Crossing the Line

by Nicola Marsh

  Spying steps leading onto the lower level, I headed in that direction.

  "My mom died when I was little. My dad drives a Mustang, drinks scotch and doesn't have to kiss anyone's ass."

  I heard the hitch in her soft voice and it slayed me more than her admissions.

  "Sure, I play piss-poor tennis, if that means I play badly. So I guess one out of four ain't bad." I heard the snap of her fingers. "Oh, and you were right about one thing. You're definitely a dumbass."

  I should’ve kept walking. Headed straight for those steps without looking back. But the fact I'd misjudged her so badly stung real bad. Hadn't I busted that dickhead's nose in Sydney because he'd misjudged my mum? And me?

  I'd put up with being misjudged my entire life: the poor kid from the Cross whose mum ran a strip joint. The kid who was probably a pimp. The kid who must do drugs because of where he lived.

  I'd copped it all and hated every minute of it.

  So why the hell had I just done the same to a woman I barely knew and who didn't deserve to bear the brunt of my foul mood?

  I stopped and turned back to face her. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be." She waved away my apology. "You can't help being a dumbass. You were born that way."

  I smiled. For the first time in a long time. "You're probably right."

  "So what's with the mood?" She tilted her head to one side, studying me. "Because I know that wasn't all about me."

  I shook my head. "You don't want to know."

  "Maybe I do …" She hesitated, uncertainty clouding her eyes, before she straightened her shoulders. "You were right about one thing. I am in college. And I am on spring break." She puffed out a long breath. "This is my first night back home and I had to attend this stupid party, when it's the last thing I felt like doing, so I guess that makes us kindred spirits in a way."

  "You don't know the first thing about me—"

  "Chill." She rolled her eyes. "All I meant was you look like you don't want to be here. I definitely don't want to be here." She gestured at the tennis courts. "So why don't we ditch this lame-ass party and take a walk out there?"

  She'd articulated my plan, with one flaw. I still wanted to be alone.

  "I don't think so—"

  "Shut up." She slipped her hand into mine before I could blink. "Let's go."

  She tugged on my hand as I stared at our linked hands in disbelief. I had two options. Yank my hand free, make a big deal of this by stomping away and run the risk of her running to her daddy, who was probably besties with Dirk Cresswell. Or suck it up and leave like I'd intended. With a hanger-on.

  "If we don't make a run for it now, the rest of the party will spill out here soon and then we'll be trapped."

  I frowned, nodded. "Fine."

  Though it wasn't, because as I allowed Mia to lead me down the steps, I wondered why I was still holding her hand. And enjoying it.

  Chapter 3

  MIA

  I was in way over my head with this one.

  The guys I dated in college were … sedate. Soft-spoken, laid-back guys who talked football and basketball and grades. Guys who were polite and refined. Guys who would play along with goofy crap like what I'd planned.

  Guys the antithesis of Kye.

  Oh. My. God. Dani had been right. Sex god.

  Pity about the attitude.

  I didn't go for surly bad boys. Rudeness annoyed me.

  But I'd started down this track tonight and if there was one thing I always did, it was finish what I started.

  Somehow, my plan had changed between the time I'd left Dani and the time I'd met Kye. Had to have been all of ten seconds from the time he'd stepped out onto the terrace and I'd introduced myself, but I'd known then he was more than a stooge to help me pull off a lame stunt.

  There'd been something behind his glower … a hint of vulnerability behind the sneer that made me wonder what a guy like him was doing here. He obviously didn't fit in and I knew the feeling.

  As for his sexy Aussie accent? Yeah, that probably had something to do with the fact why I was still hanging around. If only I could encourage him to talk more.

  "You can let go now," he said, his low tone making awareness ripple through me. "I won't make a break for it."

  I squeezed his hand. "Why don't you let go?"

  "Because I'm not the one holding on hard enough to crush every metatarsal in my hand."

  "Someone's studying anatomy at college," I muttered, and didn't let go.

