Dog Handling

by Clare Naylor

  “Christ, you’re fried there.” He left his pool of water and moved closer to her.

  “Shouldn’t you be drinking champagne or swimming or something?” she said, and covered up her legs with the pair of jeans she was still wearing around her neck.

  “Can I help with that cream?” he asked as he took the jar from her hand.

  “You know what? I think it’s very expensive and I probably shouldn’t have taken any in the first place, so why don’t we just put it back and go upstairs for something to eat?” Liv blabbered, and as if on cue, her stomach rumbled like an air-raid siren.

  “Not a chance.” He pushed the flopping wet hair out of his eyes and reached towards her. Liv jerked back and Amelia’s perfumes and potions clattered behind her on the dressing table. “That shoulder needs attention,” he said as he rested his hand on the sunburn. “Painful?” he asked.

  Liv nodded and held her breath in fear. Painfully embarrassing. “Listen, Dr. Kildare, I think we should go back upstairs. You’ve tended to my wounded ankle and that was very kind of you, but I reckon this is taking things a bit too far. Besides which, you have a girlfriend about six feet above us.”

  “Yeah, well, Amelia’s a problem I’m going to have to face up to eventually.” He sighed and Liv thought actually looked miserable. Yeah, right, the big faker. Like any man could call Amelia a problem to be faced up to.

  “Nice try,” Liv muttered under her breath, and walked towards the door. But he put a hand out on her arm and she really did just stick to the spot.

  “Just let me rub some cream into your back. I promise I’ll be a complete gentleman.”

  Oh, hell, what could she say to that? Now he was being all Victorian and honourable and she had to trust him. And besides, it would look bigheaded if she said, “No, sorry, but I think I’m so irresistible that you’re going to have to pounce on me because you won’t be able to help yourself.” And last, well, there was no denying that she wanted him to do it.

  “See, it feels better already, doesn’t it?” he said, lightly stroking the gorgeous cream into the back of her neck.

  “I suppose,” Liv murmured like a petulant teenager.

  “Okay, so trust me. Lie down and I’ll give you a proper massage. I took a course in Thailand a few years ago. Purely professional.”

  Liv looked at him and he did look disappointingly professional. His towel was now pulled tightly, almost chastely, round his waist and there wasn’t a hint of suggestiveness in his eye. Oh well, she’d well and truly peed on that bonfire, she thought, and decided to comply. Clearly she’d taken her be-cool-and-don’t-play-ball dog-handling behaviour too far. Whether she meant to or not.

  Still, though, having Ben Parker rubbing delicious-smelling unguents into her limbs had been her dream before she even knew she was coming to Australia. The idea of such a thing had left her too weak to finish her sandwiches on several lunch hours. And she was saying no? Like hell. Last-chance saloon for this cowgirl, she thought as she lay on the bed and gave way to Ben’s admittedly expert hands kneading her shoulders and back. She’d discarded the jeans and shyly discarded her top, too, when he suggested it might be a little difficult to reach the really important places if she was wearing her smock top. She bit her lip and whipped her top off with her back to him. This may be a professional massage, but she wasn’t going to let him see things that he might one day be able to use in evidence against her.

  “This bit looks really sore. Is it?” he asked as he stroked his fingers over Liv’s burgeoning red bits.

  “Ouch. Yup,” she acquiesced. Even though her tongue was practically lolling out with the sheer bliss of the massage. Her head was buried deep in the folds of the cool linen pillows and the boat bobbed softly up and down. She drifted off and would have been lying if she didn’t admit that she did find herself imagining slightly that this wasn’t purely professional. The delusional fantasy of a lovestruck woman, she knew, and she realised that she wasn’t being any more realistic than the women who chucked underwear at Tom Jones thinking that they’d be tucked up under the sheets with him later that night and making his scrambled eggs in the morning. She’d definitely blown it by being such a cold old cow. If not by just being herself.

