Towing the Line

by Nicola Marsh

  It wasn’t until I slammed the door shut and leaned against it that I exhaled in relief.

  I’d done it.

  Managed to stave off the need to obliterate the memories.

  I should feel good.

  So why did I feel so goddamn bad?

  Chapter 8

  ASHTON

  When I re-read the same paragraph for the fifth time, I pushed away from my desk. I had a stack of essays on Monet to mark and had managed to do three of them before the usual morning rush of students had traipsed through my office.

  But that wasn’t the real reason for my distraction.

  That honor lay with Dani.

  It had been four days since I’d met her, ninety-six hours since our dinner, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  She invaded my thoughts constantly; whether I was listening to self-absorbed students try to sway me with pathetic excuses why their assignments were late or while painting into the wee small hours, I replayed our dinner in detail.

  The way she’d absentmindedly twirled her hair around her finger when she was listening, the way she ate like it was her last meal, the way she looked at me when she thought I couldn’t see: like I was dessert and she wanted to gobble me in one go.

  Which was odd, considering her adamant stance to just be friends. We’d flirted a little, we’d skirted a lot. Skirted around the attraction sizzling between us. Fine by me, because the last thing I needed in my life right now was a girlfriend. Between work and commissions and Mum, I didn’t have time for anything else.

  But for a few hours last Friday evening, I’d actually forgotten the constant pressures weighing me down, and allowed myself to have fun.

  It had been liberating and I’d ended up painting all weekend. Not commissions, but a series of abstracts I’d been working on in my very limited spare time.

  Having Dani as my muse might’ve been inspiring during my downtime, but when I’d entered my office here on Monday morning? Remembering her—how she’d smiled, how she’d held my hand, how she’d kissed me on the cheek - had been a serious distraction.

  I linked my hands and stretched overhead, working out the kinks in my back. As I bent backward, I spied the row of hardbacks on the top shelf. The books I’d offered to Dani.

  I’d been pleased to hear she preferred paperbacks and hardbacks books to research her art rather than the Internet. I was the same, hence my extensive collection.

  The part where I’d invited her to borrow whatever she liked? Had surprised the hell out of me.

  If I had no time for dating, I definitely had no time for a friend. But the fact I jumped whenever a knock sounded at my door pretty much told me what I already knew: that I was looking forward to seeing Dani again, despite all self-talk to the contrary.

  My gaze fell on my laptop next to the stack of papers on my desk and I remembered the countless online assignments I also had to mark. Throw in the five student appointments this afternoon and a deadline on a commission brought forward by three days by a demanding snobby diva, and I didn’t have time to breathe.

  Which didn’t stop me practically bolting to the door when I heard a faint knock.

  I opened it to find Dani clutching a giant bag filled with notebooks and a laptop, her tentative smile hitting me where I feared it most: my heart.

  "Your offer to loan me those books still stand?"

  I nodded and stepped back from the open door. "Yeah, but I’m really swamped."

  "I won’t stay long." Her smile faded and I mentally kicked myself. "Though I can probably only carry a few or Clarice will complain."

  "That’s one temperamental bike." I rubbed my thigh and fake winced. "I hope her dents aren’t as bad as mine."

  "She’s fine." Her gaze pinned me with questions I had no hope of answering. Questions like ‘why the cold reception when we connected last week? Why offer me the books if you didn’t want to see me again? Why are you being such a jerk?’

  Hating how uncertain I felt around her, I pointed to the top shelf. "The books are up there. If you need any recommendations, give a yell."

  With that, I completed my arse-hole act by turning my back on her, taking a seat at my desk and pretending to read the assignment I’d already tried to read several times.

  I heard a stifled snort behind me and resisted the urge to leap off my chair, bundle her into my arms and kiss her senseless.

  Fuck, this was crazy. My body was fairly vibrating with tension, I couldn’t concentrate on anything and I had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.

  When Dani laid a hand on my shoulder, I swear I jumped a foot.

  "What?" I snapped, instantly regretting my abrupt response when I caught sight of her expression: a cross between a deer caught in headlights and a wounded puppy.

  "I’ve got a problem."

  "If you need help getting them down—"

  "My problem is you." She towered over me, arms folded, so I stood, not realizing until it was too late that we were almost toe-to-toe. "I thought you were serious about us being friends but obviously I was wrong. You’re a jackass."

  She poked me in the chest. "And you can take your arty-farty books and shove them up your ass."

  I deserved her derision, and worse. But when I saw a shimmer in her eyes that looked suspiciously like tears, I couldn’t take it anymore.

  I grabbed her arm. "Don’t go."

  She stared at my hand like it was dog-shit she’d stepped in. "Let go of me."

  So I did. But then I did something even dumber.

  I kissed her.

  A no-holds-barred slamming of my mouth against hers, the connection of our lips as sizzling as I’d fantasized.

  I expected her to push me away.

  I didn’t expect for her to combust.

  She went wild. There was no other word for it as she pushed me against the desk so hard my butt dislodged the assignments and they tumbled to the floor.

