by Robyn Grady
He caught her arm and a high-voltage sizzle shot over her skin. ‘You look gorgeous.’
He only had to say it aloud and it was true. As they walked from the terminal she felt like the most beautiful woman alive. A woman whose day was suddenly painted in sunshine.
‘So, you’re Cindy?’
Celeste shook her head and called out her name again.
Reece, the man Ben had just introduced her to, cupped his hand to his ear and shouted again over the head-pounding music. ‘Was that Sheryl?’
Ben replied just as loudly. ‘Celeste.’
Reece raised his beer. ‘Welcome, Celeste. Any friend of Ben’s is a friend of mine. Help yourself to a drink.’ He gyrated like Elvis. ‘Have a dance.’
Celeste nodded but thought of the dance they’d shared on the deck of Ben’s yacht. She was grateful for the invitation to the party…still, how she wished they were on that yacht now—alone, quiet, coming apart in each other’s arms. Their unplanned meeting tonight was obviously meant to be.
But what did Fate have planned for tomorrow?
She thanked Reece and moved with Ben through the crowd to the small self-serve bar.
‘Are all these people your friends?’ she called out. They were packed like sardines.
He searched the room, then tipped forward. ‘No.’
He withdrew a bottle from a sink full of ice, poured champagne, handed a glass to her, then raised his own. ‘Here’s to us.’
She smiled. ‘To us.’
Whatever that meant. And she wouldn’t find out here, with the music blaring louder than any nightclub she’d visited and people crushing all around. But at least he was here and they were close and when the party was over—
A tall, lean man elbowed through and slapped Ben on the back. ‘Benton, mate.’
Ben swung around and, with a shout of greeting, shook the marginally shorter man’s hand. ‘Didn’t know if we’d see you tonight.’ Ben turned to Celeste. ‘Malcolm, this is Celeste Prince.’
Malcolm affected a half bow. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’ll be even more pleased if you let me win some of my money back from your boyfriend. How about it, Ben? I’ll let you break.’
While Celeste tried to get her mind around being thought of as Ben’s girlfriend, her date shook his head. ‘No pool tonight.’
Desperate, Malcolm clasped his hands beneath his goatee. ‘One game. Just one.’
Ben was shaking his head when he saw Celeste nodding hers. ‘I don’t mind,’ she called out. ‘I like pool.’
Malcolm beamed and looped his arm through hers. ‘Ben, your taste in women just keeps getting better.’
Malcolm meant it as a compliment, but Celeste remembered the supply of condoms on the boat. The circumstances surrounding that day six weeks ago had been unusual—feeling both freed from her past and somewhat lost about her future, she’d needed some TLC. She’d accepted his invitation, but had she been a fool to believe that the decision to make love had been her choice? Was it more realistic to admit that she’d been seduced by Ben’s charm like, no doubt, many women before her?
Malcolm was already drawing Celeste away, calling over his shoulder to Ben, ‘One hundred smackeroos down.’
Ben caught up. His gorgeous blue eyes quizzed hers. ‘You sure? Watching eight ball isn’t the kind of thing a woman wants to do in the hours leading up to New Year.’
She might have laughed. Ben could be a sweetheart, but he sure had his blinkers fixed when it came to stereotypical gender roles. Women weren’t all about facials and pretty shoes and sexual conquest. At least she wasn’t.
The noise halved when they entered and shut the door on a back room. A mid-sized pool table took up a large portion of the space.
Malcolm pulled a cue from the wall and chalked up. ‘Balls are racked.’ He waved a hand at the colourful triangle one end of the green felt. ‘Your break, mate.’
Ben chose a cue and winked at Celeste. ‘Malcolm and I have an understanding.’
Malcolm stroked his goatee. ‘We play. He wins. But not this time.’ He stabbed the air. ‘This time you’re toast.’
Celeste made herself comfortable on a stool and applauded when either man sank a ball. It was a good game but a quick game, with Ben the victor.
Malcolm propped his cue against the table and drove his hands through his thick red hair. ‘One more,’ he pleaded as he sped off around the table. Balls clicked as he hurriedly lifted them from their nets.
