‘I reckon I could do just about anything I want right now. Your two producers just want me to be convincing.’
That really got her attention and she dug her heels in again, not very well since the sand wasn’t solid. ‘You didn’t tell them anything did you? They don’t know about our contracts with Malcolm.’
‘I didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know but you’ve got me having brunches when I’d rather be doing something, anything, to get to know you all. Small talk over a table and a cup of tea isn’t how I roll.’
She loosened her arm so they weren’t linked. ‘There’s a method to all the madness though. Start off slowly and then build up to the romance. You were supposed to take a lady kite surfing in two weeks. And then on a hot air balloon ride the week after that. As the number of ladies decreases, your activities get more intimate.’
He groaned and for the first time that day, Eliza’s smile was genuine as was the laugh that followed. ‘Who would have thought Australia’s bad boy player was afraid of getting close to beautiful semi-naked women? You had no problems on the beach today.’
‘I have no problems when I know the pay-off.’
‘Meaning because you know none of them are going to have sex with you, you can’t flirt and turn up the charm? What, are you impotent in a group setting?’ She could have bitten her own tongue off after the words slipped from her mouth on a chuckle.
His frank gaze met hers, his brow high, and there was nothing in his that said he was impressed with her statement. ‘We both know I’m not even close to impotent, Eliza. I’ve been in a group setting,’ he said with emphasis, ‘and I was anything but impotent. There have never been any complaints there. Ever.’
‘How would you know if you’ve never had a second date with any of them?’ There she went again. Why did she have to rise to his bait every bloody time?
‘Been doing a fair bit of research on me, have you? I’m flattered.’
‘Don’t be. They all said you were a prick and they wouldn’t jump back in your bed if you were paying them too.’
His eyes flashed and then he laughed, long and loud, genuinely, the corners of his eyes crinkling and twin dimples flashing below those big blue eyes and thick lashes. Damn.
‘I’m calling you on that one. That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve heard yet.’
His humour was contagious and Eliza let go of the anger and relaxed a fraction. She did not want to talk about the orgies he’d participated in or his ability to rise to attention. Of course she knew he had no trouble getting it up. He’d ground into her and set off fireworks in her middle only two nights before. On his kitchen table.
Cheeks flaming, and not because of the sun, she said, ‘Don’t take me out to dinner. Take Amelia. She really wants to get to know you.’
He threw her one last glance before they started up the stairs, back to the waiting group, but his eyes gave away nothing as Daniel re-joined them and announced the prize. A dinner with Banjo at the bachelor pad, no cameras, no recording equipment.
Just him and the lady of his choice for a candlelit meal cooked by Banjo himself.
When Banjo called Eliza’s name as the lady, she knew he had no choice. Just like her, they had been forced into the situation not of their own making and now they had to make it work. But that was it. She was going to keep her figurative distance, be professional and polite. She was not going to let him get close or turn the charm on her that she knew was in him somewhere.
Eliza yayed and clapped like an idiot while the other ladies glared at her and crossed their arms over their bikini-clad chests. She was going to be in so much trouble in the house. He’d just painted a huge target on her back and when she caught his gaze again, she had a feeling he knew it too.
***
She gave him way too much credit, Banjo thought later that night over a drink with Eliza. He wasn’t that diabolical. There was no one else he could talk to or bounce ideas off. If she thought today’s volleyball a bad move, wait till she heard some of the others he had in mind for the next five weeks.
The dinner really was about laying down some ground rules. It wasn’t about sex or the fact he couldn’t stop thinking about her on his kitchen table. Although it would have been one hell of a bonus. But he wouldn’t do that to the other eleven women next door. Whether he liked it or not, whether he liked Eliza or not, he had to practise celibacy for the next six weeks. After that though, fair game when it came to seducing his pretend girlfriend. He was already looking forward to the challenge of getting Eliza to bend. Both figuratively and literally.
Maybe the reason she intrigued him so much was the fact that she’d made it clear how distasteful she found his way of life and he wanted to prove her wrong. His life was full of fun, women, sex, exotic locations and new adventures all the time. Or maybe it was that she didn’t fall into giggly heaps whenever he entered the room. He definitely liked that about her.
Mostly he liked the way she looked, not in a shallow way, but fresh and clean with that sparkle in her eye when she smiled or grazed him with her wit.
Jesus, he was in trouble.
‘Something smells good,’ a soft, feminine voice spoke from the doorway.
Banjo turned and found himself with an instant grin on his face. She was wearing … God, what was she wearing? A deep V-line bared the top of her chest and sank down until the insides of her breasts became a feast for the eyes. The dress was impossibly short, her legs tanned and seemingly going on forever. She teetered on black heels with diamantes that twinkled when she took a step into the room.
He shook himself and turned back to the stove to stir the steaming pot. ‘I hope you like spaghetti.’
‘Uh, I’m actually a vegetarian.’
He chuckled. ‘What about the dead cow on your burger yesterday?’
She laughed as well. ‘Just testing you.’
When he met her gaze, the laughter died on her lips and he asked, ‘Did I pass?’
‘Don’t do that, Banjo. This is just dinner, remember?’
