First Time Lucky?

by Natalie Anderson

  Hours later, as he drove to his new home Gabe rationalised. It didn’t matter, the Blades only rehearsed on site once a week and he was well used to avoiding them at that time anyway. She’d be there during the games, but he was busy with the boys for all that time. He didn’t attend the after-match functions at the home stadium as a rule now. So while he might glimpse her every now and then, that would be it. He could live with that for just this season. Sure he could.

  But when he got to the Treehouse he couldn’t help looking at the window above the garage. The curtain wasn’t drawn; there was no sign of life. The garage was locked but a wall of boxes blocked the back window so he couldn’t see if a car was parked in there. He had no way of knowing whether she was home or not. Unless he knocked on her door.

  The tablets he’d given her could cause drowsiness. He sighed. So what? That was no reason to bother. She’d be fine. Only there were probably druggies and vagrants in that park in the dark of the night. And she was on the edge of it, alone. In a room above a rickety garage that had to be the size of a postage stamp. Yeah, the niggle turned into a nag and then into a frankly disturbing level of worry. The only way to get rid of it was to see her for himself and thus be sure she was okay. And that was the only reason he wanted to see her. Medical—a professional capacity. But he wasn’t her doctor or anything. He was determined not to be that. A concerned acquaintance?

  Oh, bugger it. He thumped up the stairs, hoping to make enough noise to ensure she’d hear his arrival. He rapped hard on the door. Rapped harder. Shouted out her name. It was at the point when he was considering smashing the lock that he heard a grumbling response.

  Finally the door swung open.

  At first all he saw was the tee shirt. Less than a second later realised that all she wore was the tee shirt. Cute, cotton, white thing. Maybe there were knickers, but maybe not. His tongue gummed to the roof of his mouth.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Drowsily she tucked her hair back behind her ears.

  ‘That’s what I was coming to ask you,’ he muttered, barely more intelligible than a grunting Neanderthal. Even sleepy her eyes sparkled. He then made the massive mistake of glancing down. Thighs, calves, ankles. Her long, tanned legs that were slender but also hinted at strength. Yeah, supple muscles were shown off under the gorgeous stretch of golden skin and he wanted to reach out and run his fingers down their warm length. Wanted them to spread again for him.

  ‘I think it’s okay,’ she said huskily. ‘It doesn’t seem to be any worse.’

  He flinched. He’d totally forgotten about the sting, he’d just been checking her out and wondering about the undies. And now she held her leg slightly outstretched meaning he caught the glimpse of lace-edged silk covering her crotch. His tongue actually tingled as the urge to drop to his knees hit him. He wanted to lick her there. Oh, hell, everywhere.

  Cotton tee shirt. He frowned, forced himself to think on the cotton. Not the lace knickers. Sweet not sexy. Not sophisticated. Not appropriate. She was his landlady. This would be mess-up central if he followed the path his body was determinedly dragging him towards. He swallowed, furious with his rapid descent into peeping Tom territory. ‘Make sure you reapply the cream.’ He snapped more than he meant to.

  Her sleepy blue eyes widened. ‘Why are you so grumpy?’

  He glowered. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Oh, you so are.’ She grinned, undaunted. ‘But I think it’s still there, buried beneath the frown.’

  ‘What’s still there?’ He couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘The ability to have fun.’

  The tiny tot was back at flirting? ‘Oh, I have fun,’ he said deliberately slowly. ‘But I’m selective about who I have fun with.’

  ‘That’s very wise.’ She nodded guilelessly. ‘I’m very selective myself.’

  Oh, really? His muscles sharpened. ‘How much fun have you had?’

  Her lashes drooped; she almost pouted. ‘Not enough.’

  He determinedly looked past her so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch those full lips. ‘Looks like you’ve been having a bit.’ He nodded towards the empty bottle in the middle of the dining table.

  She turned to see what he meant. ‘Oh, that …’ she swung back, her smile impish ‘… was good.’