After popping his cue back in the wall rack, Ben rubbed his neck. ‘Not tonight.’
Malcolm grabbed the triangle and set the balls up. ‘Double or nothing. Celeste’s a good sport. She won’t mind.’
Having eased off the stool, Celeste appropriated Malcolm’s cue. She lowered her back over the stick, closed one eye, took aim, and the balls smashed. Number ten flew into the right back pocket. She scuffed more chalk on the cue tip and blew. ‘No, I won’t mind. I like pool.’
Ben’s wide gaze narrowed. Then he crossed his arms. ‘Lucky break.’
She dropped another ball into the left back corner. ‘If you say so.’ She lined up and number nine slid into a middle pocket.
Ben coughed out a laugh. ‘You can play?’
She visibly shuddered. ‘Shocking, isn’t it?’
Grinning, Malcolm backed up and dropped his hip over that stool. ‘This is gonna be good.’
With a confident smirk, Ben racked the balls again. ‘I’ll let you break, Eddie Charlton.’
‘I don’t want to take an unfair advantage.’
Smiling, he squeezed her ribs as he passed. ‘Just break, will you?’
She’d sunk six of her balls before Ben got a look in. At first he was confident, then he got anxious, now his mouth was a tight line of determination.
When she finally missed, he all but elbowed her out the way. ‘My turn.’
Celeste rested her cheek against the upright stick. She was enjoying this way too much.
By the time Ben dropped all seven of his balls, a sheen had broken out on his hairline. Lying over the cue, he closed one eye, sharpened his aim against the vee of his guiding hand, then, with a skilled gliding movement, connected the felt tip with the white ball. Celeste held her breath as white clicked on black, which rolled further away and closer to the far left pocket. A hair’s breadth from plonking in, it stopped.
Ben straightened and blinked hard.
Far too tactful to punch the air—well, not just yet—Celeste put away her seventh ball, and took aim at the black while Ben knocked down the rest of his drink.
The sliding glass door, which led out to the balcony, whizzed open. A man, laughing and clearly inebriated, stumbled back into the room, thumped the table and the black rolled in.
Celeste swore, Ben smiled and Malcolm jumped off the stool.
‘I’ll rack up,’ Malcolm said. ‘My money’s on Celeste.’
‘We’re done here, Malcolm,’ Ben said, taking Celeste by the arm.
Ben guided Celeste out and the music hit them like a wall. He cringed, then leant near her ear. ‘Do you want to stay?’
Not really, but she didn’t want to go home either.
‘What’s the alternative?’ she asked. He spoke, but over the music she couldn’t hear. ‘What?’ He said something about fireworks. She shook her head and indicated her ear. ‘Too loud.’
His mouth thinned into that determined line again and he looped his arm through hers. They nodded goodbye to Reece as they headed out.
In the much quieter corridor, Ben thumbed the lift button and shucked back his shoulders. ‘We can watch the fireworks from my balcony. Unless you’d rather go someplace else?’
His balcony? Meaning his apartment?
She wanted to so much. Her heartbeat was tripping out at the prospect of being entirely alone with him again, particularly after that competitive game of pool. Their adrenaline levels had spiked to a point where she felt as if they were ready to pounce on each other, which, on the surface, sounded
divine.
But what about Ben’s bad-boy charm? Had he thought about her these past six weeks even half as much as she’d thought about him, or had he pursued and enjoyed other women? The possibility of knowing Ben intimately again was as enthralling as it was dangerous, like leaping off a cliff blindfolded believing that she would be caught. But what if the reality was she didn’t mean much more to him than a good lay?
Did she honestly want another one-night stand?
On the other hand, Ben had asked her to stay that night on his yacht; she’d been the one to decline and bid a convincing farewell. Maybe he would’ve phoned her otherwise.
Either way, couldn’t she quit her over-thinking and simply enjoy this incredible man until she had to decide—if, in fact, it came to that?
She held herself tight and nodded. ‘Your balcony sounds good.’
Two minutes later they entered a penthouse suite and she moved through into a living room that was tastefully decorated in light timber, black leather and arty stainless steel. She nodded. ‘I’m impressed.’
