Blame It on the Bikini (17 page)

There wasn’t enough time. Mya grasped the few moments they had but it felt like the glitter from the party—impossible to catch and hold. Just an ephemeral, beautiful shimmer. So she was determined to make the most of it. Brad seemed more intent than ever on ‘just having fun’ too—as if he was also aware of how brief this would be.

She stretched in his big bed, slowly and so reluctantly coming awake after what felt like only five minutes’ sleep. She could hear him talking—dozily she listened to one half of an incisive discussion on some point of
law. She smiled as she snoozed. He sounded so authoritative—which he was on this, of course—quoting from case after case, and given that she could hear he was pacing down the far end of the hall, she knew he was recalling those cases from his own memory, not that of a computer. Geek. Question was why he was talking so early in the morning.

She sat up and looked at her watch. It wasn’t just early in the morning—it was still the middle of the night. She’d really had only a little more than five minutes’ sleep.

She slipped out of bed and wrapped a towel round herself and tiptoed down the hall. She could see the light in his office was on, and she paused in the doorway. He stood at his desk, his hair a crumpled mess, unshaven, circles under his eyes, still on that difficult call.

She took a step back and went back to the bedroom, not wanting to eavesdrop. But in the silent house, his voice carried—his concern was obvious. She waited a very long time for him to return to bed. But even though he’d stopped talking quite some time ago now, he still didn’t come down the hall. So she got up again—concerned.

From in his office doorway, she saw him sitting at his desk, his face a portrait of worry. She’d noticed before how tired he sometimes looked when he thought no one was watching. The animated, charming façade slipped on when people talked to him. She didn’t want him to feel as if he had to put that mask on for her. She understood now that he covered up with the charm factor. Why did he feel the need to maintain the image? When he claimed to hate that manufactured perfection in his parents’ home? In a way he was as guilty of it as they were.

But then he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

‘Brad?’ She swiftly walked into the room, round the side of his desk and put her arms around him. It was an instinctive, caring gesture. Nothing sexual, just the comfort of a hug. ‘What’s wrong?’

For a long time he said nothing. But then there was a sigh and a mumble. ‘Christmas is bad for most of my kids.’

My
kids. The word meant much. She softened inside. He cared deeply, but he didn’t like to display it for everyone. ‘Something’s happened?’

‘Gage has run away.’

Mya bit her lip. Two days out from Christmas? Things must be bad. ‘Who’s Gage?’

‘A client. His parents split a while back. He’s been shuttling between them for a few years, but it’s never been easy. His father had a new partner on the scene but they’ve split up recently.’ He sighed. ‘What’s worse, do you think? Being fought over, or not being noticed or wanted at all?’ He glanced at her. ‘Or being expected to carry the expectations and dreams and ambitions of generations?’

She shook her head. ‘It depends.’

‘It does,’ he said tiredly. ‘I should have spotted there was something badly wrong,’ he added quietly. ‘I should have seen it. I knew he’d been truanting. I knew he hadn’t been talking to the psych. But I—’

‘You’re not his parent.’

‘I’m his advocate. I should know what it is he wants.’

‘And do you?’

He stared sightlessly at the desk. ‘I’m not sure. He’s on the run but if I were to guess I’d say he’ll head to his dad’s ex. She’s been the one there. But she lives in another
town now. She wasn’t married to the guy. She’s not a guardian. In theory she has no legal claim to Gage.’

‘But if he wants to stay with her, if she wants him—can you help them?’

‘Maybe. That’s if he is heading there, if he is okay.’ He looked worried. ‘Not all stepmothers are wicked.’

And not all playboys were heartless.

‘It’s really sad,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘And if he doesn’t turn up soon, he’s only going to make it harder for himself to get what he wants.’

‘I’m sorry, Brad.’

He rubbed his forehead, as if he could rub away the stress. ‘You should go get some sleep.’

‘Not without you.’ There was one thing she could give him—the one thing he’d wanted from her. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had, and she wanted to give him comfort now. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but after Christmas she was walking away from him. She’d been such a fool to think she could handle this. ‘You do an incredible job,’ she whispered. He was an incredible person.