  He took the opportunity of her movement to step past her into the room. And was dead unimpressed with what he could see. Furniture from one corner to the other. Furniture on top of furniture, boxes above and below. A tiny single stretcher crammed under the window was her bed? He winced at its obvious discomfort—hard and definitely too short for him. How could she stand it?

  ‘You can’t be serious about living here,’ he said, all grump again.

  ‘Why not?’ she answered coldly.

  ‘There’s no room.’ There wasn’t an inch of spare floor space. A half metre square in which to get in from the door and then, bam, stuff.

  ‘There’s more than enough room for me.’

  He looked down at her—too close—in the too small space. Quickly he looked back to the table, anything to stop himself taking rampant advantage of the lack of space. He noticed an ‘H’ written in permanent marker in the top corner of the wine label. ‘What’s the H for?’

  She glanced at the table and her expression turned guilty.

  Why? ‘Got any more?’ he couldn’t help teasing.

  He glanced round; behind him was a fridge. He shot her a look and reached out a hand. It was literally a bar fridge—and, yes, filled with alcohol. He hadn’t actually expected that. The only other item was an oversized container of hummus. ‘How many bottles you got in here?’ He held the door open, amazed.

  ‘Five,’ she said defensively. ‘And they’re only half bottles.’

  He drew one out, saw the single capital letter on the label, bent and saw they each had different letters. ‘What do they stand for?’

  Roxie folded her arms, never going to admit that she’d blown his rent advance on getting her hair done, some new underwear and half a dozen half-bottles of champagne. ‘None of your business.’

  ‘No, go on, they obviously mean something.’ Relentlessly he waited.

  ‘All right, H was for getting my hair done.’ She defiantly ran her fingers through her hair, flicking it so it fell over her shoulder, almost long enough to cover her breast. Almost. ‘I’d waited ages for that.’ And she’d drunk it early—to celebrate getting her tenant and the money for the haircut. She watched him drag his gaze from the ends of her hair back to the bottles in the fridge.

  ‘What about the P?’ he asked.

  ‘For my first public performance.’ She stepped forward, quickly trying to explain them all so he’d leave. Trying to think up something for the one whose purpose was flashing neon-sign style in her head. ‘T is for when I book my ticket overseas. D is for when I get my driver’s licence.’ She winced when she said that one—now he’d really think she was a kid. ‘A was for the audition—getting through to the Blades. I’m going to have it later.’

  ‘Who are you going to have it with?’ he asked.

  You? Roxie slammed her mouth shut on the instant-response answer and took a half-second to come up with something sassier. ‘It’s only a half-bottle. I’m going to have it all by myself.’

  His brows lifted. ‘Did you have the first all by yourself?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She smiled, pleased with her ability to keep talking in the face of his gorgeousness.

  ‘Didn’t it have a bit of a kick?’

  ‘Fantastic.’ She nodded.

  He finally grinned back. ‘No headache?’

  ‘That’s why I got the good stuff.’ And she was feeling far more of a kick from the way he was smiling. She was positively giddy and she certainly hadn’t been giddy from the champagne last night.

  ‘Have enough of it and you’ll still get a hangover.’ He actually laughed then. ‘You should share them with someone.’ His voice dropped.

  ‘Never,’ she dismissed him instantly. Dismissing the outra
geous invite on the tip of her tongue too. ‘Do you know the price of each one of those bottles? It’s mine, all mine.’

  He chuckled and looked back at the fridge. ‘And V, what’s that one for?’

  Damn, she’d hoped he might have forgotten about that last one. She swallowed, wished her addled brain would come up with something—anything to get her out of this embarrassment.

  ‘Victory?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah.’ She nodded enthusiastically. So not going to admit to this guy that the last bottle of Bollinger was for when she finally lost the virginity she’d been dragging round for far too long. ‘For when the Knights win the trophy.’

  ‘You drink champagne all the time?’

  Uh, try never before last night. ‘On special occasions.’

  He closed the fridge and eyed her, looking serious now. ‘Mind if I ask you a personal question?’