While he hung his keys, she drifted towards floor-to-ceiling windows. In an hour, the bridge and harbour sky would fill with amazing explosions of colour. Each New Year the spectacle seemed to grow larger and last longer. This year was meant to be the biggest yet.
She sighed. ‘The view from up here will be unbelievable.’
The heat of his body closed in behind her, then he growled at her ear. ‘Where did you learn to play eight ball like that?’
She grinned. That didn’t take long.
She turned and tried not to sway when she found him so close, towering over her. His gaze was curious and amused. His mouth, lifted at one corner, looked way too tempting.
‘My father taught me to play when I was young,’ she said. ‘I practised every afternoon for a year. There was a games room at the boarding school too.’
His eyebrows opened up. ‘A girls’ boarding school?’
She half laughed, half huffed. ‘What is it with you?’ She skirted around him. ‘A woman’s talents aren’t limited to having babies and applying makeup, you know.’
He did know that…right?
‘Are you saying you didn’t expect me to be surprised when you sank those balls as easy as licking an ice cream?’
She almost buffed her nails. ‘I hoped you would be.’
His eyes challenged hers as he sauntered over. ‘What other surprises do you have in store?’
She couldn’t think of any.
But she waved a hand. ‘They wouldn’t be surprises if I told you.’
‘Tell me anyway.’
She cocked a brow. ‘Can you handle it?’
‘I can handle you.’
A spiral of delicious desire coiled around her core and squeezed. Talk about irresistible—as well as arrogant.
Smirking, she crossed her arms. ‘Oh, you can, can you?’
His grin was so hot, it singed.
If she’d wondered before, she needn’t now: he’d made his intentions clear. He wanted to pick up where they’d left off. And, in truth, she wanted him to wrap those strong arms around her, sweep her off her feet and kiss her until she didn’t know what day it was. She’d thought often about being in Ben’s bed again, but did she want to give him the satisfaction of handing herself over so easily? Which, it seemed, was precisely what he expected.
I can handle you.
He’d said it playfully, but he’d meant it just the same.
When he stepped towards her with that gleam in his eye, she ducked and moved out onto the balcony. By the time he joined her, she’d taken several calming breaths.
If she slept with Ben tonight, how much would it hurt if he didn’t follow up their time together with a call? Of course, she could be honest and simply ask if he intended to see her again, but that presented a problem.
His response to ‘are you going to call?’ could leave her looking like a first-class fool. You’re great in bed, Celeste, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She would die!
He sidled up against her, his arm brushing hers, but she moved an inch away. She needed more time to sort out what she wanted out of tonight. Which meant veering her thoughts, as well as his, away from the possibility of sex. They needed another topic of conversation. Something safe, if not totally settled.
‘I’ve been looking at starting plans for an exclusive florist service. It was something I wanted to combine with PLM, but…’ She fought back the doubt and put on a brave face. ‘I’ve had time to think, now I’m sure that’s where I want to head.’
He gave her a congratulatory nudge. ‘Hey, that’s great. Have you told your dad?’
‘I’m not ready. He offered to put up the money to buy another handbag store. But I didn’t take it.’
Leaning one elbow on the railing, he studied her. ‘Why not?’
It was difficult to explain without sounding ungrateful. ‘For a start, expanding that way was his idea. And if my father gave me the money for the store, I’d feel as if it was his, not mine. Whatever I do, I want to go forward without anyone’s influence weighting my decisions.’ Whichever way she went, however she got there, the future would be hers—decisions, mistakes as well as rewards.
His voice was a comforting warm blanket. ‘Your mother would be proud.’
She’d said the same to Ben, but about his father, when they’d spoken on his yacht that night. What must it be like never to have known either parent? Perhaps like missing out on knowing a piece of yourself. She couldn’t imagine feeling that…displaced. And yet it hadn’t stopped him from succeeding. Speaking of which…
Now was the time to bring it out in the open.
She put on a smile. ‘How’s the landscape maintenance going?’
