by Amy Andrews
“Have I shocked you?”
“Not at all. It’s just that…and this may be because I don’t chit-chat with a lot of women…masturbation isn’t a topic I usually discuss with them.”
“Why not? You discuss it with the guys, right?”
Dex shifted uncomfortably in his seat. All this talk about wanking was having a predictable effect. “Well, we might smack talk about it, but we don’t sit around in the locker room having a serious discussion about how many times we did it the night before.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “How many times?”
Heat rose in Dex’s cheeks as he thought about how often in the last few days he’d tugged one off thinking about Harper. Christ. He’d been like a horny teenager all over again.
“Why, Dexter Blake, I do believe you’re blushing. For a man who unashamedly read one of my private texts, I think it’s a little late to come over all prudish now!”
She was grinning at him, obviously enjoying herself, and he relaxed. As far as Dex was concerned, it was a vast improvement on the shimmer of tears that goddamn text had caused.
And two could play at that game. Clearly they’d both given up on the whole painting lark.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, you want to talk masturbation? I’m up for that. But you’re talking to an expert here.”
Her lips quirked, dragging his gaze south to their full, glossy pillows. “Expert, huh?”
“A Jedi,” he deadpanned.
She laughed, but it was husky, the sound going straight to his balls. “A Jedi?”
He nodded. “Obi-frickin-wan, baby.”
“What makes you think I’m not an expert?”
Dex tried really hard not to think about Harper lying gloriously naked on a bed touching herself. He failed. His cock surged to life, enjoying the visual.
“After all,” she continued, winking at him. “I get to use props.”
Another visual exploded into his brain. Harper gloriously naked on a bed touching herself, a light-sabre shaped dildo jammed to the hilt inside her.
Christ. He really liked her mouthy.
Ignoring the image, he pressed on. “Experts practise every day. When was the last time you did it?”
“Last night,” she said, firing her response without even blinking. “You?”
He smiled triumphantly. “This morning. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”
“Lately?”
No. Every single time. God, he wanted every single dirty detail. But if she was the expert she professed, then that could take a while. He shrugged. “Sure.”
“You.”
Bam! Dex’s cock almost burst through his zipper. She might as well have leaned over and shoved her hands down his pants.
She’d been fantasizing about him when she touched herself.
She grinned then like she knew exactly the affect that little bombshell had on him. “What about you, Dex?” she purred. “What’s in your spank bank?”
“Lately?” he mimicked.
“Sure,” she parried.
“Your ass.”
She frowned, looking unsure of herself for the first time. “My…ass?”
“Oh yeah,” he murmured, his dick twitching. “You have a spectacular ass.”
She frowned as if the statement had genuinely confused her. “My ass?”
Dex grinned at her lack of understand. “Your ass. I think I’ve developed a completely unnatural obsession with it.”
“Oh…” Light finally dawned in her eyes. “You’re one of those guys.”
“Those guys?”
“All about the bass.”
“I am,” Dex chuckled. “I really am.”
“I’ve heard about your sort but thought you were just some kind of mythical beast. Like a unicorn.”
Dex wondered if maybe he should be affronted by being compared to such a girly creature. He’d have preferred dragon. “Oh, we’re real baby. Give me a woman with hips and boobs, thighs you can crack nuts with and an ass I can grab hold of, and I am a happy man.”
“Hmm, that’s funny,” she murmured, dropping her head to the side a little as she inspected him. “None of those women I saw you pictured with seemed to fulfill any of that criteria.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “They’re normally just chicks the WAGS are trying to set me up with.”
“So you’re using them?”
“No. They’re usually using me.”
Dex could say that with absolute conviction. He was polite and gentlemanly. Hell, he was charming. He showed them a good time, and they were more than happy to have their selfies to take to work on Monday morning, or to post to their Facebook pages and imply a hell of a lot more than what had really happened with Dexter Blake, Sydney Smoke front-rower.
Dex didn’t mind. It was all part of the unspoken deal. They had a splash of celebrity, and he got to keep his focus.
“And you haven’t slept with any of them?”
He shook his head. As far as he was concerned, they’d all been very nice, but he’d only ever looked at them as props. A plus-one to an event he had to attend. Dex could put his hand on his heart and tell Harper with complete honesty that he’d never crossed that line.
Even though many had tried.
“Nope. Not a one.”
Her face blanked out in apparent disbelief for a moment before she laughed, shaking her head at him. “Wow. You really must wank a lot.”
Dex laughed, too. It felt good to know that he’d helped banish that stricken look from earlier, even if his brain was slowly dying from lack of adequate blood supply.
A clapping sound interrupted their laughter. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, time to put the paintbrushes down and share your masterpieces with your group.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “So what have you got?”
Dex glanced at the canvas filled with a giant pink mouth. The paint was still wet giving it the glossiness that had kept him awake at nights. It kinda looked like the toddler version of a Rolling Stones album cover.
“It’s no Michelangelo,” he murmured as he spun it around for Harper to see.
Her eyes darted over his offering. “It’s a little pop-artish,” she mused, “but not bad for someone who can’t draw a stick figure.”