  Liv turned her head the other way so he could reach the left side of her neck. His stroke now felt slower and he’d shifted his body weight closer to her. She tried to ignore the fact, too, that every time his hands effleuraged down the sides of her body they slid a little farther, brushing the sides of her breasts. She wasn’t complaining. Though maybe she should have complained about the morality of his kneading as it got a little lower down, his thumbs exploring the skin just beneath the waistband of her shorts while his girlfriend was doubtless regaling eager partygoers with charming anecdotes just feet above them.

  By this stage Liv had almost stopped fantasising. Hell, she didn’t really need to. He was definitely stroking her inner thighs in a fantastically unprofessional way.

  “Feeling better?” he asked as she felt a soft tickle on her left shoulder.

  “Mmsshh,” she murmured. An indecisive sound that couldn’t make up its mind whether to be honest or sexy or disapproving so just came out plain silly.

  “And this?” he asked as she felt a softer, slightly more damp sensation trailing down her back. Christ, wake up and smell the jasmine, Liv. It’s his lips. It’s his tongue. She craned her neck around to see if she was completely seasick and delirious only to be met by his lips. Square on hers. The second that happened she found herself flipped over deftly like a pink omelette, tomato and bacon perhaps, and her chest pressing close to his. My god, the hairs against her burning skin, the weight of him on top of her, the bloody shock as he slipped one hand down the front of her shorts and kissed her. But this was all a little bit too real to take in. As though after years of imagining this moment, of imagining that Tim was Ben Parker, here he was and it was all some hyper-reality acid trip. Liv shook her head to get him off her face; she put her hands on his shoulders and tried to look him square in the eyes, though, to be honest, her gaze kept wandering distractedly to his lips and his scary sexy chiselled nose.

  “You are so incredible.” He looked right down into her face and for an atom-splitting second Liv believed him. Well, with one hand down her now-unzipped shorts and his other stroking your hair back from her face it was pretty easy to believe him.

  “And incredibly, I’m going to say I think we’d better go back upstairs,” Liv said briskly, sitting up and reaching for her smock top. Lovely though it was, this wasn’t really what she wanted, because she was just too damned afraid that the minute this went any further she would end up on some scrap heap of Ben Parker rejects. Clearly Alex was right and he was a player, albeit in the guise of a very sweet guy, but if he was a player he really would discard her the second he’d had his way. She knew that Dave had been right about that much. Quit while you’re ahead, Liv, she told herself firmly. She’d been battered around quite enough lately and couldn’t face it happening again.

  “I’m sorry, Ben, but this will never work. It mustn’t happen again,” she said firmly as she scraped her hair back into a ponytail and headed up the stairs to face the others.

  “Liv, that looks so painful. Do you want to borrow some aloe vera?” Amelia came up to Liv and scrutinised her sunburn. Liv nearly threw herself overboard in shock. She wasn’t aware that Amelia even knew her name, let alone gave a damn whether she was pink or purple with blue dots. She’d assumed that Amelia only spoke to the beautiful people. “Have a cranberry juice at least; vitamin C’s great for the skin.” She handed Liv a tall glass of juice rattling with ice cubes and sat down next to her on one of the navy chenille deck chairs.

  “Thanks.” Liv turned into the class square who could only talk about algebra and who never made it to the netball team again. “It’s a lovely boat.”

  “Well, you know, anytime you want to come and spend the afternoon on board you’re welcome. Just give me a tinkle and I’ll
get the harbourmaster to let you on.”

  “Well, that’s amazing, and thanks. Again,” Liv moved her deck chair slightly away from Amelia’s and hoped she was downwind. If Amelia got a whiff of her best cream, which had been lavishly plastered onto Liv’s body by her boyfriend in her bedroom, Liv thought their new and beautiful friendship might come to an abrupt halt.

  “So Alex tells me you run Greta’s Grundies on Paddo Market. I’ve got a few pieces from them. And Ben’s bought me some gorgeous stuff there. And he loves this pair with ties at the side . . . so he can just—whoosh—undo them.” She laughed dirtily. Liv gulped as Amelia reclined and pulled her sun hat over her face. Talk about hiding your light under a bushel. Still, there were the legs and the gently concave stomach and the prettily manicured toes to show off when the face took a break.

