BTW I Love You

by Heidi Rice

  ‘Your ego really is phenomenal, isn’t it?’ She sounded both annoyed and wary.

  ‘So I’ve been told.’ He levered himself up from the counter, strolled towards her, not insulted in the least. ‘So if you’re not scared, what’s the big problem with us spending the day together?’

  It was a dare, pure and simple. Engineered to strike where it would get the best results—at the independence she was so proud of.

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘That was sneaky.’ She gave him a light punch on the shoulder. ‘How am I supposed to say no now without looking like a sissy?’

  He laughed, pleased to see the tactic had worked. She was going to accept the invitation. No matter how sneaky.

  ‘So which is it? Are you a sissy or aren’t you?’ he prompted.

  She didn’t answer, simply gave her head a rueful shake.

  He grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’

  ‘Fine. You win.’ Her bare foot tapped on the tiles. ‘But you’ll have to take me home first. I’m not going anywhere without lipstick and some clean clothes on.’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ he said, then lifted her chin with his index finger and brushed a thumb across her full bottom lip. ‘Although if I had my way,’ he murmured, scanning her flushed face, ‘I’d be happy for you to do without both.’

  The kiss was supposed to be quick, cursory even. But he found himself lingering, waiting for her to soften and kiss him back. When he eventually released her they were both breathing heavily.

  She backed towards the door, gripped the door handle, the visible flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her collarbone making his gut tighten.

  ‘And I’d be more than willing to oblige,’ she shot back at him, her stance giving him a taunting glimpse of her cleavage. ‘Except, you’ve had far too much of your own way already.’

  So saying, she left the room. And shut the door behind her.

  He laughed at her audacity. Then stared down.

  Seemed he was going to need a cold shower before he drove her home. He whistled one of the salsa tunes from the previous evening as he dropped his sweat pants, considering where to take her for the day. It was his pick this time and he intended to make it a good one. But the whistling cut off as he dumped the sweats into the laundry basket.

  When was the last time the prospect of a date had made him whistle—while sporting an erection the size of Big Ben? And when was the last time he’d been keen to spend time with a woman after they’d spent the night together, instead of itching to get her out of the door so he could have his place to himself again?

  Stepping into the shower, he flipped the dial to frigid and sucked in a breath as the cold water splattered him. He set about applying logic to the situation.

  Ruby only fascinated him because she wasn’t like any of the other women he’d dated. That much was obvious. Spending the day together was the smart thing to do, because it would put an end to his fascination. After all, she couldn’t be as clever or as exciting as she appeared—it was just her unique combination of guts, a quick wit and a great face and figure, not to mention that naughty streak, which had turned him on to the point of madness. By the time he got her back here later, they’d be able to burn off the last of the heat and their brief but enjoyable fling would be over.

  The tuneless whistle began again as he reached for the soap. The glorious summer day stretched ahead of him packed full of guilty pleasures.

  Which he had no reason to feel remotely guilty about.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘I LOVE this place. It’s so elegant and yet so easy-going.’ Ruby sighed as she took a long sip of the iced fruit juice. Slipping off her sandals, she tucked her legs under her bottom on the wide bench seat. She must have walked about five miles this morning, but instead of feeling tired she felt energised. Callum Westmore had proved to be as much fun out of the sack as he was in it.

  She’d expected him to take her somewhere snooty for lunch. And had dressed down accordingly, in a casual summer dress printed with bold pink tulips—to prove she had nothing to prove. But as with the salsa club the previous evening, he’d surprised her, parking back in front of his building after the quick trip to Tufnell Park and then suggesting they walk across the Heath to the open air café that was situated in the old kitchens at Kenwood House.

  The house was a restored Georgian villa used to showcase a collection of Renaissance art, but the grounds, which had also been bequeathed to the nation in 1927 and stretched across manicured lawns to the lake, were the venue for impromptu football and cricket matches, courting couples and family picnics on a hot summer afternoon.

