Romance: The Playboy (The Hot Aussie Heroes series Book 3)

by Madeline Ash

  The cram at the counter nudged Alexia sideways. She moved with the flow and asked, “Do you know whether he’s at home?”

  The woman shook her head and jerked a thumb towards a Staff Only door behind the bar.

  So, he had an office back there, the sneak. She raised her voice. “Can I go in?”

  That earned her an appraising gaze. Then the woman shrugged and held up a swipe card between two fingers. Alexia eventually made it to the counter flap and slipped behind the bar. The woman unlocked the door and resumed pouring a red wine with a knowing smirk.

  Alexia slipped through. The door clicked shut behind her, locking her in with silence. Sound proofed and dimly lit. Not Parker’s office, but a short hallway with two closed doors. Investigating the door on her left revealed a staff bathroom. His office must be down the end, she figured, and, with a rallying breath, pushed the door open.

  He was waiting for her. Leaning back in the chair, hands behind his head, his green gaze caught hers as she stepped in. His self-satisfied smile told her that he’d heard her coming.

  Then he noticed her outfit. Surprise lifted golden brows and his hands sank to his lap. “Wow,” he said, openly admiring. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “To whom,” she corrected.

  His lips twitched.

  “Me,” she then answered, crossing the room. “I’ve waited and now you owe me.”

  Parker stood slowly. A sly challenge glinted in his eyes. “Whatever I owe, take it.”

  So she did. Curling her hands in his surf-tousled hair, she kissed him. The hard planes of his body filled the emptiness of her skin, but it wasn’t enough. The sure pressure of his hands stoked the embers in her veins, but couldn’t bring them to flame. Slave to the need inside her, Alexia bound her legs around his waist, taking what he owed and all he offered. Somehow she ended up on her back on the office couch with Parker flush against her side. Parker, the boy who’d confused her in high school. Parker, the man who’d shed his self-importance for a more generous skin. Parker, with an indulgent lift to his lips as he drew back and watched her.

  “So smug,” she managed to accuse as his palm pressed firmly between her thighs.

  “You’re learning.” The words were a gravelled murmur. “I like it.”

  As did she, and even more so when Parker nudged her bikini aside and set about teaching her the pleasure of a lover’s touch. Slow strokes, careful, external, guiding her towards heaven with each motion of his fingers. No rush to get there, but with each leisurely arch and sigh, she drew closer. The weight of his body pressed harder against her side and he hooked her knee with his, drawing her leg wide.

  He kissed her as he pushed inside her, one finger, then another, uncovering a world of slow burns and sensual flares, where every touch was for her and her alone. Alexia’s pulse stuttered as Parker caught her gasps in his mouth, kissing ever deeper.

  “Can’t we both?” she whispered, body yearning for fuller contact. Skin on skin and her pleasure peaking with his. Finding his waistband, she set about freeing him, but his hand covered hers firmly, stilling her efforts.

  He spoke roughly against her ear. “Not now. Just you now,” and gave her no time to argue, no breath to curse his control, for he shifted lower, touched her higher, and with his mouth at her breast, showed her the wonder of all-consuming bliss.

  *

  Alexia’s newfound confidence abandoned her after that. As Parker withdrew his hand, she twisted on the couch, righting her bikini bottoms and keeping her eyelashes low. Warmth weighted her limbs, a sultry heaviness that sank with her into the cushions. He’d touched her so intimately that she’d burst, crying out and contracting around him. He’d felt it, caused it, watched it all.

  He watched her still.

  “Okay?” he asked in a low grumble.

  “M-hm.” She tried to right her bikini top, but all the strings were undone so she settled it in place and lay still. “Thanks.”

  She heard him smile. “Pleasure.”

  Okay, she thought a little desperately. Now what? He wasn’t moving, aside from the fingers running gently up and down her thigh. His knee still pinned her leg down, keeping her thighs parted. Sparks still coursed in her blood, a pleasant flow easing her back to reality. Reality, where within a week and a half, Parker had become her first real kiss, the first man she actively wanted to have sex with, and the first man to bring her to orgasm. Before long, he would become her first lover too, but it would have to stop there.