  “We’re thinking of expanding. I’d like to get a catalogue thing and a Web site going, but it might take a bit of time. We’ll see. It’s a small business and there’s loads of really fierce competition,” Liv said to get away from whooshing knickers.

  “Well, you know I’ll be happy to help publicise in any way I can. I have a few contacts on the fashion scene,” Amelia said breezily, and then nodded off to sleep. Amazed, Liv’s mind drifted off to little bylines in Australian Vogue next to a Greta swimsuit. Or Madonna wearing one of the old-fashioned bathing suits on holiday at Whale Beach. And all because Amelia had chosen to put the word about. Somewhere in her business brain Liv was grateful she’d just done the decent thing with Ben (well, after a brief flirtation with indecency that hardly counted except that she’d treasure it forever, amen, et cetera), because it was looking as though being on the same side with Amelia was going to be very important indeed if Liv and Alex were going to make a success of Greta’s Grundies.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Love and Romance 1¾ Miles

  I don’t want to talk about it!” Liv nearly yelled down the phone at Dave. “If I didn’t put him off before, I have done now, and if the truth be known, I don’t regret it for a second. I’m dedicating the foreseeable future to my career.”

  “What do you mean, you put him off? Did you come on too strong and scare him away? Did you give up the goods, Liv?” Dave nearly cried at the other end. His protégée might have severely stuffed up her mission.

  “No, I did not. I told him that I wasn’t interested, and I’m not bluffing, Dave. I really am not interested. I can’t afford to be. I know you’re right and he’d drop me like a hot potato if I let him have his way, so I just threw in the towel.” Liv sighed.

  “Oh, my angel, you are a genius. Okay, I’m coming round and we’re going to plot the next dot on the map.”

  “No, Dave, you don’t understand. I really don’t want anything more to do with Ben Parker,” Liv protested, but it was too late—Dave was pulling on his cycle helmet and hopping on his mountain bike by the time she put the phone down in despair.

  Liv was busying herself with tea bags and milk in the kitchen as Dave made himself comfortable on the sofa. In his cycling shorts, T-shirt, and stubble he looked about as far away from Dorothy, Cher, and Greta as could be. And he looked very handsome.

  “I’d rather talk business if you don’t mind. Now I know James is happy with the proposal that Alex and I made for the takeover of Greta’s Grundies, but are you prepared to sign the documents?” Liv asked as she studiously avoided his gaze and put two cups of tea down on the table.

  “I might be. But you have to hear me out first.”

  “What I’d really like to do is to expand the swimwear line and get some sort of Web Site going. I think that could work, don’t you?”

  “Why are you backing off, Liv? The truth.” Dave picked up his tea and watched Liv as she sat down opposite him.

  “Because I believe you should quit when you’re ahead. By some weird fluke I played all the games you told me even though I didn’t mean to, and so by default I made Ben Parker chase me for almost a whole week. I got him to call me and I got him to kiss me and, believe me, it was heaven.” Liv paused at the memory. Dave could imagine.

  “Which is all great.”

  “But you know that both Tim and Will took what they wanted from me and then kicked me to the kerb, as you so delicately put it, and I don’t want that to happen again. And the thing is that I like Ben. Listen, I’ve spent the weekend literally bashing my head against walls and tables in abject misery at the thought of what I’ve given up, but I know it was the right decision. Ben Parker’s never going to be in love with me and so what’s the point? I’m not so cool that I can just make do with sex. I wish I were, but I want to be liked, too. Anyway, Ben might be perverse enough to want to snog me because he thought I wasn’t interested, but really that’s as far as it would ever go. I really think he’s the sweetest, most handsome, brightest guy I’ve met in ages, but the second I let myself go I’ll fall for him so hard that I might never be able to pick myself up again. I don’t want to risk that, Davo.”

  “Sweetheart, that’s giving something away because you’re afraid to lose it.”

  “Damned right it is. I’m going to lose it anyway, so better do it with some dignity and pride left intact,” Liv reasoned reasonably.

