by Anne Oliver
Jake didn’t want to imagine a life without women either. But one woman for ever? Absolutely for worse. But a curious sensation gripped his chest, as if somehow Ryan had betrayed their friendship and left him standing on the outside looking in.
‘So, are you going to tell me why you’re playing sneaky devil?’ Ry asked, his eyes focused on the screen once more.
Jake rose to hunt up the keycard for the room. ‘Because the girl needs a kick up that seriously sexy backside—’
‘Which I didn’t notice, remember?’
‘Yeah, I remember.’ Something that might feel like possessiveness—if he were the type—clawed at the back of his neck. He didn’t care for the sensation and rubbed it away, swiping the keycard from the bottom of his bed. ‘She needs to come out of that shell she’s been living in for the past however many years. There’s more to life than work.’
Ry looked up, expression thoughtful. ‘And you’re going to be the one to show her? Careful. That’s Emma you’re talking about—she’s not just any woman. And she’s my future sister-in-law.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ he muttered, fighting the scowl that came from out of nowhere to lurk just beneath the surface of his skin. He planted a grin on his face and grabbed his jacket. ‘Trust me.’
The moment the door shut behind him his smile dropped away, his own words echoing in his ears. Problem was, could he trust himself? But from the moment Emma Byrne had walked into the club in that sexy red coat, those blue eyes smoking and sparking with every challenge known to man, he’d not been able to think past getting her naked. He’d never intended acting on it—he liked his women without prickles, after all—but then there’d been that kiss at the restaurant … Sparks that hot demanded at least some sort of exploration.
He decided to walk the short distance to sample autumn’s crisp mountain air. Cold. Bracing. Invigorating. Mind-numbing. Just what he needed. His breath puffed in front of him as he strode along Katoomba Street towards the girls’ hotel.
After tomorrow it would never be the same between him and Ry again. He passed a warmly lit café, packed with Friday-evening diners, and hunched deeper into the warmth of his jacket. It reminded him that back in that room with Ry he’d felt … shut out. As if Ry was about to join a club Jake wasn’t eligible for. Would never be eligible for.
Clenching his teeth against the chill, he crunched through a pile of autumn leaves, sending them scattering and twirling along the pavement in noisy abandon. He didn’t want to join the matrimonial club.
Shut out.
His mother had shut him out of her life too. ‘You look just like your father,’ she’d accused her five-year-old son. Jake was reminded of that every time he looked in a mirror. She’d left her cheating husband and young look-alike child for a new life and a new marriage. Rejected him—her own flesh and blood.
And, yeah, he might be his father’s spitting image—but had he inherited Earl’s genes? He’d learned a lot about women in his formative years. After all, how many kids got to grow up in the back room of a strip club? With the smell of cheap perfume and sex in their cramped living arrangements. Falling asleep to carnal sounds through his tiny bedroom’s paper-thin walls.
As a teenager blocking out those same sounds while trying to finish homework, because he’d known that to escape the place, to take control of his life and become a better man than his father, he needed to study.
Jake knew how to have a good time. A good time involved no strings, no stress. No emotion. Was he like his father in more ways than looks? He clenched his jaw as he turned a corner and the hotel came into view. Shoot me now.
He picked up his pace. Earl had used women, whereas Jake respected his partners. The women he associated with were professional career types more often than not—unlike Earl’s. They were confident, intelligent and attractive, and they understood where he was coming from. He made it clear up front that he wasn’t into any long-term commitment deals and they didn’t expect more than he wanted to give.
It was honest, at least.
Emma was braced to see Jake, not Ryan, waiting in the lobby. So she took the three flights of stairs rather than the elevator. Deliberately slowly. Admiring the delicate crystal lighting along the hallway, the local landscape paintings on the walls as she reached the top of the ground floor. The thick black carpet emblazoned with the hotel’s gold crest.