  I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything bar getting more of this. This incredibly, mind-blowing sensation of hot, open-mouthed kisses that went on forever. The kind of kisses to make me forget all the bad stuff. The kind of kisses that almost made me believe all was right with the world.

  Her hands fisted my T-shirt. My hands grabbed her arse.

  When she writhed against me, pure perfection.

  I throbbed with wanting her. All of her. Me deep inside, her clenching around me.

  She pulled away, staring at me with those big blue eyes that made me want to do it all over again.

  "You’re an idiot," she said, her breathing as ragged as mine.

  "Tell me something I don’t know." I rubbed the back of my neck. Did little for the tension there. "Sorry."

  She snorted. "You can stick that apology the same place as your books."

  A bark of laughter erupted from me. "Guess I deserved that."

  "You did." She folded her arms and I struggled not to stare at her chest. "When I hurt you, I bought you dinner." The corners of her adorable mouth twitched. "So now you’ve hurt me, guess you owe me lunch."

  I didn’t want to spend time with Dani. Especially after that kiss. If I hadn’t been able to get her out of my mind before, I didn’t have a hope in hell now. The less time I spent with her, the better.

  But by the determined glint in her eyes, she wasn’t going to let me off the hook.

  "Can’t I just loan you the books and call it quits?"

  She shook her head. "I’ll see you for lunch at that park near my place today." Her gaze drifted to the top shelf. "I’ll borrow the impressionists text and save the rest for when I want to come by to bug you some more."

  I shrugged. "Whatever," I said, sounding like a six-year-old.

  She grinned, pulled the mini step ladder I had in the corner over to the bookshelf, and climbed up to reach for the book. I’d never been so glad to see her wearing jeans, because if she had a skirt on? She wouldn’t be leaving this office for the next hour. Maybe two.

  "What do you want f
or lunch?"

  "Surprise me." She glanced over her shoulder, a beguiling mix of mischievous and playful. "As long as it hasn’t got anchovies in it."

  "One garlic pizza with an extra serve of anchovies coming up." I liked teasing her, liked seeing the green flecks highlighted in her eyes when she was feisty.

  She snorted and climbed down the ladder. "You better give me your cell number too."

  "You mean my mobile phone number?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Aussie boy."

  "Seeing as you asked so nicely." I held out my hand. "Give me your cell and I’ll program it in."

  I didn’t want to give Dani my number but it would make things easier in the long run. Like if I didn’t want to see her, texting would be better than face-to-face let-downs.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Knowing you, you’d deliberately program a wrong number, so why don’t you just tell me?"

  I laughed. How did she know me so well in such a short space of time? "I could tell you a wrong number too."

  "You won’t." She brandished my textbook. "A geek who keeps hardbacks like this values his books and as long as I have it, you’ll behave."

  "You’re holding my book to ransom?"

  "Yep." She nodded and a strand of long blonde hair clung to her cheek. I itched to brush it away, to twist it around my finger, to bring her within kissing distance again …

  "Just go." I rattled off my mobile number, the real one, needing her gone before I followed through on my thoughts.

  "See you at the park at one." She stuffed my book into her overflowing bag and headed for the door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "What was that kiss about?"

  Damn, I thought I’d gotten away with not talking about it.

  I shrugged. "You’re very kissable."

  Her lips curved into a smile that took my breath away. "I know we’re just friends but for the record?" She fanned herself. "It was frikking hot."

  "Yeah," was all I could mumble as our gazes locked, the electricity arcing between us.

  I could’ve sworn there was a ringing in my ears as neither of us moved, remembering that kiss, yearning to do it again.

  If she made a move toward me, I’d be locking the door and taking her up against it.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she blinked, turned her back and walked out.

  I should’ve been relieved.

  I wasn’t.

  I wanted her more than ever.

  Chapter 9

  DANI

  I wasn’t a patient person at the best of times so when Ashton was fifteen minutes late for lunch I pulled out my cell to check for messages. To belatedly realize he’d given me his number but hadn’t asked for mine.

  "Damn," I muttered, flipping the cell over and over in my hand.

  Fifteen minutes wasn’t all that late. He could’ve run overtime with a tutoring session or got caught up in marking and forgot the time. But as I scanned the park, I had a sinking feeling there was more behind Ashton’s tardiness than work.

  I’d been so freaked out by our kiss I’d skipped my next class—something I couldn’t afford to do—and hunkered down in the library instead. I’d found the quietest corral in the furthest corner, flipped open his book and pretended to read, replaying that kiss in my mind the entire time.

  When I’d told him it was hot? Big understatement. Huge. Because when Ash kissed me? I’d felt … almost whole. Like it was right. Like I could never do anything dumb again as long as I was in his arms and he was kissing me.

  It had been a long while since I’d felt like that, if ever. And I wanted to feel it again. Which meant my stance on not getting involved with boys while I was in Melbourne? Under serious review.

  Ashton wasn’t like the losers I’d hung out with in LA. He was earnest and focused and unflappable. Who knew, maybe someone like him would be good for me. He could be part of my new start on the straight and narrow.

  Yeah, and I could justify anything when it came to moving beyond friendship with a guy who kissed like a dream.

