by Madeline Ash
Her lips curved as she slid the novel back.
“What’s your genre of choice?” He crossed his ankles, resting an arm along the back of the couch. “I’ll recommend something.”
“Don’t have one.”
He took that to mean she read anything, rather than nothing. He liked that.
“Neither do you,” she said, finger trailing across sci-fi and literature, old textbooks and thrillers. Then she ran the thick of her thumb across her forehead and faced him. “God, I forgot how hot it gets here. I didn’t pack any summer clothes ’cause I wasn’t thinking straight before I left. And to be fair, it was snowing outside.”
Snowing? Incomprehension floored him. “You travelled from the northern hemisphere to stay here for a few days?”
Guardedness flattened her features as she nodded.
Right. Dee was onto something. This wasn’t about a few days’ rest, but Regan hardly looked inclined to let him in on it. So back off. Time enough to figure it out.
“That’s a long flight,” he commented, poking at the game console with his toes.
“Sure the hell was.”
“You jetlagged?”
She relaxed a little, shoulders slumping. “So badly.”
Felix stood, patting his front pockets before glancing around for his wallet. “Let’s go out to eat now, so you can get to bed.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “But it’s not even six. You can’t be hungry.”
“This stomach can eat anytime.”
“Oh,” she said again. “Well, yeah, that’d be great. Is this top okay for public display? It’s what I usually wear to bed.”
Felix allowed himself a swift glance, as if he hadn’t already memorized its majesty. “Should be fine.”
She’d taken two steps before she nailed him with a suspicious glare. “If Stevie’s waiting for us there, I swear to God—”
“She’s not.” He swiped up his wallet and keys. “Promise.”
Cautiously, she started towards the door. “Thanks.”
“What can I say?” He smiled wryly as he eyed the rectangular bulge in her back pocket. “You’ve still got my phone.”
The pub was around the corner, a trendy urban place with bare brick walls, recycled timber tables and vintage light bulbs hanging from a high ceiling. Gold tinsel looped around table edges and staff brightened their black outfits with Santa hats. It was a bustling, Friday evening with tables in high rotation. An air conditioner was mounted above the bar, likely busting its system, trying to conquer the heat, but not doing much more than adding its drone to the din. The air was just shy of stifling, thickened by too many people in a summer-heated space.
Regan hesitated in the doorway, on her guard stomach locking tight. It didn’t matter that this was Melbourne, a relatively safe city, or that the night was still young. There were always people who’d had a few too many. Men who saw women as opportunities. She’d been to a lot of pubs in her time and they always dragged the same response from her.
Don’t mess with me.
“Table over there,” Felix said, pointing to a two-seater against the wall. She nodded, bristling at the looks she deflected along the way. The table was high, some hipster invention, and she had to use the bottom rung as a step to get onto the stool.
When she looked up, Felix was grinning at her.
“Shut up,” she said, heart tripping at the charm of his smile.
“You just don’t act short, so I forget.”
“How do I act?” she asked. “In one word.”
“Indeterminably.”
She frowned. “That seems like cheating.”
“Sometimes not knowing the answer is the answer,” he said, amusement still tugging at his mouth as he looked to the chalkboard menu on the wall. He was geek chic, she saw now, fitting right into this place. Slim-framed glasses, subtly-styled short brown hair, and an undeniable allure that sprung from a hot body and powerful mind.
And man did he have a hot body. Her thoughts tumbled back to his bare chest—lean, toned, strong with muscle—and her stomach locked instinctively, clamping down on the heat that stirred low and curious; giving it no choice but to slide lower still and cling tightly between her thighs. Heat to match the energy that had rippled off him back at the apartment. She imagined he thought himself discreet, but Regan knew when she was being watched. Usually she hated it. But his appreciation had set off a new reaction.
She’d awoken.
