One Wicked Week

by Nicola Marsh

  Brock nodded and shook Duke’s hand again. ‘I’ll mention that we met.’

  Brock opened the door and waited until Duke stepped inside before asking, ‘Do I really look like my dad?’

  Duke’s face split into a wide grin. ‘Spitting image.’

  Brock mustered a smile, watching as Duke swaggered towards the function room. He needed to head back inside too. He’d been a rude prick leaving Jayda to fend for herself. But rather than clearing his head outside, running into Duke had only served to muddle him further.

  If he’d misjudged his parents, what else was he wrong about?

  Deliberately pushing Jayda away when she got too close was fast becoming trite; and he’d used his parents’ crappy marriage as an excuse to do it. But what if he’d scrabbled at excuses, desperate to latch onto whatever psychobabble bullshit he could, in order to protect himself?

  Lots of kids had crappy upbringings and went on to become well-adjusted adults in happy relationships. But he’d become entrenched in his point of view, happy to blame others for his own emotional failings.

  Reconnecting with Jayda had made him realise there could be something to this relationship malarkey after all. She grounded him when all he craved to do was take flight out of fear. Fear of allowing her to get too close, fear of failing her, fear of messing up the best thing to happen to him.

  Maybe he needed to confront Jayda and tell her half of what he was feeling?

  It sounded like a plan. But first, he had to get through this awards night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘WOULD YOU LIKE to dance?’

  Brock’s whispered invitation in her ear made Jayda’s skin pebble. Thank goodness this dress had padded bra inserts otherwise she would’ve given the entire ballroom an eyeful of rigid nipples poking through the satin. Not a good look when she’d already caught some of the older gentlemen peering at her cleavage.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said, glancing up at him as he pulled out her chair and she stood, taking his offered hand. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I needed some air.’ He tugged her close to murmur in her ear. ‘Pat’s aftershave smells like rotten seaweed.’

  She whacked him playfully on the chest, allowing herself the luxury of letting her hand linger against it. ‘He smells fine and you’re a terrible liar.’

  ‘Guilty as charged.’ He released her hand and held up his in mock surrender. ‘Now let’s take a whirl around the dance floor before I change my mind.’

  And miss the chance to be in his arms? Not bloody likely. As they wound their way through the tables Jayda noticed the women casting covetous glances at Brock. She didn’t blame them. But she did square her shoulders and stand a little taller, revelling in his hand in the small of her back, proclaiming her as his.

  Something had seriously freaked him out ten minutes ago and she’d stifled the urge to go after him when he’d bolted. She’d wanted to, boy, had she wanted to. But Brock had been rattled since she’d met his folks earlier and she didn’t want to push the issue.

  Besides, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had him in a funk. His parents had thought they were a real couple and he didn’t want that. It saddened her that the mere mention of it had him in this much of a tailspin, but in a way it was the reality check she needed.

  They would never be anything more than a fling.

  The sooner her impressionable heart got the message, the better.

  As they reached the dance floor the band struck up a ballad from the nineties and Brock grimaced. ‘The music is as corny as the ancient suits most of these dudes are wearing.’

  ‘I like ballads.’ She stepped into his arms, pressing her breasts against him as she gazed up and batted her eyelashes. ‘Don’t you?’

  He grinned and pulled her closer. ‘I’m developing a distinct liking for them.’

  He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. ‘Especially when I get your luscious body up close and personal like this.’

  She gave a little wriggle, noting his sharp intake of breath. ‘We’re in a public place. Behave yourself.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ He pressed his pelvis against hers and she bit back a groan as his boner rubbed against her. ‘But you’ll need to back off a bit because this is what you do to me.’

  Holding the power to turn him on usually made her feel invincible. Tonight, she couldn’t help but wish he wanted her for more than her body.

  ‘Fine.’ She took a small step back, instantly missing the warmth of him pressing against her. ‘I believe you promised me a dance?’

  ‘I did.’ He took one of her hands in his and placed his other in the small of her back, an innocuous gesture that never failed to make her feel special. His palm burned through the satin, branding her.

  When Brock touched her like this, in a non-sexual way, she dared to dream. What would it be like to have him in her life for more than two weeks? What would he say if he knew she trusted him as she trusted no one else in her life? What would he do if she told him the truth, that she might have come a long way from that insecure girl who’d clung to him one fateful night after revealing too much of herself, but their connection now was so much stronger and she wanted more?

  She might have dwelled on grad night for years but what they had now blew that out of the stratosphere. Phenomenal sex, mutual admiration, teasing banter and laughs: a lot of relationships started with less.

  As if sensing her wandering thoughts, he eased back a fraction and glanced down at her. Their gazes locked and she fervently wished he could read half of what she was feeling. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but when he pulled her close and gently guided her head to rest on his chest, she knew that she couldn’t walk away without telling him how she felt.

  She’d regret it for the rest of her life.

  When Sasha had died she’d been devastated, plagued by a host of ‘what-ifs.’ What if she’d confided in her big sis about her innermost fears? What if she’d told her how she resented her perfectness and how it made her feel second best? What if she’d told Sasha she loved her even while being eaten away by jealousy?