  He couldn’t be her first love.

  She darted a look at him. “Thanks,” she murmured again.

  He didn’t ask if it had been good. Judging by the lazy glow in his eyes, he just knew.

  “I guess—”

  “I’ve missed you,” he interrupted quietly.

  The sparks went out and reality took full hold. Alexia looked up at the ceiling, dismayed to realise the ache in her chest had dulled in his presence. No, not dulled. It was gone. But missing each other was the first step down a bad road and she couldn’t afford to walk any further. “I asked you not to be romantic.”

  For a moment he lay still. Then he rolled up to sitting and cast a neutral stare at her over his shoulder. “Maybe I want to be.”

  Oh God. She sat up beside him and gathered the strings that had come loose at her back. Her fingers fumbled, tying them too loose once, twice in a row, and he cut in with a gentle frown, tugging the knot tight and adding a bow. His hands moved to the strings at her neck and she shivered at the graze of his knuckles.

  “I like you, Alexia.” She closed her eyes at the cautious way he said her name. “A lot. This is feeling good to me.”

  Panicked, she feigned misunderstanding. “It’s sex. It’s supposed to feel good.”

  His hands stilled at the back of her neck. “I mean us. Being together.”

  Her stomach dropped even as her heart leapt. Why, oh why did it have to feel good to her, too? Affection wasn’t part of her plan. “Don’t, please. You know why I’m here and it’s not for the mess of a long-distance relationship.”

  He finished the knot and let go, lying back on the couch. His absence left her cold, isolated. Nerves spiked down her spine at his silence.

  “I’m going back to LA next Friday,” she reminded him, not looking around. “My life’s there. And yours is here. It’s pointless to even think about more than this.”

  In his continued silence, she assessed the state of her hair. Ruined, but worth it. She tightened a few sagging pins but didn’t attempt to revive the fringe curl as she slipped over Parker’s legs and stood. He remained sprawled on the cushions. Not a breath of movement as her gaze skittered over his form. Less of a languid stretch, more of a prone embodiment of dissatisfaction. Her gaze finally made it to his face. Green eyes stared back, hard with disagreement.

  “Then my thoughts are pointless,” he said coolly.

  “You don’t have to keep going with this,” she said, softer, the ache in her chest striking hard at the thought of not being close to Parker again. “If it’s easier to stop now.”

  He’d hardly moved. Limbs stiff, muscles coiled, fighting the urge to flee from this conversation. “I have limited experience at relationships.” The confession was as rigid as his body. “Haven’t been with anyone who’s made commitment seem like a good idea. I don’t know what made it seem like one now, but I’m sure I can carry on having sex and being alone without an issue.”

  “But if it’ll hurt less to stop—”

  “Yeah, okay.” Parker looked away, smiling cynically. “I try to help you learn what you need to know and then you don’t even sleep with me. That’s just great.”

  Her heart flinched. She stood still, throat suddenly tight.

  His smile had disappeared with his words, replaced by a closed-eyed scowl.

  Along with her other firsts, Parker had been the first and only man to make her cry. Fighting tears, she asked, “Would you like to call me frigid?” Because from memory, “I’m pr
etty sure that’s what comes next.”

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  Parker awoke on the couch in his office. His skin stung as he peeled himself off the leather and sat up. Even without windows, he knew it was very early morning. His surfer’s body clock rarely let him down. He rubbed his eyes and stretched a twinge from his neck, evidence of too long in a bad position. So he’d slept. That was something.

  He was a moron. That was something else.

  He’d finally convinced Alexia that he was a decent human being and then he’d undone it with a single sentence. He couldn’t shake the image of her expression, ashen at his implication that she should reward him with sex for his help.

  He didn’t want that; didn’t believe it. Yet the words had come out of his mouth.

  With a groan of self-reproach, Parker stood. He remembered feeling confused. Panicked that he’d exposed his feelings and Alexia hadn’t reciprocated. Everything after that had been a struggle to regain control, falling through indifference and landing pride-down in spite.