Felix’s gaze had been steady, searing. She’d felt the masculine call of his sprawl on the couch, his arms and knees flung wide. Going against her every instinct, Regan’s body had purred right back—a rumble that started at her core and rolled outwards, pulsing along her limbs and vibrating through her veins. His attraction made her feel edgy, needy.
She hadn’t needed anyone before. Regan shifted on the stool, disturbed as she realized that was the kind of person she wanted to become. Someone who needed other people.
If only she could envision that working out.
Felix was still reading the menu. “What do you feel like?”
“Chips. Fat. Salt.” Comfort food, because maybe carb loading would help her endure the chasm that was her future. “Nachos,” she decided.
“Well, start with this”—he slid the salt shaker towards her—“and I’ll go order.”
“Funny.” She slid it back and jumped down from her stool. “I’ll go, my shout. What do you want?”
An uncomfortable crease spread over his forehead. “Uh—”
“Don’t even,” she said, hand fisting on her hip.
He sighed. “But I just want to assert my God-given right to pay for your meal, since you are so obviously of the dependent sex.”
“Stealing my sentiments and my sarcasm,” she muttered, lips curving. “Gotta watch you.”
His smile reached his eyes and, somehow, her heart. Her pulse skittered.
“Do you have enough Aussie dollars?”
The bank had been her first stop this morning. “Yeah.”
“Then I’ll go the steak and veggies. Thanks.”
No wonder he was ripped. “If you think you can nick my nachos, think again.”
“You won’t miss a couple of corn chips.”
“Yet I suspect you’ll miss your fingers.”
“I’m revising indeterminable,” he said, “to hard-arsed.”
She had to work not to grin as she headed to the counter.
They waited in silence for their meals, with Regan trying to ignore the lean muscle on Felix’s forearms and the half-smiles he gave whenever they met eyes. Hers arrived first. He insisted she start while he went to the bathroom and only then did she notice how safe she’d felt in his company. The instant he left the table, the room opened up around her. Laughter, talking, chairs scraping across the concrete floor—the general noise and activity of a crowded space.
She was silent, still and alone, and everyone could see it.
Regan drew the bowl close, shoulders back and shutters drawn.
The front door pushed open and a group of young men strutted in. She knew the type. Private school boys turned uni louts, skipping their education in favor of a pub crawl. Probably studying medicine, majoring in cranial rectal inversion. She kept her eye on them, mentally ushering them down the far back of the pub.
Don’t mess with me. Unease scooped through her stomach. Please.
“Here, guys.” One had stopped, pointing to the table opposite Regan. He’d spotted her, damn it, strolling in behind the lads in a snappy shirt and tie, knee-length shorts and flip-flops. His pretty-boy lips curved as he looked at her, sensing a closeness in age and mistaking it for a chance. “Siddown and I’ll be back in a sec.”
The guys followed his stare, and sat with no shortage of smirks and jabbing elbows.
Here we go. Regan shifted on the stool so he got more of her shoulder and less of her face.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He stopped beside the bench, body sinking slightly s
ideways, eyes shining behind half-closed lids. The lazy stud approach.
She didn’t answer. Just shoved a pile of nachos in her mouth and raised a brow at him.
“I’m Levi.”
“And I’m not interested.” She spoke around the chips.
It was heartbreaking how rarely that worked.
Levi smiled. “Aw, come on. Give me a go.”
“At what?” She kept her stare blunt. “Me?”
It would have been generous to assume the alcohol made him nod. But she never felt generous towards a man trying to persuade her onto his crotch.
He leaned his forearm along the tabletop. “You’re too pretty to be here by yourself.”
“I’d be flattered if I didn’t think you’d pull that line on a hole in the wall.”
His mates responded uproariously, spilling back in their chairs like skittles collected by a ball. Levi’s jaw dropped and he set a hand to his chest, feigning insult. The sparkle in his eyes seemed to believe she was flirt-teasing, but the long glance he gave her breasts said he wanted to do more than chat her up.