Her compliment went straight to his dick. “I had the right inspiration.” Her mouth—her addictive mouth—curved upward into a sexy smile, and that went straight to his dick, too.
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
Dex grinned. He wasn’t so sure about that. She looked pretty damned chuffed with his subject matter. “Your turn. I showed you mine. Time to show me yours.”
She blinked at her canvas as if she was seeing it for the first time. “I’m not sure what it is,” she said after long moments. “It started out as a rainforest but…” She trailed off as she turned the painting around.
Dex took in the visual feast. Rich green leaves of varying size and hue framed the painting. Water droplets sparkled and glistened off some of the leaves, tiny faces and eyes peered out from the foliage. The greenery encroached on the centrepiece that looked very much like the H of a goalpost.
But there was nothing rugby about it.
It looked more maypole than goalpost, with vines of green and gold twisting around the uprights and bright tropical flowers blooming intermittently. A dozen tiny ring-tailed possums hung off the crossbar in varying poses, all clearly enjoying themselves.
It was stunningly detailed. Dex’s gaze scanned the canvas relentlessly, left to right, up and down. Each time, a pair of eyes he hadn’t seen before became obvious, or the bright splash of a flower revealed itself. It was utterly enthralling.
Most definitely lush. The kind of place where he could picture Adam and Eve. Or Tarzan and Jane. Steamy. Primal.
“Is that a goalpost?” he asked when he eventually dragged his eyes off her canvas.
“Yeah. Not sure where that came from.”
Dex chuckled at
her obvious confusion. “I think Freud might have a field day with that.”
“You think it’s phallic?” She inspected the painting again before shaking her head at him. “Of course, you’re a man. You think everything’s phallic.”
Dex smiled, unabashed. “Can I keep it?”
“Oh.” Her mouth formed a surprised, lush O, drawing Dex’s gaze. “Sure, if you want.”
“This is the part where you exclaim that you simply must have my work of art, too,” he teased.
Harper laughed. “But of course.”
“Here, I’ll even sign it,” he said, dipping a fine paintbrush in the pot of black. “You sign yours, too.”
He quickly scrawled Dex the Stud in the bottom right hand corner before presenting it to her. She’d just gone with plain Harper but she’d painted a little heart where the A should have been.
“Oh boy.” She pressed her hand to her breast in faux excitement. “Now I have a signed Dexter Blake original. It’ll be worth a fortune in a few years.”
“Yeah,” Dex snorted. “I’m sure someone will buy it for ten bucks on eBay. Maybe a hundred if we win the premiership.”
“Sell it? Never,” she decried, keeping up her act. “I definitely need a mouth like that in my life.”
Dex’s gaze once again zeroed in on her mouth. “Don’t we all.”
Their eyes locked for a beat or two, and he swore he could hear her breath thicken before the chiming of her phone interrupted them. Harper tensed as she glanced at it like it was a boa constrictor slithering out of her canvas. “Is that her?” Dex asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t look at it.”
“I’m not,” she said, picking up her wineglass and taking a mouthful.
He held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll delete it.”
She shook her head as she placed her glass on the table and picked up her phone. “No need.” She tapped her screen a few times then put her phone down. “Gone.”
Gone, yes. But not forgotten. The lightness of the mood had evaporated. It was hard to believe that they’d been talking about spank banks mere minutes ago.
The coals of anger stirred in Dex’s chest. Harper was gorgeous. She may not fit the screwed-up societal notion of what constituted beauty these days, but to him, she was a fucking goddess. Hell, if he thought he could sleep with her and not want more, he’d be dragging her out of the restaurant right now. By her hair, if necessary.
A primal surge of possessiveness grabbed him by the balls.
“You shouldn’t have to put up with that crap,” he growled.
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
She was putting on a brave face, but the texts had obviously gotten to her. She shouldn’t have to be used to it. On impulse he said, “Let’s do this again.”
Damned if he was going to sit here and watch her crumple when she should be sitting tall, working her assets like a fucking boss.
“Paint?”
He shook his head. “Date.”
“Dex.” Her voice was low and husky, her imminent rejection obvious. “That’s very sweet of you but I’m a big girl—clearly.” She laughed, but there was a brittle edge to it. “I don’t need any more pity dates. I’m fine.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Really.”
The conviction in her voice was solid, and he believed her. She certainly didn’t seem like she was about to fall apart.
But, screw that, he was committed now.
It wasn’t as if dating her—even for show—would be any kind of hardship.
“Don’t you want to get up their noses? Chuck and your stepmother. Just a little bit?”
She smiled and her entire face lit up. “Only for the last thirteen years.”
Dex lit up on the inside. He shouldn’t be doing this. She was the very definition of playing with fire. But Chuck Nugent and the horse he rode in on could go and screw himself. “So let’s do this. Let’s date. Let’s give them something to really get their panties in a wad about.”
“I thought you didn’t date?”
“I don’t.”
“But you’re prepared to”—she smiled—“make the sacrifice for me?”