  Hurt had always brought out the worst in him.

  He hurt still. Probably best if he kept to himself until he’d shaken it off. No one liked an arsehole, and he preferred being liked than tolerated now that he recognised the difference. He could kick the hurt the moment he forgot about Alexia.

  Yeah, no problem.

  Dryly, he glanced down at the couch. She’d laid there, skin misted with sweat, eyes closed and body open to him. She’d trusted him, wanted him. He’d taken that trust too seriously and now he was in over his head.

  That was new. He’d always been in control, calling the shots, even if it was by being so fickle he got left behind. This was the first time he’d been at the mercy of a lover’s decision – and he wanted Alexia to choose him. There was no regaining control by flipping the balance; by ending things before she did. He wanted to be with her beyond this holiday. Wanted to see where things went if they kept in touch. Wanted to matter to her. He’d known desire since puberty, but never as concentrated as this need, nor as relentless.

  She had him in the palm of her hand – and he’d bitten it.

  He was such a moron.

  He rubbed his face, pulled at his hair. He’d grab his board and hit the surf. The sea had never judged him.

  *

  “I think I’m getting attached.” Dee had one foot tucked under her bottom on the wicker chair and the other swung above ground. She’d abandoned jeans after their first day, now favouring high-waisted shorts with a loose singlet tucked in. Dark bangs hung below a fedora, black like her glasses, and the brass coin around her neck clinked against her plate as she leaned forwards. “I’m freaking out.”

  After years of not understanding how Dee fell for guys so fast, Alexia was starting to get it. They sat under the eaves of a small café, big breakfasts partially devoured. Last night hadn’t graced either with sleep. Dee because she’d been otherwise engaged and Alexia because she’d been hurt and confused. “Josh is a good guy,” she contributed, only half-listening.

  “He’s amazing.” With a forlorn dip in her bottom lip, Dee stirred sugar into her latte.

  “Could you try long distance?”

  That earned her a sigh. “Long distance sucks the life out of me. I get so angst-ridden, I can’t eat or sleep. The wait in between calls and emails seems like an eternity. I make up stories in my head about what he’s doing, who he’s with. I go psycho. I can’t do it again.”

  The part of Alexia’s mind that had been surreptitiously considering long distance with Parker cursed and gave up. She’d be no different.

  Dee gave a shrug that could have fooled anyone but her best friend and asked, “What about your guy? Done the deed yet?”

  “Not quite.”

  “The suspense is honest to God killing me.”

  Alexia forced an upbeat tone. “Imagine what it’s doing to me.”

  Dee gave her an odd glance and distractedly stabbed at her potato rosti. “Then what did you two get up to last night?”

  Her stomach twisted at the memory of Parker’s touch, followed so closely by an argument. “I found him in his office. And we ended up… well, he – um…”

  “Oh, I get it,” her friend interrupted with a knowing nod. Her blue gaze approved as she chewed. “I like him. He’s taking it slowly. Not everyone’s that patient. And considering how you’ve been pining for him, I’m guessing you made it hard for him to stop there.”

  “I haven’t been pining for him.” And by that, she meant: she wished she hadn’t been pining for him.

  “Alexia, please. You’ve hardly slept. You’ve been distracted and quiet and you dressed up for him, for heaven’s sake. You don’t dress up for guys; you’re too worried they’ll only want what they can see.”

  Alexia pushed away her plate, appetite gone. “Parker wants more than that,” she admitted in a murmur.

  In the early hours of the morning, she’d finally put her hurt aside and accepted that she’d struck Parker’s pride. He said he’d not been in a proper relationship before. Last night might have been the first time he’d hinted at wanting one. The notion fluttered beneath her ribs, leaving her flattered and terrified. She might be the first woman he wanted to keep by his side. Voicing that took courage. And she’d shot him down with a straight-out rejection, not even a ‘maybe’ to soothe his dignity.

  No wonder he’d masked his injured pride with a careless remark. She would have, too.

  “He wants more?” Dee asked, frozen with her hand on her latte glass. “As in…?”

  “He said he liked me a lot. That being together felt good.”

