High Heels & Bicycle Wheels

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘I need to jump in the shower.’ If only to deal with what was never going to subside on its own. ‘Catch you in ten. Will you be ready?’

  ‘Ready?’ She sounded a million miles away.

  Spelling it out in words of one syllable here. ‘To go out? To do some work?’ One mention of the ‘W’ word, she was back in the room.

  ‘Yes, sure, just got a couple of things to iron. I’ll go.’ She began to head towards the house, hips swaying as she strode. Bare feet today then.

  Best scenario of all. He got to watch her leave.

  Bryony grabbed her dress and headed for the stairs, where the polished wood was smooth under the soles of her feet. She was relieved to grab the first excuse to leave, because it let her off the hook. Since she slid off Jackson yesterday morning in the camper, they’d had no time alone together. Jackson had shot away with the farmer to get help, then they’d been bundled into the cab of a recovery vehicle, and once they’d got home Jackson had rushed off to pick up some car. She’d gone to bed early so she didn’t have to face him when he came back, then woke at dawn. Sex-on-the-brain was one bad reason not to sleep. Seeing him out on the deck just now, she still wasn’t sure how he was going to play it, or how to play it herself. Was there even any protocol on how to pick up and carry on after you’d jumped a guy when he was half asleep, simply because he’d sent your hormones out-of-control crazy and you couldn’t stop yourself? If he did decide to make a move now, would she be gagging for it against her better judgement? Or would her sensible head win through and let her give him her best frosty-knickers knock-back. Confused.com didn’t begin to cover it. His tree-trunk of an erection making an escape bid from his shorts this morning suggested a certain level of interest. She swallowed the saliva that filled her mouth at that thought. Him, his unzipped jacket flapping around the sculpted tan of that delicious six pack. As for the rest… She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off it, but hopefully he hadn’t picked up on that. His head was big enough as it was without him thinking he was completely irresistible. But even though the body language of certain parts had been screaming his intentions loud and clear, and his eyes had been all dark and soft, there had been contradictions. She’d been on full-alert, ready to deal with an advance, yet he’d been definitely standoffish in his attitude. Cool even. Like he was the one giving her the icy-boxer brush off, not the other way around. And mixed messages were not what she’d expect from Hot Stud, Jackson Gale.

  She’d found her way to the ironing room the previous evening, so she knew the route up to the airy top-floor laundry space crisscrossed through the dramatic modern house, giving constant views from landings and walkways, through to the cavernous spaces below. When she reached the top this morning, she realised there was a high level deck she hadn’t noticed yesterday in the dark. She tried the door handle, found it was open, and pushing out, she arrived on a dizzying second floor platform.

  ‘Wow, amazing view.’ She leaned over the balcony rail, peering down to the decking below. Beyond the river mouth, the sea glinted turquoise. Closer in, she could look down on the roofs and jutting angles of the house.

  She snatched a breath. A movement lower down, behind a long narrow window, caught her attention. ‘Oh, my.’ Embarrassing or what? Only a birds-eye view straight into what had to be Jackson’s en-suite. A wet room, given the fact that in the shadows below she could make out water jets coming from all angles and a figure which had to be Jackson.

  Dammit. She should leave. Immediately.

  Mesmerised, she strained to see more. Jackson. Naked. Monochrome in the shadows beyond the glass, soaping and scrubbing himself, angling his body into the spray. He turned, unaware he was being watched, and her stomach slipped away as she made out the arc of his erection his hand somewhere round the base of it. She bit her lip sharply, desperate to move yet somehow frozen. Her limbs locked completely as his hand began to move, slowly, up and down the length.

  ‘Jackson jerking off? What the…?’ She shut her eyes tightly, as her heart thumped. Then she opened them again. Wide. Not because she wanted to, but because she had to. She took a gulp of air, screwed up her eyes to focus.