  I liked holding Kye's hand. Liked the feel of his roughened palm, his strong fingers. Liked the false courage it gave me.

  Because I feared if I let go, the last of my courage would disappear and I'd be the one bolting. Back to the safety of my villa, far away from badass Aussies with blue eyes and broad shoulders and a mouth I couldn't stop staring at.

  Sadly, I could count the guys I'd made out with on one hand. Maybe two. But Kye's mouth? Made a good girl like me think very bad thoughts.

  "I don't go to uni," he said. "But I fractured my hand once." He grimaced. "The pain of a fractured metatarsal is a bitch."

  "How'd you do it?" I figured the longer I kept him talking and walking, the better my chances were of actually going through with this.

  Because I had plans for Kye tonight. Big plans. Plans that were so far removed from my boring, mundane life that I needed to make this happen before I imploded.

  "Punched a hole in a guy's windscreen."

  I didn't like violence. I'd seen what it did to my roommate in freshman year, when her possessive ex wouldn't take no for an answer and ended up in prison after taking his frustrations out on her once too often.

  While Kye had radiated hostility back there on the terrace, I didn't sense a violent undertone. Then, what did I know? I'd targeted him because he gave off a bad boy aura.

  "Dare I ask why?"

  His fingers flexed around mine. "Because he called my mum a whore." He paused. "And worse."

  "That's harsh."

  "I heard it a lot because of where we lived and what she did for a living."

  Curiosity made me want to push him for answers, but I figured he'd told me more than he would have normally and silence would probably work better.

  "We lived in Kings Cross, the seediest suburb in Sydney. In an apartment over a strip club. That Mum owned and ran." He spat the words almost defiantly, as if daring me to make a disparaging comment.

  "If you're waiting for me to judge you, you'll be waiting a long time."

  He sneered. "Good girls like you always judge guys like me."

  And that's when I finally released his hand. Only because I planted both my hands on his chest and shoved.

  "Want to know the truth? I did judge you tonight. When I saw you standing in that room, nursing a soda and a snarl, I said to myself 'that's the kind of guy I want to be with tonight because his shitty mood matches mine’. I wanted you to play along with a crazy plan I had to ditch the party, so I followed you onto the terrace. And I acted all brave and mouthy, when in fact you're the last type of guy I'd usually hang out with."

  I shoved him again, working up a good head of steam. "You're rude and condescending and obnoxious. And you're a judgmental dickwad." I dragged in a breath, surprised by the sting of indignant tears behind my eyelids. "So pardon me for just wanting to hang out with someone different tonight. Someone who's not from the cloying, smothering world I grew up in and moved several states away to escape."

  Rant over, I let my arms fall to my sides. I shouldn't have shoved him. So much for my anti-violence stance. But a small part of me had to admit it felt good. Freaking great, in fact, to be assertive for once. Maybe the badass's bad attitude was catchy?

  He stared at me, blue eyes narrowed, not moving a muscle. All that barely restrained tension should've intimidated me. It didn't. Because all that stuff Kye had just told me about his mom? Pretty much explained the surliness. He was basically a guy who was hurting. Who'd spent a lifetime hurting by the sound of it.
<
br />   "You finished?" The corners of his mouth tilted, hinting at a smile.

  "Asshole," I muttered, surprised by my urge to shove him again. "I'm honest with you and you're laughing at me?"

  "Smiling. There's a difference." To prove it, he actually grinned, a fully-fledged, power-packed grin that left me feeling winded.

  "Whatever." I shrugged and turned away, ready to admit defeat.

  I'd wanted to step out of my comfort zone tonight, shake things up a little. But I wasn't ready to sign on as some guy's dumping ground. I wasn't a sadist.

  I'd wanted to have fun tonight. To push my usual boundaries. To cut loose after a very long year of good grades and good wholesome fun.

  Simply, I wanted to be bad.

  "Stay."

  I halted mid-step. Kye had spoken so softly I wondered if I'd conjured up his monosyllabic plea.

  "Please," he added.