  I waited another fifteen minutes before caving and texting him. I hated those needy chicks that constantly had to know where their men were and what they were doing but that bad feeling in my gut had intensified.

  If Ash had freaked half as much as I had after that kiss, was he standing me up?

  His reply came ten seconds later.

  SORRY. CAN’T MAKE IT.

  That was it. No suggestion of a rain check. No sign off. Nada.

  Helplessness rolled over me, the same kind of helplessness that made me do stupid things back in LA, like getting so drunk I couldn’t remember what I was doing or who I was doing it with.

  I liked this guy. Really liked him.

  The way we’d talked over dinner, the way we sparked off each other, suggested he could make my life in Melbourne over the next six months a hell of a lot easier.

  I wasn’t interested in making a heap of friends while I was here, despite the invitations I’d already had this week. For some unfathomable reason, I gave off a vibe to the party crowd and they’d plied me with invites for anything from pub-crawls to housewarmings.

  I got it; I was the new chick, an American, and that made me cooler somehow. But if I accepted those invitations and started partying in my first week here, I knew I wouldn’t have the willpower to stop and I’d end up spiraling out of control into a lifestyle I’d vowed to escape.

  So I’d stayed in every night. Pretending to study, thinking of Ash. His influence would be good for me. Stability when I was tempted to go a little crazy again.

  So I didn’t fire off an angry message, something along the lines of FUCK U.

  Instead, I took the mature approach.

  OK. C U SOON.

  Short. Sweet. In the same casual tone as his.

  Let him mull that kiss for a while longer. Let him stew.

  Then I’d issue an invitation he couldn’t refuse.

  Chapter 10

  ASHTON

  I shouldn’t have caved.

  Hanging out at Dani’s flat on a Friday night was a disaster just waiting to happen.

  But after standing her up for lunch, I’d felt bad and agreed to meet when she’d sent me a text asking for help with her first assignment.

  Just because I’d freaked over that kiss didn’t mean I had to act like a prick and take it out on her. I was a tutor. If she were any other student asking for help, I wouldn’t hesitate.

  So that’s why I’d come. Why I’d agreed to share a pizza while we worked. Why I was still here, working on the last essay question while she stared at me with something other than study on her mind.

  "Want a beer?"

  "No thanks, I’m right," I said, trying to ignore the way her cotton yoga pants clung to her butt as she bent forward to grab a drink from the fridge.

  Thankfully, I’d averted my gaze by the time she straightened and toasted me with a can of soft drink.

  "I used to do vodkas, follow them up with tequila shots, finish with a few beer chasers," she said, padding toward me, her bare feet barely making a sound on the pocked floorboards. "Now I’m such a goody-goody, I stick to this."

  She raised her can in my direction again as she sat beside me, way too close for comfort. I could smell the fruity soap she used, could feel the heat radiating off her.

  When she put the soft drink down on the table, she turned to me, studying me with a slightly quizzical expression. "What about you, Ash? Have you always been a goody-goody?"

  She touched my arm, the barest brush of her fingertips against my skin, and I felt like I’d been electrocuted. "Or have you also been bad?"

  I gritted my teeth against the urge to shove her assignment off the table and spread her across it.

  "Who says I’m a goody-goody?" I finally managed when she stopped touching me.

  She looked me up and down with a defiance that begged me to differ. "I’ve hung around with enough losers to know you’re one of the good guys."

  Faint pra
ise. "Boyfriends?"

  Not that I should care, but I did. I didn’t like hearing the hint of sadness in her voice, like she’d seen too much, done too much.

  "If you want to call them that," she said, her sorrow underscored with a brittle edge. "Casual. No-one serious."

  She clasped her hands so tightly together I saw her knuckles whiten. It made me wonder which dickhead had done a number on her. And how I could find him to punch his lights out.

  "I screwed up when I finished high school. Didn’t go to college. Then spent the next three years trying to forget how I screwed up by hanging out with dipshits worse than me." Her tone cracked a little at the end and I couldn’t resist sneaking an arm out to slide around her waist.

  A normal instinct to comfort, nothing more. Then why the insane urge to hold her close all night long?

  "You’re here now," I said, sounding way too trite.

  "I guess so." She tilted her head back to look at me and what I saw in her eyes made me blink.

  Loss. Heart-wrenching loss that had left her bereft.

  "What happened to you?" I murmured, capturing her chin in one hand while the other around her waist tugged her closer.

  I didn’t expect her to respond. Dani barely knew me and by the looks of her, she’d gone through some serious shit. Besides, why would she trust a guy who reneged on a friendship and blew colder than the Antarctic wind on a frigid Melbourne day?

  "You don’t want to know," she said, shaking her head so hard her ponytail whipped my cheek.

  I didn’t push her for answers. I didn’t push her away. Instead, I hauled her into my arms and hugged her so tight my arms ached.

  It should’ve ended there. A comforting hug. An apologetic hug from an arse-hole like me to a wounded girl like her.

  But it didn’t end there and I guess I’d known on some instinctual level that the next time we touched following that combustible kiss, we wouldn’t be able to stop.

  She snuggled into me, her nose snuffling my neck and damned if I didn’t get a hard-on just by holding her.