‘You’re dressed for more than dinner,’ he pointed out as he took in her body again. That dress! Whoa.
Eliza bent at the waist, one hand on the wall, and undid the straps of the shoes, stepping out of first one and then the other and kicking them into the corner. The problem wasn’t with her bare feet and toes wriggling against the floor tiles. It was that he’d seen right down her dress and she wasn’t wearing a bra. His blood went south and he was glad he was wearing tightish jeans.
‘I didn’t dress myself.’ She sighed and moved to the bench where he’d already poured two glasses of red. After a long drink, she attempted to perch on a high stool but the dress dipped at the front and rose from the bottom. ‘Damn it. The other ladies wouldn’t let me leave without full hair and makeup and those bloody heels. I was only going next door.’
‘I liked the heels. I like the whole ensemble. Remind me to thank them all tomorrow.’
Her mouth sank into a glossed pout. ‘You’re not supposed to be enjoying it this much.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want you to.’
He fought the urge to laugh again at the way her shoulders rose and fell with the emotion packed into those few words. She was being deliberately stubborn and a little obtuse. ‘Did you get dumped by a guy with money? Or a sports star? Is that why you don’t like me?’
She drank again before answering. ‘I don’t not like you. I just don’t think we need to get too chummy with each other.’
‘You didn’t answer the question. We’re supposed to be getting to know one another. Tell me about your love life to date since you already know all about mine.’
Just before he drained the pasta into a colander over the sink, her cheeks lit to a vibrant pink and her top teeth sunk into her bottom lip.
‘C’mon, I want all the gory details. I want to know who turned you against men. It was your mum, wasn’t it? Is she a man-hater?’
‘Was. She was a man-hater. But she didn’t raise me like that, not on purpose. I don’t think.’
He was a grade-A arsehole. ‘I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.’
She shrugged, sipped, swallowed like she didn’t give a damn. ‘Don’t be sorry. My mother died six years ago. Cancer.’
‘Is that how you wound up with Malcolm or have you always worked for him?’
‘I didn’t meet Malcolm until I was twenty-one. Mum told me for my whole life that my father died. She didn’t like to talk about him. But then on my twenty-first birthday, I got a letter from her solicitor with all the details of their affair, my birth, her banishment from her family for being pregnant and unwed. I looked him up.’
His actions were automatic as he stirred in the sauce and spooned the mix into large bowls, topping them with freshly grated parmesan. ‘Why would you want to? After all that time of not knowing him, his complete rejection of you, why would you look him up?’
When she met his eyes, he expected tears, but there was only a fierce resolution there. ‘I was alone. You wouldn’t know what that feels like, to know there’s not a soul who really knows you, who you can claim a real blood connection to. Mum was an only child and her parents died when I was four. I needed to know where I came from, where I fit into the world. It won’t make sense to you, but I felt it, the need to connect with Malcolm.’
‘Are you happy you did?’ he asked.
She laughed. There was little humour in it: she was aiming for light and sassy but hitting tense and pissy instead. ‘Not on days like today.’
Time to change the subject. ‘C’mon. I know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than eating the only meal I actually know how to cook and drinking my wine.’
‘There’s probably a rufy in the wine, is there?’
He wriggled his brows and that made her laugh for real.
‘Is spaghetti really all you know how to make?’
He put the bowls on the table and went back for the bottle of wine and his glass, calling over his shoulder, ‘I can boil water for two minute noodles but I wasn’t sure if you’d want chicken or beef.’
They sat at the table, Eliza covering her pasta in more parmesan while he only sprinkled a pinch. He studied her as she lifted a full forkload to her mouth. ‘Did you see yourself as a television producer? Or is that just for Malcolm?’
He waited while she chewed and swallowed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. ‘I was actually a journalist for the ABC. Chasing down the stories and then opening them up for the reporter to have at it. That’s where I came across the problem with the teens of Sydney.’
‘Is that what your documentary is about?’
She raised a brow. ‘You remembered that?’
‘You only had two conditions for coming on the show. I’m not a goldfish.’
‘I was doing an investigative piece on a string of thefts and vandals seemed to be the likely mischief-makers but as I dug deeper, I realised those kids are bored, rejected, both. Their parents work such long hours, they’re kids who are mostly unsupervised and looking for attention.’
‘So the doco is about excusing their misdemeanours?’ he asked, a bit incredulous. Eliza seemed like such a goody-goody, her life would never stray to the far side of the law.
‘Absolutely not but if they had more places to go, to keep occupied, skate parks, youth centres, petty crime would drop and the kids would have somewhere safe to go where they could be looked over.’
He saw the merits with what she was saying but what really grabbed him was the passion she exuded as she spoke. ‘Did you by any chance want to be a teacher before you wanted to be a journo?’
‘I wanted to be lots of things, I still do. But right then, with my life the way it was after mum died, I chose to work with Malcolm, get to know him, I even got a job with the network before he knew who I was, that I even existed.’
‘But it’s not where you want to be, is it. Neither is working with delinquent kids.’