  ‘And so packed,’ Cal said wryly, topping up her glass from the pitcher he’d ordered. ‘I’m usually too busy to come here on a Saturday. I forgot how crowded this place gets at weekends.’

  Propping her elbow on the table, she leaned her chin on her fist and grinned at him. ‘Busy doing what exactly?’ she asked, fluttering her eyelashes, unable to resist the flirtatious gesture.

  The man looked ridiculously rugged and delicious in faded jeans and a polo shirt. And the morning she’d spent in his company had been so full of surprises, both small and large, she was feeling carefree and more than a tad reckless.

  She’d asked herself several times as they drove to her home that morning whether she’d completely lost leave of her senses agreeing to spend the day with him.

  The man was dangerous. He had an unpredictable effect on her better judgment and she needed to be a lot more careful than she had been last night. But as the day had progressed, she’d become more and more elated that he’d engineered this time together. However fleeting.

  She hadn’t had a weekend off in close to six months. What with the pressure of work from her business, plus the course she’d been taking in accountancy this year and the many initiatives she’d had on the go to grow A Touch of Frosting’s profile in the local area, she and Ella had made a conscious decision to take the long August weekend off work as a reward. It had meant juggling orders, cooking well into the evening for two whole weeks and rearranging one of their monthly cupcake decorating classes, but they had deserved their break—even if the Cumberland interview hadn’t been the icing on the cake she’d been hoping for.

  Getting to spend her precious time off with an exceptionally smart, sexy and stimulating man had added to the luxury. And Ruby liked a bit of luxury in her life. Why deny it? Plus as the day had worn on she’d begun to wonder where exactly her little panic attack had come from this morning.

  Okay, Cal had taken charge last night. The more she got to know him, it was pretty obvious he was a take-charge kind of guy. But she’d discovered that if she stuck to her guns she could match him—and anyway, this wasn’t a war, it wasn’t even a proper relationship. It was nothing more than a glorified one-night stand.

  Why complicate something that simply wasn’t that complicated?

  The upside was, spending time with Cal out of bed hadn’t been anywhere near as awkward as she would have anticipated.

  As they had climbed up Parliament Hill to watch the kite enthusiasts launch their elaborate structures in the tiny breath of wind, then strolled through the ancient woodlands and shadowy copses of the Iveagh Bequest, conversation had flowed easily.

  With both of them steering clear of anything too personal, they’d covered everything from the iniquities of the British Justice System to the recipe for the perfect cupcake. Callum was an articulate and enthusiastic conversationalist whose mind worked in a brilliantly logical way. Completely unlike her own—which had a tendency to drift off in all sorts of weird and wonderful directions.

  Yet, despite that, he’d never once patronised her. Not even a little. And that had been the biggest surprise of all. Especially once she’d discovered exactly how brilliant he was.

  After some probing, Cal had admitted that he’d sailed through school and university and then law school and the bar exams. Ruby, on the other hand, had rebelled at an early age against the st
rictures of the classroom.

  While she was proud of what she’d achieved after leaving school at sixteen—having spent the rest of her teens attending night classes in catering college and sweating her way through three years of gruelling split shifts in her family’s Italian restaurant—she’d always had a bit of a complex about her lack of academic qualifications. But while Callum clearly had a phenomenal intellect and the qualifications to prove it, he hadn’t dismissed her point of view or made her feel it had less value than his own. She’d basked in the approval and appreciation in his gaze as they’d ended up in a series of lively debates.

  He wasn’t narrow-minded or an intellectual snob and she’d found the discovery almost as stimulating as the sight of the worn polo shirt moulding to his muscular chest or the way the short hairs on the back of his neck had begun to curl in the sluggish heat.

  The other thing she’d discovered, much to her quiet astonishment, was that Callum Westmore was a hand holder. He’d clasped her fingers as soon as they’d set out across the Heath, and had hardly let go of her since.

  No wonder she felt flirtatious. The rub of his palm against hers and the grip of those long, strong and exceptionally talented fingers had kept the hum of awareness sparking between them all morning.