  His hand was moving faster now. As she watched, a flutter of need between her legs, grew to a pulsing ache. This was so wrong, yet it was so damned hot. He was moving in a steady deliberate rhythm now, and, as he tugged faster, more roughly, she sagged against the rail, crossed her legs, clenched her thighs. Then he leaned back, thrust his penis upwards into the air, and let go. Awesome. Dragging in a breath, she rammed a hand between her legs, found the pulsing heat of her clit, and pressed. A second later her body clenched, then a rippling explosion of pleasure spread through her. She clung onto the rail, head thudding, body spinning. When she finally opened her eyes again Jackson had collapsed too, shoulder against the wall. Less than a minute since she arrived, and it was all over.

  ‘Okay. So much for pressing that dress…’ She blew a sweat-dampened strand of hair off her forehead and smoothed down her shirt. Ten minutes, Jackson had said. If she was going to be ready she needed to get a move on.

  Ten minutes later Jackson had settled himself on the terrace table, feet on a chair, elbows on his knees, prepared for a very long wait. No way would Cherry Bomb appear within the hour, given all the woman things she had to do. At least it would give him time to decide why what Dan had said yesterday was disturbing him, and, more importantly, to work out how he was going to handle what was turning into some kind of meltdown in the lust area. Revisits were not his bag, and the last thing he expected was seconds turning out hotter than firsts. He was used to one explosive night which left you feeling happy and fulfilled, whereas Cherry made more feel like he’d had less. Rather than satisfying his need, the more he got, the more he wanted, like some exponential dependency. As if someone had turned up his libido onto high, then carried on off the scale. He’d heard the guys talk about needing to burn out the heat. So what if Cherry Bomb was a woman who was going to need total burn-out before he got her out of his system? Her complexity didn’t sit easily with him. No way was he going to get embroiled with someone who wasn’t going to let go once he was ready to leave, just because his sex-drive was temporarily out of hand. The trouble with Cherry was the way she kept wrong-footing him, taking him by surprise.

  ‘Aren’t you ready, Jackson?’ Her voice behind him made him jolt.

  Dammit. She’d just done it again. Standing there in her white linen dress, tight in all the right places – or should that be the wrong places? – with the scariest high heels yet. His guts disintegrated.

  ‘I’m ready.’ She tapped her watch. Jackson eased off the table, tried to take his mind off her dress pulling taut across her ass as he followed her around to the car. From the absence of a panty-line, he could’ve sworn that she wasn’t wearing any knickers. One time he’d have queried this out-right, no second thought, just for the shock-value, but today he wasn’t going there. He opted for something less challenging. ‘What’s in the bag, princess?’

  ‘That’s my alternative shoe store – converse and flip flops.’ She flashed him a dazzler of a smile. ‘In case we go skinny dipping…’

  Holy crap. He might be backing down, but there was no way she was.

  How the hell he was going to survive today?

  Chapter 27

  Bryony prided herself on being able to get the best out of people. She was renowned at work for being able to coax anyone, from the most bloody-minded celeb to the grouchiest cameraman, but today Jackson was proving impossible. Getting the better of her by sheer power of personality was one thing, but following up by grinding her down being completely uncommunicative and moody was something else entirely. Carefree Jackson had disappeared along with his camper and been replaced by a Range Rover driver with a face like thunder and a personality to match the blacked-out windows. They’d sorted another ride, albeit communicating in monosyllables and grunts, but it hadn’t been the easiest day. Afterwards they’d eaten lobster at a quaysid
e restaurant in total silence. By nine in the evening, Bryony finally decided that for this thoroughly awkward patient, shock treatment was the only option.

  ‘Here you go, Jackson.’ She plonked herself down beside him, on the wall where he was sitting, prised the top off the large ice-cream tub she’d just bought from the quayside store, and rammed a plastic spoon into his hand. ‘Sorry about the plastic spoon, but this works like a dream for me when I’m in a mood.’

  ‘I’m not in a…’ One squawk of protest from him that proved her point completely.

  ‘My favourite chocolate cookie-dough flavour, usually reserved for spoil-myself nights in front of the TV. They had a frozen yogurt version, but to hell with that, I got the creamy stuff.’ She sucked a smear off her finger. ‘Put it in your mouth – for me, for one time only. It’s so bad for you and so sugar-laden, it has to make you feel better.’