The breeze picked up, bobbing a black curl on his forehead. ‘It’s going very well. The debt’s all clear, I’ve spoken with all the franchisees, mowed a few lawns. Yeah, I’m happy.’ His smile faded. ‘How are you coping with it now?’
She pushed back her shoulders. ‘I’m fine with it being sold.’ Liar. But hopefully one day soon. ‘I’m glad Dad got a good deal.’
He searched her eyes. ‘What about Rodney being a dad again?’
She sighed. ‘That’s still a little weird. I know I’ll be happy when the baby comes. It’ll be nice not to be an only child.’ She shrugged. ‘Better late than never.’
Pushing off the rail, he straightened to his full height and changed the subject. ‘Do you want a drink?’
She changed it back. ‘Have you ever wondered if you have brothers and sisters out there? Ever think of trying to contact them? Who knows? You might be an uncle by now.’
His smile was set. ‘I’d rather not go there right now.’ He clapped his hands on the rail. ‘Want to help me throw together some salad? The housekeeper came in today to restock the fridge, and I’ve got a couple of steaks in the freezer I can defrost. I just realised, I’m starved.’
When he moved off, Celeste hung back. Ben knew nothing about his blood relations. Yet that hadn’t stopped him from having a strong sense of self. On the other hand, she’d always clung to her familial totem pole. Now that pillar had, to a large degree, been taken away, she felt a little adrift. Tonight, her unsettled feelings for Ben hadn’t helped. Could this go somewhere? If so, what did that mean for her future? A future that had seemed so clear-cut until six weeks ago, but now seemed up in the air.
She moved inside and made a place beside him behind the tiger-striped granite bench. They stayed clear of talk about family while she sliced lettuce, tomato, shallots and Ben did his thing with rib fillet on a hot-plate grill.
He seemed to know his way around a kitchen pretty darn well.
‘You cook for yourself often?’
‘Most nights, sure. Pass the pepper.’ He seasoned the meat, then flipped. Watching the steak—having the tasty aroma fill her lungs—she wondered if he did his own sauces. Something creamy. Maybe something spicy.
When her eyes lifted fro
m the grill to Ben’s mouth, her knife slipped.
‘Ouch!’ She jumped back and squeezed her finger.
Ben rushed over to inspect the wound. ‘It’s not deep.’
He guided her over to the sink and put her finger under gently running water. Still holding her hand, he retrieved a fresh towel from a bottom drawer. He patted the small cut, then found a first-aid kit and applied antiseptic with a cotton ball. A Band-Aid on top of that, then the best part.
His head lowered, his soft lips touched the spot and her breasts tingled to life. So small a gesture and yet it set her insides alight with an intensely pleasant heat. Was he aware of even half his effect on her? Smart answer was, of course.
He lowered her hand and slipped the steaks off the grill. ‘They’re overdone.’
‘They’ll be delicious.’ Recovering, she tonged up the shallots and placed them in the bowl with the other salad. Then she wiggled her bandaged finger. ‘Thanks for this.’
He flashed a teasing grin. ‘Maybe I should cut your meat for you?’
‘Do you want to feed me, too?’
It was a joke. Well, mostly. Still, she couldn’t get out of her head the image of feeding each other, but not finishing their meal because the overwhelming sexual pull had them devouring each other instead.
He didn’t answer but merely smiled that smile, collected their plates, and she followed him out onto the balcony with water and salad.
The meal was way better than anything she’d cooked lately. Leaving little on her plate, she fell back in her seat and dabbed her mouth with the linen napkin. ‘You can cook for me any night.’
He refilled her water. ‘Glad you enjoyed it.’ Sipping from his own glass, he checked his watch and shifted back his chair. ‘Almost midnight.’
She tried to swallow the nervy flutter in her throat with a mouthful of water. Of course he would kiss her—maybe lightly at first, but no doubt deepening until she was floating. But what would happen next? Would she give him the signal to advance? What if he didn’t acknowledge it?
Oh, God, what if he did?
Escalating noise mushroomed all around. Whistles blowing, bells ringing, crowds hooting and singing. Sydneyites loved New Year’s Eve and this year their sparkling city had turned out in force. The tension on this balcony was just as combustible.