  She had no idea if he’d planned it that way. Although, from the way he made love—knowing just where to touch her to tease out the most effective response—and from the way he put forward his side of an argument—pausing to weigh each carefully constructed word or phrase of reasoning—she doubted Cal did anything without being well aware of the consequences.

  Picking up the menu from the table, she fanned herself, feeling a little flushed.

  She never would have guessed that she’d be so susceptible to that focused, methodical, wholly masculine approach. But one thing was for certain, the no-sex rule she’d rashly committed to that morning had become a bit of an anachronism during the course of the morning.

  She had decided on a new plan as her physical awareness of him built. It was fairly simple, really. This time she would seduce him and redress the balance of power between them. Before they went their separate ways.

  The only problem was, she’d been flirting with him mercilessly for over half an hour, ever since they’d sat down to eat a delicious meal of rosemary potatoes and roast guinea fowl, and he had yet to take the bait.

  ‘Is that a personal or a professional question?’ The rough tone of his voice made her heartbeat scramble. Did she finally have a nibble?

  ‘Why don’t you take a wild guess?’

  Reaching across the table, he lifted her hand, threaded his fingers through hers. ‘Is this your veiled way of indicating you’ve recovered from the whisker burn?’

  Turning her hand to clasp his, she brought his fingers to her lips, and licked along his knuckles. She felt him shudder and grinned. ‘I wouldn’t call it veiled, Callum.’

  He choked out a laugh, his fingers fisting in hers as he stood up and pulled her off the bench. ‘You are a very naughty girl, Ruby.’ One large hand settled on her hip as he drew her easily against him. ‘I hope you realise you’re playing with fire.’

  Ruby’s heartbeat sped up. Settling her free hand on his nape, she caressed the short hairs that had fascinated her all day. ‘I adore playing with fire.’

  She ran her thumb across his cheek, marvelling at the renewed rasp of stubble even though he had shaved only a few hours before. ‘It’s so exhilarating to tame.’

  ‘Tame?’ His brows lifted and the smile in his eyes dimmed. ‘I’m not in the market to be tamed, Ruby. You do realise that.’

  The warning was clear and unequivocal. Embarrassment stained Ruby’s cheeks at the silly little stab of hurt.

  ‘Well, that’s good, Cal, because neither am I,’ she said, determined to believe it. She’d never be foolish enough to misconstrue her pleasure in the day they’d spent together as a desire for something more. ‘I thought you knew,’ she added. ‘I’m simply using you for sex.’

  However much fun they’d had, Cal was the very last man she’d want to get into a relationship with. He was far too … Far too everything. Too smart, too charming, too controlled. He didn’t have a single chink in his armour. Which made him perfect fling material. But not the sort of man any sensible woman would want to risk falling for.

  He grinned and the look of caution disappeared. ‘Using me?’ He twisted his head to nip her thumb. ‘I’d like to see you try,’ he replied, the uncomfortable moment gone.

  Ruby smiled back, refusing to let the little jolt ruin a perfectly good seduction. ‘That sounds like a challenge,’ she murmured, letting the heady thrill of arousal course through her.

  Gripping his shoulders, she raised up on tiptoes to reach his lips.

  ‘And I should give you fair warning, I always rise to a challenge.’ She threw his words back at him, flicking her tongue across his mouth then drawing back. He groaned, cool palms spanning her waist then running up her sides as he dragged her close and sank into the kiss.

  His breath gushed out as he pulled away. ‘I suggest we take this indoors, before you get us both arrested.’

  She giggled. ‘Spoilsport …’ She bent to pick up her sandals, laughing as he pressed his palm to the small of her back to direct her towards the exit. She noticed the envious stares from a group of young women sitting at the entrance of the packed café—and had a momentary fantasy in which she was Cleopatra, and Callum her Mark Antony.