‘Not good enough,’ he muttered. ‘Not this time. I should have spotted it, Mya. Hell, I hope he’s okay.’

‘He will be.’ She hugged him tighter. ‘Don’t feel bad,’ she urged. ‘You help so many people. You’ll help him too.’

Worry burdened Brad—burned inside him. Because he feared Mya was wrong—on several levels. ‘I do this job to make myself feel good. To pretend to myself that I have helped out in some way,’ he confessed. ‘But do I really?’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

‘Of course you do,’ she said vehemently. ‘You’re hugely talented and you give that talent to the most vulnerable. You’re generous.’

‘Mya,’ he muttered, trying to claw back some cool. To joke his way out of this intensity the way he always did. ‘I thought I only did counsel for child to score chicks?’

‘I don’t think you’re as selfish as you like to make out that you are.’

Oh, but she was wrong. He knew he was selfish. He’d been told it many times by women. And they were right. ‘I’m not very good company tonight.’ He felt uncomfortable—felt vulnerable with her this moment. He wanted to pull it back in. His chest ached. Maybe he was coming down with summer flu. ‘I don’t feel that great,’ he muttered, too tired to hold that last fact back.

‘I know.’

He turned and looked at her—beautiful, bright,
sweet
Mya, whom he wanted so much from and yet who couldn’t give it.

Wasn’t it ironic that the game-changing woman for him didn’t want the game changed? He’d positioned himself as her bed-buddy—painted himself into a corner as her ‘good-time guy’. And was that so bad? A few minutes of fun here and there in an otherwise hardworking life? He was the king of quick’n’fun, wasn’t he? With the same woman for once, yet what difference did that really make?

It made all the difference. Tonight it hurt.

Because he cared for her a lot more than he’d like, and the reality was he didn’t stand a chance. There was no room in her life for him. Her parents came first and that was fair enough. He’d played the playboy role too well for too long for her to see him any other way. He supposed it served him right. But this second he was so wrung out, he was at the point where he’d take all he could get. And so he tried to pull it back on again—his
playful tease. ‘Is there something you wanted?’ he drawled.

But she didn’t respond with the same kind of light amusement. ‘Yes, there is.’

She didn’t tease him with her wishes or do a pretend strip to reveal her polka-dotted panties and mismatched cotton bra. Instead she looked serious. ‘Tell me what you want me to do.’

He coughed; it felt as if something were crushing his chest. A crazy, over-the-top reaction. This was hardly the first time a woman had asked him to reveal a sexual fantasy. But he didn’t want a fantasy tonight. He just wanted Mya. ‘I thought I made it clear you didn’t have to do anything other than just be for me.’

‘No. You’ve done what I wanted you to do so many times. Now it’s your turn. I’m yours. What would you like me to do?’

He didn’t answer. Frankly, he couldn’t think with the way she was looking at him with all the promises of the world in her eyes and the sweetness in that unique smile.

‘No ropes?’ Finally, she teased. And her laughter tied his tongue—and his heart—the way no real binds ever could.

All he wanted was for her to welcome him the way she always did. All he needed was to see how much she enjoyed being with him; her response told him she was as enthralled as much as he in the passion between them. He ached for that total embrace, the softness in her body. Yeah, her embrace alone was enough. Her absolute acceptance. He took her hand and pulled her closer.

‘Cover me,’ he whispered.

Deliverance finally came as she draped her warm limbs over his.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

S
HE
never got back from the bar until the early hours of the morning. Brad loathed the thought of her walking home alone, but she refused to let him pick her up after work, arguing it was too late for him. She wouldn’t pay for taxi fares—certainly wouldn’t let
him
pay for them. According to her, her scream-in-a-can and night-school self-defence moves were enough protection. Not for Brad they weren’t. She didn’t know it but he’d paid Kirk, the bouncer, to walk her home these past couple of weeks. He’d even concocted the lie for Kirk to tell her—that he’d moved into the city and walking her wasn’t far out of his way. Mya hadn’t argued much, which made Brad suspect she wasn’t completely convinced about her self-defence skills either. It made his blood sizzle that he could only help her if he did it secretly.

His blood sizzled more because of the intensity with which he
wanted
to help her. It was crazy. And even crazier was that here he was, awake way beyond midnight, waiting to hear the sound of the key in the lock. Since when had he
ever
given a woman a key to his home?