  Her friend pulled a that’s-so-sweet face, but knew better than to say it. “Oh,” she settled for instead. “What did you say?”

  “The wrong thing. Indelicately.”

  “Because you don’t feel the same or wish you don’t feel the same?”

  “Wish.” She shook her head, dismayed. “This was just supposed to be research,” she said in a small voice.

  Dee reached across the table, fingers gripping Alexia’s hand. “Hormones are a bitch,” she said frankly. “And he’ll be your first. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you’ll probably be in love with him by the time we leave.”

  After a long silence, in which Alexia privately acknowledged that she was already halfway there, she murmured, “That’s very bad news.”

  *

  Alexia found Parker surfing at The Pass. It was almost midday, and hollow waves nearing twelve feet gathered from the point, banishing learners to quieter beaches and granting ideal conditions to experienced surfers. With each set, he defied gravity, riding the surf fast and fierce, with no show of coming ashore.

  She suspected he couldn’t outmanoeuvre his demons with grounded feet.

  Alexia stood on the sand and waited. Her sunglasses barely filtered the glare of blue sky, and her broad-brimmed hat and T-shirt seemed to sag beneath the heat and humidity. She drank from her water bottle and buried her toes deeper into the white sand.

  He noticed her eventually. Entirely by chance, because he surfed like the shore wasn’t there, attention rarely leaving the water. He surprised her by coming in immediately. Not quickly, for no one rushed towards their day of reckoning, but he closed the distance no matter that she’d hurt him and that he’d struck back.

  Water darkened the blond of his hair and dripped over muscle. He shone tan in the sunlight, a beach boy from skin to soul. He couldn’t live anywhere but by the sea, and even then it had to be close enough to stumble from bed to breaks before fully waking.

  LA has beaches and surfer culture, she thought as he drew close, avoiding her eyes. He stopped several feet further away than usual, jaw set and guilt weighing from his brow.

  “So,” she said. “Last night seemed eerily familiar.”

  He gave a nod, looking to his left.

  “I rejected you, rather inelegantly. And you got defensive.”

  “I didn’t mean what I said.�
�� Despite his distance those words were firm. “The wanting more part, yes, but not the part about—”

  “I know.”

  “It came out so wrong.” He still wouldn’t look at her. “I want to make love with you, Alexia, and the thought of not being able—”

  “I know.” Alexia moved closer, trying not to let his words touch her too deeply. He didn’t move away and she watched his gaze shift up, settling on her legs. “It was my fault. I was insensitive because I’m scared. I’m out of my depth. I’m falling for you and I can’t. Acting is everything to me – I can’t give it up, but I’m frightened that I’ll fall so hard that I’ll sacrifice it to live here with you.”

  Green eyes snapped to hers, stunned.

  “So,” she continued, praying this would work, “I was hoping we could forgive and forget. We’ll both forget that you want more. And you won’t ask me for more again, because I don’t want to have to say no, and I’ll never forgive you the loss of my career if I say yes.”

  He was silent as he looked at her, gaze tracking across her face.

  “I can’t ask you for more,” he stated.

  She shook her head.

  “I can’t try to convince you to stay.”

  Another shake.

  He ran a hand along the back of his neck. Then he said, “I’m still going to do this right. Until you leave, I’m still going to mean it.”

  Dismayed, Alexia gave a single nod. She had no right to forbid him that.

  *

  To mend the bridge he clearly thought he’d burnt, Parker offered to take her surfing. Alexia rolled her eyes, remarking on his generosity to return to the water for her, but then he walked her to the main beach where the surf was more crowded and the swell was smaller, and she realised it really was for her.

  He asked her to surf a few sets, then return to bob waist-deep in the water, discussing technique and style. He had feedback on everything – posture, wave positioning, wave judgement, and timing – but he explained it well and encouraged her when she exclaimed she’d never get it right. Out she went, time and again, trying to nail the advice he’d given, waiting a beat longer before standing or bending less at the knees. The sun was low on the horizon when she finally called it quits, exhausted, ravenous, and undoubtedly improved.