Dex dropped his gaze to her boobs, lingering deliberately before lifting again. “It’s a tough job.”
Her smile slipped as she eyed him dubiously. “What does dating entail, exactly?”
“We meet socially on a few occasions. Hang out. Have some fun while pissing off Chuck.”
She regarded him for long moments. “That it?”
“You want more?” Dex tried desperately not to think about more. About how addictive more could be with Harper Nugent.
“It’s your plan.” She shrugged. “I just think we need to set the parameters before we decide to go for it. Or not.”
As far as Dex was concerned, he wanted everything. All of her. Spread out on his bed. Plastered against the tiles in his shower. Bent over his dining room table. He wanted her hot and wet and needy. He wanted his name on her lips and the smell of their sex on her skin.
And if this were five years from now, then it’d be perfect.
But it wasn’t.
She was right. He needed to keep his head. If they did this, they needed to establish some ground rules. For himself more than anyone else.
“I think we should keep it platonic.”
Said no sane man in the presence of a goddess ever. Except him, apparently. Jesus, Linc would kick his ass if he could hear Dex now.
“Okay.” She nodded. “So it’s just an evil plan to make Chuck and Anthea spit nails for a little bit?”
“Yep.” Dex grinned. “You got it one.”
“No fucking?”
The question stroked along his dick with all the potency of a physical caress. Why was hearing a dirty word from a pretty mouth such a frickin’ turn-on?
Dex swallowed as he shook his head. “Definitely no fucking. Not that I don’t want to,” he hastened to assure her, in case the words of her evil stepmother were still holding some kind of sway. “Trust me, there’s nothing I want more right now then to strip you out of your clothes, lay you on this table, upend that glass of wine over you and lick it out of every nook and cranny, and to hell with everyone here watching.”
It was gratifying to see her swallow. To see the slight widening of her eyes and the brisk dilation of her pupils. To hear the husky tremble in her voice as she said, “Okay.”
“I just can’t afford the distraction of sex with you, Harper, because…man…” He stared at her mouth. “I have a very bad feeling that I might not want to stop. But…hanging out? That I can do.”
Of course he could. He may still want to relieve her of her clothes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t control himself. Especially when he’d gone to all the trouble of setting the ground rules.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Her voice was still husky, and Dex wanted to beat his chest like fucking Tarzan because he’d managed to turn Harper on just by describing how he wanted to do her on the table in front of everyone.
“Whaddya reckon?” He grinned, raising his almost empty beer bottle. “Want to screw with Chuckie?”
She lifted her almost empty wineglass and tapped it against the bottle. “Fucking A.”
Dex grinned. Now all he had to do was keep his hands—and his tongue—to himself.
Chapter Four
I have a very bad feeling I might not want to stop.
Harper was still thinking about those words two days later as she painted the scales on a mermaid’s tail. The under-the-sea mural dominated the expanse of wall just inside the doors of the ward. Public bathrooms interrupted the flow of the wall, but Harper had framed the doorways with sparkly seaweed, curious starfish and luminescent seashells, making them part of the watery landscape.
The mural was her best yet. Even if she did say so herself.
Octopus’s Garden and Rock Lobster were playing on repeat via her ear buds because there was nothing like mood music wh
en she was painting. It also blocked out the eerie silence of the empty ward, devoid of patients and the hustle bustle of hospital life while she completed the mural. This area would be done early next week, and the ward was scheduled to reopen by week’s end.
So she was alone. With her thoughts. Her very indecent thoughts. Unfortunately, no amount of Beatles or eighties pop could drown out her memories, or the conversation that had played on a loop in her head since Wednesday night.
I have a very bad feeling I might not want to stop.
Christ, the man had almost made her come from that phrase alone. He certainly had when she’d gotten home from the restaurant and she’d collapsed on her bed, reaching into her bedside drawer for some relief from the tingling pressure between her legs. She’d shut her eyes and imagined him saying it over and over as she’d touched herself.
Imagined him lying on his bed, touching himself with those long, slow strokes.
Just as well they were being platonic because if he ever actually touched her with any sexual intent, she’d probably go off like a bloody firework. Just thinking about him now had her body tingling deliciously.
But no. Their dates were fake. For show only.
Absolutely, under no circumstances, did they involve fucking.
God. Harper still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to date Dexter Blake. Even fake dating as they were, it was hard to get her head around it. She just hoped she could keep her head and remember that there was a purpose to their strange little arrangement—messing with Chuck and her stepmum.
Harper smiled just thinking about it. Every time she thought they were crazy, she thought of Chuck’s face when he found out his stepsister was dating one of the stars of the Sydney Smoke rugby team, and a shot of pure evil glee lit up her system like the splashes of glitter paint she’d added to the mural to make the yellow sand of the ocean floor sparkle.
It was hard to believe now how desperate she’d been to like Chuck in the beginning. To have him like her. And she’d been so sure that he did. But then she’d overheard him telling his friend that Harper would squash him if she sat on him.
It had hurt. And crushed all her hopes for having a big brother to look out for her.