  ‘Go right ahead.’ She waited, wondered.

  ‘How old are you?’

  She hadn’t expected that. ‘Twenty-two.’

  His mouth thinned.

  ‘That surprises you?’ Unpleasantly? Why was he looking so unimpressed?

  ‘I thought you were younger.’ He swallowed.

  Uh-huh. ‘How young?’

  ‘Eighteen or so.’

  At the most, she reckoned. What was with the putting her in a child’s box? ‘Well, how old are you?’

  ‘Thirty-one.’

  ‘There’s less than a decade between us,’ she pointed out with extreme pleasure.

  ‘I’m still a lot older than you.’ He seemed determined to labour that one.

  ‘Yeah, but you’re hardly old enough to be my father. Unless, of course, you were very advanced for your age,’ she taunted softy, pleased to see him wince in horror.

  ‘I was very advanced for my age in some areas,’ he said, quickly reverting back to his blunt arrogance. ‘But, no, I was nice and normal and didn’t start fooling around ‘til my teens.’

  She gritted her teeth. A nice, normal teen life. She hadn’t had that. She didn’t resent the reasons why she hadn’t, she had loved caring for her grandparents, but it was time now for her to have the freedom and fun she’d missed out on as an eighteen-year-old. Not to mention the fooling around. Better late than never and she was damn well determined it wouldn’t be never. Maybe it could be soon. ‘Well, as you now know, I’m more than old enough to be living on my own, in any way I like, drinking whatever I want.’ And she’d do whatever she wanted too.

  There was a moment’s silence. He glanced at the fridge again. ‘Do you eat anything?’

  She knew he’d noticed the lack of oven. But there was the microwave and a single gas ring. Okay, she was pretty much camping. But it wasn’t for ever and it was worth it. ‘I usually make a salad or something.’

  ‘From the garden big enough to feed a small island nation?’ He turned away, his smile twisting. ‘Well, make sure you eat a load tonight and don’t have the champagne, given you’ve had those pills.’

  She followed him to the door and leaned against the jamb, well aware that as she lifted her hand her tee shirt rose higher. Sure enough, she saw his eyes dart down. Her thighs burned, not because of the bee. She brushed her hair back from her face with her other hand and watched his gaze flicker first to her hair, then to her chest where her tee shirt had tightened across her braless breasts. Emboldened she answered him softly, full of feminine taunt. ‘Gabe, I thought we’d just established that I’m not a child.’

  His gaze shot to her eyes, intensified—the black pupils expanding to obliterate any hint of the molten colour. The muscles in his jaw were delineated as he clamped his mouth shut. Then he suddenly drew breath. ‘You might not be a child, Roxie, but you are a bit too much of a babe for comfort.’

  Roxie froze, her body so hot she was on the brink of incineration.

  His gaze swept over her one last time before he turned away. ‘So I think it’s best we steer clear of each other.’

  She watched him take the stairs three at a time as if he was escaping some terrible threat. She went back into her studio and smiled. In so many ways Gabe Hollingsworth was a challenge. And Roxie, for all her inexperience, had never backed down from a challenge.

  Not even the most impossible.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GABE pounded round the park. If his apartment hadn’t been leased already he’d have moved back into it. Because finding out her age had not helped. She had that extra five years he’d thought she’d get overseas. She had enough sophistication to tempt him to tease. But it was still wrong—with the landlady thing and the dancer thing.

  But then there was the water torture. Every damn morning.

  After the first night he’d slept at the Treehouse, he’d been woken by the gentle sound of running water. He’d peered out of the window, then stared out of the window. His eyes wide, his wayward cock gaining width too. Yeah, at five o’clock in the freaking morning he’d found out who the gardener was. And how well she danced. Now every morning he was literally roused by Roxie watering the garden, doing some kind of insane yogic stretching while the tomatoes got their drink. She warmed up her barely covered body while watering the damn plants. A music player clipped to her hip, headphones in her ears, her whole body swaying. It was enough to drive any man to drink straight spirits. By the gallon. From the way she moved—too sensually—he suspected she knew he watched. Of course he bloody watched—what man wouldn’t? And her deliberate provocation was working—despite his attempt to defuse it between them and tell her keeping some distance was best.