  “If you want to make him fall in love with you, then you can,” Dave assured her. “Got any biscuits, by the way?”

  Liv wandered over to the kitchen and picked up the indispensable TimTams.

  “Look, even if I’d wanted to take this any further, I gave him such a brush-off yesterday that there’s no way he’ll even think about calling again.” Liv bit into a biscuit.

  “Okay, how about we strike a deal? If he calls again, then I’m right. It means that dog handling works and you have to go with it and follow it through. Make him fall in love with you.”

  “It’s just completely unlikely, Dave,” Liv assured him.

  “Then you won’t mind shaking on it.” He held out his hand and Liv looked at it hesitantly.

  “Guess not.” She shrugged, “Now will you please sign my contract for the takeover of Greta’s Grundies and then when I’m still single at ninety I’ll at least be able to afford to pay my gas bill.” She held out her hand and shook his, and Dave signed the papers that confirmed that Liv Elliot and Alex Burton were now the rightful owners of Greta’s Grundies, Inc. Something to celebrate at least, she thought miserably.

  Laura sat in front of her shrink biting her nails and making them bleed.

  “Perhaps we should address why you bit your nails in such a destructive fashion this week, Laura.” Suzanne examined her own perfect cuticles and looked with disdain at Laura’s. She did think that people would have fewer psychological problems if they just kept up with their basic grooming, but then that wouldn’t be great for business, she supposed.

  “It’s self-loathing,” Laura remarked. “I did a really awful thing this week.”

  “Would you like to share?” Suzanne made a note on her pad to book an eyebrow wax.

  “It’s my neighbour Liv. I’ve been sabotaging her social life.” Laura looked up from under her paint-strewn fringe in embarrassment. Suzannah did a “share away” pout and waited.

  “Well, the thing is that she’s involved with someone who I know is trouble and I’m really trying to protect her.”

  “How do you know this person is trouble?” Suzanne asked.

  “Because I was involved with this person myself.”

  “Is this The One?”

  “The one I had all the trouble with? Who broke my heart? Yes.” Laura’s hands had begun to shake and her cuticles no longer had a hope in hell of surviving the latest onslaught.

  “You know I don’t approve of that term, Laura.” Suzanne frowned disapprovingly.

  “The person who caused me temporary emotional trauma, then. Well, I just happen to be able to hear their phone from my hut and just sort of overheard this message that this person had left and deleted it. I’d hate to see her hurt in the way I was. Was that right?”

&nb
sp; “I suspect you know that it wasn’t. That it was you being controlling and not respecting your neighbour’s right to make her own decisions.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll tell her as soon as I get home, then. Sorry.” Laura broke into a sweat and moved on to discuss how her father flushing her dead goldfish down the toilet when she was five had left her with unresolved feelings about her own mortality.

  Liv hadn’t been able to get a sensible word out of James or Dave all afternoon. It was four and the beach was still hot as the three of them topped up their vitamin D levels in preparation for the night of mayhem they were planning.

  “You two are like a couple of kids gearing up to go to a birthday party. I’ve never seen adults so excited.” Liv grinned as Dave covered his face with a towel so that he wouldn’t catch any more sun and not be pale enough to be Greta Garbo tonight.

  “Just you wait, young lady; this is the party of the year. You’ll see,” James berated her.

  “Well, I’m not likely to know, am I, as you can’t seem to get me a ticket. I thought you were supposed to be the Queen Bee, and you can’t even get me in. I have no faith in all this Pink Power you claim to wield,” Liv complained.

  “Sorry, babe, queers only. Anyway, you should be grateful I got you into that roof garden party on the route. I’ll wave to you from my float. You’ll be sipping cocktails all night and dancing with boys dressed in angel costumes, and you’re complaining?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But I’m not going to know anyone there, so I may feel a bit . . . well, left out. Won’t all be gay, will it?” Liv wondered aloud.

  “Not even slightly, honey. But very exclusive, so stop whinging and count yourself lucky. Besides, I gave you a guest ticket, too—haven’t you invited anyone?”