But seeing Jake standing at the base of the sweeping staircase as she descended, one bronzed hand on the newel post, dark hair gleaming beneath the magnificent black chandelier, with his jacket slung over his shoulder like some sort of designer-jeans-clad Rhett Butler …
Her hand was gliding along the silky wooden banister or her legs might have given out. She might even have sighed like Scarlett; she couldn’t be sure. She was too busy shoring up her defences against those dark eyes and the heart-winning smile. Because she knew in that instant that this man could be the one with the power to undo her.
Slowing halfway down, she leaned a hip against the staircase, sucked in a badly needed breath. Stay cool, she told herself. Cool and aloof and annoyed. He thought he’d tricked her into coming but she knew better. Didn’t she? She frowned to herself. She was here, after all.
Because Stella had asked her.
Right. Straightening, she resumed her descent, concentrating on not tripping over her feet, her eyes drawn to him no matter how hard she tried to look away. That sinner’s smile and those darker-than-sin eyes …
‘Are you feeling all right?’ he asked when she reached the bottom step.
She looked at him warily. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘You looked as if you were swaying there for a second or two. I thought you were going to swoon, and then I’d have been forced to play the hero again.’
‘I did not sway. Or swoon. And you are not my hero. I’m guessing there are no fortune cookies either.’
He grinned. ‘You’re guessing wrong.’ He took her elbow, led her across the glittering marbled foyer. At intervals floor-to-ceiling glass columns illuminated from within threw up a clear white light. He stopped by a little coffee table with two cosy leather armchairs. ‘Sit.’
She did, gratefully, sinking into the soft black leather.
He pulled two scraps of paper from his jeans pocket, checked them both, then placed one on her lap.
‘This isn’t a fortune cookie.’
‘I have to admit Ry and I ate them. But we saved you girls the messages.’
She unrolled the little square. ‘“A caress is better than a career.”‘ Where the heck had he found that little gem? ‘Says who? And it would depend on who’s doing the caressing.’
But her traitorous thoughts could imagine Jake’s warm, wicked hands wandering over her bare skin … Lost in the fantasy for a pulse-pounding moment, she stared unseeingly at the paper in front of her. For heaven’s sake.
She forced her head up, regarded him with serene indifference. ‘This isn’t from a fortune cookie. You made these yourselves.’
He spread his hands on his thighs, all innocence. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘To get me downstairs, perhaps?’
His smile came out like sunshine on a cold day. ‘You have to admit it’s inventive.’
‘Deceptive, more like.’
‘Hey, Ry has to take some of the credit.’
She felt the smile twitch at the corner of her mouth. ‘What does Stella’s say?’
‘“Two souls, one heart.” Appropriately romantic, Ry thought.’
And Cool Hand Jake didn’t, obviously. ‘She’ll probably sleep with it under her pillow tonight.’ Desperate to distance herself from his enticing woodsy scent and the thought of those coolly efficient hands on her heated body, she pulled her earphones out of her tracksuit pocket. ‘Okay, now that’s out of the way I’m off for a run.’
‘Not so fast.’ He reached over, circling her forearm in a loose grip. ‘You’re going to say you’ve got soap orders to type up or some such rubbish when you
get back. Right?’
Right. If she could only remember what … The heat of his hand seemed to be blocking her ability to process simple thought. ‘I—’
‘To avoid me.’
She swallowed down a gasp. He was flying too close to the truth, and it threw her for a loop. ‘Why would you matter th—?’
‘You know it. I know it.’ Cutting her off, he leaned forward, his hold tightening a fraction, his eyes boring into hers. ‘Admit it.’
‘Why?’ Little spots of heat were breaking out all over her body.
‘I matter to you.’ He smiled—grinned, actually—teeth gleaming white in the light. ‘How much do I matter, Emma?’
She pushed a hand over the crown of her head, her mind a jumble. ‘Stop it. You’re confusing me. This is the last evening I’ll see my sister before she gets married. I … I’m going to spend the evening with her—a maid of honour thing.’