  I bit back my first sarcastic response of 'who knew, the badass has manners' when I glanced over my shoulder and saw his expression.

  Tortured. Mingled with fear and hope.

  The hope is what convinced me.

  If Kye hoped I'd hang around a little longer, I would. Not because I was some bimbo who'd do anything to break free of my rigid life. But because that expression on his face made me realize that the tough guy hid his vulnerabilities behind anger and a snide mouth. And I knew what it was like to hide behind a practiced front.

  "Okay, I'll stay."

  This time, his genuine smile made something in my chest twist.

  Maybe I should've left after all.

  Chapter 4

  KYE

  I had no idea why I asked the uptight princess to stay.

  I should've let her stomp off in a snit after her shitfit.

  But there was something about the way she'd stood up to me that had me intrigued.

  I'd bet my left ball she was daddy's little angel. She'd virtually confirmed it when she'd blurted all that stuff about her private life.

  So her tough girl act, when she'd shoved me around, made me admire her. She had spirit. Fire in the belly, as my mum used to say.

  But I couldn't afford to think about Mum now. Not when Mia stared at me with those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes.

  "Tell me why you want me to stay," she said, thrusting her chin up a little, daring me to drive her away again.

  Considering she'd semi-lifted me out of my black mood, not a chance.

  How long since I'd hung out with anyone, let alone a girl? After I'd been booted out of the tennis academy in Sydney for busting that bozo's nose, I'd spent a month at my dad's mansion in Double Bay, on what he'd labeled a good behavior bond.

  Hadn't been so bad, as my dad was on location shooting an action flick in Darwin for three of those weeks. And that final week, he'd made arrangements for me to come here.

  Woop-de-fucking-do.

  "Honestly?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't have asked if I didn't want an honest answer."

  I stepped forward, almost invading her personal space. "I've been in a pretty shitty place lately and you've distracted me."

  "So you want me to stick around and distract you some more." She pressed her palms to her heart. "Lucky me."

  "I also like that you're a smart-arse."

  "I love your accent." Her lips curved into a sexy grin that made me want to step even closer. "Arrrrse," she said, and giggled.

  I found myself chuckling along with her. "Let me guess. Your only experience with Australia comes from drooling over the Hemsworth brothers."

  To my surprise, she blushed. "I may have seen The Hunger Games five times." She held up both hands, fingers spread. "And The Avengers ten. What of it?"

  "Means you've got a thing for Aussie guys." I bumped her with my shoulder. "Lucky me."

  She wrinkled her nose, but her blush intensified, making me want to touch her cheeks to see if they felt as hot as they looked. "You'll be the exception to the rule."

  "Yet you're here with me now instead of at that party?" I grinned. "Interesting."

  Our gazes locked for a long moment and I felt a jolt of something … powerful. I could attribute it to hormones, considering I hadn't got laid in six months, but the spark in her dark eyes made me want to do more than chat with her.

  She blinked and the moment vanished. "Already told you, I would've done anything to escape that party."

  "Know the feeling." I glanced at her arms, knowing she wasn't a tennis player by the lack of muscle definition. "Considering I'm new at the academy, I had to be there. What's your excuse?"

  "Family obligation." She shrugged, but I glimpsed tension flattening her lips. "You're a player?"

  "Guilty as charged." I performed a fake serve. "Don't hold it against me."

  Her gaze slid over me and my cock hardened. "You don't look like a player."

  "I think you just insulted my muscles."

  The faintest pink stained her cheeks again. "I meant your clothes." She gestured toward the clubhouse. "You don't look like the dweebs that hang around there in their Sunday school best."

  "Thanks. I think." Funny, she'd echoed my thoughts from the brief time I'd spent at that party.

  "You’re aiming for grand slams?"

  The million-dollar question. A few months ago, I would've said yes. I knew I was being fast-tracked for the APT after putting in good performances on the pro tour. Even though I was older than most rookies and had missed out on the bulk of the junior tour, the coaches kept pushing me.