  ‘I’m not…’

  ‘Jackson, just shut up, try it, and don’t speak again until you’re halfway down the tub.’ She splashed a grin at him. ‘Then you better pass it over, or else…’

  Jackson all tangled up but he was finally doing what she asked him. One last protesting eye-roll, one last clench of those hollow cheeks that were more tightly drawn than ever today, then he lifted the spoon, sucked in a slick. And then another.

  ‘Not bad.’ He scrutinised the horizon as he swirled the contents around his mouth.

  Shit Jackson, it’s an ice-cream fest, not a wine-tasting. She bit her tongue. ‘Cool?’

  ‘Mmmm, I guess.’ The most positive he’d been since morning.

  After the run around he’d given her today, it was enough to make her bounce. A strange day given how it began, and when you’ve started by inadvertently – yet unavoidably – crashing a guy’s most private activity ever. Even if he doesn’t know it, the guilt you feel is going to make you cut him some slack. She should never have watched but at the same time that was a moment of double realisation. Firstly, because she finally decided that hands-off was no longer an option for her with Jackson. He was too hot, the things he did to her insides were too major for her to stay away. To hell with it. In that moment she decided to do what everyone always told her to do – to let go. She was going to grab her good time. He was around for a short while, and then he was leaving. The situation couldn’t be more perfect for someone like her, who refused to receive commitment, or to give it. And having come to that decision, the consequences became suddenly clear. All along Jackson was adamant that he was backing away from any more than the night of physical involvement she’d already had. What she’d snatched yesterday had been a departure from the norm for him. If she made him change his mind now, she immediately got back the power he’d whooshed away from her when he grabbed control of the itinerary. Easy.

  Except first she had to make that happen, which was why she’d come out fighting in her tightest dress and her sexiest shoes. And, because a girl has to do what a girl has to do – a measure of her desperation, or her determination, not sure which – she’d come out without her underwear, which, now she was sitting on a wall, bottom button gaping, passers-by gawping, was feeling like rash bad judgement.

  ‘All good?’ She slipped an ice-cream-sharing, co-conspirator smile to Jackson.

  ‘Your turn now.’ He gave his spoon a last lick, and pushed the tub into her hands. ‘About before…’

  At last. She took it gratefully, dug in, and let the chocolate melt on her tongue. ‘Mmmmmm…’

  ‘Dan implied my racing days are over, when we were chatting yesterday.’ He gave a shrug. ‘It’s been on my mind.’

  Was this him explaining away the bad mood?

  ‘And would that be so bad?’ Musing here, given most of her mind was on cookie dough.

  ‘Obviously.’

  Despite the hard time he’d given her all day, something about his downcast reticence made her chest twang.

  ‘Jackson, you’re sitting here, and for the first time since you were seven you’re the one actually making the decisions about what you do, minute by minute. You’re eating your first ice cream for twenty years. I see that as good. ’

  ‘Life as a racer is dysfunctional. But it’s all I know.’

  ‘Maybe you need to move on, build some different dreams. There’s a whole glorious world out there just waiting for you to find it.’ One easy thought in the slanting evening sun. She’d give him that one for free. From his grimace she guessed he’d dismissed it, except a moment later he turned on her.

  ‘So, what about you and your dreams? The Jimmy Wang dress, the house in the suburbs, the school run? It’s obvious you’re desperate for kids.’

  She opened her mouth and closed it again. Inadvertently her brain flipped to the picture of her everlasting-dream, the one where she came down for Sunday breakfast with the now completely unavailable, Matt. It was weird – the kitchen was still there, she could still smell the toast and the coffee, but it wasn’t Matt standing by the island unit. There was a guy, definitely, but it wasn’t him. If this week had finally erased Matt from her unrequited-dream-guy spot, then it had to be a good thing.

  She re-engaged her speech cogs to stamp on Jackson’s wild claim. ‘I can’t think where you got that idea.’

  ‘Probably you going gooey-eyed when you talk about your friends’ kids was the giveaway. You’re telling me to move on, but how about you move on from organising all your friends into happy coupledom, and sort out your own life? Forget about egg-freezing and find a real live fertile guy.’

