The Sweetest Fling

by LJ Bradley

  The Sweetest Fling

  LJ Bradley

  Copyright © 2017 by LJ Bradley

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Meg kicked off her sandals and lifted her long, chestnut hair from the back of her neck. She rested against the balcony railing and sighed. Her gaze wandered over the lush gardens below while her thoughts shifted to a cool shower and change of clothes. Maybe dinner and a couple of glasses of wine at one of the nearby restaurants later. For now, though, it felt so good to be back in her room.

  She’d expected the crowds and heat in Bali, but the humidity had come as a surprise. Three days in to her first solo holiday and she still hadn’t adjusted. After shopping up a storm for souvenirs to take home to family and friends, her tank top and skirt were now clinging to her body. Breaks like this rarely came her way though, so it was heaven no matter how frizzy her hair got.

  A faint whistle pulled her from her thoughts. Meg let go of her hair, feeling it tumble down her back as she leaned over the railing to search for the source of the sound. The upbeat tune floated on the breeze, growing louder the longer she listened. Over the past few days she’d heard laughter, drunken singing, an argument from one of the rooms on the first floor… but there’d been no whistlers lurking about.

  Meg caught sight of a man strolling beneath the canopy of trees. She couldn’t see much from her vantage point, but with nothing better to do she tracked his movements, watching as he made his way down the path. When he finally emerged from the dappled shade into full sunlight, she sucked in a breath.

  Ho-ly crap.

  Rumpled dark hair, strong jaw, sexy scruff—so gorgeous it bordered on ridiculous. He’d left his white shirt hanging open, his hands dipped into the pockets of navy shorts. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes from where she stood, but she’d bet anything they were just as dazzling as the rest of him. When her attention lowered to take in his bare chest and the flat plane of his stomach, a sound came from her that fell somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

  And didn’t that just say everything.

  Meg shook her head and laughed. The last time she’d had sex was… long enough ago that remembering took some effort. She’d clearly reached the desperate stage now, which meant she had no business being near a man who only needed to cock an eyebrow to have women throwing themselves at him.

  Just as she’d decided to head back inside to put some distance between herself and temptation, he lifted his eyes and shot her a glance. Meg froze on the spot, torn between running and staying right where she was to bask in his attention. His gaze lingered on her face before taking a slow tour over her. When his cheerful tune slipped into one long, low whistle of appreciation, the shift in mood sent a jolt of sensation between her thighs.

  Her fingers tightened around the railing and her heart thudded. She willed herself to calm down, but her body didn’t want to play along—it wanted to play with him. The urge came over her to race down the stairs and put herself in his path just to see what he’d do next.

  A hint of a smile touched his lips, giving her the impression he knew exactly what his attention had done to her. Meg frowned, wondering how he could be so at ease when she was barely keeping it together even from her safe distance away up here.

  His low laugh floated up to greet her, and the sound caused a warm, pleasurable squeeze deep in her belly. She swallowed hard, knowing if he stayed within her sights a second longer she’d be in all kinds of trouble.

  But then he disappeared beneath the balcony and the moment ended.

  Just like that.

  Meg blew out a breath and pressed her palms to her cheeks. Her stomach fluttered like mad and a wild tremor worked its way through her body. He hadn’t touched her—hadn’t even uttered a single word—but she felt so giddy and alive. A man shouldn’t be able to have that kind of impact on her with a mere look.

  Those few seconds weren’t enough. She wanted to yank open the door to check if he was staying on the same floor as her. Chase him down and beg him to look at her like that again and again. But she’d come here for relaxation, not romance. Despite her best friend, Ally, urging her to seek out a little ‘casual fun’ while she was here, it wasn’t her style, and she couldn’t see that changing any time soon.

  Meg dragged in air and let it out slowly, doing her best to force him from her mind.

  Better to indulge in the wine instead.

  Much safer.

  Meg hooked a pair of hoops through her ears and pulled her hair into a sleek topknot. She headed out for the night in a black halter top and matching shorts that barely reached mid-thigh. A little skimpier than her usual wardrobe, but no one knew her here, and it gave her an addictive sense of freedom she didn’t have back home.

  Her sandals slapped her heels as she walked the crowded street, her steps keeping time with the drumbeat pulsing from a music shop. Incense drifted from the open doorways she passed by, and an elderly man crouched in an alcove with a dog at his side and monkey perched on his knee.

  Meg smiled at the sights, enjoying the solitude among strangers. Doing whatever she wanted without having to consult someone else over every activity had turned out to be more relaxing than she’d hoped for. She wanted to try as many new experiences as possible while she was here, test her limits, open her eyes to the world around her.

