidly he hadn’t insisted on monogamy. He’d assumed it and felt like a prize ass because if Jayda was sleeping around... As soon as the thought popped into his head he wanted to hit it against the nearest brick wall to knock some sense into him.
If he was the first guy she’d slept with in six years what were the odds of her fucking two guys at once? Non-existent, because he knew she wasn’t that kind of girl. It was his stupid jealousy making him jump to ridiculous conclusions and he’d better get it under control, now.
Crossing the short distance between them, he touched her arm. ‘Thanks for meeting me tonight.’
‘It sounded important, so I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.’ She gestured at the nearby bar, a polished chrome that ran the length of the restaurant. ‘Want a drink?’
He glanced at her flushed face and her sparkling eyes. ‘You sure you want more?’
She bristled and he hated himself for the jibe. ‘Not that it’s any of your business but I had dinner with an old friend I’ve known since we were kids. We had the degustation and accompanying wines so yeah, maybe I’ve had two glasses more than I usually would but I’d appreciate it if you refrained from chastising me like a child.’
So much for keeping his jealousy under control but he didn’t apologise. Not when it annoyed the crap out of him that she’d sat here for hours with that prick, old friend or not.
‘After you.’ He stepped back and gestured towards the bar, gritting his teeth against the urge to touch her. She looked incredible in a form-fitting purple dress that outlined every inch of the rocking body he’d explored in intimate detail.
He’d noticed her make-up looked different too, sexier than usual, when he’d first seen her close up. She looked amazing and he didn’t blame that prick for drooling over her.
He’d seen the disappointment in the dickhead’s eyes when he’d walked past. The guy had put the moves on her and she’d knocked him back. The thought should’ve buoyed him. It didn’t, because the moment he’d seen that guy next to Jayda and felt it like a kick in the guts, he’d known he was in trouble.
Any kind of pretence that she didn’t matter to him, that he’d walk away unscathed at the end of this short-term fling, had just been blown sky-high by the potency of his jealousy.
He wouldn’t feel this shitty if he didn’t care.
The possessiveness that had gripped him when he’d first seen her with that prick...he had no right to feel this way. But now that he’d acknowledged it, albeit to himself, he couldn’t pretend this feeling didn’t exist. It did and he needed to do something about it before he trod down the path to a co-dependent relationship he’d never wanted.
He wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew not every relationship mimicked his folks’ or those of his mates, whose wives carried their balls around in their hip pockets. But for every so-so relationship were nine bad ones and those odds weren’t for him. A ten per cent shot at happiness? No frigging way.
The possessiveness rattled him too because being witness to his parents’ odd marriage, the way his dad treated his mum like a chattel sometimes, ensured he never wanted to view a woman in the same way. Yet that was exactly what he’d felt when he saw Jayda with that dickhead, as if he wanted to stride over, drape his arm across her shoulders and brand her as his.
Not good.
When they reached the bar she perched on a stool, the simple action drawing the clingy material of her dress taut across her thighs. He stared, unable to look away, remembering prying them apart, licking his way up them, before reaching heaven...
‘Do you want something to drink?’
Her brusque tone snapped him back to the present and he met her eyes, not surprised when she glared at him in disapproval. Usually she loved when he checked her out but considering the way he’d left her place last night he guessed she was pissed.
He’d been reeling after revealing too much of himself. Fuck, he’d told her about being poor and his scholarships, about his folks, about the car yard... He’d overshared, resulting in a gut-churning regret that he couldn’t shake. One minute they’d been fucking, the next he’d woken up in her cosy bedroom and wanted to make a run for it. Wandering around her place hadn’t helped. She’d created a home, a warm, welcoming haven that any guy would love to share with her.
Any guy except him, no matter how much he secretly wished otherwise.
He’d deliberately pushed her away citing working on her software and she’d called him on it. He loved her assertiveness and he’d deserved her ire but he’d seen the hurt in her eyes. He recognised it because he’d felt the same way every time he’d approached his dad to ask him to take him to the park to kick the footy, only to be snapped at that he was busy. Or the times he’d ask his mum to read to him, only to be told she had to do some accounts for his father and was too tired after it.
&n
bsp; How had they not seen that their crappy marriage affected him too?
He’d been four when he first sensed something wasn’t right between his parents. Dad had come home from a long day at the yard and sat in his armchair in front of the TV as usual, not lifting a finger to help his mum, who’d worked all day too. She’d dished up a quick dinner, frozen pizza with a salad on the side, one of his favourites. His father had taken one look at the limp pizza and declared, ‘I’m not eating that shit.’ His mum had fled to the bathroom and closed the door but he’d heard her muffled crying.
He’d given her an extra squishy hug when she’d come out ten minutes later, red-eyed, and ignored his dad for the rest of the evening. Not that George had noticed. He’d barely spoken two words to Brock when he’d got home after work.
After that incident, Brock had become more observant, watching for the slightest sign of tension between his parents. There had been many, and it worsened as he grew older. Maybe the years together lowered their respect threshold because by the time he’d hit his early teens his parents’ open hostility had made him retreat to his room the second he got home and only come out for dinner, a sad affair filled with awkward silences and irrelevant small talk.
‘I asked if you wanted something to drink.’ Jayda snapped her fingers in front of his face and Brock shook his head, momentarily off-kilter from painful memories.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Fine, then, I’ll drink on my own.’ Her lips compressed into a thin line, her shoulders rigid, as if she couldn’t stand to be near him. ‘I feel like the biggest, fruitiest cocktail on the menu.’
Considering her eyes glowed too brightly and her cheeks were flushed, that wasn’t the best idea. But he’d already sounded like a fuddy-duddy by verbalising his disapproval for her having more to drink so this time he held his tongue.
She stared at him, one eyebrow raised, silently taunting him to say something, and when he remained mute some of her tension dissolved. When the barman approached she placed an order for a sparkling mineral water with a slice of lemon instead.