  ‘What?’ She was doing her high-pitched shriek. Again. ‘I can’t believe you said that.’ He was playing hard ball now and he wasn’t backing off.

  ‘You started this, Princess. And let’s be honest, sometimes the truth is hard to face. Sounds like everyone went on to the next stage and left you behind, but it’s time for you to go there too. You can’t sit home-alone, eating ice cream forever.’

  His straight talking might be stinging, but she wasn’t taking it lying down. ‘And you can sit watching kiddie cartoons?’

  He gave a snort. ‘That’s different.’

  She wasn’t letting him get away with that. ‘How?’

  He narrowed his eyes as he thought, then shot her a triumphant grin ‘They’re ironic.’

  Bollocks to that. She blew, shook her head, but stayed silent. Damn him for always having an answer, and damn him for nailing her with some darned awkward questions. How did he always do that?

  He got up from the wall, ran his fingers through his hair, ‘Come on, you can finish your ice cream in the car. Let’s go and find that beach.’

  As he turned, his gaze snagged on her thighs. The perfect opportunity to get her own back, and to relaunch her take-over bid. Eyeing him closely, she slowly crossed one leg over the other. From the way his jaw dropped she guessed he’d clocked the panty-free situation, and as he yanked up his jeans, she caught his lips curling into a private grin, stretching pretty much the width of the bay.

  Chapter 28

  ‘There’s a quiet cove up along the coast I thought we might check out.’

  Beside him in the front of the car she slid off her shoes and tucked her feet up underneath her. ‘Fab.’

  Not so fab that her dress was riding up, a couple of buttons undone, top and bottom, taut tanned thighs slanting towards him. Not to mention the erection-stoking expanse of cleavage that popped in and out of view as she shifted in her seat. And that was before he got to thinking about that one eye-searing flash of confirmation he’d snatched earlier. His early-morning no-knicker theory had been right, God help him. He’d had a physically punishing life, but what he’d lived through today had to be his idea of torture.

  ‘We’re heading for Pascoe Cove. Do you want to check we’re going the right way?’ If she concentrated on navigating it might put a stop to those wriggles. He knew the smile he posted her wouldn’t go halfway to making up for how he’d been today.

  ‘Give me a minute.’ She grabbed her phone, and her airy mix of
eager enthusiasm and startling efficiency sent another shot of guilt through his gut. ‘Okay, got it.’

  No excuses on his part. Having her body paraded in front of him and knowing it was off-limits had wound him up beyond the point of explosion. Not that it was her fault, although there were times today when it seemed like she was almost taunting him.

  ‘We’ll need to turn off somewhere soon.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Cherry was a lot of things, but no way would she push a guy’s buttons to deliberately tip him over the edge; it wasn’t her style. She couldn’t help being off-the-scale hot and it was his fault he hadn’t got his libido in line, but who’d have thought sexual frustration would be this excruciating.

  ‘Next left after this one, Jackson.’

  Back there he’d tossed out a line about his racing career being washed up because the last thing he wanted was her suspecting the real reason he was biting her head off every two minutes. No guy wanted a woman – who he’d decided was too hot to handle – to know she was driving him wild. Running scared was not a good look.

  And who knows why he was heading out to some isolated beach when the sensible course of action was to head back home, where at least he could hide behind the safety of a closed door. Somehow everything he’d decided yesterday, about staying away because he didn’t want to capitalise on the Brando link, had already gone out the window too. And something told him that sticking to his hand’s-off-Cherry policy was about to get a whole lot harder.

  ‘That’s as flat as I can get it.’ Bryony battling with the breeze, finally flung the rug down on the sand. ‘And the beach to ourselves. How good is that?’

  Not good at all, from where Jackson was standing. And tomorrow he’d definitely come up with a different way of handling the situation. Only a couple more hours to endure tonight and he’d be clear.

  ‘Fantastic.’

  Or it would be if she wasn’t walking straight towards him. He flinched as her hand dropped onto his arm. Precisely why he’d loaded her up with the rug and the cool box to bring down from the car, so she couldn’t do the random touching thing and turn his pulse rate crazy.