Playing For Fun: Stewart Island Book 6

by Alvarez, Tracey

“Like a science experiment?”

  “Yeah. Minus test tubes and a Bunsen burner.”

  There’d be something burning if Ford kissed her; he didn’t doubt it for a second. He’d imagined kissing her so many times over the years—in the shower, on his dining table, at the bar, on the beach, even in this very damn place. “And the outcome you’re hoping for with this experiment?”

  Because whether she wanted to admit it or not, experiments had consequences.

  “To check for a chemical reaction.”

  Thankful that the darkness covered the whites of his eyes as he rolled them, Ford made a sound of neutral agreement. “How’re you going to analyse the results?”

  “No freaking idea. I sucked at science at school. Had to work my butt off at tech when it came time for color-mixing 101 class.”

  “We could consider increased heart rate, heavy breathing and unsettled stomach activity as a positive test for chemistry.” Or in his case, a dick two steps ahead of his brain, urging him to hurry and get the party started. Thank God it wasn’t a full moon tonight.

  “Once a science nerd, always a science nerd,” she said. “How ‘bout I e-mail you a copy of a report on my findings?”

  Ford brushed aside the curtain of her hair and slipped it over her shoulder, letting his fingertips trail lightly along the thick, smooth strands until they connected briefly with her nape. She didn’t pull away, keeping her chin pointed at the line of trees, but a tremor ran through her.

  “Look at me,” he said. “I want to see you.”

  She faced him, the expression in her eyes hidden by shifting shadows. “You can’t, dumbass. It’s dark.”

  Snark and sass used as weapons of mass deflection.

  “Are you baiting me?” A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. Oh yeah, he’d kiss that snark right out of her—temporarily, of course.

  “Baiting you?” Faked indignance.

  “To take the decision out of your hands.”

  “You don’t want to kiss me? Just say so. I’m not baiting you into kissing me.” She arched backward, swinging her legs up onto the platform.

  Getting ready to run—another one of Holly’s modus operandi.

  Ford snagged a kneecap and held on. The amount of temper searing through her veins would factor in to whether they ended up in a broken, tangled pile at the bottom of the tree. But instead of smacking his hand off her leg, she stilled. He’d take it as a positive sign. He loosened his grip, spreading his fingers wide and lightly rubbing his thumb on her inner knee.

  “I’m completely on board with this experiment. But you won’t provoke a rushed fumble in the dark. You and I are going to take some time. Test every variable. Okay?”

  “Roger that, good buddy,” she said, but her words came out breathy and uneven.

  He angled closer, and her hand shot out, planting squarely in the centre of his chest.

  “Wait.”

  Ford didn’t need to be able to see her face to sense the wave of nerves running wild. So he trapped her hand beneath his and leaned in, saying the two words guaranteed to provoke but also give her permission to act with an out to blame it all on later.

  “Scaredy cat.”

  The fingers on his chest curled into a fist and dragged him forward until their faces were inches apart. His heart careened around his chest, striking his ribs so hard, Holly probably felt the violence of it against her knuckles.

  He cupped her jaw with his palm, and closing the last remaining distance, Ford dipped his head, touching his mouth to Holly’s. Just a soft brush of skin against skin, an initial test for reaction—if he were to continue her cute science analogy. The jolt zinging from lips straight to groin wasn’t cute. Perhaps not as strong as the times static electricity had pinged him working around metal in his workshop, but still a damn jolt.

  He pressed his lips to hers again, tensing for the spark. Holly parted her mouth, flicking his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Sliding his fingers into her silky hair, Ford held her gently but took control. Soft kisses. Slow kisses. Teasing kisses. Keeping it light, keeping it easy. An illusion of light and easy because in reality, the small tastes he got of her—juicy and sweet—had him struggling for self-control.

  The hand gripping his shirt released and glided up to his shoulder, the crescents of her fingernails digging pleasurably into the muscle there. She made a soft sound in her throat that jetted another bullet of heat into his hard-on—already steely enough to pound any loose nails into the fort’s recycled timber planks.

