Towing the Line

by Nicola Marsh

  I had no idea why I said that, other than the fact I hadn’t flirted in forever. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a date let alone got laid. I steered clear of the students with crushes or the ones who’d do anything—including sleep with me—to get better grades. And considering I couldn’t afford to go out and party hard, I didn’t meet a lot of women on the social scene.

  God, I sounded like a sad case. I really needed to get a life, outside of the one I had as primary carer for Mum.

  "So you’re hungry too?" she said, her deliberate misinterpretation tempered with a wink. "Because if you think I’m hot, I may think the worst of you and assume when you agreed to have coffee with me, you thought you were getting coffee."

  I admit it. I was a sucker for a woman with a sense of humor. Not only was Dani a hottie—sassy, tall blondes were definitely my type—she liked art and could have a laugh.

  The fact I hadn’t had sex in a long while? Was suddenly all I could think about and my cock agreed.

  "Considering you almost broke my leg, you definitely owe me coffee."

  Her smile made me feel like howling at the moon. A primitive reaction unable to be contained, similar to my sudden yearning to know this woman on every level.

  "Next you’ll be asking me to rub it better." She rolled her eyes. "I’m jetlagged but not completely devoid of common sense."

  Enjoying our sparring immensely, I continued, "Does that mean you’ll be up for some rubbing once the jetlag wears off?"

  "Down, big fella." She elbowed me. "Let’s have coffee." She held up a finger and waggled it at me. "Just for the record? I’m in Melbourne for six months to study. And I’ve sworn off boys in the interim."

  "Good to know." I paused, pretending to think, before giving in to impulse and reaching out to touch her arm. "Lucky for you, I’m all man."

  Chapter 5

  DANI

  I was in so much trouble.

  How pathetic was I that I couldn’t stick to my ‘no guys’ mantra on my first night in Melbourne?

  Then again, Ashton wasn’t just any guy.

  Sitting at an outdoor table at a charming roadside cafe, sipping a perfect latte and staring into his eyes, felt … right.

  Like I’d known him for a hundred years. Like he could see me and didn’t find me lacking. Like I was good enough to be with someone like him.

  "You look tired," he said, pushing a plate of biscotti toward me.

  "If that’s your version of sweet-talk, you need to work on your technique." I took my third piece and bit into the crisp, almond goodness. I was starving and once Ashton finished his obligatory coffee and left, I’d be ordering the biggest damn pizza I could find on the extensive menu.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled adorably when he smiled. "You’re the one who should be sweet-talking me."

  "I’ve already apologized for running you over." I pointed at his coffee mug. "And this is my treat. What more do you want?"

  "You really want to know?" His eyes darkened to ebony as his gaze dropped to my mouth, and I could’ve sworn I flushed from my toes to the top of my head.

  "Uh-huh." I managed to sound flippant as I reached for another biscotti and snapped it in two.

  Way too casual and calm, he dunked his biscotti into his espresso before answering. "I want to know what kind of an exciting life you’ve led to defer your tertiary studies ‘til now."

  I never talked about myself, with anyone. Back home, I’d spent my life honing nonchalance into an art form. No one got close. Ever. But Ashton sounded wistful more than curious and I found myself leaning toward honesty.

  "The truth? I’m a rich bitch with parents who are Hollywood sycophants. We’ve got the Beverly Hills mansion and the lifestyle to match. LA at its best." I hadn’t realized I’d crumbled the biscotti in my hand to dust until I glanced down so I wouldn’t meet his judgmental gaze. "I dropped out of college before I started. Partied hard instead. ‘Til a recent epiphany and here I am."

  I threw my arms wide, hating how shallow I sounded, hating how brittle I felt.

  "Interesting," he said, his tone surprisingly devoid of derision or pity. "Though I was after more of an exposé than the cookie-cutter version."

  I stiffened, startled by his perception. He’d immediately seen beneath my purposefully harsh portrayal of my life and wanted to know more.

  As if.