“I’ll buy you a drink,” he said, sliding his forearm closer.
“How about you buy it and pour it over your own head,” she said, tugging out another corn chip drenched in salsa. “Save me the hassle.”
“Feisty,” he commented, approving.
“Feisty on the outside, but on the inside I’m really just a lonely girl wanting a short and unsatisfying one night stand.” She gestured towards him. “Which makes you perfect.”
“You like to make this hard, don’t you?”
He didn’t seem to have the mental alacrity for mockery. So she stopped making it hard. “Even plastered, I won’t let you touch me.”
Most guys backed off at that. Called her a name and decided she wasn’t worth it. But some of them took rejection as a challenge. Determination glinted in his entitled stare and her insides sank. God, she was so sick of having to fight to be left alone.
He leaned in, not smiling anymore, and the stifling heat of the pub suddenly became unbearable. She took shallow breaths as he said, “I came over here because I thought you looked all right.”
“Is there someone I can call to help you through the disappointment?”
One of his mates called out, “Bitch.”
She looked over, ostensibly to glare, really to gauge whether they’d be likely to gang up. They looked more inclined to give Levi crap than take anything out on her.
He smirked, looking her up and down. “You’re messed up.”
She’d be the first to admit it. But not to him. She met the blue eyes that weren’t so pretty with all that hard resentment. “Leave me alone. No doesn’t mean yes, no matter how hard you push.”
“Stupid feminist,” he muttered, turning back and sliding in beside his mates.
Regan returned to her nachos with a weary ache in her chest. It never ended. Alone in the world, she was constantly engaged to fight, shield up, with her vulnerability locked tight away. Locked up like an abused animal, caged and ignored.
She knew that, in itself, was part of her problem.
Across the bar, she noticed Felix emerge from the bathroom. He really did fit in here, another sharp, young local who looked like he was going places. Regan shifted, inadequate. She might have clocked more kilometers than most people her age, but her life was as inert as the day she’d run away.
He smiled as he sat opposite her, placing two beers on the table and sliding one towards her. Then his attention dropped. “Oh. Wow. I’ll order you another bowl.”
“No, no.” She’d been stress eating. And no wonder, with the boys sniggering loudly at Felix’s return. She ignored them. “I’m fine.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah,” she said, as his meal arrived, along with a side of chips.
“Now I get it.” Felix nudged them towards her. “More to come.”
Plucking out a chip, she nudged it back. “Nah. They’re for you. It’s Christmas. Live a little.”
He looked surprised. “Careful. Your secret might get out.”
“What?”
He smiled as he dived in. “You’re a softie.”
“Shut your mouth.” But the smile she gave back came easily.
“So,” he said, cutting into his steak. “How do you usually celebrate Christmas?”
An idle question, passing the time. She stared over his shoulder and gave an ostensibly idle answer. “Driving on the ice roads.”
Everything about him went still, cutlery hovering mid-air. “Sorry?”
“I drive trucks on the Canadian ice roads through the winter.”
“You what?” He looked aghast. “You mean those routes that aren’t roads at all, just—”
“Ice?” She raised a shoulder, picked up her beer, and resumed staring passed him. “Yep.”
“But.” He shifted, leaning closer over the table, tension radiating from his shoulders. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
She took a long swig. “Yeah.”
“I mean seriously dangerous.”
“Yes.”
The risks hadn’t mattered at first. So what if her truck could skid off the road, jack-knifing or tipping off a mountain side? So what if her truck could break down, taking the heating with it and resulting in blood-freezing temperatures and nonnegotiable death? Escaping had been more important and the job had beckoned like light at the end of a seriously messed up tunnel.
No education or prior experience required. She just had to be eighteen and then the company would fly her across the world and train her to do it.
Reality had set in pretty quickly. During her first season, she’d been blinded by a heavy blizzard, almost swerving off into the cruel terrain. Once the storm cleared, she’d come across a truck that had done just that. The driver hadn’t survived.