  After making a right turn she spotted the restaurant she’d been looking for on the other side of the road. She’d discovered on her first day here that crossing the streets wasn’t exactly a tourist-friendly activity. Her near-miss with a scooter made the idea of weaving through the traffic again intimidating, but with no other option she had to go with it and hope for the best.

  Meg clutched her handbag and darted out into the street. Exhaust fumes hovered in the thick heat, overwhelming her senses as she squeezed between a taxi and a hoard of motor scooters. She held her breath, fought against a yelp of panic, and focused on the curb, her heart thundering with relief when she managed to reach the opposite side alive.

  Once the adrenalin rush and the urge to punch the air in victory passed, she opened the door and stepped into the restaurant.

  Meg moved away from the entrance and scanned the room, taking in the spacious dining area to the left and the rustic bar backlit with pink lighting on her right. She’d come here for dinner but the warmth of the bar tempted her to have that wine she’d been looking forward to first. A middle-aged couple occupied the two stools closest to her and a man sat alone at the farthest end. Although it was quiet now she had a feeling if she didn’t stamp her claim on a barstool soon the opportunity might not be around later.

  She clicked her tongue against her teeth and swept her gaze o
ver the interior again. Without knowing why her attention came back to the man sitting alone.

  Meg looked him over more carefully, wondering if someone of his height would be more comfortable stretched out on the wide couch tucked away in the corner of the room. His dark hair was the same shade as the shirt molded across his back. His knees were spread wide, muscled thighs stretching the fabric of his khaki shorts. She took in the biceps revealed by the short sleeves of his shirt and a vague fluttering sensation moved through her. They hadn’t met but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him.

  When he downed the contents of his glass and signaled the bartender for another, it hit her in a rush. Warm breeze, heated eye contact. Whistled tune playing over and over in her mind.

  Him.

  He glanced over his shoulder as if sensing her presence, just like he’d done back at the hotel. Meg pulled in a surprised breath. She wanted to turn her head and pretend she hadn’t seen him, ignore the pull of attraction and remain in her safe little bubble, but he stared straight at her and raised his brows in such a playful way she couldn’t stop the smile that formed.

  An approaching waitress caught her eye, and Meg knew the time had come to make a move. Take a left turn and have dinner alone like she’d intended, or head to the right and see what would come of talking to an attractive stranger. Her friend Ally would be disappointed in her if she let an opportunity like this pass her by. Not only that, Meg had a feeling she’d be letting herself down, too. Rather than waste any more time thinking about it, she went with her initial impulse and sent the waitress an apologetic wave.

  With a bracing breath, Meg walked toward the bar on legs that were far from steady. As she approached him, the man’s gaze slid down her body, lingering here and there in the usual spots, then lifting to meet her eyes again as if he wanted her to know his interest went beyond appearance. Her already high estimation of him climbed several notches.

  When she stopped beside him Meg had to hold back her shock. He’d been impressive enough as she checked him out from the safety of her balcony, but up close the man radiated far too much heat for a mere human like her to even contemplate flirting with sober.

  Broad shoulders, lean muscles—and dimples. She’d never be able to keep it together if he kept flashing those at her. His hair gave the impression he’d just climbed out of bed after a day filled with debauchery, his blue eyes gleaming with humor as he waited for her to look her fill. All that masculine energy made her feel so feminine in comparison. It was like every fantasy she’d ever had had come to life and plonked itself right in front of her.

  He smiled in that easy way of his that she’d already come to appreciate and pulled out the next seat along in invitation. He must have been used to women being struck dumb in his presence because he didn’t appear fazed by her lack of response. Meg swallowed her nerves and smiled back, willing herself to stop being an idiot and at least try to appear normal.

  “Are you stalking me?” he asked.

  His voice was deep and smooth, his accent identical to hers. Not surprising since Bali had become a home away from home for so many Australians. Meg managed a laugh that sounded almost natural and slid onto the vacant stool. She hung her bag over the back of the seat and gave him her full attention. “Are you complaining?”

  A corner of his mouth hitched and his eyes swept over her again. “Not in the slightest. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Meg let out a breath, feeling more comfortable around him despite the butterflies in her stomach. “If you’ll let me get the next round.” She hoped her reply wouldn’t come across as too presumptuous. He could be waiting for someone or be the type of guy who saw more than one drink as a long-term commitment.

  He smiled but craftily avoided answering her. “What can I get you?”

  She went with a white wine, and when her chardonnay arrived it occurred to her that neither of them had introduced themselves. “I’m Meg Brennan, by the way.”

  “Jack Townsend.” His eyes smiled at her. “Are you here alone or meeting someone?”

  Meg rubbed her thumb through the condensation on her glass, deciding what sort of details she should share with a man who was essentially still a stranger. Probably best to stick to the basics and see how the night developed. “I’m not meeting anybody. It’s just me.”