  And they had spontaneous combustion.

  As if her moan was some sort of warning alarm, Ford allowed himself one last taste and then pulled back. They had plenty of time. No need to shoot from zero to a hundred and risk burnout.

  He let go of Holly’s hair reluctantly, his body rebelling against his brain’s slow down, champ insistence. Unwilling to break the final connection with her, he traced a fingertip down to the base of her throat. Found the rapid bump-bump-bump of her pulse, somehow heard the shudder of each uneven breath over his own heart thundering like a mad bastard in his ears.

  “How’s your stomach? Because you’ve just passed two out of three tests for our chemistry experiment.”

  “Mmmm.”

  She continued to pet his shoulder, as if she hadn’t really registered his question. Not complaining—Holly rendered speechless from kissing was an experience he’d like to repeat. Over and over.

  “Ford?” she asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “I was wrong. That wasn’t brotherly.” She spider-walked her fingers up from his shoulder to scrape her nails lightly along the stubble on his throat. “That was all manner of hot.”

  “Yeah.”

  Apparently, Holly wasn’t the only one to strive to form intelligent sentences.

  “Ford?” Her fingers skimmed over his jaw and traced his lower lip.

  “Mmmm?” God. She was rapidly killing off his remaining brain cells.

  “Why are you stopping with the hot kissing?”

  “Getting greedy, eh?” He play-nibbled one of her fingers and was rewarded with a husky laugh that challenged his resolve. “You white girls—all about the instant gratification.”

  Holly’s petting turned into a punch where his shoulder met his chest. “Playing hard to get? Seriously?”

  He grabbed her little fist and kissed her knuckles.

  Holly wrenched her hand away. “Oh, you are so not putting your mouth on me again, sweet.”

  Sitting under the stars with the hottest chick on the island, the feel-good-easy back between them again—though this time edged with frustrated anticipation—what could be better?

  “Maybe not tonight,” he said. “But I will.”

  To lighten the sexual tension still arcing back and forth, he squeezed her knee in a light horse bite.

  Holly squeaked, wriggling away until her legs were out of reach. She leaned against one of the thick branches supporting the platform and tucked her knees up to her chest.

  Ford leaned back, bracing his forearms on the wooden planks and staring into the sky. “This is new and little weird, right?”

  “Very weird. Whatever this is.”

  “It’s something, yeah?”

  Holly huffed out a sigh that could’ve indicated agreement or are you out of your mind?

  “There’s no need to rush things, if that’s what’s worrying you.” He lowered himself down on the platform, lacing his fingers under his neck. Great way to keep them off Holly, who now sat cross-legged, studying him in the darkness. “We’ve got all the time in the world to take it slow.”

  Even with a million leaves rustling around them, even with the distant sound of waves hissing and tumbling over Halfmoon Bay’s sandy beach, Holly’s sharp inhale sounded loud and clear.

  “What? Slow’s not gonna work?” He rolled his head to the side. “I can jump you right now if you want.”

  He waited for her to laugh, to jab him with her foot or punch his arm ag
ain.

  Silence.

  Absolute stillness.

  Oh. Hell.

  Ford sat up. “I’m just yanking your chain—”

  “It’s not that.” Holly’s voice, usually brash and confident, sounded more like a little girl’s. “Time is something we don’t have.”

  Then she told him about her cousin’s offer. About moving to Invercargill. About what a great opportunity it would be to have her own workstation in Halo. But the things she didn’t tell him shredded his guts and bled him dry. She didn’t tell him how all her closest friends had moved into the next phase of their lives as half a duo. Or how working full-time at Russell’s grocery store sucked the soul out of her. How she worried about leaving Dixie. How she was torn, wanting this opportunity, but knowing the cost of leaving everything behind. Including him.

  “Sounds like it’s a done deal,” he said, after a couple beats of silence drifted past.

  He impressed himself with how smooth his voice came out. Doubly impressed at masking the volcanic emotions twisting through him at the thought of her living in Invers. At the taste of her, so easily addictive, still on his lips.