  She’d hated those ‘what-ifs’ because they’d echoed through her head on replay all through the funeral, the memorial service and every day for years, when her parents had done their utmost to make her feel as if she could never fill her big sister’s shoes.

  No way in hell she’d make the same mistake with Brock.

  She’d tell him how she was feeling and if he chose to walk away, so be it. His heart thudded beneath her ear and as they swayed in time to the music she willed herself not to cry. This felt too good, too right, too much. Being in his arms made her feel cherished and she liked it too much to be good for her.

  The song ended all too quickly and he drew back, placed a finger under her chin and tipped her head up. ‘I want to get out of here so badly.’

  ‘We have to stay for main course but we’ll skip dessert,’ she said, wanting to leave too but knowing the news would filter back to his father that they’d left early and he’d be disappointed.

  ‘Deal.’ His gaze roved her face, as if searching for clues to her sudden quietness.

  ‘You should talk to Pat. He knows your dad quite well.’

  Shadows clouded his eyes and a tiny vein pulsed at his temple. Yeah, Brock definitely had Daddy issues. She knew the feeling.

  ‘Let’s get back to the table. The faster we eat, the faster we get out of here.’ Sounding gruff, he cleared his throat but when they reached the table, she saw him cast a speculative glance Pat’s way.

  Pat appeared overjoyed to have Brock back and topped up his wine glass, even though Brock hadn’t touched it yet.

  ‘Jayda is a delight,’ Pat said, raising his glass in Brock’s direction. ‘You’re a lucky man.’

  ‘I am.’ Brock picked up his glass and clinked Pat’s while shooting her a sma
ll grin she had no hope of interpreting. ‘Very lucky indeed.’

  ‘And about to get luckier,’ she murmured, resting her hand on his thigh and inching her fingers upwards.

  He flexed his muscle and slid forward a little, meaning her hand ended up inches away from his sizeable inches. His eyebrow arched in provocation, daring her to touch him, but her teasing only made her squirm with need so she gave him a quick squeeze and removed her hand.

  Pat, oblivious to the sexual tension arcing between them, beamed. ‘How’s George? Is his hip healing?’

  ‘He’s doing well, off to rehab next week,’ Brock said, with the slightest inflection in his voice. Only Jayda would’ve noticed because she’d heard the same tightness every time he’d mentioned his dad to her before. ‘He wishes he could’ve been here tonight.’

  Pat nodded. ‘Your dad’s a good guy, most of the time.’ He swirled his wine and took a sip, his ruddy expression indicating he’d had more than enough. ‘I’ve known him for a long time. Used to be a bit of a prick, especially to your mum, but I guess you already know that?’

  Jayda struggled to keep her expression impassive as she shot Brock a concerned look. He sat rigid, his jaw clenched, his face shuttered.

  Oblivious to the tension, Pat took another sip and continued. ‘To their credit they’ve stuck it out and he’s well respected in our industry. Never rips off his customers. Happy to refer people to other yards if he doesn’t have what they’re after. And has softened towards your mum, having a good word to say about her these days.’

  Brock remained still but the pulse of a vein at his temple indicated he wished he could be anywhere but here with his family’s issues being laid bare by a garrulous old man. ‘They’re a good team now, always looking out for each other.’ Pat’s mouth downturned. ‘A lot of broken marriages in this business but those two are like this these days.’ He intertwined his fingers. ‘After the ups and downs they’ve withstood, good luck to them.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Brock said, but he looked shell-shocked. He cast a quick glance at the main doors and Jayda hoped he wouldn’t bolt again. This time, she wouldn’t let him.

  ‘Anyway, enough of my ramblings, let’s make a toast.’ Pat raised his glass in the air. ‘To those lucky bastards and their better halves.’

  Jayda smiled and clinked glasses with Pat but while Brock did the same the haunted look in his eyes worried her. If she had a fraught relationship with her folks, it looked as if Brock had a host of conflict with his.

  Hopefully he’d trust her enough to tell her. If not, she knew exactly how to distract him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  BROCK HAD BEEN in a tailspin since this godforsaken evening had started and the out-of-control sensation hadn’t let up since.

  Desperate to obliterate the questions reverberating through his head, he struggled not to break the speed record between the function centre and his place. But he did turn up the music, his state-of-the-art sound system drowning out his thoughts and anything Jayda might have to say.

  From the expression on her face, it would be plenty.

  She wanted to talk. Even now, he could sense her casting sideways glances his way, as if she was trying to size up the situation. In response, he tapped at a button on the steering wheel, notching up the volume.

  He wanted to talk but he couldn’t, not until he’d processed all he’d learned during that interminable function, starting with how his father’s cronies revered him and ending with how his mates admired him for changing.

  He’d witnessed his folks sniping and bickering for years behind closed doors, guilty that they stuck together because of him. The harsh put-downs, the derisive glares, the frigid stares, he’d seen them all. He’d thought his parents despised each other. But to learn others had seen it too shocked the hell out of him.