  “How long are you in Bali for?”

  “Six more days.” She wondered if he was just making conversation or if he hoped to cross paths with her again sometime soon. “It’s the first time I’ve been on holiday by myself. I sort of ran away.”

  His brows rose as he looked her over. “You don’t seem like the type to run away from anything.”

  How had he come to that conclusion after sharing the same space with her for a total of two minutes? “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re travelling alone. Out at night by yourself instead of playing it safe and staying at the hotel bar. Now you’re talking to a ruggedly handsome stranger when you could be sitting in a corner giving off a keep away vibe.”

  She bit her lip to hold back a smile. Okay, so the man might know a few things about her. And he’d just made himself even more attractive by describing his appearance in a way that should have come across as conceited but only sounded like a basic observation. “I see your point.”

  Jack’s eyes glimmered with pleasure. He sipped from his drink—whiskey going by the faint whiff she’d caught—and watched her over the rim of the glass. “So, whatever you ran away from couldn’t be too serious,” he said. “No mob connections, no drug deals gone bad. My guess is you needed to ditch a guy who got too close too soon."

  Meg almost laughed out loud, then the subtle compliment registered and a surge of warmth hit her. She smiled and shook her head, trying not to get too drawn in by his charms. “The real story’s not even close to that interesting. I’m self-employed, and I was in danger of becoming a workaholic. The best way around it seemed to be removing myself from it all for a while.”

  “What kind of work do you do? Wait—” he narrowed his eyes and took a couple of seconds to think it over. “Dancer. The modern kind, not ballet.”

  “What? No.” Meg laughed. “What made you say that?”

  “Your body, the way you move.”

  Oh, he was good. Too good. The direct eye contact combined with the slight tilt of his mouth made her skin tingle. His voice was so deep and smooth it should have been illegal for him to talk to unsuspecting women when their defenses were down. He hadn’t even touched her yet and she already wanted him to do a lot more than that to her. “Nice.”

  “Thanks.” He flashed a grin that made her stomach quiver. “Singer?”

  “Oh, are we still playing?”

  “Yep.” He downed another mouthful of whiskey.

  Meg took a couple sips from her own glass. “Wrong again. Sticking with the same theme though, I see.”

  “You have a creative vibe. I’m about ninety-eight percent sure you work with your hands or body in some way.”

  “Wow. Ninety-eight percent. Maybe I’m a stripper.” Why did she have to go and put those thoughts in his head—or hers for that matter? If she could just stick to listening rather than talking and drinking, she might be able to stay out of trouble.

  Jack didn’t seem put off by her comment, but the idea of her stripping for a bunch of strangers didn’t appear to inspire a whole lot of enthusiasm in him either. “Nope.” His gaze moved over her like a physical caress, lingering on her breasts for long enough that she expected him to point out her lack of qualifications in that area. “When you get naked, you only do it for one man.”

  His words were husky, making her think he very much wanted to be that guy. Maybe just for the night, but still. To have the undivided attention of someone like him…

  She’d spent the last few days taking in the sights and sounds and generally minding her own business. Regardless of what he’d said about her being fearless, she’d been playing it safe during her time here. Noth
ing about him seemed safe, and yet… it did. Meg couldn’t make sense of it. His size and strength intimidated her, but only in a way she found thrilling. He didn’t frighten her or leave her feeling like she needed to be in public to spend one-on-one time with him.

  She’d just met him. How did this kind of thing happen?

  Meg cleared her throat and looked away, pleased and embarrassed and more than a little turned on. “I’m a florist.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She heard the smile in his voice before she turned back to face him. “I work with flowers. And my hands. Not what you were thinking, but creative at least. You’re good,” she added.

  Although his eyes lit with humor, he didn’t gloat about his ability to read her. Instead he bumped his knee against hers and raised his brows. “So, what do I win?”

  Meg slanted him a glance. “The pleasure of my company for another five minutes?”

  He laughed and gave her an appreciative look, as if he was enjoying the verbal sparring just as much as she was. When his amusement faded, he asked in a low voice, “Only five minutes? Planning on going somewhere?”

  Even before they’d started this guessing game she had no intention of walking away. She couldn’t think of anywhere more appealing than sitting right here with him. “No. I’m happy where I am.”

  His leg touched hers again, only this time around he maintained the contact. The steady heat of his bare skin pressed to hers had far too much impact for such an innocent touch. Neither of them brought it up, but the way his mouth lifted on one side before he took another swallow from his glass told her he liked it, too. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I do for a living?”

  For her it was often the least interesting thing about a person. Conversations were more passionate when you got people talking about what they did for fun, not how they earned their money. “I just assumed because of all this…” Meg indicated his entire being with a sweep of her hand, “you were a model or gigolo or maybe an athlete.”