  Forcing a smile, I raised my cup in his direction. "For that, you’d have to agree to dinner, and I can see you have places to be and people to see."

  "Actually, I don’t." He rested his forearms on the table, strong, lean forearms dusted with a light smattering of hair. "I can’t think of the last time a beautiful woman asked me out to dinner, so if you’re offering, sweetheart, I’m all yours."

  My heart did a weird jive as he added with a smile, "For the next few hours, that is."

  I should go. Cite tiredness and just scram. Not only was I hungry but something about this guy lowered my well-honed defenses in a way that terrified.

  But my stomach rumbled at that moment, he heard and I found myself picking up a menu to scan the dinner specials.

  "Sounds like I’m not the only one with a story to tell," I said, quickly settling on the fettuccini marinara in the hope a decent shot of carbs would calm my tumbling tummy. It had to be lack of food and not a sudden hunger for the intense guy sitting opposite. "How could someone like you not have a date every night of the week?"

  He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at me over the top of the menu. "Someone like me?"

  "Come on, you’re too smart to fish for compliments." I rolled my eyes when he smirked. "Fine. You’re articulate, smart and cute. So the fact you haven’t had dinner with a woman in a while? Must have a story behind it."

  "You forgot hot," he said, beckoning a waiter. "Women tend to go for hot apparently."

  "You’re insufferable," I said, unable to stop grinning as we stared at each other, invisible sparks arcing across the table, and making me wish I’d bolted while I still had the chance.

  "And starving." He gestured at me when the waiter arrived. "What are you having?"

  "Fettuccini marinara, please." With a side serve of Ashton. A huge helping all to myself, to taste and savor … yum.

  "And the linguini matriciana for me," he said, waiting until we were alone again before adding, "dinner’s on me, by the way."

  I shook my head. "Uh-uh. We’d already agreed. I ran you over, dinner’s on me and Clarice."

  He looked set to argue, so I added, "Besides, you’ll shatter my illusion of a tortured, starving artist if you insist on paying."

  He stiffened, and his lips compressed, as I silently cursed my big mouth. Looks like I’d hit a nerve.

  Just when I thought I’d have to cover my gaff with some lame-ass joke, he relaxed into his chair a little.

  "You’re not far off the mark," he said, draining his water glass before linking his hands and stretching, an action that pulled his T shirt up, revealing a sliver of taut, tanned skin that had me salivating more than the delicious aromas wafting out of the restaurant kitchen. "Sorry to say, but I’m an artist cliché."

  Surprised he was man enough to admit to hardship—most guys would rather bullshit than show weakness—I gave him time to continue.

  "I’m a tutor at the uni, and I sell paintings by commission on the side." His mocking tone made it sound like he sold his body rather than art. "Not exactly Beverly Hills standard."

  I snorted. "‘Course not, because you’re actually making a real living, not existing in some fake fantasy world."

  I picked at a piece of fresh bread, peeling back the crispy crust, shocked by the uncharacteristic urge to unburden myself to a virtual stranger. "Where I come from? The world in which I grew up? Is so far from reality it’d make your head spin."

  I’d shredded the bread before I knew I’d done it and I had to sit on my hands to stop from fiddling. "Sometimes it’s good to escape reality, but there eventually comes a point where you
realize there’s more to life than all that shit."

  "And that’s when you board a plane for Australia, right?"

  He had no idea how accurate that was.

  "Yep. The escape artist, that’s me." I smiled, when inside I felt sick at how close I’d come to saying so much more.

  "Nice pun." He studied me, his stare too intense, too perceptive, too much. "So what are you really running from?"

  Everything. But I wisely kept that gem to myself.

  "I prefer to see it as what I’m running toward." I picked up my wine glass and raised it at him. "Here’s to a new city, a new start and a new friend."

  To my relief, he picked up his glass and clinked it against mine. "Maybe if you take Clarice out for another spin tomorrow, you can run over a few more people and make even more friends."

  I smiled. "Why? When the first guy I’ve run over is so damn special?"