‘No, not really, not the network part. The kids are real and they need help, they need backers and buildings and attention but this kind of reality TV is for bored housewives and hopeless romantics who eat dinner on the couch. It’s not even real.’
‘Harsh.’
‘But true. If you were in the country, would you tune in?’
He shook his head but then smiled. ‘Actually, girls in bikinis sell everything. I hate the heat but I like what it does to inhibitions.’
Eliza sighed. ‘I hate the cold and I like my inhibitions where they are.’
Banjo lowered his fork. ‘What do you mean, you hate the cold?’
‘I don’t like cold water, cold wind, ice in my cocktail, freezing toes or fingers. I prefer it warm.’
Just like his mum. But he pushed that aside. ‘You’re actually crazy! Have you ever skied or made a snowman? You can’t make love on a fur before a roaring fire without the cold night.’
‘Snowmen are for kids. I am the most uncoordinated person you’ll ever meet on wheels or ice and I am not telling you how I make love.’
She emphasised the last words with a bitterness he homed in on immediately. ‘You’ve never made love, have you?’
Her cheeks flamed and she hid a cough with her wineglass. Was that embarrassment? Shame? ‘I’m not the forty-year-old virgin.’
Banjo couldn’t hide his shock. ‘How many guys have you slept with, Eliza? Two? Three?’
‘None of your business!’
So, two then. ‘They were arseholes if they didn’t do it right.’
‘I am not having this discussion with you, a man who is afraid of commitment. I bet you don’t make love anyways.’
‘Not every time, no.’ He liked it when Eliza blushed. He felt the teenage need to make her squirm. ‘Sometimes I’m just in it for a hard fuck and so is she, but sometimes it’s nice to slow it down, to enjoy it all night long rather than just get it over and done with.’
When Eliza snorted, a little bit of wine came out of her nose and Banjo laughed so loud, he wondered if they’d hear the commotion next door.
‘You can’t say things like that to me.’
‘Why not, we’re friends aren’t we? It’s not like you’re going to be volunteering to sit in the passenger seat, are you?’ His blood heated while he waited for her answer even though he suspected the two-letter word to come.
‘No way. Not ever.’
All he could think of as he smiled and tucked into his meal with a lightness he enjoyed, was that not ever was a really long time. He didn’t do long times. He took every day as it came.
That was how he was going to take Eliza. He’d show her what it was to really make love, to really enjoy a partner and revel in each other’s bodies until there was nothing else but two people and their wildest fantasies.
***
This was the exact reason Eliza hadn’t wanted to have dinner alone with no cameras and no microphones. She didn’t like the f-word all that much but the way he’d spoken the outrageous statement, the way in which he’d used the word and implied so, so much, just about set her on fire. What would it feel like to be fucked by Banjo? Would it be all hands and tongues and fingers and panting need? Better still, what did he do when he made love?
Damn it. Damn him. She mentally snapped her fingers at her own mind. There was no way she was going to entertain any ideas of where Banjo might put what and how it would feel.
‘Aren’t we here to talk about the show? Have you made a decision about the rose ceremony?’
She almost regretted the question when his face fell and his eyes lost their mischief. Almost. But their dinner was about being professionals. She wanted it all to be very neutral and about the show and him, nothing else.
‘I think I’ve narrowed it down to Kirsty and Molly. Jennifer comes up a very close third because she scares me a bit.’
‘Why those two? I’d have thought two independent professionals would appeal.’
‘God, no. Even if this
were a real show with a real winner, or lady, or whatever, I need someone who would want to travel with me while I compete. Those two have the highest to lose by hooking up with someone like me.’
Interesting. ‘How so?’
‘Molly is a respected doctor. When it all falls apart, she has to be looked in the eye and I can tell you she won’t be if I’m in the picture.’
‘That’s ridiculous. It isn’t as though you’re that repulsive.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ he said with a healthy dose of sarcasm. ‘I meant because I’m such a man-whore.’
She ignored that. ‘Why do you always talk as if any relationship is doomed from the get-go?’
‘Because it is. I’m selfish. I travel. I don’t want to put down roots. It’s why I wanted to back out of the show. I’m not the man these women are after. They all want babies and houses and the perfect man.’
‘They know you’re not perfect.’
He sighed and then shrugged. ‘You think I don’t get being lonely? Not really belonging? I do. But if I really belong anywhere, it’s to winter.’
‘How very Game of Thrones of you,’ she said, attempting to lighten the conversation.
‘If I’m not skiing or boarding, I’m nothing. No one.’
‘You’ve got your father’s company. You’ve got a shitload of money in the bank. You can do whatever you want with your life with no one to tell you what to do. What I don’t get about you is why you throw it all away on bimbos and booze.’
‘It’s what the world wants from me. Live up to the reputation of the bad boy sports star. If I’m boring and take a girlfriend everywhere I go, I fade into the background. I don’t want that for my life. Not yet.’
Eliza kind of understood where he was coming from but it didn’t all click. ‘What about when you’re too old for the mountains and the chicks? What about when no one wants to hang out with you? Have you ever thought about being someone’s whole world? A husband who is adored and needed, a father who is the absolute beginning and end for his child?’
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