He’d seen how tired she was today. She’d had two coffees for breakfast this morning. He knew she’d get something to eat at the café—and more coffee. Then
she’d gone straight into her shift at the bar. She’d get more sustenance there too. But what the woman needed was some sleep. She needed to take better care of herself. He needed to take better care of her. He hated how hard she worked. And he hated how it had been his fault she’d had so little sleep last night—and not from energetic bedroom games but talking. Off-loading all his troubles about Gage. He didn’t feel comfortable about that either. It was time to ease back a bit, get them back into the playful groove. Lighten it up the way he liked it. But his mood was bleak—worried about Gage, worried about Mya, and, frankly, worried about himself and his ability to handle it all.

Eventually he heard her arrive, her heels clipping along the hallway. He rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes, feigning deep sleep—too late to switch the light off.

‘Brad?’

A stage whisper that he ignored. He counted his breathing, trying to keep it deep and regular.

She touched his shoulder, and he braced to stop the flinch as her fingertips stroked. She had a soft touch, but not shy. He made the counting in his head louder so he wouldn’t smile. The thing she needed most right now was sleep, not an hour getting physical with him.

‘Brad?’

He was
asleep
; hadn’t she got that already?

She sighed. The edge of disappointment nearly broke his resolve. He’d make it up to her tomorrow. He’d disable her alarm and let her sleep late. Then he’d wake her slow—morning sex was the way to start the day, and they’d never yet managed it in any kind of leisurely
fashion. And Christmas morning meant the café would be closed.

She walked a couple of paces away. He carefully opened his eyes and saw her back was to him. He could see the weariness in her shoulders, in the way she rubbed her forehead as if there was a residual ache there before she began to undress. He wished she wouldn’t work as hard as she did. He wished she’d damn well let him help her out. She could drop one of her jobs; he’d see to it that she didn’t starve.

He was so busy thinking he didn’t notice that she’d turned around. Or that he was supposed to be out like a light.

‘You’re awake.’

He snapped his eyes shut but he knew it was too late.

‘Brad!’

Busted. ‘I was asleep.’

‘You were pretending to be asleep!’ She sounded outraged. ‘Why were you pretending to be asleep?’ She supplied the answer before he could even open his mouth. ‘You didn’t want to have to perform tonight? You’re lying there feigning sleep like some unfulfilled spouse trying to avoid duty sex?’

‘Mya—’

‘Are you bored already?’

It was the hurt behind the indignance that got him moving. He shot out of bed. ‘Does it look like I’m bored?’

His erection was so hard it hurt, his skin pulled tighter than ever before. All he wanted to do was bury himself deep in her heat and find the release. He wanted those sensations that only she could give, to steal away all the thoughts that tormented him, to be as close as they’d been last night with nothing between them.

‘If you didn’t want me to come tonight, all you had to do is tell me.’ She ignored his evidential display.

‘I want you to come.’ And yes, he meant that in the teenage double-entendre way.

‘Then what are you doing pretending you’re asleep?’ Arms folded, foot tapping, she waited.

He sighed. He was a condemned man. His answer would annoy her but she wouldn’t let him get away with not explaining himself to her. ‘I thought you needed some sleep.’

Her jaw dropped.

‘Look at you,’ he said. ‘You’re exhausted.’

‘The shadows beneath my eyes are a turn-off, is that it?’ she queried—not hiding the hint of hurt. ‘You’re not doing a lot for my ego here.’

‘Mya,’ he said coaxingly and reached for her.

She pulled back out of reach. Totally put out. ‘I work two jobs and study on top of that, so exhaustion is normal. I’m sorry if I can’t live up to the high-gloss appearance of your usual lovers. Maybe you need to stick to ladies of leisure.’

‘Mya.’ He tried to laugh it off, gesturing at his erection. ‘It’s perfectly clear your appearance is still lethal for me.’

She wasn’t buying it. ‘You can’t tell me you didn’t pull some all-nighters when you were studying. It’s normal student behaviour.’

‘Not every assignment, I didn’t.’

‘Well, bully for you for being more organised than me.’