  Until I'd screwed up.

  According to my dad, Dirk Cresswell had a reputation for turning careers around, hence my last ditch stand.

  Problem was, did I want it? I'd lost the hunger lately. But if I couldn't make it in tennis, what other options did I have?

  "Tough question?"

  I shook my head. "Just not sure how to answer it anymore."

  The spark was back in her eyes, as if she found me infinitely fascinating. "I thought the slams were the ultimate dream of every tennis jock?"

  I pointed at my clothes. "Thought we'd already established I'm not your average jock."

  "No, you're not," she said so softly I barely heard her. "It's why I'm still here talking to you and not back in my villa with Liam or Chris."

  I laughed. "You know I'll think less of you if you have Hemsworth cardboard cut-outs?"

  She swiped at her brow. "Phew, your opinion of me is safe. I meant DVDs."

  I liked how she answered me back. It made her more interesting. "So is it the muscles, the blue eyes, the height or the accent that has you hooked?"

  "All of the above." She mocked a little swoon.

  I leaned closer, enjoying the way her lips parted and her breathing became shallower. "I have all those attributes, but I don't see you swooning over me."

  I expected her to step away. To elbow me.

  Instead, she turned her head so our lips were inches apart. "The night is young, who knows what may happen later?"

  I held my breath, reigning in the urge to kiss her. Not from some misplaced chivalry but because this was the first time in a long time I'd actually interacted with a girl on a level that didn't include a make-out session, a condom and a quick goodbye.

  I may not kiss her but that didn't mean I couldn't flirt a little. "Is that a promise?"

  Her mouth kicked up into a naughty smile that made me regret my impulse not to kiss her. "Only if you promise to catch me when I swoon."

  "Deal." I winked and she groaned.

  "Don't do the wink thing," she said. "Jocks do that all the time and think it's cool."

  "Bet you wouldn't complain if the Hemsworths did it."

  She poked me in the chest and swear I felt that brief contact all the way down to my soles. "The way you keep harping, I think you've got a thing for them too."

  I held up my hands, enjoying our banter. "Nothing wrong with admiring a guy's craft and they're good actors."

  Wondering how far I could push her, I lowered my
tone. "Do you need proof I'm into girls and not guys?"

  Her eyes widened and I glimpsed a beguiling mix of fear and anticipation.

  Damn, it would be fun to make this good girl bad, even for a few hours.

  "What did you have in mind?" she said, her gaze fixing on my mouth before sliding up to meet my eyes again.

  "Babe, you don't want to know."

  I threw it out there, curious to see what she'd do. I knew what I wanted her to do. Jump me, wrap those long bare legs around my waist, and ride me until dawn.

  "What if I do?" Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and it almost undid my resolution to stay hands off.

  I needed to cool this down fast, before flirting became fucking.

  "You don't strike me as the one night stand type," I said, deliberately easing away and putting some distance between us.

  "Now who's judging who?" she spat, her shoulders rigid with anger. "You don't have a clue what I want."

  If this was one of those cartoons I used to love watching with Mum when I was a kid, Mia would have steam shooting out her ears, she looked that riled. Guess I touched a sore spot. Which made me wonder …

  "You're a virgin?"

  "Hell no!" She crossed her arms and glowered in a fair imitation of one. "I just want … um, I want … uh, crap." She shook her head and turned away. "Forget it."

  I should. But I didn't like seeing her revert to uptight so I asked the one question I shouldn't.

  "What do you want?"

  When she didn't answer, I grabbed her arm and gently tugged her to face me again. "Tell me."

  She dragged her gaze from my chest, which she'd been studying with intent, to finally look at me. "I want to cut loose."

  She sounded so forlorn I wanted to hug her. But if Mia ended up in my arms I wouldn't be able to stop at comforting.

  "By graffiti-ing the club house? By carving your initials into the grass courts with a lawn mower? By unstringing all the rackets—”

  "By having sex with you," she said, sounding soft and uncertain and embarrassed.