  Yeah, he was dying of lust. Not only did she disturb his dreams, but conscious moments when he didn’t have a tight leash on his imagination. He ached, hungry every damn minute of the day.

  So now, every morning, Gabe escaped by running round the park, supposedly sticking well out of temptation’s way. Only today, a week after he’d moved in, he ran faster and harder than ever. No time at all before he was back at the hidden gate and the giant padlock. And behind that fence, watering the vegetables, Roxie was bent over in those short, short shorts. He could see the headphones in her ears as she bopped round the place, thinking she was completely alone.

  Yeah, okay, he’d known she’d still be there.

  Breathing hard—and not because of the forty-minute run he’d just been on—he walked closer and watched her legs in action. Thanks to the headphones she had no idea he was there. It was dangerous. Anyone could sneak up on her. Anyone who saw the way she danced in her backyard would be all over her. She needed to be taught a lesson—that the headphones had to go, the shorts had to be longer, the dancing needed to stay indoors.

  He walked behind her, not bothering to be quiet, because he could hear the thumping beat of her music from here. In a sudden movement he wrapped his arms around her. He’d anticipated she’d jump, so he tightened his arms so she couldn’t flee. The hose did a snake dance on the ground spraying them both, until he kicked it away with his foot. The cold burst of water didn’t cool his insanity at all.

  He let her twist round, feeling her fury, feeling his own fire as her breasts were brought flush against him. He almost growled with the satisfaction of finally having her this close.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she shrieked at him.

  He plucked buds from her ears. ‘No need to shout, I’m right here.’

  ‘Well, why are you right here, sneaking up on me like this,’ she panted.

  It was sick how much he liked feeling her breathing hard against him. How hard he was breathing too. Oh, her eyes were blue this morning. And her hair in that loose plait with those recently shorn, blonder bits wisping round her face.

  ‘Teaching you a lesson,’ he muttered, putting both arms securely around her again. Tightening them.

  ‘What lesson’s that?’ She looked stunned.

  ‘That when you’re alone in the garden, watering whatever and doing your workout, that anyone could sneak up on you.’

  ‘Only some sicko.’ />
  Yeah, like him. ‘That’s right. So you need to be more careful.’

  Roxie was caught between fury and desire. In the first instance, fury won. She brought her knee up between his legs fast. Only slowing at the last possible second.

  His eyes widened and he jerked—too late—she just brushed his balls.

  ‘I could have got you really badly then,’ she said severely.

  He nodded. ‘Thanks for not. I’ve never wanted kids but retaining the physical ability to have the option would be good.’ He repositioned himself out of harm’s way, but still didn’t release her. ‘But what if I’d had a weapon?’

  ‘What exactly are you trying to do?’ she confronted him. ‘You’re telling me I can’t feel safe in my own backyard? What kind of a kick-in-the-teeth lesson is that?’

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’ He suddenly frowned. ‘I just think you should be careful.’

  ‘I am careful, Gabe. And you know what? In the entire year that I’ve been living here alone, not one person has bothered to break in.’

  No one had bothered to visit either. Honestly? No one had in years.

  The silence lengthened. She was vaguely conscious of her rapid breathing, of his, of how close they were pressed together. But the main thing sucking all her attention was that deepening emotion in his eyes. She didn’t know what it meant.

  ‘I did,’ he eventually said. ‘I wanted to.’

  Roxie just didn’t know what to make of that. Her breathing deepened—so did his, until they were inhaling in sync. It finally occurred to her that she was staring. But she couldn’t stop. Randomly she realised he’d been out running. She hadn’t known he did that. She also had her palms wide on his shoulders. She wasn’t moving them away. The warm, solid strength was wonderful. And arousing.

  ‘You train every morning?’ she asked softly, not wanting him to move either.