  Was there anything more exhilarating, she wondered, than bringing a strong man to his knees? This weekend was about letting her inner flirt off the leash for a short while and reconnecting with the empowering pleasures of great sex. And nothing more.

  The fact that Callum was on exactly the same wavelength had to be a good thing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE raucous ringing of the phone interrupted the long languid sigh as Ruby stretched, every cell in her body tingling with afterglow.

  ‘Ignore it.’ Cal’s hand caressed her bottom. ‘The machine will pick up in a minute.’

  Easing into a sitting position, Ruby leaned over him and grinned. With his eyes closed, his short hair furrowed into tufts and his cheeks flushed beneath his tan, he looked satisfied and ever so slightly shattered.

  Cleopatra, eat your heart out.

  Ruby Delisantro had brought her Scottish Warlord to his knees. And not just metaphorically speaking. They’d grabbed a cab back to his flat, not wanting to waste time walking back across the Heath, and then jumped each other. But instead of letting him dictate all the moves, she’d managed to surprise even herself with her desire to taste and touch him in ways that would make him beg.

  And okay, maybe he hadn’t exactly begged, but he’d come pretty damn close.

  ‘What’s the matter, Westmore?’ she asked sweetly, brushing the damp hair back from his brow. ‘Too exhausted to even answer your own phone?’

  He opened his eyes, a slow smile forming, the phone still blaring from the living room, then grabbed her round the waist and rolled over, pinning her beneath him. ‘I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you, Delisantro.’

  She laughed, loving the way his eyes lit with challenge.

  ‘Why not? I made you beg.’

  A bit of an exaggeration, but she intended to push her advantage, as far as was humanly possible. She’d proved that their connection was just about great sex and all was right with her world again.

  ‘You’re good,’ he said, the appreciative chuckle pleasing her immensely. ‘But you’re not that good.’ Framing her face, he pressed his lips below her ear, began to nuzzle the sensitive skin. ‘Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll prove it.’

  ‘A couple of minutes!’ She sniggered, her body so enervated it was almost a sin. ‘Give me a break, you’re going to need more time than that.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure.’

  Knowing him, he probably wasn’t joking, but she scoffed anyway. Because it was required.

  His dise
mbodied voice, measured and businesslike, echoed from the living room, asking the unknown caller to leave a message.

  ‘At last,’ he said, then started nuzzling again. ‘Now where were we?’

  Ruby shivered, ready to let him do all the work this time, when a worried female voice sliced through the erotic fog.

  ‘Cal, where are you? You said you’d come down for Mia’s birthday party this weekend. I expected you over an hour ago. Are you all right? Has something happened?’

  The voice continued in the same vein as Cal swore and raised his head. ‘Hold that thought,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Levering off the bed, he grabbed his jeans, tugged them on and left the room.

  Ruby lurched up, the playful mood destroyed. The woman sounded upset. But more than that she’d seen the sudden flicker of guilt cross Cal’s face before he’d masked it.

  Slipping out of bed, Ruby grabbed the towelling robe off the floor and followed Cal down the corridor. Her throat closed at the thought that the caller might be his girlfriend. Why hadn’t she asked if he was seeing someone? And who the hell was Mia? She rubbed her arms as the cold weight of disillusionment coiled in her belly.

  Stopping in the doorway of a large, expensively furnished and scrupulously tidy living room, Ruby watched Cal pick up the phone. He had his back to her, his shoulders stiffening as he spoke into the receiver.

  ‘Maddy, calm down. I’m here,’ he said, his voice sharp with impatience. He ran his fingers through his hair as he listened to the reply.

  Maddy. The sister Cal had mentioned that morning. But even as Ruby made the connection the rush of relief she would have expected refused to come.

  ‘I forgot about the party,’ he continued, sounding annoyed now. ‘It’s not the end of the world. Mia’s three, she won’t even notice if I’m there or not.’

  Ruby stepped back. She should return to the bedroom before he caught her eavesdropping, but the sound of Cal’s voice—so stiff and irritable—made her stop in the doorway.