  Slight movement in the shadows as she nodded. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even Shaye.”

  “It’s not going to sit well with her.”

  “She’ll be married soon, with other things on her mind.”

  “And us?” Ford mentally kicked his own butt as the words fell unhindered. Was he a teenage girl, begging her bestie not to move away?

  “Invers is not Mordor. We’ll still hang out.”

  As if Holly had erased the past ten minutes from her mind, shunting him into the friendzone before he could plead his case.

  Plead? Hell if he’d plead for her to stay and see where this chemistry led.

  “Sure.” Ford went to shove his dreads out of his face, smacked himself in the jaw instead.

  He shoved his fingers into his short hair, wincing at the weird texture. Holly had dropped off a tub of some waxy stuff to work through it a couple of days ago. Nice how the woman treated him as if he were a fixer-upper then foisted him off on—

  “Is that why you were busting your balls to hook me up with a woman?” he demanded.

  “I want you to be happy.”

  Maybe his happy was with her. Something she obviously hadn’t considered. Something he wouldn’t consider any further, either.

  “That so?”

  “You deserve every bit of what West and Ben and Del have.” Another audible inhale from her, this one speaking volumes about a decision made. “So I’ll help you choose the next bachelorette and save you from another Julia.”

  “What a pal.”

  “Damn straight.” She rolled onto her knees and crawled to the rope ladder. “The perfect woman for you or a full refund.”

  He narrowed his eyes, willing stronger night vision so he could decipher her expression. Didn’t work. Her head disappeared below the platform. Tempted to ask exactly what she would refund him with, Ford moved to the platform edge and scaled down the ladder after her.

  Better to leave that the hell alone.

  They walked in uneasy silence along the track, Ford leading since Holly’s flashlight batteries had died. As they emerged onto the deserted sports fields, she edged away from him in the direction of her house. He paused, taking in her slightly hunched shoulders, her arms wrapped tight around her middle. His chest ached. Regardless of the drama swirling around them, she was still his friend.

  “C’mere.” Before she could vanish, Ford scooped her into a bear hug.

  Holly’s arms unfolded and slid around his waist. Not allowing his brain to toss out a whole bunch of objections or his body to register firm breasts pressed to it, Ford squeezed her tight for one last beat and kissed her temple. Very friend-like. Then he let go, and she let go, and they parted like wary cats sizing each other up.

  “We good?” he asked.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re good. See you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Night.”

  The smile remained fixed to his mouth until he turned away. Facing the smattering of cosy houses with their lights still on, Ford trotted across the field.

  They were good. But their potential to be better than good together—that was a problem. A problem he’d do well to ignore.

  * * *

  Ford’s phone screamed him into awareness in the early hours of the morning. Only one person would dare call him at that time.

  He snatched the phone off his nightstand and grunted into it, “Piss off, Harley.”

  A rough chuckle down the line. “Morning, sunshine. Rise and shine, it’s eleven o’clock.”

  Ford cracked open an eye and checked the exact time on his phone. Shut it again. “Yeah. In New York.”

  “My bad.”

  “Asshat.”

  Another snicker followed by a juicy slurp.

  “That sound better be you licking an ice-cream cone and not that redhead’s face you posted an update of a couple of days ago,” Ford said.

  “Jealous, little brother?”

  “Only if it’s one of those gelatos I had from Celestial in Greenwich Village.”

  Another snicker. “Yep. Pistachio.”

  “What do you want?” Ford stretched, not bothering to mask a giant yawn.

  “I can’t just call my twin up for a guy-chat?”

  “Hanging up now—”

  “Wait!” Harley said. “It’s about Pania.”

  That woke Ford the hell up. He swung his legs out from under the covers, icy floorboards stinging the soles of his feet. “She rang you?”

  Harley grunted. Sneered, really. “What do you think?”

  “I think she couldn’t afford the long-distance call even if you didn’t have an unlisted number.”