‘Of course. And you can. In a little while.’ His thumb abraded the inside of her wrist, sending tiny tingles scuttling up her arm. ‘She won’t mind,’ he continued in that same liquid caramel tone. ‘In fact I’m betting she’s enjoying her soak in the spa right now.’
‘It was you on the phone.’
‘Guilty.’ He grinned again, totally unrepentant. As if he pulled that kind of stunt all the time to bend women to his will. ‘She’s confiscated your laptop, by the way.’
‘What?’
‘Your sister agrees with me that you need time out from work.’
She gaped at him, incredulous. ‘You two discussed my needs?’ The image popped into her mind before she could call it back, along with the overly explicit, overly stressed word, and the whole calamity hung thick in the air like a sultry evening.
His eyes turned a warmer shade of dark. ‘Not all of them. But we’ll get to that. Stella wants you to enjoy her wedding, not be distracted by orders and schedules. She’s concerned about you. And frankly—’
‘What do you mean, “we’ll get to that”? Get to what?’ Her voice rose on a crescendo. A couple of heads turned their way.
‘This isn’t the place,’ he murmured, his voice all the quieter for her raised one.
Changing his grip, he pulled her up before she could mutter any sound of protest. He was so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body, could smell expensive leather jacket and freshly showered male skin.
‘The place?’ she echoed. ‘Place for what?’
He entwined his fingers with hers. ‘Why don’t we take a walk and find out?’
CHAPTER SIX
EMMA blinked up at him through her eyelashes. It took her a scattered moment to realise she was still holding her earphones in her free hand and that her other hand was captured by the biggest, warmest hand it had ever come into contact with. She told herself she didn’t want to be holding his hand … but who was she kidding but herself?
‘Run,’ she managed, pulling out of his grasp. ‘I was going for a run.’ And if she was sensible she’d keep running all the way back to Sydney.
‘I’ll join you.’
She glanced at his leather jacket and casual shoes, deliberately bypassing the interesting bits in between. ‘You’re hardly dressed for it.’
‘I’ll try to keep up.’ His gaze cruised down her body like a slow boat on a meandering river, all the way to her well-worn sneakers. ‘What about your ankle?’
‘It’s fine.’ He’d be offering to carry her next, so she conceded defeat. ‘Okay, we’ll walk.’ Stuffing her earphones back in her pocket, she accompanied him outside and onto the street.
The air had a cold bite and an invigorating eucalypt scent that called to her senses, and she breathed deep.
‘I saw a little café on the way here,’ he suggested.
‘I didn’t come to the mountains to be shut in a stuffy café with a bunch of city slickers up for the weekend.’
‘Of which we’re two,’ he pointed out.
‘I want to see the Three Sisters by night and sample some mountain air. Come on, it’s a ten-minute walk to Echo Point.’
He took her hand again. ‘What are we waiting for?’
They followed the hotel wall that enclosed the beautiful garden where tomorrow’s ceremony would take place until it gave way to bushland fenced off from the road. Beyond, the ground fell away more than two hundred metres to the valley floor. Neither talked, but a feeling of camaraderie settled between them. Both were absorbed in the mutual appreciation of their surroundings.
The minute the famous Three Sisters rock formation came into view Emma came to an awed stop. ‘Wow.’ She hung back from the main vantage point where a few tourists were milling about, unwilling to share the moment with strangers.
Floodlit, the Sisters gleamed a rich gold against the black velvet backdrop, surrounding trees catching the light and providing a lacy emerald frame. The never-ending sky blazed with stars.
She sighed, drinking in the sight. ‘Aren’t you glad we didn’t go for coffee?’
‘That first glimpse always packs a punch, that’s for sure.’
His voice rumbled through her body and she realised he’d let go of her hand while she’d been taking in the view and was now standing behind her, his chin on top of her head.
‘Did you know the Aboriginal Dreaming story tells us there were three brothers who fell in love with three sisters from another tribe and were forbidden to marry?’ She hugged her elbows, and it seemed natural to lean back into Jake’s warmth.
In response, a pair of rock-solid arms slid around to the front of her waist. ‘Go on. I’m sure there’s more.’