  When he smiled back at me, I could’ve sworn the entire street lit up in fireworks.

  "Welcome to Melbourne, Dani." This time when he clinked my glass, his gaze locked on mine and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to.

  Damn, I was in so much trouble.

  Chapter 6

  ASHTON

  This wasn’t me.

  One minute I’d been walking home from visiting Mum, the next I was sitting at an outdoor cafe in Lygon Street, talking and flirting and having dinner with a virtual stranger.

  I should’ve said no when Dani invited me for a coffee. And I should’ve definitely said no when she suggested we have dinner. But I hadn’t been able to refuse for one simple fact.

  She seemed lost.

  Not in the geographical sense, but on an intrinsic level that brought out every protective instinct I had.

  There was something in her eyes … a bleakness, a loneliness, a lack of hope, that called to me, because I knew exactly how she felt.

  Seeing Mum like that today? Really threw me. And made me so damn mad I could punch something. So I’d been stewing instead, railing against the injustices of the world, when Dani had run me over. Fate’s way of telling me to stop being a whiny pain in the arse? If so, fate had damn fine taste, because Dani was seriously sexy.

  "I’ve come to a very important decision," she said, sitting back and patting her stomach. "While I’m here, I’m going to visit every restaurant and cafe along this street and sample their best dish."

  Trying not to stare at her flat stomach—and failing—I said, "Then I’m guessing you’ll be taking Clarice for a long ride every day to counteract the carbs?"

  I’d meant it as a joke. A pretty dumb one when her smile faded. "You sound like my Mom."

  "Sorry."

  She waved away my apology. "Not your fault. Touchy subject."

  Was that behind Dani’s inherent sadness? An eating disorder?

  "My Mom paid a bit of attention to me when I was younger, long enough to tell me what to wear, what to eat and what to play. When I didn’t do as she said, she lost interest." She shrugged. "We lived in the same house but I rarely saw my folks."

  "That’s tough." But not as tough as watching my Mum drink herself into dementia.

  "What about your folks? What are they like?"

  Damn. This is what came of being too buddy-buddy with someone. I wanted to lie, to make up some story to fob her off, but when Dani stared at me with those big, soulful eyes, I found myself unable to formulate a half-truth.

  "Mum was an actress. Never knew my father. Some producer she dated for a short time who left for New York and she never bothered to contact again."

  "Was?" Sadness pinched her mouth. "I’m so sorry, Ash, I didn’t realize she was dead."

  "She’s not, just retired." And that was all I was willing to give. "I’ve got a ton of marking to do tonight. I’ll walk you back?"

  "Okay." Her way-too-astute stare lost some of its solemnness. "We can leave now."

  "But the bill—"

  "Already taken care of when I ducked inside to ask for more water." She stood. "And before that male pride of yours takes a beating and you get all high and mighty with me, just forget it, okay?" She grinned. "Next one’s on you."

  "There’s going to be a next time?" Damned if my heart didn’t leap in anticipation at the thought.

  "Seeing as you’re my only friend in this place, absolutely." When I stood, she slipped her hand into mine, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "And when I say friend, I mean friend."

  She hesitated, gnawing on her lower lip, a perfectly normal action that shot straight to my groin. "I’m done with dating for a while. So while I’m in Melbourne, I’m going to concentrate on my studies." She swung our arms back and forth. "Friends is good."

  Friends was bad. Because what I felt for Dani? Was distinctly unfriendly.

  I wanted to take her back to my place and shag her until dawn. Hot, sweaty, raunchy sex. Complication-free. A simple physical connection to take the edge off this buzz I’d been feeling since we met.

  "Who said anything about dating?" I shot her a sideways glance as we fell into step. "Bonking buddies would suit me just fine."

  I expected her to laugh. I didn’t expect her to stop dead, release my hand and turn to face me, uncertainty clouding her eyes. "Is that the same as a fuck buddy? Friends with benefits?"

  "Yeah," I said, not sure where this was going and wishing I’d kept my big mouth shut.