  Ford scrubbed a hand down his face and stood. Wide awake now, he might as well take a caffeine hit.

  “You always were the smarter twin.”

  Ford padded to the kitchen in his boxers and tee shirt, squinting against the bright hallway light he always left on. Old habits. Quarter of a century later, dark houses still gave him the willies.

  “Dad called you then?” He flicked the switch on his kettle.

  “Mum. She’s worried about him.”

  “They don’t need to worry.” Muscles bunched in Ford’s jaw. He stabbed the speaker button and placed the phone on the kitchen counter, bracing his arms either side of it. “I transferred the cash into her account earlier in the week.”

  “She’s after more. Been sending Rob daily sob-story texts.”

  “Damn,” Ford growled at the phone. “She’s after more money for the pokies.”

  “No doubt.”

  But they both knew Pania wanted the cash for an addiction worse than gambling. The trainwreck of Pania’s life ate away at Ford like a melanoma…just a tiny, barely visible blemish on the outside, but the evil roots of cancer spread far and deep on the inside.

  “That’s why I’m calling. Give me her number, and I’ll take care of it.”

  “Could be she’s clean this time. Could be she does just need a carry-over until her benefit comes through.” False words. A child inventing fairy tales to explain why the wicked witch abandoned her sons for a poisoned apple.

  “Maybe. Or maybe she needs another stint in rehab.”

  Harley had paid for a month’s rehab in a reputable place two years ago—not that Pania would acknowledge anything her sons did for her.

  “Hang on.” Ford rummaged in a kitchen drawer and pulled out a tattered notebook. Dug through the pages until he found Pania’s latest phone number. He repeated the number to Harley then listened as his brother waffled on about an exhibition he was gearing up for in Chelsea.

  Harley abruptly switched subjects. “Enough about my awesome life. Tell me why you’re reduced to catfishing on the internet?”

  Ford, pouring boiling water into his mug, sloshed it over the counter. “Mum can forget about that boxe
d set of Downtown Abbey for Christmas.” He swiped a cloth over the spill before it puddled beneath his phone. “Can’t believe she ratted me out.”

  Crunches came down the line as Harley chewed through his gelato cone. “Wasn’t Mum. Dad e-mailed me the link to Kiwi-Match, plus a G-rated version of your date with the red-panty-wearing personal trainer.”

  Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, well, she’ll be leaving on the first ferry in the morning, I expect. And it’s far too early to listen to this.”

  More crunches, then a pause. “Think you’ll find someone that way?”

  There was no sarcasm in Harley’s voice, just a genuine curiosity.

  “No idea,” Ford said. “Holly combed through the profiles and narrowed it down to a short-list of three. They all seem…nice.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks.” Ford sipped his coffee, slitting his eyes at his phone. Harley not giving him grief about Kiwi-Match was suspicious. Wait for the punchline…

  “Here’s a thought, bro…” Harley said. “You and Hol try out the friends with benefits thing and give the skinny man-eaters a miss.”

  “Didn’t ask for your advice, bro.”

  “Just looking out for you. Part of the job description of big brother.”

  By six minutes. Harley still held those three hundred and sixty seconds over Ford’s head.

  Ford kept his voice neutral, with just a hint of amusement. “Holly, huh?”

  “Forget Kiwi-Match. She’s tasty and more than a match for you.”

  Hairs prickled down Ford’s spine at the admiration in Harley’s voice. He arched his chin, trying to shift the invisible hands clamped around his throat, choking him, forcing a flash of red into his vision.

  “Seem to recall I wasn’t the Komeke brother she was interested in.”

  A sudden inhale. “You’re really into her, aren’t you?”

  Deny it and Harley would dig in like a pit bull. Confirm it and he’d have his brother riding his butt every chance he got. Safest to admit nothing.

  “Holly might’ve had a thing for me when she was younger, but trust me,” Harley continued. “I never looked at her that way. The girl had picket fence and two-point-five-kids written all over her, and I like to keep things simple. Uncomplicated.”