‘A battle ensued, and when the men tried to capture them, a tribal elder turned the maidens into stone to protect them.’
‘And right there,’ he drawled lazily, ‘you’re viewing a lesson to be heeded about the dangers of love and marriage.’
She turned within the circle of his arms. ‘The sad thing is the sisters had no say in any of it.’
‘But you do,’ he murmured against her brow. And bent his head.
Warm breath caressed her skin and her heart began to pound in earnest. He was going to kiss her … And she wasn’t in a fit state to be running anywhere.
Her legs trembled and her mind turned to mush as anticipation spun through her and she looked up. His face was so close she could feel the warmth of his skin, could see its evening shadow of stubble. He had the longest, darkest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. And his eyes … had she ever seen such eyes? As bottomless as the yawning chasm they’d come to view.
Then a half-moon slid from behind a cloud, bathing his perfect features in silver, as if the gods had hammered him so.
‘You can tell me no.’ He loosened his hold around her waist slightly. ‘Right here in front of the Sisters you can exercise your free will as a modern woman. Push me away if you want. Or you can accept what we’ve been tiptoeing around for the past few days and kiss me.’
‘Tiptoeing?’ she whispered. ‘I haven’t—’
‘And it’s time it stopped.’
‘Kiss you …?’ Her words floated into the air on a little white puff as she looked up into his eyes. Dark and deep and direct. Had he mentioned free will? Her will had suddenly gone AWOL; she’d felt it drift out of her and hang somewhere over Jamieson Valley with the evening mist.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Strong fingers curled around her biceps. ‘And this time I’m warning you I’m not letting you go until I’m good and ready.’
The way he said it, all male attitude and arrogance, sent a shiver of excitement along her nerve-endings. Emma heard a whisper of sound issue from her throat an instant before his lips touched hers.
Then she was lost. In his taste: rich and velvety, like the world’s finest chocolate. His cool mossy scent mingled with leather. The warmth of his body as he shifted her against him for a closer fit.
She should have stopped it right there, told him no—he’d given her the option. But her response was torn from her like autumn�
��s last leaf in a storm-ravaged forest. Irrational. Irresistible. Irrevocable.
Voices ebbed and flowed in the distance but she barely heard them above the pounding of her pulse, her murmur of approval as she melted against him like butter on a barbecue grill. Her arms slid around his waist to burrow under his jacket, where he was warm and solid through the T-shirt’s soft jersey.
Jake felt her resistance soften, her luscious lips grow pliant as she opened for him, giving him full access, and he plunged right in. Dark, decadent delight. Moans and murmurs. Her tongue tangled with his, velvet on satin, and her taste was as sweet as spun sugar.
Dragging her against him, he moved closer, his fingertips tracking down her spine, over the flare of her backside, where he pressed her closer so he could feel her heat.
So she could feel his rapidly growing erection butting against her.
He felt the change instantly—subtle, but sure. A tensing of muscles. A change in her stance. She didn’t move away and her lips were still locked with his, but …
Breaking the kiss with a good deal of reluctance, he leaned back to look at her. They were the same age—both twenty-seven—but she looked impossibly young with her hair scraped back from her face, her eyes huge dark pools in the moonlight, her mouth plundered.
He stroked a finger over the groove that had formed between her brows. ‘You’re thinking too hard.’
‘One of us should.’ She didn’t look away. Nor did the frown smooth out.
‘Okay. Talk to me.’
She took a step back. ‘This … thing between us is getting way too complicated.’
‘Seems pretty straightforward to me. So I’m proposing a deal,’ he went on before she could argue, resting his hands on her shoulders. ‘This weekend neither of us talks about work.’ He touched his forehead to hers. ‘We don’t think about work. We’re both between partners, so we’ll enjoy the wedding and each other’s company … and whatever happens happens. No complications. One weekend, Emma.’
‘One weekend.’ She leaned away, her eyes clouded with conflicting emotions. ‘And then what?’