  Even more surprising, while Duke and Pat had alluded to his parents’ problematic marriage, they’d also painted a very different picture of George and Bette more recently, which gelled with what he’d observed. It confused the hell out of him. Had he been so self-centred that he hadn’t noticed the changes? Sure, they rarely spent time together but he should’ve seen something... This whole business made his head ache and he needed a distraction.

  Luckily, he had a luscious, beautiful distraction sitting next to him and the minute they entered his penthouse he wouldn’t have to dwell on his bizarre evening or the revelations regarding his folks any more.

  He didn’t need anyone as a rule but tonight he needed her.

  Being a loner had served him well. Not depending on anyone meant he had low expectations of people and avoided disappointment. But tonight was the first time in a long time that he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be...held.

  That couldn’t be right. He wanted to fuck. Yeah. Cuddling was for sooks. A deeply buried memory rose unbidden. He’d been five and tripped over a hubcap at the car yard, landed heavily and sliced his knee open. The blood had freaked him out more than the cut and he’d run screaming into the office and into his mother’s arms. She’d gathered him close and smothered his face with kisses to distract him while she’d dabbed at his knee with a tissue. His dad had marched into the office, bellowing about his screaming scaring off a customer. George had taken one look at his knee, at his mum comforting him, and sneered, ‘Cuddling is for sooks.’

  Was that the first time he’d started to hate his dad?

  His fingers clenched around the swipe card to the underground car park as he held it up to the scanner and the metal grate slowly slid up. He hated that his thoughts of a moment ago had once again echoed his father, reminding him it could be time to acknowledge their similarities when he’d spent too long accentuating their differences.

  He parked and turned off the engine, the sudden silence making him aware of exactly how loud he’d had the sound.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me how loud that was?’

  She swivelled to face him, her compassionate expression surprising him. ‘Because you needed to drown out your thoughts.’

  Was he that easy to read? He didn’t need this on top of everything else. Her understanding had the power to undo him completely when he was feeling this vulnerable.

  Scowling, he got out of the car and rounded it to open her door. He didn’t offer his hand. He couldn’t touch her, not when he wanted to hang onto her so badly and never let go.

  ‘You could take me home if you want to be alone,’ she said, even her calm, well-modulated tone driving him nuts.

  She had no idea how torn up he was inside, how out of control. But as she pinned him with a direct stare, maybe she did. Was she that intuitive she was giving him time to process? Most women he knew, including his mum, wouldn’t let their curiosity lie. They’d harangue and harass, bugging him with questions. Yet Jayda hadn’t done that, despite his bizarre mood that must have her wondering what the hell was going on.

  In that moment, he fell harder for her. Here was a woman who matched him in every way. She enticed him and challenged him and understood him. She was sweet and genuine and caring, which meant he’d never put her through a long-term relationship with him.

  Brock knew he was incapable of giving a woman like her what she deserved. His inherent fear of growing complacent and making a woman hate him ran bone-deep. And of all people in his life he’d never forgive himself if he eventually drove her away because of his emotionally stunted problems.

  He needed to get this night back on track.

  Starting now.

  ‘Does this feel like I want to be alone?’ He grabbed her hand and rubbed it against his cock, desperate for the distraction of sex.

  Her eyebrow arched. ‘Here?’

  ‘Too many cameras,’ he muttered, holding onto her hand and not letting go until they reached his penthouse.

  As they stepped out of the elevator and the doors slid shut, Brock spun to face her.
His heart pounded as he saw the questions in her eyes and before she could speak he backed her up against the wall.

  ‘Hard and fast okay with you?’

  He rested his forehead against hers, hoping she couldn’t absorb his tumultuous thoughts.

  Her soft breath fanned his lips as she whispered, ‘It’s okay with me—’

  He covered her mouth with his, desperate to taste her. From the second her lips parted and her tongue swept into his mouth, he forgot every single painful memory of the evening and focussed on her. Only her.

  Untying the knot at the back of her neck so the halter left her glorious tits bare.

  Unzipping the dress and savouring the hiss as it slid down her body to pool in a black slick at her feet.

  Undoing the tiny knots at her hips that held her lace panties together, almost ripping the flimsy material in his haste to get to her.

  Unravelling completely as he slid his fingers between her slick folds to find her ready for him, her clit swollen and her pussy drenched.

  As he toyed with her clit, she unzipped him, squeezing his cock as she freed it. Pleasure shot to his balls and he groaned, palming her ass as he lifted her. She knew exactly what to do as she wrapped her legs around him and guided his cock to her pussy. He slid in to the hilt and she gasped, wrenching her mouth from his so she could look him in the eye.

  It was too raw, too honest, but he couldn’t look away as he withdrew and plunged into her. Over and over. Her tiny gasps of enjoyment spurring him on as the friction of her tight pussy drove him towards the mindless release he craved.

  She hung onto one of his shoulders as her other hand slid between their bodies and when she touched herself he went a little crazy, pounding into her so fast he grew light-headed.

  ‘So good,’ she murmured, her hand moving faster between them as her panting increased.

  He felt her pussy tighten around his cock and when she bit down on her bottom lip a moment before stiffening and coming apart on a keen, he let go. With a final thrust he came, his back spasming with the intensity of it.