After that, she’d held the wheel tighter and taken up a coffee addiction. It wasn’t unheard of for a driver to fall asleep behind the wheel, taking their own life and that of an oncoming driver along with it. But that wasn’t going to be her, no way. She just wanted to keep driving, because even with the risks, she was safer on her own. She was away from people and they were away from her. Besides, driving the rigs almost made her feel like she was going places.
She’d managed to block the biggest nightmare of every trucker on those routes—hearing the soul-shitting crack of ice moments before truck and driver were plunged into the lake below.
That block had been blown apart last week.
She shuddered, draining the rest of her beer.
Felix was watching her, frowning.
“The money’s amazing,” she added.
A solid year’s salary in two months. She’d driven six years in a row and become faster each time. It paid per trip, and with nothing to live for but the next paycheck, she’d bitten down on her fear and gone hell for leather. “Add that to the long-haul truck driving I do during the year and you might get why I don’t need your money.”
He didn’t answer.
“It’s bitterly cold, though. I guess the downside is chapped lips and chilly feet.” Yeah. That was the only downside.
He was still frowning. “Do you get lonely?”
“Sometimes.”
Always. So very lonely. The hours were long. The landscape white, bleak, and unchanging. Long-haul routes were just as repetitive.
“But the money’s worth it,” he stated, as if trying to understand.
“Used to be.” She shifted, hooking her feet behind the rung of the stool. “I’ve decided to stop.”
“Thank God.” He breathed out, raising a hand to his forehead. “I was trying to figure out how to stop you myself.” His voice held sincerity, and Regan blinked, stunned. “I could never do that. You’re officially the bravest person I know.”
“I didn’t do it to be brave.”
“Not sure that matters. What made you quit?”
She raised a shoulder, uneasy at his concern. Why would someone
she hardly knew give a damn about whether her job came with a death waiver? Yet Felix seemed to, brows knotted and gaze steady. He wanted more from her. Information, emotion, but Regan didn’t know how to give it.
Her defenses stepped up, relieving her confusion, and a detached assurance took over.
“I wanted to get over here and start our new life together,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes as she stole a chip. “I mean, why wait?”
Felix leaned back, expression flat.
“What are your plans for Christmas?” she asked, shoving the fried potato in her mouth.
After a long pause, he let the topic slide. “I’m going to Byron Bay. Long story short, a friend of mine now lives in Europe. His wife wants to spend Christmas with her best friend, who lives in Byron. So they invited me to join them, so I can catch up with Jed while he’s in the country.”
“Jed.” She paused. “Is that the guy with the comic?”
He smiled. “Yeah, that’s him.”
She was still sure she recognized his name. “Is he famous somehow?”
“Uh.” Felix swigged his beer, not meeting her eye. “Yeah, a little.”
“For his comics?”
“Yeah, that and...mainly that.”
Frowning, she reached for the chips at the same time as Felix. She saw it happening, could have withdrawn. Instead, with heat flaring in her belly, she feigned interest in the menu board and followed through. He got there first. As her nails met the skin on the back of his hand and scraped a gentle path towards his wrist, she sensed him sit straighter. Felt the air tighten between them. Shivered from her fingertips to the base of her spine.
How, she wondered, could her body respond so readily to him just minutes after being on the defensive?
Their gazes caught for a second, two, and in that time, Regan figured it out. Levi’s eyes had been bold with possession. While Felix’s intelligent gaze admired her, desired her, it didn’t presume to think that simply because of that, he was entitled to have her.
He flipped his hand, pressing a couple of chips into her palm, and looked away. Taking them, she followed suit, dropping her face and picking at a scar in the wooden tabletop.
Half an hour and another bowl of chips later, they called it a night. As Regan passed the guys’ table, Levi made a sucking noise and the others snickered. Her defenses held tight as she gave them her filthiest look.