  "Hmm …" She deliberately looked me up and down, and I swear it felt like she’d touched me everywhere she looked. "Let me think about it."

  "I meant it as a joke." A half-hearted joke tinged with truth.

  "Too bad." The corners of her mouth curved into a seductive smile that made me want to kiss her senseless. "Because I have a weakness for hot, Aussie artists."

  Before I could respond, she practically skipped ahead, flinging over her shoulder, "Coming?"

  I sure as hell hoped so as I followed, lengthening my strides to catch up with her, increasingly aware I’d do everything in my power to turn my throwaway bonking buddies comment into reality.

  Chapter 7

  DANI

  Hell no. No, no, no, no, no.

  I was not going to drag Ashton inside and have my wicked way with him, no matter how much I wanted to.

  And I wanted. Big time. My body craved him like I’d once craved my next tequila shot. I tingled with it. All over.

  He’d almost succeeded in making me hate him with that casual fuck buddy comment. Until I realized something. A guy who hadn’t had dinner with a woman in ages wasn’t the casual sex type. Which meant one of two things: it genuinely was a joke or Ashton wasn’t interested in being friends with me.

  Considering he’d stuck around and had dinner, it probably wasn’t the latter. We’d talked. A lot. Mostly about college life here in Australia. And art.

  The guy knew his stuff and I found myself hanging on his every word as he enlightened me on the best local galleries to iconic Aussie artists.

  When he’d offered some of his books, had told me to come by his office at the university any time, I’d almost jumped on the table and danced a jig of joy.

  Because for the first time ever, I’d met a guy who was deeper than a shallow puddle.

  And that offer of dropping by his office on the pretext of borrowing books? Meant he did want to see me again, no matter how cool he’d played it over dinner.

  We were almost back to the apartment and stupidly I wanted to prolong this evening as long as possible.

  "So what do you do for fun in this city?"

  He snorted. "I’m the last person to give advice on the latest hot spots."

  "Don’t go out much?"

  "Try never," he muttered, sounding bitter. "Not much time between tutoring all day and painting all night."

  "And you’re having a ball doing it, if your unbridled enthusiasm is any indication."

  We stopped outside my apartment and he managed a small smile. "Bet you think I’m a weirdo recluse."

  He didn�
�t want to know what I thought. Because if I articulated half of what I was thinking right now? He’d run because he’d think I was the weirdo.

  I shrugged. "It’s not so bad being a hermit."

  "Coming from a self-confessed party girl, I think you just insulted me." His lips quirked into an adorable smile. "Trust me, our social lives are worlds apart."

  "Maybe I can convince you to shake things up a little?" Not that I was particularly interested in doing the club circuit in Melbourne. Far from it. But if I played up the clueless tourist angle, Ashton would take pity on me and insist on showing me around.

  I could live in hope, right?

  "I don’t do the social scene." He thrust his hands into his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet like he couldn’t wait to escape. "Thanks for dinner."

  "Pleasure."

  We stood there, a foot apart, awkward and silent and strangely shy.

  If this were the old me back in LA, I’d be all over the guy already. Dragging him inside for a bout of quickie sex, doing whatever it took to stave off the soul-destroying memories that overcame me when I was alone.

  Loneliness was not my friend. But I wanted Ashton to be, and that meant saying goodbye before I did something stupid, like resurrect my old ways no matter how much I wanted to put them behind me.

  I took a tentative step toward him, before thinking better of it. "Just so you know? I like you. And because I like you, I’m not going to do anything more than this."

  Before I could second guess myself, I placed a quick kiss on his cheek. Then I backed away before the warmth of his skin and his subtle masculine scent made me do what I really wanted to do: climb all over him.

  "Dani …"

  I didn’t wait to hear the rest of what he had to say. Because if I stuck around any longer I wouldn’t want him to leave.

  "I’ll see you round." With that, I turned and ran, bounding up the steps to the apartment, fumbling with the keys and eventually making it inside.